1-900-HOTDOG
The Hot Dog Store has themed meats for every day of the week!
Get the Hot Dog Days shirt with art by Rusty Shackles, or something else! We are not your dad, not until you feel comfortable calling us that, sport.
Seanbaby: Hi, I’m Seanbaby, professional game designer.
Brockway: I’m Robert Brockway. I live at my house.
Seanbaby: The game I designed this Teamworking Day, professionally, is called Rad n’ Roll Lookalike War Cards. Using the latest headshots from two different British celebrity lookalike agencies, I generated one deck of cards for myself and another for Brockway. These are not jokes, and I did not cheat. These people are all real, and as of press time, working lookalikes. I color-coded our cards so we could tell the owner apart, but something weird happened at the printer and Brockway’s came back like this:
Brockway: The holographic foil is there to verify it’s a real Fart Star.
Seanbaby: The rules of the game are, as always, simple. Brockway and I will wage lookalike war across eleven events. At each one, he and I must summon a celebrity knockoff to create maximum impact. End of rules, Brockway goes first.
Dr. Wendell Plant has finally sold his practice to make more time for online gambling. Ready your incredible lookalike decks, heroes! Make this orthodontist’s retirement special!
Brockway: I’ve long said Roger Moore is the orthodontist’s Bond, just like Timothy Dalton is the divorced speedboat salesman’s Bond. And who better for this job than Torben, the Dutch rat farmer? With James Bond’s trademark long greasy hair and fish suspenders, Torben brings a little extra special orthodontist flair by way of a shaved jaw and inverted chin. Dr. Wendell Plant of West Terracotta, Indiana, will spend his whole retirement party giggling with the other orthodontists, ecstatic that they now have a face mystery to solve but no moral imperative to treat it.
Seanbaby: Indiana orthodontists! And their families! I bring you another face mystery! I have played my Very Loose Interpretation of Tiger Woods Card on your Roger Moore’s Cousin Arrested for Swamp Vagrancy Mugshot Card. I understand it’s a futile gesture. I’ve lost this round; your guy is incredible. When Torben tells the retirement party he’s there as a Roger Moore impersonator, they will have a thousand questions. “Who hired you for this, and why?” “Roger Moore, the actor!?” “What is that fluid dripping from you?” When Angelo tells people he’s Tiger Woods, he’ll already be screaming the second half of that sentence at a Staybridge Suites security guard.
Anyway, congratulations, you get one lookalike point.
It’s finally happening for Bridgette. How will our two glorious masters of lookalike celebrate her love?
Brockway: Ladies love Robert Pattinson, with his waifish features and his waifish demeanor and his waifish little outfits, like a mischievous pixie pranking a college professor. I get it: Some women just want a man they feel comfortable taking in a fistfight. So I put forth Jon Fox. He doesn’t look anything like Robert Pattinson, he looks like he’s one trunk search away from being branded the Tire Iron Murderer, but he works all bridal showers pro bono, saying “the smells are my paycheck.”
Seanbaby: The only things women love more than a drifter with the same number of faces as Robert Pattinson are two sad, filthy Bruce Willi. “You fuckin’ white women sit down and take your talkin’ to, wait, this is a Bruce Willis gig, I meant to say… I see dead people,” says Terry Whiteman who is normally a Bill Burr.
Dave Cooke sweeps the room with his gun. “I see them too!! Who’s Bruce Willis!?” he screams. They are the last words anyone at the bridal shower hears. Police are on the lookout for a Bruce Willis, a Robert Pattinson, and a Bruce Willis, and they will never find them because that is an absurd way to describe these three men.
Point Brockway.
We weren’t invited, children, but don’t worry– we brought these exciting and almost celebrities.
Brockway: Roger Goold brings two things all kids love: Star Wars and balding. And baby? Roger Goold is all out of Star Wars. He’s got a flair about him that I can’t place, but I love. He plays harmonica in a Bob Seger cover band, so four out of five songs he just stands off-stage tapping his foot and they usually forget to thank him at the end of the set. He looks like Mandy Patinkin on Halloween, 1999. He’s the third phase of Qui-Gon Jinn animorphing into a quokka.
Seanbaby: I counter your wrongly-faced Star Wars Prequel character with an even more wrongly-faced Star Wars Prequel character– this blurry, distant photo of a guy named Samuel on his way to golf! This looks like a bit from a Detroiters commercial for “Near-Sighted Frank’s Racist Ass Lookalike Agency.” This looks like a man who said, “What? I don’t look like Samuel L. Jackson, you ignorant fuck. I’m here for the IT job,” during his interview. “And if anyone uses this picture of me in the future for a celebrity lookalike game, tell them they lost this round!” Oh. Damn it.
Two loving husbands invite their wives to a romantic dinner. How will they make it a sort of star-studded one?
Brockway:
“Honey, for our anniversary, I got you the greatest gift of all. Something every woman wants… Mike Cox.”
“Fuck you. Take this seriously.”
[opens the bedroom door]
“Oh! Oh.”
Seanbaby: Oh, man. I went in a way different direction. My wife is so fucking pissed. No, don’t cry, Ian. It’s not your fault. I mean, you are a working Kevin Spacey impersonator in 2024, so some of this is your faul– okay, yeah, you can take the rest of this food home.
You win this one. I am really losing this game.
Set sail for the skies, where there are no laws! No limits to your celebrity dreams!
Brockway:
“Darling, because you were so generous on our anniversary, I decided to get you a little something special for your birthday.”
“Oh!”
“A hot air balloon ride.”
“Oh.”
“With Mike Cox.”
“OH.”
Seanbaby:
“Honey, our balloon ride is today. Tell me you didn’t hire another sex offender lookalike.”
“How am I the sex crime lookalike guy after one Kevin Spacey?”
“He just seemed like the start of a running bit.”
“Gulp.”
“Why did you just gulp? Why is there 30% of a Woody Allen waiting for us in that balloon?”
“. . .”
“Tell Robert he won another round.”
Slap! It’s the sound, and the overly wordy description of Dana White’s premiere new fighting sport! Which superstar lookalikes will our boys bring?
Brockway: Nice try, Frank Stallone. Nobody was booking him when he advertised as “Frank Stallone lookalike Frank Stallone,” so I don’t blame him for the deception. Even kids are wildly disappointed when you promise a Sylvester Stallone impersonator for their Bat Mitzvah and his fucking brother comes and lives on their couch for six weeks. But not the Power Slap World Championships. It’s the only place in the world that still considers Frank Stallone a “get.” They’d seat him front and center, right next to Andy Dick and Fred Dudikoff.
Seanbaby: I think this round might be a tie. Because you’re not going to believe this– my plus one for the Power Slap World Championships is also a used Frank Stallone candle! Screaming his mighty Rambo battle cry of “No refunds, I’m sorry!”
