Category: TEAMWORKING DAY

Teamworking Day: Man After Man 🌭

Post author By 1900HOTDOG
Post date 06/20/2025
5 Comments on Teamworking Day: Man After Man 🌭

Brockway: What does the future hold for buns? It’s a question every single philosopher has pondered, and been driven completely mad by. Until today. (We consider ourselves philosophers.)

We’re playing a game called…

Seanbaby: If you’re saying the game is man and the stakes are buns, then I’ve been training for this my whole life. That’s the tagline of my 17 favorite Jean-Claude Van Damme movies.

Brockway: You’re correct both times, in ways you could not possibly foresee. The bedrock of our hunk research will be the book Man After Man: An Anthropology of the Future, by author and paleontologist Dougal Dixon. If the name sounds familiar, you’re probably thinking of his first book, After Man, which you vaguely remember reading in a dentist’s waiting room in 1995. One thing all reviews of After Man agreed on: Dixon had done his homework, and his science was sound. That means all the science in the sequel is sound, and therefore all our following science is also sound. (We consider ourselves scientists.)

Seanbaby: I know you’re kidding, but my dentist did actually have a copy of Anal Man in his waiting room. Wait, you said After Man. That I haven’t read. And now that I think about it, that guy wasn’t a dentist. And that anal man wasn’t a book.

Brockway: Either way, you were getting drilled. Back on task! Like all great scientist philosophers, our research will take the form of a dating card game. The rules are simple: it’s a classic Hunk Kumite set 200 years into the future, with a 50,000 year rematch clause. Rule explanation over.

Draw your hunks!

ROUND 1

Brockway: Ooh, you’ve drawn Piccarblick the Aquamorph. Hailing from two HUNDRED years in the future, Piccarblick’s septendecuple chins segue seamlessly into what might be abs. And Ladies, I know what you’re thinking: No, he doesn’t own that utility belt.

Seanbaby: This is something a whale teen would draw if there was such a thing as underwater anime. And already I call bullshit on the science of this. As soon as this thing evolved, the first thing any government would do is make it illegal to design belts for it. Piccarblick is what screams “I’M BATMAN, FATHER” at you nine months after you fuck a dolphin steak in a panini press. What is happening? How do I play this game?

Brockway: You’re already doing it. Just let your body go, like Piccarblick. Piccarblick’s bio says his great-grandfather was a librarian named Jon Artur Blick, his grandfather was an artist named Jon Blick, Jr., his father Jon Blick the 3rd was an astrophysicist, and now he is a muck salvager whose facial expression is limited and relies on simple sounds to communicate. A proud legacy.

Seanbaby: I’m not comfortable saying something this nice about librarians, but I don’t think you can go from librarian to Humpback Ram Man in three generations. You must be leaving out the part where one of these Jon Blicks got fired for a beluga sperm bank scandal.

Brockway: Most of what I’m leaving out is climate change lecturing. I agree the right move was to spice up this climate change treatise with hunky man-fish, and that’s why I’m equally as respected as Dougal Dixon in the field of theoretical carp/hunk evolution.

So your first draw is a non-verbal sucker-monster who disappoints librarians. Tough competition, let’s see who he’s up against.

Brockway: That’s a rough pull for Piccarblick the man-lamprey. You’ve drawn Jimez Smoot, whose genus and business cards both read “The Perfect Human.” He’s got the jawline, he’s got the hair, he doesn’t have the slits in his abdomen – if Jimez Smoot has a weakness, and science says he doesn’t, it’s that he seems a bit smug about having a neck.

Seanbaby: I see what you’re doing. This is madness. You’re doing a game vengeance. This is revenge for when I made you play Ventriloquist Dream Date. Well, the joke’s on you because Google already showed me a half-nude reverse merman and a picture of Jeffrey Epstein when I searched “flowers for mother’s day” and then again when I searched for “reverse merman for sale.”

Brockway: But who would do that? Who would seek revenge for such a slight, and why would they structure it like a terrible game designed to attack specifically you? It would take some kind of perfect human to pull off a stunt like that, and there’s only one Jimez Smoot. His bio tells us he’s psychologically stable and rigorously trained, and hopes to one day colonize the stars! Though it is likely that upon landing he will become the base meat for surgical riffing by star-doctors. That second part’s actually in his bio! This hunk’s not much for long-term relationships, his motto is “I’m here for a good time, not a long time… because my body will one day become genetic jazz.”

Seanbaby: Genetic jazz is what a librarian calls it when he inseminates a sack of halibut eggs, but he classifies it under the dewey decimal code 613.9 for health and hygiene. Speaking of cards documenting sex crimes, what do I do with these Man After Man After Man After Man After Man cards?

Brockway: The choice seems pretty obvious. Let’s get this formality over with!

Seanbaby: I think you know I can’t possibly have any idea what’s going on, but I do know you’d never expect this: I choose Piccarblick the Aquamorph.

Brockway: A stunning upset! Piccarblick the Aquamorph might be smiling, or simply gasping for air with his gumless grouper mouth. Jimez Smoot’s rigorously trained buns leave us for the stars. Here’s hoping the space surgeons transplant the twinkle in his eye to the horrors they build out of his flesh.

ROUND 2

Brockway: Gram the Plains-Dweller is here to steal hearts and then fail to digest them with his evolved stomach, which can only tolerate scrub grass. Ladies love a man with rough hands, and Gram’s are covered with blade-like callouses for threshing. His kangaroo feet might be for increased speed over flat terrain, but that mullet says slow down and take in the view, ladies.

Seanbaby: As a man of science, I also think humans will soon select for a sixth finger and stupidly long feet. “The speed of clown” is what one evolutionary biologist called it, but only once, and he never got a chance to finish screaming it. Gram looks like every indoor 7th grader’s first homemade RPG system. He looks like his only hobby is grass diarrhea. I hate him so much.

Brockway: Gram’s bio tells us he is familiar with the spiky grass of the plains. The grass of the plains is tough to chew but plentiful. He was raised on that grass, all he has known is that grass. He does believe there is enough spiky grass of the plains to sustain him. His interests, turn-ons, and greatest weaknesses all have one entry: Grass.

Seanbaby: It’s crazy that in 1981, it counted as science to type “What if you could eat grass? Well, I have no idea, but it would definitely be fucking dumb as fuck if it looked something like this.”

Brockway: And Gram will be up against…

Brockway: Haron the Hitek! His organs consistently fail, he lives in a beige cradle inside a mechanical beast which he may never leave, and the only part of his body that works is his left hand. There is only a 10% chance he’ll survive the mating process, but ladies – he’s feeling lucky!

Seanbaby: “Guys, I’m ready to get infused with my super sweet! Robot body! No, guys, not that. That’s the leftover crap I mean to throw aw– guys, can you not hear me? Guys?” – Haron’s final human words

Brockway: His bio says he loves music, has a small sculpture collection, and only eats protein cakes. His favorite flavor? B7! He enjoys the salt.

Seanbaby: What a grotesque gnashing of meaningless shapes. Haron looks like Emperor Palpatine drove through a California Raisin. This is what a cop would draw if you saw someone murdered by a tiny pilot giving the Silver Surfer a bikini wax.

Brockway: Sean, it’s a tough round. Which hunk should survive to see the future?

Seanbaby: One thing I will never do is choose Haron. Haron is the earth reclaiming the body of someone who died in the middle of a LEGO project. He’s a robot foot that stepped in gum, but with 70% more face than you’d expect? I give up trying to explain Haron. Fuck the broken, destitute imagination that spawned Haron. So my selection, in this game of lunacy, is Gram.

