01.21
“We wanna’ be free! We wanna’ be free to do what we wanna’ do! And we wanna’ get loaded! And we wanna’ have a good time!”
— People who had a horrible time
They say ignorance is bliss. And shit, they’re right, man. I knew that fuckin’ ignorance once. I felt the cool waves of shallow unknowing wash over my prick and scrotum like so much fuckin’ nasal blood after a particularly nasty nude cocaine binge. The realization hit me like a goddamn semi truck stocked full of Budweiser after I finally managed to scrape myself out of bed long enough to return to the world of daylight. Toonami broke me, man. It fucked me up. I lasted six goddamn hours on that fateful mid-October night, and only just now have I managed the resolve to even look at my chronicle about how much it hurt – how deep it cut into my fuckin’ soul. It’s taken months of self-medicating just to reach the point where I could let myself think about it without being assured nightmares. I feel safe now. As safe as one possibly can after experiencing this shit, anyway.
The following text was scrawled in ink, lead, and eventually blood upon sheets of graph paper. I lost consciousness shortly after writing them, evidently scattering each of the pages to different corners of my house.
12:00 AM. The beginning of the end. The hour’s finally growing late, and now that I’ve finished messily massaging my own prostate for the fifth time in as many hours, it’s time to get this show on the fuckin’ road. First up is some stupid cartoon named after laundry detergent. Bleach is like that popular teenager who dropped out of high school years ago and is unsure of what to do in their life. The clone Ichigo (who I guess is Kon or something) has to deal with a green-haired girl living in the Kurosaki home. The green-haired girl is a typical tsundere who shoves clone Ichigo into harem antics. I feel like I should be laughing, but I’m not. In fact, I’ve already downed a good quarter of my Jack handle. The drink, asshole. But since even the writers know that this means nothing in the long run, we cut to the soul reapers talking to each other for five minutes while plotting against Aizen, I guess. Or whoever’s the main villain at this point.
Really, I’m confused as to why Tite Kubo would introduce a hundred characters when only five or six of them contribute to the plot in any significant manner. I appreciate his effort in trying to establish some kind of hierarchy and world building in Soul Society, but it doesn’t amount to anything in the long run. It just seems like Kubo couldn’t introduce characters gradually throughout the story. He had to dump them all at the start, while forgetting about two-thirds of them. It’s like Legend of the Galactic Heroes except they’re not heroes, and it’s not set in a galaxy, and the only legend is how this got popular in the first place.
12:14 AM. Commercials air about cars and basketball. It seems that the television believes I, or anyone who would spend time watching Toonami, could afford a car. They even air a Progressive ad to add more to this madness. The television really wants me to buy a car, and it does not understand when I say no. What if I ever need to drive somewhere, you ask? Why else you think I carry around a fuckin’ crowbar?
12:17 AM. More fighting occurs. I forgot the bald guy’s name, but I guess he has a beef with Ichigo. Then Yoruichi, that character everyone used to argue about what race she was, gives Ichigo some advice about how to deal with the Soul Society squads. You know, I wonder why Soul Society seems to be stuck in Meiji Restoration aesthetics. But then out of nowhere, Rukia goes to a computer lab to find out about the green-haired girl from earlier on. I don’t get how the world of Soul Society is supposed to work. That’s like a universe that looked like something from the colonial era, but they were equipped with iPads and Wi-Fi. Or a version of contemporary society where creepy rich people actually had dungeons loaded with stocks and torture racks. Outside of the BDSM scene, I mean.
Then after that, a guy dressed as a banana intimidates Ichigo’s clone. I can’t tell if he’s a filler character or a canon character. The personality he has gives equal credence to both, unsurprisingly. He’s chasing green-haired girl, who pulls out the ability to airbend, into an abandoned warehouse. The guy lightly pokes her, and she just passes out. But before he can get away, Uryu Ishida comes to the rescue. I’m astonished I can remember his name. It’s fun to say, though. Like, Uryu gonna’ eat all those fries, babe? Lemme’ show you how much girth I can pack into my mouth. Wait. Shit.
12:27 AM. TOM promises uncut Naruto. I’d make a circumcision joke, but that would disappoint us both. Something about The Walking Dead gives me hope, and a stint with Doritos tacos gives me despair. Then, a man tells me about internet education for children, along with a woman asking me to volunteer for the Big Brothers program. How dare the man tell me to support children? If children really are the future, let ’em fuckin’ fend for them fuckin’ selves. That’s the only way they’re gonna’ learn shit.
