Category: LEARNING DAY

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LEARNING DAY

Develop Your Child’s Psychic Abilities 🌭

You’ve seen them everywhere: adult psychics. They bend our local spoons and hide messages in our worst cookies. But how did they get here? Can anything stop them? Let’s answer your first question first: In 1988, Litany Burn wrote a book called Develop Your Child’s Psychic Abilities. It was so effective I have some bad news about your second question: my parents were one of her customers and I will crush your mind with the spidery legs of your own nightmares.

Litany Burn is a clairvoyant and healer who represents herself with this drawing on the Nyack section of goop.com. Incidentally, the phrase “Nyack section of goop” comes from the sound Gwyneth Paltrow’s vagina makes as it is lowered around a hand-dyed ostrich egg. In the intro, Litany claims to be “accredited to teach psychic awareness by the New York State public school system,” but I found no Google results for “accredited to teach psychic awareness” or “psychic awareness accreditation.” This can only mean after she became the first and only “Official New York Public School Psychic Teacher” she then erased all traces of it from our minds. The other possibility, that it’s a dumb fantasy told by an obvious grifter financially incentivized to lie, is simply too impossible to consider.

Before Develop Your Child’s Psychic Abilities, Litany wrote Develop Your Psychic Abilities, and then she wrote each book again. And then wrote the psychic child one a third time. She went five books without ever having a second idea and her first idea seems to be hoping someone will one day be born with powers and then claiming they owe her 15% of them as an agency fee. After thirty years as a psychic teacher in a world with no psychics, the only thing Litany has taught anyone is that hard work and perseverance are pointless if your head is up your own delusional ass. Which itself is just a knockoff of the lesson we already learned from Corey Feldman’s music career.

This is the only time the reader hears about the amazing Kaarlo and this is his story told in its entirety. About a third of the book is little anecdotes like this– definitely made up yet still dull and inconclusive. Litany has a con-artist’s instincts to keep her tales of the fantastic believable. She doesn’t invent a boy named Kaarlo who can fly. All Kaarlo can do is guess who is on the phone and imply it’s supernatural. This makes the reader feel like their good guesses might have been psychic powers this whole time. There’s also a theme of oppression in all of Litany’s stories, as if Kaarlo would still have magical caller ID abilities today if his family wasn’t a bunch of unsupportive dicks. She complains about things like how schools don’t nurture psychic abilities like they do academic or athletic talent. The overall message of the book is how you would have been able to read minds if you had grown up around people who let you try. It’s like saying you would be a centaur right now if your stupid parents got you the horse and sewing machine you asked for.

Litany builds a fortress of excuses around her psychic learning program. She opens the book by saying all mutant children are different and the lessons are only “possibilities and suggestions that aid insight.” Usually a disclaimer tries to waive liability, but I guess when the thing you’re talking about doesn’t exist you waive disappointment instead.

You need to understand, any child can be psychic. Litany says psychic children can be “black, white, yellow, and brown” which is a turn of phrase used exclusively by and for the second color in that list. She herself has had a number of ordinary childhood experiences she interpreted as fantastic abilities. For instance, her dad once woke up “calling out the name of his favorite uncle, who was dying in an accidental fire three hundred miles away.” That’s all she mentions about that event before she spends a page bragging about how she sometimes played with a ouija board. Did her dad kill her uncle with deadly fire powers or simply sense him burning alive with useless death-sensing powers? She doesn’t say because she is a dingbat with the storytelling skills of a dog who watched you fall in a well and decided you belong there.

Please remember psychic science is not an exact science. If you use telekinesis to force a coin to land on a certain side, you’re going to fuck it up about half the time. But like all good science, Litany starts by knowing psychic powers work and dedicating her life to making excuses when they don’t. For instance, if Kaarlo guesses Cookie Monster is on the phone and he’s not, it might indicate ley line interference or -and this is a worst case scenario- you’re a fucking idiot. Or a cookie wizard is on your upstairs phone? The nice thing about psychic powers is there are no wrong answers.

It’s fun to imagine every coincidence as a psychic phenomenon, but there is some danger in believing whatever you want and explaining away all your wrongness with conspiracies and the supernatural. For instance, Litany has a large section of the book where she theorizes the rise in learning disabilities is tied to unreleased psychic powers. In other words, if your child doesn’t start levitating, it might cause autism. So if you went into this book thinking you and your kid were going to be doing fun card tricks, the stakes just went up.

