Blue Dawn: Recounting the Smurf War

Pride. They say pride comes before the fall. The Bible says in Proverbs 16:5, “Everyone who is proud in heart is an abomination to the LORD; Assuredly, he will not be unpunished.” Pride is even defined by Merriam-Webster as “A feeling that you are more important or better than other people.” It is pride  exactly why the world suffered the tragedies during what we now call The Blue Dawn when we battled against the Smurfs. Tragedy is a soft word compared to the horrendous nature of the event, and only those who fought, survived, and are now haunted by the event can tell the true nature of what actually happened.

Recounted here is but one soldier’s experience during the war. Yes, it is heavily abridged, as the tale is long and melts the iciest of hearts. The information comes from many points of view and are woven together in this yarn as one cohesive piece told from the first person. As the dawn gives way to the twilight, so to does the darkness give way to light, even if the soothing morning light feels more distant and slower to come than the blanketing of darkness. We will live. We will heal. We must never forget.


Blue on Black: When it began

BRRZ! BRRZ! BRRZ! The alarm set on my cell phone next to my bed screamed as though it were a banshee alerting the world to its arrival, while the vibration function I always had set caused the phone to dance on the wireless charging port. Groaning, I turned and picked the wicked thing up, desperately trying to slide the screen to “off”. With so much fog in my head and blurring in my eyes, my phone fought with me all the way to the bathroom. I swear, this damned device knew me too well to simply be allowed to shut off right away.

Managing to silence this accursed device, I looked down as I began to brush my teeth. 4:01 AM Central European Time Zone (GMT+1). Formation would be at 5:00 AM and I couldn’t be late. I was never late. I’m sure everyone wants to know…and yes…I was stuck with a “bad company”, but not because I was a screw up or a criminal. Don’t get me wrong, most of the people I served with were. I just had a “bad attitude” and pissed off the wrong people enough times to end up here. They thought it would be hilarious to make me a corporal instead of a sergeant and put me in charge of a squad of people who were both accused and convicted of crimes, but their efficiency and penchant for acceptable violence would have been wasted in the stockade over in Leavenworth. The one blessing, however, is I was at Caserma Del Din, attached as back up for the 173rd Airborne Brigade Combat Team.

I had just jumped into the shower and allowed the warm water to massage my body, washing away the previous day and cleansing me for the new to day to come, when I first felt it.

Rattle. Rattle. Small shake.

At first I payed little attention to it, rationalizing it as me being still in the process of waking up.

Rattle. Stronger shake. Rattle. Rattle.

There it was again. This time, a little heavier and more obnoxious. I stepped forward in the shower, the water still hitting my back, and touched the wall. Maybe it was just the water heater or the pipes?

Boom followed by an extremely large tremor then rattling and shaking. I heard the sirens going off, so I swiped the razor down my face one last time and leapt out of the shower with the fury of a honey badger. I had never dressed so fast in my life and I left the house with such fever that I didn’t even bother to lock my door.

My god. The world was on fire! Explosions rocked the area not far from me and the smoke was filling the sky. Many of the families were screaming and making their way to the designated safe zones.

“Calahan! WAIT UP!” I called out to one of my platoon mates and jumped into the street as I saw him rushing up in a jeep.

“Abromoff! You’re alive!” Calahan screamed after his vehicle came to a screeching halt, “Get the fuck in!!!” I didn’t need any convincing, and I jumped into his HMVEE. I was barely inside when he took off down the street. Looking around, I saw several of my squad mates in the vehicle as well, looking as confused and amped up as I was.

“God damn Muslim invasion?!” Murai asked, looking around at the chaos outside.

“No fucking way, dude!” Garney stated, as if he already knew, “There’s no way they could catch us that off guard! Not here, man!”

“Then what the hell is going on? Who’s attacking us?!” I asked, knowing full well no one else knew, but I couldn’t help it. I was nervous and angry. Calahan was doing one hell of a job as he drove through the bits of upturned asphalt and pot holes. There was  suddenly flash of light and pressure. I remember hearing Calahan say, “Oh sh..” before the noise deafened me.

What is it like to be in an explosion? Pressure, heat, and chaos. It is all pressure, heat and chaos my dear friends. If ever in my life I had known I was to avoid Hell at all costs, this was it. The ringing in my ears was unbearable and I was so disoriented I couldn’t even understand that I was still alive, and relatively unhurt. I crawled several feet through the wreckage before having enough strength to push myself up onto my knees, belly down. Strange how in these moments you can remember some things so clearly and focus on something that seems so irrelevant… Below me was a piece of yellow paper. I reached down and picked it up.

“Wrapping paper?” I thought as I wrinkled it in my fist. I must have blacked out at that moment, because the next thing I remember is being draped across Captain Santos’ shoulder as he ran down the street and into a building. Guess I made some kind of noise, because he set me down gently in a chair and knelled in front of me.

“Abromoff? You with me? Hey! You with me soldier?” Santos asked, gently slapping me on the face. I could hear again. Thank God. Still, I could only nod in affirmative and weakly salute.

“Good!” he stated and stood up, and looked around the room, “Now listen up, assholes. We’re obviously being invaded. Every major military installation across the world is being hit right now.”

“God damn sand niggers!” I heard a voice in the back call out.

“Shut your god damn cock holster, private! This is no Islamic Jihad! When I say EVERY major military installation across the world is being hit, I mean EVERY nation and EVERY military is being hit! Terrorist training camps are being wiped out left and right,” Captain Santos informed everyone. There was a hush which actually helped me snap out of my daze.

“If it’s not a Jihad, what is this, sir?” I asked, finally able to speak and sitting up straighter.

“I saw it,” I heard Calahan say. He was alive? Oh thank god…so was Murai and Garney! Those three were always the luckiest sons of bitches I had ever known. Their luck must have rubbed off on me.

“What did you see, private?” Captain Santos asked with absolute interest.

“What’s attacking us. Well, I didn’t see it really clearly, but, I swear to you god…Look, I’m not trying to get a fucking section 8 here, okay?” Calahan stated, waiving his hands at everyone, “I’m not a fucking lunatic, got it?”

“Well, what the hell did you see?!” Winther, one of our sergeants asked, “That’s an order. OUT WITH IT!”

“Okay, look…it was small so I didn’t see it all that well, but it right before the explosion I swear I saw something blue running away just before from where the explosion happened,” Calahan told him.

“What?!!” a voice I didn’t recognize at the time shouted from behind me.

“That’s all I’m saying!” Calahan stated and sat back down.

“Right. At least it’s something. We’re two blocks from the armory. Everyone stick together and move like a god damn trained platoon of soldiers, got it?!” Captain Santos shouted and moved toward the back door indicating everyone to follow him.


