Posts Tagged ‘pathetic’

By Russ Whiting

Following in the precedence of that zany Henry David Thoreau, who among us hasn’t wanted to shed the cumbersome weight of today’s sprawling megalopolitan trappings and embark upon a voyage of spiritual discovery? Returning to our roots in nature as it were? Well, you just might want to rethink that instinctual adventure you silly little bastard; if you think crying into your pillow at night about working eight hours behind a desk all day means God hates you, try taking a look at the lives of these presumably awesome animal creatures:

5) Praying Mantis
That’s right, the Praying Mantis; among the most lethal, hard-assed insects to have ever been formed by God’s repudiating hand. These wondrous insectile butchers are sleek, elegant, purdy and presumably pious religious folk (They pray a lot, LOL). Don’t let their appearance and churchly demeanor fool you however; they’re the type of predators that would slash and grab you with strong, spiked forelegs if you ever got too close – committing unseen horrors to your body and any of their other mortified prey. (Which consist of other insects, frogs, lizards, snakes, rodents, homeless people). Any insect that feasts on the sundered flesh of the living instead of nibbling upon dirt and poo pretty much becomes an undisputed legend in my eyes.

Where Things Go Horribly Wrong:
Alright, praying mantises are bad-asses. I’ll even go so far as to say that they could be considered the epitome of macho, butchering animals twice their size – all the while resembling alien rape machines with their bulbous, remorseless eyes. Oh, they’re macho, alright. That is, if they didn’t have the ironic misfortune of actually being born male.

Why Their Lives Suck Even More Than Yours:
Our protagonist mantis finally gets laid after prevailing over a cock blocking process of epic proportions. This includes him pouncing upon and essentially raping the female while she’s busy preening or eating (eerily similar to my own tactics, try it some time!) After all this, you’d think she might light up a cigarette and maybe give him a pat on the thorax for a job well done, right? Wrong! After getting hers, the female brute will violently turn on the male. (The nerve of that asshole, trying to further propagate the species) For you, this would involve your wife, significant other, or female escort brushing you away, saying that she has a headache. Or for the very unlucky, uproarious laughter at the futility of your dick.

For the male mantis this means having his goddamn head chomped clean off his shoulders! As a morose consolation prize for living the life of the ultimate masochist, a reflex mechanism in the mantis’ body ensures he’ll keep on pumping away, necroboning the lucky gal while his severed head becomes a delectable little treat! (Men, always thinking with their other head, amirite ladies?) Hopefully the femme fatale has the common courtesy to chew in a way that allows him to watch his dying thrusts with voyeuristic bliss! Grant that horny mantis male his final wish, won’t you snookums?

“Oh real nice, Bill! You went and died again! For once, I just wish you’d want to cuddle after sex.”

4) Anglerfish

The image I’m pasting onto the ceiling above my first born baby’s crib

Picture this: You’re an abhorrent, appallingly grotesque sea creature that looks like the remains of John Travolta from Hairspray and a used condom from Clay Aiken. Alright, that’s terrible even by my standards. Let me start over.

Picture this: You’re just a vicious, loveable, though ugly male anglerfish with a heart of gold; traversing the deep, abounding sea with Sebastian the crab, Nemo, and the rest of your fishy friends! Nestled like a jocund, deformed fellow in those fathomless depths, your gaze soon fixes upon a sight that sends a tremor of longing and anticipation up your incurved spine; one that tickles from your fishy fins up to the base of your throbbing gills:

What’s that you spy? A cavernous mouth; spiny, razor sharp teeth; nubile, iridescent dorsal fins framing a plump, J-Lo ass; and even one of those cool organic “fishing rods” protruding from her sloping forehead! (One that can glow in the dark, and lure smaller fish into her close proximity.) Could it be? Why, it’s a sexy female Anglerfish and you’d simply love to get yourself a piece of that sweet, fishy smelling (good in this instance) poontang!

Where Things Go Horribly Wrong:
Here’s the deal. Anglerfish are rare. So rare that it could conceivably take years for two anglerfish of the opposite sex swimming along to have the fortuitous luxury to just bump into each other and proceed to get freak nasty. So nature, being the detestable whore that she is, decided to play a “harmless” little prank on the male anglerfish when it comes to getting laid.

