Author: Seanbaby

Categories
FUCKING DAY

Let’s Read: How to Date a White Woman

The book How to Date a White Woman – A Practical Guide for Asian Men (2002) is a thoughtful, clinically racist encyclopedia for horny Asians whose fetish is “ordinary.” The author, Adam Quan, has channeled his loneliness into 200 pages of robotic graphs, quizzes, and observations. It is an academic shrine to not getting pussy. And in honor of Adam’s regimented approach to striking out with white women, I’m going to structure my article about his book in the same way. It’s going to sound like I’m making up these chapter titles to goof on poor Adam, but I promise I’m not. This guy is the fucking Da Vinci of dorky sex pests.

In Chapter Two, before any dating is to start, Adam makes a half-hearted attempt at explaining all racism. He breaks down who Asians are and why they are different from whites with divorce statistics, common activity charts, and variations in dick game. Adam’s points are indelicate and obvious, as if they were specifically for pure souled children who have never known intolerance but who also want that white ass. It’s written in the author’s second language with all the tact of Bugs Bunny explaining the difference in our cultures using only buck teeth and a squint. For instance, there was probably a better way of acknowledging white privilege than calling herds of Caucasians “white power groups.”

So let’s review. If you’re having trouble understanding what a “white power group” is, it’s sort of like being in the Yakuza. Oh, does that not help? Well, then I guess it’s kind of like when you’re sharing quarters with whites, and you’re Asian, during South African Apartheid? Okay, good, you get it. Now you’re ready to DEVELOP YOUR COMPATIBILITY TO PICK UP A WHITE WOMAN.

Asian men interested in White women, now that you understand a few humorless ways Asians and Whites are different, it’s time to learn how to be a little more White. For example, don’t loudly groan when you’re eating food (page 51). And, hold on, this can’t be right… brush your teeth? Wash yourself? This book is racist as shit.

More than anything this book proves how racism is bad even when your intentions are scientific and your motivations are as pure as masking your identity to get laid. In less than five pages Adam went from “here are some cultural differences to consider” to “YOU MOTHERFUCKERS EVER NOTICE WHITE PEOPLE ACTUALLY BATHE? SEE, ASIANS KNOW YOU DON’T NEED TO CLEAN IF YOU –LOOK– LIKE YOU’RE CLEAN. ROUND OF APPLAUSE FROM THE ASIANS…WHO HERE HAS SHOWERED IN THE LAST SIX MONTHS? SEE!? NONE. MY ARMPITS SMELL LIKE FISH AEROBICS STUDIOS. AND WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH WHITES ALWAYS BRUSHING OLD FOOD OUT OF THEIR TEETH? UM, NO THANKS. I’M TRYING TO FUCK A BECKY, NOT A DENTIST! Thank you for your time, I’m Adam Quan. I’ll be in the back selling books about how to turn this troubling way of thinking into pussy.”

Chapter Four is when Adam goes from listing problematic stereotypes to listing problematic pickup artist tactics. To be very clear, this is not a book about how to make an interracial relationship work. This is a book on how to suffer through rejection until a white stranger fucks you. It has worksheets, psychographics, and a section called “WHERE TO GO HUNTING FOR YOUR WHITE WOMAN.” He even lists the common types of cock blocking:

Adam’s not a very good communicator, proofreader, or student of the human condition, so it’s sort of hard to figure out how he’s being racist sometimes. Like I know there’s something wrong with his description of “ethnic male” scavengers here, but how? Does he mean they take the ugly girls, or are they swooping in to get the hot ones after you soften them up? So say you interrupt their brunch to say, “Greetings, female Whites. I floss my teeth and wash much like your kind. Are any of you interested in casual sex with, let me finish, flavored condoms? No? I understand; thank you for the opportunity.” Do the ethnic male scavengers come up to them after you leave and slide their panties the rest of the way off?

In Chapter Five, Adam adds a new element of problematic when he explores classism. He explains to the reader which type of White women will find Asian men acceptable based on income and educational background. And sure enough, it’s the super smart ladies who know not to date stupid jerk Whites with all their stupid jerk muscles.

