It’s a joke about Spooky Month. LAUGH.

Hangover Archives: 2019–10


…the meme of 2019.

Actually, updating this website is more of an onerous process than I realised. You have to edit some HTML then edit some more and then — well, let’s just say there’s some alterations that need to be made whenever I pipe words into a screen.

So I’m stalling, oooooh! Because I did write some real knowledge just yesterday, spitting straight fax, but it’s not even fully furnished. Same with my mindset right now, but that’s a spoiler for later. Self-deprecation, ho! You see, I’m the ho.

I shouldn’t have even bother updating on September. You know, if I wrote some stuff for a backlog, I would be on easy street right now. But I’m not. So there’s that.

Well, see you tomorrow. For real this time.

A Stereotypically Late Update

I never was good at handing in work early. I could blame this minor personal problem on billions of years of evolution designing us to conserve energy in as efficient as a manner as possible while at the same time saving our mindset from the stresses of modern living by procrastinating on problems until they disappear through some miracle, but then that would be dishonest, and I would feel naughty for lying. The bad type of naughty, not the good type where you — never mind, this is getting too erotic.

So here I am, updating this website past my bedtime. Isn’t that rich? I have a bedtime! But as those scene kids who still post on Facebook in the years two-thousand and also nineteen will tell you, time doesn’t exist. Clocks do. And my internal clock is telling me to go the heck to slept. No, circadian rhythm, you go to bed. I know a thing or two about rhythm games. I once got a “COOL” on PaRappa the Rapper.

I abuse myself for you, you know. Yes, you. Look at what you’ve made me done. And my jokes are bad this time of night, so I’ll reveal the real purpose of this Hangover, which is to act as filler and point you towards the article down below, which you can read. Unless it’s no longer down below, which it most certainly will not be after a day or two. Then you can read it here. And here. Or, if you’re particularly daring… here

Right. Bye.

Frogethony Saytano Here!

New Fantano review. Maybe old, depending on your perception of this here space and time. “Nostalgia Critic’s The Wall”. Well, that’s a bunch of audio data that doesn’t need to exist. We could have gotten a remaster of the Deus Ex soundtrack, but instead it’s our privilege to listen to… this.

The thing I like most about the review is how much it says through implication. Antoine times 2 doesn’t explain why the album is shit. The singing is bad. The production is bad. There’s an inexplicable Spongebob Squarepants theme song cover. It’s badly-mixed, just like Logic, and Teeth Man sings over a MIDI of “Another Brick in the Wall” for the first third. Hey. Leave The Wall alone.

And it’s this implication, rather than the outright trashing and complete disrespect given to this embarassment of a project, that makes the review damning. If an album is worth 1000 words, can you spend 1000 words properly enunciating the quality of the project? Reviewer-types sure as hell try. I’ve tried, many a time. Thiccy Vegano has for the past decade. You can watch movie clips and gameplay and book excerpts and get an idea of the overall quality of the excerpted thing. But Daft Punk’s Discovery is unintelligible and unjustifiable through the medium of Leftist Baldinksy reviews, even if he spends a lot of time saying why it’s a house-music classic.

Although Homework is better. Fuck yes, we stan Homework, and we stan slept-on singles like Phœnix. Though at that point we’re comparing two masterworks together as titans duking it out, like “Black on Both Sides” against “Deltron 3030”, or analysing blowies from your two favourite Sonic girls.

You can’t explain why Discovery or any other album is good, or a classic, or why it becomes one of your favourite musical experiences. And you can’t explain why Nostalgia Critic Except His Name Is Replaced With A Funny Name’s The Wall is so bad. It requires giving the album enough respect to listen to it and fully understand its awfulness, its sonic assault against good taste, and to put in the effort to coherently describe the effects of its exposure to your ears. And the explanation just isn’t the same, you dig?

So why bother explaining? The Internet’s Busiest Music Nerd Who Still Hasn’t Replied To Any Of My Fucking E-mails Seriously Anthony It’s Been Three Months What The Fuck Do I Have To Do To Get A Fucking Reply has said all that needed to be said within his joke cover. It’s not funny. It’s not good. Why bother putting more effort into the review than the Nostalgia Critic has in creating the work itself?

I’m going to take Badthony Scamtano’s example, and I’ll put even less effort into finishing this segment than

Bro, we are TF2 Gamers, Problem?

Back in the old days of gaming before queer people got representation and immediately and completely coincidentally games started getting political, Team Fortress 2 existed, which was manly and testosterone-fueled and not at all homosexual despite the endless amounts of ships, crack-ships, and Scouts. Do people still say “ship” in 2020? Yes, it’s 2019 still. I’m future-proofing.

