Categories
TEAMWORKING DAY

Teamworking Day: The Thrilling World of Men Showdown 🌭

Are you prepared for the ultimate game for men!? A game too erotic, too violent, and too nude for women!? Seanbaby has designed the Thrilling World of Men Showdown and it will be fought by our two thrilling men!

Seanbaby: As always, the rules are simple. Brockway and I draft story titles from the lewd and sensational ’60s magazine, World of Men! These story titles will form Men Squads which face off in the single-elimination World Tournament of Men.

Much like the tournament rules, the combat rules are simple: our state-of-the-art Wiener 2600 Meatnalysis Console will fire a scalding hot 7-sided die to determine the aspect of 🌭 under which the Men Squads will compete. Whose evocative titles will evoke their way to victory in a test of Learning? Punching!? Nerding!?! Fucking!?!? Upsetting!?!? Oh, and if the W2600MC rolls Teamworking, all five aspects are considered, and a roll of Reflecting causes Brockway and I to swap teams and reroll.

Like the combat and tournament rules, the stakes are simple: the winner is declared 1900HOTDOG’s World’s Man 2021 and the loser is not!

Brockway: As with all of Seanbaby’s games, I am intrigued by it, I don’t understand it at all, and I’m probably going to do so badly at it that I might die. MEN!

Seanbaby: I select BLASTED ALIVE BY THE DEVIL’S FIREWORKS. It sounds extremely violent and probably sexual, so it covers Punching and Fucking, but I’m also very confused and troubled– two strong indicators of Learning and Upsetting. BLASTED ALIVE BY THE DEVIL’S FIREWORKS has the potential to win this whole thing for me.

Brockway: I gotta pick TONIGHT WE HIT THE KRAUT’S PIG BOAT OF PASSION. That is also clearly Punching and Fucking, but in a way that is both more confusing and more vile than Seanbaby’s choice. That’s how I’m going to win: More confusing and more vile. I also choose NICE GIRLS FINISH DEAD, both for this game and for my new confusing and vile belly tattoo. I think that one’s pure Upsetting, and choose to forgo all other attributes to min/max my misogyny build.

Seanbaby: That leaves me with WHAT YOUR SEX DREAMS TELL ABOUT YOU, which is fine because I could use the Nerding coverage. “I make love to scorpions every night in my subconscious! What could it meeeaaaaan!?” It means you’re fucking up this conversation about hitting the Kraut’s Pig Boat of Passion, nerd.

Brockway: I choose – fuck! I can only pick one! This was a mistake. I just gave Seanbaby the most powerful arsenal this side of any anime fan experiencing rejection. Jesus, I guess I have to go with Sgt. TULLY’S INCREDIBLE LUST PATROL. I would read that comic book, watch the film adaptation, and loudly complain about how they ruined the character arc of Blackbox Betty by ignoring her torrid affair with The Handgrenade Hussy.

Seanbaby: You just left THE DESPERATE RAID OF WILSON’S LACE PANTY GUERILLAS on the table? And YOUR LOVE CONQUESTS MAKE YOU A WEAKLING!? Oh my god, I’m not even sure if I chose correctly. Every single article in this issue is amazing. It’s like having a stroke was an Olympic event and someone wrote down the final words of the all-time greatest team.

Brockway: Oh thank god I get SOFT NUDES FOR SATAN’S DEN OF TORTURE. Satan’s Den of Torture? Totally scans. He’d have one of those. He’d have two of those just so he can always use one when the other’s being cleaned. The surprising part is that he prefers softcore pornography to decorate its walls. Just nipples and buttcracks tastefully obscured by conveniently placed shadows and cascading hair. The devil is all, “I just think it’s hotter when there’s something left to the imagination, you know?” as he egg-beats his pitchfork in your anus.

Seanbaby: I draft NO WHISKEY BOTTLE FOR TEEN BABIES. I have no strategy, I just love it. What’s a teen baby? Who’s making this rule? What happened that they are only now making it?

Brockway: That’s my favorite Johnny Cash song. I choose THE UNDERGROUND WAR OF REYNOLDS’ LOVING MAIDENS OF MAYHEM. It sounds like the promise made by a Monster Truck Rally commercial that sold me 8 tickets and a 3XL T-shirt. It is once again Punching and Fucking, and I am starting to sense a weakness in my strategy. So I’m going wide next and choosing SEX IMPULSES THAT SPELL YOUR DOOM – these magazines can’t decide if fucking is awesome or terrifying. I keep picking ‘awesomely terrifying,’ because I choose to be the thing I fear, but I think I need some Nerding energy in my roster. For the other picks to beat up on.

Seanbaby: That’s good. I actually wanted “CAN’T ANY MAN MASTER ME?” THE CRY OF A LOVE STARVED WOMAN anyway. I can’t say it works out well 100% of the time, but I raise my hand every time I hear those words.

Brockway: I choose SELF TEST: ARE YOU A SUICIDAL DRIVER? Because it is a model of efficiency. That test is one question long, that question is in the title, and nobody will take it because the only people it’s for already answered it with their Edsel.

Seanbaby: I really like BRING BACK THE BOUND DARLINGS OF THE NAZI SLAUGHTER FLOTILLA because I can’t tell if it’s the rallying cry of some kind of bound darling rescue squad or a music nerd calling for a return to his favorite era of punk. And I could use an economics expert on my team so I also take I PAY OFF IN LUST – CONFESSIONS OF AN ORGY GIRL.

Brockway: EASY SEX – THE TRAGEDY OF AMERICAN TEENS. They don’t even have to work for it like we did, these god damn kids. They’re just “nice to each other” and “feel a connection.” In my day we exploded a Sin Fortress just to get to second base. I once blew up the Sadomasochist Sheik’s Mountain Of Titties just for a handjob. These kids — these kids today. Probably couldn’t murder their way onto a Slaughter Flotilla if you gave them two Bowie knives and a self-hating erection, and back in my day we didn’t even need the knives! 

Seanbaby: I choose FLY YOUR EGGS RIGHT DOWN THEIR STACKS. Because it could mean anything. It’s arguably all things. My god, this power. Name a single stack I couldn’t fly an egg down! Open your fucking stack and tell it to get ready for egg! The game has yet to begin and I am already drunk with the limitless potential of my flying eggs! Right! Down! Their! Goddamn! Stacks!!!

Brockway: Found your next mobile game. I choose INITIATION IN HELL FOR THE MAIDENS OF AGONY, which is so Gwar I can smell the sweaty foam-rubber just reading it. I also pick SELF TEST: WHAT KIND OF PASSION MATE IS BEST FOR YOU? I love the idea that World of Men maybe also started the Cosmo Quiz, and enjoy how hard they would panic if you traveled back in time to tell them about it.

Seanbaby: I guess I’ll take THE SEX DEATH WISH THAT’S SLAUGHTERING OUR YOUNG because I love the vibe of a moralizing “think of the children” anti-sex article being obscured by the Nazi pervert whip on the same cover.

Brockway: I Choose BRING BACK THE BITCH OF BINGH KAN because that is a wonderful sentence. Purely phonetically. I can hear funk guitars in my head everytime I read it. Also look at that kickin’ little ascot on Machine Gun Guy. I know who the self-proclaimed Bitch of Bingh Kan is.

Seanbaby: I have to pick 10 WAYS TO SPARK A WOMAN’S PASSION DRIVE because imagine how bad World of Men‘s sex advice would have to be. Can you imagine a pair of panties dryer than the ones worn by a woman who finds the softcore Nazi kidnapping fetish section of your porn magazine collection? It’s probably just ten choke holds approved by O.S.S. O’ROURKE’S INCREDIBLE ALL-HARLOT UNDERGROUND, which is my other pick.

Brockway: Grasp and Grind is #7 on that list. Loose Hands, Tight Pants is #10. I choose THE MAD WORLD OF COEDS WHO TURN ON – it sounds like it’s probably just about awkward make-outs on the quad, but I’m gambling on it being a kind of Event Horizon situation, where coeds who go too far in a grope party accidentally slip through into the hell dimension, maybe wind up fondling the Space Devil’s ballsack and come back to our world all into nefarious delights. Probably just about over-the-shirt stuff, though.