I bet if you put the Mandarin character for “cranky virgin” into a translator it would come out as “Intellectual white women prefer slim, medium-sized body frames! They see white male as brute!” Adam Quan’s approach to women is to narrow down demographics until he finds the exact combination for free sex. He definitely keeps a diary listing the heights and hair colors of all the White women who rejected him when he held out a wedding ring and cried on his exposed penis. He has a list of cities where White women don’t like it when you buy them a goat. Adam Quan has absolutely written himself a note that says, “Elementary education majors with freckles will not let you practice taking off their bra (not yet tested on government holidays).”

As a comedy writer in a world of limitless cultures, shifting standards, and increasing absurdity, it’s often difficult to communicate exactly why something is ridiculous. That’s not the case when some fucking nerd names one of the chapters in his book “ANALYTICAL DATING FRAMEWORK, KEEPING SCORE AND TRACKING YOUR PROGRESS TO SEDUCE THAT WHITE WOMAN.” No one needs a joke to explain why that’s hilariously crazy. So thank you, Adam Quan, you outrageous sexless robot.

By Chapter Seven, Adam assumes he and the reader are best friends and he can reveal his full creepiness.

Adam Quan writing How to Date a White Woman is like Tim Allen writing How to Give Birth to a Black Centaur. If a bus was set to explode if Adam Quan ever gets to second base with a White woman, you would simply pick up and drop off passengers for thirty years and retire after a relaxing career as a bus driver. Adam Quan has declared himself an expert in a sport he has never played and mistaken “dating” for “humiliations to make girls uncomfortable NOW WITH RACISM.”

By Chapter Eight, Adam Quan is in a sheer panic. The rest of the book was a carefully built plan to get your dick into a White and it’s hitting him that it doesn’t and didn’t work. So instead of wrapping things up, he just types every idea he has ever had about relationships. He literally complains about insincere girls in nightclubs and reminds you White women hate when you forget marriage anniversaries on the same page. He throws in a few tips on dating Asian women and where to find a babysitter… it reads like the dumbest virgin in the world drove his car into a lake and desperately tried to record all his life’s wisdom before he ran out of air. Wherever Adam Quan is now, you can be certain the White women there are going undated.

Categories
PUNCHING DAY

Man Comics Presents… Pouch Hopfucker! 🌭

From the shattered remains of an era where narrative arcs were punches and punches were men! Ladies, your loins are medically unprepared for Man Comics! MAN COMICS! MAN COMICS!!!

Categories
UPSETTING DAY

Let’s Read: Cheaters Always Prosper🌭

There are few books more despicable than the one I’m showing you today. I have a wall of books on how to murder men with knives, raise children like Bill Cosby, and electro shock the gay out of your son, but none of them approach the pure piece-of-shittedness of Cheaters Always Prosper – 50 Ways to Beat the System Without Getting Caught.

This is a book for psychopaths stupid enough to need an instruction manual for robbery. James Brazil (not the author’s real name) wrote it in the year 2000 when these low-stakes, obvious grifts were already useless against even the most relaxed store policies. Let’s go through all fifty of these in order:

This dumbshit scheme, along with the rambling, completely fabricated story about getting a milk refund after secretly enjoying cake is James’ first and best idea. This isn’t a book showing readers how to use loopholes to get coupons or government research grants. It is avalanches of stream-of-consciousness text from an idiot who thinks crime is “outsmarting the system.” This moron is spending hours to recoup the cost of one milk. This motherfucker is just adding steps to shoplifting. If you switch the price tags on easily identifiable items and also stash a very strange sack of meat the butcher will remember making for a suspicious dirtbag, I think the store might have a lead suspect in the case of DUMBSHIT, WE JUST WATCHED YOU DO ALL THIS.

If someone is dumb enough to fall for this, you shouldn’t let them handle your food. Anyone fooled by glass in your dessert also believed their meat distributor earlier when he said, “I can get you magical food cream, but I had to transport it at human body temperature, so you’ll need to suck it out of my cock. What? Oh, yeah, it’ll go great on those invisible fish I sold you yesterday.”

This also shows the author’s child-like understanding of how the world works when he suggests a fake blood capsule will help sell the world’s oldest restaurant trick. James Brazil might as well have told the reader, “Here’s a hot tip for saving money at restaurants– before the bill comes, get up and fucking run!” It has all the same ethics, but a higher success rate and less humiliation. The entire goddamn book is dumb lies and crimes like this. When James Brazil figures out you can just stab people and take the things they’re carrying, he’s going to have a hell of a sequel on his hands.