Anyway, TF2 ran off the Source engine, which is fantastically crappy to the point where The Beginner’s Guide was made as an environmental sim dedicated to analyzing the psychology of a particular level designer who had to deal with the Source’s fantastically straight and narrow hallways. You can read my fantastically crap review of that, but the game — and I suppose that's the wrong word for it — is good. Just like Source in some respects.

The miracle is that the engine’s immediate availability, extensive documentation, and gigantic modding scene (As a teenager, I spent many months on Gamebanana tricking out my client before VALVe® cut off support) has encouraged prospective modders to give it a try and see what abominations you can construct. Given that even modern engines like Godot have frustrating tutorials and a learning curve akin to four half-pipes steel-beamed together into a lil’ wiggly worm, the Gamers of Olde had even more of a struggle to produce anything coherently playable, let alone adhering to notions of good design.

So we get the Weird Maps. The Weird TF2 Maps. The Weird TF2 Maps playlist on YouTube, which is spelled “Werid”, because all the time and effort you spend on a project is undone the moment some wiseguy discovrs a typo. I can’t even claim to be putting forth effort. Look at all this content I’m providing! Fucking YouTube links! Anyway, my favourite map is harbl_hotel. There’s a porn room in it. With porn.

I could talk more about how the development processes of Team Fortress 2 and multiplayer games in general has gone from encouraging individual creativity and forming communities that revolve around the fruits of collective labour to being shoehorned into carefully-curated highly centralised life service experiences that exert complete corporate control over the individual players who will decry the state of the games industry for having included microtransactions and predatory psychological manipulation and addiction mechanisms in a game that’s already $80 out of the box, but that would require effort.

Now I’m going to download Harbl and spend time in the porn room. Except, I won’t. Because that’s a joke.


Twitter: In, Birds, Fuck You!

Novelty Twitter accounts. They’re there, they may or may not be queer, and I’m not sure they’re proud of the content they’re putting out, because frankly we’re all dying and there’s no time for cardinal sins. One of them is Bad Layouts. Another one is @dril. Yet another one are those people who post pictures of dogs and have amassed eight million followers from the simple gimmick of assigning numbers higher than ten to them. I have now prevented myself from needing to write further, for these people have already provided the Content. Gentlemen: I win.

Bad Layouts? There’s absolutely nothing wrong with them. They’re the greatest expression of creativity one can provide on Twitch outside of streaming the funny Fortnite clown. Nobody goes to Twitch to watch some dumbass play video games and argue about the streamer’s audio quality for thirty seconds before being banned by their best-friend-turned-moderator. They’re doing it to bear witness to performance art. Layouts! And the creation thereof!

Look at this shit. It’s perfect. You have ahegao at the bottom flanked by Touhou babes and two dank memes, opposite that a questionably-legal piece of spread-eagle Pokémon girl pornography, and inbetween is an Ace Attorney roleplaying chatroom where you get to slowly watch “see my balls” scroll across the screen. It’s exactly what all Twitch streamers should aspire to be: stupid.

I once got banned from a Mario Maker 2 stream for suggesting that Nintendo’s season pass is the same as Fortnite’s season pass. They suggested I hated Fortnite. And they banned me. Also I suggested that they were bad at video games and they should have started playing the Master stages, as in Masterbaiting to that THICC Toadette. So that’s how I’ve spent my summer. Hope you future Nobel laureates are also gunning for the prize in literature.

It’s funny because you’re losers.

Are you THICC?

Please ignore the stupid title. I’m trying very hard to be funny lately and I understand some mistakes will be made.

But, yes, it is a legitimate question. What does thicc mean? Like all fine art, you know it when you see it. Whether it is nobler to indulge in fat asses, or to imbibe yourself with juicy titties, I know not. To say nothing of the legs. Yes, don’t you know? Women are composed exclusively of sexual parts. This is what Robert Crumb was trying to warn us about. You see, I’ve said this a thousand times, but if she breaths, she is a thot.

As with any passing trend that’s gone on for a bit too long, say 50,000 years of human history, there is a persistent group of naysayers who shame digital artists for drawing women in the same generic, gigantic TnA style. This strange string of puritanism is part of the same cultural schism that causes oldfags to flood /b/ with yellow posts to drive out the cumbrains, causes /s4s/ gentlemen to cry foul whenever someone posts something “lewd” on that shitposting board, and causes once-respectable artists to be cursed with having a meme arrow in front of their name. “>” indeed.

I could name and shame all the artists I abhor. And I fucking do, because this 乇乂丅尺卂 丅卄工匚匚 (note: this says “EXTRA THICC” but in a racist typeface) breast fetishism shit is a cancer infecting our pornography and drowning out interesting characters that we could otherwise sophistically cum to. Zoomer furry legends like Isabelle and Toriel are consistently drawn as sex goddesses from Boob Atoll, and even the old heads like Lola Bunny and Krystal are like a refined version of the ancient Venus figurines.

