Bush vs. Joey Swoll: a Song Like "Testosterone" Should Absolutely Be Taken at Face Value, Hint, Hint, Nudge, Nudge

 

Skillset Puts the MAGA in Magazine! HOO-RAH! MAN SHIT!

 

Chris Kael from Five Finger Death Punch: Telling On Himself Since Day One

 

Dacryphilia

CHORUS

You look cute when you’re crying

When you’re contemplating dying

When there’s no point in trying

When the world thinks you’re lying

Every plea for help sounds like sucking helium

In the pervert industry, it’s called dacryphilia

 

VERSE 1

The manliest men talking male suicides

Like they themselves got nothing dirty to hide

Vulnerability don’t jive well with the muscles

And the bushiest beards and the work culture hustle

Macho madness is the number one killer

Of lonely men who feel like background filler

All you have to do is reach out for help

Provided you have good insurance for health

 

CHORUS

You look cute when you’re crying

When you’re contemplating dying

When there’s no point in trying

When the world thinks you’re lying

Every plea for help sounds like sucking helium

In the pervert industry, it’s called dacryphilia

 

VERSE 2

The womanly women have permission to sob

Then get threatened and bullied by the right-wing mob

It was never about having a monopoly on tears

It was about who was better at weaponizing fears

Insecure men pull a gun or a knife

When the balance of power slides over to their wives

Or any woman with a little bit of independence

Male judges make sure the killer gets a light sentence

 

CHORUS

You look cute when you’re crying

When you’re contemplating dying

When there’s no point in trying

When the world thinks you’re lying

Every plea for help sounds like sucking helium

In the pervert industry, it’s called dacryphilia

 

VERSE 3

Do you envy the enby when they have the narrative?

Is it a blow to your ego? Are you a macho embarrassment?

Didn’t you learn in school that you had to share your toys?

Or did you dodge accountability like “boys will be boys”?

You throw all the punches and you call yourself the victim

When the ladies you decked have concussed double vision

When the other genders are too afraid to talk to the cops

Drag the world down so you can be the one on top

 

CHORUS

You look cute when you’re crying

When you’re contemplating dying

When there’s no point in trying

When the world thinks you’re lying

Every plea for help sounds like sucking helium

In the pervert industry, it’s called dacryphilia

Jimmy Kimmel vs. Sean Hannity

 

Bone Popping Good Time

The Eastern European Chihuahua known as Ren shivered and trembled as he stepped into the waiting room, his feline friend Stimpy guiding him by the arm. Stimpy patted his bestie on the head, which did very little to stop the fearful convulsing. “There there, Ren. You’ll be okay. It’s just a little adjustment to help you out. You’ll feel nothing at all.”

Salt water welled up in Ren’s puffy red eyes. “I…I don’t want to go the chiropractor!”

“It’ll be okay, Ren. He even works with little children.” Stimpy waved his hand across the room to reveal small children who were shaking as hard as he was while their Karen moms read magazines and ignored the red flags.

Ren and Stimpy took seats in the lobby with the rest of the patients, Stimpy picking up a copy of Playboy magazine and picking his nose while “reading it for the articles”. The red flags were already a darker shade than Stimpy’s fur and nobody but the children and Ren seemed to care.

And then…the waiting room shook harder than any fearful patient ever could. Thunderous footsteps crunched and crashed behind the main office door. The children tried to get up and run, but most of them were on leashes held in place by the willfully ignorant mothers. Ren clung onto Stimpy’s arm for support and only let go when he realized his friend was still reading the copy of Playboy (in a family practice).

The door swung open and a hulking monster of a man stared out into the waiting room arms akimbo. His medicine ball muscles were barely able to be contained by his tight polo shirt and yuppie khakis. His military crew cut and square jaw caused the color to fade from Ren and the children’s faces, giving away a Navy SEAL drill sergeant vibe that had no place in the world of chiropractics.

