Posts Tagged ‘Twilight’

I’m not exactly the kind of person that one would call “up to date” on trends. I don’t wear skinny jeans, listen to pop music, or understand the appeal of why the hell anyone would produce a movie detailing the life of a current pop star. The world doesn’t need more movies about Katy Perry or Justin Bieber or, God forbid it happen, Ke(dollar sign)ha. I actually include the “never happening” of that last one in my prayers every night. I do wonder about the title though. “Memoirs of a Drunken Whore” sounds pretty good. It doesn’t quite cover it though. Maybe “My ‘Music’Sounds Like A Seagull Being Strangled To Dubstep But I’ll Blow You In The Alley Behind Starbucks For A Mocha Latte And A Gram Of Coke So You May As Well Love Me”. That’s better.

Anyways, the reason I mention this is because I don’t understand one damn bit why that crapsack of mutilated paper pulp known as ’50 Shades of Grey’ is so damn popular. All I DO know is that its existence and popularity means I get to write a follow-up piece to the wildly successful (well, relatively) article about Twilight. It’s the Golden Age of mockery and sarcasm, I tell you what. Regardless of how great things are as a comedy writer, I could always use some extra cash to line my pockets with pornography, alcohol, and bootleg Joss Whedon DVDs. Thus, I am resolved to write chick porn using 50 Shades of Shit…I mean, Grey…as a barometer. And as a bonus? I’ll explain to YOU how to do it too.
First, as in last time, murder any thoughts you have about being a respectable or even literate writer. You aren’t going to be writing for the elite, the well-read, the academics. You are barely going to be writing for middle schoolers reading at a college level. You are writing for lonely, bored, horny housewives, teenagers, and bored talk show hosts. Having it have a legitimate, engrossing plot is kind of like adding parsley, fine china, and a glass of wine to spice up the presentation of a steaming horse dump. Focus more of your time on how you can use the medium to create the most filthy, degrading situation possible while still maintaining a semblance of respectability. Think “upgraded fan fiction” because, let’s face it, that 50 Shades garbage is literally that. It can’t hurt to be a fan fic writer either. Anyone who writes that has a throbbing tumor called “I hate literature” inside their heart and uses it to crap out “ships” of any potential character pairings under the sun. Don’t get me started on fan fic.

Next, decide what you want your main characters to do. Oh. That’s right. You want them to fuck. The rest is just gravy. Cool. Check that off.

After that, figure out what your characters are named. If you’re writing chick porn, this will take up a solid 80% of your work time on the “book”. You can’t name them something like Amy Jones and John Smith. Those are boring names, names of IRS agents and middle management candidates. Likewise, you can’t use names like Jagatha Messy and Hondo Awesome. Nobody is going to take you seriously (let’s be honest, they won’t anyways but I digress) if you write ‘Hondo and Jagatha boned like archaeologists on top of Hondo’s 1997 Chevy Pylon’ or whatever. You need to create dark and steamy names, like Vanessa St. John and Juan Carlos Fancypants…I mean, Trenton Green. If it sounds like it could conceivably be a porn star but only in one of those high class X-Art ones (as opposed to, say, Gaping Assholes 8), you’ve hit the sweet spot. And so will your readers…if you get what I’m saying. I’m saying that they will play with themselves.

Naturally, take into account the audience while describing the characters. Naturally, the protagonist must be a legal-aged girl, probably a fresh-faced college student or even right after graduating. She has to be shy and naive, with no more sexual experience than a half-hearted handjob in the back of a Denny’s kitchen. Obviously, she must be a virgin. She has to have no confidence in herself and see herself as a plain, unassuming wallflower. Basically, if you do a copy/paste of every garden variety Twilight knockoff bullshit, you’ll have it down. And the man must be tall, strikingly handsome, broad-shouldered, and brooding, with impeccable taste in clothes, a high-paying job, no current relationship to speak of, and miraculously well-endowed. Of course, he has to be irresistibly attracted to the protagonist and, by proxy, the reader. I swear to God, this shit is like porn had a retarded baby with a chick flick. It’s like Naughty America banged 27 Dresses or some shit like that.

Also, since you’re writing porn for girls, which is much more about the experience than the actual act, you need to use euphemisms to describe what is happening. You can’t go too clinical, since “He placed his penis inside her vagina and performed intercourse until they both achieved orgasm”. Yes, that may be what happened but…snore. You also can’t really go too vulgar, since that can be a turnoff. “He fucked her cunt with his dick until they both came” also describes what happened but it’s so…inelegant. And yes, that is a concern of yours. Instead, use lines like “Trenton teased her gently opening flower with his turgid manhood. Vanessa felt her nethers quiver with excitement and, as he pushed her open, she felt herself becoming filled with an almost holy sensation. They began to merge as only lovers can and (yadda yadda yadda) they both felt a surge of heat as they crested at the height of their passion and fell to the bed, a tangle of limbs and satisfaction.” THAT is what gets the housewife tang all stirred up.

Since this is apparently the trend, don’t be scared to introduce some ‘taboo’ elements to the sex. 50 Shades decided to dive into the BDSM lifestyle (wrongly, I’ve heard) with the main dude apparently beating the crap out of the girl? I don’t know, I haven’t read it. So that’s right out. Since you want to distinguish yourself from the soon-to-be-arriving herd of copycats, why not take things to the logical extreme? Instead of spanking and handcuffs, try watersports and bloodplay. Instead of contracts and submission, have the girl take a dump on a glass coffee table. Make your characters have the kind of sex that even Max Hardcore would call “a bit too extreme”. End the series with snuff. You know you want to.

