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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, thatâs 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 donât talk anymore.
Curt Hissâ first video was a simple affair: a few backdrops, a suicidal brother, the grim reaper. That was the extent of writer/director Wayne Owensâ dream. It wasnât enough for producer Randy Schmidt. He looked at this green sock hooked on coke and he said âa universe shall be borne from thee.â Curt Hissâ 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.

Lennyâs 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 Catâs 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 Lionâs last name was Sprocket, and Ruff the Dogâs 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 Catâs last words were âbeware nominative determinism.â
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 thatâs a bubble-gum faced Ron Jeremy. Worst case scenario itâs in your house right now. This is how Iâd depict Edward James Olmos in a whimsical childrenâs show called Edward James Olmos Fucked My Wife.

When they say âshow me on the doll where he touched you,â 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 didnât even think to mention âDrug Officerâ isnât a real job and âCentral City Drug Programâ isnât a police agency. Sprocket and Bubbs are honorary deputees of a local drug outreach center and theyâre heading to Miami in pursuit of a drug kingpin. Their next adventure is called An Unexpected Present and itâs their mothers opening boxes with Lenny and Ruffâs 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 doesnât 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 âinferenceâ 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 canât 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!

Iâm not a music critic because all my analogies are too obscure. But these beats are so limp theyâd 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. Heâs a little too good at it. This is the actual interaction:

Hold on! I know what youâre thinking, but thatâs 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 theyâre 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 Snakeâs lawyer wonât even charge for this one. You canât substitute an anti-drug rap for the Miranda Rights in any state except for maybe – oh right. Florida. Still, I donât care how hard it is to sew little puppet handcuffs, you canât 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. Itâs like having an out of control cop brutalize a restrained criminal, you canât-

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 wonât survive it. That sounds like Iâm kidding!

No, thatâs pedophiles and cops. Most convicts are in for drug charges, Sneaky would probably be fine if he wasnât literally a sock with a lucious mouth. But he is, and he doesnât 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 wouldâve been 1989âs âBaby Shark.â Youâd call me a motherfucker just for typing the title, because thatâs all it took to get it stuck in your head. If you heard an adult humming this at the grocery store, youâd know two things about them:
This song bangs. I mean, it fucking bangs.

Itâs still good today. Drop the remix. Put Peggy on the beat and 2025 will be âDrug Rat Summer.â
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!

Itâs Mr. Crack time! Youâve 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-verseâs Iron Man. Maybe heâs not your favorite, but it all falls apart without him. In his trademark skull hockey mask and Crack hoodie, heâs 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. Itâs 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. Itâs ten times deadlier than cocaine, meth, and crack combined. Itâs called⌠Ecstasy. Haha, hindsight is 20/20. I guess itâs still evil to get a bunch of kids rollinâ to the SpongeBob theme. We canât 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. Crackâs 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 â not a high-end dealer, or a confused kid about to change their ways, weâre talking total unrepentant junkie dipshit â they happen to look like this:

And sound like this:

Thatâs Kit Kat. Like Cool Cat before him, heâs a problem and a confession all in one. Heâs upset because the rats showed up with this new drug, but he didnât check the Ecstasy box on his mail-in drug order catalog. Thatâs 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 heâs all the way in. Thatâs 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 itâs time to go after Mr. Crack himself. Heâs 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.
Thatâs all Mr. Crack needs to hear, heâs 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 âtil the end. Thatâs 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 Snakeâs inauguration.
Then all audio cuts out and we watch the abandoned drug rat have a total mental breakdown in absolute silence.

Itâs likely just an awkward scene change, but itâs 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 wouldnât have one. This rat wouldâve 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 donât 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 itâs the same awkward scene change so he does it in a sudden, unexpected audio void.

Iâve 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 heâs 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 youâre 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 whoâve lost all perspective and whose sense of justice has devolved into a vengeful god complex.
The sock puppets could have probably gotten away with âjust say no.â

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.

Iâve 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 blogâs title and author. Mostly so I donât have to see that warped baffling thumbnail art anymore.

