Funny Reviews

Added a remote con­trol car to this coy­ote preda­tor repli­ca and it’s a winner!

5.0 out of 5 stars

Liv­ing near a lake inhab­it­ed by both res­i­dent and migrat­ing geese results in a lot of goose drop­pings in our yard. So I pur­chased a “Red­cat Rac­ing Black­out XTE PRO 1/10 Scale Brush­less Elec­tric Mon­ster Truck with Water­proof Elec­tron­ics”, then did some major surgery on the rub­ber coy­ote with scis­sors so it fit on the remote con­trol car body held in place with vel­cro tape. The end result was, well, in the words of Dr Franken­stein… “It’s ALIVE! Now, I chase the pesky geese away with­out look­ing like an lunatic run­ning around the yard wav­ing my arms and hop­ping over goose ter­ds. We call the new remote con­trol Coy­ote by my sev­er­al new names… “Chu­pacabra”, “Goose-ina­tor” and “Goose Buster”. You’ll have so much fun with a remote con­trolled Coy­ote long after the geese have scat­tered that you’ll want a refreshed bat­tery to con­tin­ue the fun. A word of cau­tion though… neigh­bors, boaters and those dri­ving by don’t know what to think when they see it, say­ing they thought it was a wild animal!

Coy­ote Preda­tor Repli­ca Review

5.0 out of 5 stars

My shield was­n’t the most styl­ish on the field, nor was it the most his­tor­i­cal­ly cor­rect (Norse Viking). Despite its infe­ri­or design and alu­minum met­al, this acces­so­ry did pro­vide superb pro­tec­tion against the foam swords and its light weight was nice.

Review of the Wok Lid

5.0 out of 5 stars

THE MAN WHO’S SUPPOSED TO DRINK THE COFFEE IS A LIAR

I gave every­thing about the cof­fee five stars although I don’t drink cof­fee. It’s not Fol­ger’s fault that the bas­tard for whom I bought the cof­fee stopped com­ing over to drink it because he’s mean and self­ish and isn’t capa­ble of being in a rela­tion­ship. You know who you are. You said, “Yes, get the cof­fee. That will be great.” Then you did­n’t show up. I fart in your gen­er­al direc­tion, Mr. Man. Now I’m stuck with all this cof­fee. So there’s that .…

The Foldgers Cof­fee Review

Just a sol­id microwave. You should ask your­self — do I need a microwave large enough to defrost a frozen ostrich? Do I need 2500 watts of pow­er so that there’s a 3‑second mar­gin of error between warm­ing up my Din­ty Moore and paint­ing the walls of my microwave with it? When you reach a cer­tain age, you start rethink­ing some things. I bought a lux­u­ry microwave and all I use it for is to reheat junk food that was­n’t that good the first time around. Yeah, Den­nis, I do need to exer­cise more. But I’m also going to buy a small­er microwave and clear up some counter space for more fruit. This is that microwave, and I rec­om­mend it.

The Small­er Microwave Review — The Microwave

It is day 87 and the hors­es have accept­ed me as one of their own. I have grown to under­stand and respect their gen­tle ways. Now I ques­tion every­thing I thought I once knew and fear I am no longer capa­ble of fol­low­ing through with my pri­ma­ry objec­tive. I know that those who sent me will not relent. They will send oth­ers in my place… But we will be ready.

Horse Head Mask Review

Wit­ness­ing a human being, a friend, a young gen­tle­man with a wife and chil­dren being over­tak­en by the hor­ror the wendi­go spir­it embod­ies is a ter­ri­fy­ing thing. My hunt­ing par­ty had found itself strand­ed in the north­ern Rock­ies as win­ter fell back in 83, and we knew things would be grim, but watch­ing Stevensen go mad like he did, run­ning off into the tall pines, dri­ven by hunger, the end­less cold and snow, the iso­la­tion, to what we believed was his death near­ly drove us to despair. How­ev­er, when he start­ed hunt­ing us, when we saw O’Grady’s bones stripped of flesh in that clear­ing, with the gnaw marks of human teeth on them, when we saw him fall upon Clemens and begin rip­ping and tear­ing like a sav­age ani­mal, it was beyond despair, beyond terror.

In the end there were only two of the ten of us left, just Gio­van­ni and I, and putting the mon­ster that was wear­ing Stevensen’s flesh down, like a rabid dog, remem­ber­ing who he had been… I’m sor­ry, I can­not speak of this anymore.

Coney Island is a fra­grance that tastes noth­ing like it smells. It is bit­ter, foul to the mouth. It also burns when applied to the eyes. I strong­ly advise against doing so, and instead rec­om­mend that it be sprayed upon skin or cloth­ing, for its scent, or the mar­velous sound the sprayer makes when it sprays.

Bond No. 9 Coney Island

So these are some great con­doms right, but I’m just here to give you some life advice. I bought these back when I was in a rela­tion­ship with some­one way out of my league. I fig­ured, after how long we had been togeth­er I should just start buy­ing pro­tec­tion in bulk, right? So I buy six­ty con­doms and we keep get­ting it on for a while until she dumped me. Now I have a draw­er by my bed full of com­plete­ly super­flu­ous con­doms. They sit there mock­ing me as I drunk­en­ly cra­dle myself to sleep, cold and alone in my pathet­ic excuse of an apart­ment. Great prod­uct though 10/10

Link to the Bulk Con­doms — Link to the Bulk Con­dom Review

I was wear­ing these shorts around the house when a few friends stopped by. We were all sit­ting around watch­ing TV when I reached at a weird angle for the remote. The crotch seam pulled apart and my scro­tum came spilling out right in front of my friends. This was pret­ty embar­rass­ing. Pic­ture not attached.

Link to Review — Link to the Shorts