Get ready for Christmas :-D

Professor Jordan Pervertson

Started by DangledTeeth, June 14, 2019, 09:22:26 PM

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June 14, 2019, 09:22:26 PM Last Edit: June 14, 2019, 09:40:08 PM by DangledTeeth

Martin: Do you think women are affected by the patriarchy?

Jordan: What?! No, I don't think there is such a concept, not convinced in the bittest. Soeh, here's been enlightenment this past decade that we live in a hierarchical patriarchy?!

Martin: I don't think the 'enlightenment' suddenly sprang out from nowhere; it's a viewpoint or theory that's been around for longer than ten years and has crept into a mainstream consciousness.

Jordan: What does a patriarchal society even mean?! That women had no role shaping society?! That things improved from the revolutionary self-indulgence of the mid 1960s onwards, eh. Yes, women haven't had a lot of opportunities in the past, and they certainly deserved the right to vote, no one's disputing thaaht. But a tyrannical patriarchy?!

Martin: Well, men are in a more fortunate and somewhat domineering position, and have dictated moral values. Consider politics and big businesses.

Jordan: Yes, but as influential as they are, these powerful men are in a minority. Men get whisked to a battlefield in order to lay bricks. Suicide is high among men. Male prisons are exclusively occupied by men. Some jawbs are outdoors, could get a hint of sunburn during the summer or a cold during the winter. A bird could shit on their heads. Feel the crushing poignancy and tragedy of the male! In terms of occupations, men usually get the short straw, man.

Martin: There are women in the army nowadays.

Jordan: But most aren't on the frontline. I can't say whether a militant female is any greater than a male one. I imagine most of them are performing admin/HR duties. And I certainly imagine them wearing ass-accentuating skirts with the slit along the thigh.

Martin: There is the wage gap to consider.

Jordan: There are 16 reasons why men get paid more than women. 1) Men have to shave before going to work, and they are contractually obliged to do so. 2) Men have higher testosterone levels, which can affect productivity. 3) Men do overtime; agreeable women just fuck off down to the local bar. 4) Men are at risk of coming into contact with sperm when they go for a dump due to other people using a cubicle to jerk off in. I mean, I never do this myself - the masturbation part, obviously I do a Tom sometimes. 5) Men are at risk of getting into a fight; you can't chin a woman to the ground if you have a disagreement about where to build a trench and how often you should scratch your ass. 6) Men are just great 7) Men exude follicle superiority, but stress can ruin this - work is a stressful bitch, as are the radical Left. 8) Men have cocks and there's a risk they could clip their nads into the corner of a desk or get their bollockbags caught under a pneumatic drill, or get their foreskin snagged on the trigger of an MP5. 9) I'm struggling to completely outline these sixteen points, so could you just cut in and summarise what I've said...

Martin: Okay, so...

Jordan: Uh-wait-wait-wait-wait, I've got seven more points to add.

Martin: Because there are a wide range of jobs for men, it creates the illusion that there is a wage gap

Jordan: Yes. Exactly that. If we're talking about the wage of men and women in the same roles, then that's a different matter. But again, men work longer hours. Look at professional tennis!

Martin: We can agree that there is a broad range of job roles men have, some are quite dismal. Yet there haven't been many top positions for women throughout history.

Jordan: What abouet the queens and princesses of various countries?! Women host talkshows!! Some magazines' editors are women!! The U.K. has had two female prime ministers - right-wing ones at that - ah, stick that in Stalin's bell and ring it! The PM of New Zealand is a woman.

Martin smiles wryly

Jordan: In terms of representation in fiction, Dr Who is a woman. The Last Jedi and it's pahwsitive representation of women puts this theory to bed. The independent and intelligent Lara Croft and her tremendous rack and tight ass is the perfect role model for Western women. Although the intersectional SJWs will probably take exception with her plundering artifacts from sacred lands and accuse her of being a post-colonial European imperialist, or despise the middle-class white men who've written her as a inheritor of wealth and a spacious house through her dead father. Ninja Gaiden is a great example - Rachel can wield a massive hammer that the average man wouldn't be able to swing, hardly a stereotype of a woman being physically inferior (and you can make her boobies wobble if your shake the control pad). There's a woman called Erika Aphrodite, who has a production company that produces adult cinema for the discerning critic. She sold 6 million units of Clit-licking Suffragettes on Jupiter last year. I have the deluxe VR version.

Martin: Of course, of course, but it's nowhere near on par with the historical success of men.

Jordan: The dah-tuh is fucked! The studies show that women are pahtihcyuhlahlee high in agreeablenessnessnessness, soeh most of them agree to do less than what men do.

Martin: Okay. I have a quote here. English is not my first language. I'm asking you to clarify what I'm about to say... you said women apply cosmetics in order to attract men.

Jordan: I didn't say that! I said women make themselves appear more attractive for men. It's obvious why women wear lipstick in the workplace.

Martin: To boost their confidence? It gratifies them?

Jordan: Look at me, you halitosis furnace. Hone in on my eyes. Watch. Okay. Stare into the abyss, right. Keep observing the insightful sheen on my corneas.

Jordan: It's been well-documented that women wear lipstick - red lipstick - because they want to suck a cock. The size of the cock isn't pertinent to any hypotheses, but the irrefutable fact is that the sight of crimsoned oral cushions equates to a surreptitious invitation for workplace fellatio. It's not cuntentious. It's been studied. It's sexy signalling.

Martin: What about when the index finger and thumb is pinched together? It exclusively and innocently symbolised positive acknowledgement, but now it's used as a form of visual argot by the far-right. The same applies to women with regards to cosmetics; not all women enhance their appearance purely to attract a man or woman.

Jordan: Yes, you could say so, but that wasn't my point. It's a shame some men cannot control their sexual impulses in the workplace.

Martin: You've never had the urge to make a pass at a colleague at Toronto Uni?

Jordan: No. I'm a happily married man! Mostly happy when I conduct research on the computer in my study.

Martin nods

Jordan: I have my head outstretched with raised eyebrows in anticipation for the next semi-quaver of erroneous noise to horn out of your mouth.

Martin: Did you once say women ought to be 'Knocked out by a furious set of knuckles'?

Jordan: I said I feel like knocking one out over a fabulous set of knockers.

Martin: What do you mean by 'fabulous set of knockers'?

Jordan: Great tits.

Martin: Sure.

Jordan: Why are you asking me these questions?! For the past eight minutes of this edited twelve-minute interview you've been putting words into my mouth, and I'm glad those words weren't 'dick' and 'nutsack'.

Martin: I am interviewing you as part of my job.

Jordan: Interviewing people isn't necessarily part of your job. You've been misquoting me and trying to make me sound like a sexual deviant. I thought this interview was about masculinity.

Martin: Well, this is. But other topics arise which relate to masculinity. I ask difficult questions.

Jordan: Why do the difficult questions have to be so hard?! Oh... speaking of hard, I managed to expel my juice in a record time of 10 seconds. Why not ask me how I managed to rapidly empty my nuts?! I'd say that's certainly newsworthy.

Martin: Fine, we'll speak about masculinity. It's more common for men to lose hair, and it's something that can be a concern.

Jordan: Yep. Male vanity can cause problems with regards to self-development and confidence. No douwbt about it.

Martin: It appears you overcame the insecurity you had about your appearance.

Jordan: Sorry, I don't know what you are alluding to!?

Martin: Your hairline around 2010 appears different to how it is now. It appears you've had a hair transplant.

Jordan: No, it was the result of alopecia brought on by an auto-immune problem that I have. There was significant improvement once I focused on a carnivore diet.

Martin: Oh okay, it's no surprise to me, because you look like the kind of guy who'd gulp a length of meat.

Martin: It's difficult to know how to deal with altercations between men.

Jordan: Yes. It can be tough at times. It can be resolved elegantly with a modicum of negotiation.

Martin: Do you think violence is a good solution for male conflict?

Jordan: It's a great question. A question so great it's expectional. Incredible, even. *Nods* I marvel at the greatness of your great question. Yeah.

Martin: Well...

Jordan: That was my answer.

Martin: Are you a father figure?

Jordan: To my two children, doubtless.

Martin: Would you say you're the guru to your fans?

Jordan: Mike Myers and I are both Canadian. That's where the similarity ends.

Martin: A teacher?

Jordan: I am responsible for the ethos of my lobster army; they ought to clean their rooms and eclipse their shadow then chase the dragon, or something.

Martin: You are earning a pretty penny out of this, aren't you?

Jordan: Leave out your cynicism. Everyone knows I'm a ruthless fucking capitalist! I earn 50 dollars in royalties for each of the 8 million copies of 12 Lubes for Wife that's been sold. My clinical practice has a net worth of $10 million - a session with me will set you back between $25,000 - $50,000, depending on whether or not you're into BDSM sessions on a cruiseship. I fill out the Wembley Arena, Royal Albert Hall, MGM Grand Las Vegas, and the Colosseum, every venue is sponsored by Brazzers. It costs around 100 sheets to hear me speak about post-onanism and the archetypes and symbolism of Jizzney films, which you can so easily watch on my YouTube channel with 20 million subscribers. I have smaller sources of income which I'm too modest to speak about in detail. It's tough earning money... erm, it is for most people I mean. I've been a clinician and worked at two prestigious universities for abouet half my life. Prior to that, I worked in a restaurant. I'm sick of pizzas, eh. I need a substantial income in order to buy Soviet art off of ebay. The prices those motherfucking scalpers set, man. It's reeeeally staggering.

Martin: Dr Prof Pervertson. It's been an esteemed pleasure talking to you, even though you seem quite intimidating and passive-aggressive today.

Jordan: Thank you. I'm just a little bit fed up of answering the same bloody questions.

Martin: Au revoir.

Jordan: It depends on what you mean by goodbye.


June 14, 2019, 09:23:34 PM #1 Last Edit: June 14, 2019, 10:12:10 PM by DangledTeeth


Dimbleby: Hello, and welcome to Question Time. Tonight's edition focuses on the issues of knife crime & controversial internet videos. Joining me on the panel are...

Glasses Man, smiling at the audience.

Diane Abbott, looking like a headmistress of a junior school.

Blonde Lady, woman, likes Weetabix once in a blue moon.

Andy Serkis, CGI actor extraordinaire.

And Canadian Psychologist, Dr Professor Jordan Pervertson, author of the self-help motivational book '12 Lubes for Wife', who stirs up mass-riots at his controversial lecture tours. We'll start with the panel's views on knife crime. David Abollockitch, I mean Andy Serkis, your viewpoint...

Serkis: *closes eyes* Hmmm. Yes. Strike down the true enemy. Caesar will save the chimpanzees. Oh, erm, knife crime am a terribled.

Blonde Lady: Stabby is wrong. Refrain from stabs.

Glasses Man: Mhm, strongly agree with you both. Blade killings are not favourable and benefit no one except the grim reaper.

Diane: I really do wholeheartedly truly think knives honestly are very sharp and deadly.

