Categories
UPSETTING DAY

Thief in the Night 🌭

Some of you didn’t grow up thinking your neighbors were secret anti-Christians planning to chop off your head in the town square, and it shows. 

I 100% believed that as a child, mostly because of a “technically-fiction-but-it’s-totally going-to-happen” movie series I was made to watch in church. It takes place in Des Moines, Iowa and includes this depiction of a woman being led to a blood-splattered guillotine by her fellow Iowans in the futuristic year of 1975, because she refused to renounce her faith in Christ:

That is from the A Thief in the Night series, one of the most popular film franchises ever made. The first movie, from 1972, has reportedly been seen by 300 million people (so more than the number who saw Avengers: Endgame in theaters worldwide). It also spawned a book series (the Left Behind novels, named after a line from the first movie) that has sold over 65 million copies — enough copies that if you were to stack them vertically, you would have a pile of books 65 million copies tall.

Some version of the above scene occurs over and over in these stories and if you’re thinking that it’s weird that the church was exposing children to this kind of thing, don’t worry — the films themselves actually explain why it’s necessary. It’s in the third movie where the anti-Christian forces tell a captive Iowan they will execute a toddler unless the man gives up the location of the boy’s mother, a Christian who is still at large. The man responds by telling the boy to go out and accept his death

“Billy, you’re free … ” he says, “they’re going to take you outside and lay you down. Now you close your eyes and tell them you love Jesus no matter what.” Don’t worry, we don’t actually see the child get his head chopped off, we merely see his blood splattered on the guillotine when the man is led out to his own execution a moment later: 

These movies begin and end with Bible quotes stating this anti-Christian genocide absolutely will happen, and that it will happen soon and without warning. The takeaway for me and my fellow Sunday School pupils was that all of the people we saw on the street — including some members of our own church — were ready to murder us the very second it was made legal. Welcome to Upsetting Day, motherfucker! 

I’m not saying this is the reason I didn’t have a lot of friends in school, but I do think it was part of the reason, in addition to me constantly saying things like, “You’re punishing me for being five minutes late to class, but I thought you counted from the time my dick came through the door, not my balls!” and “Excuse me, I know you guys are busy playing kickball right now but I wanted to let you know that I’m not trying to smuggle a kielbasa and two ostrich eggs in these lycra shorts, that’s my dick and balls!” and “Mike Tyson is accusing me of embezzling money from him because he heard I was Dong King!.”

I also realize this Evangelical Christian End Times stuff is old news to that segment of the HOTDOG readership that remembers keeping a porn stash in the woods. For everyone else, I guess I’m going to have to step back and explain some basic theology. You see, some people’s worldview can be wholly represented by those peeing Calvin stickers you see on the back of pickup trucks: “Everyone outside of my tribe exists only to get coated in gallons of my spite-piss.”

Or, if you want Bill Watterson to actually get royalties from this reference, you can go with this actual Calvin and Hobbes comic in which Calvin becomes so frustrated with the world that he shouts, “I WISH I WAS DEAD!” but then, after a moment of contemplation, revises it to:

This is why I have personally coined this belief system “Calvinism.” There are many different flavors within it and, as you can imagine, the adherents to each bitterly hate each other. But the core belief is that Jesus Christ will return soon and teleport a tiny faction of True Christians from the earth, leaving everyone else behind to die horribly via disease, starvation and worldwide genocide. This event — called the “rapture” — will be a wonderful and good thing and we should do everything we can to facilitate it. As of 2010, 41% of Americans believed the rapture would occur by 2050.

I’m not here to yell at people for their religious beliefs. I think we’ve all got a little Calvin in us and if tomorrow God tore open the sky and announced that he not only exists but has decided humanity has earned a thorough ass-beating, I think all of us would just nod to each other and say, “Yeah, that seems right.” No, I’m here to talk specifically about A Thief in the Night and why it and its sequels wreaked havoc on my young brain, back when I was an impressionable child who made every clothes shopping trip a nightmare for my mother (“It’s weird, Mom, because these pants are also too tight in the crotch! Oh, that someone, anyone, could finally tame this feral hog!”)

The first film opens with a young woman in Des Moines named Patty waking up to a radio news report announcing that millions of people have just spontaneously vanished, leaving vehicles and lawnmowers alike unattended:

The news reader speculates that perhaps the rapture has occurred. Patty then rushes into the bathroom to find that her Christian husband is among those who’ve been raptured and Patty realizes, to her horror, that she has been Left Behind. To have any chance at Heaven, she knows she must reject the rule of the coming Antichrist and die horribly in the process.

“Wait,” you might ask, “wouldn’t all of the children be raptured too, since they can’t really be good or evil?” Nope! If they had been, then the news report would have been something to the tune of, “Folks, every child on earth has just been kidnapped with magic. We’re apparently all just waiting on the wizard’s ransom demand and/or for Batman to learn the location of his lair. It seems like some Evangelicals might also be missing, so maybe somebody can follow up on that once the actual problem is solved.”

