Category: UPSETTING DAY

Upsetting Day: RAPIST BEWARE! 🌭

Post author By Seanbaby
Post date 12/08/2022
5 Comments on Upsetting Day: RAPIST BEWARE! 🌭

All karate books take place in the imagination of the author, in a world where their particular dick stomp makes them a warrior king. As a rule, self-defense books are too cynical about the world, too optimistic about karate chops, and you should expect at least one personality disorder. I’ve read hundreds, which is how I can turn any situation into a groin strike in less than zero steps, but I have seen nothing like the grotesque make-believe world imagined by 1990’s RAPIST BEWARE!

It’s hard to call this a “self-defense manual” since there isn’t much martial arts. It’s more like an unmoderated discussion about sex crimes with a few cock biting pep talks. This is more like minutes from a Legion of Doom meeting– a list of evil things shouted randomly by a gorilla, a scarecrow, an ocean murderer, and ten regular murderers. I worry I’m not explaining it very well. Let’s see how Joseph E. Stellato (local car dealer) described it on the book jacket:

Joseph calls it an “x-rated self defense course,” by which he means it’s an “ex-tremely different rated self defense course.” I don’t quite get it, and I’m not sure why we should trust him. His karate credentials aren’t listed because I found him online and I wasn’t kidding when I said he was a local car dealer.

The author himself, Louis D. Casamassa, is really something:

Lou is an undisclosed medal winner in the Marines, an unnamed trophy winner in Karate, and received Bethlehem P.D.’s “Rookie of the Year,” an award I don’t think exists. His bio inside the book only managed to stretch that same vague information across a page and a half, so I looked him up too. And, oh boy.

His Twitter is a minimalist art piece about the lost soul of America. After almost 14 years, he’s only retweeted a couple Donald Trump dog whistles, a Merry Christmas, and this:

INT. RUNDOWN NIGHTCLUB – NIGHT

A middle-aged, karate-necklaced man, LOU, touches a stranger in a Marilyn Monroe costume while she waits for the bathroom. Pan out to reveal it’s his own tweet and he has added only the words “Marylin Monroe double”. Pan out to reveal it has one (1) like. FADE OUT.

I call this screenplay Creep. I do appreciate how over 32 years, Lou’s bio has gone from “many various awards such as Best Cop of the Moon and such” to “JUST GOOGLE ME.”

Anyway, I did! And look at what I found!!!

Google mostly gave me his awful, deranged book (which I’ll get to), and these three pictures (which are awesome). I also learned he made a second Twitter account for his dangerously hot political takes. Well, take. This was his only tweet from his second account:

I assume he means Democratic Congressman Adam Schiff, which makes his only tweet a pun on a mistake that maybe also got stepped on by autocorrect? It’s beautiful. It’s like a smug fish crawling onto land to suffocate. And I think he forgot his password because he started a third Twitter account four years later. Or he’s being impersonated by someone who knows his every mannerism:

“just google.my name. Thank you” he says to his two followers, one of which is his main account. By now you might suspect me of stalling. And yes, I would love to stay here and make fun of this old man shouting “COMPUTER, RECORD TWEET: I’M NOT RACIST BUT…” into his television remote. Because Lou’s book, RAPIST BEWARE!, opens worse than you think. The first fifty six pages are nothing but sex crime definitions and statistics. And they’re illustrated with random reenactments he made with his karate students. In addition to these unhelpful photos, there are no solutions or prevention tips. So let me be clear: literally 33% of this self-defense book is the author explaining what he means, very specifically, when he says “rape.” He has categories, profiles, descriptions of the trauma victims will experience… it is a nightmare. Especially when you consider he went on to be a passionate Trump guy, whose views on attacking women are… I guess you’d call them “pro?” Anyway, I’m about to show you one of these first 56 pages, and when you see it you’ll realize why I spent 600 words mocking Lou’s social media skills.

That page is from one of the two(2) chapters about the different kinds of rape. It’s fucking crazy. I don’t know why he wrote any of this because you don’t use different techniques to avoid them. Knowing what to call the subcategory of your attack is of no comfort or tactical advantage, and you probably already figured this, but that photo of the man holding a gun to the woman’s head is not referenced. The author simply thought the words “often injures or damages the victim’s genitals or breasts” could use some generic crime clipart. It’s an artistic choice he makes a lot.