I thought going into this article the bit was going to be us ruining these events with bad lookalikes, but two Turkish Frank Stallones telling you legally they can only answer to “Ranbar” is the least tragic thing at the Power Slap World Championships. Speaking of, our next event is…
With only moments to spare before the hospital finds out the Power Slap World Champion has no health insurance, nor a credit card, nor a valid piece of identification, Seanbaby and Brockway must rush to deliver a lookalike to his recovery room!
Brockway: If you’re recovering from acute brain displacement, nothing would pick you up like Leonidas kicking open the door to your hospital room and yelling that when your optic nerve explodes you slap in the shade. I know Marcus only looks like Gerard Butler when viewed from above, at a specific angle and when framed on a Russian grandmother’s stairs – but the Power Slap World Champion doesn’t. He only knows pudding time is exciting and uh ohs make warm.
Seanbaby: I see your Gerard Butler sleeping in a nursing home staircase and raise you one Blackface Sammy Davis Junior. Unspeakable to you and me, but I think Dana White and a divorced drug addict dying of a face hematoma would call Ray Ballard’s decisions “bold” and “a throwback to before woke ruined Sammy Davis Junior impersonators.”
Brockway: Holy shit, is that really a Blackface Sammy Davis Junior? My faith in humanity wants to think it’s a skin disease.
Seanbaby: I’m pretty sure? God damn it, now I have to look up Blackface Sammy Davis Junior.
…
Oh, fuck.
He’s very real. Blackface Sammy Davis Junior walks among us! And in 2016 he put on a 2 hour and 33 minute “night in vegas with the rat pack” for one (1) person! Or I guess we should say “missing person” now.
I did it, I w-
Brockway: You don’t need to say it. I know.
As our flimsy consecrations are undone by the touch of the hunter’s moon, three men prepare to honor their dark god with a sacrifice most foul! Which celebrity lookalike will Sean and Robert bring along?
Brockway: I don’t think Quentin Tarantino is relevant to this scenario, I just think Max Knight is one of the three robed men planning a murder.
Seanbaby: I hate to one-up your ritual murder, gentlemen, but meet this Ricky Gervais impersonator.
…
Fine, your point.
A murder thwarted, a dark ritual undone, our heroes take their celebrity lookalikes to a dog show!
Brockway: An unauthorized local dog show would be the biggest gig the real Alex Baldwin ever booked. I’m pretty sure this guy bought Frank Stallone’s MLM VHS Alternate Careers for the Celebrity Adjacent. He legally changed his name from Alex Baldwin to Pauk Hull just so he could book Alex Baldwin lookalike gigs without clients worrying the real Alex Baldwin would show up and steal their recycling. I’m sorry, I’m trying to say this is the real Alex Baldwin. I’m aware that person does not exist. I stand by it.
Seanbaby: Hi, Alex Baldwin. You are real! Have you met Grade School Librarian Elton John? He is not a divorced grandmother getting her real estate agent headshots. He is Elton John, not a Car Toys franchise owner after winning a burger challenge. He is not a bubble magician’s indecent exposure mugshot, he is Elton John. He pivoted to this after Rod Roddy died.
Round to Brockway.
Anyone can afford a vacation home, and your arrival and departure days are as flexible as our payment plans. Oh, i-is that…? Who is that you have with you?
Brockway: These meetings are so awkward. Yes, I need a free blender and do not value the remaining hours of my life. But I have a negative credit rating and I’m selling that blender for bus fare back to the city. The timeshare salesman will never accept that. It’s hard to make a graceful exit. Instead, I bring Carl Chetty along. When the pitch gets too aggressive, I just use his special rattle to call him out from behind the water cooler so he can tell them in a perfectly normal voice “I’m Mr. Bean.” They’re usually so confused I can slip out with an extra blender, and that’s called profit.
Seanbaby: Guy Combes is used to hearing people beg. “Whatever that is, please stop,” they plead. To their god they pray, “Please, Lord, let that be a Pauly Shore impersonator. An Ice Capades Mindfreak, anything.” But in their hearts they know. A forgotten, prehistoric sense warns them– RUSSELL BRAND Lookalike. This is both a throwaway character you’d meet in a holding cell during an ’80s comedy, and the most accurate lookalike we’ve summoned today. This Russell Brand could walk right into Joe Rogan’s office with a paper bag full of panties and Joe would hide them, no questions asked.
I can already hear what Carl Chetty’s Mr. Bean would say, clearly and perfectly enunciated: “You definitely won this round, Seanbaby.”
Brockway: …
Devastation! The Power Slap World Champion has passed away from just so many things. How will these Lords of Lookalike honor his sacrifice?
Brockway: This is a great national tragedy, and that nation is Moldova. Still, nothing less would do than a somber, dignified appearance from the most somber and dignified President. I bring all subspecies of Trump lookalikes. From left: I bring the man with the self confidence to call himself Donald Trump 6 when none of the others are numbered. I bring Dr. Wendell Plant after he realizes there’s nothing to fill his retirement days. I bring the haunted Trump from a Norwegian art film about how death comes for us all. I bring Jay Leno Max Headroom. And I bring Dr. Jerry Funk, who betrayed Dr. Wendell Plant’s friendship and stole his idea – kickstarting the orthodontic Trump clone rivalry that would tear West Terracotta’s second finest senior living community apart. I bring you all of these men – a parade of Trumps walking single-file past the Power Slap World Champion, each of them pointing at the closed casket and saying “you’re fired” in a different, unidentifiable accent.
RIP Cobra Steak, you’re slapping angels in heaven now.
Seanbaby: I’m fucked. You’ve invaded the funeral of a slap hero with an army of subTrumps, and the best lookalike I can field is this grouchy Huey Lewis holding a gilded pomegranate juice. Your lookalike agency is so stacked with imitation talent. I lost this 9 to 2! How did you rig a game I designed?
Brockway: I didn’t even use these-
Seanbaby: My god. Strawweight Tyson. Trevor Gandhi. Not-Even-Close Jackie Chan. The Never-Era Justin Timberlake. Hunk Tiger Woods. These are breathtaking.
Brockway: Shut up. I’m not done.
Seanbaby: This whole game you had a Hitler and a Cosby? A 50-Year-Old Virgin Keanu? Gus Scissors as Chris Rock Lookalike as Chris Rock Lookalike? The Christian Jesus, a double Mother T(h)eresa, and… is that…? No. It can’t be! You son of a bitch, you were holding your own Blackface Sammy Davis Jnr card!
Brockway: I didn’t want to take it from you. It was the only point you ever had.
Seanbaby: What about Flamenco Dancer Russell Brand?
Brockway: Flamenco Dancer Russell Brand has already been disqualified for something that looks like a sex crime if you squint.
Brockway: I can’t beat that intro.
Seanbaby: “Fear my alien powers, frozen Yukon cowards! In merely twenty more beers you shall face Captain Alcoho–” wait, holy shit, is that a space? I think this character’s name is actually Captain Al Cohol, like a new father testing to see if the hospital had any rules about naming babies. But the time for thinking is over, fear-faced, caribou-shoed fools! I have finished my twenty beers! Captain Al Cohol incredibly comes among you!
