quote:

Dear Arm & Hammer,
As your customer I would greatly appreciate in the future if you could affix warnings or perhaps bold letters depicting the words "MENTHOL" on the bottle of your "EXTRA STRENGTH PLUS" sinus rinse.
As a long time customer of your saline washes, I was left to assume that "EXTRA STRENGTH PLUS" referred to the sodium level in the saline spray. I stand corrected in my assumption. It actually means SPICY ACID BATH OF NOSTRIL LAVA.
This product set off an unexpected chain of events which led me to quite literally; shit my pants.
As with prior sinus rinses I inserted the nozzle into my nostril, tilted my head back, and began to spray the saline wash into my nose letting it work it's way through my sinus canals. Suddenly, with a thunderous vengeance, the menthol activated. It felt like I had snorted pure wasabi. My whole head began to burn like a prostitute trying to enter the Vatican. I felt burning in places I had never felt sensations before. It was so hot, my third eye began to water. I can only describe it as my "inside face" had caught on fire. Meanwhile my teeth, armpits, and groin suddenly felt freezing cold. Parts of body began to tingle, as if my Spidey Sense was warning me that the worst was still yet to come.
This sudden combination of sensations prohibited me from leaning forward to let it drain from my nose into the sink. Instead, it began to run down the back of my throat sending me into an uncontrollable coughing fit, ultimately leading me to lose control of my rectal retention. Thus removing my ability to govern self control over my sphincter - which regrettably induced an episode of what I'd like to call "unexpected wet farts of despair." I'd estimate, I coughed five times in total, whilst simultaneously farting each time. Each one sounding exactly like air escaping a balloons blow hole being pinched and spread apart. Crying out in a high pitched whine mimicking someone whispering the word "Whhhhhhhyyyyyyyy?" in a really really sad voice.
Take note Arm & Hammer: "Half blind, on fire, and shitting your pants," were not mentioned in potential side effects. You may want to add that for legal purposes.
I implore your marketing and design department to have the word "VERY SPICY" printed on the front of the label. Along with "MAY SHIT PANTS."
Your loyal customer,
Sean

quote:

Slide Back Into the Game!
By Jerome Albertson in the United States on October 12, 2011

I knew getting back in the "dating game" would be a challenge after being out of it for over 5 years. When I was released from Joliet, I had to learn all the new things "the dating crowd" was trying. I knew about scented candles and Luther Vandross CDs, and sure was glad to hear people still use them. But I had no idea that "lube" was so popular with the "romantics" out there. All it took was one stroll through the Walgreens personal hygiene aisle to prove I had to learn a new thing.
"Where to start?", I wondered. I wanted something simple. However, all I saw in the stores were lubricants that were flavored with cinnamon and paprika, or designed to somehow "heat" your private parts. No way, Jose! (I experienced the "heat" thing personally once after an adventurous incident with a toaster. I'll stick with "room temperature" from now on, thank you very much.)
Luckily, I found a plain, old-fashioned lubricant that would not make me smell like a dessert topping. And it came in this HUGE tub! No more awkward late-night Walgreens runs for me, once I could get my hands on this lubricant bin. Now, I admit the price tag was kinda hefty. But after selling the ol' Pontiac Sunfire and borrowing some cash from Aunt Gladys, I was "ready to place my order."
The product only took a week to arrive, and got to my apartment just in time for my first real "date" since the gas station incident. You can bet I was nervous for this one. When I got off the bus to meet Carla in front of the Chili's, I just about had a heart attack! The only thing keeping me calm was knowing that I could not possibly run out of lube that night. I gave Carla a reassuring nod and smile, as if to say "Don't worry, Carla, I have plenty of lubricant for later."
The dinner was great, and after knocking back a couple Mojo Mango Margaritas, we were ready to head back to my apartment. I winked and told Carla, "Let's SLIP on out of here," to see if she understood the lubricant lingo. I think she did. Throughout the bus ride back, I grinned and hummed Luther Vandross tunes to set the mood.
When we got to my place, I already had a candle burning. It was by "Glade", which I think you pronounce like the singer Sade, because it is an exotic candle that smells just like real pine. After we got comfortable, I asked Carla if she could help me with the lube. She looked at me weird, and I couldn't tell if it was because she thought it was "too soon" or because I was pushing a mechanical lift to get the drum barrel out of the storage closet.
So I "took the initiative", as women like men to do, and rolled the barrel out into the living room. "Ready to tap the keg?" I joked, and by "keg" I meant "55-gallon barrel of personal lubricant." She looked at me all shocked, and said "That's it, I'm out of here!" I asked why, since she didn't need to run to Walgreens for more lubricant - there was plenty right here. But she didn't answer, and got up to leave anyway. Then, as Carla was about to pass me and the barrel, she tripped on my dog Poochie and fell right into the lube barrel! The force of the impact downed the barrel and knocked its lid off, sending 55 gallons of water-based lubricant across my faux-hardwood floors.
Carla was completely drenched, and her momentum slid her to the front door - which she somehow managed to pry open with a pair of oven mitts. The last thing I knew, "No-Fun Carla" was screaming profanities and sliding down three flights of steps. I didn't pay much attention because I was too busy trying to salvage the lube. I managed to get about half of it back into the barrel - the other half probably seeped into Mrs. Pulaski's unit below me. I never bothered to ask if she appreciated the free gift of lubricant.
Anyway, despite my "user error", I was quite pleased with the product. These days it's hard to find 55 gallons of scent-free water-based lubricant, and you can find it right here at a discount rate! I had to give it only "4 Stars" because it didn't come with a lifting apparatus. I had to buy my own mechanical lift separately to haul the bin to my future "dates". So if you're ready for fun, "slide" on down to a high quality product at a bargain price!

