Categories
TEAMWORKING DAY

Teamworking Day: Hausu 🌭

Brockway: If you’re talking weird horror flicks, somebody will inevitably say you have to see Hausu, the 1977 Japanese haunted house movie that confused and aroused Americans with screamed gibberish and panty shots long before Sailor Moon made it cool. I’ve actually never seen it, probably because I’m an obstinate shithead who immediately doesn’t want to do things you tell me to. Seanbaby’s never even heard of it, probably because he’s been slapboxing juiced-up kangaroos in the secret backroom arena behind a Thai boathouse bar for 3,000 baht a night. So this Halloween, we’re going to watch it together.

Only I’m going to replace the subtitles with a cheap Chinese bootleg version because I’m still an obstinate shithead who immediately doesn’t want to do things you tell me to.

Seanbaby: When I was in Japanese class I learned the word for “house” is “ie” and not “hausu.” This implies that before they made this movie it had never occurred to Japan to give a name to the things they lived in. The working title of Hausu was probably “the… I don’t know, wooden caves for resting and foods? What does the USA call these? Hooowszz? I can’t be saying that shit right.” Thousands of years of civilization and it took 1977’s Hausu to reveal this vocabulary oversight? That’s my contribution to the intro– half a Gallagher joke smeared across four sentences. Welcome to whatever the fuck Hausu is!

Brockway: Maybe you heard ā€œmade in 1977ā€ and thought Japan worked differently back then, so as insane as it seems to even specify this: Hausu is about a group of cute schoolgirls. The main pair are ā€˜Beauty’ and ā€˜Fantasy,’ nicknames too spot-on for even the remedial strippers. Beauty is also called The Gorgeous, Magnificent, or sometimes just ā€œGreatā€ — like they’re fucking sick of sucking up to her. While Fantasy’s only nickname seems to be ā€˜fiction,’ and that might just be an artifact of the terrible translation, but it sounds amazingly sarcastic.

Seanbaby: They named the little girl “Fantasy?” Is this art or a confession? Here’s a fun Hausu fact– If you’re a sex offender and you name your fictional Japanese schoolgirl “Fantasy,” that legally fulfills your obligation of informing the community of your criminal perversion.

Brockway: No, silly, it’s because she’s always day-dreaming about romance! She wasn’t conceived for perversion — it’s only a coincidence that she’s going to get molested by ghosts.

Our other main character, Beauty, basically only exists to look good and say really obvious shit, because there’s a reason they don’t call her Brains.

Brockway: You’re lucky you got those looks to fall back on, The Gorgeous. You’re going to need several knights in shining armor just to save you from accidentally hanging yourself in the window blinds.

Seanbaby: “So it’s a horror movie about a, buhh… okay, you know those box shapes we inhabit with our families? Right, one of those. And the main character is an amateur stove philosopher named The Gorgeous. I am bleeding out of my skull, but that’s not part of the pitch.”

Brockway: That teacher looks like she’s racistly making fun of Run DMC.

Seanbaby:I understand. Am I your father?” is the most useful Japanese phrase I ever learned. It’s second only to, “I ask because of my fertile, adventurous sperm but also because whoever your father is named you Fantasy and that sounds like a terrible mistake in judgement I would make.

Brockway: As you might expect, this movie about naughty schoolgirls has some daddy issues. As you might not expect, they all involve not knowing what a father is. Here’s Beauty going through her old photos.

Brockway: Let’s meet the rest of the girls!

Seanbaby: I think my attention span is at capacity with the first two, but fine.

Brockway: We’ve got: Professor the Nerd, Mac the Fatty, Melody the girl who always brings an acoustic guitar no matter how inappropriate the moment, and Default. If she has a name, she was being too boring for me to catch it.

Not included in the above shot was Kung Fu, because she’s too fucking rad and deserves better:

Seanbaby: All of these characters are getting thrown at us in ways I have no visual language to understand. Every shot and edit feels like seventy exhausting decisions made by a madman determined to use every last effect on his Video Toaster. The actors seem like robots who have had several very important functions removed, like the screenwriter called for them to do something confusing and inhuman and then died before anyone could ask him what the fuck he meant. I am choosing these words carefully: each sequence in Hausu looks like a therapist hired a Mexican public access show to recreate G-rated versions of a pervert’s nightmares.

Brockway: You’re closer than you realize! Most of these girls had never acted before. Some could argue they still haven’t.

Anyway, these subtitles are my favorite amount of wrong: Coherent enough to get across what’s going on in a scene, but shitty enough so it sounds like everybody is drunk all the time.

Brockway: Also, somehow ā€œgood!ā€ frequently gets translated as ā€œLarge!ā€ and I say we start that shit right fucking now.

Seanbaby: Large idea! In fact, better than large– great!

Brockway: The movie is just packed with brief, random strangeness…

Those cowboys are never acknowledged, and play no part in this movie. They were barely even filmed — they’re just here to throw you off balance. That is some weird Japanese David Lynch shit, and I feel like every word of that description is redundant.

Seanbaby: I love how we have no way of knowing which insanity is on purpose. This could be the result of weeks of casting and costume design or it could be the script supervisor’s super cool real USA cowboy friends. Maybe the Japanese film union requires at least two kangaroo murderers on set? All I know is that when the ghosts show up I’m almost certainly going to be distracted by some child magician in the background stuffing ice cream into a mailbox.

Brockway: Yeah, I don’t know why any of this is the way it is. I’m not sure if the makers of Hausu were going for a specific aesthetic, or if they just didn’t have access to ā€œoutside,ā€ but every other scene is filmed against a matte painting.

Seanbaby: Wait, in 1977 the Japanese language had two gendered words for TRAIN but not a single one for “house?”

Brockway: There are so many shots of uncertain young Japanese girls wandering around static images that it feels like a porn mod of Resident Evil. Hausu is made too well to call this unintentional. I’m sure it’s like how Kubrick filmed the Overlook in The Shining so the layout wouldn’t make sense to the audience, thus keeping them subtly unsettled. Only here it’s like the schoolgirls don’t fully belong to the world, so you’ll always question the integrity of their panties.

Seanbaby: To follow up my earlier point– in 1977, the Japanese language had 1236 words for schoolgirl panties. The word you’re looking for, “worn for eight hours with uncertain integrity and existential doubt underpants,” is kangaru-satsujin.

Brockway: Oh, also everybody is stoned in an aquarium.

Seanbaby: Yeah, everyone delivers their lines like they’re the last words of astronauts realizing it could be worse than suffocating out here in space with their best friends.

