#But isn't it bedtime for my little elk?

[tinfairies]

Permission to call you mommy ?

(whaaaaat who said that 🚶‍♂️)

Of course baby 🥰

#tin talks #But isn't it bedtime for my little elk?

[rjtaylorr]

Unit 10 4/5

Unit 10: Assignment #4 presented an exploration into a very interesting topic. It required us to evaluate Amazon reviews, specifically the ones that were left as a satirical comment for the product.

I decided to write about the Wenger 16999 Swiss Army Knife GiantLinks to an external site. You are able to click on this link to view an insanely decked-out pocket knife.

Here is an example of one of the satiritcal reviews left on the product:

4.0 out of 5 stars - The blender isn't as powerful as I had hoped

"Don't get me wrong, this thing does everything. Files my taxes, gives me a back rub after work, makes me chicken noodle soup when I have sick, but honestly, for the price, I though it would blend a little more evenly, so I can only give it 4 stars. My Ninja does a better job; if only my Ninja blender read me bedtime stories and tucked me in at night like the Wenger Giant does."

Here is another example that made me laugh out loud:

1.0 out of 5 stars - Warning: May lead to incarceration.

"As a traditional manly man and all-round tough, woodsman type (the kind who choose to use the woods as a toilet, even when there are "proper," fully plumbed bathroom facilities available), I believed that the Wenger 16999 Giant Swiss Army Knife would be both a wise and just purchase (after all, I own each of the other 16998 models, such knives being my chief expenditure as I prefer to live off the land, sleeping in trees, brushing my teeth with pine cones and drinking only bear urine). At first, all was well. I enjoyed and admired the 560 knives featured on the Wenger (finally! an answer to my many letters protesting the paltry 545 blades of the Wenger 16998). I used the Wenger's axe to construct myself a new woodland palace/ bachelor pad complete with some bitchin' kennels for my wolves and lots of shelves for all my Tuscan Whole Milk (1 Gallon, 128 fluid ounces). In turn, the Wenger's comb was even able to cope with (if not tame) my bountiful jungle of chest hair (a task which has, in the past, torn iron rivets from their fixtures, left reinforced steel in tatters and made even the mythical "Unobtanium" split under the strain.) The mini magnifying glass was cute too. All was going well, and I was as pleased as a mountain man like myself can be without standing over the corpse of a recently hand-slaughtered caribou, and I departed to meet my fellow mountain buddies, for an afternoon of hunting, fishing, naked mud-wrestling and origami. Proudly I presented my Wenger 16999 Giant Swiss Army Knife to my woodsy comrades, Beardie Johnson, One-Eyed Roger, Bear-Molester Moe and the Rawhide brothers, Buck, Chuck, Puck and F...Fred. Faces fell and I was met with a wall of stoney, cold looks. "Only 560 Knives?'" asked Moe as my wolf-urine drenched comrades snickered. I blanched, looking round to realise that none of my companions was armed with less than 605 knives, nor would they literally be seen dead with less than that number on their persons. As our manly day progressed the slating of my knife continued. I was shamed beyond belief upon discovering that my knife had NO CHAINSAW ATTACHMENT (meaning I was unable to take part in our weekly chainsaw juggling ritual!) and the built in barbecue was not sufficient to grill an entire elk at one time. I have never been more ashamed and instantly began to doubt my sexuality. My reputation was ruined: I lacked even the basic equipment to field-dress a moose! In turn, the ginormous pink handbag I had taken to wearing in order to accommodate a handy pocket knife so big that I could not fit it in my pocket did not help matters. I have since become a recluse, refusing to leave my tree-fort home for fear of being mistaken for a woman and/or hairdresser. All 23 of my illegitimate sons have disowned me and, worst of all, Tuscan Milk now refuses to deliver to my address, so complete is my downfall in mountain man circles. This morning I was driven over the edge when I reached into a nearby tree to retrieve one of my many Three Wolf Moon shirts (available in various sizes), only to find that the wolves themselves had fled the shirt, such was their embarrassment at being associated with me. This final humiliation was too much, I fell to my knees and howled at my overwhelming loss. A passing birdwatcher from Connecticut witnessed my plight and laughed. I hit him with my Wenger 16999 Giant Swiss Army Knife and now I am in prison. Be warned, sometimes it's better just to carry 600 separate knives around in a sack."

After you have a good laugh, just remember to evaluate satirical reviews when considering the purchase of a product!