Truth is a Stranger Thing Than Fiction

Two months. It had been two months since the start of the attack and we still couldn’t believe what was happening. The Smurfs. The god damn fucking Smurfs were attacking us all around the world. Many people didn’t even believe they existed, or even knew, kind of how some people thought Narwhals are mythical creatures, even in this modern day. What did we really know about them anyway? The information we had said there was only one village in a place called The Forbidden Forest, either in France or England. Story goes only the Smurfs and Mother Nature knew the actual location. There was a place in Juzcar, Spain nicknamed The Smurf Village because of the blue houses. We thought they were doing it as a joke and a simple reference. No one thought it was to appease the ever growing angry and violent Smurfs in the area. How were we supposed to know there was more than one Smurf village?

We had been moved to RAF Lakenheath to get briefed on a counter attack in order to take back London. This entire thing was a shit show from the beginning. We had been caught with our pants down because we thought the Smurfs were beneath us, in stature, in resourcefulness, and in technology. Smurfs are 3 inches to 7.5 inches tall? My ass. These things were proportioned like the cartoon drawings of them, but stood on average four feet tall. Strong as hell, too. What they lacked in pure military training they made up for in pure aggression. No idea how many of these things they were. They seemed endless.

All said and done, my battalion had lost over 100 men and we were nearing bare bones in supplies. This was going to be one last ditch effort to get a supply line back as well as take back a major city. We were beginning to see success in many locations by changing our tactics. War was never going to be the same, because if World War II didn’t end all wars, this was simply teaching every military regime in the world a different way to fight…and human nature always proves we’ll use it against each other rather than a realization we need to stop fighting all together.

Every time we had a briefing it was depressing. We were being told we were going to fight, but then we never would. Every briefing ended the same: Promises of action followed by waiting around. The Army motto really should just officially change to “Hurry and Wait!”

“Something has been bothering me,” Garney stated as we made our way to the briefing room.

“Just one thing?” I asked mockingly.

“Oh, fuck you,” Garney said in defense, “Remember when this all started and Calahan said he saw something small run away from where the explosion happened? Then why are we fighting Smurfs the size of middle school kid?” This was a fair question, and one no one even seemed to consider or bring up. Why were the Smurfs so tall? Did we just have the wrong information? Were there smaller Smurfs sent out for recon? If so, then how could we ever know if we were being watched? They’d be like rats sneaking in to the pantry through the tiniest hole.

“Look, what I saw was small. I don’t know why these ones are big, okay?” Calahan stated flatly.

“Who cares. Just let me kill more. I haven’t killed enough of those peyos!” Murai stated and pounded his chest. It was a sentiment I agreed with, but never actually said out loud. We had taken to offensively naming them peyo after the scientist who first recorded them back in the 1950’s and published the earliest research papers about them. Before that, they were either considered extinct or a myth. Like the coelacanth.

We reached the briefing room and took our usual seats. That’s strange…leading today’s briefing was as colonel leading the briefing today. Colonel Finch, actually. She had earned a reputation for going out into the field and fighting, actually leading charges, rather than sitting back and drinking while wondering if there really was a battle even actually going on. This woman had bigger and badder balls than most of the people I knew. Probably even myself.

“No way!” I heard Murai whisper as he saw the colonel standing at the front and beginning the presentation, “If she’s here…we might actually get to do something.”

“Alright. Everyone shut up and listen because this is important, I out rank you, and we’re going full battle rattle after this!” Colonel Finch belted out. It was like she was wearing a microphone with how powerful her voice projected, “We’re taking London back. TODAY. I will not settle for anything less than complete victory and no casualties. This is a four part strike mission. You are part three of this four part attack and we don’t have much time for me to go over this. Starting at 0200 this morning and continuing on was the first part of the campaign. Leading the attack was the 302d Fighter Squadron, The Red Devils, accompanied by the 77th Fighter Squadron, The Gamblers to take down the outside air patrols. At 0300 this morning the 6th Bombardment Squadron, Very Heavy, North Field, started a two hour bombing campaign to take out strategic locations around London. Yes, we did confirm the use of portals by the Smurfs, however, it seems these portals are tied to specific locations and if the integrity is not maintained, the portals shut down…seemingly for good. Now it’s your turn, soldiers. You’re all going in with heavy ground support to mop up any left over resistance. Report to your commanding officers for deployment order and what armor division you will be escorted by. MOVE YOUR ASSES OUT NOW!!!”

Everyone leapt from their seat and began to file out. We already had our gear ready for us, so it was a simple matter of picking it all up, getting hemmed up and in line. We were greeted by Captain Santos ordering everyone as close to him as possible instead of us getting to formation.

“Listen up, you sacks! We’re moving in first. That’s what being in a bad company means! I have been informed once this is all over, anyone surviving this bullshit is getting a full pardon and an honorable discharge…if they want to leave. Just remember that if you’re thinking about dying! Die and you’re still a criminal, got that?!” he shouted out. Everyone shouted a loud, “Yes, sir!” and he continued, “Alright, we’re moving out with the 40th Armor Division. They’ll watch our asses, so you make sure they don’t get blown to shit, got that?! NOW MOVE!!!”

We all ran to the APC closest to us and crammed in.

“God damn…we’re really putting our trust in a bunch of weekend warriors form California?!” I heard a familiar voice ask.

“When was the last time any of us had time off? Do you really think people are only here on the fucking weekends now? Shut the fuck up!” I heard Sargent Winther shout out from somewhere in the APC.

“Point taken!” the voice familiar voice said again. This time, I had peeked around Garney and saw who was talking. God damn…it was Sergeant Bennett. He was smiling like a maniac and holding his M24. We had a sniper on our team and it was one of the best I had ever known. I felt better.

The entire ride into London was silent. At least inside the APC. Outside, explosions and gun fire rank out like it was a birthday party gone crazy. Once the doors opened, the silence was shattered with screams and the thunder of foot steps as we piled out and made our way to cover. Captain Santos gave the orders on where each squad was to move into and we moved without question. We were going to clear standing buildings looking for surviving peyo…I mean Smurfs and either take them out or capture them. It was our discretion. We knew no one in my squad was doing to take anything alive. I wasn’t about to make them and I had no desire to.

For hours we cleared the way and killed any Smurf we came across. All around us the sound of gun fire became more and more sparse and the skies were cleared of any opposition. Silence was once again beginning to become normal until an explosion rocked on of our HMVEE ahead of us, killing everyone inside. Was it a mortar? No…we didn’t hear it fall…and the blast had been directed toward the car…this was an IED. God damn Smurfs were starting to play dirty again.

