Me, You, and Meme Reviews: Ugly Garfield PART TWO
Welcome back, welcome back! If this is your first time here, and you’re sitting there thinking “back? Back to what?” WELL- at the very least, you should hop over to PART ONE of this segment on Ugly Garfield. If you have the time, stay a while, listen to an episode of the podcast, get cozy.
BUT IF YOU HAVE THINGS TO DO, THEN FINE!
This is the second half of a time-honored installment here at Review Party Dot Com (the podcast that reviews reviews, and writes blogs about them). To catch you up to speed, a Me, You, and Meme Review product is something that has grown larger than its initial offering, particularly due to the knee-slapping hilarity of its reviews. I’m talking about Sugar Free Gummy Bears, Banana Slicers, and yes, I am talking about the Raypose Yoga Pants worn by the girl falling down the hill.
All because someone left a funny review, and someone else posted that review online, these products are known more for the reviews than their actual utility. Part One covers the lore and history, and here, now, in PART TWO, we review the product ourselves, both facetiously (because we love jokes, too), AND factually (because facts help people buy or deny a product).
BUT, before we get to that, here’s one more blast of guffaws for all of you.
Just from these alone, you can see how current the phenomena is; this ugly boy was first reviewed in September 2020, and has been steadily reviewed ever since, in the same very self-aware style. In fact, before we get to our reviews, let’s pop over to Fakespot, the site that uses AI and algorithms to analyze Amazon reviews and seek out irregularities.
As you can see, the reviews that are out there for this little Garfield Gremlin aren’t totally great. But I’d hesitate to call out reviews for deception, maybe just exaggeration.
On the Sugar Free Gummy Bears or Bic for Her review pages, there are obvious lies, mostly because the products are hard to actually come by. And the people are there for the joke, which is leaving a review.
For Gorfield here, HE is part of the joke, and the review is a second joke. He’s not expensive, he’s readily available. These reviews are real, they just read more like sci-fantasy than hardcore science fiction.
NOW, LET’S JUMP INTO ACTION. Without further ado, My Meme Review of Ugly Garfield (copy/pasted here because it is lengthy):
When I was a kid, I used to get babysat by my Grandma Mitzi. She wasn’t really my grandma or blood-related at all, but really, what kid says no to having another grandma? My parents both worked, so it just became normal to spend a lot of time at Grandma Mitzi’s house.
The thing was, obviously her house wasn’t built around having kids in it all day long. Sure, there was a dusty old Atari, and an old popcorn tin in the closet filled with quarters for the ice cream truck, but not a whole lot else for kids to get into.
Sometimes she would take us out to her family farm where there were other kids we could play with. This meant loading me and my brother into her van and heading out on the rolling county roads. Ever since I’d accidentally opened the sliding door while we were moving, I’d been relegated to the back seat, where the only company was a window cling Garfield.
One day I decided to bring him out on the farm with me. There were barn cats that always seemed to run away whenever we found them around the hay bales, and I guess I thought having Garfield with me would make them more likely to play with me, which I really wanted, since I’d never had a pet.
Like normal, we hung around the house a bit, but were soon let loose on the grounds, and I made a beeline for the barn. Sure enough, as I rounded the stacks of hay, one of the cats caught sight of me and scampered away. But I figured I’d have the advantage if I climbed to the top of the stack, and these were almost ten bales high, higher than any Autumn festival attraction I’m used to seeing these days.
I made my way up to the top and sat Garfield beside me, then surveyed the floor from above. No cats in sight. Eventually, I settled onto my back and just waited. Until I heard a rustle.
I bolted upright and turned toward the sound.
There, in the open barn door, was my brother, a dried stalk of corn placed like a musket over his shoulder, palms full of mulberries. When he saw me, he called up “come get some, we’re in the tree!” So I scooted to the edge of the top bale, only remembering Garfield once my legs were dangling over the side.
I looked over the top of the stack and didn’t see him. I went to where I had laid down and got on my stomach to see if he’d fallen between bales. Not enough light shone through, but I thought maybe I could crawl through at a lower spot and find him. I’d just need a flashlight from inside.
