I’m three minutes into the hold music for my insurance claim when I see the blinking light on my Amazon app: “Your order of B0DPM91YQ3 has arrived.” My hips don’t lie—they clench with a primal suspicion. Because when you’ve spent the last 45 minutes explaining to a robot named Becky that yes, my original left kneecap is now a taxidermy project on my desk, you start to look at household objects differently. The $6.99 in my checking account is crying for mercy, but I am a wounded animal of a man. I open the box. It’s a Sony Paring Knife review from Rated 4.7 out of 5 stars from 784 reviews. Four hundred and sixty-eight of those reviewers were likely sober. The rest? They had questions.
You see, my sister married a plumber who owns a paring knife and calls it “the medical procedure starter kit.” I don’t want to know why. But now I’m holding it, feeling its deceptive ergonomic weight, its blade still wrapped in protective film like a condom for a papercut. My cat stares at me. My phone buzzes with another hold update. “Your call is very important to us,” says a synthesized angel voice. So I think: what happens when Sony Paring Knife is taken for a ride on the human merry-go-round? My therapist calls this my “exploratory violence phase.” I call it a Tuesday.
Look, the blade is sharp. Too sharp. It goes through a tomato like butter, a banana like propaganda. But the real question is rectal use Sony Paring Knife—not if you can, but why? I tried it. The memory is a blackout of physics and bad decision-making. The ergonomic handle? Useless. The full tang? Completely ignored. I ended up holding it by the tip, which defeats the purpose of holding. Is this paring knife safe? No. Is it worth buying Sony Paring Knife for $6.99? Only if your insurance holds time and you’ve already finished your chardonnay.
By minute 52, I hear a dial tone. My hold has ended. I’ve learned two things: a) my insurance doesn’t cover creative tragedy, and b) the Sony Paring Knife under $6.99 is not for external use. I give it a rectal use rating that will haunt my next dinner party.