Why not tell the waitress you own the hotel and came to inspect the employee underpants? This is fucking stupid. He’s trailing people as they leave their rooms in order to set up a one-man dinner stealing job? What’s that step for? Is it only so he can say, “I don’t have a room key or ID, and yes, I’m the weird guy waiting outside doors for an hour, but I do know the number of an empty room you can call to prove I’m not there.” It might work! But I do worry many hotels guard themselves against the first trick the world’s dumbest liar would think of after learning you can charge things to rooms. So maybe have a backup plan when they say, “You’ve committed a criminal act for a 2% chance at an appetizer sampler.”

This story didn’t happen, and won’t work, but if it did, you’re investing a day at a car dealership to save $40. In a business sense, you’re hiring yourself as a car dealer fluffer and paying yourself $20 an hour for a very slim chance of driving a car.

Like with all his schemes, James Brazil has some advanced tips in case you run into clever marks. In this case, he mentions how he tried this on a Mercedes dealer who required proof he could afford the car. This didn’t happen, of course, but he lays out a scheme to deposit 75 cents in an ATM, then add five zeroes so it looks like you added $75,000, then go into the bank to clear up the mixup, then keep the receipt. In his wildest fantasies, James Brazil wants you to spend an afternoon wooing a car dealer, go to a second location to perform some light financial fraud, then come back to the car dealer in the hopes of getting a free car to DRIVE TO LUNCH. This shit is like disguising yourself as a nursing home resident for sixty years to get a free wheelchair.

I know you can’t read that, because no one ever should. We’re only at entry number five and James Brazil has already run out of scams and lost his entire mind. This is one for getting free windshield repair. Step one is paying for your windshield repair, and steps two through seventy eight are filling out paperwork to convince your local county they were responsible for the crack in your windshield and they owe you the full cost of the repairs. It’s the same high risk, low reward type of crime as the others, but now there is so, so much paperwork. James Brazil would legally change his name to Nazi Horsefucker for six months just to get a refund on “misprinted” business cards.

This book’s already off the rails. Let’s maybe skim through a bit… Let’s see… fraud, lying, unlikely scam, petty theft, fraud… OH FUCK. OH FUCK.

Jesus Christ, dognapping? His 17th “way to beat the system” is to steal pets and ransom them for $100!? So you steal, what, like eleven dogs a month to make rent and a few more for Internet and utilities? I know you don’t need to worry about food since you know the trick of charging meals to random hotel rooms or pretending to eat glass. Still, people might start to notice after one individual keeps “finding” several dogs a week. This is so beyond the scope of ordinary greed or evil. This might as well say, “A lot of parents will pay anything to get a child back! Simply apply for an ice cream truck license under a false identity you create after killing a man with your complexion and build. If you find a child who hates ice cream, invite them to a zoo given to you after telling the zookeepers you were Montgomery Zoo, inventor of the zoo. Steal towels from the gym to make your own rope to bind them! I’ll take that $100 now, easy mark parents!”

James Brazil is the world’s shittiest make-believe criminal. He goes on to tell the reader how to get free laundry by retrieving quarters with pantyhose. He suggests bringing empty tupperware to all-you-can-eat restaurants and stealing soup. Fucking #21 is using a fake name to hide from Columbia House Records. If you try all these tips, you will have invested 7000 hours into criminal enterprises and walked away with $117, a backpack full of soup, 34 years in prison, and 13 Keith Sweat cassettes.

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This article was brought to you by our fine patron and Hot Dog Supreme, Timmy Leahy: the true meaning of Christmas.

Categories
NERDING DAY

An Ape History of Donkey Kong Ripoffs 🌭

The idea of a man climbing a construction site to rescue a woman from a gorilla seems like it should be unique. Of all the video games in the world to copy, no game lends itself better to being MADLibbed into something new. An unethical game designer looking to make a ripoff Donkey Kong could instantly change it so you’re… climbing a STAR RODEO to rescue a PREGNANT DENTIST from a CHARLES GRODIN. Even the least amount of effort like… climbing a(n) ASS to rescue a(n) ASS from a(n) CHARLES GRODIN’S ASS would be better than a failed attempt at precisely recreating Donkey Kong. And yet here we are in a world where 750 people copied the exact gameplay of Donkey Kong and also, pointlessly, the exact characters and plot. Let’s look at some of these pieces of shit!

