On the heels of the command, a red and blue streak shot across the camera's field and slammed into Wong, sending both of them flipping into the background with a series of sickening thuds. It was Seanbaby. When they stopped rolling, he stood, now wearing all of David Wong's clothes. Wong, himself, was dressed from head to toe in a skin tight, red and blue, leather jumpsuit that I can only imagine had adorned Sean's body before the attack. Around the seams were tiny spots of blood, where Sean had stapled the outfit to the unconscious man. I thought about asking him how he did that, but I opted for silence, for fear that after asking the question, I'd turn around to find him standing behind me, fully prepared to demonstrate.
When it was clear to us that a careful study of dongs was in order, we decided to explore the many aspects of the dong phenomena. The popularity of dongs is unprecedented, and it is our responsibility to dive right in and try to deliver while such an insatiable public hunger for dongs exists.
Most of The 7 Most Retarded Criminal Excuses of all Time is hilarious, but number 1 in particular stands out: Someone tied pot around their dick and tried to smuggle it into prison. When the police found it, he said that it was simply "a misunderstanding".
There is no reasonable series of events that could come together in any order that would make that a misunderstanding. "I got naked and fell into a pile of weed and decided not to check myself afterwards"? Nope. "I thought this was how you properly disposed of drugs"? No you didn't. "My girlfriend loves the smell of pot on my dick"? Bullshit. No girlfriend will ever love that smell.
How This Excuse Could Work: For the entire world to be a retarded sitcom, written four generations into a writers strike, where everyone has nine grams of marijuana around their genitals and ten times that in their bloodstream.
Better Excuse: "I'm part of a highly secretive, extremely experimental undercover Drug Enforcement Team. In an effort to catch a gang of all homosexual pot-dealers, we wrap marijuana around our dicks. We call this 'fishing,' and it's awful." You're bound to at least get some creativity points for that.
When you create a Sim, it records a copy of them. This allowed me to go back to the menu and start the game over with a fresh genetic clone of Subject Beef and Turbo Sexaphonic. With science marching along next to me, I moved them into the burned-out, haunted remains of my old facility to recreate our grand experiment. What happened next is a true story: the clone rummaged through the trash for exactly 25 hours, then ran to the pool to sink and die. It's like the first thing he did after being created was remember what I had done. Going over all this data, I can conclude that science and all the dark-sided Gozar-summoning magic it brings with it can kiss my ass.
Related to this is when Brockway wrote an article about gun violence and violent video games. One of his rhetorical suggestions was that we as a society ditch Call of Duty and play the more peaceful game series, The Sims. Cue everyone in the comments section asking him if he's ever played the game (or at least read Seanbaby's article) and swapping all the different creative ways they've murdered their Sims and other characters from supposed non-violent video games (ie, Rollercoaster Tycoon) in ways that Call of Duty could only dream of. As one commentor put it, at least the NPCs in Call of Duty shoot back.
Number 13 is the image for Public Service Announcement. Now try to look at it the same after reading their interpretation: "If the ghost of chalk Hitler is so pleased by people driving alone, why does he look so terribly sad? Maybe because the stone cold pimp in the driver's seat just made him watch while his dick played hopscotch with the ghost of chalk Eva Braun."
6 Brilliant Inventions That Look Like Gag Gifts. The first item on the list is Powdered Water. The author mentions a classic joke email about Dumb Blonde Inventions, that features things like "solar-powered flashlight," "pedal-powered wheel chair" and, of course, "powdered water". But after the entry explains that powdered water, or rather "dry water", is a really useful thing, the author remarks "So we guess we should go looking for a pedal-powered wheelchair now?". Guess what's the next item on the list.
Seanbaby's explanation for the Kool-Aid Man's wall-smashing tendencies: "He's a creature made entirely out of tap water, sugar and a pouch of carcinogens. His body can't decide whether it wants to evacuate its liquid, run as fast as it can or die, so he just charges the nearest building in a desperate attempt at all three."
According to Joseph, his friends had left the party reading quotes from the bible to each other and were on their way to assist the homeless. According to the police, the group was shooting off flamethrowers and wheeling a giant cannon down the street toward an orphanage. The truth is probably somewhere in between.
