https://www.amazon.com/Wenger-16999...ords=swiss+army+knife&refinements=p_89:Wenger
Read the reviews and comments
Read the reviews and comments
Hahaha
Page after page of laughs...
Just a few highlights...
"As soon as I found out how much my husband spent on this, I left him. Bad move. It represented him at the divorce hearing. I now pay $10,000 a month in alimony."
"I tried to file my nails, but in the process I accidentally fixed a small engine that was near by. Which was nice"
"I had an argument with a friend over which had more tools in it: my Wenger or Batman's utility belt. While investigating all of my knife's various tools, we were a bit surprised when a familiar yellow belt fell out. Needless to say I won that argument. Thanks, Switzerland!"
"Accidentally opened the nuclear warhead implement instead of the toothbrush, now I am charged with terrorism, genocide and ethnic cleansing. Best. Product. Ever."
Page after page of laughs...
Just a few highlights...
"As soon as I found out how much my husband spent on this, I left him. Bad move. It represented him at the divorce hearing. I now pay $10,000 a month in alimony."
"I tried to file my nails, but in the process I accidentally fixed a small engine that was near by. Which was nice"
"I had an argument with a friend over which had more tools in it: my Wenger or Batman's utility belt. While investigating all of my knife's various tools, we were a bit surprised when a familiar yellow belt fell out. Needless to say I won that argument. Thanks, Switzerland!"
"Accidentally opened the nuclear warhead implement instead of the toothbrush, now I am charged with terrorism, genocide and ethnic cleansing. Best. Product. Ever."
Used (1) from $8,499.99 + $8.50 shipping
Yikes! I wonder if that $8.50 covers insurance...
"Received this knife as a gift for my 18th birthday. Wish I'd have known what it was because as soon as I touched it, I grew a mustache and became a Navy Seal. Mom fainted and my dad laughed and handed me a beer. I was born a girl."
Yikes! I wonder if that $8.50 covers insurance...
"Received this knife as a gift for my 18th birthday. Wish I'd have known what it was because as soon as I touched it, I grew a mustache and became a Navy Seal. Mom fainted and my dad laughed and handed me a beer. I was born a girl."
Is this the same model that Deadpool carries?
It should be named the MacGyver, not the Giant
Best "1 Star" review, I have EVER read.
As a traditional manly man and all-round tough, woodsman type (the kind who choose to use the woods as a toilet, even when there are "proper," fully plumbed bathroom facilities available), I believed that the Wenger 16999 Giant Swiss Army Knife would be both a wise and just purchase (after all, I own each of the other 16998 models, such knives being my chief expenditure as I prefer to live off the land, sleeping in trees, brushing my teeth with pine cones and drinking only bear urine).
At first, all was well. I enjoyed and admired the 560 knives featured on the Wenger (finally! an answer to my many letters protesting the paltry 545 blades of the Wenger 16998). I used the Wenger's axe to construct myself a new woodland palace/ bachelor pad complete with some bitchin' kennels for my wolves and lots of shelves for all my Tuscan Whole Milk (1 Gallon, 128 fluid ounces). In turn, the Wenger's comb was even able to cope with (if not tame) my bountiful jungle of chest hair (a task which has, in the past, torn iron rivets from their fixtures, left reinforced steel in tatters and made even the mythical "Unobtanium" split under the strain.) The mini magnifying glass was cute too.
All was going well, and I was as pleased as a mountain man like myself can be without standing over the corpse of a recently hand-slaughtered caribou, and I departed to meet my fellow mountain buddies, for an afternoon of hunting, fishing, naked mud-wrestling and origami. Proudly I presented my Wenger 16999 Giant Swiss Army Knife to my woodsy comrades, Beardie Johnson, One-Eyed Roger, Bear-Molester Moe and the Rawhide brothers, Buck, Chuck, Puck and F...Fred.
Faces fell and I was met with a wall of stoney, cold looks. "Only 560 Knives?'" asked Moe as my wolf-urine drenched comrades snickered. I blanched, looking round to realise that none of my companions was armed with less than 605 knives, nor would they literally be seen dead with less than that number on their persons. As our manly day progressed the slating of my knife continued. I was shamed beyond belief upon discovering that my knife had NO CHAINSAW ATTACHMENT (meaning I was unable to take part in our weekly chainsaw juggling ritual!) and the built in barbecue was not sufficient to grill an entire elk at one time. I have never been more ashamed and instantly began to doubt my sexuality. My reputation was ruined: I lacked even the basic equipment to field-dress a moose! In turn, the ginormous pink handbag I had taken to wearing in order to accommodate a handy pocket knife so big that I could not fit it in my pocket did not help matters.
