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Nerding Day: Susie Q
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Nerding Day: Vibrations 🌭
Before the Wachowskis grease-orgied techno into irrelevance in The Matrix Reloaded, Hollywood gave us one bona fide masterpiece about it. That’s right, we’re talking about the 1996 straight-to-video classic, Vibrations…
… a.k.a. CYBERSTORM. It was a movie with no idea what it was or how to market itself. Its taglines ranged from “Redemption Is The Best Revenge!” to “FEEL THE LOVE… FEEL THE MUSIC… FEEL THE ENERGY.” It was every genre at once made to cash in on the 11th most popular kind of music.
Vibrations stars James Marshall – best known as the ambulatory leather jacket in Twin Peaks – as wannabe rock star TJ Cray. He’s got it all: a supportive cop dad, a sexy girlfriend, and both hands. We know he’s on the hot track because, in a valiant attempt by the filmmakers to “show don’t tell,” we see a newspaper headline exclaiming “Local Band on Hot Track.”
They’re the sound that locals are looking for! Assuming they’re looking for an opener for George Thorogood at the Pennsylvania State Fair. TJ has a big gig tonight, and there will be an A&R rep in the audience ready to offer the band a predatory contract they’ll be paying off for the rest of their lives, but what does our Pomeranian-haired protagonist do? He fucks his girlfriend for the rest of the day. They fuck so long he’s late to his own show. To be fair, said girlfriend is played by Paige Turco – April O’Neil from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II, III.
While speeding to the gig, he gets behind a pickup truck filled with drunk maniacs who decide to stop him. They swerve around, preventing him from passing, and he honks his horn so hard his entire car breaks down. Maybe. It’s not exactly clear why anything or anyone is doing any of this. The men bash his car with crowbars, pipes, and human feet until one of them steals a nearby piledriver and starts industrially pounding holes into TJ’s car, a cinematic callback to the previous scene.
TJ, silently and with little expression, stays in his car with his hands on the wheel, unable to come up with any acting choices that would make sense in this situation. When the piledriver finally pierces through his roof, TJ waits patiently for it to crush his hands off. “Aiieeee, DUR HUH huh,” he literally says from off camera.
It was quite an overreaction. By the random strangers, not TJ. TJ reacts the same way to everything: just barely not a nap.
So now TJ’s hands live only in future piledriver operator safety briefings. Doctors offer to strap Temu sex toys to his stumps, but how is he supposed to rip out white-hot blues licks to the top of the local hot tracks with these?
Now, a weaker hero would fall into a depression spiral, run away to New York City, and develop a drinking problem while sleeping on the streets and panhandling. But not ours, who has the drive and strength of will to – oh, wait, that’s exactly what he does.
We’re already through the first act of this afterschool special about the dangers of the rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle, and there are no signs of Vibrations, much less a Cyberstorm. We have 25% of a George Thorogood missing 100% of his hands. But suddenly, while passed out in a box in a rave hovel’s basement, he awakens to the inspirational sounds of 1996.
He stumbles upstairs into the bright lights, moaning lady samples, and tragic fashion of a full-blown techno party where he bumps into none other than Christina Applegate, a working actress who definitely turned down other parts to be here. “My character’s name is Melissa, but you can call me Anamika, which is Sanskrit for Person Without a Name,” she explains, while probably thinking, “I could have fucking been in Coneheads.”
They have a meet-cute where he saves her from sexual assault by catching a knife in his rubber hand, and she takes him back to her place. She lives in a magical New York brownstone filled with one-dimensional characters from all three walks of life. Let’s meet them!
First there’s Geek, whose name will save everyone a lot of time. He invents super devices, like a mega subwoofer beyond all audio science, and speaks fluent Computer.
Then there’s Simeon. He’s wearing a sleeveless flannel pullover, steampunk goggles, shin-length shorts, and what appears to be a glove on his head. He says “you’re creating a negative energy zone,” within moments of us meeting him. He’s meant to be a free spirit, but in the ’90s that meant charming sex pest.
They also have a sassy landlady named Zina with the best New Yawk accent someone from Michigan could come up with. She’s the classic independently wealthy welder archetype. “Get this goddamn piece of trash animal out of here,” she says about the handless wino Christina Applegate brings home.
