If there was one thing the ’90s were all about it was, inexplicably, anthropomorphized animals that were in some way “radical.” It all started with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, but it quickly and rapidly devolved from there, until most children’s television was naught but horrifically mutated animals skateboarding on pizza. Here are the worst offenders:

Street Sharks

Street Sharks was a show about four idiots who went to meet their dad in an abandoned sewer because a man with an eyepatch who refers to people as “creatures” asked them to. Then he turned them into sharks, which came as a huge surprise to absolutely nobody. What was surprising, however, were the kickin’ abs he decided to mutate into them. But…why? Are sharks notorious for their washboard gut-muscles? Or better yet, how? My god, did he…did he isolate the gene for kickin’ abs?

I guess four idiots is a small price to pay for progress…

The intro to Street Sharks is notable for several reasons: First, its liberal use of the term “Jawsome!” which is either the best catchphrase ever, or the tragic result of a massively mutated shark face trying and tragically failing to speak like people. And second, please note the liberal use of the “exploding through walls” shot. Apparently contractors in the ‘90s were so extraordinarily shitty that drywall exploded like an old pinto everytime you bumped into a wall. Here’s how the marketing meeting for Street Sharks probably went:

Kirk: “We need a show to compete with Ninja Turtles.”

Alan: “Well, what’s scarier than ninjas and turtles?”

Bill: “Black dudes and sharks.”

Kirk: “…”

Bill: “No, seriously guys. It’ll work! Like, sharks combined with rough and tumble gang members!”

Alan: “Actually I think he’s got something there, but what will we call it?”

Kirk: “Ghetto Sharks?”

Alan: “Gang Sharks?”

Kirk: “Uh…Urban Sharks?”

Bill: “N*GGER SHARKS!”

Kirk: “Bill, honestly – do you need to see somebody? You’ve got some issues.”

Bill: “JAWSOME!”

Cowboys of Moo Mesa

The Cowboys of Moo Mesa dared to ask the question: What if cowboys were like…actual cows?

And the answer was: It’d be pretty much the same.

There was also a villainous bull, a “sexy” cow-damsel that the cowboys tussled over, and an adorable calf-boy sidekick for comic relief. So basically, it was Indiana Jones and The Temple of Doom only…everybody was cows… and they were in the wild west and…okay, it’s not “basically” anything: It’s just a screwed up conglomeration of stolen ideas, laced with confused concepts, and swirled with a nauseating smidge of bestiality. But hey, if you learn anything from Cowboys of Moo Mesa, let it be this: The bad guy was a cow too. That means that some cows are sons of bitches, and it’s okay to eat them no matter what hippies say.

The Mighty Ducks

Do you remember America’s brief fascination with Emilio Estevez, skating based sports, and the virtues of a can-do attitude in the face of seemingly insurmountable difficulty? That all culminated in the feel-good hockey film, The Mighty Ducks, which was basically just a palette swap of The Bad News Bears starring the best Young Gun. The movie revolved around a jaded Emilio taking a team of misfit kids to the hockey championship, and it did so well they made a cartoon out of it!

Wait….what the fuck was that clip? What did that have to do with literally anything? The children are now genetically engineered duck-warriors… with cybersuits and laserswords? But…they still play hockey in between fighting aliens? This is what happens when you hand over script development to an insane foreigner whose only English words are “ducks” and “hockey,” then retranslate it back into English, and then shoehorn some aliens into there too for no particular reason.

But hey, as long as kids buy some thirty dollar Ducktrucks, it all works out, right?

Samurai Pizza Cats

Samurai Pizza Cats almost doesn’t belong here; the show was more of a parody of the ‘90s surge in television shows about surfing furries than a genuine effort. But still, there they are: Cybernetic Samurai cats who like pizza as much as they like wacky shenanigans. Much like the Power Rangers, this was originally a Japanese show that was given English voiceovers so terrible it was almost racist. However, unlike the Power Rangers, there is something very, very wrong with you if you find yourself wanting to fuck the pink one.