Chapter Three is called “Statistics on Rape,” but I’m making it sound too fun. It is twenty pages of disorganized crime numbers fact-checked in the ’80s by a remarkably uneducated man. He’s got the keen bullshit-detecting skills of a Trump supporter, only 32 years dumber, so it’s a dark mix of exaggeration and tragedy. And mixed right into it are the unrelated photos of him and his friends having karate fun. “Eight out of every 7 women are killed by someone black they know. Here’s me in Rudy’s Tucson backyard winning Top Karate Yell from Throwing Star magazine.”

Another strange thing about this first section is that it’s written for men. The book is clearly targeted at a female audience, but in the middle of this fear mongering he says things like, “just imagine how women must feel.” I think he figured the ladies would make their boyfriends read the numbers part of the book. And I say this only because he gets so fucking condescending when he starts talking directly to the girls:

Lou knows you, as a lady reader, are ready to surrender at even the thought of a fist fight. But have you considered how resilient you must be from all that bleeding you do? All that sad bleeding? You know who bleeds for a week and doesn’t die? Winners. Plus, women are natural maniacs. Crazy and seeping disgusting fluids are the keys to winning any conflict, and I’m not being silly. These are the fundamental aspects of Louis Casamassa’s self-defense system, and I’m so excited to share them with you. But first, more about women in general.

When Lou was a rookie cop, Rookie Cop of the Year if you believe his book jacket, he was called to a restaurant to break up a lady battle. And boy, were these dames lookers. Maybe. Some of the details don’t add up like how someone called the police, but the women waited for them to arrive before they started fighting. Or how they had a feminist objection to getting their fight broken up by a man. The point is, Lou thought he was going to die, to ladies, and remember: he was a goddamn karate cop. That’s how strong you are, women.

His anecdote continues…

The fighting women he was there to stop joined forces and kicked his ass, which is why he’s here to teach you, natural lady savages far his superior in every aspect of combat, how to protect yourself. He finally begins in Chapter Six: Grossing Out Your Assailant.

“Oh, I know where he’s going with this,” you might be thinking. You’re right. Absolutely. This is a very dumb idea by a man with a limited imagination with a 0-1 fighting record. But Lou is very proud of his very dumb idea.

So now that you know how impressed you’re going to be, let’s learn how to pee on criminals. Wait, not yet. First, let’s hear the origin story of this idea. It came to him in an arcade, and like your assailant, you’re about to be grossed out.

So if Lou, many time recipient of undisclosed awards, is to be believed, he seduced the hottest girl in town during a game of pinball. With his teenage game and below average looks, in a public place, he took her from “no thanks” to “nibbling on her neck and that kind of stuff” in the span of one hot dog. If there’s any truth to this story, and there isn’t, her side of it would probably be “that boy bit me.”

You might be thinking, “Sounds like Lou might be the assailant in this story.” Those are good instincts. It’s exactly how he knows how to stop one.

Lou, with keen judgment, mistook this stranger eating a hot dog for “ready for the big kiss.” But the moment was ruined when she burped in his face. In that moment, he suddenly realized the secret to keeping people exactly like himself away from women.

It’s fun to imagine all this being true. How in Lou’s wildest fantasy, he went for a kiss with an unsuspecting girl, got rejected by way of hot dog ghost, and leapt to his feet to curse at her. He could have made up any story, and this is what he went with. Anyway, let’s see the self-defense that event inspired:

This is it! His first self-defense tip, on page 66! Lou says to cover your face in spit and snot, which is a technique you should practice at home. And while I think this would be a fun way to cool off arcade perverts while you’re having a hot dog, I’m not sure it would have a huge effect on the criminals Lou Casamassa has been describing all book. I mean, he did several pages about madmen motivated by Satan to burn your genitals off. Blowing your nose won’t stop an attack like that, so let’s get a little more serious.

It’s tip number two and we’re already at burping, the author’s only weakness aside from women and reasoning. Since violent crimes depend on a classy, romantic setting, a burp should work on anyone. And ladies, if your digestive system is too dainty to make smells, don’t worry. The noise may still be gross enough for your assailant to call the whole thing off. Oh, you don’t think so? Fine, let’s raise the stakes.

