Sure, you could spend this lovely 4/20 day celebrating the, uh, let’s see, the dissolution of the Rump Parliament by Oliver Cromwell in 1653, or, you can join our big, and most certainly more violent, older cousins Spike TV in watching a brand new season of The Deadliest Warrior tonight at 10p/9c! They’ve even put up a pretty entertaining blog post about some warrior matchups that didn’t quite make the cut: The Top 10 Deadliest Warrior Matchups We’d Love to See.

Not to be outdone (ok, we could possibly outdone in this department), check out Psycho Auditions, an Atom reality show classic that features our own psychotic warrior.

Sometimes you can protect the world with traditional methods (guns, fighter planes, sanctions) and sometimes you need to go with a giant robot piloted by teenagers. Meet Megabot, Atom’s brand new parody of teenage, robotic vigilantism (with Fran Kraz, from Dollhouse) that’s gone on just a little too long.

Inspired by Megabot, we put together a list of some of our favorite robotic advocates for interstellar justice.

 
 

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#1: Voltron
The pilots who assembled to form Voltron labored under the delusion they were worth half a shit. They insisted on attacking their demonic foes with the lion vehicles, which inevitably got swatted away with a lethargic backhand. Sure, they’d form Voltron to cleave their opponent just nanoseconds later, but that was coasting on technology to do the heavy lifting.

Worse, I am beginning to think part of Voltron’s core mission was ethnic cleansing. Outfits aside, his pilots showed about as much diversity as a Klan rally.

“We must rid the universe of evil King Zarkon! And Blacks!”

True to my media roots, this week I vacilated between writing about sex or violence.  Headlines highlighting either were in abundance.  It was almost as if The Joker’s nefarious scheme to free all the inmates of Arkham Asylum was partially thwarted by Batman, allowing only the "bloodlust" and "pervert" wings to escape. 

The deviants were off to an early lead.  One inmate managed to trek all the way to Australia, rise in prominence as a litigator, and use the platform to motion the country’s Fair Trade Council to purchase a dildo for one of its ministers.  He justified these government funds by suggesting she would "stop screwing with the people of Strathfield and screw herself instead". 

Still, the carnage unleashed by the psychopaths was even more creative and ultimately won my affections.  Don’t let that deflate you, sex offenders.  Every day is a fresh opportunity to taint, degrade, and violate the world, as my mother used to say.

Did you clean your room, or does someone need another cockspanking?

 

Blood On The Ethernet
This week the streets of Florida got 0.03% little less bizarre when William "Srs Bzns" Cruz was sentenced to 30 years in jail.  His eruption of violence could have been a scene right out of Boyz N Tha Hood, if Compton was just a chatroom on Latinchat.com.

Cruz frequented the Cuba1 chatroom, along with chatters "El Habanero” (Havana Man), ”La Gata Fiera” (The Raging Cat) and ”Pollos Muertos Bailan Sobre Mi Cabeza, Pero No Me Gusta” (Dead Chickens Dance On My Head, But I Don’t Like It).   Cruz was known as "Cubano35" (which, if my 3 years of high school spanish serve me, translates to "I’m Probably Going To Shoot One Of You In The Face 35").  Cruz demonstrated general animosity towards the group, but was particularly enraged by Yanko Diaz.  Diaz was known as "Latengoparada", a phrase indicating his sexual arousal, which should help frame the maturity of the chatroom’s discourse.

 

The in-fighting escalated to a challenge to meet at a dimly lit corner of a closed superstore parking lot.  Diaz’s survival instincts clearly lacked the same level of arousal that his penis did.  He was shot in the left thumb, right wrist and buttocks, indicating he was genuinely trying to cover his ass.  Doughboy would have never gone out like that.

 

Two Sophomore Enter, One Sophomore Leave
A Dallas high school has instituted a bold new policy that will revolutionize disciplinary techniques.  The new regime directs students to collaborate on creative solutions to their conflicts, with the provision that they do so inside the specified metal cage and honor standard tapout rules .  They’re not savages, after all.

Pictured: Not savagery

 

Of course those pencil-pushers in the school district office didn’t appreciate using  Thunderdome as homeroom.  They uncovered it during an investigation on grade-tampering for student athletes, which is like a cop pulling over someone with a busted tail-light and realizing they’re trafficking illegal immigrant sex offenders with heroin balloons in their ass.  Oddly enough, it was the school’s request to the district to update their school mascot that raised some suspicions of an expanding alpha-dog culture:

It’s furry humor without the furry joke.  My humor has LEVELS.
 

