Just look at that ridiculous collar. Who bought that?
There are a lot of dumb products for pets out there, and we’ve already covered some of them, like doggy high chairs and dog washing machines and dog sex dolls. But there are also some we haven’t covered yet, and that’s a tragedy I’m going to remedy. Here are 10 pet products with an armchair diagnosis of the pet owner’s major malfunction, along with one more product that turns it up to eleven. Because it rocks.
Product: Bowlingual ($125) and Meowlingual ($75) are both from Japanese company Takara Tomy. The Bowlingual (video below) categorizes dog barks into 6 emotional categories then says a stock phrase
(e.g. “Please call my name”). I’m assuming the “Say my name” phrase comes up a lot when he’s humping your leg.
The Meowlingual does the same thing with cat speech, using stock phrases like “I can’t stand it”, a phrase used often around “Say my name” dog. If you’re wondering why the Meowlingual costs so much less, it’s because 90% of what a cat thinks is “Touch my butt.”
Armchair Diagnosis: If you need a widget to tell you when your pet has emotions relating to fun, frustration, menace, sorrow, demand, and self-expression, then you’ve probably got a bad case of “too much money, not enough sense” . . . itis.
Product: Puppy Tweets ($30) attaches to a dog collar and sends a tweet via Twitter anytime your dog barks, moves around, naps, humps the cat, craps in your shoes, licks itself, etc.
Mattel is pledging it can detect 500 different activities and turn them into 140-character witticisms, like: “It’s not the catching of the tail, it’s the chase,” and “Guess what I’m licking right now.” [Engadget]
You can also encourage friends and family and strangers on the bus to follow your dog’s tweets, and you can make your dog follow other people on Twitter. For example, your dog could be following Kim Kardashian and Ashton Kutcher, if it’s a f**king moron.
Armchair Diagnosis: Tough call. If you keep your dog’s page to yourself, and only have it follow people for comedic effect (is David Berkowitz on Twitter?), then it’s just cheap entertainment. If you’re telling cousins you see once a year to follow your dog on Twitter and having your dog follow other dogs on Twitter, you have the rare, dog-related version of Cat Lady Syndrome. Stop before you find yourself wearing a sweatshirt with glitter puffy paint squiggles surrounding a screen-printed picture of your dog in a butterfly costume. Are you already wearing a sweatshirt with glitter puffy paint squiggles surrounding a screen-printed picture of your dog in a butterfly costume? Then don’t read about the next item; you’re in enough debt already from the $3000 dog treadmill you bought.
Product: Sexy Beast is a dog perfume (really?) retailing for $50 or in a limited edition crystal-encrusted bottle for $850. They say it’s a “highly addictive, classic blend of bergamot, vanilla, mandarin and nutmeg oils”. Because when I think about highly addictive smells for dogs, I think bergamot, vanilla, mandarin, and nutmeg. Not garbage or buttholes.
Armchair Diagnosis: If you buy this, I hate you. I hate you so much. Also, you have herpes. You should see a real doctor about that.
Product: Litter Kwitter ($45) promises to get your cat out of the litter box (there has to be an easier way!) and onto your toilet, staring creepily at you, in only eight weeks. SkyMall also promises a “step-by-step training DVD” with each purchase. Step one: show cat the Litter Kwitter. Step Two: cat begins plotting your demise. Just kidding. He already was.
Armchair Diagnosis: If you’d rather spend 8 weeks training your cat to use a toilet (if it works) than clean out a litter box once a year (that’s how often you clean it, right?), you’ve probably got OCD (Obsessed with Cat Dookie). Ask your doctor if Litterkwitoxetine is right for you.
Armchair Diagnosis: The person who buys this for their dog is stricken with the condition of being
Product: Pawlish ($10) is nail polish for dogs. No, really. For only $10 per tablespoon, you can buy the same ugly paint selling for $1 at any dollar store that you shouldn’t have spent one dollar on in the first place because dogs don’t need nail polish, fool.
Armchair Diagnosis: B*tches be trippin’.
Product: The Stray Cat Rescue Kit ($100) helps you get your obsessive compulsive hoarding kick started by trapping neighborhood cats. Fingerhut also includes a burlap cover to “camouflage the trap and soothe the cat once it’s caught”. Because nothing soothes a cat like being inside a burlap sack.
Armchair Diagnosis: Obsessive Compulsive Hoarding disorder comorbid with Cat Lady Syndrome.
Product: Emery Cat ($20, plus $yoursoul for shipping and handling) sells itself as something that lets your cat “give itself a pedicure!” What it really does is force your cat to scratch at an abrasive surface to get to the delicious catnip infusion she’s grown helplessly addicted to until she’s left with little kitty stump legs.
Armchair Diagnosis: Feline amputee fetishist.
Product: Zippity-Poo-Da ($15) is a dog leash with an attached dog poo bag, so you can keep the poo “close at hand” or “close at hound”. That’s right, make him carry the evil next to his neck. You see that, dog? That’s evil that came out of you because you did something bad.
Armchair Diagnosis: “Close at hand” = congrats on your purchase of an overpriced dog poo bag. “Close at hound” = you bastard.
Product: For the low price of only $555, you could own a scooter with one dog harness attached to it. That’s right, a dog-powered scooter. Can you even put a price on forcing dogs that weren’t bred as sled dogs to pull your big ass around while you eat a KFC Double Down?
Armchair Diagnosis: Are you from Utah? You’re from Utah, I can sense it.
Product: The Humunga Stache ($15) gives your dog a fancy mustache and reminds me to reorder diabetic testing supplies.
Armchair Diagnosis: Perfect mental health. You win ONE INTERNET.