Why Their Life Sucks More Than Yours:
Of course, by harmless I meant – they become the living, breathing embodiment of a “pussy whipped” joke. These guys make Doug Christie, a guy who flashes his wife “I heart yous,” erratic winks, and blown kisses on live national television in NBA basketball games look like the father of sixteen kids in Harlem. So what could possibly be so terrible, you ask? Recall an instance when your wife, gal pal, or any woman in general called you a dick. (For me, this happens every time I open my mouth). Do you have it firmly etched into your mind? Good. Now imagine that her words took on a literal meaning of the most degrading, humiliating degree. That’s right kids, you are doomed to live the rest of your life as an actual cock(and balls)!

Just take a gander at this excerpt from the Wikipedia article on Anglerfish:
“When he finds a female, he bites into her skin, and releases an enzyme that digests the skin of his mouth and her body, fusing the pair down to the blood-vessel level. The male then atrophies into nothing more than a pair of gonads, which releases sperm in response to hormones in the female’s bloodstream indicating egg release. This extreme sexual dimorphism ensures that, when the female is ready to spawn, she has a mate immediately available.”

So to recap, the male bites into the female, and they fuse together; he gets all his essential vitamins and minerals, as well as a shared oxygen supply. This means he doesn’t need to do anything in life except become like a patient little caterpillar; except instead of emerging from the cocoon as a magnificent butterfly – he emerges from his hypothetical cocoon as a magnificent schlong. (Yes, I really just used those two words in the same sentence.) This turns the female into what is essentially a sultry hermaphrodite, since she can reproduce at any time with the former fish turned empty shell of a dick perpetually dangling from her underbelly. C’est la vie!

“I sold my soul to the devil to be reincarnated as Megan Fox’s vibrator. This… isn’t what I asked for, is it?”

3) Asian Giant Hornet (Getting its comeuppance)
“Nature, she is a dirty whore, non?”

Are you all ready to hear a tale of unspeakable slaughter and butchery far worse than any war in human history? Such is the life of the Japanese Giant Hornet; pitiless, winged automatons of death. Numbered in 30, these sons of bitches can horribly maim and kill a nest full of 30,000 European honey bees in less than 3 hours! (A single hornet able to kill 40 bees per minute) Not content with eradicating every last one of the hardest working foragers of nature’s gold, the wasps then proceed to steal the helpless bee babies from the ravaged hive; presumably suffocating them, punching them in the face while they’re in their strollers, and slipping them down garbage chutes before finally eating them. Check out this video:
Where Things Go Horribly Wrong:
Yes, such tragedy saddens my heart as well. As if bees don’t have it difficult enough! But fear not honey sucklers, and deviants who had a crush on the cherubic “little” girl in the Blind Melon video; in nature – justice is its own ripe reward! You see, the aforementioned description of what happened to the poor bees was an example of when honey bees from Europe were introduced to the Japanese environment. This was all in some horrible mad scientist-esque experiment to increase honey production by our overseas friends. (Or maybe it was for a Japanese game show) Not accustomed to Hentai, Hello Kitty, or battling Mothra, these bees that were suddenly thrust into the cusp of an alien locale were predictably massacred, offering little resistance.

The native Japanese honeybees, however, are a different matter altogether! Come, learn with me, won’t you?

Why Their Lives Suck Worse Than Yours:
The native Asian bees, invigorated by a bee-like Genghis Kahn (or Shigeru Miyamoto) have devised a unique strategy in dealing with their godless foes:

As the hornet enters the nest, a large mob of about five hundred honey bees surrounds it, completely covering it and preventing it from moving, and begin quickly vibrating their flight muscles. This has the effect of raising the temperature of the honey bee mass to 47 °C (117 °F). The honey bees can barely tolerate this temperature, but the hornet cannot survive more than 46 °C (115 °F), so it dies.

Wow. Well, that’s certainly a horrible, agonizing death isn’t it? Being smothered in a writhing mass of bodies and then immolated from the inside out by the “vibration of flight muscles” (AKA, gang raped until you catch on fire) is something that even Stanley Kubrick would have shied away from tackling on the big screen.
I think I’d rather see someone killed by Carrot Top. Yes, that’s right. I’d rather see someone jimmy the door to his house (rundown apartment most likely) to gain access, where Carrot Top and a nest of Carrot Top clones are waiting; bonking themselves and then the intruder on the head with their hilarious mallet props. The would be assailant is then bound, gagged, and smothered by a mass of Carrot Top and clones’ nude, tremulous bodies – fiery red afros nuzzling and fondling him into a combustible grave. Oh yeah, and then he’s thrown into a scorching oven along with a kitten.

