Categories
FUCKING DAY

Linnea Quigley’s Horror Workout 🌭

Workout videos are known for often over-promising results, but when Linnea Quigley’s workout video warns that it might kill you, it delivers. The fifty-nine-minute workout only features about twenty minutes of actual exercise, but in that short window of time, I did manage to hurt myself! 

I learned so much from this workout, but I think the main thing I learned was that there is no governing body that determines what constitutes an exercise video. This workout video red-pilled me. What even is exercise, man? Exercise isn’t REAL. It’s just wobbling your bits all around and hoping something good happens.

Calling Linnea Quigley’s workout video a workout video is like when you live in the midwest, and a bowl full of mayonnaise and Chili Cheese Fritos is called a salad. You might want it to be that, but it’s just not. What it is, is something supremely of its time. It’s a cool prop for when you want to have a VHS tape that doesn’t say pornography on it but is clearly fulfilling the function of softcore pornography. What I’m saying is I’ve never seen so many tits in my life, and I have them.

The “workout” begins with Linnea taking a three-minute-long shower during which she washes her breasts and butt almost exclusively. Taking a shower before a workout is just bad hygiene practice, but it’s ok because the amount of working out that actually happens in this workout tape is so minimal. With her breasts and butt now clean, Linnea Quigley steps out of the shower and screams, apparently as horrified to be in a workout video as I am to be doing one. 

It cuts to an empty living room, and we’re formally introduced to Linnea Quigley, a woman whose hair is always frightened. 

We watch clips from some of Linnea’s movies, the longest of which is another shot of her fully nude in a shower. This time she’s making out with a guy. I’m concerned that Linnea doesn’t understand the primary use of a shower at this point. The clips continue until we’re a full ten minutes in before working out is even mentioned, and even then, it immediately cuts to another clip of Linnea having sex in one of her movies as if the video is apologizing for bringing it up.  After that clip, Linnea finally starts stretching. 

She’s wearing a leather studded bra, and fishnet stockings, which she acknowledges is not typical workout wear but asks, “face it, would you want to watch me workout in a baggy sweatsuit?” The answer to which is yeah, I would Linnea. You don’t look comfortable at all. I’m getting a wedgie just looking at that leather bikini. I’ll gladly pause the video so you can throw on some proper workout attire.

While this would be an excellent workout for someone with no arms or legs, those of us with pesky extra limbs are left yearning for instruction on what to do with them. Linnea doesn’t explain her exercise moves or their benefit to your body. She just wordlessly humps the floor for about seven minutes as we close up on her torso. 

Now that we’re thoroughly stretched, the workout can finally begin! Except it doesn’t. Instead, we cut to Linnea, going for a jog while wearing an outfit that looks like it’s been through a werewolf attack but in a sexy way.

She jogs by a cemetery, and a bunch of zombies rise from the dead for some unspecified reason. She defeats the zombies by body shaming them into exercising with her.

r. 

There are a lot of reasons that zombies make bad exercise models. It’s way more fun to do zombie stuff than work out stuff, so most of the actors are focused on the zombie part of the job and not at all focused on the workout modeling part. They’re not worried about demonstrating proper lunges. They’re worried about how a zombie would do lunges, which is, of course, badly. 

They stuffed so many zombies into this scene that it’s hard to fit them all in the frame. Two zombies would have been plenty of zombies! They clearly didn’t hire any kind of fitness expert to plan a workout for their workout video because they blew their entire budget on ten zombies. Then they put them all so close together it’s difficult to move around enough to do the workout. 

Anyway, the whole zombie workout thing is obviously entertaining, but lest we forget the actual purpose of this video, they make sure to throw in a brief cameo from Linnea’s boob. It flops out of her workout shirt a couple of times as she furiously does the monkey (for exercise). The majority of this workout could accurately be described as dancing but angrier.

Having completed her goal of showing you her boobs in a spooky way, Linnea proceeds to kill all of the zombies by tricking them into jumping in a pool. Is it zombie cannon that they can’t swim, or did Linnea just happen to find a group of dead people who never took advantage of their local YMCA? Also, if you can’t breathe, you can’t drown, right? So even though Linnea leaves the zombies in the pool, she’s just made a mess that she’ll have to find a new way to clean up the next time she wants to go swimming.

Anyway, it’s sleepover time. Linnea has invited some friends over to watch exclusively movies that she’s starred in. They are all pretty confused about the concept of a horror movie.  

It’s ok, though, because they aren’t really there to watch horror movies. They’re there to pillow fight in lingerie, exercise in lingerie, and then die like everyone else who has attempted this cursed workout. 

