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  • Thunderbird TB-572 Cookie Dropping Machine, Up to 150 Cookies Per Minute
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Thunderbird TB-572 Cookie Dropping Machine, Up to 150 Cookies Per Minute

15 customer reviews

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  • Up to 150 cookies per minute
  • Multiple Cookie Designs
  • Computerized Controls to Make the Ideal Cookie Shape
  • Runs on conveyor
  • Stainless Steel Exterior
1 new from $32,340.00
This item’s packaging will be visible when delivered and cannot be gift-wrapped.

Product Description

Mass produce endless variety of different types of cookies with the touch of a button. Throw away the cookie cutters. Save time and energy by owning your own cookie dropping machine. An innovative, high-tech, easy to use digital control panel allows operators to mass produce cookie dough in different sizes, shapes and types. 220V, 60 Hz, Single Phase.

Product Details

  • Product Dimensions: 59 x 34 x 54 inches ; 1,200 pounds
  • Shipping Weight: 1,260 pounds
  • ASIN: B00CP33MB4
  • Item model number: TB-572
  • Average Customer Review: 4.0 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (15 customer reviews)
  • Product Warranty: For warranty information about this product, please click here

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Customer Reviews

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

107 of 134 people found the following review helpful By Ian on October 22, 2013
Brace yourself, I'm the ace with glaze
I'm a bustin out gingerbread in your face
In any case, yo, I'm frostin' like a steeplechase
MC pastry chefs: about face
Now step off, I need room for my bake-off
My custom made biscuits are crisp
Yours are soft
I think you're stuck with misery, you gonna be history
Yo, I planned it out just like a patisserie
Snicker-doodle back up, or come a clapper
I plan to trap a Master Chef and kidnap' em
Phony, so skip the torrone
You and your cronies need to stick to macaroni
And hard rolls, cause you just a rookie
When it was time for chef school you just eatin the cookie
Best of the batch, no man can catch up
Holes in your pate choux can't be patched, a battle's a mismatch,
I flip wafers like a acrobat
And I sugar coat like a diplomat
But when it's time for nut cracks, or def snacks
It's a thrill to run my food mill for spritzgebäcks
With my skill I'm the lord of the macaroon
And I be bakin' at a rapid pace way past noon

I'm droppin' 'em
Droppin' em
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8 of 8 people found the following review helpful By Psychedelico on November 1, 2013
When a great big extended family of cookie monsters moved in across the street from my bordello, I knew I couldn't stand for this. I'd had a cookie monster on my squad in 'Nam, and so I knew what I was in for: Thievery. These monsters will do anything to get their hands on more cookies. Like an addict for crack, like a baby for breastmilk, like the dog you were horrifically embarrassed by on numerous occasions for eating the feces of anything it came across.....Nothing will stop a cookie monster from getting his cookies. This meant, that one so called "Cookie" (note the capitalized "C") in the neighborhood would have been a problem. But there had to be at least a dozen. Some appeared very young, and some very old, and the ones in between had the battle scarred look and dead eyes I noticed on my squadmate shortly before I had to blast him for trying to steal from me in my sleep for the 3rd time. I had a few gold rings--one from my lovely wife, and a few family heirlooms that had all been on my fingers so long, that they'd been impossible to remove since long before the war had started. My eyes popped open, terrified awake by the feverish dreams of Viet Cong I'd had every night since arriving in Hanoi for another doomed effort to change strategies that didn't work out....

...And when my eyes opened, there he was, shirtless, bandana dripping with sweat and stained with dirt and blood tied tight around his forehead, like we all were nearly all the time in that hellhole...And a vacant expression on his face, hollowed out cheeks, where patches of blue fur had started coming out in handfuls. He was a mess.
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4 of 4 people found the following review helpful By Catrinka TOP 500 REVIEWER on December 2, 2013
As a former distributor of icy treats from the back of a battered ice cream truck, I was often faced with wary or even hostile looks from the parents of the little kiddies who raced up to greet me. No matter how many times I practiced my "friendly smile" in the mirror, it's really hard not to look creepy when you throw open the doors of a decrepit, smoke-belching 50 year old ice cream truck. Still, I loved my work and was devastated when my business and home-on-wheels was finally beyond repair. Now I'm back to living with Mom again.

Gotta make a living, though. After a few "issues" with other employment opportunities, I reminded myself that my passion is working with kids. Now, true, my parole officer and the state of Florida don't see eye to eye with me on that one --- but you've got to follow your dream, right?

How I was ever lucky enough to stumble across this Thunderbird Cookie Dropping Machine on Amazon, I'll never know. Sure, it's pricy at $32,340 - but every entrepreneur requires a little seed money to make big things happen. Since Mom always seems doubtful of my business sense, I had to really push her to take out a second mortgage on her home in order to acquire this beauty. This time I'll show her that I've got what it takes.

My new T-Bird-572 is a concessionaires dream! It comes complete with small metal wheels, so I welded an old rusted trailer hitch to it and hooked it behind my '71 Ford Pinto - and off we went to make some magic. A quick stop at Walmart to pick up cookie-making supplies to dump into the hopper, and then on to my favorite neighborhoods.

I'll admit that things did get a bit hairy when I hit the interstate.
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Even now, so many years later, when I happen to pass by a bakery and see a Thunderbird TB-572 in action, dropping its cookies with military precision and speed, my eyes mist up. I can't help it. Call it PSTD or flashbacks, or what you will, but suddenly, it's 1965 and I'm back in 'Nam. The smell of the baking cookies, the scent of the nuoc nam sauce we used to mask our clandestine operation, and the fog of napalm mixing with the fetid miasma of rice paddies floats up in my nostrils and threatens to overwhelm me with longing.

Back at division headquarters in Danang, some overworked (or drugged out) supplies clerk was responsible for ordering replacement parts for the Thunderchiefs that provide our air support, but instead of Thunderchief TB-572 (parts, thru bolts, 1 gross) he typed Thunderbird TB-572 and what showed up was a crate that didn't contain thru bolts but did contain a large machine that according to the instructions, could drop cookies on a conveyor belt oven at the astonishing rate of 150 blobs of dough per minute.

Not one to waste an opportunity, our supplies clerk, rather than returning the crate, Corporal Lacey decided to keep it. (understandable, all that paperwork to fill out! Which for do you use for "refused shipment, baking equipment, ordered in error") Besides, it might be worth something as a potential swap, or even could be sold on the blackmarket to one of those Vietnamese French-trained pastry chefs. But then, I made the mistake of trundling it over to the mess tent. I never could resist machinery,

I bribed Cook (a case of grain alcohol colored with caramel extract, poured into Johnny Walker Red bottles) and he mixed up an Army-sized batch of dough in the Hobart. We loaded the hopper and turned it on. Frip! Frip! Frip!
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