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Making a defective product is ridiculously easy. Hell, even a tiny baby can make a cake that cannot be eaten. What takes true talent is designing a product with malfunctions that reach above and beyond the realm of the possible. Maybe you're designing a safe and neat car that just happens to attract hordes of spiders. Maybe your brand new safety holster causes guns to randomly fire themselves.

Or maybe, just maybe, you came up with a product so terrifyingly vile that it doesn't just train-wreck itself, but actively pisses ruin all over the great thing it's supposed to honor.

The Alcohol That Ruins Booze

Whipped Lightning

Our world is made of many things, most of which are completely fine on their own. But combine them with other concepts and they can easily turn into things of pure, primal horror: beer and base-jumping, kindergarten and meteorites, toothpaste and orange juice. That's why we have chefs and interior decorators and folks who are really good at Tetris. They're the people who are great at finding things that go well together, a valuable skill that surprisingly few of us possess.

The mad scientists who presumably invented Whipped Lightning to finance their bouts with Batman certainly don't.

Whipped Lightning
In case you can't make it out and feel like punching something, that label reads "hazelnut espresso whipahol."

Whipped Lightning is flavored whipped cream that's 36.5 proof. As in, it's got alcohol in it. Now, your gut reaction might be to jump up and scream: "I can't tell if Whipped Lightning is a new kind of alcohol or the title for a new Steven Seagal movie where this time he has a whip, but, either way, HOLY SHIT, I AM ON BOARD!" It's all right -- that's what I did at first, too. But when you sit back and really think about the concept, you may spot some itty bitty cracks in its facade.

It's true that the idea of a whipped cream that can get you shitfaced is, on paper, a wonderful one. But have you ever tasted anything dairy-based that has alcohol in it? There are two ways that can go, and unless you're following a pre-existing recipe, there's a fair chance that your ouzo-yogurt experiment will wind up a curdled blob that you insist on naming the Royal Flush, despite the fact that it looks like hobo underpants and tastes like hobo feet.

Thinkstock/Stockbyte/Getty Images
This is the one that alcoholic eggnog for Christmas comes from.

That's the score with Whipped Lightning: It manages to take the good things of whipped cream (sweetness, texture, ability to gorge on until it looks like you have a miniature iceberg coming out of your mouth) and the good things of alcohol (alcohol) and throw them all right out of the window. What's left is an ugly spray can filled with artificially flavored muck that tastes like chemicals and rubbing alcohol.

I'm guessing the taste aspect could probably be overlooked (by frat boys, if no one else) if this thing would work like shots and you could get loaded with just a few mouthfuls. But although 36.5 proof is by no means a bad toxicity score for a dessert frosting, this still leaves it with no more kick than, say, fortified wine. And I can't shake the feeling that even the most dedicated I-drink-because-I-hate-myself wino would seriously consider sobriety if the other option requires them to chug a wine bottle's worth of pressure-packed udder pudding that tastes like licking a hospital.

The Butt Flap That Makes Your Dog a Source of Shame

Rear Gear

Here's a controversial claim: Dogs are awesome.

This doesn't mean that all dog owners are, though. Unless you're planning to adopt, getting a dog can be done almost as casually as making a baby, which is why plenty of people who probably shouldn't wind up doing both. This is why the pet product industry is able to get away with ridiculous products and services like these and these and these and these and fucking these.

However, no amount of cluelessness on their owners' part manages to take away the fact that dogs are, indeed, awesome. Even if you're the sort of person who dresses their pup in colorful clothing and makes it wear a dog shit harness, it's extremely difficult to walk your dog in a park and look bad. Because you're hanging out with a dog, and that's awesome.

That is, unless you make your pet wear the Rear Gear.

Rear Gear
"Finally, I can take a picture with my dog's asshole without the stigma attached to taking a picture with my dog's asshole."

The Rear Gear is a flap that covers your pet's butthole, because those things just aren't natural. Strapping one on your dog (or cat, because you're a double sociopath) will instantly turn your beloved pet into the animal equivalent of those cringe-inducing cars with "wacky" bumper stickers. You know, the ones that you just know are driven by a complete and utter turdmonger? That's what your beloved animal companion looks like now.

I know what you're thinking: "I don't want anyone to see my dog's butthole, but I'm also afraid of flower stickers." Don't worry, there are PLENTY of non-flower butthole stickers for you, person I hope I never meet.

Rear Gear
As a comedy writer, I'm disproportionately pissed off because that award ribbon thing says #1.

Although your dog itself might be blissfully oblivious of the Rear Gear, I guarantee that the other dogs in the park will take up karate, just to save their owners the trouble of kicking you in the crotch.