Once again, Linnea doesn’t explain the exercise at all, and if she did, I’m guessing all she would have to say is, “pay careful attention to what your vagina should be doing during this part” since that’s the main focus for a lot of this segment. 

The exercise party is interrupted by the lights going out. Linnea goes off by herself to find the problem, screams and never returns. One of Linnea’s friends peels off alone to look for her and surprise surprise! She gets murdered.

Each girl proceeds to die in long dramatic death sequences that take up so much time you can almost hear the producer yelling, “Stab her like ten more times. It needs to be sixty minutes long, and Linnea can only dry hump so much.” One girl gets decapitated, and her head flies into a toilet. God, this exercise video really hates anyone who tries to do the exercise. 

Once we watch all of the girls except for Linnea die, the killer is revealed to be…goth Ronald Reagan, I knew it all along!

Just kidding, goth Ronald Reagan is Linnea Quigley herself! She looks directly into the camera and gives a deranged villain speech that, honestly, elevates the whole thing from an exercise video to some kind of bizarre feminist high art. 

ā€œYou, you on the sofa. I know what you’re doing when you’re watching my movies!” She says. Implying that she knows you have masturbated to this workout video that was clearly made to masturbate to and it has driven her insane. This is chilling and also fucking awesome.

Finishing this video feels like being dommed across time and space by Linnea Quigley. She dares you to look at her body and then shames you for it. I don’t know if any twist ending has ever satisfied me so much. Looper has nothing on this shit. That’s right, The Looper.

Sure, this exercise video has its flaws. Is it so difficult to follow that you could realistically injure yourself trying to perform it? Yes, but it’s also got everything you could ever want in a workout. There are zombies, pillow fights, humping the floor as a mode of exercise, hairstyles I will have nightmares about, goth Ronald Reagan, and Linnea Quigley making me feel like a nasty pervert for daring to try and do her exercise video.  
My nasty pervert ass is on Twitter @YouKnowLydia.

Categories
FUCKING DAY

Angela Lansbury’s Positive Moves 🌭

Recently I, like so many others, had my high contact workout routine interrupted by COVID-19. I used to get exercise by lifting attractive women over my head like Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing. Now that I’m stuck at home with no one to hoist, I need a new workout, so I turned to the woman with my idea of the perfect body, Dame Angela Lansbury.

I’ve been a big Fansbury since her star-making turn as the teapot who fucks in Beauty And The Beast. Angela’s VHS workout Positive Moves was released in 1990, and it was billed as a workout for any age. I’m 31, which is an age, so I figured I was good to go.

Positive Moves is a workout routine that is very concerned with not killing the people who do it. It’s perfect for me because I don’t need Jillian Michaels screaming at me to do better burpees or whatever; I want a workout where Angela Lansbury is impressed that I can move my arms at all.  

She’s always like, “hold onto something while you do this!” but I don’t need to hold onto shit. For the first time, I’m the king of PE class. In the land of the arthritic, the woman who can do squats unassisted is king. 

The workout is divided into five parts: 

Angela is in a bath towel, rubbing herself and explaining to you that if you rub yourself every day, you will notice if you start to get fat. The rubbing gets intense, and Angela seems to be enjoying it, maybe too much. 

After much massaging, we finally get the beginning of the actual working out part of the workout. It takes place outside because Angela Lansbury lives on a palatial estate where there’s enough room to do things outside. 

We get to do a lot of gentle, dance-like movements. It made me feel like I’d been cast as a tree in a grade school play. 

As you sashay along with Angela, there’s a very particular kind of workout music playing in the background. It sounds like if smooth jazz was somehow nerdier, or if a very sleepy man found a synthesizer. There’s a weird twinge of science fiction that makes me think any second Angela could throw on a jet pack and rocket away into space where no one can hear you sashay. 

Throughout the workout, Angela remains so positive and caring. “Bend your knees just slightly here. If you don’t have any knees, that’s fine. Just keep doing what you’re doing. You’re beautiful, pause, and reflect on what a cutie you are. Would you like ten dollars? Here’s ten dollars.” That’s a direct quote from the video; I’m pretty sure. 

After the intense warm-up is over, we move on to writhing on the floor. The camera pans over Angela’s entire body like they’re making a pre-Instagram thirst trap video that’s explicitly targeted at Mickey Rooney. 

There’s a long shot of her toes that made my broken brain wonder if Angela Lansbury has a wikifeet page, and before you open a new tab so fast you break your browser, let me just tell you that she does and it is extensive. She’s rated four stars (nice feet). 

Angela calls this part moving freely. “If you can’t move freely, that’s fine, remain chained where you are. You’re doing great! Here’s a little kiss,” I’m pretty sure she says. 