Lastly, after it naturally takes off and becomes a poorly-hidden dirty pleasure for soccer moms across the world, hang yourself with a shower curtain. That way, your poison and evil can’t infect the world with sequels, PLUS your faithful readers will call it a fitting way to leave this world. Win-fucking-win.

(You really have a problem with popular lit these days, huh? – ed.)

No. I have a problem with literal fan fiction and its metamorphosis into something considered worthy of publication. I have a problem with crap like Twilight and 50 Shades becoming popular while real writers struggle to make ends meet. I have a problem with the increased retardation of the next generation. You are going to have twelve-year-olds choking each other with a belt within six months. Mark my words. These are the End of Days.

(…a bit dramatic, wouldn’t you say? – ed.)

There is no such thing as too dramatic, Ed. Not while evil reigns. I need a drink.

(You always do. Goodnight, everyone. – ed.)

Although those of us at Dan Eats Cat (tell your friends, whore us out, bring us love!) are nearly omnipotent and thus unable to physically experience the trauma of making mistakes, we understand that mortals can have problems sometimes with life. And, of course, the demographic most desperately in need of our aid to prevent them from becoming drooling, crying, chest-slapping retards is simple: teenagers. Yes, we too were teenagers at one point, although we experience time differently from you. Be that as it may, we have deigned to bless your basic lives with some knowledge and advice that hopefully will turn the horror of adolescence into something marginally productive in society. As always, it must be assumed that this advice is being given to legal 18-year olds. Covering our asses.
Let’s be frank, here. Teenage love is the strangest, strongest and most damaging of all love, save perhaps anal. Thus, it requires the most help in understanding and navigating the non-Euclidean geometric waters. That’s an H.P. Lovecraft joke for you, by the way. It’s messy, confusing, frustrating, great and terrible all at the same time, kind of like a really difficult bowel movement except with more potential for ejaculation. And it’s not like it’s going to matter anyways. You little bastards never listen to any good advice from those who have gone before because we’re, like, old and can’t possibly understand all the intricacies of teenage dating. Ungrateful little punks. All the same, let’s help you out.

Girls, do you think you love him? Well…you’re right! Get pregnant so he can never leave you.

Boys, if she won’t sexually pleasure you, dump her. Right around the corner will be another girl, probably not as good-looking, but she’s willing to put your dick in her mouth and that is something that you can’t discount.

Girls, if there are aspects of your boy that you don’t like, nag and berate and harass him until he either leaves or changes. If he won’t change everything about himself to suit your ever-fluctuating whims, he doesn’t love you.

Boys, refuse to acknowledge any flaws that you may have in the relationship. You’re the almost-man and that means that you’re always right.

Girls, it’s not out of line or immature to scream at the top of your lungs, including that female banshee shriek teenage girls can achieve, at your boyfriend in the middle of the hallway during lunch because you totally saw him checking out that slut Lindsay’s ass, that fucking jerk.

Boys, that Lindsay has a nice ass, huh?

Girls, yes, it is absolutely rational to never want to see that asshole again because how dare he go to (insert new teenage shit movie here) with his family when he promised you that he would see it with you first when you were holding hands in your car after school.

Boys, erections are perfectly healthy and you should not be ashamed of them. Unless, of course, you get one in the locker room as you’re showering after football practice. Then you might have some other things to worry about beyond a simple erection.

Girls, it’s so heartbreaking when a relationship ends. You absolutely should go and give his big brother a handjob in the backyard when you’re drunk on wine coolers at Brad’s graduation party. That’ll show him.

Boys, you will be able to put it in her butt if you buy her a really nice meal at that Italian place down the road, manage to steal some champagne from your parents’ liquor cabinet (or get them to buy it, if they’re cool) and lie to her about other people doing it. It will be mediocre because she’ll be scared and tense up, which means it’ll hurt her so she’ll cry and you’ll have to abandon it halfway through and just cuddle the rest of the night. It will set a tone for the rest of your dating life.

Girls, is your relationship starting to break apart? There’s a simple solution. Have a baby. Introducing a baby into the mix never creates anything but a stronger love. Note: this is similar to the earlier piece of advice because it’s such a good idea.

Boys, just remember this: if you blow your load in her mouth or on her tits or, God forbid, in her butt, she can’t create a crotch spawn. Pray she’s too stupid to remember that.

Girls, you can totally get pregnant by taking a shot in the mouth or on your tits or in your butt. The whole body is connected! Your heart pumps blood throughout your entire body, right? Why can’t it do that with baby batter, huh?

Boys, it doesn’t technically count as cheating if you fuck her sister or cousin because, hey, you’re keeping it in the family. Also it doesn’t count if she never finds out so…that’s a plus too.

Girls, expecting that your boyfriend or crush will act like Edward Cullen is not realistic. He’s totally more of a Jacob Black. OMGZ!

Boys, if you find out your girlfriend is either reading the Twilight “books” or watching the “movies”, either dump her or distract her and burn her copies. Or burn her body and dump it in the copies. Maybe not that last one.

Girls, if you’re starting to get bitchy, go get a tampon so you don’t period all over your boyfriend.

