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Advent calendars of failure, corporate April Fools’ Day jokes, too short straws, Article 13 passes, Paul McCartney vs. Michael Jackson, house centipedes, a furry reads the news, eyeball soap, the secret lives of married thots, messaging women in mass quantities, Rucka Rucka Ali is on Cameo, how to clap, more swinging done incorrectly, and the greatest man in the world pub sing along; all that and more this week on The Dick Show!

In exactly one week, Sean and I will be getting our anti-spider shots and turning ourselves upside-down to bring The Dick Show to Australia! For not just one show, not one and a half shows, but for two full shows sweeping the continent from Melbourne to Sydney. If you haven’t got tickets to Sydney, that’s too bad because they’re sold out. If you haven’t got tickets to Melbourne, get them here, but first…

Used to be you could just walk outside and see a pair of tits, but we ruined that. You could take a step out of your cave after a long night of howling and spontaneous murders, and there they were, right in your face. A big ole set of tits to bring in the day. Maybe you’d make a idol of them to remember it by, but why? It’s not like anyone is ever going to take that away from you. But they did.

Used to be you could just call someone a bad word and act like it was nothing. You could call someone a tasty cake or a piano tuner or an ass wall, or any other horrific slurs your hateful little mind desired–which I definitely had in mind when I picked those words. And you’d feel better about life. And the victim of nothing would feel better about life because nothing lets you know you’ve won like being called a dancing tractor beam or a forced meme. It was God on the Go, and an instant absolution for life’s lack of customer service, like liquor but fun for all ages and there for eternity. After all, it’s not like anyone is going to take that away from you. But they did.

Maybe Paul McCartney is right. Culture doesn’t “just happen”. It takes a cabal of technocrats and bureaucratic fascists and PR agents acting in bad faith, working tirelessly day and night and burning through trillions of dollars to bring us a great and powerful lie, that the world is safe for people without a dick. It’s the edgeless culture of the Soccer Mom Internet, brought to you by balloons and rocket ships and a lack of privacy laws, which is our culture. The old one is dead.

Used to be you could just hop online and see a pair of tits. But those tits are someone else’s copyright–or maybe the feeling of seeing those tits belongs to someone else. There is a legal precedent for this, Williams v. Gaye, No. 15-56880. So you better print them out now and save them while you can. Before your memory is an augmented storage container in the cloud, filtered by a consortium of humanity’s worst, controlling the world from the dark side of Mars.

“I am the Greatest Pub Singalong” by zhengman777



“The Greatest Man in the World Chiptune” by Wild Matsu



“The Greatest Man in the World” by Geoff



Thumbnail of The Dick Samurai by Wormwood.



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