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This Podcasting Day itās part 2 of Conan the Podcast: Conan the Destroyer! We are once again asking a smart young woman to watch a dumb old movie for men with her fresh eyes. After seeing the violent, meandering fuck and slaughter fest that was Conan the Barbarian, Lydia Bugg was prepared for anything the sequel could throw at her!
Except for a PG family-friendly romp full of wacky sidekicks and callback gags. Plus Wilt Chamberlain! Plus Grace Jones!
Surprise Grace Jones! Aināt nobody ever ready for that.
Plus a hilarious reference to your favorite gag from the first movie: That time a stoned Conan accidentally knocked out a camel and everybody hated it. Letās see what happens when they – GULP – meet again!
WUH-OH!
BONK! SCRABBLE! SLIDE WHISTLE! NOT AGAAAAIIIIN!
Donāt forget to subscribe to the podcast wherever you do that thing, and please leave us a review that mentions all of our excellent impressions and stunning voicework!
In keeping with this week’s theme of old-timey men and uncontrollable violence, we have a new shirt! From Brockway’s classic column about beating animals with their own kind, it’s this shirt about beating animals with their own kind!


So real quick: I want to talk to you about something in that scene from Wicked City, the 1992 live action adaptation of the anime movie about businessmen fighting demons. You know which scene I mean — the really hot sexy one.

No no, not the one where the businessman starts to bang a prostitute and she transforms into a fleshspider and tries to kill him. Iconic sex scene, for sure. Up there with Basic Instinct — that closeup on sweaty Wayne Knight ogling crime vagina?

You canāt tell me that turgid Newman shot doesnāt rumble your grundle exactly as much as a murderous sexworking were-spider. I wonāt believe it.
No, Iām talking about the scene where-

Oh what, the power station power bangfest?
No, I wasnāt talking about that one but I feel you — an underrated scene for crankinā one out.
I mean, when they both cum separately on the power lines, and then they link up and ride the lightning to screw sideways on the fence?

That fucked up puberty for our entire generation.
Right?
I mean, to this day all I have to say is āpower stationā and most of you will have to grab a fork and excuse yourself to the bathroom. A minute later the lights will flicker and you think youāre sly, but we all know whatās up.
No, Iām talking about the scene with the lady who turns into machines-

Yeah, her. I donāt need to tell you which of her scenes Iām talking about. That was so hot. Remember when-
Whatās that? No, not the pinball machine multiball multi-orgasm bonus round.
Stop jumping in!
Although, I mean, come on-

That was intensely erotic.
Like nobody can mention Wicked City without talking about how they want to stick their dick in the coin slot of a Cactus Canyon, or morph into Shaq Attaq for a good slide-railing.
How he thrusted along with every paddle flip? The way she talked dirty, all painted up like a pinball backdrop? Look at the detail work! See that āPOPā to her right? More like āIām gonna pop!ā See the grizzled old man to her left wishing her āgood luck on the missionā?
More like āgood fuck on the emission,ā am I right?
Iām not?
Shit, whatever. I wasnāt even talking about her getting pinballed but-

No, youāre right. It does go on for a long time.
The movie demands we pay attention here, cutting away to several angles just to really explore every dimension of a demon lady pinball machine getting creampied. Her little pinball paddles flipping, her little pinball legs lifting in the air.
It is a thorough scene. And Iām glad we talked about it but-

Okay, I get it.
You really want to talk about this scene because it goes on for a crazy amount of time. Way longer than you would think, even when I said before that it went on for a long time. The movie really, deeply explores which bumpers exactly make her cum. I bet you could recreate this layout, hollow out a little space for a partner, strategically place a hole, map those cum-bumpers to like a series of strategically placed electrodes and-
Look, letās get back on track.
We had to talk about it. Itās like three straight minutes of pinball fucking and itās hard to just glaze over that. You were right to insist on exploring the whole thing before we get to the scene, but now we have to get to the scene.
You know it. Backwards and forwards. Inside and out. Itās our generationās coming of age moment – the one that shaped our fetishes for decades and the reason all of us, every one of us here right now, are on the OTIS blacklist.
Iām talking about the elevator scene.

