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Back in the â90s, we knew three simple things: Comic books were the future, everything should get an adaptation into everything, and nobody would ever regret ska. There were also many things we did not know: how comics were the future, who to trust with those adaptations, and why we wore suspenders with T-shirts. It is in this world we find New Adventures of Mega Man — a Brazilian comic book adaptation of Capcomâs flagship character.

Now, just because Brazil is a huge market and Mega Man was basically the mascot of this entire company, that doesnât mean you could pay anybody to give a single shit about anything. Every single person involved with making this comic later admitted theyâd never played a single Mega Man game — they didnât even look into it after accepting the job. The writer, Jose Pereira, only heard about Mega Man briefly, from a friend, and figured a twice-translated game of telephone was enough due diligence to get to work.
Still, this wasnât a knock off. This wasnât fanfiction. This was all officially licensed. Itâs basically Mega Man canon. Everything youâre about to see is technically part of the Mega Man universe, every bit as valid as Junk Man, possibly more valid than Sheep Man. Maybe the characters will show up in a future Smash Bros. update after the licensing rights to the roast chicken from Final Fight fall through.
Letâs get started:

First, you should know that New Adventures of Mega Man could not keep an artist. They exclusively hired fifth graders who got a smiley face in Creative, and they still couldnât keep one on for more than a single issue. Possibly because none of those artists could keep a consistent style through a single page.

If you look closely you can see the eraser marks that commemorated the exact spot the artist realized they couldnât draw a human figure with perspective. And I get it: Thatâs a big ask for a kid whose biggest gig, up until now, was drawing Kim Possible topless for a dollar in Study Hall.

Jesus, why are my alarm bells going off so hard?
There is something up with Roll, but itâs hard to pin down. Maybe itâs because sheâs centering every frame with her tits, or maybe itâs because she fell into quicksand on the first page, which isnât always a fetish thing, except yes it is. But something about this feels like walking in on a 13 year old with a suspiciously paused fighting game.
Weâre lucky Roll specifically calls out Mega Man as being her brother, and that this takes place fifteen years before incest was cool, otherwise I would be certain weâre about two pages from a DeviantArt spread.
(EDITORâS NOTE: Nobody tell Brockway about human nature!)

In the first few pages weâve met Rollâs butt, Roll, Rollâs titties (in Quicksand), and now this. It is always time to worry when a writer takes extra panels to explain how a woman can be dismantled with no consequences.
Now pay close attention, because when a comic puts the entire story on hold just a few pages into the first issue to infodump everything about the plot, you know itâs going to be important later.

Thatâs bold, Jose, to take a full page just for exposition right up fr-

Itâs a big move, Jose, taking two whole pages for exposition before youâve established any stakes or charac-

Thatâs a huge swing, Jose, taking three pages for exposition right at the start. But okay, weâve got our evil robots, weâve got Dr. Wily, this is Mega Man. Weâve also got some weirdly prominent harping about Big Government that is surely a product of clumsy translation. It would be insane if Capcomâs officially licensed Mega Man comic for the entire Brazilian market was an unhinged political manifesto full of robot incest.
Thatâs just not going to happen.
(EDITORâS NOTE: Nobody tell Brockway about human nature!)
So anyway, did you get it? It was a lot to swallow with no chaser, but did you get every last bit of that exposition, with the robots and Dr. Wily and all?
Okay cool. Fuck you.
None of that will come up again.
On to issue #2! The art has changed, the story has changed, really the only anchor for returning readers is Rollâs perpetually roving titties.

Hey, thereâs more canon! Mega Man is dressed head to toe in denim. Denim helmet. Denim-covered gun. The little battle panties? You better believe those are denim.
Every time you see Mega Man now youâll mentally picture him as freshly escaped from a Canadian trailer park. Every level is really just him running through obstacles on the way from the second worst strip club in Saskatoon to the Loverboy cover band set at the worst strip club in Saskatoon. Thatâs what Canada really looks like: Lots of vast pits and disappearing platforms. Itâs why they have to have such a good healthcare system: Poor jump timing.
Man, Iâm really uncomfortable with the prominent sexuality of Roll, whoâs a very young child in the games, but again, thereâs no way — thereâs no way the official Capcom adaptation of their flagship character delves into incest. Not in 1996. Not in issue #2! Not at the very start of issue #2!

Thereâs no way!

