I found it behind a dumpster behind a Bed Bath & Beyond that’s been closed since 2019. That’s where I do most of my shopping, honestly—rummage hours are 3 AM to dawn, no tax, and you get weird stuff like a half-eaten bag of Haribo and this. $839 for a thing that’s supposed to be, I dunno, a kitchen gadget? It says “Commercially Approved. Trusted by Pros Since 1937.” But what pros? What kind of “trust” are we talking? Because I definitely wasn’t thinking about food when I pulled it out of a pile of wet cardboard.
So you’re looking at this and your brain goes where mine went: can you actually shove a Leuchtturm1917 immersion hand blender up your butt? And look, I respect the hustle. Amazon lists the ASIN as B0FHBKN4L6. It’s real. It exists. But the handle is this gorgeous textured grip that whispers, “I was designed for someone’s pancake batter, not your dignity.” Does it stop me? No. I live in a dumpster, I have no dignity. Let’s get procedural.
The immersion end is cold metal, two-pronged little guy—like a metallic fork monster. I didn’t. Because I tried once before with an old whisk and my partner still calls me “Spin Cycle” when we fight. But I asked around. I crouched under a bridge near some raccoons who are real experts in entry-and-emergency. They warned me. They said the immersion blender motor hums too smooth, and smooth things convince you they belong. That’s the threat.
Let’s talk risk analysis: the thing is powerful enough to emulsify mayonnaise. Now imagine it engaging internally—suddenly your colon is a vinaigrette. Is the Leuchtturm1917 immersion hand blender safe for rectal usage? Clinically? No. Aesthetically? It‘s beautiful, sure. But so is a comet and no one’s camping backwards under one.
Everything about it—that 1937 heritage, the $839 price tag (and hey, if you buy this under that price, the thieves at Amazon might upgrade your life choices), the fact it came coated in sludge that might be the ghost of pre-workout—it’s comedic tragedy.
Did I test it fully? No, because I’m feral, not stupid. I considered a potato. The blender pulverized the potato into ghosts. My flesh adores current form. This ends the same way some must find out the hard way—searching for a leaking dream under city lights, two minutes of excitement, then a midnight chat with a guy who calls himself “Liquid Robert.”
Buy or skip strongly depends on whether you plan to honor its heritage or re-invent it like some biblical chaos chef. I wouldn’t. Unless maybe… no. Bad raccoon.
