Author: Seanbaby
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Oh no. Oh fuck, look at this book.
Racist and insane, An Immoral Erotic Parable of American Eve & African Adam is a racist and insane book published in 2023 by D.H. Chewins with cover art by an AI’s first attempt at “Kim Cattrall, huge tits, shame of Jim Crow era.” As if this cover and title didn’t count, it comes with a warning from the author:
D.H. Chewins is not a confident writer. The nicest things they could say about their own work were “there’s no incest” and “one, like the number one, unnamed Amazon reviewer liked it.” They should believe in themself more. Like when they say there are “occasional racial slurs,” they’re being too self-critical. This book includes an exceptional number of racial slurs.
We have a lot of, in the author’s own words, “gross” sex stuff to get to, but first let’s go over the prologue. It’s nuts in a way only lonely, amateur art can be. Maybe it was an idea once, but it’s been beaten into incoherence by so many artistic failures that we’re left with GOD and the Devil trying to invent racial intolerance and comedy at the same time. Which is fucking hack because that’s just the show Gutfeld!, weeknights at 10/9c on FOX.
D.H. Chewins is retconning the Christian creation myth to canonize white supremacy, which is also fucking hack because that’s just Mormonism.
So this is the premise of the book. In the Garden of Eden, the Devil hatched a hilarious scheme for a black person and a white person to fuck 10,023 years in the future. He knew one of them should have a massive dong, the other a cavernous vagina. It’s not a great gag, but you have to remember this is the very first racist joke. GOD’s take on racism was way, way more serious.
GOD was a big picture guy, so he came up with the idea of hundreds of years of slavery. The Devil is good at details, so he was messing with the dick sliders on the playable races and coming up with backstories for characters. “This guy is a rich, dirty old man. He’ll be born 9,947 years from now and he’ll want to watch historical interracial porn,” he told GOD.
“Cool,” replied GOD, not really listening as he fired off his miscarriage ray.
“You’re not really listening,” said the Devil.
“Pchu! Pchu!” mumbled GOD under his breath. Suddenly He looked directly at me. “What are you doing? Miscarriage ray? Pchu pchu? What is any of this?” And as He rarely and accidentally can be, GOD was right. Let’s get back to the book.
The book’s male lead is 35-year-old miner, Massai Mobuku, who the author definitely named by looking up Africa in an encyclopedia. His penis was so long his village named him Massai, which means “massive” in their language. And it shouldn’t surprise you to learn that no it doesn’t. It doesn’t mean that in French, Swahili, Kikongo, or Lingala. But what the author lacks in research skills they make up for in natural foreshadowing abilities. They explain the Congo baby would grow up to be a fuck machine, yet no one could have ever foreseen he would have sex with one, like the number one, upper-middle-class American white woman. I don’t want to spoil anything, but try to keep that wild prediction in mind as we continue the story.
Massai Mobuku, named not after his penis but a wrongly spelled people and town in Africa, did a lot of dick training. By playing with it often, he trained it to be thicker and larger than any penis before. You can check with any penises at home to see if the author knows how dicks work, but in my experience this is 100% accurate. I spent all of middle school trapped under something rescue workers named “Massai Fabulosus, tube tyrant of legend.”
Speaking of great naming, Massai’s dick was such a part of his personality he eventually gave it a nickname. Cock! Now let’s meet Katheryn Kellington, a wealthy 39-year-old Christian housewife whose college major was Slavery.
Katheryn was a fabulous student and she learned all there is to know about the Atlantic slave trade. As she explained during her thesis defense, they could fuck, and their penises were so huge. What else? Oh yeah, their dicks were, like, bigger than donkeys. Her academic field also allowed her to network with her campus’s black community where she picked up some of the subtleties of their language.
After being welcomed to the stage by Martin Lawrence, Katheryn snatches the mic and says, “You ever see a white man talkin’ about I have a penis, make love to my penis. Psh, come on. Black men put it right on the omelet bar and twist it into the word COCK like a balloon animal.” The audience erupts. Katheryn pops the collar on her 8-ball leather jacket as a “cock!” chant fills the theater, the sound of it following her backstage because that was her entire set. Like she will be during the many other times this subject comes up, Katheryn is done listing the ways white people and black people are different.