Extreme Dinosaurs

The Extreme Dinosaurs were both extreme and dinosaurs. There. You are now filled in on their epic backstory. Oh wait, they also fight the Reckless Raptors. You should probably know that too I suppose. Now, aside from beating up on Velociraptors with poor impulse control, the Extreme Dinosaurs also happened to have the best theme song in existence:

In the spirit of true trash cinema, “Hot Sluts” has all the good stuff: gratuitous skin, perfect B-movie dialog, nonstop punches and stabbings and shootings.

So gather the entire fam’ around the screen and enjoy. Watch Grandpa get pumped, pull a Benjamin Button and shed a couple dozen years — because that’s what watching HOT, SLUTTY BABES can do to an old man!

Now what depraved mind made this series about an innocent girl who takes a cocktail waitress job at “Scenarios,” the sleaziest of nightclubs? None other than comedian and Late Night with Jimmy Fallon head writer, A.D. Miles. Check out more of his acting and directing handiwork in “Horrible People” and “Wainy Days.”

The “Hot Sluts” cast is pretty smokin’, especially with Alison Brie (Mad Men) in the lead, with her doe-eyes and natural endowments. And Sandy Martin (Napoleon Dynamite) adds some good ruthlessness as the club owner. In fact, all the characters would be perfectly at home in Switchblade Sisters or Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!

So slut on and cheapen yourself with this awesome series. It’ll teach you (in a way) that despite the smutty, slutty odds… always follow your dreams!

The problem with science is that it is too damn hard.  It’s technically daunting and the questions tend to infinitely regress.  You can assert that your dog shows a statistical predilction for humping your sofa cushions over your slippers, but if someone asks “Why?” you’ve got to start all over.

“Per the non-parametric correlation coefficients, he should be banging Charmander right now…”

It only gets hairier if you’re taking a stab at the bigger questions of the universe, like the folks working with the Hadron Collider.  When the dust finally settles on its reconstruction, we can only hope they’ll come up with answers that make some sense…

This is why many scientists have chosen to swipe that the low-lying academic fruit.  If you only pursue knowledge in the known, you can get published without the peer-review gangbang.  Better yet, courtesy of the endless taxpayer generosity, the money is just as good.  So if you have the stones to put on a lab coat and boldly assert truisms like “Gasping laughter may induce asthma attacks” or “Puppies make people feel good” you may already be a scientist on par with the ones in these actual studies.

Hypothesis: Drunken Gay Men Enjoy Sex

Abstract: Science has recently uncovered a phenomenon wherein young, attractive people with ample access to intoxicants have a tendency to enjoy themselves.  This has toppled the previous paradigm that pubescent youth yearn for nothing more than quiet evenings of bible study at home with plutonic associates.  In order to understand this exponential rise in debauchery, we must get in front of the slut curve and observe a far sluttier country for context.  We selected Argentina as a worthwhile candidate via the 2003 paper from Jerry Falwell‘s Liberty University:

Materials: Morally bankrupt people, preferably men that are gay or extremely bicurious.  An Argentinian bar, preferably with poor lighting and that trance-inducing music that goes BOOOMP-sheh-BOOOMP-sheh-BOOOMP-sheh (note: music that goes UMP-UMP-UMP-UMP-UMP-scheeeet-UMP-scheeeeet will also be acceptable).  All subjects must be screened for condoms as any safe sex may skew prefered results.

Conclusions: This 2 year National Institutes Of Health (NIH) study began in 2008 and has yet to conclude, though initial results suggest that acting as inebriated disease vectors isn’t a primary motivation:

Cost To Taxpayer: $400,000

Hypothesis: Ducks Like Water

Abstract: A set population of farmed ducks are given equal access to a pond, a trough and a shower.  The duck language has over 54 different words to describe water, so it shouldn’t prove difficult for them to adapt.  We will track where the majority of their duck activities take place.