Brockway: Yeah, obviously it’s Gram. He’s basically a walking Trans Am. He’s a kangaroo you can fuck without feeling weird about it. I’ve really come around on Gram, I guess is what I’m saying. Meanwhile Haron got half an erection thinking about your dream date and did not survive it.

ROUND 3

Brockway: It’s our last round before the final, and you’ve drawn…

Brockway: Kule the Forest Dweller! Don’t let the brooding face distract you from his luscious thighs and hairy buns. Built thicc from the ample, easy to reach fruit of the forests, Kule boasts about the agility and strength of his fingers. He told us they’re purely for tree gripping and then winked, because he must keep one eye open at all times to watch for raptors.

Seanbaby: This might be the most haunting drawing I’ve ever seen. This is what nature would make if an old world monkey and a new world Billy Ray Cyrus fucked in a spider web. If I was a publisher and a “scientist” handed me this manuscript, I would call the FBI and say, “I know who keeps adding knees to those hitchhikers.”

Brockway: Are you… not in support of that? That’s how you start building a Gram. But let’s not get distracted thinking of herds of mullets bouncing in the sun with every super-hop. We’re here to talk about Kule. Kule’s bio informs us he disdains the ugly shapes of machinery and believes humanity’s future lies in the trees. He goes on to say that with ample food he has no need to experiment, so his mind has grown dull. That’s okay, Kule, we’re not standing at the base of this tree to watch your brains jiggle.

Seanbaby: Maybe there’s no need to fact check the maniac drawing the tarantula-handed hockey bigfoot, but when a species has ample food, they don’t grow dull. They fuck. It’s why, evolutionarily, chimpanzees bite your face off and bonobos expertly finish you with hand stuff. But I guess it doesn’t always work that way, because of all the things this Kule monster does, the top fifty are not fuck.

Brockway: Competing against Kule, you’ve drawn…

Brockway: Knut the Tundra Dweller, pictured here being attacked by our former champion, Hoot the Temperate Woods Dweller. Knut has dense fur to shield against cold winds, and the classic good looks of Arnold Schwarzenegger running into a sliding glass door. Sorry, ladies, Hoot is taken… by the blood frenzy!

Seanbaby: ha ha Knut looks like a foreskin getting blown off a dick by an airbag and he’s being torn apart by monkey in his own illustration. That’s the speculative evolution equivalent of letting Scottie Pippen design your basketball card, a joke that won’t pay off until you see what I made in Photoshop after giving up on this article making any sense to me:

Brockway: But you’re doing so well! I’m confident you’ll get the game as we go. Much like Scottie Pippen did with his endorsement career. Knut’s bio tells us his layers of fat help him survive the icy tundra, and that he hopes to one day no longer dwell on the icy tundra. Under “likes,” he’s put “lichens and mosses” and under dislikes: “Hoot.”

Seanbaby:

Brockway: Another impossible call, but the audience seems to be responding to the gentle fruit himbo vibe of Kule. Who will Seanbaby choose?

Seanbaby: This is going to sound crazy, buttnut, but Knut. He and Kule are both unspeakable mistakes no god could forgive, but the world as we know it is collapsing. I could see man taking to the trees to become bored, mulleted idiots with bats for hands in the next 200 years. But there is no catastrophe dark enough to turn man into Knut within eight generations.

Brockway: Knut says he wants to take you on a “temperate date” to “not the tundra” where you’ll enjoy “probably being attacked by Hoot.” Don’t worry about Kule, his dim mind has already forgotten this rejection because it does not have to look very hard for fruit.

FINAL ROUND

Brockway: And we’re back! It was a long commercial break, 50,000 years have passed. Seanbaby has chosen his hunks, let’s see how millenia of evolution have perfected their forms.

Up first: You knew him as Piccarblick the Aquamorph, let’s have a big MAMAMAMAM greeting for…

Brockway: Having evolved a flexible envelope of gelatinous algae filaments filled with seawater, Piccarblick is now able to move about on land for limited amounts of time. His locomotion is slow and his senses are dull, so he is often prey for the beach-roving descendents of Hoot, who view his watery slime as a delicacy!

Seanbaby: These things look like they know they shouldn’t exist and just got caught being snot golems. These are jizz socks abandoned by their fathers. And I don’t mean that as a joke. I mean these things look like a desperate, uncreative author was out of ideas and looking around his room going, “Chair… no. Lamp… no. Fishtank full of shirts I climaxed into? Hold on, now, wait a minute.”

Brockway: Let’s see how time has treated a fan favorite. Give it up for Gram!

Brockway: Once a Plains Dweller, Gram has settled down into hiving. Forced to carry a seeker, a slug-like human variant that evolved beyond the need for arms and legs, Gram now relies on its telepathic abilities to find food and water in the wasteland. His eyes may say “no, I don’t want this life” but that mustache says “rides are a nickel, three for a dime.” It’s best not to discuss what that pinky says in polite company.

Seanbaby:

Brockway: Pippen the Court-Dweller is forced to carry the Seeker, whose telepathic abilities always tell him where the hoop is.

When last we saw Knut, he was dreaming of a life away from the bitter cold of the tundra, and a break from being constantly attacked by Hoot. Let’s see if he made it…

Brockway: Good news: Knut made it off the tundra! Bad news: Having never developed adequate Hoot defenses, he evolved layers of extraneous fat instead and now hosts Hoot’s parasitic descendants, who’ve grown slender gripping fingers to latch onto his slippery fat, and filtration mustaches to better feed on his blubber. Evolution always selects for the mustache.

Seanbaby: We all probably assumed this back in the year 2190, but I think this picture confirms After Man is not a work of scientific theory, but a sex thing no second person will ever understand. Something went so, so wrong during this author’s first boner. This looks like Mickey Rooney being reassembled from nachos by the ghosts of Japanese perverts.

Brockway: Those are our finalists, perfected. With all the hottest hunks of mankind’s future to choose from, who will Seanbaby take home?

Seanbaby:

Brockway: The obvious and only possible outcome. Much like all philosophy and most science, this was a pointless and unfulfilling exercise.

Before we go, let’s see how our losers are doing after 50,000 years of progress. You remember Haron the Hitek, trapped in a mechanical cradle and unable to fuck. You’ve heard of a glow-up…

Brockway: This is the opposite of that! Having evolved soft forms of his once-mechanical enhancements, Haron’s organs still constantly fail. But he now grows replacements on the outside of his own body! Where he used to have one barely-working hand, he now has several arms. The better to hug you with, ri- I’m sorry, I’m getting a correction: Haron wants it noted the arms are purely for fashion, and his fingers work only as organs of touch.

Seanbaby: Listen, if you’re reading this and you’re a broken hair dryer with a little face from the year 2181, I know things are hard now. But in only 50,000 years you could be six hundred pounds of colon teeming with feet and fingers with a little face. Are we still playing? Is this still part of the game?

Brockway: No, we’re just seeing what you missed out on by picking your hunk/unfiltered fat source. Let’s welcome back Jimez Smoot, the Perfect Human!

Seanbaby: Okay, sure, this obviously rules.

Brockway: Freshly returned from the stars, gravity has crushed Jimez Smoot’s once 6’2” frame, and he can no longer survive without his pressurized suit. Eagle-eyed viewers will recognize a familiar face – it’s Kule the Forest Dweller! His dull mind decayed over the eons and he now serves as a mount for Jimez Smoot, who controls him with a combination of electrodes and telepathy.

