Love ’em or hate ’em, McDonald’s is a fast food franchise that has warmed the hearts of many a child with the promises of shortbread cookies, a toy in every happy meal, and chronic constipation. From the inception of the Happy Meal in the late 1970’s McDonald’s has included a toy or other trinket in every single kid’s meal sold at their franchise. Beginning first as a series of various market tests the Happy Meal soon became a franchise staple and in present day still continues on as strong as ever. McDonald’s set the bar for kid’s meals at any franchise and now Burger King, Wendy’s, Jack In The Box, and everybody else has to keep up — and usually with shittier franchises too thanks to McDonald’s taking the obvious choices like Hot Wheels and Beanie Babies. Burger King generally ends up with whatever trash Viacom is hawking (Spongebob Squarepants) and Wendy’s… well, if “you know when it’s real” then you’ll also know when you get a crap toy in your kid’s meal. The only decent thing Wendy’s ever had was their set of Spyro the Dragon toys. And maybe that Six Flags Mr. Six figurine.

McDonald’s memorabilia is something that is insanely collectible and at one point in time was among the most valuable collections one could have. Of course with the economy in shambles one of the first markets to go is always the collector’s market so those Beanie Babies toys you had in the late nineties that were once worth $50 a piece are worth approximately $1 today. Still, back when “the gettin’ was good” there were entire publications devoted to collectors of McDonald’s toys and other odds and ends. The presumably husband-wife team of Terry and Joyce Losonsky (watch them email me once they see this and say “we’re brother and sister asshole!”) set out to create the definitive compendium of information on McDonaldLand memorabilia. The results of their labor and borderline hoarding disorder was a series of books and price guides for everything under the sun. Unfortunately the most recent incarnation of said book only covers toys from the 1970’s to 1995 so a lot of the “big” collections from McDonald’s history, namely the aforementioned Beanie Babies and of course the 101 Dalmatians collection of 101 different toys, are absent from the publication.

Despite the lack of definite humor content, however, I picked up a copy of their collector’s book dirt cheap since a price guide from 15 years ago is completely worthless and have set out to find as much stuff to make fun of as I possibly can. Thanks to all of the wonderfully organized and professional quality pictures in the book (that wasn’t a sarcastic joke, the book is laid out quite nicely) I was presented with more humor fodder than I knew what to do with. Surely there’s at least 4 or 5 articles worth of content here, but in the meantime here’s the five most “what the fuck” McDonald’s Happy Meal toys ever.




Spongebob before he became famous.


Improper printing/cutting aside, this “tickle feather” is quite possibly the most sexually inappropriate Happy Meal toy in existence. If the typeface didn’t give it away, the Tickle Feather is a byproduct of the 1970’s, a period of time when Ashton Kutcher was a television star. Seeing as how I wasn’t alive in the 1970’s I can’t vouch for statements like “it was a more innocent time where you could tickle someone with a foam feather and not be seen as a sexual deviant” so I will simply assume that in the late 70’s it was in fact appropriate to tickle people with a foam feather and that it was appropriate for children to receive such toys in a kid’s meal. In the early days of the Happy Meal the McDonald’s company was looking for inexpensive ways to produce “toys” to include in their kid’s meals. Since much of the Chinese mass-production technology we have today (read: sweatshop labor) didn’t exist in the 1970’s a lot of the company’s early toys were restricted to things like little rubber figurines and foam cut outs and against all better judgment I cannot come up with any plausible scenario where playing with a foam feather or a foam Grimace would be deemed “fun”.




“The kind with tartar control.”


I promise I’m not messing with you here and showing you a bunch of photographs out of an evidence book or a Spencer Gifts catalog, yes that is a 1.4 oz airplane-friendly box of Colgate toothpaste, and yes it was given away as a Happy Meal “toy”. The “M” logo on both the toothpaste and Tickle Feather is proof enough that I’m not lying to you. No toothbrush, just the toothpaste and that’s all; McDonald’s assumed their customers would provide their own tools to use this toy. Half the fun of being a kid and enjoying a Happy Meal is opening the toy first and playing with it (or meticulously breaking it) while you eat your burger and fries. You can’t play with toothpaste in any sense of the word unless you want to be kicked out of the restaurant for smearing it all over the table or backhanded by your father for putting it in his Big Mac when he wasn’t looking. Giving somebody toothpaste is one of many nonverbal cues that can be misinterpreted; when you give or offer someone a breathmint you’re essentially telling that person their breath smells like a garbage dump that someone burned leprosy victims in, likewise when you offer someone toothpaste you’re basically telling them they look British and that their smile won’t simply break a mirror, it will send it back in time.




Available in 3 EXCITING colors!


Remember what I said about being a kid and having fun with your Happy Meal toy? These markers (actually, just marker singular) echo that sentiment. You cannot play with a marker, it’s not a toy. It’s a drawing utensil. The only thing you can do with a marker save for shoving it up your ass is draw a picture with it or if you had a bunch of them you could connect them end to end and make a sword that breaks the second you pick it up. You can kiss your dreams of ninjitsu goodbye, though, because this particular Happy Meal promotion only gave you one marker, that’s it. The picture shows three but that’s just an example of the various kinds that were offered (thin, orange and green apple). Now, I understand when the Happy Meal idea was just beginning to come into fruition that there was a scramble for affordable and frugal ways to include toys but what the fuck is this, seriously? One marker of a random color? The only thing this would use useful for is solving the 3-word word search puzzle on the side of the Happy Meal box and for drawing penises on the Ronald McDonald trayliner; and furthermore what if you were the unlucky sap that got stuck with a yellow marker? Good luck trying to do anything except highlight words and coloring on other people’s french fries.




“Trapped in a McDonald’s. Please send help.”


Perhaps if these postcards weren’t offered several years after the Crayola markers your single marker would actually be useful but sadly these postcards were their own promotion and are equally as retarded and also bend the definition of “toy”. Those who ate at a McDonald’s more than once in the 1980’s and 1990’s will know that “McDonald Land” is made up of several little places, LetterLand being one of them (and for those of you who remember MC Kids on the NES, PuzzleLand). Apparently LetterLand is also where Mayor McCheese decided to establish the post office because these magical little papers came straight from the LetterLand post office and into your Happy Meal! Once you’ve spent the money to eat your kid’s meal you can then go ahead and buy a stamp to slap on this card because this is the only McDonald’s toy in the history of the company that required you to spend more money on it to get it to function correctly. What the hell is the point of giving someone postcards at a McDonald’s anyway? Are you going to send a postcard to your grandmother telling her how great your kid’s meal was? A stationary set isn’t a toy, it’s a stationery set, that’s why there’s already a word to describe it. Postcards are for people on vacation and people who want to abuse the “No Purchase Necessary” clause in every contest that has ever existed; kids — the target demographic of a Happy Meal — have about as much use for a set of postcards as they do for a single marker: none.




what is this i dont even


Finally! Here’s a toy, I think. I have no idea what this is except for the fact that the price guide calls it a “Mystical Scrambler” and offers no incentive as to what the hell it actually does. I presume it scrambles things, mystically too I might add, but just what? At first glance it looks like someone just ripped the buttons off of a VCR and called it a day but then I realized that the triangle and circle aren’t printed on the plastic, they’re holes cut into the pieces. Is it a set of funny binoculars? Is it a stupid magic trick akin to the “disappearing quarter” box that everyone gets bored of half way through the trick? The nondescript black box connected to the pieces makes no effort to clarify anything – do the pieces go in it? Do they sit on top of it? Do they spin? The more I look at this the more I want one because I have a distinct feeling if you used it in conjunction with a Ouija board that you’d not only be able to summon a spirit, but you’d be able to play Crossfire with them.