Or simply forced to watch Chairman of the Board. Either way, nature is hardcore.

“Fred, our balls are touching. And why do you keep looking up at me with hundreds of doe-like eyes? …Fuck, I don’t want to do this anymore.”

2) Fig Wasp
Fig wasps are born and raised inside a fruit that grows upon the fig trees of their namesake. Their life is closely related to this tree; they pollinate it, decorate the interior, and complete the “circle of life” so to speak. All is well in the gay, merry world that is nature.

Where Things Go Horribly Wrong:
Yes, there is a common theme prevalent in this article. It is the adversity that is faced by the brave males in this broad scope of animal species; our kindred brothers that share our very masculine quintessence. (Sorry ladies, you already have all the power in society as it is!) These male fig wasps need our support, for they live vacant lives destitute of any real meaning. Read on!

Why Their Lives Suck Worse Than Yours:
You know how some people don’t tend to enjoy being fucked like two dollar hookers and then never get spoken to or called again? Crybabies, right? Alright, how about being told that they have a vacuous personality and are essentially only good for getting laid from and that they should never ever open their mouths unless it’s to exhale during sex? How do I put this nicely? Male fig wasps are like the two former scenarios combined, except instead of being told they have no personality, they are kicked out of the bed the second they are done screwing and die in a horrible car fire on the taxi ride home. (Which they paid for!) So much for baby daddies in Fig Waspville, huh? Bitches get played and used for real, son! Just take a look:

As the fig develops, the wasp eggs hatch and develop into larvae. After going through the pupal stage, the mature male’s first act is to mate with a female. The males of many species lack wings and are unable to survive outside the fig for a sustained period of time. After mating, a male wasp begins to dig out of the fig, creating a tunnel for the females to escape through.

Okay, so let’s recap. Upon reaching maturity, the first thing that the fig wasp has to do is put his newly developed fig meat to the test – by getting it on with a female fig wasp; an insatiable female fig wasp cougar, out to prove that she’s still got it; and can still get some of those nubile young figgy loins!

This is essentially the equivalent of a budding, coming of age teenager who masturbates furiously in his bathroom to Sear’s Catalogues; hoping one day to whet his proverbial whistle. The second he is able to sustain a “woody,” as the kids call it, a mature, horny female perches upon his rod like a howler monkey and goes to town. Thirty seconds later, the boy chews a hole through his bathroom door for the lady to escape through later, and dies of exhaustion, or maybe even cholera, like a kid from Oregon Trail. Curtains.

Simply horrible, isn’t it folks? Absolutely deplorable that one’s life could consist only of having sex the absolute instant they’re able to, and then crumpling into a ball and dying. If you’re a female, please skip down to the next section of this article, entitled “Gorilla.” If you are a fellow man such as myself (though definitely not as virile) I think we can all agree on one thing: we all know what critter we want to be reincarnated as, don’t we boys? Awwww yeahh. Gettin’ some of that sweet tang the second we can get it up – till the day you die, baby! (Literally the very same day. Goddamit).

“Love at first . . . hard on?”

1) Gorilla
To put it in simple terms, gorillas are the paragon of the words tough, brutal, and pants shittingly scary. And the best part is, you know this already! These guys shower in vodka, can bench press cars, have thighs like anvils, and could breast feed Fifty Cent. Remember that scene in Jason Takes Manhattan where Jason actually punches a guy’s head off? Gorillas could do that to you, only they’d peel the flesh off your face afterwards and eat your severed pate like a banana.

