Author: Seanbaby

Categories
PODCASTING DAY

Podcasting Day: Cake Boss Spirits & Spumoni with Drew Toothpaste and Natalie Dee 🌭

Unexplainable creatures haunt every corner of our world, and desserts are no exception. From the bowels of Cumberland County’s second most popular ghost tour came an idea: what if monster cake? And from the mouth of basic cable’s fourth most popular cake show came an immediate followup idea: what if it fucked? Dear hotdoggers, do you dare look into the face of this erotic terror with us and Garbage Brain University‘s Drew Toothpaste and Natalie Dee!? Listen here or wherever you get podcasts!!

Footnotes and Citations:

Categories
FUCKING DAY

Fucking Day: Hustler Humor

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Categories
PODCASTING DAY

Podcasting Day: Hardcase with Lydia Bugg 🌭

It’s Podcasting Day! And this week on the Dogg Zzone 9000, we are joined by our own Lydia Bugg to discuss something you should never find further information on: Malibu Comics. We all read Hardcase. It’s the story of a reluctant superhero, but not reluctant because of morals or ethics. He’s just a coward who doesn’t know how to fight and also has a busy schedule getting bullied as a wealthy movie star. You’ll hate him! Listen here, or wherever you get podca–

Hardcase had super strength, invulnerability, and no regard to where his wild jumps might take him. He fucking sucks! And Sean found the blog (o-rama) of Hardcase’s writer, an unpleasant man who died ranting about Taylor Hicks and White Replacement. Malibu Comics was not the first publishing company made up entirely of sex criminals, fraudsters, and racists, but it will always be the most ’90s. So the next time someone says you’re toast, tell them forget that noise– you’re the one making breakfast.

Real, Actual, Unaltered Footnotes:

Categories
UPSETTING DAY

Upsetting Day: That Bank Teller From Dragged Across Concrete 🌭

In 2018, writer/director S. Craig Zahler released a movie called Dragged Across Concrete. You might know him as the guy who made Bone Tomahawk which you might know as the movie where savage natives hack a naked man in half in front of Kurt Russell. He also wrote a movie about nazi puppets. The point is, he’s a man of subtle, artful presentation and he, probably by accident, filmed the darkest comedy scene that will ever be. Let’s talk about the bank teller who gets executed in Dragged Across Concrete.

When I describe Dragged Across Concrete, it’s going to sound like I’m a film genius inventing the least likable movie. The two heroes are cops in trouble for racially motivated police brutality, which isn’t a misunderstanding. We see them do it. They stand on a suspect’s neck and then rough up his girlfriend. She’s deaf, nude, and Mexican, and they take deliberate care to mock all three of those things. They’re played by Mel Gibson and Vince Vaughn, who for different reasons, are each perfect answers to the question, “Who is the worst person in the world’s favorite movie star?”

The stakes of the film are that each of these cops want more money. Mel Gibson wants it because his daughter keeps getting white hate-crimed in their black neighborhood, which again, is not a misunderstanding. Someone wrote that and filmed it. Vince Vaughn wants more money because it would be nice for him and his girlfriend. So our heroes are bad, racist cops trying to steal money. Most of it takes place in Mel Gibson’s car, and it’s almost three hours long.

But it’s pretty good! Anyway, the part I want to talk about starts an hour and twenty minutes in. We leave our main characters to meet a woman trying to get on a bus. It’s Jennifer Carpenter who was paid to act anguished and was having a closing sale. If you tell Jennifer Carpenter to pretend to be in pain, she will lay an egg on an electric chair and say, “Something like that?”

She is being emotionally tortured by the bus, and we don’t know why yet.

The battle continues. Whether you’re Team Bus or Team Lady, the film stays with this conflict long enough the viewer is forced to take a side.

Which side are you on, reader?

Woman or machine! Who will claim victory in this battle of wills?!