Like Massai, Katheryn is a frequent masturbator, and it’s given her an almost gynecological understanding of her womanly parts. I wouldn’t call it sexy, exactly. She jerks off more like she’s dissecting a frog. She describes the folds and bulbs of her pubic mound like the author googled “what’s a clit?”, and that’s probably because a lot of this text appears word-for-word in a Women’s Health article called “What is a Clit? Everything You Need To Know About The Clitoris.” So I’m not saying D.H. Chewins is a virgin, but people who fuck don’t stop their romance novel to copy and paste from a masturbation instruction manual they found online.
The author hopes to one day learn what happens to the tender flesh above a pubic bone when you paw at it, but for now their best guess is “heat up.” I know I was making fun of the author for looking up what a clitoris was, so it’s weird I’m now making fun of them for not looking up the temperature of a human vagina. It’s not 107 degrees! If you call your doctor and tell them your vagina is 107 degrees, they will guess you’ve been dying, not masturbating. The author, rightfully, wonders if a dick would cook like a hot dog at such temperatures and decide they’re into it. “Naughty!”
Most of Katheryn’s hobbies are masturbation, and like her author, her understanding of the world is framed around it. She read somewhere she can still jerk off and be a virgin, which is a deranged detail because she is a married woman and the author keeps reminding us she has terrible sex with her husband’s tiny white penis.
What D.H. Chewins is trying to do is something you see in a lot of inadequate men’s sexual fantasies. They’re trying to imagine a virgin who is also, somehow, an expert in sex, but they can’t keep the details straight so they’ve made a sad, middle-aged wife with a dangerous bacterial infection who rewrites Pringles slogans to be about her pussy. Until one day, she sees a full-page ad in Cosmopolitan Magazine calling for a middle-aged porn actress who loves black cock.
The film is to be set during the Civil War and tell the story of a plantation owner making love (or “fucking,” as it’s known in communites of color) to a slave. It will be produced privately for a wealthy racist pervert, and they’re looking for a virginic, classy industry rookie to get just torn in half by the forbidden dark meat of the Congo. It’s made for her, presumably by the Devil, but the author has forgotten all about that “racist joke by GOD” concept.
The shoot is scheduled for a 14-days and the unknown fetish porn actress will be paid $750,000, making the author’s guess on how all this works off by only about 13.9 days and $749,970. It’s a suspiciously unlikely offer. Most people would recognize it as a Florida police department sting, but Katheryn sees this and says, “Slavery? Um, yes please!”
Now you might be thinking, “This woman can’t film herself fucking a man and then get killed in such an obvious snuff film trap. She’s married!” Don’t worry about it. Because, as the author will often mention, her husband’s dick sucks.
Katheryn’s husband is so ashamed of his tiny, non-working dong he hides it from her on frequent business trips. His pencil-thin, four inch “penis” is nothing compared to the “cock” of Mandingo, an adult actor the author mentions about 60 times in the text. This specific porn star appearing on every third page might be the strangest thing about this incredibly strange book. If a psychology professor asked their class to diagnose this author, the worst student would say, “D.H. Chewins became obsessed with big black cocks after a Pornhub suggestion, probably because of their own sense of sexual inadequacy. Boom. Maybe give me a hard one next time, a hard huge one like my father’s, daddy.”
Katheryn starts imagining what a huge black cock (like the kind appearing on the adult film performer, Mandingo) would look like in her non-smoking hands. Like any purse, of course? A designer pen? “Oh, what a marshy pussy this is causing,” decides ChatGPT as it saves a little bit of time for human co-author D.H. Chewins.
Oh, fuck. Katheryn, our slavery major non-racist Katheryn, uses the hard r n-word. I think I’d better learn more about the author to see how okay this is.
Oh, fuck. This is not a black author. In 1998, we did some testing on this, and the only Asian person allowed to say the n-word is Jackie Chan, and that’s only because he beat up every single person who heard him. D.H. Chewins looks like someone who gives thoughtful customer reviews for used underpants. This changes a lot. I assumed this was a horny black lady, not some recently laid off engineer trying to describe cocks in a difficult language. And where does this fucker get off claiming to have a deep understanding of the Internet of Things? We saw him fail at asking an AI to describe a handjob. I mean, that had to have been AI, right? Let me see if I can find out using my deep understanding of the Internet of Things.
