Pop CultureBy Ty Schalter on

The Shiver: Tonight’s group of sharks: Dallas Mavericks owner and tech-sector maverick Mark Cuban in his usual stage-right chair, fashion icon Daymond John, venture capital mogul Kevin ‘Mister Wonderful’ O’Leary, QVC Queen Lori Greiner, and at the end of the line, infosec entrepreneur Robert Herjavec.

The Bait: Bangin’ sauces, rental clothes, X-ray vision for sunscreen, and “stupid on a potato.”

Company: Durae and Kelly Beard, “Lulubang”

Seeking: $150,000 for a 10 percent stake

The Beard sisters insist their mother was “the best cook ever;” they grew up learning to make people happy with by cooking amazing food. As adults, they’ve developed a line of sauces and marinades taste as good as they double entendre:

The Sharks love their samples. Daymond says they could bring a tear to a glass eye. LuLu Bang’s ramp-up has been incredibly fast: Last year they pitched their product to Walmart, and came away with a regional deal. They’re now in 170 stores since August, and WOW. That is an accomplishment.

Now, let’s talk numbers. Their complete cost is $1.90, retail price is $3.99. Everything seems to be in order, but their sales are shockingly low. Selling only 500 units a month through 170 Walmart stores is disastrous. That’s less than three bottles per store per month.

“I don’t think this is gonna work,” says Mister Wonderful, and we go to our first DRAMATIC COMMERCIAL BREAK.

O’Leary says he’s dealt with a heavy canned food product before (remember canned cupcakes?), and there are challenges he’s just not willing to take on again. He’s out. Robert notes they have some real branding problems, which is probably what’s holding sales back.

“LuLu Bang” was the nickname of their late brother, a fallen veteran. That’s clearly meaningful to them, but it means nothing to your average Walmart customer. The packaging has a weird, techno-military feel. It’s labeled as a barbecue sauce when there are several versatile flavors. The label’s neither informative nor appetizing.

“For me, when I invest in something, I want to invest in something unique,” says Lori, and she correctly notes there are a bazillion sauces out there.

Swim or chum? CHUM.

Should you buy? Every Shark said it tastes great, and double jars are available online for $8-9. SHOULD BUY.

Sometimes, we’re blessed with just a little bit extra Shark talk after the presentation ends. This time, we got a glorious multi-minute segment where every single Shark had to get their two cents in about the future of the business. I’ve clipped a couple of segments of this, because it’s fascinating insight…

…and because toward the end of it, Cuban puts out a mic-drop line that singlehandedly encapsulates the ethos of the Tank:

Preach it, Mark.

Oh, and Lori’s live Twitter poll as to whether we want MOAR of this post-presentation chatter is at 87 percent yes, because YES.

Company: Aaron Liskov and Andrew Zahornacky, “Unpack”

Seeking: $500,000 for a 40 percent stake

These two guys had this whole quasi-comedy routing worked out and (over) rehearsed about saving baggage-checking fees, and I dunno if it was bad or ironic-bad. Cuban says, “All right, Abbott and Costello,” and suggests they get on with it.

This is Unpack, without the ado: You order a suitcase full of used clothes, they arrive wherever you’re going, you wear the clothes, you ship them back, and then whoever orders them next gets them next.

At $20 a day, it’s incredibly cheap, and going on vacation without packing (or coming home with a laundry mountain) sounds cool. But once you stay past a couple of days, you’re not saving money. Five days of Unpack is $100 for five days of wearing rented clothes that may or may not fit. Lori REALLY doesn’t like that:

The entrepreneurs try to pivot mid-presentation, pitching it not as a money-saving idea but a convenience, and then not a convenience but some sort of exploratory fashion experience, and then finally…luggage rental?

The schizophrenia about the business idea is driving the Sharks nuts—and Cuban spends just long enough pitching them an improved version of their concept (“Funpack!”) that he realizes he’s not giving them a half a million dollars to re-work their whole business for them.

“We have a warehouse that’s about a million square feet,” Daymond says, referring to his tux-rental business, and even with all that storage space and cleaning facilities they have to throw out every tux after a dozen or so wearings. Where’s the money in this business for that kind of infrastructure? Not in Daymond’s pocket, he’s out.

“People said the same thing about bottled water 30 years ago,” Liskov says, and WOOF. This is the remember-how-Einstein-got-bad-grades pitch, and it’s not working.

Swim or chum? Chum, chum, chum, chum, CHUM.

Should you buy? I can squeeze everything I need for a long weekend into a carry-on and laptop bag. If they can deliver cool, stylish stuff that fits for $20 a day, maybe—but none of the Sharks think they can, and so you SHOULD NOT BUY.