Two whole pages! Two whole pages of robo-incest right at the start of-

Three whole pages of-

Four straight pages of robo-incest open the second issue of Capcomâs official Mega Man comic for Brazil.
âLetâs do some plug and play!â Is the line responsible for the most mandatory trainings at Riot Games, and itâs not great that all Mega Man characters are impulse molesters just immediately trying to grope any accident victim that comes careening through their wall — but hey Mega Man? Maybe donât equip Stone Throw here. You literally Mega-came in your denim jumpsuit while watching your sister strip just two pages ago.
You know, Iâm almost rooting for the new guy. Sure, heâs a creep and potential sex criminal, but at least heâs not into Amish speed-dating, like our protagonist. Itâs good to have a break from the robo-incest for a bit.
âŚ
Breakâs over!

Remember: They werenât looking for Mega Man X, they were flying across the planet and randomly crashed into his house for a quick Alabama pitstop. I know it seems silly to pause here, in this official Mega Man adaptation full of softcore sister-lust, just to criticize Joseâs hack writing. But I had to. Because Jose does:

Good on these nerds for drawing themselves as insufferable as they surely are. Thatâs the image that makes me reconsider every time I think about getting back into D&D. Thatâs the final question on the Bully SATS. Thatâs a MENSA meeting at a Dennyâs if Iâve ever seen one, and Iâve seen exactly one.
But more importantly: this fucking sisterpalooza thinks itâs earned Deadpool rules!
It is so dangerous once you start breaking the fourth wall. That tool is way too easy to rely on, and if you see a comic start doing it all of a sudden, itâs either about to become a genius parody or the vile, problematic rantings of a madman. If weâre talking an Alan Moore joint, it might be both, plus a pretty hefty section on how all young girls should learn to enjoy banging gross old wizards.
Iâll be honest, I bumped a research-heavy premise this week thinking Iâd take a little break to tackle this fun, kooky video game comic.
But where do you stop with this? Thereâs so much wrong here. This is compressed wrong. Itâs wrong from concentrate. I looked over my notes once Iâd collected everything I wanted to talk about here and found the Google doc was 90 pages. I fucked myself harder and faster than a Mega Man finding a wounded sister.
Hey, letâs check back in on the comic real quick, something the comic barely does.

Hereâs something else I love about New Adventures of Mega Man — even the translator cannot believe this shit. Look at the little note at the bottom. More and more of these hasty margin scrawls show up as the translation team desperately explains theyâre not just garbage at translating, this is really happening.
âHoly shit,â they say, double checking their dictionaries. âThis is really happening.â
âIs Mega Man X seriously making a joke about anal sex with his sister here?â They mutter. âNobody will believe this. Nobody will believe this was the official Mega Man comic of Brazil. Theyâll think it was some rogue pervert translator. You have to head it off, or theyâll string you up for this. This is how my father died, translating Creamy Mami The Magic Angel into arabic. I wonât go out like that!â
Anyway, back to the story-
No?
Not back to the story.

See, this is what I mean!
Breaking the fourth wall wasnât the plan from the start – it didnât happen once in the first issue — but now weâve breached the seal. Now thereâs a precedent for Jose to stop writing story, which is hard, and instead just rant blindly on the page aboutâŚ
Wait, did he just imply Capcom, whose comic book he is currently writing, is a bunch of corporate fascists?

And double wait — Jose Pereiraâs authorial insert is a rejected Sailor Moon character from one of the later seasons, when they started running out of planets and miniskirt material? Fantastic. No, I mean that is legitimately fantastic. If it wasnât for the robo-incest — for the so much robo-incest — I would actually love this.

Holy shit, we need to stop. We need to recap what just happened in the last uh… two pages? That canât be right. Thereâs so much!
Jose, who has been savagely oversexualizing the only female character in the series, just inserted himself, as the sexiest female of all, in order to declare war on this very comic book.
And he acknowledges all this, then directly dares anybody to fire him⌠at the end of issue #2! Haha this is issue #2, remember!

Fuck yes, take down the entire corrupt Brazilian comic book industry, Capcomâs officially licensed Brazilian Mega Man comic book adaptation!
This is canon. This is all Mega Man canon! The official stance of Mega Man is that Brazilian comic book publishers are all sluts for corporate dick! Thatâs, I donât know, thatâs what Mega Man 7 was really about! You didnât play it! You canât prove me wrong!

Haha this rant is eight pages! These comics are only 25 pages long! The entire last third of this comic book introduces Joseâs Mari-Su, who immediately breaks the fourth-wall with an aggressively sexual takedown of this comic book!
Fuck!
This is fuel to me. This is what I run on. Holy god damn, I have too much energy.
Iâm going to do a backflip, I bet I could do a backflip right now!