Fart, women. Fart like your life depends on it, because it does. The smell of fart is how the Soviets held back German forces for seven months at Stalingrad. But I do want to take a moment to address how after describing all manner of horrific attackers, Lou Casamassa seems to be training his readers only in how to defeat him on a date. There is no woman alive on Earth who knows less than Lou Casamassa about defusing this kind of “assailant.” By the time a girl is 13 she has put thousands of hours of thought and practice into it. So for him to stumble in this late in the game and say, “Hey girls, I’ve solved it: FARTS,” is fucking outrageous. This is the dumbest goddamn idiot in a very competitive field, and he’s still going:

Sure, pee on yourself. Scream that you have an anus infection. “Most of the time, this should stop the attack,” says Lou, hoping you never think about how he could possibly know that. So, lady warrior, you’ve learned how to spit, burp, fart, and pee. You know what comes next?

Of course you knew. We’ve been dancing around this for four karate tips now, and at last Lou tells you to defeat your attacker by rubbing shit all over yourself. That’s the whole move, by the way. After mansplaining all manner of bodily functions, it’s only here during the pooping your pants when the author decided, “No need for more details. This is one is self explanatory.”

So Lou built up to “poop on yourself,” which is either very bad advice if you know anything, or very obvious advice if you’re a dumbass. That has to be it, the ultimate karate tip. But no, Lou has one more idea for grossing out your assailant– by grossing out their mind.

“I would never make love to a woman having a seizure,” thought the karate instructor. “Well, write what you know,” he also thought.

Those six tips represent the entirety of the first chapter on actual self-defense. They are indistinguishable from being a baby with a serious medical condition, but Lou believes it has armed you with the power of life and death. Which means it’s time for the next chapter:

Once you know farts and fake seizures are big turn offs for a nude cannibal, their life is yours to take, and no this sentence didn’t skip anything. Let’s hear Lou’s thoughts on the hardest choice all karate students must make when they look at their hands: HOW SHALL I USE THESE TERRIBLE WEAPONS?

Suspiciously, Lou is the only karate book author who says he will not personally be there when you’re being attacked. What Lou is saying is, “if you are under attack, that’s not me.” What he thinks he’s saying is that you won’t have access to his judgment while you’re standing over your assailant’s burp-deflated boner. But Lou, the women just learned what pee-pee is. They might not be ready to be the arbiters of human life. Can you break things down in a way even they, as women, can understand them?

This is perfect. If you want to un-save a life, you take the way you save a life, and then reverse it! It’s similar to a weight loss plan based around coughing up food and repackaging it as Hamburger Helper and walking backwards from the DMV where you changed your name from Steven Seagal. Hold on, I need to shut up because it’s page 71 and Lou is finally describing an actual physical attack move!!!

Oh my god, the first karate move Lou teaches is FORM YOUR HAND INTO A SHAPE LIKE THAT OF A CRAB AND TAKE THEIR FUCKING EYE.

“It will come out like a slinky,” says the eyeball plucking expert whose life was changed by seeing his first girl-on-girl fist fight a couple years ago. This book is so inconsistent. Lou is in a constant state of wonder at the majesty of woman and the potential of her snot. He knows nothing about anything. But whenever it comes to a rapist being slightly inconvenienced, he speaks about it like it’s some terrifying thing he’s seen a thousand times. Again, suspicious. He doesn’t know much, but he knows unwanted horny men hate farts, and what an eye looks like when it gets popped out by crab hands.

I have no criticism here. This is the perfect way to work your eyeball-popping muscles.

And if there’s a better technique for training to chop a penis in half, I have yet to see it. This next move, however…

Louis Casamassa’s eyes burst open. “Get me my notebook!” he shouts to his wife, a scarecrow made of restraining orders and chicken wire. “I just thought of a way to stop sucking a dick!” You know, biting an uninvited penis might be the least necessary advice Lou has given. And it’s not only the biting part, it’s the childlike explanation of what happens when penises get bitten. Who is this for? If a confused mermaid grew legs and walked out of the ocean, she would be more advanced than this by the second human man she met. And oh fuck, these situations are getting darker:

At the start of the self-defense section, Lou was complimenting women on their affinity for raw, primal violence. But all of his actual moves involve extremely risky timing. Here he tells the reader to wait until their attacker is all but done with the crime before unleashing a tiger palm. I think that’s my problem with his whole system. He can’t even destroy a dick without making it gross and weird. And I hate to come at you with more bad news, but this isn’t the only time he gives this exact advice:

So to recap, if you are attacked, release every fluid. Turn your body into a volcano of liquids and gasses. This will certainly work. Oh, it didn’t work. Okay then wait. Waaait. Now! Palm strike from a disadvantaged position! This will certainly work. “Well, it worked on me!” says the author’s subtext.