“Fuck, man! What the fuck!” Murai shouted, as we hunkered behind some rubble, regrouping.

“Anyone see who did it? Anything?!” I shouted at my squad. No one had seen anything except the explosion. Fluttering down like a peaceful snowflake in front of me was something yellow on one side and white on another. I reached out and grabbed it. “Wrapping paper?” I asked out loud in thought. Suddenly the memory of the beginning of the war spring board to the front of my mind.

“It’s what?” Garney asked, reaching for the paper, “It is wrapping paper…”

“This is the same thing I saw back when we were hit in Italy…must be the same mother fucker!” I seethed in anger, gripping my weapon.

“There! Off to the side! Two blocks up!” one of my squad mates shouted. I looked over the rubble pile and saw a Smurf running down the road carrying a yellow box with a red bow. He placed it down at the side of the road and began running toward us again…reaching behind him and producing another box of the same nature. He must have been using some kind of portal to bring the boxes to him, because there’s no way he was carrying these things in a pocket.

“That’s the son of a bitch putting down IEDs!” I said and grabbed the radio, “Hey, Sargent Bennett! About two blocks up! Smurf running with an IED! Yellow box and red bow! WE gotta stop him!” I didn’t receive a response on radio, instead, I heard the report of a rifle followed by a large explosion from where the Smurf was. Pieces of blue flesh rained down on us for a few seconds.

“I got that joker. Thought he was fucking funny, did he?” I heard Sargent Bennett report over the radio. After that…everything went quiet and we regrouped.


Hammer of Thor: Lightening Doesn’t Need to Strike Twice

We thought we had won. We thought we were victorious. We were so sure of ourselves that we let down our guard and didn’t see we were exactly where the enemy wanted us. The true enemy. The one who was pulling all the strings. Pride is a bitch.

Everyone had just sat down to have some nice HOT A’s and to relax when there was a commotion from the helicopter landing pads. Jumping up, I rushed past everyone to see what was going on. The heftiest Smurf I had ever seen beating soldiers with his bare hands. Others had opened fire on him, but it seemed to be doing little. That’s when I saw it, but no one else had. Some Smurf with more brains than brawn jumped into one of the Blackhawks and was taking off. There was no way I was going to get to the helicopter before it took off, but I knew being down even one chopper at this point would be extremely handicapping and something so mobile in the hands of the Smurfs would be disastrous. What could I do, though? The Blackhawk was already taking off and leaving the area. I happened to look past the fighting soldiers and saw an RPG…it must have been brought in by one of the Smurfs! Faster than I had ever run in my life, I ran to that RPG and grabbed it, checking to make sure everything was ready. I dropped to one knee, aligned the chopper and fired.

The rocket roared forth in anger, spewing fire and smoke as if it were a dragon hellbent on revenge. As though guided by the hand of God, the I watched as the rocket made contact with the side of the Blackhawk and it exploded. Wrenching sideways and bellowing hell fire, the chopper spin like an out of control top as it plummeted to earth in the same fashion Icarus surely did as he flew too close to the sun. Luckily, it crashed in an area devoid of anyone else. About the same time, the berserk smurf was finally killed…but so were six of our own.

“Stop where you are!” I heard a voice from one of the towers call out over the fence. Looking over, I saw a figure in the distance, distorted by heat haze and smoke. I numbly dropped the RPG and made my way to the gate, grabbing a dropped rifle on the way. Whoever, or whatever, this was too big to be a Smurf. Funny how I thought that, given we didn’t know the Smurfs could be as tall as we witnessed. However, whoever, or whatever, this was didn’t have a hat on like the others. It seemed to walk slightly hunched over, and it was carrying something…a book?

The warning sirens went off once again and everyone prepared for the worst. I stayed at the guard shack, weapon at the ready. I heard them ordering the figure to halt repeatedly, but it continued toward us until I could finally see it clearly. A man. Just a man. He stood just under six feet tall, had a slouched back, and wore what I could only describe as an old fashioned black monk’s robe. Around his waist, holding everything closed, was a rope and he had red shoes on, not unsimilar to what the Smurfs wore. His face was slightly twisted, almost like a demon with a piked nose, and what hair he had on his balding head was greasy.

He stood in the middle of the road, one hand behind him and the other out in front of him, holding a book. If you have believed anything in this tale, then believe me when I saw the book seemed to move…the book was alive and looked to be in disgust, almost agony, of being in his possession. He grinned wickedly. I could hear his words as his voice echoed out only fifty yards from my position.

“I am so glad you were all able to join me at the appointed time!” he laughed out, waiving the book in front of him, “It is so nice when guests arrive at the proper time and numbers!”

“State your business!” I heard Colonel Finch over the speaker? She was alive? Of course she was…she was too tough to die. I should have known that… “Do not approach any closer!”

“What do you know of my business!? What could you possibly comprehend?! NOTHING!  YOU ARE ALL NOTHING! You have done everything I have wanted and more! The only thing I have left is to close up some loose ends!” the person shouted and suddenly flipped the book to look at him, “Great Book of Spells! I, Gargamel, your master and owner demand of you this day, being the last phase of the full moon, to grant me the spell I seek!”

“What is it you seek, foolish one!” the book stated back.

“I demand a spell to make me the biggest, and greatest wizard of them all! I wish to stand above all others and squish my enemies!” Gargamel shouted with a laugh to the book.

“Another selfish and pointless request! Stomp three times, turn twice, and then your enemies shall seem small as mice!” the book instructed back. Gargamel did just that…and in a flash of white energy surrounding him he began to grow. He did not stop growing until he towered above all the buildings like a video game end boss. His voice boomed out in a deafening tone as he laughed and began to smash everything around him. “Everyone, including the Smurfs, thought they were better than me! Outcast me! TURNED ME AWAY LIKE A FREAK! Now I will make you all pay!” he shouted out in a voice so loud it hurt my ears.

“NOW!” I heard Colonel Finh’s voice once again over the speaker. I can hardly explain what happened next. I saw lightening fly across the darkened, but cloudless sky, straight for Gargamel. At first, he was laughing, but his face twisted to an even more disgusted look and he began screaming in pain. He attempted to block the lightening hitting him constantly in the chest, but his fingers were burned through and fell from his body. That lightening began to eat through his body until he had an large hole in his chest. No blood. The wound had been cauterized by the heat. He toppled backwards and began to shrink back to normal size as he did so, until he landed like a sack of potatoes on the ground. The entire base began to cheer.