Okay, Iâm back. I canât do a backflip and I canât take a dog in a slapfight and none of my neighbors want to footrace, but I fucking love this. I love everything about this. If this was a Grant Morrison joint I would be getting its logo tattooed on my fists right now.
But also are you sure, New Adventures of Mega Man? Are you sure, Jose? Are you positive youâre the champion this industry needs, when you were given two issues of a video game adaptation and you spent 5/6ths of it on robo-incest, and the last 1/6th declaring yourself the savior of comic books?
Iâve never seen somebody go this mad with power this quickly, and I once gave a 2nd grader nunchucks.

I looked it up: Joseâs plan was to eventually kill off all of the Mega Man characters and have Princess be the main character. There would be no Mega Man in the official Mega Man comic book. Just robot incest and takedowns of corporate art.
He made plans for this, as though they would be allowed to continue! Hahaha who would be paying you?

This is astonishing, a new record. If this was a Malibu property theyâd make it to issue #3, have every character die in a sewer, and then end with an apology. Jose Pereira barely made it to issue #2 before committing suicide by editor. Literally spitting in his paycheckâs eye and daring the very title of his comic book to fire him. This is the hardest Iâve ever seen anything destroy itself, and I once gave a 2nd grader nunchucks.
New Adventures of Mega Man was a fire that burned so quick, for how bright it shone. This was the most succinct account of manâs self-destructive nature that Iâve seen outside of a college essay about The Great Gatsby. This is wonderful. This is beautiful. This…
ISNâT
OVER

Thereâs no fucking way he got a third issue after that!
HE GOT FIVE ISSUES!
Fuck you, Patreon. Let me change the text color to red. Let me center it. Let me change the font to âOops! All Dicks.â That sentence deserves flair!
Thereâs no explanation for this five issue run, other than that everybody in charge skimmed the first issue, said âyep looks fineâ and went on a four-month vacation. Nobody checked in on this. Nobody – not the editors, the publishers, certainly not Capcom. Everybody just left the kid at home alone and he immediately broke into the IP cabinet and got fucking shitfaced on Mega Man.
I needed a light week out of this one. That was my hubris. I understand now. Iâm done fighting what has to be done.
This has been Part 1 of my coverage of New Adventures of Mega Man.
Holy shit.
Iâm gonna try that backflip again.

âŚ
This article was brought to you by a hot tip from Swift, and by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme, John, who was once given nunchucks by an awesome stranger and absolutely ruled his 2nd grade class for one glorious afternoon.

Itâs Podcasting Day, and this week Seanbaby and Brockway are joined by the indefatigable Lydia Bugg in their ongoing hunt for a murderer! If you missed part one of our True Crime miniseries, Hot Dog Nights: Megan Wants A Murderer, you can find it here.
A little background: Pop culture in the 2000s was all about finding the worst, least repentant person around and giving them millions of dollars to be terrible in public. In 2009, to close out the era of gleeful despicability, VH1 ran a reality show called Megan Wants a Millionaire. The premise was that title, and thatâs seriously it. There was no other level. I know your brain has been conditioned to expect one, but fuck you! Thatâs it!
The official twist was that nobody was sorry about this. There was no pretense of shame. Nobody trying to explain it away as a hunt for love, or a fun gameshow, or anything other than what it was: A wonderfully manipulative woman seeking a rich idiot to purchase her.
The unofficial twist was that one of the contestants was an actual murderer!

Maybe the twist should have been that only one of these men was an actual murderer!
The twist of our podcast is that Brockway does not know who the killer is, and nobody is allowed to tell him! Especially not you — he still doesnât know! So come join Inspector Seanbaby, Sergeant Lydia, and Junior Detective Brockway on the hunt for a murderer! A murderer who has already been caught and convicted! The stakes have never been higher! Itâs our grown-up show for adults about mature stuff like sex and manipulation and murder — itâs not 1900HOTDOG! Put those Wiener Kids to bed! This is Hot Dog Nights!

Remember to subscribe to the podcast wherever you pod your casts, and please leave us a review. Be sure to mention that it sounds like weâre smuggling snakes, and use lots of suggestive emojis so everybody gets it.

