Author: Dennard Dayle

Nerding Day: Armor of God Force 🌭

Post author By Dennard Dayle
Post date 07/23/2024
4 Comments on Nerding Day: Armor of God Force 🌭

The Power Rangers find Jesus. Are you in or in twice?

Fuck allegory. There’s no Santa, inbred Elvis, or heads in jars. This team follows the original, whip-cracking, whip-taking, reason-erasing Jesus. Without those weird red letters.

I rushed the delivery, because I need this. The empire has months left on the clock, and I’m blaspheming while it’s still legal. Armor of God Force is all I could ask for, short of another flood. That won’t be here for at least another summer.

Look at that backyard. It’s like a losing run of Chroma Squad. And worth every cent.

Nah.

Besides, it’s physical-only. Vintage. A vinyl security breach.

Specifically, a thumb drive that will never enter my home. God gave us free will to shield our data. Even the library felt too close to my pin number. I deserve humbling for all the cyberbullying, but I didn’t leave the pews to embrace consequences.

If that sounds paranoid, the Armor of God Force website didn’t inspire confidence.

At a glance, either a scam or a dead dream. They have the same style guide. Per less-broken pages,13 episodes once graced YouTube. Then, when I needed them most, the Armor of God Force channel, website, and shop disappeared. Another lost media martyr. Until June, when I noticed a layout change.

Still borked, but alive. The creator fought for the Power Crusaders. That didn’t deserve my support, but it got it. The sketchy update led to a sketchy Mercari page, where I ordered a sketchy flash drive. Armor of God Force fans prove their faith by crossing the desert of ransomware.

Faith is for other people. I mined this gold on campus. If student collarbones are expendable, so are Stone Age desktops. Lest I sound ungrateful: my copy of Crowdstrike came with merch. As the first viewer of Armor of God Force, I became proud owner of a gel…thing.

Presumably a Monster of the Week, but the details aren’t there. Call it another test of faith. One rewarded with this promo card:

Be nice. The lord provides spiritual succor, not startup funds. Call Mammon for those. Say you’re an Olsteen for a discount.

As for the creator, it’s a bit obscure. I’ve got two suspects. The armor for Shockwave, a Christian breakdancing robot from Juggalo Championship Wrestling (I know, I’ll be back), pops up as a monster. And the Blue Inquisitor’s played by the director of Time Church, a rentable Tupac impersonator. But I’m short on proof, and liars go to comedy hell.

Christ-Powered Rangers. Good Godly Graceborgs. Virtue Troopers. It’s so simple. And in case I’m wrong, there’s a disclaimer.

Too many words. I need that brainpower to repress Leviticus. Luckily, a voiceover follows.

Still too wordy. Let’s sample the power-up montage. It’s the best one since Japanese Spider-Man, as long as you’re not big on visuals or sound. Each inquisitor wields the same foam arsenal:

The voiceover goes for robot, and reaches joy. I’d listen to it read nutrition facts for water. If Armor of God Force ever hires an audio editor, they’ve lost their only customer. The tin-cup echo is as vital as Blue’s dead-eyed stare. Or Purple’s dead-eyed stare. Or Red’s lively indigestion. Actors thrive because projecting “heroic” instead of “lost” takes skill.

Protecting our heroes’ loins from love. And the enemy, I guess. After finishing the season, Blue’s tactical pouches remain a mystery.

In His & Hers, per action tradition. The leader wears the deluxe blue cardboard, instead of the typical red. This is a hipster move, for reasons I can’t explain without boring myself. Think of it as half an Evil Superman.

I’m shocked a nerd product avoided saying “greaves.” Everyone that crouched through Cyrodil has that vocab down.

The Shield of Faith blocks nothing, which reeks of sabotage. There’s a plant on the Armor of God Force team. Maybe Purple’s sneaking off to the library without matches.

Not bad, though Blue’s helmet has a few too many nicks. Pastor Jay already comes off as insane, and head trauma fits too neatly. Make clowns work for that insult.

Then the voiceover says Sword of Spirit, but there’s no pose. Odd. Did the Sword of Spirit have another shoot? Is someone swinging a foam sword at McDonald’s GospelFest?