Conflict’s End

It was weeks before I learned it was none other than Captain Santos who fired that shot. The weapon was the fourth stage in the strike and had been nicknamed Thor’s Hammer. Someone had learned there was a force driving the Smurfs to start the war, but wasn’t exactly sure who it was, however, they knew they were hiding in London. We were there to drive them out of hiding, and hopefully, put a stop to all of it. The fighting had immediately stopped after Gargamel was killed, and the Smurfs went back into hiding, but not before someone designated Papa Smurf presented conditions of peace and agreed to never cause problems again. The USA, at least, agreed to leave the Smurfs alone and ordered both a no visit and no fly zone where the Smurfs were actually located. No civilian was ever told the specific spot they lived.

Those of us who have fought and lived through this are the ones most affected. Closing my eyes at night brings sweats and I can’t have any thing blue around me. The Blue Man Group was officially exonerated of all charges of being spies for the Smurfs when the truth had come out, but they had to be disbanded because no one trusted them anymore.

This was the worst war since the one fought by a soldier, who’s letters my father found in the wall of his own home. Makes me think my cousin was right about this Chuck E. Cheese place…wonder how he’s doing…


I had promised to post this so many times…it came to me when I was drugged up to have a double wisdom tooth extraction. I also saw a giant purple turkey, but that isn’t as exciting as this. I’ve turned this into a short story, and when I tell it verbally, it’s a bit different of course.

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Most Dangerous and Dumb Christmas Gifts in 2018

It’s Christmas time once again! Snow is falling. Children are trying their best to be good. Parents are doing their best to beat people to the “must have toy” of the year. And once again W.A.T.C.H. has put out their Christmas list for the most dangerous toys of 2018…but they missed the most obvious ones. Why? Because they’re more concerned with what is going to make the most money and being a hater than actually caring about the children. Why won’t anyone else besides me think of the children!?

If you find any of these under your tree, instantly call child services on Santa.


1. Omega Spay and Neuter Kit: For Science!
This toy comes with multiple clamps, scissors and scalpels. Included are full color detailed instructions on how to spay and neuter multiple kinds of animals. Everything anyone could ever want in order to start performing surgery is included thanks to the “bonus tools” supplied. This is made by the company, Omega, who is responsible for the Planned Parenthood toy line, which includes the “Home Abortion Kit” and “Margaret Sanger with baby karate chopping action”.

I mean, seriously? W.A.T.C.H. puts out a buyer beware over a plastic knife and magnetic fruit, but doesn’t even care about this? Sure the toy line might not be all that popular, given that Planned Parenthood is about killing babies before they can be old enough to play with the toys, but the fact this comes with real metal tools is just a little more than concerning. I can’t even imagine what’s going to happen when the little ones run out of neighborhood pets to have “fun” on. Once they realize the tools work on any and all creatures, there’s sure to be a rash of surprise vasectomy and tubal ligation come New Year’s Day! Nice over look there, W.A.T.C.H!


2. Ariel’s Expression Exercise Pole
“When Ariel lost her voice, she had to find a way to get the Prince to kiss her…and she found a way to do so while earning her keep!” reads the back of the package. This is a regulation sized “exercise pole” and comes with techno remixes of Under The Sea, Kiss the Girl, and Poor Unfortunate Souls, along with eight stacks of hundred dollar bills in order to “make it rain up in here”.

I’m all for women expressing themselves be it in the kitchen or in the bedroom, but this is not an exercise pole. Let’s call it what it is, a dangerous metal rod capable of blunt force trauma and serious fall injuries! There is ZERO safety equipment to keep the little ones from falling as their sliding up and down or spinning around this pole. Adults have the developed muscles in order to make this safer, and sexier, but children do not. This whole thing is a law suit waiting to happen. Let’s hear it for another Disney fuck up.


3. Plasma Blaster 2700
According to the box: You’ll be the talk of the town with your authentic plasma blaster! This bad boy produces enough power to drop any future threat thanks to producing a balmy 57,762,237.76 degrees Kelvin plasma charge. The founding fathers didn’t fight to give you the right to own just muskets and for hunting! Rated ages 5 and up. Brought to you by your friends at the The Oneiroi Collective.

I’m all for having cool weapons, but are five year olds really responsible enough to handle something which produces energy around five tons of TNT? While I’m impressed they were able to get the energy to produce this weapon in such a small device, I just don’t feel that melting your target is great for the environment. Not to mention the replacement cartridges are extremely expensive, and are quite heavy. This should be a pass. Instead, think about getting a laser pointer for the kid and tell them to make “Pew Pew!” noises.


4. Bunny Snapper
We’re supposed to believe this is actually a game for the entire family to enjoy while teaching you to be cautions. What I believe is this toy teaches is distrust of rabbits. Nothing good can come of this and the rabbit is not robust enough for very many plays. The value versus dollar amount here is just not high enough to recommend it.

Probably the worst part of this game is how rusty the trap is. While sharp, the jaws on the trap are also incredibly rusty. I can’t help but feel the manufacturer simply went into the woods and collected a bunch of abandoned traps or even went to an antique store to save money instead of making their own. Tetanus is a real threat and this game is going to lose what fun there is the moment anyone catches it.


5. Cat-apult Ultra 7
Let’s start off with the obvious, shall we? This isn’t a catapult…this is an RPG launcher. That alone is a red flag. I mean, if the manufacturer can’t even tell the difference between a catapult and what is essentially an RPG-7, but for cats, then how do they know safety? Spoiler alert: They don’t and can’t.

Almost everything about this stupid toy is wrong! Not only did they name it wrong, but the images shows the cat getting launched from what should be the back of the launcher! I know some concessions had to be made in order to cram a full grown cat into the thing, but this is an oversight that cannot be ignored. The trigger system is clumsy to use, resulting in firing the furry critters when and where you don’t intend to do so.

We test every toy we review, and let me tell you, I lost count how many cats I slammed into the outside testing fence instead of launching them over it because of the awkward design of this product. Also, anything smaller than a full grown cat isn’t very effecting and can result in injuries and damage to those around you, as well as the toy. Large squirrels work if they are smashed down far enough, as well as larger puppies, such as Labradors, but anything smaller, such as kittens, chihuahuas or even young pugs just don’t work right.


Well, there you have the actual most dangerous and dumb Christmas presents of 2018. I don’t understand how every other watch group out there keeps missing these or just flat out ignoring them. I actually care about people and toys which cause harm, so I will continue to bring these to you as needed. Merry Christmas!!!

Want to group up for the Last Wish Raid? Here’s the rules for LFG!