Bus wins! Bus wins! But we still don’t know why they were fighting. If you had to guess based on the politics of the rest of the film, she probably got kicked off one for some unwritten rule about screaming racial slurs. “I learned that the hard way; the global elites, and you know who I mean, use city buses to traffic children to gender-affirming surgery,” her co-star Mel Gibson definitely told her when they met. I guess what I’m saying is when the movie Dragged Across Concrete shows you a person and nothing else, you are going to assume they are terrible in complicated ways. But you’re wrong! She’s wonderful, and cartoonishly so!

Defeated by bus, the mystery woman stabs at the elevator buttons to flee to her apartment, maybe.

Some guy asks her to hold the elevator, but she does the opposite. She tries to help the doors close like a tiny child might understand elevator doors. It’s visual language for, “I am desperate, not capable. I have one purpose, and it is not elevator door science.”

She gets to her apartment (maybe) and struggles with the lock. Jennifer Carpenter is in sheer panic, as if the guy she didn’t hold the elevator for is coming up the stairs with a knife. Which, again, is the tone of this movie. If she was stabbed to death right here, her name in the credits would be “Murdered Bystander #11.”

Like the filmmaker, I’m making a deliberate choice here– the same one we saw at the bus. I’m taking so long building to something you have to take a side: this is either very important, or very silly.

You’re right, I’ll get to it. The fastest way to say it is this: Jennifer Carpenter has been locked out of her apartment by her husband because she loves her baby too much. There is very literally nothing more to this character than that. Her baby is in there, she loves it, and leaving it causes her pain. She’s a baby junkie, and it’s no secret. The husband put the chain up because he knew she’d come right back up the elevator and pull this shit.

She starts pleading, threatening, bargaining to be let in.

I can’t stress enough how much time we spend doing this.

It is fucking sloppy and insane. She tries everything to get to that baby. It’s not just too much, it’s outrageously too much. It raises the question: is this a powerful dramatic moment or did a prankster give Jennifer Carpenter money in exchange for snot?

This is a filmmaker trying to communicate “she is a loving mother” with absolutely no restraint. It’s how an unlicensed monkey scientist would do it. I’m not saying it’s artless, I’m saying it is every artistic weapon pointed in the same direction and we are watching them blast a hole in a smoking crater that was once an idea.

At these dramatic heights, you’re one wrong step from falling into comedy. This is the first time I’ve seen a hysterical new mother beg her husband to let her skip work to play with her baby, and it’s already a parody of the genre.

So the husband won’t let her in, and he knows all her tricks.

They argue for a long time, and we learn nothing more. She wants to be with her baby like it’s a disease, and the people in her life are very patient and accommodating. You don’t need to hear all the details; I’ll skip ahead t–

I’ll skip ahead to the end of their argument where she negotiates for kissing the baby’s foot through the crack in the door and stealing one of its socks.

She gets back on the bus where we see her wallow in childless misery. The writer of Puppet Master: The Littlest Reich thought, “I must show the audience this mother loves her baby,” and nailed it. Maybe even overdid it. We continue to watch that auteur bring his vision to life.

She was on maternity leave for two months, and then skipped work for another four weeks to stay home with her baby. And now, here she is: 90 minutes and one month late for work and she gets paralyzed by another door. For the fifth time, we watch this character emotionally struggle to change locations.

She finally manages to go inside, and if you thought they were done establishing the importance of her love for her child, that’s cute.

Her boss knows her whole deal, and he’s more than okay with it. He greets her at the door with magical prophecies about her boy’s potential. He believes in the boy. The bank believes in the boy. He says to her, “Your absence was a weight upon us. Your return is a divine blessing.” There’s really nothing like it. The director of Dragged Across Concrete is warping the rules of his entire universe to demand we know how much this supporting character loves her baby. For an entire month the employees of this bank have been waiting for this clinically insane mother to return while maintaining fresh flowers and balloons in a shrine to her newborn son.