12:31 AM. Naruto premieres. And despite the promises, the opening’s clearly not unedited. Unlike Bleach, I think I remember the gist of this plot. Naruto’s in the middle of the Chuunin Exam, getting his ass brutally violated by that dog kid Kiba. I know this joke’s been overdone, but neither of these characters are demonstrating anything resembling basic ninja skills. I don’t know much about ninja, but cloning yourself doesn’t seem very stealthy. It seems more like magic, except you can’t call anything in shonen anime magic. It has to be something like “chakra” or “alkahestry” instead of something simple.
But while I contemplate the logic behind shonen magic, Kiba punches his dogs. Then one of the dogs turns into Naruto and kicks him. Characters in the sidelines act shocked as if they don’t know how jutsu works. In other words, they’re acting like the audience.
12:42 AM. Commercials continue, and they ask of me to buy Butterfingers. Those bastards corrupted The Simpsons and turned it into unfunny witchcraft. I can never forgive that sort of devilry. But before I can exact my revenge, more car commercials air. I can hear the subliminal messages throughout this airing. “Buy a car. Buy a car. Buy a car. Don’t text in it though. Buy a car.” Well, as long as I can still get absolutely fuckin’ blitzed beforehand.
12:44 AM. I see targets in the screen. The targets keep aiming for the sensitive parts of my perspective. It’s like they know when to hit me the hardest. I want to dodge, but then Naruto comes back. I don’t understand why Kiba wears a hooded jacket in an environment that doesn’t seem noticeably cold. Actually, nobody in this show has decent fashion sense. That’s the reason why they’ll never make a live-action version of Naruto. If you imagine a real person dressed up as these characters, you start having sad feelings in the back of your head. You remember that really weird porn you jacked to back in high school and feel just a little more ashamed of yourself.
Speaking of fashion sense, I notice every character in this show wears sandals that expose their toes. You’d think they would want to protect that part of the body, since getting stabbed in the toe hurts like hell. Even the mentor ninja like Kakashi wear sandals, as if covering your toes is some kind of forbidden act in the ninja world. Something tells me Kishimoto has a foot fetish. And out of nowhere, Naruto stops Kiba by farting in his face. Doing so gives him the edge, beating Kiba and winning the match. Then all of the characters are acting as if this is impressive instead of just stupid. This is truly a show for older audiences.
12:56 AM. Puppets threaten me.
12:59 AM. Pyro from Team Fortress 2 attempts to intimidate me with a flamethrower. Then, Progressive advertising appears. I have grown accustomed to Flo demanding my money.
1:00 AM. Usopp asks Chopper for herbs. I find it hard to believe that this is not a recurring incident. A tall man who vaguely resembles AC/DC stands in their path, with Nico saying he’s an admiral. In any other show, he’d have talked about how they’re doomed while firing energy blasts at them. But then, he just sleeps on the grass. I like him. I wish I could be him, with his giraffe neck. He must look at the world in a divine perspective by being able to live with a neck that long.
I wish he could continue that sleep so I could take the lead, but then sick people appear. Instead of shooting them like proper pirates, Luffy’s crew just helps them. They even grill food for them. What kind of pirates are these? Where are the Somalian pirates who shoot without discrimination?
Then the guy reveals that he can make ice. I’m shaken. Everything I thought I knew about this show was shattered in an instant.
1:12 AM. Commercials still surge, being shoved into my brain like meth into an old man’s veins. These adverts involve nothing but Taco Bell, Jackass knockoffs, and more Flo. Then the Hot Pockets appear, demanding my spirit break and go to the nearest 7-Eleven in search of frozen pizza stuffings.
1:17 AM. I’m starting to tune out. I’m sure this entire episode was only supposed to last one chapter in the manga. A certain Nipponophile once proclaimed this show to be one of the most exciting anime in a while. I have tested this theory, and declare him a heretic.
Usopp’s mouth is twice as long as his face.
Now, finally, they fight Ice-T. But just as they punch him, he decides to make them chill after a hard day’s night.