– Dracophile

2010 is important because it means that quite literally the worst decade in the history of decades, the aptly named “Double Zeroes” (named as such because it fails twice as hard as regular decades), is over and perhaps mankind can move on from such crippling things as terrorist attacks, an emo economy, and Luke Wilson advertising AMERICA’S NEXT 4G NETWORK and focus on the more (de)pressing matters like even more terrorist attacks, an economy so emo that it now combs its hair over both of its eyes, and more than likely Whoopi Goldberg advertising the inevitable “5G” network.

I kid; I have high hopes that the 10’s will turn the world around because seeing “10’s” gives me a mental picture of a monster truck completely destroying everything, doing a backflip, and bursting into flames while the judges literally shit their pants and hold up cards reading “10” while tacking all of their other score cards onto the end of it trying to give Grave Digger a score of “10,987,654,321” (that’s almost 11 billion points folks, beat that Maximum Destruction). At the very least if the Mayans are right with their 2012 nonsense then this decade won’t even have a chance to turn bad so think of it like that, it’s always great to stay positive!


Pictured above: The next decade.

Time and other magazines have already covered the obvious bases of what sucked last decade, things like 9/11 and idiots from the 1980’s and 1990’s “futurefucking” our economy by giving lots of loans to lots of financially irresponsible people (they blew it on Pokemon cards). This article is about the nuances of the last decade that I personally can’t wait to never see again until VH1 goes and creates I Love The New Millennium or something so I can hear what Michael Ian Black has to say about the New Kids on the Block reunion album. Oh wait — they already did.



As hypocritical as that sounds (because I am using the magic of the Internet right now), yes I am sick and tired of the Internet — the “new” Internet specifically. When the World Wide Web became commercially available to the masses thanks to America Online there wasn’t much you could do except browse text and look at pictures on your 14.4K modem. Want to read an article online? Great, just fire that modem up and get busy reading with the added bonus of not letting anyone be able to call you! But if you want that JPEG picture of the boobie lady to load you better break out the Monopoly board and play a few rounds while you wait. The early Internet, or rather “BAAACK IN MY DAAAYS”, was pretty bland and boring; minimalist if you wish. Most websites displayed in Times New Roman, the “page not found” error screen was just a wall of gray, and watching “streaming video” required you to view the newest National Lampoon’s Vegas Vacation trailer in a forum avatar-sized QuickTime video. Oh, and Bejeweled was called Diamond Mine. But you know what? I kind of liked that.


That took about ten minutes to load back then (the logo I mean).

I liked the moderately rugged look of tables embedded on a website, I liked those old “web rings”, and I liked the simplistic nature of the media. The Internet functions the exact same way it used to back in 1995; it’s mostly for the exchange of textual and graphic media except things are bizarrely over-complicated and needlessly intricate now. Perhaps Flash and CSS have made the Internet “easier” or on the other hand maybe they’ve completely driven web developers mad by adopting new regulations and stylistic compatibilities non-stop. Do you want to know the only thing I hated about 1990’s Internet? Comic Sans MS. I hated and STILL hate that font. Do you know what I hate about 2000’s Internet? Let’s just say sticking Comic Sans MS on the pages would be an improvement.



I may have missed the “golden era” of the arcade, and the Atari 2600 for that matter, but I at least had the pleasure of being able to enjoy the rebirth of video gaming after Nintendo saved the market’s ass thanks to the mistakes of Atari and equally as guilty third party developers. I got an NES when I was pretty young followed by a Sega Genesis and ultimately a Super Nintendo (and a Nintendo 64 and Sony PlayStation too). Back in the days of Atari games were not about pretty graphics, they were about playability and fun. That yellow block on the screen was an adventurer and that thing that kind of resembled a duck was supposed to be a dragon. You knew this only because the sticker on the cartridge showed your guy fighting a dragon in a hedgemaze; there were no ducks and ducks have no reason being in a castle anyways. That’s called context clues, people. With the advent of 8-bit, 16-bit, and 32-bit gaming graphics were allowed to be prettier but many developers still focused on keeping games enjoyable and fun; case in point is the original Super Mario Bros for the NES. By the standards of NES graphics when Super Mario Bros 3 was released, the original was butt-ugly but retains its playability to this very day because it’s an inherently fun game.


Pictured above: Adventurers.

Somewhere around the turn of the millennium people started getting the idea that video games were more about appearances than having fun playing the games themselves. Halo may be a game with beautiful graphics (that’s arguable but bear with me here) but the game plays like a sack of rocks that was basted with the fetid bathwater of an incontinent stroke victim and left to get tangy for a few months in the back lot of Nickelodeon Studios (more on them later), and a lot of modern games today suffer from this problem. People don’t buy games to see something visually pleasing, they buy them because they want to be engrossed in a mesmerizing and enjoyable experience; good graphics are a bonus if the primary goals of playability are attained. If Master Chief had a raw turkey for a head, half-rendered alligator feet, and borrowed the gun models from Goldeneye 007 people probably wouldn’t care so long as the game was addictively fun to play (not to be confused with “addictive” in the sense of “I need to play this for fifty hours to get this achievement”). Enemies in Goldeneye 007 had cubes for heads and levels consisted of paper-thin doors and the same 8 “owch I’ve been shot” clips but people didn’t care because that game was about 48 different kinds of fun to play. It’s a sad time for gamers everywhere, especially the new ones who never got a chance to properly appreciate the classics in a time when pretty pixels weren’t everything and just assume that hoity-toity cutscenes and blocky gameplay is to be expected.



If you are reading this article and you are kind of similar in demeanor and demographic to me then there is a good chance that Nickelodeon was a pretty big part of your childhood. Watch, I’ll prove it by saying one word. Kel. Did I just make you think of orange soda while getting the theme song to Kenan & Kel stuck in your head? See? Nickelodeon was an awesome television station in the nineties with a plethora of memorable series and production bumpers. I have yet to run into someone my age who doesn’t melt into nostalgic bliss when I start to acapella the All That theme song or when, in regards to their guts, ask “Do-do-do-do you HAVE IT?” If you were a kid and existed in the 1990’s you watched Nickelodeon, it’s as simple as that. You watched shows like Rocko’s Modern Life and Are You Afraid of the Dark and told Fox Kids where they could go shove Eeek the Cat and Goosebumps. You wanted a piece of that Aggro Cragg and you wanted it badly enough that you’d be willing to play bungee sports while Mike O’Malley screamed commentary about you not being able to catch Velcro-covered soccer balls flying at you in excess of 50 MPH.


CO2 cannons, glitter explosions, and police lights are naturally occurring phenomena on this mountain.

But somewhere around the “Nickellennium” the train derailed and crashed through the side of the Fail Station. The cast of All That grew up and that was the first thing to go prompting Nickelodeon to try and find a replacement cast and fail miserably on all counts. You know you’re in for a ride when you’ve exhausted so many potential cast members that Jaime Lynn Spears shows up next in line followed by “that fat kid from Malcom in the Middle“. Kenan & Kel also grew up and left the station, a crisis answered by taking Drake Bell and Josh Peck from The Amanda Show (wherein Amanda Bynes also left to become an actress in teen drama movies) giving the world Drake & Josh, a tolerable show that’s okay to watch but leaves our generation yearning for someone, anyone, to barge into the scene and ask “Who loves orange soda?!” After X number of teen dramas and a slew of failed cartoons modern-day Nickelodeon has only one shining relic that they feverishly hold onto, a terribly god-awful animated series that emerged from the bowels of Hell itself at the turn of the millennium. Spongebob Squarepants. THIS IS YOUR FUTURE, WHERE IS YOUR GOD NOW?