quote:

It was my last class of the semester, and the final exam was worth 30% of our grade.
After a late night study session I felt confident, but I had to decide between sleeping in or cooking breakfast. My eyelids chose sleep.
My stomach later regretted this decision, and after several uncomfortable stomach growls, I finally decided to make a quick stop by the campus bookstore and grab a snack before my test. Since the semester was ending and everyone was going home for the summer, a lot of items were on sale, including the snacks and candy that they kept up front. Being in the hungry state that I was in, it felt only logical to pick the largest, yet least expensive candy in order to get more bang for my buck.
And there they sat: two bags of Haribo Sugar-Free Gummi Bears, buy one get one free.
"What a deal!" I thought naïvely. I would eat one bag before my test, and one bag afterwards.
As I walked to class, I gleefully chewed on those abominable little bastards, unaware of the utter mayhem that they would soon unleash upon my poor, poor anus.
I sat down at my desk as the professor informed us that, due to issues with cheating in the past, restroom breaks would be prohibited until the completion of the exam.
"I'll give you 10 minutes to use the restroom now; this will be your last chance. Any takers?"
The demon bears hadn't released their unholy necromancy upon my stomach yet, so in my moment of ignorant foolishness, I remained seated, still munching on those miniature bear-shaped bombs.
After the students wise enough to take the professor's offer had returned, the professor handed out the test. I was six questions in when it happened.
It started subtly at first, almost like a slight tingly sensation in my lower abdomen. I thought nothing of it, assuming my intestines were just doing their thang. Little did I know that my intestines were trying desperately to warn me of the horror that was on the horizon.
By question 9 it happened again, but this time it was followed by a sharp pain, as if those infernal hellions had orchestrated an attack upon my colon. I fought to contain the groan that tried escaping my lips. It was at this point I began to panic; something was going horribly long, and I needed to get through this test before it got any worse.
By question 14 my worst fear was upon me; the Satan bears' burning, hot, liquidy dark magic crashed against my anal sphincter like a tidal wave. I was able to close the hatch just in time, but those relentless, toxic bears beat against it like Orcs breaking down the doors of Helm's Deep. I knew I wouldn't be able to so much as shift in my seat without risking a breach.
I kept fighting through my exam, clenching my cheeks with all my might. Beads of sweat began rolling down my neck. Suddenly, a loud, gurgling war cry came from my belly, and the entire class lifted their heads.
At this point, nothing mattered except expelling this ungodly presence from my bowels. With 15 questions left, I promptly wrote C for every answer and ran out of the classroom. My professor yelled something, but I was too preoccupied with the volcanic eruption that needed to take place before I could find sweet, sweet relief.
I burst into the restroom like the Kool-Aid man and, behold, the handicap stall was empty. Sun rays from the adjacent window shone upon it, as if it were a gift from God himself. It took me less than .5 seconds to undo my belt buckle, pull down my pants, and finally relax my weary buttocks upon the toilet seat.
It took absolutely no effort to expel this demon. Almost immediately, the floodgates of hell were opened and the damned, liquified souls of an entire bag's worth of gummi bears cried as they burned through my sphincter and into the watery abyss below. I had never felt such simultaneous relief and anguish in my life.
After 30 more minutes of this, I immediately went home, dug a hole in my backyard, and burned the remaining bag of gummi bears.
I leave with this; do not, I repeat do NOT eat these spawns of Satan. Not only did they cause me to fail my final test, but the anguish I experienced is something I wouldn't wish upon anyone, not even my worst enemy. The only place these god forsaken hell bears belong are buried deep below the Earth's surface.