Boys, if she’s bleeding, run for the hills for the structural integrity of your relationship is in grave danger. Do not come back until the passing of the full moon.

Girls, if your boyfriend hurts you – and he will hurt you – just go ahead and declare all men the sworn enemy of your sovereign vagina. Because clearly every man in the world is a stupid asshole who broke your heart.

Boys, be aware of one fact: no matter how fun it is to be a jerk, no matter how fun it is to snap bra straps or piss off girlfriends, no matter how fun it is to fuck around and sleep with everyone you can…your genitals are outside your body and hanging targets. Be warned. Nah, just kidding. Angry girls won’t go for the balls, no matter how mad they are. They understand the pain they provide and won’t take advantage of it. Teenage girls aren’t psychopaths at ALL, as you know.

And finally, for both genders, the love that you experience in high school is forever. No relationships past high school will ever mean as much or feel as strong as the ones you experience then. It’s all downhill. So be sure to get all your loving in during high school or you’ll miss out!
(You really hate teenagers, don’t you? – ed.)

Hate? No. Loathe? No. Respect? No.

(I…hm. – ed.)


More Rejected Video Game Cut Scenes

Posted: October 1, 2010 by kaostheory in Informative
Tags: , , , ,

Some people don’t like video games. I know, it’s a terrifying thought but it’s completely true. Some people think they are childish. Some think that they are a product of immature minds and sensibilities. Even some snobby-ass movie critics that look like goldfish at this point in their lives won’t put any stock in considering video games as any valid form of art. Of course, cinema is art. Movies are art. Books are art too. That makes a lot of sense. Games like Shadow of the Colossus or Assassin’s Creed where you have beautifully designed, lush, gorgeous landscapes aren’t art, but what those escaped Down Syndrome mental patients Friedberg and Seltzer create by slapping their tequila-stained dicks on hunks of animal intestine IS art. Games like Red Dead Redemption where you can be moved to tears by such deep character development aren’t art, but books like Twilight which literally prey on the clinical mass retardation and the onset of menstruation in little girls by introducing names and characters that are nothing more than empty shells for lonely fat girls to inhabit ARE art. Okay.

(Easy, KT. Take it easy on those Stellas. – ed.)

No, it’s really okay, Ed. Because in my search to find the perfect vessel in which to deposit my tainted seed, I actually managed to come across more rejected cut scenes from video games. If these aren’t art, well…okay they probably aren’t but fuck you, we’re going to prove the critics right. I guess.
Gears of War 2: After the exhausting events of this game, all members of the battalion are given two weeks’ leave to rest and recover. We find out in the epilogue that Dom and Marcus take a trip together to the Bahamas, where they spend their time drinking and laying out on the beach. As they unwind, they begin to open up and discuss their feelings. One night, after a few bottles of wine at dinner and a particularly emotional conversation, the two passionately kiss, transforming their relationship and the rest of the series into something darker.

(Rejected: Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell precludes this from happening but even if it didn’t, it’d still be rejected. People don’t want to see two big burly men make out. They want to see CHICKS make out, preferably while in the shower or playing idly with the protagonist’s dick. Come on.)

Left 4 Dead: A close call with a rampaging Tank leaves Zoey tearful and desperate for physical affection so that she can feel a sense of any kind of safety. Latching on to Louis, she proceeds to fellate him as Bill and Francis look on. Soon, the two others have joined in, creating an “airtight” situation. As zombies rage and fight and bite outside, thirsting for their tasty, tasty brains, new, violent love is made with this Left 4SOME Dead.

(Rejected: First off, nobody is going to be okay with an “airtight” situation, okay? Secondly…Left 4Some Dead? Really? Jesus, Gary.)

Mass Effect 2: One of the many, many dialogue trees creates the option for Shepard to sleep with Yeoman Kelly Chambers. That’s in the actual game. Well, eventually, you can get her to come up to his room and dance in this incredibly slutty red costume. That’s in the actual game too. So here’s my thought. You have the ability to fuck her on the bridge, in full combat gear, right in front of Joker as you flip him off and do a little dance.

(Rejected: Aside from that being incredibly inappropriate – the potential for Shepard’s dick to get clipped off by an errant piece of armor notwithstanding – and probably creating some serious censorship problems, I don’t think the ESRB is going to look too kindly on a handicapped pilot being mocked ruthlessly by his commanding officer through backdoor sex and random leg movements.)

Rock Band:Coke, groupies, a bar fight and one of the members dies.

(Rejected: I wish I didn’t have to say no to this one because that could be a hell of a lot of fun, but we have little kids playing the game, ostensibly. Do you want to be the one to explain to angry parents why their little Donnie is suddenly so unrelentingly anguished over letting his “high meter” get too over the top or why Consuela is discussing which digital slut’s pussy is tighter? I think not. Pass.)

Star Fox 64: The entire time you play, Slippy screams at you for some undefinable reason, driving the player closer and closer to the brink of unceasing madness. That high-pitching, horrifying wail. From the depths of the netherworld it comes. Every waking minute is filled with the screams of this damned soul and you can do nothing. A mute button only hinders you as you cannot hear commands from your other teammates. Life is hell. Eventually you find out that the stupid fucker has accidentally gotten his dick caught in the gas tank.

(Rejected: A little too dark for what we’re going for, but it does explain a lot more than you’d think it would. Call this one a maybe.)