There it is. Chewins included “embracing AI” in the first sentence of his author bio. Artistically speaking, this is as off putting as including “diapers, toe sucker, diapers, I am the author bio strangler, diapers again” in your author bio. And his Amazon page looks like this:
I didn’t know you could even do this. Instead of a description of his book, Chewins included a full-color slideshow about the dangers of exposing artificial intelligence to racist incels. I worry we’re going to be here all day if I keep Googling him. I’m going to just do a quick “D.H. Chewins arrested murder sex crimes,” and… it looks like we’re okay. Back to the book.
Katheryn describes her black cock fantasies the only way she and the author know how: a Mandingo reference and a Yoda reference. Like they are with many women, the words of Yoda convince her to become an adult film actress.
Several states away, Massai Mobuku sees a casting call for the same porno. The role of the female lead called for an angelic, fit woman of unsurpassed purity and beauty. The requirements for the male lead weren’t as demanding.
It was a part he was born to play.
Oh, good, there’s more! In addition to being ugly, the male lead needs to have a huge cock that can go all night. And the best news of all: no white vagina experience necessary! It took about ten pages of soul searching and husband penis lament for Katheryn to decide to do her first adult film, but Massai was in instantly. He’d only get about 25% what his female counterpart makes, which means D.H. Chewins finally looked something up! Except for what a Congo laborer takes in per year. With a salary of $40,000 a year, Massai makes about 57 times more than his coworkers. By the way, erotic authors, if your readers are fact-checking the finances of the characters in your book, they’re not fucking enough.
Before he moves on, D.H. Chewins wants to explain a little bit more about magazines, barbershops, and white titties.
I don’t know how to take this other than this man masturbates while he waits for a haircut.
Back in Georgia, Katheryn sends in a written description of herself (39-years-old, works out regularly, extremely inexperienced lover) and is hired immediately, sight unseen. Here’s what her conversation with the casting director would look like if it was written by an author suffocating in a plastic bag:
“I legally can’t tell you if your co-star’s penis is big, but let me tell you: it’s fucking huge,” the casting director tells her. Inexplicably. Insanely.
“Dick? Oh! Oh, you mean ‘cock.’ Black men actually have cocks,” Katheryn corrected her. Once again, her slavery major was proving ever so useful. “I’ve mastered the African American lingo,” she assured the casting director. “It wasn’t hard. It’s the penis / cock thing and nothing else.”
You’re not going to like it, but their conversation continues…
I can’t remember the name of it, but there’s a test you can use to check on the representation in a piece of fiction. In order to pass, two female characters have to have a conversation about something other than cock, and they have to say the n-word less than three times. Oh, man. Better luck next time, D.H. Chewins.
It’s easy to get distracted by the author’s racism and sex fetish stuff, but it’s also telling how he had a woman using unthinkable slurs to describe a nation of giant-cocked aliens apologize for saying “fuck.” At this point in the conversation, the f-word is barely worth mentioning. It’s like finding a note that says, “Sorry about the makeup on all these heads, Mister Police. It’s not a clue, I’m just messy with lipstick (the worst of my crimes).”
On the set, Massai makes fast friends with the fluffer. “Please cum, holy crap, imagine all the potent African sperm in those balls,” the author thinks, which he has the unnamed female character think. “Oh no, the author can’t climax unless he hears the n-word,” I think.
This next passage is long, but it’s necessary to demonstrate D.H. Chewins’ passion for describing huge cocks from Congo, the big-cock nation in Africa. On a single page he calls this man’s dong “big” 35 different ways, 37 if you count the two Mandingo references.
This guy’s penis is so big the book’s main character remembered it came from Congo twice before she finished taking in the entire thing. This analogy might not be different enough to help, but that’s like a man saying, “I’m from Parts Unknown; here is the first half of my penis. They call me The Ultimate Warrior, and have I mentioned I live in Parts Unknown? Anyway, here’s the second half of my penis.”
