Category: PUNCHING DAY

Exiles 🌭

Malibu Comics was a short-lived imprint in the 1990s that acted as a sort of comic book Drain Trap — a stagnant place you could dump your worst ideas to keep them from rising up and poisoning the rest of the industry. If Marvel was the appealing picture of the Whopper on the Burger King menu, Malibu was the soggy slab of gray meatpoison you actually got. And Exiles was the caustic grease at the bottom of the bag that ruins your pants.

That’s seriously the cover of their very first issue. That’s the first impression they were comfortable with for the whole series. I promise I didn’t photoshop that mouth — that’s really something Malibu drew on purpose, looked at, somehow did not destroy out of reflexive shame, and then actually had the gall to put up for sale. Here’s the very first page:

We’re not one full page into, again, the very first issue of a brand new series, and we have multiple redirect arrows. Redirect arrows are how normal comic book artists apologize for coming to work drunk. In Japanese comics, they’re widely regarded as an acceptable suicide note. This is a worse first impression than going on a blind date in blackface and then explaining that it’s not what it looks like — you just have “Jungle Fever” and you jerked off to a mirror earlier.

In keeping with the theme so far, the very first character we’re introduced to, Amber Hunt, is immediately established as a vapid dipshit that we should all hate. Sure hope the whole book doesn’t hinge on this horribly sexist caricature doing or saying literally anything els–

Well, shit.

Amber Hunt is our protagonist.

So Malibu comics wants us to know three things right from the jump: Our heroine is stupid, our heroine is self-centered, and they’re sorry for being repetitive when they could have just said “she’s a woman in a Malibu comic.”

That grocery store toy aisle “Iron Guy” up there is Supreme Soviet and those are his Cybernoids. “Supreme Soviet and the Cybernoids” is a kickass name for a Russian Daft Punk cover band, but they’re terrible names for comic book characters. They sound like Honorable Mentions pulled from a Dr. Who name-the-villain contest, but don’t worry — those aren’t your main villains.

Do worry, your main villains are stupider. Like Bloodbath:

Who’s a ripoff of every single Wolverine ripoff, and looks like Dr. Frankenstein tried to build Dave Bautista out of Rob Liefield parts. He looks like somebody tried to break the Character Creation screen. He has a fishhook tattooed on his face though he’s in no way nautically themed, and he couldn’t decide between skullwings and Pippi Longstocking braids so he told his barber both and hung strong through the laughter. He’s trying to pull the old Reality Show “I’m not here to make friends” gambit, but it’s definitely coming across as “I wore sweatpants to the prom because I knew nobody wanted to dance with me anyway.”

Hey, meet the only character in this entire series that I like:

Her name is Hot Rox. Have you guessed her power? It’s elocution.

Our heroes are no better!

Everyone in the Exiles sucks so hard it’s difficult to overstate. I’ll try: They suck so hard, if they were an album they’d be Imagine Dragons ironically covering NWA songs. They suck so hard, if they were a car they’d be a brown Nissan Juke. It’s not enough! They’d be a Nissan Juke with one of those family stickers in the window, only every member would be a Calvin peeing on a smaller Calvin until the final Calvin, who has to pee on himself. They suck so hard, if they were a sex scandal they’d be Martin Shkreli caught masturbating in a Foot Locker. Fuck! Nothing is landing. You’ll just have to meet them.

This is Tinsel. That’s seriously her comic book name, and this is seriously her comic book power.

Malibu ripped off Jubilee and Dazzler, two characters nobody wanted, and found a way to make the combination of them worse. That’s like pairing hot pickles and warm oatmilk, only you put the warm oatmilk inside the pickle like a briny gusher so it can ejaculate into your mouth when you bite it. You were wrong from the start, and every step you took afterward made it exponentially worse.

The rest of your crew are:

Mustang!

Shitty Gambit got to design his own superhero persona and the toughest thing he could think of was to wear boxing safety headgear and name himself after a powerful horse.