Anyway, there’s a long sequence of TJ hitting rock bottom and realizing he needs to dry out because this movie knew techno fans would want to see a solid hour of misery before the cyberstorm hits. So with nothing left to lose, TJ finally lets Simeon explain techno. And he does so beautifully.
Now we’re neutronically mutilating the cosmos. TJ wants to get in on the Sound of the Future. But how? His hands are Troma props. So he gives up for the 5th time in this movie. But then inspiration strikes when he sees a player piano! Maybe he could make music again! Aw, if only he had a tech genius and a master welder t– OH MY GOD.
Together, the team invents CYBERHANDS, which look like something Elon Musk would call “Cyberhands.” Except these filmmakers thought of something Elon Musk would never consider: can you fuck in CYBERHANDS? Oh, fuck yes, you can.
We’ve been on this journey with TJ for over an hour. We’ve seen him at the top, we’ve seen him at his nadir, we’ve seen him use his robot fingers on Christina Applegate. It’s all been building up to this: his creative rebirth. His shedding of his frail human form into a being of pure synthesizer! With all the inspiration of vibes and all the power of Generation X, the generation without a name, TJ is reborn as DJ CYBERSTORM.
Maybe you’re like me and you were wondering how this movie, a film where the lead actor wears one expression and nine wigs, could afford this absolutely fucking sweet rave cybersuit designed by special effects legend Stan Winston. Well, the reason is simple: the producer had it in his basement. He’d commissioned it for a horror movie in the ’80s and wanted to get some more use out of it! That’s actually the origin story of this project! A man with James Marshall’s phone number remembered had a robot costume! Everything that led us here was even dumber than you could have possibly imagined!
Anyway, DJ CYBERSTORM is an instant hit, and that means it’s time to bring Neuromancer Live on the road. He heads out in a van to tour with the real-life bands above, and if you recognize any of their names, click here to qualify for senior rave discounts.
Cyberstorm’s name rises up the tour poster lineup as his popularity builds, the normal way to communicate success we’ve all agreed upon, and what do you know, his scrappy international techno tour is scheduled to stop in his podunk hometown! What a perfect way to wrap up the lingering plot threads from Act 1 and introduce a jealousy subplot between Christina Applegate and Paige Turco. This is immediately abandoned because remember those easily identifiable maniacs in a describable truck who crushed TJ’s hands in a world where police exist? The screenwriter suddenly did, and they’re working security at the concert tonight.
This forces our hero to make a difficult decision. Cyberstorm or Revenge? I’m sure TJ, now that he’s cleaned up, made friends, found love, and discovered a purpose in life (the same things he had at the beginning of the movie), will make the right decision. And he does. He chooses both. He decides to murder them in cold blood… as Cyberstorm.
This is when we discover Vibrations is not the Save the Last Dance of rave movies. It is the Halloween III: Season of the Witch of rave movies. Remember Chekhov’s subwoofer from earlier? Here’s TJ’s elaborate trap: he wheels a speaker next to the basement green room, connects the subwoofer to it, lures these Beavises and Buttheads inside with the promise of snacks (a powerful siren call indeed), and barricades them inside.
It’s even shot in first person like a slasher movie. During his set, while he’s fingerblasting the audience with tranducing primal vibes, DJ Cyberstorm triggers the subwoofer, and shakes them to death with those block-rocking beats. It’s exactly how Freddy Krueger or Jason would have killed concert security guards, only updated for Generation X, the generation without a name.
Fortunately, the criminal justice system is spared the indignity of having to coin the term Mobycide when he sees his dad and Christina Applegate in the audience and arbitrarily decides, nah, maybe he won’t commit multiple murders today. The Ted Nugent roadies get arrested, he lives happily ever after, the end. Nobody learned anything!
By any standards, it’s a violently pointless series of unrelated events scored by Lithuania’s most affordable Herbie Hancock impersonator. But amazingly enough, this wasn’t Michael Paseornak’s first movie as a writer. He has script credits on Meatballs III which is not the one where an alien helps the hero win a boxing match, but the one where a dead porn star gets one last chance at Heaven if she can go back to Earth and help the hero get laid. Michael also contributed to the scripts for the Lorenzo Lamas action classics Snake Eater and Snake Eater II: The Drug Buster. But this, Vibrations, was his first solo writing credit. It was also his first time as director. And obviously his last in both capacities.