Brockway: All right, let’s get to the plot! Beauty’s father is savagely disco, and he brings back a new girlfriend and seriously introduces her to his daughter like this:

I’m not sure he even knows her name. When pressed, he just explains:

ā€œAhhh… what else? She’s got good tits, she doesn’t talk much. Did I mention the cooking thing? Did I mention the tits thing?ā€

Seanbaby: According to the subtitles, when the dad introduces her he says “I’m Ryouko Ryouko.” So if she takes his name, that would make her at least one Ryouko, but also possibly three if her first name is Ryouko and those two Ryoukos he mentioned were his last name. For instance, if his full name was Tyler Ryouko Ryouko and she was named Ryouko Ryouko, that would make her married name “Mrs. Ryouko Four Times,” or “Mrs. Ryouko Three Times” for short.

Brockway: If you know anything about teenage girls, it’s that they don’t take things well. Clearly Beauty is not happy with Ryouko³. Plus the girls’ big trip is cancelled when their summer camp either shuts down or is getting married; the subtitles are unclear. But thanks to a magic cat, Beauty remembers she has an aunt with a house in the country. The magic cat is not a fluke of the subtitles…

The magic cat is very important to the plot of the movie, for reasons I do not and possibly never will understand.

Seanbaby: I don’t know if this will help, but Mac, I’m surprised by your stomach code.

Brockway: It does help distract me from the last weird shit that just happened, yes. I believe they call this method of filmmaking ā€˜Bizarro Barrage’ — where you just keep throwing incomprehensible scenes at an audience until they give up entirely, and will accept any magic cat or cursed panty you have to offer.

Okay, so we come to find out that Beauty’s aunt has been shut up in her home since her fiance died in the war, and Beauty hasn’t seen her in years. In fact, she searches her mind for any memory of the woman, and only comes up with this:

Dang, I don’t know about aunt, either. That face is either ā€˜barely concealed madness’ or ā€˜doing kegels right now, and have no plans to stop even if you call me out for it.’ It might be both. Actually, it has to be both.

Seanbaby: Oh, shit! Hazy memory kegel lady is holding the cat! I think I’m starting to piece this together! Remember when it was on the train and wouldn’t eat the hamburger? It’s the key to everything:

Brockway: I don’t know. Remember the cowboys? There is simply no way to tell what nonsense is vital, and what’s just for fun. For example: The girls are supposed to be chaperoned by Togo, who is just the best. He’s got a dune buggy and a stupid hat, and he’s also the only character that lives in a Benny Hill sketch:

He took that bucket to the ass so fucking hard he has to go to the hospital for it.

And that’s why Togo isn’t in the rest of the movie: Assbucket complications. Is that… is that vital? Do I need to remember that? Is that cowboy or cat?

Seanbaby: To call this a shift in tone would be like calling Wild-Runnin’ Hulkamania a mild paradigm shift in a staged conflict. This is a film editor’s complete mental breakdown over the course of months condensed into fifteen seconds of deranged whimsy. Or it’s the work of a filmmaking genius demonstrating how even the silly is no haven from terror in the universe of Hausu? I guess my point is I still can’t tell if this avalanche of crazy bullshit was caused on purpose.

Brockway: I’m already accepting it. The Bizarro Barrage is working.

So the girls arrive, alone, to the house of a stranger they already don’t trust and find it completely, obviously haunted. They fucking love it.

That doesn’t just look haunted, it looks like shit. What about that is enticing to a teenage girl on summer vacation? The only reason these girls could possibly be excited is because they know this is a Japanese horror movie and some of the ghosts might have tentacles.

Seanbaby: This house is where you go to die when you know you don’t deserve the dignity of choking yourself to death masturbating in a drainage pipe. This place fucking sucks. The first thing I’d say to a ghost haunting this shit hole is, “Oh, man. I’m sor– no I’m not! GHOST PUNCH!”

Brockway:

Dang, I don’t know about aunt!

Seanbaby: That’s that hamburger cat from the train! This is a storytelling technique called “Chekhov’s Burger Cat in Wheelchair” It’s one of those things where once you know about it, you’ll start seeing it everywhere.

Brockway: Yeah, there is some truly advanced filmmaking going on here. Like this strangely angled shot where the girls first see the inside of Hausu, which is dark, rotting, and covered in cobwebs and again, they absolutely love it.

They cannot wait to die in this place.

Seanbaby: “Fellow teens, I am content with this godless spider nest screaming into our minds.”

Brockway: Immediately the lighting fixtures try to murder the girls, but they can’t because Kung Fu is immune to dying to stupid shit.

And nobody cares that within seconds of stepping into this cursed house, it tries to murder them. They literally don’t even mention it. I mean, I guess if I had Kung Fu with me I probably wouldn’t give a hot god damn about deadly lamps and other lame murderers either. Here’s how Kung Fu opens a stuck cabinet:

When you have a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. To Kung Fu, every ghost looks like an un-kicked face and all Kung Fu has is Jumpkick.

Seanbaby: Kung Fu and Ass-Medically-Fused-With-Bucket Guy are definitely relics from earlier drafts of the script where this movie was completely different genres. I wouldn’t be surprised if we meet a ghost who is a leftover ass-eating character from when this was a porno called “Large Place For Sleeping (Sorry No Word For It) Filled With Ass Eaters: Yummy Part IV.”

Brockway: Sean, as usual, you are right in a way which you will come to regret. Later — and I think there might be some foreshadowing here, see if you spot it — Mac the Fatty is lowering a watermelon down into a well to keep it cool, when aunt looks her up and down and says…

You guys, I just don’t know about aunt!

Seanbaby: The character of aunt makes more sense when you realize she was originally written as a blind, horny salaryman. He’d say things like, “I can hear your moist butt!” and “Who’s that using the watermelon crank? Vavoom, oink, you smell hot as fuck!” Are these jokes? I’m worried I might have lost my mind.

Brockway: No, you’re on the exact wavelength of the movie. Check this out: That evening, when Fantasy goes to fetch the watermelon, she instead finds Mac’s disembodied head! Which…

Yes, flies through the air and bites her straight on the ass. We told you there would be assplay ghosts! These girls know exactly what they’re doing, coming to Hausu. They might even be taking advantage of Hausu. I don’t know how many times I need to say this: Don’t use Hausu ghosts for anal pleasure, Japanese schoolgirls.

Seanbaby: Yes! If you’re all by yourself with a watermelon in the middle of the night, it’s better than a best-case-scenario if it turns out to be a ghost head that eats your ass out. This situation she’s in is like reaching for your jerking belt in a drainage pipe and finding a loving wife to grow old with.