Ghoul is the zombified corpse of that art teacher who constantly jokes about smoking weed. It’s strange how all of his most talented students are young women who look like they can keep a secret. It’s even stranger that his “after hours intensive portfolio review” always takes place in his Volkswagen Jetta.

Catapult is our Michaelangelo character, three years after we as a culture accepted that not everything had to have Michaelangelo character. He has none of the charm or self-awareness of Michaelangelo and twice the quips, but the writer was not legally allowed to be around actual teenagers, knew no actual ‘hip’ slang himself, and was also quite unwilling to look any up.

This is Deadeye:

Deadeye is, without question, the most useful member of Team Exile. Deadeye’s superpower is that he has a gun and can aim it.

Aaaand we saved the worst for last. That is Trax, who pulled his superhero name from an orthopedic hiking insole. Here’s Trax after taking a glancing blow from Super Soviet:

Later in the comic, it’s revealed that Super Soviet actually had no superpowers of his own. That was Trax after taking one medium human punch.

Trax’s only superpower seems to be smelling women from a greater distance than normally possible, or advisable:

To the surprise of nobody, he’s a sex pest:

That reprimand almost seems progressive, doesn’t it? Don’t worry, this is a Malibu comic. Female brains just take extra time to understand good jokes, math, and complimentary groping. That woman has time to think about it later and realizes she was wrong:

But hey, speaking of good jokes — where’s that choice Malibu “your friend that can’t quite do a Chandler impression” humor?

The wall of his classroom just exploded, so that kid turned around to ask nobody if they thought the flames would be on the test, which you might almost recognize as a joke before your female brain took that extra time and realized you were horribly mistaken. It’s kind of like following a strange adult you think is your mom only to look up half a block away and realize it’s a circus clown. That moment of dull, confused horror is the closest thing to a laugh a Malibu comic has ever gotten.

Now that we’ve met the colorful cast, let’s jump into the plot: Amber Hunt has latent superpowers, and is drawn reluctantly to the Exiles Team. Just in time, too, since a sinister corporation might be making their own superpowered army! The heroes go in to investigate, but find they’ve stumbled into an ambush.

That’s a pretty generic setup, but maybe they go somewhere interesting with it?

Oh wait, that’s actually the ending.

The Exiles scout out Evil Headquarters and Ghoul has all the bad guys cornered… then decides to fucking 180 noscope some fuel tanks, killing everybody:

Meanwhile back at the Exile base, it also explodes, killing… everybody else?

This has been an accurate synopsis of the entire Exiles series.

The end.

What, did you expect something more?

The writers knew you would!

So they put in one last panel just verifying that you were an idiot for expecting that.

Exiles lasts four issues, does nothing interesting, and then they all die abruptly. That’s the worst ending you could possi-

Oh wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t turn the page. That’s not the end! There’s an epilogue… in the form of a written apology from the Exiles team.

In which they explain why they wrote a bunch of characters who exist solely to suck and then die. The answer is: Some people just suck and then die.

They wrap it up by further acknowledging that you, the reader, probably won’t like this story, but that’s only because they don’t know what they’re doing.

Although I gotta say, “Drunken Magician” is a killer euphemism for “incompetent fuckwit.” I’m going to change all of my business cards.

Tags 2020, comics, Free, malibu

PUNCHING DAY

How to Protect Yourself & Survive 🌭

Post author By Seanbaby
Post date 07/07/2020
3 Comments on How to Protect Yourself & Survive 🌭

In 1979, the streets feared only one thing: author Sidney Filson. She wrote HOW TO PROTECT YOURSELF & SURVIVE: from one woman to another which made all other books look like frivolous indulgences. This is 151 pages of kill-danger’s-dick-with-car-keys Karate. When star scavengers are one day picking through the remains of human civilization, they will use this book as an archaeological marker to determine which woman died last.