Materials: Pond, trough, shower, ducks, duck transponders.  Note: As detailed below, the transponders MUST be waterproof.

Conclusions: The ducks indicated a strong liking for the shower over the trough and pond.  This indidcates either a preference for simulated rainfall or non-stagnant water.  The latter is supported by a principle discussed in my previous paper, “Why Do All Ponds Smell Like Wet Ox Taint?”

Duck farms may be able to institute better duck hygeine by installing showers.  Since very few farmers can readily absorb the cost of installing multiple showering facilities, they may find it more cost effective to offer the occasional duck blood sacrifice to Aquatron, Rain God Of The Essex Region.

Cost To Taxpayers: £300,000

Hypothesis: Prostitutes May Be At Risk For AIDS

Abstract: For the purposes of this study, a “prostitute” is defined as “your mom” (lol! j/k).

For the purposes of this study, a “prostitute” is defined as “Anyone who accepts cash as a deposit for receiving further deposits in a seedy motel 25 minutes later.  It will focus specifically on female sex-workers in Thailand, which essentially means at least 40% of them will be transgendered because that’s just how they roll.  Transgendering so commonplace that incentives like this now exist:

The AIDS virus is 3 times as common per percent population in Thailand as in the United States, so there is some interest in uncovering modalities that foster its explosive spread.  Our businessmen deserve cleaner whores, by God!

Materials: 60 prostitutes. 1 digital camera and tripod to capture all interactions for later review with my wife.  1 round trip ticket to Thailand.  2 adult prescriptions for Cipro or the strongest experimental antibiotic available on the market.

Conclusions: Nearly 100% of the prostitutes allow men to insert their penises in them, which may have some bearing on the AIDS transmission rate.   Though, in fairness, most of the prostitutes were not conscientious about washing their hands nor using a ass-gasket when using public bathrooms, so it is probably a toss up.  My team is going to need a good deal more tranny sex to make a definitive finding on this.

Cost To The Taxpayer: $178,000 (but considering the NIH has spent $2.6M teaching Chinese prostitutes to drink less while working, this is essentially a bargain).

Ian Cheesman is aware these studies sound wasteful, but when you consider New Zealand spent $12M to discover their wine tastes like cat pee it really puts it in perspective. Thanks to Fark for being invaluable in my research and thanks to me for making all of this come together so beautifully.

There are many abandoned territories in the modern world. Places that, for one reason or another, were left entirely intact, yet completely vacant for sometimes decades on end. From entire townships fading into obscurity, to rotting amusement parks closed from lack of interest – they’re as varied as they are manifold. Any manmade place seems a little unsettling once emptied of its people, but some places aren’t happy to be merely “unsettling;” some places aim a little bit higher – shooting for the bullseye that is full blown terror. And here are some that hit it dead on:

Gunkanjima, Japan

This is Gunkanjima, Japan, also known as “Battleship Island.” It once had the densest population in the entire world: 1.4 people per square meter. Do you realize how insane that is? Let me put it this way: If you were a fat guy on Battleship Island, there would technically be another person partially inside of you, like the aftermath of some horrifying teleporter accident.

Battleship Island was built during World War II (thus all the concrete reinforcements,) and still stands largely intact to this day. It’s strictly off limits to the public, though sometimes adventurous photographers do sneak into it to take pictures like these, at which point they’re presumably murdered by the world’s densest population of angry spirits and fused into their spectral Hive Mind.

Essex Mountain Sanitorium, United States

Listen, because this is important advice: If you ever start a sanatorium, you need to tear that shit down once you’re done with it. Not repurpose it or leave it empty or something; that is just begging – literally begging – for a group of stupid teenagers to sneak inside of it to have illicit sex, where they will inevitably get murdered by the ghosts of madmen. It’s like a Roach Motel for horny morons. You may as well put an “Idiots Fuck Here” sign out front and start up a mortuary next door; you’d make a killing.

