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NERDING DAY

Nerding Day: Mazes and Monsters🌭

As with True Greatness, some laserdiscs are thrust upon us, like by a sinister uncle say (the hole part). I’m not saying that happened to me and now I compulsively relive the trauma through this column, I’m just saying “open uncomfortably wide, because here comes another l.i.t.e.r. of Laserdiscs In The Enchanted Rain!”

Today I’ll be walking you through 1982’s Mazes and Monsters

…sorry, RONA JAFFE’S Mazes and Monsters. In case you’re wondering why she got the “Madea’s” treatment, it’s because Jaffe was a prolific – if middling – novelist from the late ’50s until the early 2000s. I’m guessing her top billing here was part of a contractual obligation, like the one insisting everyone call her “The Rona” and swearing it would never come back to bite her on the ass.

Both the novel and film concern a game of “Mazes & Monsters” gone awry. How awry? They’re sending rescue dudes with scuba tanks and hardhats down holes in the very Earth, that’s how! What IS this horrid game, that could have resulted in such a dire, subterranean, and unspecified tragedy? I’ll let Kronkite Fedora explain.

Ohhhh, it’s Dungeons & Dragons, got it! So this is like a Satanic Panic thing?

That description is so unlike what Dungeons & Dragons actually entails that it caused me to briefly wonder if I had actually stumbled upon a movie about the dangers of Chutes & Ladders L.A.R.P.ing. But no, yes, he means Dungeons & Dragons, even though we will never see a die rolled in the whole film. The only thing Mazes & Monsters as depicted has in common with real Dungeons & Dragons is the concept of Critical Failure.

That “three minutes” takes roughly ninety to transpire, which is a pretty good metaphor for how time dilates as one tests their Constitution against what is essentially some alarmist, ableist bullshit that misrepresents core aspects of both mental illness and – much more importantly – the finer points of TTRPGs. Let’s meet our PCs!

I honestly could not intentionally assemble a set of more forgettable names. Obviously ONE really stands out, but that’s just because David Wallace happens to be the name of a second-string character in The Office. That said, making “Chris” play someone called “Jay Jay” feels like a bit of an overcorrection, like naming your first kid John and your second kid N’hoj.

The credits transport us to Manhattan six months prior, where a yellow cab is busy discharging one Mr. Brockway at his mother’s luxury penthouse apartments. Mr. Brockway is a notorious dipshit. Even the doorman knows this, and gleefully pounces on an opportunity to dunk on the hapless bumblefuck, trusting in the lad’s cowardice to mitigate any risk of reprisal.

Just stellar doormanning. Notice how he reached in to undo the boy’s seatbelt, but made him open his own door? That way Mr. Brockway knows the doorman would be just as comfortable punching him in the crotch as he is ignoring his eponymous function. Once his humiliation is complete, the movie heads upstairs to meet with Brockway’s mother, as so many of us have.

Brockway’s Mom is also, predictably, as dumb as the bag of hair on her head. Rather than showing any concern that her adult son rode home from the airport wearing a WWI German pickelhaube, she makes a glib reference to him being smarter than Stephen Hawking (he’s not though) and pathetically short (he is).

Jay Jay flees to his bedroom, but has returned to the nest only to find it encrusted in Mama Bird’s blindingly white shit.

He’s naturally upset, since without the white backdrop he’d look like any normal, cool young guy in a pickelhaube. That’s all Jay Jay “Robert” Brockway wants, you see…the acceptance of his peers – maybe even a small group of friends. Is that too much to ask? Just to feel normal, for once?

“Yes,” thinks Brockway, “it’s my Mom’s fault I’m such a misfit. My crazy, weirdo Mom. Without her in the picture, I’d blend right into the crowd just like anybody else…boy, would that be swell.” Then he removes his antique war helmet and unpacks the minah bird he’s trained to speak in paradox.

And, after a beat, again it comes – the cry the beast makes unbidden a dozen times a day like a tolling bell, like the Raven proclaiming “nevermore:”

“That’s so weird,” Jay Jay tells Julia, “I didn’t even teach it to say that.” The bird would shoot itself if it had the means. But we the audience leave that place of darkest dark inside whitest white, to meet the next of our Mazes & Monsters crew, Kate Finch. She’s complaining to her bio-Mom about her stepmom, to whom she refers as “Chlorine.”

It turns out that’s because her name’s Noreen, but I like to think the nickname also came about because she’s always either cleaning the pool or filling the house with noxious gas. God, suffocating on noxious gas sounds so good right now! Anyway, after some real irresponsible mixed messages to her daughter…

…Mom turns the spotlight back onto Kate herself, who we learn has a deep interest in writing.

And of course by “deep interest,” I mean that she struggles with the basics of the very concept itself, like how she can write anything other than a journal entry or autobiography without opening herself up to potential fraud charges.

The parade of Wise Moms saying Obviously True Shit doesn’t stop there, either! Across town, another mother lectures her son on the basics of how cooked we are frfr, which was already pretty apparent forty years ago.

This was probably an allusion to the famed 1974 satire Blazing Saddles, and considering we’re all cowboys now her point is well taken. By me, that is, not her impertinent son. That douche is too busy being handsome, built, clearly in his mid-20’s, a God among men who could achieve anything he wanted if only he mustered the ambition…the stereotypical D&D player.

His father points out that he’s gifted with computers, and should focus on developing that skillset instead of playing silly games, since computers and games are totally separate fields that will never overlap.

Yeah! How can he expect to get good at coding and logic if he spends all his time designing loot tables and sequentially nested encounter ideas? Do you think the nerds at MIT play Dungeons & Dragons? They’re all too busy fuckin’! Incidentally, here’s the official MIT school song modified to work as a D&D drinking song hosted on MIT’s own site.

WHOA, talk about burying the lede! In case you’re not an old-school CRACKEDhead and your “guy who loves Spidey”-sense didn’t just go off, between characters named Daniel and Kate we now have fully half of the CRACKED After Hours team represented in this movie. They fit the right molds, too – Daniel is a burgeoning computer nerd and Kate is a sarcastic malcontent.

Although in this timeline, Robert “Jay Jay” Brockway has clearly slotted himself into the Soren Bowie position – white, privileged, affluent, elite. He’s also upped his hat game substantially, considering the only headwear the real Robert Brockway ever wore into the CRACKED offices was the bloody detached pelvic bowl of J.F. Sargent.

At whatever college all these miscreants end up, we learn that Kate, Jay Jay and Daniel are already friends, and that Movie Daniel’s dick game is apparently Epic Level.

This, of course, also comports with what After Hours star Daniel O’Brien would tell the CRACKED team he was doing when he’d disappear for long stretches at a time in the middle of shoots and come back smelling of vomit and heroin. Regardless, the 1982 movie Mazes & Monsters is obviously not an intentional reference to our 2010 webseries, so I’ll stop riding that bit as soon as we determine who the Michael of the movie is. I guess by process of elimination it would be whoever they introduce next…

Hm, father won’t keep subsidizing my lifestyle if I insist on whipping my dick out at every cop we pass? Sounds like Michael! Let’s meet this daring freedom fighter!

Okay, so on the one hand I get to be played by Tom Hanks, which is neat considering my abiding love of his work in Borat Subsequent Moviefilm, The Great Buck Howard, and nothing else. On the other, his/my parents seem to be right on the edge of an acrimonious divorce, not helped by the fact that his Mom is forever getting drunk and falling into her On The Waterfront Marlon Brando character.

After most of Apocalypse Now and just a scene or two of The Island of Dr. Moreau, Mom falls asleep and Michael/Robbie/Hanks is deposited at school, where his identities quickly collapse into one in order to make this column easier to read going forward. Let’s call him “MiRoHan.”

MiRoHan soon finds myself (see how unconfusing this is?) in the dining hall, where Jay Jay has literally staked out his own flier seeking a fourth player for their Mazes & Monsters campaign. But don’t worry, he’s dressed like Snoopy flying a dog house so people will know he’s not crazy!

Then to drive the point home, he unhinges his jaw and exhales a shimmering platinum brick of insanity.

See, how can Jay Jay Brockway be insane when he just puked literally all of the insanity on Earth out right in front of you?! There it is, right there in the subtitles, and not inside him!

It’s at this point that Jay Jay explains that they recently lost a player when Mazes & Monsters broke the person’s brain and they had a psychotic episode. MiRoHan in turn shares that he had to transfer to this school because he got too deeply involved in Mazes & Monsters at his last school and had a psychotic episode, sometimes referred to as a “brain-break.” BUT WHO COULD SAY NO TO THOSE PUPPY DOG EYES?????

Hence, the die is cast, which in this case would be an especially apt metaphor if they ever rolled dice in this movie. MiRoHan actually demurs at first, but gives in after meeting Kate and Daniel a few weeks later at Jay Jay’s place.

As his talking bird elucidates, Jay Jay is throwing a dorm party in honor of Brigitte Bardot’s birthday while dressed in a tuxedo and hardhat. This is because absolutely no real 1980s teenagers were consulted at any point while crafting his character.

As a stalwart Rider of MiRoHan, though, the new guy is mostly here for the potential hookups. He quickly seeks out Kate and lays the charm on as thick as he’s able.

NOW WHO’S THE BROCKWAY, YOU PIECE OF ABSOLUTE SHIT? Yet, like most women who are the only females in their TTRPG campaign group, Kate can do no better than a young Tom Hanks. Her best bet is to pawn MiRoHan off on Daniel, and navigate the conversation back to the safer waters of the game that recently drove her close friend insane.

That subtitle’s a little off; she actually says “I want you to meet Daniel” and pulls him over. Daniel’s level nine.

The sound of “shop talk” quickly summons everyone’s favorite construction worker, and before he can extricate himself, MiRoHan has begrudgingly agreed to a few friendly sessions of Mazes & Monsters with his new pals…as long as things don’t “go too far.” Daniel assures him that it never goes too far – it’s just a game, not blasphemy! He’ll maintain full agency and autonomy at all times. LATER…

This is nitpicky, but I do want to point out that the grammatically-incorrect “what” in the subtitle above is not a mistranscription. Your perilous fates are in the hands of a god who doesn’t know when to deploy “what” vs. “that,” just sayin’. While we’re bashing Mazes & Monsters on sheer accuracy, let us also pause to meditate on the totally useless playmap featuring a fully-revealed layout with nine rooms that don’t connect to each other and candles in the way.