Mentioned earlier in the article, the notion of “social networking” encompasses the general ideology that everybody needs to have a Twitter and a Facebook and a MySpace and a LiveJournal and their own Wikipedia article because everybody is important and everybody has something of merit to say. The truth is, no, no you do not. Some people need to understand that their existence is pointless and that they need to shut the hell up, because nobody cares to know that you were just charged for 2 packs of Ramen instead of 1. Much like Roastmaster detailed in a previous article here, Twitter is the bane of the Internet. It is the omega. Twitter is aiding in lowering both the usefulness of the Internet and the average intelligence of people one tweet at a time. MySpace is having a similar effect in regards to the number of 16-year-old camwhores taking upskirts of themselves, and Facebook users being guilty of being pretentious college students who post a picture of them in their military outfit right next to an image of them having a penis drawn on their drunken and passed-out body.


Want to be notified of facial graffiti when passed out? There’s an app for that.

These social networking websites only aid in perpetuating a kind of belligerent narcissism making people think they’re some kind of special celebrity that deserves attention and fame when in reality no they are not. They are a talentless wage slave at a Wal-Mart with no special abilities or merit of any kind and while that’s not a bad thing it is a bad thing that an overabundance of ordinary people are claiming to be newsworthy; Reality TV is bad enough as it is. I write for this website, this article will be read by about 50 people total most likely, and I understand and accept that. I don’t expect to be stopped by someone within the next 15 minutes and be asked if “I’m that one guy from that one site” even though my resume of credits, appearances, and projects is worth at least a passing mention. Prior to the 2000’s if you had your own self-promoting website it was because you actually spent some time learning how to assemble a website and use code, or you simply had personal access to the Internet in the first place which was an expensive commodity. That was then, and with the advent of free providers like GeoCities (Rest in Internet Peace?) and widespread networking websites this is now. Everybody and their dog (literally) have a Twitter. Unless you are taking strides to work and make yourself known in a serious manner you are nothing special.



At the risk of sounding completely xenophobic I’m just going to be out with it, the Middle East is an example of how religion screws things up and in general the extremists who perpetuate the stereotype of Muslims and the such need to shut up, grow up, and quit crashing planes into buildings or trying to blow buses up. They think by doing so they’ll be greeted with 72 virgins in their version of Heaven. Really? Is that Heaven for you? 72 awkward first times with inexperienced lovers in exchange for taking your own life and the lives of others while the victims of your pointless “attack” theoretically go on to a Heaven where, you know, they could nail any supermodel who ever lived? What if those virgins are all World of Warcraft players? What now? Great work.


72 of these await you if you steal that Disney cruise ship and crash it into The White House.

I’m tired of hearing about the Middle East. I’m tired of hearing about the quagmire of a war in the Middle East. I’m tired of hearing about how it’s apparently our responsibility as a “democratic” nation to spread democracy to other places when the places in question have a bigger problem with mindless teens with no direction in life blowing up a van outside of a school apparently under the impression he’ll get laid at least 72 times by people of a dubious origin. Think of it like American teens being told by Hannah Montana or The Jonas Brothers to kill their parents, they’d believe her. It’s not our business to screw with the Middle East’s agenda because their shit was broken before we went in there and guess what it’s still broken even after a hefty application of red white and blue duct tape. The Middle East may have been where life began on Earth but honestly right now it’s in a state of disrepair so bad I think the best option is to kinda cover it up and focus elsewhere. Just put a big ol’ snowglobe on top of it and see if that magical ecosystem can spawn a new breed of life all over again. Maybe people will evolve to have bombs already inside of them at birth! Or maybe the dinosaurs will come back instead. On second thought, we really need that snowglobe cover now. I want dinosaurs in 2011.

Here’s to 2010, and here’s to a new decade. Don’t let me down.

– Dracophile

Good morning! If you’re reading this then it’s either Christmas Day or it’s sometime after Christmas and you’re just slow in keeping up with the site! Because I’m in charge of the content for this website that also kind of means that I’m in charge of the holiday-themed content as well, since it’s all grouped into the same general category of “moderately funny stuff”. Last Halloween I put out Afterlife TV (Revisited), a serious look at Ghost Hunters… and because of a personal emergency I missed Thanksgiving and/or Black Friday (and even Cyber Monday) so now it’s really crunch time for me to pull something out of my ass for Christmas (and likely New Years as well). I’d be lying to you if I said I had a single ounce of a clue as to what I want to write about this holiday season because I don’t, so we’ll just see how that goes. New Years, though, I’ve got that under control: a quick retrospective of this crappy decade appropriately called “The Double Zeroes”. :3

But that’s beside the point, I’ve got a whole week to ponder over this wacky and pathetic decade, it’s all about the jolly red fat man today so I should get busy talking about Christmas…


Maybe we can talk about music?

I thought about it, and I had quite a few ideas for Christmassy articles that I could write. I could write about how commercialized of a holiday it has been and how people needlessly trample others so they can buy crap like Zhu Zhu Pets and either give them to loved ones or sell them on Amazon at 500% markup. I could also write about how pristine and innocent people try to portray Christmas even though in reality family meet-ups end up like a horribly bastardized version of National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation minus the five million house lights and Randy Quaid. I could even stoop as low as making fun of crappy holiday tie-in products… but all things considered that would really just take the wind out of everyone’s sails if all I did was sit around and be cynical about Christmas.

I’m 21 years old and Christmas has become less of an actual holiday to me and more of a kind of, well, “chore” in a sense. It’s one of those things that just lose their luster the older you get so no I am not going to bash Christmas. In fact I’m going to devote the rest of this entire article to Christmas memories of years past, stories of a less hectic and chaotic time when all you looked forward to was running to the living room and opening presents; not opening presents and then praying you never get the credit card bill for all of that stuff or having Vietnam flashbacks of standing outside of Best Buy at two in the morning waiting for that cheap digital camera.


Pictured above: CAPITALISM!!

When I was in elementary school, and I mean early school like first grade or even kindergarten, we always had a half-day on the Friday that started our Christmas break and on that day we had Christmas parties that began extravagantly in kindergarten and then by the time we were in 5th grade it was just punch and cookies and resentment all around because we just wanted to get out of class and go play Pokemon. In the middle of my kindergarten Christmas party we had this little “musical chairs” kind of roulette game where we each had brought a small cheap toy all wrapped up and then passed it around in a circle until the music stopped (it would be the only time they turned that damned Christmas music off the entire day, too). I sat next to my friend William Henry and when the music stopped we all opened our gifts. Some kids got army men, some got cowboy stuff, and some got toy guns (it was 1993). I ripped open the paper to a bag of dinosaurs and internally said the kindergarten equivalent of “bad ass” (which actually is still just “bad ass”), and William Henry tore off the paper to… a farm playset. After seeing everyone else with tanks and jets and guns and me with my sack of tyrannosaurs and velociraptors, he was devastated and started crying… but not that quiet sobbing, no this was a full-on fury of vocalized tears expressing his distaste in rural entertainment of the plastic variety.

I’m not actually sure what happened to William Henry or his farm set, I just remember him leaving the classroom because I’m fairly certain the teacher took him to the office because I can’t think of any other place a teacher would escort a student who bursts into a fit after seeing toy cows and hay.



