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LEARNING DAY

Learning Day: Why Die

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Learning Day: Johnny Lingo

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Learning Day: Lawless

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Learning Day: Staying Awake To The World Around You

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LEARNING DAY

Learning Day: Miami Spice 🌭

Media empires begin with simple ideas: A happy cartoon mouse, an orphan child who discovers his fursona is a bat, a magical boy who believes in bathroom genital inspections. Small ideas that bloom big. So it was with Curt Hiss, the Drug Free Beatboxing Snake. At first, that’s all he was – a snake sock puppet who got so addicted to drugs he thought he could rap. You all had that friend. His name was Darren, he got into crypto. You don’t talk anymore.

Curt Hiss’ first video was a simple affair: a few backdrops, a suicidal brother, the grim reaper. That was the extent of writer/director Wayne Owens’ dream. It wasn’t enough for producer Randy Schmidt. He looked at this green sock hooked on coke and he said “a universe shall be borne from thee.” Curt Hiss’ second showing was a full blown action movie, complete with sinister drug kingpins, explosions, and the most powerful drug of all: love. Wait, sorry, it was still cocaine.

Then came Lenny the Crack-Smoking Lion, the first Curt Hiss spinoff.

Lenny’s story upped the ante with a crack epidemic, a pair of lovable rapping drug dealers, and an actual puppet overdose. One of those dealers, a black-coded puppet named Cool Cat (no relation), fucking died from a crack overdose. Actual sock death! We learned it from his screaming mother, who blamed the police for failing her family. It was way too hard a moment for a video you watch in 2nd grade gym class because the teacher is hungover.

After Cool Cat’s death, our heroes, Lenny and Ruff, swore revenge. Not for Cool Cat, but for Mr. Crack almost tricking them into sharing the same fate as a black puppet. That leads us directly into the second Lenny the Lion adventure: Miami Spice.

I used to joke that Randy Schmidt started doing anti-drug sock puppet shows and became convinced he was the next Michael Mann. Now here he is, actually doing Michael Mann. Fuck everything that happened before: Lenny and Ruff are now Drug Officers with the Central City Drug Program, and both clearly using the cocaine they confiscate.

It turns out Lenny the Lion’s last name was Sprocket, and Ruff the Dog’s last name was Bubbs this whole time. We thought he was just biting his own tongue off at the time, but it turns out Cool Cat’s last words were “beware nominative determinism.”

The Captain has just received information that Mr. Crack is opening a drug smuggling business in Miami. An adorable way to put that. Like he applied for a Drug Business Permit. Like he has a little CLOSED sign he flips to OPEN every morning to start his drug smuggling day.

Let us now pause to appreciate that the Captain Puppet is a fucking nightmare.

Specifically, the recurring nightmare you have about your step-dad and his prehensile penis. Best case scenario that’s a bubble-gum faced Ron Jeremy. Worst case scenario it’s in your house right now. This is how I’d depict Edward James Olmos in a whimsical children’s show called Edward James Olmos Fucked My Wife.

When they say “show me on the doll where he touched you,” this is the doll. They had to throw it away because it kept giggling. This is how I know crabs can live on felt. This puppet traded me a bloodstained van for a degaussing wand. This puppet fucks like a biblical plague, he-

Sorry, sorry. I got so hung up describing the only puppet violating parole to be here that I didn’t even think to mention “Drug Officer” isn’t a real job and “Central City Drug Program” isn’t a police agency. Sprocket and Bubbs are honorary deputees of a local drug outreach center and they’re heading to Miami in pursuit of a drug kingpin. Their next adventure is called An Unexpected Present and it’s their mothers opening boxes with Lenny and Ruff’s heads in them.

It seems like a pretty sharp turn from the last Lenny the Lion video, where they were both children singing the praises of crack. But there is some continuity. We are specifically told that Cool Cat remains canonically dead, and that Ruff the dog used to suck dick for rock. I mean, he doesn’t say those exact words, but what he does say is:

And he says that wearing an open collared suit and a gold hoop earring. Ruff might think an “inference” is $20 extra, but I know one when I see it.