quote:

Originally posted by P250UA5:
Sugar free gummy bears
Posting from my phone so I can't link/quote right now.

quote:

Specifically Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears.

quote:

Sweet baby Jesus this is unreadable
Two stars just as courtesy for the effort by author and the occasional interesting story or anecdote sprinkled in.

I really wanted to make it all the way through this but just can't. about 65% in and deleted this from Kindle in hopes of forgetting about it entirely.

Be warned, this reads much more like a research paper than a book for entertainment. This is due to both the flow of the book as well as the constant, and I mean CONSTANT insertion of citations for every unique thought that is put on the page. I understand the idea of attribution to others who may have written these, but there has got to be a better way to manage this. Or maybe, just perhaps, with all the research that was supposedly done develop and write your own observation rather than building a book of quotes from others.

If that's not enough, then let's also stick to the research paper methodology employed by 7th graders everywhere; if ten words is enough to convey a thought, concept or story, then by all means you should definitely use fifty or more. But don't stop there, keep repeating the same items over, and over, and over again. That will drive up your word count and we do get graded based on the volume of the paper, right?

And what's with the constant use of the phrase "Southern imaginary?". The first time I saw it thought it was a missed edit correction. But no, look, it's right there in the title! It also must be used repeatedly and unnecessarily just to jar you back to another moment of confusion and frustration. I actually searched for a definition of imaginary that would actually fit what I think is the intended meaning and context and either that doesn't exist or I'm just too dumb to understand it.

Oh wait, that's another key in the theme of overeducated middle school writing efforts! Let's use the biggest and most obscure words in our rambling repetitive thoughts as much as possible because that will surely make us look even smarter, right?

Other than as a vehicle to use as much ink as possible (virtual or literal), the only other discernible theme from the part of the book I could force myself through is to allow the author to soapbox as much as possible about racism, pandemic experiences and behaviors, and goodness knows what else. The lecture series inserted to explain the origin and badness of historical racism of the past, but only in the South, is ridiculous. Not entirely inaccurate, but it is only needed for the 10-30 pages this consumes if the reader is an alien who just landed with zero historical knowledge. Sprinkle in some praise for BLM and other organizations that have certainly come under increased scrutiny for their practices since 2020.

Look, I almost never leave reviews and probably never one this long. I have just been so frustrated by this book every time I've picked it up that I want to avoid similar pain for anyone else. Unfortunately much of my reading was in bed, so someone owes me some peaceful sleep as recompense for what I lost. See, big useless words are flowing out of me now!

Sweet baby Jesus indeed. Read the owners manual for an appliance instead, at least that has a clear purpose.