With prancing time comes a music change to some funky bass. Angela waves her hands around like a magician’s assistant that’s had too many Red Bulls, flaps her arms like Big Bird’s hot sister, and does a couple of Darth Vader force pushes. This is the most intense part of the workout, I think? It’s got some hardcore prancing.

The final part of the video is where things start to get weird. It feels like Angela made a thirty-minute long fitness video and then kind of forgot that the camera crew was there and just kept living her best life. She goes for a walk, bakes, sews, gardens, and the whole time the crew is filming her like, “Does Angela realize we haven’t gone home yet or…” 

I love being able to say I did an hour-long workout when what I really did was mostly watch Angela Lansbury bake bread, so this is my favorite part of the tape. Putting on a big ol’ snuggie and taking a nap is literally a part of this workout routine.

Then Angela starts to take a bath, which is weird because that’s how the video started. How clean does this woman need to be? She’s not sweaty from the workout or anything, so why is she taking another bath? 

The reason suddenly becomes apparent when she starts talking about older women and sexuality. “It used to be thought that women lose interest in sex after menopause, but now we know that just isn’t true. Here check this out I’m going to crank it right now,” is pretty much exactly what she says. 

This part of the video is great, obviously, because it demonstrates the difference between how men and women masturbate. If you asked a man for his ideal masturbation environment, it would probably be like a dank basement with no windows at all and a fridge with unlimited Gatorade. 

Women want a bathtub in a room with floor to ceiling french windows on a palatial estate, because you can masturbate anywhere on a palatial estate, that’s why people buy them. We want Angela Lansbury in the corner just whispering words of encouragement to us about how we’re goddesses and what we’re doing is beautiful, and maybe every once in a while, she hands us a Gatorade because everyone needs to stay hydrated. 

This workout has everything I ever wanted. An old woman being nice to me, minimal actual exercise, Angela Lansbury crankin it, a surprising amount of gardening, so many pastel jumpsuits, and Angela Lansbury crankin it.

Plus, it was made three decades ago, and Angela Lansbury is still doing it every day on her palatial estate at ninety-four years old, so it’s got to work, right? Give it a shot and sashay your way to immortality like a beautiful ancient tortoise who is well versed in the art of self-pleasure. 

You can follow Lydia Bugg on Twitter or check out more of her writing at Liddybug.com 

Categories
REFLECTING DAY

Reflecting Day: Meet Our New Conservative Mormon Content Strategist

Greetings 1900HOTDOG,

My name is Topper Goodmeadow, and I have been the Assistant Content Strategist for all promotional material related to Tyson Dinosaur Fun Nuggets for the past ten years. When I answered the advertisement for this position, I was thrilled at the chance to bring all of my experience writing in the voice of processed chicken to the exciting, Rock and Roll world of professional hot dog blogging. We in the Processed Meat Writing industry refer to the hot dog circuit as ā€œthe crimson ringā€ because it is every bit as coveted as it is intimidating. 

To be frank* with you, I was a little frightened. So many of my contemporaries have attempted the ambitious jump to hot dogs, and I have seen the broken families and devastation left behind when they fail. It was off of the grill, and into the fire!** But I was comforted by the informal tone and self-awareness the 1900HOTDOG ad espoused, which described themselves as ā€œunable to pull it backā€ and ā€œbound for a lawsuit.ā€ They needed a voice of reason, and that, my friends, is a Topper Goodmeadow specialty! I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but in high school I was voted both ā€œmost likely to buy a Honda Accord” and “SchoolPoll Inc System Default.”

I knew the passionate world of hot dog promotional material could, at times, go too far in their zeal for their product. Why, on occasion, the more foolhardy brands have even resorted to ā€œsensuousā€ wiener and bun puns. That is a very serious mistake that always alienates reasonable religious families, and yes, one can even see how that could lead to lawsuits (Romney v. Fuckbucket’s Chili Penetrator, LLC, 318, U.S. 419, 1988). I was both eager and morally bound to lend the 1900HOTDOG crew my assistance.

As I can see now, this position (probably?) does not relate to processed meats, and to describe the content as ā€œoff-colorā€ would be hyperbole, which I am not prone to, nor do I condone. Still, I do believe these men need my help in finding their way back to the straight and narrow, and I look forward to working with them to find a type of content they want to produce, and that the whole family can also enjoy instead of what they are doing now, which is going straight to heck.*** 

Although just between you and I, I can be a bit of a bad boy myself! I even fibbed a little on my application here: The ad dictated a ā€˜Conservative Mormon Content Strategist,’ but I am actually a member of the Community of Christ — what some think of as the ā€œcoolā€ Mormons! And though I have voted Republican in every single election, I do still consider myself, and am registered as an Independent in the wondrous and bountiful state of Pennsylvania. So you see, these maverick Internet gurus and I are a match made in Heaven! Hot dog,**** I can’t wait to meat***** you all!