When Jake Tapper wrote that, he was a 33-year-old adult whoâd 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 donât know if you remember media in 2003, but Salon dot com was Serious Internet Journalism. Salon was more of a âSĂĄh-lĂłnâ, 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 Salonâs writers had the physical courage to take drugs or try skateboarding. This made Salon a hybrid of boring and snarky (âborkyâ?). That borky respectability made Salon a sterling credit on an Important Personâs 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 ABCâs money, getting CNNâs money, and getting his hair to turn that brushed silver color your mom trusts? Jake Tapper blogged the most cursed journalism-adjacent blog Iâve ever read. He begins by noticing two things. Two things which â get this â 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 âwhat if X was Yâ ever fudged!
Also, this parallel is not a parallel. Itâs a borderline perpendicular. Here is Jake Tapperâs premise: âtwo hip-hop magazines competing for money = two news publications disagreeing about the rationale for war.â False! Wrong! Nope! Trying to sell more copies of a music magazine is different from questioning Colin Powellâs propwork.
Jake Tapperâs premise becomes even more hideous when you realize he feels this âparallelâ 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 Tapperâs job. Instead, [OMINOUS KEYBOARD SOUNDS]:

âDizaamâ is right. At least, I think itâs right? âDizaamâ is probably a Black version of âdamnâ, in Jake Tapperâs comedy version of Black. Weâll be forced to hazard these kinds of guesses the whole rest of the blog. I donât speak either of the two languages this blog is written in. Those two languages are âfraudulent AAVEâ and âa chummy Ivy League rolodex of everybody in the nice offices in mainstream media.â This blog is impenetrable if youâre not inside Jake Tapperâs skull.
Every ânameâ in this blog sent me on a fetch quest. Those red names are hyperlinks. The hyperlinks are designed to help you understand Jakeâs 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 âfoxnews.comâ. Thanks for the clarifying tip of âFox News existsâ, 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 âThe New Republic Orrâ, to try to identify âSnoop-Kittyâ. The top results are Christopher Orr and Ben Orr. God dammit, Jake.
Also no matter which guy you mean, âLudachristopherâ and âThe Notorious B.E.N.â are both right there. Iâm decades further from Luda and Biggieâs peaks than you were when you wrote this. Be clear or funny or clever or tolerable, Iâm begging you. Dealerâs choice. Speaking of dealerâs choice, âSnorr-Doggâ is also a little bit more workable than âSnoop-Kittyâ. God dammit, Jake. Letâs move on. Moving on to a warning for you, My Dear Hotdogger: this blog is short and Iâm going to show you every line.

This next characterâs hyperlink is another 404 page. I found his name by googling âthe new republic literary editor 2003â. According to one of the first results â a magazine unironically named Highbrow Magazine â Jake Tapperâs âL.W. Cool-Lâ is Leon Wieseltier. An elderly magazine editor who mastered the art of typing âthis novel is good/bad/meh.â 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 canât 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 wouldâve spoken up about it. Why didnât Jake Tapper speak up about it? Maybe he was too busy coining Rap Nicknames.

Jake Tapper is already out of âjokes.â He re-used âbee-hatchâ within two sentences of getting nothing out of it the first time.

âPurple Rainesâ is New York Times executive editor Howell Raines. âPurple Rainâ 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-BâRaines”. Tragically, âPurple Rainesâ is the strongest nickname in this section. âCollinsioâ is Gail Collins. âGerald Boyeeeeeedâ 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 couldnât investigate a fart if his own ass published it.

I need you to know âMarty âMasterâ P.â is referencing the publisher of The New Republicâs 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 âcultural deficiencies.â I wonder why black culture expert Jake Tapper failed to focus his satire on an interesting claim like that. Itâs an unusual belief. Right? Itâs an unusual belief, right, Jake?? Unless âcultural deficienciesâ did not strike Jake Tapper as an unusual belief????