Hey, that could be your tag line!

Anyway, this is the Essex Mountain Sanitorium in Verona, New Jersey. I could tell you all about how terrifying this place is, but I’ll just show you this:

That’s just the kitchen. All they did was make fries there and I still want to cry just looking at it.

Centralia, United States

Centralia, Pennsylvania was a coal mining town that was been almost completely evacuated several decades ago. Forty years ago, to be precise. That’s when somebody started a coalfire underground that’s still burning to this very day. The entire town is burning just inches beneath the surface, and noxious smoke churns up from every opening, every sewer grate, and every crack in the highway. The asphalt of the street forms giant misshapen bubbles from the heat below, and sink holes randomly open up from time to time – the ground simply dropping away to the eternal fires raging just beneath. Forty years ago the fire started, and forty years ago everybody left because they didn’t want to live balanced precariously on the precipice of hell.

Well, almost everybody. Centralia still has a population of nine.

Nine!

Which means that there are either at least nine people possessed by the devil right now, or else Clint Eastwood cloned himself nine times. Because he’s the only person I can possibly think of who’s got balls big enough to shrug off the potentiality of getting eaten by the fires of hell every time he mows his lawn.

Kaeson Youth Park, N. Korea

In Pyongyang, the capital of North Korea, there are several abandoned amusement parks around, because hey – it’s hard to really relax and enjoy the simple pleasures of a merry-go-round when all of the other horses have cameras mounted in their eyes, and grabbing the gold ring is indicative of capitalist greed and therefore punishable by death.

This particular park, Kaeson Youth Park, is the largest of the lost parks, and is currently abandoned save for the Ghost of Blackbeard (who is clearly just Old Man Whithers trying to scare off tourists to keep his smuggling business a secret. Duh.)

San Zhi, Taiwan

This is the settlement of San Zhi, in Taiwan. It was originally supposed be a tourism-driven town, and the unique architecture of the place reflects that goal. A series of “mysterious accidents” plagued the settlement as soon as it was completed, so it was never actually used; just left abandoned to rot. Local religious beliefs held the complex to be the base of angry spirits, which is supposedly why it was never demolished.

By the looks of it, those “mysterious accidents” probably refer to the time George Jetson went crazy and murdered his entire family – his boy Elroy, daughter Judy, and Jane, his wife – with a Space Axe. They say that if you stand at the heart of the complex and say the words “Jane! Get me offa this crazy thing!” three times in a row, Astro will appear and tear out your throat.

Hellingly asylum, England

In the Sussex countryside stands possibly the most terrifying structure in existence: Hellingly Asylum. That’s its real name, by the way – not an ominous alias whispered in the darknened corners of the tavern by frightened locals.. They opened an asylum, and they named it Hellingly. Because fuck it, everybody knows that turn of the century asylums are pretty much guaranteed to be haunted by the ghosts of maniacs anyway, right? May as well be up front about it.

Look at that. Fuck you I’m going down that hallway. I would honestly be surprised if you weren’t grabbed by the multi-headed corpsebeast of the long-dead madmen whose identities (partially erased by electro-shock therapy) have merged over time into a writhing ball of madness and terror.

I mean, if you made it to end of that hall and a hydra of insanity didn’t split you apart? I would be like “well I’ll be damned” and give you twenty bucks.

Follow Robert on Twitter, on Facebook, or his own site, I Fight Robots.

Part 1 here

Let me offer a quick addendum to last weeks article, because I’m concerned that it might have given readers the wrong impression.  Despite the cavalier tone I’ve taken on this material, I want the kids out there to know that torture is NOT cool.  It is a brutal and savage enterprise that reveals the darkest compulsions of human nature.  There is no practice of torture that should ever be glorified.  Except this one:

Goddamnit, this is how I want to go

The Inquisition Chair

Say what you will about the backwards nature of medieval health care – they understood the benefits of maintaining good posture.   This chair fucking DARES you to slouch.