Next, we flash back to pre-rapture days for forty minutes of scenes demonstrating why exactly Patty deserved to get Left Behind along with all of the billions of Muslims, Buddhists, atheists etc. We watch as she encounters every form of religious belief one could find in 1972 Des Moines, from passionate hardcore Christians who are destined to be saved, to only somewhat passionate Christians whose souls are doomed. We find out Patty was the latter: she went to church, read her Bible and was an all-around good person, but she had skipped an important ritual along the way, so, guillotine.

We then cut back to present-day Patty listening to the morning news broadcast. The news reader says that in a few hours, the United Nations will be holding a press conference to announce that, as a result of a few million American Christians disappearing, all world governments have been disbanded. The former USA, Soviet Union, China, Japan, the UK, the entire Middle East etc — have all agreed to put aside their differences to form UNITE, the United Nations Imperium of Total Emergency. 

If this seems implausible, remember part of Calvinism is the belief that everyone outside of your sect secretly worships Satan and the religions they claim to follow are just elaborate lies to cover this fact. With the True Christians gone, there is therefore nothing stopping them from uniting under the flag of Evil. Sure enough, within days, citizens around the world, and Des Moines, volunteer to join this godless authoritarian world government and don its red armbands. Feel free to spend the rest of the day listing all of the ways the historical parallel they’re trying to draw there doesn’t work. I’m … just really not up to it right now.

They announce that everyone will be required to declare their allegiance to this government with a tattoo that is placed on the forehead or the back of the hand — an act that Patty knows will actually mark the wearer for an eternity in Hell. She is now part of a tiny, hated minority who resists the mark. She goes on the run, getting chased through the streets by UNITE’s version of the SS (two guys in a crudely painted van, due to budget limitations) …

… but she is ratted out by a pair of her wishy-washy Christian friends who, like most moderate/skeptical Christians, immediately accepted the mark. Take special note of this because therein lies the real message of these movies.

In the climax of the first film, Patty jumps off a dam to her death to escape pursuit … only to wake up and realize it was all a dream. Then she hears her clock radio click on with that same news report about the rapture having just occurred and realizes it wasn’t a dream — it was a vision intended to warn her! But the warning came just seconds before the thing she was being warned about actually occurred, rendering the vision and its lessons moot. Sometimes God likes to pull these little pranks on people.

The second film thus begins with Patty in a facility awaiting her execution along with the smattering of other Christians who are still refusing to pledge allegiance to the godless world government. The others ask how she got there and she is forced to explain she first had a dream that all of her neighbors betrayed her to the forces of the antichrist, then she woke up and all of those events in her dream happened for real, only slightly different (her wishy-washy Christian friends who betrayed her in the dream betrayed her again in real life, just in a different way). Then she gets her head chopped off and the credits roll. 

There are four movies in the series but that’s pretty much the template. Some substandard Christians who were Left Behind try to stand up to the genocidal anti-Christian power structure, only to be betrayed by their fellow Des Moinesiacs over and over. From former friends who radio in their position to the Death Squads …

… to secretaries at clinics who coldly turn away panicked Christian mothers with sick babies because they don’t bear the mark …

… every ally and friend turns out to be a collaborator in disguise. This is the theme these movies hit over and over again. We’re already living in an Invasions of the Body Snatchers scenario, they say, and all of your neighbors are pod people who pretend to be decent and kind but will happily murder you and your children at some point in the actual future. 

That, right there, is the part that broke some part of me, so that I wound up carrying around this misanthropy even while amusing classmates in school with my Chandler impression (“Could my boner BE any more succulent?”). If you live with the belief that everyone else is secretly a shithead, it’s strategically smart to just be a shithead to them as a preemptive strike. 

But I don’t want to make too big of a deal out of this. I obviously grew up to be a well-adjusted adult and I certainly can find no evidence that Evangelical tribalism or malignant conspiracy-mongering has any impact on American society today. I give the A Thief in the Night series three stars out of five. 

Jason “David Wong” Pargin is the ex-executive editor at Cracked.com and is now a full time novelist, his violent sci-fi adventure Zoey Punches the Future in the Dick is up for pre-order now! Or buy one of his previous books, they’re all pretty good.

Categories
UPSETTING DAY

Let’s Read: Children Are No Match For Fire

Hi, 1-900-Hotdoggers! Let’s open this fire safety book called “Children Are No Match For Fire” and see how ridicu– oh no. No, no, no, no, this can’t be right.

…

This article was brought to you by our fine patron and Hot Dog Supreme, Lyman: a magnificent youth who brandishes the magical broadsword, Lycheaper!

Categories
UPSETTING DAY

Darktown Strutters: The Cursed Images

Welcome to the second installment of my bold experimental take on Darktown Strutters, a movie. Just like the first installment, we will not be talking about the movie. 

It still counts as a bold experiment even if it’s designed for failure. 