Brockway: I’m worried this is too exactly the punchline a drunk Canadian uncle says to ruin Goodsday, or whatever Canadian Thanksgiving is called. Some of us have been known to doctor comics for hilarity, so it’s important that we are crystal clear up front: This is not a Man Comics. Or rather, it is, but from before Seanbaby was born. Captain Al Cohol is not photoshopped, and it’s not a spoof. This is all real. You’re not going to believe me several times, but this was a sincere effort by the Department of Information for the Department of Social Development, Government of the Northwest Territories to combat alcoholism among the Inuit people.
Seanbaby: A very specific, very serious problem requires a deranged and childlike solution. You can’t fight addiction with policy or funding. You have to put Moldova Superman on a polar bear’s face and get him fucked up.
Brockway: Yeah, philanthropy was way more fun back in 1973, when Captain Al Cohol was written and illustrated by the suspiciously whitely-named Art Sorensen, Phil Clark, and Dale Austin from Arctic Comics. But you can’t assume a person’s ethnicity by a name alone. You need a single comic book panel for that.
Brockway: “Hey Art, what do we know about these here eskimos?”
“Well, first, they love being called that.”
“Got it. What else?”
“Instead of Jesus they got uhhhhh- shamans. And they think all dogs are magic cliff fairies.”
“That’s going in.”
“Plus they’re always saying shit like ‘Leaping honeybuckets!’”
“Hahaha Phil’s drunk already.”
“Fuck it, I’m putting it in!”
“I’m putting it in- m’putting it in your mother!”
“Get this sumbitch another CC ‘n CC!”
“Another Canadian Club and Clearly Canadian coming right up, sir.”
Seanbaby: Whoever drew this featureless landscape was definitely drunk, which is troubling because they were also definitely nine. I mean, leaping honeybuckets, even Rob Liefeld would have drawn a couple lines in the background. If you have no idea how to draw ice, maybe don’t pitch a fucking arctic adventure comic when your boss asks, “How can we stop Native alcohol abuse?” Anyway, this is terrible art, but a pretty good Pictionary clue for the phrase “racist Sarah Palin coloring contest.”
Brockway: We’re not in this for the art, we’re in this for the drunk children. I could rephrase that. Anyway, Kirnik drags a frozen white man home because he loves being framed for Starlight Tour deaths. He brings it to his local poker game because, honestly, it is pretty funny. And then the following happens. These panels are sequential. All of this happens in exactly this order.
Brockway: That’s the drunkest thing I’ve ever seen.
Seanbaby: There was no reason for that guy to say, “LOOK AT THAT BIG THING.” He’d already explained the situation perfectly when he screamed, “TAKURALUGUNA!” It’s a well-known Inuktitut expression meaning “word not found in dictionary” in English.
Brockway: Captain Al Cohol passes out on the ice, gets defrosted by some kindly villagers, explodes into a poker game and runs across the room to uppercut four elderly Inuit men through a wall. He does this wordlessly, unless “ARGG G-G-G!!” is in your Inuktitut phrasebook under “watch out, village elders, you each have a mosquito on your jaw – hold on, I got it!”
Seanbaby: I still have the translator open; I’ll check… okay, so “ARGG G-G-G!!” is an ancient Chukotka curse to banish your enemies through holes in a cardboard box, but it’s normally only used by cartoon mice? This is remarkable to me. Do you have any idea how little you have to know about perspective, walls, and punching to consider drawing this? I mean, I get why The Council for Indigenous Condescension couldn’t get the best guys for this. Still, in a world where shame exists, all of this should be impossible.
Brockway: I’m going to be extremely generous. Maybe Captain Al Cohol isn’t drunk as shit already, maybe he’s brain-addled from being frozen and he thinks he’s under attack. I’m sure he’ll be overcome with regret when he realizes he just killed the entire Elk’s Lodge of Fish Fiord.
Brockway: If a drunk guy in a unitard knocks out your grandpa and hands you a badge that says “CAPTAIN AL COHOL,” the proper response is to give him a high-five and say “KPRX rocks my weekdays” for free passes to Warrant this weekend at the casino.
Seanbaby: Captain Al Cohol parties so hard he has to wear a special badge that says, “If found, call goddamn outer space 80321” What a champion. He has been sleeping one off for one million years and he’s already picked four fist fights before he had breakfast.
Brockway: The comic explains he’s “wreaking a trail of havoc,” but it’s wholly unnecessary. Look at that Family Circus-style adventure path straight from an Inuit bingo den to the community freezer, only instead of good Christian hijinx, he’s leaving behind a wake of senior citizens who just got punched in the back of the head.
Seanbaby: “The white invader named Al Coholic has sure wreaked a trail of havoc through the village, much like his namesake does to underserved communities! Hi, I’m Captain Al Legory on behalf of the Canadian government, here to warn you about getting dumb as fuck with your allegories.”
Brockway: This is the arctic equivalent of leaving the bar through a plate glass window, knocking out a police horse, then getting spotlighted from a helicopter while sitting in a tennis court eating an entire pack of frozen Hot Pockets. It’s relatable, is what I’m saying.
Seanbaby: “Nowhere in my thoughts, though they are detailed and weirdly insightful, do I reflect on the dozen sentient beings I recently punched! Yum, maybe this is their embryos!”
Brockway: Now that he’s distracted breaking his teeth on seal popsicles, the townspeople take advantage and throw a net over the drunkest man they’ve ever seen. “I’m scared!” one says, as a battle cry.
Seanbaby: I’m partial to “HOLY SMOKES, GRAB IT.”, but all seven of these guys have a real way with letters.
Brockway: The people of Fish Fiord make what their insurance adjuster will call “a flagrant violation of the dipshit clause.” They tie down a shitfaced alien hurricane… and force feed him more alcohol.
Seanbaby: I know enough about Al Cohol to know this is how you get cartoon holes in your cardboard.
Seanbaby: I knew it.
Brockway: Captain Al Cohol does the only reasonable thing – he explodes out of his restraints, tries to appear big like a threatened kitty cat, then hurls himself through the drywall. I honestly don’t have any notes for this. This is the best comic book I’ve ever read.
Seanbaby: It’s so awesome. He trashed an entire nation, got trawled like a salmon, and the second he woke up he started doing shots. He leapt dick-first out of a hospital to make his own mosh pit. We can’t even comprehend partying like this.
Brockway: This is government sponsored party! “Hell yeah,” says the Department of Information for the Department of Social Development, Government of the Northwest Territories. “Get out there and rip shit up, kids.”
Seanbaby: I genuinely don’t know what I’m looking at. Earlier, when they threw a net on him, a thing requiring no explanation, seven different men had lines. You remember them. Classic ones like “UAKAGAAAAA!” and “I’M SCARED!” Yet here, where we have no idea if Captain Al Cohol is dying, enraged, or rocking the fuck out, the narrator and every character is completely silent. How hard is it to include something like this?