Where Things Go Wrong:
When gorillas mate, they have absolutely no competition. That’s right – no one’s going to cuckold this snarling, simian giant! Gorilla females are the exact antithesis of Paris Hilton: they are faithful, non-promiscuous, affectionate mates. (I think we can also all agree they would do more than just lay there and stare vacantly at the camera during a sex tape – I mean . . . You’re thinking about fucking a female gorilla! What in God’s name is wrong with you?) I know what you’re saying right now: “Damn Russ, this all sounds so amazing. Those gorillas sure have it made, don’t they?” Sorry folks, this means nature has developed one small side effect in accordance for the gorilla’s life of sexual harmony; like some Gorilla-Faustian satanic pact gone horribly awry:

Why Their Lives Suck Worse Than Yours:
The gorilla penis is a staggering 2 inches. Erect. I bet about 85% of you reading this right now are standing up from your computer chair with your hands on your hips, thinking to yourself “Oh yeah, I’m more hung than a gorilla baby!” If you did that, I want you to know that even a gorilla would get more human pussy than you.

“Hey, come look at this snot I picked zoo keeper! It looks like a dick! HAHAHA! Yes… it is in fact bigger than my actual penis. Why do you ask?”

By Patrick Ross and Russ Whiting

We all loved the television shows we grew up watching. They will always have a special, nostalgic place in our hearts. But sometimes people take their love of things way too far, and in frighteningly bizarre formats. Like insanely detailed Wikipedia articles, for instance!

4. Clifford the Big Red Dog
I Think I Remember This… If you grew up in the early-to-mid-90s, chances are you have vague, probably terrifying memories of this mutated freak of nature. Clifford the Big Red Dog, outside of having the least creative name in the history of fictional animals, was a gift to young Emily, a girl who clearly lacked the social skills required to maintain friends of her own species or proportion. Clifford was actually given as a smaller-than-average puppy, but due to the immense amount of love and compassion Emily showed towards him, he inexplicably grew to dinosauric proportions. Okay, hold on. So, you’re saying that the message that Clifford delivers to children is that if you love and care for your animals, they will become gargantuan horrors, become nearly impossible to look after, and will inevitably live a shortened, unsatisfying life culminating in a painful death soon thereafter of horrible heart complications. Nice.

Wait, What the Fuck?
This article starts off innocently enough, with brief, frank descriptions of the book series. Things begin becoming sour, however, when describing the television adaptation, which for me falls under the “They made a cartoon out of this? Why?” category. Let’s take a look at the entry most offensive to sane, functional members of society:


Presumably what the author of this article dresses like on a daily basis

“Clifford The Big Red Dog: Male red dog, based on a giant Vizsla. Friendly, outgoing and helpful. He sometimes gets into trouble because of his size or is tempted into trouble by his friends andthose he meets. Clifford’s size, like giants in medieval legends, is inconsistent — he is often shown as being about 15′ tall from paws to head, but can appear far larger — in one episode he removes the top of the lighthouse and swims out with it to guide the ferry through the fog to the dock.”

My dear God. I have a hard time believing that Clifford is modeled after anything based in this plane of reality. The conversation following the inspiration for this abominable series must have been something like this: “What do kids like? Dogs! What would they like even more? BIG RED DOGS!”.

The discrepancies over the exact size of Clifford is just plain laughable. A man honestly sat in his basement, watching ole Cliff’s latest shenanigans (presumably on his own time, for fun), and spit out his Mountain Dew in outrage upon witnessing Clifford swim out with the top of a lighthouse. “He is 15 feet tall dammit! What is so hard to get about that?! 15 feet from paw to snout! I swear to God, someone better have gotten their asses fired for that gaffe!”


“In no way does this coincide with episode s2e07! Have people no integrity?! God, I’m worthless.”

Probable Next, Overly Detailed Update: “It should be noted that Clifford producing offspring is improbable, if not impossible. Clifford’s genitalia, although never explicitly shown or touched upon, would be over four feet long, larger than most earthen canines in their entirety, and would likely impale and kill any common female dog immediately upon insertion. It is for this reason that Clifford is destined to live a life of solitude, eternally damned by his freakish stature.”

3. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III
I Think I Remember This . . .

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles! Fucking radicalllllll, awesome, tubularrrr! Turtle Power! If hearing these titular words, or even some of those catch phrases doesn’t instill some sort of excitement or sentimental bravado in you; then your childhood was absolutely terrible, your parents were worthless, and I’d love to spit a wad of bile and excrement into your sniveling, pig-like face!

Err . . . anyways, in the late 80s and early 90s, these guys were as pervasive to you and I as quivering little boy anus to a certain pop singer! By no stretch of any imagination should I have to elaborate on who these “turtles four” were, but just in case your parents actually abandoned you in a dank sewer shortly after birth (which is the only possible explanation for not knowing who they are, and ironically, where the turtles lived) then hang on to your . . . shells, because Sensei Russ is here to hold your hands as we board the nostalgic Cowabunga Express back down memory lane!

