If you’re just discovering this (Hi!), begin with The Pilot HERE.
New episodes every Saturday morning @ 9:09 a.m. EST. Yay!
Show 7! Couldn’t wait to get started.
Or is it Show 6?
Just kidding. It’s Show 7. Or is it Show 8? Or will tomorrow be Show 8?
We’ll have to wait and see. Maybe we’ll find out then.
In the meantime, welcome.
Welcome, my fellow rageaholics to this, our humble abode. Except that it’s not humble in here at all. It is exceedingly classy in here. This room is classy and it knows it. Look around. This is what Sinatra must’ve felt like.
Imagine getting as famous as Sinatra.
Everyone knows you. Everywhere you go, they know you. And you soon know everyone. And it’s wild. So you go with it. Because what else you gonna do?
If I became that famous, I don’t know what I’d do.
Hm? What’s that? You’re saying I already am? Because of the way I was plucked off of Planet Earth like that while EVERYONE was watching?
Imagine: A man with red skin and white hair flies down to where you live, like right down to your house, in an actual saucer-shaped flying machine, and has you come outside, whereupon the ship hovers low enough to the ground for the elevator in its belly to come down and open up for you. And you step in and you’re in a ship. And you look out the window and the Earth is already gone. It’s black out there, just like Shatner said it was.
And you didn’t even get to say goodbye. Not really.
Oh, and by the way, right now, back on Earth, the whole Earth population that was awake and near a screen so they could see it, all those people, they’re waking up all the other people and they’re shouting to everyone around like in the streets and shit that an honest-to-God alien man with red skin and white hair just came down to Earth and grabbed a guy, some White dude in L.A. – like seriously: why HIM? – and then took off and he’s gone and it’s all over online and everything that this just happened. It’s already over with and everyone is just now realizing it even happened. They’re already gone. If they’d wanted to kill us, if the guy with the red skin and white hair wanted to kill us, he would have killed us. If he wanted us dead, we would be. So everyone just calm down.
That’s Step 1.
Step 2: Let’s all compare notes to see if you saw him and his ship coming at ANY point before they got here.
Then, we need to backtrack to see where he came from. That might help us find him because that’s Step 3.
Step 3 is finding them. Figure out who that guy is and why on God’s green Earth would HE be the guy abducted.
And Step 4, which is probably a long shot and way far off into the future even if anyone voted for it, is to unite to build a global, geoplanetary defense shield that none of those weird red aliens can get past.
That red guy just basically broke into our house and kidnapped a member of our family. Like someone kicked down your door and came in – in the middle of the day, by the way; that’s important – they came and kicked open your door and called your family member and the family member went outside and got into their car and drove away with them.
And you don’t even know who that intruder is. Or where they’re going.
On the other hand, getting caught with our pants down like that should, actually, in theory, be ample evidence to provide the Great Earth Culture Realignment. Which is what would be required in order to have the kind of absolutely cooperating global teamwork that would be required to build something of that magnitude.
The USA would jump out and try to go it alone or with a coalition so that they could be the ones in charge of guarding the front door.
And actually, now that I think about it, that makes sense. Because that’s what they’ve been doing on Earth for awhile now, since World War II. They’ve been swinging their big dick around, dictating lots of stuff. Americans like to think it’s always altruistic. I certainly would like to. But it sure does seem like, lately, and not always, but lately, at least, the altruism of American foreign policy has been thrown by the wayside.
Or maybe it hasn’t. I think a lot of people think that it has, though. Why do you guys think that they think that?
Because THAT is the question.
What’s that some of you are thinking, or perhaps even shouting out? That it’s because of the Jews?
Oh. Are you sure?
Well, let’s go back in time and take a look at things from a logical standpoint. Imagine your racial or societal cohort, in other words, you and your family and friends and all of their family and friends and all of THEIR family and friends, and on and on and on, all of you guys are rounded up by a bunch of pricks in stupid, cheesedick, trying-to-be-scary outfits so that they can all identify each other while they deal with you, the vermin. The motherfucking vermin. Because that’s what the big fat piece of shit at the top, the fuckin dildo at the top, in charge of this whole thing, that’s what he thinks of you.
And actually, to compare him to a dildo, is an insult to the dildo.
The dildo is your friend. Look at what it’s willing to do for you. It’s willing to go in there. And come back out again. And then go back in. And then come back out, on and on, spending a lot of time in there. That is loveship. I meant to say love and commitment; but loveship works.
