Some of the best stuff from around the web and the Cracked.com Mirth Canal.

12.01.2009

15 Toys to Not Buy Your Kid This Christmas: [Huffington Post]

The U.S. is beating Russia in another all-important race: to arm sea mammals. U-S-A! U-S-A!: [Fark]

4 Chick Flicks That Weren't a Total Kick in the Balls: [Gunaxin]

5 Childhood Games that Will Prepare You For College: [College Humor]

2009's most used word: Twitter: [Asylum]

To quote Admiral Ackbar, "It's a trap!": [I Am Bored]

The best Thanksgiving moments from King of the Hill: [Adult Swim]

Think your morning commute is rough? At least you didn't have your teeth stolen: [lemondrop]

Is this the cutest thing on the Internet ever? We think it is: [YouTube]
Thanks to TheNerdyBee in the Mirth Canal.

10 Things From Your 20s You'll Regret When You're 40: [COED Magazine]

"Go big or go home." "Let's go home.": [Huffington Post]

The 5 Creepiest Sex Toys Ever Made: [The Frisky]

A preview of the Victoria's Secret fashion show: [Ask Men]

8 "Oh Shit" Moments from Undercover Cop Movies: [Mania]

Potty Mouth Ninja: Enter the Pirate: [Liquid Generation]

The hottest techno coup in Germany: [College Humor]

Are you badass enough to be a shark in Miami?: [Newgrounds]
Thanks to plustax in the Mirth Canal.

How to tell someone to piss off (with pie charts): [27bslash6]
Submitted by TS.

25 Photos of "Blonde" Moments: [The Chive]

(Insert obligatory double-entendre involving boobs and ass here and the click to see said hotness): [Gorilla Mask]

A picture gallery of the worst names a person could have: [Uncoached]

And finally, your insane Wikipedia page of the day: Was Jesus a vegetarian?
Submitted by lethmio in the Mirth Canal.

If you want to find out what we're looking at online before we post it here, be sure to follow us on Twitter and become our fan on Facebook.

Throughout the course of an average day, you're probably faced with 10 to 20 different things that make you say, "Man, if I knew who came up with that idea, I'd punch them clean in the face." But where do you place that absolutely understandable rage? You place it on these people. With your fist, if possible.

The Man

Mitch Bainwol is the current CEO of the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA). Christ, do we even need to finish this entry? You've probably heard all you need to hear.

The Crime

The following scenario is brought to you by Mitch Bainwol:

After receiving an email from that unofficial Miley Cyrus fanclub message board that you're way too old to be signed up for, you find out that her new album has leaked to the Internet a month early. You can barely sit still as you joyfully count the seconds away to torrent download completion and pure unadulterated teen-pop magic. A few days later, you get another email that goes something like this:

Dear Anonymous Internet User,
Please give us $3,000 for that Miley Cyrus album you downloaded or we will end your shit.
XOXOXO,
The RIAA

Prior to 2003, the RIAA was still not winning any popularity awards among the American public. However their hate crimes against music and teenagers had been limited to dismantling Internet file-sharing services and creating copy-protected CDs that nobody could use. Then in 2003, the board of directors decided to fuck Public Relations all together and summoned Mitch Bainwol from the deepest pits of Litigation Hell.

"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh M'tch B'nwol R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!"

Bainwol (equipped with his legions of lawyer minions) set to work in ravaging the bank accounts of their own customers who were, in many cases, downloading a couple of tracks from an album to see if they wanted to buy it. His victims of choice include any student with a college fund, any parent with a school kid and any house with a computer. Usually, defendants pay a settlement fee (that ranges anywhere from $3,000-$12,000) but in the instances where the cases went to court... let's just say Christmas came early at the Bainwol household. In the case against Jammie Thomas-Rasset, the RIAA was awarded $80,000 per song, or $1.92 million after she was found guilty of sharing the most embarrassing 24 song playlist imaginable with countless Internet users.

Moments before a SWAT team busted in.

Of course if Bainwol had stopped there, he probably wouldn't have made this list. But, feeling that the RIAA coffers weren't filled quite enough with gold and tears, his lawyers later claimed that you are violating copyright law if you rip a CD you own to your own computer.

They claim this to be because the user is transferring the music into a medium "not of the artist's choosing." By that logic, even singing in the shower could be considered a felony as you are using an unauthorized medium of atmospheric vibrations.

The Man

John Langley is an American television director. Among his credits are documentaries like American Vice: The Doping of a Nation, Who Murdered J.F.K. and Terrorism: Target U.S.A. Oh, he's also the creator of the FOX television mainstay Cops, which lit the fuse on the Reality Television turd bomb.

The Crime

During the infamous Writers Guild Strike of 1988, television networks suddenly found themselves at a loss for badly-thought out teleplays. Without the writers to tell them exactly when to bring coma patients back to life, soap operas suffered immensely. The season finale of Star Trek: The Next Generation was composed almost entirely of footage from previous episodes. To this day, just the thought of that debacle sends fanboys into nerdtastic convulsions.

Above: Seething nerd rage

Meanwhile, inspired by the natural eloquence of the stoners he filmed being locked up on his documentary American Vice, Langley approached FOX with the idea for an unscripted reality show where the cameras just follow a bunch of cops around and watch them arrest people and chase them through alleys. Realizing he had just pitched a show where they would not have to pay writers or actors, the network jumped at the proposal and Cops, America's first reality TV show, was born.

With the creation of Cops, Langley earned himself a whole new title: "The Father of Reality TV." Yeah, MTV took the format to dastardly new heights with The Real World, but the fact remains, when it comes to shit you could sit on your front porch and see (depending on your neighborhood) being passed off as good television, Cops did it first.

We promise, we don't put the lyrics down h- BAD BOYS BAD BOYS WHATCHA GONNA DO!

And now, you get to spend your Tuesday nights watching obese people cry about how their mommies never loved them and dudes with washboard abs trying to pick a future ex-wife from a bevy of fake breasted skanks, all thanks to one guy who figured out that you don't need to spend a bunch of money on creative people because, after all, the viewers will watch anything.

The Man

Ronald A. Katz is an innovator in the field of automated call center technology. That sentence alone should be hint enough that he's worthy of a shot to the grill, but we'll go on. His inventions are varied, ranging from moderately useful (toll free numbers, computer telephone integration units) to mostly ineffective (voice recognition systems).

"Since we can't legally show you a photo of Katz,
we've had an artist create this rough depiction of how he might look today."

But he also invented something else, something so nefarious that, if he happened to be in the room while you were using it, you'd very likely throttle his windpipe without so much as a second thought about the possible consequences.

The Crime

Do these words sound familiar to you?

"Hello, you've reached the Asshole Company That Doesn't Give a Shit About You customer helpline. For assistance in paying bills, press one; to receive product information, press two; if you have a problem with our product, press three; if none of these options apply, press four and your call will be disconnected leaving you to aimlessly wander around our website in a desperate last ditch effort to resolve your issue..."

By the looks of the blood rushing to your ears, we're guessing you've already been acquainted with automated customer service representatives. When it comes to those lifeless, automated agents of uselessness and frustration, Katz is their god. During his years spent transforming your life into an automated Hell on Earth, Katz has obtained more than 50 U.S. patents. With an estimated 150 companies having purchased licenses to use his patience eroding creations, Ronald Katz is estimated to be the wealthiest patent holder ever. Meanwhile, the check you're trying to write for a 12 pack of Steel Reserve won't go through because Katz's other invention, Telecredit, verified that your account just happens to be $206.38 in the hole. Just one more reason to let one fly on this dude's dome.

The Man

In the field of advertising, Alvin Eicoff is a legend. In fact, he's so much of a legend that he was elected to the Direct Marketing Association (yes, that really exists). Hell, it was his idea to use toll free phone numbers for television orders. Without this dude, that Snuggie you bought would have included long distance charges. Why would you possibly want to punch this guy in the face?

The Crime

Along with the 800-number thing, Alvin Eicoff also came up with Direct Response Television. What's that, we just pretended you asked? Think "Billy Mays."

Yes, Direct Response Television is that heinous method of product pitching that centers around beating the same message into the bleary eyed customer's subconscious until the only words remaining in their vocabulary are "call now." The products are mostly useless, they pressurize you with time bound offers and the actors pretend to wet themselves with excitement over an orange peeler.

And you fall for that shit because, yeah, now that they mention it some 75 times in 30 seconds, maybe they're right. You do need a carrot juicer! And while you're on the horn, you might as well pick up an Awesome Auger and a pair of scissors that will cut through a penny. That deal only lasts for 10 minutes!

If not for Alvin Eicoff, Mr. T would have never gotten to spread the good news about the FlavorWave.

Every time Billy Mays worked himself into a cocaine fueled lather and screamed at you about the miracle of Magic Putty, he was doing Alvin Eicoff's dirty work. Eicoff later compounded this already dastardly deed by demanding that every ad must end with the words "or your money back." If it hadn't taken you 78 days to get around to using that Showtime Rotisserie that came with the 30 day money back guarantee, you'd maybe be able to thank him for that. But it did, so you can't. Also, he's totally dead. That's what you get for not acting now!

Copyright © 2005 - 2009 Cracked Entertainment, Inc. All rights reserved. CRACKED, CRACKED.COM and the "CRACKED" logo are trademarks owned by Cracked Entertainment, Inc. All rights reserved.

Like Coca Cola or McDonalds, we here at Cracked make an incredible product that is universally popular, and when enjoyed in moderation, a part of any healthy diet. But unlike those companies, we also have an intense craving for the world’s population to erect towering ziggurats in our honor. Within our bones we know that everything we’ve worked for will come to nothing, if the story of Cracked isn’t shouted from the rooftops and tattooed onto people’s faces for the next twenty thousand years. That’s why we’re starting a cult.

After analyzing all the best cults, sects and otherwise shifty organizations, we’ve selected the defining features that made them what they were. Adapting those techniques to suit our own purposes and distinct style, we’ve created the plan which is outlined below. We’re publishing it here because as you’ll plainly see, our methods are unstoppable. Even if our plot is common knowledge, all the world’s presidents, newspapers and NCIS units will be powerless to stop us.