I’m shocked this idea wasn’t taken. Henshin heroes (again, think Power Rangers/Kamen Rider/Cops) are even more maniac-friendly than cape comics or courts. They have simplicity and a built-in didactic streak. Even Saban executives grocked the basic formula despite organized efforts to miss the point. You could slot in any philosophy without breaking the machine.

Bible campers want to be anywhere else. Why not jangle the flashiest keys possible? If church propaganda was half as fun as Viewtiful Joe or Garo, I’d change nothing. But countless other dorks could be saved.

No one can fuck this up.

I’m wrong again! I should avoid broad declarations. All broad declarations are dumb.

Cell phones? Full access to the Paradise Lost cast, and you blew an episode attacking cell phones?

I’m watching the whole series. Here’s three episodes.

That’s the real name. But I’m not here for the title.

I’m here for the title card. That WordArt’s worth funding madmen. Where else do you get insipid glurge like anxiety superpowers? Disney?

Like Feelings Talking 2, this is an instant classic.

While prior episodes start on Pastor Jay’s porn couch, The Anxietor opens on Pastor Jay’s porn couch. That said, porn’s evolved. The acting and production here’s grimly work-safe.

Our leader recites some punchless scripture:

His friends/minions, Chris and Jessica, sit entranced. It must be something offscreen. While kicking needs setup, sermons in the Blue’s Clues living room feel slow. This puts pills around sugar. Youth group sinners have faster-paced propaganda on their devil phones.

That said, nice Matthew quote. Maxims rarely age this well. “Food works itself out” is much less suicidal advice now then–

Pastor Jay’s right, eating’s fraught enough. He’ll probably remember that next episode. For now, Jay’s worried about donations. His flock of two’s in decline, as we learn through a bit of visual storytelling:

It’s a sympathetic problem. I’d rather lose followers to an earthquake than a grifter called “Max Profit.” He should pivot into a Behemoth cover band. Pastor Jay’s superpowered evil side could debut here, but that’s beyond our budget.

Instead, we get the Robot Devil. He’s called Synastor, but he’s the devil. It’s a better show if he’s The Devil, and I’m trying out good faith. The Devil looks like this in action:

But spends more time in Dr. Claw’s chair, watching Jay taste failure.

But the Devil’s still an overachiever. Instead of leaving well enough alone, he summons an anxiety monster. Action tropes imply a sly type. A gentle manipulator. A classic Charisma/Dex hybrid, whispering sea level projections. Devilish, if you will.

Anxiety is jacked.

You should fear The Anxietor. If Pander Buddies 2 had an accurate panic attack, Armor of God Force has an accurate jumping. The Anxietor wants your shoes, and your brain warned you.

Anxiety beats the blue off Pastor Jay. It doesn’t look great, or good, but the concept sparks joy. Max Profit would’ve been ready.

It’s not close.

The Anxietor has brain powers too, I guess. He uses them instead of feeding Jay more teeth. The pastor fears that his color-coded friends will leave him for a better couch. And hallucinates what they’re definitely thinking:

Armor of God Force reaches for funny, without insight or edge. It could skip both with enough action, but…

It’s a little stiff. Though the declarations remain perfect:

Box office gold.

Jay spends half the rematch bleeding, remembers his sword, and gets stabbing. He also finds his confidence, but arms help more. The second amendment boost is tangible. And comes with bonus scripture:

That’s all it takes. Those of you hooked on science pills should try it. Or put Amy Poehler through the same arc twice.

Or let your feelings hug each other.

When Jay’s metallic voice shouts “Do not be anxious about anything,” my muse tells me I’m done. That 2024’s out of jokes or notable history. To retire, and tend to my true passion grading stories about thinly-disguised exes. But this is my truest passion: putting my hand on a stove and calling the stove dumb.

After the Anxietor, things get dumb.

This round’s title card is a little different.

Do you eat? Stop that shit.

Right, the setup. This is a Purple Crusader episode—the team isn’t into teamwork. You face your literal demons alone. Even when they can overhead press you. Jessica lucks out: her monster’s defined by contempt.

Jessica’s actress, Kimberly Frost, has a better superhero name. But her acting’s on par with Pastor Jay, sans memorization. She sounds like she’s translating her second language into her third.