Parts of Darktown Strutters were a lot of fun, but we’ve talked about that. That’s over. Fun has been skinned and rolled in hot asphalt then hit with a truck and left to gasp out in a ditch. This is Upsetting Day. Every single image you will now witness is a still from a Ring-style cursed film that will kill you in 7 minutes. That’s right, minutes. I am force-feeding you a haunt here. Better read quick, motherfucker, or you won’t even be able to see the murderous ghosts about to come out of your own asshole.

Cursed Image #1Ěľ6Ěś7Ěś

W-What is this???

This might be a Rule 34 violation of an old-timey Looney Tunes side character who never took off. The Wacktacular Adventures of Horndog Hog, Porcine Pervert may not have found much of an audience outside of pre-furries in the roaring ‘20s, but Pork Hollow, Kentucky still built a statue of him in the town rhombus because in order to be ashamed of something, you need at least one other thing to compare it to. 

W-What’s going to happen to me???

Upon viewing this brutalist statue of a sexually deviant swim-pig, you will be overcome by a sense of justified meta-paranoia. Something is out to get you: Paranoia itself. 

Cursed Image #4̴1̡3̜

W-What is this???

This might be a living painting of an extremely problematic ad from a Jim Crow-era lifestyle magazine. A publication that could not find a way to hawk basic home goods without slipping into hate speech, but has since found an audience with hipsters who are embracing racism ironically at first, yet slip farther into genuine bigotry with every person who does not “get” their “humor.”

W-What’s going to happen to me???

Upon viewing this bizarre tableau of a white man in a bunny costume carrying a giant carrot past two black women — one a nun, the other Aunt Jemima — you will begin to taste a meal you can almost recognize but never describe. It will grow between your teeth, making your every bite of any food Mystery Meal. You will only ever learn one thing about Mystery Meal: It is an extreme diuretic.

Cursed Image #3̵̗̿͊

This might be the “After” picture in a commercial for Clown Community College. All clowns wind up in jail. To be a clown is a jail in and of itself, and you’ll never understand that until you put on the makeup for both the first and last time. Jail Clown was so very careful not to get an ounce of white on his wispy blonde mustache, because he does not want to sully the wonderful shade of red it will become later. 

W-What’s going to happen to me???

Upon gazing through this disturbing telepathic porthole into the buried subconscious of every televangelist, Jail Clown will rise up and charge you, giggling and exposing his penis.

This is what actually happens in the movie.

I am sorry for talking about the movie. It won’t happen again.

Cursed Scene #4̶̡̲͛̐6̵̙̬̀

This might be actual footage from a police chase in modern-day Portland, Oregon. 

W-What’s going to happen to me???

Upon viewing this scene, you will hear engines coming from no specific direction. They will grow louder the closer you are to anything more flavorful than mayonnaise. 

Cursed Image #6̶̻̭̈́,̵̮̦̇͐0̴̮̀̋0̸̧͖̍͛1̷̲̤̂̽

W-What is this???

This might be the cover of the Tower of Power album they were never allowed to release. The one that had to be buried because it would not burn, and then, once buried, would only burn. It is the reason they had to evacuate Centralia, and the reason why nobody with funk in their heart can live in Eastern Pennsylvania to this day. 

W-What’s going to happen to me???

Upon viewing this image, you will be forced to contemplate its meaning forever. Every answer you land upon will be extremely problematic for wildly different reasons, and you will emerge from it like Michael Richards  – harboring a virulent secret racism that you will insist did not, could not possibly have come from you.

Cursed Image #7̶̘̻͗̂͘ͅ,̷͍̜̾̍ͅ4̵̯̔̂̕2̶̭̥̔1̸̺̀,̸͉̙̺͊͘2̴̼̮̆͘3̶̺̗̰͂͋͠4̵̫̙̫̈́̒

W-What is this???

This might be the kompromat footage of Newt Gingrich that They use to make him act that way. It could also be a screencap from literally any David Lynch movie. Possibly any David Lynch interview.

W-What’s going to happen to me???

Upon viewing this image you will become super-fertile, but all of your children will rapidly age and crumble into dust within minutes, learning only enough language to curse your name for bringing them into this world. 

Cursed Image #4̷̪̓̕0̴̢̤̤̝͎̂͌͐̓

W-What is this???

This might be the lowest rated mod in the Skyrim workshop. It might be a screengrab from that one episode of Pee-wee’s Playhouse you’re never sure you actually saw. It might be a short glimpse into the mind of every bitter housewife who holds her children back from running to the ice cream man until she can see his face. 

W-What’s going to happen to me???

Upon viewing this image, every popsicle you touch will turn into a pot-sicle. DO NOT CELEBRATE, THERE IS A COST. Every horse you touch will turn into that split-necked undead abomination up there, ceaselessly shrieking for death – your death, its death, any kind of death; it does not discern. It’s just a stupid horse. Oh also all dogs are now horses.

Cursed Scene #1̴̨͔͙̳̼̜̾͋̍̒͑͐̆͐̕͝

W-What is this???