____

Step 1: We’re going to need a better Origin Myth
If you thought Cracked originated as a variety magazine directed at the youths and feeble-minded of the 1950’s, you couldn’t be more wrong. You horse’s ass. No, here’s the real story…

Forty thousand years ago, when man was still living in nests and burrows, aliens from the rogue planet Dangleon visited Earth. Their first contact with humans occurred at a small settlement, and as they landed around midday, most of the residents were already out, hunting and gathering food. The only humans left to greet the visitors were those too weak or ineffectual to do any work; these pitiful folk lived off the scraps provided by the others, and mainly busied themselves by running around, giggling, and pinching each other’s asses. The Dangleonians assumed that these idle fools were the elite class of humans, and over the next four hours taught them the ancient secrets of the Universe, which turned out to not be that complicated.

In the afternoon, after the Dangleonians had left Earth forever, these blessed few decided to keep their knowledge a secret from the fit and able bodied humans, and only use the information in the direst of circumstances or to impress women. They eventually passed their secrets on to the children they were finally fortunate enough to have, and over the generations this practice of secrecy was codified into the rules that formed the basis of our organization. Although we are most widely known in the current era as Cracked, throughout history we have been known by many names, including the “Knights Templar,” the “Guhldan”, and “Kelloggs.”

Famous members of the Cracked organization throughout history include Alexander the Great, both Jesuses, Abraham Lincoln, and Matlock. Every major turning point in human history (except for the Crimean War; that one kind of got away from us) was orchestrated by our organization. Similarly, nearly every major advancement in technology has come from a Cracked initiate, from the steam engine right up to Fruit Roll-Ups (which are way more important than you ever imagined).

Step 2: Recruitment
To grow from our current size to a world spanning force of awe and stupidity, we’ll need to expand our membership roles somewhat. To this end, we’ll soon be holding open recruitment sessions for people who want to join the Cracked community. Whether you want to access the source of all power in the universe, or hear our eight sure-fire ways to bed exotic women, this is an incredible opportunity, and you would be a mouth-breathing piece of stool to not take advantage of it. And, just a reminder that as we’re launching the mother of all pyramid schemes (we will be building several actual pyramids) it pays to get in early.

The other key element of building up a cult is enticing wealthy, attractive, or influential people to join. Is that you? Well, if you’re reading this on a computer, while sitting in a kind of dumpy looking office chair, then no, it isn’t. Sorry buddy, hope we weren’t the first to tell you. You’re still welcome to join, but you won’t get one of the cool celebrity perks, like the pen or the zeta-particle massage chair. Those enticements go solely to the A or B-list celebrities who join, who will hopefully help attract others to the organization.

Our web stats tell us we don’t have any celebrity fans yet, although we have made several of them enemies (Eat a dick Phil Donahue.) However, we do have some leads; apparently the guy from Chuck clicked on one of our links accidentally. He sounds like a good place to start; we’ve heard he’s pretty lonely.

Step 3: Brainwashing
Brainwashing has gotten a bad reputation, which is unfortunate. All it really means is wiping a person’s entire persona away and replacing it with an empty shell of an existence, so as to better abuse them and transform them into a willing slave. That’s all.

The techniques for brainwashing are pretty straightforward, and we won’t mess with them too much. By isolating new recruits from the outside world, placing them in stressful situations, and pummeling them with childish insults, we will break down their existing mental defenses in two two-hour sessions. After that we fill them with just enormous quantities of psychotropic drugs, and start with the reprogramming. All the important assets a Cracked initiate is expected to possess will be impressed upon them at this time, such as a sense of irony and a detailed knowledge of 80’s breakfast cereals.

Once we’ve got then all kitted out with their new brains, our members will be given new outfits to wear. Many cults help enforce the isolation of their members by adopting specific fashions, to distinguish them from the outside society. Wventually we anticipate being able to provide all new Cracked initiates with the silk corsets and assless leather pants that will make up our new regalia. But until we get our finances in order, all members will be asked to purchase a yellow t-shirt and shin pads out of their own pockets, and wear them. Exclusively. In the winter months, they will also be allowed to wear gloves.

Step 4: Fund raising
As we transform from a benign to malevolent cancer on society, we’re going to be diversifying away from this whole business of giving away content while scraping together advertising revenue from T shirt and Fleshlight manufacturers. To support this, all new members will be asked to make small donations to the cause. To encourage new members, fees will start out at the token amount of $5 per year, but will go up to several thousand dollars per year by the third day. We believe that this kind of commitment will be easier to digest once our members see the truth of Cracked’s message (it is so beautiful). Obviously, truer versions of the truth will be reserved for those who are brave enough to donate more, with the truest truth (provided on a complimentary USB thumb drive) bestowed upon anyone who becomes a member of the Eldar Platinum Reserve Club.

Step 5: Great Works
What will life be like in the coming Cracked-topia? Every day another dreary mass suicide to attend? Ha, no it won’t be too bad. It definitely won’t all be oral sex parties and boutique-vodka tastings though - there will be quite a lot of the old back breaking labor. But it’s honestly no worse than what you’d find working at a call center.

Cracked apostles will specifically be assigned to work on one of our great projects. Since before man began recording time we have been secretly working to prepare the world for the “Great Transition.” This cataclysm is predicted to happen sometime between now and 8 million years from now, so don’t even bother trying to pin us down on an exact date mister skeptic-pants.

Three things must be accomplished before this great day comes:

1: Cover the planet with our seed.
We’re still a little unsure what the Dangleonians meant by this. It could mean placing Cracked worshipers in every part of the globe; having every living man, woman and child worship at our hilarious alters. Or, it could be masturbation related. Which is pretty nasty. Either way, we’ll need a lot more dudes in our ranks, so our recruitment and growth plans will remain the same.

2: Build an Ark to convey the high priests to the promised land
Not as big a deal as it sounds. Cracked scholars have recently determined that the promised land is Cabo San Lucas. We’ll definitely need a couple vans, but that shouldn’t be an issue for a world-spanning mega-cult.

3: Destroy the moon
The Dangleonians fucking hated the moon, and were really insistent that we take care of it. We’re hoping that moon destroying technology really takes a leap forward in the next couple centuries, otherwise a lot of you are going to have to do a lot of tedious work in a vacuum with pick axes and assless leather pants.

__

As for what the Great Transition is, the Dangleonians explained that it would mark a new phase in man’s evolution; when the burdens and limitations of our kind are finally shed, and we evolve into the highest of all possible races, Elves.

__________

Last 5 posts by Chris Bucholz

• Undercover as a Twilight Fan At 'New Moon' Opening Night - November 24th, 2009
• Nicolas Cage Investment Advice: Be In Movies, Buy Everything - November 17th, 2009
• 10 Job Hunting Strategies Guaranteed to Get You Arrested - November 10th, 2009
• Why We Should Be Terrified of the 2012 Apocalypse - November 3rd, 2009
• 11 Cracked Lifehacking Tips - October 27th, 2009

Every once in a while we hear a story about a person in an extreme situation hulking out and doing something strongtacular, like lifting a dinosaur off of a loved one or fighting a bear over a hoagie.

Most of us read those stories and say, "Wait a second. Not only do I not take on superpowers when under stress, I actually get all shaky and poop my pants."

Well, science has been looking into all the hilarious ways we screw up, and not just because the research is hilarious. There are scientific reasons why it seems like your body turns on you at the worst possible moments.

A "brain fart" is the term that describes a sudden, unexplained instance of unknowledge. Like when you walk into a store for something and immediately forget what it was you came in for.

Wait, there it is.

Of course it's not just a minor inconvenience if it happens when you're blowing through that red light you didn't notice, or remembering you were supposed to turn the cooling tower on as your town's emergency alert sirens start going off.

So What's to Blame?

This has long considered just one of those mysteries of the brain, but researchers have recently done studies that found that your brain basically has a built-in sleep mode, like your PC. The "brain farts" weren't sudden, random glitches, but planned shut-downs. Up to 30 seconds before a mental fart occurred, researchers could see the relaxation centers of the brain lighting up and other sections going dark.

This "sleep mode" exists in your brain for the same reason it does on your PC: to conserve energy. The studies found brain farts usually happen when you're in the process of doing an activity that you've done a million times, like a routine task at work or skinning a jackrabbit. The thinking part of your brain figures it doesn't need to be around for that boring shit, and nods off.

The problem, of course, is that a whole lot of those repetitive tasks are also the most important things we do in the course of a day. Some of us have jobs where failing to do them right even once results in everything catching on fire.

"Dammit, brain! Not again!"

Tests showed that the sudden, horrible realization that your brain had checked out on you is usually all it takes to jolt it back into action. So basically the brain says, "I'm going on break, but don't worry, I'll be back as soon as you fuck something up."

"Hey, what'd I miss?"

Scientists are actually working on a mind-reading hat that can detect when you're in that 30-second countdown until brain-shutoff and prevent it. This is presumably for people who have the kind of jobs where even a momentary lapse of concentration can mean disaster. Lion tamers and such.

There's no way this idea can go wrong.

There are only two things you and millionaire athletes have in common: You both could probably sleep with your wife if you ask nicely, and you both have a capacity for choking under pressure.

If you watch sports highlights regularly, you've probably seen it happen just this week. A field goal kicker misses the chip shot with no time on the clock; the NBA guard who had no problem scoring his first 30 points of the game can't drain his last two standing at the free throw line down by one with two seconds on the clock.

So What's to Blame?

Scientists (who were probably pissed that they have to spend six months writing a grant to fund their choke research when the aforementioned shooting guard was making an eight-figure salary) have actually studied the choking phenomenon. Why are some players "clutch" and others "chokers"? It has to do with how the brain learns new information.

When you first learn a skill, you learn it explicitly, which means you learn the technique of what you're attempting in a methodical, mechanical way. Like a robot.

But after a few thousands lay-ups or bat swings or alligator throat punches or whatever, the process becomes implicit, meaning you can do it without even thinking. If you're doing it in the realm of high-level athletics, that's absolutely essential because every move is done with split-second timing. Kobe Bryant often has to decide how he's going to approach the basket while in mid-air. There's no time to think, so how well you perform depends entirely on how well you've trained the instinctual part of your brain.