Brockway: Fantasy narrowly escapes the ghost analingus, presumably after cumming and making it feel weird about the whole situation, then fetches the other girls. Of course, when they go to check it’s back to being a watermelon. But Mac is missing! Not to worry — one of the girls found loose potatoes on the road, and supposes that Fatty left because Fatty likes potatoes.

Look at this fat piece of shit. You were right to shame this girl, Japan.

Seanbaby: Maybe I have gone crazy from trying to figure out this movie, but I will never write a fat joke as incoherent as, “Look at those loose potatoes! I guess we have a lead suspect in the disappearance of the fat girl! Ha ha ha!”

Brockway: It’s classic backwards irony, you fool: because she makes potatoes gone, more potatoes mean she is gone.

Seanbaby: So how do they track their fat friend during non-suspicious circumstances? By going where potatoes are missing? Do you detect that by cross referencing current potato levels with a well-kept database or do you need some kind of trained animal? For instance, “Girls! My potato falcon says there are only 11 potatoes northwest of us! That’s where Fatty will be.” Wait, hold on, yes. Now I’m very sure I’m losing my mind. Go on without me for a minute.

Brockway: Large!

Soon, the other girls start disappearing to ironically spooky shenanigans as well. Beauty falls to her own vanity, and gets spooked the fuck up while admiring herself in the mirror:

Seanbaby: So the mirror contains a ghost and the aunt, and it gets shattered by eyebeams from Burger Cat, who is somewhere else? Then Beauty’s skin cracks until she’s an energy monster, and now we’re just in a Def Leppard video. I think I’m okay– this is my comfort zone.

Brockway: Welcome back. Default is getting attacked by bedding:

Because, no shit, she likes to clean bedding. If I met an ironic ghost and it was like ā€œuh… I guess you like pillows? I’ll kill you with pillows.ā€ I would beg — I would absolutely, open-sobbing, no-dignity plead for it to beat me to death with dildos instead, just so somebody would at least giggle at my obituary.

Seanbaby: “As we mourn our friend, Default, take comfort knowing she died how she lived… with something about pillows.”

Brockway: Then the house goes after Kung Fu… with haunted pieces of wood. That’s literally what she’s been training for all her life! That’s like going after Steven Seagal with an endless chili bar or a woman too drugged to give consent.

Kung Fu was expecting this moment so hard she doesn’t even realize it’s an attempted haunting. She jumpkicks straight out of her own dress, catches it, then throws it away forever. You can’t pay her to put clothes on again, because Hausu just realized it was behind on the panty quota. There will now be panties in every single scene.

Seanbaby: I can make a case for why that’s terrible in two screenshots.

Brockway: Terrible? No, I think you just sold copies of this movie to our forty-six greasiest fans.

StinkHunter Doug: Yeah, give me those gooey panties; oh no, how did that show up here?

Seanbaby: Thank you for your support, Stinkhunter Doug! At our highest patron level you get to write a line in a real 1-900-HOTDOG article! Is that not the one you wanted to use?

Stinkhunter Doug:

Stinkhunter Doug: !?

Seanbaby: The deal was you got one line, Doug. Shut the fuck up.

Stinkhunter Doug: !!!

Brockway: You did great, Doug! ♫1🌭900🌭HOT🌭DOG!♫

Back to the movie: So three of their friends are missing or dead, or missing or dead without panties, but the girls aren’t worried, because they know Togo is coming soon:

Kung Fu has been beating this ghost like it owes her money since the moment she walked in the door, but you’re holding out for a hero in Mr. Assbucket? The guy who’s the only patient in the Shenanigans Trauma Unit (Ass Ward)?

Seanbaby: I think the advantage Togo has in a house haunted by an ironic ghost is that you can’t ironically kill a man who lives his life getting humiliated with his own ass. What are you going to do, squeeze his butt to death with a bucket? Fate already did that the moment he bumbled through the front door! You’re only adding spectral buckets to a stack of regular buckets! That’s not fucking anything, ghost.

Brockway: Turns out Beauty is not dead, but has been possessed by the aunt, who leaves the girls trapped in the house. In a stunning bout of self-awareness, Fantasy says ā€œthis is a horror movie!ā€ And Kung Fu corrects her: ā€œNo, this is a karate movie,ā€ she says, then she kicks the shit out of the walls. It doesn’t work, but it’s completely large.

The other girls decide that a piano song will cheer them right up, because Melody hasn’t done anything in a while and it’s starting to get weird that she’s still in the movie. Of course, the piano eats her fingers. If you’re trapped in a haunted house and your friends are dying ironically but you love the hula hoop, just put off hooping for the night or you will obviously be turned into the hoop yourself and get hula’d into a bloody mist. But more importantly, here’s my favorite character in Hausu: wacky dancing skeleton.

Seanbaby: Wacky dancing skeleton rules. He’s a naked, spaghetti-covered toddler strutting into a zoom meeting– just a pointless wrongness commanding everyone’s attention. In 1977, getting a girl’s fingers to fade into invisible meat chunks was a Herculean effort of animation, and he’s back there distracting everyone from it with, “Rahr rahr rahr, I’M A SKELETON!”

Brockway: Here’s your child magician stuffing ice cream into a mailbox. You really get what this movie is putting down.

Seanbaby: I was acting like I was better than it, but Hausu and I have been on the exact same wavelength this whole time.

Brockway: I have this theory that any horror scene which goes on too long turns into a fetish. I came up with this theory while watching Hausu, and all the proof I will ever need for this theory is Hausu. I’m not even kidding, Hausu owns it:

Seanbaby: This is going to really screw up the accuracy of my “Recommended CamGirls” but let me see if you’re right.

Only 1153 relevant results? Those are barely clown puke numbers. Those are barely deepfake Angela Lansbury feet puke numbers. Wait, hold on. I had the keyword wrong. This fetish is called “dismember concerto” and oh man… okay, now I’m getting some search results. Whoa, hot, they’re not brother and sister in this one. I’ll send this link over in Slack.

Brockway: Not brother and sister? What are they, then? Cousins? That’s okay, I guess. For a Sunday wank. When God’s watching.

Finally the house stops being cute with all the irony and just starts throwing everything it has at the remaining girls. All the big, classic scares are here. They fight floating objects:

Self-walking shoes:

Seanbaby: Jesus, they are so fucked.

Brockway: The dreaded Big lips…

Seanbaby: They have to fight Big lips? I don’t even know what I’d say if I had to fight Big lips.