If this chair looks like a particularly inspired torture device, it’s not by mistake.  One day during the Inquisition a couple of cardinals were shooting the shit by the watercooler, talking shop when Cardinal Bob offered  "The thing is so much of the time these heretics are just sitting around waiting to be purged of sin via ass to mouth impalement, but we never have time to get to them!"

"Seriously." moaned Cardinal Fictional.  "And the Pope is gonna have our ass if we don’t get the numbers up.  We can’t all be workaholics like those jagoffs in the Seville office."

"Haha…yeah. Hell, we couldn’t keep up with those guys if the chairs were doing the torturing for us!"

One mutual flash of "Eureka!" later, this chair was on its way to being born.  The cardinals celebrated their innovation over some sacrificial wine and a couple of doe-eyed altar boys.

The chair is pretty self-explanatory, but each torturer knew how to make the experience their own.  They could selectively apply pressure or weight to the seated invididual or even stoke a fire underneath it.  The standard of application basically hinged on how big of a dick the torturer was.

I know this is where I put a scorecard for the fuckedupometer last time, but I just can’t do it.  The horrors of it all have begun to weigh on me.  How about a little something cleanse the palette a bit?

OCD Kitten will clean its way right into your heart

The Iron Maiden

When I originally started writing this section, I had worked out a good number of puns involving the musical standards from Iron Maiden.  They were real gems too.  There were gags like "If someone tries to slap you in one of these, you’d be well-advised to Run To The Hills."  However, I’ve decided to side-step those punchlines in favor just declaring "Hey Internet, I’m really fucking old".  You’d reach the same conclusion anyway.

The Iron Maiden was a device worthy of shrill metal commemoration.  This cabinet was lined with sharp metal spikes designed to do everything but kill you.  They’d impale your eyes and chest, but usually avoid all major organs.  On the upside, the accoustics were ideal for recording vocals.

 "You know what torture is?  Waiting for you to play with me."  Awwww!

The Lead Sprinkler

This will probably look familiar to any Catholics in the audience.  It is reminiscent of a device that is dipped in holy water and whipped about so groups of churchgoers can get a refreshing spritz of the Holy Spirit.  For a brief period these were retired in favor of the more modern overhead sprinklers, but the priests found that the resulting wet t-shirts were too conducive to lust.  

This operated in much the same way, opting for a more robust holy molten metal instead of water.  The annointed were so invigorated by the blessing they would loudly thank God by screaming at the top of their lungs.  A more savage application involved slowing dripping silver directly into their eyes, proving torturers didn’t always need to leverage the anus for the big finale.

Lookit!  Good Charlotte is trying to rock!  Awwwww! 

The Heretics Fork

Torturers have to put up with a lot of hassles.  When people aren’t preemptively howling for mercy they’re shouting defiantly about how they will never be broken.  It’s like dealing with bipolar Tweens all day!  As if that isn’t trying enough, just when the torturer is really in the groove of flaying the skin off some sinner with a spanish tickler (one of few torture devices whose name doubles quite nicely for a sex toy), their victims callously pass out from blinding pain.  Ingrates.

The Heretics Fork eliminated both the chatter and the nodding off.  It also doubled as the world’s most dangerous novelty bowtie at parties, though it never caught on in that respect.

  Lookit!  Mommy made me the lil’est whore ever! Awwww!

The Knee Splitter

As hellacious as all the other devices were, this is the only one that was made from Satan’s dental mold.  Or Jewel‘s.  They’re equally terrifying, really.

The name of this device is something of a misnomer.  While it could be ratcheted down to brutalize the knee and render the leg largely useless, it was used on elbows and other sections of the extremeties.  I postulate it was actually given that name to impart a false sense of security in the torturee.  As bad as their leg would be savaged, they could always console themselves knowing that it was pretty much over after their knee split.     Afraid not.