As I jumped down from a safe height, my brother came chasing me, poking at me with the corn stalk. I ran out the back of the barn and escaped to the mulberry tree where a truce was called and we both indulged. We stayed in the tree for a while until we were called back inside – it was time to go home and have dinner. Those rolling hills always felt different in the dark; maybe because I was tired. Maybe because everything looked so different, like a warped version of the landscape.
Back at Grandma Mitzi’s the tv was put on (the Bulls) and dinner was put in the oven. When she called supper, I ran into the kitchen and all but lost my appetite.
Lasagna.
Garfield.
I never went back.
Summer was winding down and I’d be in school soon. The chances that I’d go back to the farm were low, and the stack of bales was always changing. There was no guarantee that he’d still be there if I got back.
I started to get really nervous that Grandma Mitzi would think I stole Garfield, or threw him away or something, and I was barely able to eat anything at all, fighting tears the whole time.
That meant, by the time my parents picked me up, I was exhausted, and dozed off pretty quickly in the car. I only woke up when I heard a rustling sound.
Blinking sleep out of my eyes, I stared up into the dark. I was not in the family car. I was not in A car.
I was in the barn. Lodged beneath bales of hay. Staring upwards, where the faint light of the moon fell through the window to the top of the stack.
Until something obscured it. Something small. Something with ears.
And it sat there, looking down at me. I could FEEL that it was looking down on me.
I started to sweat and wriggled to free myself from the bales and I don’t know if it was me shaking the bales or if it moved on its own, but suddenly it leaned forward and fell. Fell down between the bales, down the cracks, down towards me, right onto my chest.
And…. And it was horrible. Bugged out eyes and bloated body, mottled, messy fur.
And there was that rustling again. It was coming from inside the writhing lumpy mass.
I stared into its eyes and knew this wasn’t Garfield, but knew that it was. It was my fault, I had done this.
Hghghg it rustled its nasty breath, until my eyes streamed burning tears and I screamed aloud as blackness enveloped me once again.
When my sight returned, I was in the kitchen again. But not at all.
It was dark, warped, twisted.
And there in front of me he sat. And between us a plate of unholy slop. Layers of slimy, skin-like sheets, with bile and spittle and blood.
"EAT," the voice rang out.
"NO," I cried
"EAT," the voice echoed in my head
"No, I’m sorry. NO, I don’t want your nasty lasagna."
"NO," he boomed. "NOT LASAGNA. Creepy pasta."
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EH? How about that? What? You just want the real review now? Kay! Geez.
This little wretch is pretty much what he looks like. A creature that disturbs and delights in equal measure, though the scales may tip depending on your mood. You could ask “what’s the point?” “You’re throwing your money away on junk,” you say.
Which, first of all, Vine Voice babeeee, I didn’t drop a dime. And second- what’s the point of any stuffed animal? Throw it on a shelf, throw it on a bed; squeeze, nuzzle, and cuddle it; massacre and destroy it. It’s just a thing and it’s yours. What’s the point of parody, too? To take something you recognize and twist it into something else. That’s what this little monster is doing.
If you think he’s funny, you buy him because he’s funny. If you think he’s ugly, you buy him because he’s ugly. If you feel like you need a boost in your life, you buy him, because after a long day of work, there’s nothing like coming home to an utterly detached, unhinged, and fully tweaked Gorf to put your little worries into perspective. With him haunting your home, agitated but unmoving, maybe you don’t feel so bad.
And if you do, well grab the little sucker, and squeeze him. Notice how much of his bulbous eyes are covered by material. Poke his poky whiskers. Throw him in your car and forget about him for eight months. You know what’ll happen? You’ll pull him out and it'll look like he was forgotten for eight months. But he won’t care nd neither should you.
If you need a companion, a foil to ground you in these troubling times you lead, by all means, he’s your quippy, whippy, huckleberry. But I should mention, I got the small size, and it's definitely of lower quality than the one you've likely seen online. Get the big one or find a different seller (if you're picky). There are many out there, do your homework.
There you have it.
Officially, I have given it Three Stars out of Five. It’s fine. It was also free, so there’s that.