After the title and a picture of someone punching a hand, there was nothing left to be explained, so Sidney used the back of the book for her 9″ x 12″ headshot. It’s unusual for an urban survival book, but from one woman to another, Sidney is looking pretty good. When you have Sidney’s smile, hair, and bone structure, you don’t waste your book sleeve with “further information.” Here’s some, though: this book rules and I can prove it. See, I’ve developed a system that can scientifically measure the three main features of the genre: Groin Destruction, Pre-Enactments, and Attitude. If you’re interested in further information…

The most efficient way to measure the greatness of a female self-defense book is with The 1-900-HOTDOG Tri-Matrix of Lady Karate Literature. As shown here:

Groin Destruction is the primordial ooze from which all Karate life developed. The fastest way to overcome any physical disadvantages you have against an attacking man is by smashing the flopping weak spot that led him into this mistake. Hand swings, foot bashes, fuckable tubes of mayonnaise left as distractions… a self-defense book needs to be creative, aggressive, and single-minded when it comes to the penis.

Pre-Enactments paint a picture of where you will be using your violent new powers. A low-scoring book in this category might have nothing more than a few bored men lunging at women in a parking lot. An exceptional book will feature costumes, absurd situations, and suspiciously real reactions to dick punches. It should imagine situations where you’re fighting your way out of a dentist groping or a clown emergence. A lady Karate book should remind you danger is everywhere and ridiculous and anyone who forgets it is doomed to be killed by a Chuck E. Cheese.

Attitude! describes how well the book prepares you mentally for fucking someone up. If I can stop being cute for a second, martial arts books are like sex books– every delusional idiot thinks they should write one and only much more delusional idiots think they improve by reading them. Pictures of Karate will not help you fight, and you don’t need to throw a book club into the Octagon to discover Sensei Barb’s Palm Strikes for Seniors was inadequate training for real combat. But who cares? Human conflicts hardly ever look like combat. Anyway, a book with poor Attitude will try to convince you you have the secret double chop technique to escape any grapple. A good one will convince the reader not to take anyone’s shit and to let your bitch ass attacker know that no matter what happens he’s leaving with a bite full of missing dick.

Great! Now let’s see how How to Protect Yourself & Survive: from one woman to another rates on this groundbreaking and expertly designed self-defense book rating system!

Groin Destruction: 7/10

Sidney calls her self-defense courses “Wonder Woman School” because as she says on page 118, and I *gulp* quote, “Can you imagine Wonder Woman being raped?” I should have warned you earlier, Sidney is a woman of palm heels to the groin, not words. Her philosophy is to go fucking nuts on every dick that gets out of line and to train for this, she has one student awkwardly stand still while another squares up and slaps her in the crotch. It’s a technique that will make you say, “I understand the risk I’m taking engaging with you in this way and under these circumstances, but hi there, ladies.”

Sidney suggests different groin techniques based on the location or angle of your opponent. For instance, and I again *gulp* quote, “Do not attempt to grab the groin area of a man on top of you. This is what a rapist expects a woman to do in self-defense.” One of her few faults is how Sidney seems to view the world through the lens of point Karate where even men in the middle of horrifying assaults are following some kind of martial arts game plan you can outmaneuver with your guile. Her tips feel wise, but I worry some attackers aren’t going to stick to the script. It feels like telling someone not to use a plunger to try to defeat a janitor. It’s like saying “hot dog eating champion sexual assaulters will be expecting you to slow them down with a trail of delicious hot dogs– do the opposite!” Can you guess what the opposite of a trail of delicious hot dogs is? No, that’s not it! No. No. No! No. Yes! You’re right, it’s a suitcase full o– hold on, why are you so curious?

