It's the End of the World and it's Their Fault

September 1, 2003
Author: Reverend Ragu
This is the end, my friends.

When I last left you, I was embarking on a personal quest to better myself; intense, soul-searching fueled by decalitres of grain alcohol. Because, you know, life's not all about deviant porn and intellectual bankruptcy, it's also about getting right fucking fall-on-your-face, choke-on-your-vomit, diasppearing-and-left-for-dead shithammered. Against all odds, I managed to survive my spiritual journey through the treacherous spinning corridors and the porcelain colliseums of vomit; through liquor-drenched one-man Destroy 2 tributes, a few near-death experiences, and now my ass is back home. A little bit older, a little bit wiser, and much more sober than I'd like to be.

So now I'm off the bottle. Partly my decision, partly someone else's. See, I'm philosophically opposed to the concept of moderation. Yeah, sure, the Middle Way is all well and good for the Buddhists, but they've got magic powers, are totally able to throw fireballs and spin kicks, yet are strictly prohibited from using their super secret powers unless entering a super secret kumite to avenge their tragically slain sibling or fight for the clan's honor, whatever. Most of the time they just stick it to the man by setting themselves on fire, which really seems unnecessary, but I guess they're afraid of pissing the big gold fat guy off. You wouldn't think so, but fat guys are usually pretty strong and surprisingly agile if angry enough.

Anyway, I'd rather not have an obese gold guy riding my ass, so I choose to live life to the X-TREME much like the titular character in the blockbuster movie XXX; snowboarding out a helicopter onto the deadly yeti-inhabited mountains of the Himalayas, dodging both the enraged demihumans and getting carpet bombed by the Nazi party off the edge of the mountain and right into the pirahna-infested rivers of the Amazon all the while SLAMMING A FUCKING DEW. I'm so goddamned X-TREME that the rules of physics and the constraints of geography are NULL AND VOID. But, even to someone who is so X-TREME that various cynically titled X-TREME CHRISTIAN YOUTH ORGANIZATIONS have RENOUNCED their 2-THA-LIMIT FAITH in light of the RAD THEOLOGICAL QUANDRY posed by GOD CLEARLY CREATING SOMEONE MUCH MORE SLAMMIN' THAN HIS HOLY SELF, eventually you've gotta slow down. Sometimes it is more X-TREME to admit that you have to stop and take a breather rather than continue a sad charade.

So here I am now, my search for truth over, my contract as a new breed of secret agent with the United States up, and I'm right back where I started; the same bitter fuck writing tortured articles about bad porn. I suppose it's my fate, really. I check around my usual haunts, and it begins to dawn on me.


Hey, Mr. Generation X! Put down the bong, turn that fucking Pearl Jam shit down and beat it, pops! Because this is OUR generation now! Generation JAPANIMATION!
Remember that feeling when you stay up well past sensible hours to watch big-haired, doe-eyed atrocities of the eighties at a blazing five frames per second? Now you can catch embarassing exercises in cultural mismatching any time you want, twenty-four hours a day. Hunting through every video store in town for a worn copy of Akira or Vampire Hunter D? No more, big eyes and ample bustlines stare you down with dead gazes from the aisles in even the most remote local video stores! You don't even have to order expensive import DVDs in unmarked brown packaging anymore if you want to watch "teenage girls acting out oral sex acts with a lollipop." in your cartoons!

I guess we had to get it out of our systems at some point. Perhaps anime is here to stay, like the atomic bomb, genital herpes, and the iniquity of man. Hell, I don't dispute that Azumanga Daioh and Cowboy Bebop should be required viewing to take part in the human race. That's not my problem here, although something about this whole thing screams “The natural defenses are crumbling, the barriers of caution are beaten down. 'Drag it man, try anything once, fly! You can't get a habit from anime! Quit whenever you like!'”. Nope, despite my “first hit is free leading to a lifetime of overpriced DVD and wallscroll self-abuse” misgivings, the real problem here is that somewhere along the line, from the time hentai was considered a quaint and severely fucked up sideshow exhibit and now, people started whacking off to it; The equivalent to a large-scale mass discovery of latent sexual desire for carnival freakshows; stalls to view the bearded lady and lizard boy repurposed into jackoff booths and aisles of videos with titles like “TWELVE FINGERED HANDJOB SLUTS 8” and “WEBBED FEET EXXXPOSED”. Well, except that those people need love too, and we're jacking off to perverted, morally questionable drawings.

Nice analogy, asshole. I need a drink.

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