Jordan: Well, here's a point of view from a Canadian social scientist: you analyse a multitude of aspects to the predicament. You need to rationalise and map ouet the derivation of the prawblem. It appears it's almost exclusively men who commit these crimes. Consider the hierarchies of gang power and what these men can gain from their behaveyur. Have they cleaned their room? Or conquered the dragon? Or read a bit of Nietzsche? Are they comparing themselves to someone else more superior instead of comparing themselves to who they were yesterday, when they still were a troubled individual who wanted to 'shank some melt on road, brap-brappity'. Their way of living is problematic and nihilistic. I don't think imposing tougher sentences is going to deter young men from plunging the sharp into an organ cabinet. I suspect most of these audacious rascals don't have a fawvther figure in their lives, soeh I very much douwbt they have had much guidance in how to interact with people their own age, and I don't think they have much perspective on masculinity and how to project it more constructively. I'd recommend that they watch a good old tug flick. I've been watching Asian Soapy Tits 4 in my lab and I must orate how wonderful and fulfilling it is - my cock would certainly agree. Of course, knife-wielding young men are awften from a poor background, soeh it's unlikely they can afford a laptop or a monthly contract with unlimited 4g data in order to look at kinetic depictions of rutfuck. Which poses the question: how can they gain access to orgasmic dirt? Well, the local councils ought to install donation bins, where the general public can deposit vintage Playboys. They'll feel more gratified and inspired to do good deeds within their community once they crack one awff over a pair of wobblies. Maybe then we can usher in a new age of no-knife wankers the British people can proudly deem men.

Audience: Rapturous applause.

Dimbleby: Now we arrive at the fiasco of Count Dankula and his Nazi dog. Thoughts?

Diane: In my opinion, completely antisemitic. But that's enough about the Labour party, amirite lads?

Serkis: Utterly stupid. PREHSHARSH!

Blonde Lady: Twat.

Glasses Man: Dumb and not funny. I'm a cat guy myself. But it would still be dumb if a tabby did it.

Jordan: The guy is a silly asshole, eh. But I disagree with his being arrested. What mortifies me is the fact the government is gradually policing forthright speech and there's no distinction on the definition of hate and a Nazi pooch. This is how totalitarian governments start; they restrict what you can and can't say. Social media is a catalyst to this debacle. Soon it'll be a twittercrime to express a dissenting opinion. Your children will report your independent thoughts to the Netpolice via a seemingly innocent app. Anyone who opposes the radical Left will be hidden away in an ugly pyramid and then force-fed the philosophy of Foucault and Derrida until they submit to the love of Comrade Stalin, before ending their days drinking reductionist ale in a Wetherspoons until their inevitable execution. Even now you can't watch some hardcore action without the State wanting to know when your birthday is. From the age of Question Time. From a dead arm. Wanking.

Diane: If you want to see hate, you could have a peek at my inbox and read all the flippantly bigoted dribble sent by white boys.


Dimbleby: Jordan. Jordan Pervertson. Is there anyone at home?!

Jordan: Ughn!? Sorry, ah-heh, I was considering my answer to your question.

Dimbleby: Go on. Your most honest answer, please. We only have a minute left...

Jordan: Erm, okay. The vision I had was quite revoltingly nightmarish, you know. It's something that'll never happen in a century, and I douwbt the British public would want it to become a reality.

Dimbleby: Thank you, Jordan, for your closing views on the Brexit deal. We're back next Thursday in Wormwood Scrubs. Join us then at 10:35pm.



Read this on the toilet. Very good.


I dispute some of his findings, tbh.


Thanks, everyone.

More Jordan Pervertson...


Jordan: Okay, soeh I'm about to have a virtual discussion with Dr Haier about IQ. But first, I need to... erm, polish my mic. I'll turn the feed off for a second *click-click*. I'll be a moment...


Pervinator: Ahright everyone, cheell! Lizten toeh mee veery keerfully. I'm nart a porvert. I'm a cybernetic organism with living tissue over an exo-skeleton. I am heere to speak uhbaowwt the legislation set in Bihyll C-16. Freedum of speech requires yoo toeh articulate your idearse. Humans nid to arrive at an uhcceptibble conclooshun based on the idearse they sheyre. If yoo don't doeh dat, then Skynet vill compel you to speak the totalitarian language. I say they should gif theese peopol ayre toeh speak freely and come to a consensus about vot ist right. Stahp being sahch a poosih. Make your voices huerd. Doeh it! Caahmahn! DOWIT NAAOW!

Crowd: Per-vi-na-tor! Per-vi-na-tor!

Megaphone Woman: Shut down Pervinator!

Pervinator: Foucault, asshole.

Megaphone woman: That's based on a line in the previous film.

Pervinator: ...yeah.



Ordinary Man: Dr Pervertson, what's your view on cultural appropriation?

Jordan: Well... I find it abzurd and bloody silly. There's a multitude of cultures that are appreciated by people of different races and ethnicities, and in the modern world - today - people are going to be curious abouet different genres of music and movies in a diverse society, soeh people awften are going to dress accordingly to the things they like and proudly represent it in some way. I suppose the post-onanists are more concerned abouet people wearing exaggerated cawstumes based on tribal people and dislike retailers cashing in on fashion accessories which derive from south-west Asian countries which people know very little about. Okay, fine, that's a sensible way of observing the functions nestled in the hierarchical structure. Why don't we become outraged over eating sushi or a burrito?! I don't get it, man. I was watching an interesting film in my study. It's called One Night in Tokyo 26, and these two guys - a white guy and a black guy - called Trenton Jackhammer and Bill Suavecock engage in conversation with a woman at a rented-out bar.

Jordan takes a sip from a bottle of water

Jordan: The woman is actually a Latina who's wearing a silky red dressing gown with huge sleeves. Soeh, she shuffles along on a pair of modified sandals before bowing with pressed palms and gently saying 'Cumnichiwa'. Well, I thawght that was just lovely, you know. It's a complete celebration of the delights from North America combined with the traditions of the Far East. It was even greater once Percival shoved his cock up her ass during her gracious bow, then she gargled Bill's nuts simultaneously while her poophole got dicked. And then later in the scene, they're going at it in reverse cowgirl. Not too long after thaaht, the two guys ended on a superb double moneyshot. But that's not the true beauty of it, no. The woman then spoons the spunk into her mouth with a pair of chopsticks... from. Her. Ass. *Shakes head* it's... ah, you gotta see it. Really, really brilliant.

Ordinary Man 2: Do you think the S-J-Ws have exacerbated the issue?

Jordan: Sorry, is that the Sexy Jizz Whores series you're talking abouet? Or do you mean the Social Justice Warriors?

Ordinary Man 2: The latter, yes.

Jordan: Right. Of course! The social justice warriors are pushing this pernicious idea into the fringes of the mainstream news media that we ought to feel guilty - or 'woke' - about putting a ring through our nose...

Some members of the audience are smirking

Jordan:'s bloody fucking terrible. If my daughter thinks it's fashionable to like hoops...

Some member of the audience have their heads bowed and shiver as a result of suppressed laughter

Jordan: ...then that's how the times go, man. It doesn't need to be political.



Thank you, chveik.


Okay, soeh, okay, soeh... I'm an evolutionary biologist, as I said on BBC Hard Talk. And now I'm going to lecture you on the excellent subject of the female orgasm gland inside this cramped room of some kind. I've no idea what that fucking contraption is to the right of me, but let's not be distracted by the ugliness of the thing.

Hundreds of millions of years ago before we were all born, women used to have somewhat undeveloped pleasure buttons. Now, these used to be quite loose and flappy, as illustrated on this projected diagram. The tubing of the clit goes directly to a little sphere which provided the amplified tingle, which is much larger and more sophisticated in contemporary times.

You'll also notice there are several strands of a pubic hair directly beneath the aforementioned tingle ball. Well, these are secondary follicles that appeared during the autumn and winter seasons to provide a warm muff.

Over to the right, you'll see a section labelled 'Purple'. This area served no purpose back in the caveman and cavewoman era, but it appeared to have developed into a protective coating around the ovaries. It's... it's really interesting how this all changed so gradually.

'Bubble gum' and 'Mince' are technical terms used to indicate the soft cushioning around the orgasm gland

We'll take a break for twenty minutes. Once we're all seated again I can commence my lecture about the significance of female Disney characters.


June 21, 2019, 05:07:43 PM #10 Last Edit: June 21, 2019, 05:38:49 PM by DangledTeeth

Today's seminar, if you can read the board at the back, is my Top Ten Sexiest Female Disney Characters. Now, you all know I'm a huge fan of Disney films, except for the complete landfill called Frozen. I'll commence this with number ten...

10) Cruella De vil

Now, don't get me wrong here, this jagged-cheek hag is reprehensible beyond measure, and her skin was sunburnt by anaemia. And I'm a dog lover myself. But, I dunno... the coat just exudes sexy grandeur, I suppose it would look great on someone more aesthetically pleasing. Also, she smokes a lot. I'm fully aware that smoking is terrible! Please don't misunderstand me on thaaht. Not that I care for the state of her evil, fictional lungs. But her inhalation prowess seems to indicate that - maybe - she'd be good at smoking a cock. My cock, by the way.

9) Mrs Jumbo

Right, okay, soeh. Yeuah, I know what you're thinking: why the elephant, man?! Why nawt!!!! The gigantic whore loves nuts; it's a no-brainer. And think what she could do with that trunk - and I am referring specifically to her hose nose. As for her rear trunk *Inhales air through clenched teeth* well, I like a large ass, even the principal knows this. But if you do, you can say adios to your package if she twerks on you, because you might have to get your snapped 'jumbo' examined by a guitar specialist.

8) Anita

Okay, I think my choice of Cruella was a poor one upon reflection. Anita is so understated and charming. She knows how to handle a pack of dogs, and she certainly is no old dog herself. Needless to say, I wouldn't mind having a peek at her puppies.

7) Cinderella

She's the downtrodden archetype, kind of like an 'ugly duckling'. The mythology used in this animated motion picture is staggering, but let's not get into that non-erotic shit now. I have to say, Prince Charming is one lucky son-of-a-fuck to take her to the ball. If I had it my way I'd take her to my balls. I bet he tapped that blonde ass until he couldn't withstand the friction burns. In my humblest opinon, she's a pretty chick, yeah, I'd slipper one.

6) Belle

Ah, the exuberant Belle and her adorably broad smile and feminine brunette hair. To be perfectly honest, I don't remember much of this flick. Didn't it have a lady teapot, a candle and a little cock, erm, clock?  Well, she can touch my spout whenever she's gasping for a drink. And she'll be dripping wax after she's on the end of my big hand. And she can dance with my beast any day of the week. Any other bits of wordplay? Nah. Belle end. On to the next one...

5) Evil Queen

I don't like her in that old lady disguise, of course. But boy, she deserves the crown atop her head. Look at her perfect face, man. *Shakes head* so sculptural. Her attire leaves a laawt to the imagination. Has she got perkies? Does she wear satin knicks? Does she maintain her foliage? Well, I'd disagree with the Magic Mirror - that silly cunt doesn't know a thing. The Evil Queen is the fairest of them all.

4) Pocahontas

Pocahontas? More like Poke her ass!!!! My Native Canadian friend said that Pocahontas gives him 'big rattlesnake'. I've never watched this one, by the way. But her appearance on the front cover certainly increases the length of my totem.