Every WikiHow page is actually a great guide for something other than the lesson theyâre actually talking about. For example, How to Reupholster a Chair is actually a great guide for stapling yourself to yourself. And How to Be Random was actually a killer guide on how to forget the sensation of human contact.
What I didnât impress upon you at the time was that How to be Random was merely a seminal work in the genre of âbecoming hated.â For some reason, How to be a Fucking Dickhead is a very popular subject on WikiHow. There are people out there who desperately want to be disliked, but every time they open their mouth itâs like pulling up to the prom in a camaro with a tiger in the passenger seat. If thatâs you, if you hate being liked, if you canât deal with all the love in your life and need every ounce of it destroyed, check out How to be Weird.

How to be Weird promises that it will draw the fine line between kooky and crazy, which I always thought was âbiting hard enough to break skin,â but I guess itâs more complicated than that. Iâm not sure what the âloose cannonâ line is about. I guess even Wandoms have a threshold. Like you can run around licking peopleâs elbows and screeching that youâre the Spork King, and thatâs fine – stompable, but fine – but god forgive you if you hand somebody an unprovoked banana. Then youâre off the force! Turn in your squirtgun and candy badge and never quote Rick and Morty again.

Hereâs something WikiHow loves to do: start off with pretty reasonable advice, then realize it only takes up a paragraph, and fill the second one with barely related words chosen in a blind panic.
âTry to develop your own sense of style using different patterns and vintage pieces!â Then, after checking the word count: âUhhâŚ. also wear vampire teeth like Nicolas Cage in Vampireâs Kiss! It worked out great for him! I presume! I didnât see the end, no spoilers!â

How to Be Weird makes this clear early: The guide is not about finding your true personality and expressing it. You might actually hate being weird. You wonât like the clothes you wear, or the person you become. Thatâs not what this guide promised. This guide only promised that other human beings would avert their eyes and find things that suddenly needed to be in the seats next to them whenever you got on the bus.

If you accidentally have friends, donât worry! Try fucking up their names intentionally. Or better yet: Give them diminishing nicknames, like theyâre not human at all! Everybody loves that, especially minorities! Call Teshawn âBig Snickerdoodles.â Call him it in front of other people! Letâs see how punched you can get in one day. Sanjay becomes Sorbet! Those noises heâs making are how his people say âI find this endearing!â They also spit at your feet when they think youâre being especially hilarious. Itâs a weird culture — hey, take some notes!

Hey, remember when How To Be Weird expressly promised us we would not look like a psychopath?
Because âfrequently talking to inanimate objectsâ is definitely a diagnosis point in the DSM-5.
âDonât do it all the time, youâll look crazy!â WikiHow warns us, as though anybody ever said, âNo, Marleneâs just kooky – she only talks to the toaster every third silence.â

Do me a favor: Really try to look at that piece of shit through the cracked monitor that you just reflexively punched.
Thatâs art. Thatâs what art looks like.
Listen, youâre not supposed to like art. Youâre supposed to feel something. Burning, non-directional rage is a viable emotion. Really look at his puffy painted vest. The tinted glasses. Really take in the smugness of that smile.
Iâm NFTâing this right now. I looked up âhow to do that stupid NFT shitâ just for this one and only thing. When the artist dies, the value of this piece will skyrocket.
Wait, this is WikiHow. I should say âwhen somebody reports the smell and the authorities finally find the body, the value of this piece will skyrocket.â
Every WikiHow creator is just an unclaimed corpse that hasnât stopped moving yet.

About half of this guide consists of dire warnings about turning back. There are less severe warnings in How to Fuck a Shark (No Condom), I checked, purely for work reasons.
And Iâll never say this again: WikiHow is right.
If you teach yourself to be a dickhead, you might not remember how not to be a dickhead. You could be stuck in Dharma and Greg vests and Burger King crowns forever, lamenting the beatings you no longer even get erect for, totally willing but physically unable to stop screeching Invader Zim quotes.

Basically, pretend to be mentally disabled.
Take a notebook down to the Helmetless Motorcycle Injury ward and watch what the husks do when something with too many colors comes on the TV. Then, try it on your friends!

This is such misery. You canât dress how you like, youâve carefully trained obnoxious affectations into every part of your daily life, and now you can no longer eat the foods you enjoy. You must give up every inch of yourself to the Weird.
This reads like a ritual handbook for people who want to host a demon. If you want to be a proper vessel for Leonard you have to be pure. There can be no happiness or joy left in your body. You must destroy everything you like and replace it with the hate of others. Only when your very cells have forgotten the memory of love will Olâ Goose-Legs give you the erasure you so desperately crave.