Under most other circumstances, Sidney loves a good groin attack. And it gives me great pleasure to say I’m summing up about four pages of her book here: Have a friend lay down so you can practice stomping on a dick. I love it so much, but I can’t imagine a worse way to train than putting a fragile thing you care about on the floor to hone your stomping technique. It’s getting you used to very specifically not shattering a pelvis. What did a zucchini cost in 1979? Four cents? I bet you could build an entire penised vegetable man for about two dollars and after you’re done killing it you’d have a healthy meal for your family. Oh, I sound crazy? This lady dedicated a chapter of her Karate book to telling untrained women how to stab each other in the vagina with high heels!

By the end of the book, the groin attacks take on an almost magical effectiveness. Like when this creep tries to give a flower to a six-year-old and she responds by just obliterating his nuts. And notice Kaylee isn’t using an elbow strike to set up an escape. That’s elbow one of a seventy elbow combo. Sidney makes maybe three mentions of fleeing in her entire survival book. This is a book for women who, sure, want to survive, but would much prefer to get pulled off a disfigured cock by a SWAT team.

Pre-Enactments: 8/10

Most of the photos in the book are Sidney and her students using other women as punching bags, but the male actors brought in to play shattered rapists earn their money.

You don’t normally get performances this big from the models in Karate books. These are theatrical ass kickings.

This guy is being hit by a slap from a 110 pound woman who isn’t rotating her hips and it is shutting his fucking brain off. When he wakes up the prison doctor is going to tell him, “Hey, pal, I’m not a doctor, but maybe you shouldn’t have been grabbing women if your bones are made out of styrofoam. What’s that? Where’s your dick? Oh, buddy, ha ha you don’t want to know what happened to that. The cop who mopped it up for evidence quit the goddamn force.”

This guy is the greatest Karate model I’ve ever seen. Look at the performance he brings to “ATTACK FROM THE REAR.” Sidney is writing this deadly serious handbook on genital revenge and he is turning it into a jazz routine. During his interview for this job he told her, “Oh, sweetie, my father was a Baptist preacher, so trust me: I can play straight.” Look at him slinking up on her in his tap shoes like he’s playing Insecurity in a high school play. It’s hard to overstate how little chance White Slacks Jeffrey has against Sidney Filson.

Every part of White Slacks Jeffrey’s body explodes in orgasmic terror when you touch it.

No one will ever have greater self-esteem than the women practicing elbow strikes on White Slacks Jeffrey. Everything that touches him shatters his entire skeleton and astonishes him. His balls blast out the back of him when you slap them. But, okay, what if you’re not being attacked in a white void by a jaunty man-about-town? What if you’re doing a little bit of swimsuit meditation in a grassfield? Well, I have 16 words for you: “Close your own eyes, and poke them a bit with your finger. Imagine a full thrust.”

Women should obviously be allowed to go wherever they want as nudely as they want, but this scenario seems ill-advised. It’s almost like something Sidney set up on purpose after telling a black market trader, “Don’t worry about where I’ll find two human eyeballs. Just hand me my swimsuit and be back in an hour with the money.”

Besides her love of vulnerable spots, Sidney is a huge advocate for car key nunchucks. About a third of her book is devoted to attacks you can do with a little chain attached to your keys. Sidney is certain they are the deadliest weapon devised by woman, and if she is dangling keys from her hand, she is a category 7 murder hurricane. When Sidney Folson opens her front door, she blows apart anyone and everything in her foyer.

“Practice screaming as you strike!” Sidney spent so much time training students and readers to remove faces with car keys I worry she lost perspective on how intimidating a long keychain is to people who haven’t read her book and devoted their life to key murder. For instance, if you’re walking your dog and a group of men cat-call at you, she suggests identifying the leader and showing him all fucking six inches of your keychain.

Attitude!: 10/10

If you read a single word from the pages I scanned, you had to have seen this score coming. Sidney Filson is always seven dead bodies deep in a fantasy about killing a van of perverts. Her dating profile is just a picture of you with both ends of her car key nunchucks in your eyes under the words “NO.”

