Shop the MH Superstore!

Online luxury retail has arrived. For over sixty years, G. Y. Preston has been "Elevating the Art of the Gag." For over six months, Modern Humorist's lawyers have been elevating the art of the exclusive distribution contract. We are proud to announce our alliance, just in time for the busiest retail cycle for the novelty business: office party season. Both assortment packs are available in our luxurious store.

When only Swiss engineering will do
Hand Buzzer

The car races at Monte Carlo represent perfection. In every element, engineering and beauty combine—in the cars, in the timepieces and in the cheekbones. I have striven to find a hand buzzer that matches the stopwatches of Monte Carlo in precision and craftsmanship. I will let you know as soon as I locate one.
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Employees of fate must wash hands
Trick Exploding Novelty

Suddenly, my hunting companion noticed my smirk. "Preston, you dog. You look like the lieutenant who made off with the count's wife." As we finished dressing that morning's prize—a ten pointer—I told him he should try reading more J.H. Patterson and less Tolstoy. Or at least keep his characters straight. He chuckled; I handed him the fatal bar of soap. As with most exploding novelties, the "trick" is the "trust."
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Angel of the battlefield
Bloody Jumping Finger

Memories of my university days—never mind which university, know that it was exclusive—conjure a heady mix of crackling bonfires, gridiron triumphs and musky cheerleader undergarments. Countless times I won the succor of a co-ed through a realistic looking injured finger. Even more pleasurable than the compensation granted for wounds suffered on behalf of alma mater was the raw terror unleashed once the supposed injury began to jump. In those days gone by, none of this was considered misogynist.
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Attention chien mechant
Doggonit: That Funny Little Pile

I first saw it on the sidewalk of the Champs D'Elysee. "Merde!" I cried, first with a sense of shock, then with a flash of pride in my expanding vocabulary. That's when he darted from around the corner: the wily French lad of the streets, as aglow with Gallic mischief as when I encountered him in Hugo, Balzac and Babar. He scooped up his rubberized offal with an impish grin. The wit of youth. Then I realized his pick-pocket accomplices had cleaned me out. Snail-slurping bastards.
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Click to see Novelty Pack #2

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