We’re back to the step-couch, where Purple walks in on Red and Blue listing food. They’re her only friends, so she should feel left out. But we already did insecurity, so she’s thinking about power cleans.

A sign of things to come. Sane gym drones can talk like Jessica, like me for half the year. It’s very normal. But on educational tv, it filters to “stop gorging, piglets.” That sounds cynical, so let’s run it by our master.

Satan agrees. He sends his most insulting soldier to teach our fat planet a lesson: you’re only worth your squat depth. The Glutton can’t walk, fight, or read foodless dialogue. But he can eat, and that’s contagious.

Jessica sees his plumber’s crack, and goes right for murder.

It’s not very effective. For her trouble, she eats The Glutton’s meter burn move: the Binge Belch. The Armor of God Force kind of sucks.

It has a side effect.

It’s subtle.

Discreet. Tasteful.

Hmm.

Expansion’s a green belt fetish, so I can’t toss it around casually. But the likely creator’s a former pro-wrestler, toku fanboy, and Mercari merchant. I have, at best, half his internet madman power. This is expansion.

Granted, my theory’s a stretch. It implies Christian media filters sex through shame. File it away with evolution and gravity.

Anyway, Jessica struggles against the legions of hell. Her friends take an empathetic approach.

Yeah, it’s more scripture. Jay recites the whole “Your body is a temple,” bit, which sounds more like DDBO wrote it every year. And fixes her. Rejecting one piece of cake lets the semaglutide in her soul shine.

Somehow, The Anxietor had better structure. Jessica already deadlifts, making this the story of her learning nothing. And educational, in a way. Good examples of character development get long and brain-hurty. But Glutton offers a simple anti-example. I’m learning from Armor of God Force. Unlike Jessica.

Too thinky. Slashin’ time. Jessica summons a Monster Hunter sword, barbed to prevent healing and encourage infection. A fitting end for the fat.

She successfully cuts down a mascot with the power to not-move. Courage matched by prison guards every day. I see why the Sword of Spirit gets more mileage than the Battleaxe of Sportsmanship. She befriended The Glutton between my cutaway gags, creating a tactical opening.

I don’t know why Jessica gets the ED sermon. Or purple armor. I mean, my brain does, but I ignore that shit for personal zen. God, I love walking alone at night.

This fat-hate gets points–wait for the punchline–for catching me off guard. I’ve labeled garbage long enough to expect rants against evolution. But lesser sinners get their time at knifepoint too. Refreshing. It’s good to know Gilead has some creativity left.

Ah, the fundamentals. I almost thought it wasn’t Groundhog Day.

Armor of God Force treats students to ten episodes of cell phones and self-hate before getting to business. A Darwin allegory had to catch a beating today. Nothing less would fit.

Except Darwin.

Let’s rewind, I think we have the formula down. Title card?

The worst pun I’ve heard in decades, and my favorite. I love this title so much. I struggle to believe this madness occurred naturally. There must be an intelligent hand behind it.

Feature dork?

Chris, the Red Reactionary. He can act with his face on purpose, so he’s comic relief. Or rather, designated idiot on a show by D students. As the power dunce, he falls for reading a non-bible. Classic Chris.

Straw Monster?

Full marks. If a fresh spin on this image showed up every week, I’d stop complaining about the people behind this image.

Humiliating beatdown?

C’mon, man.

For all the Putty Patrol jokes, they helped the Rangers not look worthless.

Lord. We all love Rocky, but there’s an hour of meat-punching before each big loss. The longest Armor of God Force episode is fourteen minutes long. No matter how much scripture you staple to this, it’s a montage of accidental martyrs.

Fuck it. Brainwashing attack?

Subtlety was never an option. Yet zooming in on the Penguin edition feels like new crank territory. Maybe Armor of God Force is getting more efficient over time. By season three, Doctor Divorce will enter, beat Blue into a coma, gloat, and explode within twenty seconds.

Brainwashed hero?

Like clockwork. Note: my clocks screech cognitive dissonance at passerby. Every morning, they hurl Chick Tracts at tourists, commuters, and each other, hoping to drown the future in ink. But the future limps forward, no matter what clocks, heathens, or coastal cities want.