Brockway: It’s crazy how thin the line is between ‘royally pissed off’ and ‘finally got drunk enough to start a rave.’ I guess we’ll never know which it is, because Captain Al Cohol gets lost on the ice again. We have to assume this is the gameplay loop. Get defrosted, beat the shit out of an assisted living community, power up on their meat, wander onto the ice, get frozen, repeat. But before that can happen, he’s attacked by a polar bear! He handles it with the grace and dignity we’ve come to expect-
Brockway: That second panel is how a recently-divorced political cartoonist would draw Joe Biden running from the Palestine issue. There is absolutely no dignity there. And Captain Al Cohol follows it up by facing right onto an ice floe, fully splayed, and passing the fuck out. This is something David Hasselhoff wakes up to find going viral, it’s fucking incredible they handed this out in schools.
Seanbaby: ha ha I can’t believe Captain Al Cohol has already passed out for the third time and he hasn’t done anything coherent yet. We still don’t know if he’s the last of his kind or if his people are getting hammered and losing fights across countless worlds. Is this their version of diplomacy? Because if so, it rules.
Brockway: Captain Al Cohol crashes his ice floe like a normal drunk would crash a stolen electric scooter. He handles this by “uttering a soul-piercing shriek” and passing out again. I would like to remind you this is the first issue, we are not watching our hero hit rock bottom as he succumbs to severe alcoholism – this is his origin story. He was bitten by a radioactive Molson and fucked up 600 square kilometers of the arctic. Next he encounters the Ravenmen, which is where the actual superhero stuff kicks in…
Brockway: Haha I’m just fucking with you, he shrieks again and flees.
Seanbaby: ha ha ha
Brockway: He was simply too drunk to handle a birdman in his life, and fled before that birdman could explain he’s Ronnie the Hay River Raven and you can’t sleep on the hockey rink when it’s game day.
Seanbaby: Again, it’s not that hard to put in something like this:
Brockway: That’s it for this issue! Let’s recap what Captain Al Cohol has done: Fucked shit up. Perfect comic, here’s the “come back next time” teaser to build up the tension.
Brockway: His own comic book just called him a pussy for losing his shit after half a dose of prescription rum. They give that to Manitoba kids for being extra brave during moosepox vaccinations.
Seanbaby: It’s weird for Captain Al Cohol’s creators to have so many questions for the reader. A Batman comic doesn’t start by asking, “Can Batman lift a car? Like, I know he’s strong, but is he lift-a-car strong? How big, if so? What’s that in kilograms? Sorry, I’m new, I don’t know a lot about bats.”
Brockway: At the start of the next issue, Captain Al Cohol’s hauled up before the whole village to explain his actions, and here’s where we get the tragic backstory. He’s an alien from a planet where alcohol is out of control, and he got so drunk he exploded his wife and kid. He tried to flee the guilt, only he also drunkenly exploded his own ship and landed in the ice.
Seanbaby: This is, word-for-word, the director’s commentary for Apocalypto.
Brockway: Props to the artist, you can really see the townsfolk here thinking “we have fucked up so hard by bringing this superpowered alcoholic murder honkey into our lives.” It’s a devastating, somber moment, followed by a kickass tub party.
Followed again by RAVENMEN.
Brockway: This time, Captain Al Cohol is sober. The only thing that changes is where he points his belligerent chaos. Those Ravenmen don’t stand a chance… against motherfucking Kirnik and his fish bat.
Seanbaby: I don’t think this is what’s happening, but this is exactly how you would letter a comic if the fish was the one screaming.
Brockway: Kirnik does not have superpowers. Kirnik is not given ten times the strength of a man by Earth’s pansy gravity. Kirnik doesn’t have a red unitard and a little badge. You know what Kirnik has? A fish. And with it, he takes out one more Ravenman than Captain Al Cohol.
Seanbaby: Do the Ravenmen maybe represent liver disease? This could be their way of saying fish oil is good for your liver. Because there’s no way this is what it looks like– a Canadian friend group deciding to do bird costumes and fish racketeer in the tundra. That’s insane. And no match for any superhero, no matter how depressed.
Brockway: Yeah, Dennis and his Ravenbros quickly realize they can’t take Captain Al Cohol in a fair fight, so they huddle and come up with a strategy. Here, and I’m not fucking with you, is that strategy in its entirety.
Brockway: It works! Three hugs and he’s down. How will he get out of this one??
No, I’m asking. You tell me how he gets out of this one.
Seanbaby: I know this. It’s making a fearless moral invent–
Brockway: That’s right, he doesn’t! The Ravenmen take him and Kirnik back to their base, torture them, tie them up in bags and throw them in the ocean. Captain Al Cohol lucks out of his bag and barely swims back to shore. He explicitly does not save Kirnik, who also struggles out of his own bag and swims up a moment later. They walk back to the village hypothermic. The Ravenman problem is never addressed again.
Seanbaby: I have gone from thinking this was the work of talentless lunatics to being sure it’s the most accurate depiction of Canadian alcoholism ever written. If you asked this writer what the Ravenmen meant, he would finish his bottle of wine and say, “The raven men who beat me up and threw me in the ocean.”
Brockway: Instead of getting wrecked by birdmen, let’s do a little public service announcement. That asshole Tooktik is holed up in his house getting faced, and only Captain Al Cohol can talk him down!
Brockway: And by talk him down, I of course mean shoulder ram through his door and bottle-fight him. You know how this goes, Superman has handled Very Special Issues like this. Captain Al Cohol is incredibly strong and nigh invulnerable, so he’ll let Tooktik take some feeble swings, knowing it will have no effect, and then the man will break down weeping at the monster he’s become. At which point Captain Al Cohol will show him the sensitivity and empathy he needs.
Brockway: Haha, no, he super-punches Tooktik straight in the gut, gets glassed, then stands there staring at his cut hand in total shock while Tooktik pukes up a $2 bottle of Peppermint Schnapps.
Seanbaby: Things didn’t go perfectly at Tooktik’s intervention, but Captain Al Cohol is learning! He smashed through the door instead of the wall; one step closer to being able to move between inside and outside without making a new hole.
Brockway: We said we weren’t here for the art, but for the drunk children. I take both of those statements back. Even totally devoid of context, just look at that last panel. I would absolutely frame that and hang it in my foyer to impress hot art school freshmen who just learned about Lichtenstein.
Seanbaby: I agree, it’s beautiful. Still, it seems like it could use something.
Brockway: I love it! Speaking of, Captain Al Cohol finds love! It is an abrupt panel.
Seanbaby: “Oh, Captain Al! I never thought I’d meet someone else whose haircut defied all reason! All shape!”
Brockway: Aaaand she is immediately kidnapped by the evil Billy Vermin. “Vermin” is a bad way for any relationship to end, but to be fair, there was no good resolution here. I guess maybe love could heal the wounded little child inside Al that he’s been trying to baptize in malt liquor? It could go that way. OR, and hear me out here, OR… he could joyride a skidoo into a pole.