Brockway: And worst of all: Lamp.

Yes, as you can tell by the battle panties, that’s Kung Fu being undone by her one weakness: Lamp.

Seanbaby: I would have never guessed from the first 40 minutes that this is the best movie ever made. This is like an ape falling backwards into a snowblower and spraying Matisse’s The Dessert: Harmony in Red onto your driveway.

Brockway: It is a beautiful shame. Like a Juggalo ballerina.

Kung Fu is banished to The Unhappy Disembodied Girl Parts Fetish Dimension. In Japanese, that translates as one word. A short word.

Seanbaby: The word can change depending on whether the dismembered girl is unhappy from a broken heart or regret. Aside from describing places where people live, Japanese is a very rich and descriptive language.

Brockway: But if you thought being only an ass was enough to stop Kung Fu, you were not paying enough attention to Kung Fu’s ass. You would know it don’t quit.

A literally-topless flying jumpkick from the lamp dimension into a cat painting turns out to be the bride’s one weakness — of course!

Seanbaby: This is fucking sweet.

Brockway: The jumpkick doesn’t kill the bride, but it does break the logical coherence of the movie. Apparently it had that! Professor is eaten by a floating piggy bank after the house floods with cat blood.

Then she comes back so we can see her tits a bunch:

Then she dies, so we can instead see Great’s tits a bunch:

Finally Fantasy nestles into her best friend’s aunt’s ghost-tits:

And that’s sort of the movie.

Seanbaby: I have nothing meaningful to add other than your Twitter handle so the Pulitzer mayor can tag you when he announces you won: @brockway_llc.

Brockway: You’re missing an ā€˜L’ in Pullitzer.

Seanbaby: Well, I can just look that up.

Brockway: Hausu keeps going for a bit, doing your standard ā€œthe curse is not overā€ sequel setup. The stepmother who always looks like she’s on her way from a shampoo commercial to a tampon commercial…

Comes to the house to check in, and finds it revitalized. The aunt — now living in the body of Beauty — greets her, and the cycle begins anew.

Oh, and Togo turns into a bunch of bananas in a dune buggy, as his character arc demanded.

Seanbaby: Is this like some Japanese folklore I haven’t heard of? Well, I can just look that up too. Oh no, this looks b

Categories
TEAMWORKING DAY

Teamworking Day: PoxCo Regional Pretend Wrestling Qualifiers

The results of the first round of Poxco Regional Wrestling’s Wrestle-By-Mail Wrestlaclysm are in! We, two men running a comedy website in the year 2020, formed a wrestle-by-mail game company where readers could create their own grapplers and battle our PRW All-Stars to see if their creations have what it takes to enter the PRW Tournament! Most of them didn’t! Many died! That’s how high these stakes are.

Participants selected six moves and a finisher, and Seanbaby designed an actual, functioning AI system that analyzed these maneuvers to calculate match outcomes. We know how ridiculous this all sounds. Seven computers exploded in cowardice during the design of this imaginary wrestling tournament, and three others died of a broken heart when they tried to tame its untamable spirit.

Some matches were technical marvels, full of high drama and impossible reversals. This output might not look like much to you, but it represents two astonishing athletes doing epic battle. 

Other matches were over just seconds after they started. This output might not look like much to you, but it represents a woman getting immediately mauled to death by a stray dog:

Thank you to all the readers who sent in wrestlers. To eight of you, great job. Your instincts and courage have led you to the greatest reward in all of fictional postal combat — our respect. To the remaining crippled, broken, and deceased: your weak blood will lubricate the engine of the strong’s glory. Also: your condolence letters should get delivered later in this article. May they find your mourning loved ones in good health.

To all the wrestlers who didn’t make it through or survive, you will have already received these custom-printed condolence cards and no partial refund of your $3890.89 entrance fee.

Categories
LEARNING DAY

Develop Your Psychic Powers 🌭

I’m pretty pissed I spent over thirty years unaware that I could get psychic powers for the same price as endless shrimp at Red Lobster. That’s right, for just $15.99, you could own a real VHS tape that will teach you how to be psychic! I only have exactly $15.99 to spare, and it was a tough decision, but I know from past experience that the phrase endless shrimp is a misnomer. There is a point at which Red Lobster will stop giving you shrimp, or will run out of shrimp, but there’s not a point at which having psychic powers ceases to be fucking radical.

Looking at this cover, you may be wondering if Litany Burns is actually a world-famous medium and clairvoyant and, well, Gwyneth Paltrow seems to think so! That’s right, friends, Litany Burns is a GOOP approved medium listed in the top three mediums of Goop‘s guide to energy healers, intuitives, and mediums. According to that guide, she worked with the police on the Son of Sam serial killer case in the ’70s. Today she mainly uses the medium of VHS tapes to teach people if fruit is angry. She commands the dead to clip in her hair extensions. She prepares star charts for Gwyenth Paltrow’s labradoodle. That’s right; I have a litany of burns prepared for Litany Burns.

Develop Your Psychic Powers is divided into eight sections, the first three of which can be quickly summarized like this: Congratulations, you’re psychic. No, purchasing this VHS does not unlock the premium version of your brain. Everyone is already psychic. Every thought you have is correct. If someone says something negative to you like, “You’re not psychic” or “What you’re doing right now is extremely illegal” or “Ma’am, I can’t ethically give you more shrimp,” they’re wrong, and you are right.

The video doesn’t really start until section 4, Clairvoyance. Litany shows you a handy exercise wherein she lays a series of items out and moves them around off-screen, then asks you to use your clairvoyance to predict their new positions.

At first, this exercise was challenging for me, but luckily, Litany said to practice, you could just rewind the tape and try the exercise again! After rewinding the video and working on the exercise several times, I found that I could accurately predict the arrangement of the objects 100% of the time. I did it! I’m Clairvoyant!

Honestly, becoming clairvoyant is probably worth $15.99 all by itself, but the tape goes on! In section five, Litany explains the different types of aura’s, including spiritual, mental, and physical. She shows an example using a model who, like all of the actors in this video, looks like she’s getting paid in being let out of Litany’s basement alive.

Then Litany asks you to practice your new aura reading powers. You might expect to practice on yourself, or Litany, or another terrified looking actor, but that would make too much sense. No, you’re supposed to read the Auras of two fruits.

If you look closely at the fruits and then at the provided list of possible aura’s, you’ll immediately see that the melon is confident, and the pomegranate is horny.