Ah well. Stabbing enemy ideas to death?

Hmm. Putting it that way makes this kid’s show feel off. Let’s avoid that.

Much better. Charles Darwin, bisected and mocked. We’re back to having fun.

Hush.

Charles Darwin, bisected, mocked, and burned. Extra fun!

Wait, is this murder propaganda? I signed on for armored crusaders lasering the unclean, not …ah shit. I need to start thinking things through. Catch you next week.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme:Thomas Cavazos, who is more of a multi-faith non-denominational MegaZord.

Tags 1990s, christian, Free, Martial Arts, tv

FUCKING DAY

Fucking Day: The Otaku Box 🌭

Post author By Dennard Dayle
Post date 07/16/2024
19 Comments on Fucking Day: The Otaku Box 🌭

Strap in.

Yeah. Porn’s fun, but gives me too much agency. And the eyes have too much life—even the animated ones. Can someone save me from money and dignity?

That face…familiar, but hazy and generic. Probably nothing.

Yeah, nothing. Let’s leave it hazy. Lockdown memories belong in the attic, beside middle school and 2025.

The Otaku Box! A miracle for anyone too busy to print their own garbage. A softcore lottery, advertised on every bus between The Javits Center and Bellevue. At the time, a citywide campaign cost less than a current taco.

I thought I nightmared this. Why not abuse PPP loans like other demons? Selling porn addicts lootboxes sounds like selling porn addicts angel dust. That’s pure dopamine witchcraft. “Dick-powered gambling” was the last sentence before Babylon got hectic.

Hmm.

Looks promising. Granted, my mind’s gone. I’m ghost riding a clown car while it pulls a Thelma & Paul Walker. Just like you! Let’s end this journey together. We’ll trade dolls as the speedometer rises.

Is it? I’ll put this in Otaku Box terms—skip to “Welcome back” if you only read real books.

God’s out of shit, and we’re stuck in Mankind: Shippuden. Not Mankind Z. Not Zeta Mankind. Not Mankind: Stand Alone Complex. Not even Mankind: R2. Fucking Shippuden, with new designs for all your favorite demagogues. This isn’t pain. It’s training. The future is Madara posing on a human face, forever.

Welcome back, friends. The anime club just discussed our hopes for the future. Time to spend real money on the Otaku Box.

I’m still spending real money on The Otaku Box.

If it lets me. There’s tons of clutter between me and my box. Odd. This is a pure impulse purchase. The lost and desperate are already in: this page should fast-talk the bored. People that jump off scaffolding just to see what landing feels like. Not that I’d know.

I’ll try the chatbot.

Hi Liz! Is it dropshipped garbage? I hope it’s dropshipped garbage. “Oh rly” says you’re on the older side of weeaboo entrepreneurs, so I expect the finest in dropshipped garbage.

Sorry, I was wrong. This is free! If there’s one word you can trust online, it’s “private.” Sorry, I meant “innovative.” Sorry, I meant “investment.” Sorry, I meant “lonely milfs.” Sorry, I meant “free.” Free is the content of generosity.

Here’s my personal email. Can I have my free dropshipped garbage now?

Does it matter? None of this goes harder than a June boardwalk. The titillation is more contextual than explicit.

Hear me out. Pretend, for a moment, that your mind is clean. If you saw a maid, you’d assume they were an actor, lunatic, or literal servant, rather than a nerd shepherd. It takes years of training to love or hate this. We’re already mutants.

My waifus? Odd question. Surely true believers buy specific dolls, instead of random dropshipped garbage? The Otaku Box implies your answer is “anyone.” You’re a pickme for fictional maids. Not quite worse than death, but I had to think about it.

There’s a long list of convention favorites attached, so points for authentic gooning. It’s nice to see nerddom rob itself, instead of waiting for Hollywood.

Liz promised free factory rejects. Where are they?

Such largess! So many free unpaid no-fee bonus demo trial sample open alpha no-money-down subprime gratuity options. I can finally let my guard down.

The choice is easy. No removable top, no sale.

Hell yeah.

Wait! Would more money help? I have ~~so much~~ a moderate amount! I can’t lose Captain Girl.

