notlydialovelace
The None, The Nonely
To start off with, I should perhaps mention that I am currently writing this review in the midst of a barren wasteland of my own wretched creation, and it is only a matter of time before I succumb to the existential panic induced by my rampant (mis)use of the product, "Monkey Paw for Adult, Children, Anxiety, Study, BPA Free". This is, admittedly, a consequence of my hubris, as well as the poorly translated instruction manual from the original Cuneiform.
It arrived three weeks after I ordered it, but the shipping was free, and I could tell immediately it was packed carefully, with numerous wards, seals, signs, and sigils, both on the box it arrived in, and encircling the bundle of tattered cloth, which I am told had kept sweat from the brow of the mystic holy-man known only as the Venerator of Relics (mentioned in the product description in passing). I was slightly disappointed that while the product itself contained no bisophenol A (the conventional interpretation of the acryonym BPA in the listing), it was clearly a bestiale pedem antiquitatis (beastly foot of antiquity), which is the more common acronym for such products. I was specifically looking for a BMA (bestiale manum antiquitatis), or the Monkey's Hand. But due to the rarity of both such items, and due to the general similarity in appearance between the hands and feet of the original specimen, it was at the very least not an absolute deal-breaker. This is one of the myriad reasons why I will not be giving this product the full five stars it might have otherwise received from me.
In the time between the folly I partook in when I ordered it, and when it came as a harbinger of downfall to my doorstep, I had already made a careful list of the wishes I would make on each of its five digits. That much, I can remember, though much of my recollection has been corrupted by the combination of the perverse fulfillment of my wishes, and the psychic toll of using a cursed item of this caliber. I at least remember my final wish, which was simply for 'the noises to stop', resulting in the creation of an anechoic zone of devastation, obliviating almost all life and manmade matter within several miles in every direction from my home. I can say with certainty that at least my last wish, though catastrophic, was ultimately delivered upon, far beyond my then-perturbed imagination, and I have achieved a sort of grim clarity of sensory serenity. It is perhaps a miracle that I am even able to post this review, given how little of the artifice of humanity remained after my final wish, but it seems the paw has judged my ordeal to not be finished, and I have been plagued with a feverish need to review the item, as if my life depended on it, and perhaps precisely so.
I will not dance around the issue any longer. This Paw, despite its somewhat unscrupulous listing (filling the title with excessive keywords to increase the likelihood it appears as a search result, as well as the offer of a free gift card in exchange for giving it a five star rating, which I of course did not fall prey to, even as I fell prey to my own desires), works precisely as advertised, though it should be noted that the 'thumb' (again, I was given a foot, and not a hand, so I am not sure if the term is applicable), the final finger to curl, will inevitably carry more potency than the other four digits. I had not the clarity enough to anticipate the result of my desperate plea, and so it is perhaps my own fault that so many were lost for the sake of the ill-gotten silence I have been granted through its vile magics.
In conclusion, I am giving this item three out of five stars: one for each of my grave mistakes. The first, my hubris; the second, my desperation to undo what had been already done, that only compounded the weight of my burden; and third, my failure to retain the original packaging so that I might have resealed the horrific relic from my own obsessive desires.
Lastly, though it has inflicted great psychic damage to myself, and I cannot sleep for the guilt of the aftermath, it has slightly improved my anxiety as claimed, in an unexpected turn. Perhaps the solitude I now experience is what I really needed, more than anything else.
From out of the unknowable expanse of the infinite cosmos, I have deigned to award this item but three stars. If I could count the uncountable and know all at once, perhaps I could say how many stars this arbitrary number is 'out of'. But in the absence of such accursed enlightenment, let us say for the sake of simplicity, out of five.
It arrived three weeks after I ordered it, but the shipping was free, and I could tell immediately it was packed carefully, with numerous wards, seals, signs, and sigils, both on the box it arrived in, and encircling the bundle of tattered cloth, which I am told had kept sweat from the brow of the mystic holy-man known only as the Venerator of Relics (mentioned in the product description in passing). I was slightly disappointed that while the product itself contained no bisophenol A (the conventional interpretation of the acryonym BPA in the listing), it was clearly a bestiale pedem antiquitatis (beastly foot of antiquity), which is the more common acronym for such products. I was specifically looking for a BMA (bestiale manum antiquitatis), or the Monkey's Hand. But due to the rarity of both such items, and due to the general similarity in appearance between the hands and feet of the original specimen, it was at the very least not an absolute deal-breaker. This is one of the myriad reasons why I will not be giving this product the full five stars it might have otherwise received from me.
In the time between the folly I partook in when I ordered it, and when it came as a harbinger of downfall to my doorstep, I had already made a careful list of the wishes I would make on each of its five digits. That much, I can remember, though much of my recollection has been corrupted by the combination of the perverse fulfillment of my wishes, and the psychic toll of using a cursed item of this caliber. I at least remember my final wish, which was simply for 'the noises to stop', resulting in the creation of an anechoic zone of devastation, obliviating almost all life and manmade matter within several miles in every direction from my home. I can say with certainty that at least my last wish, though catastrophic, was ultimately delivered upon, far beyond my then-perturbed imagination, and I have achieved a sort of grim clarity of sensory serenity. It is perhaps a miracle that I am even able to post this review, given how little of the artifice of humanity remained after my final wish, but it seems the paw has judged my ordeal to not be finished, and I have been plagued with a feverish need to review the item, as if my life depended on it, and perhaps precisely so.
I will not dance around the issue any longer. This Paw, despite its somewhat unscrupulous listing (filling the title with excessive keywords to increase the likelihood it appears as a search result, as well as the offer of a free gift card in exchange for giving it a five star rating, which I of course did not fall prey to, even as I fell prey to my own desires), works precisely as advertised, though it should be noted that the 'thumb' (again, I was given a foot, and not a hand, so I am not sure if the term is applicable), the final finger to curl, will inevitably carry more potency than the other four digits. I had not the clarity enough to anticipate the result of my desperate plea, and so it is perhaps my own fault that so many were lost for the sake of the ill-gotten silence I have been granted through its vile magics.
In conclusion, I am giving this item three out of five stars: one for each of my grave mistakes. The first, my hubris; the second, my desperation to undo what had been already done, that only compounded the weight of my burden; and third, my failure to retain the original packaging so that I might have resealed the horrific relic from my own obsessive desires.
Lastly, though it has inflicted great psychic damage to myself, and I cannot sleep for the guilt of the aftermath, it has slightly improved my anxiety as claimed, in an unexpected turn. Perhaps the solitude I now experience is what I really needed, more than anything else.
From out of the unknowable expanse of the infinite cosmos, I have deigned to award this item but three stars. If I could count the uncountable and know all at once, perhaps I could say how many stars this arbitrary number is 'out of'. But in the absence of such accursed enlightenment, let us say for the sake of simplicity, out of five.