Categories
UPSETTING DAY

Upsetting Day: Prime Mover 🌭

In the 1980s, we had one powerful comedy bit: partiers crash the squares. Got a stuffy graduation ceremony? Not with Coors Light you don’t, crack one open and there are bikini girls under those robes. Professors are playing frisbee with the mortarboards. The dean is breakdancing. Every hair metal video was about a rock band exploding through the wall of the DMV and forcing the secretly hot clerk to make out in front of the license machine. At the end her license photo would have the whole band in it, and she’d be certified to operate class D vehicles. But every once in a while a complete lunatic would get a hold of that bit and wildly misunderstand it. Let’s talk about Zodiac Mindwarp and The Love Reaction. Let’s do it because of the name, because they kick ass, because they might have been a parody of hair metal from inside hair metal at the peak of hair metal, and the only thing that’s crazier is if they weren’t – but mostly because nothing misunderstood ā€˜crashing the squares’ like their video for ā€œPrime Mover.ā€ 

The video opens with young women sleeping peacefully in a church, like total squares. Not one is doing a bikini kegstand, it’s utter bullshit. They’re all together in one giant room like a field hospital, so let’s assume they’re nuns in training. The alternative is that this is a Catholic girl’s school, and that’s far too horrifying to contemplate. This context is worrying enough, since anything a 1980s hair metal band is about to do to young nuns in training is something we once considered antics, and now realize was assault.

The roiling sky parts, and a rock ā€˜n roll zeppelin descends as ā€œPrime Moverā€ opens with Zodiac crooning ā€œyeeeeahhh yeah yeah yeahā€ in the same way David Lee Roth might, if he was being arrested on Drunk and Disorderly charges by a female police officer who bent over and the ass of her pants exploded revealing the thong beneath. It’s the herald riding ahead of an approaching crime, is what I’m saying. 

And it’s coming from Zodiac Mindwarp himself, who looks like he plays a rock Nazi in a burlesque retelling of Schindler’s List.

One of my favorite things is when a beam can do anything. Just a good all purpose beam, a beam for whatever you need. In ā€œPrime Mover,ā€ a laser is whatever you want it to be so long as you want Hepatitis B. 

Let’s explore the first thing lasers can do. Here’s a quiz: If you excite enough electrons in an optical material… 

You can create dirtbags!

Zodiac Mindwarp is the Wizard of Dirtbags, the mystical source from which the mighty Dirtbag River flows. If you ever have need of a dirtbag – if you have an unsoiled couch in the basement that needs soiling, if you have a teenage daughter you wish wished she wasn’t pregnant, if you have a cat that’s not addicted to heroin and no dirtbag dying in your laundry room because he shot up cat food, you call Zodiac Mindwarp the Dirtbag Wizard and all your problems will be solved.

I’ll let him speak for himself.

One of the things I admire most is efficient storytelling. Bloodsport can set up all of Bloodsport using only an 11-minute montage of insane nesting flashbacks, that’s a beautiful thing. Within seconds Zodiac Mindwarp establishes that he’s a rock ā€˜n roll fascist pervert with the mind of a child, and he will never prove himself wrong. It’s the shortest, most complete and nuanced warning a human being can issue short of talking about Web3.

The next lines are ā€œI came from the sky like a 747, I’m the bad boy baby I fell out of heavenā€ – hey, that’s exactly what happened in the video so far! This is one of those videos that just scene-for-scene depicts the song, like watching Sir Mix-A-Lot’s sign language translator shake her ass, which in sign language means ā€œshake that ass.ā€ The implication here is that ā€œPrime Mover,ā€ the song, is about the devil descending from space in a blimp to assault prospective nuns. That’s all it takes to be my favorite song ever and we’re not 30 seconds in. I can’t wait to see what the next lyrics are-

Oh, it was Chekhov’s Hat. Always believe a Nazi when they tell you they’re a Nazi. 