With teams selected and fates sealed, the World of Men Tournament of Titles begins! Sean’s game pieces are in red. Robert’s are in blue. Get your men ready!

The first round titles are locked in! The die has been caaaaaaaaast:

Seanbaby: I’m about to say something I’ve only said once before in an Old Country Buffet bathroom: “Oh, damn it. Fucking!?” It’s a tough category for me this round since my favorite title, BLASTED ALIVE BY THE DEVIL’S FIREWORKS, is almost specifically written backwards from the worst time to be fucking. In order for me to even have a chance at this, I have to convince someone it’s a good idea to point their most tender parts and holes toward the Devil’s fireworks during lovemaking. Impossible, wait. I don’t need to convince someone. I need to convince Brockway. I’m, hold on a second… yeah, I can’t picture him fucking any other way. I’m still in this.

I think my 10 WAYS TO SPARK A WOMAN’S PASSION DRIVE and Brockway’s THE MAD WORLD OF COEDS WHO TURN ON almost cancel each other out with him getting a slight edge due to insanity. As for my BRING BACK THE BOUND DARLINGS OF THE NAZI SLAUGHTER FLOTILLA facing off against his SOFT NUDES FOR SATAN’S DEN OF TORTURE? In a fuck off? I have no prayer. Naked ladies in a Satanic sex dungeon is at least twice as erotic as Nazis throwing dead prisoners off a flotilla. Especially since we know all of Satan’s fireworks are safely over here, just obliterating the flesh from Brockway’s junk.

Brockway: Not gonna lie, I was pretty worried about BRING BACK THE BOUND DARLINGS OF THE NAZI SLAUGHTER FOTILLA. There is certainly a Fucking Day implication there that I don’t want to contemplate or explore, and it would have annihilated on Upsetting Day, but if you can’t win a World Tournament of Menℱ Fuck-Off with SOFT NUDES FOR SATAN’S DEN OF TORTURE, you need to stay out of the big leagues. Get your feet wet with some Regional Contest of Boysℱ Grope-Offs first and work your way up to- what’s that? I’m under arrest? Just for typing that? That tracks, sure.

Well, at least I fucked apart BLASTED ALIVE BY THE DEVIL’S FIREWORKS! What’s that? That’s on the record? That’s exactly what you mean by “can and will be used against you?” Yeah, good call.

Seanbaby: I’ll never forget you, BLASTED ALIVE BY THE DEVIL’S FIREWORKS Game Piece.

Computer, lock in the second quarter finals matchup titles, beep boop:

Computer, access dice protocol and cyber-roll the Men Die to see how these titles will fight, borp boop bloooop:

Seanbaby: Nerding is a scampering, dying concept that means less every day. We live in a world where Barack Obama has probably said the name Thanos out loud. But until our dead planet falls into the sun, no one “cool” will ever utter the words “YOUR LOVE CONQUESTS MAKE YOU A WEAKLING.” That’s what you whisper while you’re catching a Pokemon outside a married couple’s window. It’s something you’d tell a reporter doing a story on your record-breaking nunchuck collection. It’s your dying words to the scientists watching your DNA give up and turn your unused penis into a Lego playset.

So yeah, despite the dork-pounding, ass-crushing manliness of my other titles, “CAN’T ANY MAN MASTER ME?” THE CRY OF A LOVE STARVED WOMAN and FLY YOUR EGGS RIGHT DOWN THEIR STACKS, I don’t see how I lose this one. As crazy as it is, I’m saying FLY YOUR EGGS RIGHT DOWN THEIR STACKS and I still think I’m the nerdiest man here. My win! My magnificent, nerdy win!

Brockway: Fine, you win. But at least acknowledge that in this bizarre modern world the Internet built for us when we weren’t looking — this inverse culture where a woman has to keep her tone polite when a man in an ahegao hoodie asks for feet pics lest she find herself part of an active shooter alert — NICE GIRLS FINISH DEAD is a deeply nerdy thing to say.

Seanbaby: You’re right. Any other day it would be a champion. But today is a day for the mighty and unfuckable! Today belongs to YOUR LOVE CONQUESTS MAKE YOU A WEAKLING! So okay, we’re tied with one win each, and we go into our third quarterfinal matchup! The titles are, bloop blop:

The roll is, blorp bachoooop:

Seanbaby: Punching! The perfect time for it! “NO WHISKY BOTTLE FOR TEEN BABIES” can only be said with a punch, and if you’re telling me there were no punches thrown during THE DESPERATE RAID OF WILSON’S LACE PANTY GUERILLAS, I’m telling you fucking this: PUNCH. Once again, all my problems are solved with punc– oh shit, hold on. I just looked over at Brockway’s game pieces.

Brockway: BRING BACK THE BITCH OF BINGH KAN! Say it out loud: Each of those words punch your mouth on the way out. That’s something a freshly blinded ogre shouts as you make off with the queen of his harem. You idiot, your poor fist-dented dolt. You brought BABIES and PANTIES to challenge BRING BACK THE BITCH OF BINGH KHAN? You’re lucky BRING BACK THE BITCH OF BINGH KAN thought that was funny or you’d be mingling with its breakfast and whatever’s left of the last poor bastard who brought lacy panties to a Bingh Kan bitch-fight. 

Seanbaby: God help me, the Bitch of Bingh Kan may be unbeatable. The Bitch of Bingh Kan is a deadlier enemy than I could have ever conceived of when I designed this game. Is a being such as this conceptually safe? I keep checking behind me for the portal my future self will leap out of to kill me before I can click “Publish.” My game pieces are shattered in a heap of inadequate panties and unfulfilled sex death wishes.

With Brockway leading 2-1, these titles enter the last quarterfinal matchup! Computer, blorp!

Hot Dog Computer, roll these men’s fates with a manly die, bloop bop:

Seanbaby: Of course I roll Upsetting when I’m completely out of Nazis. Still, I have WHAT YOUR SEX DREAMS TELL ABOUT YOU, and there aren’t many things more upsetting than a ’60s men’s magazine writer trying to interpret his own sex dreams. That article is probably just the word “mommy” accidentally typed into ten sentences about soft dicks and milk.

To make matters worse, I’m stuck with PAY OFF IN LUST- CONFESSIONS OF AN ORGY GIRL, which now that I’m looking at it again is way too confusing to be upsetting. Is she in debt to so many couples she has to bounce around an orgy trying to square things with her lust? It’s nonsense written by someone who has no idea how the exchange of goods or group sex works. And I challenge anyone to get upset by O.S.S. O’ROURKE’S INCREDIBLE ALL-HARLOT UNDERGROUND. That organization plainly rules. Captain O’Rourke’s terrific loose women have given me uplifting when I needed distressing.

Brockway: I’m good at something! I finally found something I’m good at – it’s not a thing I fully understand and certainly not a thing I can explain to anybody when they ask what the fuck I’m bragging about, but I am good at this. O.S.S. O’ROURKE’S INCREDIBLE ALL-HARLOT UNDERGROUND is my favorite wrestling league, but it is not Upsetting. It’s the best room at the Your Grandparents Fucked theme party, but there’s nothing unsettling about it. Motherfucker, we landed on Upsetting Day when I had INITIATION IN HELL FOR THE MAIDENS OF AGONY on the field. I didn’t need another piece. I had, and did not need TONIGHT WE HIT THE KRAUTS’ PIG BOAT OF PASSION in a competition of Upsetting titles. I could have annihilated you with something monstrous but you were already destroyed by the time I got to it. This must’ve been what it felt like to be the last eight inches of Andre the Giant’s dick. 

Seanbaby: It’s not over! You… y-your upsetting conquests m-make you a weakling! I still have one team in the tournament! One last chance at man!

The semi finals begin with proven winners! Titles for men!