For the small portion of our readership who aren't professional athletes, you may have experienced the difference between explicit and implicit skills while walking in front of a room full of people, or typing while someone looks on, or flying down a stair case when some asshole tells you to "watch where you're going with that chainsaw." The moment you start thinking about it, the thing you've done a million times becomes awkward or impossible.

The problem is every now and then, particularly in high pressure situations, the explicit part of the brain that first learned those skills a thousand repetitions ago wants to come to the party, too. Your body suddenly reverts back to the technical, deliberate, awkward movements it took to learn the game. Suddenly, you're thinking through the task ("step one, grab the alligator around the jaws, step two, make a fist...") instead of just doing them in one lightning-fast, smooth motion. The ground ball skips off your glove because you're trying to field it with a part of your brain that hasn't played baseball since you were in little league. You "choke."

Aww... that's OK, sport. You'll get it next time! Who's ready for ice cream??

Nothing captures the eye of a beautiful, young woman like a face full of pus-bubbles. Then that beautiful, young woman turns away in disgust and may or may not vomit.

So isn't it wonderful that your body is capable of randomly peppering your facial area with dozens, if not hundreds, of inflamed marks of pre-manhood? Those little whiteheads and blackheads single-handedly kept you out of the popular clique in high school, didn't they?

Eh, maybe not single-handedly.

But what's worse is the way the pimples seem to know that you've got a big date or prom coming up. It's like your complexion "chokes" just like the basketball player at the free throw line up there.

So What's to Blame?

While it's been an old wives tale for generations that acne is caused by stress, until recently, scientists scoffed heartily at the very notion. What they could not scoff at is the fact that acne outbreaks are caused by oil that builds up under your skin and blocks pores, however.

So scientists at the Stanford University School of Medicine studied students during finals, just to see if the pressure of taking tests exacerbated their acne. Guess what? It totally did. First, stress prompted the adrenal glands to pump out more hormones, which led to extra face oil, which led to more zits. This was then compounded by the fact that the normal healing processes slowed down. It was like dropping a Mentos of stress into the diet soda of clogged pores.

Your chin during finals.

Stress is, in fact, a very common way to throw off the balance of hormones in your body. Other times that hormones might get adjusted and ruin your skin include: puberty, pregnancy and menstrual cycles. Is the correlation becoming a little clearer? Basically any time in life that could cause you physical and/or emotional misery and embarrassment is fertile ground for blemishes to appear.

Thanks, evolution.

Copyright © 2005 - 2009 Cracked Entertainment, Inc. All rights reserved. CRACKED, CRACKED.COM and the "CRACKED" logo are trademarks owned by Cracked Entertainment, Inc. All rights reserved.

"America's Funniest Home Videos" was originally hosted by Bob Saget, an admittedly funny dude. The restrictions of prime-time network television, however, prevented him from being anywhere near filthy enough to be funny. Over the years, the hosts got progressively less funny. This led many people to wish (either secretly or out loud) that they could see the same baby, animal, and nutshot videos without the annoying commentary.

And that's why God invented YouTube. The end.

Lisa Marie King Lisa is a Los Angeles based actress and math goddess. She is a graduate of the UC San Diego Department of Theatre, the British American Dramatic Academy, and South Coast Repertory's Professional Acting Program. She has appeared in over 60 plays and musicals, as well as the feature film, Redlight, Greenlight. Her hobbies include improv, Shakespeare, and calculus.

It's easy to invent an extreme sport. All you need to do is take one sport (say, bungee jumping), recklessly add another sport (motocross) and BOOM, you're the goddamn Thomas Edison of BUNGOCROSS.

As for getting folks to play your sport, well, that's more difficult. So while no patent office will answer our calls regarding Gunby (rugby plus, uh, use your imagination), here are six real sports that mix the best of other sports with an unhealthy dollop of extreme.

Remember the final scene of Over The Top in which Sylvester Stallone won back his estranged son by arm-wrestling a sausage-necked roustabout? Wouldn't that scene have been a million times better had Sly been simultaneously punching the fat dude in the throat?

If the idea of such wanton violence gets you off, then may we recommend XARM, a new combat sport that is equal parts every Stallone movie ever made. It combines the arm-wrestling of Over The Top and the pugilism of Rocky with the futuristic spandex of Judge Dredd.

XARM contains elements of arm wrestling, kickboxing and jiu jitsu. A fighter's waist is chained to a 28" by 16" table and his left hand his taped to his opponent's. Contestants have three one-minute bouts to pin their opponent's arm or pummel him into a coma--whichever happens first.

Here's footage of an XARM match. Notice how the fighters immediately eschew the whole arm-wrestling thing for the alternative tactic of smashing each other's solar plexuses.

Referees award points for clean hits, successful grapples and standard arm wrestling pins. Points are deducted for a "failure to fight aggressively," which is a sort of redundant rule--after all, a sissy defense is kind of impossible when you're handcuffed to the guy who wants to eat your aorta.

But you can hide under the table.

In sum, XARM is the modern update of an old-timey saloon brawl. It begins as a sportingly macho test of strength on a bar table and ends with a very large man giving you punch-induced renal failure. That being said, we'd hate to see which arm German pro arm-wrestler Matthias "Hellboy" Schlitte would choose to wrestle with.

That's a pile driver or a wrecking ball. Your choice.

If the idea of screaming down an icy crevasse on a thin fiberglass snowboard sounds too wussy for you, snowkiting may be your huckleberry. Snowkiting instead involves flying up a mountainside strapped to a giant fucking parachute and allowing the laws of physics to have sex with your face.

"Hey baby, it's me, inertia. Sorry I didn't call back. Been working late."

Snowkiting's origins cannot be traced to one individual, but rather a consortium of snowboarders and kite-builders who brought these two pastimes suicidally together. And as this two-minute tribute to ragdoll physics demonstrates, it's an extreme sport tailor made for blooper reels:

An ancillary benefit of snowkiting is never having to wait for a ski lift. Then again, an ancillary benefit of a ski lift is that it doesn't fire you off the mountain once you reach the top.

Remember the previews for Mission: Impossible 2, in which Tom Cruise scaled a sheer cliff face to the rocking riffs of, uh, Limp Bizkit? Well, there are actually adrenaline junkies out there who get their jollies hanging from precipices weighed down by nothing but small bags of chalk and their own mammoth testicles.

They're called free soloists, and those who free solo over ocean cliffs practice the sport of psicobloc:

On one hand, psicobloc is safer than free soloing. The deep-water soloist has the ocean to cushion him should he fall, whereas the free soloist will end up as a bloody splat for coyotes to lick up and unsuspecting birdwatchers to discover weeks later.

This site would be 100 percent Stallone allusions if we had our druthers.

On the other hand, if a regular soloist loses his grip, he gets the luxury of dying on impact. The deep-water soloist falls several stories into the roiling high tide, where he must swim, winded and stunned, against a current to safety. And yes, people have drowned deep-water soloing.

In the end, comparing the dangers of free and deep-water soloing is like comparing granite-hard apples and tidal waves of orange juice: both will kill you in their own special way.

The family car, a 67 Chevy Impala, is the coolest thing on the show by a factor of four million. It survives despite being possessed by a ghost, stolen several times, crashed twice, and also beaten up by Dean in a fit of rage, after which the car claimed that she'd just driven into a wall, and that Dean just gets angry sometimes.

Car! Game off!

The '67 Impala model was apparently chosen by a neighbor of Eric Kripke's, who rejected Kripke's original choice of a 65 Mustang in favor of 'a car that can fit a body in its trunk.' He then punched Kripke in the face and said "That's for one day writing an episode where angels and demons have a fistfight and Dean fucks one of them to twinkly music, asshole."

Sam Winchester

As a consequence of his mother making a deal with Azazel (she was young, and she needed the money!) Sam was infected with demon blood when only six months old. The main effect of this blood seems to have been to cause problems whenever he comes into contact with vaginas, since both his mother and almost every woman he has slept with have met brutal deaths. (One appeared to survive, but we assume that she died of food poisoning offscreen.)

It is the general consensus that Sam is gradually turning evil, which is probably a good thing, because back in Season One he was a bit of a whiny bitch.

Dean Winchester

Most of Dean's ongoing character development involves him dealing with and resolving issues about the fact that he is only five feet tall.

Dean (left) with his little brother.

Also, his father never loved him or something, and we get to hear him whine about that for four fucking years.

John Winchester

The boys' father, and the coolest character on the show by far, who of course appears for like three episodes before dying.

John Winchester (artist's impression)

Apparently mistreated one of his sons slightly, possibly because he was too short. Apart from that, we don't know what they're complaining about, because come on, how many people can claim that their dad once shot a vampire in the face?

Not much is known about John Winchester's early background, but it is rumored that his father is the great god Poseidon. He also fought in Nam, and could have won it if he really wanted to, but he left after a while because it just wasn't his thing. In season four, it is revealed that although John was in Hell for a hundred years, he came out of it just fine (unlike that loser Angel). It is also implied that he impregnated several female demons while he was down there.

The Yellow-Eyed Demon

Also known as Azazel, this is a high-ranking demon who likes to steal babies.

The Yellow-Eyed Demon, stealing a baby. "Put 'em up!" says the demon.

When they are grown up, Azazel sets these kids against each other in a death match for no fucking reason. In Season Four, an angel admits to Dean that even God and the angels have no idea what Azazel's end game is. We assume that by "God and the angels" he means Supernatural's story editors, who by this point are apparently suffering from Battlestar Galactica Syndrome.

Female Characters

Every female that needs rescuing in the Supernatural universe is extraordinarily hot.

"Man, I have to rescue Tricia Helfer. With the clingy how can I ever repay you blah blah blah. Street Fighter 4 isn't going to play itself, bitch."

At no point in the show does either Sam or Dean turn to the other and say 'Hey, have you noticed that all of the females we interact with are extraordinarily hot?' Thre are two explanations for this:

1) Like the rest of the shows on the CW, Supernatural takes place in a world where everyone is ridiculously good looking, unless something about the episode (of their lives!) specifically calls for them to be otherwise.

2) Sam and Dean are avoiding all the ugly people who need rescuing.

Sam and Dean's reaction to ugly people in danger.