Goldeneye: Okay. This one is going to be more of a thinking man’s change. This is how it goes down. You play the entire game thinking that the main bad guy is Alec Trevelyan. It turns out that the person controlling HIM is…wait for it…Yakov Smirnoff!

(Rejected: Do you not see the problem with this one? Jesus, Gary.)

Donkey Kong: DK becomes a tragic figure. He awakes at the start of the game to find that poachers have kidnapped him and his family, except for Diddy Kong, who in a fit of anger and rabies had bitten the arm off of one of the hunters. His tattered corpse lies on the floor of the truck. The only thing to eat back there is one small, green, hard banana. Before the game actually begins and you go fight King K. Rool or whoever the fuck is the villain, you have to murder your family, the poachers and anyone else that stands in the way of you returning to your homeland. It’s a game WITHIN a game.

(Rejected: Way too meta for a kid’s game. And what kid is going to want to have to take into his own hands the responsibility of mercy-killing his own family? Are you trying to create sociopaths? Because that’s how you create sociopaths.)

Metroid: Samus is a dude.

(Rejected: I like it! But the HR department is demanding that we introduce more female characters into the market. What do they want? We gave them Lara Croft and the Rape-Matic 1994. What else can we give them? Eh. Whatever. They’re probably all on their periods anyway.)

Space Invaders: We don’t make this about aliens at all. Instead, we turn it into a psychological thriller about a pervert who constantly sneaks into a girl’s house and watches her sleep. Invading her space, get it?

(Rejected: That’s called Twilight. Do you want to get us sued? Jesus, Gary.)
I done good?

(You done…acceptable. Go have another beer. – ed.)

Yay beer!

Let’s be honest with ourselves here. We all want to make money, preferably enough so that we can live comfortably in a McMansion with a pool and a moderately hot trophy wife for the rest of our lives. There are plenty of ways we can do that too. For example:

I could play sports, except I’m a short, unathletic and somewhat flabby white boys. Suitably well-endowed though, of course.

I could play the stock market shrewdly, except I’m not smart enough or business-savvy enough to do that. Besides, with the way this economy is now (hopefully not at the time you’re reading this), I would better suited to throwing my money in a pit, crapping on it and setting it on fire because at least that way I’m screwing myself.

I could rob a bank, except I just watched Heat last night and while that movie was phenomenal, it reminded me that I would have to set aside all emotional attachments that I wouldn’t be able to run away from in thirty seconds if the “heat” was on and frankly, I just can’t do that. I’m a lovers, not a fighter. Well, maybe a fighter too but taking a shotgun blast to the Don Johnson just isn’t the most palatable of options, which you surely can understand.

Hell, I could even become a hooker, except…come on. Like I’m going to get paid to play Naked Twister with anyone other than the Hutt clan.

No, all those get-rich-quick schemes will do nothing save provide a wacky montage for the funeral videos of my life after I suffer some sort of physical mishap while in the line of duty and suffer severe internal bleeding to the point where they have to dose me up with morphine until I can’t feel a thing as I drift into the nothingness.

(That went a little dark, KT. – ed.)

The point is really simple. If you want to make an obscene amount of money (literally obscene…I’m talking shaped like a porn star’s Statue of Liberty), the easiest way to do so is to tap into the most easily exploitable demographic aside from that of…well, I’ll just say those that are incredibly entertained by shiny objects: teenage girls.
Now, it’s been scientifically proven that teenage girls have the equivalent intelligence of a pile of lightly warmed tofu, the self-confidence of a molting owl with depression and the emotional stability of a three-level house balanced on top of a toothpick with a crack down the middle. Besides that, however, they have loads upon loads of disposable income from negligent and/or indulgent parents. That is money that rightfully can – and should – be yours! Here’s how to get it:

Write. A. Book. Not just any book, though. You can’t write a crime novel or a science fiction book. Teenage girls aren’t going to want to read stuff like that. God forbid you even try to write something a little more deep and meaningful. That’ll blow by them like…something fast. No, gentle readers. I’ll give you some hints as to how to write the perfect teenage girl book.
First and foremost, if you are in any way a self-respecting, thoughtful auteur dreaming of a world where you produce thoughtful, well-critiqued material, kill any notions of respectability you may be hoping for. Seriously. Just put them out of your head right away. You are not aspiring to be a Tom Wolfe or a Michael Chabon or a J.D Salinger or a Kurt Vonnegut or, fuck, even a Michael Crichton or, God forbid, a Dan Brown (yes, I like his books, yes, I am aware they aren’t wonderful). You are not trying to become a critical darling, a hero to the disenfranchised poor. You aren’t trying to prove a social point. You’re writing for teenage girls. Let’s be serious: fucking COMPREHENSIBILITY is optional.