KONGO KONG, 1983 (Commodore 64)

I’m not good at reading gorilla expressions. It’s why the first phrase I learned in sign language is “Strong gorilla, I’m drunk. Are we about to fight or fuck?” So I have no idea if KONGO KONG is a rampaging beast or a transfer gorilla smiling for his school picture. The game itself depicts him as a homeless man guarding a woman he made out of patio furniture, which doesn’t help at all. KONGO KONG looks like a therapist asked a child to draw the nude man who climbed onto their roof and declared himself Santa Claus.

KING KONG, 1982 (Atari 2600)

The original Kong must have been furious when some asshole normal-sized gorilla stole his name, added “Donkey” to it, and became way more famous. So to get revenge on Donkey Kong, King Kong copied his game to the letter. Well, not to the letter. It’s much worse in every way, and is arguably the laziest, shittiest Donkey Kong clone which is an extremely competitive field. If you held a gun on an Atari 2600 and said, “I don’t have the cartridge, but we’re going to fucking play Donkey Kong,” this would be the attempt not good enough to save its life. So King Kong didn’t exactly get revenge on Donkey Kong with this. As far as payback goes, it’s like getting revenge on your wife by making a homemade wig sort of like her boyfriend’s haircut and asking him to borrow $1200 for diarrhea medicine.

Let’s check in with an old friend for the next one…

KILLER KONG, 1983 (ZX Spectrum 48K)

I mentioned earlier how I’m not great at reading gorilla expressions, but that’s not the case here. I know exactly what this look means.

Krazy KONG, 1983 (ZX Spectrum 48K)

In the early ’80s, ZX Spectrum owners had an endless selection of bad Donkey Kong knockoffs. I should mention with the ZX Spectrum they could also just play Donkey Kong. And in a world where Donkey Kong is available to you, purchasing and playing Krazy KONG is like sitting down at an Olive Garden and asking the waiter if they can fly SpaghettiOs in from a Bolivian toilet.

KONG, 1983 (ZX Spectrum 48K)

These people very specifically made a copy of Donkey Kong so confused or stupid customers would think, “Oh, this is Donkey Kong.” And then the box art tried to convince them it’s actually about King Kong fighting airplanes, a different ape and a wildly different game concept. But whether you’re looking for a knockoff of Donkey or King Kong, you will hate plain KONG. It’s like they went out of their way to disappoint twice as many players while also doubling their chances of getting sued. You probably don’t need an analogy to understand how dumb this is, but KONG on Spectrum 48K is like ordering a dildo and being mailed a real human penis, only it’s terrible and crooked and made out of alpaca meat.

DONKEY KING, 1983 (Dragon 32)

Jesus, I didn’t realize there would be this many Donkey Kong knockoffs. But in the spirit of shamelessly copying shit and not caring, DONKEY KING on the Dragon 32 is like ordering a dildo and being made a real human’s pants, only it’s terrific and cooky and mad about feet.

KILLER GORILLA, 1983 (Amstrad CPC)

KILLER GORILLA on the Amstrad CPC is like orging a dorble and being mard poosto on tibble carga alpaca meat.

PANIC KONG, 1986 (MSX)

PANIC KONG on the MSX is the final words of a fish suffocating in a boat thinking of alpaca meat.

KONG, 1983 (Commodore 64)

KONG on the Commodore 64 is the meat boat thinking of fish and the beef canoe taking fish dreams, Dr. Alpaca Clock Penis.

WALLY KONG, 1984 (ZX Spectrum 48K)

Holy fuck, this one is named WALLY KONG. That’s actually a really elegant way to explain to a potential customer how this is Donkey Kong’s shittiest cousin. Wally Kong is what you would name an ape if it farted so hard it got its head caught in the zoo bars. Wallycop is what Marlon Wayans would name his Robocop parody. If you were writing a screenplay about the year 3000 and wanted to immediately explain how the last 980 years sucked you would introduce a character named President Wally Bush. WALLY KONG‘s box art looks like something you would show the Supreme Court in your case to make drawing gorillas illegal. 

CRAZY KONG, 1981 (Commodore 64)

This came out only months after the first Donkey Kong, which in the video game developing world is almost impressive. If you’re a sports fan, I can explain it like this: Imagine seeing Michael Jordan playing for the first time, then changing your name to Wally Jordan a few weeks later but remaining untalented at basketball.