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

Iâm pretty sure that hyperlinked name is a joke about the eugenicist Andrew Sullivan. Mr. Sullivan was prominently nicknamed âSullyâ. 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! âSlim Sullyâ, Jake. âSlim Sullyâ! Are you so ferociously racist you forgot anyone white has ever rapped? Also, whole separate problem, we can punch up Jakeâs idea (and correctly spell Jakeâs idea) to get âBone Thugs-N-Harmo-Sullyâ. Or just âBone Thugs-N-Sullivanâ. Spell it correctly, Jake. Youâd think a professional journalist would have heard of (precursor to) Googling something. Ask frigginâ Jeeves, Jake. Youâll hit it off with Jeeves right away, Jake, because heâs as âuncomfortable around minoritiesâ-coded as you are.
Iâm more confused about the âNorthwest/West Sideâ reference. My guess is that itâs a joke about The New York Times and The New Republic having offices in two adjacent portions of Washington D.C.. I hope Iâm not right. If Iâm right, Jake Tapper wrote a joke about the facilities of two media publications, in his column for a third media publication, in a way thatâs only legible to people who work for media publications. Itâs a Beltway Bullshit ouroboros. Itâs turd-les all the way down.

I think âwolfsmanâ is supposed to be a lowercase Internet username. The hyperlink goes to a dead page at CNN Money. So let me get this straight: Jakeâs 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. âWord.â Nothing timelier in 2003 than the 1995 Source Awards. Timeline-wise, Jake Tapperâs comedy reference is like if you made a new âcovfefeâ joke in the winter of 2023. God dammit, Jake.
Speaking of âgod dammit Jakeâ: 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 Tapperâs 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 â and gobbled up oxygen that could sustain real novelists â by hogging one of the only chairs in America where somebody could speak truth to power? Donât 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, Jakeâs dad went to college at Dartmouth. Itâs probably totally a wacky random coincidence that Jake got into Dartmouth too. What an epic tale. No story thrills me more than Jake Tapperâs rise from Ivy League legacy admission to Ivy League honorary degree. Jake tapperâs two Dartmouth gowns bookend a professional journey with impressive middle steps like âracist bloggerâ and âpaid spokesman for Hooters.â

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 âwackyâ tabloid art for Jakeâs piece. The premise of the joke art is that Jakeâs piece is hilariously different from tabloid media. Iâve read that piece. The reason the piece is different from tabloid media is no reasons. Jake Tapper is confident heâs 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 Tapperâs racist blogging freed me to do that. I donât want to throw away any institution doing legitimate good. âBurn it all downâ is lazy. But I take comfort in knowing which few institutions donât deserve my eyeballs. Iâm excited to stuff our heroes into a trash can after confirming they belong there. The truth is, CNNâs backup version of Anderson Cooper is a bum. Iâm over him. You can be too. As the brilliant journalist and comedy writer Jake Tapper might put it, weâre no longer dizaamed to show him respizzle.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: CommonCentz, whoâs never been dizaamed by Tapperâs respizzle.

Look: I hate to get political on this, the comedy website where I write about dick fights, but one of my core beliefs is that the existence of billionaires is proof of our failure as a society. A billion dollars is a staggering, unthinkable amount of money to be owned by a single person. In 2025 I imagine that you can have a million dollars and still understand human life reasonably well. A hundred million and reality becomes Grand Theft Auto Online. At a billion dollars, you are effectively a different species.
But, of course, some billionaires feel a pang of social conscience, a sensation comparable to what you or I might experience when considering the plight of cows and pigs under industrialized farming. Some of these enlightened billionaires spend money on researching disease. Some of them start pretend charities. And some of them make cartoons to teach kids about the world. That’s right â this week we’re finally talking about George Soros’s Totally Tubular Paid Protestors.
I jest, of course. A simple jape. Those are still free, after all. We’re actually covering Secret Millionaires Club, a semi-educational kids’ television program about managing money produced by Berkshire Hathaway and starring four students who look like glossy, if occasionally melting, corporate-grown clones of The Weekenders for the early 2010s.

Our crew comprises Radley, the tech genius; Lisa, who dreams of leadership; Elena, the upbeat optimist; and Jones, the reckless cool guy. They are led by an elderly advisor who teaches them the traditions of his culture: investor Warren Buffett himself. Together, they do battle with the Foot Clan of financial illiteracy. I guess in this analogy, Krang is the SEC?

