I found myself thinking Well, what's really disturbing is that there are probably people who will buy it and use it...
Then I remembered the laundromat down the street from our old apartment in Alhambra, CA: a typical trashed-out laundromat with a typically vile restroom, with typically grafitti-covered walls. The grafitti in this one was a little different, though -- floor-to-ceiling, in big-red, marking-pen letters, all obviously written by the same person, a person obsessed with women's feet. Not just any feet, though: he wanted Asian women's feet, and they had to be dirty. He was soliciting women (don't wash your feet for two weeks, his basic message went, and I'll have sex with you), husbands (loan me your dirty-footed wives), and parents too (do you have a daughter? don't let her wash her feet, and I'll take her as well), and he was more than willing to pay -- as long as it was for Asian women who hadn't washed their feet in at least two weeks. He got kind of lyrical at one point, too, going on about stinky, smelly, piggy feet in a way that implied that he might not mind having a few of them pickeled in a jar, as well (if he didn't already have a jar or two).
When we were out in the parking-lot, were getting ready to leave, a guy (early middle-age, probably Anglo or Hispanic) pulled up next to us and got out of his car. He didn't look at us -- at least not at our faces: his eyes went straight for my wife's feet. He stared at them for a few seconds, then went into the laundromat. She's Asian, and she was wearing open-toed sandals, so (if it was the foot-fetishist) I suppose he got some kind of momentary thrill, but the joke was on him -- she'd washed her feet.
Now, if he'd wanted to sniff mine, I might have obliged him -- of course, the smell would probably have killed him...
That was a few years ago, but if the guy who wrote that grafitti isn't doing time in a residential facility for the criminally insane, he probably has several of those things -- and I'm sure that they're all super-extra-stinky by now...