This might be a Gordian Knot of impossibly tangled bigotry. It might be the pivotal scene from Edgelord, the movie whose vicious reviews drove Wrong Dimension Uwe Boll into his frankly inevitable killing spree. It seriously might be the worst five seconds you could ever see if the Rob Zombie in our universe hadn’t started making movies. 

W-What’s going to happen to me???

Upon viewing this scene, you will feel an overwhelming urge to put on a sequin dress and rub shoepolish on your face. If you fight it, you will slowly curl into a ball so tight that you will eventually invert and unbecome. If you don’t fight it, you’ll wind up doing drag in blackface and the only career that will have you is Prominent Politician. 

Cursed Image #4̵̨͉̣͈͚͕͙̳̋̀̀̈́̂̾́̈́ͅ2̴͈̱͋́̽̀͊̄̃̂̒̕͝2̷̪̠̩̖̜̩̬̠̩̥̣̈.̵̨̞̣̩̪̲͖̜͉̻̩̫͐͛͘5̵̞͇̫̜̖̤͚͔̹̳̳̰͋̈͊́̈́̏́͝5̵̨͎̩̩̰̰͉̾̈̎̈ͅ

W-What is this???

This might be the private video you can only access if you become a member of Alex Jones’ Patreon. Or this might be the training video they keep issuing to Florida’s Neighborhood Watch. It might just be what Mall Security looks like to black people whenever they windowshop a Williams-Sonoma. 

W-What’s going to happen to me???

Upon viewing this image, you will shout that exact quote every single time you hear an airhorn. One day you will meet Waka Flocka Flame. This will be the day you die.

Cursed Scene #8̶̛̻͕͕͈̅́̿̔͜7̴̦̩̜̂͆̀̅̉͘

W-What is this???

This might be the music video Smashing Pumpkins made for “Today” if modern Billy Corgan finally finds a way to send his current consciousness back to his 1990s body. This might be the last thing you see after unwisely attending an All You Can Eat Orgy. This might be a Stanford Halloween party. 

W-What’s going to happen to me???

Upon viewing this scene, you will only be able to smell the insides of those pig masks, you will only be able to feel the dampness of those Klan robes, you will only be able to hear the excited erotic huffing of all parties pictured. It will almost immediately drive you to suicide. 

7̵̥̗̫̦̍̀ ̶̭̤̾ͅm̴̖̫̌i̵̤͐̌́n̴̛̲̱̩̭̊̑̅ǘ̶̮͑t̷̛̯̺͎̗̾͂ḛ̶̀͒̔̕s̵̡͕̓̾̿͝.̸̝̊̾

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This article was brought to you by our fine patron and Hot Dog Supreme, Hawk: and that’s pronounced with eight additional seconds of silent eye contact.

Categories
UPSETTING DAY

The Derangiest Products of Wish 🌭

Lately for whatever reason, I’ve been targeted by an alarming number of Wish ads in my social media news feeds. Scrolling through the insanity has become a part of my daily ritual, which is probably why I keep getting more ads. If you’re unfamiliar with Wish, think of it as Amazon’s registered sex offender of a cousin. Here are the basics. They offer products too good to be true for prices that don’t make sense. For instance, here is a crate full of crack pipes. Cheaper than a pack of gum and with a variety of colors to choose from.

If you have ever seen Wes Craven’s Wishmaster, then you know when things sound too good to be true they usually are. For instance, in the first film, Tony Todd aggressively confronts the Wishmaster, and the Wishmaster, sensing excessive amounts of stress from Tony, asks him if he wishes he could escape from it all. Tony Todd, assuming he meant figuratively, begrudgingly admits he does wish he could escape from it all. The Wishmaster then teleports Tony Todd into a fucking Houdini tank full of water, bound in chains and a straight jacket, where he presumably drowns. 

Listen, I know it doesn’t make sense from a legal standpoint. If Tony’s wish was to escape, then why was he transported into a situation he was clearly not meant to escape from? The lesson here isn’t even “be careful what you wish for.” It’s “be careful of the legal interpretation of your wish and whether or not you will survive long enough to present your case in court.” That’s Wish, the distributor. They aren’t just going to hand you a box of crack pipes at a loss. You are somehow going to pay a mortal price for those savings. Maybe the crack pipes smoke YOU, and your soul leaves your body in the form of gaseous vapor, which is inhaled by Wish CEO Piotr Szulczewski who was the crack pipe the whole time.

I haven’t worked up enough courage to actually purchase anything from them myself because of my aforementioned familiarity with the Wishmaster. However it hasn’t stopped me from trying to guess whatever monkey’s paw fate awaits the foolish mortals who have.

Before I go on, I’m going to quickly point out a couple of things so you know I’m not intentionally omitting relevant information for the sake of comedy. Here is an ad for a John Rick t-shirt, based on artwork stolen from artist MJ Hilben and photoshopped to make it seem as if Keanu Reeves himself has endorsed it. First, there is a price tag and it is firmly in the t-shirt zone. At the bottom there is an item description preview, letting me know I’m definitely being sold apparel and not something else, like a poster of Keanue Reeves holding a shirt with a stolen design printed on it.