Maybe it’s just that thinking about the Ninja Turtles has put me in a positive mood, or maybe it’s that I’ve listened to it a dozen times at this point, but I have to say the theme song for this thing kind of goes. Take it to the bank, boys, this one’s a certified Buffett banger.

The first episode functions as an origin story. Our core foursome sits through a Warren Buffett talk at their school, then discusses how excited they are for their upcoming class trip to New York. Immediately after, however, the principal informs them that the trip has been canceled due to budget cuts. The public sector has failed, as it always will. Only private enterprise can save the day.

Our heroes devise one get-rich-quick scheme after another to fund their school themselves â a skateboard washing business, selling popsicles, marketing an advanced autonomous robot one of them made in his spare time⌠these all fail. In desperation, they seek out Warren Buffett, who advises them to try something different.

They combine their powers like they’re summoning Captain Planet â only, you know, the opposite of that â and create a successful juice business that leverages all of their unique abilities. The trip to New York is back on, and Warren sets the kids up to meet Jay-Z while they’re in town, effortlessly slicing the Gordian knot of “would you rather have $10,000 or a 10-minute meeting with Jay-Z.” The answer is both, because you’re friends with Warren Fucking Buffett.

It’s the sort of story that gets passed around as an example of grit and entrepreneurial spirit but which in fact speaks to the utter disregard with which American political power treats our country’s youth. It is a story that would not exist in a just world. Then again, a just world would not allow a man like Warren Buffett to exist, either.

Speaking of things that should not be, I watched Secret Millionaires Club on YouTube, but it originally aired on The Hub. The channel began life in the mid ’90s as Discovery Kids, broadcasting science and nature-themed shows back before Discovery pivoted to bridezillas and ghost detectives. In 2010, it was rebranded as The Hub with the involvement of Hasbro, who paid $300 million for joint ownership of the channel. And that’s how we got a whole new generation of 22-minute cartoon advertisements for Hasbro toys, including Transformers, Littlest Pet Shop, and, yes, My Little Pony. This is where Friendship is Magic and, subsequently, bronies originated from. The Hub is, indirectly, why The Jar exists. If you don’t understand that reference, just move on with your life. Don’t look it up. You’re looking it up, aren’t you?

Secret Millionaires Club, then, was a kind of penance. Savvy actors do one for the studio and one for themselves. Hasbro did three for themselves and one for the kids. For Warren Buffett? For the money. But the show at least ostensibly teaches its viewers something. Let’s try and discern what exactly its lessons are.

1. Cut Corners, Because Nobody Will Notice (Except Some Asshole a Decade Later)
Nobody except me has ever watched Secret Millionaires Club this closely. My obsession with noticing errors like this, in which some overworked Korean animator left the storyboarding in on the principal in the show’s very first episode, is why I will never join the ranks of the rich. I could be speculating on real estate right now, or doing whatever people did with GameStop a few years ago.

You think Warren Buffett got to be a billionaire by giving a shit whether his cartoons were finished or not? No, he did it by some kind of financial trickery that I don’t fully understand and don’t care to research. He definitely didn’t do it by making sure the characters’ eyes were properly aligned.

2. Filesharing is the Great Moral Issue of Our Day
Diversification is important to any portfolio. Two amongst the number of the Secret Millionaires have formed a band, just in case being mentored to financial success by Warren Buffett doesn’t work out. Their bandmates are British teens. The sentient robot to which one of them casually gave the gift of life is not in the band. They’re emphatic about this.

Nick Cannon shows up and takes the kids to London because Warren Buffett knows him, I guess?

Something I learned about Warren Buffett in writing this article is that he’s one of these rich guys who’s worried about population growth. Nick Cannon is, at least in his personal life, famously the opposite of that. But wealth has a way of smoothing over what might otherwise be passionate philosophical differences. Anyway, this was 2013. Nick was only a sixth of the way to his current total at that point. He flies the kids to London to meet their bandmates. What’s great about this is how normal everyone’s faces are.

There’s a catch, though: their other bandmate wants to quit because her parents’ record shop isn’t doing so well. The kids don’t know what to make of this until they become the beneficiaries of yet more nepotism when Nick Cannon posts on Nick Cannon’s Blog about their single.