Next up, you are going to want to outline a basic – very basic – plot. I know, I know. This sounds like a difficult thing and in most cases, you would be right about it. However, remember your audience. Twists and turns and intrigue are going to only confuse and scare them. Having any kind of plot detail that’s not expected will make them throw your book away in disgust which, if they’ve already paid for it, I guess you don’t need to give a shit about. Still, refrain from anything too challenging or, honestly, challenging in any way, shape or form. If you want to make the money, give them what they want. Which leads me to the next point…

You should make the main character basically an empty shell for the reader to inhabit. This part WILL be tricky, especially if the first point is tough for you. It takes a lot of effort to write a character with no inherent personality. Most writers want to create the very OPPOSITE. What you need to remember is that you are essentially writing a “choose-your-own-adventure” book except without the choosing. You are writing the equivalent of a rail shooter for video games. While you can’t REALLY give her no personality – and yes, it MUST be a her – you can basically create one that is around 70% of the population: shy, brooding, self-conscious, isolated-feeling, abstinent and scared of her budding sexuality, and unconscious of her beauty (okay that last one doesn’t really apply to like…any of that population but you have to play on that feeling). Speaking of which…

You absolutely attempt to tap into that insecurity of teenage sexuality. Middle and high schools are a raging mass of hormones and nerves. Let’s get that out of the way right away. That is a phenomenal source of plot points. All of them want to have sex with all the rest of them but the vast majority are too frightened to acknowledge that their ladyparts are all a-tingle over the quarterback or the lead actor or whatever. Actually, hold that thought.

Definitely try to create a love triangle with the main character as the lynchpin. Think about it. For this reader surrogate, what is going to be the most unconsciously fulfilling situation? Is it working hard for good grades? No. Is it maintaining a solid friendship with her female friends? No, although that is also a plus. Is it staying out of trouble? God no. Is it being the object of lust for two attractive, yet sensitive, yet sexually non-threatening, yet sexual, yet thoughtful, yet flawed, yet perfect boys? Now you’re thinking with your ovaries. You can write this whole situation however you like, but it works best if one is the best friend that she never saw in that sexy light before while the other is the bad boy new kid who excites her in new ways. If you really want to keep their Hello Kitties rainstorming, keep that sexual tension building throughout however many books you want to exploit them through, providing no relief. You bastard.

As with the current trends, why not try experimenting with supernatural forces? You know. Take some long-held monster and transform it in new and bullshit ways in order to romanticize it. Vampires have been taken. So have werewolves. Zombies are a little too out there. You could try mummies but they’re all decayed ‘n’ shit. Creature from the Black Lagoon? Potential. Maybe it’s not a hideously deformed fish-face creature bent on bringing a woman back to its lair for awful breeding purposes. Maybe instead it’s a hot guy that can breathe underwater and sits in his cave being all contemplative while playing his guitar. Oh God. What have I created?

Next, watch as this book, this abomination of a work, goes multimillion and becomes a successful movie franchise. This is kind of the natural next step. With all that stuff in there, there is no possible way that your book isn’t going to become almost uncomfortably popular among girls you can’t fuck anyway and older women who have lost the passion in their marriages or *shiver* their single lives. You will become a sex symbol yourself.

Finally, you only have one thing left to do. Drink yourself to death. What you have done to literature and to the film world is not on the level of Stalin or Hitler, but pretty much fucking Pol Pot all over. You have committed an unspeakable act. Your shame will live with you for the rest of your life. Or it should…


Yes. You are Stephenie Meyer. You evil fuck.
(You seriously did this just to condemn one person? – ed.)


(Eh. No problem here. You got something up. ‘Til next time, people. – ed.)

As always, in lieu of actually having to put thought into an article full of fresh and funny new ideas – you know, the stuff this site is based on – we have decided that in the interest of actually having something UP on the site other than old, stale material, we’ll just do what we always do. You know, find the funniest and most perverted search terms of the past month or so, show them to you and make snarky comments about them. You know. The normal lazy-ass method. Aren’t you proud?

Ugh. Anyways, we have a nice long batch of sick bastards trying to find this site. But hey, no child porn this time! So that’s a plus, I suppose. It did kind of even out, though, with some other weird shit. Couldn’t be THAT far into the mainstream, now could we?

(Just…just do this, KT. Stop stalling for time and just do the damn thing. – ed.)

FINE. God. Let’s get this bitch rollin’.

“rejected mario games”: Hey, I know where this one came from! Ah, nostalgia. For the record, the funniest rejected Mario game would in fact be ‘Raper Mario’ just because of the similarity to ‘PAPER’…well, you see where that came from.

“how many consumers really reject brands”: I am sure I don’t know the answer to that. Or why that brought them here. Wait are they still caught on the cereal thing? Crapola.

“eel loose in opry mills flood”: I’m gonna assume this is just hearsay, mainly because it doesn’t say if it’s just some pansy-ass river eel or a fucking moray or conger eel. THOSE I would worry about. But like a floppy, dick-looking river eel? Pffff.

“why does my screen go black after accept”: Because your tiny white cock just couldn’t satisfy it anymore, I’m betting.

“gund raptorsaurus stuffed animal”: I don’t know what this is but I want it.

“is attack of the killer tomatoes a stone”: Sir, I can safely say that it is not. It is a movie and possibly also a book though I am unsure of that. Still though, it is a movie. Not a stone. Movies are not in fact chiseled out of granite or what have you, at least not until James Cameron has his way.

“hateness”: I think like…half that word is unnecessary.

“usted tiene un asno apretado translation” According to Babelfish – you know the TRANSLATION program – this means, and I quote, “you have a tight ass”. Why the fuck is this a SEARCH? In what possible situation is that absolutely required?

“cortana gagged”: I knew – KNEW – that writing that video games thing with that fetish involved would lead to this. Damn it.

“bdsm games cut”: DAMN it.

“is henry a good name for your penis?”: Bud, it’s YOUR penis. You can call it Lord Huffleton von Codswallop and it would be fine. Actually, go with that one instead of Henry, honestly.