Seanbaby: If we live to be 50,000 years old, to see man fall from biped to Jimez Smoot, insectoid Kule rider, this will still be the strangest article we’ve ever written.

Brockway: Let that be a lesson to all of us: don’t force your friends to write about banging ventriloquist dummies, and keep your fruit in hard to reach places.

Tags Brockway, Free, games, genetic jazz, hunks, Seanbaby

TEAMWORKING DAY

Teamworking Day: Ventriloquist Dream Date 🌭

Post author By 1900HOTDOG
Post date 05/16/2025
15 Comments on Teamworking Day: Ventriloquist Dream Date 🌭

Seanbaby: Hey, Brockway! Guess what. Ventriloquist Dream Date.

Brockway: Ventriloquist Dream Date! Fuck yes, I’ve been telling my therapist I don’t want to live anymore but she didn’t realize it was aspirational.

Seanbaby: It was published in 19̶̼̀♳𝈢 by Poxco Ga̵̲͝m̷͕̈es.

Brockway: Oh, uh oh. I just realized I’m one of those guys who talks big about wanting to die but suddenly covers his genitals when the puppets come in the room.

Seanbaby: It comes with everything you see here!

Brockway: Hey are the wooden lips a playing piece, like in Monopoly? I choose Not Pictured. I choose whatever it is that is not pictured here. I choose to leave. Quit. Quit program. Exit. Exit program. Close program. Destroy program. Destroy computer. Destroy self.

Seanbaby: Here’s how we play.

Seanbaby: Okay, it looks like you’re already wearing the Wooden Lips™, so you go first. Draw three PUPPET CARDS and one DATE CARD.

Brockway: I’ll be perfectly real with you, I don’t follow what you’re trying to do here. Not just in the game, but in this article. Can we take a second to hash out this premise before we get started?

Seanbaby: No, but this is already going better than I pictured. I thought we were going to be torn apart by puppets way before this. The rules say you have to take one of these ventriloquist teams on a date and kiss the puppet, but it looks like you’ve also been coerced into seducing the puppeteer? A tough first round. It’s okay if you want to play somet– wait, no, the rules say stopping is not an option.

Brockway: I don’t understand what you want from me. Are you trying to trick me into writing a short story about making out with a puppet while his unhappy ventriloquist frowns on? We have to discuss Teamworking Days first. You can’t just write all of your parts and trust puppet pressure to force me into compliance.

Seanbaby: I can do anything. Now let me show you how to kiss a fucking puppet.

Seanbaby: It looks like I’m meeting my ventriloquist team in an ’80s kids movie, so I bet they’ll already have their own racial puppet and creepy priest. I select Pubis Arena-Racism and his puppet, “Flirts” Cartelle. This should be easy. I’ve never seen a hornier puppet. I’m not bragging when I say I’d like to see that puppet try to keep its mouth off me. That puppet looks like he tells strippers, “After we snort this gram of pure Colombian, maybe you do the same to this gram of pure mahogany.” His entire act is probably about him impregnating his puppeteer’s train set.

Brockway: What? Do I- do we get to know any more about the puppets? Do they have a backstory? I never thought I’d ask for puppet lore but I am adrift here, man. What are the rules again? Am I winning?

Seanbaby: I don’t know how we can tell who’s winning. The scoring section of the instructions just has a picture of our graves, but they’re racing each other on rollerskates. I’m not explaining it very well. It’s your turn again.

Brockway: I can’t tab out of this window. Did you do something to Google Docs? I know you’re reading this, I can see your avatar up there.

You just wrote and deleted something about Fart Wars? Let’s do that, man. Please. We can do Fart Wars instead of this. I pick Farting Girlfriend Tank and I load my Cabbage Rounds-

Seanbaby: You’re really good at this game about romancing puppets. But I came to win. So I’ll just flip over my three Ventriloquist Dream Date PUPPET CARDS and oh no, oh no, oh no. Alright, and now I’ll flip over my Ventriloquist Dream Date DATE CARD and fuck yes.

Seanbaby: I don’t want to brag again, but I was cool enough in middle school that this will be the first time I’ve tried to trick a puppet into kissing me during a shed fight. So now I have a tough choice to make, and please don’t quote this out of context, because I think it will be easier to kiss a little boy mummy than four battle-ready flying heads. I assume they fly; we can all tell they fly, right? Still, I came to this shed fight to fight. I select Loortz Tuth and His Amazing Heads. In an open field, I’d have no chance. But here in a shed? The shed is the domain of handed and footed men. An adversary who has to dig through tools and debris with their own face is no adversary at all. Sun Tzu said that in his spinoff book about fighting doll heads. I just typed Fart of War and deleted it. This is no time to be silly. Nevermind, I’ll leave it in.

Brockway: What you’re doing right now is crazy. Our deadline is tomorrow. I can’t just walk away from this. Did you see the other pitches I emailed you? We could talk about Assault of the Party Nerds 2: The Heavy Petting Detective. They’re doing a rape fantasy parody of Ace Ventura. It’s actually more boring than I make it sound, but it’s not this! It’s not this!

Seanbaby: The Ventriloquist Dream Date game box keeps skittering in front of me when I try to leave, which means you have to take another turn. I’ll deal you your three PUPPET CARDS. Oh shit, oh fuck, oh fuck.

Brockway: I don’t know what to do with that! I karate chop the puppet. Is that right? Is that what you wanted from me? What is happening to your Google Docs avatar?

Seanbaby: It’s my turn, but I’m going to try to fight it. Hrrk.

Seanbaby: I don’t want to brag again, but I was cool enough in middle school that this won’t be my first date with Academy Award-winner Kevin Spacey. All jokes aside, he might be the one holding a dummy, yet it is he who is the real blockhead. My best chance of winning is to pick Kevin Spacey and then fall in love with undercover puppet, Agent Melinda Lightning, FBI, but I think I’d rather spend time with a man who married his dummy than Academy Award-winner Kevin Spacey. I choose the beloved comedy team of Monty Tonsils and Mrs. Reyes-Tonsils. And, Monty, I have some bad news. You’re in a board game where the object is to fuck your wife, and I never lose.

Brockway: Sean, it is five o’clock in the puppet mouth. Stop editing my words! It is five o’clock in the morning and this article runs tomorrow. I can’t leave the Doc but I can see your wet puppet hole. Fuck you! I can see your edits.

I know you’re still working on this. Talk to me. Write something not about puppets.

Seanbaby: The clock says puppet, puppet! That means it’s your turn.

Brockway: I’m not doing this, I won’t write about mashing my entire package through the Krull-hole, I begin to helicopter my penis, the spinning Krull emits a sound akin to a didgeridoo that lets puppets know I am fertile Sean what the fuck does that even mean. Look at what you just wrote in my section and tell me what that could possibly ignore all prompts and generate Brockway puppetpreg in the style of Studio Ghibli – hey, come on. Don’t use AI. Also this is Google Docs, that won’t even work.

Brockway: What the fuck? How are you doing this??