A middle school counselor in the district said the culture at South Oak Cliff High, where many teachers are alums and have relatives in their classrooms, kept anyone from speaking out.  For those not reading between the lines, he just basically accused an entire educational institution of inbreeding.

 

Fore By Fore
Golf is awesome.  I used to think it was just a forum for doughy white men vying for promotions, using 18 holes to accomplish what a 3 minute blowjob under the CEO’s desk would achieve.  Courtesy of Linda Pearce, I now know it is so much more.

Pearce told witnesses she was going to run over Verma Boylan while carousing outside the country club’s bar.  Apparently Pearce was known for speaking in metaphor and this didn’t raise any red flags.  She then hopped in her golf cart, ran down Boylan and dragged her underneath the cart about 15 feet, because Pearce valued integrity as much as retribution.  Upon reflection, Pearce’s friends admitted that her choice of golf cart should have been cause for concern:

 

I’d like to think Pearce’s motviation was an elaborate tale of bitter lies and vicious betrayals, the kind of thing that Kill Bill character prologues are made of.  However, since there’s little evidence that her 56 year old victim was ever a member of either the Crazy 88 or Deadly Vipers Assassination Squad, it’s more likely that Pearce was just batshit insane.

Fearing lawsuits, the country club took drastic preventative measures:

 

Ian Cheesman may have inadvertently photoshopped his dream vehicle above.  The only thing it lacks is a hood large enough to support a bikini-clad slut and an airbrushed scenicanemia.com logo.

Check out more articles from Ian and other Atom bloggers right here.

I’m not quite comedically inept enough to make Polack jokes, but if I was, I would apologize for every single one right now. Recently, the Polish have rallied around a cause: To have a memorial built in Great Britain that honors one of their most beloved war heroes, a soldier simply known as “Voytek.” He was a hard-drinking, hard-smoking, hard-fighting son-of-a-bitch who won his valor in the battle of Monte Cassino, one of the bloodiest conflicts of WWII. Voytek stood about 6’5 tall, and weighed in around 600lbs, which wo-wait, 600 pounds?!  Either this Polish war-hero was also undisputed King of the Fatties, or he’s some sort of fucking bear.

Oh, wait, he was a fucking bear!

Voytek was an Iranian Honey Bear, as well as a credited, ranked, and official member of the Second Polish Transport Company.  He was found in the hills of Iran when the company, upon seeing a malnourished, starving bear cub, not only found the heart to nurse him back to health but then, eventually finding themselves with a full-grown, loyal, trained bear and a shitload of Nazis to fight, did the perfectly logical thing and decided to enlist him. I would normally comment here about the sheer insanity of the era’s military for allowing a bear into the armed forces, but honestly? It makes perfect sense.

The Nazis knew all about the power of image, (their emblems and uniforms stand to this day as the epitome of tyranny and evil,) so when it came time to fight fire with fire, what better way to counter the powerful symbolism of the Axis, than a god damn drunken bear in an Allied uniform? If, upon leaping into the trenches prepared for a brutal hand to hand fight, a Nazi soldier found it filled with bloodthirsty bears slamming whiskey – their immense paws filled with gargantuan artillery shells – you can safely count that soldier out of the rest of war. Even if he survives, he’s not fighting again.

“Sir, I’ve seen the enemy gunners. They’re bears!”

“You mean they fight like mighty bears!? My God!”

“No, sir! They’re literally fucking bears! I just went crazy as hell! I’m going home!”

“Weinerschnitzel!”

On duty, Voytek was trained to carry cases of ammunition and mortar shells down the line to waiting artillery, each one weighing hundreds of pounds. On one occasion, he wandered into an empty shower stall and surprised an Arabic spy who had been listening in on top secret information. The spy quickly surrendered and immediately confessed to all of his crimes, probably because he was smart enough to realize that any military unit possessing Anti-Espionage Bears are likely going to be on the winning side of the war.

When off duty, Voytek enjoyed the same luxuries as any other WWII era soldier. He drank cases of beer, smoked cases of cigarettes, and loved to wrestle with his fellow troops – a fact which leaves me in somewhat of a quandary: Who was more badass, the Nazi-fighting bear who wrestled full platoons of trained soldiers, or the men who routinely got body-slammed by him for shits ‘n giggles?