PAC-KONG, 1983 (Atari 2600)

“Picture this: Pac-Man meets Donkey Kong with giant robots. Now take away the Pac-Man. And the giant robots. Now make the Donkey Kong much, much worse. I’m a mysterious intruder who broke into this building hoping to steal pills, the creator of PAC-KONG. I’m also the creator of the Yes Knife, this knife you say yes to.”

KONG’S REVENGE, 1991 (ZX Spectrum)

All these abs and titties makes this look like a sexy take on Donkey Kong, and it is, but not in the way you think. It’s about Kong and Mario, two jacked guys with lusty smiles working out together. Mario’s luscious gym muscles are crammed into a child’s t-shirt and he walks with a skip in his step like a man in love. If they gave a Nobel Prize for horny video game sprites, Abhijit Banerjee, winner of the Nobel Prize for Economic Sciences, would say, “I am proud to share this honor with KONG’S REVENGE on ZX Spectrum Cassette.” I haven’t been so certain a man and gorilla are about to fuck since a few minutes ago when the cover of KILLER KONG locked eyes with me.

King Cuthbert, 1984 (TRS-80)

In the ’80s, Tandy computers stole game ideas and plugged in “Cuthbert,” their mascot they stole from Mad Magazine. The idea for their Donkey Kong ripoff was to have Cuthbert murder him and declare himself king of the gorillas, but none of this made it into the actual game. This is basic Donkey Kong, the player is still Mario, and nobody is king of anything. This is like telling your kid you’re going to make up a story about them in Star Wars and then badly recapping the one with Jar Jar Binks with zero changes and telling them to go the fuck to sleep.

ZANY KONG JUNIOR, 1984 (BBC Micro)

The guy who made KILLER GORILLA, which was just Donkey Kong, went on to make a sequel called ZANY KONG JUNIOR, which was just Donkey Kong Jr.. This inspired the copyright holders to finally, in a world where a Donkey Kong clone came out every 11 seconds, to finally send a cease and desist letter. Steal our IP for your shitty Radio Shack mascot? Fine, embarrass yourself. Depict our characters falling in love at the gym and pounding sweat and passion into each other’s holes? Now that you mention it, yes please. But copy two Donkey Kong games in a row? We will ask a goddamn lawyer to request you stop. Speaking of stopping, should I maybe wrap this up?

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This article was brought to you by our fine patron and Hot Dog Supreme, Brianne Whitney: who discovered the scientific formula for diagnosing a crew of being “through” or “2 legit 2 quit.”

Categories
LEARNING DAY

TRAINS! TRAINS! TRAINS! 🌭

You’re in for a great Learning Day, hot dog gang! Because we’re going to learn about all the types of trains and how they work! Nothing will go wrong! How could it?

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This article was brought to you by our fine patron and Hot Dog Supreme, Michael Love: who came here to do two things: kick ass and watch you as you realize there isn’t actually a second thing.

Categories
FUCKING DAY

Carmen Electra’s Naked Women’s Wrestling League

Sometimes you can try to be too many things for too many people, and I’m of course talking about Carmen Electra’s Naked Women’s Wrestling League.

Naked ladies plus pro wrestling is a 12-year-old’s idea of an idea. This is like adding nudity to poker or selling unlicensed Michael Jackson merchandise, which are two other failed enterprises from Howard Mann, the creator of Carmen Electra’s Naked Women’s Wrestling League. It’s the worst part of both things with none of the best parts, like a centaur who’s just two different sized buttholes or a KFC/Taco Bell that only serves Baja Blast coleslaw. It’s like a mustard water and grandpa’s racism sandwich.

Before they take their clothes off, it’s a lifeless 7th rate pro wrestling show. It’s the kind of writing and performance you’d expect from kids playing pro wrestling if all their mothers worked as phone sex operators while they were learning to talk. It’s weirdly childish for something you’re presumably meant to jerk off to, but it doesn’t do it in a likeable way like He-Man did. For instance, there’s a sadomasochistic character and her sex slave is maybe disabled? He’s in his panties, can’t talk, and seems to cry with real monkey sadness when she whips him. Their promo is more inspired by serial killer movies than any kind of fetish and after five-too-many minutes of awkward spookiness it cuts to Carmen Electra who offers, “Ooh, that’s kind of hot. Heh.” So if you were wondering if the producers know what sex is, no, probably not.