. . .Fuck, I hate myself right now.

The brothers are anthropomorphized (mutatered) turtles that wear colored bandanas on their heads, love pizza, and talk like surfers – they are also trained in the ways of the ninja by their half man, half rat mentor, Splinter! They kicked ass, hung out with a fiery redhead reported named April O’Neill – whom they probably all banged out at one point or another, and captured our hearts in the process! They made billions of dollars, spawned an empire of merchandising, and even starred in one of my favorite movies of all time, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles! The first one! But as is the case in life, the first flick spawned sequels . . . the horrible, horrible sequels.

“Hey guys, it’s me, the actor playing Donatello! I know you can’t see my face right now – but I’m crying! If your parents ever catch you doing drugs, or engaging in pre-marital sex, feel free to blame it on this movie – that way it will get pulled off the shelves and hopefully burned!”

Wait, What the Fuck?

Alright, so maybe griping about somebody voluntarily summarizing the third installment of our beloved Ninja Turtles on the big screen could be perceived as somewhat persnickety; I would go so far as to call myself perhaps the world’s biggest douchebag for conceptualizing in my head even one word that goes into this pitiful, worthless article! But hell, who would I be if I didn’t bring awareness to individuals that are bigger, more worthless, sniveling dorks than even me – and that sure would be the author of the Wikipedia article for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III!

You might remember this as a young kid as the one where the mutated bros go back in time to feudal Japan to fight some unsavory Asian samurai types that are pillaging innocent villages and raping women – pretty much the activities that ninety percent of real life Japanese people engage in today; according to my extensive research on Japanese culture (Hentai comic books and graphic tentacle rape films). Who am I kidding, you probably remember this as the one where the most exciting part of the movie was wiping Daddy’s drool off your shirt while he snored obliviously.

The summary of the flick is fine and dandy until the undoubtedly impotent author begins throwing in little snippets of overly pretentious and bombastic description to relate seemingly insignificant and pointless events. It’s like all of a sudden, Bitch Titties (the real name of the author, don’t worry, I double checked this), sitting there in his Chef Boyardee beefaroni stained t-shirt, got word that some prestigious Harvard professor or Gene Siskel’s ghost would be analyzing his Wikipedia entry – and then awarding and lauding him with a free Doctorate degree and a voracious, spit-laden handjob.

Point in case:
“In 20th-century New York, Kenshin is becoming impatient and worried. To placate them, Casey introduces him, and the Honor Guards, to ice hockey. However, this plan comically goes awry when the Guards believe that hockey consists of players beating one another.”

Whoa, okay there brainiac. Why don’t you just settle down for a minute. First of all, this is the shittiest of the Ninja Turtle movies. If you’re looking to show off your literary prowess, this is not the time, nor the place. This is a movie we watched when we were eight to ten years old, we could barely get hard-ons, much less worry about what Casey Jones is doing to ‘placate’ Asian men. And how in any way did this plan go comically awry? I don’t even remember the vaguest hint of a smile forming in the corners of my mouth while watching this film even as a fourth grader, so unless you are the scriptwriter’s father, or just a sycophantic queer that enjoys kissing ass, I suggest you go back in and edit this part of the article immediately. This brings me to another brain-buster:

“The Turtles then debate whether or not to go home, wishing to remain on grounds that they are appreciated and respected in feudal Japan, unlike 20th-century New York City where they must hide underground to avoid being targets of human xenophobia.”

Wow, you really deserve a beating, don’t you? Okay, we get it, the turtles aren’t really well received by the public – let’s not turn this into your college thesis for fuck’s sake. We’re not talking about the Civil Rights Act of 1964, or Donatello refusing to give up his seat on the front of the bus or something. If the Turtles were really hated that badly in present day New York, I’m sure the United States military could have sent in a battalion of Special Forces troops with better aim than Bebop and Rocksteady to flush them out of the sewers. Or easier still, they could have had that one lonesome pizza boy who always gets stuck delivering to the “goddamn sewer grating,” as he called it, to simply slip some rat poison into their pepperoni and plankton pizza, or whatever the hell it is that turtles eat. But no – the boys didn’t hate their lives, as Bitch Titties seems to think; those rebellious rapscallions were probably just going through their angsty, Goth phase! They are teenagers after all! They’re turtles four, so cut ‘em some slack! (Yup, that was a pun based off the theme song and yes, I’m a bad ass)


Not pictured in this movie poster, the subtitle: “My Childhood Being Raped.”