We met this character ten minutes ago, and since then the entire gritty crime drama has been about her overclocked maternal instincts. That’s not an exaggeration. We’ve been learning and re-learning about her single personality trait for a quarter of an episode of The A-Team. If you were watching that instead, Mr. T would already be building his third battle truck. Artistically, I can’t put this into perspective any harder than that.

“A small token. A miniscule manifestation of our affection,” her boss calls the baby shrine. This is not how people talk. This is not how anything wo– hold on, what was going on in the main movie we left so long ago?

Oh, right. Crime!

The bank is being robbed by three casual murderers whose personalities are silent, silent, and racist. Through a recorded message, they ask if anyone is in the back of the bank. The tape says, “If you are mistaken, your testicles will be removed with this,” which is the cue for one of the robbers to hold up an ordinary knife. It’s adorable, like a big part of the heist planning went into choreographing this little play.

Sorry, Jennifer Carpenter, I got distracted by characters with a second detail. I’m worried this robbery isn’t going to go well for you, and a lot of time and effort has gone into making me feel that worry.

We are on an emotional train being driven by someone who had to look up love on Wikipedia. The tension is so far beyond parody that even the biggest sap is asking their TV, “Wouldn’t it be funny if after all this they shot her?”

While she’s handcuffing the other employees, one of them signals to his computer. He’s started an email to the police telling them they’re being robbed and wants her to hit send. The two of them wordlessly argue about whether or not the police will make the situation better, and you’ll never believe which side the white lady is on!

Jennifer Carpenter is a great actress. With what only looks like five lifetimes of agony, her face can form any shape, so she has no trouble silently communicating, “Aiiieee, no, I’m not going to sacrifice my baby’s mother, my precious baby’s mother, no no no.” But you don’t get ahead in banking by listening to women. He goes for that enter key.

She tries to shove him away from the computer with the same technique she used to speed up the elevator doors…

… and the robbers are already shooting. They’re watching the same thing we are and nobody can miss Jennifer Carpenter’s facial expressions. There are passing jets who can see she doesn’t want this guy to hit send so she can get home to her baby.

When we cut back, the new mother we’ve now spent a lifetime with is standing carefully still with mannequin arms.

They shoot her hand off. Which reminds me of a dele–

Sorry, there’s a d–

Okay, in 1997, the DVD release of Austin Powers included a d–

There was a deleted scene in the first Austin Powers where Austin Powers runs over a henchman with a steamroller and it cuts away to his loving family. They talk about missing him… how he’s become like a father to his stepson. It’s sort of a basic gag about how it’s ridiculous to imagine all the nameless victims in movies as actual people with full lives. And 26 years ago, the producers of Austin fucking Powers knew it was a hack joke they should cut. Yet this movie, with two monstrous ham hands, was doing the same bit in 2018 with full sincerity. And it wasn’t done.

She hits the floor and goes digging for the sock she stole from her baby. Not to treasure him one last time before her life drains from the spurting stumps, though. It’s sadder than that, or at least more pathetic than that.

With almost one total finger, she holds up the sock and politely asks, “Will you make sure my baby gets this? His name is Jackson.” I was already suspicious that S. Craig Zhaler learned how to write characters from Skyrim NPCs, and as if to prove it, this one gives a quest to the first maniac stranger she sees.

We’ve been building to this moment for a truly deranged amount of time. Across five locations, a filmmaker has put the full force of a $15 million budget into making us feel for this character. And never has anyone’s artistic motivations been so naked. This is how a wild horse would try to get an audience worried that Female Bank Employee is about to die.

Obviously, obviously, she barely finishes her sentence.

Her entire head explodes with the timing of a cannibal finishing a knock knock joke. It’s horrific, but way too absurd to be serious. This is like someone collected the DNA of historical murderers to create a vaudevillian comedian. This character existed only to die and an unmoderated madman said, “What if that was sad? For instance, what if she has a kid? No no, I mean like this lady really fucking has a kid. Quadruple what you’re picturing, at least. Medical science has no name for how much she has a kid. I’ve got it: picture a very long, premise-heavy Saturday Night Live sketch, only it has a button. That is the emotional impact we’re going for. I want this extra’s death to be so extravagant she gets featured on the Blu-ray menu.”