Seanbaby: “Trusht me, Igmook. Your ice car and this delicious Earth poison is all I need… all I need to fix everything.”
Seanbaby: “Captain Al – his brain seething with drunkeness,” I whisper aloud to myself. “You’re glorious,” I tell the comic, a single drunken tear seething down my face.
Brockway: Let us all experience another silent moment of stolen beauty.
Brockway: I think I literally wrote this as a bad ending in a Choose Your Own Drug-Fueled Adventure parody. He stole the funniest possible vehicle to drunk-drive, and then facing the existential terror of eighty million miles of flat, featureless ice, he crashes into the only telephone pole.
Seanbaby: The only thing better than this comic is picturing someone in 1973 reading it and thinking, “You know, when you put it like that, alcohol abuse does seem like a mistake.”
Brockway: You can’t keep Captain Al Cohol down, except for all the times he’s passed out on an ice floe, or just now when he crashed into a utility pole. He gets up, heads to Billy Vermin’s Human Trafficking Manufactured Home, and charges to the rescue!
Seanbaby: Sounds like this mission calls for a bit of stealth. Luckily Captain Al Cohol has been working on using our Earth doors to enter and exit locations! Show us what you can do, Captain!
Seanbaby: Damn it, almost.
Brockway: Really appreciate that sequence of events. Captain Al Cohol sprints up to the villain’s lair and without hesitation runs face first into the wall, knocking himself the fuck out. Inside, Billy Vermin wonders “was that a thump?” He comes out to find Captain Al Cohol spitting teeth, sitting on his ass next to a Captain Al Cohol-shaped crack in the siding. The next panel has to be Billy Vermin putting down his rifle in awe and saying “Did you just try to Kool Aid Man through the wall, you drunk son of a bitch?”
Seanbaby: Captain Al Cohol is so relatable in moments like this. He has the strength of somewhere between one and ten men, but he can’t tell where he is on that scale when he’s drunk, and that’s the exact same super power I got from a snowmobile accident.
Brockway: Don’t worry, Captain Al Cohol saves the day by passing out until the cops come. That’s seriously what happens! He’s so embarrassed the whole Kitty Pryde gambit didn’t work that he hides in his trailer and sends Lois away. You know what happens next?
No, seriously, you tell me what happens next.
Seanbaby: He makes a list of persons he has harmed and becomes willing to make amen–
Brockway: That’s absolutely right, she is trampled by muskox!
Brockway: I’m sorry to keep stressing this, but those are the exact panels in their original order. It goes:
It’s the Inuit loss.jpg.
|| |||
||||||_
Seanbaby: If only Lois’ headband and hair didn’t perfectly mimic an ovulating muskox.
Brockway: Captain Al Cohol stows away on a plane going anywhere but here, where the muskox memories are too strong. Then he ditches out at the last minute, pausing to call everyone who helped him a bunch of chumps, and flings himself at a passing truck. I’m saying: I relate to this. This is for me.
Brockway: Look at that. Just a limp-limbed, full-body, crotch-first truck hurl.
Seanbaby: This looks like a flying squirrel tried to draw a truck driver from memory, but I’m more certain than ever it is high art created by geniuses. If you party hard enough, this comic speaks to something inside you you thought no one else understood. This is the I Saw the TV Glow for problem drinkers.
Brockway: Jesus, you’re right. I’ve been buried alive and I need to wake up to embrace who I really am: A problem for everyone around me. Hey, speaking of, Captain Al Cohol finds a bar and some locals want to buy him a drink. He handles it with the grace and dignity we’ve come to expect-
Brockway: Just throwing wild haymakers at any blurry shape sucker enough to get in haymaker range. I love it. It’s the perfect way to solve every problem except a muskox girlfriend tragedy. Dibs on the Inuit emo band name.
Seanbaby: I’m sure we’re on the same page, but let me know if this is what you were thinking:
Brockway: No, I was thinking The Muskox Girlfriend Tragedy would be the band and- actually, you’re right, that’s more of a post-eggpunk name.
Hey, you know when you crash a bottle against a table and you’re really feeling yourself so you say some shit like “come and get me now, you fools!” Don’t you hate it when you get immediately crunched by a stick?
Seanbaby: This comic book is all I’m ever going to think about for the rest of my life.
Brockway: I’m so sorry we are on the last issue, but at least it wasn’t an abrupt cancellation. Arctic Comics knew this was a four-issue run only, so they got to close things out proper, on their terms. Here’s the final Captain Al Cohol story to tie the whole arc together.
But first, a little background: Captain Al Cohol was wandering around drunk as shit when he saw a fire and a guy in a window. That’s it. That’s all you missed. Whenever I cut a panel, you should assume it’s Captain Al Cohol with his pants off in a dumpster, crying next to a dead raccoon.
Brockway: Drunks falling asleep with lit cigarettes and burning down their homes was a big problem in the area. It’s a serious tragedy affecting a lot of real, local families, so the best way to talk about it is a comic book where a man houses goblin liquor that turns him into an arsonist were-monkey.
Seanbaby: I think the author is working through something. Because this is how a child remembers you when you burn down three of their homes and leave before they finish kindergarten.
Brockway: Captain Al Cohol follows him, only to realize *gasp* it’s his father!
Seanbaby: Shut the absolute fuck up, I was kidding.
Brockway: That’s completely fucking insane. Captain Al Cohol is an alien who crash-landed on Earth in a drunken accident, why the fuck would his father be here, also drunk, and now some kind of pyromaniac ape king?
Seanbaby: Don’t you dare tell me. This is the most perfect madness I’ve ever witnessed.
Brockway: Well, I’m glad you asked-
Brockway: Don’t squint. Don’t try to read that. Look at Captain Al Cohol’s face – he ain’t listening to that shit, either. That is the face of a man who is waiting to respond “oof, that’s rough.”
Seanbaby: “Father!? Oh, y-yeah, I’m your dad! Um, M-mister… Cohol. I, you remember. I faked my death in space, the place w-where we are from! You’re so smart to recognize me, and now we can be together like before, again. But first, your old man could sure use $500 and some matches… son.”
Brockway: In the end, Captain Al Cohol drank so much he gave himself an ulcer. An ulcer given the strength of ten ulcers by our Earth’s weak gravity! No, wait, just a regular one. That’s enough for him to finally question what he’s doing with his life, and vow to make a change. An ulcer. Not leaving those Ravenmen free to terrorize the village that saved him. Not ski-jacking Kirnik’s sweet new power toboggan and swerving it into the Northwest Territories’ only power pole. Not Lois’ tragic muskox death, or his own father’s monkey arson. It was tummy aches that finally tamed the beast inside Captain Al Cohol.
