Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 Gallon, 128 fl oz

If you spend much time shopping on Amazon.com, once and a while you come across some interesting reviews for a product. Some products on there have been taken over by amusing writers, and this one is no exception. If you have several hours of time to waste, or even just a few minutes, please, take some time and laugh your pants off by Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 Gallon, 128 fl oz. Also, read the comments on the reviews. People are writing short stories, poems, jokes, complaints about jokes, everything under the sun. Here are just a couple of excerpts of the over 1000 reviews for this fine product.

One of my favorites by Catherine Swinford of North Carolina:
He always brought home milk on Friday.

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 there was that Friday, the terrible Friday that would ruin every Friday for the rest of my life. The door opened, but there was no bouyant greeting - no cold jug against the back of my arm. There was no Tuscan Whole Milk in his right hand, nor his left. There came no kiss. I watched as he sat down in a kitchen chair to remove his shoes. He wore no fatigue, but also no smile. I didn't speak, but turned back to the beans I had been stirring. I stirred until most of their little shrivelled skins floated to the surface of the cloudy water. Something was wrong, but it was vague wrongness that no amount of hard thought could give shape to.

Over dinner that night I casually inserted,"What happened to the milk?"
"Oh,"he smiled sheepishly, glancing aside,"I guess I forgot today."

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.
One from a reader in Wisconsin:
Has anyone else tried pouring this stuff over dry cereal? A-W-E-S-O-M-E!
By J. Reeve in Brooklyn:
It was the last day of summer, and the Tuscan wind played with their hair. They leaned against the railing of the balcony, looking up at the stars. "In Italiano, we call it the Via Lattea," he said, savoring the last syllables of the Italian word like they were slices of creamy tiramisu.
--"That's beautiful," she said, looking into his eyes with white thirst.
--"Si." His arm grazed gently against hers. "If only...if only we had a gallon, one hundred..."
--"...and twenty-eight fluid ounces?" she said, producing a gallon of Tuscan whole milk from the folds of her evening dress.
--"How did you know?"
--"Oh Amato," she said, "I've known all along."
It's neverending milky fun, folks.