22 Times Reviewers Did Not Hold Back With Their Hilarious Reviews

Review: "I’ve never quite known life until I’ve owned this building. I feel like a landlord, farmer, and Minecraft advocate all in one little tornado proof cube. If you’ve ever wanted to find Love, buy this. If you’ve ever wanted to find happiness, buy this. If you’ve ever wanted to buy this, maybe buy this? Thank you so much for creating the place that I’ll spend my last days. Life is better with the foldable barn." - Christian

Review: "Oh, where do I even begin with "Becky's Beaver Needs a Barber"? This literary gem has reshaped the way I view both beavers and the entire world of adult coloring books. Move over Shakespeare; there's a new bard in town.

From the moment I laid eyes on this rhyming masterpiece, I knew I was in for a treat. Who knew that the untold story of a beaver in dire need of a trim could be so profoundly moving? The depth of character development in Becky's beaver is truly awe-inspiring. I found myself emotionally invested in the fate of that furry critter in a way I never thought possible.

The rhyming wordplay is nothing short of Shakespearean, transcending the boundaries of literature itself. Each page turned felt like a poetic journey into the unexplored realms of beaver grooming. It's a tale of follicular chaos and redemption, a narrative arc that rivals the great epics of our time.

Move over, Pulitzer Prize; here comes the Beavitzer Prize for literary excellence!" - Handsome Matt

Review: "I was excited to receive my Nicodemus Coffin Bed and try it out, but I have to say that I am EXTREMELY unhappy with it! If I had more time I would explain further, but I think my phone battery is nearly dead and really what I need is someone to help a girl out. Really. OUT. The sound of the dirt falling has stopped and it's getting really stuffy in this thi" - Lori Smith

Review: "Nothing holds the family together like a shared interest in the weapons of death." - chollycee

Review: "After all these years the answer to the glass ceiling is FINALLY resolved. *Squeal with glee!* What was holding women back was not having this delicate pastel pen that was designed for HER. Who knew? The genius boys over at Bic did, of course! Why, I'm so giddy with excitement my husband may even get lucky tonight. ;)" - Robin

Review: "I can't understand all the negative reviews! This book literally contains everything I could ever ask for in a book. Recipe for spanokopita? Check! Name of every person ever born? Check! Next week's powerball, bingo, MLB, and NASCAR results? Check! By randomly combining and recombining the contents at random, I have read the works of Shakespeare, Harry Potter 8: the Tomb of Crying Stilton (to be released in 2014), the Bible AND the REAL Bible. I threw out my other books when I realized I could just jump around in this book and derive any other book I wanted. I think Borges wrote a story about this, but it's taking me a while to find that story in my book. I did find some steamy erotica this morning, though, so who's complaining?" - B. Dean

Review: "It deserves 5 stars for the ease of reading which means anyone from any culture with any language or non language background at any age can surmount this book. My only gripe is that they should have also released a Kindle edition. Being able to pull out a digital copy during a date helps me to remind myself why wine has been slathered on my face and is dripping on my shirt." - Hobbyist

Review: "I love these things! I was just sitting on my couch minding my own business one night watching an episode of Southern Charm, when out of nowhere the ladies were taking Chambong shots. As a half classy and half trashy adult who also considers themselevs boujee, you can bet, I IMMEDIATELY ordered a set of these to try for myself. The excitement I felt when these got delivered on the very same night my friends and I were having a get together, is like no other. If you know…you know. I will NEVER regret this purchase! You gotta live boujee to be boujee BAY BE!" - Katieeeeeee

Review: "For decades I have been trying to come up with an ideal way to slice a banana. "Use a knife!" they say. Well...my parole officer won't allow me to be around knives. "Shoot it with a gun!" Background check...HELLO! I had to resort to carefully attempt to slice those bananas with my bare hands. 99.9% of the time, I would get so frustrated that I just ended up squishing the fruit in my hands and throwing it against the wall in anger. Then, after a fit of banana-induced rage, my parole officer introduced me to this kitchen marvel and my life was changed. No longer consumed by seething anger and animosity towards thick-skinned yellow fruit, I was able to concentrate on my love of theatre and am writing a musical play about two lovers from rival gangs that just try to make it in the world. I think I'll call it South Side Story.