Suddenly, they’re stars, being chased around the streets of London by their adoring fans. But their newfound fame does not bring commensurate fortune â their fans have been illegally downloading their music. “Check the London webisphere to see how much music is being pirated,” a character written and voiced by human beings in the year 2013 says.

The thrill of creation and the privilege of connecting with human beings through art is immediately forgotten. Childhood is at an end. All that matters to the Secret Millionaires Club now is that those bastards who call themselves fans stole from them.

It’s a neat trick here, having the band become famous without a publisher and thus sidestepping the whole issue of executives being the primary beneficiary of traditional record sales. Hopefully the kids at home just follow along as the Secret Millionaires club turns to the camera and says “we need to dump all our pirated music! It’s so not right if we don’t pay!”

But what is the band to do? They can’t play gigs in bars because they’re under 18. “The answer is right under our under 18 noses,” one of them declares, in a sentence that makes me uncomfortable for both stylistic and other reasons.

They turn the struggling music store into a venue for kids. And Warren Buffet invites a very special guest.

The literal fucking Queen of England. As far as I can tell, they weren’t friends in reality â searching “Warren Buffett queen” suggests “warren buffett dairy queen order.”


3. Shaq is Six Robots Tall
In episode five, “Elena’s Shaqtastic Adventure,” the Secret Millionaires Club meets Shaquille O’Neal. There’s no pretext for this â he’s just friends with Warren Buffett and drops by their billionaire Batcave to say hi. I guess the normal Batcave is also a billionaire Batcave?
Radley, the team nerd, has created an advanced AI whose only purpose is defining financial terms and which spits out some of Shaq’s vital statistics. Think D’Nerd from Bots Master, only trapped on a teen’s iPad⌠for now.

Later, Shaq teaches Elena a lesson about the fragility of the human athlete’s body and encourages her to go to summer school instead of basketball camp. But the show’s got more to say about robots.

4. The Machines Will Inevitably Betray Us
Eleven episodes into Secret Millionaires Club, the writers became bored with the premise of a group of normal teens solving money-themed problems in the real world. Warren Buffett seemed to lose interest, too, because around this point he stopped voicing himself and was replaced by a couple of different actors.
I get it: you finally get in a writer’s room and it’s for a billionaire’s preachy vanity project. You try to have some fun with it. You’re green and want to make your mark. Maybe you get a little silly and pitch “three episode time travel arc to Arthurian England with Warren Buffett.” And hey, the team goes for it.

Only, hold on, that’s not how it went at all. The mid-series jaunt to Camelot, in which Warren Buffett casually accepts the existence of time travel and wizards with the world-weary attitude of a man who could run a thousand games of to-the-death human chess without meaningfully affecting his net worth was written by industry veteran Mark Zaslove. He worked on a host of ’80s and ’90s shows like Ducktales, GoBots, and⌠holy shit, this can’t be right â co-created Superhuman Samurai Syber-Squad? Just when I thought I was out of the ’90s bullshit, they pull me back in.
Anyway, after saving King Arthur’s kingdom through fiscal responsibility, the team goes on a series of slightly more down-to-earth adventures. That is, until episode twenty three, “Far Out Future,” in which a girl from the 25th century seeks the assistance of the Secret Millionaires Club. She’s in a pickle because she borrowed a ton of money to invent her working time machine, but now she can’t pay it back.

Worse, the loan officer who made the deal with her appears to be Steven Seagal.

Only⌠this is the 25th century, so that must meanâŚ

Yes, it’s that old chestnut. A sentient robot in a world where machines are second-class citizens disguises itself as a human to get a job at a bank and offers a predatory loan to a teenage genius so that she can create a time machine. When she is then inevitably unable to pay the loan back, the robot then repossesses the time machine, travels to the past, invests in Apple and Facebook, returns to the future, and uses its control of the economy to enslave humanity.

What we’re dealing with is Terminator if Skynet was Bernie Madoff. Warren Buffett is aghast at the idea â not the notion of messing with the linear flow of time or the prospect of robots overthrowing mankind, though. No, what ticks him off is that the robots are circumventing the best way to make money: saving a little at a time.