Probable Next, Overly-Detailed Update:

Michelangelo, lamenting the fact that he has impregnated a Vietnamese prostitute, decides to travel back in time to the day that said whore was conceived, shoving the bluntest end of his nunchucks into the mother’s freshly distended vagina – thus performing the first Teenage Mutant Ninja Abortion. Say, that would have been an even better name for this movie!

2. Steve Urkel
I Think I Remember This…

If you’re anything like me, television completely raised you, and you learned more about growing up and how to deal with problems from Danny Tanner and the Full House gang than you did from your own parents (also a child’s first glimpse into vague homosexual ambiguity). ABC’s TGIF lineup was about as can’t-miss-action when I was a kid as twisted rape fantasy clips on RedTube are today (don’t judge me). This block of saccharin-sweet, family-friendly drivel contained one particularly nauseating gem: this show was called Family Matters, which during the first maybe one and a half episodes was an applicable show name. For the remaining 99% of the show’s embarrassing tenure, however, the show may as well have been called “Not Like the Family Matters at All, Because Steve Urkel is Time Traveling Forward and Backward, Cloning Human Flesh, Improving God’s Design Tenfold, Curing Incurable Disease and Generally Taking a Dump on Every Rule of Science and Faith”.


Proposed intro scene for season 2.

If there was ever an example of placing all of your eggs in one horrifyingly annoying, blood boiling basket, it would be this. Family Matters was thrown together at the tail-end of a board meeting after the intern who was blowing both Miller and Boyett suggested a show about a well-off black family with normal, everyday problems, the likes of which are usually in no way entertaining to watch the solutions to. Not having the heart to tell her that the Cosby Show already existed, this abortion was hastily put into production. What many people (except miserable, pathetic twentysomethings trapped in a nine year old’s body such as myself) don’t know is that Family Matters was actually a spinoff of Perfect Strangers, a show about two very different people living together and the inevitable hilarity that ensued! While most spinoffs feature a breakout character that audiences demand more airtime for (Frasier, The Jeffersons, Go Diego Go!…what?), Family Matters was a show inexplicably created about and centered around the elevator operator on Perfect Strangers, and the completely normal life in which she lived.

Before I get into the Steve Urkel Wikipedia entry, let’s take a jaunt over to the “List of Family Matters Episodes” just to illustrate the complete 180 this show did:

Episode 3: “Short Story” October 6, 1989 Rachel’s short story has characters that hit too close to home. Carl investigates the family water bill.
Well that sounds markedly average. Like an episode of the Cosby Show, only probably not even remotely humorous. I sure hope the characters learned a lesson about themselves along the way!

Episode 193: “A Pirate’s Life For Me” March 14, 1997 Urkel and Carl go back in time on board a 1700s pirate vessel, where they are made to walk the plank after Urkel accidentally drops his time travel watch overboard. Can they escape back to their present time before they become sharkbait?
I have no words for this. A show originally about a family finding themselves and loving one another somehow degenerated into a weekly 22 minute circus concerning time-travelling pirates. How did this happen? Steven Q. Urkel of course. What is he all about? I’ll let the deranged, pathetic miscreant who wrote the Wiki on him tell the story he was born to tell!

Wait, What the Fuck?
A few of these articles we’ve painfully outlined start out well enough, and then apparently the utter excitement of the dredge of society who wrote the article takes over, and it just mutates into a pithy, verbose puddle of liquid excrement (or a pile of solid, pristine gold, depending on your view of things). This article, however, is an exception. The entire thing is just verbal garbage from start to finish. It was genuinely difficult to choose just a few examples to show from this minefield of mindfucks, but here is what might be my favorite excerpt:

“The Urkels are very intelligent people; Steve and his family were known to do the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle in pen in about 20 minutes. However, Urkel’s parents did not love him. This is made clear through the recurring gags of comical verbal and physical abuse mentioned in the show (i.e.: his parents set a curfew for when he is allowed to come home at midnight, used birthday candles that blew up, etc.) When he was born his parents tried to push him back in and his parents do not own a car because he was born in one. In 1995, his parents moved to Russia without Steve, because he didn’t want to go, apparently disowning him.”