Angels

The main angel on Supernatural is called Castiel. Castiel clearly has a thing for Dean, and all the other angels are mildly disgusted and make fun of him behind his back for it, but Castiel doesn't notice. And Dean is really confused about it, because he finds the whole thing slightly threatening to his masculinity, but on the other hand he's kind of flattered because hey, angel.

Anna is another angel who became human for some stupid fucking reason. She also has a thing for Dean, because apparently angels like short people. It's probably in the Bible. Anna is due to die shortly because she is on Supernatural and at one point possessed a vagina.

Ruby

This demon is best known for avoiding two Supernatural certain death curses (being female and sleeping with Sam) for an entire two seasons. She achieved this via the ingenious method of wearing a large false beard and mustache to throw off the writers. (Whenever a writer stumbled in on her and Sam in bed, the two would pretend they were merely giving each other sports massages after playing a manly sport, like football.)

Unfortunately, during Sam's final battle with Lilith in season four, the heat from the demonic flames caused Ruby's mustache glue to melt, and it fell off. Dean, realizing the horrible error that could tear apart the very fabric of Supernatural space/time and cause the apocalypse, immediately stabbed her.

Unfortunately, he was too late to prevent the end of the world, as we found out in Season Five.

Copyright © 2005 - 2009 Cracked Entertainment, Inc. All rights reserved. CRACKED, CRACKED.COM and the "CRACKED" logo are trademarks owned by Cracked Entertainment, Inc. All rights reserved.

This one goes out to our "friend", Jeffy P. Those of you in the comments section know him better as "bawlz4eva". This Monday, to our eternal regret, the ancient circle of Sumerian priests we hired to cast a pox upon Jeffy's genitals succeeded.

Hiring old-world magicians to hex those who mock us is a long-held Cracked tradition. This, however, is the first time it's ever actually worked. Jeffy was afflicted by a virulent case of pyro-syphilis, which quickly spread to his brain and incinerated his frontal lobe. Jeffy, if you're reading this, we're sorry. Free Cracked.com leg-warmers have been mailed to your next-of-kin.

Cody started us off with an episode of the Game Helpin' Squad, while Bucholz went undercover as a 13-year-old girl. Meanwhile, Seanbaby reviewed online IQ tests.

6 Ways You Can (Accidentally) Attract The Ladies Seriously though, if you haven't accidentally attracted the ladies yet, chances are it isn't going to happen now.

Notable Comment:

"I'm not sure I can get a handle on number five. According to that one, being average looking is more attractive then being attractive, and thus, being attractive is less attractive than being average. By my calculations, either this causes the idea of beauty to instantly implode or it can be manipulated to create an infinite feedback loop of hotness."

Gropingantelope, we're working to acquire funding for a study on your "Infinite Feedback Theory" of Hotness. Our best men are staring at pages upon pages of tits as we speak.

5 Materials That Will Make The World As We Know It Obsolete Soon , all of your fancy and expensive gadgets will look just as ridiculous as the Nintendo Power Glove looks today.

Notable Comment:

PessOpt asks, "So how long until I can get a shape shifting sex robot? "

Two days.

The 6 Most Horrific Lessons Ever Taught In Elementary School Nothing soothes the soul like lying to children.

Notable Comment:

"that holocaust thing totally f**king happened to me in fourth grade at my Christian school in Calgary. the German teacher actually stole some of the 'jew' kids' lunches, including mine. I s**t you not. "

etherama1, your teacher was just giving you an accurate recreation of the infamous Lunchboxnacht.

Agents of Cracked: A Daring Tale of Sex, Idiocy and Revenge A tribute to the most profound work of modern cinema since Tommy Boy.

Notable Comment:

There was way more talk of necrophilia in the comments section than any of our staff is comfortable with.

5 Battlefield Screw-ups That Were Hilarious (Until People Died) Not the best article for those of you contemplating a military career to read.

Notable Comment:

MajorDSaster sent this to Humor In Uniform, "#3 reminds me of an old military saying: "Why are generals so dumb?" - "Because they are chosen among the colonels." "

The Beginning Of The End A shocking cliff-hanger!

25 Handprint Art Projects Way More Badass Than A Turkey We're practically giving money away! Wait, not practically. Totally. We're totally giving away money to people, people with mediocre to decent Photoshop skills. People like you. Wouldn't you like to be a person like you? This week, you can be by entering our latest contest, The World, If Everyone Had One Day to Live.

Funny photos. Funnier captions. Submitted by YOU. Voted on by the People. Think you're funnier than this week's winners? Contribute your own.

11.26.09:

"Stan's comment "Well, that's the second biggest frog I've ever seen" never ceased haunting his friends' thoughts. "
by oskhen

Editor's pick:

I'll find your frog for 3000, chief. But I'll catch 'im, and kill 'im for 10000. That gets you the mouth, the legs, the whole damn thing
by Roclawzi

11.25.09:

Jerry was an unconventional clown. Instead of balloon animals, he recreated his birth.
by nimo

Editor's pick:

I don't care what Schwartznegger says, this is a god damn tumor.
by Julius_Goat

11.24.09:

Joey jumped for seven hours before he learned that the girls with the rope left.
by bryp777

Editor's pick:

Abu Ghirab 2: Electrode Boogaloo
by librarianmike

11.23.09:

Michael Bay Presents Modern Art
by iamsancho

Editor's pick:

I don't know what it is, but I will call it "Sir."
by Mr.Excalibur

11.22.09:

I can't think of anything humerus
by librarianmike

Editor's pick:

I was lured here with a promise of completely naked truckers.
by geniuswaitress

11.21.09:

When man first discovered fire, he discovered the crap out of it.
by Roclawzi

Editor's pick:

Not THIS week again
by metsfan

11.20.09:

See, this is why I only eat free range organic velociraptor.
by Julius_Goat

Editor's pick:

Red makes the velociraptors go faster.
by Diasdiem

Tragedy struck Ged Galvin, a 55-year-old English man from South Yorkshire, when he was involved in a terrible motorcycle accident. His injuries were so extensive that, even after his many surgeries, doctors informed him he would have to use a colostomy bag for the rest of his life. Then crazier, more awesome doctors that had seen some Six Million Dollar Man re-runs recently, stepped in and informed him to “fuck that noise.”

“Ged,” they said. “We’ve got two words for you: Bionic Ass. And then two more: Fuck yes.”

“The patient’s lost the use of both arms below the elbow, so of course I recommend we install Flamethrower Hands.”

Ged, weighing the pros and cons of carrying a bag of poop around for eternity (there was a shockingly short “pro” list) agreed to try an experimental new surgery. The procedure used muscles from his knee to recreate a crude sort of sphincter, with implanted electrodes all throughout that respond to a remote control. Now, Galvin doesn’t have normal control over his bowels, he has supreme mastery over them. With the press of a button, Galvin controls exactly when, where, how much (and, if science is as awesome as this story is making it out to be, hopefully with exactly how much force) he shits. However, even if Galvin himself is sadly lacking in Astro Boy style ass-cannons, believe me when I say this: It is only a matter of time until somebody with both the desire and money gets the idea too. In the future, you’ll have to watch who you mouth off to, because forget knives and guns - that dude at the bar might have a crap-howitzer in his pants loaded with high-caliber feces with your name on it.

At the Wake Forest University Institute of Regenerative Medicine, there is a terrifying science factory that does nothing but give birth to penises. Digest that for a minute (the information, not the penises). Brand new cocks are being manufactured in North Carolina every single day. They’re fully authentic in both form and function–they bonerize and everything–and they are not just “in theory,” or “a one time experiment never to be repeated.” No, there are actual, multiple test cases–rabbits, to be specific–equipped with fully functioning, entirely lab-grown penises. And the bunnies in question are not only already boning with their new proto-dongs, but four of them have even successfully fathered offspring with a penis that should not be.

“Baby, no! Don’t be scared! Baby… just… just touch it a little. JUST TOUCH THE COCK THAT SHOULD NOT BE!”

The process used to create the bio-cocks can also be applied to other organs with roughly similar levels of success and, really, what does that say about our priorities as a society? You’re not reading a story about the successful recreation of a human heart, are you? Is this an article about the first fully functioning replacement lung? No, the process showed promise, so the first thing we did with it was dong-farming. It’s human nature: Just like you don’t draw the Sistine chapel on your buddy’s forehead when he passes out, so too does Science abandon its high-minded principles and feverishly gets to work on wang-wrangling the first time the opportunity presents itself.

Pictured: Wang Wrangling.

“But how does this change the human body?” you might rightfully be saying to yourself. “Isn’t this just regrowing something that was already there?” Well yes, but I’m afraid you may have forgotten to factor in the Internet. Human perversion was evolving at a slow, but steady pace before the World Wide Web connected us all, and then look what happened: It was like a pervert A-bomb. Sexual deviancy leaped forward dramatically, and in an astoundingly short amount of time… because apparently Moore’s law applies to fecalphilia and yiffing just the same as it does technology. We have the ability to grow penises, and the term “body modification” brings up 4-million hits on Google. Those, sadly, are not unrelated concepts; the very second this tech hits the market, you’re going to learn the politically correct term for a man with five cocks.

“I prefer to be called penta-wanged, thank you.”

Many people believe that, thanks to the influence of modern technology and the advancement of medical science, humanity has ceased to evolve. After all, isn’t Darwinism sort of meaningless in our over-protective society? You could go out right this very moment and crash a waverunner into a Taco Bell and, rather than throwing a short but joyous party on top of your mangled, spicy corpse to celebrate the effectiveness of natural selection, the bystanders will probably still call an ambulance to try and save your life. There is literally no point at which society considers you too retarded to save. Of what use is evolution, if the race is strong enough that even the grandest and most spectacular of idiots live long, healthy, reproductive lives?

“We must save him! He’s a genius! Wait… sorry, I was thinking of someone else. But he’s a really nice guy! Hm? Oh sorry, wrong again. But he’s uh…. we must save him!”

While still others believe that humanity has ceased to evolve because they never evolved in the first place, heathen. If I understand correctly (and I rarely do) these people believe that mankind is some sort of animated mud golem, and women are basically just walking McRib sandwiches. But there’s a new study that proposes to refute both claims: Yale University analyzed 14,000 residents of a Massachusetts town and found that short, chubby women had lower cholesterol, lower blood pressure overall and also bore children at a younger age. In short, that they were heavily (sorry) favored by genetics.

