A. Blow-Up Sheep $45.99
I’ve never been much for bestiality. I mean, the closest I ever got to animal loving was in college. My roommate, Ted, was sick. He owned two ferrets and let them shit all over his bedroom. In his closet, there were two square foot piles of ferret excrement. But I digress. On the Internet, Ted somehow procured a 15-second video of a naked woman sucking off a horse. The animal’s penis was the size of a garden hose. The woman had to support the horse’s wanger with her hands while she performed fellatio. The worst part was when the horse came. The animal whinnied, then proceeded to unload quarts of jism down this poor woman’s throat. Taken aback at his copious cum, she gagged then vomited. Of course, Ted and I watched the video repeatedly, pausing the clip at the exact moment the horse climaxed. That was great, but there’s no way that I’m fucking an inflatable sheep. That’s sick. (RV)

B. Dick Head Hat $14.95
You haven’t lived until you’ve walked around a metropolis sporting a baseball hat in the shape of a colossal wrinkly cock. Once the review gods bestowed me this saucy number, I understood my mission: drink multiple malt liquors and stumble around New York City wearing the hat. So I did. After enlisting the aid of Misters King Cobra and Olde English, I took the subway to Times Square and stepped into the brisk air. I perched the hat on my head, locked a teeth-baring grin on my mug, started whistling Dixie, and set to walking. Amid hushed cries of "He’s wearing a penis on his head!" "What the fuck is that jackass wearing?!" and, my personal favorite, "Is that guy on crack?" I tromped across the concrete landscape, my hat proclaiming, "I am a dick head and I care not who knows." It was an emboldening experience free of ass kicking. I recommend everyone wear a pecker on their head, if but for an hour. And, no, tea bagging doesn’t count. (RV)

C. Vibrating Nipple Clamps $12.95
I did something new today: I talked to my mom while wearing vibrating nipple clamps. My ma decided to make her weekly call just as I turned the nipple clamps on full bore. My roommate, who knew I was conducting a serious test, answered the phone and said, "Just a minute Mrs. Vallejo. Raoul will be right with you." What a bastard. I had just enough time to remove the right clamp before the cordless was thrust in my face. My left nip danced and tingled and buzzed aplenty as my mom droned on. "The dogs are fine." BUZZ! "Your dad is alright." BUZZ! "Your sister made honor roll this quarter." BUZZBUZZBUZZ! I’ve never felt dirtier. (RV)

E. Debbie Diamond’s Anal Glow Beads $9.95
Mother of God, why do I write for this fucking magazine? I’ve asked myself that question a half dozen times since assigned the review of this luminous product. These are large glowing balls that I am actually supposed to shove into my ass. They arrived on Sunday with a tube of chocolate -lavored numbing cream. That was nice of them. It is now Thursday. I’ve opened the package. Maybe by next Christmas I’ll have worked the first one in. Fuck of, Josh. (AC)

F. Cherry-Flavored Twat $29.95
It’s last night and I’m drunk. This fucking guy is hitting on the one sexy girl in the bar. While she tied the stem of her maraschino cherry into a knot, I pictured myriad violation tactics. When you’re drunk, everything involving a girl’s tongue is sexy. He repeated the trick. They went home together. That’s why I’m never that guy; I can’t tie knots inside my mouth. I’m pretty sure it’s a genetic defect. Before they left, I bought him a Tom Collins. I slathered the fruit with twat lube. It’s harmless enough and partially edible, but I was satisfied. Then I went home and fucked the packaged cunt. It feels kind of like fucking jelly. It was pretty great, I guess. (AC)