âAlways wear hatsâ seems a little out of place.
How to be Weird is about commitment. Itâs about the total destruction of a life. Imagine reteaching yourself human language with extra syllables and exclusively clothing yourself in the reeking cardigans and cigarette-burned Cosby sweaters of the Goodwill discount bins only to meet a guy who thinks heâs on the same level as you because of âalways hat.â

Again we see one good piece of advice — âtry exploring lesser known hobbies like pinata-making!â — followed by several lines of advice specifically designed to get you a Priest-only funeral and a murder nobody is petitioning the sheriffâs office to investigate.
Hereâs your Shark-Fucking warning: âMake sure you have loyal friends who wonât ditch you for being weird.â
If you reforge yourself as âthe pet rock guyâ and your friend actually sticks by you, you need to cancel your life insurance immediately. Nobody loves anybody that much. You are going to be found in a lake.

Yeah, here you go: Give up language. Words are only meant to help you connect to and communicate with other humans which, again, is something weâre trying to burn out of ourselves. Youâll never be properly Leonard-lubed until you replace all of the meaningful conversations in your life with Jar Jar Binks impressions.

Feign moderate dementia!
See, all your time in the Helmetless Motorcycle Injuries ward paid off. If you wanna get rEaLlY weird you better practice faking brain damage. For bonus points, try soiling yourself without noticing. You know who gets a lot of attention down at the olâ HMI?
Half-head Herbert!
Half-head Herbert NEVER has a dry diaper, and all of the nurses think he is just the most! Even his wife agrees! âHeâs so much,â she whispers, when she thinks nobody is listening. âHeâs just so much now.â

Again, remember that weâre supposed to be pulling up just shy of crazy in this guide. But pretending to be the President or Napoleon are the joke examples the DSM-5 uses in their word problems.
âPresident Tic-Tac and Big Black Napoleon are 50 feet apart, they have their genitals out and are approaching one another at a rate of 1.5 feet per second. If this rate stays constant, how long will you have to rapidly flip the lightswitch before they touch tips and their families file a gross negligence lawsuit? These are joke examples, of course. Nobody is Hollywood crazy like that. Itâs mostly compulsive masturbating. Show your work.â

The artwork in this guide promises that, at best, one person will laugh at your antics, almost certainly out of nervous pity, while everybody else in the crowd will visibly wrestle with their barely constrained hatred.
At best. Thatâs your best-case scenario: That one person out of twenty will feel bad for pushing you in a river.

Hey, muscular giants with distended pulsating necks and crazy Zooey Deschanel eyes, by all means accost women on the street with unhinged questions and wild accusations. They love it! Grin while you do it – wide, so wide it splits the human face you keep on the phallic shaft even now unspooling from your torso like Wilford Brimley in The Thing. Paw at your unraveling human crotch, ask them âwhat is⌠banana?â from your warping voice box. Theyâll find it charming! Look at those women! Look at their faces! They clearly find this very charming!

Go to work and for the whole day just do your worst Chinese accent. I mean the whole time. All fucking day. Everybody loves that. Everybody will love that. They will not punch you straight in those novelty teeth that have taken on a whole new connotation now. They will not kick you until their ankles break, destroying their own bodies just to harm yours. Do it. Also wildly screech at maximum volume while you do it. Just go ahead and do that. That kind of pure hatred is like a bathrobe straight out of the dryer for Leonard.
Iâm going to show you something, and youâre not going to believe it. Youâre going to think I wrote it, and deserve some kind of award for channeling pure unlikeability so well. A little trophy shaped like Ben Shapiro, or the kid from The Babadook. Every sentence is worse than the one before it. Itâs such distilled despicability you might be able to drink it. Pure Hateahol. Mix it with sweet vermouth and bitters and have yourself a Manhatean.

Anyway, do all of this awful shit and make the world a worse place just because you think any attention is good attention, but do try to refrain from drooling, as SoCiEtY perceives it as âcreepy.â

…
This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme, Josh, who is/has always been Human Meats/human, please follow to vessel/van.

Sex sells. Thatâs advertising 101, and itâs why I want to fuck the Arbyâs Mitt so bad it ruins me for human lovers. But thereâs a danger in getting too sexy with your advertising, and sometimes the only way to find that line is by hurtling past it at the speed of sound while screaming apologies, the air exploding with your regret long after youâve disappeared over the horizon.
We are here today to talk about a gum commercial. Maybe that wasnât clear.
To set the mood we must travel back to the bygone year of 2015. We kept our funk uptown, and identifying the color of dresses was tearing us apart as a nation. Ashton Kutcher was still our best Fuckable Dimwit. Itâs a character, of course – the real Ashton Kutcher is actually the fake Liam Neeson — but we loved his shtick. America always needs a hot guy just barely smart enough so that fucking him wonât count as a crime in every state but Mississippi.

