Amazon Illustrated: Giant Mutant Ants!

The Internet is a very strange place. Take a serious look around and you will find no shortage of flame wars, porn, rage comics, atrocious grammar, porn, advertising, porn, and forums and communities built around every bizzare topic imaginable.

But once in a while, people on the Internet come together just to have fun. And sometimes such a thing can grow a mind of its own and become bigger than any of the contributors... and it can be downright hilarious.

This is one of those times.

Allow me to present this tin of Uranium Ore available on Amazon.com for the low price of $49.95 USD! (Plus shipping.)

Yes, this is a REAL product.

Let's see what reviewers have to say about it, shall we?

--------------- 247 of 260 people found the following review helpful 1.0 out of 5 stars Movies Lie By Melvazord - See all my reviews This review is from: Uranium Ore Do not be fooled by this product. I bought this along with four terrapins and a rat (since I couldnt lay my hands on a warthog and a rhino). I rubbed this product into my skin and gums then rolled around with the terrapins and the rat. Long story short I did NOT end up with my own crime-fighting mutant superhero team. The rat bit me and I crushed the terrapins. Also I now have a strange rash and Im coughing up blood, whats up with that? Avoid. --------------- 9,068 of 9,225 people found the following review helpful 3.0 out of 5 stars Great Product, Poor Packaging By Patrick J. McGovern "Procrastinating Evil Scientist" (Hollowed Out Volcano Lair) - See all my reviews This review is from: Uranium Ore I purchased this product 4.47 Billion Years ago and when I opened it today, it was half empty. --------------- 2,924 of 3,047 people found the following review helpful 4.0 out of 5 stars Ok for cleaning teeth, not so great for killing ants... By Nero Goldstein "Bemused by a Muse" (The Great Nation of Texas) - See all my reviews This review is from: Uranium Ore Picked this up for use in one of my kid's 'diversity' projects in school (Great Success!), and stuck the leftovers in the cabinet next to the baking soda. Ran out of toothpaste, and remembered how you're supposed to be able to use baking soda to clean your teeth, so of course, I accidentally used this instead, and Wow! all I can say is, my teeth have never been cleaner! They sparkle, they tingle, and for some reason, they STAY clean now, no matter what. Highly recommended! However, when I ran out of that fire-ant killer powder stuff, I figured I would try some for that too. Big mistake! Boy, it sure did not kill those ants!

Fortunately, those suckers get slower as they get bigger, so I have been able to use a shovel to take care of most of them, one at a time though, the sneaky devils. And the darn trash man refuses to take them away.. I would have given this product 5 stars for the teeth and the project on embracing diversity, but I deducted one star because of the giant mutant ants. ---------------

I pulled out some of the best, but there are literally hundreds of these reviews. Want more? Here you go!

Funny and sarcastic reviews can be found all over Amazon.com. Do you have another example I should try illustrating? Link me up in the comments! If I use your suggestion, I'll link back to your blog or website in the post. =)

Procrastination: A History

I've been a procrastinator for as long as I can remember.

...And that statement is 100% literal. What follows is actually my earliest childhood memory: a tragic tale of one part incontinence, two parts procrastination and three parts dismal failure.

At no more than three years of age, I was literate at a grade 8+ level and thoroughly potty-trained. But one day I found myself too engrossed in play to listen to nature's calls.

I was sitting in the family room at the time, happily constructing a tower. It had been a year since my last accident and I was quite capable of holding my own urine, thank you very much. But LEGOs were much more interesting than my stupid bladder; nature could go piss itself 'cause I wasn't going to.

With each warning of impending leakage, I thought: "I'll just place a couple more blocks. Then I'll go." I figured I could hold off for... oh, at least another ten minutes. I was doing Important Things and I needed to finish them.

This doomed rationale continued far, far longer than it should have.

Finally the moment came when pure instinct took over.

I could not wait a minute longer — I had to go, NOW.

Fearing the worst, I jumped to my feet and booked it down the hallway. It would be close, but I was going to make it! I still had time!

The distance to the toilet was a mere 20 feet, but I fought for every inch.

Tiny legs churning furiously, I dashed into the bathroom with seconds to spare. I didn't bother to close the door behind me, but by golly, I had done it! I was home free! Relief was so close I could taste it! (No wait. Eww.)

I threw up the lid of the toilet, whipped down my pants and...

Peed ALL over them.

Naturally, these purple pants were invisible prior to removal.

I was a mess. Enter on cue my dear mother, who cleaned me up and consoled my traumatized self.

She has no memory of any of this, but it has stayed with me for 16 long years. I should have learned a lesson here, but I think only my bladder muscles have gained any self-control.

This still happens so often — with schoolwork, catching the next bus and neglecting to stir my morning oatmeal as it cooks — that I've even named it the "Peed Pants Phenomenon."

The Peed Pants Phenomenon:
A form of non-functional procrastination where a task is put off just barely past the point of catastrophe; right up until the deadline actually occurs, the victim firmly believes that he or she can still make it on time.

Thankfully, I've never suffered a relapse involving urine.

Have you ever peed your pants, literally or figuratively? Share your story in the comments!