At this point in the Wiki article, it becomes less an objective chronicle of a television show and more a vicious diatribe of the author’s own miserable life, using Urkel as a guise for his own embarrassing being. It’s like the kid in third grade who would always explain issues with “my friend has this problem, and it’s definitely not me”. Yeah, just like that, except for the laughably socially inept crowd.


“I’m in a prison of my own emotions! I mean, Urkel is!”

The anonymous Urkel aficionado has chronicled and cited specific examples of Steve’s parents utterly loathing and eventually denying his existence. Urkel’s parents placed an unforgivable burden on the Winslows by fleeing to an opposite hemisphere without anyone’s prior knowledge, and the pariah who wrote this article in his own free time commiserates with the situation. Look, everyone has outlets. Some people play music. Some people keep a journal. Some people live vicariously through a sitcom character by writing a painfully profuse Wikipedia article.

Probable Next, Overly-Detailed Update:
“In an upcoming episode, I…I mean Urkel comes home to find his personal belongings engulfed in flames on the front yard. Everyone I’ve ever loved has left me and I’ll never be happy and my dad didn’t love me enough and I hate my life and I’m going to just grab my brother’s gun and do it tonight, I swear. ….Oops I mean ‘he’. Not ‘I’, ‘he’.”

1. Scooby-Doo
I Think I Remember This . . .

Oh, Scoobert! This is the Wikipedia entry that started it all, folks – the catalyst for innumerable jokes and the source of endless entertainment between me and my esteemed colleague Patrick (Perhaps a testament to just how pathetic a grown man’s life can be). It was stumbling upon this very article in the prestigious world of Wiki that made me realize that there are worthless dorks among us – dorks with an unyielding zealousness for Scooby Dooby Doo knowledge! And for that . . . I both love – and commensurately loathe them.

“Like, what are we all about Scoob?” You know Scooby Doo. This is just like the Ninja Turtles summary, I shouldn’t have to explain this shit to you. The gang was a bunch of “meddlesome kids” who drove around in their psychedelic van, smoked weed everyday (Okay, this was only actually the dog and his dirty hippy friend), and solved perplexing mysteries that would have stultified even this era’s greatest detectives! These kids were alright, weren’t they? These mysteries usually involved a simple janitor or humble groundskeeper inexplicably disguising himself in a state of the art, intricately designed, technological zenith of a ghost suit that would have put Tony Stark to shame. Janitors sure made a lot back in those days, didn’t they?
“Rhy’d you rave to rame me Roobert! RHY RATE YOU ROM!”

Wait, What the Fuck?
“Alright, alright, you’re going to make fun of some unwitting, innocent Wikipedia entry author yet again. What’s the catch this time?” Well, I’m glad you asked! You see, I wouldn’t mind it if the posting had simply sufficed in writing about Scooby Doo’s appearance and “anatomy,” (yes, that is how it’s titled in the piece) and even his personality:

“Scooby has some difficulty with pronunciation (because he is a dog), and tends to pronounce most words as if they begin with an “R”. His catch phrase, usually howled at the end of every episode, is “Scooby-Dooby-Doo!” or “Rooby-Rooby-Roo.”

Haha, sure, sure. Everyone knows that! (And might I thank the author for pointing out that he has difficulty speaking a human language because of the fact that he’s a dog! Remarkable information! I had always thought it was because his unparalleled skills of articulation and phonetic ability had been hindered by excessive sniffing of Velma’s ass). That’s just loveable ol’ Scoob, talking with an “R” at the beginning of each word. Having a speech impediment of such affable proportions is great fun, we know this as well!

“Rhy rlept with your rife rast right, ross!” (I slept with your wife last night boss) Or, “Rhy rhave you the RHIV rirus in your rutt!” (I gave you AIDS in your butt, enjoy dying). Try it some time!

