JACKSONVILLE, Fla. — Protectors of the Rhino XXL Male Enhancement Pills recipe have reportedly been prohibited from traveling together in case disaster befell the two VIPs entrusted with the secret gas station boner pill formula, protected sources have confirmed.
“Across this great nation, millions of hardworking, limp-dicked Americans rely on Rhino XXL pills to overcome their whisky wiener when their missus gets a little frisky after the casino. I take that responsibility very seriously, as well as the oath I swore to protect this secret recipe of 13 exotic herbs and animal powders,” said the Rhino XXL VIP, who goes by the codename ”Rooster.” “That’s why me and ‘Cobra’ are never allowed to travel in the same vehicle, or even come within 10 square miles of each other. If both of us were to die in an accident, the Rhino XXL formula would be lost, Chevron stations would run dry, and thousands of mighty members would fall with us.”
Rhino XXL Head of Security Dale Quincy revealed a series of rigorous protocols were in place to guarantee the integrity of the male enhancement pill’s secret recipe.
“It’s my job to ensure nothing happens to our VIPs, and that’s why our rock solid security system is tighter than a gator’s ass in a hurricane,” said Quincy, scanning his retina to enter the secure command center nicknamed ”The Rhino’s Horn.” “The Horn is where we monitor our VIPs, tracking everything from their vital signs to current GPS location. If the unthinkable should ever happen and we lost the secret recipe, well, let’s just say that the American flag wouldn’t be the only thing in this country flying at half mast. I just pray that the day I have to call in ‘Code Blue Balls’ never comes.”
The secrecy around the recipe is reportedly so rigid that even CEO Bert Trowell has been left in the dark for his own safety.
“Our male enhancement pills make up the front bone of this country, and I’m far too much of a public figure to be trusted with such a vital recipe. I travel everywhere from Tijuana to Indianapolis on business, and if I was kidnapped by a Mexican cartel or a Juggalo gang I could be tortured until I gave up the secret,” said Trowell, lighting an enormous cigar. “Thankfully our company’s founder, Drew Peacock, had the foresight to install this VIP system when he pioneered the company back in the 1800s. We’ve had a few close calls over the years, but his innovative vision has helped maintain the integrity of our manhood medicine and ensure that generations of road-weary travelers can continue to get up and ‘keep on truckin’ in hourly motel rooms.”
Rival companies have reportedly spent millions in research and development to try to reverse engineer the Rhino XXL formula, with the closest attempt resulting in the original Four Loko recipe.
Recorded during a rather tumultuous time in the band’s history, and just before a hiatus that would last well over a decade, “Grotesque Blessings” is by no means a bad album. It’s just lacking something that definitively made every other album Broken Hope. The riffs at times feel technical just for the sake of being technical. If that’s your thing, more power to you, and the death metal bands willing to scratch that itch are a dime a dozen. There are flashes of their former brilliance, as “Earthburner” hearkens back to their early nineties sound, and “Wolf Among Sheep” has some headbang-worthy ferocity. And then comes “Internal Inferno”. Is that *gulp* nu-metal we hear around the two-minute mark? It was 1999, after all. Maybe it was best that we left these riffs, as well as the PlayStation 1 graphics on the album cover, to be consumed by the apocalyptic hellfire that swept the planet due to the Y2K bug.
Now we’re talking! Broken Hope’s 1991 opus is pretty much the polar opposite of “Grotesque Blessings,” as the riffs aren’t technical in the slightest. Joe Ptacek, the late, great guttural crusader, crawled out of the fucking swamp to introduce the world to a death growl that makes the infamous Brown Note sound like Seals & Crofts by comparison. This is a classic old-school death metal offering that’s filled with horror-influenced, vomit-inducing fun. Virtually every aspect of the band’s music would be improved upon by subsequent releases, but isn’t that supposed to be the case? For now, fix yourself a nice plate of fresh viscera and enjoy this album for what it is. Just resist the temptation to fork your loved ones in the eye when the double-bass in “Dismembered Carcass” kicks in.
We hate to harp on Joe Ptacek again, but GODDAMN that guy could growl. From the second the vocals in “Dilation and Extraction” kick in, we start swooning like a Baby Boomer at a Rick Springfield concert. This album is packed with groovy, slimy riffs that gave Morbid Angel’s “Domination” a run for its money and helped make 1995 a banner year for the neck brace industry. At 15 tracks, however, this one gets a little bloated in the back half with no real standouts (and it ends with a Twisted Sister cover? Really?) With that being said, the songs still slay, and plenty of fans top their Broken Hope lists with this bad boy. While we don’t necessarily take umbrage with that, we just feel it’s outshined by the albums below.