He thudded and tromped across the floor, making kids cry along the way, still to the concern of nobody, least of all the parents. The chiropractor towered over a curled up Ren, held out his hand, and introduced himself. “Howdy, little guy! I’m Dr. Dennis Hanover! Nice to meet you!” Ren reluctantly accepted the handshake, which produced the sound of glass shattering as Dr. Hanover squeezed like he was making orange juice. When he let go, Ren’s now much bigger pink hand throbbed and pulsated. “Right this way, buddy!”

The ogre-like Dennis and the twerpy gnome Ren headed back to the office together, Stimpy smiling and waving like it was a final goodbye of sorts. Ren gulped as the door was slammed and bolted shut behind him. The chiropractic table looked comfortable enough with vinyl padding, but the skeletal models surrounding the room looked like something from a horror franchise. Ren’s knees knocked together as a rumbling in his tummy sounded like it could shoot off ammunition out of the wrong end at any moment.

Dennis patted the table and waved Ren over. “Come on, it’ll be fine. I promise you’ll feel like a million bucks afterwards.” The tan Chihuahua crawled to the table as though he was dead long before any adjustments took place. His once clear complexion was now icy blue. And then Dr. Hanover gave him gentle karate chops across his spine, playing him like a glockenspiel of sorts. Ren started to relax and the color was coming back to his face. Dennis kneaded his back like pizza dough and his patient nearly fell asleep on the table.

“Breathe in…and out…” After Ren did as he was told, Dr. Hanover pressed down on his spine and made his office sound like a war zone complete with bombs and machineguns going off.

The hard adjustment caused Ren to jump up and scream his head off, the background morphing into spotted colors with each successive yell. One long scream, two short ones, and one long one again until he was almost out of breath. Ren rushed to the door trying to escape while Dennis held onto his ears. The Chihuahua even pounded on the door with his fists and begged, “Let me out of here! Open the door! Please let me out! Somebody! HELP!”

Dennis finally detached Ren from the doorknob and the door wiggled like a piece of rubber. Dr. Hanover then held his patient down with skin-reddening force and duct taped his mouth shut. Ren used both hands to try to regain his first amendment rights, but the tape was too strong and all he could do afterwards was surrender and shake some more.

“Hold still, little guy. We’ve still got more work to do. It’ll only take a second.” Dennis clutched Ren’s head and snapped his neck in both directions. The Chihuahua’s muffled screams still managed to echo off the walls and knock over some artwork. His neck pulsated and thumped on both sides like a dying heartbeat. And then Dr. Hanover pulled Ren’s fingers, making his joints sound like a pistol duel. His toes sounded like those pistols were upgraded to AR-15’s. His wrists sounded like his chiropractor walked on a snowfield of broken glass.

“One more adjustment! You’re doing great!” As Ren continued to try to free himself from the gag, Dennis pulled out a black leather Y-strap and secured it around Ren’s head. The Chihuahua could do nothing but shake his head as his final plea for help. “Relax your shoulders, and…” Dennis yanked on the Y-strap and every single bone in Ren’s body popped and crackled with deafening volume. The duct tape could no longer muffle Ren’s screams, for he did it so loudly this time that the gag floated through the air into the garbage can. After his last rallying cry, Ren did a literal cry as his entire body melted into a slimy tan puddle.

“There we go! All set! You did great, little buddy!” Dennis patted Ren’s head a little too roughly, nearly giving him a concussion and almost liquefying that part of his body too.

Ren slithered and slimed back into the waiting room while his chiropractor got the table ready for his next patient. The children watched him make his defeated reentry with wide tearful eyes themselves. Stimpy finally stopped picking his nose long enough to notice. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing….”

“How come you’re sad?”

“I’m fine….”

“You don’t sound fine….You look like you’re about to cry…”

And cry he did. The pain was so horrible and so fiery that Ren thought he had died and gone to hell. In reality, hell was already on earth and Dr. Hanover was the devil. The square-jawed military nut marched out into the waiting room and sat next to Ren on the floor. “There there, little pup. I know just the thing that’ll help you. When my dad caught my crying like a girl, he gave me some words of wisdom I still carry to this day. ‘You know, son…Japan had an earthquake…Haiti had an earthquake…Australia had a wildfire…California had a wildfire…and you’re sitting there whining about life?’”.