Joseph was rushed to the hospital where doctors discovered the 19 bullet-holes in his body. The attending physician later testified that Joseph was "probably in severe pain." Dr. Obvious likely went on to say that the red stuff pouring out of Joseph's body was "probably blood."
In # 5, we have:
When the doctors at the field hospital found out he had a whole, working rocket inside him, there was the usual panic and screaming until someone finally calmed down enough to try and save his life. This was despite the fact that the army manual called for him to be dumped far away from everyone and treated last. Seriously, nothing makes you more unpopular to a group than having a live bomb inside you.
Back in 2006, a guy in Oregon got really depressed, probably because he realized he lived in Oregon. He decided it was time to end his life and after ruling out faster, better, more proven alternatives, he decided he would end it all by shooting himself in the head with a nailgun (we've all been there, right?). We're going to go out on a limb and assume that he was probably a bit disappointed when the first nail pierced his skull and he found himself still alive and in Oregon.
He was serious about ending it all though and kept pulling the trigger on the nail gun like a guy waiting for an elevator. By the time he was done, he had a dozen nails embedded in his head. It's unclear why he stopped but a good guess is because it really hurts to shoot nails into your skull.
Special mention should also go to #5 the Knight Gallery. There's nothing quite as amusing as looking at Batman's Fashion Journal.
10 Mustache Styles That Must Be Stopped. Especially number two, the 'Finger Mustache'. The Running Gag of this article is that people don't actually look as cool as they think they do when wearing these mustaches. This represented by showing one picture of what you think you look like (which shows an image of a cool or stylish person) and what you actually look like (accompanied by an image of a geeky or creepy person). In number two, it shows the picture of the Finger Mustache for the 'what you think you look like' category. For the 'what you actually look like' category, it shows a picture of a douche. Literally.
The Robert Brockway article "5 Terrifying Things Movies Don't Tell You About Los Angeles", which is basically about how much Los Angeles sucks, includes a brief section on how jobs require you to have pretty headshots even when you're not going to be seen by the customers and Brockway posts a few of said headshots of his coworkers. Now, roughly half the comments are about how attractive Soren Bowie is , with many people apparently forgetting about the entire rest of the article.
Apache Chief: I can't believe it! A moon creature, as big as the— Superman: THIS IS A JOB FOR SUPERMAN! (flies off) Apache Chief: (indignant glare) Seanbaby: Look, we get that everyone on the team who isn't you is a little bit pointless, Superman, but when you're being attacked by something big and you're standing next to the guy whose power is exactly that, shouting "THIS IS A JOB FOR SUPERMAN!" is a lot like saying, "You're only here for the Native American employee tax incentives!"
"Colossus, a Giant of Giants" summed up in two panels:
Ever since I blacked out in the bathrooms at Beso and woke up next to that crying gypsy woman, I can only hear letters as notes of music.
One from the comments section: Comments for Cracked articles are often plagued with spambot ads for dating companies; they have weird spacing to get past the filters.. But in the comments for "The Five Stupidest Excuses Ever Given In Political Scandals", which mentions the Rentboy.com dating service, there's a fake ad by commenter Darkstrolm which is a perfect parody.
The caption for Lesson # 3 in Cracked Topics: World War 2: "We don't know what's worse, if this is our propaganda, or yours." Note that the image is of a giant samurai with Imperial Japanese and Nazi German flags behind him killing everything on the ocean with a katana while the smoke of burning ships rise beneath his feet.
ClaireQuilty: J F Sargent reviews chess: A hideous celebration of race war with blacks and whites seen as forever in a state of conflict (with the tacit but obvious assumption that it is the whites who are attempting to capture and enslave the blacks). The game also reflects a terrible patriarchy in which the "queen" is nothing more than a symbol for the role of women: doomed to forever search for positions that please the dominant male figure, the king, whose lack of movement reveals his ultimate power.
6 Things No One Tells You About Living on a Farm. You'll never look at a bucket of fried chicken the same way again, especially after seeing the words, "Family Sized Rapists Bucket". The comments section is also stuffed with hilarious stories of people growing up on equally horrifying farms.