It’s been helpful in my grocery shopping to know how all of the fruits are feeling. A lot of them are horny. I don’t eat much fruit anymore. Speaking of which, I have scurvy now, but I think Litany anticipated this issue because the next section is Psychic Healing!

Litany comes from the Talk To The Hand Because The Ears Are Bleeding school of psychic medicine. 

Yes, once again, you may be surprised to hear that the secret to psychic healing is merely believing that you can do it. I know it’s difficult to accept, but your inability to believe in stupid bullshit is all that’s holding you back in life.

I have to give Litany Burns a modicum of credit for telling her viewers to see a “qualified health practitioner” if their symptoms somehow persist after psychic healing. Um, I’m sorry, I paid $15.99 for this video, and you’re saying that doesn’t make me a qualified health practitioner? Lame.

All you need to do to heal someone is wave your hands over their body and think about healing them. Do you hear that Johns Hopkins? It’s been that easy the entire time. You can practice basic psychic healing on your old dogs and sad children, as shown here.

That girl totally knows that dog is about to die, right? That’s ok because thanks to this videotape’s genius structuring, the next section is Mediumship. If you kill someone with your “psychic healing”, you can contact them in the afterlife to say “my bad!”

Litany begins this section by going over a typical day in the life of a medium. “In the morning, you wake up, and you get on the bus, and you pick up someone’s nervousness sitting two seats behind you. In the afternoon, you’re in your office, and someone’s angry, and you feel frustrated. By evening you’re at a bar, and you feel confused. That’s the life of a medium,” she explains. I know lots of people who are familiar with ending their evening in a bar feeling confused. There’s a program to help with that, and it has nothing to do with being psychic. 

Then we move on to a warning about how Ouija boards are not toys, something everyone but the Hasbro corporation seems to be aware of. Litany has been not playing with Ouija boards for a long time, and she has a spirit she regularly talks to. She uses her spirit board to let him say hello and tell us that he’s been dead for two thousand years. She doesn’t tell us his name, but don’t worry; it’s listed in the credits. Do you think the ghost of Jakuma can get SAG credit for this?

I have some questions for the 2,000-year-old spirit of Jakuma, but we have to move on because it’s finally time for Telepathy!

This is the section I was most excited for. Apparently, once you develop telepathy, you can use it to talk to babies and remind your husband to bring home milk from the grocery store. I will probably use it to get the song “Wild Thing” stuck in Lin Manuel Miranda’s head every morning.

Telepathy via VHS is hard. Litany tries to teach it by showing you a series of five simple symbols she has translated onto flashcards. She looks at 25 flashcards, and you try to receive what she’s seeing. If you get more than five correct, you’re considered telepathic! I got six correct, and I plan to use my new telepathic powers to plant the idea I’ve already paid my $15.99 into the heads of the waitress at Red Lobster. So, I’ve got mind powers AND all of the shrimp I can eat. I’m unstoppable.

I have to mention how funny the credits of the VHS are. I decided to stroll over to IMDB and check out the director Victor Milt’s past work. Can you believe the same guy who directed Develop Your Psychic Powers also worked on Sex Wish, Sherlick Holmes, and Run Stinky Run?

Another notable member of the crew was Countess Veronica Of Stonewall, which is also the fake name I give when I don’t want someone to know I’ve been involved in making something. 

Sadly, the Countess Veronica of Stonewall was never heard from again after participating in the psychic healing section. When contacted via medium she said she was fine, having met a 2,000-year-old spirit with a SAG card who’s happily showing her the ropes in the afterlife!

To avoid her psychic vengeance, follow Lydia on Twitter.

Categories
PUNCHING DAY

Classic Remaster – Brockway’s MC and Seanbaby’s CYODFMA

Once, long ago, there was a comedy website that only wanted three simple things: to make people laugh, to teach them a few things, and to make enough money to buy the Gymkata zombie village. It succeeded in two of those goals, before getting piledriven into the dirt by corporate scavengers. Some of its archives have been deleted, some of them have been corrupted, and some just suck. You decide which one this is. It’s…

Brockway: This all began when Seanbaby and Brockway got into a drunken fistfight three nights ago over which was the superior Voltron (Seanbaby rightly insisted it was Lion Voltron, while Robert argued for Vehicle Voltron, knowing in his heart that he was wrong). Long story short: Brockway lost so badly that he ended up having to do Seanbaby’s job for a week while Seanbaby, in turn, gets to defile Robert’s most prized creation. Enjoy the suffering of a broken man, monsters!

…

Seanbaby: This week, fellow columnist Brockway has agreed to swap his best-known satirical creation with mine. For comedy writers, this is a lot like giving each other’s women breast exams: awesome and medically revealing. Can Brockway’s testicles withstand the man-pounding action of my Man Comics? Can my brain withstand the psychological trap door of his Choose Your Own Drug-Fueled Misadventures? Will our stupider readers be helplessly confused and send us the wrong death threats? Let’s find out:

…

Brockway’s followup note: Luckily we both said ā€œI wish we could just switch back!ā€ at the same time in front of that magic fountain, or we’d still be trapped in the wrong bodies. Boy, I really learned something about how hard it is to be Seanbaby! No seriously, that comic took me like fucking fifty hours to make. You do not know how hard Seanbaby works. This was such a terrible idea and I regret it to this day.

Seanbaby’s followup note: Giggle!

Categories
TEAMWORKING DAY

Teamworking Day: The Rumble in the Bronx Clubhouse 🌭

Brockway: The 1980s and ā€˜90s were periods of rapid, tumultuous societal change. There was really only one unifying thread binding them together: Their undying certainty that gangs all hung out in cool Peter Pan-style clubhouses. Maybe there were other things. I don’t know. This is literally the only one I’m qualified to talk about.

See, people back then were terrified of gang violence, and sometimes rightfully so, but there was one problem: they also knew nothing about gangs. They basically assumed gangs were like The Little Rascals with guns. They had wacky nicknames, dressed in themed outfits, and all lived together in big clubs that made Pee Wee’s Playhouse look like Paul Reubens’ Jerk-Theater. Rumble in the Bronx has one of the best gang hideouts of the 1990s, but you only experience it while trying to track Jackie Chan’s erratic movements, which you would recognize as impossible if you had the time, but you don’t, because he’s already gouging you in the neck with a curtain rod and now he’s in the rafters and woops, he’s behind you. He has a stepladder. I’m sorry you had to die this way.

But I can’t let you miss this masterpiece of set design, so please allow me to take you through the gang headquarters of Rumble in the Bronx with a level of detail that is frankly worrying, and does not speak well of my mental health.