It doesn’t make a bit of difference where I work because I always end up being the guy who has to wear all of the costumes for whatever occasion because usually it just so happens that they magically only fit me. I’m not sure how this curse was bestowed upon me but it might have began with me seizing the photo opportunity to molest a giant inflatable Sonic the Hedgehog outside of a GameStop in Las Vegas one day because it just so happens I had to wear a giant Sonic the Hedgehog suit when I got my first job… at a GameStop. My friends refuse to let me live that down to this day. What goes around comes around, yeah? I’ve had the miserable experience as dressing up as a vampire for the DVD release of Twilight (I wanted to make like Dracula, the real one, and step into the sunlight when I had to wear that crap) and in the spirit of this article I have been Santa Claus before.Yes, I’ve worn a giant red suit with frills and a hat and a big fake beard and walked around a Blockbuster Video giving kids candy canes and carrying around an unwieldy red bag stuffed full of bubble wrap.

It’s one thing to see Santa Claus jam out on the Guitar Hero kiosk, but it’s another to see ol’ Saint Nick start taking out endcaps of merchandise with his bag of “toys”. By that time I pretty much hated my job at Blockbuster pretty good and was angry enough that I was working on both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day (seriously who the hell rents movies on Christmas just go to the Redbox if you really must) so being able to be on the clock and just screw around as Santa Claus was easily the greatest day I can ever remember at work there… however arriving 15 minutes before my boss one morning only to see her stumble up to the door hungover was pretty funny in retrospect as well. I handed out candy canes and adopted the jolly persona instantly; I played Expert guitar with middle schoolers who initially came in to cause problems and probably steal things but decided that rocking out with Mr. Christmas himself was pretty much the awesomest thing ever. Somewhere out there on someone’s MySpace there’s a picture titled “…::: Me AnD sAnTa PlAy MeTaLlIcA!!1 :::…” and it’s yours truly in a Santa suit and some little punk in a Faith No More shirt both holding Guitar Hero guitars.


Lesson learned: Never tempt the karma god.

But what’s a Christmas nostalgia article without a story of the greatest Christmas gift ever? We all have one of those, that thrill of opening a present and almost exploding in glee. I’m sure throughout all of our Christmases we’ve opened at least 100 presents from all sorts of people, maybe even more than that if you’re older or just have a lot of little gifts, but rest assured there’s always that one single gift that we remember throughout our lives. Travel back in time with me, if you will, exactly 11 years ago to 1998. Yeah, the Pokemon train is totally full speed ahead at this time but do you know who else decided to put his snout in the way during the last few months of that year? A little purple fellow named Spyro the Dragon. On Christmas Day in 1998 I unwrapped a gift that was a brand new PlayStation console. The second gift I opened was a copy of Spyro the Dragon, and to be honest I was just about done after that; I wanted to play my game and be left alone the entire day… mostly because I had just unwrapped a brand new video game console and then of course once I started playing the game the second reason was because I was infatuated with the little guy. I’m not going to say I went all Nintendo 64 Kid over the console but I can’t say I wasn’t excited because the PlayStation pretty much owned (and I had gotten a Nintendo 64 two years prior) and now I had a dragon game to go with it!

Dinner at grandma’s house could wait, and I actually took my game and memory card with me to her house and kicked my uncle off of his PlayStation so I could run around and breathe fire on Gnasty Gnorc’s butt.


“We’re gonna be best buds, Draco!”

If there was a single moment that I’d consider to be the definitive idea of “Christmas” to share with everyone to get/keep them in the holiday spirit it’s that. It’s unwrapping that game and likely making an IRL version of the “:3” face and having your life’s interests basically spelled out for you like a giant sign in the sky. If there was a point in my life where you could say I officially earned my title of “Dracophile” it was precisely 11 years ago to this day, and that’s my Christmas story (speaking of which I’ve been watching that annual A Christmas Story marathon on TBS this year, like I do every year). With that said, from me and everyone else here at we wish you and yours a very Merry Christmas! Stay warm and drink plenty of hot cocoa!

– Dracophile

It would seem appropriate to say that this month is pretty shitty in terms of celebrity deaths what with Farrah Fawcett being claimed by cancer and Michael Jackson being anticlimactically taken down by heart failure (I was personally expecting him to go insane and literally explode or at least have his hair catch on fire again). Amongst the chaos the demon hands of the Grim Reaper bitchslapped American infomercial star and co-host of Discovery Channel’s Pitchmen Billy Mays.



Say what you will about Billy Mays being an actual “star” but personally I loved the guy and I am known to pretty much dislike everyone and make fun of them at their collective expense. When he first debuted on television with that god-awful OxyClean commercial I couldn’t stand him, dare I say I “fucking hated” Billy Mays – yes, I hated Billy Mays. Every single time his goddamned OxyClean commercial came on I literally wished it would be the one where he dropped dead in the middle of the show. I was tired of seeing him do that stupid fucking trick where he turned the Taco Bell diarrhea brown water into an opaque white substance akin to a jar of horse semen full of clothes. Much like that retarded trick where you make a quarter disappear inside of a plastic case with a sliding door it lost its effect about half way through the first demonstration.

Then something happened. I was watching television one day and I heard that familiar “HI BILLY MAYS HERE FOR” sentence, but instead of it being finished with “OxyClean” it was “Orange Glo”. I looked up from what I was doing to pay attention. Billy Mays had bragged about OxyClean for so fucking long that now I was genuinely interested in what the hell Orange Glo actually was. Was it like Soul Glo? Was it some kind of an energy drink? Maybe it was a really badass substance that gave you superpowers, either way I was ready to hear about it. It turns out all Orange Glo ended up being was some stupid floor cleaner that could get spots off of just about anything you sprayed it on. How it managed to not just eat through the plastic bottle was beyond my understanding but at least now whenever Billy Mays would show up on TV there’d be approximately a 50% chance that you’d get to see him scribble a turd on a piece of finished wood with a black grease crayon and make it magically disappear while making your house smell like citrus fruit at the same time.

Things only got weirder from there even though it doesn’t seem possible. Billy Mays became the spokesperson for whatever fucking retarded gadget or miracle cleaner that was shat out for $19.95 and he made it seem like it was the best fucking thing this side of sliced bread. If I had a credit card during Billy Mays’ heyday in television advertising I’d have so many useless fucking portable lights and tubs of OxyClean that I could solve the world’s energy crisis if it were possible to condense them into a makeshift fossil fuel. Mays eventually stepped out of his circle of comfort by demonstrating and supporting this piece of plastic called a Ding King. It looked like a shitty dollar store tool used to keep wine fresh but in reality it was a magical little suction cup that fixed dents in your car. Turns out it was only because you used a hot glue gun (don’t try and fool me with “magic Ding King serum of goody make boo boo all better juice”) to affix a piece of plastic to your car’s door and then pulled it back into place. Regardless, it seemed that Mays just about shit himself in glee every time that resounding “thud” let us know that the door had been fixed. I was sold; he had me at “HI”.

If you haven’t guessed by now, this is an article about all of the fond memories I have about watching Billy Mays make sales of gimmicky infomercial crap go so high that if they were RIAA certified albums Michael Jackson would have to literally get his ass out of his grave and reenact Thriller to stay competitive. Billy Mays came a long way from merely screaming at the top of his lungs about OxyClean at three in the morning; for me he was now pretty much on par with watching decent sketch comedy when I should otherwise be seeing a commercial for a potato peeler with fourteen blades or something. He was like a show within a show and if Turner Broadcasting is listening I think making a 30 minute block of Billy Mays commercials and naming it “The Best Fucking Show on Television” would fit nicely in their Adult Swim programming block. They could stick it right after that Tim and Eric show and no one would probably even notice the change.



In my eyes Billy Mays really became a commodity of good television programming when he began touting the Awesome Auger. The thing was basically a pool cue with a blade on the end of it that you stuck onto a cordless power drill; the fact that the creators had the tenacity to name it “awesome” was proof enough that they weren’t here to fuck around. It was the most ridiculous looking shit ever but in between shots of old people fake-breaking their backs pulling weeds we got to see Billy Mays wield that thing so fucking awesomely that if there was a dragon nearby it would shit its pants and run. Billy Mays was fucking weeds up so hardcore with that thing you’d have thought he got a chubby from tearing up all of that chlorophyll.