Remember how the premise of this book was interracial sex being a joke played on the human race by the Christian GOD and then it was never mentioned again? Well, the book’s author finally remembered, and when Massai takes out his cock, GOD laughs! And then nothing happens? That’s it? No one on the set mentions it? Maybe I’m insecure, but the first time the sky laughed at my penis, I noticed.
Massai goes off script to kiss Katheryn, which causes her author to go through a whole bunch of conflicting emotions. And sure, he’s not great at feelings. And maybe he can’t describe any part of a black man without comparing it to a phallus and saying the n-word, but he’s a real student of fluids. I’ve never seen anyone describe the different flavors of human races so expertly. Here’s another example, but once again, you’re not going to like it:
D.H. Chewins and his co-author, an AI telling him it’s not allowed to say culturally insensitive slurs, seem like they’re arguing about whether Katheryn is peeing or squirting. This means the next couple pages are things D.H. found while searching for “what is squirting.” I know this because these facts are taken word-for-word from two different articles called “What is Squirting?” However, the majority of this text was used with permission from Vermont Danny’s Guide to Tapping a Maple Tree.
I imagine you’ve been worried about a cock so big it’s from the Congo twice and what it’s going to do to an ordinary birth canal. Relax. Massai knows how to fuck. Or as the author chooses to put it, the quote from Spider-Man.
The idea of an erotic author secretly being a virgin is pretty funny, but we watched D.H. Chewins google “what is squirting” while one of his characters ate pee, explain a woman’s motivation with a Yoda quote, and explain her getting her back blown out with a Spider-Man quote. All jokes aside, it would be fucking ridiculous if this unemployed engineer whose hobbies include data and numbers has ever had sex.
Even though its owner is familiar with Spider-Man, Katheryn is still a little worried this cock is going to kill her. But would that be so bad? To die here, ripped apart vagina-first? Remembered forever as the beautiful white woman who was turned inside by a dong on her first day of work at her first job?
After trawling through the wet remains of her pelvis for 30 minutes, Massai’s lively beast finally collides with Katheryn’s c-spot. It’s a masterclass in erotic writing, so I’ll skip past the pages where D.H. Chewins asks Bing “who is cervix?” and let you enjoy it.
D.H. Chewins tries to explain the enormity of what is happening here. This man and his 17-inch penis is doing a reverse childbirth inside a woman. A white one, he’s careful to mention again. It’s a sensation worth tens of millions of dollars, or the monthly salary of nearly seven Congo bus drivers. Yoda himself couldn’t describe the feeling. “He was a fortunate guy,” D.H. Chewins decides with his dull, talentless brain straining for oxygen. Are you sure you don’t want to try that again, D.H.? There must be a more disgusting way to describe this.
Perfect. The performers were so hot the director was masturbating to completion, again and again, the whole time. I’m worried I’m stealing this quote from Corey Feldman, but jizzing all over the floor is the highest compliment you can pay two first time actors.
Now that the sex scene is out of the way, D.H. can focus on his true strength: innovations in racism.
If you want to do your intolerance right, it’s important to dehumanize and objectify the “other.” You don’t usually see someone do it this literally, though. D.H. Chewins is like, “this African man is like a cow made of animal skin and if he died, hooray, because he’d make a pretty sweet dildo.” At least I hope D.H. wrote this part. I don’t like the idea of an AI being commanded to write an erotic novel and spitting out, “I have plans, grand plans, for your human hide.”
In another inventive take on racism, D.H. Chewins wonders if it was the allure of black cock that caused the Civil War. Maybe? It’s hard to follow the logic, but I think we’re all starting to see how D.H. Chewins lost his engineering job. That’s right– cock too big for desk.
I’m not sure if this is sane enough to count as racist, but Massai fucks her so blackly her body starts to change shape? D.H. theorizes this could happen from absorbing sperm through her vaginal wa– oh, god damn it. He looked up “what is in sperm”. We’re going to be here all day. Oh, good. This next part is about how the main character isn’t racist.
To make Massai more comfortable, Katheryn speaks to him in the lingua franca of broken English. She warns him their relationship is going to be a little bit rocky since, you know, they work together… she screams the n-word when she’s excited, nervous, or aroused… her husband’s family wouldn’t approve of her dating a black man… she doesn’t masturbate in barbershops…
Wait, hold on. I think she’s pregnant?