I am very worried these are Lou’s own sexual memoirs, but there are a few moments of pure dojo stupidity. I present to you… The Tiger Look!

The Tiger Look is when you make a mean face! Like a, raahrrr, tiger!!!

Holy shit, Lou had a karate teacher that had him spend 20 minutes of every class making faces in the mirror! Then Lou added diarrhea and here we are!!!

Another awesome karate thing Lou does is this:

Lou has created a martial arts technique where you drive away if someone is getting into your car and he gave it two(2!) ancient kung fu names. You can call it “the tail of the dragon!” or “the dragon sweeps the snake!” Just don’t call it late for dinner! Help I’M LOSING MY MIND! PEE ON ME!

After explaining how your changing body works and making sure all your penis attacks are as dramatic as possible, Lou ends his self-defense section with some paranoid survival tips. He tells you things like never using an initial on your mailbox because woman hunters will clock you instantly by the curve of your G. Most of his tips are like this– not exactly “unsafe,” but incapable of making any kind of difference. When your karate teacher is telling you to hide the letters of your name to foil the Random Mailbox Lady Murderer, maybe check to see if the rest of his advice was about poop. Oh, it was? I guess that explains why this is all dumb as fuck, huh?

So that’s Lou’s entire book– his entire martial philosophy. I’m only leaving one thing out, and it’s probably crazier than everything leading up to this point. RAPIST BEWARE! ends with 11 pages of karate poems.

James Kerr, if you believe Lou’s story which no one would, was a boy who was hit by a car and crippled both physically and mentally. Oh shit, I should have added quotes. Those are Lou’s exact words about his dear disabled friend who wanted nothing more than to learn the deadly techniques of Louis Casamassa, which again, are bad karate with a touch of incontinence and dick biting. Anyway, ladies, Lou knows this has been a traumatic book for you. So please enjoy this first of many unassociated karate poems:

This is a poem about having a nice time in karate class and I can’t think of a more appropriate place for it than right after 122 pages of unspeakable sex crimes. There are 19 more of these.

We’re not going to read them all, but I need you to know these never go anywhere. I need you to know Lou Casamassa wrote the most disgusting and ineffective self-defense book that will ever be, and finished it with twenty wheelchair karate poems. If I died being the only person who knew that, it is all my ghost would ever talk about. Okay, let’s do one more:

I knew Lou was a piece of shit from earlier, but I still wasn’t ready to find out he and his karate students named the guy who couldn’t walk “Snake” because he was always on the ground. Sorry, but my ghost would have never shut up about that either.

Tags books, Free, Martial Arts

UPSETTING DAY

Upsetting Day: A Very Larry Christmas 🌭

Post author By Lydia Bugg
Post date 12/05/2022
10 Comments on Upsetting Day: A Very Larry Christmas 🌭

It’s finally that festive time of year when we all get a visit from our favorite chubby, jolly, senior citizen, Larry The Cable Guy. You might be surprised to hear Larry The Cable Guy released a Christmas album, but you shouldn’t be, because that guy will do anything for money. He’s best known today as the little tow truck that introduced the world to what bathrooms in the universe of Disney’s Cars look like. Yes, the sentient Cars poop, and we would have never known if it weren’t for Larry The Cable Guy. He also recently made history by being the first person to portray a human figure on The Masked Singer without fully losing his mind to madness.

We’ve talked before on the site about how Daniel Whitney, the actor portraying Larry, is essentially trapped in a hell of his making, pretending to be a slovenly sexist uncle for life. He watched how Jaleel White spent decades trying to convince people he’s not Steve Urkle and said, “I’m going to be the mirror universe version of that. I’m going to beg people to think of me as Larry The Cable guy FOREVER.”

This decision to trap himself, Saw-like, in the persona of Larry The Cable Guy has made Daniel so, so rich. Like, has-to-have-his-own-charity-foundation-for-tax-purposes, rich. Sponsor-a-golf-tournament rich. Ha-ha-it-was-a-trap-there-is-no-tournament-you-are-being-hunted rich. He is rules-don’t-apply rich and I can prove it because his face is on a bag of lasagna made out of chunks of loose food and people buy it!

And all that money came from producing high quality comedic content, like his album A Very Larry Christmas, which debuted at number 43 on the Billboard music charts. Can you imagine being below Larry The Cable Guy on the billboard music charts? The Killers and Ashlee Simpson both had to live that reality on a cold day in 2004.