And the Wiener 2600 Meatnalysis Console’s white hot die reveals they will compete in:

Seanbaby: This round encompasses all concepts? All aspects of man? Then it has never been a better time to be FLY YOUR EGGS RIGHT DOWN THEIR STACKS, a phrase that means so much nothing it circles around to mean too much everything. It punches, it fucks, it gives you an uneasy feeling… in fact, Brockway, I’m so confident in my flying eggs, you can have YOUR LOVE CONQUESTS MAKE YOU A WEAKLING. I hear that every time Hulk Hogan and I have a testicle weighing contest anyway.

Brockway: I can’t take this from you. I’ve taken so much from you, and you love this so much. It’s the last flea-ridden teddy bear at the orphanage and it is all yours. 

Seanbaby: Take this from me? My eggs have destroyed you! They are not yours to take! Fly. Them. Right down! My stacks!!

What a battle! What a tournament of titles! The last semifinal matchup is:

And the roll!

Seanbaby: Oh fuck, I didn’t write rules for what happens when you’re forced to swap teams and one player doesn’t have any. Let me think.

Okay, in the case of a Reflecting roll when there are no opponents to swap with, your game pieces are given to the player on that side. So I’m taking INITIATION IN HELL FOR THE MAIDENS OF AGONY, EASY SEX – THE TRAGEDY OF AMERICAN TEENS, and even your precious TONIGHT WE HIT THE KRAUTS’ PIG BOAT OF PASSION.

Brockway: I’m so mad you took TONIGHT WE HIT THE KRAUTS’ PIG BOAT OF PASSION. That was my baby! I raised it from a pup, from a wee TODAY WE CALL AHEAD TO THE BELGIANS’ SWAN BOAT OF SNUGGLES into the monster you see today. My only consolation is that you’re so fucking bad at this you didn’t take BRING BACK THE BITCH OF BINGH KAN and now you’re going to pay for it.

Seanbaby: Thank you for your feedback. We love to hear from our passionate players and your comments will be passed along to the development team. The game board now looks like this:

Man roll! Man roll! BA-DOOOP!

Seanbaby: OH NO. I’m facing off against the Bitch of Bingh Kan on the battlefield of Fucking. Or maybe OH YES? Even with Brockway’s sweet baby, his Kraut Pig Boat of Passion, I don’t know if I can win. But I have known for quite some time this is how I would die.

Brockway: 

Seanbaby: Dear sweet Jesus, may you all live forever and never see an enemy as ferocious as the Bitch of Bingh Kan. And oh damn it, my team in the finals is missing a game piece. Because of my hubris, my manly showmanship, I’m facing off against my greatest rival, that bitch, short-handed.

Brockway: I will make the final roll. Every cell in my body says this story has to end one way – with me humbled and defeated. It’s not funny to watch somebody dominate a field from start to finish. It’s why nobody laughed when Andre the Giant showed up to those college wrestling tryouts. It’s not a good story arc to watch an unstoppable monster destroy with no champion to challenge him — it’s why nobody laughed when Andre the Giant also showed up to the cheerleader tryouts. I should be defeated unexpectedly at the last moment. My gut as a storyteller and comedian says I should rig this roll to lose, but chaos has been so kind to me today. I will not spit in the face of my new god. Whatever happens next, this is an honest roll:

HAHAHA!

What do I choose? Is it SEX IMPULSES THAT SPELL YOUR DOOM — the end of a low testosterone bomb threat whispered from a one-occupant tunnel of love car? Hmm, do I go with WHAT KIND OF PASSION MATE IS BEST FOR YOU — the title to a Turkish Facebook Quiz whose every result is a request for your social security number? It’s tough! This is a tough call.

Oh, I know!

Seanbaby: aAAAAARRGGGGHH!!!! AiieeeeEEEEEeeeEEE what have I done!? What have I fucking dooooooone! Computer, abort! Computer!! Verbal override Traxx Alpha Seven! Shut off all gameplay funct– TOO LATE! YOU BITCH! YOU BIIIIIIIIII–

1900HOTDOG in association with The Bingh Kan Bitch Restoration Society and Seanbaby Remembrance Foundation congratulates 2021’s World of Men Man, Robert Brockway.

Categories
TEAMWORKING DAY

Teamworking Day: WorldWatch, Issue #3

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TEAMWORKING DAY

Teamworking Day: Dirty Tennis 🌭

Last month we looked at Couch Potato Workout, an aerobics instructional spoof for the home video market. It was one joke, the obvious one, immediately driven into the ground with a touch of Nazi. If there was any system in place to keep man from destroying itself, this was a mistake we should have only been allowed to make once, but at the end of that tape was an advertisement for something very similar called Dirty Tennis starring Dick Van Patten. There is nothing, No One watching over us, and 1989’s Dirty Tennis proves it.

Seanbaby: Dirty Tennis is a VHS guide to cheating at tennis written by Dick Van Patten’s son. It’s not exactly a spoof of anything and takes place in a universe without consequence or reason featuring Knots Landing’s Nicolette Sheridan. To think this is in any way describable is madness, though. These are the final imaginings of a tennis player’s brain as a wild animal bites through their skull. Nightmarish, unfinished ideas of senseless tennis, but hornier than I’m making it sound. I guess picture a tennis enthusiast’s head getting chewed off by a really hot bear.

Brockway: I’ve seen that bear. That bear can get it. And that bear takes it

But to the point: The fact that one ‘mock instructional fitness video disguising a mean-spirited comedy vanity project’ to exist is lunacy. For pitching it, you should be laughed out of the room. For writing it, you should be lashed to a donkey and sent into the desert. For actually producing and distributing it to the market, you should be killed. No jokes. Just put down humanely with a boltgun because something is wrong in your brain that can’t be made right. But for two of these videos to exist? This is treason against reality. 

Brockway: The tape opens with a brief biography of Dick Van Patten, but they figure you already know him from four seasons of Eight is Enough a decade earlier (you don’t). He looks like a sasquatch failing puberty and he has the personality of a wish-granting hobgoblin trying to trick you out of your children. The segment ends by saying he’s a nice family man (he’s not), but “beneath this warm exterior beats a heart of stone. A cold-blooded reptile loyal to no one! A man who plays… Dirty Tennis.”

So Wish Goblin. We’ve got confirmation of Wish Goblin.

Seanbaby: Dick gives a humorless, angry rant about how tennis players with skill and finesse can fuck themselves because tennis is about winning. If there’s some context that makes any of this funny, it was not included on the video. If this was called Carroll O’Connor’s Guide to Kicking Dogs (For “Whites” Only), it would have the same tone.

Brockway: Dick Van Patten, who looks like frame #12 in a no-budget werewolf transformation, opens his video with an insane assumption. You, who have purchased this tennis VHS for an exorbitant amount of money, hate tennis. But you are being forced to play it, perhaps in some kind of winner-take-all underground tennis tournament for the deed to a contested rec center, featuring a colorful cast of motley teens against an evil tycoon. Also, you’re the evil tycoon.

Seanbaby: Dick screams for a while about the piece-of-shit hotshots who are good at tennis. I think he did his own wardrobe and makeup because he is wearing a pink tank top and twelve pounds of gray shoulder hair. He looks like something Jim Henson would design if you asked him for a puppet who loves butchering prostitutes and outdoor concerts. They had to give an acting credit to the colony of termites feeding on his arm lice. He looks like a quilt in a home where twenty cats starved to death.

Brockway: I know we’re harping on this but it’s impossible to overstate how much Dick Van Patten looks like a bathmat with cancer.

Seanbaby: He’s like an ugly doll you would give a yeti baby.

Seanbaby: In Part I: THE DIRTY SET UP, Dick shows us how to get started on our day of deceit and unsportsmanlike behavior. He welcomes Olympic legend Caitlyn Jenner, who was of course Bruce in 1989, to his house for a friendly tennis match. It’s Caitlyn’s first time here and they have not met before, which means this world class athlete is showing up to a strange old man’s home who plans to pointlessly cheat in a private activity with no stakes. It’s already so annoying. The best case scenario is that Caitlyn Jenner leaves without kicking his ass.