If you didn’t believe that Billy Mays could sell anything then I’m sure you changed your mind when you saw the commercial for the Hercules Hooks. The entire idea for the product can be described as “cutting the top of a coat hanger off”. That’s it. It’s just a piece of metal bent in a loop that you stick in the wall through the sheetrock. How it manages to not completely rip out the wall and inspire Tim Allen to make a 47th season of Home Improvement is beyond me but Billy Mays found a way to make you disregard the integrity of the walls of your house because he could afford to literally fill the bed of your truck with the things for a little under twenty bucks. Billy Mays gave a big “fuck you” to the hooker-beating stylings of “Vince from ShamWow” by 1-upping him with Zorbeez and even demonstrated how sports goes directly into your computer via ESPN 360. Mays told us our flipping, flopping, squishing, and squashing days would be over with the likes of the Big City Slider press in our kitchens. He even sat us down for a serious (but still loud as all holy fuck) talk about life insurance. No rapper had anything on the Billster, because he could rhyme “dump truck” with “medical catheter” if it meant selling fifty of something to you for a Jefferson (plus shipping and handling).

The wildest moment in Mays’ career, however, came with the demonstration of Mighty Putty which a substance akin to PlayDoh that somehow bonds to anything with the power to reach herpes levels of inseparability. Billy couldn’t explain the science of it to you (nor could the radical 3D rendering of animated mushy clay) but rest assured he’d scream and yell at you until you bought it. If you weren’t a believer after seeing Billy Mays scream a leaky cup and pipe to death while applying gratuitous amounts of Mighty Putty to them then you were sold when he started dry humping a truck towing another truck with Mighty Fucking Putty. Normally you’d think that a truck built for transporting houses being pulled by a stick of magic PlayDoh would be enough but not for Billy “Motherfucking” Mays. In an episode of Pitchmen Billy was on the set of the sequel to the Mighty Putty commercial and much like a real theatrical movie sequel the company pulled out all of the stops here. For Mighty Putty Wood they hung Billy Mays from a tiny-ass swing while a tugboat towed the entire fucking ship that Pirates of the Caribbean was filmed on. They did this with only two paddles, some chain, and God knows how many sticks of Mighty Putty Wood.

Many television personalities have their own stupid catchphrases to get you to remember their products. The Video Professor guy almost begs you to try his product and with his sheepish voice you’d think his company was about to go under. The tone of his voice doesn’t say “try my product”, it says “oh my god my house was foreclosed on and my wife left me please buy my back stock of PowerPoint CDs or I will hang myself”. Taking a step further into the scale of catchy phrases the Ronco knives managed to drill the phrase “slices and dices” into your skull while they cut everything from pineapples to shoes in midair with their blades stolen directly from the popular Japanese story “99 Samurais and The Room of Pineapples and Shoes”. Billy Mays didn’t need a retarded slogan or a gimmick to sell you his product, his catchphrase was his fucking name and when you heard it you damn well knew to shut the fuck up and pay attention because Billy Mays was about to blow your primitive mind with a new invention that made an inane and easy task even that much more obsolete.

Perhaps Billy Mays wasn’t cast in a popular action show in the 1960’s or wrote songs that sold more copies than there are people working in the tech support departmt for Dell, but god damn it Billy Mays was a television legend whether you choose to accept it or not. His friends and coworkers reported his pleasant demeanor on and off the camera and in a world where some people sell shitty German made chamois cloths while punching hookers off camera one can only think we need more people like Billy Mays filling advertising timeslots on TV. His voice was every aspiring Chinese factory line company’s wet dream come true but everybody buying his products didn’t care, because Billy Mays somehow worked with the only magical factory in China capable of making PlayDoh that could pull a ship and shelf-mounting hooks that defied all laws of gravity and physics.


i love u billy ;____;

For a guy whose fortune was built merely on the ability for him to probably out-yell Sam Kinison while selling products on TV he left behind a pair of shoes that nobody will soon fill, not even the fancy-voiced Anthony Sullivan. Godspeed, Billy Mays. Godspeed.

– Roastmaster


Update: It seems from a post on the GatorAIDS forum that this article has worked its way to Billy Mays III (his son) and the Mays and Sullivan families. Billy, your dad was one hell of a guy and a role model that a lot of people should subscribe to. He worked for everything he had and gave with an open heart until the day he died. I wish the best for you and your family.

[Editor’s Note: “Dracophile” originally went by the name “RFS” while employed by Miniclip. Additionally, this quote generator no longer works so its contents have instead been included with this article.]


RFS has been an influential personality and an Administrator in the Club Penguin forums since May 2006.

Throughout the years of his service, RFS has slipped up and fell on his face using his words; whether or not it’s intentional or accidental everyone enjoys sharing and saving his best quotes. This quote generator reads from a database of 100% authentic “RFS-isms” compiled, preserved, and selected by members of the Club Penguin forums. Some quotes are from posts in their entirety while some are quips taken completely out of context for added humor; all of them, however, capture the lively essence of his personality that has literally carried the weight of the community from the day it emerged on the Miniclip website.

This quote generator will present a new random RFS quote from the database every time you view this page or click the “Different Quote” button below. The generator presents quotes formatted for use in your signature on the Club Penguin forums. Quotes with emoticons have their text equivalent included (ie: “:cool:”) and will appear as the proper icon when added into your signature.

Mods/Admins get paid $8,000 per minute.

I’m single and not looking.

Your Tangle was absorbed into my Super Tangle by means of telekinesis. 😎

I am convinced Vital “Mr. Dragonslayer” Viper is out to get me.

Vital didn’t like my dragon anyways. He was choking its neck before we took the picture.

Plus it has a dragon. I’m sold. 😀

He’s seriously right. Don’t ask me for relationship advice. There’s a reason I’m single.

Nah I’m cool with the fact that I have a milk jug instead of a six pack.

I am a manly man.

I was sitting in the back acting like a Price is Right audience member holding up two fingers and shouting out “TWO” when he asked how much to adjust the interest rate. After he won I shouted out “WE’LL SEE YOU AT THE SHOWCASE SHOWDOWN.”

Putting on costumes is fun, it’s better if it covers your face because believe it or not having that kind of anonymity is like a superpower. I would know. I’ve donned a Sonic the Hedgehog costume before. 🙁

My only explanation for this is that you have mathematical dyslexia and you read “Referrals: 41” as “Age: 14”. My profile states that I’m 19 years old.

Blame the government.

Naw, my reptile plushies all like to snuggle. 😀

Yes Vital Viper showed up at my house, good thing I had my bat.

We are dangerous individuals. Our internets combined will rule the world. RFS: Is an encyclopedia of reptile information. Vital Viper: Knows too much about penguins. Together: Civil war.

Sorry, I only pose for PlayDragon. I’m Mr. September, but don’t tell anyone I said that.

It’s fun to imagine me as some big tough dragon sleeping on a pile of gold and dollar bills, but really I sleep on pennies.

I sincerely appreciate you belittling my financial problems. Remind me never to post anything personal on the forums again.

For those of you who haven’t seen Yo Gabba Gabba, I can only describe it as crazy music mixed in with even crazier lyrics while random kids and people in alien suits dance like they’re on crack. I can’t look away, though.

It’s the silver dragon bling.

You can tell the komodo was all like “man that kid better not be taking a dump in MY bush”.

“WHY DID YOU TURN THIS OFF? (five thousand angry emotes)” and other stuff

Lots of numbers. I hope you like numbers. If you don’t like numbers, then I will try to present this using as many letters as possible.