I’m not being fair. There’s important context here! For a time, rock ā€˜n roll was obsessed with Nazis. There was a window in the mid-1970s between WWII being so antiquated that the idea Nazis could make a comeback was ridiculous, and the comeback of the Nazis. It’s like how we can make 9/11 jokes today, but not two years from now when 11/9 happens. Ironically appropriating Naziism was an instant, easy way to rile up the older generation, and there ain’t nothin’ more rock ā€˜n roll than rilin’. It’s why this picture of David Bowie exists.

It looks like he has a skeleton hand, and maybe he did. That’s a very Bowie thing to do. But he’s actually giving the Nazi salute. In 1976, Bowie renamed himself the Thin White Duke and started romanticizing facism because it pissed off your grandpa, and also cocaine. Those are the same reasons The Ramones wrote a song that goes ā€œI’m a Nazi baby, I’m a Nazi, yes I am.ā€ God bless those pure and simple boys. So okay, within this window in the mid-1970s and with this specific cultural context, you can forgive a rock band making Nazi references. ā€œPrime Moverā€ was recorded twelve years after that window closed. 

No time to think about that there’s a NUN ABDUCTION!

The classic signs of impending alien abduction are clocks stopping, unexplained magnetism, and bright lights flooding the room. The sign of a Space Dirtbag abduction is when they drive a tank through your wall. 

I guess technically this is some kind of APC vehicle but if A, P, and C all stood for different, more vulgar things. Does an APC vehicle count as a van if you fill it with dirtbags? I would argue yes, but only if someone uses a Snickers wrapper and a rubber band as a condom inside it. 

Zodiac Mindwarp the Dirtbag Wizard explodes through a stained glass window singing-

Which is very worrying to the young nuns, but they don’t worry for long-

They accept death very quickly. 

Especially since the next line is ā€œyour lipstick flickers around my lightning rod.ā€ Again, such efficiency – the human brain is great at denial. If five dirtbags and the devil they worship destroy your bedroom with military hardware you’ll still manage to think ā€œI can get away, I can bargain with this, maybe they just want my money.ā€ If Trans Am Satan here arrives in a wave of flames promising napalm blowjobs, you know to start swallowing your fillings so the dental records won’t match that way mom and dad can harbor a little hope. 

I swear to god I didn’t know this had a hot dog reference in it. I caught a few key lyrics and the dirtbag laser show and I thought ā€œthis is for me; this is my art.ā€ But somehow the song already knew that. The amount of bizarre hot dog references in the things we cover makes me suspect some sort of timelost entity is begging for help, seeding wieners through garbage history, knowing one of you can save them with your secret ability to slip your lightning rod between worlds like the Subtle Knife. 

Anyway, everybody knows that when you excite the electrons in an optical material you can…

Oh, that one’s normal! Zodiac Mindwarp the Dirtbag Wizard can ignite fires on small objects, like a frightened teen’s teddy bear, but only when powered by a little hump first. 

It’s time for a heil Hitler break:

This accompanies the Sex Fuhrer line, in case you thought there was some kind of context that could save Sex Fuhrer. I forgot to mention that line is in the chorus and will be repeated several times, I guess that’s important too.

Let’s explore the next use of lasers: When you excite electrons in an optical material, every first year science student knows it-

Creates skanks. 

But ONLY when channeled through a climaxing guitar (every first year science student knows a solo is a guitar cumming). 

Let’s take a break from lasers and examine the practical uses of lightning. When the electrons in a cloud are attracted to protons at a lower point, any meteorologist can tell you what that means.

It means you can summon and control skanks.

The science here is very clear: a guitar solo can blast lasers that create skanks, but it can never control them. Those are wild skanks, and if left unchecked they will steal all the change from that bowl you keep on the table and insert your toothbrush into themselves, leaving you a note on a cocktail napkin that’s just a lipstick kiss with a cold sore imprint in it. A skank can only be controlled by Skank Lightning, and that’s a different branch of magic on the Dirtbag Skill Tree. You have to invest a lot of points in it, but at Dirtbag Level 45 you do get the ability to chain Skank Lightning, forcing any woman adjacent to a skank to save against Thrusting or take Pregnancy Damage.