“Hey, that’s mean,” said Stimpy with saucer eyes.

“Mean? Nah, that wasn’t mean. I gave your boyfriend a bone popping good time back there. He’ll man up in no time at all.”

“B…boyfriend?”

“Yeah, boyfriend! I knew you two were Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell violators the minute you walked through the door. You looked like you were taking him to the prom with your arm around him.”

As Stimpy and the subsequent children cried at the remarks, Ren’s slimy puddle form started to bubble like a pot of spaghetti, though his regenerating limbs were anything but spaghetti. For the longest time, he didn’t feel like his old self, which was why he came to the chiropractor to begin with. He was too scared to be the villain Stimpy knew and loved (in whatever way he wanted to). But that anxiety turned to skin-purpling anger. Steam blew out of his ears. His body returned to its strong roots. He smiled for the first time in his many depressive weeks, but not out of happiness. This was pure psychosis fueling him like diesel.

“Uh-oh…” said Dennis the minute he realized he knew he fucked up.

Ren jumped on his chiropractor’s back and twisted his neck in a direction it was never meant to go, an obvious mockery of that genre of medicine. Dennis screamed while Ren taunted him. “JAPAN WAS HIT WITH AN EARTHQUAKE!” Ren bent Dennis’s legs into reverse L shapes. “HAITI WAS HIT WITH AN EARTHQUAKE!” He bent Dr. Hanover’s fingers off to the sides. “AUSTRALIA HAD WILDFIRES!” In his final “therapeutic adjustment”, Ren popped Dennis’s penis and testicles, which weren’t supposed to have joints in the first place. “CALIFORNIA HAD WILDFIRES! And you’re bitching about life?”

Gone were the days of macho muscles and towering ogre presences. In their place was a broken heap of screaming sticks with a garnish of waterfall tears, still known as Dr. Dennis Hanover, a name which was probably going to be carved into his tombstone sooner or later. The children’s sprinting momentum dragged the chairs their Karen mothers were sitting in by the leashes. Some mothers held on for dear life while others fell on their butts. Those that did the latter chased after their children with whiny demands and shaking fists.

Now it was Stimpy’s turn to convulse in pants-wetting fear. But since he was a cat who didn’t wear pants, the biological sludge stained the floor and mixed with Dennis Hanover’s broken remains. Ren patted his friend on the back and said, “I feel great, Stimpy! You were right! We should come here more often!” Stimpy swallowing a lump in his throat and out of his ass was the surefire sign that Ren was back in all of his glory. Chiropractic medicine was truly the stuff of gods, provided that god was one who worshiped destruction and war. “Let’s go home!”

Easy Kill

 CHORUS

Everyone’s a badass ‘til they’re lying on their backs

Every Chad is beefy ‘til he’s eaten like a snack

Taking you out will hardly require any skill

In the end, you’re nothing but an easy kill

VERSE 1

You got your black belt in Brazilian jujitsu

From a guy who teaches class on French ninjitsu

You’re the master of the art of Mexican kung fu

But when you ask for a medal, they say, “Fuck you!”

The only ring that you’ve ever been inside

Was the one that made your cock stand up with pride

Your chin is made of glass, knocked out on your ass

You’re the same as every slacker in junior high gym class

CHORUS

Everyone’s a badass ‘til they’re lying on their backs

Every Chad is beefy ‘til he’s eaten like a snack

Taking you out will hardly require any skill

In the end, you’re nothing but an easy kill

VERSE 2

You have thousands of confirmed kills in the army

But you had a bazooka, they had rakes for farming

I bet if I melted down your precious combat medals

I couldn’t buy a candy bar or coffee for the kettle

I’d pay for your medicine, but you voted against it

Because you want to be a good Confederate descendant

What’re you going to do when your leg snaps in half

When you run a marathon from your problematic past?