Oh… shit. That’s cause for panic, right? If you’re a fan of tall, skinny women – well you better get humpin’ while they’re still around, friend, because the future is almost here… and it likes Cheetos.

Well, not quite: The study suggests that in 400 years time women will average about one-kilogram more and be two-centimeters shorter; it’s not exactly stating that the logical evolution of the female form is Danny DeVito with a vagina, they’re just going to be a tad bit more… well-rounded (sorry again). Still, faithful Cracked reader, if you want to have a genetic hand in the future of the human race, it’s probably time to stop banging so many supermodels (we know, it’s hard; there’s just so many, and they all lust after your complete mastery of pop culture trivia and slang terms for “penis”) and instead start nurturing a taste for a little of the ol’ slap and jiggle.

At the University of Western Australia’s School of Anatomy and Human Biology there is a professor who likes to make clothes out of living skin. Actually, there are several: Oran Catts, Ionat Zurr and Guy Ben-Ary all have a lovely flesh-knitting group and, though they undeniably share a disturbing hobby with serial killers, theirs is completely legal. They’re actually growing the clothes in vats (rather than the more traditional, artisanal method: Harvesting it from Jodie Foster). They’ve successfully grown a tiny overcoat–complete in every respect from collar to sleeves–entirely out of living skin.

Ostensibly they’ve done this in the name of art, to “foster debate over the necessity of killing animals for their leather,” but I assure you that others won’t share such high-minded goals when you tell them they could potentially wear a jacket made out of titties. Listen: It’s a horrifying world out there. Our society is chock full of mentally deranged people that would jump at this prospect, and sure, some of them might tell you they’re wearing a prom dress made out of rippling cellulite to “reflect the aesthetic morals of a bankrupt nation,” but sometimes you just gotta call a gown of fat a gown of fat.

“No, I heard you. You’re ‘illuminating the hypocrisy of sexual taboos in mainstream society,’ but that really just looks like dick-shadow-puppets to me.”

The truly disturbing part of all this, however, is something you may have glazed over: The coat the Australian scientists grew was technically alive the entire time. You can try to take comfort in the idea that this is all too far-fetched to catch on, but I should remind you that everybody thought hyper-color was a great idea back in the 90s; I guarantee you there will be some sort of market for shoes that scream when you step in them.

Right at this very moment, technicians at Intel are working diligently on brain implants that will allow for remote control of electronics. They think the technology will be ready for consumer use as soon as the year 2020, and they also think people will totally line up to have their heads split open and mysterious technology shoved into their brains.

And goddammit, they’re right: That sounds awesome!

Turning on the TV with a blink, complete mental control of a video game avatar, entering reams of data without lifting a finger or even opening an eye - brain implants would absolutely revolutionize the modern world. There’s just one problem: They’re already doing it. They’ve been around for years… and they’re completely ruining lives.

Well, not quite that literally.

They’re called Thalamic Stimulators, and their intended purpose is to provide an electrical current to the thalamus that limits muscle tremors from diseases like Parkinson’s. And when they work correctly, they’re actually quite effective. But there’s a rare side-effect: “erotic stimulations.” And yes, that is exactly what it sounds like; there are people walking the Earth right now with sex-chips installed in their brains.

Initially, that all sounds pretty awesome. What’s wrong with that? Who wouldn’t want an orgasm switch? But you should know that–even considering the relative rarity of the devices in the first place, and the even rarer occurrence of these sexual side-effects–there’s already a name for addiction to them: Compulsive Thalamic Self-Stimulation. And the addiction is both serious and harmful. One woman afflicted with mind-gasms wore a hole in her damn finger from pressing the button too much! She even got so desperate that she tried to literally hack into her own brain with the hopes of increasing the strength of the implant. It’s not a gender specific side-effect, either. A man who got the implant to combat Tourette’s symptoms became addicted when he noticed that flipping the switch gave him instant erections.

Pictured: The mythical Mega-Boner Switch. It is rumored that, should it ever be thrown, the boner it will cause shall rip the sun itself in twain.

Now, stop and consider that treating erectile dysfunction is the single most profitable use of current pharmaceutical drugs, and you’ll see that the very second brain implants become publicly available, it’s going to be as boner switches. But you know what the truly disturbing thought is? It’s not hard-on buttons, or skin suits, or even multi-penises; it’s the simple fact that these innovations are not mutually exclusive. Technology is a cumulative thing. Your phone is your GPS, your computer is your music player, your video game console has an Internet browser; new tech is always going to cross-contaminate. You’re not going to have to cope with one of these things in the future, you’re going to have to cope with all of them.

So start mentally preparing now, friends, you’re going to need all the headstart you can get when you find yourself in line at the grocery store one day behind a man in a multi-donged flesh coat who starts rapidly flipping the instant boner switch on his bristling cock-jacket in a vain attempt to catch the eye of that hot, short, fat little number with the chromed ass-cannon across the aisle.

Last 5 posts by Robert Brockway

• How Not to Deal With The Red Ring of Death - November 18th, 2009
• My Field Trip to the Large Hadron Collider - November 11th, 2009
• The Cracked.com Open Bar: An Incomplete Recollection - November 4th, 2009
• The 8 Manliest Images on the Internet - October 26th, 2009
• A Touching Children's Book Written While High - October 21st, 2009

Kitchen Nightmares is an attempt to play up the part of Gordon Ramsay that is really really good at cooking, by contrasting him with people who suck at it. In this show, Gordon Ramsay travels to some restaurant or other that is bleeding money because their food sucks. They are invariably surprised by this fact.

In addition to being terrible cooks, these people are often openly hostile and will argue with Gordon Ramsay about many of the obvious problems plaguing their restaurant; this makes Gordon Ramsay look like the good guy in comparison, which is fucking hilarious. These people usually have some major personal problems/inner turmoil plaguing them and rendering them unable to be competent restaurateurs, like Dark Gaia. Gordon Ramsay, being a licensed psychiatrist, will solve all their personal problems in very short order.

He then proceeds to turn the restaurant completely around, at least until he leaves and the restaurant collapses into bankruptcy. Some people claim that these restaurants, which were failing before Gordon Ramsay arrived and are not populated by the best businesspeople in the world, fail because of Gordon Ramsay's "touch of death". These people are idiots.

Like most television shows, the British version is superior.

Some of the best stuff from around the web and the Cracked.com Mirth Canal.

11.27.2009

Hipster Pilgrims: [Huffington Post]

"I know I shouldn't take your small pox... but you're just so damn cute": [Comedy.com]

Pilgrims, Indians and Thanksgiving Hotness: [Gunaxin]

A brief history of pie: [Fark]

The AM Holiday Gift Guide: [Ask Men]

Kid's reaction to this present is baffling, to say the least: [I Am Bored]

Zombies + Hookers + Christmas = Awesome: [Adult Swim]

How to survive Black Friday: [lemondrop]

The Cracked.com Topic Generator: [Daisy Owl]
Thanks to Driscoll in the Mirth Canal.

Man vs. Toddler: The Final Battle: [Huffington Post]

Nothing like a little Turkey Porn to make you feel good about last night's meal (slightly NSFW): [Liquid Generation]

Your Last Supper: 10 Food That Could Kill You Dead: [Asylum]

Poca-Hotness 2009: [COED Magazine]

The 50 Best Inventions of 2009: [TIME]
Thanks to Nicol in the Mirth Canal.

A little leftover douchebag: [The Chive]

Jeri Lynn can bast our turkey anytime (like, for real, because we don't know how to): [Gorilla Mask]

Rock Band: Yoko Ono: [College Humor]

What to get your mom this holiday season: [The Frisky]

8 Martial Arts Masters That Changed Cinema: [Mania]

Cincy's cheerleading squad: [Uncoached]

And finally, your insane Wikipedia page of the day: Hamster racing!
Submitted by lethmio in the Mirth Canal.

If you want to find out what we're looking at online before we post it here, be sure to follow us on Twitter and become our fan on Facebook.

11.24.2009

11 Dirty TV Moments That Slipped Past the Censors: [11Points]

The Craziest Japanese Game Shows of All Time: [Huffington Post]

Helpful Tips to Avoid Being "That Guy" at Thanksgiving Dinner: [Gunaxin]

Is there a wrong way to eat a Reese's?: [College Humor]

Dog vs. squirrel, guess who wins?: [I Am Bored]

We all know where Brockway will be this Thanksgiving: [Ask Men]

Get these adorable assassins on your iPhone: [Adult Swim]

Immediately after this photo, these cats shaved each other's fur off: [Funny Pictures]

Buddy the Elf strikes again: [lemondrop]

Prepare to get ptero-ed a new asshole: [Pterodactyl]
Thanks to Stan the Garbage Man in the Mirth Canal.

Right in your goddamn face, Paula: [Liquid Generation]

Books you should read: [Asylum]

Awesome Elevator Ads: [Huffington Post]

Apparently kangaroos are the biggest jerks on the planet: [Fox News]
Submitted by Tyler.

There's a lot of questionable parenting going on in these pics: [The Chive]

Photoshop this commission's news conference:[Fark]

Star Wars Facebook status updates: [College Humor]

Ladies: This is what you can buy your man-friends: [The Frisky]

The Victoria's Secret afterparty that we attended (in our minds): [COED Magazine]

Dirty Dozen: The 12 Hottest Villains in Comics: [Mania]

That's a lovely... nothing you have on there (NSFW): [Gorilla Mask]

15 Examples of Really Bad Tie-In Merchandising: [Uncoached]

And finally, your insane Wikipedia page of the day: Free Barbie!
Submitted by Demha in the Mirth Canal.

11.19.2009

The "Poker Face"-Off (Featuring Lady Gaga, Christopher Walken and Eric Cartman): [Huffington Post]

11 Awesomely Creative Billboards: [Huffington Post]

Deleted scenes from Paranormal Activity: [College Humor]

Vote for 2010's Top 99 Women: [Ask Men]

Dethklok joins a Dethklok tribute band: [Adult Swim]

Six Awesome TV Characters Who Need Their Own Shows: [Gunaxin]

Family Guy: Meg's best moments: [Comedy.com]

Google auto-fill never disappoints: [I Am Bored]

11 Random Observations Outside the New Moon Premiere: [11Points]

Singing telegrams have hit the Internet: [lemondrop]

An underwater river. You read that right: [The Chive]

Have you ever wanted to learn kung fu from a hillbilly? Well, now's your chance!: [YouTube]
Submitted by Hendrix.