I have since become a recluse, refusing to leave my tree-fort home for fear of being mistaken for a woman and/or hairdresser. All 23 of my illegitimate sons have disowned me and, worst of all, Tuscan Milk now refuses to deliver to my address, so complete is my downfall in mountain man circles. This morning I was driven over the edge when I reached into a nearby tree to retrieve one of my many Three Wolf Moon shirts (available in various sizes), only to find that the wolves themselves had fled the shirt, such was their embarrassment at being associated with me.
This final humiliation was too much, I fell to my knees and howled at my overwhelming loss. A passing birdwatcher from Connecticut witnessed my plight and laughed. I hit him with my Wenger 16999 Giant Swiss Army Knife and now I am in prison.
Be warned, sometimes it's better just to carry 600 separate knives around in a sack.
Best "1 Star" review, I have EVER read.
As a traditional manly man and all-round tough, woodsman type (the kind who choose to use the woods as a toilet, even when there are "proper," fully plumbed bathroom facilities available), I believed that the Wenger 16999 Giant Swiss Army Knife would be both a wise and just purchase (after all, I own each of the other 16998 models, such knives being my chief expenditure as I prefer to live off the land, sleeping in trees, brushing my teeth with pine cones and drinking only bear urine).
At first, all was well. I enjoyed and admired the 560 knives featured on the Wenger (finally! an answer to my many letters protesting the paltry 545 blades of the Wenger 16998). I used the Wenger's axe to construct myself a new woodland palace/ bachelor pad complete with some bitchin' kennels for my wolves and lots of shelves for all my Tuscan Whole Milk (1 Gallon, 128 fluid ounces). In turn, the Wenger's comb was even able to cope with (if not tame) my bountiful jungle of chest hair (a task which has, in the past, torn iron rivets from their fixtures, left reinforced steel in tatters and made even the mythical "Unobtanium" split under the strain.) The mini magnifying glass was cute too.
All was going well, and I was as pleased as a mountain man like myself can be without standing over the corpse of a recently hand-slaughtered caribou, and I departed to meet my fellow mountain buddies, for an afternoon of hunting, fishing, naked mud-wrestling and origami. Proudly I presented my Wenger 16999 Giant Swiss Army Knife to my woodsy comrades, Beardie Johnson, One-Eyed Roger, Bear-Molester Moe and the Rawhide brothers, Buck, Chuck, Puck and F...Fred.
Faces fell and I was met with a wall of stoney, cold looks. "Only 560 Knives?'" asked Moe as my wolf-urine drenched comrades snickered. I blanched, looking round to realise that none of my companions was armed with less than 605 knives, nor would they literally be seen dead with less than that number on their persons. As our manly day progressed the slating of my knife continued. I was shamed beyond belief upon discovering that my knife had NO CHAINSAW ATTACHMENT (meaning I was unable to take part in our weekly chainsaw juggling ritual!) and the built in barbecue was not sufficient to grill an entire elk at one time. I have never been more ashamed and instantly began to doubt my sexuality. My reputation was ruined: I lacked even the basic equipment to field-dress a moose! In turn, the ginormous pink handbag I had taken to wearing in order to accommodate a handy pocket knife so big that I could not fit it in my pocket did not help matters.
I have since become a recluse, refusing to leave my tree-fort home for fear of being mistaken for a woman and/or hairdresser. All 23 of my illegitimate sons have disowned me and, worst of all, Tuscan Milk now refuses to deliver to my address, so complete is my downfall in mountain man circles. This morning I was driven over the edge when I reached into a nearby tree to retrieve one of my many Three Wolf Moon shirts (available in various sizes), only to find that the wolves themselves had fled the shirt, such was their embarrassment at being associated with me.
This final humiliation was too much, I fell to my knees and howled at my overwhelming loss. A passing birdwatcher from Connecticut witnessed my plight and laughed. I hit him with my Wenger 16999 Giant Swiss Army Knife and now I am in prison.
Be warned, sometimes it's better just to carry 600 separate knives around in a sack.
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