Planet Earth. The Great Loveship of the Milky Way. That’s right folks: we’re in the MILKY Way for a reason. Because Earth is all about the love. And when love happens, there are usually creamy substances somewhere. That’s part of the fun.
And that’s what Planet Earth SHOULD be. So all the other aliens come here to party and to make love, not war. And to lay by the pool. And eat a lot of yummy food. And then work out. Use those calories. Lift weights and do machines and learn to do light deadlift and squats because those really help your whole body build and get stronger and put on muscle and get SEXIER. So that you can then use those muscles to boff your brains out. With your special someone.
Point being that imagine you and your people are being exterminated. It’s frickin…whatever year it is for you when you come across this, and you feel like you’re back in time in a history book. Like, HOW can this be happening? You and your friends find yourselves in an honest-to-God internment camp in like, Sacramento. Not trying to dunk on Sacramento. But just using it as a means of saying that this is happening everywhere, NOT just in the big cities.
Remember Red Dawn from the nineteen eighties?
Except that, now, it’s happening to you. You have already lost touch with people since this shit began. And it’s only getting worse. And you want to fight back, really fuckin bad, and some people do, but they are immediately shot.
Like…SHOT.
Right there in front of you and everyone. And no one cares or does anything. Because they don’t want to get shot. Everyone is waiting to make a move. But the next thing you know, you’re living in a barn and you’re starving and you’re filthy and so is everyone around you. And you can’t believe this is happening. It’s so bad, it is SO SO bad, that you want to die. You’d be okay with it at this point. Such is the immensity of the suffering.
And then a new group of people show up and start killing all those motherfuckers who imprisoned you, chasing ‘em off and making them run away, and then also chasing after them and cleaning out the whole area, getting rid of the ACTUAL vermin. And they come and let you out of your cage and they put you on a stretcher because you can barely walk. And they put blankets on you and give you a care package, like, immediately, and you tear that fucker open and inside is a bottle of water and a sandwich. Like a submarine sandwich. And you tear into it. You barely get it unwrapped and it’s in your mouth and you’re chewing and coming at the same time. Because it’s the best fatherflubbin sandwich you’ve ever had. It’s the best sandwich there ever was. Anywhere ever. It’s this one. The one you’re eating. And these kind people are loading you into a vehicle that is going to fly you somewhere safe and warm, where you can sleep and take a shower and put on clean clothes, and eat whatever you want.
Wouldn’t that be the best?
Wouldn’t you weep, like fucking WEEP, for the emotional overwhelm of the whole thing? The whole experience? With two dominating factors rising to the surface: almost-unbearable sorrow and despair because everyone you ever knew is dead, and, two, indescribably immense joy and relief that you’re out of there and it’s over.
And those kind people take you to their part of the world. And they put you in a hospital and let you eat and sleep for about three months. And then they help you move to a new place, where you spend another small span of time, perhaps six months or nine months, depends on how skinny and almost-dead you got. How close were you to actually dying? Not because you wanted your misery to end, though you almost certainly at times would have welcomed it, but because your body failed. Your organs failed. The amount of salt in your body got so low that your muscles couldn’t contract anymore to make you breathe in and out or make your heart beat. Because that’s what will eventually happen.
So maybe you tore open the care package and went straight for more water. And you’ve been obsessing over water ever since. Because there was a time when you needed water and there simply wasn’t any. There was no water anywhere. Because some assholes in dumb outfits got together and formed a gang with lots of guns and they came and put you in a cage. And didn’t give you water. Barely fed you. Tossed some bread your way every couple of days. Like you had a cage in your house, a small plastic terrarium-like box made out of that clear plastic, and it had ventilated plastic roof on it, and inside is a bunch of crickets, because you feed them to your lizards that are in another tank over your fireplace, a nice one.
How much would you worry about feeding those crickets? You wouldn’t check on them at all other than to see how many were still alive. And when they began dying and the bodies began to decompose, and the odor became overwhelming, you didn’t set them free. You simply moved them further away from you, where no one would have to see them or smell them or worry about them or deal with them in any way. And if they all die, who cares? They’re just crickets.
And that’s what that fuckin dildo and all his crony douchebags in their dumb uniforms think of you. They think you are just like one of those crickets in that cage, doomed to die alone, surrounded by bodies, watching other people resort to cannibalism to stay alive. Literally tearing raw flesh off of another person, a dead person, and eating it. Putting it in your mouth, chewing it up, and swallowing it. And maybe gagging and regurgitating and swallowing it back down, I don’t know; I guess it depends on how hungry you are and what your lifelong thoughts on cannibalism have always been.