Zodiac Mindwarp puts a little goof in his voice to call all the women disco reptiles and funky alligators, it’s wildly out of place in this song. But it’s necessary: We need a playful kind of innocence to break up the bizarre assaults; it’s a kind of molestation palate cleanser; it’s the thin slice of pickled ginger in between courses of power gropes and hair metal hitlers. 

Everything so far demonstrates an escalation in the ā€˜crashing the squares’ mentality. We should be defying the system, tossing boring books out the window, and getting sexy with repressed ladies. Instead we’re playing with fascism, we’re exploding teddy bears with eye lasers, and we’re threatening nuns with lightning blowjobs. ā€œPrime Moverā€ is following the ā€˜crash the squares’ template, just cranking everything up to cosmic horror levels. 

Now it’s time for the turn: The headmistress and two professors barge in on this – I guess it’s supposed to be a party, but it still scans as domestic terrorism. The teachers burst in to see what the ruckus is-

Wait, oh shit, they’re teachers! That means this was supposed to be a school the whole time, and all of these girls were supposed to be minors, and everything we’ve seen up until now, which was already many crimes, is now a different kind of crime prosecuted by a special unit. 

Okay the teachers charge in to kill the party! Remember: This is a 1980s rock ā€˜n roll video, and let’s further specify that it’s one involving magical lasers. There are only two things that can happen next: Either Zodiac Mindwarp the Dirtbag Wizard zaps the squares away to someplace they can’t handle, like a stripclub or the inside of an APC. Or he’s going to zap them all into attractive women, and they’ll join the party – the people they once were screaming inside their own brains for all eternity as they grind and lick men with visible diseases who taste like a gas station bathroom. 

So, let’s explore the next use of lasers: Everyone knows when you excite HOLY SHIT-

He just, he just murders them. He unleashes his full satanic might with no party filter and explodes their heads like they’re rookie scanners coming for the champ. Jesus Christ this violates every rule of the Party Accords of 1983. The finest rock lawyers in the world could never convince a party jury this was a shenanigan.

The tone of ā€œPrime Moverā€ was already way off, but it was like somebody taking Spuds McKenzie too far. ā€œWhoa! Spuds is here to party! That means everyone around us should be forced to party against their will, or be detained!ā€ It’s technically the road you should be driving on, you’re just going too fast. Straight up murdering everyone who stands in the way of partying is the second act turn in a horror movie about Spring Break. This is no longer Spuds McKenzie at all. ā€œWhoa, Spuds is here to party OH NO he’s mauling everyone who’s not partying!ā€ It’s technically the road you should be driving on, but you’re crashing a plane into it.

What’s next, how does a Dirtbag Wizard even escalate from here? Does Zodiac Mindwarp fly off in their rock balloon and nuke the site from orbit because it’s the only way to be sure no buzzkills survive?

Thank you for learning about my favorite music video.

…

Thanks to nanomano for the hot Hot Dog Tip!

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Seren, a level 60 Skankomancer with enchanted nips. 

If these images are borked, you can read this article and every other one on the much better in every way 1900HOTDOG.COM.

Categories
PODCASTING DAY

Podcasting Day: Masters of the Gridiron 🌭

This week we’re talking about the greatest fantasy adventure of all time, and for that we needed a fantasy author. Not just any fantasy author, but a pioneer of the genre, a master of multi-book epic series like The Shadow Campaigns and Burningblade and Silvereye, a craftsman who knows about the backbreaking work it takes to craft such intricate living worlds, we needed a man with a name like Django Wexler. And we needed him to talk about Masters of the Gridiron

It’s a 15-minute long football promo. 

That’s underselling it!

Created by and starring the 1986 Cleveland Browns, Masters of the Gridiron is about the head-injury induced adventures of Mike Baab, who disappears into a fantasy realm of his own making where he becomes the Baabarian, a dollar-store Conan on a dangerous quest for the Masters of the Gridiron Ring! Listen, the worldbuilding and characters are far too rich to do justice here. Just try to pick a favorite from these noble adventurers!