Brockway: This is such an obvious man-trap. This was the 1980s, it was a decade full of man-traps. For you to be a successful young athlete — an absolute prime candidate for jaded debutantes to hunt — and willingly show up to this obvious murder is unheard of naivete. You stroll up to this blatant man-trap, this advertised man-trap, this absolute dare of a man-trap — “nobody will fall for this one, Dick, I shall bet my prize mount Sparklesham on it!” — and have the nerve to bring nothing but a tennis racket and brownface? That’s called moxie and I like it. Ten thousand Kruggerands on the fox this round, Van Patten!  

Seanbaby: Dick’s advice is immediately dumb, yet mirthless and sincere. He tells you to dress like an asshole to annoy your opponent, so maybe displaying the white mold fruiting from his back and arms was a deliberate choice?

Brockway: He is without question waiting for a strong breeze to spread his Van Patten seeds on the wind like a musky dandelion.

Seanbaby: His next advice is to do a round of tequila shots and hope they don’t join you (because it’s secretly tea). This gives them the illusion you’re playing “just for fun,” a thing no one had any reason to doubt. Please believe me when I say this segment includes no jokes or attempts at comedy. The video is genuinely advising us to sacrifice our dignity and personal relationships for even the tiniest psychological advantage in an unranked tennis match. And he is so proud of himself for giving Caitlyn Jenner, gold medal-winning decathlete, a “false sense of security” against a furry Love Boat regular twice her age. Right out of the gate it is so stupidly psychotic, and I am terrified of how this may escalate.

Brockway: Why would you not join him for a drink? He’s established this is just a fun weekend game. It’s an insane gamble predicated on the idea that wealthy elites would never drink at an inopportune time, and I used to be a server at several private clubs: I have seen millionaires drink trash mimosas out of the bus tub at a child’s birthday party.

Seanbaby: Right? This either disappoints a confused person or does nothing. And dear God, there’s no possibility of this bit being funny to anyone, so maybe this is James Van Patten’s way of asking the cast and crew for help with his father’s drinking problem?

Seanbaby: Dick’s next tip is to ruin your opponent’s warm up by making them run for the ball while you stay in one place. Which requires you to both not know what “warm up” means and also be playing against someone who returns the ball precisely to you every time. It’s nothing. It’s not comedy; it’s not advice. It’s like saying the key to winning at poker is getting four aces and asking the other players if you can milk their ugly wives.

Brockway: Okay, but that is exactly how you win at poker. 

Seanbaby: That’s a good point. Also, it’s worth noting Dick Van Patten fucking sucks at this sport. Caitlyn is cranking the ball from both sides of the court and Dick is dinking lobs over the net like a six-year-old who hates his first tennis lesson. Some of the other Dick tips include lying about the opening coin toss and pretending you can’t throw a ball so your opponent never gets a chance to practice their serves. Just humiliate yourself! Like a winner would! Look at this piece of shit:

Brockway: He throws like a billionaire’s child who just discovered somebody accidentally smothered his funnest slave and he absolutely will not be consoled until he’s allowed to crash a Ferrari into the pool.

And what is this supposed to accomplish? Look at Caitlyn’s reaction: stationary befuddlement. Even in the video this doesn’t wear her down or psych her out. She just kind of looks to either side and thinks for a moment. You could achieve the same result by asking her whether she uses her right or left hand to smother fun-slaves.

Seanbaby: In Part III: THE DIRTY GAME PLAN, Dick tells you to play the first few games normally, but badly, so your opponent does not suspect you of cheating. They’ll only think you’re terrible at tennis, a drunk liar, a bad dresser, and medically unfit to play outside. Dick mocks Caitlyn’s ability and confidence while he loses point after point. Caitlyn is being lured right into a trap, this unknowing fool who was more recently “the greatest athlete on the planet” than Dick Van Patten was a “celebrity.” Again, I want to emphasize this is not presented like anything you or I would know as comedy. It’s wholehearted cheating instructions for beginner and under players looking to make sports less fun for others.

Brockway: But we’re doing all of this to win! To win at any cost! To win nothing but bragging rights! This isn’t even about gambling, that’s reserved for woodland manhunts and saucy thoroughbreds. The whole premise of this tape is that you’ll cheat your way to an extremely minor victory: How does losing several games in an embarrassing way equate to victory unless-

Nope. Got it. 

Dick Van Patten’s a tennis sub and he’s tricking Caitlyn into sport-domming him. 

I now understand the demographic for this tape. Shit, they even called it “Dirty Tennis.”

Seanbaby: For a weirdly long time, Dick does little dances and frolics which he claims are “distracting,” which he thinks is “funny.” It’s worse than bad. If a military prisoner screamed this script under torture, it would be the greatest case ever made against enhanced interrogation. He has been intentionally bad at tennis for ten minutes to win at tennis! And there hasn’t been a joke yet!

Brockway: It’s been a while since we pointed out that Dick Van Patten looks like a withered 7-11 wiener fumbled at a dog groomer. So I thought maybe we could take a second and do that.

Seanbaby: You bring up a good point about how Dick Van Patten looks like something a worried Jimmy Carter would show his urologist.

Seanbaby: Part I was pretending to be a drunk invalid, Part II was being a dick, and Part III was intentionally losing three straight games. So now you’re ready for Part IV: BASIC DIRTY TENNIS. Dick starts with a trick he calls “IN OR OUT” where you ask your opponent if they breathe in or out on a serve. Just fuck their whole mind with a simple question they’ll probably be able to answer. I’ll show you how it works: do you read with your mouth open or closed? Now I’m in your head, and there’s a good chance you’ll asphyxiate by the end of Brockway’s next paragraph. It’s called Dirty Typing. And do you read with your mouth around a lover’s asshole? Because that’s also called Dirty Typing, naughty girl.

Brockway: Out. 

You breathe in leading up to a serve and out on the serve itself. It’s the reason tennis players famously grunt or yell as they hit the ball. I don’t play tennis and I know this. From just basic observation and also because that’s how all sports work. You exhale at the moment of effort. It’s why karates yell “hi-ya!” when they strike, or why soccer players yell “hola!” everytime they kick the ball.

Seanbaby: Caitlyn is starting to get pissed which means it’s time for Trick #7: “HE’S THINKING I’M THINKING HE’S DINKING.” It’s where Dick crowds the net, baiting Caitlyn into being macho and serving it deep “thus increasing his chances of making a mistake.” It’s a desperate gambit– hoping your opponent’s toxic masculinity short circuits their ability to play sports. It’s not impossible, but if they have the tiniest bit of self control or maybe some other reason for not adhering to strict gender identities, you’re fucked.

I should remind you I’m not leaving out any gags. The video long ago left behind the conceit of “comedy sketch.” It is now “unlikely tennis schemes for sociopaths.” And they’re not even clear. The “MONKEY SEE MONKEY DO” trick is to just hit the ball hard after the last trick “tricked” your opponent into serving it gently and right to you. Which means this was written by someone who can’t do comedy or tennis.

Brockway: We’re no longer trying to lose? This adds yet another wrinkle – if this isn’t for tennis masochists to cum to, and it is — then who is it for? It’s for people who love terrible jokes, baseless cruelty, and telling people how to do sports wrong? How is that a target aud-

Oh, it’s for gym teachers. 

Seanbaby: Dick Van Patten finally gives us advice we can use. He suggests installing a sunning spot near your tennis court and “have your sons invite their most beautiful girlfriends over” to distract your opponent with their hot bikini bodies. This line made the writer, one of Dick’s sons, remember women exist, so he added the caveat, “Of course, if you’re playing a woman, you must adjust accordingly. Perhaps have one of your sons mow the lawn in a Speedo bathing suit.” The point is, whatever gender you identify as, nothing pleasant is going to happen to you at the Van Patten estate.

Brockway: It’s an equal opportunity nightmare. Every visitor leaves the Van Patten estate looking like they wrestled an alpaca, and smelling like they wrestled an alpaca, and quietly sobbing like they lost a wrestling match to an alpaca with very high stakes.