This, dear reader, is a medium-sized lump of Sweet Fucking Christ.
And, there may actually be a market for this. Self-loathing is a powerful force in this economy (see the diet section of your local supermarket) and there' times you get low enough that, damn it, you feel like you deserve nothing better than infested cheese.
3, baby mice wine
Who are you going to find in America that's OK with drinking dead fetus juice as a way to improve their own health? OK, other than lawyers.
Do you wince at the thought of swallowing a tequila worm? Imagine how you'd feel during a session on this bastard. Whoops, I swallowed a dead mouse! Whoops, there goes another one! Whoops, I just puked my entire body out of my nose!
2, pacha. What is it?
Of all the dishes, this is the one most likely to be mistaken for a threatening message from the mob. It's a sheep' head. Boiled.
No wonder why the Iraqis keep blowing themselves up. Wouldn't you, if every evening meal was a festival of death?
1, balut, aka a duck fetus.
They are typically sold by street vendors at night, out of buckets of warm sand. You can spot the vendors because of their glowing red eyes, and the faint, otherworldly sound of children screaming.
Actually, marketed properly, these eggs could be a damn good motivator. When you've looked death in the face at breakfast time, what the hell else can the day throw at you?
Glaube's sweetest weapon is a gator kick he calls the "Brazilian Kick." It's an attack that looks like his thigh and shin can't agree on what they're doing. It starts low so your opponent's elbow comes down to protect his body, then your kneecap dislodges and your foot swings over his gloves and into his betrayed face. You can't trust Glaube's leg. Glaube's leg will invite you over for sex and then sell you Amway. Poisoned Amway.
as a Japanese hero, biased judges always sent his fights into extra "tie-breaking" rounds. Musashi could get pummeled into an amublance and the judges would chase after it to tell him he still has an extra round to fight. If you punch Musashi in the eye, the Japanese judges write that down as "Musashi sternly gazes at opponent's honorless fist: 75 points." When Musashi dies, Japanese ringside teams will exhume his body for a tie-breaker round against the robots that killed him.
Counter fighting against Glaube Feitosa is like playing catch with hot soup — it only ends quickly and stupidly.
Feitosa backed Musashi up with punches, threw a Brazilian Kick, then a front kick to the face. Musashi awesomely blocked and dodged all of this, but he was out of room. He bounced off the ropes just as Feitosa went into the air with a flying knee. Geologists can't explain why the ground shook for a moment, but wise men say that it was the erections of ancient war gods raging under the Earth.
Kaman vs Piotrowsky:
Kaman wears trunks with a rainbow across the crotch. Why? Because he wants you to picture how badly he could kill you if you said something about it. Plus, it makes it impossible to tell whether he's going to fuck you or your wife.
Piotrowski collapsed to a knee, swinging the whole time. Then this crazy bastard wobbled back to his feet only to have the referee stop the fight. Why? Because Piotrowski was completely god damn asleep. Rob Kaman shattered the part of his brain that tells your body when it's in a coma. The referee held his unconscious body, but he was holding it more back than he was up. Which is a pretty ballsy thing to do to a guy who just turned into a zombie right in front of you.
Remi Bonjasky vs Akebono:
For two rounds Remy Bonjasky punched and kicked Akebono as he helplessly shambled in a tiny circle. Chocolate rabbits have more natural defenses than Akebono. I didn't know if Remy was toying with him or waiting for the ice cream inside to melt just to see what would happen. It was so embarrassing that I think the Japanese subtitles tried to trick the audience into thinking they were watching a panther kill a bean bag. Then, in the third round, Remy landed a head kick. Akebono looked so dead that local restaurant owners panicked. To this day, it's the most violent thing ever done to butter. They say that if you watch this fight while you're cooking, your cream sauce will break.
Buakaw Por Pramuk vs. Masato: Ass Kicking of the Eight Limbs:
In the first round, Buakaw opened a Muay Thai school on Masato. Thai survivors of Japan's WWII invasion watch this and say, "Jesus, take it easy on the Japanese fella."