Company: Dave Cohen, “Sunscreenr”

Seeking: $800,000 for a 10 percent stake

Cohen says Americans spend enormous amounts of money on sunscreen, yet once we put the product on it’s invisible; we have no way of knowing if it’s actually protecting us. He’s got a Phd in biochemistry and biophysics, and he’s invented a brilliant little gewgaw that lets you see where you’re covered—and where you aren’t.

“You can actually see the spots where water, sand or sweat have worn away the protection.” He gives it a try on Lori, and wow:

Cohen did a very successful Kickstarter, raising $93,000 against a $45,000 goal. But they haven’t shipped the final product yet, and the list price is $109 against a $45 manufacturing cost. Within the first few weeks of the KS, Cohen says, several multi-billion-dollar sunscreen companies contacted him about acquiring the idea.

Why didn’t he just take one of their deals? Why, he wanted to swim with the Sharks first! Honestly, telling a room full of billionaires that you’ve got an AMAZING DEAL in your back pocket that you WANTED TO LET THEM IN ON makes you sound like a ridiculous scammer.

“If you come out here with an $8 million valuation, you’d better have a PhD in business,” Robert says, and customer service, and marketing and “something other than your own hype.” Dang.

Mister Wonderful jumps in with an offer: The full $800,000, but for 33.3% of the business. I’m not sure Cohen needs eight hundred grand to bring this thing to market, and if he’s really got industry giants lined up to buy or license the idea he’s not going to want to have given up that much equity.

“I cannot sell a kidney to be a part of this company,” Daymond says. “I’m out.” Cuban doesn’t think families are really going to take a few minutes every half-hour to whip out the Sunscreenr and give everybody a once-over.

Lori starts to say she’d be in if not for his ridiculous valuation. He cuts her off and asks what she thinks is reasonable. She asks him to use his considerable noodle and make an offer himself. He does. She doesn’t like it. She’s out.

“You’ve got an offer,” Mister Wonderful reminds Cohen, and he’s starting to get impatient.

Swim or chum? “He was the last Shark,” says Cohen. “I didn’t want to lose the opportunity to have a Shark on our team.” Okay, but this seems like a match made in, um, the opposite of Heaven. Not sure either party is going to be glad they made this deal. SWIM.

Should you buy? Anyone who’s lost anyone to melanoma knows a hundred bucks is precious little to pay for assurance your kids’ sunscreen is on right. And yet… I don’t know. I’m still not convinced the device is user-friendly enough to actually bring to the beach and use. Until I can get my hands on one, I can’t endorse it. SHOULD NOT BUY.

Company: Riad Bekhit & Alex Craig, “Potato Parcel”

Seeking: $50,000 for a 10 percent stake

It’s the shortest Shark Tank pitch ever.

“We mail potatoes, and that’s it. Any questions?” Um, yes? Many questions? Turns out all they do is ship potatoes inscribed with custom messages.

“This is just stupid on a stick,” Cuban says, and they correct him: It’s stupid on a potato.

“Mine says says there’s nothing proprietary about this,” says Mister Wonderful, and both he and the potato are right:

For all the goofiness, in less than a year Potato Parcel has done about $215,000 in viral Internetty business.

“So seriously, says Cuban, “you made $215,000 in real dollars, and instead of thinking you made out like bandits, you reinvested?” Yep: These potatopreneurs are serious…well, serious about getting on Shark Tank.

“It’s always been my dream to get on Shark Tank,” Craig says; Bekhit explains he bought the entire business off Craig for $40,000—but with the contingency that IF they get on the show, he gets a dollar for every potato sold in the first 60 days. Mister Wonderful is aghast.

“You ripped off my royalty deal?!”

All the Sharks take turns seeing this as a novelty business, if not a novelty pitch with zero viable business behind it. Um…I guess it’s time for a NOT-VERY-DRAMATIC COMMERCIAL BREAK?

“In order to make this work,” Cuban says, “I need to see a path to get to $100 million in sales. How big do you think this can get?” Not big enough, comes the answer, and Cuban is not about “empty calories.” He’s out.

Mister Wonderful turns his classic loan deal back on them: He offers a $50,000 loan for a 10 percent stake, repaid with a per-potato royalty.

Robert…also has an offer?!? Lori’s response here is absolutely classic:

How will the Potato Chums respond to two separate Shark offers? Why, with the ballsiest question a guy in a potato suit could possibly ask two billionaires:

Apparently, Craig thinks there’s enough per-potato profit to pay both his friend and Mister Wonderful.

Swim or chum? “I can’t believe we got a deal.” Me neither, pal. SWIM.

Should you buy?

Who could resist a chance to send their friends something like this?

SHOULD BUY.

About Ty Schalter

Ty Schalter is thrilled to be part of The Comeback. A member of the Pro Football Writers of America, Ty also works as an NFL columnist for Bleacher Report and VICE Sports, and regular host for Sirius XM’s Bleacher Report Radio. In another life, he was an IT cubicle drone with a pretentious Detroit Lions blog.

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