Banana slicer...thanks to you, I see greatness on the horizon." - SW3K

Review: "I highly recommend this product for anyone who is searching for the perfect Boss' Day gift. We got this for my boss, and he loved it so much he couldn't even speak. Best.Employee.Ever." - Ibuy2much

Review: "Veet and other Amazon reviewers warned me not to put this product on certain ... sensitive areas of my body. I decided years ago that I never want children of my own, so I ignored these warnings.

Lo, though I soon learned that the prophets which spake of Hell fire verily spake truth!

Within 5 seconds of applying the product to these forbidden regions I felt an increasingly intense burning sensation. Choosing to see this as a challenge to my masculinity I laughed to myself and proceeded to wait for the remainder of the 4 minutes. Sweat was beginning to form on my forehead, but it was finally time to use the little, plastic scrapper thing to rid myself of those cursed hairs.

First swipe with the scrapper - my mouth surely dropped open in horror at the pain. I clearly remember looking down to ensure that only hair was removed and not skin!

Second swipe - random expletives and nervous laughter.

Third swipe - whimpering. Seriously.

Then I got the bright idea of watering down the Veet before continuing with the hair scrapping. I hoped for merciful, healing waters. Instead, the fiery lake of Beelzebub descended upon my flesh!

Realizing then that water was only going to re-activate the now partially dried up Veet, I hurried scrapped off more and more hair. Hobbling to my shower I decided that i would instead wash the Veet and my hair off as fast as I could.

After 15 minutes of washing myself in the shower over and over the pain had greatly subsided. It was finally over! Happily drying myself I remember laughing and thinking "I must have a really high pain tolerance", once more confident in my masculinity.

Then, to my horror I realized that not only was the pain gone, but that I no longer felt hardly any thing down there! Like a deer staring at headlights I stared downwards while my mind screamed "... did they die?!!"

Lotion - I hastily found my savior and baptized myself with its cool, soothing relief. Ever so slight burning sensation ... mild burning ... very hot burning ... suddenly I felt the pain of a thousand paper-cuts exposed to jalepeno peppers!

Sprinting to my nearby box fan I stood there shaking, hoping for salvation. The cool air changed nothing. I ignored the warnings of the prophets and there would be no mercy for me! For the next 20 or so minutes I paced back and forth desperately waiting for the punishment of my transgression to cease.

Oddly, the pain did cease and quite suddenly. I think that numbness has set in, like when you eat waaay too many hot peppers. Maybe my skin just died. Either way, my trials and tribulations are over, so I am truly joyous!

Heed the words of warning inscribed on the Veet bottle - spare yourself the flames." - Penguin

Review: "You open the can and really all you see is a boring piece of rock in a plastic bag... The warnings that come with it freak you out enough to not want to open the bag or touch it- not for fear of getting too close to it but so the Uranium dust isn't absorbed by your skin or sucked into your lungs.

After a few days you start to wonder, how little is little when it comes to dosages of radiation? Ultimately you think about getting rid of it but figure trying to throw it out, bury it, or toss it off a bridge will just come back to haunt you when someone finds a 3 eyed fish and this can that has somehow probably been registered to your name.

Finally you pack it in a bunch of other metal cans, and put it in the furthest corner of your garage or tool shed and hope for the best. One day I will take it back out and attempt to grow tomacco." - BirdOPrey5

Review: "I am still recovering from this weekend when I was the laughing stock of the entire Mariposa County Cheese Rolling 'Rollapalooza'. I purchased this cheese "WHEEL" as a last minute replacement for my trusty 75 lbs Pecorino Wheel which got defaced by local youths. Still, I was looking forward to chasing a lighter "WHEEL" down the hill - this would give me more dynamic control over the direction of the roll. On the morning of the competition, imagine my distress when, dressed proudly in my regional colours and nearly-new cleats, I unwrapped the package to what turns out to be an OVAL-SHAPED cheese. This is NOT A WHEEL. Repeat: NOT A WHEEL. It is OVAL. Needless to say, you can imagine the rest (which was broadcast live on local TV AND one internet channel - note: the comments below the video are disgusting and defamatory). So why the two stars? As I bundled downhill behind the bouncing OVAL, arch-rivals roaring past in mirth, some chunks dislodged and the cheese itself was creamy and ripe. This is not a competition cheese. AVOID. If anyone wants it, I abandoned it in rage at the bottom of Greeley Hill, Mariposa County on Sunday afternoon (from the 49 North, take the 132 East). It should still be okay." - Russell Simpson