It’s 87 pages into the book before Litany finally starts giving us exercises to train our powers. This one has you choose a time, say 6:23 am, and then see if your kid can heal a sick pet or a healthy tourist with their mind. But the line, “Check results when possible,” at the end sort of gives away her lack of confidence in us. If you want me to really believe I’m shooting healing waves into the night, maybe don’t add, “Oh, and if you have time, check to see if you’ve made veterinarian medicine obsolete, magic boy.” Is this sarcasm? Irresponsibility? Is my vet going to call at 6:24 am to say, “YOUR CAT! I-IT EXPLODED! EXPLODED!!! WHAT HAVE THESE HANDS DONE!?!?”

Most of the exercises involve staring at things and panting or telling your baby to place their hands on an object and release their negative energy into it. Assuming your baby understands what you mean by “negative energy” or “hands,” what then? Do I use a tire gauge to measure how much is left? Wouldn’t it require a +1 tire gauge or higher? What if my Jiffy Lube doesn’t have a Draenic blacksmith? Are my baby’s cursed psychic rays the reason my computer can’t ever find the printer? Litany was so certain none of this bullshit would work she didn’t bother answering any of these questions.

In Chapter 3: Invisible Friends and Visitors, Litany suggests imaginary friends are actual beings only your child can see. Holy shit, right? She even proves it by telling this story about someone named Cara who dreamed about a flying coach in a yellow hat. Still not convinced? Well, tough, because that’s the entire story. Look up in the night sky. Every moving light you can’t explain is a shard of Cara screaming upon reentry. You let her leave Earth with the yellow-hatted one before she finished her training and now you must watch her return from the stars in shattered pieces! I– look, I honestly can’t tell the tone Litany is going for sometimes. Cara might be fine.

There are a lot of ordinary things linked to psychic abilities in this book, but being able to point your wheelchair towards the one basketball in the room might be the least supernatural of them all. Is this an unthinkable skill? Is there a wheelchair basketball coach somewhere watching his players shoot off in random directions and shouting, “This is HOPELESS! I’d give my left nut for just one of you wheeled fucks to have a single precognitive mind power!”

Pablo saw his teacher reading a book on developing psychic powers and knew she would believe anything. Then Pablo, and here is the clever part, cheated on his math test. It worked so well the dingbat witch used it as anecdotal proof of metaphysics. “I don’t know what antelopal meat physics are,” said Pablo, “but I know you don’t need to be good at smart to trick a witch. Witches are five out of pizza stupid.”

I’m not sure what Litany was going for with this story, but who among us wouldn’t trade our intelligence and eating ability for a single moment of knowing when the bus is going to be late? As for Eddie knowing what his mother is thinking, that’s not so incredible. She only ever thinks the one thing: “Must resist! The temptation! To exploit my son’s bus powers!”

After 209 pages of astonishingly pointless stories and ways you can pretend to use the Force, Litany simply ends her book with an unexplained and unnumbered chapter called A CHILD’S WORLD. It’s five letters from kids, absolutely written by Litany herself, about dreams and imaginary friends. The one from “Tony, age 10” is addressed to himself and it’s about riding a big fluing hors with Jonney and then woking up. Why? In what world is this a suggestion of psychic ability? In what world is this anything? You won’t see me wrapping up an article by saying, “I saaw the worlds most stupid psycick lady pretend she wuz the worlbs dummest forth gradest. Uncomfable story nad then book did end.”

Categories
LEARNING DAY

What Ever Happened to Fingerboarding?

I remember the first time I truly understood that there is injustice in this world. It was when I learned about fingerboarding. 

“Jeremy,” I said to my bully at the time. “Look at these guys. Why are you slapping my hocks when these dorks are pretending to skateboard with their hands? You’re choking down hamburger when you could be dining on steak!”

“I’m not sure,” Jeremy shrugged, his bowl cut hiding a pair of thick, befuddled eyebrows. “I know with certainty they should be attacked, and yet I do not feel like attacking them.”

“They go unmolested for finger-miming a better hobby, but I get pushed in the girl’s bathroom for pretending to be a wizard? At least wizards are cool.” 

At this point, Jeremy began beating me savagely. The school principal actually saw it and moved to step in, but I waved him away. 

“I deserve this one,” I said. And he just nodded. He understood.

Anyway, let’s learn what happened to the most embarrassing fad this side of erotic pogs. 

