Teamworking Day: The Aliens of Mount Kailas 🌭

Brockway: Ctom, the diaper-chewing maniac behind The President Goes to Heaven, seems to believe every conspiracy theory at once, plus several more he made up. Every one of his ideas is at war with six others, leaving his mind like an old Chevy on a bomb testing range. If his oeuvre has a theme, and it absolutely does not, it’s ctom trying to make peace between the warring clans of bats inside his skull. He’s looking for the Unifying Theory of Nutjob, and this time he’s using the best medium for logic and coherency: the novelization of a found footage sex comedy stage play he never actually wrote.

Seanbaby: You know…

Brockway: It’s introduced as a eulogy for a dead reporter, Don Farto, given by a near-total stranger named Alvine Schwartz.

Seanbaby: Ha, it’s funny, I could have sworn both you and the author said “Don Farto.”

Seanbaby: Oh no, that’s real.

Brockway: It’s nice of Alvine to do this for the family when he barely knew the man-

Brockway: Huh. Maybe you could use fewer spread legs and penises in this funeral speech, Alvine.

Seanbaby: I don’t think this is weird. My life insurance doesn’t even pay out unless my most casual acquaintance comes to the funeral and describes the site of my death using only penises.

Brockway: In my personal experience, sometime after the fifth cock you describe – really right around the point you accuse god of being an alien – that’s when an uncle divetackles you out of the church. But no, the family lets Alvine finish his extremely long anecdote about the many penises he saw on a mountain that looked like fucking. Maybe they were hoping it would dovetail back into their beloved’s life in a meaningful way at the end. It did not.

Seanbaby: As we gather here to honor the dead, a lot of mountains look like labias, am I wrong about this, folks? Like, put on some pants, Kilimanjaro, there are kids trying to ski. Any other time I’d take you up on the offer, babe, but it’s 9am and I’m with a tour group from Cleveland. Might be a little early to pop off in an igneous rock formation, cha cha. Seriously, though; gods are Aliens from the stars, right?

Brockway: I take it back. That’s beautiful, Sean. It’s really only missing one thing-

Brockway: Don Farto is wonderful in its simplicity. If that was a character in an SNL sketch I’d dress like him every Halloween. There will be many fart jokes in this book, but none of them will involve Don Farto. Ctom has no idea what he has here. It’s like he found an undetonated nuclear warhead, then tied it to a stick so he could bash people on the head with it. I’m always divetackled before I can get to this part in my eulogies, but Don Farto deserved better than this.

Seanbaby: This guy opened his eulogy with alien genitals, so many alien genitals, and then ended it with a list of places he went unrelated to the deceased and a guy he lost, also unrelated to the deceased. Don Farto deserved better than this.

Brockway: The rest of the book is told through audio clips recovered from memory cards found on the body of reporter Don Farto. It was clearly written as a stage play with Don Farto as the narrator framing each scene, but I guess the Detroit equivalent of Broadway didn’t want to cast a Don Farto, because this book is the only version of the story. The story of Don Farto.

Don Farto.

Seanbaby: I agree. Don Farto.

Brockway: Though they only met once, in a way, I think Alvine Schwartz knew Don Farto better than anybody.

Seanbaby: You can tell a newscaster produces his own stories when the copy says, “O, look at all these huge penises.” This is one of the best books we’ve ever read. I love the framing device, I love the huge penises, and I love the huge penises.

Brockway: It’s actually sort of a romance, isn’t it? Here were two men, separated by time and circumstance, but spiritually united in their passion for huge, huge penises.

Brockway: Don Farto died how he lived: nearby a handsome penis. Alvine even got the Shiva alien stuff right! This was actually too perfect. If you peel off Alvine’s mustache I’m sure you’ll find that Don Farto faked his own death and then had to do his own eulogy because nobody else wanted to say ‘O, look at all these huge penises’ that many times in a church.

Seanbaby: Don Farto broke the story of alien life on a penis festival remote! Can you imagine if Tom Brokaw casually told the nation he was counting giant dongs by space monster architectu– wait, wait I should have renamed him Tom Brokewind.

