- Spandex Bonerlord
- Sep 30, 2014
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Post your favorite amazon reviews here! Whether it be funny or cringe-worthy, share it!
My sack smells like a summer breeze. A summer breeze that will have sex with you for money. Thank you Fresh Balls!
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This product is great. I'm a male prostitute I need my genitals to be fresh at all times. Nothing turns a paying customer off more than a pair of acorns that reek like, well..... that reek like you're a male prostitute. I work mostly with older ladies who enjoy the company of an guy who has confidence that his bojangles smell clean and presentable. This product does that. Before I used Fresh Balls my giblets stuck to my leg and would smell like burnt plastic and garbage juice. My sales were terrible and I thought I would have to quit the biz and move back in with my parents. (My dad is an extremely successful male prostitute so this is even more embarrassing.) I tried everything from cologne, to Lysol, to actually washing them and nothing seemed to stop the stink. I bought Fresh Balls as a last ditch effort to save my career. Holy heck did it work! My marbles are clean, fresh, and ready to go at all times. No longer do I have to worry that if I pick up a Jill (what we call female customers in the biz) at the dollar store by my condo that my balls smell sour. They don't smell sour. They smell great. You don't have to be a male prostitute to buy this product. It works for everybody with a sack that wants it to smell like a summer breeze. My sack smells like a summer breeze. A summer breeze that will have sex with you for money. Thank you Fresh Balls!
And who could forget this classic!
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The place: BMO Harris Bradley Center
The event: Bucks VS Spurs
The snack: Satan's Diarrhea Hate Bears made by Haribo
I recently took my 4 year old son to his first NBA game. He was very excited to go to the game, and I was excited because we had fantastic seats. Row C center court to be exact. I've never sat that close before. I've never had to go DOWN stairs to get to my seats. 24 stairs to get to my seats to be exact.
His favorite candy is Skittles. Mine are anything gummy. I snuck in a bag of skittles for my son, and grabbed a handful of gummy bears for myself, to be later known as Satan's Diarrhea Hate Bears, that I received for Christmas in bulk from my parents, and put them in a zip lock bag.
After the excitement of the 1st quarter has ended I take my son out to get him a bottled water and myself a beer. We return to our seats to enjoy our candy and drinks.
..............fast forward until 1 minute before half time...........
I have begun to sweat a sweat that is only meant for a man on mile 19 of a marathon. I have kicked out my legs out so straight that I am violently pushing the gentleman wearing a suit seat in front of me forward. He is not happy, I do not care. My hands are on the side of my seat not unlike that of a gymnast on a pommel horse, lifting me off my chair. My son is oblivious to what is happening next to him, after all, there is a mascot running around somewhere and he is eating candy.
I realize that at some point in the very near to immediate future I am going to have to allow this lava from Satan to forcefully expel itself from my innards. I also realize that I have to walk up 24 stairs just to get to level ground in hopes to make it to the bathroom. I’ll just have to sit here stiff as a board for a few moments waiting for the pain to subside. About 30 seconds later there is a slight calm in the storm of the violent hurricane that is going on in my lower intestine. I muster the courage to gently relax every muscle in my lower half and stand up. My son stands up next to me and we start to ascend up the stairs. I take a very careful and calculated step up the first stair. Then a very loud horn sounds. Halftime. Great. It’s going to be crowded. The horn also seems to have awaken the Satan's Diarrhea Hate Bears that are having a mosh pit in my stomach. It literally felt like an avalanche went down my stomach and I again have to tighten every muscle and stand straight up and focus all my energy on my poor sphincter to tighten up and perform like it has never performed before. Taking another step would be the worst idea possible, the flood gates would open. Don’t worry, Daddy has a plan. I some how mumble the question, “want to play a game?” to my son, he of course says “yes”. My idea is to hop on both feet allllll the way up the stairs, using the center railing to propel me up each stair. My son is always up for a good hopping game, so he complies and joins in on the “fun”. Some old lady 4 steps up thinks its cute that we are doing this, obviously she wasn’t looking at the panic on my face. 3 rows behind her a man about the same age as me, who must have had similar situations, notices the fear/panic/desperation on my face understands the danger that I along with my pants and anyone within a 5 yard radius spray zone are in. He just mouths the words “good luck man” to me and I press on. Half way up and there is no leakage, but my legs are getting tired and my sphincter has never endured this amount of pressure for this long of time. 16 steps/hops later…….4 steps to go…….My son trips and falls on the stairs, I have two options: keep going knowing he will catch up or bend down to pick him up relieving my sphincter of all the pressure and commotion while ruining the day of roughly the 50 people that are now watching a grown man hop up stairs while sweating profusely next to a 4 year old boy.