Most Thai fighters like to go slow in the first round and feel their opponent out. So if a Thai fighter spent the first round beating you like you were filled with candy, terrible things are in your future. Buakaw hunted Masato in a way that no behavioral forensics investigator would call human. At one point he boots Masato into the ropes, spins him around, and kicks both legs out from under him. Masato was so confused where he was, he had to spit to figure out which way was up like an avalanche victim.
After this one-sided fight went the distance, it seemed pretty easy for the Japanese judges to pick a winner — the awesome guy without all the footprints on his face. But on the other hand, Masato is Japanese. So they called it a tie and made them fight a fourth round. Coincidentally, four is the same number of years this insane decision took off Masato's lifespan.
The extra round went like the others. Buakaw filmed a How To Break A Man's Will With Muay Thai instructional tape all over Masato's legs, body, and head. Masato kept clinching to try and rest, but Muay Thai doesn't use the clinch for resting. As soon as any hug started, Buakaw either kneed an organ to death or spiked Masato into the mat like a football. After that, the judges didn't send it to a fifth round, probably because Masato's life insurance didn't cover suicide.
Cro Cop vs. Bob Sapp:
In comical slow motion, Sapp bent down and contorted his face in pain, surprise, and 8 emotions only buffalo have names for. He looked like he was trying to act out Total Recall for a deaf person. Something in his skull broke and it was taking a very long time for all the pain signals to reach the twin brains located in buttocky clusters of muscles in his calves.
As it would be explained to him later at the minotaur clinic, Cro Cop broke his orbital bone. Then they of course asked him to leave. His doctor didn't go to 12 years of minotaur school to treat a filthy cyclops.
When a person gets knocked out, strange things happen. Sometimes you wake up quickly and have no idea what happened. Sometimes you stay unconscious until the A-Team is done saving everyone in your illegal sweatshop. In John Matua's case, his brain got confused and told every part of his body to go jogging in a different direction. So he hit the ground stiff and twitching. Tank Abbott, with the class one would expect from central casting's idea of a prison movie extra, looked back at the body and mocked his seizure. Mocked his seizure. That's the kind of thing that makes Satan shuffle the papers on his desk and say, "Shit, I don't even think I have a form for that."
Great Moments in Gratuitous Sci-fi Nudity somehow lost all instances of "rn" due to a formatting error, causing spelling errors like "Retu of the Living Dead," and "Hoy 15-year-old." The comment section is a beautiful stream of snark.
As soon as he exclaimed the word "spider," I jumped into immediate action, leaping up onto a nearby chair to make myself appear larger and more frightening to the spider. In a brave effort to scare it away, thus mercifully sparing its life, I let out a high-pitched scream and released an abundance of saline from my eyes, known by wise men to be a natural spider repellent.
Despite my heroic attempts, it stayed in place, taunting us with its steadfast grip on our floor. That's when my son showed his true colors. With a gaze as cold as arctic night, he lifted his foot. And without the slightest hint of emotion, he brought it down. Just like that, he was a killer. A victim of Grand Theft Auto V, forever damned to a life of unforgivable sin.
[picture of a shoe] In spider legend, it is known as the Eater of Worlds.
Slowly and cautiously, I backed out of the room. As my son watched me, his eyes showed confusion, but his heart showed the home of the devil.
I've since burned down my house to cleanse our tainted possessions, and my wife brought me to a magic doctor who gave me anti-devil pills to keep the dark infection away.
To the surprised weekend janitor who discovered me, the children and the complicated and — if we could all just step back and get real for a second — objectively impressive maze/deathtrap that I built...
Ken Lo: HOLY SHIT, YOU REALLY DID IT! Jackie Chan: GLBBB! Ken Lo: I'M COMING TO KICK YOU! Jackie Chan: BLGGHBLG! Ken Lo: OH I'M REALLY COMING! Jackie Chan: GBB! BHHGBH! Ken Lo: AND...IT'S ALMOST KICK TIME!Jesus, Jackie are you okay? Jackie Chan: GGGB... Ken Lo: OH NO, I MISSED MY KICK!Seriously, dude— are you alright? Jackie Chan: GGGG...
...or the 21-story skyscraper slide from Who Am I: