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.

Stale armpit sweat, swampy and fermented, kind of already smells like bacon. But why live your life with just a hint of pig-stink? Go all the way with “Power Bacon” deodorant.

“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.

This $3,500 hot tub is a plastic bowl with a metal tube sticking out of the side that functions as a heat exchanger.

The good news is that it’s safe for children, if you consider an open flame three feet away from a child to be safe.

“Haha, yeah, it’s a wooden tie, it’s made of wood,” you say to a curious passerby. “Hey, have you heard of a little thing called BitCoin? It’s like money, but money is fake, and Bitcoin is actually a more real form of money. Bitcoin is purely electronic, and— Where are you…?” You trail off, as your passerby begins to jog, already fifteen feet away from your weird ass. Dismayed but not defeated, you head back to your car, to change into your battery-powered neon tie before night falls.

Whether you use one therapeutically or not, the manufacturers of metal spinning tops lurch onward into 2018, past the fidget-spinner fad, as they attempt to extract upwards of sixty dollars from customers.

This isn’t to say that there’s not an $899 fidget spinner for sale, right now, also on Amazon.

The pregnant mother gazes lovingly at her bulging midsection. “Feel the boom,” she cackles, and cranks the Nuvo Ritmo Pregnancy Sound System to maximum volume.

The ad copy promises to let “future mom and dads… record their own voices for the baby to hear” but who are we kidding? Your fetus is already behind the times, musically, and if he or she doesn’t experience the hard-sync blasts of Darude’s “Sandstorm” before being born, they’re going to grow up listening to ragtime or something.