But like we said, someone comes and rescues you and kills those other assholes. They clothe you, feed you, and take care of you until you’re well. At a certain point, they kind of turn you loose a little bit because they’ve got TONS of stuff to do and literally millions of other people just like you who they’re trying to take care of. So you go out on your own in their new world and try to make your way. And soon, you connect with other people like you and start to have small get-togethers where you network and help each other. You call people you know who can help someone you know; and you also ask if they need anything, if there’s anything you can do, anything at all. And if there is, you go and do it. Either immediately now or as soon as possible, maybe tomorrow, because you’re already up to your elbows in helping with another thing.
And you guys get together and you slowly get to know the people who rescued you and you guys pool your talents and resources to establish yourselves so that you have a say in building the new, insanely complex, preposterously expensive but undeniably, – undefuckiniably – necessary planetary defense system. And maybe you build it almost entirely yourselves. And, yeah, you get help, lots and lots of help, which is great and you’re appreciative. But you’re the one out there doing the heavy lifting. Literally building the thing. Breaking ground and building new facilities, probably about 20,000 Pad39A replicas all around the world. And you’re gonna launch the number-one most-premium spacelaunch vehicle known to all of humankind. And you’re going to literally put equipment into L.E.O. – which stands for Low Earth Orbit – and that equipment will be a giant web around the planet. A protective web. And nothing gets through that web without our say-so.
And that’s the way it is.
You know why?
Because you are never, NEVER…EVER going back in a cage.
Ever.
You will murder everyone before that happens. And if you take yourself out in the process of stopping those sick fucks from trying again, so be it.
So fucking be it.
Such was the calamity of your suffering. I don’t think that’s sufficient to describe that experience, especially since I didn’t live through it. I’ve never been rescued from a cage. But if I were, yeah, I’d be pissed. I’d be very pissed. Retribution would absolutely 100% be on my mind.
But if everyone on Earth basically got together and agreed that it’s illegal to be a member of that gang, that would go a long way towards solving the problem. And that would leave you with no one to kill. No one to dissember with a tomahawk, like Pratt did in The Terminal List. That show had some fucking balls. It might’ve gotten a hair too close to implausibility at times and it certainly raises a buttload of issues pertaining to vigilante justice. But those things aside, he did what we would all love to do: Get revenge. On the pieces of shit who deserve it. And calling them pieces of shit is an insult to shit. It sullies the good name of crap.
But in lieu of that, or perhaps AFTER that, after the getting of much revenge, you would need a channel into which you can direct all that bloodlust. Unslaken bloodlust.
Cue Sexy Black Voice – I knew and hoped they were comin! – : And now, back with their latest and greatest, well, maybe not greatest, but still pretty darn good-o, hit song titled Unslaken Bloodlust…that’s right…ladies and gentlemen, friends around the whole of the universe, or perhaps it’s the HOLE of the universe, the creamy hole, that’s right, ladies and gentlemen, prepare your earholes to receive the not-always-gentle rough-love and smooth, delectable chocolatey sound, The Hot Fudge Sundaes.
{musical interlude}
Where were we?
You help build the planetary defense system. And you want a say in when, where, and why we let people through our web.
The web of the White Widow.
Because once you’re inside the web of the White Widow and she begins speaking to you, you’d better listen. She offers a great and powerful feminine wisdom that should be listened to and considered at length, while you are alone, calm, rested, so that you can truly ponder it and turn it over in your mind like it’s a cool, shiny gizmo or gadget and you can’t put it down – kind of like your phone.
And while you’re waiting for a man with red skin – or a woman; totally fine either way; just citing precedent here – a person with red skin and white hair to come to your great space spider web and ask to come inside, ask for you to open the door, probably to deactivate a few of the satellites or space stations or their defensive beams like lasers or something. Or perhaps version one-point-oh is more old school – we’re goin’ streakin’! – and it employs somewhat more conventional kinetic weapons like missiles and hypersonic projectiles, like shitloads of tiny space bullets. A shotgun in LEO.
Cue Sexy Black Voice – man, a lot of music tonight, this is great! – : This one is called A Shotgun in Leo. Hit it, fellas.
{musical interlude}
So, while you’re waiting for Version Two-Point-Oh to come online, you’re waiting and watching. Watching and waiting. And not just in Low Earth Orbit, with your eyes turned outward, where new threats are going to come from. I’m talking about also back on Earth. Because it’s hard to root out actual vermin. And every so often, enough of those assholes get together that it takes a measured, sanctioned response to deal with them. It’s not simply a matter of going and arresting 3 or 4 people. It’s more dangerous than that. It might even be best just to let them all congregate in one area and jerk themselves off over their ignorance and hate. That way we know where they are and can keep an eye on them and never go there ourselves. It’ll be like their only little portion of the yard at the pen. The state pen. Penitentiary. Prison. Because there’s no way to put them in actual prisons, the ones made out of concrete and fluorescent lights.