Thereâs no question Ashton Kutcher is a beautiful man, and for some reason we decided the best use for this walking Roman statue was having him pretend to enjoy the taste of paste on our televisions. We just really liked the idea that, before we could fuck him, we had to settle an internal philosophical debate about whether or not he understood his surroundings well enough to give informed consent.
This is an article about a gum commercial!
We open on an apartment, where our reigning National Fuck Dope is about to get busy with a woman who has settled the moral storm raging inside herself, and now wants to replace that void with reigning National Fuck Dope.

Then a saucy Italian woman chides him from off camera – is he cheating on her? Did he think he could get away with it? Does saucy count as a dad joke if I use it before I show you the Sexy Pizza?

It is so clear nobody at the ad firm thought about this beyond the premise stage. Because something terrible happened here. Sheâs the only pizza left in the box, and you can see the grease stains that say she didnât start that way.

Ashton has either devoured the cheesy tits of all nine of her sisters, Attack on Titan-style, or I guess rolled them up and fucked them until they lost their structural integrity, JoJoâs Bizarre Adventure-style.
Because this is a sex thing — itâs not just a weird design. Sexy Pizza cut in when Ashton was about to get busy. Sheâs jealous that heâs with another woman.
She demands to be his one and only, but Ashton is having none of it. He-
Oh, hold on.
You were probably worried. I know. But donât be.
Donât!
Donât worry!
Iâve got you – of course they rendered Sexy Pizzaâs titty physics, and of course I giffed the bounce of the cheese breasts for you.

Of course!
Ashton doesnât want to marry a pizza and have little half-pizza, half-Fuck Dope abominations — thatâs how we got Steve Bannon — so he grabs his Orbit brand gum, and Sexy Pizza shows us one flash of pure terror-

Before she is obliterated totally.

Sorry, sorry! Orbiterated. Jesus, that was close!
There are many troubling questions about this dark world Ashton leapt into, but there is one that rises above all: What poor motherfucker got the call from this ad firm asking him to design pizza with tits?
Some mysteries only the void can answer.
But not this one: It is a riddle I can solve for you today. The Sexy Pizza guy wrote a design bible taking us through every step of the death of his soul. He did it for 20 thumbs up.

Iâm familiar with Seanbabyâs work. I know where two of those thumbs come from, but the other 18 shock and sadden me.
Now, since the designer put together this portfolio after the job was completed and his spirit had already been mashed between the uncaring teeth of the universe and spat onto the sidewalk, leaving him a soulless gum husk, he had this to say:

If you run that through Google Translate and set it from Husk to Human, thatâs how the hollow spot where a person used to be begs you to destroy it — not out of hatred for the monster it is, but out of respect for the man it once was.
We are still talking about a gum commercial. It is 20 seconds long.
The Gum Husk then takes us through all of the many variations and refinements he made to Sexy Pizza, so others can recognize the emptying process in themselves before it is too late.














Clearly, nobody comes back from this. The Sexy Pizza is a one-way ticket. Thereâs no return trip. Youâre the Fuckable Food guy from here on out. When Wholly Guacamole contacts you later, asking you to sex up their avocados for an ad campaign, you wonât even have to do it. Youâll just pull out a file you had already.

Anyway, that was it. That was a manâs life.


I wrote about Revolutionary Girl Utena a while back, which as near as I can tell was about schoolgirl lesbians finding love in their shared sword wound fetish. There was a lot of talk in that show about desires and connections, so itâs clear the creator, Ikuni, was trying to communicate some truth about life before his anime gland exploded and he hemorrhaged Earth Chickens and Destiny Apocalypses onto the page. But now heâs trying again with a series called Sarazanmai, and it does feel like heâs dialing this message in:

The show opens with a thesis statement about exploring the connections between human beings, while the art reduces those human beings to stickman caricatures with only our protagonists fully realized:

Because thatâs how these characters see the world: Themselves as complex islands, and other people as simple sketches — at once vacant and so impossibly dense they could never be understood. Thatâs some prime arthouse anime stuff right there, and my worry now is more that this will be boring, and less that I wonât fully get the metaphorical significance of the Earth Chicken laying an egg that is the Nega-World.
Letâs get into the setup: A social media idol accidentally takes a selfie in front of a kid breaking into a car.