Brockway: I’m more sure than ever that I made the right decision. You’re doing my eulogy. You’re going to have to wear pigeon-spikes just to keep horny mourners off you.

Anyway, Don Farto also believed Mount Kailas looked like Shiva’s unsheathed dong, and that Shiva lived atop his own hog with his beautiful immortal wife in a state of constant orgy, guarded by cannibals. This is, holy shit, this is still the setup phase for the story. This is all stuff you need to keep in mind before the story begins. This is the text crawl before Star Wars, but the Ewoks eat each other and every fourth word is a bolded penis.

Seanbaby: What an inspiring art prompt.

Brockway: Then a huge penis enters from top of frame and takes several minutes to pass. That’s how we’ll sell the scale.

So Don Farto snuck into the sex palace of the alien gods and somehow did not title his book that. He must hate success, that’s worth 8 million Kindle Unlimited downloads. Anyway, let ctom set an atmosphere of dread like only a master can.

Seanbaby: I think it betrays the author’s fear of sex to have Don Farto know he’s listening to the “sounds of group sex orgy,” then decide, no, it must be the haunting of creepy ghouls, and then have him cower behind a pillar.

Brockway: This is the entire book: The many fuckings Don Farto heard from behind a pillar. Also a better title.

Seanbaby: I agree again.

Brockway: With this story, we will solve every mystery in human history. Right after we check out some sweet melons.

Seanbaby: Dear diary, ba-ba-boing, you gotta see this.

Brockway: A whole pantheon of alien gods converge in this temple to do two things: Confirm every conspiracy theory ctom believes in, and not quite fuck. One of them is a bigfoot. Wow, Look at the size of those melons.

By which I mean bigfoot balls.

Seanbaby: It’s crazy that this guy runs and hides when he hears sex, but will stare directly at a sudden Yeti’s dick while it’s performing a musical number. “The sasquatch, or bigged foot, has a green mound of pubic hair surrounding a helicopter of a phallus, so mesmerizing it is with its swirling, twirling. Oh wow, look at the velocity on that penis. These many penises.”

Brockway: Narada is a Jolly Green Sasquatch who plays the woodblock, the sexiest instrument, and he’s here for the orgy that will end all time. Dick stuff is literally all that happens in heaven, because ctom believes it’s the only good thing about any form of existence. He thinks every second you spend with a dry dong is a millenia in hell.

Seanbaby: I’ve heard this exact speech from so many FedEx guys.

Brockway: The A Plot of this book is how much erectile dysfunction sucks, but the B Plot is a sprawling cosmic tale about a universe in disarray.

…

Because god has erectile dysfunction.

Seanbaby: This is so many words for an author to explain, “My limp dick made me crazy, readers, but not in a cute way. I am crazy crazy. You’re in quite a lot of danger.”

Brockway: But you didn’t let him finish. Let him finish. It makes sense if you’d only let him finish!

Actually all the gods have erectile dysfunction. Because of diabetes, which they also have.

Brockway: This probably doesn’t have anything to do with anything, but at the time of writing this ctom was a 70 year old man with diabetes.

Seanbaby: “O, Goddess, O, Glorious Creator, I picked up some pamphlets on preventing erectile dysfunction, but my schedule has been so busy lately. O, Great Parvathy, I should get back into bird watching that would help me get outside more. O, Goddess, where was I? Ah, yes, orgy.”

Brockway: Ctom sure writes an orgy like a dude who’s never been invited to an orgy.

Seanbaby: Where did all this story’s momentum go? Did Don Farto forget the stakes? This is no time to sit around getting high. He needs to rally these men and bigfoots! Come on, gang! We’ve got to work together and get god’s dick hard!

Brockway: I think this was supposed to be important? Don Farto will open and close every scene by describing the rolling mists that obscure his view – that’s part stage direction, a leftover from back when he was pretending somebody would produce this, but also…

Brockway: He might be trying to say god is just blowing smoke out of his ass. In the hands of Kurt Vonnegut that could’ve been a cute little touchdown in an otherwise horrible story about genocide. In ctom’s hands it’s a clumsy punt in a manifesto advocating genocide. It’s less charming, is what I’m saying.