UPS's employee manual: [College Humor]

10 Sexiest Cinematic Bloodsuckers: [Liquid Generation]

10 Ridiculous Lady Laws That Are Still On The Books: [The Frisky]

This Thanksgiving, we'll have plenty to be thankful for: [COED Magazine]

What Kind of Racist Are You?: [Mad Atoms]
Thanks to supra-man in the Mirth Canal.

7 Rules for Making The Hobbit: [Mania]

Straight out of the WTF File: An 11-year-old gives birth... on her wedding day:[Fark]

What interesting... "tattoos" you have: [Gorilla Mask]

Videos of people on roller coasters: [Uncoached]

Kellogg is experiencing an Eggo shortage. In office news, David Wong mysteriously gained 50-pounds in three weeks: [Yahoo! News]
Thanks to Chronicles in the Mirth Canal.

And finally, your insane Wikipedia page of the day: A list of every website that responds to the Konami Code.
Submitted by ralf23 in the Mirth Canal.

11.17.2009

Unforgettable Ads of This Past Decade: [AdWeek]
Submitted by PJ.

Twilight: Three Wolf Moon: [College Humor]

The invisible man exists: [The Chive]

Bird ruins $2-million Bugatti: [Asylum]

Apparently dominoes are incredibly badass: [lemondrop]

11 Most Ridiculous Concert Demands By Hip-Hop Artists: [11Points]

Is this the greatest GPS device ever?: [Ask Men]

5 Minutes to Kill (Yourself) Wedding Day: [Adult Swim]

100 Great Quotes From The Wire in 10 Minutes: [Huffington Post]

Twitter Tells Users to Piss Off: [Geek Comedy]

Futbol goalie is owned in more ways than one: [College Humor]

Google's auto-fill gets called out: [AutoCompleteMe]
Submitted by Jennifer.

Note to parents and would-be parents: Don't get your child this: [I Am Bored]

The 30 Best Action Figures of the 80s: [Gunaxin]

7 Things You Should Never Go Cheap On: [COED Magazine]

Blond, brunette? It doesn't matter. Rebecca Lee makes it feel like summer in our pants either way: [Gorilla Mask]

That's quite the wiener: [Big Ass Hot Dog]
Thanks to Mr Gale in the Mirth Canal.

8 Annoying Television Characters: [Mania]

"I say Geoffrey, do you still own that crane?" "Why yes, Wilson, I believe I do... whatever do you ask for?" "No reason, just need to give the old verge a trim, if you know what I mean":[Fark]

Cracked.com takes no responsibility for the following (please don't come to our office, Mr. Van Damme): [Uncoached]

According to one dating site, Brits are incredibly ugly: [Yahoo! News]
Thanks to TechnoHawk in the Mirth Canal.

The 40-Year-Old virgin if he were a serial killer: [Liquid Generation]

Oh Oxford, how could you?: [The Frisky]

And finally, your insane Wikipedia page of the day: Just in case you needed to know every fictional cheetah, ever.
Submitted by Clearwater in the Mirth Canal.

If you want to find out what we're looking at online before we post it here, be sure to follow us on Twitter and become our fan on Facebook.

11.12.2009

Star Wars Gangsta Rap: [Huffington Post]

Carl Spackler's got game (that's Bill Murray for the uninformed): [lemondrop]

10 Best Shows Within Shows: [Adult Swim]

12 Creepiest YouTube Stars: [YouTube Comedy]

The most disturbing Google fill-in ever: [I Am Bored]

24 Photos of the Greatest Parents Ever: [The Chive]

The Google logo designer has some issues: [College Humor]

Turns out all that time we spent ogling Emma Frost was good for us: [Asylum]

4 Insane Tribal Sports You May Want to Try: [Gunaxin]

The 5 Biggest Marijuana Myths Debunked: [COED Magazine]

Mandy B reminds us why stars are so sexy: [Gorilla Mask]

Comic Strip Mashups: [ryandartist]
Thanks to GishFace in the Mirth Canal.

Spider-Man 4 Villain Revealed: [Mania]

Japan finally puts out something sexy that the rest of the world can enjoy:[Fark]

The Best of Tony Little: [Uncoached]

Shark-on-shark C-section. Our enemies of the deep are evolving every day: [NZ Herald]
Thanks to Basket Full of Kittens in the Mirth Canal.

Read this list and stop acting like a pussy: [Ask Men]

Separated At Birth: Politicians With Famous Look-Alikes : [Huffington Post]

Fill in the Blank: Homer Simpson: [Liquid Generation]

Famous Boyfriend Stealers: [The Frisky]

And finally, your insane Wikipedia page of the day: The Tomb of Jesus has been found... in Japan?
Submitted by Clearwater in the Mirth Canal.

11.10.2009

Calvin is apparently Asian in real life: [Unreality]

Cracked.com's secret hideout: [The Chive]

New Mexico soccer player puts on impromptu try-out for the WWE: [Huffington Post]

If the octofox is ever discovered, we're escaping to the moon: [I Am Bored]

Ambiguous endings resolved: [College Humor]

Venture Bros.: Return to Malice: [Adult Swim]

Women the ladies over at Frisky wish would play for the other team: [The Frisky]

Tiffani Amber Thiessen is pregnant. We all just wept a little: [Asylum]

10 Superhot Superhero Girlfriends: [Mania]

Get ready for the throw-down of the century: Catholics just discovered that Scientology forces practitioners to have abortions:[Fark]

Wired's arachnid hall of fame, everyone else's nightmare fuel: [Wired]
Thanks to HyperGlavin in the Mirth Canal.

Gentlemen might want to sit down before checking out this link: [Gunaxin]

MacGruber: The complete collection: [Hilarious.net]
Thanks to Remora in the Mirth Canal.

Top 10 Doomsday Prophecies: [Ask Men]

Ricky Gervais is annoyed by everything: [Huffington Post]

Robots Can't Act: Pulp Fiction: [Liquid Generation]

Ridiculous Fitness Infomercials: [Uncoached]

The noblest woman on the planet... nah, just kidding: [lemondrop]

Grand Theft Frogger: [College Humor]

And finally, your insane Wikipedia page of the day: Apparently the Norse were unsure of how to build a proper boat.
Submitted by Quagmar in the Mirth Canal.

11.06.2009

The 17 Most Annoying Commercials of All Time: [Huffington Post]

Russians take Photoshop contests to a whole new level (minus the "shop" and plus the "guns"): [The Chive]

"Oh hey, 'sup, guys? A funeral, huh? For wh- why is my name on that tombstone?": [Asylum]

This guy makes 90k a year just by wearing T-shirts. In other news, Cracked interns quietly weep themselves sleep every night:[Fark]

We found this in Brockway's medicine cabinet: [I Am Bored]

The greatest butterfly there ever was: [College Humor]

Amateur Ninja Part II: [Adult Swim]

Hollywood is officially out of ideas: [Gunaxin]

Even further evidence that they've run out: [Mania]

Juggalo furries? The End of Days is upon us: [YouTube]
Thanks to skoora in the Mirth Canal.

10 Weirdest Sitcom Crossovers: [TV Munchies]

The Yankees may have won the World Series, but whose food was the best?: [Ask Men]

The Filipino Prisoners Present: Queen: [Huffington Post]

Mr. Miyagi returns from the grave: [Daily Breeze]
Thanks to Flyingsquid in the Mirth Canal.

Nobody believe Tiger when he said the green men were following him: [Uncoached]

How to survive a dry spell (of the sex variety): [lemondrop]

Six minutes of people doing stuff. Just... stuff (it's a slow news day): [College Humor]

Celebrity Phone Tap: Mel Gibson and Jesus H. Christ: [Liquid Generation]

And finally, your insane Wikipedia page of the day: A list of cats with unaccredited diplomas.
Submitted by Leifkillburn.

11.03.2009

Cracked.com Craptions Contest before the Internet existed: [Black and WTF]
Thanks to BattleKitten in the Mirth Canal.

The best of Charlie Day's dance skills: [Huffington Post]

Carl weighs in on the World Series: [Adult Swim]

16 Robot Cats: [Geekpad Show]

The Sims Horror Movie: [College Humor]

The only Halloween party we cried about when we discovered we were not invited: [Ask Men]

Christopher Walken performs "Poker Face": [I Am Bored]

Bear kills two terrorists. Someone give that thing the Medal of Honor:[Fark]

The 15 Stupidest Products of All Time: [Huffington Post]

Four Hot Female Criminals: [Gunaxin]

10 Movies That Should Be in 3D (not included: Debbie Does Dallas): [Mania]

When Parties Go Wrong: A Facebook Tale: [College Humor]

Things went down hill for the Ewoks after the Battle of Endor ravaged their planet: [YouTube]
Thanks to sickandtired in the Mirth Canal.

The sexiest communists on the planet: [Uncoached]

We're not sure what Etsy is, but sign us up: [The Frisky]

The greatest sandwich in America: [lemondrop]

Escape from Scientology Land: [Liquid Generation]

American fatasses on scooters: [The Chive]

And finally, your insane Wikipedia page of the day (in honor of Movember): Notable mustaches throughout history.
Submit your page here.

The history books are full of great military minds who turned the tides of war with their creative genius. This article is not about them.

No, we're here to talk about the embarrassing fuck-ups, the confused incompetence that ensured these men would never have a high school named after them.

About five minutes after somebody first drew up the plans for an underwater ship called a "submarine," somebody standing over that guy's shoulder said, "so how do you take a shit in one?"

It's not like a regular boat where you can just poop over the side (that's what they do, right?) and the whole physics of a flushing toilet like you have in your bathroom stop working when, instead of a house, you're in a vessel submerged in water exerting massive pressure from every direction. To see what flushing a toilet in that situation would look like, picture the exact opposite of a successful toilet flush.

On April 14, 1945, the German submarine U-1206 found this out the hard way.