I know that this show is for kids, but come on. Kids aren’t stupid. They know Warren Buffett didn’t get rich by putting five dollars in his savings account every month. The show even has the audacity to have the teens save the day with compound interest â the account they started back in their time is worth a fortune now and they use it to pay back what their future friend owes.
Except, what about the bank closing the account when nobody’s touched it in centuries? What about the bank going under? What about inflation, which today already outpaces interest in consumer savings accounts? God help you, you haven’t considered inflation, you fools!

5. Bigfoot is Real
And his portfolio? It’s spectacular.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Gareth Powell, who had no idea about The Jar till he looked it up just now. Our bad.

As we trundle toward the end of another year, itâs more important than ever to convince your kids that an elderly flying man has broken into your home. But just as important, we also pause to recognize the REASON for the season – selling products. And, to a lesser extent, ruminating over the yearâs bitter disappointments. Thereâs also a C-plot (sometimes called a ârunnerâ) about Jesus in there.
Okay, that was a lot, so to recap:

EDITORâS NOTE:
When Swaim told us he wanted to promote his new rap album, we asked him to revisit the worst rap video ever created: Baby Got Book. We did this because we thought it would be interesting to have a talented performer who puts effort into his art litigate this cursed artifact with the eyes of an expert, and not because weâre jealous of Swaimâs multi-faceted portfolio and secretly hate him. It is not that second thing.

According to his website, Dan Smith is a âwhiteboyDJ, Pastor, Rapper, Speaker, and All-Around Fungi.â Does it help to know he sometimes likes to spell it âDan 5mith?â No, that makes it worse? Oh okay. In case you still need more identifying information, please note that Danâs speaking has been heard at several events throughout the United States.

That should tip most of you off, but for the real dummies hereâs the dead giveaway:

âOhhhhhh, that Dan Smith!” Yeah dingus, welcome to the party. Weâre talking Dan 4king 5mith, star of viral Xtian rap video âBABY GOT BOOK.â âB.G.B.â is the perennially cool way to honor the teachings of Christ at Christmastime, which you can tell because I spelled âChristianâ with an âX.â So break out your black nail polish and Not Of This World tech deck and do some sweet flick-flips as we revisit a classic yuletide banger!

By the way, if you finish this column and want to hear the full song in all His Glory (Hallowed Be His Beats), please make sure youâre watching the (OFFICIAL) version. Itâs very important to both Dan and the Christ Child that no one rips off this unlicensed parody of one of the most famous songs of all time. If you did your own rap about, say, liking big socks? Danâll see you in court, asshole, and Iâll be the guy waiting outside with a tire iron and pantyhose over my head praise Jesus.

The video naturally kicks off with a riff on the iconic monologue that opens Mix-a-Lotâs original, but only three words into the proceedings we run into trouble. See, the usual way Beckyâs friend tells Becky to look at the big-butted girl over there immediately includes the act of taking Godâs name in vainâŚas in âOh my God Becky, look at her butt.â Couldnât you just feel the evil inherent in reading that sentence? For Danâs purposes (not wanting to burn in Hellfire for eternity after he dies), this will not do.
Thus, our Hip Hop odyssey commences with the words âOh my goodness,â dripping with judgment and said by a chinless woman to her Black friend who stopped by on a break between photoshoots for college admissions pamphlets. She accuses another woman of looking like âone of those preacherâs girlfriends,â who they âonly talk to because she looks like Mother Teresa.â Here is a picture of the woman and a picture of Mother Teresa, but Iâm not going to tell you which is which.

âItâs just so huge, itâs gross,â continues the lady I have dubbed Caitlin for obvious reasons. It turns out theyâre marveling at the other girlâs big fat Bible and hate her for it, even though they are here in the same church as her and both holding Bibles. Hey, nothing says âChristianityâ like finding another tiny degree of difference to gatekeep each other over!

What follows is an epic ode to big Bibles, girthy gospels, strapping scriptures, and some psalms thatâll take your head clean off if youâre not careful. Itâs time for whiteboyDJ Dan 5mithâŚto do his thang.