CHORUS

Everyone’s a badass ‘til they’re lying on their backs

Every Chad is beefy ‘til he’s eaten like a snack

Taking you out will hardly require any skill

In the end, you’re nothing but an easy kill

VERSE 3

Your life is like an arcade continuation screen

You’ve got ten seconds to put more coins in the machine

But even with another life, fighting games don’t teach

All the macho manliness that you love to fucking preach

EXTENDED CHORUS

Everyone’s a badass ‘til they’re lying on their backs

Every Chad is beefy ‘til he’s eaten like a snack

Taking you out will hardly require any skill

In the end, you’re nothing but an easy kill

Everyone’s undefeated until they lose clean

From a head kick turned horror movie scene

Everyone’s a champion ‘til the belt is gone

An easy kill like you could never last long

Dean McLean the Macho Marine

VERSE 1

I call it ethnic cleansing, you call it spring cleaning

Took the word democracy, completely changed its meaning

Then you come back to the world to yell at your wife

And make a living hell out of my own goddamn life

Dropping your pants, showing me your dirty ass

Teabagging on Halo like you’re teaching pimp class

Ding-dong-ditch while you call me your little bitch

But these are just jokes designed to rip the last stitch

CHORUS

Dean McLean the Macho Marine!

The manliest man you’ve ever seen!

Ends justify the meanest of means!

Yell “Hoorah!” like a fighting machine!

Dean McLean the Macho Marine!

VERSE 2

You blame your worst mistakes on PTSD

It’ll take more than that to fool little old me

I set my boundaries and you knock them down

Play the biggest victim in the whole damn town

Everyone around you thanks you for your service

“Freedom isn’t free!”, now where have I heard this?

They’re buzzwords to justify machinegun fire

If only more people would see you as a liar

CHORUS

Dean McLean the Macho Marine!

The manliest man you’ve ever seen!

Ends justify the meanest of means!

Yell “Hoorah!” like a fighting machine!

Dean McLean the Macho Marine!

VERSE 3

I don’t give a damn about your Star Spangled Banner

It doesn’t mean shit when you lack basic manners

I don’t give a damn about your big fucking truck

You can drive it through sewage, get yourself stuck

I don’t give a damn about your precious Purple Heart

You probably dug it out from a box of Pop Tarts

Your insults and pranks were disguised as friendship

“Marine humor” to get you through a war so endless

PRE-CHORUS

The only twenty-one gun salute you’ll get

Is when they aim the rifles right at your head

Sociopathic brains run down the sewer drain

Thank you for your service, you little shit stain!

CHORUS

Dean McLean the Macho Marine!

The manliest man you’ve ever seen!

Ends justify the meanest of means!

Yell “Hoorah!” like a fighting machine!

Dean McLean the Macho Marine!

Macho Man

 VERSE 1

Every day is leg day, make the ladies beg day

Mix some manly sperm with their eggs day

My pistols are big, but not as big as my dick

Give the ladies something to suck on and lick

I drive my hummer with a loud fucking motor

I leave behind a nice trail of gasoline odors

I’m a macho man! Don’t believe me? I’ll tell you

Toxic masculinity is what I’m trying to sell you

CHORUS

Macho man! Macho man!

The manliest of mansplainers!

Macho man! Macho man!

Fitness and beef are my college majors!

VERSE 2

How can I put this into words you’ll understand?

You’re a womanly woman and I’m a manly man

I talk down to you because that’s what kings do

Even other peasants will tell you that it’s true

CHORUS

Macho man! Macho man!

The manliest of mansplainers!

Macho man! Macho man!

Fitness and beef are my college majors!

VERSE 3

Fire my bazooka in a first person shooter game

Because real life wars by comparison are tame

I scream my B-words and a shit-load of C-words

Until my macho manliness melts the ladies’ beavers

Teabag my victims whether they ask for it or not

Balls in their faces while their corpses burn and rot

You could question my sexuality forever and a day

But I’ll flip the script and call your faggy ass gay

CHORUS

Macho man! Macho man!