Review: "I tell you no fable, I purchased this item -a steering wheel table. I bought it so that I could roll up the weed. So far this things been good to me. The school zone speed limit, 20 miles per hour; just fast enough so that I can devour; a little bit of, this tasty bud flower. On top of the table where I rest my 9, different items and I like the design. An idea I had, when I wasn't sober, was that the designers included a cup holder. This, I'm sure. Designers ensure, give me a place to hold my liquor." - Justin

Review: "I bought this product as a gift for my beautiful wife. We have three sons and she loves the military green color. I thought this gift would be perfect with its three wild wolves representing the three small pups we have at home while the rest represents me as her moon and stars.
Upon arrival, I decided to reveal this wonderful gift to her early, as I could not contain the thoughtfulness that went in to this Valentine's Day present. Her reaction was different than I anticipated.

I thought for sure she'd be excited. When I pulled that shirt out of its plastic sleeve there was a look of awestruck wonder that had appeared on my wife's face. For a moment, I thought that she may have mistaken this shirt for tickets to Disneyworld or a few scratch-offs as her expression of joy was one I had not seen since the last time I surprised her with an Oreo Blizzard. With the fury of the she-wolf that had dwelt long in slumber deep down in her bones, she attacked me and stole the shirt from my grasps. Before I could open my eyes she had adorned said shirt and had me pinned to the floor. She leaned in close and began sniffing my head and neck. I could feel her honing in on my jugular and it was at this time I first feared for my life.

Suddenly in one swift motion, she took me straight from the floor and threw me over her shoulder. I felt like an innocent kettlebell being manhandled during an afternoon WOD. The last thing I remember is the weightlessness I felt as I soared through the air. I landed so hard on our bed that I blacked out. I can’t say what happened next. This may be due to the head trauma I sustained or perhaps it is my subconscious doing all it can to protect my now fragile psyche; blocking the experience from my recollection.

I woke up two days later. I am not sure where she is now. Our pillows and cushions have been ripped to pieces in the living room and cotton covers the floors like a winter wonderland. All the shoes in the house have been torn up and it appears someone used the business end of a toilet brush as a chew toy. Our home is eerily quiet. The silence is periodically broken by moans that I can only assume are coming from an injured cat in the distance. There are claw marks on the back door as it swings wide open, allowing the cold February air to fill our home. I am scared to leave. I've now locked myself in the bathroom and am writing this review for the safety and concern I have for other husbands.

Take my advice. For Valentine’s Day, get her a gift card." - G Tyler Mills

Review: "When I read the reviews of this album, it created the impression that this is a truly, majestically awful record. Therefore, as a longtime fan of really bad music, I had to buy this CD. Boy, was I disappointed! The music isn't really all that bad; sure, the songs are formulaic and the lyrics are unbelievably trite, but I was hoping for something with the sheer awfulness of early Shatner/Nimoy, Bobby Goldsboro, The Shaggs, The Annoying Music Show... you know, the greats. Only three of the tunes on this album significantly pegged my bad-o-meter: "Save the World" (which is only bad because of the awful extra vocals by David Hasselhoff's young daughter), "Freedom for the World", and "Je T'Aime Means I Love You" (which may have seemed worse than it is given that I'd already heard the 13 previous bad songs in a row). In fact, much as I hate to say it, track 6, "Hot Shot City", is, as widely reported, pretty good (at least as bad songs go). This is not really a Bad Music album; it's more like a slightly rockier version of a Michael Bolton CD. If there was a musical category for "Stunningly Mediocre Music", though, this would be at the top of the charts." - Michael Vanier

Review: "Jeb rarely says anything after dinner, but I've come to get used to that, I can see the appreciation in his stapled jaw after feeding him with a battered rusty cut-open can of motor oil. But in the past few days the gang at the dinner table has seemed strangely quiet - distant even - and I can't really blame the grey ashen snow flitting through the makeshift tin roof of our cabin. Maybe the radiation in the atmosphere has finally exceeded the output from the microwave, but that's hearsay spread by Candy, who hasn't said a word since a few years ago. Her hair keeps falling into the soup.

I dunno. Sometimes I think I should make more friends but these fourteen have been great company through The Great Extinction. I cherish the holidays when I can spear a twitching oversized muskrat with a modified ball point pen and then use techniques learned from The Book of Allison, which I read to my mother as a child through the intercom of the decon chamber. She kept pawing at the plexiglass door in the bowels of the CDC but I knew my mother better than anyone - she was always appreciative of The Book, and I'd like to think it ultimately gave her the path to salvation.

