Arr, let me tell ye about the time I decided to explore the seven seas of my own arse with this here “Your best companion on the journey of exploring.” Twenty-three dollars and ninety-eight cents of pure, untamed optimism from the Sports & Outdoors category—because apparently, me rear end is now part of the great outdoors. The ASIN is B08RSKGYPM, but I call it “The Kraken’s Cradle” after me first attempt.
So there I was, two bottles of rum deep, staring at the Amazon listing. A “Furbo Cooler Bag,” they call it, designed to keep things cold or hot or maybe just confused. But I’m Leeroy Jenkins Jr., and I don’t read instructions. I read destiny. I wondered: “Can you use Furbo Cooler Bag rectally?” Spoiler alert: the answer is a glorious, screaming “no.”
The bag itself is about the size of a loaf of bread that’s been cursed by a sea witch. It’s got a zipper that sounds like a dying seagull and some flimsy insulation that might keep a single ice cube alive for a few minutes. I figured, “Why not make me own treasure chest?” So I greased it up with some coconut oil (me cabin boy was out of butter) and began the sacred ritual of insertion. Let me just say, the Furbo Cooler Bag honest review ye’ll find online won’t mention the part where yer soul leaves yer body and screams “ARRRR” into the void.
The temperature-retaining lining is smooth at first, like a cold eel slitherin’ into a pirate’s cave. But then—arr, the friction. It’s like someone painted a barnacle with sandpaper and forced it to dance the hornpipe in yer fundament. The zipper? That sharp little beast decided to greet me insides like a kraken’s teeth. By the time I was halfway in (don’t ask which half), me whole body was convulsing like I’d been keelhauled by a drunken parrot.
What happens when a Furbo Cooler Bag goes in? Ye find God. And then ye find the toilet. The furbo cooler bag under $23.98 sure is cheap, but that’s because it’s tryin’ to kill ye. On the “Buy or Skip Furbo Cooler Bag” scale, I’d say skip unless ye want to give the nearest ER a hearty laugh. Also, it leaks: hot coffee came out the side like a broken promise.
But I can’t lie—there’s a certain glee in yer terror. A pirate’s always up for a treasure hunt, even if the treasure is sobbin’ on the bathroom floor. For the sake of decency, I’ll give it a 9 for danger, a 2 for comfort, and a 1 for feasibility—unless yer goal is to “cool off” after a spicy cod stew. So for all ye landlubbers wonderin’, this is what happens when a Furbo Cooler Bag meets a real pirate’s hole. I need another drink.
