The listing for this pizza cutter says it’s an 8-slice cutter. But the picture shows a slicer which will make 7 slices.

Which is it? Who fucking cares, just use a roller thing instead of buying a hula hoop covered in blades.

Grab a rock. Put it on the other rock so it don’t move. Then put more rocks on top. That’ll be $23.95.

Make sure you click thru and read the preview to see the author’s tale of everyone at the beach being impressed at his rocks. He actually quotes someone as saying “Wow, that’s so cool!” Uh-huh. Sure thing, dad.

I’m guessing “gas or ass” focus-grouped better than “Jeep: Give Me Fossil Fuel Or I’ll Fuck You.”

This is a hollowed-out nickel which holds a microSD card. It’s a really covert and easy way to accidentally put 2GB of sensitive data into a parking meter.

Socks that say “Fuck You” on the bottom, hidden by your shoes, and also hidden by the fact that you’re walking on them, are the perfect way to rebel without actually doing anything or communicating with anyone else at all.

BUT. If you get those “Fuck You” socks, AND then you get these “Fuck Me” socks, you can swap them out so you have one pair that says “Fuck Fuck.” Inside your shoes. Under your feet. Never mind, that’s still stupid.

Miracle fruit is the berry of a plant indigenous to West Africa which contains a glycoprotein called miraculin. This protein binds to the sweet receptors on your tongue, causing everything you eat to taste sweet for about an hour after you coat your tongue in miracle berry pulp (or tablets, like these, which contain an extract.)

When you’ve dosed yourself with miracle berry, strong beer tastes like creme soda. Lemons and limes taste like candies. Cream cheese tastes like cheesecake. Sour candy tastes like sweet candy! Grapefruit tastes like grapefruit candy!

Then, an hour later, as you’re spooning cream cheese into your mouth like a stoner with an empty fridge, your guts start to hurt. They pang, and tear, worse and worse, and you set down the cup, suddenly realizing that you can’t eat a pound of acidic fruit just because it tastes okay. The curdled cream-cheese and fruit cocktail erupts out of your gullet and onto your rug, washing the last of the protein from your tongue, and you taste the bitterness of shame.

The “Men’s C-String” is a pouch to cover the genitals, attached to a wire which travels under the body and up through the buttcheeks to pinch the pouch to the front of the body. If you don’t think the tiger print (above) is dignified enough for you, fear not: they also sell a cow-print Men’s C-String.

Don’t forget to read the lone review.