Seanbaby: When Captain Al Cohol was hitchhiking away from the shattered corpse of his one true love, his last words to her “JUST GO AWAY AND LEAVE ME ALONE,” I wondered how they were going to raise the stakes. Impossible. And then he met his father, who was every story element at once. Amazing. “There is nowhere to go from here,” I thought. But there was. When I least expected it, a minor and treatable side effect! It’s almost too fantastical to imagine. It’d be like Hulk Hogan fucking another man’s wife in a racist sex tape, getting caught in a crypto scheme, then going to his son’s DUI sentencing only to find out he’s been bald this whole time.
Brockway: Here’s the powerful final panel.
Brockway: “No, I’m also named Al C- you look confused. My name is Al Cohol, but I’m not addicted to me. I’m addicted to alcohol. No, the other kind. It’s tough to emphasize capitalization in verbal speech, I just… Listen, do any of you believe in nominative determinism? Hands up if you believe in nominative determinism. Dennis Ravenman, I want to see that hand up-”
…
This article is thanks to a hot Hot Dog tip from Proxy.
Seanbaby: “Sometimes from madness comes masterpiece,” is not our website’s slogan, but it should be. I think our actual slogan is “101 hamburger jokes.” And today, the slogan that isn’t ours has never been more true. We are talking about Eddie Vuittonet, an artist and scholar who does everything and can’t do any of it. He accidentally hit print on a book about Prehistoric Birds in Modern Times. He performs karaoke to himself and calls it “a band.” He is a rabbit meater, comicman, carnivalist, animation fighter, and badgemonger. But the most thing he is, is a Frank Dux.
Using only two years of swamp education, the library computer, and a fake backstory of underground karate tournaments, Eddie Vuittonet has written the ultimate karate manual: MURYO WAZA: THE WAY OF UNLIMITED TECHNIQUES, “THE DEADLIEST SELF-DEFENSE SYSTEM IN HISTORY”.
Seanbaby: MURYO WAZA is the size of a midsized city phone book, is in full color, and uses computer generated lady commandos to demonstrate the moves. It cost me the best $39.95 I ever spent and immediately became my most prized possession. It incorporates the make believe of a violent child with the graphic design of a child he bit the fingers from. And right now, Brockway and I are going to use it to battle to the death.
Brockway: Oh shit, it’s a Guarded- Exclusive & Confidential Course. I think that’s how a maniac whose brain is being eaten by snakes says “NDA.” You are fucking up so bad right now. If there’s one thing I know about Eddie Vuittonet, it’s that he’s every profession and skillset. He’s definitely some kind of space lawyer.
Seanbaby: You’re close. This is not a joke: he was actually a justice of the peace!
Brockway: This instantly became the darkest article we’ve ever written.
Seanbaby: They forced him to resign for, among other things, “failure to comply with mandatory judicial educational requirements for fiscal year 2003.” And this is not foreshadowing: we are not going to get distracted by any side madness of Eddie Vuittonet today, like his marketing company or his comedy movies or the rap video he made for himself in 2013. Muryo Waza book battle only!
Seanbaby: Let’s go over the Muryo Waza basics. Most importantly, as you can see, Eddie is a proper madman. And idiot. He will do things that won’t make sense. Eddie will invent things we already have and uninvent science we’ve already settled on. His system is sometimes called Aboreal Locomotive Hands, and no he can’t spell, but yes, he does mean it has something to do with trees. Eddie is also a scholar of nonverbal communication, which he calls Body Language Projections, and it gets incorporated into the eye gouges (sometimes). He is concerned about the laws surrounding karate murder, but extremely confused about them, and he loves badges. They rarely mean what he intends, or much of anything, and won’t be useful or consistent. I have, in no fucking way, prepared you for Muryo Waza: The Way of Unlimited Techniques.
Brockway: T-tree train hands?? Listen, I obviously have a lot of questions about this Dr. Bronner’s Karate Syrup label. Or possibly no questions and just a few very strong impulses like flee and destroy. But what could tree train hands possibly mean? Why do we have to know the biohazard symbol AND the library sign to use it? This reads like an emoji text trying to warn me about 18 different serial killers. I don’t think we can do this, I’ll never understand any part of it.
Seanbaby: You’re right again! And now we will select random pages from this deadly manual and use them against each other until one of us has been destroyed. Muryo Waza is a disorganized pile of untested kung fu moves by a very, very bullied lunatic, but all the moves get their own page, making it perfect for our mock battle.
Brockway: I call Horse Technique. Sorry, that was reflexive. I don’t even know if there is a Horse Technique. Please go ahead.
Seanbaby: First, we obviously need to pick a fighting style. Muryowaza means “boundless technique” which Eddie adapted from Yubiwaza, or “finger technique.” He took a style of martial arts sold only to children in the 1950s and said, “what if instead of only a finger, I used my everything.” I can’t fault him for that since they’re the same words I whispered during every 8th grade slow dance. Those words are what I said to a beautiful sherpa to survive a snowstorm. They’re also unrelated to Eddie’s karate which is based mostly around animal styles. Any kind of animal. He throws out kung fu animal styles like he’s in a MAD TV writer’s room. Pointlessly. After this chapter about the half-baked idea of them, where each is given a page dedicated to their moves and “history,” they are not brought up again. These are nothing– character classes from a disgraced zookeeper’s unfinished RPG. Let’s each decide on one.
Brockway: I call Horse Technique! Sorry, last time. I’ll let you get to the techniques.
Seanbaby: The horse would make a great choice. It has chewing bites and loves to flee. It’s perfect for power bottoms and groin swatters, preferably in a large space where a warrior can run free. Its ideal vital points include “all of upper body” and “all of lower bo–
Brockway: I CALL HORSE TECHNIQUE.
Seanbaby: The ape might also be a good pick. It has arm bites and can attack the groin when drunk. I might go with this one, let’s see if there’s more information on it…
Seanbaby: No, this is the same text with better spelling and no chimpanzee clipart. If I wanted to read that, I’d open the envelope Jane Goodall’s lawyers sent in response to my love letters. So I’m still undecided.
Brockway: I’ll tell you which one you’re not picking, and it’s Horse Technique, motherfucker. You will learn to fear my gentle swats toward ears, my constant fleeing, my flailing arms and headbutts when cornered. It’s kind of like a weaponized seizure, but with less dignity. Also I fucking eat you at the end. How are you countering that?
Seanbaby: The Bear might be good. It has regular stabs and deadly hugs. Its main move, BEAR’S PAWS AT HIVE, strikes the Castor Clock 12, which is either the ear holes or eye balls. It is not the testicles, which are located at Pollux Clock 12, a common mistake. I don’t think this one’s for me, though. Eddie never finishes the sentence “The Bear’s shoulder are used for” and I’d hate to find out in the middle of a battle that “The Bear’s shoulder are used for” non-deadly hugs with best frien– hold on, what am I doing? This raw maniac has designed an ear hole-slapping system around the movements of a honey bear and I’m making fun of his typos?
Brockway: Good luck hugging my nostrils while I hop, spin, and flail. Idiot.