If you want to join the raid, these are the requirements:

  1. Raid 25+ clears (THIS RAID ONLY!!!!!! and I check)
  2. 610 Light – if you don’t know how to do this, then you don’t need to raid
  3. Crucible K/D of 2.87 (not KA/D!!!!!! and I check)
  4. 45+ flawless Trials (I check)
  5. Microphone with a feedback problem
  6. Scream at your girlfriend/wife who is upset about the baby is crying while the dogs are barking and a secondary TV is playing in the background so loud you can’t understand what’s playing, but sounds like it’s in our own living room
  7. Leave the group while screaming profanities after causing the first wipe
  8. “BRB. Food” after first encounter while you make your character run in circles to prevent an AFK kick and take 60+ minutes to come back since you left to go get something two towns over
  9. Explain an encounter strategy in almost unintelligible English while basically swallowing your mic to ensure it’s over modulated and then refuse to explain it again while insulting everyone else in perfect English then leave
  10. Take a bong rip every 2 minutes during encounters and then cough so loud no can one hear the call outs
  11. Talk to people on your stream with an open mic to the raid encounter confusing all of us as to what is going on and then make fun of us with your subscribers as we get upset at you
  12. Between encounters, take your wireless headset with you into the bathroom and give birth to a massive chocolate mud baby…please, please, please be sure to make lots of noise and do not wash your hands – if we hear running water besides the flush you will be kicked
  13. HAVE FUN!!!!!

By the way, I am fireteam leader and have never done a raid before on any game. I’ll need you to Sherpa me. I do NOT have a microphone. We will run it five to six times for gear. Thanks! NO NOOBS!

Originally posted by me on /r/destiny2

Ten Alternative Super Bowl Party Ideas

Are you all ready for some football?!?!?!?!!?!?!??! Yeah, me neither, but it’s Super Bowl LII, which is apparently NOT pronounced Super Bowl “Lee”, “El Eye Eye” nor “Lye”, which means I’ll watch it. Kind of. A little bit. Just the commercials for sure…on YouTube a few days to weeks later.

If you’re like me and only care about the Super Bowl as far as the commercials and free food from people are concerned, but don’t want anyone to think you’re anti-social, or want to a be hip to the new hipster scene, then you’ve come to a great place! While this isn’t a “How To Guide” since I’m not going to being telling you how to do these, you’ll still get some great alternative party ideas. Think of these as jumping off points. Much like how most people need to jump off a very high bridge into a dry river bed.

Oh, and let’s not forget that any advertisers, unless they’ve paid out the ass and are official sponsors, can’t call the Super Bowl the Super Bowl without permission. Yes, I’m serious. They’ve also sued churches for holding parties in which people can watch the Super Bowl. Again, yes, I’m serious.

Anyway, on with the list of ideas!


1. Commercials Only

Let’s start off with the most obvious type of alternate party, the Commercials Only. With this party, you only un-mute the television during the commercials and then mute them again during the game. You do everything in your power to keep people from actually watching the Super Bowl. Get out Uno, Twister (nude if necessary), Cards Against Humanity…it doesn’t matter, really. When halftime comes around, turn off the halftime performance and watch something like The Puppy Bowl instead. Make sure to hoot and holler at great commercials!


2. Pants Off-Dance Off for All Touchdowns

Kind of self explanatory. Any time “your” team scores a touchdown, then you take off your pants and dance in celebration. If you don’t care about what team is the favorite, or don’t have a team you care about yourself, just do it for any and all touchdowns. Bonus points for doing your dance on a table and lightening round double daily bonus for doing it on the table where people are eating when they are eating.


3. Shot Down!

To do this, you must take a shot of any alcohol for every first down. The harder the alcohol the more screwed up you’ll get quickly, so you might want to pace yourself. It’s something like the Highlander Drinking Game, but you’ll get a lot more wasted. Unless, of course, each team really sucks and there’s hardly any progress made on the field. I don’t know who’s playing and I don’t care enough to find out, so…this might happen this year. I don’t know.

This is an alcoholic’s favorite!


4. Pee Wee Super Bowl

Don’t watch the actual Super Bowl, and instead watch little league football, which I just found out is called Pee Wee. While I would never suggest inviting Paul Reuben over under normal circumstances, I’d say this is the best time to do so. Still don’t invite Jared, the Subway guy, though. Seriously. Don’t. I won’t be held responsible if you do.

 

5. The “Super” Bowl

“What the fuck is this?!” you’re thinking. I know, because I’m psychic, remember? Or, rather, I know you’re more than likely reading this silently in your brain, which makes you think it. Mind blown. I know. Why, yes I am amazing. Again, I know.

This super bowl is an actual super bowl. You and all your “friends” (see: cult followers) will gather around a bowl which will be adorned with an attractive color scheme, a cape, and underwear on the outside. Fill it with tasty snacks of your choosing and drop to your knees in prayer, thanks, fear, gratitude, and worship for every bite you take of said snacks.

Don’t forget the psalm of worship to bring forth luck and keep away its porcelain wrath. According to Reginald Scot’s records, titled Demons in the New World:

Giver of snacks
Container which never lacks
Keep us full and in high spirits
We shall never falter in our praise
Not once in all of our days!

COME FORTH, GOOD LUCK!
FUCK OFF, ANNOYING CUCKS!

When the super bowl is empty, you can either toss it back and forth between each other or wash it out for use in the next year.

 

6. Reenactment Party

Oh boy, is this one fun! You also get to trash not only the place, but your fellow party goers, too. For every play made, you reenact it in the area you’re watching the game in. If you’re in the basement, then you do it there. If you’re in the living room, then you do it there. If you’re some kind of amazing stuntman and watching it from trapeze wires, then more power to you…but you have to do it there with everyone else.

You may be sued by the NFL, but you’ll win in court if you can afford the legal fees to fight it. After all, it’s a live interpretation and alteration of what’s actually going on. Basically, it’s fair use. The injuries, however, are not open to be paid for by the NFL, even when you do win your case.

 

7. Get High – Get Fucked Party

Get high and get fucked. You don’t even have to watch the party. You will, however, need enough snacks and beverages packed with electrolytes to keep people going. Trust me, you don’t want to run out of food and hydration in the middle of an orgy. Things get awkward fast. Don’t ask me how I know, I just do.

 

8. Murder Mystery

Everyone loves a mystery and this is going to be talked about for years to come! You invite everyone over for what seems to be a normal Super Bowl party, but with one twist…every time the ball changes teams, someone dies! Make sure you aren’t the killer, though, because that’s too obvious. Get one of your guests whom you know will be down for this and have them take someone out and hide the bodies. Hell, even don’t hide the bodies, I don’t care. It’s your call.

As the game goes on, everyone will be scrambling to figure out “Who Done It?!” By the final minutes of the game, gather everyone into another room and have everyone who’s left write down who they think the killer is and why. If the majority of the people guess right, then that they get a prize! A prize besides getting to live, that is.