Anyway, after all of that, ALL of that, imagine someone tried to put you in a cage again.
What would you do?
You’d be instantly pissed. And you would immediately begin doing whatever the fuck you had to in order to make sure it was never going to happen again. And you’d continue doing so as long as was necessary and, oh, news flash! that’s forever.
Because never again means never again.
Because that’s what happened to the Jews. The people born into and who happily decide to join that cohort.
So how can you blame them? Of course they’re involved in how the world works. As they should be. They’re smart.
Man, I am, like, deflated after explaining all of that. I hope I did a good job. I hope I said it correctly. It made sense to me, to my ear, to my mind. But if I mixed up a few things and lost you guys, tell me where and I’ll go back and fix it. And I don’t know very much overall. I know only the very basics. Although I assure you that I tried to keep the facts straight and to use the inversion, the miracle of storytelling, to convey the message.
But I probably screwed it up.
Anyway…
No, not anyway.
Nevertheless…
I had planned to come out and talk about show notes but we got off on that weird tangent. I guess that’s what was actually on my mind.
Pretty serious stuff.
And in comparison, the show notes seem hollow and sophomoric. Just…terrible.
I was going to talk about porn.
By the way.
And how porn is bad. And how it desensitizes you to emotion. It only tickles that little flesh finger. I have no idea what a flesh finger even is.
Cue Sexy Black Voice – THIS has gotta be good – : And now, ladies and gentlemen, back with a steamy and lurid piece of purely carnal music, it’s The Hot Fudge Sundaes eyehumpin your earholes with their sweet sound. Here’s… Flesh Finger.
{musical interlude}
Yes. Yes. Yes. Flesh Finger. Definitely give me some more of that.
No idea what we were talking about.
Yes, I do: porn.
I was also going to come out and say Welcome to the show, show number 7, I am your ample host – ample? – Captain Blank. Welcome, my fellow rageaholics, to our classy abode, the Alien Night Club.
All ab–
You guys want to know what I was about to say?
Let’s build it up a bit before I say it.
Let’s let it marinate a little.
Let the tension build. The anticipation. The longing. The need. The need for more flesh finger!
Cue Sexy Black Voice – holy crap, we’re doing it again! – : Who wants more Flesh Finger? Hit it, boys.
{musical interlude}
Oh, Gawd, flesh finger. Flesh Finger. It’s a title. It’s a proper noun. It’s a person, place, or thing.
Do you guys think God is jealous of Gawd?
Like, everybody used to say Oh, my God!
But now, lots of people say Oh, my Gawd!
So God has gotta be all like, What the f? Who the f is this?
God, they’re honing in on your action.
I’m not sure that Gawd means anything by it. There’s plenty to go around, right?
Anyway, here’s the thing:
All aboard the….
Crap, I forgot.
Oh, I remember: All aboard the Sodomy Meat Train.
Okay, there it is; I didn’t forget. The word sodomy got away from me there for a second.
Sodomy.
Sodomy Meat Train.
Sodomy.
Huh-huh, tartlets.
Huh-huh, tartlets.
Huh-huh, tartlets. The word has lost all meaning.
Sodomy Meat Train. SMT for short. Let’s all make tee shirts that say SMT.
And below that: Just Did It.
And maybe, maybe, send me a dollar at some point, just to say thanks. I’d appreciate it. If there’s a way to get money up here.
But we were talking about getting famous. Really, really super famous.
Would you like that if that happened to you?
Does that sound fun?
Does it seem like that is something you would enjoy?
Because, for me, I’m not sure that it does. It kinda sounds like a hassle. What was that movie where Eminem did that sweet cameo in the restaurant where he said he can’t even leave his house?
And Rick Rubin once said that Tom Petty wouldn’t leave his house for anything other than touring.
No wonder he smoked so much weed. He was just like Willie Nelson. Weed is your lifeline.
The voice of the Great Mother. Speaking to you.
And what do you do when mom talks? You listen.
Or your dad.
Or whomever you have or had in your life who fulfilled that role.
And if you never had anyone, I’m so sorry. I know you don’t need some dumb ass virtue signaling and trying to shoot huge disgusting unwanted loads of pity jizz all over you, in your hair and in your eye.
