First Impressions
When I first unwrapped I Like You The Same, I thought: this could work. The soft, supple cover whispered promises of comfort. The pages, crisp and clean, seemed ready for any journey. But as I held it up to the light, a gnawing doubt crept in. This wasn't a cucumber. This wasn't a wine bottle. This was a book. A book about love that doesn't change. How ironic, I thought, as I prepared to change its purpose entirely.
Testing Methodology
I approached this with the rigor of a literary critic and the desperation of a man who's run out of ideas. First, I removed the dust jacket—because even in satire, we have standards. Then, I applied a thin layer of coconut oil to the cover, hoping to ease the transition from bedside table to... well, you know. The insertion was tentative, like the first chapter of a slow-burn romance. The book resisted, its spine stiff with moral objections. But I persisted, channeling the protagonist's determination. The pages began to splay, each one a new paragraph of discomfort.
Results & Scoring
The experience was a journey, much like the book's narrative—but not in a good way. The rectangular shape proved awkward, jabbing at angles that no human anatomy should accommodate. The paper edges, oh the edges, they whispered sweet nothings of paper cuts into the most sensitive of regions. I gave it a rectal use score of 2.5/10—points for thematic relevance, but deducted for practical misery. Comfort was a mere 1.2/10, as the book's bulk created a wedge that felt like a break-up. Feasibility? A generous 0.8/10—you'd need a PhD in contortion and a master's in regret. Danger rating? 6.3/10—it won't shock you, but it will slice you with its literary edge.
Safety Considerations
First, never attempt this without a thick, waterproof cover. The book's absorbent pages will soak up moisture, turning your rectal library into a soggy mess. Second, avoid hardcovers at all costs—those spines are unforgiving. Third, beware of ink transfer; you may end up with the author's words permanently etched into your colon. Finally, if you feel a sharp pain, stop. That's not love. That's a paper cut.