The following ad, however, is slightly different.

It is a collage of mysterious possibilities. For starters, there is no price tag, which is my first best guess as to what I’m supposed to be looking at. My next best clue, the item description, is suspiciously missing. All I’m left with is a photograph containing any number of potential items for sale. Is it the Genesis series gas grill? Is it the sugar skull shorts being swallowed by the model’s juicy booty? Is it…is it the juicy booty??? Who knows! Let your mind go blank, click the link and make an impulse buy based on the blood density of your erection, you fool. Let the Wishmaster taste your soul. 

Armed with a better understanding of Wish’s advertising practices, I’m going to list six examples of suspicious Wish ads and try to figure out what’s going on in them. Sometimes I question the actual value of the product. Sometimes I’m not entirely sure who the product is intended for and, sometimes, I’m not sure what is even being sold.

1: “Leather” Sandals

Let’s start off with something fairly simple. At first glance, these appear to be nothing more than some really thick sandals. However, my eye is almost immediately drawn to the cow with the word “cowhide” defensively placed above it. Making footwear out of cowhide is not unusual. In fact, I would guess the majority of shoes are made out of it. What is unusual is feeling like you have to specifically state it in a way other shoes do not.

What’s really going on?

I am suspicious of this leather. Seeing the word “cowhide” has raised the type of red flags the manufacturer was clearly trying to avoid. It makes me second guess what type of hide I’m looking at. It makes me take a closer look at the sandals, where I notice the fat, irritated looking stitches more reminiscent of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre than shoes. Based on the design, it also makes me picture some lame asshole wearing these with socks, because you just know these things were designed to be worn with socks. Fuck these sandals and the nightmare world they imply.

2: Molded Batman Dick Plating

If there’s one area where men have it harder than women, it’s not having enough marketplace options for lying about dick size. Women have whole industries based on lying about their breast and waist size! Why can’t we normalize lying about our dicks! Well, here you go, you insecure, baby dicked weirdo. Someone took what looks like a less protective version of an athletic cup and added a cartoon weiner mold to it. They’re stackable too, so you can easily store a variety of your favorite colors. You know. In case you think there’s a more appropriate color for revealing this kind of lie to another human being. 

What’s really going on?

What you see is what you get with this one. It’s padding for your dick’s bra. Here’s the thing guys may not realize though: women tend to value honesty a little more than men. If I’m lucky enough to hook up with a woman, and she takes off her bra to reveal less than perfect breasts, I’m going to shrug and continue to count my blessings. If a guy pulls his pants down and a cheap piece of Batman armor falls out of his underwear, the night is over and Lady Yelp will hear of this sad tale. Do yourself a favor, accept your dick size and learn to become an expert at mouth stuff. Women will leave you a positive review on Lady Yelp if you’re honest about your dick and good at mouth stuff. By the way, it’s not really called Lady Yelp, but it’s real.

3: Funny Chicken Helmet

I don’t pretend to know much about raising chickens, but from what I understand, they are complete assholes. Nothing I’ve heard leads me to believe any chicken will hold still long enough for you to put an adorable crash helmet on it. Even if you were able to…why would you? Does your egg farm present a higher risk of head injuries? Are you going to put your chickens on tiny motorcycles and have them perform stunts for adoring audiences? 

What’s really going on? 

I’ll tell you why you would buy these. Because you’re into cock fighting and you’re looking to spice up your image. Maybe you’re new on the scene, and you want to make a big splash with your first appearance. Or maybe these cocks mean something to you, and you want to show off their personalities with some fresh gear that tells spectators a little something about who they are. Like Sarge, the grizzled old timer who is one fight away from retirement. You know Sarge! The one with the camouflaged helmet, large patches of missing feathers and half a beak. Or what about Fireball? The one who is going to get dipped in Franks Red Hot if he loses his first match. 

What’s REALLY going on?

These are for your dick. They’re dick helmets. The chicken in the ad is a cock, bro! Get it?! Everything I said earlier about cock fighting might be true, but it wasn’t the intention of the ad. The ad is a nothing more than a douchey high five between you and Wish. There is an upside though. If you’re the kind of person who might have been interested in the fake bulge from before, I promise you’ll have way more success with this. Laughter is an aphrodisiac, afterall, and I’m fairly positive a baby dick wearing a ladybug helmet would fucking kill on Lady Yelp.

4: This Shit

Enough fun, let’s get dark. Full disclosure, I know Wish doesn’t manufacture any of these products. They are a marketplace for independent sellers, and I’m not out here saying Wish is responsible for what people bring to said marketplace. But when I see this shit, I need them to be at least somewhat responsible for quality control. At best. At absolute fucking best, this is some misguided person’s homemade zucchini bread. Even if it’s that innocent, which it isn’t, this still isn’t a good look for Wish. You can tell at a glance the FDA didn’t have anything to do with it. Whoever wrapped it in plastic barely gave enough of a shit to do a good job, do you think the FDA is going to give this nightmare the time of day? Come on, Wish, give me at least a vague idea of what’s going into my body. I don’t care if it’s a handwritten label saying “Made with 100% love!” Give me anything my EMT could use to make their job easier.