Seanbaby: I’ve watched enough ctom movies (one) to know this was only a fart joke. If you asked him to explain it, he would say, “In my experience I’ve found the quickest way to ruin a joke is to explain it, but very well: it’s a playful take on how it is quite funny when things come out of a butt. Now, I’d much rather talk about how I haven’t had a boner in 37 years. I blame it on the diabetes, but it’s tooth-clenching fear. In fact, I’ve pooped my pants, which is funny because it’s true.”

Brockway: Oh good point. Of course we have that trademark ctom poop and piss play. It’s like David Fincher with his morally bankrupt protagonists or James Cameron with his jaded cash grabs to fund his submarine addiction. Artists call that a motif.

Seanbaby: Oh great, it’s the part of the orgy where Don Farto talks about his entire family’s struggle with incontinence.

Brockway: Yes, actually that is precisely correct. But we’re still on a different orgy for now: the many horny flaccid gods are soon joined by the reincarnated bodies of everyone who died on Alien Cock Mountain – they’re all either mountaineers, CIA agents, satanists, or Jews. That’s me being silly: Those are all the same thing.

Seanbaby: Most of this checks out, but 700,000 Moloch abductions per year seems high. That’s about one in every five children. Like, the chocolate milk industry would notice that.

Brockway: No, Nestle’s in on it. All corporations and banks are. It’s all part of a hideous conspiracy by the Jews to ruin the world by putting dildos up their asses. I worry you think I’m kidding, but no, you don’t.

Brockway: Another author might have left that a figurative condemnation. Ctom thinks figurative condemnation is an additive the Jews put in soda to keep us from seeing the real colors. In this story, bankers are literally destroying the universe with anal stimulation.

Seanbaby: If you’re telling me that ignoring the warning label on a dildo is specifically destroying God, that only makes it hotter.

Brockway: Remember, ctom is doing this to collate every insane belief he has – from anti-semitism to homophobia to the fake moon landing – into one single narrative. You need to trust me that these are narratively important buttholes.

Seanbaby: “This is Don Farto on location behind a pillar at a star orgy. It now appears butt stuff has insulted God’s penis and inspired some kind of universe-collapsing dance. More on this as it develops, check out the size of those melons.”

Brockway: It sounds weird when you put it like that. Anyway, Bigfoot tries to convince Shiva’s wife to fuck other gods. Ctom gets as close to a joke as he ever will.

Seanbaby: I . . .

Brockway: Come on, that’s almost something! That something is racist, but it’s close to coherent. You won’t believe this, but that’s a recurring theme of ctom’s work – huge green alien god penises. And racism. He doesn’t have a lot of respect for the blacks, he doesn’t trust the Mexicans, he outright hates the Jews, but oh man – don’t even get him started on the worst of them all: his fellow Indians.

Seanbaby: I can’t tell if the author is mad at Indian movies for being unrealistic or Indian space orgies for being unrealistic.

Brockway: Both. He wants to make the only realistic Indian space orgy movie, but those fatcats in Bollywood won’t let him. See, ctom is folding in how unappreciated he feels as a filmmaker with his rampant homophobia, then passing it through the mouth of an alien god of destruction, while using the whole thing as an excuse to complain about diabetic erectile dysfunction. This is almost a Kojima game.

Brockway: “Super cool!” Said no CIA agent about any muslim exercising their religious beliefs.

Seanbaby: “Wow, this is not how I pictured Muslim heaven at all. Cliffs, mountaineers, loose boulde– whoa they have a fornication room! Alright, everyone, I’m coming in, but if anyone tries any gay stuff in here, I’M GOING TO KILL MYSELF.”

Brockway: So listen, the Peace Corps is secretly funded by the CIA. We know this. We only have to look at the straight-laced Peace Corps agent, with his 9AM haircut and his polished shoes, to spot a narc. You probably didn’t know that anyone who climbs a mountain is also a spook. It gets tricky – you can climb a hill for a picnic, you could maybe even do some light hiking, but above about 5,000 feet, you are a Jewish agent of satan.