Once in Miami, Sprocket and Bubbs meet up with another classic Lenny-verse character: Sneaky Snake, the Drug-dealing Hip-Hop snake. Some puppets can’t be redeemed, but they can all be reused. Sprocket and Bubbs need to bust him for possession with intent so they can press him for information on his boss, Mr. Crack. The perfect cue for a rap breakdown!

I’m not a music critic because all my analogies are too obscure. But these beats are so limp they’d never sexually rescue their whole race from invading conquistadors. This flow is so weak it loses the respect of its wife during an Avengers screening.

Anyway, in order to bust Sneaky Snake, Officer Bubbs first must go undercover as an addict to win his trust. He’s a little too good at it. This is the actual interaction:

Hold on! I know what you’re thinking, but that’s ridiculous. This is a child-friendly educational Miami Vice parody sock puppet show, you degen filth. This is perfectly innocent! The snake is simply handing the dog some crack to deal. Get your head out of the gutter and stop seeing this puppet get head in a gutter.

Since Sneaky has now been caught red-mouthed, Sprocket and Bubbs say they’re going to read him his rights. And then they do their complete anti-drug rap again. The same one. Word for word, from beginning to end, while Sneaky looks on in fearful confusion.

Sneaky Snake’s lawyer won’t even charge for this one. You can’t substitute an anti-drug rap for the Miranda Rights in any state except for maybe – oh right. Florida. Still, I don’t care how hard it is to sew little puppet handcuffs, you can’t just chain up a perp like a werewolf in any state but- you know what? This was, if anything, prophetic.

I know Randy Schmidt checked out of puppet morality plays long ago and is now abusing state drug-awareness grants to build a Puppywood sizzle reel, but this is getting awfully dark. I know you want to be the sock puppet Michael Mann, Randy, but this is a clear violation of rights. It’s like having an out of control cop brutalize a restrained criminal, you can’t-

Sprocket pulls Bubbs back, but only because this was the 1980s and you used to have to walk all the way across the room to turn off the cameras. Sneaky freaks out and immediately confesses, then begs not to be put in gen-pop because he won’t survive it. That sounds like I’m kidding!

No, that’s pedophiles and cops. Most convicts are in for drug charges, Sneaky would probably be fine if he wasn’t literally a sock with a lucious mouth. But he is, and he doesn’t want to go through the wash on cold again. Sneaky cuts a deal in exchange for solitary confinement, which is an insane sentence to type about a sock puppet play, only beaten by this one: He tells them Mr. Crack and his gang of drug rats are smuggling crack down by the docks.

Meet your new favorite characters, the drug rats!

Look how full of joy they are. If I were a little kid these would immediately be the stars of the show. I would rewind the tape over and over again to listen to their little song. Their little song that goes like this:

If the Lenny-verse had blown up, this would’ve been 1989’s “Baby Shark.” You’d call me a motherfucker just for typing the title, because that’s all it took to get it stuck in your head. If you heard an adult humming this at the grocery store, you’d know two things about them:

  1. They’re an attentive parent who spends a lot of time with their kids.
  2. They’re one loud noise away from going on a shooting spree.

This song bangs. I mean, it fucking bangs.

It’s still good today. Drop the remix. Put Peggy on the beat and 2025 will be “Drug Rat Summer.”

It goes so hard that one of the rats drops dead at the end of the song. The others gleefully dispose of his corpse with a comical zip sound. Drug rats rule!

It’s Mr. Crack time! You’ve been waiting for him, your favorite character! The only one to span both the Curt Hiss and Lenny the Lion franchises. Mr. Crack is the Lenny-verse’s Iron Man. Maybe he’s not your favorite, but it all falls apart without him. In his trademark skull hockey mask and Crack hoodie, he’s an NFT Jamie Kennedy bought for $800,000.