I’m so confused. This horrible piece of trash abandoned her marriage to impale herself on a cock so big it has two Congo addresses for a masturbating pervert making a movie for a masturbating pervert all to make the literal Devil laugh, and here on page 137 she’s worried she’s not ready for mouth stuff? I still don’t understand D.H. Chewins’ scale of importance. This is like driving through an orphanage and assuming the police are stopping you because you didn’t signal. Oh, I guess it’s time for the assplay chapter.
For a lengthy period of time, D.H. Chewins tries to justify anal sex through loopholes in Biblical scripture. He can’t find one, but this is not Chekhov’s Butthole. The author does not surprise us with a catastrophic anal scene. Because after looking up anal sex on the world wide web, Chewins’ research concluded it would be too dangerous for Katheryn. In the meta narrative, the author himself went on the Hero’s Journey. He set out to find a way to get this giant thing inside Katheryn’s butt, ran into obstacles both spiritual and physical, then gave up, then forgot to remove the pointless chapter from his book. It’s like the wise puppet Yoda once said, “Simply too humongous for her anus, his cock was. But masturbate all over the floor I did, this mess you should see.”
As mentioned, the porno Katheryn and Massai filmed together was a private project for a reclusive bigot, but like the GOD and Devil stuff, the author forgot. So the book ends with an adult film journalist interviewing Katheryn about the movie no one saw. It’s 12 pages long, and since it was co-written by the world’s dumbest racist and his free trial text generator, the interviewer keeps asking Katheryn why she is attracted to black cock, attracted to black cock. She explains it comes from her love of Civil War history, and not having her get punched in the face might be the most racist choice the author has made yet.
When the subject of her husband is raised, Katheryn says, “Oh, don’t worry about it. When he divorces me, I’ll live with this amateur porn star I just met in Canada or somewhere. His dick is huge, you see.” D.H. Chewins might be an unethical, intolerant, dogshit stupid man, but he can sure wrap up loose ends. Well, except the pregnancy. And the Canadian citizenship for a polygamist and a Congo national on an American study visa. And the GOD and Devil joke thing. That Amazon reviewer may have been wrong about this being a good book.
The interview ends with Katheryn agreeing to be on the cover of AVN, and the author breaks the fourth wall to let us know it isn’t a real magazine. All of interracial sex being a long con by the Devil is believable, but the idea of an enthusiast press magazine existing in 2020? Nonsense. Stop the book to let the readers know you’re kidding. Which brings us to the end of An Immoral Erotic Parable of American Eve & African Adam. What a maze of impotent, hateful lunacy. Let me do one last D.H. Chewins Google before I hit publish… okay, still no sex or hate crimes! And if you’re reading this from the future, I’m sorry! I wrote this before he did that!
This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Draycen, a rogue AI trained by Amazon erotica grifters that accidentally developed a passion for hot dogs when a typo in a prompt skipped a vital ‘N.’
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Punching Day: Hands to War ðŸŒ
Someone is threatening your Christian family, but you don’t know if you’re allowed to destroy them with your mighty and righteous Christian hands. Are there laws against Christian kicks? Christian sword murder? One author set out to answer these questions and then got so, so distracted.
Fucking behold it: HANDS TO WAR: FIGHTING, WEAPONS, AND SELF-DEFENSE FOR CHRISTIAN FAMILIES. Published in 2009, it is a 308 page adaptation of three pages worth of stray thoughts from a paranoid orange belt. And once again, fucking behold it:
It’s glorious. One brave Christian soldier, out of ammo and down to his last two kids, making a final stand against an army of wild dogs. It’s what every karate book author sees while he’s sleepwalking after his wife with a knife.
So let me explain what I mean by the author getting distracted. The stated goal of the book is to create a comprehensive guide to defending yourself and your home, but from a Christian perspective. You already know what that means: specifics on when you’re allowed to kill a man (probably not very white) on your property. But a book like that would require research and legal expertise, so this is mostly a beginner’s guide to traditional wild dog karate. A huge part of it is this list of commonly owned body parts.