Before he was a bagged lasagna baron, Larry was a simple man who wrote Christmas songs. If there were a late-night TV commercial for this album, it would begin by asking, “Are you thirteen years old? Do you enjoy words like oriental and [mean-spirited disability noises] because they trigger the libs? Then boy, have I got a holiday album for you!”

Larry played with and softened his character in his later years, but this was when he was still desperate enough for fame to say pretty much any disgusting thing that would get him attention. This album has the energy of a child at a birthday screaming at the top of their lungs, hoping someone will beg them to stop so they can laugh in their face. The running joke is how decency exists and it can fuck itself.

If I were going to do a parody of what I expected this album to sound like, I would probably say something like, “What the hell is this Russia? Nobody says Merry Christmas no more; it’s ‘♪happy holidays♪’ or X-mas so as not to offend nobody, but these political Christmas queers can take their happy holidays and stick ’em up their humbug ass.” Oops, sorry, it turns out that’s a direct quote of the first joke on this album. It sounds more like a shirtless rant from Alex Jones than a joke, but I guess that’s one way you can get people all riled up for some comedy. Always open with pure rage.

You might be wondering, does Larry sing, or is this more of a comedy album around the theme of Christmas? Well, he does sing occasionally, and he puts Christmas music under some of his jokes, but mainly it’s just Larry talking into a dark, echoing void with no responding laughter. There’s a reason most comedy albums are recorded live. For one thing, it gives the comedian a sense of when to pause for laughter. Larry doesn’t pause, but that’s fine. I promise no one needs him to.

Some of the tracks on this album are seventeen seconds long and the sound quality on them is shittier than the other ones. It sounds like Larry is recording them on his cell phone while driving and sending them straight to production. They’re one paragraph acapella Christmas song parodies. They sound less like something Weird Al would come up with and more like a frat boy kicking around an alibi. Here’s one about a woman with… green teeth?

And here’s one about a woman w… oh no.

Other jams included in the album are “I Pissed My Pants,” sung to the tune of “Joy To The World,” “Donny The Retard,” sung to the tune of “Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer,” and “The First Queer Santy Clause” based on “The First Noel.” I gotta say, for a man who began this album with a long rant about how we should respect the sanctity of Christ’s special day, this feels, like, I dunno, maybe a tad disrespectful to Christmas? I’m not on super familiar terms with Jesus, but I have to assume He wouldn’t be thrilled with lasagna bag oligarch Larry The Cable Guy celebrating His birthday with a series of lewd limericks about underage girls and their tight asses come on you guys get it.

He also stuck a really long letter about how he wants to fuck Shania Twain in the middle of his Christmas album. I’m pretty sure the joke is that it doesn’t belong on a Christmas album, so it’s wacky, but also, it’s just really out of place among all of his little songs and musings about Christmas.

This is humorless, criminal, and disgusting, but at least we know there’s an adult woman he’s attracted to! There’s more to the story, but you get the point. Sprinkle in some racism and some references to her ass, and you’ve got a Larry The Cable Guy classic. He says Shania really got this letter, but if that were true, I think he would really not be allowed within five hundred feet of her.

The spiritual twin of the Shania Twain letter is a rewrite of The Night Before Christmas called “Titty Bar Christmas.” It’s about Larry’s favorite Christmas of all, a sad mashup of sex crimes and hate crimes:

Look, it was a different time back then. I’m sure biscuits and gravy tycoon Larry The Cable Guy is very sorry for all the horrible things he said that somehow made him rich. He probably has a lot of regrets in life. Number one, never hiring a food photographer to make any of his products look edible; number two, saying his favorite thing about Christmas was getting sucked off by an “oriental” stripper; number three, probably a hit and run.

I’m so mad at myself for deciding to write about this album because, at some point, I realized that if you go purely by the metric of how much money he’s made, Larry The Cable Guy is a more successful comedian than anyone who writes for this website. He’s more successful than almost all other working comedians today. John Mulaney, Patton Oswalt, Taylor Tomlinson, they’re nothing but economic peons compared to the man who wrote this comedic Christmas gem:

Blue-collar comedy is where bad comedians go to thrive. It’s magical. You don’t have to be funny. You just have to say something that will make an imaginary other person angry. You can stand on stage and say fart, slap, titty, women aren’t people, and BAM, Bass Pro Shop is begging to stock your line of non-vegan, extra gluten, technically food grade, vaguely Italian meal sludge. That is truly the most upsetting hard fact in life. Merry X-mas.