Oh, and to do this game right, you may just want to confiscate everyone’s cell phones and make sure you don’t have a land line. Also, nail down all your windows and make it so no one can escape. You don’t want some party pooper ruining the game by getting the police involved. Clean up may be a bitch, however, so make sure you rent a carpet cleaner with steam.

 

9. Swords, Knives and Guns Party

What does this have to do with the Super Bowl? The pregame! This is the only pregame idea in all of this, mind you. Let’s face it, you and everyone else is getting wasted before the game even begins, so you’ll need something to do to entertain yourselves before the game. The pregame always sucks, but this will make it better.

Start off just by showing off your swords, knives, and guns. Then you’ll progress to swinging them around and chambering rounds. Semi-final will be showing off what you can do, or if it works how awesome it would be. Finally, you end up with someone holding a rather large sausage or hotdog in their mouth and you take it out with either a sword, a knife, or your gun. Keep in mind for the gun you’ll have to shoot it, so it’s technically the bullet doing the job.

 

10. Just Masturbate Party

Ignore the game altogether and focus on the cheerleaders, or the commercials, and just spank it for three hours and fifty three minutes. Get snacks and beverages with lots of electrolytes.


There you have it! What kind of party are you going to throw? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to mix in meth with some RedHot Buffalo Dip. I put that on everything!

Most Dangerous and Dumb Christmas Gifts in 2016

It was that magical time of year again, and that means it’s time to highlight some problems. On Christmas morning and maybe even on morning of presents for Hanukkah, someone is going to be unlucky enough to have gotten one of these gifts. Just like every year, W.A.T.C.H. is hell bent on ruining Christmas morning like a Muslim in a gay nightclub. While they do highlight some issues with toys, W.A.T.C.H. always misses the worst of the worst and instead focuses on toys targeted at boys and girls simply for being “gender specific”. Here are the actual Most Dangerous and Dumb Christmas Gifts in 2016 which were given.


My Very Own Alibi1. My Very Own Alibi
This toy line is said to have been inspired by the film franchise known as Home Alone, in which a rich white child goes on a killing spree of his neighbors while getting off completely free in protest of being left alone while his family goes out shopping. Pictured is the “Roller Puncture Derby” a la carte version of the toy. Others include the mouse trap with tack and shotgun shell and hand grenade on a sstring, the second best seller. Were do we really begin with this?

First off, the knife isn’t sharp as it needs to be in order to put someone down quickly. Some people might find this as a feature, but we find it to be a minus point to an otherwise ingenious product. Secondly, the skate is very rusty, but the knife is not. We’d give it points for adding tetanus with a dull knife, but since the rust is on the skate and note the blade, this is another minus point. Lastly, there is no ramp with My Very Own Alibi, but the packaging (not shown) clearly shows it flying off a ramp.

Kids have a great imagination, and this is just lazy. The toy has nothing to put together and basically just does one thing: Roll slowly and barely stab someone. Children are going to end up just throwing the toy, which defeats the purpose of what it is trying to accomplish. Stay away and if you get this as a present, get a gift receipt.


Pogoff To Space2. Pogoff Stick: To Space
Claims from the manufacturer:

Feeling XtReMe?! Want to KiSs the SkY?! Well now you can! After three successful pumps to prime the engines, the rockets will kick in and put you close enough to kiss the pilots of MH370 as they fly by on their infinite voyage around the world in space!

Aside from the tasteless reference to the fated Malaysia Flight MH370, there’s also a slightly veiled reference for drugs. Jimmie Hendrix used the term “kiss the sky” for getting intoxicated with drugs.

Even though almost any kid, and many adults, would love to ride on a rocket propelled pogo stick, the fact is, pogo sticks are dangerous. Ever get hit in the chin while riding on one? How about landing at an angle and falling or bouncing into a bush/tree? Imagine that at 147 MPH/236.574 KPH? Yeah, that’s going to leave one bad bump on your head and a pretty bad headache. I think we can all do without this. We don’t want another “Heat Seeking Lawn Darts” fiasco during a picnic, now do we?


My First Lynching Rope3. My First Lynching Rope: The Game
My First Lynching Rope: The Game is a choking hazard in disguise as a harmless family game. If you think The Game of Life is destined to kill your little ones who eat the cars or peg-people, then you’re not worried enough. This game is enough to kill every member of the family, especially any adopted black ones.

The game revolves around getting enough people on your posse in order to lynch the person next to you. Everyone takes turns rolling dice and taking cards while moving around a board. Think of this like Mouse Trap, except you’re the mouse, the noose is the trap, and your neck is the end game. If you can’t play your card fast enough, or have a good enough one, it’s lights out.

What the manufacturer didn’t count on is most of your homes aren’t equipped to have this hang high enough, so you’ll end up either wrapping it around each others necks and pulling, or using something like a door you’ll hope is strong enough to hold up old fat Grannie Christine. There just isn’t enough through going into this game and it shows. Pass this up.


Jihad Jerry4. Jihad Jerry
I mean…wow… This is the follow up the the Ibraheem Toys’ 2014 break out gift My First Jihad. While not directly marketed as an infidel holiday gift, they sure like to time it that way. The packaging is grotesque and 100% real.

Packaging claims it’s “Everything you’ll need to end the Jewish and Christian infidels of their lives!” It contains a child’s Qu’Ran, prayer mat, 4lbs of active dynamite, mask and robe, remote detonation backup device, and a map to local Jewish temples.

The interior booklet claims:

As your children grow and learn, they’ll want to up the destructive force for the glory of Allah. Use this as a great follow up to your My First Jihad toy kit. Praise be to Allah! DEATH TO ALL INFIDELS!

Who are they kidding? The previous kit is almost a 100% death sentence to both your child and their entire day care, so there is no “…grow and learn…” involved. We are talking about Islam, after all. Also, much of the dynamite in the packaging is pretty old and very volatile, meaning there’s a good chance it’ll explode before you put it in a vest and go to school the following day to show off your toy. Pass.


Coke Head Charlene5. Friday Night: Coke Head Charlene
At least your kids are leaning a valuable lesson here: Cocaine is a party and designer drug. Unlike the Medicate Me: Molly! doll from 2014, this doll knows how to “Fuck It Up”, as the box says. This is almost a buy.

What makes this almost a buy? It comes with real cocaine! However, it only comes with 1 gram and a very small straw the doll can use. There are no refills available from the manufacturers, either. This means to get the fix the doll needs to continue being fun you’ll have to go into bad areas or convince the local pharmacist to give you some. You know, for your “nose injury”. Good luck with that. Cocaine is also very expensive, especially for twice cut Colombian. That shit is awesome.