For some reason Mr. Crack lost his sinister grim reaper voice and now talks like an elderly Jewish man. He berates the drug rats for their incompetence and it just sounds like George Costanza disappointed his father again. It only makes me like him more. It’s too bad he believes in crack eugenics:

Smart kids need drugs the most, Mr. Crack! Only the bourgeoisie are happy under modern capitalism.

Mr. Crack orders the rats to distribute his new drug to the playgrounds. It’s ten times deadlier than cocaine, meth, and crack combined. It’s called… Ecstasy. Haha, hindsight is 20/20. I guess it’s still evil to get a bunch of kids rollin’ to the SpongeBob theme. We can’t have these first graders feeling the secret beat of the pencil sharpener and spending all recess petting grass.

Always a step ahead, Sprocket and Bubbs have already staked out Mr. Crack’s schoolyard drug dealer. Now, and this is probably just me reading into things here, but it seems like every time a Randy Schmidt production needs total street trash – not a high-end dealer, or a confused kid about to change their ways, we’re talking total unrepentant junkie dipshit – they happen to look like this:

And sound like this:

That’s Kit Kat. Like Cool Cat before him, he’s a problem and a confession all in one. He’s upset because the rats showed up with this new drug, but he didn’t check the Ecstasy box on his mail-in drug order catalog. That’s how drug deals work, as far as midwestern puppet producers know. The drug rats promise Kit Kat this new stuff will definitely kill some kids, which seems bad for business, but he’s all the way in. That’s all Sprocket and Bubbs need – they rush in to arrest everyone. Puppet cuffs still look like cockrings out of context, so Bubbs just chains them all up together. The optics are uh, not great.

Now it’s time to go after Mr. Crack himself. He’s all alone at the docks, ranting about what pussies the drug rats are for fearing the police. But one of the rats escapes and explains:

The way the rat describes it, singing and dancing in this universe are like beating the absolute shit out of somebody with a baton. So suddenly the part where Sneaky Snake asks about his rights and Sprocket and Bubbs just aggressively rap at him makes perfect sense.

That’s all Mr. Crack needs to hear, he’s not sticking around to get gang-sang by a corrupt volunteer police force. He turns to flee, leaving his last drug rat behind.

Haha, a boss ‘til the end. That’s the last we see of Mr. Crack. He gets away! What an inspirational American tale. A man sees a need going unfulfilled in the market, he supplies the product, he murders a bunch of children, then escapes all consequence while those who believed in him burn. In the next installment, he gets to sit on stage for President Sneaky Snake’s inauguration.

Then all audio cuts out and we watch the abandoned drug rat have a total mental breakdown in absolute silence.

It’s likely just an awkward scene change, but it’s the most harrowing moment in the entire Curt Hiss Extended Drug Universe. Without a single line of dialogue, this rat puppet portrays the unabashed fear, loneliness, and betrayal of realizing you were never a person but only an object whose usefulness has suddenly ended. If they gave out Academy Awards to weird lifeless rapping puppets on cocaine, Lin-Manuel Miranda still wouldn’t have one. This rat would’ve taken it from him.

Sprocket and Bubbs move in to arrest the rat, actually reading him his rights this time but pausing between each one to explain how they don’t really apply to junkies. None of these arrests will hold up in puppet court. This rat is walking free tomorrow and Sprocket and Bubbs are going to be punished with paid vacations and secret high fives.

Sprocket swivels to face the screen for his big speech, only it’s the same awkward scene change so he does it in a sudden, unexpected audio void.

I’ve never been more certain a puppet can see me, and I have fought a lot of puppets. It winds up being appropriate though, because the inspirational speech he’s supposed to be delivering to the children devolves into an unhinged rant about how drug dealers cannot escape Lenny the Lion, he will pursue them to the ends of the Earth and beyond the farthest corners of time.

One thing all Randy Schmidt productions have in common: At some point they forget that their audience is made up of children who might one day be tempted by drugs, and instead begin directly addressing the junkies and peddlers who are presumably watching this sock puppet educational video through the gymnasium windows. If you’re the kind of soft-ass drug dealer who can be scared away from crime by a rapping puppet, this just saved your life. Those mollied-up grade schoolers were going to pet the flesh right off your body.