Look at how Sidney responds to someone asking about pacifism:

Sidney is the best. You were thinking of not fighting back? No, you are going to tear that piece of shit’s eyes out. You are going to beat him until he is unconscious or begging to be unconscious. “It won’t be hit or miss.” She is clumsy with her words but they somehow all come together to paint a beautiful picture of dead predators. However, Sidney sometimes gets herself a bit too worked up imagining all these terrible things. Once that happens, she’ll start freely using “c” and “n” words while she simmers somewhere between murderous rage and uncontrollable murderous rage.

Sorry about, you know, all of this, but this is the world Sidney is preparing you for. A world where hypothetical schizophrenics can keep their face… for now. The line “Walk away and show no emotion,” actually shows a lot of restraint for Sidney. Normally her side of a confrontation begins like this:

So say you’re a woman any passing astronaut would describe as bralessly sitting on a bench, and a man gets too fresh. Sidney offers two options: palm strike to the face or car key nunchucks to the hand. But we will be here all day if I keep showing you situations where she advises palm strikes or key stabbings. Instead, I want to show you the darkest, most troubling moment of the book which I also think defines her entire martial arts philosophy:

Sidney trained under a man named Grand Master Peter Urban, and the most profound thing he ever said to her was how rape would not exist if everyone took Karate. I think I disagree, but only because teaching all rapists Karate seems less safe, not more. We’ll never know who’s right since it’s only Grand Master Peter’s theory for now. Either way, it demonstrates Sidney’s approach to the world– Karate solves everything and I’m done thinking about it. After reading her book I am positive she’s right and my car key nunchucks fucking dare you to disagree with us.

Tags 2020, books, Free, how-to, Self Defense

PUNCHING DAY

Road to Sturgis

Ever since our first Teamworking Day, I have been a haunted man. I have not been whole. Some portion of my thoughts have always been with this hunk of aged beef:

At first I thought it was pure lust overriding my faculties, and that makes sense: He looks like Guy Fieri had a walk-on part in Waterworld. He’s a portly hombre with a visible facial grimeline wearing half of a Native American. He’s got a possum-head bracelet and Steven Seagal’s second-most racist coat. This man is an adonis, it’s no wonder he rented a hotel room in my mind and immediately gave it bedbugs. But then something occurred to me — I didn’t want to be loved by Davy Crockett’s great-great-grandson, Peevis Crockett… I wanted to be him. So I went and dug up his game.

Harley Davidson: The Road to Sturgis promises to be a completely authentic snapshot of America as seen through the eyes of a dentist’s midlife crisis. But they couldn’t even handle a snapshot of a map on the title screen, so we must forgive their dream being greater than their reach. I will not waste time mocking these graphics again. Even though every screenshot looks like you ran it through a dot-matrix printer and a mud puddle then took a picture of it with a Playskool camera.

I’m sorry I lied to you about making fun of the graphics just now.

I’m sorry I lied to you about being sorry just now.

Here’s the entire story of Harley Davidson: The Road to Sturgis:

God damn I miss when games had one screen and fourteen words to communicate the entire plot. Today you have to sit through forty-seven minutes of cutscenes explaining why you’re a Norman Reedus delivering fetuses in the post-apocalypse, but back in the ‘80s you would’ve gotten one holdscreen of a pixelated baby with the words “Greetings Norman Reedus, wasteland needs abortions!” and off you’d go.

Hell yes that’s our opening cinematic! A man who dresses like a stand-in for a local production of West Side Story and who walks like a stand-in for a local production of West Side Story goes to start his motorcycle, which immediately bursts into flame. As both a fop and an owner of several old motorcycles, I am absolutely here for this level of authenticity.

Oh shit, character creation! Are you kidding me, Road to Sturgis? You are decades ahead of your time here. I expected you to tell me I’m named Hank Harley and I love to Harley — but you’re giving me options? I better think of something good. I’m going to scroll back up and stare at that cover again for inspiration.

…

I’ve got it. It has taken three hours and two moleskine notebooks full of scratched-out, tear-blurred rejections, but I have the perfect biker name.