Seanbaby: Dragon seems pretty powerful. It has eat, plus the wheel kicks and fire punches you should already be using during fights. Plus, it has (dragon pulls you only to vanish) so it’s useful for groping dads at the park. Maybe only? I don’t get how pulling someone and leaving helps me in a fight. And it looks like the description for that move is “CASTOR CLOCK,” which as far as I can tell means everything except balls. I don’t say this often, but I refuse to battle you using dragon style kung fu.
Brockway: That’s probably good. That witch we hit with our speedboat did curse us to die eating one another, we should probably be careful of that.
Brockway: Oh fuck, oh no. So many of these styles involve eating your enemy. The witch was right.
Seanbaby: Oh, hell yeah. I’m Crab, I’m here to grab, and read the fucking clock: it’s ten to crab. So now that we have our styles locked in, and they will mean very little, let’s fight. Since I am a crab, and because I’m a crab, I go second. Turn to a random page and attack me!
Brockway: I choose Tree Train Hand Technique: Snake Hypnosis! I mesmerize you with my sultry little hand waves – what do they mean? Am I saying hello to somebody on my left? Am I saying watch out, something’s smelly? Or am I BREAKING YOUR KNECK. The extra K is for DANGER Keep Off My Tits, Krab!
Seanbaby: Impressive form, horse. I counter with the same aboreal locomotive stance, but I am crab, so instead of HEAD PROTECTION, my left hand is labeled WARNING KNIFE. Also, the snake has crawled onto my face where I’ve met it with the gaping, inviting mouth of a sex doll. What’s your answer to that, horse?
Brockway: I choose, holy shit. What have I just chosen. Am I directing scorpion traffic? Am I trying to say call for help, because 4:11 is scorpion time? This is a visual word problem by an AI trained on CHiPS transcripts. I don’t actually know how you lose to this.
Seanbaby: I… what the fuck. It looks like I got a list of armored car robbery headli– what? What!?
Brockway: Hey, you figured out how to lose to Scorpion Traffic.
Seanbaby: I’m worried you’re right again. Okay, this comes from a chapter called “ARMORED CAR SECURITY OFFICER PERILS,” and it is, no bullshit, nothing other than 49 pages of this. I’m not sure what he wants us to do with this. Are we meant to figure out which karate works best against “2 Injured In Somerset Mall Robbery”? Is Eddie giving us crimes to solve with crab and horse kung fu? We don’t need that. That’s already seven different Jackie Chan movies. “Pinch Hero” and “Robbery the Horse Nibbles” are different international titles for The Tuxedo. And yet as a crab, I refuse to take mulligans, so it looks like I’m stopping our fight to recite every single armored car heist. What’s your answer to that?
Brockway: I would like for it to be “lie down for a while, and think about the American judicial system.” But here’s my page!
Brockway: Fuck yeah, I understand this. I piston jab your skull straight out of your mouth! I found a real move, what are the odds? In this Da share z0ne-ass book about workplace safety CG models attacking each other with toes and ribcages, I found Normal Punch! This must be what it feels like to win the lottery or hold a normal job.
Seanbaby: Holy shit. I can’t defend against this. What a glorious death. But oh, what’s this? What’s this I’ve found? Horse! I see your solar punch and raise you …
… the lunar punch of the sheep! Behold the moon! Behold the sheep I mentioned!
Brockway: Of course, the natural foil of the sun piston – the moon sheep. This has become an Elden Ring guide.
Seanbaby: Let me go into all the details of this technique. I am throwing a soft and hard lunar punch, sometimes known as a “regular fist punch”, from the hand/arm attacks category, and it’s targeting your upper high level 12, commonly known as “face region.” I guess I am punching you in the face.
Brockway: There’s a Whale Style! Fight like the mighty whale, with lots of leaping up and landing on your belly. Opening your mouth and running toward your opponent, hoping they get in! Haha, I forgot I was a horse. What the fuck is happening.
Seanbaby: Whales are the size of twenty men, and that’s where you made your fatal mistake, whale, for I have trained to battle twenty men. Step 5 and maybe 6 is to measure my distance from the crowd with my leg. Step next is to find the mob’s leader and eliminate them, elbows and legs first. With leg-measured precision, I shall breach all airways and seek all wall! I don’t even care if this move works. Look at this! Look at my little kick! This mob will know they killed a champion! What possible answer could you have to me when I “Unleash twenty animals into the crowd”!?
Brockway: Easy! I counter with-
Brockway: What? I guess I counter with a fortune cookie sign?
Seanbaby: Very nice. Powerful. Thoughtful. Double kick.
Brockway: Fuck!
Seanbaby: Again, you’re right! DOUBLE KICK! This rules so hard. Seventy percent of Double Kick’s page is spent telling you to not do Double Kick, and I’m including the rendering of Double Kick in that because it looks stupid as shit. He only had three nice things to say about his own move and one of them was GREAT WAY TO “SEE THE VIEW – NOT AS GOOD AS WITH A DRONE. Even for Eddie, that is impenetrable nonsense. If I came at you with this kick, and I am, all you can do is hope it misses. And it always double misses.
Brockway: This is the only move with cons. This is the only move in the book he’s worried might have weaknesses. Eddie has cannibalism in here eight times, and my horse style features prominent fleeing alongside “flailing arms and headbutt.” There’s just one conclusion: This is the only move Eddie Vuittonet tried on another human and he got instantly destroyed by a confused Chipotle scooper with no fight training. He was forced to conclude this one move doesn’t work, but in the absence of further proof, all others must. Like-
Brockway: The wrist, notoriously the most resilient and impact resistant point of the human body. Take the one place you constantly hurt just by leaning on it weird, and hurl it through a slutty SWAT cop’s spinal cord! It’s the deadliest move in the whole book, never use it. Look at my clock. It’s ten minutes past Happy Army Guy. A terrible omen for you.
Seanbaby: Sorry for this, but I counter your WRIST STUMP STRIKE with NOT A WRIST STUMP STRIKE, giving it an advantage over any wrist stump strike.
Brockway: Did that army guy come out of my sub-clock to hop in your main clock and try a worse version of my limp-wristed throat whop? Look at your tiny clock now, it’s full of dragons and chaos. Is logic coming to an end, is this how it happens?
Seanbaby: It’s a mantis style attack called BACK OF HAND WHIPPING SLAP, and as you might expect, it works best on lips and groins. America used to make soldiers! Now, thanks to woke, our armed forces are delivering temporary, safe, non lethal slaps to men’s testicles. Which means I have gently tapped your crotch, you’re welcome, and left myself open to any counterattack. This will be an inglorious, humiliating death unfit for crab.
Brockway: Oops, I huffed you. I’m really sorry about this, I made our game weird. I made our game of Horse v. Crab Army Guy Clock Strikes into a weird thing, and I wish I could take it back.
Seanbaby: The crab senses weakness! During a moment of regret, you got a page about nostrils and a pep talk about not cowering! In horse terms, you’re horsedead! All I need to do is draw one non-slap karate move and it’s over.