Taking Photos of Butts is Probably Illegal or Something

Especially a stranger's butt. I'm fairly sure that even considering it certifies me as a Grade A Creeper. (Do I get a badge for that?)

Tuesday evening I was minding my own business and heading home on city transit. We stopped at a station like any other, the doors opened, the doors closed, nothing was out of the ordinary.

Nothing, that is, until I became the unwilling bench-mate of this wardrobe-malfunctioning peacock.

Due to technical difficulty this image is an artist's rendition only.

I hold all pant owners who decline to cover their underwear in the highest disregard, but this degree of failure is a rare breed. Firstly, all his other clothing was neutrally-coloured. If the one splash of colour had been anything but underwear, I would have admired his sense of style. What ran through my mind instead was this:

Mister, did you PLAN on looking like a baboon when you dressed yourself this morning?

It was bad. I've tried to match the colour as accurately as possible, but something my drawing can't convey is how tight they were. I learned, in a glance, more than I ever wished to know about the thickness of the cloth. The very prominent seams were dangerously strained.

It's the new corset for buttocks! Can your butt even BREATHE?

Naturally, I chose to do what any writer would do after such an experience.

I am so going to blog about this.

Then it occurred to me that rants about the "style" of wearing one's trousers hung halfway to Hades were already way overdone. Hence:

I should take a PICTURE of his butt and blog about it!!!

Oh no.

I'm not sure how human decency allowed that thought into my conscious mind, but the idea stuck. I was determined to somehow get a picture of this butt without the guy noticing.

• iPod? No good; it only does video and this picture needs to be high-quality.
• Cell phone? Nope... It plays a recorded duck sound when taking pictures and I can't turn that off.
• Camera! I still have it in my backpack from earlier today. YES.

I began forming a strategy. While I could probably get away with just holding a camera, taking one out only to point it at someone's butt would surely arouse suspicion. This was my plan:

1. Inconspicuously obtain camera.
2. Turn off flash and sound under the guise of looking through previous pictures.
3. Take pictures of moderately disinteresting things through the train window.
4. Lower camera and pretend to check settings while aiming at the offending butt.
5. Hit that shutter button like a ninja!
6. Check results; repeat if necessary.

With my scheming complete I rummaged through the contents of my backpack, shifting papers as quietly as possible. With each rustle and clatter of pencils I was sure I could feel Mr. Baboon's laser-eyes watching me, prepared to decapitate me with a glance. At last I located my camera. Carefully and casually I slid it up onto my lap.

Mr. Baboon looked directly at me.

I aimed the camera down, avoided all eye contact and deliberately gazed out the window. I held back a powerful urge to whistle.

Mr. Baboon turned away.

I slowly turned back to the camera to adjust its settings. Holding my breath, I discreetly slid the power switch to the "ON" position. Nothing.

THE BATTERY IS DEAD?!? D=

Even worse! The train began to slow down for the next stop and Mr. Baboon shifted his weight as if preparing to stand up.

He's going to LEAVE? Noooooo!

Shoving my good pal Secrecy off of the proverbial cliff, I dove for my notebook and threw it open to the first mostly-empty page. My pencil tore over the paper in a mad frenzy as I dashed to finish the obscene doodle as a reference for my future, erm...

"Work of art."

Hey look, it's a moustache!

If you need me I'll be at home, waiting for the Blog Police to show up and permanently revoke my maturity license.

BLOOD

I'm not the most organized person. I misplace things all the time — not just lose them mind you, but put them somewhere they have no business going. My friend/roommate always seemed to catch me doing this, thank goodness. She was also wonderful to have around when I would put something down and forget where it was within three seconds.

She moved out a month ago and I've since had to fend for myself. For the most part I've managed all right, but today I encountered a veritable catastrophe of my own making in the kitchen:

Dark, reddish-purple liquid had seeped everywhere. Having no idea what it was I opened the fridge door, fearing the worst. What had died in my fridge?

Well, ladies and gentlemen, this is why I should not be allowed to create midnight snacks while half-asleep. Last night, feeling peckish, I ate a huge bowl full of fruit and yogurt. As a funds-deficient student, I mostly keep frozen fruit on hand rather than fresh. This includes some tubs of raspberries, strawberries and

...a GIANT bag of frozen blueberries.

Or they were frozen, once. Now they sat completely thawed and pathetically compressed together in a bag that was leaking juice all over my vegetables, leftovers and a (mercifully sealed) bag of assorted bagels.

You'd think I'd have realized that refrigerating a questionably-permeable bag of frozen fruit was an unintelligent idea. What's sad is that I have no recollection of doing this. What's even more pathetic is that I do vaguely remember having these thoughts as I put away the other frozen fruit last night:

Conscious brain: That's funny, the freezer looks emptier than usual.
Semi-consious brain: I wonder where the blueberries are. Hmm.
Sleep-deprived brain: Mmmm that yogurt was good and I AM THE ONLY ONE YOU CAN HEAR. PILLOW-RASPBERRY-CLOUD-HJKSAJF-CELLPHONE-MUMBLE.

Blueberries, I am dreadfully sorry for murdering you so thoughtlessly.

I have hope that my attempts at cryogenic resuscitation may yet prove successful. In the meantime, please try your best to avoid dripping blood on the frozen hot dogs.