Categories
PODCASTING DAY

Podcasting Day: Kumite the Home Game, Episode 2 with Zak Koonce and Vanessa Guerrero 🌭

It’s Kumite Day, the day you celebrate by fighting eight men in a row whenever whimsy strikes you. 

Wait! 

Don’t let whimsy strike you – strike first, strike last with Kumite: The Home Game! If you missed episode 1, you can find it here. But today it’s episode 2, and once again Brockway is your Bloodmaster for the movie Bloodsport but as a table-top role playing game. Playing the foundational delusions of Frank Dux, it’s Auralnaut Zak Koonce as Drank Fux, Karate Shaman. Our resident Ninja Liar is Francine Ducks, played by Vanessa Guerrero, and it’s your one and only Seanbaby as Tarantino Liefeld – he plays the feet!

In this episode you listen to us play Bloodsport the movie the role playing game in which we play the video game Karate Champ. This is an understandable premise. It works, people get it! We also meet a rogue bear and name it Jackson, we get weirdly shit-heavy, and we explode every god damn brick in the house. Come for the martial arts, stay for the lies about martial arts. It’s Kumite: The Home Game!

And after you’ve listened to us play Kumite: The Home Game, you can hold your own Bloodsports by simply wearing this shirt

We promise only that the blood will come! It’s up to you to make sport of it!

Categories
PODCASTING DAY

Podcasting Day: Shrunken Heads with Max Booth 🌭

This week on the Dogg Zzone 9000, we’re talking with horror author and publisher Max Booth, of Perpetual Motion Machine Publishing and Ghoulish Books. Max is the author of perfectly bizarre horror books like Touch the Night and Maggots Screaming!, so obviously we needed to talk to him about the 1994 shrunken head movie, Shrunken Heads

I know what you’re thinking: Is this really about shrunken heads though? The answer is yes, and then several more yeses! 

There are shrunken heads, way more than you want, but there are lightning powers and voodoo cops too, and some second base action and nerd zombies and holy shit, there are multiple Elfmans including, briefly, Danny, there’s a Fonzi Meg Foster, there’s some war crimes but they PROBABLY didn’t mean it, there’s a maidenhead, an intact maidenhead! I’m not explaining this right, 1994’s Shrunken Heads, do you want to take over for me?

Motorboat us wherever you get your podcasts, and then motorboat us a second, much longer, much more uncomfortable time in the reviews

Categories
PUNCHING DAY

Punching Day: Captain Pronin 🌭

Captain Pronin was a short-run Russian action-comedy parody cartoon from 1992, and the only words I’m not half-sarcastic about are ā€œRussianā€ and ā€œ1992.ā€ It’s kind of like an experimental animation you’d find on early MTV, but the complete philosophical opposite of that. It looks like a 2FPS proof of concept done by a lone overwhelmed stoner in his first year of animation school on a budget of $200 over a few depressed summer weekends after getting dumped by a Debbie. But it had a staff in the dozens and the backing of an actual production company. Don’t ask yourself what went wrong, you’ll see it was all right by the end or you’ll see the inside of a gulag. 

Here’s the cover of something, I don’t know what. 

It’s not for a DVD or even a VHS, there was an inexplicable LP at one point but this image doesn’t seem like the right dimensions for that. This must be some other format only Russia had, like a Byetamax.

Yes, of course I found this on a YouTube channel that only hosts war atrocities and Captain Pronin. Did you even have to ask?

Every six-minute episode of Captain Pronin, all four of them, start with the Russian version of the MGM animatic.

And it fucking rules. I know we’re all rightfully down on Russia right now for their war and their crimes and their combination of those two, but don’t mistake a government for its people. My favorite part about Russia is that nothing kicks enough ass for a Russian. A lion roaring? Is pussy. In Russia it would open its mouth and its teeth would be machine guns. They would shoot down passing jet and eat ejecting pilot. This is animatic for very best Russian company: MGM (Machine-Gun-Mountainlion). 