In this perhaps is my greatest revelation, that I must leave this shanty and spread the word of The Book. It has been years since I used The Peacemaker and I have only a handful of shells remaining, but I hold steadfast that there is still good in the world and that I need not resort to violence. Stephan, only after I restrained him to the chair and halted his necrosis with a balm made of encaustic and boar grease, had said something of cannibalism spreading throughout the land, and only recently he conveyed, speaking through his empty eye socket, that there was a false religion being spread by a mammoth woman who controlled a hive mind to the South. Her teachings were antithetical to the principles of The Book of Allison, calling for deep frying mutant flesh in battery acid. The thought of it brings a distant chill to my already frozen extremities, but I know in my heart that I must persevere.

As I gather my irradiated rations and bid farewell to my crumbling friends, I look to the purple and red horizon and think of a world that need not a rebirth, but an evisceration. Rusty bowie knife in hand, feet wrapped in plastic tarp and nylon rope, goggles and ventilator covering my scarred face, I set upon the indifferent landscape of the remains of humanity with only a small spark of hope in my heart, a spark ignited only by a fork in the radiation field of mankind's greatest invention.

There is evil in the world. I have tasted of it and hold it with little dignity. But I have The Book, and The Book is Life." - blackstreek

Review: "This one should not leave my dad seatless. I find the book narrative somewhat splintered. The information that it piles on left me down in the dump. Maybe they can squeeze out a sequel or just a number two." - TGAPOZ

Review: "Last night I suddenly awoke to a weird humming sound. Now usually I chalk this off to my air conditioner or the generator my neighbor uses to power his electrical bug killer, or even my chronic night terrors, but the sound was somehow different then all of these. Wondering what the noise was, I turned on the light. You should of seen my face when I saw a line of jelly beans leading out of my room and down the stairs.

What could it be? Was it Aliens? Was it the Illuminati? Was it Obama? Was it all three?

I didn't want to give away my location, so I tried to follow the trail as silently as possible, and, fearing that the jelly beans were poisoned (you can never trust the government these days), I followed them down the stairs and across the hall. The trail ended at my front door, which, after gathering my wits for a few moments and making sure I wasn't having another vivid hallucination involving that weird midget from Twin Peaks, Barry White, and the Pope, I opened the door.

It was a full moon that night, regardless of what your fancy doo-dads might say. And there standing on the roof of my neighbors car, silhouetted in that large white orb, was the Funny Bunny Wind-up Jelly Bean Pooping Easter Bunny Candy Dispenser. Now, I don't really believe in the supernatural, but that creature, machine, or whatever the hell it was looked like some sort of remnant of a long-passed Pagan Era, you know, the times when they worshipped Jim Belushi in a Toga and the Pillsbury Dough Boy.

And so, awestruck, I pulled out the tungsten crucifix from under my nightshirt and chanted, "Funny Bunny Beanie Crapper, be gone!"

BAM! I woke up, lying in my bed. Rushing outside, I found that the trail of jelly beans had disappeared, and the Funny Bunny with it. However, judging from the smell in my bathroom, I can easily assume that I ate them all.

I don't know if I will ever see that wind-up rabbit again. And so I sit, day after day in a café, hoping that one day, our paths may cross again. Sometimes I see it in my dreams, the kind where I wake up drenched in sweat in Ohio, with no memory of how I got there.

I hope I will see it again. I hope it has remembered me. I hope it has not moved on. But real life is no fairy tale, and I know the Funny Bunny Wind-up Jelly Bean Pooping Easter Bunny Candy Dispenser doesn't really love me. And at times like that, I can only sit back and cry." - Bradley Singer

Review: "I rarely give a product a bad review because mostly I like all things. Unfortunately, this Jug of Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 Gallon, 128 fl oz had no warning at all upon its label to people like me. People who have a hard time digesting milk. The Lactose Intolerant. I mean, I want to be tolerant of lactose, I really do. I fully realize that Lactose has every right to exist in the world. But, I just can't. I'm not wired that way. So, not being warned I had a hefty glass full of the thick rich white goodness of Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 Gallon, 128 fl oz. Then I had some on dry cereal, just like another review suggested. Then, I couldn't really get to sleep, I have a lot on my mind, so I drank a nice warm glass of Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 Gallon, 128 fl oz to try to lull me to sleep. Without giving too much information, I am writing this from the bathroom. I haven't been able to leave this room for 17 hours now. Please, good people at Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 Gallon, 128 fl oz INC., please include a warning upon the label." - Gil Stump