At least someone bothered to crack open the Player’s Guide for believable classes. OR DID THEY? NO, THEY DID NOT.

Now, one of the very precious and wonderful things about Dungeons & Dragons is that, as a game of collaborative imagination, you can absolutely make up your own classes from scratch. People do it all the time. That said, no one has ever played as a Frenetic of Glossamir unless they were doing so as a snide reference to this film. If you can prove me wrong, I’ll owe you a Freelik anywhere above the waist.

MiRoHan shows off his own M&M chops, which you can tell are formidable by the film’s score, Tom’s staid demeanor, and the fact that he’s the only one not dressed and acting like a complete asshole. Daniel, as Maze Controller, resumes the story with a tale of fighting monsters so generic they’re basically called that.

The movie then harshly cuts away, as if ordered by the President to scrupulously remove anything resembling actual Dungeons & Dragons gameplay lest Satan’s power leap from the screen and turn the nation’s children woke. In fact, we will only glimpse one more scene of Mazes & Monsters itself before the game devolves entirely into the lowest form of roleplay…actually going outside and playing a role.

But before we get to Jay Jay pretending he invented L.A.R.P.ing, let’s quickly get to know these kids who teeter so precariously upon the damnable edge of Satan’s Meat Grinder, i.e. forming an improv troupe.

MiRohan does end up dating Kate, and they enjoy wholesome activities together like…

🌭slow jogs in the park.

🌭brisk walks later in the day in the same park under an umbrella while it’s not raining and no one else is using an umbrella.

Trust thus established, MiRoHan gets comfortable enough to share his core trauma with Kate – that his older brother Hall ran away to New York City one night, never to be seen again. Compounding his guilt is the fact that he aided in Hall’s escape, never expecting it would mean he’d sever himself from the family so completely – or worse, perhaps fall victim to some bad end in the Big City of Mazes and Monsters.

Hanks, by the way, already acts circles around the rest of the cast, who mostly give off big P.S.A. vibes. This means the moments where the script calls for him to be shattered are surprisingly impactful, and the moments where the Producers make him say stuff like “I have acquired many spells and charms” or run at a fan screaming his brother’s name even funnier.

As for Jay Jay and Daniel, they decide to sit around and tell each other about what they want out of life and what their obstacles are, which is super handy for a screenwriter. In case the hats didn’t make it clear enough, Jay Jay wants attention, which he admits openly as he pretends to paint an already-painted “miniature” that is in fact a paper doll.

Daniel gets laid too much, which is a different kind of struggle.

It’s the sort of struggle that makes your friends with real problems (or even Jay Jay Brockway’s) look at their own lives and despair. After Daniel ditches, Jay Jay does just that, then shares an alarming, actionable suicide plan with his pet bird, who does nothing and tells no one. “Take me with you,” its hollow eyes seem to scream.

Unable to differentiate healthy attention from white-hot grief, the young man brainstorms more and more elaborate self-deletions until he chances upon the perfect venue for his death…the town’s local cave system. He even goes so far as to imagine the headline the local paper will print after his body is found. That’ll teach his mom to redecorate her own apartment!

Of course, the bitterest irony is that we know what the real headline would be: “LOST! Bizarre Hat Collection, Last Seen With Son, Reward For Capture.”

But don’t worry! The Producers who made this movie because they are nominally so concerned about the mental health of young people didn’t find the suicidal ideation thread interesting enough to return to. It is, in fact, the Tom Hanks character who succumbs to the evil of TTRPGs and goes nuts, not Jay Jay. Jay Jay just idly tells his pet bird he wants to kill himself in the local caves, then conspires to get his friends to L.A.R.P. there. To do so, Freelik seems to intentionally take a dive at their next Mazes & Monsters play session.

Once again without involving pen, paper, dice or a saving throw, the matter has been settled. It’s like a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure Book where the story is linear and you just read it from front to back! Has anyone done that? Regardless, Freelik the Frenetic of Glossamir is impaled and dies.

Whoa whoa WHOA. It’s “GLOSSamir” pal, get it right! We didn’t secede from the Generacs of Countronia to be condescended to! But, alas, all the freneticism Jay Jay can muster won’t undo what’s been done, or even prevent his friends from ripping on him mercilessly, surely exacerbating his already troubling self-loathing issues.

Hanks, already reflexively protecting his image as a “Hollywood Nice Guy,” not only defends Jay Jay verbally, but also opens up a glowing rift in his chest cavity and sucks all the mental illness from Brockway into himself as a grand sacrifice. This also transfers unto him the function and title of Main Character For The Rest Of The Movie. As Jay Jay pitches his plan to move their Mazes & Monsters game to Pequod Caverns (the suicide part now completely forgotten), the spectre of madness descends on MiRoHan like a coke fiend jonesing for a fix of the substance they habitually abuse – drugs, probably.

After stealing costume pieces from the school’s Theatre Department, the four friends meet up at night to trespass in the caverns. This time Jay Jay is the Maze Controller, and he’s updated Daniel’s generic monsters with something a little more…voracious.

Come on man, you’re making D&D players look like assholes! Name something a fantasy name that’s not just an adjective with weird emphasis on it.

Ugh. That sucks, but okay. In the future, please use needless apostrophes in place of needless hyphens, and try not to make your Big Bad’s name sound like two cavemen introducing themselves.

Jay Jay scampers off, his game narration then echoing through the entire cavern from a hidden source. This would make for an extremely impactful way to deliver his last words if he were going to kill himself, which again, he isn’t because that aspect of his character will never be followed up on. If anything, this would seem to be the movie saying “playing Dungeons & Dragons CURES mental illness,” but I digress. Maybe he just needed to vent to his bird.

After a few minutes of what can only be described as “faffing about,” the crew run into the first – AND ONLY – physical game element Jay Jay has prepared for them. Thankfully, Daniel passes a reflex save with flying colors!

The Maze Controller laboriously tries to connect the skeleton trap to a larger narrative, but in that way where you can tell that the person writing the script refused to look at any real Dungeons & Dragons materials. Why would they? That shit’s Satanic! Better to just blindly warn people that if they start a game, they’ll most likely end up dressed as elves at midnight in stolen costumes, trespassing at a tourist spot, tricked by an until-recently-suicidal boy genius into looking for his lost stash of weed.

As I mentioned, that skeleton with a flashlight taped into its mouth was the full extent of Jay Jay’s practical effects prep, so the rest of the night proceeds with him simply telling the players “what they see.” This is sometimes called “Theatre of the Mind” in the D&D world.

It’s a perfectly fine way to play, and one of the big benefits is you don’t even have to break onto state land to do it! The downside, of course, is that Theatre of the Mind is only as effective as the imagination of the PCs involved. In this case, MiRoHan is having a sudden delusional break, so he does see SOMETHING, but he’s being written by a filthy casual, so that something is less a Gorvil and more a generic Lizardfolk cosplay or Power Rangers henchman.

Not that that’s not scary! Believe me, if my senses reported a dragon-man approaching, I’d probably flip out too. I’m just saying that from a monster design perspective, it’s aggressively “Generac.” By the time the rest of MiRoHan’s party find him screaming inconsolably at a bare patch of dirt, the Gorvil has been slain.

Rather than showing immediate concern, the pals figure he’s just “really getting into the game.” That makes sense! What doesn’t as much is how they presumably play for several more hours without anyone noticing Tom Hanks’ haunted rictus of extreme distress, like the thousand-yard stare of a shellshocked fighter pilot.

Like really, you think that’s just roleplay? Who do you think your friend MiRoHan is, Tom Hanks? Kate does finally notice something is amiss when they drop him off at home that night and he blesses them in-character. Daniel does not.

Indeed, MiRoHan’s break from reality is instant and profound, almost as if Mazes & Monsters was hardly the problem. He seems to immediately begin living a second life, in an alternate reality where a power called The Great Hall visits him in dreams and gives him instructions for how he must repent and reshape himself.

Some of the requirements are pretty strict.

Don’t worry Tom Hanks, you’re still allowed to stroke it! If you don’t believe me, reach out and I can send you a flipbook I made using stills from Philadelphia, Forrest Gump, and some hardcore pornos. Despite his protestations, MiRoHan does as the voice commands and breaks things off with Kate.

Isolated from the group, his delusions are left to fester and grow, and the Mazes & Monsters gang begin to see him only when they meet at the caves to play.

MiRoHan’s taken to acting like Pardieu even in class, which Kate finds pretty troubling and perhaps a reason to intercede or else alert his parents or the school. Daniel does not.

In fact, rather than honor her concerns, Daniel breaks into the caves to cheat at the game, then makes a move on her after she follows him in and gets lost. It’s a deepcute!

And, since there’s nothing more attractive than a cheater who’s cornered you in a cave only he knows the way out of, it totally works!

Oh yeah, that’s happening to me all the time. Same reason Charlize Theron won’t star in the erotic thriller I wrote for us. Come on Charlize, it’s only eight pages of loose bullet points! Plus I promise I won’t compare myself to any Star Trek characters when we kiss.

Well, not Star Trek: The Original Series. My weiner kind of looks like Odo when he’s celebrating the return of his shapeshifting abilities in Deep Space 9 and there’s precious little I can do about that.

Assuming you do read this far into the article, Charlize Theron, let me just say to you what I said to the plastic surgeon when I first whipped it out:

Then the plastic surgeon said “there’s precious little I can do about that,” which is how I first learned the phrase!

But wouldn’t you know it? I’ve riffed so long it’s Halloween now, and Jay Jay is hosting yet another blowout, his life apparently well worth living. The Mazes & Monsters party members are there, some canoodling and others staring blankly across the crowd at a Frankenstein’s monster like they’re about to knife a Gorvil.

In fact, this is NOT the climactic moment Pardieu becomes a danger to himself and others, but the first time you watch the movie it really feels like in a bolder writer’s hands he’d block up the dorm door and set the room on fire. Instead, a simple blessing and MiRoHan is gone, his robe stuffed with Fun Size Snickers for the long journey ahead.

Once he’s been missing a week or so, MiRoHan’s friends spring into action, by which I mean they break into his room and try to decipher his writings. The more sensible option would be to escalate the situation to a parent or authority, but at this point they’re scared they’ll get blamed for repeatedly trespassing and damaging the caverns. You know, those things they did.

