The Chinese, for all their questionable practices, have at the very least seen fit to make it easier for English speaking tourists visiting their country, a prime example of which is pictured above. How else is a female visitor supposed to know in which direction she should turn in order to have lady-bits looked at? The Chinese know that not all Westerners are of a level of intelligence or education to know what the acronym OB/GYN stands for, let alone what medical arts a gynecologist practices. With this in mind the hospital did the only thing it could in such a situation, using the diction that even the most moronic Occidental outlander would understand: obscenities. In turn it becomes crystal clear where the speculum wielders can be found.
Conversely the department of “Fetal Heart Custody” brings to mind a wing of the hospital full of labyrinthine corridors and rows of bank-teller windows manned by the dour faced, low-level minions of some Kafka-esque bureaucracy dealing in prenatal cardiovascular systems in which parents desperately run from window to window in a futile effort to fill out all the proper paperwork necessary for completing the construction of their infant; an image that may possibly be closer to the truth than I realize.
Not since George Carlin’s “Seven Words You Can Never Say On Television” has swearing been so artfully rendered. Not content to relegate the intellectually lazy portions of the English language I love so well to inappropriate situations, I couldn’t be more pleased that this work is available as a print, and that soon expletives will dot my wallscape as well as my language.
At any moment your computer, the very same computer you are using at this very moment to read this very post, could maliciously and without concern for your well-being, serve up a hot dish of steaming, filthy, malignant pornography. Will you be prepared to do what needs to be done? Will you have the strong moral fiber and grim determination to return said hot dish with a side order of cold, violent tech death? Steel yourself, friends, and make yourselves ready, for porn strikes when you least expect it.
Witness the candy deliciousness that is Saturday morning cartoons: creamy, comedy goodness in a sweet, crunchy anime shell!
• FLCL continues its meteoric, guitar wielding, robot spooging, sexually awkward descent into madness, in the second episode, “Firestarter”.
• Some of my earliest and fondest memories of Nickelodeon involve Rocko’s Modern Life. Featured today are two episodes, “No Pain, No Gain” and “Unbalanced Load”. The intro is the version from season two, featuring the talents of The B-52s.
• I am no fan of Seinfeld so I maintain that Duckman is the best work Jason Alexander has ever done. “The Noir Gang” does a fantastic job of incorporating the show’s perverted, foul-mouthed detective and porcine sidekick into a black and white film noir motif.
• If you had told me that a re-boot of Max Fleischer’s Felix the Cat would be worth it, I may have condescendingly sniffed at the idea. However Twisted Tales of Felix the Cat was an amazing cornucopia of oddity and downright weirdness. Two episodes for you: “Phony Phelix” and “The Petrified Cheese” which features a cleverly named shamus named Seamus. “Ok, pally, let me fill you in on the facts. The skinny. The scam. The poop.”
• Paranoia Agent “The Golden Shoes”. Who is Lil’ Slugger? For Yuichi “Ichi” Taira, the most popular kid in school, top of his class in academics and sports, who plans to run for Student Council President, his golden roller blades and red baseball cap are cause for growing concern among his peers, turning his life upside down. Now, paranoid and looking for a way out of this new nightmare, he focuses his attention on foreign transfer student Shogo “Usshi” Ushiyama, convince he is trying to ruin him.
It’s Friday which, as The New Scum have learned, is “Candy Time” here at Ectomo, that horrible time when Papa Brownlee puts on his Magical Candy Codpiece and….actually, you know what? I don’t want to talk about this anymore…just…just leave me alone.
Here, laid bare, is the stuff of my private, Freudian nightmares. Imagine, if you will, finding yourself in an open field, clad in an orange spandex jumpsuit, unaware of how you came to be there. Standing up, you notice a shape on the distant horizon. Squinting you find yourself magically transported to a vast parking lot that surrounds a large warehouse. Turning, you see a field in the distance and now realize that this warehouse was leagues away just a few moments earlier. Yet this mystery will have to wait for the massive doors of the building have begun to creakily part, wailing as if the entrance were an immense mouth.
Some people love Jesus and some people, perhaps, wish to make love to Jesus. These people usually listen to Christian rock or form a Christian rock band. However, if you find that neither of these options appeal to you or that you lack the musical “talent”, there is the Inflatable, Love-Making Jesus. Features include a “Sopping Wet, Hungry Mouth” and an “Oversized Male Clitoris”, lest the word “penis” make you feel in the slightest bit like a homosexual as you sodomize your savior. For an extra two dollars you can upgrade the son of God with natural hair. Get one today or give one as a gift! The very real, very NSFW picture for this very fake product can be seen in all its glory after the jump. Continue Reading…
It is nice to know that, if I made a brief pit stop in the year 1898 on a brief time-traveling adventure (the overall aim being to teach my fourteen year old self how to make out with less prematurely sticky inefficiency), I would be able to communicate with the locals, despite the evolution of the casual English patois.
I was worried about this. Would the denizens of 1898 — my own squealing, monkey-like genetic progenitors — be able to understand my strange, moon man language, so casually filled with post-modern references to electrons, twenty-third dimensional physical laws and robots you can have sex with?
Probably not. However, it turns out that telling someone, “Hey, I fucked your mother last night. Suck my ass, you cunt-lapping dog” is as close to a universal bonjour as the modern-day time traveler is able to accomplish.
In sheer defiance of the World Wide Web Consortium's will, Ectomo was designed using a non-web-standard font. Luckily, it is included in the excellent font pack released by the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society, which can be freely downloaded in Mac and PC formats here. Ectomo should still look fine without it, though.