Lookit!  Robert Pattsion is still asserting his heterosexuality!  Awwwwww! 

The Rack

On the downside, you would be tethered to this apparatus, helpless to resist.  If your answers didn’t satisfy, the ropes would coil so tight that every single joint in your body would be torn out of their socket as you writhe in agony.

On the upside, if you could convince them to untether you afterward, odds are pretty good you’d be able to perform oral sex on yourself. 

I’m calling that cup officially half full.

Lookit!  Amazon still thinks it can unload its HD DVD stock!  Awwwww!

Ian Cheesman is happy to get away from writing about torture so he can focus on more life-affirming scatalogical humor.  Speaking of funny pieces of shit, check out iancheesman.wordpress.com.

He is also a filmmaker. Atom is pumped to unveil his very funny short, “Cowboy.” The film depicts a cowboy (Modine) in the city, where he encounters a beautiful woman at a bar. Her graphic description of the benefits of being a lesbian leaves him a changed man.

It’s undeniable: We are living in the future. And while notions like hyper-space travel, personal robot servants, flying cars and holodecks aren’t becoming a reality anytime soon, science is apparently doing its best to make all the morally questionable aspects of science fiction a reality right quick. You know how, if given the option, you always say “give me the bad news first?”  Science is probably just getting all the scary shit out of the way before slapping down some hoverboards and robo-butlers. Take, for example, cloning.

That’s a thing now.

It was all over the news a few weeks ago: A doctor claimed to have successfully cloned human embryos, and then "transferred them into a human womb…" as opposed to a cow or a bear womb, I guess. And considering the scientist behind the recent cloning experiments, those were probably very real options. Dr. Panayiotis Zavos, also known as Dr. Spellcheck-fucker, claims that he created a total of 14 cloned human embryos, with a total of 11 successful womb transfers. Though it should be noted that none of those transfers has actually resulted in a pregnancy, you can’t blame the science for that. Christ, it’s not Zavos’ fault that you’re too barren to give birth to the future, ladies. He’s just there to play god, not cupid.

Dr. Zavos completed this research at a secret laboratory, (theorized to be somewhere in the middle east,) and claims that this attempt is “only the first step” in his human cloning experiments. So the question must be asked at this point: Is he actively trying to sound like a supervillain, or is that just unfortunate wording? I argue for the former.

The evidence I point to that this is actually  the birth of a new age of terror, is the simple fact that the man responsible for the cloning is named "Dr. Zavos." That is a name just begging to be screamed from the tortured lips of Captain America as he mourns the loss of his lady love at the hands of Zavos’ merciless Nuclear Gorrilas.

Second, he has a secret laboratory located somewhere in the middle east. That’s the kind of vaguely ominous description you’d expect from a comic book:

“Meanwhile, at his secret laboratory, somewhere in the middle east, Dr. Zavos wakes his clone army from the cold stillness of unlife!”

And for my final, most damning piece of evidence that Dr. Zavos is a the world’s first genuine mad scientist, I don’t have to point to fucking anything: Look at that initial quote! When pressed for further information on his research, he ominously hinted that this “is the only the first chapter” in his plan! I haven’t found a video of this interview, so there’s no way to tell if he laughed maniacally for twenty five minutes before disappearing in a ball of fire after that, so I’m just going to have to assume he did.

Really, what else could that possibly mean: "Only the first chapter?" You’ve already claimed to have successfully cloned human embryos and transferred them into human hosts where you’re attempting to initiate a preganacy.

That’s it.

No more chapters. That’s the whole book; you have a clone after that. What other goals could you possibly have? Full grown clones? Designer clones? Two clones at the same time? Where does this ‘next chapter’ lead you if not to evil?