3) Miss Kitty

Now, this one may seem pahtikyuhlarly unusual given that she's a little mouse - an anthropomorphic singing one at thaaht. But, oh, she just enthralls you with that whole routine, man. The dancing; the sultry verses. It's... it's superb beyond comprehension. I've thought abouet it a laawt. I'd study this scene over and over until I become Jordan the Great Mouse Dicktective. Ratigan? Fapagain, more like. Oh, speaking of Ratigan, doesn't he hate it when people call him a 'rat', then he rings his bell and a massive pussy makes an appearance. Ah-heaeh-heh-hah.

2) Princess Jasmine

For those who know me well, you've perhaps guessed that she's not the only live jasmine I drool over. Aeh-heaeh-heagh. Anywhat, she's your archetypal love interest who's partly fulfilling the role of 'damsel in distress' in the latter part of the film. She has excellent hair, a pristine face, and suggestive tits. 10/10. I've certainly rubbed my lamp over her on several occasions. A 'hole' new world, eh. If I could get three wishes from the Genie, the first would be to rid the world of the radical left. Second would be to increase the size of my penis - only by one inch, don't need that much of an increase. And the third? Free the genie, only because some dilapidated plimsoll of a human could grab the lamp, summon the genie and could wish for my salami to shrink back to three inches on the stiff.

1) Jessica Rabbit

Well... this pahtikyuhlerrrr and sufficiently-endowed lady isn't really a Disney character, I don't think. But 'Who Framed Roger Rabbit?' has several Disney characters in it so who cares. What a scrumptious, busty rack she has on her, as accentuated by that figure-hugging dress complete with an array of scintillation. Now, you all know I'd soon roger her if she strutted towards me and gave me an invitation to take a dip into Poon Town; she can grab my 'spare' any day of the week, whatever that euphemism is supposed to mean. But I wouldn't roger Bob Hoskins, though. Maybe when he was alive, aeh-heegh-haah. He could've sat in the corner and watched. He once said ''It's good to talk'', well not when I'm on the hump, pal. I wouldn't want Christopher Lloyd to get involved, fuck him - not literally - his character Judge Doom creeps me out.

Okay, that wraps today's seminar. I'll be away in Europe the rest of this week. I have an interview on Channel 4 and some lectures to do. Knock on the door if you're extra early next Monday, 'cause I usually 'compile my lecture notes' around that time. And yes, I realise I've got chalk dust across my blazer.


Cathy: Jordan Pervertson, you've said 'Men need to have a fap after they've cleaned their room'.

Jordan: Yes. You see, the room is a metaphorical representation of their subconscious cortex, and rewarding yourself for completing a presumably difficult task helps to release dopamine. Fapping ouet your reproductive slop is vital towards enabling a content state of mind.

Cathy: What are you doing?

Jordan: Checking to see if my zip has been done up properly.

Cathy: Right, so... you're a clinical psychologist. Correct?

Jordan: Yes, I am.

Cathy So you're saying you're a doctor?

Jordan: Yes.

Cathy: Yet somehow, you're also a professor.

Jordan: Yeah, no doubt about thaaht.

Cathy: Okay, so you're saying you're a doctor and a professor of psychology?

Jordan: Of course. Yes.

Cathy: Right. So you're saying you provide a form of intensive counselling and teach lectures simultaneously?

Jordan: Certainly not.

Cathy: So you're saying you don't do any of these things whatsoever?

Jordan: Oh, yes, I do have patients I see and students I teach, but my two jawbs are separate.

Cathy: Tell me about your book.

Jordan: Ah, well, 12 Lubes for Wife is a non-political book written with the sole purpose of motivating and helping people improve or enhance their daily lives.

Cathy: So you're saying it's a book?

Jordan appears puzzled

Jordan: Without question, yes.

Cathy: So you're saying you're a capsized acorn medley?

Jordan: It depends on what you mean by a nonsensical statement.

Cathy: I want to come on to another topic: the gender pay gap.

Jordan: A crock of a nothing, Cathy. Men do a multitude of things and can risk injury.

Cathy: Sigh.

Jordan: The dah-tuh shows women are agreeable.

Cathy nods

Jordan: You've proven my point. And agreeable women tend to appear in adult entertainment films. More than thaaht of men as a result of the booming lesbian category.

Cathy: Did you know, approximately 10,455 female jizz thespians worldwide have received a cocksplash to the face, but the women rarely spunk on men. I'd say that's a sign of a patriarchal ritual.

Jordan: But again, women are agreeable. Nobody is forcing them to have cum launched onto their countenance. And women can have multiple orgasms. Men are at risk of getting their cello string snapped. I would know. I'm quite an expert.

Cathy: Okay. On to the transgender issue... you ain't a fan?

Jordan: I have nothing against the transgender community. In fact, I've had letters of support from a small group of transpeople who wrote I'm not an intolerant, bigoted shitbag. The issue isn't the people; it's the language, Cathy. I dislike it when legislation dictates how people ought to address a specific group of people in the manner they prefer.

Cathy: Why should your right to free speech trump a transperson's right not to be offended.

Jordan: Well, it depends on what you mean by 'trump'.

Cathy: It's nothing at all to do with the current President of the United States. It means to beat or surpass. Or even to squeeze out a stinker.

Jordan: Oh. Thaaht kind of trump.

Cathy: So, why should your right to free speech trump a transperson's right not to be offended?

Jordan: Because in order to be able to think, you have to risk being offensive. I mean, look at the conversation we're having right now. I'm a confident speaker who's agreed to appear for a casual discussion on an early evening news programme. You're certainly fucking willing to risk offending me for my emission of facts by provoking me with your incisive enquiry. Why should you have the right to do that? It's been rather uncumfortable.

Catht: I'm glad I've put you on the spot

Jordan: Aeh-haAh-haAah! Not on the g-spot. But you get my point. You're doing what you should do, which is jigging a bit to see what the hell I'm observing. And that is what you should do. But you're exercising your freedom of speech to certainly risk offending me - and that's fine. More power to you, as far as I'm concerned.

Cathy: You haven't sat there and... Fuck me! I'm stumped! Y-you have got the circuits of my mind all bollocksed up.

Jordan: Yes! I've managed to astound a world-renowned intellectual with a profound statement. A milestone in my celebrity. Got-fucking-cha!

Cathy: Yeah... wai'... I think I understand now.

Jordan: Wonderful! Now lift up your top in order to show us your tits.


June 28, 2019, 12:51:33 AM #12 Last Edit: June 28, 2019, 01:57:02 AM by DangledTeeth

Michael Buffer: Tonight, we're going to watch the most anticipated match in the history of intellectual debates. Welcome to Wrestle-debate-mania. Are you ready? Intellects, are. You. RRRRRuuuuueady? Two world-renowned heavyweights of science are here tonight to demonstrate their sheer erudition on the subject of religious beliefs and personal philosophy. Introducing the evolutionary biologist and atheist king of the worrrlll', RRRRichard Dawwwwkinnnns. And introducing the controversial clinical psychologist, Professor Juuordan Perrrrvertsonnnn. For the thousands in attendance, and all intellectual people watching on YouTube around the worl', from the capital city of England, London, at the 02 Arena, this is the moment we've all been waiting for. Ladies and gentleman... UooeeEEeeEhHhhhHHHH LLLLeeeeeEEETTTT's GET READEEEY TOOOOO RRHRHUMBAAaaAaaAAAAWWWWLLLLLLLLLLL.

Audience: Clap-clap-clap-clap.

Table: Fuckload of water here.

Richard walks out and gingerly climbs into the ring first, and Jordan cautiously rolls into the ring before respectfully shaking Richard's hand

Dawkins: Hello Jordan, it's a pleasure to meet you at last. Where would you like to conduct this discussionbate?

Jordan: Over here.

Jordan and Dawkins sit in pristine leather chairs in the centre of the ring

Dawkins: I understand that you're an agnostic, which is perfectly fine and rational.

Pervertson: Indeed I am, Richard.

Dawkins: I must ask - as the fellow in your webcam chat questioned - do you truly buhlieve that Jesus rose from the dead after three days? I would appreciate a yes or no answer, none of this 'It depends on what you mean by' post-modernist sidetracking.

Jordan: Well... the yes or no answer is predicated on what?

Dawkins: The reanimation of Jesus Christ. As a real event. Do you think it occurred?

Jordan: I'm not sure. I wasn't there.

Dawkins: Of course you weren't there. It is a work of fiction. Furthermore, you weren't alive during the period the story was set in.

Jordan: But the teachings of the Bible transcend reality into a physiological truth. You even said the Bible is an important piece of literature.

Dawkins: Yes, but it's purely from a cultural and historical perspective. I have seen no credible evidence that indicates Jesus existed or that anyone died and came back to life a few days later. How can you buhlieve in such fucking illogical fanny. *Sharp nod* Come on, mate, you know all about Darwin. You once proclaimed you are an evolutionary biologist. How can you not give such a straightforward answer. Stop being such a pretentious apologist.

Jordan: Life... it's complicated, man.  And please don't get on your metaphorical high-horse and lecture me. Communists are atheists.

Dawkins: Some were. But it had nothing to do with their regimes. That doesn't mean to say there aren't evil atheists.

Jordan: Yeah... you would say that.

Dawkins: What is that supposed to imply?!

Jordan: Wellll, your front teeth are at a slant, cockface.

Dawkins: How dare you! My teeth are very rational, you thoroughly awful cunt!

Jordan: Fine! *Swings arm* FFFFuck the next hour and thirty-six minutes. *Politely bows* Thank you all for coming - I will be soon. I'm off to have a fap.

Dawkins: You're a fap!

Jordan: No, you are a fap.

Dawkins: I contend you are the biggest fap on planet Fap of the Fappy Way galaxy.

Jordan: That doesn't make any sense.

Dawkins: Ohhhh... nor does some bloke rising from his death cot after 72 hours.

Jordan is perplexed

Dawkins: Ah! Gotcha!


Steve Austin strides into the ring and looks disapprovingly at Jordan and Richard

Stone Cold: Ah've been relaxin' backstage whaile reclaiinin' in my maighty faine chair, watchin' the sorry state of this dumbass match between you two pussies. And Ah've just been hearin' you two tawkin' about some sunnavabitch that's never held the Dubya-Dubya-E taitle in his existence. You, Jordan, ain't leavin' this ring until you show me you're a real tough gaah. Otherwaiise, Stone Cold Steve Aowstin is gunna open up a can of whoop-ass and it'll be 3:16 shoving that Bill C-16 sunnuvafuck raight up your Mountie asshole. (-WHAT!-) I'm the only Rattlesnake you're going to grapple if you cross a laine. (-WHAT!-) The stunner you're gonna experience ain't in any of your god-damn Playboys. (-WHAT!-) Don't piss me aowf unless you want me to stomp a mudhole into your nutsack. (-WHAT!-) An' that's the bottom laaiine, cos Stone Cold said so!!!!

Jordan: Okay, Stone Cold, I'll stay here. I'll debate Richard.