We know this one is a personal favorite amongst the brutal death metal crowd, so we have ensconced ourselves in our offices in anticipation of an invasion of angry middle-aged men in cargo shorts. Please be gentle with us; we bruise easily. On the whole, this is a killer album that serves as a greatly improved version of “Grotesque Blessings.” There’s still some overly technical wankery in the riffs, but with enough signature Broken Hope groove thrown in for a healthy balance. This one in particular goes hard in the whip, so blast “Auction of the Dead” if you’re looking for random metalheads to nod respectfully at your 2013 Honda Fit. Self-care is important.
Wow! Over a decade of crickets from the Broken Hope camp yields a truly stellar outing with a largely reformed lineup. New frontman Damian Leski steps into the shoes (actually, boots, who are we kidding?) left by Joe Ptacek and delivers a performance undoubtedly worthy of even the most discerning of fans. This album hits the sweet spot between the old school death metal they started with and the brutal death metal they helped to cultivate. Just listen to those grooves on “Womb of Horrors” to start it off. So sick! Throw some dynamic leads from guest guitarist Chuck Wepfer, and you’ve got a recipe for a really kickin’ vomit and severed body parts gumbo. Bon appetit!
This album took everything that was great about “Omen of Disease” and just gave us more of it. More headbang-y riffs, more gut-wrenching vocals, more killer guitar solos. Fuck yeah! Sole original member and rhythm guitarist Jeremy Wagner should get into corporate recruiting, because that motherfucker knows how to amass talent. The title track and, presumably, the instrumental “Beneath Antarctic Ice” are both influenced by John Carpenter’s “The Thing.” What more can a metalhead ask for? And just look at that album art. We have no clue what that is, but we’re secretly hoping it follows us on socials. So pump up the volume and angrily pour some J&B into your 1982 Chess Wizard computer. One more to go!
Go ahead and let the haunting and weirdly beautiful intro “Repugnance” lull you into a false sense of relaxation, because “The Dead Half” is going to emerge from the 7th layer of hell and force-feed you rotting human meat. Late drummer Ryan Stanek keeps you on your toes with ridiculous blast beats (just listen to “She Came Out in Chunks” and “Decimated Genitalia,”) and we think we’ve already gotten the message across on those vocals. Overall, this album is just a shining example of everything that makes old-school death metal great. Sickening, heavy, putrid, and mind-numbingly brutal. We probably have an article on Weezer forthcoming, so up your metal street cred in anticipation and give this a listen!
Statler and Waldorf have never been arrested at a sex club, but that doesn’t mean they’re strangers to the scene. If you’ve got a verbal humiliation kink, these silver Daddies are the best in the business.
You can cook one, you can eat one, you can throw one like a boomerang, but there are some things you just can’t do with a fish without someone calling the authorities. You’re Lew Zealand pal, not Led Zeppelin, show a little restraint!
When your safeword is “Sher ber guurv” it’s only a matter of time before things go south, especially when half the shit you say sounds like some variation of that. An intoxicated Swedish Chef was arrested after verbally berating a dominatrix for stopping too much at a BDSM club called “Strings Attached” back in 1996.
She was arrested at an S&M club only once in 2003, having handcuffed herself to a radiator with “George W. Bush” written across her chest encouraging patrons to throw deli meat at her as a conceptual art piece protesting the war in Iraq.
In a highly publicized incident at an LA alternative lifestyle bar called Chompers, Gene was arrested for soliciting participants in what he called “Consensual cannibalism.” He is still awaiting trial and is currently in talks with Armie Hammer’s legal team.
He’s been arrested 4 times to date for harassment at alternative lifestyle clubs and bars, but not for sexual harassment. Sweetums goes there to preach the word of Christ to all the “poor sinners” and refuses to leave until he’s said his peace. Martyrdom is a kink too Sweetums, get off your high horse!
As anyone who has been to one knows, BDSM clubs can be a hotbed for drug activity. Dealers know that most cops are too square to step foot into those places, and they become emboldened. But when 9 people wind up in the hospital on the same night because a rodent sold them a concoction of furniture varnish, bath salts and Sudafed he tried to pass off as club drugs, police will take notice.
He’s been arrested at alternative lifestyle clubs on numerous occasions, allegedly all due to incidents involving a severe scatological fetish, though it’s rumored that’s just a cover to mask the fact that he’s massively incontinent.
It is estimated that 70% of people making a scene while being kicked out of sex clubs are dudes in bucket hats, and Zoot is no exception.