Daniel sees a map marked “The Two Towers” and quickly connects it to Lord of the Rings, the author of which he says as “Tol-key-in.” Jay Jay, presented with the same information, quickly connects it to himself and his own situation, like he does with all information.

Oh, it’s ALLLLLLLL about Jay Jay, isn’t it?! Jay Jay Brockway, the fucking drama queen genius suicide boy!! WHERE’S YOUR CUTE HAT NOW, FUCKER?! After clearing any remaining evidence out of the caves, Jay Jay slaps on a very cute hat indeed and they all go down to the police station to finally make a proper Missing Persons report.

Ooh, very sly, shifty-eyed tween in the tweed bucket hat! I’m crossing YOU off the list of suspects with a pen. Just kidding…the cops actually take the case surprisingly seriously, sending a full-on trench-coated detective to put the screws to each of the kids in an attempt to sniff out a lead. This takes the form of a quick-fire montage of tense interrogation scenes written by someone who took exactly as much interest in researching police procedure as they did in Dungeons & Dragons.

It’s amazing stuff, really.

Hey, interrogation subjects: when pressed, just say an unrelated thing! Or, if all else fails, have your bird outsmart the guy for ya.

Try as they might to obfuscate the issue, Detective Whatever slowly but surely uncovers some of the truth of the situation, if not MiRoHan’s whereabouts.

Finally, he hits upon Mazes & Monsters, and knows immediately the game is to blame for MiRoHan’s mental health crisis. Daniel does not.

Or…does he?

Having roundly humiliated these college kids for worrying about their missing friend, the Detective is ready to reveal his findings:

You know, because if someone reports a friend missing, and THEY don’t know where he is, you’re basically out of luck. You crack THEM, but if they weren’t holding out on you then the person’s really missing, and let’s be honest…missing = dead 1000% of the time. At least, that’s this guy’s completely unfounded attitude. But that’s the miracle of roleplay…thanks to their practiced imaginations, the M&M players are able to conceive of possibilities a cop could never wrap their head around!

The Soul of Hope thus revivified, the team’s resident genius swiftly determines an action plan. In case you forgot, he’s the one in the coooooooooooooooool hat.

Of course! That’s how! Bless your flaps! Now we just need a random cavalcade of associated words to reveal the rest of the solution!

That bird is a better detective than the real cop. Which is handy, because the rest of these lackwits couldn’t locate a Missing Person with a Locate Person spell. Let’s review:

🌭 His brother Hall disappeared to NYC.

🌭 He drew a secret map of the Two Towers.

Hmm…

Hmmmmmm…

Fucking HMMMMMM

Boy, that’s a real head-scratcher, or at least can be made to be one if you need to stretch to the next commercial break!

It’s really not. While MiRoHan’s friends essentially try to solve a Where’s Waldo? book by staring at the sun through a powerful telescope, he’s out in the mean streets of Manhattan levelling Pardieu the fuck up.

Gorvil down, bitch! I’m not sure it’s really “magic” if the primary spell component is a big knife to the gut, but I’m just glad our boy can finally reach Level Ten and unlock a brief moment of lucidity. He spends that Inspiration Point to make a phone call to Kate and ask for help, but literally all she can focus on is the fact that they can’t crack this wild Great Hall/Two Towers puzzle.

Bitch he’s in New York go get your friend! Utterly let down by his support system, MiRoHan wanders into the disused bowels of the subway, mistaking them for a Mazes & Monsters dungeon. This has an effect on him similar to that of cheese on Monterey Jack.

In a completely universe-breaking feat of traversal, Daniel, Kate and Jay Jay then drive their little red convertible from the Golden Gate Bridge to the Brooklyn Bridge in the same amount of time it’s going to take Hanks to have a brief dialog scene with a vagrant.

I don’t know what it means, nor can I fathom why the filmmakers felt the need to call such attention to the fact that they are specifically DRIVING, not flying, and are specifically IN SAN FRANCISCO and need to be in NEW YORK CITY later that same day. Which they achieve! None of these plot points was load-bearing. That said, Tom Hanks’ scene with the guy playing the unhoused man is quietly moving, and probably the best bit in the movie.

For more of those vibes, see the far superior Terry Gilliam film The Fisher King. No, don’t! Stay and see how this train-wreck wraps up instead! Simply put, all the major players convene at the Two Towers – as in, the World Trade Center.

Not-so-simply put…

They “quickly” deduce that by “going to be with the Great Hall,” MiRoHan means “jump off the World Trade Center” as atonement for what happened to his brother. I’m not sure how this “uses their game playing skills,” considering the game they liked to play was basically just spelunking in character.

To make up for their abject failure to solve any kind of simple riddle in an expedient fashion, the team recover some lost time by serendipitously picking the right tower and immediately finding an open parking spot right in front of the main entrance. This is by far the least realistic thing in the entire movie, including the cross-country warp travel.

At this point, the film takes on the disjointed pacing of a motorist unsure if they’re about to pass their exit or not. It truly feels like they came up short in the cut, so to fill in the gap they play out the world’s most tedious chase sequence. As the score struggles to figure out how much danger it’s supposed to be indicating, a laborious game of cat-and-mouse ensues…first they head to the Observation Deck but don’t see MiRoHan, who has just now wandered into the lobby.

Daniel suggests they hit the lobby again, but by the time they’re down there MiRoHan has just stumbled up the stairs to the Mezzanine and they spot him heading to another set of elevators. Just as they get to him, the doors shut, natch.

Then, I shit you not, we are treated to a real-time elevator ride presented as a chase sequence, complete with a progress bar to keep “ratcheting up the tension.”

Will they get there in time? WILL MiRoHan be okay?! Never before have I so breathlessly awaited the turning on of a light shaped like the word “OBSERVATORY!” They do reach him in time, and Jay Jay attempts to talk him off the ledge in terms any Mazes & Monsters maven would understand. Unfortunately, “Pardieu’s” game-logic is strong.

This would have been a really funny moment for Tom Hanks to stab these three kids in the gut and leave them for dead on top of the World Trade Center, but tragically all he does is come to his senses.

Jay Jay gets what he always really wanted – validation of his own importance within the group – and Tom Hanks rehearses his Captain Phillips breakdown for the camera. All is well.

Savvy readers may note that this is not only not how Dungeons & Dragons works, but also not how mental health works, or New York City traffic, or indeed anything. By and large, this story bore no resemblance to anything. Congrats on completing the adventure! Please assign your own 1900HOTDOG character two new skill proficiencies and another glaring personality defect.

——————————–

PATREON ADDENDUM

But wait, there’s unfortunately more! The fear-mongering Dungeons & Dragons movie may be disingenuous and stupid, but you can’t say it doesn’t have follow-through…

Three months later, the M&M crew visit MiRoHan at home, having apparently had no contact with him or heard any news about his mental health in the interim. Or at least, they all seem to readily believe his Mom when she says “Oh, he’s fine,” then stares into the middle distance and cries a single tear. This is the same lady who was drunk and raving about her failed marriage at the top of the film…wonder what ever came of that? I’m going to guess a life of quiet desperation.

Totally expecting him to be fine, Daniel, Kate and Jay Jay are naturally surprised to find their pal STILL HAVING JUST COMMITTED A RANDOM MURDER IN NYC DID WE FORGET ABOUT THAT?! Also, he still thinks he’s Pardieu. Dude doesn’t even get to reroll his character!

MiRoHan explains the emphatically dumb lore he invented about his backyard while Kate gives boilerplate narration about the made-up dangers of board games.

They also spend the rest of the day buying into and supporting his delusions by playing along with them, which I don’t think is the healthiest way to address the group’s problems. That, of course, would be to just hold hands and keep walking straight into the lake. It’s enchanted!

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Haraka, who is like Tom Hanks, but taller and made of solid steel and powered by nuclear fission. So I guess just a taller Tom Hanks?

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LEARNING DAY

Learning Day: The Walnuts Concludes 🌭

A few months back, I celebrated Pride Month with an appreciation piece about the Burt Reynolds sitcom Evening Shade, for showcasing basic human decency around trans issues.

But I’m not done yet!

It’s not enough simply to support trans rights and queer people…true allyship demands that I likewise denigrate and toxify heteronormative sex until it surrenders. Hence, it’s time for a real gut-punch to the libido that can only be categorized as a pretty Fucking Upsetting Learning Day, and elsewise described as…“YIKES! EVEN MORE PEANUTS PORN PARODY!”

The Walnuts has returned. Have returned? Anyway, Charley Brown’s dick is out, I guess let’s not get hung up on grammar. Last time we covered parts 1 and 2. This time – I SWEAR – we conclude the series with parts 3 and 4. In case your neural defenses already scrubbed the relevant brain-footage, part 2 ended on quite the cliffhanger! Charley had just learned that the sexual relationship he had with Lucy when they were both ten resulted in a daughter. Lucy grew up to marry Shrolder and they pretended to have adopted the child, but she’s actually Charley’s bio-kid, and also having sex with Shrolder, her stepdad! AAUGH!

As part 3 begins, Charley tucks that issue to the back of his mind and pivots hard back to what’s really important, the outstanding question of who’s going to be wearing his balls for a chinstrap tonight (presumably with a single pube curlicued across their otherwise bald surface).

We pull out (unlike ten-year-old Charley, amirite?!) to reveal he’s in bed with a background character, whose rude tiddies have here been tastefully censored with some walnut jpgs.

Her postcoital advice is both actionable and incisive, but as someone who writes professionally about porno comix I’d be a fool to claim I even see the folly of my own ordeal, let alone Charley’s. Also please note how little sex there actually is in this comic for the third outing, and let that underscore our shared shame – me for having spread this dark knowledge, you for having imbibed it. Why does this thing exist? Who was this even fashioned for?

Don’t worry though, tons of sloppy tentacle sex coming in part 4! I wish I was kidding.

I WISH I WAS KIDDING.

Being a typical cishet piece of shit, Charley Brown would rather take life advice from a sketchy drug-dealing dog with a penis than stoop to admitting the wisdom of a human female, so then this happens:

I like to think that Charley fell asleep between panels and the rest of the story is a dream. Or hey, even better, he had a massive aneurysm and this is his vision upon dying! Either scenario would go some way toward explaining the chaos that comes next, none of which ever touches on Shrolder or Chuck’s estranged daughter ever again. It’s almost as if the guy who made this pervy Peanuts comic lacks formal training??