Stone Cold: See that ya do, boy. 'cause Stone Cold doesn't laike bein' messed around by two scrawny gaahs who think they run thangs around these here parts. Nuhbody makes me look laike a fool. Read mah lips - the only science Ah'm gunna demonstrate to you is when Ah put mah boot up ya asses. *To crowd* If you wanna see Steve Aowstin drink some beerrrs with these two, gimme a hell yeah!


Dawkins: Now hold on for a mere tenth of a second, Mr Stone Cold.

Dawkins presses his fingertip against Steve Austin's collarbone

Stone Cold: Wut d'ya think ya doin', Dawkins!?!? Do Ah look like a fuckin' fossil to you?!

Dawkins: Well, no, of course not.

Stone Cold: Quit ya god-damn tactaiile bullshit or else you won't be gettin' no beer from me.

Dawkins: Your double negative is completely unwarranted, as I'm not a fan of Budweiser.

Stone Cold: What in the fuck did you just say, you trashpile piece of cunt?!

Dawkins: I'm not sure I follow your dialogue, good sir.

Jordan: Leave it, Richard. It's not worth it.

Stone Cold: Ya brainy psychology friend herrre understands. Whaiy don't you want a naice can of Bud?

Dawkins: I'm not partial to such a pedestrian brand of an alcoholic beverage, I refuse to imbibe something that'll provide no efficacy.

Stone Cold: Ah don't understand most of that clever-ass crap that just flew out from your hatch, but your tone doesn't impress me a whole bunch.

Dawkins: I simply don't want to drink any beer whatsoever, Mr Steve Austin.

Stone Cold: Ya don't want a beer? That's faine, that's faine. Ya know wut... Ah've just discovered a new fossil.

Dawkins: How stupendous! What genus is it?

Stone Cold: It's called... Stunner Connectus

Stone Cold gives Dawkins a Stunner

Stone Cold: Wut about you, Jordan. Are ya gonna sink some beers with me? Will you grab a cold one with Steven Aowstin?

Jordan: Well...

Crowd: CHEER

Stone Cold: G'on. It ain't gunna hurtcha.

Jordan reluctantly opens a beer and Steve Austin Smashes his can into Jordans, resulting in frothy spillage

Stone Cold: It's a good beerrr, ain't it?

Jordan has a sip and politely agrees

Jordan: Mhmm. Lovely. This drink is stunning.

Stone Cold: And so is this...

Stone Cold: That's wut ya git when you don't settle your disputes like men. There's no God to save ya asses, only Stone Cold Steve Aowstin has the science - the science of whoop-ass. And that's the bottom laaiine, cos Stone Cold said so!


Hello, I'm Stephen Woodford, otherwise known as Ration(an)alityRules. Tilt my head, raise my eyebrows. In this video, I'm going to speak about Jordan Pervertson's assertion that Stalagmite Inspectors' Bourgeoisie Gangbang 6 is the greatest adult entertainment film of all time. Now, I must say that Pervertson's view is entirely subjective; it is not a fact whatsoever. I completely accept this without any resentment. What I've taken exception with is Pervertson's use of descriptive language to misrespresent the objective aspects of the film. What I'm about to show you is a Q&A he did at Lafayette University, where a student asked him a question centred on his preference and expertise of wank videos. And f[th]us, Jordan Pervertson's Greatest Adult Film Despunked...

Student: Professor Pervertson, what would you say is the greatest fumble film of all time?

Jordan: I've fapped abouet it a lawt. It's a good question. I'm seen countless films, most of which are glorious and life-affirming. They are wonderfully gratifying, man. I'm going to select 'Stalagmite Inspectors' Bourgeoisie Gangbang 6' in a non-arbitrary way. It's a pahtihcyuhlar favourite of mine because the archetypes and symboljism is all there, and there's of course a vast array of, you know, sex occuring sy-multaneously.

RR: Pervertson is correct that the narrative follows an archetype and there indeed is plenty of symboljism present. There is at least one couple who engage in coitus intercourse, but Pervertson is incorrect about the bundlefuck happening all at once. F[th]us, Pervertson employs the Absurdo Incorrecto fallacy. The AI fallacy is an instance when someone is explicitly wrong about a documented and easily verifiable action. The depiction of the shagfest isn't filmed in the same room nor was each bonk session happening at the same time. The 'Boners' (bonus) section of the Blu-ray has a making-of documentary, which tells the viewer what, where and when it all took place. An expert like Jordan has - or should have - seen this insight. If I'm correct, Pervertson has added a dishonest slant about the sequencing of the graphic presentation and thereby introduced the Occum's Dildo fallacy. And the Occum's Dildo fallacy is when someone talks complete bollocks.

Jordan: Soeh, the assxiomatic eroticism of the scene is a sight to behold because it bloody well shows umpteen tits and plenty of deep double penetration in the ass.

RR: Pervertson is correct about the display of boobiness; my research into this motion picture has led me to find that there are indeed several naughty melons in the film. But what he incorrectly reports is a scene of deep double penetration in the posterier. DDP is defined as a forced insertion of two penises inside the same orifice, or in the wrestling world: Diamond Dallas Page. But closer inspection of the film only shows a cock per hole; there is not even a glimpse of two cocks in one fanny or bum. Pervertson goes on...

Jordan: And the storytelling is remarkably brilliant. The linear structure undermines the narrative, and the men end on a Jungian moneyshot.

RR: Pervertson employs the Daft Cunt fallacy by holding two opposing views to argue his point. He uses the word 'storytelling' to describe what he enjoys about the film, then he pours scorn on the 'narrative' as being restricted by the premise. It's possible Jordan uses 'storytelling' as a euphemism for 'sex' and dislikes the 'narrative' as a single aspect. Or perhaps he's routinely using Wad Salad, where he redefines a word thereby talking a load of old wank droplets.

Jordan: The breasts, man, they were terrific. Really, really firm with rockhawd nipples that make you question your existence - Dostoevsky wrote an essay abouet it.

RR:  According to the research I did via Google, Dostoevsky didn't write about a contemporary porn film, nor did he make any allusion to a pair of juicy dobbas. Pervertson appears to enthuse about the topic by attributing false assertions about an author's published work, unless Pervertson has confused Dostoevsky with another author that adores tits. I must emphasise that I am a huge fan of Pervertson's analytical, nuanced seminars about cartoons and the like, but despite my unloading such a pithy piece of praise for someone I've made several critical videos about, I have to hold him in faint contempt by stating the man sometimes comes out with such ARRANT FUCKNESS and can mislead people into believing historical inaccuracies and illogical guffnothing. Thank you for the view, and a huge thanks to my wonderful Patreons who made this video become a virtual reality. Until next time, my fellow mastur-apes. Until next time...


July 06, 2019, 11:16:54 PM #14 Last Edit: July 07, 2019, 12:43:34 AM by DangledTeeth
Jordan: Okay, soeh, today's dialogue is going to be with Dr Rufus Berkbridge at the Invisible Institution of Nothing, where we'll discuss the significance of the neuro-science behind land mammals and how they correlate with the ethos of suburban subcultures. The feed is close to being established and...

Aussie Davro: Oh, heaps g'day to you, maite.

Jordan: Ungh?! What?! Who are you?!?!

Aussie Davro: Dan't be uhlarmed, Prihfessor Pervertson. It's me - Aussie Davraoh.

Jordan: Aren't you the one who was killed by some guy who was dressed like a flasher, erm, in a big trench coat, called Mr Sex?

Aussie Davro: Mr X, actually. And yes, Ar woz. Baht Ar've cahm back egain because this is all the imagined lunacy of some pommy fella

Jordan: Pomme frites?!

Aussie Davro: Nevah marnd, maite.

Jordan: Soeh... what can I do for you?!

Aussie Davro: Well, I've got four bargains for you tuday, skip.

Jordan: And they are?

Aussie Davro: Intraducing the all-purpose bonfire trash can thing - perfect to light up all yer leaves and other garden clutter. All for the oamazin' prarce of $9.99. And it comes with a free funnel lid.

Jordan: Hmm... autumnal detritus is quite unsightly, roughly speaking. I could use it for that purpose. But do you think I could be able to use it as the torso for a homemade sex doll?

Aussie Davro: Ya prob'ly could, maite. It measures 3'x36'' .

Jordan: Hmm... not big enough, sorry. I'll pahss.

Aussie Davro: Nivah marnd. Haow abeout a once-in-a-lifetime special offer for a deluxe set of frothy openers which are also key rings?

Jordan: Frothy opener?

Aussie Davro: A frothy is a beer.

Jordan: Oh. No thanks. A tool like that doesn't have a wide enough gap to make my cock go frothy. Ow.

Aussie Davro: Daon't warry yerself, Dr Jordan. For $25.99 you can aown a miniature drone that squirts out bubbles.

Jordan: Is it equipped with a suitable function that can trigger a mighty orgasm?

Aussie Davro: Erm... Ar daon't think so, cobber. Unless you wanna modify it at the risk of voiding yer warranty?

Jordan: No. I'm not interested.

Aussie Davro: Guess whawt, Prihfessor?

Jordan: The last bargain?

Aussie Davro: Too fuckin' roight. Bonzer! Aus Davvers has a complete range of subpar wares Here I have the superbly reliable Hurricane Summoner Vers 3.5 and it's Gameboy Color compatible. It generates winds of up to 60 moiles per ahwah.

Jordan: Will the thrust of the wind be able to jolly my hairy baubles, consequently making me plop the reproductive liquid?

Aussie Davro: $39.99 will provide you with the answer.

Jordan: I don't want an answer. I want an amplified zingler in my loins, eh.

Aussie Davro: Aw'm sorry, maite, doctor, prihfessor, evolutionary biologist, public intellectual Pervertson. I'm awll aout of big bargains. Or sao you'd think! I've got jast one more, give us a sec, alroigh'...

Jordan: Okay.

Aussie Davro: Neow, faocus yer peepers on this fuckin' beaut'.

Jordan: It's a... plastic carrier bag!!!!

Aussie Davro: Yes. Precoisely that, prihfessor. It's a remaahkable little piece of kit.

Jordan: Well, I'm not sure of the specifications of thaaht. But the mere sight of what you're attempting to purvey leaves one with the preconception that it's a piece of shit. I mean, it's not even one of those large, robust bags you can get from, say, a clothing store or a supermarket. It looks like you were supplied this tenuous material from a worker at a liquor store in the United Kingdom.

Aussie Davro: Alroigh theere, prihfessah. Haold yer horses. Maybe blue ain't yer colour. Ar have got a stripy one in white and faint red.

Jordan: Can it convey my mountainous collection of 'cinematography for the discerning critic' without the handles stretching and tearing apart?

Aussie Davro: Well erm, if you've bought a few 330ml tins of beer or a box of fried chicken, it ought to haold eout.

Jordan: I think I'll pahss on this one.

Aussie Davro: Weall, thank you for yer tarme, doctor Jordan. Heaps sorry for startlin' you loike that.

Jordan: It's not a problem at all, man. erm... before you go... c-could you, you know, put a *tilts head* wig on and cup a pair of imaginary tits and m-?



July 15, 2019, 12:43:16 AM #15 Last Edit: July 15, 2019, 01:04:10 AM by DangledTeeth

Host Bloke: Thank you all for being in attendance tonight. Let's welcome our pair of esteemed debaters. To my left, Proftor Jordan B. Pervertson of Psychology at Toronto University.