Luckily, Dr. Zavos did go on record as saying that he was “not out to clone the Michael Jacksons of the world,” which he apparently thought was a comforting statement. He went out of his way only to insist that he was not going to use cloning for probably the most terrifying single usage I can think of: A clone army of Michael Jacksons. You’re not specifically out to clone the completely deranged hyper-rich serial child molesters of the world, you say? Hey, awesome. Way to take one for the team, Zavos. Is there a middle ground you are out to clone? Just regular child molesters? Comfortably middle class maniacs only?

Fortunately for the sanctity of your children’s orifices, Peter Williams – the Documentarian who is following the experiments of Zavos The Recreator – says that we have about two years before they actually expect to see a healthy baby human clone produced from their efforts.  And that’s good;  he just said “we expect.” Expectations fail to get met constantly, so maybe there’s no real need to worry here. Maybe it’ll never actually happen. It’s like Zavos himself said:

"There is absolutely no doubt about it, and I may not be the one that does it, but the cloned child is coming. There is absolutely no way that it will not happen,"

Good god, every word out of his mouth sounds like a threat you’re just incapable of processing. Did he append that statement with “it doesn’t eat, it doesn’t sleep, and it absolutely will not stop until you are dead!”?

There’s no way this could get more ominous.

And if you believe that, you don’t know Zavos! He has also cloned cells taken from the corpses of at least three dead people, including a 10 year-old girl named Cady, and successfully created human embryos out of them for implantation.

So…he’s cloning the corpses of children? When the ultimate goal of your ‘experiment’ could easily pass for the plot of a Stephen King novel, perhaps it’s time to revise your endgame, Doctor. That is, unless you’re running for the office of World’s First Supervillain Emperor of Science, but Dr. Zavos would never do something like that. Why, in his own words, Zavos assures everybody that he just wants to help:

“I don’t intend to step on dead bodies to achieve something because I don’t have that kind of ambition. My ambition is to help people."

See? He’s going to help out. And he specifically said, right up there, that he doesn’t have any “ambition” that would require him to “step over dead bodies” to get what he wants. And yeah, maybe it’s a little odd that he goes out of his way to specifically assure people – people who didn’t ask in the first place – that he totally doesn’t have the unassailable, unerring kind drive within him that would cause a man to climb a mountain of corpses if it would get him just one step closer to his ultimate goal – but that’s just Zavos being Zavos, and in no way is it the first proclamation of war from the Clone Master and his unkillable Child-Corpse Army which will rise from the deserts of the middle east and march across the face of this world like a hellish fire relentlessly pushed onward by the ever raging wind!!!

It’s not like that at all. Because he said so. It’s totally cool. You can go now.

…

HA HA! FOOL! NEVER TURN YOUR BACK ON ZAVOS!
 

Follow Robert on Twitter, on Facebook, or his own site, I Fight Robots.

People have been accusing the media of needlessly hyping the swine flu, but the truth is that they had no choice.  Prior to the CDC declaring a world-wide aporkalypse, pundits were exhausting themselves in an indignation marathon in response to the Bush Torture Memos. Self-righteous posturing burns a lot of calories after all. It’s how Keith Olbermann keeps so trim.

The torture memo details advanced interrogation techniques only to be used in dire circumstances, such as preventing imminent danger to the public or a detainee not responding to “Pretty please?”.  These vile techniques include such horrors as making prisoners stand for a long time and slapping their belly.  Seriously.  The best my government can conjure up for torture is simulating a long amusement park line or ritual abuse from older siblings who caught you in their room.

We may be content to leave our bronze age ideas behind, but we have abandoned the golden age of torture. Back then people understood advancement of truth was more valuable than the sanctity of any rectum. Let’s take a quick look back at the torture devices that make waterboarding sound like a trip to the dayspa.

The Judas Cradle

Poor Judas.  All he did is sell out ONE messiah and his name has been reviled ever since.  If naming this unholy reamer after him isn’t sufficient penance, I don’t know what is.