Spoilers: even though he gives off huge Joey Pants in The Matrix vibes, Charley’s going to pick the red pill. On the plus side, this will NOT derail the comic by turning it into an incel manifesto or other political screed. See?

On the downside, neither will it “continue the story” in any real way, nor answer any of Charley’s problems, which are now our problems. Instead, we’re treated to what you get whenEVER you take a pill a dog handed you…an insane trip whose only theme is being upsetting.

Again, I barely even have to censor this image because the team of maniacs at JRKcomix have lost all interest in making you cum. This is no longer masturbation material; this is an earnest mashup of some stuff they remember from The Big Lebowski and some stuff they remember from The Peanuts. The perfunctory nature of the art and storytelling makes me wonder if this artist was working on a deadline, but how could that possibly be true…someone was WAITING for this? There was MONEY to be made off this if delivered in a timely manner?

The drug/dream sequence ultimately ends when Snoopy flies his doghouse into a giant open vagina, here covered by a jpg of an open walnut. Witness how its shape echoes your fragile human brain, now ruined.

Sobered, Charles wrestles with his options. The only sound is that of a bird pecking aimlessly at the shiny, wormlike penis of a dog. Whether it expects to earn nourishment or sexual gratification from this is left unexplored. Spyke, for his part – impassive, Al Swearengen-like – checks his watch and delivers a terse monologue about a prostitute he watched die delivering a deformed baby and how that relates to gentrification…sorry, I’m stretching the riff a bit because what really happens next is so filthy I needed more time to make bigger jpgs of different kinds of nuts to cover it up.

Please rest assured though! All the genitals in The Walnuts are so poorly-drawn as to be entirely non-sexual anyway. I censor them only out of courtesy; if you can masturbate to this shit, I’d imagine you could masturbate equally well to an office chair, Focusrite USB-C Scarlett 2i2 desktop preamp, or third thing I look around my office and see – a rubber vagina, let’s say.

“Hey Bill, part 3’s still on track for a Friday release, right? Remember, our whole Q4 is riding on this!”

“You know it, boss! I already added the onomatopoeias and everything!”

“Great. And you spelled “fuck” right, right?”

“…”

“…Bill? You spelled “fuck” right, right? Can you not hear me?”

(muffled gunshot from next room)

Hot cashew-on-pecan action aside, it turns out we’re now in a scene of Charley banging Lucy again so he can get her take. Her take on what to do about their trauma history and the daughter they share? Of course not! I meant the other thing, the “who to date tonight” thing. First though, more of what the people really came for – a bit of the ol’ ugghh-and-splerph!

I just showed you Charley Brown cum on Lucy’s face, so I hope you’ll believe me when I say I’m not cutting anything out at this juncture. I mention it because this next transition is pretty abrupt…the scene is literally just the beloved Peanuts kids banging one out, then Lucy says:

True to the source material, Charley is in the end unmasked as a pathetic people-pleaser just waiting for someone to tell him what to do. In this case, he tried to listen to a random hookup girl, but his misogyny prevented him from being able to absorb her advice. Then he tried listening to a dog, but the dog’s drugs were wack, an equally common scenario. Finally, Charley has returned to his roots and played “move the football” with his ol’ pal Lucy, and the path forward is clear.

Astute readers may recall that Peppercorn Patty is supposed to be a lesbian, but as it turns out the people who make Peanuts characters fuck each other aren’t too hung up on accurate labelling. What Patty really seems interested in is a polycule with Charley and Marcia, her current girlfriend.

aaaaaand that’s sort of where we have to leave it. Despite the fact that the movie they’re watching is called “THE END?” this is emphatically the end of Charley Brown’s Walnuts adventures. We shall never find out what happens with his daughter and Shrolder, nor what word was accidentally dropped from Patty’s final sentence. Here’s some guesses though:

“I mean who wouldn’t like to get their _______ in some good ol’ fashion lube?”

  • baseball
  • life savings invested
  • cheap high from eating a couple pumps of hand sanitizer diluted

Hahaha, we have fun. Well…we used to. Now it’s time for The Walnuts Part 4, an issue so hideous it shut down the franchise. And not because offended people demanded it – let’s be honest, no one read this – but because the creators themselves realized they could degrade Charles M. Schulz no further. Once they uploaded part 4 their work was done, the defilement was complete. As someone once famed for fucking pumpkins, its cover presents what I can only describe as a worst-case scenario. In Soviet Walnuts…pumpkin fucks YOU.

Also Lynus has scrupulously coaxed his adult body into being egg-shaped; I’ll let you decide which is the more disturbing offer.

In a surprisingly expository lore dump for a Peanuts porno, Charley’s little sister Sally explains that although they only recently became a sexually active couple (see the events of The Walnuts part 1 [No, wait, don’t.]), she’s apparently been humoring his strange obsession with The Great Pumpkin for over a decade. If you’re not a Peanuts fan, you should know that The Great Pumpkin is canonical, and also a totally made-up character Linus expects to appear to him some fateful Halloween night with the faith of an ultra-Christian doomsday prepper.

Although Schulz never revealed what made Linus think that, by applying Occam’s Razor – “the explanation with the fewest assumptions is usually the correct one” – we can deduce that his parents (and therefore all the parents in the Peanuts series) were probably cultists running a The Village-like experiment on the children during which they fetishized Halloween and only spoke using trombones to rob their subjects of a comprehensible rubric by which to strive for approval. That or too much dog drugs. What’s important is: then Lynus eats Sally’s pussy out.

Aside from talking with his mouth full, which almost certainly compromises his labial game, Lynus seems proficient enough at the act. We know this because Sally passes that age-old test of a lover’s passion…cumming enough times to summon The Great Pumpkin. It’s how the Director’s Cut of Brazil originally ended!

Lynus and Sally have pumpkin-patch sex in various positions for a while, to what I imagine are the rhythmic sloshing sounds of water moving inside his ovoid stomach. Ever the good blanket boy, he splerphs momma.

They do love each other though, which makes it kind of beautiful.

Making it kind of less beautiful, if you look carefully in the background of that frame you can juuuuust make out the tentacle-monster that’s about to rape Sally for the duration of the column, until you click away in embarrassment, or until you go insane, whichever comes first. Don’t worry, though! Pecans will hide it…pecans can fix all of this.

It’s not exactly the end of the Silent Hill movie starring Sally from Peanuts, but it’s as close as you can get without a TimeCop stepping out of a rift behind you and bludgeoning you to death for the good of not just this, but all realities. Now LOOK UPON LYNUS’ DUMPTRUCK ASS AND BE DAMNED BY IT.

It’s hypnotic. It’s as if you carefully balanced the egg that is his torso on another, sideways egg. It doesn’t stop there, either…I can’t in good conscience show you his egg-shaped penis to prove my point, but let’s just say the skewed cashew I used to cover it up in the above “Splerph” frame doesn’t spare a pixel, width-wise. Guy’s dick is all about that base. A trapezoidal chode is what I’m describing. Anyway, Lynus pervs out and runs off to get a camera to document the assault. It’s like a form of bad Japanese hentai!

God, please don’t do that to me because I said that! Is that the standard punishment for saying that now? Fuck. Or should I say “Fuk?”

Sally then gets veggies shoved in her every orifice, an act Gen Z refers to as “the salad shooter” whenever they get together with real-life friends to explore their sexuality, so fortunately it hasn’t actually come up yet.

Did I do it? Did I ruin Peanuts for you irretrievably? No? Fun Fact: The Little Red Haired Girl is based on Schulz’s real unrequited love and muse Donna Mae Wold, to whom he proposed after landing his first big syndication deal. She said no. Said Schulz of the relationship: “I can think of no more emotionally damaging loss than to be turned down by someone whom you love very much. What a bitter blow that is.” Hey, try gettin’ facefucked by a cucumber, Chuck! A bitter blow indeed. Also, Lynus missed his big moment because he left to fetch the camera, and the JoKeRs at JKRComix can’t even fucking spell “splooge” right, so it’s a bummer all around.

Obviously that isn’t actual SPLOONGE but rather just green plant juice so I don’t need to censor it, like how 90’s cartoons would have robot baddies spray neon pink oil everywhere as they fall into a thresher screaming in hideous TV-PG-rated anguish. Lynus likewise lets his disappointment be known, looking for all the world like a snowman with a traffic cone for a dick.

Fourteen years of slavish devotion have yielded him naught but a satisfied girlfriend and an immortal legacy in comics that we’ve now tainted down to the molecular level. End of episode, series, and karmic punishment. From incest to xenophilia, pumping kin to a Pumpkin King, truly The Walnuts had it all…or at least all the parts we had to scrape off to pass the surprise health inspection. Now go eat your vegetables kids, but not in that way! NEVER in that way.

———————

BONUS ADDENDUM

Thanks for reading along with me, beloved Hotdoggers! I’ll see you next time for more of my never-ending series on comic strip porn parodies…next up is MILField, then Calvin and Knobs, followed by Poonsbury, Fuckme Winkerbean, Non Squirtur, Fuckstrot, and The Jizzard of Id.

After that, Broom-Filleda’s on deck, which sets us up nicely for a run of some Mother Goose and Cumm books, a few Hagar the Bangable, Big Abner, and Bloom Cunty collections, six months’ worth of Luanal, and some cherry-picked For Better or For Tits strips. Then we’ll really double down when we cover the whole of The Pooncocks, The Family Circle Jerk, and Get Fuzzy, plus one panel from an old Crankshaft I really like, which I’ve censored here with another old Crankshaft panel from a different strip, sometimes called “frotting.”

Sequential art was a mistake.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Honk, the living embodiment of lust and impulse. But today, dear readers, Honk will get no joy or satisfaction from the hours of sweaty rhythmic slapping of meat. Instead, Honk will think about that time the great pumpkin sploonged all over, and Honk might never become aroused again.