I love how you think you know where itās going — our business boys got on an elevator they werenāt prepared to fuck their way out of. Rookie move!

Man, when we first realized the elevator was actually the shapeshifting machine girlās vagina, and she said āwelcome to my body?ā
Haha we had to use the stairs for weeks just to get anywhere without stained pants.
Then they started firing their pistols into her fleshy elevator walls — the idiots!

Everybody knows shooting an elevator only makes it cum.

There was this feeling in the air, the first time we watched this scene, that it was almost inevitable. The zeitgeist had been creeping ever closer to fuckable elevators for years — “Love In An Elevator?” That little slut who goes āevery directionā at the end of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory? The most iconic scene in The Shining — we know what thatās about now, right? Red Wings aināt just a quality boot.
But we needed this one bold innovator to take us over the line. We knew what was coming next. We were ready!
We thought we were ready! What absolute chumps we were.
We were totally prepared for two salarimen to gunfuck their way out of a vaginal elevator. We werenāt prepared for the head demon to rip his way into the elevator, kick our business boys out, and say-

I remember every kid leaping to their feet in the theater, all shouting along with Machine Girl-

God, we thought we were about to watch a middle-aged man get crushed to death in the powerful vaginal walls of an elevator demon.
And thatās not NOT erotic.
But it wasnāt the scene we were hoping to see. The disappointment was palpable, and then he dropped the iconic line…

I have quoted that line to every lover Iāve taken since.
Weād been dancing around the overt sexualization of this scene up until now — she never called the car her vagina. She never said those bullets were making her cum. The old man didnāt say āGo jerk it on the escalator, boys, itās me whoās gonna fuck this elevator.ā
We really thought they were going to play it classy, leave it up to our imaginations until he said-

What a bold proclamation!
Thatās the elevator-fucking equivalent of Babe Ruth pointing to center field. You call that shot, you better back it up.
AND THEN HE DOUBLES DOWN.

I remember being so confused here.
You gotta think back: This was so early in the days of bangable machine women, we had no idea what the rules were. We kinda forget that this is where the lore was laid down — this was actually the first movie to establish that if you nail a shapeshifting techno-hussy hard enough she has to change into the machine you want.
This is where that came from!
That next scene, though. The turn. Holy shit!
It was like being in a theater for the chestburster scene in Alien. You just had no context for what was about to happen. How it was going to shape pop culture from that point forward.
When we smash cut to an empty office building and-

VROOM!
The king of the demons comes flying out of the elevator shaft, seat-fucking the holy shit out of a writhing motorcycle woman!
I know everyone my age has this scene tattooed on the inside of their heart, but even the kids these days sort of know it. Itās just one of those things — like maybe you havenāt seen Raiders of the Lost Ark but you get the nazi-melting references other movies have made. Gen Z might not have watched Wicked City, but they know all about motorcycle-fucking from that joke in SpongeBob, or the āRide That Bikeā dance in Fortnite. The Dream wrote āYamahaā all about this specific moment-

Where he just pins her throttle and zooms her around for a while. Her just screaming and cumming while he slaloms her between pillars until she loses control of her body and starts bucking and flipping all over the place-

So he gives one last real good thrust, which turns into a wheelie!

To this day I am a little disappointed when I give a particularly good thrust and it doesnāt result in a wheelie. It just feels like the logical conclusion of a thrust now, doesnāt it?
Also what a gentleman, telling her she has āa good response.ā
This is where that line came from, kids! If your dad ever tells your mom she has good handling, and she coyly responds that itās due to her rake and trail, this is what theyāre talking about.
Like all great cinematic romances, this one ends in tragedy. They were enemies, remember? So even though they shared this intense connection, it can only end one way: With him ghostriding her off a skyscraper and her exploding before she even touches the ground.

Iāll never forget the way King Demon turns to the camera and grins.