What’s black, white, and red all over? A penguin falling down the stairs.

We do not support or condone IRL Club Penguin meetings and parties.

Anacondas look bigger in the movies.

No because that would make us a trio and too much like a bunch of Blue Man Group rejects.

Club Penguin? ____Y ____N” is an actual field on our school’s enrollment form.

I am not known for my good looks.

I believe that’s the first and only thing that’s been said about my pictures that WASN’T “lol ur fat” or “lolz u huggin dat lizaerd”.

Two college students playing with stuffed animals and a camera would be nothing out of the ordinary.

Haha you missed out on the komodo dragon you got ripped off.

I don’t think a forum devoted to letting 13 year olds give each other medical advice is even legal.

Don’t get it in your mouth.

Touch my dragon.

Don’t let this guy near robots he does bad things to them.

I prefer banning people for fun amounts of time.

Ironically I lost a game of Monopoly earlier tonight too. I’m just not good with money these days, not even bright pink fake money.

k dis time i m 4srs plz dun haxor my 4umz PLZ PLZ PLZ 🙁 🙁 -_-

Alliteration is fun for the whole family. also snakes

You’re fired.

I really DON’T bite, that’s a misnomer and a fun little gimmick that people enjoy playing on the forums. I’m really not an evil hellbent dragon-admin person thing.

Yeah after I type this paper (and after you get home from work) I’ll whip out a six pack of Ego Juice ™ and Dragon Candy Punch.

I do say “yall”, but that’s about it. I don’t ride horses, wear big hats, or have a funny accent.

If you collect all five cool ranks you get banned! 😀

I think you are a huge doo doo head.



levon stop looking in muh profile thats creepy :O

I just realized that book has pieces to build your own reptiles. I demand you surrender that book at once.

People with a green name are Admins, orange names are Mods, and blue names are Club Penguin developers. The people with that awkward thin blue text for names are faceless zombies.

Congratulations on your new furry friend. Did you ask him how the last Anthrocon was? :rolleyes:

Sleep is overrated. On the days that I have school I don’t get much sleep, but on any other day I get anywhere from 10 to 14 hours of sleep. 😎

She sells seashells by the seashore. Seven silver swans swam silently over the sea. RFS is the greatest administrator ever.

“I work for RFS and he owns me and this title.” It’s longer than 25 characters but I can force it as your title.

I think Vital should win. Dragons are awesome, dragons in CP would be… double awesome?

you must not be from around here i wub snakes 😀

Quit my job, drop out of school, and party.

awesome this much |———————————————–| this much awsum

he is secretly a snake-o-phile but wont say anything

also yes snakes are ooey gooey icky :sick:

And for the record, I am most certainly NOT going to punch in “hairy snake” on any kind of search engine ever.

he would want a dragon plushie but he wouldnt tell anyone except the mall santa and he would have to whisper it in his ear

School funding? Whoops, looks like all of the reptile zoos just got your No Child Left Behind money!

You’d be a better President than Bush. Hell, I would be a better President than Bush.

There were some other insanely stupid cards too, such as what the three of us described as “Tom Cruise with a fire breathing komodo dragon” and “the most extreme awesome dinosaur picture ever”.

Vital Viper purchased Blades of Steel (NES) and we spent a solid 15 minutes beating up people.


because your idiot neighbor who didn’t pick his things up might end up seeing his lawn chair fly into your living room

I’m not going to crap on anyone’s dreams.

I will say first and foremost that this dragon does not swing that way. :sick:

– derverger

China is out to kill all of us, themselves, and every single animal on the planet. Face it, 2007 has shown that China’s cheap production lines have been churning out excessive amounts of toxic materials that people are unknowingly putting into their bodies. In this year alone we’ve had to ward off poisoned pet food, toys that contain lead, Aquadot toys that literally contain date rape drug compounds (Chris Hansen, wink wink), fake toothpaste, and as of late they are recycling used condoms into hair bands. Yeah, you heard me right. Rubbers, wrappers, whatever slang you call condoms, are being used in hair care products.

At some point you have to just wonder, are these accidents or is this some form of hilarious terrorism that people are letting go on because it is, in fact, fucking hilarious seeing what China produces next that poisons/kills something? With that said, take a second to think about the last time you went to an open air market or flea market. Did you ever come across a vendor who had literally just set down opened boxes of various $1 goods in a row and let people walk through them like giants in a Wal-Mart? Oh, you have? Then you had better take a second good look at what you’re buying. It might kill you.

I decided to do the world a favor and personally investigate these off-brand knock offs and imitations to find out the real dangers they pose to humans and animals alike. Please note that while this article is intended to be satire, the following warnings are more than likely true anyways.


AA Size Batteries
If the “brand name” of battery you are buying doesn’t make a damn bit of sense, you probably should not buy it. Sources warn that these cheap batteries are known for overheating or producing unpredictable complete cell discharge and of course the over-reported case of acid leakage. Take this into consideration the next time you click a button on your television remote control. It very well might burst into flames and consume your house and soul with the stench of burning flesh and Chinese slave labor.


Baby Pacifiers
These do not exist in China so parents and parents-to-be need not worry. If babies prove to be unruly in China, they serve them as General Tao Chicken.


Any kind of resistor, transistor, circuit breaker, or surge protector
It will do the complete opposite of its intended purpose. And then explode.


(Insert popular anime here) Trading Cards
They’re all fakes and you will be laughed at if you take them seriously. However you can use this to your advantage and buy them in the name of comedy and they are guaranteed to make you and your friends laugh or your money back. Trust me, it’s printed on the package in broken English.


Office/School Stationery
Remember in grade school when you didn’t bring a pencil how the teacher gave you that fucking atrocious Berol Eagle piece of shit pencil that was made of plastic and full of chalk or something in place of graphite? Yeah, that horrid thing that you could heat up and then bend into fantastic shapes and spell your name in cursive with or alternatively ruin any pencil sharpener you put it into. China somehow managed to get a hold of this formula and make it ten times worse. It is estimated that for one American cent you can produce about 28 million pencils like this in China. I forgot to mention instead of graphite China uses petrified dog and human feces. Enjoy that the next time you chew on your Chinese pencil.


Toy Laser Guns
These shoot real lasers. Just a heads up.


Inflatable Furniture
These don’t really pose a threat but it’s inconvenient and scary whenever they unexpectedly pop when you’re sitting on them.


Scotch Tape
Any kind of scotch tape product you buy is probably flammable and is made of the same stuff that goes into those sticky rat traps. However, that is not the thing you should worry about. The “tape” is actually a preserved tapeworm from one of the sweatshop workers with fly paper adhesive slathered on one side. Ever wondered why it rips into perfect squares every time?


Hand Tools
Most Chinese hand tools (more notably the hammer) are actually manufactured by the same plants that create novelty joke products. Because of this, you’re probably buying a prank hammer that will turn to dust when you hit a nail, or a screwdriver with a plastic handle that will shatter and drive the metal rod through your hand. Haha, joke’s on you!


Various Dragon Figurines
These are actually pretty awesome so you can buy these all you want. Who doesn’t want a dragon sitting on a light-up fiber optics ball?


Airsoft Guns
Unlike the laser gun toys mentioned above, these are harmless to things and people you shoot at. The real danger herein lies in the fact when you pull the trigger on the gun the plastic will shatter causing fragments of great deals and savings to become lodged in your eyes and blind you. For added comedy effect they usually make dumb sounds.


Standard Light Bulbs
There are no real dangers with these, they just burn out the second you turn them on. They make great gag gifts for friends or serious gifts to people you really hate.