Categories
LEARNING DAY

Learning Day: The Japanese Pornographer who Invented ASMR and One Other Simpsons Thing 🌭

What feels like an eternity ago, you and me really got into it over a metaphorical Flight of Simpsons Weirdness, which is to say three things. I showed you three things, all Simpsons-related, and in case you don’t recall you absolutely loved it. “Simpsons me again, Simpsman!,” you begged, cobbling the clumsy portmanteau together on the fly and through a thick haze of HomEros, which is a much stronger portmanteau. Now I’ve got two more Simpsons things I want to show you, and yet although they are both arguably even more fascinating…some part of me still refuses to type. Probably the fingers. The reason things feel so different is painfully clear. Between writing that first jolly column and sitting down to etch this one I suffered the birth of my first child, referred to hereafter as A. Baby.

Mr. Baby and I became acquainted through a friend of a friend’s vagina, and have since become very close, almost like family. And having that – that “almost-family feeling” – well, it changes you. There are some significant tax benefits, for example. But it also raises new and frightening questions: what kind of world will I be leaving to my heir? What kind of cursed Simpsons media will be molding him into the ideal man when Treehouse of Horror LV premieres? To answer that question, we must peer into the minds behind two of today’s most powerful Simpsons-intensive indoctrination delivery vectors: public education and YouTube.

And so, fingerefusal aside (which is a portmanteau whose elegance ranks somewhere between that of the previous two), the column must and will begin. If you can guess what I’m typing this with instead of my fingers, please don’t.

THE SEVEN DEAD-IDDLY-EDDLY SINS

Rock Eisteddfod was an attempt by the Australian public school system to get kids interested in dance, healthy diet choices, and abstinence from things like alcohol and ciggies, which is one of the stupid things they call them there. The program culminated in a yearly dance competition pitting high schools against each other for backroom betting purposes. As you might imagine, the vast majority of schools – basically all except this one I found – would do something tame and sensible, like a hiphop routine where they out-breakdance and shame a faggybutt (the Australian government literally reached out and made me call it that; I’m very sorry).

But when Harristown State High comes to play, they don’t not go immediately unhinged insane, as evidenced by the supernova eyes of their spokesperson, seen here explaining to the hosts that what they are about to witness is inexplicable and therefore she isn’t actually there and this isn’t even happening right now.

Obviously you know it’s a Simpsons thing, so let’s not obfuscate that fact. In fact, the Harristown routine starts with a valiant attempt to dramatize the intense creative anguish Matt Groening must have gone through while fucking around and giggling at his own doodles. Again, by contrast, your average one of these routines starts with some kids making a bunch of Australian flags form into a food pyramid of healthy snack options. Instead, overwhelmed by the Szyslakian despair of his task, Harristown Matt skips right past overeating, drugs and alcohol, or wanton sex, and attacks Australia’s problems at their root – ALL SEVEN DEADLY SINS FUCK IT. Like the mythical hydra, we must decapitate all the fell beasts at once and put the nation’s children back on the True Christian Path Matt Groening Intended!!!

Yep, it’s a government-funded religious guilt trip in the form of a High School Simpsons musical from dawn unduh, myte! We begin with greed, avarice, the lust for money. Who better to embody it than Springfield’s own version of famed plutocrat Mr. Snrub, Montgomery Burns?

There’s upbeat synth music, Burns juggles a little and piles up big stacks of cash – it makes sense! In fact, if things stay this grounded it almost feels like a stretch to target this for a column.

Has the part of my body I’ve been typing with instead of my fingers been perhaps a tad hasty? My ex-wife always said that part was hasty, if you know what I mean! My penis is the part if you don’t know what I mean. Indeed, as we work our way up the SIN-O-METER from Greed to Gluttony, even my famous typing penis is forced to admit this concept might work fine, actually?

Homer, Gluttony, sure. Makes sense. You got dancing beer and donuts, lead kid in a funny Homer costume…and look, they made the cooling tower! Cute.

Oh okay, there’s the bump. See, I knew it would be in there somewhere. Bart taking pics of sexy Lisa while a bunch of Lisa clones lunge through the darkness bears discussion. The staging doesn’t make it totally clear whether the above tableau represents Lust or not, but I’m going to give Harristown kids the benefit of the doubt and assume it’s going for a Pride/Envy combo thing instead. The point is, my penis should trust my fingers more. Frankly, lately they aren’t on the same page at all; trying to masturbate is like plunging a rock tumbler.

Next to take the stage is Margaret Simpson, who by process of elimination should represent Sloth, which is a pretty heavy trip to lay on a baby.

Hopefully she won’t develop any weird complex or need to overcompensate to dispel the perceived stigma of her slothfulness.

Then she backflips off a skateboard! It’s a classic Simpsons undermine. Why Bart is now a frog is a reference that goes over my head, much like Maggie as she continues to flip up up and away as if to say “Hey! You out there! Don’t be fat like Dancin’ Homer! Be skinny like a Backflip Baby getting violently shaken all around!” But it’s just as well the minors have left the room (except for two of them), for what comes next can only be described as an ideogram or kind of living hieroglyphic, the essence of Wrath and Lust conflagrating as one.

Also is Marge about to pop an understudy Maggie out? What’s with that pose? Anyway, Bart and Lisa roll away and Marge and Homer split into a domestic abuse situation on the left and violent humping on the right.

Like, they dance those things, but the message is the same: “Get it? Sex and rage are in each of us commingled? You know, the point of David Cronenberg’s A History of Violence?”

“That’s true, we largely consider this a routine responding to A History of Violence.”

Just kidding. What they actually say after they’re done doing that to a bunch of other kids is – “This really opened our eyes to what children are watching on simple cartoon shows, for example The Simpsons. We’ve noticed that it’s not always a good message or a good moral coming through and parents need to realize this before they let their children watch it.”

So EITHER this was an anti-Simpsons routine, which is evidenced by Marge being the one to deliver the above buzzkilling monolog, or it was a pro-Simpsons, pro-Sin, pro-fun Ozzie creep-down I can really get behind. The only evidence tipping the scales in that direction is the subtle brilliance of starting your final line with “This really opened our eyes…” while dressed like this:

THE JAPANESE PORNOGRAPHER WHO INVENTED ASMR

Okay, so, unfortunately our investigation into what the schools are pounding into our kids’ brains, Simpsons-wise, was inconclusive. They say satire is dead, and I agree because I am unimaginative and was never taught close reading skills. Just kidding, I’m not! That was satire! Or at least irony, you gotta give me that. And now I gotta give you this, a video I first encountered in 2010 and have since rewatched in both good times and bad. All the time, that same question pounds in my brain: is this satire? What is this?

Nominally, it is a YouTube poop-style video of ideas for a potential Simpsons movie, the real Simpsons Movie having been announced the year prior. The intro music takes up half the video, will compel you to hit someone you thought you would never hit in your whole life, and is perfectly embodied by this freezeframe:

It’s “the kind of music you’d expect to be paired with imagery like that,” and I’m confident you know what I mean. As for the rest of the video, it’s a crudely-animated horrorshow I will now try and probably fail to adequately describe. In fact, I think this is such a writing challenge I need to get my penis and my fingers involved, like I do with my patented sex move “failed attempted anal because if it’s been a while you forget how awkward it actually is mechanically to get it on in there but I do really appreciate the token of intimacy and willingness to try things.” Works* every time.

Unsurprisingly, the star of the episode is a new character with a broad Australian accent. Clearly the animator was radicalized as a child by participation in the Rock Eisteddfod program. He introduces himself to Ned Flanders-through-a-Ren-and-Stimpy-filter as Fishbone or Fishface or something, then quickly dispatches him and takes up residence in his home. Shortly thereafter, the brutalized corpses of Rod and Todd are unceremoniously dumped from the second floor windows into the gutter.

Sorry, gut-diddly-uttler. Once Fishman has stripped the Flanders home bare of resources and presumably found and defiled Maude’s body, he swiftly moves on to the Simpsons themselves. In this reality, Bart is a little older, and a little less naive. Of course by that I mean he’s graduated from “El Barto” tags to “Fuck U Homer” and his usual pranks have been replaced by the simple but effective technique of throwing bricks at his father’s face.

Naturally, this results in some household tension.

And admittedly, some of the dialog about the modern legacy of Iran-Contra politicking is spot-on, but also here’s what Homer looks like:

If I know my anime, that tear means he’s sick, the snot bubble implies he’s flirting with Fishberg, and the butter smear across his bottom lip means he’s a pro and he’s ready to go. But Homer’s usual heady mix of Wrath and Lust isn’t enough to satisfy Fishbone, who angrily seduces Marge with lines that are so distorted and Australian I can’t transcribe them, then demands Homer move out, which he does.

He cries about it. The end.

Oh wait! I almost forgot that Homer comes back home at the very end to find Marge going full reverse cowgirl on Fishbutter’s churn-stick. Please note the pool of blood implying her defloration and Homer’s absolute all-timer cuck status. Homer then lets out the final line of the video, that rings clear and true like a sad sad bell in my head to this very day.

“Maaaaaaaaarge. You’re breaking my heaaaaaaaart.” Click, and be forever changed. WAY more than having a kid, by the way, which I can now confirm.

So, given that I will be offloading my son’s development to cool stuff like the above, I’d like to dive just a little deeper into the video’s poster, who goes by “virgin teen” on YouTube. His channel appears to have been active from 2002 to 2012, boasts 2.36 subs per video he’s released, and bills itself as “the official cannel [sic] of internet pioneer, millennial “asmr” inventor, cyberartist and patron saint of online, virgin teen.” Here he is reacting to the death of Michael Jackson.

And that’s the thing about virgin teen, who as I write this must be a virgin dad himself I imagine…he’s not far off about inventing ASMR. Because the invention and description of that phenomenon is widely credited to a 2007 post wherein a user named “okaywhatever” described the experience and it resonated with so many people that researcher Jennifer Allen conducted the first study into it in the 2010’s. Meanwhile, every single one of virgin teen’s videos is like the above – a static shot of him smoking one whole cigarette while he whispers about the nominal topic so quietly that all you can hear is lip on paper and whispers and vibes, man. Of hundreds of videos, turns out the Simpsons one stands alone amidst a sea of uncredited ASMR genius.

Some of v. t.’s videos predate the widespread use of the term ASMR, and include topics as diverse as “Re: Ask Olga K [Episode 7],” “Movie 17,” “Re: my internet’s gone down,” “Re: cat scratches parrot’s head,” “Re: Michael jackson has die – Michael Jasckson is dead,” and “Re: Yaprak Dökümü 71.Blm 1.Parça [www.EsenlerDizi.com].” Each is a susurrating soundscape he probably meant to be ironically funny, but which actually come off incredibly soothing because satire is dead.