Lobster Bois: Cheer!

Jordan, with his crisp Pierre Cardin suit, strides out with a state-of-the-art laptop

Jordan's Entrance Music

Host Bloke: And to my right, give a rapturous round of applause for philosopher extraordinaire... Professor Slavoj Sleazek

Communists: Oi oi, Slavojloy!

Slavoj - wearing a George at Asda polo top, Primark slacks and Shoezone slip-ons - plods out with a tragic bargain notepad purchased from The Works.

Slavoj's Entrance Music

Slavoj: Pleaze, pleashe, I preferrrr if you refrrrrained from calling me a professorr and shtop the sycophantic clepping. *tugs shirt* You ought to uszkse *sniff* your hends toeeh masturbate - but don't relieve yourshelves in front of usk now. *pinches nose*

Jordan: I have studied totaliajism for 40 years, and I have read the titerature - mostly Big & Stacked '93-06. But today, I have read the Cummunist Wankifesto.

Slavoj: Ehnd what did you learrrrn and so on and so on?

Jordan: Well, Cathleen, 27, from Sacramento has Double G tits.

Slavoj: What chepter isk theht?

Jordan: I stuck a copy of Playboy inside the pages.

Slavoj: That's a grrrreat idea. I might hev to trrry theht one day, and so on.

Jordan: From what I've read, the earliest Marxjists had sizeable tits and they created Stalin.

Slavoj: Noeeh, theht's not corrrrect. *sniffs* It was much later then theht. At the height of their powerrrrs, they allowed Stalin to rise, create the Empire, and wipe them out. It was a 20th-century Marxjist who was responsible for the trrraining and creation of Stalin. *sniffs* The Marxjists of today are nothing like Stalin.

Jordan: Sure. But the post-onanists operate on a hierarchical axiom that's a neurotic substrate nestled within their impulses deriving from their amygdala.

Slavoj: There isk waan thiyng I must ask: wherre are the post-onanistsh and Marxjiskts? *sniff* I'm not aszsking you like it's rhetorrrrical, azh though you are sshome big idiotic twat. *smiles and pinches shirt* It is a genuine quesktion, becoss I understend wherrrre you are coming frrrrom about the paleetikol corrrrrect crrrrowd. But I need some fucking names, mate. Prrrrovide me with a hendful of theshze bashztards' names and I'll conseeda agreeing wev you.

Jordan: I'm not going to name anyone, but did you know: a huge 10.4% of professors identified as Marxist. And this affects the fapculty and encroaches the educational system of universities. I've made a checklist, man. And there's more ticks than your unnecessary movements. Which reminds me, do you know who Rafael Nadal is?

Slavoj: Yesk, grrrreat tennis player. I much prrrefer Sabine Lisicki, she has a verrrry lovely smile and peachy bottom.

*Jordan nods in a contemplative way*

Slavoj: Buat where arrrre the Marxjishtsh?! *Feels nose* I can name one perrrshon who is a Marzskxjist, and thet is David Iyamakomi. *pinches shirt* Baht paleetikol corrrrrectness of the mainstrream even hez an eeffect on him.

Jordan: Does he have superb tits?

Slavoj: Wellhl, he is a bit feht and so on, but I don't closely look at his pecsk. Heving said theht, I once lent hiym my rrrresearch books, and I akshidentally caught a glimpse of his pelvic hose at the urinalsh. I've seen this raw skin only once beforrrre, in Ben Fapiro. *sniffs* It didn't scarrrre me enough then. It does now.

Jordan squints with intrigue

Slavoj: I saw darrrrknessh. I shensed it buillding in hiym. I'd skheen it in momentshp durrring his trraining *sniff*. But then I looked insshide, and it was beyond what I ever iihmagined. Mao had alrrready turned his hearrt. He would brrrring destrruczhtion and pain and death and so on, and the end of eehverrything I love becoss of what he willhll become, and for the briefesht moment of pure instinct, *touches nose* I thought I could stop it. It passed like a fleeting spunk, *pinches shirt* and I was left with shame and with cumsequence. And the last theeng I saw werrrre the eyesch of a frightened man whose Marxjist had failed hiym.

Host Bloke: This has been a concise yet lively discussion. You each have one minute to say what people with cum away with and why.

Jordan: *Sliding his wedding ring back and forth* I think this conversation is a pure demonstration of free speech and that we can eloquently share our experiences and healthily disagree on aspects of politics, roughly speaking.

Slavoj: I hev a frrriend, he isk quite literrrrally a wanker. *sniff* I don't want to tolk about this in grreat detailhll because there'sh not much tiyme *nudges nose*, so I will give you the basic frramework of the story. Becoss of the perrrrilous askspect of paleetikol corrrrectness, my wanker frrrriend tried toeeh orrrrder a very niche feelm *sniff-sniff* ehnd he said toeeh the exploited working-class minion behind the counterrrr: ''I am lookink for Slutbags' Cumpool Party 6, my good dear fellow'', *pinches sniffy nose* ehnd becoss he eennocently asked for a feelm with an outdated titlllle, he wask benned frrrrom the premiseschks becoss it's not okay to szhay saamone is a slutbag. Now, I am a left-winger and don't fear eemigrants and so on and and so on *sniffs, pinches shirt*, but unfair inshtances like this are prrrroblemetic ehnd cast a shadow on leebrrrralism *tugs shirt*. I believe we - as a forward-thinking schociety - *touches nose* ought to beee ablllle toeeh rrrrequest adult videos or DVDs, whatever and so on, without fear of being collared by the regressive peoplllle. And don't be uhfrrraid to wank. (To Jordan) Wouldn't you agrrrree theht when shkomeone disagrrrrees with you, they call you a fapscist and so on. *Jordan nods*. It'sk like with Donald Trrrrump ehnd Schlhtormy Daniels who, by the way, duss tarrrrrific piledrriver scenes - I refer dirrrrectly to Shtormy, of courshe. But peepol are quick toeeh dismiss Trump *sniff* as a sexist, fapscist peeg and so on. But it is all toeeh easy toeeh say theske thingsh. Very lazy bullllshit. I just call him that cunt with the perrrroshkhide bird nesht on his head *touches nose*.

Audience: Woooh! Clap-clap!

Slavoj: Stop theht fucking clepping!! Please. *Pinches shirt* If you don't, I'll own yourrrr mothers' assholes -  I mean 'own' in a figurative manner, becoss I believe property ought to be owned by the community - I would just fuck them inshtead.

Jordan: Say... I'll swap you a copy of Texas Titties 1978 with any of your Stalin's Sluts, Mao's Minxes or Smoking-hot Leninsbians periodicals.

Slavoj: Yeszs. That would be a fair trade, cumrade. We give and take whut we nihd equally.

Jordan and Slavoj respectfully shake hands

Host Bloke (To audience): Goodnight, you cunts.



During his sell-out lecture tour of the world, Professor Pervertson landed in New Zealand and banged on about the importance of 'cleaning your room after a bout of sausage slap', at the New Zealand All Blacks Suite Hotel.

The psychological author often concludes his lectures with a V.I.P meet-and-greet session, where adoring fans have a chance to shake the hand - probably unwashed - of the tenured intellectual and receive a snap of the happy freeze once the routine is done and concluded.


Unfortunately, one hardcore fan took freedom of speech to a whole new level. A text-based level. A provocative t-shirt with a jaw-dropping caption: FOUCAULT IS A BUMMER. *ARROW INDICATING JORDAN* THIS LYCANTHROPIC CUNT IS TOUCHING ME!

Inset: Foucault, probably to your left, deadsterday.

Professor Pervertson directly addressed this furore via his prestigious blog:

Okay, so, I thought about this a lot. It's complicated. It's a good question. The devil is in the detail. Hold on, let me pause this Blu-ray of Mount Everest Cumbath 78.

I usually allow fans to approach me in front of a backdrop plastered in sponsor logos, bit like the post-match conference section of a soccer match. Anyway, I have so many plebs approach me and, let me tell you, it's quite boring, you know. I just zone out and stare at the cheery heads bobbing in to my vicinity; sometimes I get cramp in my ass, but you've got to make a living somehow, man.

Well, to cut a short story shorterer, a very foolish man thought it were wise to potentially cunt up my career with a factually true yet powerfully homophobic sentiment, because guilt by association is nestled within an axiomatic verisimilitude of timely interactions and a political message synonymous with the offending individual, roughly speaking.

So, okay... there's a photograph online depicting myself alongside a fan with a stupid, reprehensible t-shirt. Well, I can see what he's wearing, I've got that figured out, but what do I do with it?! So... the following step is to evaluate the message or motifs emblazoned on the aforementioned torso flag. Ah! There's the caption 'FOUCAULT IS A BUMMER'. Well... it depends on what the shirt means by 'BUMMER', because - and I don't mean this in a post-onanist sense - bummer could mean, you know, a complete letdown, i.e. Foucault's an individual who disappoints people, and that's an entirely subjective viewpoint, for lack of a better expression. But the alternative is 'Bummer' means a homosexual who, well, enjoys the company of other men.

I'd actually say that Foucault is a 'bummer' in the respect of his philosophy being rather trite. So, you had all the post-fuckturalists, then you had Foucault with his analysis of power structures within institutions. He once said masturbation is a social construct, well, yeah, that's only half the truth. It's so bloody apparent to anyone that jerking off is an objective, private action. What it has to do with the time I put my butt on my lab's photocopier and jizzed my nutbags before it scanned and printed off twenty sheets of my parted ass is fucking absurd and beyond me.

Now, I come on to the statement below on the infamous t-shirt. ''< THIS LYCANTHROPIC CUNT IS TOUCHING ME''. I mean, what did he expect?! I didn't touch his ass, by the way. No. We can clearly observe that I lightly embraced him in order to convey faux-camaraderie to the viewer. One thing I need to make clear: just because I sometimes sport a wolf-like flat beard doesn't mean I am lycanthropic. It's bloody fucking silly, eh!

In light of this appalling incident, my events are no longer a fashionable free-for-all.  Everyone needs to dress sensibly and must undergo a thorough inspection to ensure nofar-right halfwits ruin any of my gigs. For all women over the aged of 21, you can still wear those glossy spandex leggings - there's a free copy of Faps of Meaning if you wear a low-cut top and have a D+ rack.

See you at the next lecture, bucko.

Yours Wankingly

Prof Pervertson :)


A spokesperson for Professor Pervertson stated: ''Jordan is unavailable for comment, as he is adjusting his spunk funnel. Since his blog post, he has employed strict measures to prevent questionable 'political' attire from being worn at his lectures. He earlier added that he's amended his 'free copy' rules: women are now eligible to gain a free copy of FoM if they at least have C-cup tits.''

Jordan is currently touring Europe with his new lecture series based on the filmography of Russ Meyer. Tickets available here.


August 26, 2019, 08:44:17 PM #17 Last Edit: August 26, 2019, 08:56:40 PM by DangledTeeth

Dyson: The saltiness of Doctor Pervertson makes me think he's the biggest cracker in the proverbial Ritz factory.

Jordan: See, people on the Left utilise their freedom of speech to say inflammatory things. And that's fine, it works both ways, eh. But there's no need for that.