In a normal world, he would have sunk into obscurity like a rave DJ with a no-hands gimmick. But this is not a normal world. Michael Paseornak went on to become President of Lion’s Gate Film Productions. He produced John Wick 4, The Hunger Games, and Madea’s Witness Protection. He went on from this embarrassing excuse to fill an old robot suit with James Marshall sweat to become a gigantic success. It seems like there should be some lesson to take away from that, but, just like in Vibrations, there isn’t.
This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Eric Rion, who also has cyberhands BUT HE DON’T USE EM FOR RAVING! You know what we’re sayin’, ladies! (He uses them for knitting tiny novelty sweaters.)
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Nerding Day: Bots Master 🌭
Set in the far-future year of 2025, The Bots Master presents a world where humanity has invented a legion of roboslaves to cater to our every whim. These machines are the cybernetic creations of Ziv Zulander (ZZ for short), robot wunderkind and all-around radical dude. Or as Toolzz explains in the intro,
“Yeah! Well he can’t fade us!
He forgot about the Boyzz and the guy who made us!
Ziv Zulander, master of Boyzz bots!”
But it turns out that his boss, Lewis Leon Paradim, isn’t happy with being the richest person on the planet. LLP wants to rule the world, to be worshiped and beloved by all. His evil plan? Use a new kind of computer chip to make the global population bend to his will. Ah, the wild premises that cartoons came up with in the ’90s!
The brainchild of DIC head, Jean Chalopin, and Toy Biz CEO, Avi Arad, The Bots Master sees ZZ and his kid sister “Blitzy” wage a secret war against his ex-employer to prevent him from using his “Krang chips” to take manual control of every robot in the world. It’s weird because like, they built all of those robots anyway, so if that was their plan all along you’d think they would have just included that functionality to begin with? I mean, it’s also weird because they’re called “Krang chips,” which sounds like something Shredder would eat in the Technodrome.
Also, the show was directed by a guy named Xavier Picard, whose mother named him after the two bravest men she ever knew played by Patrick Stewart.
So: a teen genius fights against an evil megacorporation with his army of wisecracking robots — it’s a solid premise, but it needed something else to set it apart. “I’ve got eet,” Chalopin, a then-43-year-old white Frenchman, thought, “we will include le hip hop!” Seriously, the theme song opens with two rollerblading robots saying “greetings from the street boyzz” and then rapping about corporate sabotage and man’s unlimited lust for power.
This influence pervades the entire series. It was 1993, ok? Executives everywhere were trying to be hip with the kids by slipping rap-inspired aesthetics into their entertainment products. Remember Rappin’ Mike? The Ninja Turtle figure with this bio?
I’m sorry for putting you through that. But it gives you some sense of the relationship mainstream white culture had to hip hop in the early ’90s. That is, it didn’t understand it at all and also wanted to suck the life out of it for sustenance. The Bots Master was essentially mandated by law to have a black rapping robot who rollerblades and sounds like that one Transformer from the Michael Bay movies. Come to think of it, I’m not actually sure whether the rapping robot actually being painted black makes it better or worse than like, a gray or yellow robot. At least the Asian robot isn’t painted yellow, I guess? Yes, of course there’s an Asian robot.
Can we talk about these robots, though? ZZ allegedly invented them to be “young playmates” and named them the “BOYZZ” with two z’s, because the ’90s were a hipness arms race that drove all parties involved to extremes that would horrify contemporary observers. BOYZZ is allegedly an acronym for “Brain Operated Young Zygoetopic Zoids,” a series of terms that sounds like it would get you placed on an FBI watchlist if you Googled it.
The BOYZZ are all fully self-aware and autonomous individuals, yet were constructed to perform exactly one function. One of them plays golf. That’s his whole thing! He was made to be a golfer. He has one arm, and it’s a golf club. He is incapable of doing anything besides playing golf, yet he has the personality of a human male.
Is it torment, to have a sense of oneself as a unique being yet be constrained to the narrow design of one’s creator? Or is it bliss to revel in the fulfillment of one’s obvious purpose for existence? That’s a question I leave to the robotheologists.