Also, there's this: If you've ever been bothered by your dog's asshole so much that you feel the need to cover it, there's a chance it might be because you're spending way too much time staring at a dog's asshole.

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The Sex Toy That Ruins Sex


Sometimes, the wonderful steak that is boning needs a little something to go with it. A hint of sauce, if you know what I mean. Maybe some nice side dishes, if you catch my- no, not fries. Not LITERAL FRIES. Jesus. Put that deep fryer away.

"But ... for fucking ..."

I'm speaking, of course, of sex toys. Everyone and their mom -- especially your mom -- knows that there are all sorts of gadgets available for the experimental mind, and also some slightly lower regions. We all like different things, and the wonderful laws of supply and demand make sure that all those things are available on the shelves somewhere. I get that, and I'm not going to step on people's metaphorical (or actual) dicks by claiming that the dildo gas mask doesn't have its fans out there.

However, toys are toys. The Oral Sex Light is something else altogether.

Even the package is laughing at you.

From French ticklers to fuck chairs, most sex toys at least have the potential to be romantic. It's perfectly conceivable that somewhere there's a couple that can have a romantic candlelight dinner and then naturally, effortlessly proceed to whip out the plastic chinstrap dong. The Oral Sex Light is a different beast. The very concept makes romance and erotica equally impossible, because it's a fucking flashlight that's shaped like a hands-free earpiece. How do you introduce it into the proceedings? How does your significant other keep their mood (or, for that matter, a straight face) when you then proceed to flop about their nether regions with your excavation light's beam zapping all across their thighs, walls, and face, giving away your every tiny motion and blinding them every time you inconspicuously glance up to check if they're starting to look bored? You might as well be wearing a miner's helmet, except that's less embarrassing because no one looks like a misguided maniac when they actually purchase a miner's helmet.

Luckily, it appears that humanity is slowly realizing this particular error of our sexin' ways. The Oral Sex Light is indefinitely out of stock on Amazon, and an afternoon of investigative journalism failed to locate any from nearby sex shops. Still, this relief was somewhat tainted, because investigative journalism was reminded that zombie Fleshlights are a thing that very much exists (link NSFW) and was forced to spend the rest of the night weeping quietly into a whiskey bottle.

(Also laughing because I said "taint" in the previous sentence.)

The Bacon Product That Ruins Bacon


Ever since the Internet crowned bacon the official Food of the Gods, the delicacy has been abused in a great many ways. From T-shirts to candy to cologne to lubricant, online shops are teeming with strange bacon-themed products that bear as much resemblance to the actual food item as crude oil does to dinosaurs. However, none of the bacon candles and air fresheners out there actually hurt the reputation of the original, except maybe by diminishing it via overexposure and sheer stupidity. They're just harmless fun for people who are easily entertained and don't mind constantly smelling like rancid pig fat.

And then there is Yoder's canned bacon.

Yoder's is advertised as a delicious snack that is fully comparable to freshly cooked bacon, despite the fact that it has a shelf life of 10 goddamn years. So when you innocently crack open the can to obtain your hourly bacon fix, you're totally unprepared to find this:

They say if you hold it to your ear, you can hear the pig from Babe crying.

If you somehow find the courage to unravel that log of stale-smelling Lovecraftian horror and peel off the congealed blobs of white fat, you may temporarily let out a sigh of relief. The actual product features far fewer tentacles than you'd assume and in fact manages to look almost like ordinary bacon ...


... and by "ordinary bacon," I mean "skin-like strips of uncertain origin that look like leftovers from Leatherface's family dinner." Still, even this means nothing. Let's face it -- as delicious as it is, bacon is not exactly a looker at the best of times. It's all about the taste, which, incidentally, is a sense you immediately regret having once you bite into a rasher of Yoder's. This "bacon" is smelly, stringy, mealy, and without any semblance of meaty texture whatsoever. Even a quick taste is likely to leave your hands and mouth coated in a thin sheen of slimy grease that you just know will never completely go away. The only things that make it taste slightly like real bacon are the many, many artificial chemicals (including "smoke flavor") that feature heavily on the list of ingredients.

As a nice "fuck your cardiovascular system" touch, this is apparently the smallest amount the company sells.

See, that's the reason Yoder's is so terrifying. It's not bad because it tries to be funny. It's not loathsome because it rides the coattails of greatness with some random product the company pooped together in five minutes and slapped a bacon pattern on. It's bad because it actively shoves perfectly good bacon in tiny cans, using imprisonment and chemicals to break it and turn it into a twisted imitation of its former glory.

That's not a product, that's bacon torture.

Pauli Poisuo once accidentally bought a hat that made him look like Bret Michaels, thus forever ruining the concepts of hats and Bret Michaels. Follow him on Twitter.

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