Sorry, “Captain Girl” was comedy autopilot. Fans deserve better than outsider mockery. I’ll make it personal: I can’t lose Esdeath, the mascot for Square Enix giving up. I can’t lose Esdeath, a name clunkier than “Captain Girl.” I can’t lose Esdeath, who looks less like a sex doll as a doll.

Luckily, for just a little money, I can keep my free bride.

Liz won’t fool me twice. My credit card’s drawn, ready to rescue my queen.

Don’t try to talk me out of it. This maid’s a personal achievement: I recognized the other two dolls on sight, and every name on the waifu list. But I have no idea who this is, and that fills me with hope’s light. I will fight and die for her removable top.

This seems exploitative. I can get an awesome free doll, and turn weeks of dick jokes into boxes of love? I’ll keep things ethical, and stick to one porn box. Giving away 11 FREE ITEMS for just a thousand dollars must take more slaves than Hershey.

This seems exploit–

Jeez, I didn’t even finish the last–

FUCK. STOP.

Free’s getting expensive.

I don’t need this, I have plenty of Confederate kid lit to cover. Fuck. Yeah, I need this. You’ve worn me down, I’ll take the shirt. All my dates should know that I’m an Otaku Box owner.

What do you think this is? What Mormon billionaire buys a censored Otaku Box? Wallowing in half-measures isn’t success. Ask [political free space]. A censored Otaku box is a softer boner for the same money.

Nah, cosplay downloads imply real women and virtual products. I’m here for the polar opposite. Stay focused, Liz.

Though I’m a little worried. What if, somehow, I stop wanting monthly boxes of lead-enhanced toys?

I’ve seen worse. Though if you don’t cancel early, they’ll accidentally unfortunately regretfully tearfully cry-jerkingly charge you for more dropshipped garbage. There’s also a support email, or prayer if you feel like doing something useful.

Jesus fucking Christ, this is fucking great! The free lunches never stop. Nice to see this lazy generation working. Granted, our work ethic turned privacy, attention, and groundwater into memories. A wise world would make us stop working, at gunpoint, before we update those dog-shaped killbots. I think they’re called “Oppression Puppers.” But there’s grind to hustle, so we have Liz.

And I have my box. Bye money! I’ll miss you. I could’ve eaten you, or bought books. But I guess manga fandom’s not about reading.

It’s nice and warm out. Perhaps forever! I’ll take my box out for a walk.

Naturally, I’m recording 2024’s main event. Your first box is special.

I gave the spot some thought. We’ll need plenty of light to photograph my porn. And a nice backdrop. The park felt right.

The one next door. I live here. People recognize me.

The box’s design has some restraint. From the front. The sides tell your neighbors what’s up.

Liz came to see us off. Nice gesture. She looks cool in an apartment lobby, and perfect in a public park.

Sick. I invited the old guys playing Shittier Badminton, and they splashed me with holy water. It’s a pretty conservative area. And a rude one, that shit burns.

We know about the first month’s dolls. But what about the other worthless dropshipped garbage? Let’s see what gambling has for us.

It might be the heatstroke talking, but this card’s a bargain. There’s no mermaid porn online, so it’s rare stuff. What else would I have bought? Food? Rent? A non-stolen bike? All abundant in New York.

Sometimes, while reading One Piece, I think “I wish this sucked shit.” So I get enjoying Fairy Tail. In 2008. The Otaku Box might have a bit of a backlog. Next month they’ll send out Astro Boy Tijuana Bibles.

This bottle opener would thrive at parties you avoid, and shatter after two bottles of mead. I won’t get much out of it. The box drained my slush fund. And normal fund.

Does mass-production at negative expense make this card a little extra worthless? Sure. But this dropshipped garbage is recyclable. The planet’s choking on Otaku Boxes. The retirees glaring my way are melting.

Today’s winner, full stop. This has van art appeal. Call my standards warped by the endless maids above or reading Snow Crash before I could multiply, but there’s a spark. This is acceptable dropshipped garbage. Maybe Liz loves us.

Ignore the pin-up ninja. The material looks and feels off. I hate to accuse Liz of cutting corners, but this looks like her sweatshop unionized. The Otaku Shirtwaist Fire makes for a depressing day of history class.