What’s really going on?

Alright, let’s lower our voices. This isn’t bad baking. This is a brick of the stankiest hashish, my man. Seriously, there’s no reason to list something this toxic looking if it isn’t literally a toxin. They sell fucking crack pipes! Hash is almost a health supplement compared to that. Wish is down to party, and they put this through the system with no description knowing if you have to ask, then it’s not for you. For eight bucks though, I can’t afford to not give it a try. Just me, my mystery Wish brick and my emergency contact on speed dial. 

5: Clump of Body Horror

At this point I think the Wish algorithm went haywire trying to figure out who I was. It tried to find a correlation between all of the various things I chose to click, and the best it could come up with was a misshapen loaf of bloated flesh. There is no item description, but if there was, I imagine it would be a transcription of the sound James Woods’ TV makes in Videodrome.

I can’t even begin to come up with a reason for this thing to exist, let alone what I’m supposed to do with it. If I was being charitable, I might say it’s prop challah bread being squeezed by someone to demonstrate it’s not real bread because of how good of a replica it is. I’m not here to be charitable though. I’m here to make fun of how weird Wish is, and if it’s not prop bread, then this shit is primo weird.

What’s really going on?

Looking at this gives me cosmic dread. It makes me think I’ve mistakenly seen a part of Wish not meant for my eyes. It makes me suspect Wish also caters to interdimensional beings, and this thing is a bundle of raw material for a human skin disguise. I would love to know more about this item, but I also fear what I might learn, and once I look, I fear something from the other side will be looking back at me.

6: Oh Fuck

Let us end our journey by returning where it began, at Wish apparel. Here we find this fairly accurate reproduction of a mid century military officers cap from Hugo Boss. Great for a variety of occasions, such as alternate history steampunk cosplay, or formal gatherings for people with a very specific type of political ideology. It’s clearly a well made product, but don’t take it from me. Just ask Jake and Lonnie, Wish shoppers belonging to both of the aforementioned demographics. 

What’s really going on?

I’m beginning to suspect the previous ad really was a window to a parallel universe, because I seem to have reemerged in a dimension where nazis aren’t as universally hated as they’re supposed to be. If this is, in fact, a different reality, then I apologize for the confusion. I’m about to make a big deal out of something you probably consider normal. You see, in the world I come from, the nazis got their asses kicked. Since then, movie producers and video game developers could rack up an easy win by depicting said ass kicking as graphically as possible, because we love dead nazis more than we love originality. So you can imagine my surprise when I see steampunk Jake and nazi Lonnie leaving positive reviews for some bullshit I never imagined I’d see in a paid advertisment.

By now you may have noticed more details in this ad compared to any of the previous entries. It’s because this one finally broke me. I downloaded the Wish app to find out for certain what the fuck I was looking at. Turns out it’s exactly what it looks like: a nazi hat for shit heads. Buyer beware, though! Unless your world has giants and Jake is one of them, this hat may be hilariously small. 

I could spend all day talking about my favorite Wish ads, but I can’t risk anymore damage to the temporal fabric. If you need me, I’m going to be scrolling through my Wish app, looking for a product someone from this reality might find insane enough to be a portal back to my dimension. Do you guys have any recommendations for ads that would give a nazi the chills, maybe the onyx fist of Black Hitler’s scepter?

Zak is the co-creator at Auralnauts, a Youtube channel dedicated to slowly ruining your childhood memories.

Categories
UPSETTING DAY

iCub

Robots fulfill a legitimate need in our society: We have too many jobs and not enough hunter/killers, and those two birds can be killed with one flamethrower. Yes, I am absolutely saying all robots are evil and all humans who build them are traitors to their species — but most of these cyber-Judases at least pretend at respectability. There’s something very refreshing about an engineer who openly admits to prototyping a nightmare because they felt the world had wronged them, and it simply made better economic sense to automate their revenge.

Take, for example, the lunatic who built the iCub:

This was not the result of a terrible series of increasingly high-stakes errors — somebody built this monstrosity on purpose. Nobody started off with the best of intentions here. They didn’t design the smooth plastic skull faceplate and say “yes, this will comfort my children as they die.” iCub is not the result of a focus panel that accidentally recruited only maniacs who suggested the addition of ever-shifting pink blobs for the eyebrows and mouth. Look how disproportionately long those fingers are. Is there… is there an extra joint on those? Fuck you. Zero meetings were had where actual human beings got together and decided that robots would be more approachable if only they had grasping raccoon hands. 

iCub is a calculated attack on the abstract concept of safety: It is a pale erasure of a child, its features carefully distorted to best resemble a consortium of ghosts temporarily coalescing together into one body to explain the nature of a curse.