Kindest wishes and best regards in the gentle but firm arms of Christ,

Topper B. Goodmeadow

*That was a little hot dog joke!

**That, too, was a little hot dog joke!

***Pardon my language!

****That was also a little hot dog joke!

*****This one was just a little hot dog joke!

Categories
TEAMWORKING DAY

Teamworking Day: Amazing-Man Comics 🌭

Amazing-Man didn’t show up to his own comic until Amazing-Man Comics #5, but don’t worry – you didn’t miss anything. They just started with #5 because they wanted to set a precedent: Amazing-Man makes no sense, he takes no shit, and he gives no fucks. It’s not always as awesome as it sounds. When you truly no longer care about life or the living, sometimes you do rad shit like slap-fight a sasquatch, and sometimes you just poke somebody’s dog in the eye. Amazing-Man encompasses both extremes, and should serve as a simultaneous aspirational and cautionary tale for anyone who has just been made an amateur daredevil by their own crushing ennui.

Brockway: You gotta admire the moxie of those goons: their car has just been hefted into the air by a dude wearing nothing but Spanx, go-go boots, and a dog harness, yet still their only thought is to lean out the window to get a good enough angle to shoot at him. The Goon Union – the Goonion – better shell out for their funerals.

Seanbaby: People complain about how terrible the world is, but think how much awesome shit we must have when you can see a mostly nude man carrying a woman in one arm and a car full of people shooting him in the other and think, “That looks fucking stupi– hold up, MINIMIDGET? No Larger Than YOUR HAND HAS A WILD RIDE on a CARRIER PIGEON!? Forget everything I said about this sucking! Yes! YES!”

Seanbaby: It is so much wilder than any ride on a carrier pigeon you’ve ever seen!

Brockway: The fuck does Minimidget’s birdjacking egg rampage get third billing?! This is not a just universe.Ā 

Brockway: Fucking only Amazing-Man would bring a knife to an aerial balloon fight. Hahaha is that lady in the background also shooting at them? Amazing-Man is a devout Catholic trying to get away with suicide on a superhero technicality. Ā Ā 

Seanbaby: You can’t get into Heaven if you’re killed by the penis a balloon pirate tore off a gorilla. It’s not a rule on the books, but it’s like how they can kick you out of a Sizzler for tearing the penis off a gorilla even if there’s not a sign.

Brockway: ā€œHit him with the stick, Tenzu.ā€

ā€œFuckin’ like shit I will – look at his face. He picked a fight with rocks and he’s about to rage-cry. You hit the emotionally broken superman with a piece of shitty wood.ā€

ā€œā€¦it’s your stick.ā€

ā€œI know it’s my stick! That’s how I know how much it sucks!ā€

Seanbaby: I never know if everyone’s about to die, enjoying themselves, or not giving a shit on Amazing-Man covers. Even the people in them don’t know. Tenzu is losing his mind trying to figure out how he should react to whatever this shit is that’s going on. Is he threatening Amazing-Man with his log? Offering it as a bribe? Is stroking a log with your mittens how you give someone the finger in Tibet? Do you see how quickly we lose our minds looking at Amazing-Man!?

Seanbaby: Amazing-Man has decided to let the bad guy have the girl so he can go fistfight four housecats. You can tell from the villain’s face Amazing-Man is going way off-script.

Brockway: ā€œFaceā€ is being a bit generous. Dude looks like a villain placeholder. He has eyebrows and elf boots and that’s it. This barely counts as a drawing.

Seanbaby: Oh, that’s just what he looks like. He’s a grabby naked man covered in filth with no conceivable way of ever defeating Amazing-Man. Those cats, though– they didn’t have a fucking chance. We’re having a fun time with the covers, but inside Amazing-Man Comics it is only unforgivable molestation and artless cat mashing.

Brockway: By the look on that lady’s face, Amazing-Man is not here to save her from a rampaging lion. Her expression not only tells me that’s actually her lion, but that this is not the first time she’s asked Amazing-Man not to fight it.

Seanbaby: I don’t really blame him. If I saw a Star Empress in a throne room with a lion, I would just start punching it and assume her people had some kind of prophecy about her marrying the stranger brave enough to box her lion. I’d be so sure I would scream, “Our love will unite the Space Realms!” while I beat her treasured pet to death.