“any way to get out of a felony if its minor”: The word “felony” and “minor” don’t usually go in the same sentence unless it’s “felony abuse of a minor”. So I’m going to go out on a limb here and say no, no there really isn’t.

“the expression of the man ho eats more q”: I…what? Is this in code? Are you trying to tell me the Latvians have invaded? ARE YOU?

“honey bunches of oats is only for blue c”: OH SHIT! You are! Run for your lives!

“pacman cutscenes”: Oh this is fun. Yes, there are cutscenes in Pac-Man. Between the wakka wakka wakka and the fruits and the ghosts, there is a deep and rich story full of intrigue and betrayal and IT’S FUCKING PAC-MAN NO THERE ARE NO CUTSCENES.

“can fbi get you a big cat”: Yes, I suspect that they can. The question is WILL they. And that’s probably a no.

“how did i spend my weekend”: If you’re coming on the Internet to try to find answers to this question, you might want to call the local police and your friends and piece it together yourself.

“how to mckickass”: You can’t. You can only BE McKickass and since that’s me and you aren’t me, you’re not. See?

“‘green haired and hung'”: Okay this is seriously getting ridiculous.

“dangerres man”: Dangerres? It sounds in my head like Algiers. I don’t think that’s right.

“ball gag princess peach”: DAMN. IT. ALL.

“latino doctor”: Yeah, none of those here. Sorry, champ. You might want to try a racist phonebook instead.

“decoding women’s words”: Bahahaha. Good luck with that, man. That’s like trying to understand that clicking bush language while having earmuffs on.

“eat scat for food”: I am quite troubled at the prevalence of the word ‘scat’ in search results, I really am. Especially in this context. Ew.

“girl has a human footstool”: No! Bad Internet! Do not redirect hardcore S&M users to this site!

“proud beggar idioms”: What? Like…”A beggar with pride is like a horse with roller skates. It doesn’t need them and it’ll just make things more complicated than they need to be.”…something like that?

“brazilian idiom rape”: I don’t know how ANY of those words go together. That’s like a dark version of ‘purple monkey dishwasher’.

“red 40 in cereal is that made from bugs”: I don’t even have words to say to this. This is hilarious and obscenely paranoid.

“sickness that makes you curl up”: Well, I’d say that this would be pretty much any disease that attacks your stomach or nuts.

“elwood video 4chan”: Uh…maybe?

“”: Oh God. Kill me now.
We are not proud of what we have done to the world. Apparently we’re making it a much more fucked-up place to live. But you know what? We’re not like Koman Coulibaly who we are reasonably sure has forcible intercourse with the buttholes of water buffalo as he snorts straight coke off a giraffe’s back and FUCKS THE UNITED STATES.

(Yeah, not even going to discipline him this time. He’s right. Fuck him. Have a great day, readers! – ed.)

My eyes began to focus slowly as I was gently helped to my feet. Astley was there, looking a little annoyed at me. Without a word, I shrugged. With a sigh, he explained what happened. Evidently, when I had become overcome by noxious fumes, as would any living soul, Astley had actually carried me over his shoulder down the monstrous slope from the Sixth Circle to the Seventh before – in his words – throwing my irritatingly weak body to the ground.

“Are you able to journey further, friend?”

“Yes…yes. I just…the fumes were so…strong. I could not maintain my senses.”

“Of course. Gas does tend to do harm to those with weak constitutions. I am glad I was there to keep you safe. Let us continue. The entrance to the Seventh Circle is just ahead.”

And indeed it was. Unfortunately, our progress was somewhat hampered by the presence of the massive beast standing in front of the gateway to the circle. The creature stood quite tall and hideous brays erupted from its mouth, teeth large, blunted and wide. Large horns tore holes through the dirty blonde mane of the creature and, worst of all, its entire upper half was covered in the same dirty fur. The lower body, however, was that of a man, feet filthy and bruised, genitalia swinging free like a pendulum.

“This…what is this?”

“Pay it no heed, Kaos. The Buseytaur serves no actual purpose here other than to welcome us to this Seventh Circle. You may walk by it unmolested. Or rather, unharmed.”

“I am not sure I like that change of phrasing.”

“Just walk quickly and ignore anything you might feel.”

We sped by and I cannot say with any certainty to this day that I did not feel a breeze pass by my backside. However, we were past the monster and through the gates of the Seventh Circle. I was surprised to note that once we passed through this particular gate, there was not the characteristic blast of loud, horrific noise nor that of flashing, gaudy lights. Instead, there was only another smaller wrought-iron set of doors with a large “1” emblazoned upon it.

“What is this, poet? I was expecting an influx of confusion and pain. Not…a simple door.”

“Peace, friend. These doors merely act as walls between the three rings of this circle. Each group has its separate sins and must be punished accordingly, unable to interact with other groups. Through this door is the first of the three.”

“And who dwells in these three rings?”

“The first group is made of those who find sexual pleasure in violence against other people, consensual or not. The second are those who find it in violence against themselves. The final group is made of those perverts who achieve stimulation through violence against nature itself. By these crimes, they are judged.”

“And we must enter?”

“We must.”

“Of course. Lead the way.”

As we passed through the door, a curious bleach-like smell struck my nostrils. Looking around, I was horrified at what befell my eyes. A long winding river twisted and turned through the entirety of the ring, yet none but Censors – large, hooved creatures wearing crisp white shirts and black ties – stood upon the shores. The damned souls of this ring were instead immersed in this river to varying depths. Those that attempted to leave the river – I cannot call what they sat in water as it was more akin to the color and texture of male emissions – were struck down by what appeared to be arrows by the Censors on command of their leader, Clintahn.