Seanbaby: Holy crap. I hit a section called C.IVILIAN A.NTI-VICTIMOLOGY S.URVIVAL S.CALE. Think of it like mind karate, only by someone who is confused by either. Try to imagine what goes through the mind of a yellow belt watching Fox News, only they were declared “too stupid to be a judge” by the state of Texas during the fiscal year of 2003. For remember, students of Muryo Waza, Muryowazans as they are known to soaked panties, are not invincible or neither invisable. I’ll let Eddie explain:
Now back to the move I got– CLIPBOARD “GUN SHOT SOUND” TRICK. It’s instructions on how to make a gunshot sound from a clipboard, tape, and gunshot sounds. Why? If you’re in Texas, you know what you’re more likely to find lying around than a clipboard, a cap gun, and a roll of scotch tape? A fucking regular gun! And aside from it being stupid, Eddie admits it’s a bad idea because police will never believe you weren’t firing a real gun! I don’t have any idea how or when I would use this. I’m supposed to carry around a clipboard to scare people away from me? What am I, doing observational ’90s comedy? Kill me, Brockway!
Brockway: Eddie discovered the very first special effect I ever made for my GI Joes, and he thought “this is an unstoppable weapon whose existence must be guarded behind a Karate NDA and OH NO, BRAIN SNAKES!”
You have humiliated yourself by bringing office pranks to a crab battle. All that’s left is to end you with a brutal fatality. I choose-
Playground push? Unbraced playground push. Unless there’s a Yard Duty Technique in this book, you’re fucking dead!
Welp, time to eat my comedy partner like a witch prophesied. Damn these Tree Train Hands, which have cost me everything. Skull. Skull emoji. Snake snake stop sign. Library sign. Library sign forever. Thanks, Horse Clock!
Seanbaby: Not so fast, horse. All crabs live a second time, in the hearts of dreamers. And as I take my final dozing I respond with BLACK CRAB 2X RIDGE BLOW BLACK MANTIS 2X INVERTED STRIKE BLACK CRANE 2X WING ATTACK.
Seanbaby: In other words, a round the clock double motorcycle cop chop. The book says this should only be used in a life and death situation, and as a mostly dead crab, this is both. It causes death, stroke, death, possible sleep, and absolute localized bruising at ear areas.
Brockway: Jesus Christ, you just pulled off the Golden Fringe Conspiracist Shun Goku Satsu.
Brockway: Fuck you, then. I pepper spray you. No karate, no ancient mystical secret. Pepper spray. I have chosen Human Style Technique and my dim mak is “Gun.”
Seanbaby: Argh! The accelerated saliva drooling!!! I guess I’m dead again. Unless…
… I use TWIN MANTIS STRIKE on myself to remove my own eyes and counter your pepper spray. And to a blind crab, pepper spray is merely seasoning. All you have done is made a more delicious opponent, horse.
Brockway: Hold on. No, stop the article. Did this kung fu manifesto seriously just tell you to duplicate yourself for an attack? There’s a fucking Shadow Clone Jutsu for COVID deniers? I realize one of my choices earlier was a traffic cop harnessing the power of time to master scorpions, but this is the craziest thing in this book.
Brockway: I counter with my own duplication technique. You can tell which moves have duplication modifiers by the tiny double skulls next to the ordinary skulls. We have formed emoji hearts with our hands like Japanese middle school girls, and I do believe we’re using the power of love to harness an Ultimate Flower Fawn Romance Beam Attack. We’re aiming it at your fucking throat.
Seanbaby: Read the fine print: you are forbidden by karate book to use this grasp against my throat area in “any way shape or form.” Like it or not, this is an eye claw, horse. Of which I have none! Oh, what’s this? My eyeless crab stalks can’t read it, but something tells me it might be… PUNCK STRIKE!
Seanbaby: PUNCK STRIKE is the very first ‘karate type’ punch every Muryowazan learns, as demonstrated here by Cool Sex Sergeant 2000. I’m not supposed to use it on your Upper High-Level area because of its extreme deadliness, but I guess I’m feeling…
…
…
Brockw–
Seanbaby: Don’t interrupt, I wasn’t done!
…
…
Crabby.
Brockway: I’m actually looking forward to that witch’s curse now.
Brockway: I fingerbang you? Hold on, let me double check I’m reading this right. Yes, I fingerbang you.
Seanbaby: In a world of eye pokes, the blind crab is king crab! Removing my eyeballs has made me immune to all of what Eddie Vuittonet imagines to be fighting, and I pray Eddie Vuittonet never realizes the same thing. Speaking of praying…
… THE PRAYING” MANTIS DOUBLE SPEAR HAND ATTACK! This move “can be easily construed as deadly,” but only because it can cause “Infection, or disability or death.” I am now in my element– a spider on my face and pointing a prayer attack directly at God, threatening Him with at least bruising and temporary soreness. Let’s see how you answer that, horse!
Brockway: The infection part tells me we should’ve been doing all of these without washing our hands. That really changes the danger level of my fingerbang move. I’d like that reflected in the court transcripts of Judge Eddie Vuittonet, which are- let me read back. Yeah, these are just phonetic screaming and a list of armored car robberies.
Brockway: I eat your eyes! There is very little info in this book about what happens after you use one of the 36 eyeball devouring techniques. I’m waiting for one with a list of cons to see if Eddie ever tried to Event Horizon a surly fast food worker. “Highly athletic, great view – though better done with a drone.”
Seanbaby: Kitty cat paw to the leg! Tiny, orange, little house cat, kitty cat paw to the leg!!! You thought I wasn’t adorable, but surprise: mrrowr. I’m starting to worry we’re not going to be able to hurt each other with this book. Go ahead and hit me with another move.
Brockway: Aw, that’s a cute one for the kids. The first dim mak tie-in to the Garfield movie. All I need is one single karate move that’s not an eye gouge and you’re-
Brockway: Fuck.
Seanbaby: Once again, you’re using a “Journey” eye gouge against a “The Jeff Healey Band” crab. Which leaves you wide open to… oh, Jesus. What the fuck is this.
Seanbaby: What animal? It looks like I got part of a chapter review quiz, but it’s also a dick joke? What animal? The bad news is I’ve left myself open to another counter attack. The good news is head-to-head Cock pushes. What animal?
Brockway: I kneebang you! I KNEEBANG YOU! I flee! I flail! I headbutt your vulva, like a horse! Like horses do!
Seanbaby: Of all my weaknesses, well-placed vulva slamming is not among them. Crabs. So with the last of my crab fluid, I hit you with my dying blow:
Seanbaby: NECK ASSIST SOLAR DEATH PUNCH. By the solar rays of crab, I’ve never seen anyone so devastated. You were coming at me with a middle school report on vulva trauma and taint facts, and I hit you with a NECK ASSIST SOLAR DEATH PUNCH. Look at the bullet. Look at the piston! Look at the hammer!! Look at the sheep!!! What animal? What! Fucking!! Animal!!
Brockway: This whole thing would’ve gone down way different if you told me Cock Style was an option.
Unlock with Patreon