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This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Mack Miserable, who is the Jeff Dunham’s Fun Hams of blue collar comedy novelty packaged food products.

Tags Christmas, Comedy, Free, Music

UPSETTING DAY

Upsetting Day: Vegemorphs

Tags books

UPSETTING DAY

Upsetting Day: Brendan McGinley’s Dogs of Glory! 🌭

Post author By Brendan McGinley
Post date 10/21/2022
3 Comments on Upsetting Day: Brendan McGinley’s Dogs of Glory! 🌭

Greetings, future civilizations of the next species to rule the earth (Magpies? I bet it’s magpies). Congratulations on finding and deciphering this article deep within the 1-900-HOTDOG archives here in the beautiful Mountains of Madness. You surely have questions about today’s video, “Dogs of Glory,” a song ostensibly for children by Christian musician Jim Steager. I can contextualize it for you as the owner of a very smart puppy that is part Chihuahua, therefore at war with the entire physical world, and thus a presumable Christian.

I know it sounds like the rad battalion that will clinch Union victory in 2029’s Civil War II Da Streetz, but the dogs of glory are simply a metaphor in song for the devotion required to follow Jesus Christ. Steager wants listeners to trust and admire their savior with the same faith a dog would. Just not my dog, who will tow me three blocks to sniff poop, and pointedly ignores me when I tell him to stop barking at every living being in the universe.

Ah, sorry. He was the human version of…I guess the nearest phrase your language has for messiah is Death Migration Victor Prime. Jesus was a Judean carpenter with a side hustle as the Son of God. His message of peace has brought comfort to the billions blessed by the violent sacrifice required to spread it.

It’s a forgivable misunderstanding, but Steager does not begin the video as a hybrid human-dog chimera. His face has been painted to resemble a dog’s by a talented artist, so that when children contemplate his performance, they will wither to know this world is broken. Only once their souls know true terror will they cry out for a savior, and they will become faithful servants of THE LORD THEIR GOD.

First off, I’m sorry that your ancestors’ bones made such delicious stock. Second, Steager’s awaiting eternal salvation, a feast of the soul given after you die. I’ve never met a dog who would turn down a bone now for the promise of two bones later, so mark these as the last fully human words Steager will ever sing.

Immediately after, at the 34-second mark, you can see his eyes flash with hidden knowledge when he beholds his new fursona staring back at him. Poor fool, his invitation is accepted, and his face-sac deflates slightly as The Dog of Glory pries him open from a side we cannot imagine. The paint is a veneer on a collapsed wall now.

Yes, but never in a worldly manner. By donning the skin of a Christian Canine and howling the sacred invocation “Hallelujah,” he had constructed a transformation spell in the name of Christ, and powered by the rocket fuel of children’s faith. I don’t care how you dress it up in pet shop sounds and facepaint, “Dogs of Glory” is not a children’s song, except in the sense that adults can’t hear its backmasked message to shred flesh for the Blood God. It starts off as a beautiful meditation on faith you would play at the funeral for a beloved civic figure who died of Old Person’s Disease—suddenly it’s ripped open by the guttural cries of starving beasts. Steager has let trust in a higher being deceive him into chasing the invisible bone of salvation.

Bewildered, Steager now cascades back and forth between dog and human skills. For the rest of the song, Steager is now a manimal.

It is actually better to be a dog than a human! The whole world is your toilet and strangers love you. You have no idea what an influencer is. Nobody tries to convince you to go to church, because they think you don’t have a soul.

Watching a man’s personality disintegrate in real time, we realize they may be right. Before we’re one minute in, Steager spits hot fire about looking both ways before crossing the street, which is not a famous quality of dogs. My pooch is terrified of cars, yet frogger-lunges every busy corner. Perhaps Steager is a seeing-eye dog? Is that what this is now? God is blind and we are leading Him?

Oh boy, just wait. God throws the stick of salvation into traffic as a test of faith, but also keeps Steager on the Leash of Love (not what it sounds like, unless it is). Then he’s let off-leash to dance a mad farewell to his humanity. Are you confused? I spent high school Friday nights at Catholic youth singalongs, and I am goddamn-dogman baffled.

Which brings us to another point in our Christian faith: God spelled backwards is dog, so…y’know. Right there, that whole thing. What does that mean for us in our lives with Jesus? Discuss quietly in groups while I slip out for definitely not a cigarette.