“Their punishment?”

“These are the beings that prowled the Internet for much of the worst pornography. They not only delighted but demanded violent sex. Choking women was a favorite. As was their gagging due to deep, forceful face-intercourse. As was faked – or not so faked – rape scenarios. Ultimately, consent did not take as a concern. The sex was not their end-goal. That was the debasement and humiliation of anyone else. The sexual aspect was just – in their terms – a form of gravy. They will remain in this river of seed – the River Phlegizzthon – drowning in sticky at a level equal to their sins forever. This way. Our ferry awaits.”

Just up ahead, a Censor waited for us. Astley informed me his name was Naysus and he would lead us to the second ring. Carefully, I entered the ferry and within a few minutes, he had moved us down the river and across a ford that had been set up further down the course of the flow. Right beside the ford was the entrance to the second ring, which I walked through quite quickly, as the concept of what was occurring in this first ring struck me fully and nauseated me. Through the door, though, was an entirely different sight.

We emerged into a great forest, the branches high and choking out the sun. As we walked, the forest was deathly still. No sign of life anywhere could be heard or seen. Nothing but tree after tree surrounded us.

“I see no souls here, poet.”

“Look closely. They do not dwell in the forest.”

“…they are the forest.”

“Yes. These that have become the trees have given away their bodies through self-harm. Many ways did this take place. Take this first tree. This used to be a famous actor, David Carradine. Beloved for his portrayal of the Tarantino villain Bill. However, through the Internet, he was taught the ways of auto-erotic asphyxiation – choking oneself to achieve a more powerful orgasm. Unfortunately, his life left his body when he failed to adhere to warnings provided.”

“How horrible.”

“Truly you are correct. Look ahead. The forest is ending. There is a clearing.”

“But the clearing is not empty.”

“You are correct. Do you see those shades running back and forth, being chased?”

“Why yes. They look…they look as if they have mental problems.”

“Correct once again. They are those that populated the Internet and dedicated their presence to glorifying the travesty known as Twilight. Their cries and insistence on being noticed crippled dozens – if not hundreds – of Internet forums. Their fly-by-night grammar and bombastic refusal to accept any form of criticism for either themselves or their demigod created tears in the structural integrity of not only the Net, but the universe itself. For their transgressions, they are damned to be chased forever by werewolves – that which they despised – as they burn in sunlight as true vampires – their heroes – should. Let us pass them quickly as they deserve none of our attention.”

“But their howls?”

“Not pain. The first shrieks and cracks of puberty. Forward, friend.”

Soon enough, another door appeared before us and, afraid of being consumed by the rabid fanatics behind us – growing steadily in terror and number, we moved through it into a new plain, this one a vast landscape of fiery sand and desert, flames falling from the sky in flakes. Groups walked around, crying and weeping while others sat on the sand, moping and looking morose.

“The violent against nature?”

“Yes, friend. Those who sit on the sand took advantage of the least of us on earth – the animals – using the Internet to arrange such encounters and even to open websites and forums dedicated to such a foul activity. The worst of them even videotaped their perversion and posted the results online. These beastialists must now sit on the sand, their genitalia buried and roasting, unable to move or obtain an erection for even brief relief.”

“And those that wander aimlessly?”

“They are those who searched high and low on the Internet for some way to relieve their lust for sodomy.”

“But videos with that particular fetish stretch across the entirety of the Net! Many normal humans wish to engage in that activity. Look! There on the horizon. There is Pred3000! And there is Raybestos! Are they damned as well?”

“They necessarily must be. They have committed – or wished to commit – violence against nature. With active sex lives, they surely could have become contented with simple normal intercourse in various positions. They unfortunately became too greedy and now must wander the sands aimlessly, as their emissions wandered unfamiliar territory within their partners.”

“Let us leave this place, poet, for I am aggrieved at seeing those close to me in this Hell.”

“Hell is not pretty, my fellow traveller. It is a place of the damned. But yes, we shall leave. Our journey is not yet completed.”

The door out of the Seventh Circle came upon us quickly and we went through it just as quickly, though I must admit I looked back one last time upon the wandering forms of my friends and fellow writers. My heart broke but I knew I needed to continue. I would not forget what their presence did to me, readers. I never shall.

A while back, we here at Dan Eats Cat Food brought you the weirdest/sickest/funniest as hell search results that led all manner of perverts, weirdos, freaks and recovering alcoholics to our fine, fine website. It was wonderful or at least not terrible. Well, since we’re scraping the bottom of the barrel dry at this point, we’ve decided to bring you a second edition! This time we have even more effed-up searching for you to feast your eyeballs on. So, let’s do this shit.

(Really? No built-up intro? No insulting our readers or their families? No vulgar jokes about Rosie O’Donnell’s labia? – ed?)

I’m a professional, Ed. And as a professional, I find offense in your implications that would act any way otherwise.

(Seriously though. This is a joke right? You’re going to say something awful as soon as I stop paying attention right? – ed.)

I don’t intend to, no.

(Well…alright. I suppose I can believe you. That’s great. It’s nice to seeing you take your job seriously for once. – ed.)

May I continue with my article now, Ed?

(Oh. Oh yeah. By all means, go ahead. – ed.)