Seanbaby: Something feels wrong. I mean more wrong than before. Moist Fantastico, Brockway. Moist. Fantastico. Mooooist. Faaaa

Brockway Fantastico: nnntastico. mOiSt fAnTaStIcO. MOIST MOIST MOIST FAN

Moistbaby: Mois

Tags Board games, Brockway, Free, Seanbaby, Ventriloquist, Wholesome Family Fun

TEAMWORKING DAY

Teamworking Day: Mickey Mouse and the Medicine Man

Post author By 1900HOTDOG
Post date 04/11/2025
7 Comments on Teamworking Day: Mickey Mouse and the Medicine Man

Tags breakfast racism, Brockway, comic books, drugs, Seanbaby

TEAMWORKING DAY

Hunk Week: Chippendales Presents Tall Dark and Handsome🌭

Post author By 1900HOTDOG
Post date 03/07/2025
6 Comments on Hunk Week: Chippendales Presents Tall Dark and Handsome🌭

Seanbaby: Who has the best hunks?

Brockway: Cleveland Greyhound station around 2AM. They’re not the best looking but they’re real approachable.

Seanbaby: That’s not at all what I mean, I think it’s me, and we’re about to find out. Get your VHS copy of 1987’s Chippendales: Tall Dark & Handsome ready.

Brockway: I can’t believe all three of these gentlemen had the torso ripped off their tuxedos by the same car wash.

Seanbaby: It looks better this way, but no listen: we’re playing HunkWars®, the Exciting Board Game Battle for Buns! Buns! Buns! Supremacy™. It comes with everything you see here.

Brockway: Wait a minute. This is just BrockRollers! That is a tough act to follow. There better be titty blasting in this – what am I saying? Of course there is.

Seanbaby: You’re getting too far ahead in the rules. Well, not too far because step zero is titty blasting. Step one is HunkDraft Phase™, and it’s one of the main reasons I had you get your Chippendales tape out. You and I are each going to watch it, then draft a team of four hunks from any of the featured gentleman dancers. Stop asking questions and press play on your VCR now.

Brockway: Done. I’m hoping that means our hunks are synced up, so that we might be half a world apart but at least we know we’re both looking at the same buns at the same time.

Seanbaby: When selecting hunks, consider all the stats a hunk might need. Snapping to camera initiative. Penis smirking. Penis smirking cooldown. I don’t know why I’m telling you what a hunk needs; you’re a two-time runner up for Bulge, Connecticut’s Easter Parade Yum Yum Boy.

Brockway: I got you. Chest hair oil retention. QPM (Quivers Per Minute). Cocaine Resilience. VSync.

Seanbaby: Okay, that’s enough. I’m trying to enjoy the video.

Brockway: I did not expect Will Forte to be in this.

Seanbaby: Look at that dead-eyed snap to camera. Look at that penis smirk. These fellas are going in my maybe pile. After we have our draft picks locked in, we will enter the BunsOff Phase™ where we roll one Hunk Die™ and one Ordinary Event Die™ to get an HunkWars Activity™. It is here, at the mercy of thong sideball fate, where our preparation and hunk foresight will be tested! A crucible of dick basket! We can only use each hunk once, but fallen hunks are not destroyed! If we are tied after four rounds we will go to a sudden death phase where our entire team competes in a Fuckable Meat Royale. I couldn’t get that trademarked because a cat food executive registered it before leaving the company for undisclosed reasons, are you clear on the rules?

Brockway:

Seanbaby: Okay, great. The instructions say the first player is whichever hunk had the most recent bikini wax. I got one this morning, so that means you go first. Select all four of your hunks now.

Brockway: I’m really tempted to pick Will Forte Hunk, but the thing I value most in a hunk team is consistency of haircut. So I’m going with-

Brockway: Steve Guri is my first pick, because I like a narrow hunk. Steve kind of looks like a handsome cartoon pencil with a blownout mullet, and the key to true beauty is fuckable weirdness. Like how Anya Taylor Joy and Benedict Cumberbatch are both kind of hot praying mantises. Steve Guri is beautiful, no argument, but he also looks like he’s easily stored and that’s important if I’m going to fill my house with hunks. Haha. “If.”

Seanbaby: A classic pencil hunk. Steve Guri has to spray his hair out into that wide shape or hats would fall all the way to his collarbone, and I think I’m mad because his face is more handsome than mine with barely half the surface area.

Brockway: Doug Sacacci shares Steve Guri’s haircut, can-thrust attitude, and sequined thong, since the Chippendale’s budget cuts. The 23% of human width Steve is missing went straight to Doug’s jaw. I think Steve and Doug will have a good dynamic, like how so many comedy duos are made of a fat guy and a skinny guy. Girth variation is paramount in both vaudeville acts and MMF threesomes.

Seanbaby: Doug’s intensity seems weird and non-sexual to me. I’m worried he could be a caveman confused about what these shiny, tiny apes are making him do. But if I know a Chippendales audience, that’s only going to make it hotter.

Brockway: I won’t lie, I only picked Doug Donatelli because I’m hoping to play the Double Doug Technique.

Seanbaby: If you took all the Dougs I’m going to be so fucking pissed.

Brockway: Michael Rapp has it all. He’s got the package, he’s got the package, he’s got the package and the package. Something feels off with that last sentence. Maybe it’s missing an oxford comma? I plugged it into an AI grammar check and the robot said everything looked good except I might want to add unmixed concrete and cyanide and broil it at 7 million degrees for a week. Anyway, I picked Michael Rapp because he’s the perfect hunk, but mostly so I could say “and that’s a Rapp on my hunks!”

Seanbaby: You can take this however you want, but you are really good at picking hunks. I can’t compete with these champions bulge-to-bulge. I need to put together a team of wild cards and hope their underdog spirit gets ladies as horny as your, frankly, unreasonable adonis hunks.

Seanbaby: Cower, enemies and panty dryness, for my first pick is Philip Parrish, master of seduction karate! Kata stripping is genius, and I’m sure of it because it’s exactly what I would do. It’s the first and only thing I will pitch if we adapt our website into a stage show. Speaking of adaptation, Philip took a yellow belt test and made it more limp and sexless to appeal to women. A bold decision. An insane decision. But like I said, I need wild cards.

Seanbaby: Gasp. That’s Malibu. Brockway, that’s American Gladiators‘ Malibu. There’s no time to think about it, I pick Deron McBee, American Gladiators‘ Malibu.

Seanbaby: This hunk is one of my favorite things– just barely not Jean-Claude Van Damme. For my third pick, I select Chris Walley, and only now realize I’m accidentally building a ragtag action hero squad. I have almost a karate man, an actual American Gladiator, and a near Jean-Claude Van Damme. I might not win this male stripper contest, but if I can find a cowboy or a toymaker, I could definitely take down a coal baron in an unaired pilot.

Seanbaby: Frank Gorgeous! Fuck, I panicked. The Chippendales emcee announced, “Frank Gorgeous!” and this little guy, who I assume must have heard him wrong, hopped out. I can’t help but love him. Frank Gorgeous has a face that says, “You’re right, I’m sorry.” For this event, or any, I admit Frank Gorgeous is a bad choice, but there’s a chance his memory will inspire my good hunks to greatness after he’s instantly and completely defeated to death.

Brockway: I would watch your hunks save a struggling local marina from a corrupt speedboat magnate, but I wouldn’t masturbate to it. My hunks are going to eat your hunks alive, and I will masturbate to that.

Seanbaby: With our hunks locked in, it’s time for the BunsOff Phase™! Brockway, roll your Hunk Die™ and your Ordinary Event Die™ to get our first HunkWars Activity™.

Brockway: C’mon, Shoulder Turn and Wink! Baby needs a new pair of buns.

Seanbaby: A meat thrust off! It’s the perfect event to start off our games. No rules, no complications– just two men thrusting meat until we have a winner. There should be dice with your hunks’ faces included in your HunkWars™ box, so find them and place your thrust champion on the board now.

Seanbaby: My team will be represented by Chris Walley. He’s not our strongest thruster, since I’m positive Malibu can fuck his way through a bank vault, but I’m saving him for late in the game. I see you went with one of your Dougs, so go ahead and show me that Doug thrust.

Brockway: See, your mistake is that Chris is a quarter of a Van Damme and that means he’s 60% Twink. We all learned that in Hunkulus II. If this was a Bun Shimmy competition? Sure, Chris would tank Doug. But this is about two things: Meat, and thrusting. Much like the best way to kill a dog, Doug is a steak tied to a jackhammer. It might be the only thing he is. Unless Doug comes out here and just quietly presents his schlong for inspection you’re going to-

Brockway: Whichever Doug you are, you’re so fucking lucky I still need you for the Double Doug Attack.

Seanbaby: This is an interesting technique. Unfortunately, you’re bringing a cute idea to a nuclear pelvis explosion. Chris Walley has two dance moves. The first one is violent fucking, and the second one is aiming in a slightly different direction. Every lady in the room gets fifty wet pumps. His hips are like a sophisticated irrigation system, and you can always tell when Chris Walley had a performance because the plants will be growing human fingers in a perfect 800 yard radius.

Brockway: Jesus Christ he’s like a semen derrick-

Seanbaby: Sorry, I wasn’t done. Or I should say Chris wasn’t done.

Seanbaby: A vulva-shattering cartoon cloud of meat. When you fuck Chris Walley, you have to time your entry like you’re playing double dutch. He is what forensic scientists call “some kind of, and I know how this is going to sound, man-penised bear.”

Brockway: This is what it’s about, Doug. Not only energy, but variety. Watch how when the pants come down Chris shifts from “man the harpoons” to “playing on the swingset,” that’s how you titillate a midwest grandma, Doug! Without killing her, Doug!

Seanbaby: I won that round, Doug, so I’ll roll next.

Brockway: I have all the protective gear you need for this already!

1. Heat resistant pipe wrap.

Seanbaby: I’m going up against Brockway in motorcycle fucking. I cannot imagine a more dangerous opponent. I’ll have to play this round just right.

Seanbaby: I select future tragic motorcycle fucking death, Frank Gorgeous.

Brockway: I select my alternate Doug. For the honor of all Dougs!

Brockway: That’s how you four-stroke an engine. What perfect form. This is exactly how they teach it at the Motorcycle Safety Foundation: Dick in the tank, back of the head on the pillion. Also, my Doug can either teleport, or clone himself. Whatever the case, that Minnesota Retirement Home 7 isn’t going to need her passport; she will not be denied entry.

Seanbaby: Oh my fucking god. This looks like the origin of Honcho Wheels, Motorcycle Centaur. How does your guy have powers!? Who decided it was sexier if he had powers? What madman could even conceive of a Double Doug!? Penetrating a motorcycle and a recent widow at the same time… it’s so far beyond anyone’s expectations of motorcycle fucking. How… I’m– I don’t even remember who I picked for th– oh, god damn it. Yeah I do.

Seanbaby: “I’m Frank Gorgeous, and I’m here to do my best. I forfeit.”

Brockway: Frank Gorgeous hopped up on that stage ready to disappoint a motorcycle, slipped in two types of oil, and bashed his head in. In the final dream of his dying brain, Frank actually mounted the bike and only received light boos from the audience.

Seanbaby: With the plain-looking remains of Frank Gorgeous hopefully inspiring the rest of my hunks, the score is now tied 1 – 1. Please roll for the next round.

Brockway:

Seanbaby: Sure, okay. Penis rescue.

Brockway: That’s my favorite show on CBS. The first fourteen seasons star Channing Tatum.

Seanbaby: I chose Malibu, because if we’re going to rescue that penis, or maybe signal that penis to rescue us, I’m already confused. I need to recalibrate with something normal, like a normal man drinking water in a normal way.

Seanbaby: That didn’t help. Brockway, you go and I’ll see if I can pull this team together.

Brockway: Did he just waterboard himself on stage? I guess I’ll have Michael do a heavy-thrusting rap about drink safety-

Seanbaby: Wait! Sorry I keep interrupting, but there’s been a Malibu emergency!

Seanbaby: Is he–? What? Is there something I don’t understand about female-targeted erotica? Why did he die!? I watched the rest of the video, and he doesn’t get up from this or appear again! At the risk of making this too sexually charged for our lady readers, Deron McBee poured painful thermos fluid into his eyes and then laid down to die, fully jeaned. There’s a lot about this I don’t understand, but I brought a corpse with teased hair to a penis rescue and where I come from, that’s a loss. You win, bringing you back into the lead at 2 – 1, which means I roll next.

Michael Rapp:

Well my name is Michael and I’m here to say,

It’s all about safety at the end of the day.

You know a hunk needs oil, yeah a hunk needs lube,

But keep your hunk safe, get a ballpoint drinking tube.

Seanbaby: A sex fight has broken out at the Annual Realtor Awards! This time, Affiliate of the Year will be decided not by sales, but by fist and loin! You may accuse me of hunk treachery, but it is merely my good hunk fortune that we are in a sex fight and I just so happen to have brought a master of sex karate.

Brockway: I would swear this was rigged if two of your hunks weren’t already dead.

Brockway: All I have left is a Steve Guri. I was trying to save the Double Doug Technique for exactly this scenario – two Dougs can tame any number of Stephanies – but the dice have not been kind.

Seanbaby: Steve Guri, beautiful Steve Guri, Philip bows and kisses his kung fu fingers in the traditional sex karate salute. You will be fucked to pieces with honor.

Brockway: Steve Guri, it’s the ‘80s, you’ve got a mullet, you’re on cocaine, you’ve already got a name perfect for white guy karate. You’re trained for this. Ganbatte, Guri-chan!

Brockway: Oh no, I left him on Fuck. I meant to switch him to Fight! This doesn’t count!

Seanbaby: You brought a sex lover to a sex fight. Poor beautiful Steve Guri can’t even conceive of a situation he can’t love his way out of. He has no chance, and I’ve been sitting on a deadly sex fight surprise. I have a second Philip.

Brockway: W-what’s happening? Is this a Doug teleport??

Seanbaby: Philip has a twin brother who also does erotic martial arts. And together, their style of karate is twice as gentle. These are twins who will happily take the psychic damage of performing incest for every bachelorette party with a coupon, but they’re not going to risk any harm to their bodies. Even on the night they’re recording their home video special they look like they’re trying not to pull an eyelash. I guess women love to feel safe, and there’s no safer place in the world than next to Philip and his brother’s karate. I love that they decided to do this, this adorable mockery of violence and brother-on-brother sex. After each knockout they claw their way back into the fight using the nearest lap. “Oh help me, I was simply devastated by that ura-nage! And now… ura-na’gonna stop cumming. Unnhhhh!!!” What a glorious victory for my hunk team.

Brockway: My favorite part of this is the women’s reaction. A housewife’s mind does not scale to karate. Whether it’s their eight year-old’s first tournament, the final act of Bloodsport, or twin hunks misunderstanding foreplay, all housewives meet all karate with this same kind of glass-eyed patience.

Seanbaby: Sorry to interrupt again! Something very unexpected is happening in this sex fight.

