First came the tentacle rape.
It was the beginning in a long line of horrors that OMGJeremy has subjected me to in his articles since the very beginning in 2002. (OMGJeremy.com was the site that most of us used to write for.) But you know what they say: what doesn’t kill you can only make you stronger. Well, I must be invincible by now. And not only have I seen a lot, but I’ve written about a lot too, articles that have been lost to time mostly, including a review of a site that teaches women how to rape their husbands. But in 2003, I found something that managed to combine all of those and more. It’s as if all my nightmares Go-Go-Power-Morphed into some unholy Megazord and returned to feed me my own ass.
“What is it?” you’re probably asking as you close the door and open a new browser window. Why It’s none other than Furcadia — an online game that let you take on the role of an animal and interact with others in a series of dream worlds. And not surprisingly in the least, it contains the three big staples of the internet diet: furries, cybersex, and MMORPGs.
Around here, we always have lofty goals. We always have had lofty goals! On one such occasion, cchris and I decided for about five minutes that our time would be best spent as a writing POWERHOUSE duo for writing romance novels. I mean, we are both experts, and we have big ideas that should be lucrative. As you can see in this comic, things were actually going incredibly well, and we should write a little of it every day and then release a line of romance novels on Amazon’s self-publishing services. Isn’t that the dream? Isn’t that the reality of thousands of people? Thousands of MILLIONAIRES from their author career paths they’ve chosen. God I mean look at how well I’m writing today!
Clearly this is the best destiny I’ve got going. Click the comic, if necessary.
We, the writers of Sneer Campaign, are not complete philistines. Occasionally we like to raise our pinky fingers and sip on hot tea while discussing some of the finer things in this world. Sometimes we cover matters of history, other times we may speak at length about books we have read, or scientific breakthroughs that had been brought to our attention somehow. Other days, we sit around analyzing classic artworks — but never modern art because we are not sophisticated enough to “get” it!
Today, we decided to take a look at the Last Supper, by some kid named Leonardo da Vinci. He had his day back in the 1400s, but do not let that frighten you. Those days were not so different than these days we are in now. So take our hands, readers, and appreciate the history of art, religious beliefs, flippant artistic subterfuge, and yes even a little Last Supper Day Miracle!
Whether your favorite character was Emma, Paige, Spinner, or yes, even Jimmy, it’s time to go back. Yes, right now. Let’s go.
Okay so we’re a little late. Degrassi: Next Class started on Netflix over a year ago, so you can go watch that. However, remember being a little baby in 2001? Okay so I was 15 and you may have been even older. But THEY were babies. They really, really were.
All of this could have been avoided. This entire article wouldn’t have even been necessary if my parents had followed a fairly logical rule. As a parent myself, I know this rule inside and out. If you have kids, you know it too. But for those of you without children, I am about to drop a real gem on you. A piece of advice that will make your parenting days a lot easier and lessen the chances of your home experiencing a murder/suicide. You ready? Okay.
Don’t tell a child that they can’t see/do something because it is “for adults.”
There you go. I just saved you a lot of yelling and a handful of awkward visits from Child Services. Now don’t go thinking I’m one of those people who doesn’t believe in telling a kid they can’t have something or do something. I’m not saying that you should let a child get away with whatever. By all means, tell them “no” when you want them to keep their snot and dirt-encrusted hands off of something. When they ask you why, just don’t make the mistake of telling them it is for “big folks,” “adults,” “mommy and daddy,” or whatever other stupid shit you say instead of just looking them in the eye and saying, “Shut the fuck up.”
A good solid “shut the fuck up” from my folks sure would have saved me a whole lot of grief.
Times are hard these days. There is no doubting this statement – they really are as hard as you think. Many of you reading this unintentionally exhaustive article in idle moments between job hunting or unemployment checks may feel discouraged to the point of melodrama. There are no good jobs. There aren’t even that many LOUSY jobs, for that matter. Getting a bit desperate to rake in a little spending cash to feed your mouth, family, addictions, or bills, you may begin to consider the ultimate in desperate sources of income: Prostitution.
Street Whoring is an ancient profession, dating back to caveman days, when cavewomen would wear short, sheer smilodon pelts and entice the cavemenfolk into sexual congress in exchange for brontosaurus steaks or pretty rock bracelets. Not much has changed since those glorious days, except that there are more options for the average woman or man in these modern times, and possibly more STDs to be passed around, as viruses had not been invented back then.
There are a variety of kinds of whore these days, ranging from the lowly crackwhore to the lowly camwhore to the haughty housewife. One could say that any of you working a job you do not care to perform are prostituting yourselves in another sense. Don’t worry. Nobody judges you for it, because at the end of the day, perhaps we are ALL whores, at least metaphorically. And in some places, there are legal prostitutes who have willingly joined that workforce because they love what they do, and can make a lot of money doing it. That is as good as any other job, as far as I am concerned – maybe even better in some cases! But I am actually trying to dissuade you from being the commonly accepted form of whore, here. This paragraph was probably unnecessary, but I am not in the habit of deleting anything.
Sometimes in life you just want to take a seat and cry. Sometimes you want to shout that everything is wrong and the world is terrible. Sometimes you want to blame someone or something. Sometimes you are filled with such a rage that your tomato red cartoon head starts to shoot steam out of your ears.
My friends, what you need is Duckman.
Smooching. It is one of the best things there is. William Shakespeare said, “To smooch is divine. To do another thing is not as good as that, y’all.” When you smooch another person, you put your mouth on their mouth and kind of just smooch your mouths together, and is it ever good! There’s nothing better than sitting back with a tall glass of hot lemonade on a sunny winter afternoon and giving your sweetie the old mouth bridge. Here are four hot tips to make your smooching the best smooching it can be:
There’s plenty of fish in the sea, they say. You know what else the sea has a lot of? Plastic. Sharks. Pirates. Dead Bodies.
My problem, of course, is not with the analogy, but with the fact that life is hard and I hate trying.
We know that dating is the worst. So is internet dating. Where do these people even come from? I tell myself that it’s not so strange. I tell myself that if I use internet dating, so do other regular people [editor’s note: haha – Amandoll]. I tell myself that it’s 2016 and I do everything on the internet. I tell myself that I’ve met plenty of people through The Online, including Amandoll, Hoffman, Daniel Haun, Alext, Grogberries, and Cheston. I tell myself that I’ve met plenty of dates on there and they went just fine.
But oh, the ones that didn’t…