The boxing skeleton ballpoint pen:
The cruel and miserly toll bench (pay half a Euro, or you stand):
The Telenoid R 1 Robot (so you can feel like you’re taking to a human instead of a device):
The Trashlight:
Why settle for plastic when you can get you own “Do it yerself” kit? But wait that’s not all! For a small or large additional fee you can get skeletons kits from a variety of animals! Even your own bacula collection! Call right now! Skulls Unlimited Int.! Just in time for All Saints Day! This is not an endosement of “Zen bones, Zen bones, Zen dry bones.”
Re: the pen I was thinking “A Fight to the Death”, but that was a bit obvious.
Gotta be a hit for Dia de los Muertos, though, right? 
BTW I prefer pencils for writing.
Um, no. This is so you can feel like you’re talking to Lord Voldemort before Wormtail adds his own hand and Harry’s blood to the cauldron of re-bodification.
The baseball bat peppermill (Every waiter wants one. You know who you are.):
The Steak Toaster. Because man does not live by bread alone:
A Japanese novel printed on toilet paper (titled Doroppu, for “Drop”, by the way…clever too how the author forces you into an existential act of critique):
It sort of looks like Casper-the-Friendly-Ghost-meets-Sankai-Juku, too, doesn’t it.
It’s a Japanese thang: they loves their robotic androidoids, and just see them as “cute”. It could have fangs and tear things apart on command, and scary or not, it’d still be “cute”. The point for them is that it can’t help how it was born; it’s kind of sort of enough like a person to validly stand in for one. We of other cultures of course bring our own associations to the party.
I think for me as a Westerner, the communication device’s appeal is in its creepy spectral half-formed totemic maybe-living doll-like neutrality, and the tableau using it makes. There you are, gripping this little homunculus that is obviously in your power, and you’re talking to it. In walks your neighbor. And, out walks your neighbor.
Hello Kitty Gold & Pave Diamonds $1,500.
Why? My life’s journey would be complete and filled with joy.
dwest should like this one:
…the plasma gas hand and foot sanitiser.
The prospect of thumb-borne disease is still terrifying.
Yeah…the thing looks like it was built in someone’s garage in Siberia and was snapped up for sale, design as-is. R & D? Who needs R & D?
I’ll tell you who: ME. Give it a nice designer carapace and room for all five digits (and how was it supposed to fit a foot, again?), and then maybe gimme a call.
Rectal thermometer:
'Nuff said.
I only like CME hand sanitizers. It’s the only plasma hand sanitizer I know of that kills everything.
Duckbilled Platypus USB drive:
Electric paper airplane launcher. Because yes, you’re that lazy:
At first sight I thought it was the gom jabbar.
Feet on bench, bum on backrest. Sorted (and free).
That’s straight out of Kurt Vonnegut (Breakfast of Champions?). Kilgore Trout’s book was printed on toilet paper that was distributed to prisons. Sometimes life really does imitate art.
There was a fabled “popener” that was a cork screw like this one
where you twisted the head and the arms rose up.
You, sir, I would guess to be a scofflaw and vagabond who has learned such things from slouching about public spaces with one hand on your recorder and the other stuck out, palm up. 
There’s a blast from the past.
Another blast from the past! Err…I know I read it back in the day, but, heh…you know…that’s about as far as that goes. Ahem.
The baseball bat peppermill (Every waiter wants one. You know who you are.):
I remember hearing a comedian saying something to the effect that the pretentiousness of a restaurant was in direct proportion to the size of it’s peppermills…
The truth of that is inescapable. I like the baseball bat, though. For example, think of what a nice touch it would be in a Mob-run restaurant.
And as to every waiter wanting one: when I was a waiter, there was many a time I would have been glad to have one, and it sure as heck wouldn’t have been for the mere cheap size-queen clown peppermill factor. No, we’re talkin’ “form follows function”, here, if you follow my drift. I count it no tough bet at all that my brother and sister waitstaffers know exactly what I’m talking about, and that not a few would nod their heads in solemn agreement.
I mean, no matter that you couldn’t really use it as a cudgel except once. Just having it and looking menacing could keep your more high-maintenance guests in line. “Would you…like some - ahem - pepper…with that?” 