The guilty party (and lets face it, why else wouldn’t they have confessed?) was supported by a series of ropes and pulleys and lowered until the metal pyramid was inserted into one of the two regrettably non-pyramidal orifices. They could be left sitting on a gravity-powered ass lathe for hours or repeatedly dunked, depending on how bored the puppeteer was.

The Head Crusher

The next time you’re visited at your home by religious missionaries, invite them in.  Allow them to share their worldview.  Provide them with light refreshment.  When they are done, politely inform them that while you believe them to be nuttier than squirrel shit, you appreciate them not obliterating your cranium to deliver the message.

This quaint bit of Inquisition memorabilia doesn’t really mince words with its name.  Using the same technology that smoothie emporiums leverage to juice the shit out of whole oranges, the tightening of the screw would result in teeth shattering into the jaw, eyes squirting out of their sockets and ultimately death.  Other than that you’d be fine.

The Pear Of Anguish

Not to be confused with the Apple Of Infinite Sorrow or the Kumquat Of Imminent Destruction, this device was a sort of a multipurpose tool.  It was designed to be inserted into any opening that didn’t like being stretched 4 times its normal diameter (read: all of them) to teach it a lesson.

This was sort of an apéritif for further torture to come and wasn’t generally used to kill.  However, since liars and blasphemers knew full well it was going in their mouth after just being extracted from a series of 40 different colons, they would probably offer to kick things off quickly and jump in the headcrusher first.

The Brank

For those already recoiling in fear, let me assure you that this one of very few medieval torture devices not designed to go in your ass.  The brank was actually targeted at humiliating women with a tendency to gossip.  It would enclose their head and prevent speech with a metal bar in the mouth or appropriately placed spikes.

I don’t want to validate this torture with some sexist statement about women’s tendency to prattle on, but consider how much more enjoyable this Cathy cartoon is when she’s outfitted with a brank:

This one’s for you, Irving

The woman could be forced to wear the brank for a matter of hours or months on end.  It depended on the severity of her crime or whether or not she was fit to look at in the first place.

The Rotating Drum

Ian Cheesman is certain that if you enjoy torture, you’ll enjoy looking at his brand new site iancheesman.wordpress.com.  It’s like a blog without all of that pesky writing cluttering things up.

The Atom Original Series, Stickman Exodus has come home with a 2009 Webby and People’s Voice Award for Online Film & Video: Animation! Behold the genius of simplicity:

(Enjoy a tall, frosty mug of Part 1 here)

What started out as a quick inventory of amusing beer names unexpectedly took the tone of an award show for beers.  All it’s missing is hackneyed banter between presenters and excrutiating, tearful acceptance speeches:

“Seriously, you guys, this pils is sofa king good!”

We still have more Sloshies™ to get through, so lets keep the show rolling.

THE WINNER: None.

All of these pale in comparison to my own personal microbrew:

It’s not just marketing hype either. Using recombinant DNA from my liver I have developed miniature sharks which live in each bottle.  We’re still working on the pitchfork nose, drinkability be damned:

Honorable Mention

Old Leghumper – Unless this is referring to my Gramps when he’s off his meds, this is very funny to me.
Monkey Knife Fight - I don’t know what this beer looks or tastes like, but I’ve decided it’s my favorite.  The name just commands that kind of respect.
Not Tonight Honey Porter – I’m glad Heartland Brewery no longer offers this.  Beer may not be the hottest date, but at least you know it will always say yes.
Happy Ending – You might think this is a play on the rich, lingering finish this stout provides, but there’s actually a coupon for a free handjob on every bottle.
Fancy Lawnmower – The Texas brewer’s lovesong to Hank Hill and shriners everywhere.

Ian Cheesman thanks beerlabels.com again for all of their support in researching this article.  You guys are like the Bartles & Jaymes of beer, except you’re not all gay for each other like those old dudes were.  I think.