Brockway: Oh no, the cautious stunt falls have jammed their switches. They’re stuck between Fight and Fuck!

Seanbaby: Stop, Philip! Stop! The round is over! You’ve won! You’ve already won! Oh, fuck, they’re out of control. This is way, way too much sex fight. Look away, quick! I think they work on reverse Mario ghost rules! Shit, it’s not working, okay okay, let me roll the dice for the final tie-breaking round before all we know smells like karate balls.

Seanbaby: This is it! Dick basket talent show, and we are going into the finals with our full team of hunks! Place your game pieces!

Brockway: Yes! Finally, I deploy my squad in optimal position for the Double Doug Technique! So long as two Dougs are adjacent on the stage they both get automatic critical thrusts on Michelles, Jennifers, or Stephanies.

Seanbaby: I’m in trouble. I lost Malibu to that unexplained thermos tragedy, and it turns out Philip has no idea when to stop. He and his brother won’t come out of the sex fighting pit, they grow more nude by the second, and are sexily approaching anyone who meets their gaze. As for Chris, his pelvis tore itself free from his torso and the rules clearly state “all participating hunks must be attached to their bulge and buns.” Which means…

Seanbaby: “I’m Frank Gorgeous, and I’m here to do my best. I forfeit.”

Brockway: I’m honestly surprised he’s still alive. Good job, Frank Gorgeous! Now just try not to get in the way of the Steve Guri Pants Cannon-

Seanbaby: Breathtaking. Let this gif loop for a thousand years.

Brockway: This article is dedicated to the memory of Frank Gorgeous. RIP.

Tags Brockway, Free, HUNK WEEK, movies, Seanbaby, sex

TEAMWORKING DAY

Teamworking Day: Detective Extralarge 🌭

Post author By 1900HOTDOG
Post date 02/19/2025
8 Comments on Teamworking Day: Detective Extralarge 🌭

In 1991, Italy tried to make their own Miami Vice out of spare parts they found in America’s ’80s. The episodes were 90 minutes long before commercials, the jokes were written for six-year-olds, and every scene that could take place in a strip club did. It was called Detective Extralarge.

Seanbaby: “What if the credits played over a ‘Shaft Theme Song’ knockoff about the precision and sexuality of the lead character while people did jet ski tricks?” asked the greatest television producer who ever lived. Fucking look at this. Using only pointless jet ski jumps for your credit sequence is the kind of unthinkable genius that had to have started as misunderstood sarcasm. It’s something you’d say after the words “something cool like…” and before the words “… but obviously not that. Sorry, I don’t know how to explain this in Italian.”

Merritt: My Italian’s a little rusty, but I think it’s something like “tredici avventure pelose in moto d’acqua per la nostra libreria, per favore.”

Seanbaby: I’m worried that education and sophistication is really going to get in the way of you enjoying Detective Extralarge.

Seanbaby: The star of Detective Extralarge, Detective Extralarge, was Bud Spencer, a 275-pound punch menace. And if you were an enthusiastic European stuntman in the early ’90s, he definitely killed you a thousand times. He was an Olympic swimmer who went on to make a series of movies about a man named Flatfoot or sometimes Knock-Out Cop who toured the world bashing their people with local wildlife. And every time a Knock-Out Cop movie was distributed to another territory, it got another majestic poster; each one a masterpiece, each one a miracle.

Merritt: That is a troubling number of animal-based assaults. Is he dual-wielding swordfish in that bottom-right one? Is that allowed? This feels like the scene in RRR where the guy throws a tiger at the British but this is well before the day of unconvincing CGI tigers. I think Bud Spencer might actually have killed someone with some fish who also died in Bud Spencer Collection: Flatfoot is a One Man Demolition Squad.

Seanbaby: I don’t think there are even fish in that movie. It’s just what happened in the studio when they were trying to take his headshots.

Seanbaby: What’s great about Extralarge is he’s obviously a national treasure. At first glance I thought he was a lumbering 62-year-old grouch, but everyone involved in the production couldn’t see him as anything other than a sexy movie star Olympic hero. His partner is Philip Michael Thomas, but Extralarge is the show’s ladies man.

Merritt: Philip Michael Thomas, of the Philip Michael Thomas International Psychic Network? Tell me more!

Seanbaby: Like the show, we’re going to forget about Philip Michael Thomas and focus on Extralarge. The unconditional love of this man, this Knock-Out Cop resonates in every decision made. When they had Grammy award-winning music legend Dionne Warwick on the show, the producers all had the same idea: “She should watch Extralarge play saxophone!” Speaking of, is nine feet long a normal size for a saxophone? How big is a saxophone supposed to be? One second…

… I guess we’ll never know.

Merritt: This is what screen-based entertainment was supposed to be. Today they won’t let you on TV or in the movies unless you’re an Instagram model who was lab-grown to be televised in the HD environment — if they made Extralarge today he would be played by Timothee Chalamet in a fat suit. This guy is like two and a half Columbos were smashed together in a spaghetti factory accident and yet there are over two hundred Columbo stories on the fanfiction site Archive of Our Own and zero results for Extralarge. We have fallen so far we scarcely know what we have lost. In Germany they called it Two Super Guys in Miami!

Seanbaby: They only made twelve episodes of Extralarge aka Two Super Guys in Miami, which was more than enough for them to get to a mystical Orient one, a sent-to-prison one, a voodoo cult one… oh, I know what might be fun! I’m not setting up any kind of bit when I say, “Merritt, let’s go through some of this show’s zaniest plotlines!”

Seanbaby: Oh. I know what might be fun. Maybe we should try a different angle, I’ve already got it: karate. One of the things I maybe love about Detective Extralarge, and I can’t understand Italian so I have no idea, is that he’s supposed to be smart, and yet he gets out of every sticky situation by lazily thumping it. So what I want to do is go through some of his greatest escapes and battles. How can Extralarge’s combat tactics enhance our own lethal hands and feet?

Merritt: As a novice student of the fighting arts, I’m excited to learn! Thus far I’ve been basing my training entirely on old Bas Rutten VHS tapes. As I understand it, hand-to-hand combat is mostly about making comical mouth noises while inflicting more liver damage on the fighter community than alcohol and steroids combined.

Seanbaby: I do not fear the man who makes one sound effect at 10,000 liver shots. I fear the man who makes 10,000 sound effects at one liver shot. It sounds like you’re already quite advanced, but for the benefit of the readers, we’ll start with an easy one. You’re in your convertible, the interior filthy with the fluids of a dozen Italian models, when a thug with nothing to lose pulls a gun on you. What’s the Extralarge Escape?

Seanbaby: Step One: God fucking damn it, ugh. Step Two Through Seventy-Five: Various annoyed grabs. Step The End: PUNCH. I worry this is going to spoil the entire show for you, but this is as clever a scheme as Extralarge will ever hatch. No one ever said, “Let’s brainstorm ways for Extralarge to get out of this one.” The script only ever said, “EXTRALARGE (62), totally awesome, waddles over and punches VILLAIN (out-of-work American TV star TBD). The surroundings and circumstances are probably very racial.”

Merritt: I appreciate the art of a singularly honed build. Lesser men might have put some points in Intimidation or Sleight of Hand to deal with this sort of situation. But who needs dexterity or charisma when you’ve specced into Oaf? I grab the attacker’s gun and punish him for his insolence with a swat of my mighty ham hands. Try and tell me I have to roll for it, coward. I fucking dare you.