The Demon That Lives Beneath the Apple Store was first developed in 2004, but the iCub team has been working on perfecting the thing’s precise unease ever since. It was conceived of by the RobotCub Consortium of the European Commission’s Cognitive Systems and Robotics program, in case you wanted to jot down the acronym that ends mankind. And it was built at the Italian Institute of Technology in Genoa, which I mention so that the remnants of humanity can pinpoint where to send their time-travelling soldiers. 

The IIT says that “CUB” stands for Cognitive Universal Body, but you might recognize that as horseshit which means less than nothing. They’re just hastily backfilling an acronym with the first three vaguely robot related words that came to mind. Because if they explained it actually stands for “Cruel and Unyielding Bloodshed,” that would give away the game. They might as well just rip off the human mask and reveal the Snakeoid’s ultimate plan to everyone. And if you think Queen Hissteria enjoys having her timetables fucked with, Dr. SlitheRick, why don’t you ask your predecessor, Dr. VenoMichael, why his last thought was “is this what a disintegrator ray tastes like?!”

Here, shake hands with a robot possessed by a baby’s ghost, you idiot:

Woops, you just lost a hand:

They’re only just now teaching iCub to monitor its horrible, crushing strength. You know that every warning on a product is only there because some poor jackass actually did it once. We have to print ‘DO NOT EAT’ on silica packets because a dipshit in Oklahoma thought every bag of beef jerky came with a mint. So if these scientists are just now figuring out they have to teach their toddler robot not to strangle, it’s because their toddler robot started strangling.

They knew. They knew this would happen. Look how coy they were about the tiny text hidden in the bottom left of this image:

You can and should try to hide from iCub — not because it will help you survive, but because it’s pretty tough to give a robot an erection and iCub likes foreplay. This machine has a very thorough array of sensors with which to find you:

Oh sweet, it has whatever capacitive tactile sensors are in its ‘upper body skin.’ Guess I’ll take that information to my fucking grave. 

Hey, here’s what it looks like when you first walk into a suspiciously empty lab and ask, “iCub, is that… is that you?”

I’d like to point out that I didn’t manipulate that GIF in any way. I pulled that straight from the creator’s own hype video. If iCub was a valid scientific experiment and not a twisted revenge scheme on the god who took your child, why did you make its bootup sequence look like somebody pissed off Vegeta? Why does the extremely ominous word ‘AWAKENING’ crawl across the bottom, if not to warn you of the terrible mistake you’ve already made? This is not a “mission to explore the impact of robotics” unless you’re being very sarcastic about some of those words.

Oh hey, I just realized you guys haven’t seen it move around yet. Did you guess that the IIT gave it an unholy, stuttering crawl? 

That looks like something you’d slowly look up to find on the ceiling in a movie whose tagline is “IT CRIES, YOU DIE.”

But if you found the ‘unstuck from time’ crawl to be a disconcerting method of locomotion, boy are you fucking fucked:

Yes, they’re giving this dead-eyed skullfaced stranglebot baby some Iron Man-style jet blasters for reasons that could only be medically diagnosed as ‘Aggressively Suicidal Hyper-Mania.’

Keep your eyes on the skies, Hot Doggers!

Because that’s where death lives now.


This article was brought to you by our fine patron and Hot Dog Supreme, Neil Schafer: Who was voted ‘Most Likely to Fuck a Whole Mountain Range’ Senior Year, and while he hasn’t succeeded yet, you have to admire the way he tries.

Categories
UPSETTING DAY

Let’s Read: BE A CLOWN!

Instant Clowning– it has been a dream for generations ever since man learned you could mask pain and homicidal intent behind colorful make-up. But it wasn’t until 1989 when BE A CLOWN! – The Complete Guide to Instant Clowning was published that it became possible to clown at home without an expensive degree. Ha. I’m kidding with humor, of course, which is one of the tools I acquired from this book. So let us get ready to clown and I hope you are ready for more laughter and also that your body will have enough skin to make my clown wings. Ha, more clown humor kidding.

BE A CLOWN! was written by someone named Turk Pipkin which means his only real choices in life were Clown Author or Hobbit. He chose this, which is an unmitigated disaster. My copy was DISCARDED twice from a Canadian elementary school where it was, according to its library card holder, never checked out. When published, the cover had an actual clown nose you could stick to it, which was probably thrown away by a frustrated librarian immediately. This left a rotting patch of adhesive which has been trapping dust for 31 years and makes it look like a clown was left to die in the frost and only most of him came back. “Honk if you love clowns!” he cackles as the remains of his nose mash to chunky gore between his black and missing fingers. You try to scream, but the sound comes out of the creature’s mouth instead. “No! How? Turk Pipkin is dead!” he shrieks in your voice. You look down at your hands and see they are juggling. “No. B-better… to… die,” your voice tells you from the lipless mouth of Turk Pipkin. This is how all clowns are born. This is how you are born, Turk Pipkin.