Dyson: Chill out, bruh. You're Jordan Pervertson - the man with 20 million subscribers on YouTube, who's sold 30 million copies of his book, and you're upset over PC. Why you mad, son?! You're a mean old whitey post-colonialist who eats raw chicken.

Jordan: *Sniff* okay, fine... you're going to bring race into it. I'm indifferent. Indifferent enough to say I'm appalled by your comment.

Dyson: A lotta conservative white folks are going to be maaaad at an African American for speaking with complete eloquence while using polysyllabic words, yuh-knoh-sayn. But what the institutional, oppressive system of the U.S. has to do with Canada - where this debate is taking place - is beyond me. (To Jordan) You done don't even not know what racism meeyns. It ain't gotta mean discrimination in the concept you misunderstand, ya dig? See... jive-asses thunk racism can be employed by er'body. The ones in power - tha's you, waiboy - are the only ones who can be racist; we minorities can only merely discriminate against those with superiority.

Jordan: But you used an ad hominem against me. I'm telling Tammy!

Dyson: Now you understand the payeen inflicted by Jim Crow an' 400 hunnid+ years of white supremacy. Where my reparation at, whitey? Ohhh, you done don't tell me you ain't got the cash?! Naaw, you must be cashin' those duckets for an M-60 rifle in order to justify your existentialist crisis regarding your cracka-ass glory. Here's a rhetorical question for y'all folks. What's the difference between a broken vase and Jordan Pervertson's book? One shows signs of fragility, and the other costs $19.99.

Audience: Uh-hah-haw-hah!

Jordan: You don't know a thing about me. I have a Native Canadian friend who lets me wear his feathery hat and doesn't mind if I rhythmically tap my palm against my mouth as I holler away - cultural appropriation is a lie developed by the radical leftists.

Dyson: I - Michael Eric Dyson - am inviting you to attend my church. Have you been to a black baptist church?

Jordan: No.

Dyson: I'ma hook you up! This is gon' go down, son.

Jordan: Please, actually do it. I'm very serious about it. It won't bother me in the slightest. I lecture to a multiracial class.

Moderator: We need to see that happen.

Dyson: Like the great philosopher Lil Uzi Vert once said: ''Actual happiness always looks pretty squalid in comparison with the overcompensations for misery. And, of course, stability isn't nearly so spectacular as instability. And being contented has none of the glamour of a good fight against misfortune, none of the picturesqueness of a struggle with temptation, or a fatal overthrow by passion or doubt. Happiness is never grand.'' And actual happiness can't be found in America, because to challenge racism is akin to challenging America. I know this is in Canada and race relations are somewhat different, but you get the fucking idea.

Jordan: Let's entertain the idea that I've achieved a multitude of things through my white privilege. What the fuck shall I do with it? Let's be preciiiiisssse! Yeah, Pre-cise! The exactitude must become known! PRECISE! Let's get this question answered so that the docile lefties can trumpet their sensible emission once again.

Dyson: Mhmm-hm... precise, mhm-hmm. Exactitude.

Jordan: How wide are we talking, 1.5? 2.0 inches?

Moderator: Wide!? Inches!? Dr Pervertson, this is a debate about political correctness.

Jordan: Political correctness?! I thought it was about penis circumference.

Moderator: Then what did you think white privilege was about?

Jordan: It's complicated, roughly speaking. The right to cough the yoghurt through one's wand, i.e. spunk.

Stephen Fry: My two esteemed opponents opposite myself used huckstering, snake oil, pulpit talk. And speaking of snake and penis circumference, I wouldn't mind having a peek at Dyson's black adder. BAA-AAAH!


August 28, 2019, 12:08:46 AM #18 Last Edit: August 28, 2019, 12:29:43 AM by DangledTeeth

Sackur: Dr Pervertson, welcome to Hardtalk.

Jordan: Pleasure to be here.

Sackur: Call this immediate but I have to know... are you hard?

Jordan: Wuell... that depends on what you mean by 'hard'.

Sackur: Erect, Proffy Pervo. Rigor Mortis of the cockstand. Are you harder than a girder supporting the weight of a Viagra factory? Or are you a Limp Larry with a flopper?

Jordan: I suppose the latter is more applicable to me. But then again, I am feeling a little twitch now that the idea has been formulated in my frontal cortex.

Sackur: Goooood.

Jordan nods with intrigue and apprehension

Sackur: I want to know, does this liven up your flute?

Jordan: Jesus! No! That's Skeletor's grandmother. I bet she'd need a hip replacement if you got her to do cowgirl on you, and I think I'd need a plentiful supply of lube in order to feel the grandness of her dry canyon. Assuming she is still alive.

Sackur: No. She isn't.

Jordan: Shit!

Sackur: How about her? Is your cannon yawing?

Jordan: It's a vast improvement on the bug-eyed granny, but her Muppet jawline and androgynous hairstyle doesn't quite solidify my appreciation, roughly speaking.

Sackur: Does she clang your bellend?

Jordan: Erm... I find her attire quite alluring. I'm starting to sense a surge of delight in my boomerwang. It's got going.

Sackur: Come on, Professor... you cannot possibly be on a flat now? You ought to be as hard as a Yorkshireman's anvil.

Jordan: Ah, I'm not sure what that expression means, but I do have an urgent protrusion in my pantaloons. I mean, just look at her rack, man! Incredible tits! Let me tell you, I'd let her tame my dragon of chaos any day of the week.

Sackur: I knew you were a true professor of Pervology.

Jordan: I've studied the literature, specifically the back catalog of Calgary Sluts issues 16-78.

Sackur: Speaking loosely of grandmothers earlier, I need to question you about an excerpt from your classic book, Faps of Meaning: The Architecture of Self-relief.

Jordan: Yes.

Sackur: I'm going to quote it, and it's definitely real: "I dreamed I saw my maternal grandmother sitting by the bank of a swimming pool, that was also a river. In real life, she had been a victim of Alzheimer's disease, and had regressed, before her death, to a semi-conscious state. In the dream, as well, she had lost her capacity for self-control. Her genital region was exposed, dimly; it had the appearance of a thick mat of hair. She was stroking herself, absent-mindedly. She walked over to me, with a handful of pubic hair, compacted into something resembling a large artist's paint-brush. She pushed this at my face. I raised my arm, several times, to deflect her hand; finally, unwilling to hurt her, or interfere with her any farther, I let her have her way. She stroked my face with the brush, gently, and said, like a child, "isn't it soft?" I looked at her ruined face and said, "yes, Grandma, it's soft."

Jordan: What would you like me to clarify?

Sackur: I'm aware you wrote that it was a dream, but did I read correctly that your grandmother had her cunt out, foliage and all?

Jordan: Oh yeah. It was a catastrophic mane, you know. There was no Muf(f)asa in this archetype. If you're interested, there's an audio book.

Sackur: Fuck me not! You are joking?!

Jordan: Oh certainly not.

Sackur: Who's the voice behind it, Tony Jay?

Jordan: No. I read the whole laawt.

Sackur: Pvff-pvff-hah. Sorry.

Jordan: There's no need to laugh. I'm serious. I read the whole damn thing. From beginning to end. Chapter 6 contains my best hypothesis.

Sackur: That would be: ''It was a steadily overcast Saturday morning, the dappled sunlight began to fade from the surface of the kitchen table as the formation of brooding clouds overlapped and projected nature's misery across the row houses of my street. So... I thought I'd liven up a mundane weekend with a Jizzney title, which I hadn't seen for quite a while. It was 'Biffer and the Beast'. Now, this particular archetypal story is predicated on the fabled tale of dominance hierarchies and 'nice guys finishing last'. You see, the protagonist of the film called Belle was renowned for her luxurious minge - the townsfolk all wanted to enter her fuzzy cavern. But, in this charmingly subversive and cinematic yarn, the hideous-looking guy - Beast - gets to fuck the ass off Belle once she's subjected to his misogynistic, overbearing masculinity and he learns to listen, be gentle, and tone down the overtly alpha facade. They both negotiate from a sub-structure of imposed power in order to surmount their insecurities: one must suffer the neuroses of the other party before allowing oneself to engage and destabilize the paranoiac grandeur.''

Jordan: It's a meta-narrative of truth. It instills hope into young men. You can go to a huge French castle and dance with an animated assortment of singing furniture and get it on with a sizzling brunette.

Sackur: Are you still hard?

Jordan: It's drooped into a semi.

Sackur: Professor Pervertson, I have no idea where this is going, but thank you for coming on.

Jordan: Thank you for inviting me on your programme.


August 29, 2019, 01:14:05 AM #19 Last Edit: August 29, 2019, 02:22:36 AM by DangledTeeth

Joe: How's Mikhaila doing? She was on the podcast last week and told me about her all-meat diet.

Jordan: Great! We met up for dinner at the weekend and she's managed to lose 4lbs.

Joe: So it's strictly meat, with salt, and vodka?

Jordan: That's the basic staple of the diet, yeah. With a hint of vegetables here and there.

Joe: Like carrots?

Jordan: Noooo. They're not a vegetable as they are not green. Orange is a colour, by the way. It's not just a fruit.

Joe: But... Okay. I understand that the diet causes a kind of unsettling feeling about other foods that are not part of said diet?

Jordan: Oh yeah. Without any douwbt whatsoever.

Joe: You've had a negative experience?

Jordan: A bloody hawribble experience, man.

Joe: So what happened?

Jordan: Wuell... I suppose I deviated from the meaty diet, roughly speaking. I erm, sat down to lamb cutlets accompanied by beef sprouts and roast porktatoes, and I drank one of those ciders. I can never pronounce the name. *Waves splayed fingers* Moot or Maut. Soeh... I had this clear alcoholic treat - passionfruit, I think. I mean, it was really, really efficacious on my tongue, but I severely regretted gulping that crap.

Joe: You suffered from a long bout of food poisoning?

Jordan: No-no, nothing like thaht. For the next two weeks I had this-this overwhelming urge to act out a very niche and perverse ritual, you know.

Joe: Did you feel this way throughout the day or...

Jordan: Well actually, it was a pahtikyuhlur thing that happened at night. A very peculiar condition. It's not been documented in many journals, although a colleague/friend of mine at the Berlin Archives has encountered people who'd experienced my fortnight of hell.

Joe: What is the condition?

Jordan: Wuell... I'd say it correlates with OCD, as it tends to manifest itself with a moderate level of anxiety and a compulsion to perform a specific act that you know is pointless and ridiculous. I'd accurately call it coprobation?

Joe: And what does that mean?

Jordan: It's an instance where someone masturbates with fecal matter.

Joe: You mean... jerking off with shit?!?!

Jordan: Yep.

Joe: Pounding your poker with poop - are you fucking kidding me?!?!

Jordan: No. I'm being very serious here, Joe. It's an incredibly rare condition. But... it was around 10pm to 4am when I'd feel somewhat aroused and, you know, depending on where I was in the house or if I was asleep with Tammy, I'd sneak off to the bathroom and do my dirty business into the bowl and erm... I'd carefully scoop it ouet with an abundance of tissues and massage the turd across my foreskin and glide it across my helmet.

Joe: What?! No!!!!