Seanbaby: Caitlyn watches the sunbathing woman get undressed and whimpers, and I quote, “I’D LIKE TO TELL YOU SOMETHING. I LOVE THE MOVIE THE SURE THING. I MEAN WITH YOU LYING THERE ON THAT BEACH WITH THAT… DARK TAN…” The pitch of her voice rises higher and higher, “… AND THAT GOLDEN HAIR BLOWING IN THE WIND.” Her words are coming out like a baby bird’s death rattle by the time she gets to, “…AND THAT SKIMPY BIKINI! *hhhsssssss* Ah, boy. And then slowly rubbing that hot oil into that luscious skin.” I swear this isn’t a trans joke, but Caitlyn Jenner spends all of Dirty Tennis looking and hissing at Nicolette Sheridan like she wants to carve her up for parts.

Seanbaby: So through sheer dumb luck, the first straight comedy bit in Dirty Tennis, “horny dude distracted by bikini babe,” is undercut by the already strange choice to cast Caitlyn Jenner as the tennis bro. Which means this video is bad in an almost supernatural way. It’s like if a character in an early John Landis movie screamed, “The Dean can’t kick us out of school for killing a couple kids with a helicopter! It’s not like we’re out here raising sexual abusers as sons!”

Brockway: Because John Landis would go on to direct the controversial horror flick Bad Touch Helicopter. I get this reference.

Senbaby: Oh, good. I’m glad the reference landed. I didn’t want everyone to leave our article about the cruel, unfunny cheating instructional starring a trans woman as a leering pervert to google “John Landis sex criminal son” and be like, “aww, now I’m bummed out.”

Seanbaby: The next trick is to not answer your outside tennis court phone– let it ring! That’s it! Caitlyn Jenner can’t play tennis near phones, and maybe your opponent can’t either! The next, “SHOE BUSINESS,” is to tie your shoe. I’ve left out zero details, and out of respect for these hilarious gags I’m not going to add anything to them. We’re going to simply sit here together and enjoy the zaniness of ringing phones and shoe tying. Wait, ha ha, I should let you know it takes Dick two or three seconds longer than you’d expect to tie a shoe. Ha ha ha ha

Brockway: It’s important to note that while the director artfully frames these shots and cutaways so that you never see them, everyone on set spent so long watching Dick Van Patten’s lax, fuzzy old-man balls dip out of his short shorts that they’ve got retina burn. They close their eyes and just see them swaying there, like rotten kiwifruit on a frosty morning. 

Seanbaby: His balls must look exactly like smaller versions of himself in this outfit. I bet it all on this. Everything I have.

Brockway: Ten thousand Krugerrands on the testicles being mini-Dicks!

Seanbaby: There are quite a few variations on this idea of holding up the game and wasting everyone’s time. It’s the empty cruelty of a grade school bully applied to adult friendships. Dick could have saved everyone thirty minutes if he said, “Spit on your house guest the moment they get out of their car and tell them they’re not welcome in your home. This should affect their tennis game.” To be clear, Dick Van Patten would smear diarrhea on every chair in his home to get an edge in a game of Yahtzee. He would 1000% deliver you the exhumed remains of your parents in a burlap bag to get a mental edge on you in a sack race.

Brockway: Dick Van Patten is the kind of guy who would kidnap the prey’s kids just to give him a one-up in a manhunt — it’s not about winning, it’s supposed to be a test of man’s will to survive. Assholes like you are ruining the purity of the sport, Dick. You’re why we can’t manhunt in national parks anymore, and have to settle for hobo and drifter game only.

Seanbaby: I need everyone to understand: fuck this video. One of Dick’s tips, “OLDIE BUT GOODIES,” is to play music. This is apparently another one of your tennis opponent’s many, many weaknesses. Caitlyn asks him to turn it off, but Dick says, and I quote, “It’s my favorite new song,” and then “it’s the song that was playing on the night that I was married, also the night that my first son was born!” The fact any human could have this idea much less write it down should make us all embarrassed. If I was beamed before an alien council and asked to defend this clip, I’d tell them, “You’ve seen what we men have done; what we’re capable of. If you space monsters are here to judge us, let me skip to the verdict: throw the fucking switch. And may the rest of the galaxy witness what Dirty Tennis will cost them.”

Brockway: Yeah, I’m okay with us actually trying to get this going. Like maybe one of our stretch goals is to rent a radio telescope and beam Dirty Tennis to the stars in the hopes that we get the justice we need, but that God is too much of a coward to dispense. 

Seanbaby: Look at what Earth has created, stars! This is what we’ve done with the cosmic miracle of life! Fuck you, stars! Fuck you!

Seanbaby: In Part V: ADVANCED DIRTY TENNIS, the gags go from “sort of annoying” to “criminal conspiracy.” Dick’s son, Vincent, who they introduce as a world-ranked tennis pro, uses his professional tennis skills to climb a nearby tree and shoot Caitlyn in the eyes with reflected light. It fucking wrecks her. She gets knocked off her feet squealing. She is losing her mind. Dick Van Patten has destroyed her, and I’m not even sure he’s dug his way out of the three game hole he intentionally put himself in. He did all this, all of this, to lose.

Brockway: Look, I realize I keep going back to this ‘hunt man for sport’ well, but I have seen that exact son fire a crossbow at Van Damme. There’s no way they’re not practicing these tactics for use in the palatial woodlands behind the Van Patten estate. The one with the hobo signs for ‘Most Dangerous Game scenario’ (running stick figure, tennis racket) scratched into the trees. If this video doesn’t end with them opening fire on Caitlyn, I’ll lick Dan Van Patten’s sick chihuahua of a neck.

Seanbaby: Dick’s other sons are dressed up like a racist with a leaf blower and a murderer with a shotgun. Because at this point they might as well start shooting at Caitlyn, which they do

Brockway: I don’t even feel good about calling this. One look at the production quality told any idiot that this was a snuff film right from the very start.

Seanbaby: Yeah, this was at least nine Get Outs worth of warning signs. Caitlyn should have seen this coming by “SHOE BUSINESS.” Yet here she is getting blinded by one son and deafened by another, while Dick Van Patten’s third son blasts her serve out of the sky with a shotgun. With the strength and passion of an Olympian, she knocks herself out with her own bad acting. And after the white light… the first thing she sees is the Devil:

Outer Space, Future Civilizations, God… you’re all cowards if you don’t destroy us for Dirty Tennis. If the world exists tomorrow and we’re not opening our eyes to an expanse of only Dick Van Patten, you’re sending an unequivocal message that there is no answer, no justice for our evil deeds. You’re saying we, all of life and meaning, was beaten by Dirty Tennis.


Bitchin’ PoxCo ad brought to you by Will Black, who has been given best on three fair and true man hunts.

Categories
TEAMWORKING DAY

Teamworking Day: Couch Potato Workout 🌭

It’s 1988. You want a VHS tape. You don’t know of what, or even why – you only know that we all need as many VHS tapes as possible to weigh down our bookcases and fluff our garage sales. There are special bins between the checkout stands at the supermarket exactly for this madness. You dig through one. 99 Cents! the sticker says. It covers another sticker, and another. A parade of compromises that nobody made. This tape has been on a journey. For .99 cents, you actually have to buy it – its journey, all this time
 it was coming here, to you. 

You just bought Larry “Bud” Melman’s Couch Potato Workout.

Brockway: The premise here seems self-evident. Look up “couch potato workout” today and you’ll find tons of low-impact workout videos for folks who’ve fallen out of shape. 

That is not what this is.

This isn’t a workout tape, which might actually be a thing you’d want to buy so you could rewatch it regularly as you exercise. This is actually a short parody of a workout tape hosted by Larry “Bud” Melman, a comedian you do not remember from sporadic sketch appearances on The David Letterman Show. This is not a thing you’d want to buy so you could rewatch it regularly. And yet that’s all this is – it aired nowhere. It was only for sale. For who? FOR WHY?