And the way she screams about her machinery being broken — you know what sheās talking about. Quentin Tarantino wrote that famous monologue about this scene in Reservoir Dogs 2: Who Let The Dogs Out?
God, we went into this whole elevator thing thinking we knew anything. What we wanted from a sex scene, where weād put it if it happened to us (Door Open), even who we were rooting for — we thought Elevator Girl was the villain!
This movie changed things. For all of us. To this day I canāt trust a goatee and I get aroused at a failed kickstart. You know what I mean, youāre right there with me.
Anyway, that scene. Thatās the scene I wanted to talk about. I just wanted to ask – when heās racing her around the pillars, you can see heās floating gears and thereās an audible thunk on the last downshift. Do you think thatās like hitting the cervix?


Happy Podcasting Day palookas, palookettes, and non-binary palookos alike! Itās Golden Age Comic Week! A whole week full of hardboiled detectives and hard-sockinā soldiers, selfish dames, heroic white men, and evil every other race.

For this weekās podcast we welcomed K Thor Jensen, because his name is Thor — and we found out he knows a lot about comics, too! Follow his excellent Twitter for insight into comic books, writing, the world, and what itās like be named Thor when everybody else is named stupid shit like Jeff.
Weāre not just talkinā any Golden Age Comics, weāre talking comics that only existed in the Golden Age — weāre talking Crime Comics! Back when they wrote whole comic books about the general concept of crime. Not crime-fighters, just crime! Crime was the main character. Sometimes the stories were true, sometimes they were ātrue,ā and mostly they were just total horse-hockey, because it was a simpler time when it was too hard to check on a lie so nobody ever did it.

Seanbaby takes us through each of the evolving eras of crime comics, all the way up to their brutal murder. Itās gonna take all our detective prowess to crack that case — luckily Seanbaby bought a hat, Brockway already had whiskey, and K Thor Jensen is a Thor!
What a superteam!

Remember to tune in to the Dogg Zzone 9000 same time next week, and tell your chums at the soda jerk weāre the catās pajamas!
Subscribe to us and review the podcast. Thatās what Iām saying. Iām cutely saying that but I still need you to actually do it.
Also donāt be racist, donāt be sexist, and probably donāt buy a knit mask and a gun and prowl the streets as The Kestrel or some shit. But that oneās less my business.

Golden Age comics were racist. Everybody knows that. Itās an old observation, and Iām not here to add to it. Iām not even here to take them to task for it. Even though they were super racist.

No, more racist.

Way more racist than that!
Okay, I guess weāre doing this — the Golden Age of comics was this racist:
That monstrosity up there is named Chop Chop and-
Actually letās pause and reflect: Isnāt it amazing that you know exactly what monstrosity Iām talking about, despite him sharing cover space with a screaming skeleton?
Chop Chop was a supporting character for a crime-fighter named Blackhawk, and Iām not here to yell about Chop Chop, I just⦠I just want to figure him out. Every single human being that meets Chop Chop has the same question, and I share it: What the fuck even ARE you?
Chop Chop is a civil war of racial stereotypes. Look at him! Heās a shambling Frankenstein of rival prejudices. Itās like five different racists set out to design him and the brainstorming session devolved into a fistfight about the best way to hate a Chinese guy.
So many of these tropes are just lost to the passage of time — once upon a time we hated the Chinese for wearing bowties in their hair and having onion heads. Where the fuck did that even come from? We need a racism museum just to preserve and understand old hatreds, except thatās every museum.

Chop Chop is so racist that it actually became crippling — heās barely recognizable as a human up there. Youāve got six unremarkable white guys and a sloth that got lost in a laundry basket. Youāve got a Portland kickball team and then in the middle thereās a quokka from a Dreamworks movie about ugly animals that still deserve love. Look how far I have to go to find visual metaphors for that creature that is just supposed to be a Chinese dude!

What is this? What even is this? I would guess interesting turnip, hot air balloon accident, or elephant from behind before I guessed this was supposed to be a human being.
Jesus Christ, look at that dialogue.
Weād need to find the racist rosetta stone to decipher the injustices perpetrated in this single panel. Every single line of Chop Chopās dialogue reads like somebody doing a cruel impression of Mickey Rooney doing a cruel impression. Like they saw him in Breakfast at Tiffanyās and decided to fight fire with fire to show him the error of his ways.
āThis is you — āIs biggee city for shipee silk ⦠all ovee world! Plenty silk⦠plenty BAD MAN⦠yes!ā
āGood god, Iām not that bad am I? I must reconsider my ways!ā
Chop Chop is so virulently racist that it actually interferes with the visual storytelling of the comic. Every panel you have to squint to see if thatās Chop Chop doing a somersault or a monkey fellating itself. From panel to panel, from issue to issue, heās constantly shape-changing based on hate, his entire form depending on how late the artistās Chinese takeout was that day.

