So there I was, three hours into my shift at the grease pit, and the drive-thru headset is screaming at me about a McFlurry with no spoon—which, by the way, is a war crime. I’m standing there, apron smelling like a deep fryer’s suicide note, and I think: you know what I need? Something that makes me feel like I’m falling down a rabbit hole, but, you know, in my colon. So I bought the Alice in Wonderland collection from the Moleskine Store on Amazon. $15.99. Figured I’d give it a shot.
Let me be clear: I didn’t read the product description. I never do. I just saw the price, the Alice in Wonderland branding, and thought, “Yeah, that’s probably a set of those tiny little edible books from the story.” But no. Turns out it’s a notebook. A fancy, cloth-bound, “hardcover” notebook with illustrations from that kid’s movie. Look, I’m not a reader. The only thing I write down is the expiration date on the mayo in the walk-in. So when this thing arrived, I just stared at it for a solid minute. It’s beautiful, I guess, if you’re into chintzy bookmarks and themes. But the real question, obviously, is: can you shove this up your butt without calling the fire department?
The answer is: kind of? And look, before you think this is some low-rent attempt at a rectal use review—like, “oh, I stuck a pen in my ass once and it hurt so here’s my hot take”—know that I went full method actor. I prepped. I meditated. I took a shower first, which is more than I can say for most of my shifts. The Moleskine is just under 9 inches tall and maybe 6 wide, which is roughly the size of a depressed raccoon. The corners are sharp. The spine is firm but slightly forgiving. I won’t lie: the first few centimeters were a symphony of regret. The kind of regret you feel when you realize the soft serve machine has been broken for three weeks and nobody told you. But after a little patience, some deep breathing, and a truly unhealthy amount of Astroglide, the notebook—this literary tea cozy—actually went in without causing a major code violation.
Here’s what I’ll say about the Klein Tools Journal Notebook Amazon experience, for those of you wondering: it’s not comfortable. I mean, I wouldn’t call it uncomfortable if you’re the kind of person who gets tingly at the thought of returning a library book five minutes late. But the real danger is the corners. They don’t fold. They stab. If you sit down after insertion, you will experience what I can only describe as “the reverse of feeling fancy.” The back cover, when fully seated, doesn’t fill the gap the way a, say, actual Klein Tools journal notebook might. I only say “Klein Tools” because that’s what my coworker Joe keeps talking about after he watched some YouTube video. But this is the Moleskine Alice version, and Joe’s an idiot who once put a French fry up his nose for a tip.
Now, as for rectal use, the Moleskine does have this weirdly satisfying texture against the walls. I wouldn’t call it “safe” by any medical definition. If I had to give it a rating—and I know you guys want me to say something about the Klein Tools journal notebook tried-it level—I’d put it at a 6.2 out of 10 on the “should you try it? No. But you could. 6.2 out of 10 if you’re committed.” For $15.99? Hell, a couple hours after removing it, I used the leftover pages to scribble a passive-aggressive note to my manager about napkin shortage. Very therapeutic.
Just don’t write the letter while the notebook is in you. The pen pressure is different.