Seanbaby: Can I come too? I’m coming too. Rumble in the Bronx weeeeeeeek!

Brockway: You have to! There’s a jumpseat in your exact shape. It even has a little mohawk indent. Buckle up, because we’re already at the entrance, which I have dubbed The Fuckvan Foyer.Ā 

The movie breezes right through here, but there are a few sites you’ll need to stop and appreciate. First is the barrel in a hammock:

That’s where they keep the Gang Juice, and its storage directions mandate that the barrel must be kept in a chill place at all times. If you blink, you’ll miss the Dogg Zzone:

This gang might look tough, but they are so pure. They gave that ol’ boy a house, a rug, a toy, and decorated his yard with flowers. It’s almost a shame Jackie Chan is about to teach every single one of them what the inside of their teeth taste like.

Seanbaby: Ivan Pavlov would have really valued what could be learned from a domesticated dog watching fifty imprinted humans get beaten to death, but until Rumble in the Bronx there was no conceivable way to collect that kind of data.Ā 

Brockway: One of this film’s many contributions to the Martial Sciences. Here’s the guardpost, an impassable entryway guarded by a 14 year old punk in a rainbow truck who put his mohawk on upside down.

Here’s the Drug Room:

This is the only room in which people are doing drugs, meaning that the gang has enforced a sort of Hamsterdam scenario in their clubhouse, putting their social programs well ahead of the rest of the country.

Seanbaby: If the Bronx police can’t get the robbery, murder, and drug charges to stick, I think they can charge these people with building an unregulated methane plant in a residential zone.

Brockway: We exit through the Drug Room into the hallway which, as with much of the hideout, is playfully decorated using basic props and colorful tissue like a junior prom.Ā 

And not like, a good junior prom from one of those fancy schools that can afford a theme. This isn’t an ā€˜Ocean Escape’ or ā€˜Lucky In Love’ type of deal — this is a ā€˜Flavor Aid Counts As A Refreshment’ and ā€˜Jennifer’s Dad Can Get Some Extra Balloons (No Helium)’ affair:

That hallway empties out into the Dancing Room, which is only for dancing, much like the drug room is only for drugs. Gangs of the ā€˜90s were absolutely brutal about the enforcement of their themed rooms.Ā 

Again, Jackie just burns right through here because he’s on a mission to show local toughs how to kill eight men with a milk crate. But we need to pause to take in the sights. Don’t miss the guy passed out at the piano.

Please note that there are no drugs in the Dancing Room, and overdosing is not dancing, even if you do it festively. This man is about to be kicked out of the gang. Also, this gang has an old-timey piano.

Seanbaby: I think playing dead is just a natural defense mechanism piano players have against Jackie Chan. It’s similar to how flautists spray a jet of caustic fluid when they see Jackie Chan, or how bass players detach their tails to confuse him.

Brockway: Possum Style is the only animal-based Gung-Fu that works on Jackie Chan. Nobody else in the room pays this angry Asian tornado in a denim jacket any attention, though. They’re too busy having the most wholesome good time. We scan very briefly over the crowd of dancers, so please take special care to memorize this one…

… who is wearing a green leprechaun hat and a two-steak necklace? A… a huge fuzzy bowtie? I don’t know what that outfit is, but I do know the questions it poses will plague me until the end of my days.

Seanbaby: If I had to guess, and something inside me says I do, I say that’s an anatomical human lungs costume. So he’s either doing a presentation on the dangers of smoking or showing everyone where to stab a leprechaun so he can’t scream.

Brockway: Oh shit! It can be nothing else. I am no longer plagued. What a short, fun existential crisis that was.Ā 

Anyway, Jackie needs to make an entrance, so he rips the stereo off its stand…

… which is attached to a DJ cage strung with Christmas lights. ā€œThat’s a little weird,ā€ you might think, ā€œwhy is the DJ in a go-kart rollcage?ā€ You have missed the real question: Why does a stereo have a DJ?

Seanbaby: This entire setup seems so far removed from function or aesthetics that it has to be an improvised medical device tinkered together by the gang doctor. He is wired into this thing to live, and Jackie Chan basically tore the iron lung off a man to tell a room to fuck itself. While Jackie is beating this guy’s friends to death with sporting equipment he has to lay there and watch as his kidneys fail to process the toxins out of his blood.

Brockway: It’s sad that DJs don’t have an animal-style defense against Jackie Chan like all the other musicians. Probably because they’re not real musicians to begin with.

Let’s move straight on from that frankly uncalled-for DJ shade: Here’s the main room, before the National Weather Service issued a Severe Jackie Chan warning and every single object in it became lodged in a punk’s asshole.

Jackie slams the stereo down on their pool table, which is the most polite way he knows to introduce himself.

Seanbaby: I think you’re right about this being an attempt at civility. He was probably just trying to lower the volume so they could talk and simply turned it down way too fucking hard. It’s like when Jackie Chan tries on new slacks and accidentally beats a JCPenney juniors department to death.

Brockway: It’s here we get a very brief reaction shot of the crowd. We must stop. We must analyze this.

Seanbaby: This is starting to feel too weird to be safe. I know it’s, like, “our thing,” but I’m not sure anyone is supposed to be looking so carefully at all of this. I feel like scientists discovering a new particle that suddenly says, “Command, there are two of them here who can see us.”

Brockway: I do feel myself evolving in terrifying, but exhilarating new directions. I hope one of them is a Jackie Chan defense mechanism. Maybe I can puke up an old meal to distract him, like the noble vulture.

Hey, quick: What’s the weirdest outfit in that image? Is it the one and only woman in full lingerie — not even ironically torn or defaced, but just straight up looking like she’s the only one trying to save this marriage? Is it the man with a cow-print do-rag? Is it the couple who look like models on a generic Hippy costume in the clearance rack at Huge Hank’s Halloween Outlet Store? No, trick question, it’s the surprise Jamaican not pictured:

He leaps out later in the scene with no warning, wearing a full sample book from a Miami carpet store, and is summarily destroyed by a ski which these idiots forgot to lock in a ski-safe just in case Jackie Chan came by.

Seanbaby: The wardrobe department for Rumble in the Bronx is a cursed Trapper Keeper that turns all it touches into Trapper Keeper. I don’t care if this sounds racist, but if I met this Jamaican guy I would just put my Algebra homework inside him, practice signing my name in a cool way on his vest, then carry him to AP English so he could watch me hate Wuthering Heights.