Okay, what the fuck is that. What even is that? Itās like an intentional study designed to showcase the inherent racism of Chop Chop: Two heads floating in a void, one a perfectly normal white man, the other a sick vole that died on a barbed wire fence last week.

That second panel: So heās a perfect orb in profile? He has, he has fuckinā round teeth that just follow the contours of his head?! Itās not that Iām mad about his portrayal. It sucks, it does suck, but I used the R-word 8,000 times in 2004 — weāre all on the wrong side of history at some point. Iām just lost with Chop Chop. I donāt even have the groundwork to understand the start of this racism — did we used to think all Chinese had baleen and fed by filtering the air for oriental sky plankton?
So Chop Chop is not great to look at, and extremely not great to read. If youāre hoping heās going to be redeemed by his stories-

Hey, not every storyās about a laundromat!
Many are about mistaken identities.
Hey, real quick, why are there so many cases of mistaken identity involving the one Chinese character? Despite him looking like a dried apple head and talking like a fresh motorcycle accident? I bet you can guess!

See, see — that. What the fuck is that? You can always tell a Chinese man by his fat facial features and open mouth? Thatās how I recognize a sick catfish. Did they have different Chinese people back then? Am I not getting this because all I know are the Chinese 2.0 we have today, and Iām looking at the beta test Chinese my grandpappy took part in?
Hereās Chop Chop and one of the men confused with Chop Chop, side by side. To show the readers which abomination is the real one, they painted him bright red. Maybe thatās Chinese – you donāt know!

Ancient Chinese Trick, huh? I think painting a fake tunnel on a wall and waiting for your enemies to run into it was Sun Tzu, actually.
Thereās an important Chop Chop revelation hidden in the next one, where heās once again mistaken for somebody else — this time an āoriental king.ā

I know your mind is reeling because in the first panel he looks like the Olaf balloon in the Macyās Day Parade had an accident, in the third panel he looks like a Bobās Big Boy after a fire, and in the last panel he looks like a rat in a wind tunnel. Youāre trying to track a character by visual consistency instead of the consistency of the bigotry, is the problem. I know you want to focus on the sentence āWhee! Chop-Chop not have to be cookee tonight!ā because itās dense, it is dense with problems, it is a fine pemmican absolutely packed with offense so you can keep your hatred up on racist night raids.
But weāre ignoring all of that to focus on this:
He still talks the same in his thought bubbles!
Those should be clear and legible as he thinks to himself unhindered by a foreign language, but he does that fucking accent inside his own head! I havenāt visited Tumblr in years, but is this what they mean by internalized racism?
In the Blackhawk comics, Chop Chop is such a gleeful idiot it might be a crime just to have him this close to open machinery. Heās actually a good fighter, though — they gave him that one thing. Nothing else. Heās a total idiot. He is a nigh-indestructible, brutal killing machine that can only be stopped by shiny bits of coin and passing kites.
But heās not just a skilled martial artist, like youād expect of modern racism — he is a berserk terror. He treats every unsmashed head like a labrador treats a thrown ball. Heās less Bruce Lee as Kato and more some kind of mutated violence goblin:

He just happily obliterates every limb in his path without thought or permission. Heās like an elemental whose element is strangling.