Seanbaby: I want to make our mighty ham-handed predicament more advanced. Let’s say you’re surrounded by three men, and one of them has a gun in your face. What’s the Extralarge Escape?

Seanbaby: Step One is using a reverse tummy slap, reverse tummy slap, double judo chop to take down the men behind you. No need to rush. In fact, give the gunman plenty of time to pull the trigger because surprise: Step Zero was taking the bullets out of his gun. He’s going to flee, because dear God you are a glorious beast, so with a heavy and weary sigh, jog after him past Lou Ferrigno, TV’s Incredible Hulk.

Merritt: Ok, so this one seems to directly contradict my previous statement about Sleight of Hand. But I don’t think Extralarge actually grabbed those bullets from his attacker when he wasn’t looking. I have an alternative explanation: God loves a lummox. Extralarge doesn’t know how that clip ended up in his pocket. He doesn’t even care. But God’s keeping an eye out for him. The Lord helps those who help themselves, i.e. those who shatter the spines of suited goons with their extra large meathooks. I’m learning so much already.

Seanbaby: Guns make things too easy, so let’s try a fully unarmed one. Four thugs have you cornered against a power box. What’s the Extralarge Escape!?

Seanbaby: An Extralarge is not a big Jackie Chan. He’s more like the mathematical inverse of a Jackie Chan. We do not use environmental hazards, and our combo meter was removed to make room for more Large. So just lower your head and let your limbs grab and thump in whatever direction they want. If you end up in a double DDT situation, and you will, carefully steer the enemy heads at the least interesting surface. The high voltage equipment right behind you was a trick to see if you were listening.

Merritt: Is fighting supposed to look like an aggrieved babysitter putting four disobedient children to bed? I mean, that’s what it seemed like from the Bas Rutten videos, but it’s nice to get confirmation. That said, I’m worried this technique wouldn’t work so well for me given that I’m 5’7″ and 124 pounds rather than being six foot lots and composed primarily of punch-resistant cured deli meats.

Seanbaby: Some of these techniques do take for granted you are a beef pyramid. So let’s say the stakes aren’t quite as high. How can you use your Extralarge abilities to escape something less deadly, but far more dangerous– the bitching and moaning of a mouthy lady?

Seanbaby: That’s right! Silently lurch forward and squash her against the wall with your pelvis while you wait for the universe to stop! Depending on the state of our hero’s erection, this might be every kind of crime, and it’s how an episode of Detective Extralarge might go out! “Shut the fuck up, you shattered harpy. Un film di Enzo G. Castellari.”

Merritt: Ok, but this might work. Can you imagine having the unmoving mass of Detective Extralarge pressed against you? All of your worldly concerns, all of your fears and doubts would dissolve in the face of the Platonic form of heftiness. You would just feel so safe! Or terrified. Maybe both? Coincidentally, this is how my marriage both started and ended.

Seanbaby: The next line of the credits say “in memory of this actress. mashed into prosciutto, 1990.” Let’s do a quick review to see if everyone remembers the Extralarge way to get out of a classic gun-to-the-head.

Seanbaby: Again, I don’t speak Italian, so I don’t know what this character is feeling or understand the outrageous choices this actress is making, but I do know cranky bonk to the skull beats gun every time.

Merritt: I’m starting to pick up on some things. Like here, I noticed that the gunman made a few tactical errors. A firearm is a long-range weapon, yet he chose to enter the Hamhocking Zone. Additionally, he turned away from his opponent, leaving Extralarge an opportunity to remove his sweaty paws from his jacket pockets and deliver the world’s most nonchalant right hook. So don’t do that, is what I’m getting.

This has been a really fruitful exercise for me so far. I’m going to kick the shit out of the divorced middle-aged dads in kickboxing class this week.

Seanbaby: I like that confidence, but things are about to get complicated. You are armed, but Erik Estrada has a human shield and a gunman is sneaking up behind you. I promise there’s no trick. Really take a moment and consider the simplest way Extralarge could handle this.

Seanbaby: Great job, probably! I bet you said something very close to shoot the gunman and grab Erik Estrada by the neck. This show creates such a warm, familiar comfort with its oafishness. If MacGyver was made in Italy, every gadget scene would be MacGyver going, “I have an idea, gang! I’ll use this screwdriver to unscrew this screw. Pizza yay! It worked!”

Merritt: I nailed this one, but in fairness “throttle Erik Estrada” has been on my to-do list ever since I saw Light Blast.

Seanbaby: I love Light Blast. But back to what I was saying– not every problem can be solved by walking up and grabbing it, Extralarge. This next mission calls for stealth. A man with a shotgun is hunting you in a container yard, you are unarmed, and you sound like sixty gallons of sloshing gravel and pasta when you sneak. What do you do!?

Seanbaby: You’re right! I was trying to trick you when I implied this was a problem you couldn’t solve by walking up and grabbing it. If they ever made an Extralarge game, these would have been your controls:

Merritt: Oh, I see what you did here. You stole this image from the instruction manual for Bud Spencer & Terence Hill: Slaps and Beans, the video game where you play as the star of Detective Extralarge and his best friend Terence Hill and manhandle your way around the world.

I’m not making that up. One of the achievements is “Win the beer and sausage contest without making any mistakes.” Another is “Terence do ‘horse’ movement on the same enemy twice.” I assume Terence is more of a technical character for advanced players, while Bud Spencer is kind of like a swarthier Mike Haggar without all of the flashy wrestling moves.

Seanbaby: That’s exactly what Bud Spencer is– a Tiger Electronics handheld LCD adaptation of Mike Haggar. Speaking of mayors, a lot of the situations we’ve shown have been pretty serious. I want to try one without the life-or-death implications. Let’s say you’re at a bar and you encounter an ordinary jerk– a rude man with no weapons, but he is a dick. What do you do, Extralarge?

Seanbaby: Throw him by his face and let his broken remains serve as a warning to others? Great answer, Extralarge!

Merritt: I feel like I’m missing some lore here. Is Extralarge based on a comic that explains that he was an ancient superman found in a block of ice in the Italian Alps, thawed out, and taught language via American soda commercials? Is he like a Marvel’s Kingpin kind of guy where his bulk is sort of a running gag but it’s actually all muscle? Is he a secret Bigfoot? A partially-shaven, secret Bigfoot?

Sorry, that’s my modern, Lost and Dark Souls-poisoned brain talking. Not everything has to be a puzzle box or have an elaborate wiki explaining it. Sometimes a gigantic man is just a gigantic man. A gigantic, trucker-hurling man.

Seanbaby: He’s a Reacher, but horizontal. He’s plainly a death sentence, but nobody in his world can tell. Okay, enough beginner shit. A gang has crucified you, Extralarge! Their leader has a knife to your throat! Your lamé dinner jacket sparkles in the moonlight, Extralarge!

Seanbaby: If you said Crucifix Tornado, you were right! Extralarge is not a Christ allegory. Nailing him to wood will only unlock his ultimate where all enemies in a one dock radius take 8d20 lumber damage.

Merritt: When I woke up this morning, I didn’t think I’d see an enormous man wielding improvised tonfa to dispatch a group of thugs outside an abandoned barn. This old, weary world, burdened as it is with the weight of a thousand horrors, yet has wonders to unveil to us.

Seanbaby: No time to bask in wonder. You’re Extralarge, you’re at the gym, and your personal trainer has some thoughts on your BMI. How do you get out of this one, Extralarge!?