Brockway: There’s about to be a Category 5 Chanstorm in here, so let’s analyze the decor of this very tough gang’s clubhouse before Jackie makes Tough Tony swallow all of it piece by piece.

Brockway: Here’s a tiny boot lighting fixture, like you’d find blinking in a dusty corner of a TGI Friday’s.Ā 

Seanbaby: Is that a penguin skull hanging next to it? Also like you’d find in a dusty corner of a TGI Friday’s? Is penguin meat how TGI Friday’s gets their chicken tenders to taste like a lifetime of arctic hardship? I swear I learn something new everytime we watch Rumble in the Bronx.

Brockway: At one point Jackie leaps over the far wall, because Jackie Chan lives in noclip mode.Ā 

Dominating that wall is an old Jose Cuervo ad which, sure, alcohol is a gang thing. But hold on now…

All the other paintings are cheesy mass-market Asian landscapes, like you’d find adorning the walls of the Oriental Room — the least popular room in Huge Hank’s Hanky Panky Hotel.

Seanbaby: It is kind of nuts that in a warehouse decorated with every adjective and object known to man they still managed to carve out a spot that’s merely tacky.

Brockway: Other walls feature giant novelty cards…

And dice…

… presumably to imply a connection to gambling, which scans as a criminal thing. I’ll give you that — but these look more like they stole the design vibes from a bingo parlor in an Elks Lodge, a fact which is proven by the Bingo paddle they strapped to a neary mannequin.

Seanbaby: They really do decorate like children trying to recreate a world described to them by their grandparents when humans lived above ground in the long-ago. But I suppose if you had to obnoxiously agree with someone, a Bingo paddle seems like a gentle alternative to an air horn.

Brockway: Once again you have fallen for the trap, focusing on the obvious while overlooking the piece of cardboard taped to the wall that says ā€˜cardboard’ on it.

Seanbaby: Oh, sweet: pizza! Aarrggh, come on! I told you assholes if you’re going to staple cardboard to the wall, please put “NOT PIZZA” on it! Fine, “CARDBOARD” works too! Whatever!

Brockway: Tough Tony, the gang-leader who dresses like Mick Jagger cosplaying as a bosun, squares up against Jackie on a pool table…

… and it’s a great shot, but they’re doing it beneath this distractingly quirky lighting fixture…

And I can’t help but picture these hardcore punks who spend their days knocking over grocery stores and glass-shredding Chinese dudes taking some free time to carefully rig up a playful chandelier you’d normally find in a kooky aunt’s dining room.

Actually, you can feel that same kooky aunt’s touch everywhere:

From the artfully paint-splattered ductwork, to…

The playful scrap Tiki Monster at the entrance. Kooky Kathy needed a creative outlet, so her nephew gave her free reign over the gang hideout with the only stipulations being ā€˜all material must come from the miscellaneous rack at a vintage furniture store’ and ā€˜no Hummels if you can help it.’

Seanbaby: It’s weird the gang labeled the cardboard as “cardboard” but not this as “titty devil fertility idol.”

Brockway: All right, back to the fight.

Tough Tony loses the standoff with Jackie Chan, because he was ready to block punches and it never occurred to him that he might get hit with a pinball machine instead. The whole scene bursts into chaos as everyone in the club tries to kill Jackie Chan, and Jackie Chan tries to make it look like they ever stood a chance. So you could be forgiven for missing…

… the several dozen ancient phone handsets carefully strung in one corner.

This was obviously done intentionally, and yet could serve no possible purpose. Once again, I must assume it’s an art installation, painstakingly hung by a bevy of artpunks to symbolize the stifled voices of the disenfranchised in an era of burgeoning hyper-connectivity. Or because the set designer found a box of old phones on a street corner and thought ā€œmust be a gang thing.ā€

Seanbaby: If you turn the sound way up you can hear voices coming from each of those phones screaming, “Hello!? Hello!? Are you there? It sounds like Jackie Chan just fucking kicking your ass! Hello!?”

Brockway: All gangs know that sound by heart. They do drills for it. They practice slapping each other with mouse traps and stuffing each other into giant tires just so they’ll be prepared if Jackie Chan shows up in a tanktop turtleneck with his lil’ koala face set to ā€˜murderous frown.’

Let’s move on to explore the Fridge Room.Ā 

If you’re watching the movie, there are far too many backlips to pause and question why a gang of troubled youths have an entire room dedicated to forty-year old fridges. They serve no purpose, they’re empty. Please allow ā€œCool ā€˜70s Man Costumeā€ to demonstrate that fact with first his face:

And then his groin:

Seanbaby: Shout out to the Rumble in the Bronx wardrobe department who saw the script call for “TUBULAR JERMAINE looks like a cartoon earthworm recently chased through a clothesline” and absolutely nailed it.

Brockway: Bordering Fridge Room is Ancient Television Room, which again we do not question– they’re here to be thrown at Jackie Chan, if only so he can prove how futile that gesture is:

And in the far corner is the Sports Nook, which consists solely of golf clubs and skis– the exact two sports these teenage punks would never participate in.Ā 

It did occur to me that this might be the Stolen Goods Warehouse, but it’s too consistent: They only steal skis, golf clubs, old phones, non-functional televisions, and ancient refrigerators. They must exclusively rob middle-class Rhode Island men who left their garages open during Spring Cleaning.

Seanbaby: Every weekend is the same for Tony’s gang: murdering a foreign national in broad daylight then driving through Connecticut and stopping at every yard sale they see. “Practically free used appliances! Practically free used appliances! Practically free used appliances!” the gang chants.

Brockway: Eventually the fight ends when Tough Tony recognizes that chasing Jackie Chan around with a pool cue is like chasing a tiger around while wearing a two-steak necklace. Then Prodigy’s dorky younger brother comes in with a sack of loose Lance.

But a garbage bag full of manmeat isn’t the strangest thing in this image:

Generic cheesy puffs and champagne? Is this gang hosting every New Year’s Eve party I’ve ever thrown? The set design is crazy, of course. It goes very hard on the Goodwill electronics and cat-lady knick knacks, but nothing compares to the amount of snacks decorating this hideout.

There are just bags and bags of haphazard snacks everywhere. Fully half the set budget went into clearing out the chip aisle at the Dollar General:

Not only are snacks on every surface, there are several shopping carts just full of assorted groceries.

Are those fucking bulk canned tomatoes? Does this gang host Make Your Own Pie-Day Friday? Wait, hold on, let’s rewind back to the Drug Room real quick:

Got some family-sized boxed mac and cheese on the heroin table, huh? There is no kitchen in this place. If these punks eat Kraft dino-shapes dry, they have earned every bit of their hardass reputation.