But seriously, it’s like he’s losing his literacy as the dog side consumes him—

There it is. As Yrolg the Dog-Thing consumes his very being, he loses his ability to read, and can only pine forlornly for the Bible that once comforted him.

Basically, God’s love is the only true peace, but also anyone full of it is spiritually on fire and can only be soothed by the same cause of—I—you know, I’m still lost. Weren’t we just in a flowered pasture by a pond? Then a street, but now back at the water? Look, the best I can figure is Steager wrote this song while walking his dog to the park and back.

Magpies, I don’t know what kind of theology you’ve constructed for yourselves, but I hope it doesn’t require you to constantly affirm that Nestfather is perfect. Frankly, I think it’s weird that His mighty wing will only shelter you if you praise His flawless plumage. I don’t have all the answers, but it seems to me that a perfect magpie deity would neither need nor want constant adulation from lesser birds.

I’m going to be honest with you, magpies. There’s a reason my society has vanished from this earth. We’re so busy trying to become Dogs of Glory, we’ve let malevolent forces consume our abilities to read and reason.

I know, and the dumb part is we had actual dogs the entire time! Are there still dogs in the future? They’re great! You don’t need to pass a devotional test to be happy in their presence. My dog is an absolute jerk to other dogs and people and my cat and squirrels and birds and this rad wooden statue in my office he thinks is a burglar. Socially speaking, he’s as flawed as a person can be. But thanks to him I enjoy all the benefits Steager sings about, and I don’t have to die to receive them. I don’t need to convince myself my obnoxious dog is a perfect entity. He loves me right now, and keeps me from losing my goddamn mind every time Twitter tells me the Ku Klux Kaukus just approved $32b of my taxes for a migrant orphan trebuchet.

Hunh. You know, now that I think about that makes so much more sense about His message and sacrifice. The only thing I can tell you about the historical Christ is that He definitely wasn’t a Chihuahua.

Brendan’s beyond saving, but you can still help out friend of the site and very funny comedian Vanessa Guerrero with an emergency donation.

Magpie credits: Ken Billington

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Seanbaby and Brockway started 1900HOTDOG as a way to grift government processed meat subsidies, and along the way accidentally assembled the best comedy team in novelty phone number history. This week all articles are free in honor of the fantastic columnists that make this site a place to be treasured and feared in equal measure.

Tags christians, Free, Music, music videos, religion

UPSETTING DAY

Upsetting Day: Lydia Bugg’s Adult Clown Mouth Review! 🌭

Post author By Lydia Bugg
Post date 10/17/2022
9 Comments on Upsetting Day: Lydia Bugg’s Adult Clown Mouth Review! 🌭

Behind the scenes at 1900🌭, we often like to celebrate the fact that thanks to our Patrons, we no longer have to try and use sponsored links to sell lists of Amazon’s ten least erotic pet toys, guaranteed not to get your dog in a humping mood! It’s a little bit difficult for me to enjoy that victory, though. I’ve been writing branded content for so long I now have advertising Stockholm syndrome. So, in exchange for nothing but the joy it brings me, I brought a pitch for some good old fashioned branded content to the hotdog team. We don’t get any money if you purchase it, BUT we get to spread the word about the best Halloween costume, this one:

Here’s a conversation that has happened somewhere in the world at some point:

Person 1: I’d like to be a clown for Halloween.

Person 2: Whole clown, or just the head?

Person 1: Head only, I think…yes, the smiling, dead-eyed head of a clown. Surely someone sells that?

Products do not exist outside of the vacuum of consumer need. Someone wanted this. They wanted it to wear an expression that says, “I’m a little bit frightened of my own existence.” It doesn’t look like it’s happy to be the disembodied head of a terrifying clown. Its eyes read madness and maybe a touch of terror. Honestly, it’s giving me Florence Pugh at the end of Midsommar.

The artist who got the note “Design a Halloween costume for just the head and mouth of a clown” couldn’t help but add their own feelings of dismay to the design. They were certain this was custom ordered by a puppet on a tricycle, and it shows. It would have been a cry for help if they thought help was out there.

In stumbling upon this costume, I’m a little worried I’ve discovered some secret code an evil society is using to communicate. There are too many upsetting details about this thing. For example, it’s not some weird glitch made by one company that ran out of ideas and made a cursed mistake. This costume is sold across multiple websites, and they always give it slightly different names, but those names always include the words ADULT CLOWN MOUTH.