Luckily he gets right back up and we make it to the top of the stairs. Good, the hard part was over. Or so I thought. I managed to waddle like a penguin, or someone who is about to poop their pants in 2.5 seconds, to the men's room only to find that every stall is being used. EVERY STALL. It's halftime, of course everyone has to poop at that moment. I don't know if I can wait any longer, do I go ahead and fulfil the dream of every high school boy and poop in the urinal? What kind of an example would that set for my son? On the other hand, what kind of an example would it be for his father to fill his pants with a substance that probably will be unrecognizable to man. Suddenly a stall door opens, and I think I manage to actually levitate over to the stall. I my son follows me in, luckily it was the handicap stall so there was room for him to be out of the way. I get my pants off and start to sit. I know what taking a giant poo feels like. I also know what vomiting feels like. I can now successfully say that I know what it is like to vomit out my butt. I wasn't pooping, those Satan's Diarrhea Hate Bears did something to my insides that made my sphincter vomit our the madness.
I am now conscious of my surroundings. Other than the war that the bottom half of my body is currently having with this porcelain chair, it is quiet as a pin drop in the bathroom. The other men in there can sense that something isn't right, no one has heard anyone ever poop vomit before.
I can sense that the worst part is over. But its not stopping, nor can I physically stop it at this point, I am leaking..it's horrible. I call out "does anyone have a diaper?" hoping that some gentleman was changing a baby. Nothing. No one said a word. I know people are in there, I can see the toes of shoes pointed in my direction under the stall.. "DOES ANYONE HAVE A DIAPER!?!" I am screaming, my son is now crying, he thinks he is witnessing the death of his father. I can't even assure him that I will make it.
Not a word was said, but a diaper was thrown over the stall. I catch it, line my underwear with it, put my pants back on, and walk out of that bathroom like a champ. We go straight to our seats, grab out coats and go home. As we are walking out, the gentleman that wished me good luck earlier simply put his fist out, and I happily bumped it.
My son asks me, "Daddy, why are we leaving early?"
"Well son, I need to change my diaper"
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Sep 1, 2015 14:25
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Apr 19, 2024 05:48
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- Flaggy
- Jul 6, 2007
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Grandpa Cthulu needs his napping chair
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Grimey Drawer
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Pretty much the best one ever.
http://www.amazon.com/Passion-Natural-Water-Based-Lubricant-Gallon/dp/B005MR3IVO
quote: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!
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Sep 1, 2015 14:53
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- GOTTA STAY FAI
- Mar 24, 2005
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~no glitter in the gutter~
~no twilight galaxy~
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College Slice
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Mousepad's Ungodly smell will haunt you indefinitely,
quote:Other people have complained about the odor, but I just want to reiterate this issue.
I was struck by how bad it smelled when I got it, but I figured after a few days the smell would dissipate and it wouldn't be an issue.
I was wrong. It was like my desk had a chemical plant sitting on it, emitting hazardous toxins into my nose at all times. It's hard to explain just how bad this smell is. It smells like an abusive relationship. Or a bum fight initiated by frat boys. Or dying alone with no friends to attend your funeral. Or whatever the worst possible thing you can imagine is. Seriously, that bad.
But to be less metaphoric, it smells like some sort of noxious chemical run-off odor, mixed with pungent body odor and a stale ashtray.
Your wrist rubs on this thing, and makes your sleeve smell like its putrescence.
After 5 days of it being on my desk and giving me a headache and it's odor not fading, I decided to try washing it. I used hot water and lots of strong soap. This had no effect.
After another few days, still unable to breath comfortably at my own desk, I threw it in the trash and closed the lid.
Here's the worst part: I threw it away over a week ago and my desktop STILL smells like that awful thing. Even in its absence it still almost triggers my gag reflex at times. I've washed my desktop surface multiple times now, with three different wood cleaners, letting them soak in, and STILL it wreaks.
I would not recommend this product to anyone, unless they were trying to ruin someone's desk with it.
"It smells like an abusive relationship" is my favorite description of anything ever
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Sep 3, 2015 21:26
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Sep 1, 2015 14:25