The manliest of mansplainers!

Macho man! Macho man!

Fitness and beef are my college majors!

FINAL VERSE

Why are all my friends walking away from me?

Because I called them words that start with a B?

Maybe I’m just a coward fighting off low T

Lacking empathy for others, too blind to see

It’s on the tip of my tongue, I can’t figure it out

Has it always been my fault? Is that what it’s about?

It would take some ballsy courage to admit my mistakes

And admit my macho manliness has always been fake

Fuck Your Truck

I’ve got all of my tools on the shelf

I’m doing all of this shit for myself

Going to work on your oversized truck

Is this illegal? Who gives a flying fuck?

Splash paint on your precious machine

Take my keys and write something mean

Smash the windows with a baseball bat

Stab your tires until they’re fucking flat

Rip off your Trump-supporting stickers

Is this enough to make you feel triggered?

Piss in your gas tank, fill it to the top

Cover your seats with sewage and slop

Punch out your side-view mirrors

In case the message doesn’t get clearer

Flip the heavy motherfucker on its side

There goes your final symbol of pride

I can hear your CD’s crunch and crack

Every Kyle anthem and bonus track

Come see the work of art I created

This is what happens when you’re hated

Tears in your eyes, my ultimate prize

Watching you cry in front of your guys

You can throw a punch or grab your gun

You’re still the biggest pussy under the sun

All the macho madness was an act

All the bad karma finally came back

The fights you’ve started, slurs you’ve said

Other people’s girlfriends in your bed

Showing your ass and flashing your dick

Telling ordinary women to suck your prick

Catcalling out on the streets at night

Destroying your truck only felt right

You didn’t need a vehicle any damn way

You’d drunk drive that shit into the bay

Be thankful for what I’ve done, my man

Go back inside and be Trapt’s favorite Stan

Dude Bros

VERSE 1

Dude Bros are pretty, Dude Bros are good

Seems that all they’ve ever wanted was a Monster

Chads are having hot sex, just like they should

Seems that all the Single Pringles need a martyr

CHORUS 1

This is a call to all the pickup tuckers

And cheerleader fuckers

This is a call to all the rap metal bangers

And crystal meth takers

VERSE 2

Kyles are pretty, Kyles are cool

Seems that all they ever wanted was some Death Punch

Karens are like Kyles, but they’re just old school

They say, “Let me speak to your manager” way too much

CHORUS 2

This is a call to all the valor thieves

“Freedom is not free!”

This is a call to all the armchair quarterbacks

“Alternative facts!”

VERSE 3

Kevins are pretty, Kevins are loud

Seems that all they ever wanted was a handgun

Landons are rich kids, Landons are proud

Egos are so big, they think they’ll get a fandom

CHORUS 3

This is a call to all the manly tough guys

Draft dodgers in disguise

This is a call to all the MMA wing nuts

Tapped out to a paper cut

This is a call to all the mansplainers

Whiny complainers

This is a call to all the Dudely Dude Bros

And their bigoted prose

Gary-Stu

I spent a hundred years in the navy

The sexy siren is carrying my baby

I spent five decades in the marines

They all call me a fighting machine

I spent half a century in the army

No way could the enemy harm me

I spent ten years in the air force

I still don’t make sense, of course

I’m a Gary-Stu who’s lost at sea

Always carry machineguns with me

A battleaxe bigger than my body

Always imitated, but never copied

Except by those trying to make a buck

Make a fortune from negative luck

Put me in a videogame or paperback

I’m a macho man, genetically jacked

Everybody wants to buy my image

Everybody wants to laugh at critics

Everybody wants to look for tropes

Everybody’s given too much rope

Whatever happened to character depth?

Got slaughtered in a battle to the death

Everybody’s got their own little flaws

They don’t include too much brawn

They don’t include a nasty attitude

They don’t include a lazy aptitude

Three dimensional isn’t hard to achieve

All you have to do is make them believe

If a captain is going to be lost at sea

If a warrior is going to bleed, bleed, bleed

If a damsel in distress screams one last time

Put some reason in your fucked up rhyme

Your Own Fault

VERSE 1

I’m not the source of your misery

This ain’t no big fucking mystery

You are the owner of your anger

You put your loved ones in danger

I’m not your lightning rod of hate

I’m not the author of your sealed fate

When it comes to building your walls

Your stress is your own damn fault!

