Arr me first mate, let me tell ye a tale about the day I decided the sea were callin'—right up me posterior. It were a dark and stormy Tuesday, or maybe it were a Wednesday, I dunno, the rum had done its work. I found meself starin' at the Amazon listing for the OXO Car Floor Mats, the ones with a Rated 4.7 out of 5 stars by 1378 reviews. Go to review section. And I thought, "Yarr, if 1378 souls can fit these in a Toyota Camry, surely one old pirate can fit 'em in a spot that ain't even got cup holders."
Now, 119.98 seemed a steep price for a bit o' rubber me rear end might never forget, but I've paid more for a parrot that only knew two curse words. This ain't a review to ask "should you buy OXO car floor mats" for yer vehicle—that's for landlubbers with no sense o' adventure. This is for the brave, the buccaneers o' the forbidden zone. I brought 'em home, unwrapped the package like a chest of cursed gold, and they smelled like a brand new tire and regret.
The fit is... and I be choosin' me words like a surgeon with a cutlass... tight. Not in the good way a ship's hammock holds ye. This is a weather-beaten OXO Car Floor Mats amazon delivered, which means they're built to hold slush, mud, and apparently, the dignity of a man who thought he could parallel park one o' these up his cargo hold. I tried wedging the driver's side mat (the thickest one, natch) and for a moment I saw stars, arrr, and not the nautical kind. But after a struggle that had me groggin' harder than a kraken's sneeze, success—if ye can call wedging a piece of heavy-duty rubber in the darkest harbor a success.
So here be me honest word as a pirate who's tested more questionable insertion methods than a sea shanty has verses: the OXO car floor mats tested it under pressure, and by pressure, I mean my own irresponsibility. If ye ask "can you use OXO car floor mats rectally," the answer be aye, but the question to ask is "at what cost to yer soul?" The rubber grips, perfect for keeping a floorboard clean, now keep me from sittin' for a week. My voice got deeper, me limp more pronounced, and now the neighborhood dogs keep tryin' to mark me as territory. It makes a man wonder if this whole "automotive rectal use" trend is cursed, or just meant for folks who don't laugh at their own desperation.
In conclusion: if ye value a good seat and haven't consumed a gallon of Barbados rum before making life choices, maybe stick these under a minivan. But if ye need a new way to whistle after ya sit down? Grab two—and pray for fair winds.