Through some magic Judy Hopps has managed to escape this circle of Yiffy Hell. I can only speculate it’s because she is a female twink.

But every coin has two sides on its other hand, and every cloud has a bright side to the story. For every lazy and unimaginative creator who adheres to the lowest-common-denominator tropes that manipulate the base instincts of the disgusting sows we call human beings, there are thousands of paying customers willing to fork up thousands upon thousands of dollars for the privilege to partake in artistic pig’s slop. This means you have a way to make lots of money for little effort, and your life now becomes a poorly-designed RPG, where you grind out voluptuous copyrighted characters day-in-and-out, before Nintendo DMCA’s your Patreon with a surprised Pikachu.

The lesson is that money is king and the intangible qualities of our cultural heritage is irrelevant in a mercantile society. Good night!

It’s over

Friendship is Magic is finished.

Its series finale aired three hours ago, and our bootleg stream straight from /mlp/ was a breeding ground for the most extreme emotions of all the old heads and new recruits that have gotten to join the herd over the past nine years of its existence. From 2011 to 2019, the fandom has been a part of my life in ways that range from extreme and pervasive to incredibly minor and near-forgotten. As time went on I grew less and less attached to those pretty pastel ponies and the people who love them like I do. But I never forgot. Never did.

I didn’t cry. Dozens, if not hundreds, of grown men in that chatroom did. They spilled their guts like it was their last day on Earth. Everything that the fandom has done for them — supporting them, understanding them, giving them a reason to wake up and do things with other human beings — all came out within two hours. Some guys threatened suicide. Others said the ride wasn’t over. Me? I was spamming Mr. Bones. Because the ride never ends.

The very last song played before the episode began was the earliest pony music video, or “PMV”, on the record. Hilariously I’ve forgotten it and I can’t find it on YouTube. The second-to-last one was “Flutterwonder”, one of the original gangsters of the brony music canon. And why not? It’s a bop. They didn’t play “Trixie’s Good Side”, which is my favourite of the artist’s discography. But they did play some songs I totally forgot about, like that song about wanting to fuck Cheerilee. They didn’t play “Discord (Remix)”, which is fine because it’s a meme, but they didn’t play “Autumn”. They played Gak commercials instead of Autumn. Which, come on man. I get there were only so many slots, but how the fuck are you going to do JackleApp like that? Alright, the Seasons album? A fucking classic. Absolute lowkey benger.

And the finale? The finale sucked. It was poorly-paced, had an uninteresting plot, didn’t have stakes, didn’t have a final resolution to everything the series has built up over nine whole years, and managed to eternally cuck waifufags by making all the ponies either lesbians or having kids. They also made Spike a Chad. It’s telling when the Equestria Girls shorts they played during preshow were of higher quality than the very last episode of a decade-long series. We got more brohooves and tears during brony song breaks than we did when the book closed on the series for good. Damn.

I’ve been watching ponies for eight hours. I felt no shame. I felt no remorse. As to what I feel now? It’s like the last nine years of my life have faded into irrelevancy as I’ve excised this tumour from my immaterial spirit. The show has ended. The journey is over. And yet I don’t feel it’s finished, even with the funeral processions. I’m still alive. Most of our brony friends are still alive. The pony fanwork archives are still serving content over spinning disks, and there’s a hell of a lot more fandom yet to exploit. If this is the end, then nine years is too little for a climax such as this.

But it’s not the end. It’s so obviously not the end because FIMfiction hasn’t exploded, Equestria Daily hasn’t devolved into a porn site, and /mlp/ hasn’t been purged from that Mongolian horseshoe-forging smithing forum. One of my friends cried during the finale, and she’s an incredibly talented woman who draws tons of pony characters for pay. Now she has to find something else to cope with, she says. She’s not gonna stop being a pegasister for a good while. Same for the rest of us horsefuckers and ponyfags.

Nine years. Nine years of community, culture, and our own little civilization. Nine years of drama, nine years of lulz. Nine years of clopping, and nine years of cucking. Nine years of atrocious fanfiction writers mixing in with nine years of godly digital artists and still being seen as fair contributors to the cult. Nine years of horse-famous musicians, and nine years of schizophrenics nuking their YouTube, Soundcloud, and Bandcamp pages. And nine years of listening to Silva Hound. Damn.

It’s late at night. It’s almost morning. I don’t feel a thing. All I know is my life has changed from then to now, and it’s changed for the better, year over year. It’s never gonna be 2012-13-14 ever again, and although nostalgia is as much pain as it is pleasure, I would not relive those years even if I could. What is past is past, what is future is yet to be seen. But as for now, I’ve had the greatest pleasure: to experience what I am able to in the short life that I have. And in this life, I became a fan of cute little plastic ponies. A fan with the same feelings of love and harmony that binds together us eccentric young men, because friendship is magic. It is the greatest gift you can give, and I have been lucky to receive it.