1:26 AM. I see the face of Carl. Why won’t he save me from the six-hour challenge? I feel slighted. I feel forsaken. I demand the love of Carl and his fast food friends. I demand his tongue all over my body like a nun demands the phallus of Jesus. But I know that he will not come. He will not come. He will never come. Instead, I taste the cream coming out of a frozen Hot Pocket. I pop an LSD and I also come.
1:30 AM. A man with a screw in his head washes his face while breaking a mirror. The mirror resembles a rose. It looks pretty.
After angsting, he talks to Death while the clouds flow right by him. His plot is to face off against a spider named Arachne. I don’t know why they hate spiders. Spiders are just innocent creatures that need tender love. After all, they keep the bed bugs away by murdering them.
Blue-hair Naruto boasts about how strong he is before I tune out again. For an anime adapted from a manga for small boys, this is very psychedelic. The main characters have to merge their souls together as some form of training. I usually have to pay money to do that. The screw-head guy, Stein or something, needs them to synchronize like how Shinji and Asuka did it. Except they’re not wearing sexy dancing uniforms that show off Shinji’s nice thighs.
Too bad this isn’t sexy, because Stein has eye tentacles briefly penetrate him. I think this is symbolism for how Stein wants to be loved by his adoptive black mother who happened to have cataracts. That’s a wild guess, but I stand by it.
Maka screams and runs away from a forest while Blue-hair Naruto gets his head beat. This is very innovative in terms of character interaction, isn’t it?
1:43 AM. The Hot Pockets keep demanding my tongue.
Then suddenly, Kevin Butler of Playstation fame appears to sell a chicken sandwich to me. I miss him and his warm smile. If only he could keep trying and failing to sell me Playstations.
But as he disappears, another Hot Pocket commercial is summoned.
Then Maka talks with the Blue-hair Naruto’s not-girlfriend so they can pass the Bechdel Test and appear to be a multi-layered and outspoken anime instead of just another fighting show. I appreciate effort, because effort is a dead art in my country.
I love how the not-girlfriend and the two pistol sisters get to have naked scenes, but Soul only gets a second before he puts his clothes on. This is not the equal-opportunity fanservice I hoped for.
Uncle Pennybags and two guys summon an army of No-Faces. This would be exciting if I saw them fight. Too bad this fighting anime doesn’t have much fighting.
1:57 AM. Carl plays with my mind. I want to burn Meatwad in front of him as revenge.
A Native American man demands I give him money for college. In fact, two different Native Americans appear before me, demanding money for student loans. Endless legions of these tribes, seeking money for dining plans. I would help them, but I have no concept of basic donations right now. Also, Hot Pockets are draining too much of my spending money.
2:00 AM. The hellspawn and hellspawn-in-law thrive in their cabin. They talk about how in love they are before giving birth to the girl of morning dew. The hellspawn-in-law is shocked that she is dating a younger boy. Instead of realizing she’s committing statutory rape, she blushes while talking about having fun. Hellspawn-in-law wants a piggy back ride from hellspawn, which makes this seem even more like Wedding Trough, only less arousing. They find a cute fisherman, which is sad because he spends all his time in video game limbo fishing. That is the cruelest hell, and I do not want to see him suffer so.
Hellspawn-in-law fears the literal white man. Despite fighting giant ogres, she fears the Caucasian cockery. To alleviate that fear, they kidnap a little girl in the woods and claim to be the hatchling’s parents.
2:11 AM. Gary Coleman and talking VCRs want to violate my ocular purity.
McDonald’s shills fake wings to me. They seem more palatable than the Hot Pockets. I grab the TV and caress its cables while licking the screen before realizing that the television is a lantern which illuminates lies instead of truth.
Monsters wearing masks appear on the TV screen. They want me to make them look human again. They cry, attempting to resemble people after the scars of puberty ravaged their skin. I cannot aid them. I am a bystander, not a healer.
2:17 AM. After awaking from shell shock, I see that the hellspawn has adopted the hatchling for his own purposes. He feeds her a diet of graphically processed food and literary sugar. The hatchling absorbs all cuteness around her to make a diabetic whole. There is nothing worse than diabetes. Not even the lupus.
Then a man utters the phrase… “Babycakes.”
Babycakes. Babycakes. Babycakes. Babycakes.
Babycakes. Babycakes. Babycakes. Babycakes.
Babycakes. Babycakes. Babycakes. Babycakes.