Seanbaby: This diet is why their DJs have to be kept alive with Christmas lights and pinball machine parts.

Brockway: Had to be kept alive.Ā 

It’s clear that this gang absolutely loves two things: snacks and knick-knacks. I don’t recall their name being mentioned in the film, so they are now the Knick-Snack Gang, and they are precious to me. Like everything in Rumble in the Bronx, the throwaway bits are what really change the whole tone of the film into something special. I am now absolutely certain this gang only robs to pay for their crippling T.J. Maxx overflow aisle addiction, even though the real story is probably more like the closest thing to a gang member the set designer knew was their teenaged nephew, and when they asked him what his ultimate gang hideout would look like, they did not factor in how different 13 is from 17.

Seanbaby: I hope the Rumble in the Bronx set designer knows we love and appreciate them while they’re shouting for help at the bottom of thirteen tons of snow shovels, microwaves, and mannequin limbs. Happy Rumble in the Bronx Week to them! And you! To everyone! We did it!

Categories
PODCASTING DAY TEAMWORKING DAY

Podcasting Day: Rumbling in the Bronx with Auralnauts Zak 🌭

Brockway: Oh shit, it’s Podcasting Day! Because there are new podcast episodes right here! That’s right, plural! Here’s Part 1, and here’s Part 2

Oh shit, it’s Rumble in the Bronx week! Our podcast, like mirthful gangbangers and flesh-pillar henchmen, is defenseless against Jackie Chan. This epic two-parter is all about Rumble in the Bronx! With special guest Zak from Auralnauts! Weren’t expecting a whole week about Jackie Chan? Weren’t expecting two whole podcasts? Feel like it’s all a bit much? Kind of wish you could take a break from this relentless Channing? Well…

Here’s how this whole thing started: Seanbaby wanted to write a piece about how Rumble in the Bronx is the perfect movie, because it is. Then I got jealous. I wished I was writing about that, instead of about that time Van Damme danced out a boner on Brazilian TV, or whatever I had planned. So I asked if he wanted to make it a Teamworking Day, for no other reason than his toys looked way cooler than mine. Then we figured, shit, Zak also loves Rumble in the Bronx, because he’s not some heartless fucking Care Bears villain, but a regular human with a functional soul. Why not invite him on, and also make our love for this movie into a podcast? Finally, we’re reducing this visual medium to pure audio! The future!

Seanbaby: I thought it was a great idea, so I took my notes and edited them down to a concise, readable size– just a fun, quick article about a 90 minute movie from 25 years ago!

Brockway: Seanbaby came back with just his half of the Rumble in the Bronx Teamworking Day and it was so much text that, if you printed it out and laid the pages end-to-end, it would be exactly the length of his dick. Down to the molecular level — it’s like he planned it!

So then I said, ā€œmaybe we’ll split this into parts — the thing about Jackie Chan, not your dick. Maybe also your dick?ā€ He didn’t go for the second thing.

Seanbaby: This reminds me of a joke I read in Jokes for Minecrafters. Q: How did the Minecrafter have sex with both your moms? A: When the creeper fell into the lava! You probably thought I was going to say something about cutting a dick in two, and I agree it would be a more sensible punchline, but that book was stupid as fuck. I’m still pissed off about it here in this article about our podcast about Rumble in the Bronx. Speaking of, what a perfect movie. Let’s not ever do anything that isn’t Rumble in the Bronx!

Brockway: That was an actual discussion. ā€œJust be Rumble in the Bronx nowā€ was a real option on the table. Then we thought ā€œm-maybe we’ll just write one more thing about Rumble in the Bronx!ā€ 

Anyway, that’s why the whole fucking week is just Rumble in the Bronx!

Seanbaby: Fuck! Yes!

Brockway: It’s all Rumble! It’s all Bronx! Maybe you’re Rumble in the Bronx, have you even checked?!

Seanbaby: The idea of someone saying, “That’s enough Rumble in the Bronx” is so outrageously ridiculous to me. Like I’m trying to picture someone saying it to me and I’m getting pissed off about it. Fucking let them try with a DVD copy of Rumble in the Bronx sliding down their throat. The coroner is going to say, “Cause of death appears to be a forieign object obstru– oh sweet! Jeremy, come look what I found in this dead piece of shit’s neck! This movie rules! Hahaha, ‘OUR BOSS IS NOT WHITE TIGER.’ And the hovercraft? Oh, we’re watching this. We’re watching this right now.”

Brockway: Oh shit again — we launched the podcast a whole month ago! If you still haven’t entered the Dogg Zzone, I don’t know what you’re waiting for. There were a bunch of links already. Did you need a formal invitation? What are you, a podcast vampire? Fine, Count Podula, would you please enter and devour our tender podcast?

You can start right here with the first episode, but it’s not like there’s continuity. We don’t end on a cliffhanger where Seanbaby discovers I’m secretly his long lost brother and he goes in for a hug but I pull a pistol on him and tell him I’m here to take over his life. We resolve that cliffhanger right away – he kicks me in the face! It sucks!

Seanbaby: To my credit, missing a cue for a hug, getting hit in the face, and someone pulling out a gun is the official handshake of Whites.

Brockway: Clearly that theme song is the best thing music ever did — we told Zak that, and he loved it — but the podcast episodes themselves turned out pretty good, too. Listen, maybe the first one wasn’t perfect. For example, we didn’t introduce ourselves. We just assumed everyone already knew us which, to be fair, they fucking should. Shit, I forgot to introduce myself in this article! I’m Robert Brockway. God, you must’ve been so lost.

Seanbaby: And I’m Robert Brockway!

Brockway: And we’re both Rumble in the Bronx

We also didn’t ask you guys to subscribe, which is such a rote audience request that I’m pretty sure YouTubers yell it when they climax. But yes, you should subscribe immediately, which you can do right here. It would also help us immensely if you could rate and review the podcast. Apple is the biggest one, but any reviews on any platform are magical gifts that only you can give, kind of like believing in fairies, or granting basic sexual consent.

Look at these heroes:

If you want to be like them, and you fucking do, it’s easy, just:

Step 1. Listen to the podcast.

Step 2. Love the podcast (do not skip this step).

Step 3. Tell other people about your love for the podcast.

Step 4. Enjoy the dramatically enlarged genitals of your choice.

Are they yours? Somebody else’s? Where do they come from? It’s the magic of the podcast.

This podcast.

RIGHT HERE.