If you’re going to search out and watch Captain Pronin yourself, you’ll have to give views to the war atrocities channel, so congratulations on being on the same list as me. We’re like bunk buddies! For horrors! But you better brace up before clicking play. I said they’re all 6 minutes long, but each one is still an hour and a half of cartoon. Every episode hits the ground running, every character breathlessly screams every line like they’re warning you of a loose MGM, and no scene lasts for more than 2 seconds. This is not an idle toilet watch. It’s like overdosing Adderall on Bring Your Own Bat night at a Russian fight club. You need to stretch first, have fluids at the ready, and tell your kids you’re disappointed in them in case you don’t get another chance.

We’re talking about my favorite episode, with all of its delicate cultural commentary:

This is a story about the ultimate Russian superhero visiting the USA, made just months after or possibly during the fall of the Soviet Union, as written and performed by sheltered and gaslit citizens who could only guess at the new and terrifying outside world available to them. If art is about understanding how another person sees the world at a certain point in time, this is the best way to understand an overwhelmed post-collapse Russian short of Freaky Friday body-jacking the little guy from Goldeneye

The opening two seconds of Captain Pronin always tell you everything you need to know about the plot immediately, so you can feed it straight to a pack of feral subway dogs and never bring it up again.

Now, because I’ve watched enough Captain Pronin to speak a little Captain Pronin and less of every other human language, I can tell you this is trying to say the American president is so scared of the cyborg assassin that the mafia sent after him, he’s losing sleep. But what it’s actually saying is that Don Corleone – not a letter switch, not a silly pun, the actual character straight from the Godfather – hates that the president can’t sleep, so he’s going to kill him with a cyborg to help him rest.

There’s actually no way of knowing which interpretation is correct because all of this happened four seconds ago, and is therefore irrelevant. There is only the present in Captain Pronin. The past is propaganda meant to fool you into thinking there were better times, and the future is for decadent westerners who take for granted they’ll see tomorrow.  

The police storm into Captain Pronin’s office, who may also be a police officer, there’s no time to even guess at that, and tell him they arrested a metalhead.

So you think, ā€œokay, I get it – this is a parody, it’s mocking what the Russian police waste their time on, by fighting for arbitrary Russian values against the so-called corruption of the west and-ā€

No, shut the fuck up. I’m trying to train you out of thinking about things. It’s a betrayal, every time. The setup to a Captain Pronin bit is that it looks like it’s going to have an observation, and then something insane about an osmium goblin. I’m not being random, here’s the next sentence:

You think it’s a cutting observation about culture police; it’s really a punk rock cinnabar troll mafioso. Internalize this lesson. Remember Captain Pronin is a parody not of any single genre, but of coherence itself.  

The plan is for Captain Pronin to take the osmium goblin’s place and fly to America instead, in order to beat the shit out of something. It’s not at all clear what or why, but it happened three seconds ago, so it’s lost to history now. Just enjoy the way Captain Pronin flies: Unbrokenly staring out the window, waiting for something’s ass to foolishly come into view so he can destroy it.

Captain Pronin lands in America, meets with his contact, and is brought to a Typical American Alleyway, with its too much material garbage and not enough loose dogs. The lead goon tells him, in broken english, ā€œthis is your money, give me your smoking.ā€

Did I forget to mention something about black market cigarettes? Could this be a dig at how western contraband was actually the backbone of the Soviet economy? Fuck you, fuck you, and fuck you. You’ve forgotten the joke structure: We set up an observation, and then try to kill each other with bricks. 

Pronin replies, ā€œNo smoking, you gib me berry little money!ā€ and tosses the cash back in his face. So the lead goon hefts a brick, and you see where this is going.

How dare you see where this is going.

Stop trying to predict Captain Pronin, no matter how many times I force you to do it.

Anyway, Pronin answers ā€œyes I can,ā€ and bashes him over the head with another brick. That’s… holy shit that’s actually a recognizable bit! It’s just that instead of setting it up by having the goon talk up how strong he is and try to prove it by breaking a brick with his head, there’s nothing. Nothing. It just happens. So it scans like a schizophrenic practicing self harm and Captain Pronin deciding that’s enough practice, this guy’s ready to go pro.

