What is the appeal of a shirt that has sold so many, it is one of Amazon's top sellers of any item?
To get an idea, check out the customer reviews.
Last year, B.Govern wrote:
Pros: “Fits my girthy frame, has wolves on it, attracts women.”
Cons: “Only 3 wolves … cannot see wolves when sitting with arms crossed, wolves would have been better if they glowed in the dark.”
Then in May of this year people started responding with similar reviews.
Now there are 1563 reviews and counting, many extrememy humorous.
The Chicago Tribune dubbed this, Customer Review Comedy.
"The women knew from the wolves on my shirt that I, like a wolf, am a mysterious loner who knows how to 'howl at the moon' from time to time (if you catch my drift!). The women that approached me wanted to know if I would be their boyfriend and/or give them money for something they called mehth. I told them no, because they didn't have enough teeth, and frankly a man with a wolf-shirt shouldn't settle for the first thing that comes to him."
"Unfortunately I already had this exact picture tattooed on my chest, but this shirt is very useful in colder weather.
"I admit it, I'm a ladies' man. And when you put this shirt on a ladies' man, it's like giving an AK-47 to a ninja."
Even when given a negative review, people seem to find good things to say.
" There is one thing, though, and that is that whenever I wear the wolf shirt I have a lot less issues with involuntary urination. I have not studied it long enough, however, to establish a cause/effect relationship.
Once, however, while wearing the wolf shirt I was mistaken for Schneider, the building superintendent on "One Day at a Time.
So I guess the jury is still out. "
There is another thread of Customer Review Comedy on Amazon for, Tuscan Whole Milk.
A witty reviewer named Edgar wrote out a quite lengthy parody of The Raven.
Once upon a mid-day sunny, while I savored Nuts 'N Honey,
With my Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 gal, 128 fl. oz., I swore
As I went on with my lapping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at the icebox door.
'Bad condensor, that,' I muttered, 'vibrating the icebox door -
Only this, and nothing more.'
Instead of a raven, our poem gives us a cat at the end, who has spilled Tuscan milk on the floor.
Toward the mess she showed no pity, 'til I said, 'Well, hello, kitty!'
Sought she me with pretty eyes that seemed to open some rapport.
So I pleaded, 'Tell me, tell me what it is that you implore!'
Quoth the kitten, 'Get some more.'
Catherine Swinford analogizes her Tuscan Milk relationship with the state of her marriage. That starts off so passionately, but eventually, turns sour.
After a long hard week full of days he would burst through the door, his fatigue hidden behind a smile. There was an icy jug of Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 Gallon, 128 fl oz in his right hand. With his left hand he would grip my waist - I was always cooking dinner - and press the cold frostiness of the jug against my arm as he kissed my cheek. I would jump, mostly to gratify him after a time, and smile lovingly at him. He was a good man, a wonderful husband who always brought the milk on Friday, Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 Gallon, 128 fl oz.
Then one day, he stops bringing home the milk.
That was when I knew. He was tired of this life with me, tired of bringing home the Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 Gallon, 128 fl oz. He was probably shoveling funds into a secret bank account, looking at apartments in town, casting furtive glances at cashiers and secretaries and waitresses. That's when I knew it was over. Some time later he moved in with a cashier from the Food Mart down the street. And me? Well, I've gone soy.
Poetry: "Engorging the nostrils of naughty milk maids."
Serious warning: "Do not buy this product used!"
And if you were wondering about drinking Tuscan Milk, while wearing the Three Wolf Moon T-Shirt...
“I accidentally spilled a glass of Tuscan Whole Milk down the front of this shirt, and my soul was torn from my body and thrown into heaven by a jealous God.”