I am an artist.

This is the only other option in the character creator. It is the most robust character creator that video games ever should have had. Everything else added afterward was complete horseshit. All you ever need to know about anybody is their name and how hairy they are. Sweet Hot Dogger, let me assure you, it took absolutely everything in my power not to choose ‘bushy.’

Fucking stat allocation screen!

Road to Sturgis!

Are you secretly an RPG??? Is there going to be an ability tree where I have to choose between Power Skid and Dry Hump? Am I going to collect a ragtag crew and try to kill god with Celestial Hepatitis? Sweet Christ, I am so here for this.

Thank you, NPC that looks like a xerox of a xerox of a WARNING: SEX OFFENDER IN NEIGHBORHOOD poster.

Clearly, Scuzz Dogballs is not some prissy trick rider. He doesn’t spend his weekends looking for a 10mm socket. He thinks a bank account is for people without extra baggy underwear and he thinks a pick up line is what you call the rope you use to drag women behind your motorcycle. Scuzz Dogballs knows only one thing: Brawling.

I am going to brawl the holy shit out of literally everything I see.

FIRE WHEN DONE, MOTHERFUCKER.

Is that… is that supposed to be me? You promised me grizzled, Road to Sturgis! Where is the grizzle?! This is not Scuzz Dogballs, Moto Brawler; this is Perry Winklebottom, Tennis Lothario. Don’t get me wrong, that still sounds like a great game, but it’s not the one you promised me.

Ugh, I guess I’ll ENTER STORE if only to get this disappointment off the screen.

Ah, I see my mistake. A true biker does not ENTER STORE. Now I’m not allowed to leave.

I couldn’t figure out the controls to EXIT STORE, so I looked up the manual, found the EXIT STORE button, and confirmed that it did not work. I would die here. That’s the tale of Scuzz Dogballs: He briefly considered a motorcycle adventure but then settled down to run a discount riding gear outlet instead. RIP Mr. Dogballs, you died how you lived: As a crushing disappointment.

Starting over. There weren’t enough characters to write “Jr.” in there, so just know this is not the original Scuzz Dogballs, and he is nothing like his dad. He has one extra point in riding. Scuzz Dogballs, Sr. disowned him for it.

I won’t make the same mistake twice. I’ll never enter another business again. The open road is enough for me.

You can see me here, not riding. I’m just sitting there, uselessly revving my Harley to the redline. This is partially because the controls are once again broken and will not allow me to shift, and partially because it’s a simulation game about the Harley experience.

I did not drive a single foot, but I did rev so hard that I burned out my clutch. Scuzz Dogballs, Sr. would never admit it, but Junior made his dad proud that day.

All right, back on the road.

I did nothing and fell over. I probably should have read the manual before setting off, but that is not the Harley way. The Harley way is to gun it out of the dealership, immediately hit the side of a bus, spend the next sixteen months learning to walk again, then tell all the female servers at the wine bar that you “had to lay ‘er down.”

I finally figured out how to get into first gear, so I floored it up to a stunning 18MPH until I ran out of gas and had to be rescued once again by a kindly old man who I swear is making a face.

Fuck you, old man. Scuzz Dogballs, Jr. does not invest points in riding.

Let’s refill at the station:

Aw hell yeah, here we go. This is the Harley lifestyle simulator I’m looking for. You’re god damn right I see something else “I might be wantin’,” you nasty lil’ pump attendant.

Oh. She’s just… she’s going to ignore my advances.

Man, the realism in this game is truly on point.

Let’s try something different. I won’t even ride, I’ll just click ‘events’ this time. See what else this game has to offer.

Another sex offender, this one in the middle of going Super Saiyan Blue, here to tell me there’s nothing happening in his dipshit town. I sure hope Scuzz Dogballs’s $18,000 Harley can take another twenty minutes redlining in first to make the next offramp where there will hopefully be at least one thing to look at.