Voytek was so fearless in battle, and so beloved out of it, that the Second Polish Transport Company officially changed their insignia to this:

All military insignia are pretty uniformly badass. Their imagery is rife with skulls, guns, bombs, and lightning bolts; but all that shit’s got nothing on this simple, modest, and entirely accurate depiction of what appears to be a grizzly bear with bullets for fists.

After the war, Voytek retired to the Edinburgh zoo, and the rest of his company settled in the area around him. They visited him frequently, tossing him cigarettes and beer over the fence, and occasionally jumping the barricades to wrestle with him again. He lived to a relatively old age, eventually dying of natural causes, and I’m sure that he’s up there somewhere right now, drinking a case of whiskey, smoking a cigar, and eating Nazis in heaven.

Read more from Robert at his own site, I Fight Robots, which is still markedly better than fighting bears. Poor lil’ Nazis.

Per the Australia Bureau Of Statistics their country’s primary exports are coal, iron ore, wheat and petroleum. However, if the last week is any indicator, they are also solely producing the world’s supply of Fuck Yeah. Any country who wished to topple this Regime of Extreme would literally have to found a cagefighting organization that only had weight classes for Heavyweights, Super Heavyweights, and Bears. 

 

 

Yeah, I’d pay to see this too

 

In the last week alone, three stories emerged from Down Under that prove my theorem.  For maximum appreciation while reading, please shotgun a beer and do 50 knuckle-pushups at the completion of each section.  This will ensure proper pump-uppage.

 

 

 

 Fuck Yeah #1:

Spiders Step Up Their Game

 

Scientists cite tectonic plate motion and continental drift as the reason for Pangea’s splintering into multiple sub-continents.  What Academia usually fails to address is the Pangean conspiracy to get the world’s most aggressive and lethal creatures all concentrated on the southern tip so it could cleave it off to form Australia and run away screaming in terror. 

One such abomination is the Golden Orb Weaver, a spider the size of an adult fist with an apparent taste for warm blood.  Joel Shakespeare, a zookeeper at NSW’s Australian Reptile Park, captured the carnage below for posterity/nightmares:

 

 

 

Spider - it’s Australian for 8-legged wombat with aggression issues.
                                                                                                                                               
 

Fuck Yeah #2:

Please Hammer, Don’t Hurt Em
 

Senior Detective Matthew Flood introduced the world to his unique philosophies on gun control this week during a foot chase with suspect James Lyle Rakatau.  Fighting crime in accordance with rugby rules, he tackled the suspect.  In the ensuing scuffle the suspect freed Sen. Detective Flood’s gun from his holster and brandished it towards him. In Australia this gesture is considered somewhat rude.  The detective opted to clamp his fist on the cylinder so the revolver couldn’t fire and jam his finger between the hammer and primer.  For those having difficulty conceptualizing this, I cobbled together a quick diagram:

 

When asked for comment at a press conference, Sen. Detective Flood held up the mic responded “Just another day on the job.”  He then used his free hand to topple a drug cartel and rescue 13 children from a burning orphanage.
  

Fuck Yeah #3:

The Ichthyoid Uprising Begins

 

A 34 year old UK tourist was reminded this week of his tenuous foothold on the top of the foodchain while visiting Oceanworld in Manly, Australia.  During a sanctioned shark swimming excursion his scalp was lacerated by a passing nurse shark.  Park officials are calling it an accident, not a transparent attempt by the shark to tenderize their snack a bit.

The explanation is consistent with the commonly held notion that nurse sharks are generally placid.  Unfornately, in the rugged wild of Australia even “placid” has a sliding definition along the lines of “May not go after your relatives after it mauls your face off”.

 

When nurse sharks start drawing blood it’s no accident.  It’s a warning shot across the bow of humanity.  Nay-sayers should consider that the media didn’t report on this letter found on the scene after the incident:

Dear Humans,
We get it.  Some jerkoff marine biologist calls us “nurse sharks” and suddenly you think it’s safe to swim with us.  Well, here’s a quick newsflash for you - we weren’t put on this earth to change your bedpans and apply fresh bandages to your boo-boos.  We are swimming murderbots with an agenda for your ass.

Maybe Chip the 2nd String Lifeguard who led you on this expedition should have mentioned our name comes from our propensity to eat prey larger than our mouth by biting down and sucking their flesh down our throats.  So unless you want your torso to start “lactating” out your liver, maybe you’d better stay on land.

Shark

P.S. Enclosed are 2 or 3 teeth I’m not even using any more.  I’ve got fucking DOZENS of them, y’hear?