Jordan: Circular motions work best towards stimulating your member, because the viscosity of your stools can vary, and after I'd eaten spaghetti made out of a sheep's bladder and a helping of traditional beef mince with a glass of chicken-shake, my turds were squidgy yet with volume.

Joe: Ah, fuck! That's... that's just... what happened at the end?

Jordan: It was really appalling. Such a disgusting sight.

Joe: Wh-what did it look like? I mean, you can spare me the graphic detail.

Jordan: Let me ask you this: have you ever trodden on a Viennetta?

Joe: No. That's because I don't know what that is. Some type of carpet?

Jordan: I wish it was, Joe. *Shakes head* It's basically an ice cream cake.

Joe: Ahhh, nooo! God!

Jordan: Yeah. Just an obliteration of umber drowned in milky traces of semen. This... this pulp of sordid waste was just clinging to my dick. Sigh! I had to shower for fifteen minutes each night. For two weeks. I had to stock up on air freshener.

Joe: What do you think gave you these impulses to do weird shit, pardon my pun?

Jordan: I analysed the prawblem after I instantly reacted with acute dismay and shame towards my drowsy brown fap, because it's not normal to smear dirt over your pole in an attempt to reach orgasm. There are plenty of other lubricants one can use - ones that don't reek of stale casserole and bacon crisps - and shit isn't the best option, man. It's very low on the hierarchy.

Joe: And what was the diagnosis?

Jordan: Wuell... my occipital lobe took an immediate liking to this new diet introduced by my daughter. Soeh, I developed a low level of fear about not longer sustaining an appetite for vegetables or dairy produce. And I guess I was punishing myself by spoiling one of my beloved daily activities, i.e. fapsturbation. Soeh, it was like a subconscious post-it-note was whacked onto my pink: 'You chomp on meat from now on, your faps will be literally shit'.

Joe: Wow!

Jordan: Yeah... but the sickening reaction to the routine helped me to concentrate and tolerate the sight and taste of eggs, cheese et cetera. It was operating as a psychological counterweight to my apprehension.

Joe: So, you did this every night at home, for two weeks?

Jordan: Not always. One night, I was at a bar with Stephen Pinker and Ben Shapiro. It was quite late, you know. Must have gotten to the hour of eleven and... I felt this wave of derealisation where I had a heightened awareness of my own being and place, soeh I retreated to the can and did this little mind game where I focus on something minuscule and basically distract the neurochemical imbalance by sifting through my memories.

Joe: Yeah...

Jordan: And erm, I managed to unleash a couple of dirt logs into the splash, and by sheer coincidence the strain of my push caused the thrill sergeant
to stand to attention.

Joe: Oh... don't tell me, y'didn't!?

Jordan: I whacked it off with one of my sienna missiles.

Joe: Jordan! Come on! That's fucking unorthodox and unhygienic.

Jordan: Well, you have a right to judge my predicament.

Joe: Ugh? I don't get what you mean.

Jordan: I didn't have any change, so I exited the restroom without washing my hands, because I couldn't pay one of those toilet assistants who dispenses soap and thrust tissues at you.

Joe: Aggh.

Jordan: Steven remarked about a rusty streak across the side of my hand, just below my little finger.

Joe: And how did you react?

Jordan: I told him it was a dab of french mustard from earlier, although I don't think he was quite convinced, as none of us dined in the bar. He consequently stared into the distance and appeared lightly incredulous. Fortunately, we all had to call it a night because Shapiro had to leave in order to iron his jim-jams by 11.30pm.


August 29, 2019, 08:22:18 PM #20 Last Edit: August 30, 2019, 12:20:14 AM by DangledTeeth

This week has been terribly eventful, from the evacuation of the G7 Summit after a facilitator did a smelly blow-off, to Donald Trump declaring his proposals towards tackling climate change, ''Trees are the aerials of life; they send out precious air that we all need to live. My fellow Americans and people worldwide would agree with this. The best way to produce more oxygen is to buy more than one Christmas tree.'' And how to combat Rainforest fires caused by an alarming rise in temperature, ''Water douses fire. The problem is, the fires are too big. We cannot transport the ocean into the sky then unleash it above the inferno. They say there's 'no smoke without fire'. With this in mind, I believe the solution to the problem is a relatively straightforward one: get rid of the Rainforest.''

But the most bizarre occurrences among all the malodorous chaos and downright stupidity involved the self-help 'internet dad' Professor Jordan B. Pervertson, and the outspoken Reverend Jesse Lee Peterson. The controversial classic liberal Pervertson and the ardent Trump supporter Peterson were due to appear at their respective venues on the same date. Unfortunately, the event organiser was hired both by Professor Pervertson and Reverend Peterson's management team, consequently confusing their names and booking them to appear at the wrong events.

Jordan was ushered into a small studio, where he donned a headset and answered phone calls. Due to Jesse's controversial claims about the intelligence and worth of most African Americans, one irate caller claimed Jordan was an 'Uncle Tom', to which a perturbed Pervertson responded, ''Well, that depends on what you mean by 'uncle' and 'Tom''' The caller sounded mystified and asked, ''Why do you sound kinda like Kermit the Frog today?'' Pervertson responded, ''I'm a white guy from Canada. I'm not saying that's why I sound like Kermit, not that I agree with your opinion on my voice, I'm simply stating a fact based on my race and location. Thank you for your call. Goodbye. ''.

Jordan, despite appearing at the wrong event, chose to fill Jesse's shoes and was later whisked to Jesse's nearby studio space where he records his popular interview programme, The Fallen State. Guest Amber Rose was amused by Jordan's audacity when he asked Amber about her bra size and if she waxes down there.

Meanwhile, Jesse mistakenly appeared at Stanford University, where Professor Pervertson was going to compare the archetypes of the Old Testament with cult adult film 'Lesbian Customs Officers 14' for his adoring fans.

Jesse plodded out to a row of frowns, bewilderment and mutters of uncertainty. The attendance figures started to decline when Jesse rambled away about 'racism not existing,' and saying 'everything was great before the Civil Rights Movement.' He exclaimed that Donald Trump is 'The Great White Hope.' Jesse concluded the disorganised lecture by promoting White History Month.

The Garden contacted Professor Pervertson for his comment on the mishap. ''It was bloody disappointing and very weird at the time, but I guess it's quite amusing now that I look back on it (laughs),'' stated Pervertson. ''But one particular thing I don't find amusing is everyone's insistence on calling me by the absurd surname 'Pervertson'. That's incorrect! It's Peterson, always has been - that's how my name was mixed up with Jesse's. I'm aware that I used 'Pervertson' as a signature to conclude a blog post of mine, but it was meant in an ironic way. Pervertson is the stupid name the SJW post-onanist Marxists call me. By the way, what are you wearing?''

Our offices also contacted Jesse for his view on the mix-up: ''I thought it was amazing! I've never been to Stanford before, and it made a nice change from all those betas calling my show,'' said the dreadful e-fit of Kanye West.


September 01, 2019, 12:45:42 AM #21 Last Edit: September 01, 2019, 12:56:06 AM by DangledTeeth
Soeh... okay, today's lecture is going to be abouet famous psychawlogists and the archetypes of a classic Jizzney film.

First of awllll, I'd like to speak about Bigmund Freud. Now, Freud was said to (thoughtfully looks up at ceiling) have had a nine-incher. It's-it's like this (gestures with arms outstretched). That's quite big, man! But not as large as me, eeh-haAh-Hhhah. I'm like a Helix ruler - Shatterproof Peterson is what they called me on campus. Soeh...

Freud used to psychoanalise his patients, man. I mean, he'd explore their wet dreams and interpret them in ways you never thought pahwssible.
The artist Salivating Daily used to admire Freud's thinking and implemented it into his surrealist artwork, pahtikyuhlahlee the one with the melting cocks called The Persistence of Mammaries.

Freud was said to have snorted a line of cocaine and fucked his assistant's asshole then it looked like this.

Carl Hung was another psychological genius with a relatively enormous pant python.

In 1913, at the age of thirty-eight, Hung experienced a horrible "confrontation with the unconscious". He saw visions and heard voices. He worried at times that he was "menaced by a psychosis" or was "doing a schizophrenia". He decided that it was valuable experience and, in private, he induced hallucinations or, in his words, "active imaginations". He recorded everything he felt in small journals. Hung began to transcribe his notes into a large red leather-bound book, on which he worked intermittently for sixteen years.

His Red Book was said to be the inspiration behind the seminal series 'Red Shoe Diaries'. And I forget to mention: Hung scribbled his visions into the book, mostly sketches of imaginary tits - really, really big ones.

The next subject I want to talk to you abouet is the Jizzney film from 1994 known as The Lion Quim. I've thaouwt abouet this a laawt - the archetype is... (shakes head) incredibly brilliant.

There's this little lion cub called Titba, his fawvther Muff-fucka and the latter's brother called Scunt. There's this big stampede where all the feminist wildebeest are stampeding about the patriarchy, and the three lions attempt to escape from the irate animals atawp a mountain. Soeh... Scunt deliberately lets Muff-fucka plummet to his death when he attempts to scramble upwards for his life, because Scunt wants to become the Quim of Pride Cock, which is why the fucker kills his own brother. That's tough, man.

The manipulative Scunt convinces Titba that it's his fault and he must vanish for good. Poor Titba escapes a pack of post-modern hyenas, then he's in a dark place where he feels melancholic and endures his existentialist woes while grieving for his fawvther. He goes off for a spiritual walk and befriends a meerkat and a warthog. They essentially raise him into adulthood, and it's then he meets a hawt piece of ass called Natalya or some shit.

Soeh, Titba goes back to Pride Cock and Scunt gets a rise out of him and boasts about killing his fawvther. Titba gets him to cuntfess in front of a baboon with a stick and Mr Bean as a hornbill. Titba spares his uncle's life, only for Scunt to attempt to kill Titba. He throws Scunt of the mountain for him to be eaten by the post-modern hyenas. Then Titba becomes the quim, and Natalya becomes the queen.

The archetype of this story is one of the hero who's exiled from his home and family, then the hero acquires wisdom and later confronts the prawblems of his past thereby becoming a respectful authority figure. It tells us that lion's like to bang attractive females.

Okay, does anybody have any questions?



Lauren: Hello everyone, I'm Lauren Chen. Welcome to another exciting episode of the Pseudointellectual or something. We have a special live guest on the webcam feed, it's Professor Jordan Pervertson of Toronto University; he's also a clinical psychologist and an evolutionary biologist when he feels like it. He's been fighting for the right to free speech, just don't make him drink a cider, uh-huh-hah-hah. Dr Pervertson, it's great to have you on the show...

Jordan: It's a pleasure. It's Peterson, by the way.

Lauren: Sorry-sorry, it's these negative articles I've read about you. I can't forget their alteration of your name.

Jordan: That's okay. Erm, I think the resolution of your camera is a little weak, could you perhaps adjust the quality, please.

Lauren: Sure. How's this?

Jordan's Mind

Lauren: Jordan?! Hello? Is this working?

Jordan: Ah. Erm, I was judging the contrast and saturation. It's at a much greater clarity, thank you. Beautiful, even. You've instantly altered your hair colour and appeared in a different room.