Actually, wait — you know what? I know how to do two things. I can get into first gear and I can pin it. That’s enough to do a fucking wheelie!

Should’ve seen that one coming.

To recap: In Road to Sturgis, I spent most of my time inventing a biker persona in preparation for thrilling fights and adventures I never had, I spent a fortune fixing my bike but barely got out of town, I was ignored by every woman who quietly seethed at my unwelcome advances, and none of the controls worked.

Truly, this was the perfect Harley Davidson lifestyle simulator.

I’m never playing it again. Unless…

Tags 2020, Free, Video Games

PUNCHING DAY

Man Comics Presents… Pouch Hopfucker! 🌭

Post author By Seanbaby
Post date 06/23/2020
9 Comments on Man Comics Presents… Pouch Hopfucker! 🌭

From the shattered remains of an era where narrative arcs were punches and punches were men! Ladies, your loins are medically unprepared for Man Comics! MAN COMICS! MAN COMICS!!!

Tags 2020, comics, Free, man comics

PUNCHING DAY

He-Man’s Fisto’s Forest 🌭

He-Man and the Masters of the Universe was a cartoon about a useless dipshit with a terrible haircut…

who transformed into a shirtless version of himself by hollering.

It was basically Tallahassee Drunk and Disorderly Arrest: The Cartoon. You don’t need me to explain what He-Man is, because you’re here, and it’s part of the 🌭1-900-HOT-DOG KIDS CLUB!🌭 Foundational Reading Program.

And also because they try to reboot it every five years. Studio executives across the decades live in utter disbelief that they can’t pull off a successful relaunch of this hasty cartoon based on toy remainders. And in every one of those reboots, they insist on including Fisto, and every time somebody new finds out about Fisto, everyone makes a bunch of tired jokes about fisting. That’s fine, I’m not above it, watch:

The original He-Man toy came with a Power Sword, the original Man-At-Arms toy came with a mace, and the original Fisto toy came with a moist towelette for leakage.

But here’s the thing: We make these naughty little jokes like He-Man wasn’t in on it. Like the cartoon was some naive young pixie blinking up at the ribald double-entendres with a placid smile that said “I don’t get it, but I’m just glad everybody’s having fun.” That is not the case. I can prove it. Here’s Fisto’s actual origin story:

Fisto’s Forest is a loaded term that begs a terrible question. Never ask it. The smile that comes over Fisto’s face whenever a busload of soon-to-be-missing Mormons asks “w-what’s Fisto’s Forest?” is terrible in its purity. Fisto’s Forest is a Ukrainian slang term for the abandoned lot behind a truck stop where they don’t even pick up bodies anymore. It’s the name of the hidden porno your wife discovered that made her leave you. That very name promises untold perversion and the cartoon absolutely delivers: Within thirty seconds Fisto is grabbing a strange child and carrying him away.

You’re right, I am taking that out of context. But in my defense, it’s impossible not to – Fisto destroys context just by existing. It is impossible to take any screen grab where Fisto doesn’t look like a sex offender doing his legally required introduction.

Fuck. I’m going to scan ahead randomly and try again:

He’s a bearded man in fur panties with one giant hand; even if you didn’t know his name you would instinctively utter the word “Fisto” as he pushes you into the dumpster where you die.

Here’s Fisto just a few minutes into his own origin story, hiding behind a bush…

…and promising that, actual quotes here, “I’ll give [He-Man and friends] a sticky welcome.”

THIS IS NOT A METAPHOR.

Again, this is taken out of context for a cheap joke… but is it still out of context if every single moment of the show is like this? It’s a twenty minute episode that requires constant explanation and if you stop breathlessly justifying what’s on screen for even for a second you’ll wind up with no alibi for watching this:

Now for legal purposes he’s supposed to have an evil spider and those are supposed to be webs, but you might recognize that this stream of goo is in no way web-shaped, and is instead a puddle of sticky white liquid that Fisto shoots at feet:

Nobody has ever made unfortunate eye contact with a man named Fisto, had starchy pale sauce splattered all over their sassy red high-heeled boots, and thought “oh no, a spider web! I’m stuck!”