That is one more thing from show notes: semen in the hair. You hear that a lot in porn. Right before the comeshot, the moneyshot, the ejaculation, which is often on a woman’s face, she says, Not in my hair.
Because it took a long-ass time to get her hair to look like that. So, yes, keep the semen out of it, please, if you don’t mind.
But has anyone ever done a semen shampoo?
Like a shampoo made of pure semen.
I’m not sure from which creatures the semen shall be…extracted. Nor am I sure what the animal rights activists will say.
But…it sounds like a pretty fun time. Actually it sounds beyond horrible and beyond disgusting.
Imagine a new trend spreads across the Earth. Washing your hair with come. I refuse to spell it C-U-M, by the way. I’m spelling it C-O-M-E. Homonym.
Hey, Ross. If Homo Sapiens really were homo Sapiens, is that why they’re extinct?
Joey, Homo Sapiens are people.
Hey, I’m not judging.
But if millions and millions and billions of people discovered — or decided — that washing their hair with semen made it look, smell, feel, bounce, and shine the absolute very best it ever has, the come shampoo industry would be massive. Trillions of dollars per year almost overnight.
And that would be the copy for the TV commercials and ads. Imagine seeing that during the Superbowl: a commercial with happy, smiling people washing their hair. And then we see the bottle of the shampoo itself. And its name is cumTASTIC or some such absurdity.
And a female narrator says, If you want your luscious locks to look, smell, feel, bounce, and shine better than they ever have, switch to cumTastic. You’ll be glad you did.
Cue Sexy Black Voice: And now, back with their latest bite of delectable chocolatey sound, The Hot Fudge Sundaes doing one of my all-time personal favorites. No, I’ve never heard it before. And I’m going to hear it now for the very first time just like you. But I already know I’m going to love it because it sounds like one thing but they’re actually talking about something else. And that’s funny as shit because most of the people will be singing along to this, boppin their heads, having a good ol’ time, as they should. But the poor little lambs will have no idea what they’re actually talking about. So if you are listening to this song and you’re twerking in the middle of the intersection at Sunset and Crescent Heights, which is in West Hollywood, and you catch someone laughing at you, just know that that person is partly laughing with you, and partly laughing at you. And justifiably so because this song is about washing your hair with semen. Here it is, their new hit song, Look, Smell, Feel, Bounce, and Shine. Hit it, fellas.
{musical interlude}
Yes. Look, Smell, Feel, Bounce, and Shine.
How much would a bottle of come shampoo cost?
Should we start spelling it C-U-M? Because suddenly C-O-M-E sounds dumb. Come sounds dumb. Cum also sounds dumb. Both come and cum sound dumb.
That could be The Ambiguously Gay Duo’s competition: Come and Cum. And maybe there’s a third team: God and Gawd.
Imagine the six of them in an octagon.
When Bruce Buffer screams Let’s get ready to rumble!, we’d all be like, Oh, shit; it’s on now. And then the earth would start to rumble. The actual earth under our house or our building or our car or wherever we are. Like an earthquake.
Maybe The Ambiguously Gay Duo are in the octagon with Come, Cum, God, and Gawd. And they’re all beating the shit out of each other.
And then Earthquake shows up and kicks the crap out of all of them. Like a momma bear separating her cubs and shooing off the humans who think going out into the wild and camping in known bear territory is a good idea and that a bear will not maul you to death at some point, thereby granting you your deepest, darkest, most perverse fantasy: being mauled to death slash eaten alive. Imagine if that bear hit you in the head and concussed you and knocked you out. And you wake up some time later and see her lying on the ground at your feet, with one giant, impossibly-heavy arm and paw draped over one of your legs, pinning you to the ground so that you cannot move no matter how hard you try. And she is just lying there, looking at you, while she chews on your leg.
And you are startled by the sound of a branch snapping because maybe it means another bear is coming and it’s going to bite your head and gnaw on your skull while you scream. Or maybe it’ll come and fight with the other bear and you can get up and hop the fuck out of there.
But then you realize it wasn’t a branch. It was the bone in your leg snapping off. Because she just took another big bite of it. And it kinda looks and sounds how you sound when you’re eating ice, chewing on ice cubes. That sideways gnawing with your back teeth, with one eye closed, and it’s loud as fuck, even to your own ears.
And the bear has ketchup all over her face. Or maybe spaghetti sauce. Or pizza sauce.