It’s crazy that fingerboarding caught on, since none of the videos from the ‘90s even tried to make it look cool. They were named like kung-fu pornography:

And featured socially maladjusted children with terrible haircuts looking like they’d died of boredom hours ago and only rigor mortis was making them smile. Here’s what’s supposed to be a wild fingerboarding party… 

There’s no glamor in that photo — no child saw those poor bastards crammed unhappily atop the kitchen counter, huddled around a splayed Ukrainian exchange student who looks like he’s trying to explain how other people have fun without accidentally having any himself and thought, “that could be me — that should be me!”

But an entire industry popped up around fingerboarding, with commercials and everything:

This ad promised that “like real street skating, you can earn respect by shredding new obstacles!” And it was the single greatest lie of a generation. You fingerboard once and the word ‘respect’ is erased from your memory. You will laugh every time Aretha Franklin comes on, wondering aloud “what is this fucking idiot trying to spell?!” This blatant falsehood kickstarted the Truth in Advertising movement which now makes it illegal to promise that Carl’s Jr. is actual food, and not an elephant laxative.

This commercial started with a bored kid playing internet, only to find his hand has become sentient and fled his keyboard in favor of a fingerboard set…

Look at the abject fear on that child’s face. He does not want this to happen. He does not want to discover this about himself. It’s like he’s unearthing a shameful fetish for the first time, and can already feel decades of society’s judgment crashing down on him.

Yet another commercial features children fingerboarding everywhere — at school, at home, even on the bus! Yes, this brash young man grinds down the bus seats, even doing tricks over a strange woman’s legs… 

I am 100% certain that ‘fingerboarding a pop shove-it’ over an unconsenting woman’s lap is sexual assault, even if it’s to a degree so low that the mace to defend against it is cinnamon flavored.

Then one child makes a terrible mistake: He playfully ‘grinds’ his bus fare into the receptacle…

Forgetting that all public bus drivers are one shenanigan away from a stabbing spree. The director cuts away. We do not get to see this child die.

And yet, even with all of these advertisements that function like dire warnings, people kept fingering their boards. Here’s a Wikihow from last month, still advising people on how to start fingerboarding, rather than directing them to seek the help they need:

Even the How-to guide for fingerboarding refers to it as a ‘micro-sport,’ which is a bit like calling sniffing used socks ‘micro-sex.’ Even avid fingerboarders feel compelled to post polls asking other fingerboarders, “is fingerboarding stupid?”

Self awareness is banging on the door — begging, pleading to be let in — and they’re diving headfirst out the god damn window.

I’m not surprised that 69% of fingerboarders do not think fingerboarding is stupid, but I am surprised that 31% of fingerboarders recognize they have a problem and are simply helpless in the face of it. 

But here’s the real problem with fingerboarding: A lot of time has passed since the dark age when Tech Decks ruled the Earth, and that means many of its modern practitioners are adults. Here is what an adult fingerboarder looks like:

If you are a parent, please check your hand now. You will be surprised to find that you have unconsciously removed your phone from your pocket and already dialed the police. You can hang up now, but do take solace in the knowledge that your primal parental instincts are keen. 

Now, let’s hop into an interview with him:

Women, please check your panties. You will find that your genitals have sealed shut like a fallout bunker on doomsday. This is normal. This is a normal response. You don’t need to visit your doctor — you just need a long hot bath, some kitchen tongs, and to never read this next part:

I told you not to read it! Damn it all. I’m sorry, ladies, but you now have one less hole in your body. 

Photographs of grown men fingerboarding evoke the kind of quiet, aghast horror normally reserved for Scientology documentaries and forensics techs examining the apartments of adult fingerboarders.

Look at that screencap from a nightmare. That promotional still from an Eastern European horror movie. Just picture coming across that scene in a remote rest stop, when he slowly turns to make eye contact with you. Both of you know there’s no help for a hundred miles. Then it’s all darkness and pain and tiny wheels across your body, on your lips, moving down, inexorably down….

Every single grown man talking about fingerboarding is really talking about what they’d do to a RealDoll of Emma Watson if they could ever get enough fingerboard sponsors to afford one. 

I just can’t wrap my head around the fact that, in some dark corner of this Earth, there are people still gleefully fingerboarding. You’d think they would have died from wedgie complications by now. I simply cannot imagine a thing less cool than pretending to skateboard with your fingers-

Touche, dorks. 