I should also mention that, like all his enemies, a domesticated lion is no match for Aman, the Amazing-Man. It was such an obvious outcome, the artist didn’t bother to draw the battle. It went from “man squares off against beast” to “dead lion bleeding out of its face” in zero panels.

Brockway: ā€œGood god! What are you doing?! Th-the fucking shell was going to miss us by half a mile! Are you seriously trying to dunk that right now???ā€

Seanbaby: This is so fucking sweet, but by the time he lands and gets back to the battle, everyone who saw him do this pointlessly awesome thing will be dead.

Brockway: While Amazing-Man was off hang-gliding artillery rounds and just generally being ā€œbadicalā€ decades before we had a proper word for it, the Nazis washed across Europe like a fascist tide. A lot of good people died needlessly, but most of the survivors do agree it was worth it to see Amazing-Man plug a tank barrel with his dick, Bugs Bunny-style.

Brockway: Amazing-Man has never met a protected species that didn’t need a swift punch in the face. But what’s really stealing the show is his intern back there, who probably needed a Zoology field credit and answered the wrong ad, so now he’s the Tommy the Boy Wonder and he has to try to spin ā€˜learned how to headlock a vulture’ into a life lesson so his professor doesn’t flunk him.

Seanbaby: Vultures normally wait for things to die in the desert and steal meat off their skeletons when no one is looking. It’s a behavior developed over millions of years. Today, one of them finally thought, “Guys, this would go so much faster if we killed the meat ourselves.” Amazing-Man is the worst possible meat they could have chosen for their first try at this. He’s “GIFTED WITH TWENTY MEN’S STRENGTH” and there is no one in the annals of literature who has beaten more animals to death with his hands. And Amazing-Man’s sidekick looks cranky because vulture punching is the toilet cleaning of a professional animal fighter’s job.

Seanbaby: Amazing-Man and his handsome boy are trashing Washington DC. Just barreling through walls and playing tag with missiles in our great nation’s capital. They even drew him a little beer cooler to let readers know, “Amazing-Man is taking an issue off from strangling wild animals to fucking party.”

Brockway: ā€œThese are some very impressive fieldnotes, Thomas! I don’t see any problem authorizing your internship. But this section here, where you wrote ā€˜studied policy at the nation’s capital’ – that’s a bit vague. Can you share a touch more detail?ā€

ā€œā€¦

…

…

no.ā€

Seanbaby: This snake was talking shit. He said Amazing-Man wouldn’t be so tough without all those arms and legs. Well, Amazing-Man called your bluff, snake! Your big mouth got you into this, snake!

Brockway: This is what happens when you try pantomiming ā€œYou. Give me. Blowjob.ā€ to a pantsless suicide enthusiast.

Seanbaby: That does make more sense than a superhero tying himself up so he could have a fair, gentlemanly bite fight with a mouthy snake.

Brockway: ā€œSo we’re really just… hitting anybody that looks different than us, Mr. Amazing-Man, sir?ā€

ā€œPlease, Tommy, Mr. Amazing-Man was my father, and I strangled him with my belt when I was fourteen. You shouldn’t think of it as ā€˜hitting people different than us’ – because you shouldn’t think of them as people!ā€

ā€œIt’s uh… it’s Thomas, sir.ā€

ā€œHaha, trust me: It’s Tommy.ā€

Seanbaby: To Tommy’s credit, can you imagine how absurd it would be if these 1942 green men said, “Thank you for not punching us! We are benevolent vulture men, not Nazi Bird Soldiers! By our suspenders, we vow to help humanity!” Come on. Ridiculous.

Brockway: I guarantee you, I promise you, I will lay any amount of money on this: Amazing-Man bought those gorillas, dyed them green, hot-glued Nazi headbands on them, and set them loose in town just so he’d have an excuse to fight them publicly. Strip them of their alien-ness and their evil symbology and check that image again. What are you really looking at there? The last thing these apes remembered was eating fistfuls of each other’s poop in the Congo and then the blissful sting of a tranquilizer dart. They woke up half-spun on paint fumes trying to pull some crap off their head and then watched Oobop take a suplex from a skinny pink monkey – look at their expressions! They’re not roaring. This is that Men in Black test. They are, every single one of them, absolutely fucking terrified.

Seanbaby: I, with twenty men’s strength, strongly disagree. Those are at least robots, if not full Fascist Martian Apes. Your constant assumptions that every rampaging green Nazi monster is simply being misunderstood as it travels between innocent endeavors is going to get you killed by Nazi Martian Gorillas. Amazing-Man might be a deranged naked man trying to die, but his punching instincts are never wrong.

Brockway: I will not fight like Amazing-Man. I’d rather die wrong than live with an innocent ape’s blood on my cock!