In fact, the running gag in the show is that people keep stepping on, running into, or grabbing various things and then grimly staring off into the distance as they realize Fisto has already coated it with his “webbing.”

There’s not even really any justification for these hijinks — we get some brief fantasy bullshit about Skeletor casting a magic spell on the forest and imprisoning the elf lord, but this takes up maybe two minutes of Fisto’s episode:

And the other twenty three are dedicated to lovingly-rendered spider bukakke.

Here’s the thing: The term “fisting” not only existed long before He-Man, it was especially present in the mid-80s lexicon. He-Man ran at the height of the AIDS epidemic, when fisting was being held up as the flagship deviant practice by those darned homosexuals, recklessly spreading the virus due to the small tears the act caused in the anus. And I promise you that Baron Douglas Booth, writer of this episode and actual fucking Baron — that is a real title that you seriously had to call the guy who wrote Fisto and you still think I’m kidding — knew what fisting was when he wrote this shit. Douglas Booth inherited his British shipping family’s baronetcy and, presumably bored with the idle perversions of the aristocracy, used it to pursue a passion for American cartoon-writing. The dude was like the Davy Crockett of western hentai: he didn’t discover the frontier, but he sure plunged into it headfirst when everybody else was like “no, gross.”

Here’s another of those “out of context” grabs from Fisto’s Forest:

Fisto’s whole arc is that he started out as a bad guy, but reformed when somebody finally treated him like “a real person.” Seeing a path back to normal society, he changed his ways and earned a pardon from the king. You can read into that story what you will. I don’t live in Baron Douglas Booth’s head and you can tell because I’m not currently being raped by trees and ejaculated on by spiders. So I’m not here to tell you what he really meant with Fisto’s tale. I’m not even here to tell you to stop making Fisto jokes — I’m just here to tell you that Fisto was a sex criminal named after a then-culturally villified gay practice by the actual fucking aristocrat who created Scooby Doo. I’m here to tell you that because some facts pollute your brain and the only way to alleviate the damage is to spread that poison out nice and thin. Thanks for taking some of my brain-poison, guys. Sorry I got it all over your sassy red high-heeled boots.

Oh, also here’s Evil-Lyn standing with Jitsu, Fisto’s villainous counterpart:

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This article was brought to you by our fine patron and Hot Dog Supreme, Cale Block: who only now, this sentence, realizes he is being hunted by a Showtime Pizza robot band.

Tags 2020, cartoons, Free

PUNCHING DAY

THE 100 DEADLIEST KARATE MOVES 🌭

Post author By Seanbaby
Post date 06/09/2020
5 Comments on THE 100 DEADLIEST KARATE MOVES 🌭

The book is called THE 100 DEADLIEST KARATE MOVES, and it’s barely more than your lowest expectations. There are no tips on how to set these moves up, how to do them most effectively, or which states consider them “not murder.” It’s a list of common karate attacks and locations on a human body it would make sense to hit with them. For instance, punch in the face, punch in the neck, punch in the dick, punch in the dick, punch in the dick, end of chapter. Each move is accompanied by a picture of DR. TED GAMBORDELLA 5TH DAN using it on his mostly nude friends along with a list of injuries it causes in a best(?) case scenario. It is, by any standard of judgement, a terrible book. But it would make an awesome set of trading cards. So here is THE 100 DEADLIEST KARATE MOVES by DR. TED GAMBORDELLA 5TH DAN adapted into trading cards by ME.

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This article was brought to you by our fine patron and Hot Dog Supreme, Micah Phillips: who joins together with four other pure-hearted warriors to form Zorklon, Protector of the Cosmos! He pilots the left leg — the invaluable left leg!

Tags 2020, books, Free, Martial Arts