BDSM clubs and kink events are supposed to be a safe and consensual space to explore desires that square society considers indecent, but there’s no safe and consensual way to practice the shit Scooter is into. His fetish for getting subs hooked on cocaine and becoming their sugar daddy is simply deplorable, a fact which he has been told at many a nightclub that he has refused to leave until he gets dragged away in handcuffs.
Sexually Bobo identifies as an otter, despite being a bear. It’s confusing and has led to more than a few arguments at BDSM clubs. Throw a little alcohol in the mix the paws start flying and it’s just a mess.
There’s the safe way to practice fire play and then there’s the way Harry does it. It’s almost as if his kink is being arrested for reckless endangerment.
Dr. Teeth cultivates the mystique of The Electric Mayhem very carefully. Just look at the various videos of him being dragged out of sex clubs in handcuffs. Look at how good his hair looks under that perfectly placed black leather spiked top hat. And isn’t it curious that the clubs always wind up dropping the charges as soon as the media frenzy dies down? These arrests are 100% staged so that the good doctor can maintain his dangerous bad-boy image. In real life, he’ll take a quiet night in reading early Russian literature over a spanking any day.
Never go to a sex club with a guy named “Lips,” you’re just asking for trouble.
If you thought she was abusive towards Kermit, you should see what this hog gets up to on a Saturday night. Mistress Piggy is one of the cruelest and most sadistic kinksters in the United States, specializing in financial domination, hoof worship (receiving), and erotic karate chops. She delights in bringing powerful men (and frogs) to their knees, and she can seriously fly off the handle when a client does something to displease her, like bringing her the wrong flowers or failing to arrive with their remote control vibrating anal beads inserted and ready. These meltdowns have been featured on TMZ many times.
You can do a lot at a BDSM club but one thing you can’t do is saw out a bunch of drywall and fuck with the wiring, even if you are “just conducting an experiment to study the effects of high voltage current and verbal humiliation on my scrotum.”
Rowlf is a pet-play fetishist who has been arrested several times for paying doms to walk him around on a collar and leash in several public parks and family-friendly eateries. He has, however, never been convicted of a crime, on the technicality that he is, in fact, a dog.
Not every club is cool with the diaper thing, read the fine print Link.
If you think his jokes are bad, wait till you hear how he talks to women he assumes are sex workers at alternative nightclubs. You’re not fooling anyone with that “Put your hand up my ass” line Fozzie, we all know you’re not that kind of puppet. Waka waka!
A textbook voyeur, Beaureguard was always getting thrown out of BDSM clubs and kink events for violating the “no recording” policy, so he decided to take things a step further. Posing as a janitor he would infiltrate the establishments during off hours and install hidden cameras all over the place, including the restroom of course. Real sicko. Well the operation wound up getting expensive so naturally Beaureguard started selling the footage to the Russian mob, and that’s when he got in real trouble. He is currently believed to be in the witness protection program, though it’s hard to say how effective that is. He’s Beauregard, people are going to know he’s not “John Smith.”
It ain’t easy being green, especially when you’re constantly getting bad press for being arrested masturbating at porno theaters. Now to be clear, it’s our opinion that vice sting operations at porno theaters are a complete waste of time and resources that should be going towards actual crime, that it’s a truly victimless crime, and that no one should be arrested for it. Still, the sheer number of times it’s happened to Kermit is baffling. It’s almost as if he can’t finish until he hears “Police, freeze!”
The “Meep Meep” schtick really loses its charm once you’ve seen one of the countless videos of Beaker outside of a sex club shouting “Do you know who I am?! Do you know who the fuck I am?! I’m the Beaker mother fucker! You tell that whore the B-man said she just made a big mistake, a BIG mistake! Get that camera out of my face!”
As the Muppet’s token conservative, Sam the Eagle has been arrested for altercations at deviant sex parlors on numerous occasions. Who could forget the time he was pulled over with a teenage trans sex worker and large quantities of crack cocaine in his car, just hours after appearing on Fox News to condemn the left’s lack of traditional values?
Animal just straight up gets arrested a lot, like pretty much anytime he goes out. His proximity to sex clubs during many of said arrests might honestly be a coincidence, but technically he comes in at #2.
No surprise here, Gonzo’s mugshot is taped up to the “Do not serve” wall in more lifestyle clubs than any living person or Muppet in the United States. You name it and he’s been arrested for it at a sex club—solicitation, possession, dealing, assault, the list goes on. His most frequent offense is bringing a live chicken named Camilla with him, a clear health code violation. What’s more troubling is that by all accounts Gonzo seems to be forcing the lifestyle onto his chicken, boasting “I’m the gas, she’s the breaks, but we make it work” in a recent viral interview.