Brockway: It’s almost an aside that Osama Bin Laden was a secret mountain king killed the day after 9/11. That’s just a fun one ctom slipped in as an easter egg.

Seanbaby: This is such a fascinating dumbness. He seems to know caves don’t have electrical outlets, but he still pictured terrorists wheeling a dialysis machine into one as if they didn’t know. In the end, Osama Bin Laden’s worst enemy was forgetting the cave electric smarts me have. And CIA cartographers. And bomb. Only with their powers combined could he be stopped.

Brockway: That’s just one small, incidental example of ctom’s idiot madness. Every single person reincarnated on this mountain is a secret CIA operative responsible for a conspiracy theory ctom learned about in a downvoted Reddit comment.

Brockway: I love picturing that. Six entire teams, all shooting at Kennedy from different locations, just 17 bullets coming at his head from every possible direction at the same time. His head detonating like a Gallagher punchline.

Seanbaby: Another inspiring art prompt.

Brockway: Now, it might take a little bit to figure out how that’s all the Jews fault- haha just kidding. It doesn’t take long at all.

Brockway: The Federal Reserve is actually a private bank for Jews. Okay, that sucks but it’s almost normal-brained in this era of pedophile pizza basements. But saying the Jews killed Kennedy because he was circulating Kennedy Bucks you could redeem at the White House for pewter skull rings and BB guns – that’s the special ctom flavor you can only get here, in the mad diary of a flaccid diabetic.

Seanbaby: It all makes sense once you consider maybe everyone in the entire world is lying except for the least coherent lunatic. Let’s hear this limp-dicked racist out.

Brockway: Anyone could have called “crazy stuff about Jews” in this book by a… Catholic Muslim? What the fuck? No wonder ctom is so confused. But who here put money down on antivax shit making an appearance? Looks like a lot of you have your hands up. Keep them up if you also guessed Ganesh wasn’t an elephant, he was just super autistic.

Seanbaby: “O, Goddess, you dumbass. You thought your son was non-verbal because of his elephant face, you idiot. O, you loathsomely stupid Maker of All That Is, it was because of the vaccines. O, Great Pavathy, if only your gentle wisdom had backed Republicans during the Creation.”

Brockway: “So autistic he became an elephant” isn’t even close to how that works, ctom. It’s maybe the origin story for a Zach Snyder Babar reboot, but it’s about as far from medical science as you can get.

You know where all this talk is going…

Brockway: Holy shit, maybe you didn’t. Did you have “starve the autistic” on your conspiracy bingo card?

Seanbaby: I had “forty minute unbroken scream at own penis,” so I already gave myself the bingo chip. I won so, so long ago.

Brockway: Alright, let’s run down your card then and see if you won the 10% off coupon at Golden Corral. You know about fluoride poisoning? Did you know the Jews are doing it to our salt?

Seanbaby: Wow, this has everything. It’s like a less horny, better written Ready Player One. End of joke, watermelon smash.

Brockway: How about 9/11 false flag operations? Wait, that’s no fun. Unhinged ctom whimsy demands remote controlled planes and atomic bomb-proof supertowers.

Brockway: You’ve heard the one about how Stanley Kubrick faked the moon landing, and then confessed to it if you watch The Shining backwards through tinfoil with one of the secret constellations poked into it?

Seanbaby: Is Don Farto still dictating an overheard conversation about 9/11? I’ve never seen anyone this bad at an orgy.

Brockway: Nobody’s dick works and they’re all trying to distract each other from their simultaneously limp cocks. “Wait, don’t look down! Fuck! Uh… both the Kennedy Tag Team Special and Kubrick’s moon landing were executed by a CIA agent named Cigun! He carved his name into the moon!”

Brockway: “It’s not flaccid, it’s just flexible. Fuck! Did you know we discovered the secret to immortality, and they denied it to us? I’m assuming I mean the Jews!”

Wait, let’s have you call it right now: What was the secret to immortality? Where could you find it? Lock in your answer.