Categories
LEARNING DAY

How To Spot Counterfeit Beanie Babies

In the late ’90s, adults collected stuffed toys so hard. If you’re under the age of 30, know that collectors inflated the price of rare Beanie Babies past any number you would believe. Picture how much you would spend on a stupid fucking fish beanbag and literally double it. This ripped a few holes in our universe. An enthusiast Beanie press appeared overnight. There are fewer normal journalists working today than there were Beanie Baby journalists working in 1998. The fact I can’t find statistics to support that but I can find out Stripes (The Dark Tiger) was worth $250 that year proves it.

Stores opened that sold nothing but these things. An entire economy formed around a product with no function or artistic value in an almost mean-spirited parody of capitalism. Thousands of dumbshits were betting their lives on how the rest of the dumbshits were dumber. It sounds crazy, but imagine you were an eight-year-old in China who had already been making copies of American toys for five years. Overnight, the price point for your bear-faced USA trash went from 3 cents per unit to $5000– literally double. This meant there were enough counterfeit Beanies to make an entire 60 minute VHS tape about it, and it sucks like nothing else. It sucks like China made a counterfeit Phil Collins out of horse meat.

The video is hosted by Steve, a man whose whole personality is captured by the phrase “Beanie Lover.” I’m not being a dick. If Steve was reading this, he would smile, look up at the thousands of glass eyes watching him from his shelves and say, “Someone finally understands me, Wiggles. Sherbet. Ticklish. Applejack and Bearning Love. Cubbie, Cubbie (with dickhole). And most of all you, Prinz von Gold (with collector’s dickhole).”

Steve is joined by two Beckies and a Vicky, and between the three of them, they have nearly eight minutes of Beanie Baby credentials. These women have achieved so much in the world of Beanie collecting that the collapse of their industry should honestly be treated with the reverence of 11 to 12 human lives being snuffed out. I don’t like the position it’s put me in where I have to describe its sadness to you, but it’s like watching the last white rhino die and then meeting a group of researchers who spent the last decade underground developing a way to teach white rhinos to sing. These people carry with them so much knowledge and every bit of it will turn to useless tragedy the moment they share it. So let’s learn how to spot some goddamn counterfeit Beanie Babies!!!

First of all, just touch them. A real Beanie lover can tell it’s not an authentic Ty Beanie Baby if the material is wrong. It’s not as plush or smooth. It doesn’t shine. You should also look for spelling mistakes on the tush tag. If it says “INTERNMENT camp Beanbear ” it may not be an authentic Liberty Bear Beanie. And look closely at the toy’s eyes. As one Becky puts it, counterfeit eyes are duller. And as the other Becky adds, “they are dull and um, the ones on the original ones are more shiny.” Please don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say we’ve now covered all the material from the first 30 minutes of How to Spot Counterfeit Beanie Babies.

The scariest thing about stupid people is how easy it is to convince them they’re no longer stupid. You tell a dumbass one fact about lens aperture and they are immediately armed with all they need to know to expose a moon landing hoax. You tell them one theory about body language and now they can scientifically detect any lie. So to me and hopefully you, this video looks like a few pieces of non-actionable information and nothing else. But to the intended audience, the idle stupid, this is spycraft. Knowing dull eyes are duller than shiny ones, the viewers are now crime fighters one step ahead of an international fraud ring. I would fucking like to see someone try to sell Becky a dull-eyed stuffed pig for $5000 and see how quickly she asks to inspect the tush tag more closely.

Speaking of inauthentic, Steve stops the ladies after a bit to summarize their advice. Taking deliberate pauses in a performative display of improvisation, Steve thinks out loud, “Features… Materials… Tags. Hmm…. so, hmmm… what’s a good way we can we rememb–. F.AKES M.EAN T.ROUBLE.“

As an amateur expert on body language, I alone can tell this is phony, but Becky, Vicky, and Becky love it. They give Steve’s acronym a generous laugh in what absolutely must be third base in the Beanie Lover community. It’s cute, but sort of destroys the internal logic of this video. These dingbats want us to believe they can spot off-color kitty cat felt from an Applebee’s away but they have no defenses against an untrained actor delivering pre-written cleverness? I could beat either Becky in a freestyle battle by just singing “Shoop” and she would leave thinking she was defeated by history’s greatest lyrical rap genius. She’d be right, as many sucker MCs already know, but for the wrong reason.