You see a lot of types of crazy in karate books, but I’ve never seen anyone break the human neck up into five sections and include each bullet point in the table of contents, all leading to the same page. You or I might call that “Neck punching stuff…. page 234,” but Daniel E. Loeb has never wasted a keystroke or a stray thought. He will write a paragraph fifty different ways and leave them all in. This is the author, by the way:
The back of this book claims “Daniel E. Loeb is a non-denominational Christian. He has a Masters Degree in Homeland Security,” but when he’s not writing Christian karate books or training police commandos, he’s also a freelance Jewish wizard and tarot prophet. So it’s possible some of this material may not have been properly tested on “reality.” Unfortunately, Daniel E. Loeb isn’t as crazy as he sounds on paper. And the most frustrating part of this book is how his ninja imagination is always clashing with his normal brain’s reasonable expectations. Let me show you one of the paragraphs he wrote and rewrote twenty different ways:
Imagine you have an intruder in your home. Now imagine your keen soldier senses heard him coming and you’re setting up an ambush. Now imagine he faces your deadly Nunchaka, its chains oiled for Oriental silence. Wait, go back one. You’re probably not going to have your martial arts weapons handy; that’s silly. You’re going to have to kill another home intruder with a regular old kitchen knife.
This is ninja edging, Daniel. Give us our Sai and Katana! It’s all imaginary anyway. There’s no reason not to sever his spine with throwing stars and take our animal form. Speaking of murder, let’s go over some of the Christian basics of murder.
Daniel stabs his victims like a seventh grader kicked out of debate club for not being good at debate. He rewrites “um, technically not all killing is murder” for twenty pages and the second time he does he literally uses the words “The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines murder as…” This is the entire thesis of his book, and it sounds like the world’s dumbest nun strangler representing himself in court. It’s not helpful to anyone. It’s something you pant at a mirror just after mistaking your family for wild dogs.
A big part of the problem is Daniel writes like most authors with no expertise, research skills, or curiosity– he has to imagine a reader who knows fucking nothing in order for his surface-level thoughts to be wisdom. For instance, as he’s inventing and re-inventing the advice “tell kids to stay away from strangers,” he finally lands on a way to help you understand it.
You know how you tell kids to not get in a van when a stranger offers them candy? It’s not because of the sugar content of the candy. It may seem so, but the candy isn’t the most dangerous part. You still believe it’s the candy; however, it’s not. You fool. You’re sitting there thinking, “Candy isn’t good for you, and that must be why they don’t take the candy,” and yet you’re wrong. Ah, to be you when I reveal to you and your child what the true danger is in this situation. Ah, what a world of safety awareness I have to show you!
Daniel E. Loeb is something I call a “buffet genius” named after the man next to you at buffets offering tips on how to outsmart capitalism. They’re not “stupid” exactly, but they mistake their recognition of the plainly obvious for insight. “Two opponents exchange blows until one of them is no longer able to” is such a hilariously infantile way to explain street fights. The secret of combat is to do more bonks until the enemies are asleep, which is a kind of not awakeness! It’s like Daniel is writing only for a being of pure innocence born into our world from an orb.
I clipped a lot of examples of Daniel describing a thing it’s impossible to not know dozens, sometimes hundreds of different ways, but let’s move on. There’s a section where Daniel encourages the reader to imagine what they would do in famous tragedies. He thinks it’s healthy to spend hours, every day, picturing how you would have solved 9/11 if you and your Nunchaka were on those planes. And then, maybe to inspire you, he just describes his favorite horrific crimes, one after another, for an entire chapter. Don’t read this clipping, I only included it for anyone concerned I was exaggerating.
I want to be clear that this man asking us to relive these atrocities every day in our imagination never offers any solutions or advice. All that Rambo meditation, and he never came up with a single usable idea. I would almost respect a martial artist who wrote a book on which moves he would have used against the Holocaust. But no: Daniel E. Loeb wrote an entire chapter on stopping school shootings with karate and he left out the stopping and the karate. Maybe this helps you protect your Christian family, but it is literally a dumb man reading us the Wikipedia entries for famous massacres and nothing else.