But then you realize, no, that’s not pizza sauce. That’s your blood. The brown fur around her mouth is wet with it. And it’s redder than you would’ve expected. And your foot is completely gone. She’s halfway up your leg. She ate your foot. Ate the whole thing. And the muscle and skin stretching and ripping off the back of your calf, which is for some reason facing upwards, is stretching out really long like melted cheese on a slice of pizza when you pull it out of the box.
Two more bites and she’s going to be at your knee.
So, yeah, maybe stay the fuck away from the bears. And I’m not talking about the big, big gay guys known as bears. Those guys are sweet. Really, really good people.
They won’t bite.
Hard.
Wink-wink. Don’t The Hot Fudge Sundaes have a song called Wink-wink? Something like that.
I think that might’ve been Show 1. Or perhaps it was the Big Premiere. Or perhaps it was Show 2.
Anyway, we were talking about the Jews. I don’t like saying that word, by the way. I’m uncomfortable saying it. It seems like a word that has great meaning and therefore deserves reverence. Reverence basically means respect.
It is similar, I think, to the N-word. Also not a word to be thrown around incorrectly or with malintent. Even though I’ve seen White people calling other White people the N-word. I have no idea what is happening.
Mal means Bad, by the way. It’s French.
Like Malware.
Hardware, software, malware. Bad ware.
Oh, and vaporware. That’s one of my favorites. It means a big software platform that is going to do great things but never comes and no one ever winds up using it and the people who invested in it lose all their money.
I just realized that Jews is one letter away from Jaws.
Right now, heads are exploding. For various reasons.
Can they go into the octagon with the others? Come and Cum, the Duo, God and Gawd. Do they want to? I have no idea; it’s not up to me to say. But imagine the Jews in the octagon with God. What happens next I don’t even know.
How did we get from cum shampoo to Jews fistfighting God in the octagon? For 40 years.
And by the way, Dana, is the octagon itself or the word or the term or whatever part of your copyright? Part of your IP? My apologies if it is.
Where were we?
Oh yes, the J’s and the N’s.
Sorry.
But the point is to show the similarity. Look at the history of these two cohorts. Hundreds of years of putting up with bullshit. Thousands of years. Millions and millions of people over thousands of years putting up with racism because they’re Jewish or Black. Most of whom were born into it, by the way. Like Lady Gaga sings about.
Here we pause a long whistle – or a long while – for eventual laughter as that punchline seeps in like cumTastic all-natural semen shampoo, which you should switch to today so that you can finally, FINALLY, achieve that look, smell, feel, bounce, and shine you’ve always, always wanted. Finally!
I envision Conan O'Brien doing that ad. He’ll do it, too. He’ll wash his hair with semen shampoo. And then he’ll have the look, smell, feel, bounce, and shine he’s always wanted.
It’ll be like a cult. The cum shampoo cult.
Instead of Sincerely yours, the Breakfast Club, it’ll be Sincerely yours, the Cum Shampoo Cult.
Don’t ask me to join, by the way. I can’t; I’m busy doing this. I’m up here. Doing this. Which reminds me of the other thing from the show notes: this. Me up here doing this. Classy is as classy does, sir. Nevertheless, wow.
The question we have yet to answer is from whence shall the cum come?
That sounds like a Stephen King novel. Or something an evil creature will repeat at key moments: From whence shall the cum come?
Maybe it’s a horror movie explaining the origin of the cumTastic cum shampoo. Is it humans being milked in giant cumfarms?
Ew.
Is tonight’s show making anyone else uncomfortable? Uncumfortable? C-U-M?
Instead of hundreds of thousands of chickens or cows or pigs, all crammed together in tiny cages where they can eat and get milked at the same time, it’s humans with penises. They’d have to be in a little studio apartment, though. Wouldn’t they? To be comfortable enough to orgasm and give up the jizz?
Unless they’re lying in stacks of hammocks, thousands and thousands high, like in The Matrix, and they have three tubes connected to them. One goes into their brain where it’s pumping in a powerful narcotic that is a combination of Ecstasy and something else, whatever will make them feel sexy.
The second tube will have to be a feeding tube. You’d have to pump a simple glucose syrup into their stomach to keep them alive and healthy enough to produce semen.
The third tube would be attached to the penis, pumping out the jizz as needed.
Now, I’m sure some companies will try to cut costs and will just jam the extraction tube, Tube #3, straight into their prostate gland in order to extract the semen directly. But then it won’t be the same. It probably won’t have sperm it in, at least not very much, and it won’t be mixed right because it never made the trip from the balls, up the vas deferens – that’s the tubes the doctors cut during a vasectomy – and then through or adjacent to the prostate where the actual semen is made. Or maybe it’s the Cowper’s Gland; I forget. Although I know that’s supposed to be where pre-cum comes from, which is supposed to moisten the penis in order to better facilitate penetration.