Steve and the ladies have a brief discussion about how the stuffed animals made by Chinese grifters sort of look sadder than authentic Ty Beanies, and they all agree this subjective measure of a toy’s emotional state is a great way to spot counterfeits. Then comes, without question, my favorite part of the video. Vicky opens up the tag on a suspect Peanut the Elephant for Steve, who reads the poem inside. It’s about a penguin named Waddle and Steve’s keen eye catches a tiny mistake the counterfeiters made. Did you? No, that’s not it! What you didn’t catch was that Peanut is an elephant, not a penguin with a different name.

What I love about this moment is how genuinely proud Steve is of himself for spotting this. It’s so reassuringly asexual. The guy is such a phony and this hobby is so humiliating I thought he had to be faking it to be the only dong near all this Jo-Ann Fabric ass. But no, he was waiting his whole life to declare that Peanut counterfeit and that’s not something you do in front of women if you still have plans for your boners. This is word-for-word how the magical moment went:

So after 40 minutes we know to look for hilariously obvious mistakes in materials, features, and tags. It’s now time to get into specifics. If you are at your Beanie dealer right now this is what you were skimming the page for. Stop scrolling HERE:

Fake Erins are tricky to spot because they have a ribbon. A devious counterfeiter knew the first step in copying a bear without a ribbon was to make sure it had a ribbon. Another feature to look for is the heart tag missing from the side of its head, which you may know as the defining feature of this entire toyline. But if the bear is wearing clothes it shouldn’t be and it’s missing the main identifying tag and you’re still not sure it’s a fake, look for “shamrock wrong” before buying. It’s a big investment, but your purchase of a real, authentic Erin will explain everything far better than even the most eloquent suicide note.

A careful inspection of Jolly’s Tush Tag might reveal a kerning error on the words “OakbrookILUSA.” This could indicate a possible forgery if you were so dogshit-brained you didn’t spot the wrong color mustache covering 80% of its face. If you needed a video to help you spot the differences between these two walruses, you are already being robbed by the chimpanzee claiming to be your husband. Look carefully near the unpeeled banana your “husband” is biting into. No tan line on his ring finger! How could that be if your husband is left-handed?

The only real way to spot a counterfeit Chops is to turn it around and squeeze open its anal vent. This can take hours and what you’re listening for is a weird moan from your Beanie dealer.

When you’re investigating a possibly fake Wrinkles, try to remember his name. Does the Beanie you’re looking at have tell-tale “wrinkles?” Or is it clearly a faced baguette, you cow? We’re having fun, but look at you. Look at what your life has become. The most depressed people you’ve ever met take strength in knowing you, even if for but a moment, carefully inspected this stuffed dog for authenticity. Your victory over a Bangladeshi child seamstress’ deception is the yardstick of sadness desperate souls can measure themselves by. The estate lawyer who will one day hand this toy to your cat as set forth by your last will and testament will smile through times of trouble and think, “I guess it can always get worse.”

Beanie counterfeiters are sometimes so good only a museum appraisal can spot the difference. Aside from this Libearty spelling it “Benine Baby,” you would never know it was a fake. Nice try, but Steve’s crew outsmarts people who can’t spell Beanie for breakfast. Try to sneak the word “Benine” past him or any of these Beanie Lover Beckies and they will say, “Okay, you can have my purse, though I’m starting to think you’re not my real husband. You are clever, ape, but your first mistake was sewing your ribbon to your neck. Ah, yet fabric rough… fabric rough was your LAST MISTAKE.”

I know this video is 22 years old, but I am desperately hoping this information gets to you in time: the knockoff Pinky isn’t pink. If you are buying a red Pinky, STOP.

Okay, you get it. We learned a lot about the hole left by hopelessness and how to, through vigilance and expertise, fill it without being tricked. Now get out there and make informed Beanie Baby investments, and should you ever come across a disreputable dealer, there is a Ty Hotline to Report Fake Beanies.

Categories
LEARNING DAY

How To Be Random

Listen, you want to be like that kid getting beat up behind the Jamba Juice. We all do. That’s why those bullies are showing him the scenic route to his own underwear: Because he wore swim fins on the bus and they could not handle his comedic genius. But how? How can we be more like the person voted “Most Wishes They Were Class Clown”?

Just as with every question you wish you’d never asked, the answer is “the internet.” We must dissect the ‘How To Be Random’ Wikihow if we are ever to unlock the secrets lurking behind Jonas’ bloody SpongeBob T-shirt.