Don’t worry, not all of our gifts are dignity-sized. Chainsaw Man makes an appearance:

Power reimagined as a Hustler Club nurse. Great covers bring something new to the original, and this is no exception. You can point at any Chainsaw Man page and find something wild. Half would be hornier than this, in a more interesting way. It’s a factory for dorm posters. So a pinup this generic takes inspiration. This poster is the flag of mediocrity. Liz sees Slave Girl Leia and thinks “what if she was a maid?”

For audiences? Nothing serious. For artists? Venial laziness. For studios? Mortal laziness. But back to Nurse Power. I have a question.

Dork Spoilers Ahead: is porn of a famously dead character odd? How popular is Wattpad’s Uncle Ben tag? Was Sexy Ned Stark a big Halloween costume? How much global democracy erotica is there? This feels like hentai for necromancers.

That’s the joy of gambling. Sometimes you lose, and sometimes you lose later, but worse. Today, we have three sure bets: our free dolls. The first/only choice Otaku Box owners make, and my reward for joining Liz’s para-family.

In my criminal podcaster past, I rambled a bit about genre inbreeding. Niche art copying peers, until any roots in human life or thought are gone. That has nothing to do with this box art! Or The Time My Sister Was Reborn as My Stepsister But Legal and I was Reborn as Abraham Lincoln. Let’s move on.

Some shows are power fantasies. Here, the fantasy’s an unbreakable spine. It looks like I forgot her featherbrush, because I did.

Alright, let’s rip this band-aid off:

A steamy band-aid rip. I’m Dennard, the joke-committer. I love this! I can’t wait to show my face in public!

I’d add Overlord jokes, but I’m short on data. I got through one episode before remembering every other show exists. This character is definitely yesterday’s jelqing flavor, so my trash backlog theory is intact.

But that’s debatable. It’s definitely an ass-man’s doll:

Idea for manufacturers: I get the action poses and subby kneeling, but consider some variety. There’s a lot of space in-between. Wall-twerking dolls would sell out by the end of this sentence.

No virgin jokes today. Liz’s ideal customer remembers sex. A distant flash of heat and connection, gone forever. Sex’s echo haunts him, like fees on an overdrafted Paypal card. Why torment himself? Why mix gambling and porn? The same reason he got a credit card from Paypal. To chase a dragon. It looks like a ten-year-old breakup, but it’s actually 2000-year-old loneliness.

Where’s our main eventer? I can pretend Akame Ga Kill is good for a few paragraphs. Probably. It’s worth a college try.

Ms. Freeze’s package got a little more TLC. Something about putting Sub-Zero, Eva Braun, and sports implants in a blender speaks to people. How’s our star look?

I wonder what expression they’re going for.

I’ve got nothing. Her coy/confused/depressed/empty expression is six design priorities behind her Vegas tattoo. Money well spent. One of my nicer friends reads these, and now I have her birthday gift.

You should know the Ice Queen’s rich history. Esdeath’s cold-hearted, so she has ice powers. The “Death” in her name tells you she’s mean, much like Joan TaxFraud or Dwight Nationalism. She freezes herself in the end, winning diet pathos and your loneliest coworker’s heart.

She can lead our idol group.

As for the removable tops? No. Our romance has limits. For you, I’ll defraud insane poets, taunt Ivy League lawyers, or light money on fire. But I can’t strip three dolls in a public park, pose them, and meet Brooklyn’s Finest. I love my teeth, flat and sharp alike. You might say it’s not a serious crime. Note “Brooklyn cops.” Ask a Thulean clown to do it.

I have some impulse control.

Perfect impulse control.

Anyway, gambling rules. Mix it with every dopamine source in your life. I’m off to meet a lawyer, a doctor, and no therapist.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Doug Redmond. For more Doug Redmond, subscribe to the Doug Redmond Box! Monthly Doug Redmonds right to your door, including one FREE Doug Redmond with REMOVABLE self-esteem.