Try all-new cumTastic. Now with even more Cowper’s Fluid, to better facilitate penetration…of your hair follicle for the ultimate look, smell, feel, bounce, and shine you’ve always wanted.
But some brands would do it the hard way. The right way. The HARD way. By letting the person have an actual orgasm that coincides with the ejaculation slash harvesting of the seminal fluids and by the way jizz smells really bad. Thank you, James May, for agreeing to be the presenter in this documentary about the actual origins of cum shampoo. Perhaps for Your Man in France?
Just kidding; James has not agreed to be the presenter. I made that up. And I only said it because it would be awesome. Jeremy, Rich, you guys are totally, 100% welcome, too. Do you guys want to wash your hair with all-new cumTastic 100% organically-harvested semen shampoo? And we all know what organically harvested means.
James, Richard, Jeremy…
Lads…
Care to all get together in one of those old-timey Western shower stall things made out of wood where you shower right out in the open and everyone can see your feet and your head and shoulders but the rest of you is hidden behind the sun-baked, weather-beaten wooden walls constructed of thousand-year-old wood.
And speaking of thousand-year-old wood… I say, Jeremy….
Pause for laughter. Let’s get ready to rumble!
But seriously, the ad for cumTastic shows the three of you showering in three of those old wooden public showers. Or maybe all three of you in the same one? Naked and wet and pale and hopping about, cursing each other and saying, Don’t touch me, stay away from me, keep your cumTastic over there far away from me!
Or perhaps each of you can be naked except for a barrel. A wooden barrel pee-pee concealment device that shall be worn via suspenders over your shoulders.
I think Amazon Prime Video subscribers would like to see that.
I think this is important and should happen because then…and only then…once all three of you have thoroughly washed your hair in all-new cumTastic 100% organically-harvested semen shampoo, only then shall we know if Rich dyes his hair.
All in favor, say Aye!
The Earth just rumbled for the sound of it, Rich; sorry, mate.
So, yes, Steve, good sir, give us your thoughts on the novel and whom shall we ask – nay, beseech – to handle the film adaptation?
Who’s good at scary stuff?
Not just horror and gore; that’s different.
You hack people up and make them do disturbing things, yes, that can be shocking.
But scaring people is different. It’s more difficult.
From whence shall the cum come? That’ll be the copy, the slogan.
I guess it could also be an exploration of classism. Like the people making the really expensive smart phones and the people who buy them. Except not too heavy handed or else it’s Matt Damon assaulting a space station with power armor over healthcare. Which, for me, didn’t work. Back in the day, no one outside of Hollywood knew the term On the nose. Which means too obvious. But these days, everybody knows what that means. So it’s lost some of its caché.
But maybe if it washes its hair with all-new cumTastic 100% organically-harvest semen shampoo – dance, Conan!; please; thanks, luv you – it can get its caché back.
David Lynch comes to mind. Or shall we say CUMS to mind. If you are washing your hair with semen shampoo, something is definitely coming to mind. Lost Highway was good. Fuckin weird and scary and fuckin weird and…awesome. I’m not sure I liked it as much as Mulholland Drive, though. But they were also very different.
I’ve heard that Cleopatra liked to smear semen on herself. Not sure why. I’ve always been told it was because she thought it would help her be more youthful and vibrant and cumly. Cumliness, by the way, is the word they use in D&D — that’s Dungeons and Dragons to you and me, Rusty — to describe how attractive a character is, whether it’s a player character belonging to someone in your party, or a non-player character, which belongs instead to the DM; the Dungeon Master.
Cumliness. And you roll three dice to learn what it is. Your cumliness. On a scale of 3 to 18. Because you’re rolling three six-sided dice, which are the regular cube-shaped ones you’ve used all your life for things like Monopoly. The higher your score, the prettier you are. The lower your score, the more hideous you are. If you have a high score, like an 18, which is the highest score you can get, it means your character is hot as fuck. Everybody wants to bang you. So you therefore get an extra point or two added to your roll for initiative. When you meet someone in the game, the Dungeon Master describes the setting and circumstances of the encounter. You both then roll for initiative to see who gets to act first. The person with the highest score gets to begin the round. If it’s a tie or you lose by one, that bonus on your high cumliness score can give you the advantage, allowing you to talk first, swing first, or run first, depending on the situation.