Right from the jump we’re off to a bad start. Every idiot knows that ‘randomology’ is the study of randomness, and ‘randomosity’ is the treatment of it in a clinical setting. ‘Randomism’ was a short-lived German artistic movement in the 1960s, which reached its zenith when Lars Hamburgerdance answered “florp” instead of “not guilty” at his public indecency trial.

“Ice cream coffee!” Andrew says.

“What, like an affogato? I could go for one,” says Chip.

Andrew has failed to be random. He will later commit suicide from shame.

We’re two paragraphs into ‘How to be Random’ and we’re already diving into tangents about the technical meaning of the word “random.” So really this is teaching you how to be both random and pedantic: The two greatest aphrodisiacs known to humanity.

“God damn it, Ned! Just tell me how far along the cancer is!”

And you know how everybody is super jealous of those traumatic head injury patients, and all the tail they get *

*(Gary Busy notwithstanding)

“Be random! Make talking to you about literally anything the lowest part of anyone’s day!”

This is actually great advice if you’re trying to pad out your human interactions. If the only time another human being registers your existence is to ask you “how long until the next red line comes?” You’d damn well better answer “the next Vermillion strand is negative six times negative two minutes away!” That’s another four seconds of human contact to treasure at night when you start to miss the taste of gun oil.

Jesus Christ, there are posers in the ‘random’ community? This was already the lowest totem pole I could conceive of. Do you mean to tell me that it carries on into the dirt? I’ll tell you what: if the ‘randoms’ disdain you because you screamed “taco” as you climaxed instead of “bring back the Cheesarito,”  maybe human speech isn’t for you. Have you tried grunts and points? Please email me. I will send you the Wikihow for How To Caveman.

There is a huge difference in tone between “Hulkamania is gonna run wild on you,” and “the Devin will exchange bitcoin for feet pics.”

Okay this officially escalates from ‘being random’ to ‘sexual harassment.’ Although, to be fair, that is the logical progression. Screeching “the narwhal bacons at midnight!” is the Charizard to 3rd Degree Stalking’s Charmander.

Look how intrigued that woman is that this dude had the decency and foresight to ask for her panties in a high-pitched South African accent.

Yes, actually, please do wear a gorilla mask and top hat at all times. The greater the distance at which you can give us a visual warning about your personality, the better. A top hat is one step better than a Rick and Morty T-shirt. Six hundred balloons that each read “I’m exhausting” is the only thing better than a top hat.

See? You thought I was joking with that Sexual Harassment Charizard talk.

“How’d you get Ebola, Chuck?”

“Well, you see, I needed a jacket and long story short there’s a reason zookeepers ask you not to lick the bats. Wokka wokka is it supposed to bleed even when I’m not pooping?”

Don’t fucking drag Star Trek into this, you teething wandom. Star Trek is how conventional dorks avoid getting laid. You have not earned the right.

“LOL I’m Rottenfuhrer Rick! SO random! Am I right guys? Anyway, I have a final solution I’d like to discuss with you…”

Every single one of these suggestions involves sprinting somewhere unexpectedly and without warning, often down a slope or to a roadside. I am beginning to think this Wikihow was not actually written by a Random, but is in fact devious propaganda from the Logics, attempting to provoke a rash of tragic traffic accidents.

“Yep, you just sprint headlong for that dumpster. Especially if the garbage truck is about to grab it. It would be extremely random if you dove under the truck’s wheels. You ever notice how nobody does that? Nobody jumps under truck wheels – be the first!”

-The council of Forthright Attention and Rigorous Tactics

Steal from the great surrealists! For example, did you know Rene Magritte died of Pancreatic Cancer?

“Even if the police officer insists that you have the right to remain silent, you can still moo! They can’t prosecute you for a moo! A moo is not a legal admission of guilt! Not unless you plowed a cow! Hey, actually, you know what would be really random…”

So very much of this guide focuses on the fastest way to get interesting people to hate you.

I do appreciate that even the ‘How to be Random’ guide admits that just not doing any of this will net “better results.”

Found the wandom.

You thought I was joking about Sexual Harassment Charizard. You thought I was joking about Rottenfuhrer Rick. It’s a little-known fact that white nationalists have infiltrated the Random internet scene to recruit for their militias. You think it’s all quirky fun, but you’re two morglethorps and a hula hoop away from curb stomping a minority in northern Idaho.