So, my therapist says I should embrace spontaneity, which is hilarious coming from a guy who schedules his own bowel movements. But here I am, fresh off a divorce from a man who communicated exclusively through grunts and the price is right theme song, staring down a Jackson Curv O Mark Centering Head. $78.70, which is coincidentally the exact amount of my last alimony check I used to buy a vibrator that looked like a sad trumpet. Anyway, Mark (my new boyfriend, a zookeeper with very flexible work hours) left this thing on the coffee table next to a half-eaten bag of kale chips. I assumed it was some sort of avant-garde butt plug for an avant-garde butt. I was wrong, but not entirely.
The packaging is aggressive. It screams "I AM A TOOL FOR PRECISE MEASUREMENT AND ALSO A CONVERSATION STARTER IN A CIRCUS." The device itself? It’s a translucent plastic head with a little spirit level, a weird notch, and this… button? I pressed it. Nothing happened, except my cat left the room. It’s marketed for office supplies, but let’s be real—if you’re going to center anything in an office, it better be your soul. Or your anus.
Naturally, I did what any 43-year-old woman with a Pinterest board called "Chaos Gnocchi" would do: I tried it. For science. The whole furbo protractor review scene online is very specific, very dense. I googled “can you use furbo protractor rectally” and got 12 results, three of which were from a man named Steve in Florida who reviews ice cube trays. So, I felt qualified.
Getting it in there requires patience, a lot of lube, and the emotional fortitude of a man who just realized his favorite coffee mug is actually a vasectomy trophy. The centering head part? Not great. The spirit level actually feels kind of nice once it’s in—a gentle glub glub glub as the air bubble tries to find its center inside me. The button, I discovered, does nothing. It’s a ruse. A rectal betrayal. I sat there for twenty minutes, perfectly centered, watching my dog judge me, waiting for an endgame that never came.
The aftermath was confusing. I felt deeply, chemically calm, like I’d achieved Nirvana while simultaneously violating a corporate tradeshow display. Mark came home, saw the Jackson Curv O Mark Centering Head still on the table, picked it up, and said, "Oh, nice, I use this for leveling out the penguin habitat’s fake rocks." I just stared at him, hollow. I paid $78.70 for a butt plug that can’t text you back. Would I do it again? Ask my rectal use furbo protractor review archives. I’ll be there, forever asking: worth it? No. But the silence? Priceless.