Tags anime, best of 2024, Free, grifters, products

LEARNING DAY

Learning Day: The Brooke Book

Post author By Dennard Dayle
Post date 07/09/2024
1 Comment on Learning Day: The Brooke Book

Tags 1980s, Comedy, crimes

LEARNING DAY

Learning Day: Jim Limber Davis, A Black Orphan in the Confederate White House 🌭

Post author By Dennard Dayle
Post date 07/02/2024
6 Comments on Learning Day: Jim Limber Davis, A Black Orphan in the Confederate White House 🌭

Today’s column is just for kids! Find one.

Hey there! I’m Mr. Dayle, and I’m a teacher. Sometimes the NYPD plays rough with my students, but that probably won’t happen today. Who do the police in your town beat up?

Wow! That’s amazing! And today’s book is even more amazing. Ready?

Just kidding! I tell little fibs sometimes. It’s a “personality disorder.” Just like that aunt you don’t see much! What’s your favorite personality disorder? No need to write it down. Save those pencils for fun facts!

Ready for our real book? Here it is!

Oh, shucks. Now my computer’s playing tricks on me. That happens when you lie. Don’t lie, unless you want to be a president or governor or senator or mayor or comptroller or dean or lawyer or CEO or priest or guru or reporter or pundit or husband or teacher or children’s author.

Let’s try again. You should never give up! Here’s our book:

Funk me! I guess we’re doing this. Giving up was the right answer, and now it’s too late. A bit like the Confederacy! We’re learning already.

This book was written by Rickey Pittman, a very special author. Rickey’s a reactionary! Do you know what that means? Let’s practice.

Good job! Rickey’s just like them, because he never got over 1865. In his heart, Rickey knows the South won. That bullets, food riots, and human dignity could never beat a rebel yell. Reactionaries are why you can’t eat glue, even on your birthday. Put it down!

Most books are pretty nasty to the Confederacy. Readers too. So Rickey wrote his own, just for you! And then another. And another! Rickey can’t stop. This is his dream. Rickey has fifteen books, and some of the words are true!

This one’s about a slave.

Sorry, a great pet. Jefferson Davis’s great pet! According to Rickey, Jim was the happiest property in the world.

But not quite a happy person. Who stole a black orphan’s joy, and why was it Lincoln? Today we get to learn! From Rickey Pittman, a source all Rickey Pittmans trust. Instead of facts or black neighbors, Rickey has a cowboy hat. Bang!

Then there’s the artist, Judith Hierstein. Judith sucks! Does anyone you know suck? Not as much as Judith! Once, she tried drawing a whipping:

But not just any whipping: our hero’s! Jim’s story begins with a savage. That’s savior for bully.

Isn’t that sad? Jim was the first boy whipped in Virginia, and the only innocent. Lucky for Jim, there are humans nearby! With faces, sort of.

Oh no: Varina’s hauling her own groceries! And steering her own cart! Where are her friends? Maybe she can find help. I know this is scary, but history should be honest. Otherwise, we’ll fall for anything.

Who? The kid? Jim’s fine. In Dixie, they called flogging black children “Monday.” What’s your favorite day? It should be Monday, because Varina Davis redeemed it:

Wow! That bully’s definitely dead!

Monday was for gentlemen. Varina saved public property! First ladies used to help people, instead of being black, sad, or whatever Jill is. Let’s clap for Varina. She even kept the whip, in case Jim got homesick.

Maid! She’s a maid.

You’re smart kids, so I bet you’ve noticed: Rickey sucks too! Much more than Judith. He writes the way broccoli tastes. And with teamwork, Rickey and Judith suck four times as much. That’s exponential failure!

Back in The Confederate Alphabet, Rickey tried to rhyme. It didn’t work, but that was better. Now it’s just Rickey’s thoughts, and he doesn’t have many. If a real greycoat saw this, he’d say “Ow, Sherman is burning me! It sure stings.”

Time for training! Varina plays a game with the children. They had to know lots of animals, so that they could tell the maids what to hunt. Including bad maids.

MOTHERFUNKER. How great! Jim’s posed like a duck! Try it. That’s classic treetop duck, peeling bananas and mangos. To see more ducks, watch Tarzan. They’re great pets, if you let them borrow your face.

