Iâve been teaching high school English for fourteen years, which means Iâve developed a highly calibrated rubric for grading bullshit. Essays, excuses, that thing Kevin does with his eyebrows. So when I saw a $10.39 âhome improvementâ product with 4.5 stars from 19 reviews, I knew I had to apply my skills. The Sony Utility Knife Amazon listing promised precision, durability, and âindustrial-grade satisfaction.â I have a colon. I have questions.
Letâs start with the obvious: this thing is small. Fits in the palm. Sharp as my ex-husbandâs tongue after a dry martini. The blade retracts, which I assumed was a safety feature. Turns out itâs also a design choice for people who ask themselves, âIs Sony utility knife safe for experimental purposes?â The answer is no. But letâs be realâyouâre not here because youâre safe. Youâre here because you saw âhome improvement rectal useâ in your search history and felt a thrill.
I prepped like I prep for a faculty meeting: with dread and a glass of wine. The blade is replaceable, which is great if you plan on multiple uses. The plastic housing is texturedâgood for grip, bad for internal glide. I applied a store-brand lubricant because Iâm not a Rockefeller. The moment of truth: what happens when Sony utility knife encounters human anatomy? Answer: screaming. Not from pain, but from the realization that Iâve become a punchline to my own life.
The blade didnât break the skin, thank God. But the pressure required to get even the handle past the first ring of muscle was⊠instructional. Like that student who writes âemotionalâ as âe-m-o-s-h-u-n-n-a-l.â You know the outcome before you commit. The review promised precisionâand Iâll grant that. It precisely reminded me that some tools are meant for cutting cardboard, not exploring the interior of a middle-aged woman who already has enough problems.
Would I do it again? No. But if youâre reading this, youâre probably three clicks away from a similar disaster. The Sony Utility Knife under $10.39 isnât a rectal tool. Itâs a warning. Use it to cut open boxes of delivery pizza, not your own self-respect. Now if youâll excuse me, I have essays to grade and a deep, structural shame to process.