Laser Pointers
These only become dangerous when you point them at police officers.


Padlocks/Combination Locks
Anybody who thinks using these will protect them from break-ins and theft actually deserves to have their other cheap Chinese things stolen from them. All $0.45 of it.


Throw Blankets
Remember back when the American settlers gave those Indians the blankets that were infected with smallpox and other diseases? Yeah, those had to come from somewhere…


Model Planes/Cars
The fumes from one drop of the provided glue are enough to kill a horse, elephant, and probably an entire solar system.


Automotive Air Fresheners
I am not 100% sure as to the “danger quotient” of these items, but I do know one thing. They all smell the same. “Pine fresh”, “spring breeze”, it’s all the same shit, and by same shit I mean the same shit they make pencils out of.


Stuffed Animals
No really, they literally are stuffed animals. They got the words translated right, but not the definition.


Remote Controlled Toys
Given the fact that you are probably powering them with the aforementioned batteries of death, playing with these toys effectively marks you as a domestic terrorist. Not only this, a grand total of zero Chinese R/C cars are listed in compliance with the FCC. The remote you’re using is probably running off of some random airline frequency and is interfering with a plane overhead. Congratulations you just killed a few hundred people (and your car blew up).


Baseball Caps
You’re now under their control.


Ahahaha dumbass.

– Dracophile

Signs are everywhere. They’re a good source of information. Signs tell us where to go, what’s safe, if we should touch that or not, if this bag is safe for kids to play with, and if this is a box of dishwasher safe condoms. However, there are many signs people don’t know about and the genius minds here at RFSHQ have developed many signs to help you in your everyday life. You can make your own here.


APOCALYPSE FISTFUCK learned the hard way.


APOCALYPSE FISTFUCK watches America’s Funniest Home Videos for the crashes.


derverger saw this on the set of Brokeback Mountain.


mean2u goes on some pretty shitty vacations.


Nightbringer has this on his bedroom door.


Psycolone takes a realistic approach to Big Tobacco.


Radio F Software misses BattleBots.


Radio F Software only plays obscure video games.


Shadow_Skull_Dragons is a dragon in real life. Really.


Spirit was expelled from high school for some reason.


Wasabi the J watches some weird hentai.

– The RFSHQ Forums


I feel that since a lot of RFSHQ viewers are from the wonderful land known as the United “We’ll Blow Up Your Fucking Country” States that we’re all familiar with Wal-Mart in some form or another. For our foreign readers, or for the Americans who haven’t left their houses since the dinosaurs were here, Wal-Mart can best be described as a cancerous growth in the body of capitalism. Once it latches hold in a town it basically sucks everything dry (and in some cases pollutes the hell out of the environment in the process) and most local stores fold due to competition. Wal-Mart was originally created by a lazy old guy who had the sudden thought “gee I wonder what would happen if we combined a grocery store, a clothing market, an auto shop, a plant nursery, and some really disgusting customers and turned it into a store”.

The point I am eventually going to get to here is that Wal-Mart is a massive entity full of a bunch of never-used “security codes” that managers can announce on the loudspeaker to sound all cool and live out their wildest Tom Cruise Mission Impossible fantasies with. If you’ve ever walked into a Wal-Mart before you’ve probably seen the notebook paper sized “CODE ADAM” sticker that they have next to the doors. What “Code Adam” means, when spoken on the PA system, is that there’s been a child abduction. Yes, some people are stupid enough to think that you can buy children at Wal-Mart. Honestly I don’t know if I would be offended or honored if Wal-Mart named a special code after me if I was kidnapped right out of their store. You would think that maybe they would have had a system already in place in case something like that happened; they could have called it something like “Code Some Pedophile Just Jacked A Kid From The Store”.

Aside from the kiddy diddler code there are a few other codes that they have to throw around with creative names like “Red”, “Blue”, “Green”, and “1”. Some of them are obvious; “Code Red”, while also the name of a delicious soda, is their secret term for “HOLY SHIT FIRE” (because saying “fire” is too much work and studies show that you can pay employees less and they will still be willing to name basic colors). This article is meant to shed some light on some lesser-used codes that Wal-Mart has at their disposal. Next time you’re in the store hang around and see if you can hear any of these in use.

Code Transit: A person weighing over 400 pounds has burned out the motor in one of the electric shopping carts.
Code Forklift: A person weighing over 750 pounds has burned out the motor in one of the electric shopping carts and is so fat that he is currently melting over every edge of the cart.
Code Purple: Prince albums are currently on sale.
Code 300: Dangerous use of overused Internet meme jokes.
Code Lyoko: This is not a code so much as it’s really just a name of a DVD in their inventory.
Code Snickers: Somebody crapped on the floor in the bathroom again.
Code Crimson: One of the unskilled employees has severed his hand or other limb in the industrial meat cutter in the deli.
Code Tyler: This was the predecessor to “Code Adam”, but everyone thought Tyler was an asshole so they dropped this in favor of Adam.
Code Physics: A dangerously obese man has somehow destroyed a toilet in the restroom and plumbing assistance is required.
Code Black: Television theft.
Code White: “Everybody clean your shit up the health inspector is here!”
Code Sample: Usually followed by a department number; someone is sampling food without paying for it.
Code Orbit: A mother of at least five or more kids has just entered the store with the mother on a motor cart and the kids acting like an orbiting mass of destruction, obliterating everything they come into contact with.
Code America: A customer has entered the store and appears as the textbook definition of “terrorist”. All employees are ordered to stalk this customer.
Code 75: An older customer, likely senile, has become disoriented and is currently wandering around the store with his pants down.
Code Trump: Everyone is fired.
Code Hammer: All employees are ordered to stop what they are doing and perform a synchronized dance to whatever is playing over the loudspeaker. They are also urged to waste their paycheck the second they cash it.
Code Produce: Apple released another fucking iPod, time to throw the old models into the bargain bin outside the electronics department.
Code Blue: Police officers have just entered the store as customers. It is suggested that the bakery gets to work on more donuts.
Code Frank: ZOMBIES.

– Dracophile

[Editor’s Note: This article is a retelling of an original work by comedy troupe Radio F of which Dracophile was a member of prior to Twilight Foundry.]

I spent my years as a 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th grader at a small town elementary school. It was during this time that Radio F was assembled and also during this time that a lot of our material for our old joke tapes was recorded. Needless to say, as practical jokers I was not a shining symbol of “star student” although in a stroke of irony because of my high grades I was given one of those stupid Channel 3 News “STAR STUDENT” bumper stickers anyways. This article is actually two stories in one (two for the price of one now that is a deal): my frequent visits to the “In School Suspension (ISS)” detention room and also how much of a bitch our drill sergeant “physical education” teacher was. If you wanted to come up with a mathematical formula to describe the two stories’ correlations it would look something like this:


Before we get into me being sent to detention a million times a week I should first introduce you to our PE teacher. I am about 110% sure she was bipolar with a tendency to always be in what scientists call “Perma-PMS” mode. Basically anything you said or did to her was like playing a game of Operation, sometimes you’ll get away with goofing off but most of the time you’ll touch the sides and be rewarded with a loud buzzing sound and blinking lights (and a shock if the rubber came off of your tweezers). Best of all, much like the bright red light shoved up the Operation guy’s nose, the teacher’s face would turn red when she was pissed off. Needless to say, at any given time she would have been a perfect (but pissed off) spokesperson for blood drives.