CHORUS

Control yourself! Calm the fuck down!

Say you’re sorry with your nose so brown!

Break your promises the very next day!

It’s your own fault that you feel this way!

VERSE 2

Make your threats, get inside my head

Blame me for your soul being dead

Blame me for the prison you built

Cry forever for the milk you spilt

This ain’t tough love, you’re selling me out

You’re not on point, you’re fucking loud

Throw your punch, you macho moron

In this battle, you won’t last for long!

CHORUS

Control yourself! Calm the fuck down!

Say you’re sorry with your nose so brown!

Break your promises the very next day!

It’s your own fault that you feel this way!

BRIDGE

Round one! Let’s ring the bell!

Round two! Let’s go to hell!

Round three! Let’s finish this shit!

It’s all your fault you’re throwing a fit!

EXTENDED CHORUS

Control yourself! Calm the fuck down!

Say you’re sorry with your nose so brown!

Break your promises the very next day!

It’s your own fault that you feel this way!

It’s your own fault the world hates you!

It’s your own fault, nobody made you!

It’s your own fault you can’t find peace!

Don’t take your fucking anger out on me!

No More

Your macho bullshit doesn’t work anymore

Check your massive ego at the front door

Before you tell anybody to suck it up

Take your own advice, then shut it up

The twentieth century is gone forever

The day you’ll get it back is fucking never

No more beatings with a leather strap

No more secretaries sitting on your lap

No more black people doing your chores

No more Indians getting killed in wars

No more drill instructors shouting in ears

No more suppressing our flooding tears

You can’t blame it all on a whole generation

Unless you yearn for the days of segregation

Unless you’re living in the Middle Ages

Unless cave paintings are your only pages

Self-esteem is what we need to survive

Happiness is what makes us feel alive

Just because you’re dead on the inside

Doesn’t mean you have to tan our hides

Just because you can’t use a computer

Doesn’t mean you can stop the future

If you’re really that angry and bitter

Maybe I should hire you a babysitter

Maybe that’s why your kind wears diapers

Not because you’ve eaten too much fiber

No more bigotry, no more agony

No more screaming, no more insanity!

Balls

CHORUS

You don’t have the balls to shoot me down!

Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls!

You don’t have the balls to watch me drown!

Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls!

VERSE 1

You talk forever like it’s a real exercise

Working your jaw muscles by telling lies

That shit’s got to be made out of iron

You think you’ve got balls the size of tires?

You’re shaking and shivering like it’s winter

Your only true pain is like a wooden splinter

You’re no different from the rest of the chickens

Running away when it’s time for ass-kickings

EXTENDED CHORUS

You don’t have the balls to shoot me down!

Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls!

You don’t have the balls to watch me drown!

Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls!

You don’t have the balls to run this town!

Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls!

Cacophony is your greatest sound!

Ugh!

VERSE 2

You’ve got your AK-47 locked and loaded

Your hair trigger temper has all but exploded

You’ve got a belt of grenades around your waist

You rush into battle with a zealot’s kind of haste

You throw your life away over temporary anger

Throw yourself in front of unnecessary danger

You’ve got some shrinkage and it’s not laundry

You can’t axe your way out of your own quandary

EXTENDED CHORUS 2

You don’t have the balls to shoot me down!

Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls!

You don’t have the balls to watch me drown!

Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls!

You don’t have the balls to ground and pound!

Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls!

Check for your nuts in the lost and found!

Rah!

BRIDGE

You don’t wear the pants, but you wear the G-string

Cutting your ass off until you’re no longer breathing

You don’t wear the colors, because they run

Shutting you up will be a lot of fucking fun!

Balls! Balls! Balls! BALLS!