After stalling out the film and having no effect on the plot, we never see her again. Bank Teller is most of a torso squirting from three holes and memorializing a lack of creative discipline far from the main characters’ concerns. She was a joke pitch made by a serial killer who snuck into a brainstorming meeting and she stood next to the director at red carpet events!

Years ago I read an interview with Alan Spencer who was inspired by the stilted, phony toughness of Dirty Harry. He couldn’t understand how anyone could take it seriously, and he made a parody called Sledge Hammer!. It was an amazing show that ended with the main character trying to disarm a nuclear bomb and destroying a city. I bring it up because while misfiring drama is funny to some people, a lot of people interfaced with this art as it was (maybe?) intended– as, wow, feeling the super serious effects of death. When you elevate a situation so far beyond normal, it can become a Rorschach test, but this is like baking fifty cakes that say “INVEST EMOTIONALLY IN SAD MOM” and slowly hitting you in the face with each one. If you didn’t see the punchline coming after all that setup, you’re a dog left in front of the TV. I have no idea how to end this article, no wait:

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This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Jaber Al-Eidan who we love so much, they’re everything, oh Jesus it hurts every second we’re not looking at them hold on, there’s a bear at the door-

Categories
LEARNING DAY

Learning Day: Once I Was A… 🌭

Doris Sanford and Graci Evans create illustrated guides to childhood problems, and no one has ever done it worse. They solve abuse with insanity and foster care with racism. They solve divorce with Satan and AIDS with strangling. And in 1990, these passionate and dog-brained ladies published a series of four books called ONCE I WAS A ________… and You’ll Never Guess What Happened.

We’re going to start with ONCE I WAS A BULLY… because it’s the only one I have with all the accessories. Each book originally came with a paper doll of the main character you could slide into little slots in a way the most generous five-year-old would call “pointless.” I’m not even sure what they were going for. A weird boy peeking through an unrelated hole in the universe? It’s nonsense. It’s something an AI would generate if you asked it to write your seminary school paper. Anyway, this paper doll is a dick and he picks on a boy named Jason.

Honestly, Jason seems fine. “Fuck you and fuck this,” he says to our bully, and that’s it for the bullying part of the book. I want to be clear on this: after one page we are done with the exposition, character development, and plot. It’s time to learn our lesson.

The very next page, the bully goes to a monster movie and dissociates in fear. It has nothing to do with Jason because Doris and Graci don’t think like normal children’s book authors. They think more like a salmon getting slapped out of the air by a grizzly bear. If you put a human head in a dryer and asked it how to solve friendship, it would scream a Doris Sanford book. Like how our bully now imagines he is kayaking in a sewer and then gets swallowed by a shark.

What does this have to do with bullying or bullying consequences? Nothing. This is the world’s worst dad shrugging his way through a bedtime story. The shark spits him up in, fuck who cares… Japan, I guess?

The bully takes in a sumo match which Doris explains is sort of like a place where fat guys get together to make fun of girl haircuts. They could have called this “I’m Just Todd, And This is Just Some Dumb Dream I Had… A Just Nothing Book For Dull Idiots” and it would have been fine. But they sold this like it would teach us something. In fact, the back of the book specifically states how critical it is to not fail at this task they are carelessly fucking up.

This was supposed to teach children to treat others with respect? How? The boy went straight from bullying to the movies to a dreamscape of adventure. He is one page away from having toys magically come to life.

I wasn’t kidding. Our hero is learning his lesson by meeting a group of rad dinosaurs and hot ladies. Things could not be going better for him. If I know anything about bully dreams, and I think I do, things are about to get steamy.

