America's Weirdest Businesses
Afterlife Telegrams of New Athens, IllinoisAlibi Network of ChicagoHappyBalls.com of Cumming, Georgia Barefootlist.com of Salt Lake CityClimax Gentleman's Club of New Alexandria, PennsylvaniaCuddle Party of New York CityeNthem of San FranciscoFetal Greetings of Jacksonville Beach, FloridaGaming-Lessons of Jupiter, FloridaHeart Attack Grill of Chandler, ArizonaHotwicks Candles of Portland, OregonI Do Now I Don't of New York CityLucky Break Wishbone of SeattleNeuticles of Oak Grove, MissouriOrigami Boulder Company of DallasPrairie Tumbleweed Farm of Garden City, KansasRescue Critters of Van Nuys, CaliforniaSarah's Smash Shack of San DiegoSeason Shot of Bloomington, MinnesotaSniff Dogs of Summit, New JerseySomethingStore of Huntington, New YorkThe Texas Lice Squad of Missouri City, TexasThrox of San FranciscoTiger Time Lawn Care of MemphisThe Ultimate Taxi of Aspen, ColoradoUnclaimed Baggage Center of Scottsboro, AlabamaVideogames Adventure Services of New York CityWeightNags of AustinYelo of New York CityYou've Been Left Behind of Harwich, Massachusetts
Service for contacting the dead. Terminally ill patients memorize messages and deliver them when opportunity permits.
In a perfect world, you wouldn't have to lie to your wife/boss/parents about your whereabouts Friday night. In an imperfect world, these guys have your back.
A million-dollar company that makes a single product: foam balls for car aerials.
Members create and track lists of things they want to achieve before they die.
Drive-through strip joint.
Runs events at which adults "explore communication, boundaries, and affection" by donning pajamas and getting physical. Ix-nay on the naughty stuff.
Writes full-length corporate theme songs. The ultimate in hold music!
Creates pregnancy announcements that purportedly come from the womb.
Video-game-coaching services. Offers "world-class instruction" in Halo 2.
Menu features a quadruple bypass burger, flatliner fries ("deep fried in PURE LARD!"), and Jolt cola. Also available: unfiltered cigarettes.
The Proustian madeleine of natural lighting. Travel down memory lane with scents such as pancake and dryer sheet.
Buys and sells engagement rings for that magical time when one or both members of the couple come to their senses.
Sells plastic wishbones. Because turkeys have only one.
Vanity, thy name is Rover. Testicular implants "allow your pet to retain his natural look, self esteem and [aid] in the trauma associated with neutering."
Sells wadded-up pieces of paper for $10. Wadded-up pieces of paper with a haiku are $15. Yes, it's a joke, but/ It uses PayPal, and so/ It counts as a business.
A large tumbleweed goes for $25, which sounds about right.
Sells animal mannequins (that's one of them above, skydiving) for veterinary training and pet owners wishing to practice "mouth-to-snout resuscitation."
Massages are for wimps. At Sarah's, the seriously stressed take out their frustration on innocent dinnerware.
It's ammunition and a taste sensation in one! Why fill tonight's dinner with buckshot when you can shoot it with a biodegradable pellet packed with lemon pepper, honey mustard, and other yummy flavors?
Canine narcotics-detection service for your teen's room.
Pay $10, and it will ship you something. No telling what.
Professional nitpickers. No job is too small.
Sells colorful socks in packs of three. Dryers: Do your worst.
Women wear bikinis and push lawn mowers. Hank Hill would have a stroke.
A Checker cab tricked out with lasers, blacklights, mini strobes, synthesizers, audio mixing board, keyboard, digital drums, dry-ice fog machine, etc.
Every day, this enormous store receives more than 7,000 items from orphaned luggage from the airlines. It's selling your late, lamented Ralph Lauren sweater as you read this.
Arranges bespoke kidnappings and other customized real-life (despite the name) adventures for thrill seekers.
Sends dieters mildly abusive weekly messages to, you know, encourage them.
You snooze, they win. Offers harried urbanites 20- to 40-minute naps in sleep pods.
Subscribers create e-mail messages for loved ones ineligible for the rapture. We note the founders' confidence that at the End of Days, the Internet will be up and running.