Seanbaby: “Ha ha what am I doing!? Fuck you, coal miners! May the last thing you see be these guns! Ha ha ha!”

Brockway: ā€œHaha look at me, Tommy! I’m green energy! Whoosh! Zoom! Eat shit, coal!ā€

ā€œS-some of these men have families, sir.ā€

ā€œHad, Tommy. A hero is only as good as his grammar. These men had families.ā€

Categories
TEAMWORKING DAY

Teamworking Day: PoxCo Regional Pretend Wrestling

Several weeks ago Seanbaby found an issue of Poxco Regional Wrestling Magazine lodged molecularly in the wall of his penis reduction shed. “What?” you might ask. Well, it’s a laboratory a San Francisco County judge ordered to be built on his propert– oh, you meant “what” like “how did a wrestling magazine glitch across dimensional barriers?” Well, it’s hard to overstate the amount of trauma we are inflicting on reality by calling attention to things like Troom Troom and Christian self-defense books on a daily bas– oh, you meant “what” like “I wasn’t listening, can you repeat the first sentence?” No problem; we found a cursed magazine and inside we discovered what might be the most cursed of nerd hobbies:

Wrestling By Mail.

Players of wrestling by mail send in the name and description of a wrestler, along with a selection of moves and a small fee, to someone who decides if they win an imaginary, imaginary fights against crudely drawn league veterans. For readers who don’t know anything about wrestling or role playing or postal mail, this is like training a gorilla to draw pictures of women and offering it $11 for one of their hands in marriage. It’s way too many steps to reach only embarrassment, and we love it. It’s perfect and we’re doing it. Right now. With virtually no modernizing of the concept, technology, or process, 1-900-HOTDOG is launching its own Wrestling By Mail championship tournament. Entering it is simple: if you’re reading this, you’ve always been able to submit a wrestler. If you have a heart, it’s always been able to yearn to be champion. And if you’re a bitch ass coward, go do something else…

…now.

Categories
TEAMWORKING DAY

Teamworking Day: The Gorgeous Guys of Gaming 🌭

Video games have been dominated by the male gaze since their inception. Back in the ’90s, when our pixel technology finally caught up to our ass technology, every female video game character had to have a supermove that pointed a butt at you. Brockway has been playing games since he was a kid and he’s seen so much unsolicited taint that he now suffers from a rare grundle-aversion disorder called Tailor’s Tourette’s. Seanbaby has so deeply associated street fighting with ass cleavage his enemies die knowing nothing but boner. And it’s so great, ladies. Whether we’re raiding tombs or punching someone to death, we men have so many things to look at to get horny. We want everyone to experience this joy, so we’ve assembled the hunkiest covers in gaming history just for the girls. Men, fuck off. Ladies, now is the time to engage your 1-900-HOT-DOG Panty Suspenders because they are about to shoot off hard and slippery.

Brockway: Super Robin Hood might have a dent in his face and a headband growing through his skull, but he has more abs than any man in history. And as we all know, more abs equals more attractiveness. His torso looks like a package of Peeps, and I’ve never met a Peep I didn’t want to fuck.

Seanbaby: Those aren’t abs. That’s how you say, “FUCK MACHINE” in Braille. And Super Robin Hood is like that all the way down– his dong has the rivets of a plump, freshly boiled ear of corn. I’ve never been so sure of anything. If you handed me a bomb set to go off if Super Robin Hood has a smooth penis, I would put it under my pillow and sleep so perfectly sound.

Brockway: This is such a meaningless pledge from you now. I can’t count how many times you’ve sworn to sleep atop a bomb set to explode if somebody has a smooth penis, and it’s never gone off. Maybe that’s because you don’t have the skill to set an explosive device to detect penile texture, or maybe you’re just always right. Either way, you’re not tricking me into betting on Greek Roulette again.

Brockway: It’s rare that a man is secure enough to splay. I’ve seen plenty of video game women do this pose, but for a man to risk ridicule just to expose that double standard shows an inordinate amount of confidence. And confidence is sexy. And demon-skull codpieces are very sexy.

Seanbaby: I know enough about demon skull codpieces to know it’s weird to have a red orb jammed into one. Did Targhan get transported into this dragon fight straight from a ball pit? Was he hiding mostly nude in a Chuck E. Cheese Discovery Zone thinking, “Come on, Targhan, how the shit are you going to get out of this one!? Oh, thank Christ, an unexplainable magic portal!”