And you know you’re all my very best…





hey there 👋🏻 you 💦💦 CUMpkin pie 🍰👅😩lover 😍😜 It's your favourite 😝😩 time 🕐🕑🕒 of the year 📅 again 😘 SLUTember 🍑🍆 may be over 😢 but COCKtober 🦃💦 starts today 😝👏🏻 and u know what that means 😋 it's SPANKSgiving 😩🙌🏻 time to gobble 👏🏻 gobble 👏🏻 gobble 👏🏻 up some tasty dick 🍆😏 are u thankful 😏😋for all that dick 👄🌬 you sucked this year 🤔👅💦💦 in 1492 daddy Christopher CUMlumbus 👨🏼👅 and those slutty pilgrims 🙏🏻😩💦 had to sail ⛵️⛵️⛵️across the HOEcean 🌊 blue and 💦💦cum💦💦 to AMERICA 🇺🇸 to find some new dicks 😩🍆to suck 😋 time to stuff 😩💦🍑 urself with a big 🔥HOT🔥 cock 🦃 that will hold u over till DICKcember 🎅🏻🎄💦 send this to 10 of the sluttiest 😋😏💦 turkey THOTS 👯‍♂️ you kno who will be extra thankful 🙏🏻😩 for an extra leg 🍗🍑👅 this holiday 🎃🌰 season 🍃 get 5 back and all you'll get this 😋 HOEvember 🦃💦 is a dry turkey 😒😢 get 10 back and get ready 🚦👀 to appreciate all of that special 💦gravy💦👅 that 👅 that will be cumming ur way 😩💦 can't leave 🚶🏻the table till you finish🏁 that 💦🍭sweet potato 🍠 DICK 🍆🍆 happy cock 🐓 gobbling 😩💦 SPANKSgiving

Or even:

Today📢☑️ we sit down ⬇️together on that🍆💦DICK and say our thanks🙏🏼😌💖💕 to the turkey🦃 dick grabbing 🍆✊🏻👑💫king for Christopher👨🏽🙊👀 Columbus sailed 1️⃣4️⃣9️⃣2️⃣🙄💤 the Pussy🗣💦💦💦⛵️ on the Niña 😧🎀👸🏼 Pinta ⏺🔵🔘 y Santa Maria 🗯👄💦🙈🍆🍆😧 to find the asian👲💮🍱🙅💦💦👐🏻 prostitutes ➡️yet😳🤗🤔 found those hoe ass🍑🍺🌽 florida 🇵🇷😍😫💦 Indians and had to fuck 🍆💦💦😫😩🍳 🆘 their Loose 🕳 🐱 Pussies instead. 🔜1️⃣6️⃣2️⃣0️⃣ the Pilgrims set sail🚤🚤🚤⛵️⛵️ to find the freedom🇺🇸🌭🍔 to fuck ass🍑🍑💦💦 but took forever😞😒⏭ caus GOD wouldnt toke 🍯🌬💨🍁 and blow 👄🍆 them winds 🌾🌪💫 when the pilgrims😎🎩👨🏼👧🏼 arrived ⬇️⚓️ they found sex slave Squanto 👳🏿🍁💦💦 and forced ⚒🔪☠ his ass to teach📚📖 us to plant our sperm 💦 in dat ass👩🏼❤️🍑🍑👐🏻🙌🏼🔁✔️❗️❗️❗️ to say Thanks 💞🙏🏼 the Pilgrims feasted 🍴🍻 on corn and potato 🌽🍠 grown ⁉️♋️🎉⛏ ass cheek 🍑🍑🍑and turkey 🦃👅💦💦 gobbling dick to prepare ✅ their pussies ({|}) for the New World💸💸💰💰🕯⛓ Today ⏲📅 we call 🎙📞🍸this penetrating event SPANKSGIVING 👋🏻✋🏻✋🏻🍑💦in honor of all the thigh grabbing ✊🏻💪🏼🍗 hoes, thats you sluts fuck 👉🏻👌🏻 from time⏰ to time⏰. Share this Hoe-storical event with ur top 1️⃣0️⃣ finest floozies 👄👅👀💄👢 and enjoy this Chill❄️ ASS PUSSY 🍑😩💦fucking, COCK GOBBLING😮🐓, mashed 👊🏻 potato HOE 🍠🍠💦sucking, BLOW-autumn jobbing🍃🍁😵, CUM PIE 💦💦💦shotz giving day❤️

Why are you still here? Stop being the loser who reads the guy who’s a loser for being the guy who writes for the guy who’s a loser… but on SPANKSGIVING 😏😩🍆💦💦