Babycakes. Babycakes. Babycakes. Babycakes. Babycakes. Babycakes. Babycakes. Babycakes. Babycakes. Babycakes. Babycakes. Babycakes. Babycakes. bAbYcAkEs. Babycakes. Babycakes. Babycakesbabycakesbabycakesbabycakesba̵̡̝̠͙̲̫̖̥͈͛̽̔ͫͧ̏͡͞ͅb͇̙͕͓͍͎̳͚̼̳͍̲̦͍̹̲̐ͯ̽ͣ̃̊̑̍͗̀̊̆͐̔̀ͅͅȳ̸̸̛̛̙͈̲͔̺̅̑ͮ͐̃ͮͭ̽͆ͦ̈ͦ͆̐̆͢c̴̴̣͍̪̣̝̫͇͔͔̓̎̿̆̋ͦ̆͛̑̃ͮ̆ͬͨͮ͡a̜̭̞͇͔͙͓͚͎̙̜̟̟͍̙̖̙͔͊ͫ̄̔ͮ́ͪ͌ͬ̊̈́̈̀̚͢ḱ̵̷̵͈͎̠̩͚̯̣͉͈͈͇̤̠̼̤̭̹̪̫̃̃̑̽̀́ͫ͑̋͟e̋͆͗̂ͯͪ̌̒̈͏̶̜͍̩͈̘͍̳š̛̳̘̙̲͈̺̪̙̟͓̦͆ͤͮ͐́ͦ̏̋ͪ̎̋̈́̂͊̈͝ͅ.̴̨̧̖̞̙͚̭͌̀͌̍̎̐ͯ͐̇́̓ͥ̓̓
It is a sound that should never be heard.
The hatchling reaches out to the sky. She wants to be freed from her mortal shell.
2:27 AM. The puppet goes ding-ding. The phone goes ring-ring. The car runs over Yue-Yue.
2:30 AM. The boom-boom robot from Transformers teaches me about IGPX and its brilliance. I must bow before the IGPX. I must love it like a man masturbates over a Virgin Mary statue. The show is widescreen so I can narrow my vision to a minimum as robots practice their superiority over other automatons. The show offers the emotional depth of a Starcraft match. I am outdone by this show in ways that Band of Brothers failed to do. Truly, I have reached an apotheosis in animation.
Men and women, both Jew and gentile, cheer for still images.
The alpha male pats his inferior girls on the back for a job well done. They learn their place, and that place is as his servant and nothing more. Too bad that is only the fantasy in the realm of the Red Ditz.
Main man looks like Guys from Enzai.
2:42 AM. More food. More food for the food gods. None can be satiated until they taste the Holy Pocket. This is not fast food. This is fab food.
I’ve got the perfect soundtrack. The screams of the unwilling serve me just fine.
2:46 AM. The bearded man cheers for the yo-yos. He dances the dance of snowmen, never moving, but always feeling. I have no feeling though. This show numbs me.
I cannot say. I cannot speak. I cannot talk. I cannot act.
I like Kendo scenes. They are a good excuse to nourish a foot fetish.
2:58 AM. The Playstation wants me to eat tacos while the liberals offer a financial aid plan.
More Hot Pockets. More pain.
3:01 AM. Most powerful is he who controls his own power. Power is the power. Power demands power of my power to become more powerful in terms of power.
The Jedi wish to penetrate a temple. One of the Jedi is named Kit Fisto. I must not make dirty jokes. I must not make dirty jokes.
I miss my General Grievous. I miss the one who slaughtered zealots left and right like a proper general. Instead, he writhes like a toy spider.
I see robots murdering clones of a great New Zealander. This is a war with many casualties, and yet none at all.
Grievous is being picked apart, like a toy model in the middle of production.
3:16 AM. Dip’n Chicken is Tibetan Monk-kickin’.
Shirley Temple dances. I do not understand how she is considered explicit and graphic content, except that one movie about the slaves.
Lightsaber, lightsaber, make me a match.
Time slips by me.
Kit Fisto does a good job, adhering to the status quo by not making any changes that would upset the layered continuity of Star Wars.
3:27 AM. The survivors go to war for more Taco Bell.
Big Brother, please help me. Get me away from Toonami. The light is pain. The light is agony.
Pain… Why does the sky wry?