Officer Ruff Bubbs, former dick-sucking crack dog, joins Officer Lenny Sprocket, one-time lion crack dealer, to deliver the final vow together. Addressed to an unseen enemy who has long since gotten away with it.

It is a very fitting moment in a Michael Mann movie about two traumatized undercover detectives who’ve lost all perspective and whose sense of justice has devolved into a vengeful god complex.

The sock puppets could have probably gotten away with “just say no.”

Thanks to ProseAndKahn for the Hot Dog tip!

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: ND, a sock puppet with a god complex stuffed into the skin of a human.

Categories
LEARNING DAY

Learning Day: Jake Tapper🌭

I’ve lost all respect for Jake Tapper, and for the media ecosystem he thrives in. This cursed blog post is the first reason why.

Computer: enhance that blog’s title and author. Mostly so I don’t have to see that warped baffling thumbnail art anymore.

When Jake Tapper wrote that, he was a 33-year-old adult who’d worked full-time in media for half a decade. In 2003, he was five years into a full-time job at Salon dot com. He also thought what you see above is both funny and important. It had to be both, to be posted on Salon dot com. I don’t know if you remember media in 2003, but Salon dot com was Serious Internet Journalism. Salon was more of a “Sáh-lón”, in that French-y pronunciation. Admittedly Salon was also edgy, in the sense that it was less edgy than Vice dot com, because none of Salon’s writers had the physical courage to take drugs or try skateboarding. This made Salon a hybrid of boring and snarky (“borky”?). That borky respectability made Salon a sterling credit on an Important Person’s resume. Less than half a year after this racist blog post wasted our national pixels, Jake Tapper promoted himself to a better job at ABC News.

What did Jake Tapper do in the run-up to getting ABC’s money, getting CNN’s money, and getting his hair to turn that brushed silver color your mom trusts? Jake Tapper blogged the most cursed journalism-adjacent blog I’ve ever read. He begins by noticing two things. Two things which – get this – have one parallel?

You know a blog is about to nail its comparison when it cites two entire paragraphs of background information. Here comes the sweatiest “what if X was Y” ever fudged!

Also, this parallel is not a parallel. It’s a borderline perpendicular. Here is Jake Tapper’s premise: “two hip-hop magazines competing for money = two news publications disagreeing about the rationale for war.” False! Wrong! Nope! Trying to sell more copies of a music magazine is different from questioning Colin Powell’s propwork.

Jake Tapper’s premise becomes even more hideous when you realize he feels this “parallel” is funny. So funny, it deserves more attention than the choice to invade Iraq several weeks later. Maybe a column thinking that choice through would be more valuable. Especially because illuminating that decision was Jake Tapper’s job. Instead, [OMINOUS KEYBOARD SOUNDS]:

“Dizaam” is right. At least, I think it’s right? “Dizaam” is probably a Black version of “damn”, in Jake Tapper’s comedy version of Black. We’ll be forced to hazard these kinds of guesses the whole rest of the blog. I don’t speak either of the two languages this blog is written in. Those two languages are “fraudulent AAVE” and “a chummy Ivy League rolodex of everybody in the nice offices in mainstream media.” This blog is impenetrable if you’re not inside Jake Tapper’s skull.

Every “name” in this blog sent me on a fetch quest. Those red names are hyperlinks. The hyperlinks are designed to help you understand Jake’s jokes, because no element of his writing does that. I assume the links worked in 2003. Today those first two links lead to a 404 page (understandable) and the URL “foxnews.com”. Thanks for the clarifying tip of “Fox News exists”, mister scoopster journalist Jake Tapper. Due to these dead and useless links, I had to surf the rest of the World Wide Web for my own answers. I googled “The New Republic Orr”, to try to identify “Snoop-Kitty”. The top results are Christopher Orr and Ben Orr. God dammit, Jake.