Anyway, back to the BOYZZ. Some of them are construction workers, some of them play sports. One of them is a doctor. One of them is a cook that didn’t even get a name, he’s just called “cook.”
A bunch of them are disembodied heads built by another robot, whose entire existence amounts to sitting on a shelf and watching TV.
In one episode, ZZ invents a mother robot called Momzz the Mother BOYZZ. Besides having an extremely bizarre name, she looks like this, has a personality based on the DNA of Napoleon Bonaparte (because that’s a thing they can do in the future), and dies almost immediately.
But the absolute worst of the bunch is D’Nerd. He’s an extremely puntable robot with a TV screen for a head whose gimmick is that he always gives the dictionary definitions of words.
It’s unclear whether he likes doing this or can’t help himself, but either way, he makes Alpha 5 from the Power Rangers look like Joe Cool. His existence, like that of unknowable deep sea horrors, stomach cancer, and Ricky Gervais comedy specials, is proof of a not merely uncaring but actively sadistic creator.
None of the BOYZZ were built for fighting, except for Ninjzz, who has a lightsaber and is the only robot in The Bots Master that ever gets to do anything cool. The rest of them were just sort of drafted into ZZ’s guerilla war against RM Corp. That means we get a lot of tennis robots spiking grenades and construction robots dismantling their opponents, but it also means ZZ has essentially drafted an army of robo-child soldiers.
And just who are their opponents? Mostly they’re soulless robots voiced by the old text-to-speech program Dr. SBAITSO (“PARITY ERROR”). And what’s weird is that their creator and the archvillain, LLP, is just… nothing.
He’s barely ever involved in the action and almost never gets to do any fun monologues. He’s more of a hands-off kind of guy, I guess, leaving things up to his lieutenants Doctor Hiss and Lady Frenzy. Doctor Hiss is… well, just look at him. You can probably figure out his whole deal just from that.
I’m kidding, of course. He’s a by-the-numbers Starscream, not a rampaging pervert. It’s not like I could show you a screenshot of him fucking a giant robot dog to the astonished glares of onlookers.
As for Lady Frenzy, she’s a sexy evil lady. It’s a tried-and-true archetype, and one that has no doubt planted the seed for femdom kinks in many young minds throughout history. But Evil-Lyn, the Baroness, and their ilk have absolutely nothing on Lady Frenzy. Her voice actress, Janyse Jaud, sounds like a phone sex operator who suffers from a psychological condition where discussing her nefarious plans makes her uncontrollably aroused. Maybe that’s why she’s doing evil stuff all the time.
She’s insanely horny for ZZ and isn’t afraid to use her smoking hot body and absurdly breathy voice to advance her goals. In one episode she bribes an old bank manager and all but promises she’s going to fuck him until his heart explodes if he does what she wants. And she’s genuinely annoyed when the guy turns her down because his heart belongs only to money.
Lady Frenzy is a particular type of fictional woman, one that never achieved the heights of a Shego from Kim Possible or a Poison Ivy from Batman. But though her name may not be as well known as those objects of forbidden noid-doodle desire, she has inspired a truly impressive level of devotion amongst millennials who can’t really draw but desperately want to see her in a diaper. Google Image Search “Lady Frenzy” and there are multiple results for this kind of thing on the first page by different people. It was enough that it made me wonder if it somehow came up in The Bots Master proper, but the closest I got was an episode where ZZ gets a mind-controlling necklace that hypnotizes her into working for him.
There’s also one where the robots kidnap her while she’s asleep as a “present” for him. You know, normal kids’ TV stuff. You couldn’t make this show today, because of DEI. DEI, of course, stands for DIC Entertainment Industries, the holding company sitting on The Bots Master IP.
You’d think this one would be one of those shows that got maybe twelve episodes, but believe it or not, they made 40. That’s more than Hulk Hogan’s Rock ‘n’ Wrestling, Kissyfur, ALF: The Animated Series, Captain N, and Hammerman, the cartoon where MC Hammer is granted superpowers by a pair of magical talking shoes. Jayce and Wheeled Warriors got 65, though. Good for him, the little bastard.