That’s not what I meant, but okay. This is such a cute encapsulation of the broken wrongness of Doris Sanford and Graci Evans. Like, what is this? Forget how far we are from the stated goal of the book. This is a slot for a paper doll to make it look like he’s standing in his own back pocket while a dinosaur head is down his pants. This is how a ’90s movie would CGI a black hole appearing in a child’s brain– the final violent thoughts of Stephen King’s The Lawnmower Boy.

“So then, uh, robots attack… nutcrackers,” adds the very good writer looking around her apartment. If we’re being charitable I think our bully is supposed to be learning about the nature of fear, possibly to understand what it would have been like if he had frightened the child who dismissed him on page one. It’s a stretch, but the alternative –these crafty ladies are fucking stupid– is too predictable to consider.

As quickly and as pointlessly as it started, the adventure ends. Whew! Our bully almost had to see a nutcracker get torn apart by robots during a fun hallucination at the movies. Those couldn’t have been the stakes, yet they were. It’s the first book written entirely during a 20 minute electrocution and drawn during a 70 year virginity.

What? That’s it? Nothing here ever got related to a second thing. Are there even words to help understand what has been done here? This is like teaching children politeness by awarding a historic pizza “Best Fish.” The book failed every step of the way here and then blew it on the final lesson. Because, one, being scared is clearly super fun. And two, look at Jason. He’s got his own clothing line. Jason doesn’t give a fuck about you. Why would he? It seems outrageous I need to say this, Doris Sanford, but thinking about random things while watching a movie by yourself isn’t an apology. If a loaf of bread grew this, you’d say “wow, this mold almost looks like a story.”

Let’s see if they do better with the next one.

ONCE I TOLD A LIE… and You’ll Never Guess What Happened originally came with a paper doll of a little blonde liar, but someone in Mrs. McKinnon’s class tore her off and lost her. Again, every page has a hole for no coherent reason. Again, it’s like the dumbest caveman tried to invent a pop-up book. Again, it’s because the only real thing this series has to teach us is how books cannot defend against a chisel attack.

After an undisclosed lie, a daughter is sent to her room. To represent her, I’m using the bully from the last book– the grouchy bastard who learned nothing. This insufferable little shit.

The liar immediately jumps out the window…

… and goes on a wild adventure around the world. She goes to many disconnected places, learning nothing and doing less. Sometimes it’s fine. Other times it’s only okay. The liar ends up in a “deep cave,” “Africa,” and “Iowa.” She starts to have fun when she meets some friendly native North Polians because Doris is an elderly white woman in 1990…

… but gets mistaken for a small fish in Miami because most of Doris’s skull was hollowed out by parasites in 1989.

In a weird move for a little girl learning the dangers of lying, she takes thirty pounds of snacks up to the counter and tells the cashier, “I’m not paying for any of this.”

She’s arrested, and you can see this isn’t a good story. It’s a series of bland “and thens” ad-libbed by an amateur encyclopedia owner. I don’t care, and who would? It’d be like criticizing a cow for digesting grass in the wrong stomach compartment. Abomasum? Ha, nice fucking choice, cow. No, what’s frustrating to me is how much it absolutely isn’t a lesson about lying. It’s a story about an aimless girl wandering honestly, and yet here is the lesson it was leading to:

She’s decided to NEVER, NEVER, NEVER lie again? Why? She took a roadtrip to a failed candy negotiation, and it was either a magical adventure or an attic hallucination. None of it taught anyone anything. I’d say this was like teaching someone the power of honesty by blurting out “I went to Iowa before getting arrested for ice cream,” but that’s literally what happened here. That’s what we just read.

So, gasp, it was all a trick? The fictional child didn’t travel around the world and spend a weekend at the north pole in an afternoon? She was a liar, here are some more of her lies, the end? But wait, if none of it happened, why Iowa? Less importantly, why any of it? This is, with scientific precision, the least a book could teach you about the consequences of lying. If you think it’s easy to make a children’s book, ONCE I TOLD A LIE… and You’ll Never Guess What Happened will make you say, “My God, what else am I wrong about.” Reading it is like watching someone get out of a cab with most of a dog and whispering, “I trained this horse to count,” only for kids.