Alright. Let’s get this spankrag rolling!

(WHAT? – ed.)

“kama sutra edward cullen”: Oh my God. Those two things should never be in the same sentence, let ALONE the same web search. I’m going to place a bet that this is Stephenie Meyer looking for people who want to have sex with her fauxpire so she can frig herself silly and cry over her lack of talent. Am I wrong here?

“”mass effect” ball gag”: I…jigga what? This is both a terrifying concept and something that I…um…kinda want to use to exploit nerds. I’ll be…back.

“something to masturbate to”: Clearly this person has no personal standards. Either that or he’s REALLY horny. I can picture it now. “Damnit! I don’t care what it is but I want to jack off to SOMETHING. Help me, Internet. I literally don’t care what it is.” *shiver*

“pissy on balloons”:This one is more confusing than anything. Are they trying to find someone who is urinating on balloons or are they trying to find someone who going ballistic and hates balloons more than anything in the world? Is it…both?

“children only buy cereals for the prize”: Well, that and the pound and a half of refined sugar pumped in all those cereals, yeah.

“dan eats video games”: WHOA! Whoa. No. No. We only are going to make him consume cat food. Not shove an N64 cartridge down his gullet. You sick bastard. Unless of course he chooses that option. I don’t think he will though.

“+alexander from virginia, brendon from n”: I think we may have gotten our wires crossed here just a little bit. You’re looking for “WHO THE EFF KNOWS”.

“spankwire green haired and hung” AND “green haired and hung spankwire”: Oh holy crap. We may actually be a leading search result for this potential porn video. I’m not sure to be ashamed of that or proud of it. Probably neither.

“what to do when you dont have a spare ti”: A ti-what? A TI-WHAT? Tire? Tiger? TIED-UP HOOKER IN YOUR BASEMENT?

“agony anguish penelope 1”: I have a strong feeling that this is an area of the Internet we don’t want to spend a whole hell of a lot of time in.

“safe to cat food human doctor”: If you’re asking if it is safe to turn a human doctor into cat food, I wouldn’t recommend it. That technically is murder.

“getting married while in college”: GOOD LUCK, FUCKER!

“scat food move”: Um. Not sure what this is…not sure I want to know.

“why do kids put barbies in inappropriate”: I assume you’re asking why kids shove Barbies up their nether regions right? Well, it’s called experimentation and it’s a vital part of exploring their sexuality. In a way, you know that your kids are growing up. You should be proud.

“st. rupert’s day”: Now this is just a joke, right? Rupert’s a mildly retarded drunk, not a saint. If anything, he’s a Panther. (ba-dum-tisch NFL joke).

“cops sanandreas cat farts”: The…fuck? I’m not sure any of those search terms have any business being involved with each other. It’s like a confusing gangbang of ideals.

“when does a puppy male eats cat food”: Whens his owneer typess lke a fugin RETARD!

“rough masturbation porn”: Ouch. Sandpaper is a bad touch thing.

“underage daugther eat scat”: I hesitate to even put this out there but you all deserve to see what sick fucks there are on the Internet. THIS is who keeps you company. ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED? Seriously though, I hope this guy gets castrated by a runaway car.

“do felonies follow you when you move?”: Gawrsh. I dunno, Mickey. Why don’t we ask Mr. Policeman over here? Hi, Mr. Policeman! “Hi, Goofy. What can I do for you?” Me and Mickey here wanted ta know if felonies you commit follow you when you move from town to town? “Well, that’s a complicated question, Goofy, full of complicated answers. The basic answer though is…Jesus, don’t be a fucking retard. Of course they damn well follow you. You’re a criminal, you stupid asshole. Moving towns isn’t going to fucking matter. Extradition, bitch. Fuck your stupid ass.” Gawrsh! Thanks, Mr. Policeman! Did that help?

“why don’t old people die?”: Because they’re Terminators, sent from the future to kill John Connor.

“man rape cat”: Yet another one I don’t really want to know about.

“lsd welding anal beads”: I may be totally off-base here but I don’t think that whoever is searching this phrase really NEEDS any more LSD. If you’re including that with WELDING and ANAL BEADS, you’re either in for a wild weekend or are about to go into an extended stay in a federal penitentiary.

“hw to make your penise longer”: Youe mighte wante toe trye surgicale enhancemente ore evene Enzytee ore ae similare druge. Beste ofe lucke withe youre tinye dicke.

“kissher”: Kissher? Did you mean KOSHER? And why the hell would we be talking about anything kosher on this site? Cat food, man!

“rejected shotgun theme”: I really REALLY want to know what the theme was now.

“free porn feet scat”: I would make a really tasteless joke about a mud bath right now but…ew. I just grossed myself out. Ew. Ew. Ew.

“don’t worry i r jeez cat”: don’t worry i r not i can haz cheezburger site u stoopid fcker.

“loving owner rejected by cat”: Ah ha. Ahhahah. AHAHAHAHAHAHAH. NICE one! Owned by a cat. Amazing.

And finally, we have this:

“pedophilia academia”: It sounds either like a Japanese hentai or a coming-of-age school-based Disney program. I’d kinda love it if it was both.’
And there you have it. Some of the worst, most depraved stuff that the Internet has to offer leads people right to this site. I feel like I need to go take a shower now. You probably do too. Frankly, I wouldn’t blame you.


(DAMN IT! – ed.)