From “Butt-Scented” Dog Toys to Miracle Copper: Inside the Bizarre Universe of Mike Lindell’s MyStore

In an internet saturated with e-commerce giants and endless product feeds, it takes something truly unique—or uniquely bizarre—to stand out. Enter MyStore.com, the online marketplace brainchild of Mike Lindell, a man whose public persona has become a complex tapestry of entrepreneurship, addiction recovery, fervent political activism, and now, retail curation. In a recent deep dive, “Last Week Tonight” host John Oliver peeled back the curtain on this peculiar corner of the web, revealing a collection of products so strange, so questionable, and so utterly hilarious that they defy conventional explanation.

Oliver, with his trademark wit and incisive commentary, introduced MyStore not merely as a business venture but as an extension of Lindell himself. He painted a portrait of Lindell as a figure of boundless, almost baffling, ambition: “a recovering addict turned pillow magnate turned Trump acolyte turned election denier conspiracy theorist turned TV mogul.” This eclectic resume sets the stage for a marketplace that is anything but ordinary. Oliver’s initial impression of the website was less than flattering, comparing its clunky design to something one might expect would “give your computer a venereal disease.” Yet, beneath this unpolished exterior lies a treasure trove of absurdity that Oliver gleefully unearths for his audience.

The journey begins with Lindell’s own branded merchandise. Alongside the flagship MyPillows are items like “MyCoffee” and the “MyCross,” a piece of jewelry offered at a steep discount, hinting at the blend of commerce and personal conviction that defines the platform. But the true spectacle begins when Oliver ventures into the products “personally vetted” by Lindell’s team. It’s here that MyStore transforms from a simple online shop into a veritable museum of oddities.

First on the list is “Make Honey Great Again,” a 16-ounce jar of honey encased in a bottle shaped like the head of Donald Trump. Priced far above its generic counterparts, the product is a perfect encapsulation of MyStore’s niche: a marketplace where political identity and consumerism merge in the most literal ways. Oliver’s deadpan reaction underscores the surreal nature of spreading politically charged honey on your morning toast.

The bizarre tour continues with “Staywell Copper,” a product line promising an “all-natural solution to killing bacteria.” It consists of a small piece of copper to be affixed to a phone and a copper “touch tool” for navigating the germ-infested world. The claims are dubious enough, but Oliver strikes comedy gold when he reads a customer testimonial from a user named “Paddington,” who claimed to have cured a sore throat by sucking on the copper stopper. The image is as ludicrous as it is unforgettable, raising serious questions about the vetting process Lindell boasts of.

The parade of peculiarities marches on. There are “Incognito Fire Extinguishers,” safety devices hidden within decorative covers that Oliver sarcastically suggests would provide a calming aesthetic during a raging kitchen fire. Then there’s the “Wacker Spoon,” a multi-purpose kitchen utensil whose name alone invites mockery. Accompanied by a dramatic, overly long demonstration video, the tool is shown “meat whacking,” crushing nuts, and failing spectacularly at juicing lemons. Oliver’s comedic genius shines as he dissects the video’s absurdities and the product’s suggestive name, leaving the audience in stitches.

Just when you think it can’t get any weirder, Oliver introduces a line of products for medical emergencies—both human and equine. “Bleed Stop” promises to halt bleeding instantly, while its companion product, “Bleed Clot,” is specifically designed for horses. Oliver humorously questions the Venn diagram of MyStore customers who are also in desperate need of emergency equine medical supplies. The absurdity peaks with the “Amazing Temporary Tooth Replacement Kit,” which proudly advertises “25% more tooth,” a claim that is as nonsensical as it is hilarious.

However, the pièce de résistance, the item that Oliver crowns his “true absolute favorite,” is a line of dog toys called “Mutbuts.” These are not your average squeaky toys. Mutbuts are, astoundingly, scented “like a dog’s backside.” The creator, featured in a promotional video, explains with scientific gravity that the product was the result of “a year of research” to formulate “synthetic versions of the organic compounds found in a dog’s backside” in amounts safe for canines. The scent, thankfully, is undetectable to humans. Oliver’s reaction—a mixture of horror, disbelief, and uncontrollable laughter—perfectly mirrors the audience’s. He raises a critical, if comical, point: how exactly did the researchers test the safety limits of synthetic butt-smell compounds on dogs?

As the segment concludes, Oliver attempts to find a deeper meaning in this chaotic emporium of oddities. He ponders why he dedicated an entire web exclusive to dissecting MyStore. His conclusion is that Mike Lindell, for all his controversies, represents a “weirdly inspiring” version of the American dream. Here is a man who has battled personal demons to build a commercial empire, all while simultaneously attempting to upend democratic processes and selling, in Oliver’s opinion, “some of the worst pillows in the history of humanity.”

Lindell’s MyStore is a manifestation of his “blind optimism”—a belief that any idea, no matter how strange, can find a market. It’s a platform where science-adjacent health gadgets, politically charged condiments, and anatomically scented pet toys coexist without irony. The review is a masterclass in satire, using humor to critique not just the products themselves, but the culture of belief and consumerism that allows such a marketplace to exist. In the end, Oliver’s journey through MyStore is more than just a product review; it’s a commentary on a unique and perplexing figure in modern American life, leaving viewers laughing, bewildered, and perhaps a little more critical of the “vetted” products they encounter online.