I shared a PE class with RKPTJg, and if you’ve kept up with your RFSHQ trivia, he’s the fellow that I started Radio F with. We had a perfectly sane teacher during second grade, but once we turned the corner into third the shit hit the fan. For starters this was before the school had the money to build a gym or any kind of nice indoor area for exercising, when I attended the school we had a tiny portable trailer building that all of the jump ropes and basketballs were stored in and a huge concrete slab with all kinds of designs painted on it for playing four square, basketball, or some bizarre version of Monopoly crossed with Snakes & Ladders. This area took up about a fourth of the plot of land that was outside of the school, right next to it occupying the next fourth was the playground, and taking up the entire remaining half was just empty space that was fenced off so we couldn’t escape.

It was on this field that RKPTJg and I ended up doing a number of things that got one or both of us into trouble, but before I continue on with the ridiculous reasons behind my incarcerations you should know what the ISS room was like. Normally ISS was a bad thing that you never wanted to be sent to, it was the equivalent of Room 101 in 1“; people were dehumanized there and tortured until they were mere shells of what they used to be. ISS was drawn up to be some godforsaken place where everyone killed each other over saltine crackers, but in reality it was really just a really quiet room with a bunch of desks that were sectioned off where at any given time the room temperature was about forty-eight below. Overseeing this entire operation was a little old lady in the corner of the room who was always writing things down on a pad of paper. The real rules of ISS were “sit down and be quiet”. The punishment varied depending on the class, but for PE all you did was sit there and copy the rules five times off of a printed out copy of the rules, then you just sat there until the period was over. You could sleep, you could draw; you could do whatever the fuck you wanted as long as you weren’t loud.

Take a minute to remember where I lived during this time: South Texas. We have three seasons here, “hot”, “really hot”, and “not as hot as the first one but still uncomfortably hot”. Many a time I was confronted with the mental dilemma of “do I really want to be out here sweating every ounce of salt out of my body or do I feel like chilling out in ISS where it’s nice and cold.” Any idiot knows the answer to that question.

“Hey teacher! This class licks my butt!” I shouted from the back of the crowd.

“Dracophile, go to ISS” was always the response.

Sure everyone laughed at my “misfortune” of being busted yet again but the joke was on them. While they were outside with the potential to dry out and explode into dust I was safe inside my own little cubicle of the ISS room drawing pictures of classmates getting hit with trucks and dinosaurs and passing the paper under the cubicle wall to RKPTJg where we laughed and were told to be quiet. How often had we been sent to ISS? The PE class rules were seven points long; I had been in there enough times that I no longer needed the copy of the rules to write them all down. At one point in time after explaining some ludicrous reason for being sent down to the ISS room the teacher said I could go back to class if I wanted, but I contested her and said I’d rather stay here and I was honest, I said I liked the atmosphere. Cold and quiet, just like my apparently blackened heart. Clearly ISS was the better choice, and despite what everyone says about kids not getting exercise and eating like shit, I’ve been eating the same mix of fast food, TV dinners, Chef Boyardee, and home cooked meals for almost twenty years and I’ve been about as active as the average American, and I’m not overweight at all. There’s a difference between making entire McDonalds franchise restaurants run out of stock and eating like a normal person.

With that reference to kids shaped like beach balls I think it’s time we redirect our attention back to physical education, most notably that giant grassy field where most of our “active” exercise took place, since if you fell down on the concrete it was guaranteed to fuck you up pretty hardcore. I was sent to ISS for a number of retarded reasons, ranging from not being able to touch my toes without bending my knees to somehow not doing jumping jacks the “right way”. One day that I was guaranteed a day off without having to go to ISS again or sacrifice my grade though was the dreaded “Lap Day”, which had a really simple premise: run around the perimeter of the grassy field and pick up straws for every lap; a lap was considered all the way around and back to the teachers who both had a handful of brown and white coffee stirrers.

There’s a reason why RKPTJg and I both had “STAR STUDENT” bumper stickers (and also a reason why we both ended up graduating in the top 10% of our class), we aren’t morons. The first time we had lap day we knew these were just stirrers from Wal-Mart so we bought a bag of them for no more than about a buck fifty and just brought some with us to class on those days. We ran one lap so that the teacher would at least see us take a straw from her. By then she would lose count because of all the students, so we would just quietly break off from the grass field and go sit in the shade over at the playground which was strategically blocked from view by some poorly placed trailer buildings. She would blow her whistle which meant that this was your final lap and to stop and come give her your straws so she can tally your score. Five straws was an “A” for the day, and wouldn’t you know it just so happens that we had some straws stashed in our pockets that brought our final count to five. We did this for two years until she moved us all to a different concentration camp that didn’t have a place to hide, so we just walked and brought straws anyways.

Toward the middle of my third grade year, when we were first learning how to deal with this insane teacher we had, one day she told us that kickball was on the menu. For those not in the know, think of kickball like baseball plus soccer and minus any kind of intelligent planning whatsoever. It was my turn up to “bat” and the pitcher rolled the ball my way. I felt like being an asshole so I kicked the ball as hard as humanly possible with the tip of my foot. The rubber dodgeball immediately left my foot heading opposite the way it traveled at an upward angle. As soon as I kicked that ball I knew where it was heading and realized I just made a stupid mistake.

There was a loud rubber “THUD” as the ball made contact with the pitcher’s face, snapping his neck backwards and sending him straight to the ground. The ball hit the kid so hard that it busted his lip and gave him a bloody nose. From second base RKPTJg got to see the spectacle from behind and after a few seconds of silence we both started laughing uncontrollably as the pitcher writhed on the ground in pain while the teachers were asking if he was okay. I wasn’t aiming for the kid’s face but it literally just flew up there like it was a magnet and we were laughing more out of nervousness than hilarity, although in retrospect the way he fell down was pretty hilarious. Once the kid got back up he was escorted to the nurse’s office by the PE aide.

“Dracophile, RKPTJg” the teacher said, “go to ISS.”

– Dracophile

Dear Parents,

What I am about to tell you is 100% true, only the facts have been modified. Our city is currently experiencing and epidemic known as Tetanus. But it is ok; the disease is treatable, sometimes, unless your son or daughter is a negro. It takes 2-14 days for this disease to fuck you up after you have been infected. Believe me; you do not want to get infected. I promise you this disease you will fuck you up harder than a big black man in a 10 x 6 prison cell. Symptoms can include thoughts of terrorism, homosexuality, listening to country music, and willingness to vote Hillary Clinton for President. If you experience an erection lasting longer than 5 days, seek immediate medical help. In severe cases, Tetanus can make patients experience puberty again. The first sign you have Tetanus is usually when you start paying attention to pop-up ads, weight loss commercials, or even unleashing your inner Chinese by wanting to eat domestic animals.

Recently, there have been no reported cases of Tetanus in the United States; the disease is most commonly seen in gay communities, Asian countries, and Tetanusinmyfacejikstan. The source of our outbreak is not currently known, our scientists currently believe it came from the Jews or some Muslim terrorists.

If your child is suffering from these symptoms please either shoot their ass or treat them already. If you were too stupid to not give them the vaccine as a baby, then you will be stuck with using the “Anal Probe” treatment. If you are not mentally retarded like many other parents, please keep reading on how to treat your child. For starters, your child needs to be confined in an airtight room as seen in the movies, as long as you don’t fuck up and pull off your helmet like Cuba Gooding Jr in the movie OutBreak, this option is completely safe for you. Our doctors read somewhere on Wikipedia that you need to eat about 4,000 calories, so 1 McDonalds Cheeseburger a day should do until completely cured. Also try showing your infected children porn, if they react normally, then they can survive in our high school and can be released.

NOTE: If you have received this letter on accident because you are not 100% white or Christian, please call us at 1-800-FUCK-YOU. And remember, don’t try to cure this on your own, its damn near impossible, as quoted by MC Tetanus, “Cant Touch This, do doo do doo”

That concludes our letter, Peace out Crackers.