He doesnât want evidence of his crime posted on social media because this was pre-2021 before we celebrated that practice, so he chases the idol around a corner. He loses her, and instead finds the young boy from the intro praying to a strange statue. He asks where the girl went, and our hero is uncooperative, so itâs time to murder him.

The statue is destroyed, and out pops the prince of the Kappa – Japanese turtle monsters that, based on context so far, must be somehow associated with desire and connection.

I donât actually know much about Japanese mythology, and I hate being dismissive of another culture just because Iâm unfamiliar with it, so I generally assume that when anime shows me eighteen straight minutes of crying mushroom schoolgirls rolling around on giant testicles, itâs actually a clever and subtle reference to folklore that I just donât have the cultural grounding to understand.
So with that in mind, I canât tell you why the Kappa is so immediately interested in two unattended young boys, or why heâs always suggestively sucking on a cucumber. I will generously assume this is not exactly what it looks like, and that the rest of this high-budget arthouse anime is not going to be based around butthole violation.
Anyway, weâve got this Ghibli-esque setup going and if weâre holding true to the myth structure, one of the boys must make a mistake in dealing with the folk character and become stuck in his world.

Sure enough, our hero accidentally calls the turtle prince a frog, and he is infuriated.
You see where this is going: The Kappa Prince flies into a rage, rockets across the courtyard, and sucks the young boy in assfirst until he is devoured, and then transforms into a cake-ass turtle exoskeleton with a traumatized child for a pilot.

I donât know what youâre confused about. Thatâs literally the plot to Evangelion, probably. You canât fuckinâ prove me wrong!
So now that our main character has been devoured, the Kappa Prince’s designated asshole-sucking organ sucks this childâs asshole until his soul comes out. Again, I donât mean to assume anything about the proud and noble nation of Japan, but this cartoon is telling me they believe the soul is stored in the butt.
Thatâs fine!
No judgment!
…
Some judgment!

The soulless turtle husk that used to be a promising young man is then shat out by the Kappa Prince, whose rosy cheeks and carefully animated poop shivers will haunt me to my grave.
To my very grave.

Now, Iâve thrown a lot at you — most of it butthole-related — but I do think itâs important to once again explain that this is not pornography.
Well.
This is not intended as pornography.
This is definitely weird, itâs definitely niche, but itâs on TV and not bottom-shelved behind a bead curtain in a gas station/video store.
I also think itâs important to note the extreme trauma on that freshly rear-birthed turtleboy. This is not a fun entrance to a whimsical fantasy world for him. You just watched a therapist buy a boat in that childâs eyes.
The kids are seriously just ruined by this process. Two more childrenâs assouls are devoured before the Kappa Prince explains their fate:

Thereâs a famous art meme about this tiny muscle in the human forearm thatâs only visible when you extend your pinky – and yet Michelangelo thought to depict that in his statue of Moses.
Look at that animation above, that facial expression on the newest turtleboy. This scene is complete. It has missed nothing. You understand everything that poor kid is going through. Heâs realizing that, from this moment on, all he can ever be is shit. Once youâre shit out of something, thatâs it. Thereâs no unbecoming shit. All you can be from that point forward is exceptionally good⌠for a piece of shit.
Itâs such a powerful and emotive moment that you almost miss the bloodstreaks in his hair from the Kappa Princeâs ruptured hemorrhoids.
Mosesâ pinky muscle!
Hi, if youâre just joining me, what a weird thing to do: open an article and jump halfway down to read the worst line out of context. I donât know why youâre doing this — maybe youâre trying to shake the Internet Cops based on a wild misunderstanding of how tracking cookies work — but I should explain that weâre still in the opening of the show.
If youâve been with me this whole time, the horrified Bastian to my long-suffering Atreyu, I know you feel like youâve gone through a Biblical amount of unease already, but youâve only just finished meeting the main characters.
See, we need those empty-assholed turtleboys because demon seals are stealing everyoneâs Amazon packages and Iâve just checked: My wife is indeed making toast. I did not have a stroke. Thatâs really what the show is about.

These packages represent the recipientsâ deepest desires, so the devil seals are effectively robbing the human world of the ability to dream.

The Kappa Prince was going to just ask the boys for help with this problem, but itâs ultimately a good thing theyâve been rendered feces because now they, too, have the ability to plunder assholes.