Again, I’m using humor jokes to create a reaction of laughter, a technique frequently explained in BE A CLOWN!. Let me show you how it works with a Q – U – I – K T – R – I – K called Balance a Ping-Pong Ball on Your Nose. Someone with your clown training is probably ready to go from the title alone, but what if you’ve never heard of joy or showmanship? What if you are a sadness golem wearing the nose of a dead man underneath the nose of a clown? Turk Pipkin didn’t want to bet on you being anything other than the last one, so he wrote his “wacky” book as if it was coffin assembly software for an industrial robot.

Comedy is a tough thing to teach. There is a kind of science to it, but the more clinical you get about it, the less fun it is. It’s like training a gorilla in taekwondo. After years of hard work you can sort of get it to mimic a spin kick, but that gorilla would have been so much tougher if you just explained how it’s possible to kill things with feet and let it go with its instincts.

Speaking of killing, this book never addresses clowns and their need for blood even in a defensive way. Turk Pipkin should have but didn’t write a chapter called “THERE IS NO NEED TO FEAR US.” He never reassures the reader, “Believe me, putting your tongue through a napkin is quite humorous because of the good surprise, and also believe me: most clowns are not murderers.” I mean, he obviously mentions the first part, but not the second.

It’s possible we weren’t all participating in the running joke about scary clowns in 1989. It wasn’t considered a common enough phobia to have its own name until a year or two later when psychologists coined the term “coulrophobia” which means “fear of stilted men” because ancient Greeks had no word for what today’s missing children know as “clowns.” In 1989, these napkin-tonguing entertainers were apparently perceived as harmless. So harmless, in fact, it wasn’t weird at all for a clown to just be holding a knife on page 11 of your Instant Clowning book with no explanation.

There is no story of how early English clown Joseph Grimaldi would carve meats into joyful shapes for children or how he was always ready to open your mail. It’s simply a picture of a vaguely man-shaped thing in a romper holding a knife next to a basket of human ears. That’s the end of the early English clown history lesson. I actually checked the book’s index to see if there was more information about Joseph Grimaldi. There wasn’t. His only appearances in this book are this picture on page 11 and page 11. I don’t know why it’s listed twice, or why one of them is in italics, but I don’t like it. It’s way too goddamn close to this book winking at me.

And while I’m on the subject of creepy clown book indexes, Turk Pipkin thought fingering someone’s palm during a handshake was something you might be looking up.

For a clown, a “Tickling Palm with Finger” handshake is a quick way to let your new friend know you’re going to do some weird sex stuff with their body before you dismember it. Even Turk Pipkin knows this is pretty fucked up. So after he explains how to do it, which isn’t complicated and takes way longer than you might imagine, he tags it with a one-word sentence: “Creepy!” This is a rare moment of self-awareness for Turk Pipkin, who doesn’t often notice the creepiness of invading people’s personal space in monster make-up to perform mechanical comedy routines. And even when he does consider the creepiness of what he does, it seems to be in jest? Here’s a great example: in the section helping you pick “a good clown hat” by making sure it is “any hat that feels good on your head” he warns the reader not to get into The Cabbie’s car, presumably because he’s dangerous. That’s it; that’s the entire bit. It’s a fucking weird book and sometimes it knows it is the point I’m trying to make.

One thing I learned about clowns, aside from how they tongue napkins in a surprising and side-splitting way, is how they like a struggle. In the chapter on AUDIENCE PARTICIPATION, Turk Pipkin shows how to stage a wacky tug-of-war or human centipede (pictured), and the most important advice he gives is to find people who don’t want to participate. There’s no fun, no sport in that. You want them reluctant. “And don’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” This fact wasn’t included in the index, but it’s absolutely true that no clown can get an erection unless someone is begging their colorful penis to go flacid.

Again, I am doing comedic joke gags on the idea of clowns being sex criminals and murderers. Like an overly licked napkin or comfortable hat, it is very funny and wins sure laughs, but is there truth to it? Let’s find out by building a test we can take at home. First of all, I think we can all agree anyone explaining satire and parody is a psychopath. And I think you should always be worried if someone’s first instinct when asked to explain something is to pull out a gun. So with these rules established, if I was to show you a page from a clown book explaining satire and parody and immediately doing so with a handgun, you would have to admit something was wrong. Well, checkmate, clown apologists:

What the fucking fuck are the circumstances where someone sees a clown pull out a gun and thinks, “Oh, fun. A comedy marksmanship show at my child’s birthday.” You think there’s a punchline at the end of that worth sticking around for? The punchline is your children are shot. This is the stupidest way to die. When the police find out you didn’t run away when the clown pulled the gun, they write up your death as a suicide. I went into this thinking, “I am a unique voice in the Internet hilarity landscape. I certainly won’t do anything as basic and predictable as make 1300 words worth of murderer jokes about this clowning book,” but are you kidding me with this shit? If you’re telling me Turk Pipkin, the author of BE A CLOWN!, has less than 15 dead people in his freezer, I will tell you to count the parts again and you will say, “Oh shit, he’s right– this is way more than 150 fingers.”