This tape does nothing, and it is for nobody.

There was never an audience for this, and yet it got made. Somebody threw away up to $300 and a personal favor from the night manager of their apartment building’s gym to make this special a reality, and they never asked themselves one vital question: Wait, what the fuck are we doing?

Seanbaby: This is so much worse than the limpest joke idea anyone anyone has ever had. It’s something you’d suggest in a Mad TV pitch meeting to see what it takes to get Andy Daly to throw a punch. It’s something that should either come after the words, “Grandson, now that you have a job upholstering puppets for Jeff Dunham, maybe he’d like to hear my idea for a skit,” or before the words, “Unfortunately, Garfield cannot accept unsolicited pitches from prisoners.” If you or anyone in your family had any part in the production of Couch Potato Workout, fuck you and the maggot-filled corpses of your ancestors.

Seanbaby: It starts with a witless fake health warning which, combined with the VHS box and opening title, means they’ve already run the bit into the ground. We haven’t started it yet. We haven’t watched an actual second of it and this middle school pep rally skit of an idea has fully run its course.

Brockway: For every joke, there is a specific idiot in this world waiting to misunderstand it in a fatal way. They were born just to die when Dennis Miller tried out his new catchphrase “jump in front of a tractor, bubula.” But we didn’t know that until about 1993, so back in 1988 you could actually do these joke warnings. They weren’t funny, but no one could legally stop you. Real human lives had to be lost just to stop this joke.

Brockway: Bud Melman narrates this warning, and because you need to know when to laugh, he also laughs for you at the end of it. They actually transcribe the laughter, and then for some reason hit it with heavy reverb and fade effects. It is very ‘neighborhood haunted house.’ From delivery to execution, you would never guess this laughter is meant to signify a good time, unless your definition of a good time is getting non-consensually scare-groped by a divorcee in a rubber wolfman mask.

Seanbaby: What if we did this article as a top 10 list, but a parody of top ten lists? So #10 would be, like, “Forty reasons this isn’t numbered. Number one: mother-in-law?” Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!

Brockway: Hit that laugh with cave-reverb and touch me in a prosecutable way because much like a haunted house werewolf’s teenage daughter’s friends, I’ve been yours this whole time and I just didn’t know it yet.

Brockway: Let’s get this straight out of the way: Bud Melman may not be a comedian, Bud Melman may not be talented, Bud Melman may not technically meet the criteria for a human being, but Bud Melman fucking rules. He looks like a homunculus built out of Drew Carey parts and he talks like a dental patient making fun of Rip Taylor. He wears a bedazzled “I Heart To Sit” T-Shirt and by the end of this video, you will understand that he means it.

Seanbaby: He just screamed, “Wouldja rather watch the Brady Bunch than breeaathe,” and everyone went, “YEAH!” Which means they chose this life not out of apathy or sloth, but because of their passion for television. It also means the writer was trying to think of funny things everyone loves to do and settled on “breathe.” As a comedy writer, this seems like an impossible failure. It’d be like if your job was naming ice cream flavors and you brainstormed, “Sweaty groins… maybe mundane, fundamental facilities?” Does that make sense? My point is, I look at this Brady Bunch & breathing joke the same way a shopper might look at a pint of “Jake’s Cinnamon Penis Infrastructure.” How did such a thing ever become an option, much less make it into the final draft?

Brockway: This was the late ‘80s, so the standard joke answer is “cocaine.” Nobody involved with this was cool enough for cocaine. This was a sketch conceived of and written under the intoxicating side-effects of mixing prescription constipation meds and Bartles & Jaymes. 

Brockway: Half of our supporting cast are exactly who you’d expect for a joke workout video about the lazy: fat people. In the 1980s “like a person, but fat” was a solid joke. That was the whole thing. Setup and punchline. “Fatty thinks he’s people [pause for laughter].” 

Here’s the weird part: The other half of this cast are clearly in fantastic shape. There are two women and one 1950s mechanic who are all visibly fit, and it’s not explained. Not the fit part, and oh, certainly not the mechanic part. Like it’s not revealed later that these were models who showed up for a workout video and accidentally found themselves in a parody — that would actually be a joke. This joke video does not make jokes. Instead the fitness models state several times that they love junk food and hate exercise, and all pretend to struggle with basic human motions just like the overweight ones. It’s a crazy decision that will make a lot of sense two images from now.

Seanbaby: Every crazy decision I’ve made was because of two things: titties. Is it titties?

Brockway: It is NOT titties.

Our co-host is yet another attractive woman in a leotard, and she’ll be the one leading us through the exercises, because Bud Melman hearts to sit, you guys. I know the video told you it was Bud Melman’s, but that is not the first or last lie it will tell you today. Bud Melman hearts to sit so hard he won’t even host the workout video he’s hosting. This is June:

Brockway: I guess the joke was supposed to be that Bud Melman shouldn’t have a workout tape, so I’m not sure what the joke is now that he doesn’t.

Seanbaby: How simple did this concept have to be for these people to not fuck it up? They got a fitness model to teach us how to sit and eat chips? This is like writing a sitcom about a chimpanzee mayor and sticking to the script when the animal wrangler brings you a giraffe. Fucking insanity.

Brockway: I would watch that so hard, you could call it MonKey to the City and name the giraffe Mr. Bobby Bananas and I would-

Seanbaby: Wait, hold on. I thought about that analogy and decided Couch Potato Workout‘s casting decisions are more like sticking to the plan after you open a crate labeled “SEX HORSE” and it turns out to be a beautiful human woman.

Brockway: I already miss Mr. Bobby Bananas. Hey, here’s that second image I mentioned-

Brockway: Okay fine, it was titties. 

Seanbaby: I knew it! Those are titties!

Brockway: Couch Potato Workout may be a crime against comedy, it may be a crime against logic, it is certainly a crime against the retirement center they filmed it in, but it does not break Workout Tape Law: There must be mild cleavage and ass shots.

Seanbaby: It could be that when the casting call went out for “fat, pathetic fucks needed for zany one-note greeting card joke adapted for retail home video audience,” they didn’t get a lot of female responses and had to settle for regular bikini models.

Brockway: Once again Couch Potato Workout does a mostly standard thing – exercise tape a 13 year-old can masturbate to – and then yanks the wheel for the last exit into Bugfuck Town. They don’t just conspicuously zoom in on cleavage like every workout tape
 they actually take extra time out to show all the men ogling the women uncomfortably.

Seanbaby: Jesus, they look at these women like it’s the first time seeing one outside of a pantyhose ad. To this day, at least seven different cast members list their greatest sexual conquest as a pair of panties they stole from the set of Larry “Bud” Melman’s Couch Potato Workout.

Brockway: There’s no payoff here — they’re not caught and slapped and turn to the camera like “it was worth it!” The leering is not acknowledged. They silently pant and engorge at the women and then we cut away. Cue laugh track?

Seanbaby: And as is Couch Potato Workout tradition, they even fuck that joke up. The chubby guy in the blue wrestling unitard wakes up from a heart attack and leers at his workout partner’s armpit so closely and strangely it stopped reading like a sex thing to me. I thought the actor was making the decision his character wants to kill her and eat her saltiest parts. Could the gag be that he’s been morbidly obese for so long he misses armpits? Is it simply how his head was pointed while his arteries squeezed a sandwich into his ham chamber? Is armpit gazing the 1988 version of putting your foot in a butt? Wait, what? Oh no, I know what this is. My brain is synthesizing insanity to try to get inside the minds of this tape’s producers. We need to keep moving; this isn’t safe.

Brockway: Let’s check in on Bud Melman per his contract, to make sure he didn’t die with his eyes open.

Seanbaby: Gasp

Brockway: …

Let me explain:

There is no explanation.

They’re doing the Remote Control Thumb Press, a joke exercise where all they do is press a button on a remote control, and Ginger starts having that seizure. Bud Melman breaks the law of inertia to stand and cross over to her, somebody yells “Ginger’s in the Outer Limits!” and then Bud slaps the epilepsy right out of her. It’s a bizarre and humorless non-sequitur in a VHS that’s already doing nothing with almost no premise. 