Also no matter which guy you mean, “Ludachristopher” and “The Notorious B.E.N.” are both right there. I’m decades further from Luda and Biggie’s peaks than you were when you wrote this. Be clear or funny or clever or tolerable, I’m begging you. Dealer’s choice. Speaking of dealer’s choice, “Snorr-Dogg” is also a little bit more workable than “Snoop-Kitty”. God dammit, Jake. Let’s move on. Moving on to a warning for you, My Dear Hotdogger: this blog is short and I’m going to show you every line.

This next character’s hyperlink is another 404 page. I found his name by googling “the new republic literary editor 2003”. According to one of the first results – a magazine unironically named Highbrow Magazine – Jake Tapper’s “L.W. Cool-L” is Leon Wieseltier. An elderly magazine editor who mastered the art of typing “this novel is good/bad/meh.” That means Jake Tapper shoehorned an elderly book critic into his hip-hop pastiche of Iraq War jingoism. Jake probably did this because everybody who knows about media insider crud knows about Leon Wieseltier. You can’t just mention The New Republic without mentioning Leon Wieseltier! That elderly book critic is an icon! An icon who harassed and assaulted female colleagues throughout the 2000s! Oh no! Apparently that was well-known to media insiders! Oh no! I wish one of the few people with media insider knowledge would’ve spoken up about it. Why didn’t Jake Tapper speak up about it? Maybe he was too busy coining Rap Nicknames.

Jake Tapper is already out of “jokes.” He re-used “bee-hatch” within two sentences of getting nothing out of it the first time.

“Purple Raines” is New York Times executive editor Howell Raines. “Purple Rain” is a seminal album by the musician Prince. I admit Prince rapped a little. This still feels like Jake Tapper thinks every Black person raps and also knows each other. Please reference an actual rapper, Jake Tapper. You had ten entire years to think of “Howell Insane-In-The-B’Raines”. Tragically, “Purple Raines” is the strongest nickname in this section. “Collinsio” is Gail Collins. “Gerald Boyeeeeeed” is the real name Gerald Boyd plus one non-idea. Hey Hotdoggers: did you know Raines and Boyd resigned shortly after Jake Tapper wrote this? Because they both failed to notice their star reporter was printing fraud? Somehow Jake Tapper wrote a media insider comedy skit about media insider horsehockey, without noticing the media insider scoop of the decade. Wow. Another anti-scoop for Jake. Jake couldn’t investigate a fart if his own ass published it.

I need you to know “Marty ‘Master’ P.” is referencing the publisher of The New Republic’s publisher. That guy was also a Harvard professor. He could not secure a promotion at Harvard because when Harvard tried to promote him students organized protests against his personal racism. In 1994, he publicly claimed most Black people have “cultural deficiencies.” I wonder why black culture expert Jake Tapper failed to focus his satire on an interesting claim like that. It’s an unusual belief. Right? It’s an unusual belief, right, Jake?? Unless “cultural deficiencies” did not strike Jake Tapper as an unusual belief????

The Onion created Herbert Kornfeld six years before Jake Tapper blogged this.

I’m pretty sure that hyperlinked name is a joke about the eugenicist Andrew Sullivan. Mr. Sullivan was prominently nicknamed “Sully”. Jake Tapper wrote this blog a few months after 8 Mile made a quarter billion dollars at the box office. I bring that up because, Jake: Jake. Jake! “Slim Sully”, Jake. “Slim Sully”! Are you so ferociously racist you forgot anyone white has ever rapped? Also, whole separate problem, we can punch up Jake’s idea (and correctly spell Jake’s idea) to get “Bone Thugs-N-Harmo-Sully”. Or just “Bone Thugs-N-Sullivan”. Spell it correctly, Jake. You’d think a professional journalist would have heard of (precursor to) Googling something. Ask friggin’ Jeeves, Jake. You’ll hit it off with Jeeves right away, Jake, because he’s as “uncomfortable around minorities”-coded as you are.

I’m more confused about the “Northwest/West Side” reference. My guess is that it’s a joke about The New York Times and The New Republic having offices in two adjacent portions of Washington D.C.. I hope I’m not right. If I’m right, Jake Tapper wrote a joke about the facilities of two media publications, in his column for a third media publication, in a way that’s only legible to people who work for media publications. It’s a Beltway Bullshit ouroboros. It’s turd-les all the way down.