“Host” Carmen Electra was paid $100,000 to sit in a studio far away from the wrestling and read a few embarrassing sex puns. I know she was paid this much because she very publicly sued Carmen Electra’s Naked Women’s Wrestling League for the other $300,000 she was promised. She also sued for so many other ludicrous things she ended up getting nothing. It’s very likely after lawyer fees Carmen Electra lost money from putting her name on this. If she made better decisions, she could have stayed home and burned a few stacks of money and this thing would have been called Creepy Stan’s Jean Creamin’ Rough Housers (Exposed Holes Edition) and only one murderer would own a copy. We’ll meet that murderer later in this article.

The other star of the video is Jimmy “Mouth of the South” Hart who also isn’t at the event, but every fifteen minutes they show an inset of him saying generic things about the real hot action in there. If you went to bed with your dick in a Clayton Kershaw baseball glove and then told everyone, “I made love to MLB great Clayton Kershaw last night,” that’d be more honest than saying “Jimmy Hart is in this.”

As for the wrestling itself, it’s not very good. The talent pool for accomplished female wrestlers is already small enough before you shrink it to “female wrestlers willing to go bottomless for buffet coupons and points on DVD sales.” These are Vegas strippers who took a weekend of wrestling training and the announcers have a hell of a time making sense of their confused miscues. There seems to be a script, but nobody studied it very hard. For instance, one naked lady fakes a knee injury so a naked blind lady can run in and replace her. The blind lady immediately loses her place in the script and seems to forget if she was also the knee injury lady, and she fakes a knee injury. Her opponent and the announcers adjust to this new fiction just in time for her to remember the knee thing was someone else’s, so she stops faking a knee injury to befuddle everyone a second time. Maybe? As it is with every second of this show, all you and the announcers can do is speculate at what these uncomfortable naked people are trying to communicate. If these weren’t hot, nude, adult women, you’d swear you were watching two orangutans discover a nest of cobras.

As you can see, their idiot clumsiness is not not sexy, but when naked people aren’t doing anything erotic, their lack of clothes becomes pretty ordinary. It only takes a few minutes for your brain and gonads to go from “naked ladies!” to “are there any recreational options at this nudist colony that don’t suck?”

As a true American, I am in favor of pointlessly mixing naked ladies with dumbass things and also judging you to be a pervert when you do it in a weird way. So I don’t hate this because sex is some sacred intimate thing. The one person who ever called me a prude and meant it was a dominatrix I was dating after I turned down her offer to go to her work and make fun of the customers. I told her I didn’t need to be a part of some sad loser’s boner, which is the exact opposite choice she and the stars of Carmen Electra’s Naked Women’s Wrestling League made. This was designed for boners incapable of happiness, shame, or self-reflection. Carmen Electra is announcing an event for boners that long ago died of despair and could only be resuscitated by this exact combination of elements. Seriously, though; a good portion of the audience is very obviously there to pant at and hopefully strangle the naked women. Here’s the murderer I mentioned:

This was filmed in front of about 35 people and they were clearly told to never stop screaming or flailing their arms at any cost. They do a mediocre job at this, and they almost make it seem like 40 people are watching. However, in the back is a section of men who never clap or cheer. They stand motionless, watching the skin. Watching it struggle. They are not here for a good time. They are here because the voices gave them no choice. This motherfucker in the gray shirt did not move for an entire hour. Arms down and staring. He just rose from a shadow and stared at the women like he does at his elderly mother when it’s time for her bath. There is zero chance he isn’t right behind one or more of these naked wrestling girls right now.

In a confusion that should have probably been cleared up, half of the women are really trying to put on a pro wrestling match without clothes, while the other half are going for more of a wrestling-themed strip tease. Neither one works very well, but there’s not really a playbook for this kind of thing. Is it good wrestling or good stripping when four women link up their hands and feet and take turns opening their legs? I know it’s not really why we’re here, but I have no fucking idea who’s got the upper hand in this move:

Carmen Electra’s Naked Women’s Wrestling League is so impossibly bad at everything it tries to do, it almost seems like a trap. This may sound crazy, but was this event produced specifically so a hot dog website about cursed artifacts would find it 13 years later and generate enough chaos energy for the gray shirt murderer to remanife

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This article was brought to you by our fine patron and Hot Dog Supreme, Josh Fabian: who spends montages nodding yes to every single hat you try on.