Varina bonds with her new pet, and keeps her haunted face. Inside! Outside, you’re a field maid. Inside, you’re sixty percent family. Rickey wants you to know the difference. Otherwise, you might meet a scary monster. You’re brave kids, so I think you’re ready.

Don’t worry, you’re not alone. Rickey’s stories turn gentleman guilt into gentleman smiles. Gentleman power, even.

Now that Jim’s a trained house friend, he’s ready to meet the messiah. A messiah’s a teacher for your soul. You know, that thing that hurts near bad books. We avoid those here, but be careful. You only have one!

Meet Jeff.

Hi Jeff! Look how happy Jim is to meet a real president. Bullies call happy people “House Darklings.” They like stealing joy. If you meet a bully, don’t start a fight. Tell them Dixie Rises, walk away, and then check on Star Wars. They’re stealing that too!

Then Jim eats at the Davis table. Indoors! They throw him bones and fatty meat, but no chocolate. Chocolate’s bad for family friends! Just like voting.

What a pal! Joe dies two pages later.

Don’t laugh.

It’s not funny.

Come on.

Mocking grief is wrong. And you’ll need that energy later: Jim’s joy turns to ash. Has anything in your life turned to ash? Tell your study buddy. Gentlemen listen (to each other, not first ladies or maids). Nurse that pain until the uprising.

First, bullies reach the Holy Land.

Not Piecake! Sounds like Jim didn’t pray hard enough. Make sure to really clasp those hands together, kids. Otherwise God sleeps through it like a plague.

What? Good question: why was Jeff playing with his guns? Shouldn’t he be helping? Figureheads could still point or pray. Everyone matters. Jeff looks worthless in crisis, but he must have had a role. Otherwise, Rickey’s wasted his life.

Jeff returns for his family, and even Jim! He has a plan to get to Texas, using all the wit and will that made him great.

It doesn’t work out.

The Union’s here! Some of you read alone, which I’ll let slide today. Union soldiers are just like orcs. They enslave others, fight to keep doing it, and serve an ageless demon with magic rings. Nothing is worse than an orc. Except those bigger orcs Saruman had. Or trolls. The Easterlings seemed pretty mean, and the Nazgul were zombie wizard kings. Let’s just say Union Captains were like Nazgul.

Varina’s brave! The world wants her humanity, and she stands tall. And it works! Captain Hudson changes his mind. He learns that everyone’s different, and some people need maids. He even learns a duck impression!

Oops! Sorry, that was a guess. Mr. Dayle is cutting, and your brain uses sugar to…brain. All of you look like food right now. Eat your bread, or you’ll write like Rickey. Or seek pain like Mr. Dayle. Or be nominated for the Union White House.

Back to Jim’s story.

Captain Hudson’s the worst! He treats the Davises like mascots of a traitor movement to preserve human bondage. That means “nerds.” His men steal everything Jeff loves. And then they take Jim!

The First Family fights for Jim. Not hard, or for long. But they make nice promises. Meanwhile, Jim goes on tour.

I know, homework stinks. But you should still start early, or, it’ll look like this page. Defending the president’s a big job! Especially drawing his non-slave’s back scars. Messing up might embarass you later. Lucky for Rickey and Judith, they only published this worldwide.

Still, we can learn from this. You’re ready for symbols. Jim’s shirt means loyalty to the gentleman race. How could he take it off? Jim’s scars mean tattling. Who does that? Together, they make one art. Even if Judith didn’t try. This is Mary holding Jesus, for a better cause.

Education.

It speaks for itself.

Now you know history’s secret: the Union forced black labor. Unpaid PR was Lincoln’s cornerstone. Can you imagine? Afterwards, gentlemen tried to help. They made separate but better playgrounds, new slave patrol uniforms, and Rock & Roll. But countless Jims never made it home, leaving a cultural scar. Now politics are weird and sad.

We’ve bullied gentlemen from the start, when some maids chose swimming over work. Talk about dramatic! Imagine if they’d picked friendship, like Jim Limber Davis. Or at least tried yellow suspenders. We’d have a nicer world. One where Jeff kept his smile.

Happy Fourth of July!

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Ozzie Olin, who understands that all people want to be free! Free to, just for example, ride a dirtbike through the mall. It’s a civil rights issue.