If necessary, a supplemental toy for this one would be the Barbie Spy Squad Cat Burglar Doll which will help your precious angel break into houses and steal her friend’s stash!


Well, there you have another five toys W.A.T.C.H. didn’t care enough to warn you about. We warn you about them, because we care for you. Wrap you child in cling wrap all over their head and paint over it so they never see the horrors of the world. Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah!

Dear Black People: Here’s a List of Things Everyone Wishes You’d Stop Doing

These are simple requests. Easy requests. But we’re not holding our breath.

Nigga, please!
There are a few things every race, nationality, ethnicity, sexual orientation…hell, EVERYONE…would like you to stop doing. They’re not complicated things. Just things that will benefit not everyone else around you, but your own race as well. By “benefit”, we all mean once you put these suggestions to use, it’ll make you tolerable person. Not a great person. Not a good person. Just a tolerable person. Being a tolerable person means people can stand to be around you for more than five seconds. It’s a win-meh situation. So just take a moment for the list below. Everyone will be glad you did.

1. Wash your hair. We’ve asked you this a million times. It doesn’t matter if you’re “growing out some sweet dreads/cornrows”. Either of those on an adult is proof positive you have absolutely no understanding between right and wrong at first glance.

2. Start understanding answers to questions. Stop going around in circles chasing your tail trying to confuse people into giving you something you don’t deserve.

3. Stop screaming in theatres. You’re there to watch what is going on during the movie and your flapping gums is not adding to the scenes. Shut the fuck up once in a while. We’d rather not listen to who you were recently fucking and how nasty he or she was while watching Star Wars.

4. Stop niggering up “white” foods. A tuna sandwich is just fine being a tuna sandwich. Collard greens are fucking disgusting. Sweet potatoes are like a desert and are even better with butter and cinnamon.

5. Stop claiming shit isn’t a trend when it obviously is. Like shaving your “rap name” into the back of your head or making cuts into your eyebrows to be different. That shit came and went. It’s not a culture so much as a moron trying to start something moronic.

6. Stop thinking only black people can make soul music. The only people who can’t create soul music are the Japanese and gingers because they don’t have souls.

7. Stop screaming “racism” every time someone who isn’t black does something you don’t like. Guess what? Someone might not like you just because you’re a piece of shit and it didn’t occur to them you’re focused on skin color. Stop being a racist piece of shit.

8. STOP MAKING OVER SEASONED FOOD! If your food was flavorful or good to begin with, you wouldn’t have to cover it with more seasoning than a Hindu village! Sometimes french fries taste good simply because they’re french fries!

9. Stop acting like Africa is the greatest place ever and how you’re so proud of it and we’ll all stop telling you to go back to it. If you’re from America, be proud to be an American. You don’t have to fucking claim to be African, especially if you’ve never been and six of your generations were born here.

10. Stop claiming everyone is a redneck. Not everyone is from the south. I’m originally from California. Sure it was southern California, so if anything I’m a wasp, not a redneck. I did my time in the south thanks to the military, and let me tell you, if you even suggest I belong down there in Missouri I’ll break your fucking face. Fuck Missouri.

11. Stop making up names to sound black. Up until the 1970’s those names didn’t exist and they don’t have a real root in African naming…and considering there are around 2000 languages in African, you’d be just as accurate naming yourself Jean Pierre instead of LaNyquil or even Martylenol.

12. Stop “deepest, darkest Africa” a neighborhood and then wonder why people don’t trust you and your demon spawn. You get defensive at everyone when crime goes up because of your extended or immediate family coming in and they’re mad about it. It’s the same situation as when Trayvon Martin went into Andrew Zimmerman’s neighborhood or the Germans went into Poland.

13. Mind your personal space. If you can pick our pocket, you’re too close, and you probably picked our pocket. Prepare to get shot. We carry guns because you steal guns. That and to protect ourselves from the democrats.

14. Stop saying you aren’t as good as everyone else and need special treatment. You are making yourselves victims, and denying that shows how stupid you are.

15. Stop thinking everything belongs to you. Stop stealing our shit. Stop with the drugs. Stop with raping. If you think you don’t, look at the crime statistics, especially in your own neighborhoods where a black man is highly likely to be killed by another black man.

16. Stop thinking the democrats are out to save you. Democrats started Jim Crow laws and fought to keep segregation for a long time. The Klu Klux Klan were founded as a Democrat organization. They keep saying you aren’t good enough and need “white man help”. You’re good enough on your own.

17. Please, for the love of god, use lotion and soap. We can smell you and it looks like you’re trying to salt everything with all the ash.

18. Stop acting like you should go first just because of your skin color and victim mentality. Yeah, we know you do it consciously.

19. Stop having fights at the dining table. The rest of us don’t want to have to kill someone in self defense because you can’t pay the fucking check or refuse to tip. But, since you do number 3, I guess it’s to be expected.

20. Stop throwing the fact your black in everyone’s face. We can see you’re black. Feel like be exclusive? Feel like acting like a retarded moron? We do hate you when you do this #niggernignignig

21. Stop resisting arrest while screaming about racism. Stop looting. Stop all the god damn riots every time a black man gets arrested. I’d say we don’t know where you find the time, but let’s face it, you don’t work.

22. Stop telling us how you can’t be racist. You are. More than most people. We don’t care if you don’t like white people or Chinese people, or even Jews. We get it. You don’t care about anyone who isn’t black. Move on. Grow up.

See? There’s nothing too tough or illogical about this list. This should be taught in elementary school, but according to your mentality and how you act, we’re sure you’d claim it’s too difficult for your negro brains to grasp, making it racist.

Sincerely,

Everyone on the planet.


This is a direct response to a moronic post highlighted by TheSafestSpace on Twitter: https://twitter.com/TheSafestSpace/status/781616441984479232

Domestic Violence – Cure Has Been Found!

This is great! Like two scoops or raisins!
The greatest news from specialists at the “Mayo Labs” has been released yesterday, and we’re glad to be one of the first people to bring it to you, thanks to use completely disregarding our NDA!

Since the beginning of time, or rather 1994 in America, we’ve been doing everything we can to end domestic violence by calling attention to it with special laws. We’ve originally believed the issue was deep routed psychological issues, or even a learned behavior from previous generations. All the research in the world didn’t seem to help. That is until now! What is this miracle cure which is guaranteed to stop any and all domestic violence? Here it is:

Shut the Fuck Up!

Yep. That’s it! Think about how simple an instruction this is. You’d think everything would be much more complicated, but the facts prove it really isn’t. Checking with current and former domestic violence victims we can see everything stems from not just keeping their mouth shut unless asked directly for a response…and even then it might be better to just shut up.