Seanbaby: This feels like a trap. I mean, it’s obviously something racist mixed with something magical. The absolute craziest thing at this point would be if it was just, like, vitamins or whatever.

Brockway: You’re worryingly good at this.

Yes, it was HGH. They used to sell it at GNC. You know – that store in the mall next to the Orange Julius that always smells like foot powder. That’s where immortality was, it’s why Ponce de Leon died in a Vitamin Shoppe. So close and yet so far.

Seanbaby: This is kind of a humblebrag, but I’ve seen enough people die in a Sharper Image to know this is bullshit.

Brockway: This is a wild turn, even for a book about a butt-toking alien Shiva. I think maybe ctom is angry here at his own failing body and looking back on the time when he felt most alive: Ripped to the tits on human growth hormone in the food court of a 1987 shopping mall.

Seanbaby: This is nuts in a specific enough way that may help explain everything. So he was buying homeopathic vitality pills from a conspiracy radio host and got cut off from his supply when that host… hold on, let me look it up… oh no, died from pills. Which means this, all of this, is the author’s way of coping with the death of his placebo dealer. Most people would have switched to juice cleanses, but ctom went to the stars for a sex party for floppy-donged 9/11 truthers.

Brockway: This is top shelf bonkers conspiracy theory. It just feels like it’s missing that special something without the liberal elite literally eating dead babies to live forever.

Brockway: Man, if only there were some way to get back to that happy place, by which I mean an unregulated GNC store, without just, I don’t know, making bathtub human growth hormone.

Brockway: Motherfucker is using bigfoot as a mouthpiece to push moonshining HGH. We went into this book knowing for a fact this man was insane, and he took that as a personal challenge.

Seanbaby: This is a recipe for homemade multivitamins using over-the-counter regular vitamins. I dare this book to get dumber or crazier. O, Goddess Parvathy, I fucking dare it.

Brockway: …

McDonald’s is people.

Seanbaby: O, hell yes.

Brockway: Round about here the bathtub HGH really starts to kick in. There’s breakdancing. Bruce Lee shows up.

Seanbaby: “Don Farto: Ueli is showing Parvathy a breakdance move. Damaged Memory Card.” Put it in the Smithsonian.

Brockway: “Bruce Lee breaks into a celestial orgy to beat up god.” That’s art. That’s what art is. It almost rules! Until it doesn’t.

Brockway: “Excuse me, I heard you talking and I just wanted to insert that the Jews invented evil. I suppose, anyway. Do go on, I’m sorry to interrupt. Yes, I will do it again.”

Seanbaby: This book is like if Hitler owned two Furbies and left both of them under the same bed (watermelon smash).

Brockway: I didn’t bring enough bibs to this article.

When ctom pulls out of the hugs, which is what HGHeads call overdosing on toilet hormones, we really start to Megazord these six thousand conspiracy theories together.

Brockway: It’s actually pretty simple. Lucifer and the Jews are in league with the freemasons, or possibly are the freemasons, and when they’re not too busy mountaineering or eating McChildren, they’re executing a master plan to decimate humanity.

Seanbaby: “This is Don Farto, wondering what it would take for these gods to post their orgy schedules where people could see them and time my meals better around them. Everybody hates the Jews here in space, for a lot of complicated reasons. This is Don Farto, reporting from a broken, uselessly penised body.”

Brockway: Of course none of this would be happening if Hollywood had given ctom a chance.

Seanbaby: “But I’m not talking about me, the narrator assures you, the reader. My normal-sized p-penis is fine, I stammer, nakedly revealing more than I meant to.”

Brockway: That’s the root of all this. He showed up in Los Angeles with nothing but brainworms and a dream, proved five times he couldn’t make a movie, and the only way his anthill mind could reconcile his own failure was with an 80 page manifesto about devil Jews and erectile dysfunction.

Brockway: Jews created socialism, communism, and democracy! All equally evil. I guess the one true government is facism, which does work so long as your dictator has a huge and beautiful penis. HOLD ON, a huge and beautiful penis that he can maintain an erection with. That almost sounded ridiculous.