But virgin teen lives on, as does the spirit of ASMR, as does The Simpsons, and as does A.Baby, whose own gravitational journey towards pop cultural artifacts that will mark the ages of his life has only just begun. But you know? I think we’re in good hands.

He also does a pretty funny twitter feed of Japanese porn titles!

*As decreed by the National Genital Board following my disqualification from the league, I must include an asterisk whenever implying my dick works.

Michael also releases content through his outlet Small Beans, wrote a Sci-Fi/Fantasy novel you can read or listen to, and launched a hyuuuuuge Simpsons project June 1st on the old Cracked YouTube channel, so look for that!

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Honk 𝑤ℎ𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑛 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒 𝑛𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑣𝑖𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛, 𝑠𝑜 𝑖𝑡 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠.

Categories
LEARNING DAY

Pride Day: The 1994 Burt Reynolds Sitcom That Nailed Trans Allyship (Because It’s Not Hard) 🌭

Once, I went to a history museum and read a letter from 1620 that powerfully changed my view of the transatlantic slave trade. Maybe I should say “deepened” instead of “changed,” since I was already pretty soured on it. Regardless, standing there, ruminating on those 405-year-old words and waiting for museum security to swap shifts so my part of the heist could go off, I quietly had my standard for basic human decency raised. See, this letter was written by a white ancestor – already a colonizer, already complicit in a genocide – reacting to the first slave ships from Africa reaching their shores. Disbelief and rage still sang in their handwriting four centuries later as they relayed the news to some inland cousin that people were going to be displayed in chains and sold as property later that week.

And folks? THEY WEREN’T HAVING IT. I’m not an expert at old-timey lingo unless I pretend to be for the purposes of a column, but as I recall the gist was something like:

Something like that. The point is, there is no excuse to disregard another’s humanity. There never has been. No being is so important they can usurp the rights of another – not because your boss told you to, not because it’s just business, not because you were only following orders, not because everyone else is doing it. We knew that in our bones four hundred years ago and we’ll know it four hundred years from now, even when we pretend we don’t.

See? And although I first absorbed that Noble Truth from an old letter in a glass case as a museum heist fell hilariously apart behind me, it’s far from the only cultural artifact showcasing the simple respect for one another we seem to find and lose again so often. Four centuries ago, that letter-writer found it. Four decades ago, it was Burt’s turn.

This is Burt Reynolds. In the 1970s and ’80s, he represented the absolute PEAK of mainstream masculinity. He starred in movies with words in their titles like “cannonball” and “smokey” and “sharkey’s” and “gator” and “Texas” and “whorehouse” and “run!” His most notable characters had names like The Bandit, Hooper, and Stroker Ace. He starred in one movie about playing football in jail, then another movie about murdering some guys for forcing gay sex on him.

Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you? Burt Reynolds shone upon the face of the Earth like a great testicle rising over a vast field of erections, bathing them with endless waves of cowboy-grade sperm, runoff T, and motorcycle-peeling-out sound effects. His hair was easy to get a secure grip on, and his leathery face caused moisture to bead and wick away naturally. In short: one of our premiere mustache rides.

Somewhere in there, Mr. Reynolds also starred in a sitcom called Evening Shade for four seasons and exactly 100 episodes. In case the name Evening Shade sounds too feminine, please note that Burt plays an ex-pro High School football coach named Wood Newton. A “newton” is of course a unit of directional force, making his character’s name essentially “Coach Dick Pushpower.”

The show’s intro sequence does nothing to dilute Burt’s formidable All-American Coach/Man/Dad status. Within the first fifteen words of the theme song, the lyrics have name-checked “front porch swings,” “glasses of lemonade” and “a baby on my knee.” In classic sexist fashion, every single member of the cast is depicted with a photo from their youth except Marilu Henner, who’s seemingly not allowed to appear in any non-bangable context.

Literally everything about Evening Shade is in tonal lockstep with the cultural mores of middle America’s “TGIF Belt” of the early ’90s. It’s uncontroversial, funny but not too funny, and puts a phenomenal cast essentially to waste. As was the style at the time, casual homophobic jokes are absolutely not off the table. Not hatefully homophobic, per se, but the kind of sitcom joke where the punchline is “what if you were gay, imagine that – huh.” Aunt Frieda might say “I found Ponder the perfect woman” and Wood will reply “Oh good, I hope you two are very happy together.” Big laugh.

Or the Beta-coded comic relief character will burst in and Wood’ll lay him out with “What are you doing, trying out for The Village People?” HUGE laugh right underneath the “Written By” credit because that was the money line!

Even the final shot of the intro is a classic case of “straight dudes accidentally stuck being naked together is always funny!”

And yet…on the off-chance you recognize that credit, it’s probably because Linda Bloodworth-Thomason also wrote and created a much bigger show called Designing Women. Danny Zuker would go on to Executive Produce Modern Family fifteen years later. Both shows have been credited for making strides for Queer representation on television, but even way back in ‘94, Linda and Danny and Burt and the whole Shade crew were already doing for Trans Rights allyship what that letter in that museum highlighted for me so long ago – THE BARE-ASS MINIMUM.

That’s right, I’m talking about “The Perfect Woman,” a campy mid-’90s sitcom episode about Ossie Davis getting set up with a trans woman! But the weird thing is? It all goes FINE. Her name is Ginger and Burt Reynolds gets her pronouns right the whole time because he BARELY GIVES A SHIT and readily acknowledges that it’s NONE OF HIS BUSINESS!! This is about as nonplussed as he gets in the episode, and it works whether you define ‘nonplussed’ the one way or the opposite way:

I’m aware that most folks reading this column already understand the way political interests pick randomly-selected out-groups to scapegoat whenever they need to get dumb people to be mean to each other instead of rebelling. Even going in with that mindset, it’s no less shocking to watch this whole Evening Shade episode unfold and never get offended. Check this fucking scene out:

It was fucking that simple! This aired on CBS at 8pm and almost no one gave a single, solitary shit! And the few who did give shits were free to give them in whatever restroom best suited their gender identity, and again – no one else murdered them over it or even cared! Like a good, detached ’90s dad, Wood simply compliments Ponder on being so secure in himself and goes back to banging on footballs with pipes in the garage.

Here’s Wood kissing both his kids because that’s a Fine Upstanding Alpha Male thing to do.

Here’s Ossie’s character, Ponder, explaining that the great thing about ketchup is that it can meet a burger, meet fries, meet some mayo and turn to thousand island dressing – “the important thing,” he says, “is that the possibilities are unlimited!” It’s literally a lecture on fluid identity using the most American fluid you’re allowed to show on cable TV.

There’s even a B-plot designed to mirror the main plot in which two hamsters named after famously gay Vegas stage magicians Siegfried and Roy navigate a maze of ducts only to discover that Siegfried is a girl!

Crucially – and perhaps most surprisingly – they also nail the scene of Ginger explaining her own situation. Here she is being played by Diahann Carroll, a legendary model, actress, singer and activist in her own right. The scene goes…

And that’s it. Respect for one another; that’s the bar. It’s very low. In fact, if someone you know chooses not to clear it, maybe punch them in the fucking mouth and show them this letter, then this episode of Evening Shade.

Like all episodes of Evening Shade, “The Perfect Woman” ends with a little narration from Ossie over the closing credits. This time around, he says…“Life can be full of surprises, and one of the nicest of them is discovering a friend you might never have met or even recognized, except in a place called Evening Shade.” I’ll add only that evening is the time of twilight, when day and night dance and melt together, and the universe demonstrates once more that almost everything is a spectrum, and nothing as separable as it seems.

Except for the main wife lady Marilu plays, who’s an insufferable giggly TERF the whole time.

Like I said, for 1994? Prescient.

Michael is proudly Queer, as well as the host of a new podcast about The Simpsons you can check out right now in audio or video form. The two facts are largely unrelated.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Moexu, a master of pronouns and respecting the shit out of people. Moexu wrote a thank you note for this dedication and mailed it out before this article even went live. Just a complete class act all the way.

Categories
LEARNING DAY

Learning Day: The Walnuts 🌭

“I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable.” – Lisa Simpson

I forget which episode that’s from, but it always stuck with me, much like every line of every episode of The Simpsons Seasons 3 through 9. But I didn’t call you all into the parlor to talk Simpsons, or even because by converting my entire studio apartment into a parlor it has become the default option. In fact, I discussed The Simpsons in a previous column and do so regularly for a living – emphasis on “disgust.”

Point is, like Lisa I contain multitudes, and most of them are Upsetting. Unfortunately I listened to too much John Mayer in college and now I’m constitutionally incapable of staying inside the lines, so today I present a Learning Day column where we’re going to learn about something very Upsetting together, and I sincerely apologize about the fact that this was unavoidable and for how it will make you feel. No one asked for it, you got it – it’s The Peanuts comic book porn parody!

Again, very sorry. Here is a column with Cheech and Mr. T if that’s more your speed. Neither of them gets fucked by tentacles in it, which is more than I can promise when it comes to The Walnuts. This is an artifact unearthed from particularly deep in the bowels of the internet, where equal page-space is dedicated to content as to ads promising things like THIS GAME WILL MAKE YOU CUM IN 2 MINUTES or JERK OFF WITH SOMEONE NAKED (which is honestly an excellent way to jerk off with someone). Obviously, given the sensitive nature of the subject, I’ll be censoring some of the more graphic bits with a few of my favorite Far Side comics by Gary Larson.

Also if y’all could make sure Alex Schmidt never sees this one, I think we’d both really appreciate it. So like, when I post on Bluesky to promote, don’t tag him in the replies or anything, that almost certainly wouldn’t be very very funny. Alright, let’s get to work on this column! But don’t you do that, because masturbating to what I’m about to show you is illegal in the state you’re in – and I mean metaphysically, like on this plane of existence.

You can’t tell from the cropped cover, but the Walnuts gang are indeed grown up in this, which is itself a relief. The team behind this comic don’t want to fuck kids, just your childhood. Also, as a professional comedy writer I’m duty-bound to note that Peanuts is already so close to “penis” that they probably could have done something with it. But don’t you do something with it, because masturbating to what I’m about to show you is so taboo that as soon as you do it your more judgmental parent automatically knows.