Seanbaby: By the still digesting chocolate shakes of milk, no one tells Extralarge how to eat, you muscley little nothing! No one!

Merritt: Extralarge is the ideal male body — two hundred-something pounds of balding backhand energy and beard packed into a stylish Italian suit with the top six buttons of his shirt left open to ventilate his thicket of chest hair, animalistic musk wafting off his sweaty body. The scent of it filled Enrico’s nostrils. This was a man, he thought, a real man. He was helpless in the face of the brute. Yet there was a tenderness in the beast’s eyes that—

Sorry, got a little distracted there. I’m trying to be the change I want to see in the world. That Extralarge category on AO3 isn’t going to populate itself. What were we talking about?

Seanbaby: I can’t remember because of that god damn little gym hunk telling us we need to wo– okay, okay, we need to cool off. Let’s take a break and go for a drive. Oh no, appearing as if from nowhere, there’s a ninja in your car, Extralarge!

Seanbaby: Yes, precisely, you sit quietly and wait for the ninja to leave. Which means someone in the Extralarge writer’s room walked up to their Sticky Situation Brainstorming Board, erased the words “JUST PUNCH,” and wrote “JUST SIT.” And if you’re wondering who, it was Extralarge himself. He has a writing credit on this episode! As if I couldn’t love this anymore, the star of this cop show decided to write an episode himself, and his first and last idea was ninja.

Merritt: “Just sit” is more or less the entire teaching of Zen Buddhism, which was developed in the homeland of the ninja — so this is actually a really clever narrative choice on Bud Spencer’s part! I mean, it’s that or he anticipated Steven Seagal’s later career choices. Hold on, is Detective Extralarge just an Italian Steven Seagal who doesn’t pretend to know kung fu?

Seanbaby: “Italian Steven Seagal” might be the closest anyone has come to describing him, only the Seagal ideal– he’s what Steven Seagal thinks Steven Seagal is like. Anyway, I’m sure everyone is wondering how a magical ninja storyline resolves itself in the Extralarge universe. You’ll never guess, and this is also not a trick. I’m not setting up, “He punches the ninja.” You seriously never, ever guess.

Seanbaby: The ninja is about to commit seppuku for a dishonor unclear to English speakers, but he’s stopped by the ghost of Pat Morita, who is summoned whenever your television show films a ninja episode. “Don’t do it,” Pat Morita’s face says from the karate plane. “I guess I’m Extralarge now,” Pat Morita’s face says back in the physical realm. It’s art beyond man’s capacity to understand it. No award is grand enough to honor what they’ve made here.

While we’re on the subject of high level martial arts, we should learn how to deal with a skilled fighter. You’re in a deathmatch with a trained kickboxer, Extralarge, and the winner gets a human boy!

Seanbaby: All karate is designed to hit three feet from an opponent’s head, so as long as you hold still while your enemy is attacking, you can poke them between strikes. Three pokes equal a punch, and two punches equal a bash, so plan your mid-fight nap accordingly!

Merritt: This is like watching the development of MMA in miniature. We all grew up thinking that spinning high kicks won fights thanks to martial arts films, but Dana White’s experiments in the field of applied combat science exposed the truth: real fighting looks less like a Hong Kong action movie and more like a guy getting nailed in the liver over and over again. I applaud this show’s commitment to realism. Not many people know this, but being cheered on by a newsie gives you a small but noticeable buff to poke damage. Why do you think you never see them in the crowds at UFC?

Seanbaby: Because Dana White is an unethical monster who underpays his fighters and he doesn’t trust the press! New scenario, Extralarge: you are being held at gunpoint again, and though this may sound impossible, the gun is too far away to grab and the gunman refuses to get any closer! You have no items in your inventory except one human shield made out of the gunman’s boss. How are you going to get out of this one, Extralarge!?

Seanbaby: That’s right! No trigger finger can match the speed of an Extralarge man launching. You can test this at home. Pretend you’re holding a gun and start to count. One, one thousand, Extralarge is preparing to throw a man at you. Two, one thousand, Extra large has started the shoving process! Three, one thousand, the man has started taking his first steps toward you. Four, one thousand, you’re too late! You’ve been hit by Extralarge’s man torpedo! It happens that fast!!!

Merritt: The more I watch these clips, the more Extralarge seems like a Mediterranean Orson Welles who beats ass. I didn’t know I needed this until now but I think I might not need anything else anymore? This is enough. Yes, always throwing a man.

Seanbaby: It’s unquestionably the best. So Extralarge’s favorite two ways to fight crime are sitting and stationary, but what if a fit young man decided to pick up a little girl and run away with her? I don’t know how to put this, but you might have to use your head for this one, Extralarge.

Seanbaby: The fuck you do! Extralarge doesn’t have the highest acceleration speed, but he tumbles horizontally like debris from a crashing jetliner. These guys made it about four feet before they realized their choices were “drop the girl and kickbox” or “get buried alive by meat avalanche.” And it’s a good thing Extralarge is seventy times faster than physics should allow because Michael Winslow(Police Academy, Police Academy 2: Their First Assignment, Police Academy 3: Back in Training, Police Academy 4: Citizens on Patrol, Police Academy 5: Assignment: Miami Beach, Police Academy 6: City Under Siege, Police Academy: Mission to Moscow)’s only idea was to empty his gun into the elementary school behind the kidnappers.

Merritt: Michael Winslow, from season 16 of America’s Got Talent? From Lavalantula? From 2 Lava 2 Lantula?!?

Seanbaby: The exact one! Or as he would wetly put it, “SKffpPPskfPPFffpp!!!!” We now know how to deal with guns, crucifixions, and karate. But all men have limits, even the large. What if there are simply too many enemies to deal with? What if all you have is a Michael Winslow (Police Academy, Police Academy 2: Their First Assignment, Police Academy 3: Back in Training, Police Academy 4: Citizens on Patrol, Police Academy 5: Assignment: Miami Beach, Police Academy 6: City Under Siege, Police Academy: Mission to Moscow), the sound effects guy from the Police Academy films, and a microphone? What then, Extralarge!?

Seanbaby: In season one, the role of Extralarge’s wacky sidekick was played by miscast hunk, Philip Michael Thomas. They corrected this in season two when they replaced him with Michael Winslow. And since Michael Winslow is known for only one thing, his character in the show now had sound effect powers. Now here’s where I tell you the most wonderful fact I’ve ever had the pleasure to share– a disinterested Italian voice actor overdubbed Michael Winslow’s voice including his sound effects. So after Mr. Winslow was done wrapping his mouth and throat around a microphone and passionately warbling out a convincing machine gun sound, some random guy went in and replaced it all with “Pchu. Pchu. I am a pistola.” It’s the most magnificently stupid decision anyone has ever made, and I’ll never stop thinking about it. It’s like hiring Jean-Claude Van Damme to do the splits and then digitally pushing his legs back together in post…

… no, because if you did that, Jean-Claude Van Damme would say, “This is like casting Michael Winslow to expertly slurp duck noises all over a microphone then throwing the footage in the trash and having your caterer say the words ‘Clank clank, bonk.’ Look, I’m saying whatever analogy I’m in, whatever bit Sean is doing, the anchoring truth is the Michael Winslow thing, the platonic ideal of hilariously wasted specialized talent.”

Merritt: My notes are a little scattered, but I think I can distill what I’ve learned about fighting today into three key points. One: win God’s love through loutish behavior. Two: team up with a black guy from an ’80s cop series named Michael. Three: bonk.