I think “wolfsman” is supposed to be a lowercase Internet username. The hyperlink goes to a dead page at CNN Money. So let me get this straight: Jake’s joke is that fictional Wolf Blitzer is leaving an Internet comment on an in-person conversation. Setting that logical collapse aside: the in-person conversation is between New Republic Magazine staff members, who are also in a gang war, because there were two competing hip-hop magazines during the run-up to invading Iraq, and I guess because Tupac and Biggie got murdered in 1996 and 1997. “Word.” Nothing timelier in 2003 than the 1995 Source Awards. Timeline-wise, Jake Tapper’s comedy reference is like if you made a new “covfefe” joke in the winter of 2023. God dammit, Jake.

Speaking of “god dammit Jake”: god damn YOU, Jake Tapper. I tried to circle back to find something redeeming about you. I figured I had an uplifting last beat here. I could present this blog as evidence that any great person has a minorly scumbaggy past. I wanted to end on a sincere version of that comedy sketch where Tim Robinson douses steaks.

Folks: I cannot say that about Jake Tapper. After blogging this, he did nothing of worth in the ensuing 22 years. Just ask his agent! Jake Tapper’s bio on his webpage for paying him exorbitant speaking fees says his key accomplishments are 1) winning awards 2) being on a screen while democracy ends 3) maintaining a pleasant vanilla.

Has Jake Tapper improved society? Has Jake Tapper made anything better? Or has he earned seven figures a year – and gobbled up oxygen that could sustain real novelists – by hogging one of the only chairs in America where somebody could speak truth to power? Don’t get me wrong: Jake Tapper investigated and helped overturn one wrongful conviction. However, he did that because his dad asked him to. His dad is a physician with a personal stake in that case I linked. Also, Jake’s dad went to college at Dartmouth. It’s probably totally a wacky random coincidence that Jake got into Dartmouth too. What an epic tale. No story thrills me more than Jake Tapper’s rise from Ivy League legacy admission to Ivy League honorary degree. Jake tapper’s two Dartmouth gowns bookend a professional journey with impressive middle steps like “racist blogger” and “paid spokesman for Hooters.”

If you thought Hooters spokesmanship was something I made up, you will be even more suspicious of my next screenshot.

God dammit what the hell how is that real I ask you. At the beginning of his post-Hooters stumble into media, Jake Tapper wrote for the Washington City Paper. He got famous, and got his Salon job, by writing a viral article. The viral article recounts the random-yet-insider luck that led Jake Tapper into a few dates with pre-scandal Monica Lewinsky.

Is the piece good? No. Is the piece shameful? Jake does not think so. However, yes it is. For one thing, it performs a pit stop to call Monica Lewinsky fat, in the form of genteel Yiddish ogling.

The Washington City paper even made “wacky” tabloid art for Jake’s piece. The premise of the joke art is that Jake’s piece is hilariously different from tabloid media. I’ve read that piece. The reason the piece is different from tabloid media is no reasons. Jake Tapper is confident he’s superior to the people who write for tabloids, because he is superior to everybody.

So we still have a joyful ending to this story, my Dear Hotdoggers. And not just because The Onion brought back Jean Teasdale the other day. We live with busted institutions we cannot trust. We know this. We wish they were better. And we can also wish for ourselves to gain clarity about that situation. Jake Tapper’s racist blogging freed me to do that. I don’t want to throw away any institution doing legitimate good. “Burn it all down” is lazy. But I take comfort in knowing which few institutions don’t deserve my eyeballs. I’m excited to stuff our heroes into a trash can after confirming they belong there. The truth is, CNN’s backup version of Anderson Cooper is a bum. I’m over him. You can be too. As the brilliant journalist and comedy writer Jake Tapper might put it, we’re no longer dizaamed to show him respizzle.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: CommonCentz, who’s never been dizaamed by Tapper’s respizzle.