You can see for yourself that it rules.
Iām sorry, it does.
If that was just a shaved orangutan the Blackhawks taught six words and how to use a bat to, this would be an article about my favorite character in anything.
Really, the only problem is the horrific racism.
You just cannot pin down Chop Chop. Like you get that they had no respect for him, but thereās no consistency in how that happens. Take his accent:

In the first panel he replaces all Rās with Lās — standard racism stuff. I understand this. I donāt like it, but I get it. Look at the second panel: where he not only swaps the R out, but adds an extra L, and then has no problem saying āinteresting contrivance!ā and āexcellent evidence to send both of you to prison!ā
Did the author forget to be racist for half a panel? Did he leap up in his bed that night going āfuck! I forgot to subhumanize Chop Chop in that scene where a foolish crook tries to attack a Chinaman with an iron — their own natural weapons!ā Was it a chore to write out the dialogue you wanted, run it through Racist Translate, and then back to English? Look at that third panel — āChop Chop is seeing things, you bletcha!ā
Bletcha?
Thereās no R in ābetcha.ā
Before it was just bigot transliteration, now thereās a wild implication that Chinese just like L so much they put it in every word, like a Sesame Street sketch.
I pulled these three sequential panels from an issue where Chop Chop meets the actual devil, which is awesome — most Blackhawk stories are about two white dudes going to Thailand to molest women and punch men, aka the olā techbro vacation — but I brought these because of another ingredient in Chop Chopās bizarre racism gumbo:

Heās a total idiot, immediately fooled by the devil who came disguised as Obviously the Devil. Weāve covered that. But he screams āGLOLLIES!ā and āWheee! Jet-plopelled whoopee!ā when he sees a plane. Thatās beyond idiot. Thatās alien. That is not something from this world.
Iām telling you, this is not racism. Okay, this is not just racism.
You show this to the most vile racist alive today and heād tell you it should be toned down because itās better for the movement to focus on one simple thing that sounds reasonable at first, and then heād ask if youāre against child molestation.
Hereās what I mean when I say Chop Chop isnāt just racist: Every issue of Blackhawk was chock full of racial stereotypes…

Sure, the Mexican guy is a bandito with a sombrero and a ropy mustache; sure, that sucks — but at least he had human proportions before the violence goblin ate his legs.
Weāre missing something.
Bigotry alone cannot explain Chop Chop — in those three panels above you can see normal racism on display right alongside Chop Chopās gonzo racism and itās like slipping a real bear into a costume contest. Nobodyās fooled by the bear, they just donāt want to be the first to react because it might eat their legs.
Hereās the lynchpin:
The time the Blackhawks went to China.

What!
Thatās not great – itās not a great way to draw Chinese people, but itās a far sight from the free association at a Trump Rally that is Chop Chop.
What can this possibly mean?
I have two theories:
Theory One:
Chop Chop is not broadly racist, heās an extremely targeted jab. Those dudes above are supposed to be other Chinese people? It doesnāt add up. Chop Chop isnāt racist against all Chinese — heās racist against extremely specific Chinese that Iām not traveled enough to have stereotypes for. I can hear the artist explaining āno, Chinese are fine. Itās those Yinchuan guys I hate! Fuckinā Yins – always underground like mole people. Shouting āYIPPSY DLOODLEā and eating ankles.ā
Theory Two:
Chop Chop isnāt racist at all. Those guys above are normal Chinese people, and Chop Chop is an actual inhuman violence goblin. Like if you told the artist heās being really racist with Chop Chop, heād say āwhat the fuck are you talking about? You thought that freakish fist golem was a person? Thatās an orangutan the Blackhawks taught six words and how to use a bat! I could not have been more clear about that in my art.ā

…
This article was brought to you by a hot tip from Priest of Toe and Sock Javo, who is not legally allowed to be proud of that.

The early 20th century was a golden age for liars, and Charles Fitzgerald was probably their king. At least heād tell you he was. And youād believe him! There was no other choice!

I say āprobablyā because there are some badass verifiable truths in his story, along with a lot of awesome verifiable untruths, and Charles Fitzgerald built himself a Sky Mansion in the spaces in between.

Seanbaby already wrote a whole article on the man too tough to die on Earth, so it took the moon to kill him. But that wasnāt enough Charles Fitzgerald for 1900š!

We had to bring author and futurist Jason Pargin on to discuss the best liar any of us ever heard of, and the era he lived in: A better time when you could tell a reporter you invented several new types of airplane and he would publish that fact without asking you a single question about it.

As always, remember to subscribe to the podcast wherever you do that, and leave us a review — Iām partial to PodPeople these days, I like the way all of their reviews are just screaming and pointing. Do that. Scream and point for us, itās the only way to help the site!