Who Fucked Up?

That model of boat had a new, fancy toilet-flushing system that used a complex system of high-pressure valves to allow them to flush the toilets even when running deep under the sea. So complex, that you couldn't operate the system without supervision.

But the captain of the submarine, Karl-Adolph Schlitt, figured he would chance it. After all, it's a damned toilet! How complicated can it be?

One splashing, cursing, Charlie Chaplin-esque slapstick sequence later, and Schlitt found himself wading through the Atlantic seawater that was quickly rushing into the submarine. Unable to pump the water out, Schlitt had no choice but to surface the sub.

Of course, this was in the middle of a war. Oh, and the German submarine just happened to be on a spy mission just 10-miles away from the British coast. It was almost immediately spotted by an English plane, which proceeded to bomb the shit out of the sub. Schlitt found himself unable to escape and gave the order to abandon ship, where every surviving member of the crew was captured.

In 1761, the British gained a new post in present day Michigan named Fort Michilimackinac. They also gained some new neighbors in the local Indian tribe. If you've spent five minutes reading an American history text book you'd be able to predict that such a living arrangement could only end in tears.

However, the two groups lived in relative peace, at least for a while. It's sort of like The Odd Couple, if you replace the charm of Tony Randall and Jack Klugman with deep-seated racism and impromptu scalpings.

With the threat of battle constantly looming over them, members of the Ojibwa tribe lightened the mood by playing lacrosse near the entrance of the fort, silently hoping to shatter a window a la Dennis the Menace. The British adored observing these games, often watching them from the safety of the fort ramparts.

As the rivalry between the Ojibwa and the Brits waned, the British started to edge further and further out of the safety of their fort, with smiles and beckoning hand gestures from the Ojibwa.

Who Fucked Up?

Eventually, years passed without incident and nearly the whole force of the fort came out to enjoy the games, insulting the "savages" and betting on the outcome of the game with each other. This included Captain Etherington, who was the British commander at the fort and had seemingly forgotten why they had a fort in the first place (hint: it had been attacked multiple times in just the previous few months).

Then, during a game on June 2, 1763, a ball was hit a little too high and sailed over the walls of the fort. The two closest Ojibwa's chased it into the fort. The soldiers, eager to discover the outcome of the match, left the gates open to let them through.

Then more players ran in, then more and, eventually, all the players were inside the gates and the British were still outside wondering when the game was going to resume. Inside, the Ojibwa were handed weapons previously smuggled in before closing the gates and slaughtering almost everyone inside, including Captain Etherington. The game had been postponed on account of vengeance.

The Ojibwa went on to hold the fort for an entire year. We're assuming that the British tried to counterattack by playing soccer outside but their plan was somehow ineffective.

The civil war had its fill of frankly embarrassing moves by its Union generals, but some errors can be hand-waved away with excuses such as "misinformation" or "my army is dead." However, "I couldn't find the battlefield of 25,000 men" doesn't really cut it.

Who Fucked Up?

At the battle of Shiloh, General Lew Wallace was given orders from General Grant for his division to serve as the reserves in case things got a little too messy. So he hung back, lit a cigar and relaxed. At 6am the order came for Wallace to move up and help out in the fight against the Confederates. So General Wallace moved his division out... in the wrong direction.

Wallace lead the march, no doubt giving them an inspiring speech all the while. His men were ready to fight the Rebs, for decency, for freedom, for America. A few hours later, noting the distinct lack of blood on their hands, they began to wonder if they were even in America anymore. Wallace's division had been wandering to the point where they were more lost than the cast of Lost on the lost island who had gotten lost in the jungle. Also, they're lost in time.

Seriously, where the fuck are we?

Somehow, not investing in a compass, map or a friend who could read road signs paid off for Wallace when his men found themselves at the rear of the Confederates, who were firing at Grant's men and doing a damn fine job of it. Wallace had unwittingly placed his army at a classic rear flank position and himself on the cusp of victory. All that was left for him to do was sound the charge, put the Rebel balls in the vice-grip known as Yankee Justice and within hours he'd be getting hammered in a tent with General Grant. Hell, he could even claim it was his idea all along, and go down in history as a military genius.

But he wasn't one. Instead, Wallace decided that the much more advantageous position he had accidentally marched to was still wrong, dammit, and a job worth doing was a job worth doing right. So, against all advice, he ordered his troops to turn around and go back to where they were supposed to go. This whole trip took a total of five hours.

The men finally reached their original destination, but by then the battle had moved. Rather than mark it all up to a brain fart, Wallace had his men march onwards to the fight. He finally got to Grant's position at 7pm. That's 13 hours of looking for a battle consisting of nearly 25,000 men, a spectacle that frankly shouldn't be that hard to spot.

"Are you sure that's our battlefield?"

When Wallace finally found Grant's army, he also found a lost battle and a reasonably pissed of General. Wallace, who cost thousands of Union lives and blistered countless Union toes, was removed from command.

Thanksgiving has lost its way. No longer do we gather 'round the cornucopia, swapping stories with family, or whiskey and blankets with Native Americans. No, somewhere along this American pilgrimage we abandoned the true traditions of the holiday, and the cultural significance withered on the vine as a result. But hope is not lost. This year, I resolved to save Thanksgiving single handedly. This is the story of my success. It is a tale of triumph, and kissing a drunk high schooler, and more triumph.

Let me explain.

Last year I spent Thanksgiving in a Denny's, a man dressed as Santa Clause slept in the booth across from me. He stirred only once to throw up in a cup. It was enough to make me weep into my Grand Slam, loudly. As if connected to my own heart, the waitress pushed past empty chairs to my table, "What the hell is going on?" she sang. "Exactly," I read her nametag as I pressed my face in the warm cleft between her breasts, "Janine, what the hell is going on?"
While Janine was strong, and capable of dragging me against my will, she had no answers to give.

My sweet Janine. So soft, so strong.

She lacked the cognitive tools to fully assess the situation, Janine was just a working class woman trying to scrape by, she was not, as I was, an acclaimed writer. I swore that by the following Thanksgiving, I would save the holiday with my own hands, a pen and a delicately articulated thesis. Holy fuck, I am outstanding.

Naturally, I let it slide. I was busy throughout the winter exploring the cultural treasures of other countries and publishing piles of literature about it. And the spring through summer was occupied by unbridled humping. Then, in the dying light of November, I remembered there was something I was supposed to do: I had to save the shit out of Thanksgiving.

I didn't bother with adults or the elderly because they were lost causes, I needed to start with the next generation of family makers. My answers were hidden among the blank slates, among high school coeds. My charm and youthful eyes allow me many conveniences in this world, one of them being a disarming ear to the candid ideas of others, another being the ability to infiltrate a high school campus undetected.

High school, as it turns out, doesn't do much on the week of Thanksgiving. Having graduated with an MBA at sixteen, I had been out the academic weeds too long to remember. Fortunately, the athletes were bound to school grounds by false dreams of cardiovascular excellence, and soccer practice. I seized the opportunity.
I met a doe-eyed sophomore wearing shin guards in the parking lot as she climbed into an impossibly cheap car. I rolled down my window while deftly lighting a cigarette.
"Hey, you," I waxed.
"What?"
"I'm Soren. I'm the new kid."
"You're kidding, right?"
"Want to know how I got kicked out of my last school?"

My Planet Hollywood jacket is a time machine.

"Statutory rape?" "Knife fight. I'm bad news."
"Ok."
"I hate math." She broke my gaze.
"Your car is blocking me in," she whispered seductively.
"Want to hear me play guitar?"
She didn't. Or said she didn't. I kept her there until she revealed the location of a secret party for popular kids. Jacob Walker's parents had gone to visit their daughter in college for the week, he was hosting a bonfire on the family ranch. Fortune smiled. I prepared my questions on note cards, a recorder in my back pocket. I would discover what giving thanks actually meant to these orphaned kids on a dwindling holiday.
No one at the party was interested in being interviewed. After he caught me sipping a shot of schnapps, Jacob Walker accused me of being a loser.
"Yeah well, what have you ever done?" I demanded.
"Threw for 185 yards against the Bulldogs, six touchdowns."
"Have you ever been the guest columnist on a popular website?"
"A what?"
"Well I have."

So close.

It almost came to blows between us but all was forgiven when he discovered I could buy beer. I spent the rest of the night sitting on the outskirts of the party, practicing my signature in the air with a flaming stick. I could see the colorless silhouettes of teenagers in front of the fire, drinking the booze I paid for. They laughed and took shots with arms around one another, much like a family, I noted. I let the stick fall from my hand as I watched. "My god," I thought, "I am so bored."
Witnessing the world there shot in black and white, a girl stumbled toward me with two drinks in her hand and one on her shirt to remind me that the world was color, and color was not very forgiving. As she got closer I realized she was Indian, but the wrong kind for my purposes.
"You're that guy," she told me.
"Yep."
"What are you doing here?"
"Rescuing an American institution." She danced in front of me to no music.
"I'm drunk, you want to drive me home?"
"Ugh," I told her firmly.
"Please?"

I watched the ember from my stick smoke and glow in a dried pile of grass. I stomped on it and the ashes jumped and caught in other piles. "Yep," I said. "Let's go." In the car she asked me what I do. I fanned the printed comments sections from my most recent online articles across her lap. We drove on in impressed silence. Her house was huge, her parents absent. We stumbled up three flights of stairs so she could show me an autographed Lady Gaga poster which I never got to see. Instead, we sat on the edge of her bed as she cried and told me how lonely she was. Something I hate.
"Do you think things will ever change?" she sobbed.
I didn't answer, I was pretending to be asleep.
"You know my parents are in Cabo right now? They left me for a four day weekend in Cabo."

