Monthly Archives: July 2018

The Chainmail Necktie


The chainmail necktie is a great way to say “Sure, I have a job that requires me to wear a tie, but that doesn’t mean I want to be promoted.”

Hoax Radiation “Prection”


I think they mean “protection”, but regardless, this $160 Ethernet/USB dongle supposedly protects your brain from radiation from your Wi-Fi router. Of course, if it actually did this, it would mean your wireless router would stop transmitting signals. But it doesn’t do this. So, if it didn’t cost $160, it wouldn’t be THAT terrible. But it does. So it is.

The truly paranoid can also purchase the $296 “Home Protection System for Smart Meters” from the same company, which protects your brain from your gas meter.

Vomit Mix Capsules


The vaguely named “Vomit Mix Capsules” are $16.95, and described by the manufacturer as containing “a proprietary mix of herbs.” No details on what the herbs are, and no picture of the product except for a tiny picture of a woman barfing. The same manufacturer sells “Asthma Mix,” which has a single, one-star review claiming his Asthma Mix Capsules were expired by the time they arrived. Hey, you want a proprietary mix of herbs, you gotta accept that they might be expired.

Jumping Stilts


The Poweriser Jumping Stilts let you fly several feet up into the air, springboarding across hard concrete surfaces as if you had some sort of kinetic-energy-storing devices attached to your legs. Which is great, and fun, until eight minutes in, when you fall at slightly the wrong angle and snap your fibula. Don’t believe me? Check out the review where the purchaser describes these as leaving his teen looking “like he had jumped through a wood chipper.” Then he gave the product five stars anyway. Apparently, hurting a child is just what this man wanted.

Three Shitty Novels


“Rampaging Fuckers Of Everything On The Crazy Shitting Planet Of The Vomit Atmosphere!” reminds me of what my middle-school friends and I used to write in the computer lab in school. We couldn’t say “fucker” or “shitting,” but in either a lack of supervision, an open-minded computer teacher, or a combination of both, it was possible to key in and print stories of people hoarding feces for an annual gathering called “Turd Fight.” We’d workshop each others’ stories, too, to maximize impact, and create dramatic tension in a four-page dot-matrix tract about a secret group who kept frogs in their asses, poking nightcrawlers into their starfish to keep the animals alive.

This book is kind of like that, but less readable, and without a child’s naughty excitement of typing “The assfrogs breathed farts to stay alive” at 9:45 in the morning on an educational computer.

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