Our next book is called ONCE I WAS OBNOXIOUS… and You’ll Never Guess What Happened. It was supposed to come with an Asian school girl paper doll, but her pouch has long since been torn off. She was gone decades ago. We all know the terrible world we live in. No one has ever said, “This detachable Asian school girl paper doll will certainly be safe here: on this public library book.” So we’re going to have to use the bully prick again.

The obnoxious girl and her friend, Millicent Ann Louise, write mean notes like, and I quote, “ROTTEN ROBERT, I HATE YOU!” and “HA HA HA HA HA ON YOU.” She thinks these are devastating, so like the bully, our hero might be overestimating the effect of her cruelty. Seriously, obnoxious girl, the recipient of “HA HA HA HA HA ON YOU,” doesn’t need you to atone. There’s no victim here. “Rotten” Robert sees this like a chimpanzee accidentally giving him the middle finger.

Like the pattern we’ve established, we learn about the hero’s personality disorder and immediately follow them on some imaginary journey. But this time it’s at least related to the problem because she and Millicent travel around the world being very obnoxious. It’s a book about two girls being insufferable dicks in different locations, and it’s the clearest artistic vision Doris and Graci have had in years.

They go to the moon and Egypt, where the author forgets to make them obnoxious, but they make up for it by visiting the Great Wall of China and spitting on the locals. Next they take a caravan to the zoo, partly because nothing here means anything, partly because these worldly authors thought Chinese passenger vehicles were still donkeys in 1990.

At the zoo, the girls pelt a hippo with rocks until it agrees to take them to a sunken treasure boat. I’d argue this did not help them learn why being obnoxious is bad. They cut in line to get on a hang-glider and take it to the Natural History Museum where they really raise the stakes:

“What are the statues at the entrance to the Natural History Museum? Gerbils?” asked illustrator Graci. And writer Doris replied the same way she always did: “I tried to swallow a hot dog, and set the hospital record for longest time spent legally dead!”

The two girls finally go too far when they touch a “DO NOT TOUCH” sign. Not the thing it was telling viewers not to touch, but the sign itself. We can’t be sure if this is a cute joke or another fundamental chunk of brain missing from the author.

They are sentenced to four years of solitary confinement with a number of strange details written by a person trying to be silly and, like in all their other efforts, failing.

Because of their good behavior, the girls get to finish their prison time with adult criminals, singing in the choir and making license plates. It’s so goddamn weird. They’re locked up in prison for a third of this book. I guess the judge knew he couldn’t get a hippo stoning or China spitting conviction, so he came down on the girls hard for the sign touching charges.

I can’t imagine anyone or anything improving from any of this, but at least something bad is happening to shitheads. I’m American enough to call that a win for the justice system. This is a pretty decent effort, Doris and Graci! You even remembered to include a real moral:

“Hi, Robert. It’s been… wow, five years since I wrote HA HA HA HA HA ON YOU. Well, I’m out and I’ve had time to refl– what do you mean, who is this? This is Millicent Ann Louise, Snitch Killer of Cell Block D! I tormented you all through third gra– he hung up.”

So okay, we’ve now read about bullying, lying, and obnoxiousness with Doris and Graci almost making a case against the last one. But moral relativists could argue those concepts are too abstract to solve. Let’s see if Doris and Graci can teach children about something more objectively wrong. Let’s see how they handle stealing.

In a storytelling choice I personally wouldn’t have made, the star of ONCE I WAS A THIEF… and You’ll Never Guess What Happened is a young Latino immigrant. But this book has ironically been stripped of its thief doll, so we’ll have to use the bully again. The little paper son of a bitch.