Seanbaby: “Say that again, rumors of wars? Usury? Got it! Sorry, the sounds of this sexual orgy are making it hard to hear these crimes against the Gentile.”

Brockway: You see, ladies, ED is really an everyone problem. Because the second, and I mean the very second a boner performs at less than peak efficiency, you’ll bash your own skull in with a rock. You know you will. Better that than to live even a second in the hell of not always having a dick in you.

Seanbaby: This sounds true, but I wouldn’t know. Ladies. O, sexy wet Narada Muni.

Brockway: That’s the bigfoot, and I agree.

Hold on, there’s a twist ending!

Brockway: Stefan recognizes Shiva as Cigun, his fellow CIA agent and lynchpin to everything from Kennedy’s battle royale assassination to Stanley Kubrick’s 1969: The Moon Landing. And since all CIA agents are Luciferian Jews who worship Moloch, a demon they invented, that must mean… it never comes up again!

Seanbaby: You can sum up this book by saying “A weird hate crime along with a few other things,” but those few other things are starting to collapse in on themselves. I’m not sure this story can take too many more twists before it’s down to just hate crime.

Brockway: You forgot the HGH recipe. It’s technically a hate crime cookbook.

Anyway, what Stefan really wants is to steal Shiva’s wife, who is actually Shiva, who is actually Cigun. But BUT this is expressly not gay because it’s the girl parts of Shiva-Cigun. You know how in anime there’s always some gross technicality like the 14 year old girl is really a two hundred year old witch so it’s cool if you see her panties? This whole book is that, but for ctom wanting to touch a penis.

Seanbaby: “O, Wondrous Lady Parts of Shiva, if only I was 30 years younger and my bitterness congealing into antisemitism was instead a bottle of Art Bell vitality pellets.”

Brockway: Double twist, Shiva already poisoned Stefan. Double SUPER twist – Stefan knew that and didn’t take the poison! If you’ve ever played action figures with an eight year old, you recognize the stage of storytelling we’re in. English professors call it the Kraft Conflux: when dinner’s ready and you have to cram everything in before mom gets mad.

Seanbaby: “Oh, Idiot God Dummy, you didn’t know I had a force field this wh–”

Brockway: Shiva and Kala literally bounce out of there.

Brockway: If you don’t remember Kala, don’t worry – he leapt into this story for the first time just to Gummi Bear down Cock Mountain with his flaccid god-friend, leaving Shiva’s girl parts at the mercy of Stefan, the undead Luciferian Jew CIA Mountaineer who team-killed Kennedy. In screenwriting terms, they call this Pureeing the Cat.

Seanbaby: “Oh, Luscious Titties of Girl Version of Shi–”

Brockway: Weird. It’s like ctom has issues with women. But what would a fringe conspiracy nutjob obsessed with penises and suffering from ED possibly have against women?

Seanbaby: “I keep getting cut off. I think this book is collapsing into incoherence too qui–”

Brockway: Anyway, the mac and cheese is ready and mom put hot dogs in it so we have to get the fuck out of here. Story over.

Seanbaby: Hold on, let me wrap my hea–

Brockway: Ueli turns into the new Shiva – and this time he’s able to keep it up. He reinserts himself into Pavarthy’s vagina and together they fuck a spiritual wall up between us and the evil Jews who run McDonalds. The perfect ending!

Wait, almost the perfect ending…

Brockway: The perfect ending!

Seanbaby: Oh no. The twist was that all this really was meant t-to be a… comedy?

Brockway: Maybe? I think ctom wanted to be the Q-Pilled Kurt Vonnegut. An author seamlessly mixing genre, meta-commentary, and autobiography into quirky novel length essays on the state of the world. Only ctom believed every insane thing anyone ever told him, his dick didn’t work, and he only made it 82 pages. I guess that makes him more Tom Robbins, if instead of trying to fuck your college girlfriend, he stormed the capitol building. Anyway, signing off from heaven, I’m Rob Farto.

Seanbaby: And on huge penises, I’m Penis, Penis Penis.