Packing Peanuts. Much better title. That’s free, you can have that.

Great, we’re two panels in and nothing irredeemably evil has yet unfolded. That said, a few things to note about The Walnuts as a work thus far:

🌭 You don’t email a letter.

🌭 “Am I doom to” isn’t anything.

🌭 Uh-oh, Lynus has read The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists.

🌭 Lastly, “Linus” is again so close to the word “penis” that’s probably how I would have handled it. But don’t you handle it, because masturbating to what I’m about to show you is so unnatural it will bring tamagotchis back. And not in a cute, nostalgic way – they’ll be everywhere you go, their electronic cries to be fed and cleaned ubiquitous and inescapable, forming the hideous backdrop of your new Nermal (they are Garfield-themed).

Oh hey, only three billion women? If my googling is accurate, that implies this comic was either poorly researched or made in 1999, although I prefer to believe it takes place on another planet far, far away from here.

Our first exposure to actual human lovemaking is in silhouette, which shows some restraint from the publisher. What doesn’t is calling your imprint JKR COMICS, which given that you make porn could equally represent the words “joker” or “jacker.” Then there’s the elephant in the room – Lynus is a piece of shit. Like, real human garbage. He’s not against same-sex relationships, he literally doesn’t believe they exist. Dudes are out here fuckin’ and Lynus is all “I don’t buy it.”

Protip: if a girl says “come with me” in a way where you can definitely tell she meant “cum” in place of “come,” you’ve entered Sure Thing Territory. Welcum to Favor Cuntry, my friend! This is happening. Not to mention, your mouth is shaped like a white kidney bean and her’s is shaped like a black kidney bean, so it seems like your mouths will probably fit together or snap into place in a pleasing way! It’s kissmet.

Next, Peppercorn Patty asks Charley out, or rather orders him to date her.

Cum to think of it, “Peppermint Patty” is so close to “penisy penis” that I kinda can’t wrap my head around how they missed that. But don’t you wrap your head around a penisy penis, because sucking dick to what I’m about to show you is considered a stain on your Klingon Honor that lingers down to the seventh generation. Even Alexander would bear the shame of your discommendation! Anyway, FYI Charley Brown and Marcia are about to get down to business (sex business), so fair warning. TRY NOT TO CUM IN 2 MINUTES.

Like most sexual encounters, things kick off with Charley either sucking on or repeatedly greeting Marcia’s breast. He continues to sup upon it eagerly until Marcia, wild with desire, falls to her knees to return the favor. The expression on Charley’s face as she wraps her head around his linus is unmistakable – sheer ecstasy.

Maybe mild surprise. Definitely one of those two. The comic then cuts outside to reveal that they’ve been banging in Snoopy’s impossibly large dog house the whole time. This implies either that Snoopy is thirty or the Walnuts gang are still children, just long, poorly-drawn ones.

It’s like they say: if the doghouse is rockin’, Charley Brown’s got his cock in, Marcia’s talk is shockin’ and Tupac’s glock – oh wait, there’s still more.

Gotta be honest, the mental image of jizz squizzing out of Charley Brown’s penis with a mighty SPLERT while he promises more to cum is maybe the most Upsetting moment of this whole Learning Day. So there, that’s one thing we’ve learned already! Learning is fun! For example, after apparently hours of just sitting there on the floor of a dirty doghouse with his penis getting soft inside his mate, Charley again tries to dunk on Marcia’s “performative lesbianism,” thereby learning what bisexual means.

Hey, asked and answered in both cases. Frank and open communication is key to cultivating a healthy DL cheating fuckbuddy hall pass situation with the bisexual girlfriend of the girl you’re taking out to the movies tonight. It’s your basic Three’s Cumpany-type scenario.

Charley does a classic “sad George Michael” walk over to see Patty, wrestling with intricate complexities like a girl not liking you back and casual sex as a concept. Fortunately, he’s about to have an Upsetting Day in Learning Day’s Clothing of his own that’s going to spark a lot of growth and explain a lot.

Wow. So that “we have to find my pussy” thing from earlier was a joke setup. In the writer’s mind they were laying pipe, and not in the way I hope you aren’t right now, because if you are then what I just showed you has caused a hungry Korean ghost to affix to your family as punishment.

That’s essentially the end – or “punch” – of the first issue, and admittedly Lynus wiggling his dump truck ass underneath a beloved childhood blanket long browned from use and age is an image that, for me, will endure. At least until the atrocities of The Walnuts #2 come through and scour them away like brain-Metamucil. As a starter, please note that I was forced to censor the cover because Snoopy (still asleep mind you) is sporting a big hairy red hard doggy dick.

What’s really messed up is, he’s having a sex dream about Woodstock – presumably named Woodsuck in this reality – blowing his brother Spike. It’s non-ironically maybe the best thing I’ve ever seen, and my firstborn son was born a month ago. He’s next to me right now as I write, and instead I’m looking fixedly at this bird sucking this dog’s dick. For you.

Dude, he’s bored of it! He’s not even into it! Major missed opportunity that “SUCK SUCK” isn’t “IIII IIII,” though. Charles Schulz would probably take issue with that, and nothing else about this comic tribute to his life’s work.

As the issue actually picks up, good ol’ Charley Brown is still reeling from walking “in” on his best friend tagging his sister from behind fully outdoors, Crank-style. In retrospect, it’s pretty wild that he didn’t shout “GOOD GRIEF!” but let’s set that aside for now. No Peanuts porn parody would be complete without Lucy, who is apparently still making a living by providing unlicensed psychiatric services from a cardboard box as an adult. That or, again, this is illegal child pornography that you’re reading. Here’s that Alex Schmidt social link again.

There you go, “married for many years.” My pedophilia concerns have finally and at last been put to rest, leaving ample room for other disturbing things to take their place. Lucy is naturally upset to be texted a pic of her man “tickling the ivories,” as they might say in “piano school.”

Wow, that’s…actually true. And like, kind of wise? I suppose whatever Lucy and Charley get up to next will truly define them.

Implied pedophilia is BACK, baby! The young lovers waste no time doing the psychiatrically responsible thing in the face of marital infidelity – rutting like animals.

I tried to pick Far Side comics that actually captured the mood of those middle, filthy panels, so hopefully that gives you some understanding of what lies beneath. Here’s a hint: the snake represents a penis and the dirty dingoes represent that Lucy is about to get anally assaulted by a dog and I really didn’t want that to sneak up on you. Put on your 3-D glasses now.

Seeing Snoopy’s dick is something you can’t take back, much like my place on various government registries upon the release of this article. It doesn’t help that he is by far the best-drawn character in the book, with by far the veiniest cock. Our only real consolation is that he doesn’t appear again after this panel, which I take to mean he was imprisoned and shanked to death by other, less odious inmates. And in fact, that’s all of the sex in the comic done, but not all of the implied pedophilia.

Wait, not implied – explicit and confirmed beyond doubt.

SHROLDER?! Fucking Shrolder? When it already sounds so much like “penis?” At this point, you might be wondering what kind of porn parody has a bunch of backstory it needs to deploy at the end, after the final sex scene. Pretty sure the only other porn parody I’ve ever seen that did that was the gay Memento parody, Guy Piercin’. That made sense though, since it went back-to-front. Don’t you put your back against a front though, because fucking while you read what I’m about to show you is considered the Eighth Deadly Sin and is punishable by Kevin Spacey.

He just gets you. He has you and he gets to do whatever. Although if you are able to have sex during this next part, honestly, kudos. You’re a worse, more disgusting person than I am, and I admire that, which I think makes us tied again.

What comes next is truly shocking.

That’s right, it wasn’t a typo, his name is really Shrolder! Fucking ew. Again, I’m not sure why we’re still locked into the story at this point, but the important thing is that we can tell from Charley’s facial expression that he’s cumming exactly as hard as he did when Marcia sucked him off in the magic doghouse.

Charley Brown’s O-face is most people’s Oh-no-face. Which indeed he yells, which reaches all the way to Shrolder’s ears, since he is also fucking outside like we all do every time. In a wild twist, Shrolder is fucking Charley’s daughter, who he thinks is his own daughter. You might recognize this as the opposite of both the Oedipus Complex and all that is right and good.

In the face of such ruinous filth, one could not be blamed for regressing mentally just as a means of escape! This concludes my essay on How I Spent My Summer Vacation. My best subject is History and when I grow up I want to be a Marine Biologist.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Eric Christian Berg, who paid extra to make sure this one wasn’t free

Categories
NERDING DAY

Nerding Day: The Magic of the Golden Bear 🌭

Gather around children, for the fire is warm upon the hearth and my grandfatherly voice is just the right amount of gin-soaked. It smells of old leather, even though there is none in the room. And, if you’ll all just close your precious peepers and shut up for five minutes For The Love of God, I’ll tell you a story – one sure to entertain the whole family in their home theatre. See?

Tonight’s tale is called The Magic of the Golden Bear, and then in parenthesis “(Goldy III).”

Do you know what parenthesis are? Can you explain why the movie subtitle is in parenthesis? Because I can’t! Nor can I tell you why the number is in the subtitle, even though the first two Golden Bear movies have it the normal way.

Also, how do you go “Last,” then “Saga,” then “Magic?” How is that a build? Oh, and of course by “movie,” Grandpa means the bedtime story he’s about to tell you. We should probably start since my premise is already slipping.

This is the story of Goldy III: The Magic of the Golden Bear!

Once, there was a big fluffy bear, and not the kind that became Daddy’s new best friend when Daddy and Mommy stopped being best friends (even though all three of them still love you very much). This bear’s name was Goldy, and she was the very last Golden Bear. Being the last of something is called being “rare,” like how you don’t see a diamond very often unless you work at the place where they keep big piles of diamonds to keep diamond prices high. Or a steak can be rare, or cows can become rare because steak is so common. Words sure can be confusing!

Here’s some confusing words, letting you know that sharing the story I’m about to tell you is a big no-no, especially if you ask all your little friends for a nickel to hear it. This is called copyright law, and it’s something you won’t have to worry about when you grow up because of A.I. technology. Now, in this story there’s a very scary character called the Ghost Man, so try to be brave. To make the Ghost Man a little less scary, let’s imagine him as someone silly, like Mr. T.