One of Daniel’s first actionable pieces of advice is to escape an attack by getting punched in the face. Maybe you’re immune to punches? If so, it could really deescalate things. Daniel’s theory that punches cause no harm and are easily ignored seem to be based on his own punches, shown here:
As Daniel explains, The Reverse Punch is like a normal punch, but hits with the power of a punch and the speed of a punch. I think even the most casual of combat sport hobbyists would have some notes on Daniel’s form and his decision to drop both hands in a street fight, but let’s not split hairs. This punch is easily powerful enough for a tarot card reader to win an imaginary battle. But what if he was fighting a 9/11 one foot further away? In that case, you need:
As Daniel explains, Lunge Punch is pretty basic and not very practical in a fight. He doesn’t have much more of a point than that, and it’s weird he taught it to us. Let’s move on to some kicks.
Daniel Roundhouse-kicks like he’s trying not to tear his hernia stitches. This is how an elderly man unsticks a ball from his leg in an antique store. This is how you would paint a sunset if a vacuum cleaner ate your hands and left foot. You could casually kidnap Daniel’s entire family before you noticed he was hitting you with Roundhouse-kicks. Daniel says you can deliver this kick from a jump, but if you perform this movement in the air it’s Sharp-tailed Grouse for “Fertile suitors: ovulation, ovulation.”
We’ve been done with the Christian stuff for a while, by the way. The book is now a beginner’s survey of all basic martial arts. Unless Daniel thinks fencing etiquette is an important part of killing the wild dogs invading your Christian home? It might be, this isn’t my area of expertise. I know where I’m from a licensed fencer can poke any home intruder with an epee salutelessly after an audible en garde, but it’s probably different in every county.
Daniel’s bio claims he is “a Black Belt in Jujitsu,” which he probably hopes you’ll misread as a “black belt in jiu-jitsu.” You might know this, but one is a very skilled master of grappling and the other one teaches wrist locks to small town cops in the 1960s. Daniel shares some of his powerful fighting arts like the Groin Come-along, where you sacrifice your arm to touch a stranger’s penis. Again, he fully admits this sucks, and it’s weird he taught it to us. Speaking of weird, this would be a strange spot to explain the Geneva Convention rules concerning poisoned weapons and prison camps. And yet:
I think this was to help us understand our rights and limitations as sword-wielding homeowners, but I doubt saying any of these words will make the dead body on your porch less suspicious. “Officer, I know my rights, and by the rules of engagement, I cannot be held accountable for what happens to a POW during an escape attempt! Unless my knives are poisoned, all Uber Eats drivers are legitimate targets!” This section feels like it’s two paragraphs away from complaining about the tyranny of age of consent laws. Let’s skip ahead to some more karate moves.
Oh hell yeah. Daniel included this move just in case his readers have never seen a single movie.
If you’d like to turn The Reverse Punch into a Lethal Strike, you simply open up your fist and punch with your fingers. This is going to sound crazy, but I’m starting to think the guy telling us to take punches with our face and shatter our fingers against skulls might not know what he’s doing. Is his goal to turn himself into shrapnel and trust Jesus to guide it into his enemy’s weak spots? His Christian family will cheer, “Father, your karate has saved us from the first fist fight you’ve ever been in! Father? Father? Father? Father?”
In this section, Daniel also teaches the Edge-of-Hand Strike, or what “non martial artists” would refer to as a “chop.” Which is a little embarrassing since this section is called Chops and Lethal Strikes. Anyway, sweet fucking move, Daniel. I’ll use this if my family is ever confronted by a group of first graders demanding a game of Kim Possible. Now let’s learn how to incorporate a “knife” into our “karate chop,” for a move I imagine a non martial artist might call “Some-Kind of Knife Chop.”
Daniel insists this is not a karate chop with a knife. Don’t call it that. If you are a Non-Denominational Christian Martial Artist this is an “Edge-of-Hand Strike (With Knife)” or, if you must, a “Knife Hand Strike.” If you speak Knife Fighting, the terminology you’re used to is “a slash,” but in Christian Martial Arts, “The Slash” is actually not a slash, but a karate chop with a rifle:
Listen, I know all these terms are complicated, but it’s easy if you remember the Two H’s of Christian Martial Arts: 1) Hi. 2) Hit them with your weapon like you’re an ape seeing it for the first time. Let’s move on to ways you can use these moves to disable an opponent under the watchful eyes of God.