Brockway: As hilariously awesome as EXPERIMENTAL SURGEON: THE VIDEO GAME sounds, this was actually an anti-smoking ā€œeducational experience.ā€ Watching a child get this game from grandma is like taking a thirty second tour of all the emotions, but we can’t hold his game against him. Rex Ronan cares enough about human health to insert himself into a Tobacco Executive, and that’s a sacrifice we must respect. Care is sexy, and Rex Ronan cares enough to voluntarily penetrate pure evil.

Seanbaby: Ladies, if someone told you, “My name is Rex Ronan: Experimental Surgeon, and that’s spelled entirely on fire,” you’re lying to yourself if you think you wouldn’t fuck him.

Seanbaby: Rick Dangerous is what a loving mother says to her son when he asks who his father was. Rick Dangerous is what you tell the Def Leppard cover band when they say, “We’re going with the name Fuckcity Ramblers unless anyone has something better?” Rick Dangerous is what your wife accidentally screams in bed when your name is Leonard Dangerous.

Brockway: Rick Dangerous will absolutely give you Chlamydia. Hell, if you call him up to tell him he gave you an STD, he’ll clap when he finds out it’s just one. He knows he’s a herpes gallery, you know he’s a herpes gallery, and you promise yourself it’ll never happen… but six daiquiris deep in an airport bar and you might find it’s nice just to have someone want you. Want you for forty-two seconds, standing up, behind the charging kiosk, and then never again.

Brockway: Look at these smooth boys with their high, thick pants and pinched faces. I feel like this is a hunky memorial calendar from a small part of Eastern Europe so dominated by war and forgotten by the world that we no longer list their country on any map. In South Muskoslav, they like their boys like they like their potatoes: Peeled, starchy, and gone too soon.

Seanbaby: The boxy, unshirted teen soldiers of Muskoslav are each issued a Kloopifart-16 Assault Sproingdoodle, a multi-purpose tool of conflict that can pit olives, hem pants, and keep 28 ounces of soup hot for a metric hour (37 minutes). God bless these husky fighting boys!

Brockway: Micro Fun was prepared to deliver exactly what their name promises. It’s a pretty bold move to proclaim right up top that your game is a huge step backwards. I respect that kind of honesty, Mr. Dino Eggs. Your face might not belong with your body, but my heart belongs to you.

Seanbaby: There seems to be no function to this man’s outfit. Tights and cowboy boots under french cut panties probably made him a symbol of hope where he’s from, but he’s alone in history, snatching eggs from baffled dinosaurs. He could wear sensible shoes and something with pockets. My point is, no one is going to see him until paleontologists dig his bones out of petrified dino shit hundreds of millions of years from now and he still took the time to get dressed up. I think ladies will appreciate that.

Brockway: I haven’t seen a man pull off the ā€˜my go-go boots, your panties, mom’s dishwashing gloves’ look since Burt Reynolds’ infamous Cosmopolitan spread. And I still haven’t.

Seanbaby: I worry things are getting a little too hot here, so let’s cool them off with Snake Roy, who is the worst of both of those words. Roy looks like he and the python eating him died at the same time and there was some kind of a ghost mistake. But whatever it is, there’s a good chance we are looking at its anus. On dating profiles, Snake Roy describes himself as, “I look like someone dropped their wedding ring in an outhouse, but I’m also a fat fucking snake from the back of the head down. 2 inches uncut, forked”

Brockway: Snake Roy is an atrocity of human imagination. He’s why LeVar Burton had to start telling children ā€œalmost everybody can be creative!ā€ From his squat nose to his mossy patches to his snake scales made out of dry human skin, I have to hate every part of Snake Roy individually because I just don’t have enough hate in me to hate him as a cohesive whole. He’s the second worst thing that’s ever appeared on a video game box. Only behind…

Brockway: Space Rogue is the least attractive man ever to grace a video game cover, specifically because of the unearned arrogance on display. Space Rogue’s dad owns the company and insisted that his son be on the box. Space Rogue simultaneously thinks this gig is beneath him and that he got it on his own merits. Space Rogue has never had a dinner date that didn’t end with a concerned citizen whispering to the bartender.

Seanbaby: This is how Space Rogue walks away from a space bouncer after they point to a sign that says “CASH ONLY NO PUSSIES.”

Seanbaby: At first I thought women wouldn’t be into a man called Ball Raider. After all, a man called Ball Raider definitely wouldn’t be into them. But then I tried gender swapping the situation in my head. I thought, “Would I be interested in a woman named Titty Dominator or Labia Tamer?” I think I would. I think it so hard I almost dented the inside of my skull. I understand certain things like surprise nudity or ghostbusting don’t work as well after a gender swap, but just in case this isn’t one of those times, enjoy Ball Raider, ladies.

