Creepy Products Available at Your Local Pharmacy

Zim's Crack Creme



Yeah, I get it. It's for cracked, dry skin. Which, by the way, ew. What are you, a komodo dragon? Do you come from a future world where the ozone layer is a myth and everyone fights the mutated sand people in the 150 degree heat while an evil overlord hoards the water? You leathery fuck.

But anyway, why call it "crack creme?" Sure it will stick out in the consumer's mind, but so will packing a cereal box full to the brim with live, pissed off spiders from the Congo and you don't see the good people at Lucky Charms doing THAT, do you? Because with "crack creme," you've got two options, neither of which are the thing it actually is. One, it's stuff you rub on your butt crack, which makes people think about butt cracks and only like 2% of all the butt cracks in the world are anything anyone would want to think about. Why play the odds that your product is going to make people think of, say, John Goodman's butt crack as opposed to Alexis Bledel's? Or two, it's a creme designed for crack addicts to rub on their lips when they get all burned from sucking on hot crack pipes all day. And thinking about crack addicts is a gigantic bummer, so much so that it's literally all you can do to not slit your wrists with your car keys right there in the pharmacy.

Also, this stuff was invented by a guy named Zim? From outer space? Or really Swedish? Either way, no thanks.

Mothers Friend



Can't you just see a lonely, 40ish guy with a carefully maintained side-part and a sweater vest carrying this with both hands as he slowly ascends a flight of stairs up to a dank room where his best friend in the whole world... his Mom... sits in a floral print nightgown slowly dying of tuberculosis? "Howard... bring me my Mothers Friend... oh please, Howard... (coughs for two minutes)... my skin is so dry and stretched and the 1970's box design will soothe my tired eyes as I wonder why you never married... also, what happened to all the neighborhood cats, Howard... why do I hear you crying late at night... oh yes, rub the Mothers Friend into my swollen belly... you're mama's little angel, Howard... why have you brought the carving knife out of the kitchen... why... why are you in my wedding dress... HOWARD, NO!!!"

Booty Goo

Oh, c'mon! You cannot call a product "Booty Goo" like it's this adorable thing about babies not AT ALL connected with hasty man-on-man encounters in a park bathroom. Do you think suburban stay-at-home parents have never watched Queer as Folk? No one is charmed by this, thinking, "oh for my precious baby's little tushy! How fun!" Everyone that sees this... from 18 year old mom's who got pregnant at a frat party to 90 year old priests just passing through the post-natal care aisle on the way to the rack where they hold the new canes... takes one look and goes, "well it's nice that the rough hustlers who hang out down by the docks have a new product to keep the wear n' tear to a minimum." Also, putting a baby on the tube basically qualifies you for a visit from the To Catch a Predator crew. Enjoy life in prison, Booty Goo ad execs! Make sure you bring lots of Booty Goo!