It turns out Danâs specific thang is lying sexily in a pile of Bibles like Lester Burnham contemplating statutory rape at his daughterâs basketball game.


Alternately, my man also spits rhymes from the safety of some huddled bookshelves, presumably also stacked with Bibles.

In case youâre wondering about that golden turd hanging off his neck, itâs supposed to be the letters âKJVâ for âKing James Version.â If youâre wondering why a rapper rapping about how he only likes big Bibles has so far surrounded himself solely with Bibles of reasonable dimension – hey, get fucked. Stuff this Bible down your soul; hope you choke on it.

Damn thatâs a sizable Bibable! I bet four to six Sunday School kids had a really shitty afternoon assembling that sucker. If they were smart they Trojan Horsed it, and when Dan falls asleep they will emerge and butcher him for his crimes. Chief among those has to be this shot of Danâs Mom (or should I say âm0m?â) licking her lips for Jesus and moaning âMe so holy!â into the lens.

In Hollywood, this is sometimes called âspiking cameraâ or ânightmare fuel.â I know itâs his real Mom, too, because the next line in the video is âOoh Mama mia, you say you want koinonia?â This can be recognized by those in the know as an Italian way of saying âOoh, my Mom,â followed by a string of nonsense no one has ever uttered anywhere ever. Go ahead, say âI want koinoniaâ aloud. Congratulations, you are the first person in history to say that.

Iâm not going to publish the Babyâs Got Book (OFFICIAL) lyrics here in full, for I fear the wrath of both God and frivolous litigators. But suffice to say the guy likes big Bibles and doesnât like small Bibles, and this is something about which he is incapable of lying. Itâs Sesamean in its childlike simplicity, like Elmo misunderstanding the difference between small and far away. Frankly, there are moments in here we could use a little more of both.

At one point, Dan raps âI canât understand how it is that some weenie / wants the Bible on CD!!â Since a digitized Bible is orders of magnitude larger than a physical one in terms of data storage capacity, we are left to assume that Dan doesnât care whatâs IN his ideal Bible or how many words or ideas it contains, just that it is literally, physically large. After all, his favorite Bible is a big wooden crate with not a single Jesus-word anywhere on or in it.

No one will ever convince me that this isnât a screencap from an I Think You Should Leave sketch, and Iâm the guy who embedded it in the article. Sam Richardson is just out of frame to the right, please donât test me on this.


Smith is also very proud of the fact that there are a LOT of books in the Bible, like individually. After consulting with a handy chart and calculator, he concludes that there are sixty-six books of the Bible, a total with which âStephen Kingâs resume just canât compare.â And technically thatâs true, since weâre just talking largeness and King has released sixty-five books, not sixty-six.

That is close though! I guess now it all comes down to who produces future books at a faster rate. King does write a lot, but the Bible is overdue for some sequels. Dan continues to dunk on lesser literature, sneering self-righteously as he tosses the works of Clancy and Grisham aside.

And, of course, because this was never about the teachings of Jesus but rather about grappling with simple size differences, he also angrily hurls a small Bible into the gutter.

Like, if you chanced by on the day this pastor was filming his Christian parody rap, youâd see him dashing a Bible to the ground in front of some beaver graffiti. Youâd be all âthatâs the word of God, you jerk!â and heâd be all âI know, Iâm pro-Bible shitnuts!â and youâd have to drill down and get into a whole thing about it. Realizing this, one might again argue that whiteboyDJ D4n 5m1th is in essence struggling to wrap the mind of a child around the contentious and nuanced theological and ontological issues inherent to liturgical translation. A-men! Double up: A! Men!!
This is all to say, at some point in the video Danâs rapper character takes a hard turn into Gump Forest, crashing the short bus and starting to act all (that word we donât say anymore but used to in the early 2000âs and lately assholes seem to be trying to normalize it again on social media – you know the one, the Black Eyed Peas changed their song title and that marked the official switchover? That one. Look, Iâll just say it: dunderpate). The sudden shift pushes the featured actress into a caretaker role, instead of a sexpot one. She teaches Dan scripture from a picture-book, then claps condescendingly when he is able to apply a felt wise man with success.