Brockway: It’s true, Ball Raider should have been at the top of this list: He’s ripped, he’s got those handsome Muskoslavian features, and he’s not trying to hide who he is. He’s here to do two things: dispense stabs and raid balls, and brother — he’s not out of either. But like Rex Ronan, his game is a lie. It’s a Breakout clone superimposed over shitty sci-fi artwork, one level of which is just a bored space office-drone chatting it up on a CB. Rex Ronan didn’t lose points for a lie he couldn’t help, but Ball Raider, I know Rex Ronan and you, sir, are no Rex Ronan.

Brockway: Cock’in was going to get a much higher rating before I realized it was about chickens.Ā 

Seanbaby: It probably says a lot about us as artists in how quickly we’ll throw away our entire premise to make not so much a cock joke as a cock statement of fact: a chicken game exists called COCK’IN. Ball Raider had some whimsy, but COCK’IN is a confrontationally lewd name. It’s like calling a flu shot “GRANDMA PENETRATION” or a turkey recipe “BIRD FISTIN’ ASSHOLE SALAD.”

Brockway: I was thinking of justifying this game’s inclusion by talking about how Mr. COCK’IN satisfies that hipster hunk angle, but we all know why this is here. I am a simple man, and they italicized the IN.

Seanbaby: If you like rugged men, it doesn’t get much more rugged than most of a wild animal’s face silently screaming from a man’s jacket sleeve. And what he lacks in handsome he makes up for in mystery. He’ll install most of a dreamcatcher in his beard and when it comes to holding pants up, he’s a handgrab man, not a belt man. A real Sturgis Man wears 270 accessories, but never one on the waist. It means one less step when you’re digging for a crotch that’s been showerlessly traveling on a hot bike seat for three days. So hop on, ladies, but be careful back there– this jacket is mostly possum teeth.

Brockway: I appreciate the brutal, unflinching honesty Harley-Davidson went for with this game. The model on the cover looks like he took Mister Congeniality in the Northern Idaho All-Militia Beauty Pageant. While the in-game screenshot is a bored dentist questioning his own sexuality on a tour through Olive Oil country. Truly, the full gamut of Harley riders. Take your pick, ladies — they will both disappoint you in equal amounts but in wildly different ways.

Seanbaby: The knife in the Joe Blade 2 title is not silent. This game is pronounced “Joe Blastabbed E-2.”

Brockway: Joe Blade is the greatest war hero that the hated North Muskoslav ever produced, and while he is certainly the greatest hunk their budget eugenics have given the world, part of any sexual fantasy is the illusion of attainability. And one look at that mustache and you know the only creature who could tame his wild heart is Tom of Finland.

Brockway: This looks like a school photo that a Swedish mother regrets springing for. You couldn’t even loan this poor intern a pair of boots for the cover photoshoot? You had him pose in socks, sweatpants, and a bathmat, and you told him he looked like a Viking. You assured him the hammer and helmet would look great in CGI, and in no way would he come across as ā€œdoing softcore porn for meatball money.ā€ But you lied to him. You lied to him on every account and then you named him Vicky. I hope this kid killed every dog you ever had — that’s the only way this revenge seems proportional.

Seanbaby: I admire how they made such a low-rent design look like a struggle. Every inch of this cover art feels like the final destination of hundreds of hours of mistakes and bad decisions. Did they draw Vicky’s hat after a failed quest to find a real Viking helmet? Were they so torn between an action pose and a static one they had to settle on putting a little angry Vicky up in the sky? And there had to have been some kind of an argument about the socks. Also, was that the Vikingest font they had? Because I think it’s the one FastBusinessCards.biz calls “Default.” Vicky looks like an ebook about paleo fish curing techniques. This art is so bad I have fully lost track of what the fuck we were doing here.

Brockway: We’re critiquing proof of concept art for the knock-off Thor costume sold at Haunted Hank’s Halloweemporium, right?

Brockway: Yes, I know it’s Fabio and that’s not great. But you have to concede that Fabio is a beautiful man. The only thing not beautiful about Fabio is Fabio, so if he’s supposed to be somebody else — a wizard, a warrior, a stock boy, a serial killer with a toe fetish — that’s a sexy step up.

Seanbaby: In Ironsword you played a faceless hero in a full set of armor, and you fussed at monsters with a sword a third that long. Which means whoever commissioned this box art was so horny they risked their job just to be near Fabio’s nipples for a half hour. This shirtless photo of Fabio is so aggressively unrelated to Ironsword it’s barely the same genre. This is like advertising a NASCAR event with two men oiling each other’s chests from bicycles. It’s like putting a weird pair of tits on the cover of Donkey Kong and calling it a day.

Brockway: Welp, that’s it for us, folks.