Not Mr. T from our alphabet book, I mean Mr. T the man from the YouTube compilation I showed you. His real name is Laurence, did you know that? What a stupid name. I don’t think a name could get any sillier.

I stand corrected. Cheech’s real name is Richard Anthony, but he shortened it to Cheech because of marijuana. Marijuana is a plant that helps grandpas relax, and the reason you can only eat the brownies in the vermillion tupperware, never the cerise, even though I placed them side-by-side within easy reach and swap them occasionally to keep you on your toes.

There will be other people in the story too, all of whom have porn star names. There’s Danny Woodburn, Jeff Handsomeguy, Fuck Blower, Kevin Broseph and Dick Millionaire. Can you think of a funny porn star name? No, Jonny Spaghetti is not a good porn star name. You suck at this.

Anyhow, one day Goldy’s very best friend, a little girl named Geraldine Vajbyrne, was getting oo-mox from her cranky old teacher Mrs. Dowrimple. Mrs. Dowrimple was mad because Geraldine always had dirty bare feet at school. Even though her dirty bare feet were how Geraldine made most of her income, she didn’t care one bit, and only wanted the schoolhouse to stay clean. Heck, she was such a mean old crow, she even got upset when Goldy stole her bicycle, rode it past the school at breakneck speed, immediately ate shit and totaled the bike against a tree, sprinted back to the schoolhouse, ate all the kids’ lunches and took over control of the classroom!

That old Mrs. Dowrimple sure was a bitch! Can you say “bitch?” That’s right, you can’t. That was a test. Good job. Old Mrs. D was so angry, she made Geraldine and Goldy both wear dunce caps and sit in the corner.

Well, the school only had the one dunce cap, so Goldy had to use a spare Klan hood. This was the rural 1860s, after all. Now to intercut, weaving various threads of the story together in a fashion that disjoints time to maintain a feeling of dynamics. But I shouldn’t patronize – you know how bedtime stories work, you’re seven. So meanwhile, the cantankerous racist who lent Mrs. Dowrimple the hood and his two dumbshit sons wandered through the scrub, probably sucking each other off and murdering buffalo, the absolute assholes.

This sort of behavior made the Ghost Man very mad, so mad that he also decided to indulge in some 1860s-style racism. He jumped out at the men, shaking his appropriative rain stick and looking fierce in his appropriative face paint and headdress! Spellcheck urged Grandpa to change that to “appropriate rain stick” and “appropriate face paint,” but that would be inaccurate.

Realizing that he is fighting racism with racism, which is another big no-no, the Ghost Man came up with a better plan. He fought racism…with fire!

This scared the bad men all the way back to town, where there would be no more racism at all (as long as you don’t count wooden drugstore indians).

Needing to further dirty her feet for reasons Grandpa will explain to you when you’re older, Geraldine headed out into the wilds, her loyal bear and companion Goldy by her side. The only problem was, at least one of them – and maybe both – were fools, to be pitied. The Ghost Man had no choice but to scare them away too, even though Goldy has a bite power of roughly nine hundred pounds per square inch, which would act upon the Ghost Man’s bones much like an industrial press upon a bundle of reeds.

The Ghost Man would probably have chased them all the way home! Luckily, his reasonable crow friend talked him down, explaining that he had observed Geraldine and Goldy, and knows them to be friends to animals, lovers of freedom, and owners of some of the filthiest feet around.

CAW! said the crow! OH! said the Ghost Man! I DIDN’T KNOW THAT! THANK YOU CROW!

The Ghost Man could talk to animals, see, or else was seriously mentally ill. Or both! Sometimes more than one thing can be true at the same time, like how Grandpa’s drink can be tequila AND rum AND vodka AND triple sec AND lemon juice AND simple syrup AND a splash of cola. Anyhow, the crow had been canceled for his previous work on Dumbo but was trying to make a lowkey comeback in the world of straight-to-TV. Sorry, I mean straight-to-bedtime-story-I-wrote-for-you.

That night at dinner, Geraldine told her clod-hopping family all about the Ghost Man. While they were distracted, Goldy ate their pie right off the windowsill! It made everyone laugh, both because it’s just such a silly thing to do, and because of the bite pressure dry reeds thing I mentioned earlier.

Seriously, Grandchild, look at the guy on the right – that’s a terror-smile. But it’s nothing compared to the terror-smile an egg-eyed little person with a fu-manchu mustache had just at that moment given to a poster of his master, the great magician Borgia.

For Master Borgia’s first trick, he kind of did a match cut between the poster and himself making the same face…kind of. In your mind’s eye, please imagine legendary stoner comic Cheech Marin as the great magician. If you also get a little high, some of the back half of the story will make more sense. Go ahead, Grandpa won’t tell. Look, I’ll go first. What are you, chicken?

Anyway, trick two was to shove a sword right through his throat, which was pretty wicked.

Master Borgia also had the power of hypnosis, which he showcased as his third and final trick. That was the whole show: a knife to the neck and the power to bend men to his will.

Keep in mind, this was history times. The Masked Magician had not yet taken to FOX to reveal The Magician’s Secrets, so people were more easily impressed by simple tricks like mind control.

Using his power to see the future through a crystal ball, which arguably would have been a good way to pad out the show a bit, Master Borgia became aware of Goldy. Since Goldy was the very last Golden Bear in the world, she was imbued with a lot of natural magic, and the evil magician decided to try and steal her to make her part of his show. It was a real 101 Dalmatians situation, if the dalmatians could have swatted Cruella to the ground and crunched her face off at will.

Of course, fifteen minutes had passed so it was time for another long look at Geraldine dirtying her feet. What’s that? You don’t like that part of the story? Shh, let Grandpa have this. Let Grandpa cook. Anyhow, once Geraldine’s feet were nice and filthy, she said goodbye to Pa and set off barefoot with a pair of boots over her shoulder.

Then, in a surprise twist, the story pulled out to reveal that they apparently live in Chernobyl.

She swiftly made her way back to the town concentration camp, I mean schoolhouse, to scrabble in the dirt with the other drab moppets and learn about what her life was unfortunately going to be like.

This meant Goldy had to stay home alone with Pa, which made her none too happy! She missed Geraldine, and wasn’t afraid to say so.

ROAAAAR! said Goldy. Pa just stood there a-cleanin’ his rifle until she got the idea and went and threw on one of Ma’s old dresses (rest her soul). Then Pa and Goldy did some roleplay, which Grandpa will tell you about when you’re significantly older than you will be when Grandpa tells you about the dirty feet stuff.

Finally, it was time for the Big Town Talent Show that I forgot to mention until now! Everyone was very excited as they filed under the big poster with the traditional symbol of a talent show on it: one black cat with a neck ruff standing atop two kittens who are themselves stood atop two kittens apiece, astride three balls of yarn that form the base.

Master Borgia was in town looking for Goldy, and took the stage first. He dazzled everyone right away with a trick even better than mind control or immortality – the ability to vomit paper for a long long time. Think of the applications!

Geraldine knew she would have to pull out all the stops to win against such a magical magician, so she and Goldy practiced all night on their acrobatics routine, which they had to perform that afternoon for the whole town.

Goldy didn’t do shit. Geraldine flipped all around and cheated her feet toward camera and did everything that was asked of her, but Goldy just sat there trying to use forced perspective to make it seem like she was standing on a ball. She wasn’t. “This is going to be harder than I thought!” thought Geraldine. “Fuck!” It was the first time she had ever sworn in her head. It felt good.

But with Goldy unable or unwilling to do any proper tricks, Geraldine knew she had only one hope of winning that Big Town Talent Show. Taking the stage, she forgot all about her acrobatics routine and fell back on pure instinct. Thus, after a brief Ace Ventura impersonation, she bent all the way over and let out a long, high, keening whistle of a fart for four whole minutes.

And then everyone clapped.

Even Master Borgia had to admit it was the finest work of art and affirmation of the human spirit he’d ever been privileged enough to witness. That fart was so beautiful, in fact, that it shattered the will of Master Borgia’s assistant, who left town to “go find himself,” which in this case meant working shifts as a night watchman at a feed and grain operation up in Tulsa.

Spotting his opportunity, Borgia tried to hypnotize Pa into giving him Goldy, but Pa passed a Will Saving Throw and shrugged off the attempt.

This left Borgia no choice but to try and rig the big shooting contest, so he could win a pot of gold and buy Goldy anyway. Again, owning the bear would amplify his magic abilities for reasons I can’t and won’t be goaded into explaining.

Somewhere, a rainbow wept and a leprechaun went without, because that pot of gold was brimming, let me tell you! Everyone in town took a turn shooting at targets, hoping to win that big shiny pile of coins. There was Calamity Ma’am…

…Gentleman Jim “Dandy” Léon…

…Brad from Homeroom…

…and of course, Jesse Plemons.

When Pa’s turn finally came, Master Borgia unleashed his most powerful spell of all – a handful of loose glitter!

And believe it or not, that was enough. Pa missed his target, leaving Borgia to win the gold. He then immediately tried to buy Goldy from Pa, a man who had just that morning resisted magical ensorcellment. Shockingly, that also didn’t work, since Pa could just say “no, I don’t want to sell you the bear for a pot of gold” and then Borgia was essentially out of moves.

…and that’s how Goldy the Bear and Geraldine the Foot Model didn’t win a pot of gold but did turn from pitiable fools into the ones pitying the fool, which their rival the magician Master Borgia now had become. Honestly, pretty straightforward. Dry stuff.

Oh, you’re not asleep yet? But the fire is no longer warm upon the hearth. Okay, shit, well, I guess we haven’t checked in with Mr. T in a while. So, realizing Goldy didn’t rightly belong to anyone, Geraldine and Pa released her into the wild, where she and the Ghost Man hung out and did bear stuff for the rest of their days.

What? Who ended up with the pot of gold? I guess Borgia did according to plot logic, but that doesn’t seem right – bad guy leaving with the gold. Hm…okay, let’s say Ghost Man beat Borgia to death later outside town. That wise old crow ate his eyes, I guess. Goodnight!

—-

Michael has moved from X to Bluesky. He also has a Patreon and a Substack, and releases new videos on the Cracked YouTube channel every Sunday.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Russell Bauman, who is very relieved nobody fucked the bear in this one.