The goons all pull their guns and Captain Pronin runs away. It is 1992. It is time for a goofy action montage. It is time, you’re so welcome for this by the way, it is time for a barely post-Soviet Russian rap breakdown footchase. 

Again, I sort of speak Captain Pronin – I think it’s trying to tell you that he’s called Captain Pronin, but only to good guys. Villains might as well call him Captain Fear, for what he should inspire in them. It looks like I cut off the first part of the rap to make this look ridiculous, but no – this is the first part. It jumps right into the last half of a thought it maybe had, and then while you’re looking for the start, Captain Pronin flipkicks into a Guns Shop, which only sells spears, and throws an axe at the mafia. 

Look at this master of investigation investigating the mystery of why goons don’t have axes in their heads. Look at this fan of pursuits, all pursuits, from footchase to trivial. By telling me he’s the best investigator as he kicks in a gun store to throw axes, it makes me question his subtle deductive skills, but the rap knows this, and the rap will not brook questions.

The action montage continues, and in true Russian fashion it kicks fucking ass in a way that no second draft could. The goons hit Captain Pronin with a rocket launcher, he does not notice. He dives into the sewer and emerges into a fat bald woman wrestling match, like we have here in the States, so they instantly attack him, like we do here in the States. 

The goons hit him with a grenade and a car, neither of which he notices. He climbs the Statue of Liberty, who does not approve of the goons and vomits policemen. 

Oh shit, that’s actually kind of a brutal commentary on the American justice system, having Lady Liberty herself disgorge corrupt authority figures from every orifice like she’s got swine ebola. It’s the kind of cutting social observation you can get fucked for making, dipshit, this is Captain Pronin. He’s already gone, he leapt from the torch into a mafia helicopter, took the lead goon hostage, made him talk, flew to Don Corleone from the Godfather’s penthouse, and crashed the helicopter into the roof because it was faster than landing.

All of that took three seconds, and you missed it because you had a thought. Good luck revisiting it, Byetamax does not rewind, it only marches forward, forward like glorious Soviet Union!

We finally see Don Corleone from the Godfather, who is skinny, and pink. If you thought Captain Pronin picked Don Corleone because he was going to be a metaphor for the bloated influence of fatcat capitalism, you got an osmium goblin.

Don Corleone uses a computer. This is shorthand for evil, because remember: Russia. Remember: 1992. In the ā€˜90s computers were all pure magic, you should never trust them, and if you see anybody using one they’re a terrorist.

Don Corleone from the Godfather hits the Death Button on his computer, all Russian computers have one, it’s their most used key outside of Tab and that’s only because Tab in Russian translates to something like ā€œI have become weary of joy, it is always proven a lie by time.ā€

This starts a countdown that, like everything in Captain Pronin, is already over. 

3! 2! 1! Captain Pronin is too late, we all know what happens next. 

Of course that sentence is a trap, but it’s too late – you read it. Write down what happens next. Do it, you sap, take a second and write down what happens next.

…

…

No, I’m waiting. You do it.

…

…

You were wrong.

Haha, you wrote down Carman right? You wrote the words ā€œthe computer turns into Carman, who does the Carman dance and is impervious to bullets and his eyes are headlights.ā€ Right? Because that’s what the writers of Captain Pronin wrote down. That’s something other human beings wrote down in response to the prompt ā€œDon Corleone from the Godfather hits the Death Button on his PC.ā€ Then they put together a budget for it, and dozens of people animated it, and at no point did any of them turn to the other and say ā€œhey Vadim, what the fuck are we even doing?ā€

Carman and Captain Pronin have a knockdown dragout breakdance fight where Carman punches Captain Pronin’s head straight off-

But he keeps fighting, Russians are just that tough. Is rattlesnake rules. Even with head off, Russian still headbutt. Is muscle memory.

Captain Pronin tosses Carman into a fridge, his one weakness, I guess, and then dies himself. 

But who’s this walking in? It’s Captain Pronin!

