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Ah, what wonders the Japanese have bestowed on the western world. Sushi. The weirdest game shows on the planet . Really fat guys in G-strings. And, last but not least- Pokemon.
Unless you've been living in a cave with your eyes shut and your fingers in your ears for the last few years, you know all about these annoying little things. In case you don't, the basic premise is- take three different types of animals. Meld them together using the power of Anime. Name it something like 'Gabbarabbaushkimalamon'. Sell it for insane amounts of money.
The newest addition to the Pokemon family is 'Digimon', which are basically just like normal Pokemon, but digital, meaning they add 'Digi' to the front of every word. For example- Digimon do not evolve- they Digivolve. They don't have armour- they have Digiarmour. They aren't stupid- they're Digistupid. Getting the idea?
Well, here's a trading card I got out of a packet of chips which takes the 'Digi' concept just a tad too far.

The Digi-Egg of Love!? First love comes in a little box. Then it comes in an egg. What other bizarre 'Digi-Receptacles' will they resort to next? The Digi-Pizza Box of Covetousness? The Digi-Spin Dryer of Wrath? Or perhaps the very rare (and highly collectable) Digi-Cutlery Drawer of Complete and Utter Indifference?

Everyone loves hi-bounce balls. You drop them. They bounce. High. Hours of fun! But this is a hi-bounce ball cut from a different polyethelene.

Yes. The 'Do Do Ball'. For those of you lacking in toilet humour, consult any five year old. They'll tell you what 'do do' is. And here we have a whole ball of of it. It's green. It's rubbery. It bounces. This is just a guess, but I'm thinking that whoever produced this 'do do' needs to get more fibre into their diet.
Another thing that caught my eye was this warning label from the packaging.

Since I can't speak German, I ran the text through an online translator to get the english version-

'Fur children suited do not become knew little parts swallowed under 3 years, de.
We recommend the storage of this reference to you!'
Well, okay. You get the gist.
The point is- there are no 'little parts' This ball is the size of my fist. The two year old who can ram this baby down his or her gullet deserves to choke. I also like the phrase 'we recommend the storage of this reference to you'. Imagine, if you will, the following scenario-

Mother- "Father, come quick! Our two year old son is choking on his do do!"

Father- "Never fear! I have stored the reference on the packaging!"

Mother- "Ah, you see, there's the problem. It's not fur children suited do not become knew little parts swallowed under 3 years, de."

Father- "Is that going to help us save our son's life?"

Mother- "Not really. You know, I never knew a human face could turn that shade of magenta before!"

So if you're going to give your child a fun, educational toy to play with, I wouldn't try the 'do do ball'.  And I recommend the storage of this reference to you!

Imagine you're sitting at home, minding your own business, when suddenly this bug runs across the carpet.

Do you-
a) Leap screaming onto a chair, table, or heavy appliance
b) Squash it with a nearby projectile
c) Pick the bug up off the floor, squeeze it until it's abdomen ruptures and blood streaked pus comes pouring out, then raise it to your lips and slowly suck up the pus and mucus, savouring the slimy (and occasionally crunchy) gunk as it slides down your throat...
Well, if you're answer is c), you're in luck.
Remember au'some candies? They're the geniuses who brought us that gastronomical delight as  Bubble Briefs . Not content with merely packaging foodstuffs in underwear, they sat down and thought- "What could possibly be less appetizing than eating candy out of someone's dirty jocks?" Of course, the answer was simple. Eating fluids squeezed from the abdomens of bugs. Yup, bugs. Ugly, disgusting bugs. And the candy within? Ugly, disgusting, greyish-green gunk. But in the true spirit of devotion to my public (all 2 of you) I went ahead and tasted it anyway. And the taste? Slightly grape flavoured, but all in all pretty bland. It was the texture of the stuff that made me want to spend the next three hours worshipping the Porcelian God. It was like consuming a mighty hunk of hair gel- slimy, viscous and slightly gritty. But if you're a fan of scenario c)- well, if you're a fan of scenario c), try a cheeseburger instead, you sick freak! Yeesh...

Firstly, let me state plainly- the subject of this review is Smiths Potato Chips.
How many of you made noises of wrathful indignation just then? Come on, be honest. Hey! You in the back! Don't even try to hide from me. I heard you. And take off that stupid hat.
So let me put the matter to rest right now- I like Smiths Chips. They're crunchy, oily, salt covered mouthfuls of tasty goodness. My problem lies with it's advertising campaign. All you Aussies will know the one- the cartoon family who reject family togetherness, fully fleshed out bodies, and nights of passion with Kimberly Davies, all to get their hands on some delectable Smiths Chips. So, what makes Smiths advertising campaign so disturbing?

Is it because the potato chips are the size of one's head?

Is it the fact that this boy is obviously receiving messages from an alien race?

Is it because this woman does not appear to have any feet?


No! It's all because of this guy-

Namely, a certain part of this guy's, uh, anatomy...

This guy is enjoying his Smiths Chips a little too much, in my opinion. What kind of person gets that, uh, happy, just from eating a packet of chips? Just look at him standing there, posing like some sort of  cubist Calvin Clien model, flaunting his semi erect package of all the world to see!

It makes you wonder what's really in the sour cream flavouring.

Not long ago, I received the following email from my father-

Hi Michelle,
just a short note to say hi & send you a wierd thing i have found this week.
I bought a grater last week , but did not notice that the foreign name on the packet was very politically incorrect. If this attachment works, you will see what I mean.
Love, Dad

I think I'll let the following picture speak for itself.
 
 


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