Where what little respect I had for the author completely diminishes, and turns into outright pity, is when he/she/it concocts a Scooby Doo family tree; complete with every canine, four legged creature, or monstrosity that could have ever dreamed of being in the Doo Family Lineage. Sure, Scrappy Doo seems to ring a bell, and was annoying as all fuck, but Yankee Doodle Doo? Yabba Doo? What’s going on here? Now I realize that the author didn’t create all these characters, and Hanna Barbera and their conglomerated turd heap of ideas is what produced such filth; but I’ll be damned if I won’t blame it on the author anyways, simply for bringing them up (and also being born)!

“Yankee-Doodle-Doo: Scooby’s ancestor. Not much is known about him. He appears to be a pilgrim.”

A pilgrim? Alright, that just doesn’t even make one fucking lick of sense with the words Yankee Doodle in close proximity. A dog named Yankee Doodle Doo should be dry humping the American flag, wearing star spangled boxing shorts like Apollo Creed, and unquestionably be savagely murdered in an equivalent fashion to our black boxing friend. Are we talking Pilgrims that came over on the Mayflower? Why not name him Bartholomew Doo . . . Standish or something equally retarded? Strike one, author. Strike one.

“Yabba-Doo: Scooby’s brother, a white dog owned by Deputy Dusty in the American southwest. Unlike Scooby’s and Scrappy’s, his typical custom catch-phrase at the end is “Yippity-Yabbity-Doooo!!!” (and not “Yabba-Dabba-Doo!”, presumably due to another Hanna-Barbera character’s usage of that phrase).”

Admittedly, cowboys are cool, and paradigmatic bad-asses through and through (Until Ang Lee came along). But I have to venture the question, what in God’s name is up with that catch phrase? Is Yabba Doo so hopped up on moonshine that he can’t muster up the state of mind to vociferate his excitement in a way that doesn’t make him look like an inbred hick? I understand Fred Flinstone took his most feasible catch phrase, but “Yippity-Yabbity?” Surely the anthropomorphic dog of a Deputy deserves better than this.


“The John Wayne of the Scooby Doo lineage, the enigmatic Yabba Doo”

Which brings us to the ultimate travesty, the one and only:

Dumper Scoots: A confused lion that thinks he is a dog. Having the same speech pattern as Scooby-Doo, he believes he is Scooby’s cousin.

Sweet Jesus. Was Hanna-Barbera even trying at this point anymore? Dumper Scoots? Something that by all accounts should be the nickname for the liver-spotted geriatric lady that plops an steaming shit on her nursing home’s front lawn every morning?

Let’s just even say that one day a lion becomes self-cognizant to the point of conversing with the world in a distinctly human manner; is Scooby Doo the best that he can ascribe to be? I know if I were a lion (not just in the sack, which you probably already know) and I was graced with the gift with which Dumper Scoots was so fortunately blessed, I’d at least have sweet talked Daphne into sitting spread eagle on my bushy mane for some frolicksome romps in the jungle savannah – not hanging out with an oversized Marmaduke and his human friend, both of whom eat dog treats while high. I know Scooby Snacks are gourmet dog treats, but have some fucking self respect, Shaggy. What do I know though, supposedly these wonderful snacks transcend all boundaries in life, even the anguish of heartache:

“Amber: In Scooby-Doo and the Alien Invaders, Shaggy and Scooby are kidnapped by the “aliens” and abandoned in the desert. There they meet a wild life photographer, Crystal and her dog Amber. Scooby was heart broken when it is revealed that Amber and Crystal are actually aliens from another planet and must go home, though he and Shaggy quickly forget about them when they found out there was one more Scooby Snack box left.”

RHAT’S OUR ROOBY! Don’t let alien bitches get you down, kids – just smoke a bowl and stuff yourself silly on whatever your metaphorical Scooby Snack may be. There you have it! Thousands of dollars wasted on therapy or counseling can be solved by simply abiding by the mantra of a dog named Doo.

Probable Next, Overly-Detailed Entry:
Glory Rory “Hole” Doo: In Scooby-Doo’s Bathroom Capers, Shaggy and Scooby stumble upon a ghost that is causing a ruckus in a public bathroom facility! Armed with their irrefutable stink and a box of Scooby Snacks, Scooby and Shaggy are shocked to learn that Scooby’s second uncle is already on the case, Glory Rory “Hole” Doo! And he is already suckling the poor ghost into a conniption fit of submission between two adjacent bathroom stalls! GLORY RORYYYYYYY ROOOOOO!