The big gimmick for The Bots Master — aside from an endless parade of acronyms — is “lazer time.” Of course it’s spelled “lazer,” because they sure as fuck weren’t going to miss any opportunity to shove another z into this show.
When ZZ calls out those two special words, viewers were supposed to put on the 3D glasses that came with the Bots Master toy line. Rather than the classic red-blue ones, these are basically single lens sunglasses and work with the Pulfrich effect. That means that these segments thankfully don’t look like blurry garbage if you’re not wearing the glasses, but for it to work it requires constant lateral movement — so for five minutes in every episode, the world starts whirling by like the background layers in an early ’90s Sega Genesis game programmed by someone who’d just discovered parallax scrolling.
In fact, the Pulfrich effect was also used in the video game Jim Power: The Lost Dimension in 3-D in the very same year. Jim even kind of looks like ZZ…
The game was made by a French developer, too. What was in the water in France in the ’90s? I’ll see if I ca– oh, apparently they had a Mad Cow outbreak in France around then, so maybe, uh, that. Now we just need to figure out the Lady Frenzy diaper thing.
This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Ken Paisley, the robot designed solely to enjoy Skyline chili. Torment!
I’ve once again managed to locate an entire pack of unopened trading cards from one of America’s most popular collectible trading card series. That’s right, I’m about to pit seven different versions of actress Susan Lucci against each other in the battle to the death we’ve all been waiting for. It’s time to talk about the All My Children trading card collection!
Seriously, there are so many Susan Lucci trading cards in this deck that I started to wonder if All My Children was a show about quintuplets and Susan Lucci played all of the children. Most of the other characters in the show get one or two cards at most. Lucci gets one for every facial expression she’s ever made during rehearsal and two for every time she borrowed an outfit from the Star Trek wardrobe’s hot alien section.
Susan Lucci hair check: it’s slicked back but also somehow enormous and full of springs? Did they put slinkies in her hair? Judging by the top two looks, I’m a little worried Susan Lucci’s hairdresser was a crow trying to make a nest out of its shiny little treasures.
Apparently, Susan Lucci’s character, Erica Kane, is considered the most popular character in American soap opera history. So, if someone bought a pack of All My Children trading cards and didn’t get at least three or four Luccis, they would riot. The excessive amount of Lucci in this deck is for public safety. Don’t worry, though; it’s not all Susan Lucci. The creators of this card deck also used it to commemorate special moments in All My Children, like the time Susan Lucci’s daughter set her house on fire.
Quick, Susan Lucci, reach into your hair and see if there’s a squirt gun or maybe a tiny fire extinguisher in there! All My Children trading cards have three major categories: Susan Lucci smiling, Susan Lucci smoldering, and torturing Susan Lucci. This has to be the most popular trading card commemorating a house fire in American trading card history.
Sometimes, the cards even throw one in that upsets Susan Lucci in a sneaky way. I saw ERICA AT THE CIRCUS, and I thought, oh good, finally, something nice for Erica! Readers, it was not a good day for Erica. This is a card commemorating the time Erica learned that her father, Eric Kane, “the famous filmmaker and infamous philanderer,” had faked his death for financial reasons and was now living life as Barney the Clown! Her father abandoned her to pursue a career in professional clowning. Nothing is worse than that! Can’t Erica just go to the circus?
Do the people who watch this show love pain? Let’s see Susan Lucci in happier times, and we won’t ask any questions about what happened immediately after the picture on this card was taken. This is Erica and the third of her seven husbands. He was probably torn apart by wolves or something. Again, we’re not asking too many questions; just enjoy that Susan Lucci gets to be happy and not have her hair full of trinkets because it’s hidden underneath a hat.
I swear Susan Lucci has cursed these cards. I keep trying to find an interesting one that doesn’t have her in it, but almost everyone who isn’t Susan Lucci has been done so dirty by the trading card manufacturer. What did these women do to Susan Lucci to be forever immortalized in a bad wig, a brown cape, and the saddest half-smile of all time?