And going first is almost always a good idea. Unless you’re jumping out of a plane wearing an experimental parachute that’s never been tried on a living person before, just dogs and dummies and stuff, and it worked every time, so you should be fine.
Just like it’s a good idea and you should be fine washing your hair with all-new cumTastic 100% organically-harvested semen shampoo.
Are we pushing the semen shampoo too hard?
It’s not like they’re our sponsor or anything. It’s not like they’re owned by the corporation who owns this entire space station, by the way. And they could very easily and with no remorse pick us up and suck our brains out of our heads the way we pick up an edamame pod and suck the little green beans out of it.
Kinda like the momma grizzly bear pulling the pizza toppings off your calf.
And speaking of calves, babies, where are that momma’s babies? Are they up a tree, safe? Or are they there with her, chewing on other parts of your body. Quick, how many fingers do you have?
Ears?
Nose?
Scalp? It would be just like one of those little rascals to grab onto the top of your head and get a little rambunctious, ripping your scalp and all of your hair off, and then bouncing around the forest with it in its mouth, kinda like you when you’re eating a vagina-shaped pancake while bopping along to your favorite song, Look, Smell, Feel, Bounce, and Shine, which is exactly what you’ll have when you switch to all-new cumTastic 100% organically-harvested semen shampoo.
And people will be at the store, looking for cumTastic, but it’s kinda pricey so maybe, maybe, just this once, they’ll try one of the other brands. And they read the label and start googling every other word. And they’re all like, Oh, my God slash Gawd, this doesn’t even have Cowper’s Fluid in it. What the hell? I have to have Cowper’s Fluid, okay? My hair needs it, okay? It’s just how my hair is. It needs lots and lots of Cowper’s Fluid.
Right, Louie?
I hear Louie C.K. doing that voice. The voice of an entitled little rich girl: I need Cowper’s Fluid. Lots and lots of Cowper’s fluid. I need it! I need more of it! I need all of it! And I need it yesterday!
So, yeah, cumliness.
That can be the name of the book slash movie.
Cumliness.
Or cumliness. All lower-case.
So it’s like this:
cumliness
from whence does the cum come?
And it starts out with people in the city, just a regular day on the streets, cafes, businesses, offices, homes, et cetera, of everyday folk in cities around the world.
And everyone is on the phone. Staring at it, pecking at it with both thumbs, holding it to their ear and talking while they walk really fast because they’re trying to get someplace.
And then the camera flies out away from the city, out over the water, many, many miles, many, many, many kilometers, to a land that is very far away, where we see the people making those phones. And it’s not a nice place. The buildings have nets around the rooftop in order to stop people from jumping off the roof and taking their own life because they simply cannot make another phone. They simply can’t sit there or stand there watching the endless phone skeleton carcasses going by, waiting for them to snap in their piece of the puzzle, maybe the RAM chip, or the kneecap if the momma bear didn’t already eat it. They can’t do it another hour. Not another minute. So they get up from their place and walk up the stairs to the roof and jump off, in order to have, as Joey once said, The sweet release of death.
And that happened SO much that the company called another company that specializes in nets and they said, probably shouting at least a little bit because holy fuck: Hey! There’s people jumping off the roof! We need you to come over right away and put a net around the roof so they can’t jump.
And the net company person will be all like, Why don’t you just tell them to stop making phones? Tell them to go downstairs and get some lunch and make a plan to become a schoolteacher or something. Or maybe one of you from the phone company goes downstairs with them and drives them far away from the factory and you buy them a cup of coffee or some Chinese food, which, again, you guys will simply call food, and you talk quietly and assure them that if they don’t want to make phones anymore, it’s okay; there’s no need to jump off the roof. You will help them with some vocational training and operating expenses to keep their head above water until they are ready to step into a paying job in their new career field. Which will probably be making laptops. Or cars.
But maybe not. Maybe they can be a tour guide who takes people on tours of those forests where people go to leave their physical bodies. Or maybe they’d like to paint or write or dance or twerk in the intersection of Sunset and Crescent Heights.
As long as they are holding a bottle of cumTastic semen shampoo, it’s fine by me!
All aboard the Sodomy Meat Train. SMT.
All aboard the Vegetarian Sodomy Train. VST.
All aboard the Impossible Sodomy Train. The Beyond Sodomy Train.
The Plant-based Sodomy Train.
That is funnier. But PST? PBST? SMT has a better ring to it.
SMT…Just did it!
Remember to send me a dollar. If you can find me up here on this ship.
Goodnight, everybody! Remember, real men don’t masturbate. And remember to tip your waitress!
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