"Shhh," I told her in a tone I hoped was both soothing and encouraged her to stop talking so much. But she persisted. Finally I did my best to console her in the most comforting and legal way I could think of: I recited Black Ice, my most recent hard-hitting article about race relations on the slopes of Aspen, Colorado in its entirety. Awash in the absolute truths, she found solace I noticed, because she ceased to cry and started to yawn. I tucked her in and kissed her forehead, much like an esteemed journalist. I kissed it again, slowly, and she asked me to leave. I consented. Taking the stairs two at a time, I froze on the second level and sprinted back to her room with something important I had left unsaid.
The door was inexplicably locked upon my return. "You're welcome," I whispered through the crack at the bottom of the door. "You are welcome young Indian girl." I drove home through warm tears, tape recorder in hand. The air smelled of smoke but whether it was from some distant fire in the night or the spark in my own heart I couldn't say.
She had taught me the importance of Thanksgiving. The holiday wasn't dead, but it needed my help to survive. It was never about family or tradition or any of historical nonsense I had assumed. Thanksgiving was about helping weaker people through trying times and then being brave enough to say, "You're welcome" to an Indian girl, even if she's the wrong kind.

Watch Soren pretend to be a pretentious douche bag on film in The World's Greatest Magician Doesn't Do Tricks. Or see what he's like in real life as he interacts with co-workers and defuses a bomb around the office in Agents of Cracked.

Maybe the secret lies in the sources New Moon generously "borrows" from?

Humble origins that have been strip mined of any originality by generations of lazy authors and clueless movie producers. But nonetheless Stephanie Meyer is now able to bathe in dog testicles, so she must be doing something right.

Maybe it's the way she cleverly combined all the elements of the vampire folklore with engaging writing and an unbelievably awesome plot.

So what is the plot? Because of a paper-cut Edward leaves Bella. Let me rephrase that, because of a piece of paper the main character abandons the love of his life in the middle of a forest... The love of his life...the meteor that burned his eyes (more on that later) and he leaves her because of a paper cut...

But wait it get's better.

Bella like any normal 18 year old becomes an adrenaline junkie. I mean what else are you supposed to do if your teenage love leaves you?

Somehow, werewolves get involved, Bella almost dies and the rest of the story is basically the script from Romeo and Juliet. We suspect that a hillarious misunderstanding led to the last part of New Moon being accidentally replaced with a Shakespeare collection. Somewhere on Broadway a very confused Romeo is reading Edward the vampire's lines right now. The stage directions presumably remind him to deliver every line just like a piece of wood would.

Okay...so not the greatest plot ever, but it's the wonderful style in which it's written that truly makes the Twilight Saga awesome, right? Let's look at some quotes from the New Moon book / movie.

• "Well, I'm so sorry that I can't be the right kind of monster for you, Bella. I guess I'm just not as great as a bloodsucker, am I?"

I guess there are no normal boys in Washington and between the Swamp Thing and Wolf Boy, Bella had to settle for the one with less shirt.

• "You really, honestly don't mind that I morph into a giant dog?"

Sure, walking your boyfriend around on a leash seems fun at first, but you always have to carry those doggie poop bags with you.

• "You smell just exactly the same as always. So maybe this is hell. I don't care. I'll take it."

I guess girls smell like hell? This at least explains why Edward leaves earlier in the book, he couldn't put up with Bella's foul odor.

• "Before you, Bella, my life was like a moonless night. Very dark, but there were stars - points of light and reason ... And then you shot across my sky like a meteor. Suddenly everything was on fire; there was brilliancy, there was beauty. When you were gone, when the meteor had fallen over the horizon, everything went black. Nothing had changed, but my eyes were blinded by the light. I couldn't see the stars anymore. And there was no more reason for anything."

Excuse me while I puke my guts out.

So what in Cthulhu's name makes this series sell like the cure for cancer?

Half naked teenage boys...

Since Cracked.com is all about lists, we figured we'd countdown the thirteen best episodes of our first original web series, Agents of Cracked. If you haven't seen any and you want to catch up, you're in luck because, in this case, "thirteen best" really just means "all," and "countdown" means "in sequential order." Here to tell you about each episode are the people who lived them, Michael Swaim and Daniel O'Brien.

Daniel's Take:

The day I met Michael Swaim. I was so naive, then, so full of hope. The fresh, ocean air and the inviting Santa Monica sun enveloped me as I headed into the Cracked Offices for the first time.

I'll say this was the first in a series of Worst Days of My Life.

Michael's Much More Badass Take:

It's always tough to lose a partner. Jeff was one of the best, if my recovered memories of him stopping the Lincoln assassination are accurate. On that bitter day, my only consolation was the arrival of the furby doll I had ordered. I named him Dan!

"My Thoughts," With Michael:

This is more about the first episode again, but did Dan say he was enveloped by the sun?! Screw Dr. Baby; his nickname should have been AwesomeFace McIndestructiblenuts. You know, I think I'll lay that one on him at our next couples counseling session.

Daniel's Take:

It's- He's joking, we're not going to couples counseling, because we're not- We work together and we have disagreements, sometimes, so we go to a counselor together but...separately...

We're not a couple.

Daniel's Take:

Defying all of my expectations, Michael proves he can read. Unfortunately, he only reads the comments section and, even more unfortunately, commenters are total dicks.

Except those of you who have said nice things about us in the comments of this series. I find you all to be attractive and intelligent.

Like Dan's Take, But By Michael And With Exploding Tits:

Dear Internet, YOU ARE ALL GAY NERDS. If Dan finds you attractive, it is because you are dudes. Stop telling me how to live my life. P.S. Keep sending the porn.

Michael Tells It Like It Is:

Selling ad space is a player's game, and it takes a player to play it. Sure my methods might be controversial, but you can't argue with results. And the results in this case involve shirtless women. You can't argue with that.

Daniel's Take:

No, he's right, I can't.

Daniel's Take:

I waste a day showing Michael the internet, despite the fact that he's worked here for four years and, in the meantime, the site crashed, our video player didn't work and our forum exploded. All disasters indirectly caused by Michael, because I spent the whole day teaching Internet. Also, all disasters directly caused by Michael, because he caused them.

Los Thought-os De Miguel:

That's el bullshit, dude. The video player thing was the hooker's fault. I TOLD her I flail when I get excited, yet she insisted we do it in the server room because that's where I like to do it. Which reminds me, paging Daniel: clean-up in aisle "I jizzed in the server room." Don't worry, you'll know what I'm talking about when you get down there.

Mikey's Musings:

I make no bones about my distrust of technology. Except for the bones of small animals, which I use to construct various traps outside the cave I live in. So when this y2k thing rolls around and you're all being forced into giant microwaves by your CPO's, I'll be happily trapping moles for supper. Who wins now, society?!

Daniel's Take:

I think I made some really great strides with Mandy in this episode.

Daniel's Take:

Sometimes I wake myself up screaming, dreaming about everything that happened on this day. Michael knows how much I love hot dogs. Worst barbecue ever.

Also I kinda wish I didn't have to murder my clone.

And Then There Was Michael:

I do know how much you love hot dogs Daniel. And thanks to the crudely photoshopped expose I'm posting on monday, so will the rest of the world. Also, if it makes you feel any better, your clone was a complete asshole, just like you.

Soon-To-Be Webby Award-Winner Michael Swaim's Take:

A lot of people have asked me where exactly the parable is in this episode. But honestly, if you can hear a story about a horse and not tie it to your own life in some way, you obviously aren't competing in enough Sahara-spanning horce races. It's called Hidalgo, people; watch it or get out of my face (or BOTH).

Daniel's Take:

How? How would anyone ask you that? You spend all of your time with me, and I've never asked you that. How many people do you think you are?

Anyway, if you folks at home liked this episode, please check out my Horse Blog. Or, start your own blog, and then we can be neighbors!

I'm sorry.

Daniel's Take:

Things got a little fuzzy around here but in the absolute best way possible. I know it might look like I'm crying, but really that's just the quickest way to free up more liquid space in my body, so I can fit more alcohol in. I'm pretty sure my tears were more Jameson at that point than anything else anyway. My point is I wasn't crying.

He Was Crying, And I'm Michael:

This was a rough day for me, because I never actually got to play Russian Roulette, or, as Dan insists on calling it "Michael, put the gun down." On the plus side I learned about Deer Hunter, which is now my second-favorite comedy of all time, right behind Mr. Deeds.

Swaim's Frames (Of Reference, In Regards To The Episode):

I remember this like it was yesterday. First I took a massive hit of heroin, then I took an actual magic carpet ride to see Steppenwolf play Shea Stadium. Except I got to play with them, and instead of an encore I made love to Stockard Channing on a pile of money. Then Dan ruined it all by magically teleporting me to a hospital for something called a "massive overdose." What a tool.

Daniel's Take:

Ask me again why I took him to the hospital.

I still don't know.

Daniel's Take:

When people I grew up with ask me what I do for a living, I tell them I'm studying to be a dentist. Sometimes I'm so convincing that even I believe I'm in Dental School.

Instead I'm ghostwriter for articles about dead ghostriders.

Michael Takes It To The Hole:

I wasn't really that sad to hear that Nicolas Cage died, but then Dan explained that I was actually thinking of Benito Mussolini, and that Nicolas Cage was a film actor. Then I was very sad, but then Dan explained that just because his name is Nicolas doesn't mean he was the guy from Little Nicky, and that even if he was, his death didn't erase all copies of the movie. Dan's a good explainer, but lousy at knowing when I'm going to launch a surprise attack.

Are You There, God? It's Me, Michael, Your Equal:

I'd like to take this opportunity to once again highlight the stellar work of Guiding Light's Crystal Chappell. Her pointed glares and class-B melons have taught us all a little something about life, love, and how easy it is to purchase ad placement on Cracked round-up articles (Crystal, please note that I will gladly accept baloney slices as payment).

Daniel's Take:

This is an episode about a bomb in our building. I can't believe you thought Crystal Chappell would be a better hook for drawing in viewers.

Daniel's Take:

This was a lot funnier to me until I realized The Chief's spell gave me a brain tumor.

Also, Michael, you're dead so...you know.. Shh.

Michael "M. Night" McTwist Sez:

OR AM I?! P.S. It's still pretty funny.

Zombie Michael's Take:

Wait, so what happened?! Am I dead? Did I get fired? Was I a spy? I'm on the edge of my seat! Oh, if only I hadn't replaced all my memories of this with pictures of dinosaurs fighting. I'll just have to distract myself till Monday with a wicked Stegosaurus-on-Mastodon brawl.

Daniel's Take:

I can't even believe you.

Check back MONDAY 11.30.2009 for THE FINAL EPISODE OF AGENTS OF CRACKED: SEASON 1.