The thief took $1.74 and some snail remains from Robert. I don’t know if all children in this universe choose Robert as their victim or if Doris is using her art to work through some things involving a treacherous Robert in her own life. Speaking of the author, can you see the mistake she made here? That’s right! In the very same paragraph we learn of the crime, we also see the solution and the aftermath. Doris accidentally finished the story on the first page! Whoops!

So with nothing left to do, the hero takes a nap.

It goes about as disastrously as a nap can go.

“What’s the deal with hospital food, am I right? Could there be a more wild assortment of various foods?” jokes Doris. “We won’t know the full extent of the brain damage until we get all the hot dog out of her lungs,” say her nearby doctors.

After stealing fourteen lunches from his nurses, the boy escapes to Brazil where Doris and Graci agree they speak Spanish. And the birds there can tell what he’s done. “Señor Thief! Señor Thief!” the parrots squawk, in perfect Spanish, the native tongue of Brazil. It’s like the Tell Tale Heart only with higher stakes.

He stays one step ahead of the police by fleeing to the sky, Australia, and Mayan Indian ruins before ending up in a Korean sweatshop. He works there for three weeks, but our hero, further referred to as Señor Thief, can’t resist stealing a paw squeaker from the assembly line. You know what happens next.

That’s right. Thirty two fucking years of hard labor filling tear buckets at a royal llama farm.

Señor Thief’s father is the king, and he’s here to see if the boy who learned his lesson on page one learned it again after all this nonsense bullshit.

Señor Thief’s dad, THE KING, comes up with precisely the same solution as when Señor Thief was awake. Yeah, we know, book. Give the stolen things back and apologize. Am I fucking crazy? You said it twenty pages ago. I guess the book’s lesson is yada yada, sure, don’t steal, but if you do you need to relive a more surreal version of the crime while you’re asleep. It’s the only way to free yourself from the guilt. Speaking of free…

“Oh fuck yeah,” is what Graci Evans says when you ask her if she can draw “FREE!”

“We forgive you,” shouts everyone! From the hungry, peach-headed nurses here in America to the owners of squeakless teddy bears deep in the mysterious Orient, all the lives shattered by Señor Thief are whole again. I can’t imagine a more wonderful ending. Stealing solved, five stars.

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This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Joseph Searles, who once talked during a movie and went on a magical journey where he romanced a tiger and then died in prison.

Categories
PODCASTING DAY

Podcasting Day: Threatin with Rodney Anonymous 🌭

This week on the Dogg Zzone 9000, we welcome the great Rodney Anonymous from The Dead Milkmen for a spectacular musical detective game we can only play this one time. Listen here! Or wherever you get podcasts!

It’s one of Seanbaby’s games, so it barely makes sense and requires a bit of explanation. To start, this is Threatin:

Threatin is a boy who faked a metal career with no foresight or guile. He made up lies like an ancient baby inventing the concept of deception. “I am a real musician,” he would post on Facebook. “You are my favorite real musician, I’m a beautiful woman,” he would then post on Facebook. “Me too, I’m a totally different one,” he would add, for several hours every day. Which leads us to our game:

Rodney Linderman, with his decades of music industry experience, and Robert Brockway, with his trapped raccoon-like cunning, will hear all these embarrassing details and try to match or out-lie Threatin at every stage of his phony career. Are they better liars than the worst dummy to ever try it? Or are we simply a part of the illusion? Gasp, What Even Is Truth?

On the bonus podcast, Patrons (please be one of those) can listen to Rodney and Brockway play a second, more tender game, where they compete to be The Kissmaster. It’s one of Seanbaby’s games, so the rules are erotic and the stakes are confusing. To put it another way, What is Kiss Master? We turned a terrible book about kissing into an international best friends kissing party. If you are reading this, you are now the kiss master.

Hey, speaking of grifters and beastly eroticism, there’s a new episode of BIGFEETS out this week! The podcast where Robert Brockway, Seanbaby, and Jason Pargin watch every single episode of Mountain Monsters, a show about hillbillies hunting cryptids and getting bested by them at every turn.