Obviously, it’s fine how Susan Lucci definitely made sure these women looked terrible in her trading card set. She’s a boss bitch. You don’t get your own QVC clothing line, exercise DVD, and celebrity perfume (LaLucci) by being a team player. Maybe I’m wrong. There could have been someone else masterminding the cards. I just can’t help but notice the huge gaping difference between Myrtle Fargate’s single card, which refers to her as a “drunken ex-carnival worker,” and a picture of Susan Lucci that just says “HOT”.
So many of the other women in their hot couple cards are craning their necks all weird like they’re being rescued from a yoga accident. Susan Lucci is smoldering right into the camera as she holds hands with husband number five (of seven total husbands). Yes, that is the husband who got married thirteen times to ten different women, and had a secret twin brother who Erica was also in love with. Could you look even half as good as Susan Lucci if you were in a relationship with a man and his secret twin brother without knowing it? This woman is so talented!
Of course, every card can’t have Susan Lucci, or a woman who Susan Lucci has clearly sabotaged in it. Things happen on All My Children other than Susan Lucci being hot. Luckily, the cards have found a way around that. For instance, if Susan Lucci isn’t on a card, what if everyone on it is wearing a mask?
Any of these people could plausibly be Susan Lucci. We don’t know! They’re being cheeky about it. Even the guy in the mustache sort of looks like Susan Lucci wearing a hyper realistic movie mask. Either that or I’m just seeing Susan Lucci everywhere now? Has my husband always looked a little bit like Susan Lucci?
The ultimate All My Children trading card is titled DON’T DRINK AND DRIVE. First of all, it’s so dark that Susan Lucci could be lurking in the backseat of its car. However, all of the non-Susan Lucci people in the picture look like absolute hell. They’re so not Susan Lucci; they are visibly bleeding. Maybe dead. Susan would never. Rumor has it all of her blood was replaced with LaLucci in 1998. She’s technically a window cleaner.
It might seem strange for a deck of trading cards to commemorate housefires, drunk driving, and circus daddies, but All My Children was actually very metal. These are the special moments from the show that the All My Children audience wanted to forever enshrine in a trading card. They’re the type of people who like two things: psychological terror, and Susan Lucci. The psychological terror caused by Susan Lucci absolutely rocks their world. You might think you’re immune to her charms, but I bet you’ll have trouble getting this sultry look out of your head after reading this article. And when I say sultry, I mean SULTRY.
You don’t get to spend a decade slinging jorts on QVC without being a woman of incredible resolve and seductive energy. In fact, she’s so powerful that Susan Lucci hijacked this entire article and also, maybe my life? There are seventeen boxes of something called Susan Lucci’s Youthful Essence Night Cream in my living room. It all expired in 2006, but for some reason, it felt like a good investment at the time. And it feels like Susan Lucci on my skin.
I think my weak personality couldn’t withstand the charisma radiating from these trading cards. I’ve got to stop bringing these things into my home. Yeah, I’m going to get rid of these cards. I’ll need room for the additional nine boxes of Susan Lucci’s Hair Nest System I just ordered. If I disappear in the next six weeks, please know I may have joined a cult that Susan Lucci isn’t aware she started.
This article was brought to by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Koumoutsas, the Susan Lucci of competitive hot dog hurling.
Greetings, fellow Squeeg. I am humbled that so many of you emerged from your chrysalises for this, and there will be pseudopod soaking pools made available following the presentation. Please refrain from vibrating each others’ applause-organelles until the end.
Our invasion of the pathetic world known as Earth is nearly upon us, and as such our science and recon teams have returned with a trove of fresh information that will make subjugating the ape-men a fairly simple matter. By gathering what the humans call “’90s video game ads,” we believe we have cobbled together a full picture of their social structures and any potential resistance they may muster against our forces.
Let us begin.
Here we see the inherently craven nature of humanity of full display. Note the delight father and son share as they manhandle their gaming robots. They show absolutely no concern for the small man being kicked to death, easily visible through their view-port. Instead they gaze creepily at one another under the banner of “domestic violence,” which can only take the form of bare-ass whipping with controller cords. These two humans are easily distracted, and can be probed without risk.
Here we see a stark example of human cruelty – a man jamming his crotch into a gaming robot with or possibly without its consent. His penis, thus digitized, is projected onscreen at larger-than-life size to stoke the user’s ego. So fascinated by his own phallus is he, he has neglected to lay hands on his mate, immediately reneging on the promise of domestic violence. Humans are a fickle and erratic bunch.