He built a robot double because he didn’t feel like doing all this. No really, I know you’re going to completely believe me, but there’s no explanation. An American show would have the hero be like ā€œI had to build a robot because I couldn’t do this myself, for you see I was Dr. Blythe Smith-Woople all along!ā€ And then George Peppard pulls off his George Peppard mask to reveal the Dr. Smith-Woople mask, and then he pulls off the Dr. Smith-Woople mask to reveal he was actually George Peppard. It sounds confusing, but if you’re 8 years old and being brain-barraged by quick-cut ads for skateboards and flavored slime, you wouldn’t question it. But there were no skateboards in Soviet Union. The slime? Is unflavored. Maybe that’s why Captain Pronin opts to not. To simply not.

Anyway, then Captain Pronin makes the exact word-for-word call I make every time I get drunk:

Guess how it ends. Fucking guess. I’m not even going to play with you. You’re in the shit now. You are pot committed to madness. You just ante’d up your brain against a weeping Russian who eats a little bit of a bullet every day trying to build an immunity.

You do it. Guess.

…

…

No, we’re not going to continue until you write down the very last scene in this cartoon. You tell me how it ends, based on everything we’ve seen so far. 

…

…

I’m serious, I’m checking your work. You have to post your responses in the comments and I’m going through all the traffic logs to match them up. If I find out you read this and didn’t write down your response, I’m going to be your computer and then turn into a man and fight you.

Write it!

…

…

…

…

…

You were wrong.

Haha, did you write down ā€œa freeze frame of Captain Pronin, Russian Superman shaking hands with actual Bill Clinton?ā€ You god damn liar. If you actually wrote that down I’m calling the cops, you’re a danger to yourself and others.

This is such pure lunacy you have to assume you’re missing something, and you’re right, and it will not help. I told you at the start this was an action parody, but not in the sense you’re thinking. It’s a parody of bootleg Russian action movies that poorly ripped off big-budget western action films Russians weren’t legally allowed to see. So this show is parodying tropes that were unintentionally parodying mistranslated tropes from another culture’s bootlegs. It’s not a copy of a copy, it’s a copy of a Turkish menu written with AI translation found long after the fall of man in the flooded wreckage of an amusement park by archaeologist aliens and remastered to the fickle tastes of the primetime Bip*rt audience of Gnorks ages 🦠 to ௵.

This is the deep madness, banality filtered through so many levels of abstraction that if you go down there, all the way down to the place of understanding at its core, you’re down there forever, you’ll die without ever seeing the sun again. 

And we haven’t even talked about the video game.

Categories
PODCASTING DAY

Podcasting Day: Bigfoot Shootout! with Drew Toothpaste and Natalie Dee 🌭

This week we’re talking to fellow ancient internet comedians Drew Toothpaste and Natalie Dee, who created every fourth thing you found funny on the internet for the last 20 years. They currently host the podcast Everything is Real, where they discuss paranormal phenomena with the thesis ā€œhey, fuck you – what if that’s real?ā€ 

Naturally, we wanted to talk to them about bigfoot. Fightin’ it, to be specific. If you’re looking for that peacenik trash about bigfeet being gentle psychic aliens from another dimension or whatever you are actually still in the right place, because we do talk about that, right before we open fire. 

We’re reading through Gray Barker’s BIGFOOT SHOOTOUT! 

We can’t sum it up any better than its most helpful review on Audible.

We read through every single page of this book and they shoot at bigfoot on every one, usually multiple times with multiple weapons. They might use a cannon at one point. This reviewer is right, there’s a lot of new age bullshit in here… and it’s all running for it’s fucking life.  

But we get that’s not enough for hardcore bigfoot fighting enthusiasts, who will accept nothing less than frontline reports on the open trench warfare Ohio is waging against the bigfeet. Anything but wholesale bigfoot slaughter might as well be a chakra gaping orgy at a doobie smoking new age convention, and that’s coming from us, who believe in murdering bigfoot. 

This write-up is over because BIGFOOT GOT OUR GUNS.

Artist’s rendition by Brett Ellefson