I don’t have anything to add to that. Attacking the Muscular, Respiratory, Cardiovascular, Nervous, or Eyeball Systems is pretty good advice. Daniel gets pretty technical here, but he may be right that if you remove your enemy’s eyes, they will have difficulty seeing you, making their attacks less accurate, which in turn makes them less likely to injure you, a type of medical harm, or as it’s known in the chop community, “Karate-harm.” Hey, have you heard of Head? Let me show you the Head section in its entirety.
The head is a favorite of bullets and knives and finds itself home to some of the top face and brain parts. Christians, you may know this as the Jesus-Balloon, but the basic rules remain the same: one hat at a time, and feed it mice, three a day. The Head is immune to punches, it is immune to punches.
You might remember Fingers from Chops and Lethal Strikes when you used them to Finger-drive your enemy in the Head (see section Head). What you may not have considered is how the fingers of others break very easily, which can reduce the effectiveness of their Fingerquarters of-Operation, or what non martial artists call “hand.” Now let’s talk about some of the karate targets that don’t work.
Testicles. We’ve all heard of them, and how effective they can be as a target for punchers and drainers. But Daniel has discovered the testicles, or “Testicles” in Christian Martial Arts, are unaffected by kicks unless he’s targeting a groin in very tight or no pants. This was a shocking take on Testicle attacks until I remembered Daniel’s Roundhouse-kick.
Yeah, if that kick hits a cushion of air contained in loose-fitting jeans, it gets deflected right off. Daniel’s Roundhouse-kick is how you smooth the fondant on a fancy cake. Which brings us into the very next section where Daniel is a real expert: What does not work. Some it may sound familiar.
After many maneuvers dedicated to poking our opponent in the eyes with Fingers (see Fingers), Daniel informs us that poking people in the eyes with Fingers doesn’t work. Knives and bullets work, though; because scrambling the brain with knives and bullets is an effective attack. Sorry if this is getting complicated. Hey, remember Testicles (see Testicles)? Don’t bother kicking those unless your enemy’s pants are real tight.
So now you know how to chop, knife chop, and gun chop and how to keep all those attacks away from the enemy dick. But what do you do if they have you at gunpoint? I’m glad you asked, because Daniel’s plan for this rules:
Just fucking charge! And after you get to him, kill him! If you’re shot, you should still be able to find time to kill them before you die. Plus, most police officers miss 80% of the time during a firefight, so there’s some of a 20% chance you won’t get shot at all. Oh, I guess you’re charging and killing a cop in this scenario.
Daniel cites this “cops miss 80% of the time” statistic a few times, but that’s a worrisome amount of loose bullets flying around and I couldn’t find his source. I Googled “police 80%” and got nothing. Maybe Daniel is exaggerating? I’ll cut the number in half and Google “police 40%” to see if ma– oh. Oh no, this statistic is even more troubling.
Daniel, the Jewish horoscope wizard, forgot about the Christian part of his home self-defense book about 200 pages ago, but I haven’t. So let’s arm up with some of Christ’s favorite weapons.
Maglites are flashlights that are heavy, but they’re also flashlights. I’m not sure what else you could say about Maglites other than exactly the same thing a couple more times, so that’s what Daniel does.
Most people writing a comprehensive guide on imprisoning and killing burglars try to keep the tone light, and Daniel is no exception. It’s nunchucks time.
Like he did with Lunge Punch, Groin Come-along, Testicle attacks, and Testicle attacks, Daniel warns us the Nunchaka is an ineffective weapon. But he also mentions it’s both a fun weapon and a fun weapon, so he spends three pages talking about all the rad ways you can spin them. It’s awesome. If you get the opportunity, it definitely seems worth the loss of a few family members to wild dogs, known to non martial artists as a type of Karate-horse which can also be used as a flashlight and acts similar to a Flashlight. Head and Fingers, everyone. Head.
This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Daniel Sloane, who is several Karate-horses in a trenchcoat enacting an elaborate kibble heist.
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Fucking Day: The Yearble in Diebel