So they meet their enemy and sing a song about taking back desire because —
Oh right, itâs also a musical. Did I forget to mention that?

I did. I totally did forget to mention that the butthole turtles sing. They sing little songs about sucking desire out of an asshole as they fight. I really should have mentioned that right off the bat. To be fair to me, I didnât want to.
The natural enemy of the Kappa, as anyone can tell you, is a neon cardboard box giant.

You donât exactly need a 10-minute YouTube walkthrough to find his glowing weak spot.

Presenting like an apologizing baboon does not seem like an excellent strategy when you store all of your secrets in your ass and you are facing opponents whose special ability is extracting things from asses. And indeed, it is not.
The three kappas link up into living anal beads and plunge into the cardboard box zombieâs asshole, which is a sentence I sure hope nobody ever remembers I typed…

And this happens.

Iâll do you a favor and not talk about that.
Once inside, the kappas seize the ass marble that, again, I guess is what the Japanese think of as a soul? The series does explain that itâs actually the organ that processes desire, but the rest of the show is about how that desire is what makes us people and without it, the boys literally lose their human forms. So yeah, the essence of mankind is located about three inches inside the rectum, and this cardboard box giantâs soul is helpfully labelled âBUTT.â

Real quick reminder that none of this consensual, if thatâs our bar. I donât even know anymore.

Now, Iâve spent years thinking in story structures and seeing in narrative arcs. If youâre anything like me, you get a few minutes into a show and you just sort of feel where it must go next.
Thatâs right, one of the turtle monsters becomes stuck in the cardboard zombie giantâs rupturing neon asshole and his friends, blinded by digestive spray, have to pull him out.

By working together they do manage to extract the giantâs butt soul, which explodes.
Wetly.

Revealing all of the giantâs closely guarded secrets. So what secrets does this naked box-headed creature have?


But… the giant was a naked guy in a stolen cardboard box helmet. His secret was that he was a naked guy in a stolen cardboard box helmet? This didnât need three shitwarriors and a musical number about desire to solve, you could crack this mystery with functional eyeballs and no respect for knocking.
Itâs not quite over yet! The Kappa Prince then demands the boys âdo the sarazanmai.â

Which apparently translates to âthree nude young men synchronized skate while ripping a curl.â Itâs weird that Japan has one word for that concept, but I guess it might be context-sensitive. Like if Jared Fogle mentioned loving the Tuna Special, you would know just by the strategically placed serving tray that this is what he meant.

None of the boys know that this choreographed water dance will actually reveal one of their secrets by — did you guess it?
Of course you did.
Itâs anal rupture again!

While I appreciate the heads up, slapping âthis is whatâs about to happenâ over the iconography of three teen boys absorbing each otherâs anal leakage is like when people use their turn signal only as theyâre turning. Itâs not a warning anymore. If anything, itâs like a taunting exclamation point.

The price for delivering the anal secrets of a boxed stranger is one of your own being revealed. In this case itâs that the protagonist is also the girl from the beginning. Heâs been crossdressing on social media, and thatâs all the shame our Kappa Prince needs for seasoning. Now the assoul marble is ready to eat.

So this is actually a story about how the soul of humanity lies in our desires, and being ashamed of and hiding those desires turns us into monsters. Only by sharing them — even if it terrifies us and opens us up to judgment — can we be true to ourselves. Thatâs actually a pretty good theme to explore, and the message did come across despite the many anal ruptures in the delivery system.
Thereâs a lot to take into account when you absorb a story from another culture. Japan canât show human sexual penetration in even hardcore porn sold only to adults, but it can slap the inner workings of a boxgiantâs rectal mysteries on primetime, no problem. Itâs a strange mix of body acceptance and sexual denial. And buttsucking turtleboys seems like a crazy way to convey the liberation of sexual repression, but itâs that lack of cultural grounding again. If I lived in a society that believed the soul was tied to desire and then shoved directly up the asshole, and there existed a folklore monster that robbed butts, it would only make sense to use that as my framework. Itâs right there. Itâs absurd to think youâd invent a new device to talk about sex, shame, truth, and desire when somebody already went through the trouble of inventing a cucumber gobbling water-headed turtle pervert just for this purpose.
So I understand, Japan. I understand why you did this to me. I can forgive it. What I canât forgive, what was entirely superfluous and spiteful and has made enemies of us to the bitter end, is those lovingly animated poopshivers.

That was on you. You chose to do that. And though my body will die, please understand that my hate will live forever.

âŚ
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