Or
 is it?

Seanbaby: He hit that woman. He hit that woman in the comedy workout parody and they all cheered. Have we checked to see if this production had any survivors? Like, are we making fun of the last known footage of 12 missing people?

Brockway: We have absolutely been mocking a comedic mass snuff tape, and hey speaking of things you hear before murder — it’s time to “BARE THOSE TOES!” And if you didn’t want to hear Bud Melman holler “BARE THOSE TOES” while attractive young women pause a workout video to show you their toes, well then this is the wrong world for you. You’ve skipped dimensions while you slept and you have no compass with which to navigate home.

Seanbaby: Wait, no! I heard him tell those women to “BARE THOSE TOES!” That can’t be! We need to pause! My brain hasn’t gone back to normal yet!

Brockway: Every exercise is punctuated by short skits involving some of our support cast, who bring all the creativity and energy of a dementia ward improv troupe. For Toe Curls, the inexplicable greaser tries to feed the bus skank with his feet. Now, all improv troupes need one male performer whose every character is “wants to fuck the women.” In Couch Potato Workout, that’s all of them! But especially the mechanic. When our resident aspiring Ratt groupie refuses, he tries to feed the sassy lunchlady a chip with his feet, and she happily agrees — only to turn it around and feed him the chip instead! He hates this! It was the punchline!

Seanbaby: It’s sort of wonderful looking back on a time when our country not only cared for the mentally ill, but gave them any costumes they asked for and filmed them feeding each other with their feet.

Brockway: That hasty sketch would be followed by “we can beat that” at any community college theater course warm-up period across this great nation. But it’s actually a step up from Barney’s sketch, who was given the prompt “you’re fat and something about toes!” and also started pretending to eat chips from his feet, but alone and without the chips.

Seanbaby: Oh my god. Oh fuck.

Brockway: That’s Barney’s one move: Fat guy who hates dignity.

Seanbaby: Barney’s performance is a combination of “ape grooming” and “desperate raccoon stealing garbage.” He seems terrified he will get caught doing this thing he was commanded to do on camera. The whole premise was for everyone to eat snacks from their filthy feet and he’s acting like a dog whose owner is screaming for him not to swallow a chicken bone. The entire production of this from concept to script to casting to performance is like a game of telephone that started with “Low Fat Jake’s Cinnamon Penis Infrastructure.”

Brockway: Next up is an exercise called The Milk Bud Toss where they pair off and throw candy into each other’s mouths. The punchline is already “we’re just eating food,” then they cut to Barney joylessly hoovering them down, alone. Barney is actually an amazing physical performer. Like in this scene he says “I angered a witch and she cursed me with endless hunger, I hate the beast I’ve become” and he does it with only his eyes. 

Seanbaby: Barney is amazing. And other than Larry “Bud” Melman, he was the only other principal cast member listed on IMDB. This sometimes working actor, Bart Sumner, must have eventually tried a real workout program, because he lost the weight!

Brockway: I think being cast as ‘Barney Blubber, Unloved Mass’ would be plenty of motivation to lose that weight, and that’s before the director asked him to eat from his feet, “like all you fatties probably do.”

Brockway: Elsewhere, our resident Mook rapidly jams Milk Buds down the lunchlady’s shirt. She, like all women, loves this. No explanation is needed. That’s the punchline!

Seanbaby: To fully explain their sexual dynamics, these two seem like they knew each other from before. They’re not a couple, but they’ve definitely fucked. She gets jealous and violent when he gropes other women in front of her, but forgives him the moment he throws a box of Milk Duds down her leotard. It’s the way you’d think human relationships work if you thought digging Doritos out of your toes is how human eating works.

Brockway: If you’re wondering where Bud Melman is in his own comedy video, it’s quietly sitting in his own chair, not engaging. 

Brockway: Exactly like his shirt promised.

It’s
 it’s actually starting to get pretty funny.

Every once in a while they try to trick him into a sketch, like this bit about how he has a robot chair:

Brockway: But he barely acknowledges it. He delivers his lines as flatly and quickly as he can so they can cut away from him and he can go back to softly breathing while looking straight ahead.

Seanbaby: Yeah, the producers definitely worked against the only thing good about this concept– letting a confused elderly man misunderstand what was going on. If this was an ordinary workout video he kept fucking up rather than a bad campfire sketch he kept fucking up, it’d probably be my favorite Bart Sumner role.

Brockway: Yeah, that spot definitely still goes to Love & War, where he played “Man with Salmon.”

Brockway: Let’s take a break from all none of the jokes we’ve done in this joke video, and jump instead to a sketch about the inventor of the Couch Potato Workout, Dr. Spud.

Seanbaby: Jesus fuck, I already know this is going to suck. And in directions I won’t be able to prepare for.

Brockway: What do you mean? Look how cute Dr. Spud is!

Brockway: Oh sorry, that’s not Dr. Spud. 

This is:

Brockway: And instead of a silly little potato doctor, he’s an unrepentant former Nazi scientist, which of course means he’s doing his best Constipated Dracula accent. Here we get into the deep lore of Couch Potato Workout, which you did not expect to have any lore at all. 

See, the Couch Potato Workout was designed as an evil Nazi plan to get revenge on America by making us all lazy. Which we explain with – you guessed it! — a skit within this skit, wherein Dr. Spud electrocutes a man into liking TV more than eyeball-groping an unhappy woman.

Seanbaby: Couch potatoes were invented by a bumbling Nazi scientist? Well, I certainly did “Hitler” that coming! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!! I’m eating candy out of your tits! What even are jokes anymore?

Brockway: I know you, the readers, went into this thinking it was a low concept comedy – that was your fuckup. You own that. Bud Melman was the Charlie Kaufman of late ‘80s parody workout tapes and you would know this if you did the homework we assigned you.

I’ll prove it! There’s a skit within that skit about the side effects of this process – that’s three nested sketches deep, mind you — where they reveal that Ginger was actually catching Nazi mindcontrol madness from the Remote Control Thumb Press.

Seanbaby: So the explanation for why the main character of this comedy workout video hit a woman is buried in a story within a story within a story leading back to Hitler? This sounds like a transcript of someone representing themselves in court for hitting a woman.

Brockway: The stages of Couch Potato Insanity consist of Paranoid Reaction, Eroticized Reaction, Meta-externalized Reaction, and Total Break from Reality. By process of deduction, the only treatment for them is getting smacked in the head by Bud Melman. 

Which will lobotomize you.

It’s heavily implied that Ginger has some kind of brain damage for the rest of the tape, either from the Nazi mind-programming, or because the sheer Hulk-like power of a Bud Slap turned her language center into jam.

Seanbaby: The last desperate hope this video had for success was to convince us these men and women existed in a universe with cartoon rules. And yet here they are, demonstrating the very real consequences of violence. She will never be the same again. Each of these people sucking frosting off their own toes will die alone, covered in bed sores, forty years early.

Brockway: Just a reminder — this tape is a half hour long! That’s plenty of time for a B-plot about a beautiful young woman getting her frontal lobe destroyed by vengeful Nazis!

Seanbaby: A half hour long? This tape is five thousand lifetimes of childlike hubris. We are endlessly drowning in a swamp of dispiriting stupidity, as we have always been.

Brockway: Let’s do the phone skit!

Seanbaby: Sweet!

Brockway: Good job, Ginger. You’re trying your best. The phone is mad when it rings and we do answer it with BLART.

Seanbaby: I feel like we should try to figure out what they were trying to do so we can explain to everyone what was supposed to be happening h– ha ha, I just looked at what I was typing. Fuck me. Fuck the entire concept of anything.

Brockway: Here’s what the Boston Market Strangler put together when somebody handed him a phone and told him to riff:

Brockway: It’s the best acting in the video. This is the only part I believe.