At the exact same time, the video also includes shots that make it clear these two people eventually started getting flirty at Bible studyâŚ

⌠then got engaged at a subsequent, outdoor Bible study.



Wow lady, talk about some weird power dynamics in a relationship! This illiterate man-child just mastered felt, and youâre already locking that dick down? You two would be the most disturbing fictional couple Iâve ever encountered if I hadnât already referenced Forrest Gump in this article. Of course, the unspoken reality here is that Dan himself starred, wrote, and directed the video, so ultimately the true power is his. Knowing that, what can we learn about what the Big Book-lovinâ man looks for in a wife? Our only major clue is the line âBaby got it goinâ on / like the wife in Proverbs thirty-one!â

For the uninitiated, Proverbs thirty-one describes an ideal wife, and most Christians encounter it as a cute sign like this one, usually wedged between an âEat, Pray, Wineâ and an âItâs Wine-OâClock Somewhere!â These signs invariably paraphrase the original text the same way a school of piranhas paraphrases a cow carcass. Itâs the equivalent of a pocket Bible that just reads âIn the beginningâŚGodâŚNoahâŚsmiteâŚIsaiah begat MahershalalhashbazâŚJesus of NazarethâŚthird dayâŚforgiven.â
Hereâs all of Proverbs thirty-one, with a quick synopsis at the bottom if youâre in a hurry.



TL;DR – âDonât get drunk around bitches. A slave you get to have sex with is cool though, if you can swing it. Fear helps.â – King Lemuel, crediting the hideous thought to his Mom to avoid having to own it himself.

But Dan 5mith and the future Mrs. 5mith arenât hearinâ the haters, and thatâs okay. Even if their coupling is sinful, they were Hellbound regardless, so why not go crazy with it? You see, Dan is left-handed, hence the very elegant custom ring he wears that says â5OUTHPAW.â

Left-handedness, of course, is still considered a sin by most leading Bible scholars and makes Danâs redemption impossible. He will burn forever in Hell, which frees him to marry whoever he damn well pleases. All that matters to Dan is that they pack a big book and have a high tolerance for whiteboyDJ, a substance now considered toxic by the government and recently linked with a spate of birth defects in Appalachia.

Thatâs how you call him, incidentally, in case you want to call him. You actually only have to dial âREAD – SAL,â but when he answers he asks what you dialed and if you admit you only dialed âREAD – SALâ he gets very butthurt about it. Heâs also not fond of you bringing up the time he tried to intimidate some Black kids and got rolled like a fucking chump.


These things naturally sting Danâs pride, because Dan doesnât consider himself just a parody or novelty rapper. He takes his work seriously. Although Baby Got Book (OFFICIAL) is what made him famous, donât sleep on Haunted House or Dawg Pound. Both are terrible, and in a way that cannot be dismissed as unserious. Better yet, check out some of Danâs deep cuts like âLots of Caucasiansâ off of the album âThe Caucasian Invasionâ featuring his rap collective âThe Patriarchs.â
FUCK.



I forget thoughâŚis Dan Smith actually white? Can we get official confirmation on that?

Check. Great, yeah, no, go back to parody. Parody is where you belong, sir.

Perfect, buddy! This is right at your level, I love it. You canât tell, but Iâm smiling and clapping condescendingly at you.

Right, of course! Why wouldnât you parody a parody? Thatâs how you get the funniest stuff.

Okay, sarcasm over. What a fucking loser. Sorry, I canât even keep the facade going nowâŚfour remixes? That well is dry man, move on. This shit is honestly pathetic to the point that I have to end the column now – thatâs how much moist ick Iâm sitting in.
Unrelatedly, if you liked this piece please find me over at CRACKED! Iâm back working there again, making the same kinds of videos I did fifteen years ago and reviving all the old series you onced loved me for! So please do that! PLEASE. This is a call to action asking you to please do that. I will make more After Hours I will I swear. Iâll figure it out just please donât forget about me for even a second or I start to disap

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Neil Schafer, who prefers a woman less Proverbs 31:25 and more Ezekiel 23:20