The Gerber baby never ages. I will grow old and feeble, while the Gerber baby stares eternally.
3:30 AM. I acquire The Big O through my hairy hands while watching The Big O. It is a revelation upon my orifice.
Norman, please love me. Please be my grandpappy. You will make me grow into a dapper man, who judges all and loves no one. I want your fantasy instead of my own reality. I want to be eternal like you.
He was right all along. The four lights are real.
The Titans wreak havoc on the town. Using class and wit as their weapons against a phony god known as late night programming.
3:39 AM. The Jackass commercial airs hundreds of times. Zex. Und zex. Und zex. Und zex.
Hot Pockets are my mother. Hot Pockets are my homeland. Hot Pockets are my pride.
My well runs dry as old men drink their soup.
If a lady speaks out of turn, you must whip it. If it demands to be referred to as “Ma’am”, you must whip it.
It is the will of man to dominate woman. And the will of man is outdated. The woman must overtake the man and use their vaginae as black holes upon the penis. The penis can be cut. The vaginae can never be truly eliminated.
Chiaki Konaka, why won’t you write anime anymore? You did not write for me, or for you, but for the world.
Life is not showtime.
3:56 AM. More Hot Pockets in my eye sockets.
Walking dead, walking tall.
4:01 AM. I don’t understand why the Chinese have to be the Xingese. Why can’t Amestris just be Germany?
I miss Ed’s red jacket. Why is he allowed to dress like normal human beings? Why can’t he learn from Naruto and dress like a mongrel? Indeed, why can’t he be naked? I have the urge to purge, and the only way to do that is gazing at Ed’s girth.
The Lion King is no match for eye tentacles. They took over Stein. They will take over you.
4:14 AM. The commercials mesh like tides at a beach. There is no distinction.
This is a show I actually enjoy, and I do not know what to say. I am too dazed to truly appreciate this, instead scribbling bad verses you’d see on a tumblr.
Every FMA fangirl wants to be Envy, but nobody wants to be Gluttony.
4:30 AM. Cowboy Bebop airs, the one about the Real Folk Blues, and I am too unfit to stand in its presence.
This show is class. That is a statement told by a million men, but it doesn’t make it any less true. Like literally, this show is a course you can take in college. I will force a dean to make a course on Cowboy Bebop at Wellesley College. JSTOR needs more academia on Cowboy Bebop. I demand all the private libraries store anime in the shelves so that scholars can appreciate superior Nipponese works like this one. It is truly the Evangelion of anime.
4:42 AM. I can no longer comment on commercials. It is like commenting on the same crime scene. Again. And again. And again.
All is well in the late night land.
Toonami may contain mature material some viewers may not find suitable.
5:00 AM. I remember the Band of Seven. They sucked. Literally, in Jakotsu’s case.
Kirara’s in heat, and the Inuyasha gang have to do something about that!
When will we recover all the Sacred Jewel shards so that Naraku can get off our case for just one goddamn day?
All this and more will be answered never because The Final Act isn’t on Toonami.
The last hour of the six-hour challenge is the hardest. Truly, you guys are fucking troopers if you manage to persevere through all this. If you are crazy enough to take a six-hour challenge, you’re like that king at a bar who drinks a gallon of Jaegermeister.
Inuyasha still airs because of foot fetishists.
5:35 AM. So this episode has Kikyo being useless for the hundredth time. Why do they even care about Kikyo? She’s kind of a horrible person who stretches the show by a couple hundred episodes.
I lost the will to write, because I’ve written so much. If I wrote this much every day, I would have a beefy novel for NaNoWriMo. It’s almost mesmerizing.
16 minutes left of the six-hour challenge. That’s sixteen out of two hundred and forty, or one-fifteenth. And yet, relativity of time is a cruel mistress. There’s nothing more soul sucking than Kagome and Inuyasha’s abusive relationship that the show portrays as romantic but any real-world application would make it seem horrible. Why did people like Rumiko Takahashi in the first place? I guess Urusei Yatsura is kind of funny, but anything after that is so routine. That’s why Ranma ½ was one of the first anime released in season sets, because people could only tolerate the show enough to buy it in bulk.
I’m at a loss for an ending. I guess that’s why Toonami ends only with “Later”. But there is no Later. There is only Now. And Now is the time of dying.