Seanbaby: Why did they do this? What are they parodying when they stopped the workout video to take phone calls? Is it my brain trying to tell me none of this, none of them are real?

Brockway: Well, canonically speaking, your brain is being devoured by the memetic disease Nazis implanted in-

Hold up, we’re doing a fat guy choking gag. 

Brockway: Holy shit, it took us this long to do a fat guy choking gag? Couch Potato Workout, I am amazed at your restraint. You know what? You earned that. After the meta-referential Nazi brain-weapon skits, you earned that extreme close-up on the gasping vomit of an overweight pervert.

Seanbaby: The obvious gag here would be a hidden pump to blast vomit out of his mouth for a half minute. Kudos to this performer for doing his own stunt work and simply holding three pounds of dip in his throat until the director called action.

Brockway: We’ve done two minutes of workout video, it’s clearly time for another extremely long, barely related sketch. Bud has to stand for this one and he is not happy. Look at him. He nearly quit.

Brockway: Yes, it’s a cooking sketch, and yes, it plays out exactly like you’d think: They make something gross and unhealthy. It’s what a 7 year-old would do if you gave them no prep time and said “your prompt is food! Don’t use the word ‘butt’!”

BUT-

Fuck! I used it!

BUT-

There is one moment of that trademark Couch Potato Workout lunacy here, where the camera cuts back too soon and reveals Bud Melman absolutely savaging June.

Seanbaby: Oh, Jesus Christ. What?

Brockway: I’m not sure if the joke is that Bud is a surprisingly sexual man and June loves it, or that Bud is a surprisingly sexual man and June was not prepared to fend off an attack from that direction.

Seanbaby: No one could know what these people thought would be funny or how it resembled what they ended up filming. Like everything else, it feels like a bit Larry “Bud” Melman did not fully understand. Maybe they were supposed to come in on a creepy old man getting fresh and he instead started actually licking the actress? Maybe he was cleaning off half-swallowed dip splatter? Or maybe, back to my other theory, fuck you none of this is real.

Brockway: Dream within a dream is a very Larry “Charlie Kaufman “Bud” of Workout Tapes” Melman thing to do.

Our last group exercise is the Dash to the Can and finally, finally we come to the endgame of the witch’s revenge: Barney is simply too fat to live.

Brockway: The task is to get up and take two steps. 

Barney gets up, takes one step, then dies from it.

This is the natural progression of the Barney character. His arc demanded it end this way. His one personality trait was ‘food’ and his motivation was ‘to death.’

What is less expected is when Bud leaps to his feet, hollers “LET’S BEACH THIS WHALE!” and then starts yelling TV shows at Barney’s dead face, still biting for errant sausages like a decapitated cobra. 

And it works! 

Seanbaby: None of this is happening.

Brockway: This happened! Bud leaned down and screamed “THE FLINTSTONES” right into Barney’s corpse, and he came back to life yelling “WIIILMAAAA!”

This went exactly as they planned. Everybody was so happy with the flawless way this sketch went, they couldn’t imagine anyone needing any more clarification. They’d look at you like you were insane if you asked them what just happened here.

Seanbaby: I always knew when my mind shattered it would take the form of a fat man dropping dead on the way to an outhouse in the center of a workout video set brought back to life by an obscure pop culture figure screaming the names of cartoons. This “video” is my dying brain’s Ready Player One.

Brockway: Classic Meta-Externalized Reaction.

Seanbaby: Why is my mind still doing skits? How long is a brain supposed to live without air? Fine, let me see this Advanced Workout, “Bud” Melman. If these are my last moments let them be spent cursing your shitty madness.

Brockway: The Advanced Workout is the part where a stunt double puts on a wig specifically to not look like Bud Melman and then does gymnastics in wacky fast motion. There is an uncomfortably long pause on the spinning crotch of the stained sweatsuit. Yes, I did GIF it for you. 

Seanbaby: Ha ha ha, you sons of bitches. The fact that this final hallucination is still going means nothing can kill me.

Brockway: Now let’s gauge how much of a Couch Potato we are which, please remember, is actually a test of how hard Nazi mind control has melted our brains. This is represented by a friendly potato with a pencil.

Brockway: Here’s how the test works: On one side of the screen, porn scientists – no, fuck you, we’re almost done, we will not slow down for questions — on one side of the screen porn scientists will start fucking, and on the other side will be a still image of a twinkie. We will not slow down for questions! The Nazi brain damage will determine which we’re more interested in — no questions! — by sliding the image left or right.

Seanbaby: hahaha ha ha ha ha HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAHAHA!!!

Brockway: Hey, there’s Total Break from Reality!

Brockway: We begin, and in keeping with the theme, nobody gave the porn scientists any direction. They panic immediately, and the man starts slapping the woman’s breasts with a stethoscope. No other ideas occur to him, so he just keeps doing that as fast as he can. She loves this.

Seanbaby: Do I choose Twinkie? I feel like these two want to be left alone, and that dirty Twinkie fucking needs it. Ha ha what am I saying? None of you can even hear me. ha ha, I’m being eaten by birds.

Brockway: The joke is supposed to be that it worked — Nazis have gelatinized our brainmeat and now we’re more interested in Twinkie than pornography — but that only holds true if the sound of unseen breasts being slapped with medical equipment is intensely erotic for you, and if it is, thanks for reading our comedy website, Armie Hammer.

Brockway: There’s only one way this video could end.

Seanbaby: With Larry “Bud” Melman rapping?

Brockway: With Larry “Bud” Melman rapping. 

Brockway: He has the raw charisma of microwaved chicken and the sick flow of Ginger’s dying brain losing the connections between sounds and meaning.

“I’ve got a head of mashed potatoes,” he flatly recites.

“Got a heart full of fries,” he reluctantly reads.

“I’m a spud through and through, til the TV dies.”

The dancers croon “â™Ș oooooooh, he was born to SIT â™Ș”  

Bud Melman thinks of home.

Seanbaby: I can feel the serenity creeping in through the cracks in the madness.

Brockway: Hey, I bet you didn’t think you were going to see art today.

Seanbaby: The madness has fully surrounded me again. I knew you were a coward, serenity! Ha ha ha, this shit is nuts. The scientists studying my brain tissue are going to win an award.

Brockway: Roll credits!

Roll all those fake credits, because nobody wanted to use their real names for this project!

Brockway: Don Angst wasn’t even trying to hide. He just wanted you to know what he thought of this project. So you sit through those lies. All the way to the end. You’re a god damn fool if you turn it off now. You’ll miss the previews for-

Brockway: Which is, holy shit, exactly what it sounds like! 

No more than what it sounds like!

Brockway: It’s brick wall comedians telling gross jokes! Only not here, in the preview — they can’t give a single nugget of gold away for free. There are no jokes in the trailer for Gross Jokes, a bold sales tactic aimed at the core audience of Couch Potato Workout: newly sentient plants with the credit cards of their devoured owners.

Seanbaby: “You ladies like my tiara? They gave it to me because I’m the queen of losing tampons! I swear last week my gynecologist found eight gallons of wet cotton up there along with my first husband’s competitive farting jersey. Thank you. I’m serious, dating is hard…” haha ha my goddamn brain is still firing. Ha ha ha ha ha I just realized this could go on forever. Ha ha, these fake priced-to-own VHS tapes might be my eternity now.

Brockway: It had to end like this for you. You built this prison. It took you decades.

Anyway if you, like an idiot, turned this video off at the credits, you would never know about Dirty Tennis!

Seanbaby: Yes, misfiring synapses of my oxygen-starved brain. Yes. Tell me what Dirty Tennis is.

Brockway: Which is — what! 

It’s another fake workout video hosted by an old comedian who doesn’t want to be doing this! 

Brockway: It aired nowhere, you had to buy it!

This was a genre!

Seanbaby: hahaha I wish people could see how the garbage cluttering my idiot mind is reknitting itself during these, its final moments. Ha, this one is an ad for a show about Dick Van Patten teaching you how to cheat at tennis! Ha ha ha and you had to buy it! My dying brain thinks this was a genre!

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