The Core Principle
At its core the principle is simple and yet complicated. As human beings, we’re conditioned to speak with others and even provide responses. Those of us who have been wronged are often found trying to find defense with our words. This faulted evolutionary trait must be fought and controlled if we are to continue to evolve as a species while also ending domestic violence.

Imagine this scenario:
Your husband/boyfriend/brother/guy friend comes home and he’s already in a bad mood. He has a history of knocking in your teeth for being a “disrespectful bitch” and he is expecting, not only a nice dinner, but a deep vacuum of the entire place. You managed to get a 100% perfect job on vacuuming the carpet, but the broccoli is slightly cold in the middle, meaning you didn’t cook it well enough.

Man – “What the fuck is this?!”
You – “Dinner…”
Man – “No! THIS IS SHIT! It’s FROZEN in the middle!”
You – “I did it the way…”

Suddenly he jumps across the table and punches your stupid face into the ground.

This was your fault. You didn’t keep your mouth shut! You shouldn’t have said anything.

Now let’s look at how you should have handled the same situation, but keeping your mouth shut:

Man – “What the fuck is this?!”
You – “…”
Man – “You fucking IGNORING ME?!”
You – “…”
Man – “YOU DISRESPECTFUL BITCH!”

Suddenly he jumps across the table, grabs you by the throat for a second and then stops sighing.

Man – “At least you did the fucking vacuuming! I’m going out for dinner. Eat your shit or starve!”

He then leaves, bangs a random bar slut, gets an STD, and then fucks your brains out later that night to assert his dominance. You are in a much better position this time!

Psychology of the Cure
The only psychology involved is your own. Keeping your mouth shut takes tremendous mental strength. By doing exercises such as no longer speaking to friends and family nor communicating with anyone at all, you can eventually learn to keep your mouth shut unless specifically asked to respond. Even when asked to respond, you should know exactly what is expected of you. This can take years, so getting out of the relationship just because you’re weak is ill advised.

Testimonials from the Participants
We’ve acquired some testimonials from participants of the original study for your reading pleasure. You’ll see the subject’s names and read their experience with it all, including how long it lasted before hand.


Name: Sarah McKennis
Nationality: Irish
Current Residence: Missouri
Results According to Subject:
My husband, Mitchell, was one of the hardest hitters I had ever been with. He would beat me until I would fall unconscious constantly. No matter what the conversation was about, it would end with me getting slugged in the face like it was there for visible punctuation. The exclamation marks were his favorite. His cock though…oh my god! It’s the biggest reason I didn’t leave him, and besides, I’m a strong woman and not a quitter.

When I heard of this study I told Mitchell. “GOOD!” he told me and busted my face open so deeply I ended up with six staples across my face from biting a hole in my own face. I didn’t even wait for my mistake to heal and went straight to the study.

How are things now? Well, I’ve learned to keep my mouth closed and only speak when I should be replying. As for why I’m in this hospital bed giving my evaluation…well…I forgot to check attitude at the door when he made a comment about feeling old. Rule number one is to shut the fuck up, and I didn’t. I told him it’s okay if he gets old and I still love him. My mistake! However, the study still stands and I give it a 100%


Name: Timmy Ashford
Nationality: American
Current Residence: New Mexico
Results According to Subject:
Stephen is my step-dad. Well, he’s my step-dad in the sense he’s always having sex with my mother, lives with us, eats all our food, drinks all day, refuses to marry my mom and give me a father in a proper family setting, all the while beating my ass raw. I used to be a bad kid, but now I know my place. I no longer make the same mistakes as so many of my friends do. He even lets me call him Stephen now and not “Master”.

What started me in the trial is when Stephen had been asking me to clean my room five or six times in a single day. Like I said, I was a bad kid in those days, and refused to do anything he said because I was angry at him for just being around. So, after the fifth or sixth time of him screaming for me to clean up my room, I yelled back, “FUCK YOU STEPHEN! You’re not even my real dad!” You can imagine the three hour beating with a belt, a hot curling iron, and his fists. He got so tired my mother even had to take over beating me when he broke his hands on my ass!

My mommy had enough of my attitude and couldn’t take the stress anymore, just knowing I would continue to make Stephen mad, so she looked through the papers on where she could take me. She stumbled upon the trial and enrolled me right away. I got time away from Stephen and learned to keep my mouth shut for my own good!

A+ program and I highly suggest all other bad kids, which is all kids, to enroll!


Name: Tiffany-Sage Haddler
Nationality: British
Current Residence: Idaho
Results According to Subject:
My mummy always wants me to wear bright colours and act as a lady, but I just didn’t like it all too much. Mummy does know what is best, but in my silly head I could just not see that as a fact and I acted up just like all these spoiled American brats. No longer do I, however!

I would talk back to my mummy and ask her what she knew, and the result would be immediate and severe slaps among my face and fanny. She would constantly ask me how I would ever expect to please a husband if I spoke back all the time. My daft reasoning was that I did not want to be a stay at home mummy like mummy, who earned money by bringing in strange men and making me watch so they would both pay more and finish faster. Oh, what a sod I was!

Thanks to this program, I now know a proper woman is seen and not heard. She does exactly that and more. The more is what my mummy teaches me. I now have the skills and education early enough to carry me throughout my adult life in order to become a proper lady of the house!

I will raise many cups of tea in the honour of this program!


Name: Julian Nielson
Nationality: Ameri-queer
Current Residence: Gay Bay
Results According to Subject:
Mmmm…my name is Julian, but call me Sally RoughRider! I love long walks on the beach, blonds, and butt sex! Tee hee!!!! I know this isn’t a dating service, you giggly gooses!

My life partner, Bruce, who I always call “OH damn! THAT MAN!!!!” in a loving way, used to break a foot off in my ass, and I don’t mean in a fun gay way. Oh no. He’d kick the shit out of me almost every time I opened my whore mouth. That was the problem, you see, since as a gay man I don’t know when to shut up. It’s just genetics, and you can’t fight genetics, but you can control your nasty habits like talking all the time.

The last straw was when Bruce came home drunk and stinking of both strange men and vagina. Trust me, you can tell the difference in that smell! Well, once again I opened my stupid whore mouth and he beat me to the point of needing medical treatment for damn near a month. While laying out in the hospital, he was reading me the obituaries to remind me I could end up in there, when I caught a glimpse of this trial and knew I needed help.

Now I only open my mouth to suck dick! Great improvement! Much love!

I ♥ (‿|‿)!


There you have it, everyone! Keep your fucking mouth shut if you don’t want to get your ass beat by your significant other. Doesn’t just work for normal people and women: It’s obviously great for gays and children, too!

Know your place!