This gentleman, clad in the traditional garb of an Earth zookeeper, proudly displays the lower animals he has confined to a tiny handheld prison. Also it’s pretty racist.
The suggestion that one devour a sentient creature is bad enough, but here we see the shocking lack of hygiene which is standard for humans. Note the filthy fingernails and runny feces spread across the lower cracker. Our top scientists also take this image as evidence that the human fist may be detachable, and should be avoided at all costs.
Yet again, the human need for tiny windows filled with simple colors and lights is prized above a potential mate. It is our contention that the species may soon wipe itself out through sheer lack of procreation. Nevertheless, we recommend a full-scale invasion in the near future, as they appear to have set their sights on Saturn.
If you lacked the conviction that humanity must be subjugated, look no further than this sacrilege. The quote in question originates in Edge Magazine, the planet’s leading periodical on the topic of edging. Humans would rather coax each other to thunderous orgasms than submit to the will of the holy one, blessed be He.
What’s blue and pisses all over everything? The Alderian Schraktbeest, as we all know. Not only do the humans crudely co-opt our own bestiary, they have forced an unwitting female to birth a creature full of spikes, wearing shoes, and with drink in hand. Her genitals, presumably, are in ruin. Also, note along the bottom that the Earthlings have begun to dabble in rudimentary palindrome technology, meaning it’s only a matter of time before they sit on a potato pan, Otis.
WARNING: the humans have developed the ability to submerge indefinitely. Females are attracted to the blue mating spikes displayed by this male, presumably leading to the birth of the blue thing that pisses everywhere. The nearby hash pipe is merely more evidence of their depravity.
There’s no other way to say it: that man is sexually assaulting a Sega Game Gear. On the bright side, those planning our offensive strategy believe we can blind our opponents simply by fondling their genitals over a protracted length of time, making our invasion all the simpler. See how the fools broadcast their weaknesses!
This is a photorealistic rendering of the human birthing process. As the shrieking progeny rips its mother in twain, it is already being prepared for battle by a cadre of vicious mutants whispering words of death into its ears. And don’t worry about the implied threat…our best minds are currently working on a weapon capable of delivering triple trouble, for which the Earthlings will be woefully unprepared.
It’s becoming clear that humans do most of their gaming in the nude. This puts us at a distinct advantage, since we do most of our conquering in fully-mechanized battle suits. Admittedly, our terran merchandologists had many conflicting interpretations of what in all the Star Hells may be happening here. Their Trick Style conclusions may be off, and catastrophically so.
The humans appear to make love as we do. When a suitable mate has been selected, they are targeted for a full cloaca evacuation. All fluids, all waste, all at once. “THE EAGLE HAS LANDED,” they call it. Such allure could end up testing the loyalty of our soldiers.
Some of you may have taken issue with my repeated assertion that there is little separation between mankind’s genital apparatus and their gaming robot. I trust this will put the matter to rest. Whether or not such fondling leads to the aforementioned blindness, we are vigorously testing on our abductees. Unfortunately, so far most of them seem to enjoy it. Curse the indomitable spirit of these creatures and their rupturing pelvis tubes.
Here a human female describes her son’s genitals to another, who admits to electrically torturing someone named Johnie, an objectively incorrect way to spell Johnny. We must assume from this she has no son, and instead stalks the night, looking for young boys’ genitals to plug into wall sockets. How can our invasion fail when they turn against one another in such numbers? When mere proximity to something penis-like destroys their instincts and language centers?
Curse these beasts. How can creatures so repulsive, so foreign… be so like us? By the pleasure ferreted trousers of Squarr, these Earth monsters are unpredictable. Yet by studying ’90s video game ads, and ’90s video game ads only, we have uncovered the heart of humanity, and it is ripe for the plucking. These ghost-trapping robot rapists will soon swear fealty to the Squeeg Imperium! All hail Tuxibo, Emperor of Saturn and Lord of Never Misconstruing Things!
This article was brought to you by our fine sponsors and Hot Dog Supremes: Zach and Eva, notoriously untentacled and probeless. Trust them with your orifices, human!
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Nerding Day: The Dwelling