And I know since you people have been on the Internet just as much as I have, you immediately clocked that the suggested retail price for the costume is sixty-nine American dollars. That is not a coincidence; that is a message. No one is buying this thing for sixty-nine dollars. They always discount it to something in the thirty to forty dollars range, but they want you to see that 69 next to the adult clown mouth. It’s a required part of the advertising.

Walmart advertising it as Clown Mouth Head is extra upsetting to me because it puts the mouth as the main feature of this costume. The idea of someone wanting to be only the mouth of a clown is way more upsetting than the idea that they want to be just the head. Oh no, I Googled mouth costume.

Sorry, I’ve gotten off topic, where was I? Oh yes, adult clown mouth. We all know what adult means in the context of this Halloween costume, right? It’s the same context in which some book and video stores are also adult. I’ve been dancing around this topic for about five hundred words or so, but every man I showed this costume to immediately noticed the mouth hole is right at dick height.

Let’s do a deep dive into one particular website selling adult clown mouth, Oriental Trading Company. First of all, if you look at the other costumes they suggest when you view adult clown mouth, they are clearly all pervert costumes.

Why would any well adjusted person want either of those looks? Someone out there can’t decide if they’re going to get railed by toast, Raggedy Andy, or a clown with human legs and a penis tongue this All Hallows’ Eve. It’s also got the most menacing product description I’ve ever read.

Nope. No, I am not looking to get creative with creepy clown. When a clown jumps out at me during a haunted house, I’m not like, “sorry friend, not creative enough. Maybe try being a disembodied head next time?” Let’s read the rest of it:

You can make the mouth open and close, which according to this description, is funny. Probably not to the people that are going to get bitten by that clown but ok. Then, it wraps up with, “pants and shoes are not included.” At first, I thought that was ridiculous, but the pants and shoes are arguably the most appealing part of this costume. I would not be shocked to learn a large percentage of the people who purchased adult clown mouth thought they were getting an amazing deal on a pair of blue jeans and sneakers and were hoping to throw out the horrifying headpiece that comes with them. Weird shoe sale, but ok.

Adult Clown Mouth has zero reviews, of course, because no one will admit that they purchased this thing, but it has one question. Since I have a lot of questions, I figured maybe the company had gotten back to someone on any of the myriad of things I think when I look at this costume. Things like “can it get me?” Or “are you sure it can’t get me?” I might also like to ask, “is it thinking about getting me?” You know, silly stuff like that.

Nobody asked any of my very pertinent questions, though. The one question was, “What are the measurements of this mask?” To which an auto response generated a generic size chart. So now there’s a woman who goes by Lorraine G. who, I hope to God, has figured out this is not a fun little mask unless she’s got a serious case of Jimmy Neutron head.

Now is the time in the article where I reveal that unlike Lorraine G. I have purposely purchased the Halloween costume so that I can properly review it and hopefully sell it to you for no profit. It arrived in a crinkled up ball an unnaturally short amount of time after I ordered it. They were ready to get this thing out of the warehouse.

My first discovery is that it does have armholes! Which is good for the use of the costume but bad for the creepiness level. Clown head with arms coming out of the ears somehow looks more like one of those horrible transformation sequences from The Thing than a clown head with legs does. If you leave it lying around the house, it will always fall into the most sinister smile position possible. I’m pretty sure it possessed my dog or at least taught her to copy its expression to frighten me.

Another notable feature of the costume is that it does provide the user with handles behind the mouth so you can make it talk. Funny! It can say something like, “Why are you running? I am your friend. Look at my perfectly symmetrical teeth.” Funny stuff like that!

The thing is, the handles are kind of a moot point because the costume has a disturbing sway to it. It’s constantly in motion as you move around inside of it, so if you’re walking, the clown’s mouth is slowly bouncing open and shut with your gait. It’s constantly chewing, adult clown mouth. So obviously, you’ll want to go out and purchase that right away. I heard there might be a clown head shortage this year.

There weren’t any hidden messages stuffed inside the mouth. As far as I can tell, whatever it’s definitely communicating to a secret society of clown perverts is coming through the ads for it, not the actual product. I’ve investigated this costume at great personal expense, and I’m not talking about the 69 dollars I paid (I demanded to pay full price so my credit card bill would look silly. Funny!). I’m running the risk of being known forever as adult clown mouth girl. “Lydia Bugg, isn’t she the first woman to wear the adult clown mouth costume?” They’ll say a hundred years from now. I’m willing to live with that, though, in the noble name of sponsored content.