I enjoy fighting, but I do not enjoy being fought. Ideally, I would like to attack people from inside the safety of a heavily guarded pillow fort. Where is the martial art for me, the extremely dishonorable vicious coward?
I’ve finally found it:
This is an instruction manual for Combat Simulation Suits — mobile attack pillow forts, in other words. Now, this booklet is supposed to be for teaching instructors how to properly deploy Pillsbury Doughboy Battle Mechs in a classroom situation but I figured it, like all things, can be repurposed for evil.
I actually might have an easier time corrupting this information than you’d think. Judging by the production efforts put into this sucker, the entire manual was hastily written in a courthouse bathroom to be used as evidence in a mascot assault trial.
Every single picture in this book was taken with a wet Holga and developed in the bathroom of a Greyhound bus. And that’s okay, because even the most professionally constructed of these suits looks like you barely took the ‘Best Try’ award in a prison cosplay contest. They have cool names like “Redman” and “Fist” and nobody can say them with a straight face. They look like original characters from some shitty knock-off comic book imprint that couldn’t get the rights to even the worst superheroes, like some store-brand Alpha Flight motherf — you know what? Let’s stop beating around the bush. They look like Ultraverse characters. There, I said it. Eat shit, Malibu.
The advice in here shoots for ‘casual professional’ and the ricochet hits ‘belligerently insane’ square in the crotch:
“Problems occur when the person wearing the kit starts to feels super-pain and impact resistant. … But with that said I have seen the kit bearer demonstrate this Mr. Invincible syndrome on a number of occasions, against both empty hands strikes and training weapons. … I have seen a feeder in a helmet and an array of padding receive no less than five back handed thrusts to the face with a metal training knife just roar his head off and keep coming.”
This manual has to set aside time to address the mad feeling of invincibility that almost immediately overcomes you as soon as you put on the Chuck E. Cheese Batsuit. Every single man this instructor trained has sprinted out the door to fight crime with it, and he is sick of losing both expensive padded codpieces and promising young lives. “Remember that guns exist,” should be the only counter this poor instructor needs, and yet he’s had to watch the life drain out of countless eyes as his most prized pupils power-waddle away from sustained police fire.
“I use a similar mentality during un-predictable scenario training by using positive self-talk such as ‘I’m the only f*cking predator in this alley!” This kind of flicks the switch, allowing me to access the state I need to be in, exactly when I need it.”
If a man clad in nothing but crudely taped-together karate mats introduces himself as “FIST,” and goes on to clarify that he is “the only fucking predator in this alley!” you are not in karate class. Repeat: You are not in karate class. You actually took a wrong turn on your way to Take Back the Streets and this is the storage unit Sergei rented to produce his very first snuff film. Don’t worry: You’re supposed to kill him. You are getting out of this alive, but you are not getting out of it without stomping a boner into pulp and erotically throttling a sad Russian dressed in the entire supply closet of an elementary school gym class.
Eventually we get into what every vicious coward on a budget wants to know: how to build your own Combat Simulation Suit at home. “Smurf Suit” isn’t a great superhero name, but that’s because this is our villain:
Look at that god damn nightmare. Everything about it says “you’re going to live in my basement for the next 7 years.” It looks like Freegan cosplay of a Ukrainian folk monster. That’s the last thing somebody who answered a Craigslist personal ad saw, and it’s the first thing the Anaheim Ducks are going to see when they wake up in hell.
“Like many other good instructor’s in this field we avoid expressions in practice such as “aggressor” and “victim” for the role of the pad man and the trainee. … I use one that my friend Mick Coup employs, which I really like ‘MEAT’ This installs the correct mentality for this kind of training right from the start.”
Okay. All right. That’s enough, One Step Closer to the Street. The game is up. This is a fetish thing. Nobody asks you to call them “MEAT” unless the follow-up question is “want to see me deepthroat a baseball bat?”
Any pamphlet featuring a hirsute man in overalls and a duct-tape helmet, captioned with the phrase “aggressive role play used by the woofer” is only here to instruct masochists on how to take crushplay to the final level.
To the disappointment of every single man that volunteered to be put in this full-body-diaper suit, the Model Mugging program was not what they thought. Look at that son of a bitch on the right: It looks like a Minecraft porn parody. It looks like the event exclusive Hillbilly Funko you could only get at StrangleCon ‘08.
The rest of this manual is just grainy incriminating photos of perverts wrasslin’ women while wearing their Lego Man Gimp Suits.
And that’s fine. It’s totally fine if this is what you’re into so long as it’s consensual, which it absolutely does not seem to be. In fact, the vigorous nonconsent of at least one party seems to be a requirement for this Darkweb PornHub category:
But maybe I’m being naive. In this day and age, I could absolutely see young women becoming sexually aroused at the thought of beating the shit out of a chubby guy in a clearance-rack motorcycle helmet. It could provide plenty of safe sexual release for both participants, so I guess I don’t have any issue with this, so long as all parties involved are well past the age of conse-