Lauren: Tell my viewers what happened on that landmark day regarding your protest against Bill C-16. I've seen the video myself, but for those who haven't seen it...

Jordan: Yes. I went down to the precinct of Toronto University and took part in the oh-Chen, sorry, open mic event organised by the stoodents. And erm, I spoke out against the legislation set in Chen Sexy. I mean C-16. Gaawd, sorry!

Lauren: Hah-hah, it's okay.

Jordan: Which, as you know, is about addressing transchender - gender - people with the correct and preferred pronoun. Soeh, I started by  gripping my 9-incher - that's the mic, by the way (puts hand alongside his mouth, whispering) I'm much bigger than that. Anyway... I gave the head a good rub to make sure I was turned on - it was on, sorry - and the social justice wankers, erm, warriors I mean, came (ahem) along and started emitting this white liquid, no, noise down the speaker in an attempt to drown out my dic(splutter)tion. There was a helpful guy wearing a bandana who came to my defence - the guy, obviously, not the headwear. Then I sternly circled the concrete floor and I blasted my staunch belief from my cakehole.

Lauren: I have to say, you stood your ground exceptionally.

Jordan smiles

Lauren: I couldn't help but notice that another Lauren was in the crowd.

Jordan: Yes, Lauren Southern.

Lauren: Was she one of your stoodents? What do you think of her?

Jordan: She wasn't in my psychology class, but I quite like her, too.

Lauren: Too?! Who else would you like?

Jordan: Erm. My... wife.

Lauren: I understand, yeah. You have concerns about intellectuals on the left who have a kind of pernicious influence on the universities.

Jordan: Oh yeah, I think the post-onanists of the university humanities departments influence some of the stoodents and they become Oriental babe (blinks drastically) oriented by a mindless, reactionary culture of too much impulsive doing and not enough thinking. It's got to chenge, argh, change! Change. It's bloody absurd, man, roughly speaking.

Lauren: I heard you once said that a sense of humour gives you a higher stahtus.

Jordan: Yes. The dahtuh shows that it does. I wouldn't class myself as a comedian in any sense, but I'm a fan of 'Lou' C.K. (or Bill Burr, same guy), South Park, The Simpsons in pahtikyoolur, and I quite enjoy Lauren and Hard-on - bloody hell - Laurel and Hardy. I do apologize.

Lauren: Dr Peterson, do you find me attractive?

Jordan: That depends on what you mean by 'attractive'?

Lauren: Wellll... not necessarily in a sexual way, but more on a psychological level because we share the same ideals.

Jordan: I'm agnostic about that question. That doesn't mean to say I don't think you're fucking hot.

Lauren: Dr Peterson, thank you for your time. It was highly insightful. All the best with your future lectures and let's hope those commies don't fire you.

Jordan: Thanks for having me as part of your webcum sexion. (winces) I think the timing is right, because... something has just popped up. Bye-bye.

Lauren: Goodbye, Professor. Well, that wraps up today's interview. Now, there's been quite a number of worrying articles centred on Hollywood's portrayal of...

Jordan: Whoops!

Lauren: Professor!!!! Wh-what is that all over your t-shirt?

Jordan: Erm... I closed the webcam chat and opened a bottle of milk right when a fly landed on the record button.

Lauren: Well! I've never heard anything so ridiculous. With that being said, I'm going to virtually converse with better company if you don't mind. Specifically Richard Spencer.


September 07, 2019, 06:02:42 PM #23 Last Edit: September 07, 2019, 06:26:27 PM by DangledTeeth
The controversial right-wing clinical professor doctor psychologist, Jordan 'Pervertson' Peterson, is yet another public figure whose voice has been replicated and used in an A.I. text input program which dictates whatever the user has typed into the entry box. The result is widely known as a 'deepfake'.

Jordan was unsettled by this milestone in computer technology and expressed his concerns:

''Well, as an advocate for free speech, I have no problem with an online text-dictation service which accurately (and scarily) imitates my voice. If people want to essentially 'use me' for their own private entertainment - for example, getting me to sing the South Park Opening Theme, Eminem karoake or speak an intimidating NSFW warning in a hypnotically monotone Albertan accent - then enjoy your new pastime, man.

''However, the problem is nestled within an axiom of neurological disposition, roughly spunking. You see... the so-called deepfake video of myself reading an audio book called 'The Art of Sucking Dick' is actually real. As real as meta-physical truth, man. And I'm deeply unhappy that it's been leaked.

''It was a project I started earlier this year; it was before my literary agent contacted Penguin & Random House publishers, but my scrapped audiobook wasn't approved by my publishers' lawyers due to the fact that chapter one's lyrics were originally penned by the hip-hop outfit known as Three 6 Mafia, and chapter three was by Jeezy. I cannot remember where the other lyrical content came from. Clearly plagiarism was a key problem for them to have released it.

''Aside from the ineptitude and explicit content of my canned project, it was difficult for my publishers to purvey an audiobook when you consider my liberal usage of the n-word. Now, I'm staunchly for freedom of speech and I'm against political correctness, but I now insist on using the fluffy and patronizing term 'n-word' despite the fact I said that word in my recording several times, because public opinion can drastically shift against me.

''The post-onanists are a negative influence towards academia and society at large with their continual updates for existing terminologies and epithets. I mean, 'n-word' is a stupid and reprehensible term. It's like the neo-Marxjist types assume a lot of people have insufficient cognitive ability and intelligence to recognise an offensive word has been quoted in context, usually in the colloquial form. It's bloody absurd. Now clean your room, lobster, or else there's no serotonin for you, Bucko.''


September 08, 2019, 10:50:17 PM #24 Last Edit: September 09, 2019, 12:02:17 AM by DangledTeeth

Ben: Today's Sunday Special is with a good friend of mine, Jordan Peterson. Or 'Pervertson' as the leftists derisively say. He's joined me here in the studio and I just so happen to have a copy of his fantastic book called 12 Lubes for Wife.

Jordan: It's a pleasure to be here. More so when I had a quick one off the wrist before the make-up lady dabbed her pad on me.

Ben: It-wasn't-a-Maxi-pad, was-it?

Jordan: No. No it bloody was not. Pardon the pun. Aah-Hhheah-hagh-hagh.

Ben: You've been quite busy these last few years, certainly since promoting your new book and going on your lecture tours.

Jordan: Yeah. It's been tremendous and so eye-opening to see all these young men turning their lives around, man.

Ben: Tell-us-a-little-bit-about-the-book.

Jordan: Wuell, the lubes aren't exactly literal, roughly speaking. They're a meaningless alternative to the stuffy-sounding 'rule'. What I've laid out in my book are twelve helpful guidelines.

Ben: Okay, I'm going to ask you about the first chapter: Stand up straight like an erect penis. What's-the-significance-of-that?

Jordan: I feel it's best for people to maintain a solid posture as it can send a signal out to people, telling them that you're confident and strident in your ways if you walk upright, or quite vulnerable and miserable if you're slouching. It's a great way to build up a sense of worth and value if your skeleton is charmingly perpendicular.

Ben: You mentioned the characteristics of the nobster. Tell-me-more-about-that.

Jordan: The nobster is an understated, overlooked and peculiar creature. It has a bulbous arm which looks like a shaft of a dick, complete with two pincers on each end. The reason why I'm pah-tick-yuh-lar-lee fond of these crunchy beasts is they know how to engage in pinchicuffs - if they want to. Nobsters can size each other up by waving their penis-like arm in the air as a way to demonstrate how large their clacker is, and they can also launch cum from their eyes at each other, which provides information about how fucking tough or not they are.

Ben: I-see, yeah. What's-your-take-on-deepfake-videos?

Jordan: Bloody appalling, man. I mean, the technology behind it is marvellous, and using it for purposes of comedy is acceptable. The Rap God one of me is excellent. But it can lead to more people being misinformed. Someone could upload a clip of me spouting a load of old shit about snakes and the
DNA double helix. I feel that A.I. technology is stripping out the soul of the individual and essentially taking people's identities. This shit will get harder in the future.

Ben: And on that note, it's time for me to speak on behalf of our sponsor Butt Nuggets B Gone. Do your butt hairs have traces of dried shit plastered to them? Have you had to take a small pair of scissors with you into the shower and snip out the detritus? If the answer to either of these questions is 'yes', buy a 400ml bottle of this turd-emancipating ointment today for $24.99. You can get a 30% discount if you use the code 5H1T455 at the checkout. That's 5H1T455 for 30% off your order.

Ben turns to Jordan

Ben: I've heard the one of 'me' doing Rap God. Yeah, it's clever how people can code these things, but I dislike rap music and Marshall Mathers for disrespecting President Trump.

Jordan: I'm going to have to respond rather neutrally to your stance on rappity-hop, for I'm cool enough to have had Akira the Don do several lo-fi chillhop mixes with my life-affirming prose laced throughout. It's a really bright idea.

Ben: Speaking of bright, I'd like to thank another of our sponsors 'Fleshlight Travel' - the perfect tool for the guy on his travels. This portable orifice can be compacted into a smaller size and be taken with you in your bag. That's right, gentlemen, you can relax on a long commute and have a sneaky faux-fuck in a train toilet or private seating cubicle with this synthetic trinket. Place your order and use the discount code SH4P1R01564Y for 20% off. Don't delay, plastic sex will be yours today for $25.99.

Jordan: Did you know, human beings separated themselves from chimpanzees. (Jordan points with conviction) Whhoyy? Wuell, that's because human women are haawt. Female chimps are fucking ugly. Just look at their silly lips, wrinkly crap underneath their eyes and lack of table etiquette. Who wants to take that abomination to Arby's, man?! No one. Wuell, maybe Sam Harris would bang a chimpette, but that's besides the point. The point is, human females are less hairy and wear erotic lingerie, and there's not much chance they'll tear your countenance of with their mitts.

Ben: What about Helena Bonham Carter in Planet of the Apes 2001?

Jordan: That's a good question. She looks quite attractive in that Hollywood make-up.

Ben: I'm-sorry-what-makeup!?

Jordan: The specialized icing masterfully applied to her face, Ben.

Ben: You mean... she doesn't resemble an airbrushed testicle?

Jordan (Sincerely): No, she doesn't.

Ben: Huff!

Jordan: It depends on what you mean by exhalation of acute disappointment.


September 24, 2019, 11:26:40 PM #25 Last Edit: September 25, 2019, 12:01:54 AM by DangledTeeth

Hello everybody, welcome to my YouTube channel. I'm Mikhaila Peterson, accurately speaking.

This video is about a family update. We're aware that the public have been tuning into our videos and have purchased my Dad's books, so my mother and I have decided to bring you all up to speed on the newest developments regarding us - the Petersons. To put it bluntly, Dad has voluntarily checked himself into a rehab clinic for his sex addiction.

As a family, we've had mild concerns about Dad's interest in erotic literature and cinematography. It's never been particularly concerning for us initially, as Dad had a light and normal interest in the odd wrist flick and jazz mag, just like any ordinary guy. But then 'ordinary guy' turned into perverted father, which is quite problematic and worrying.

My Mom and I noticed how overt Dad was with his sordid desires once his celebrity rocketed after that C-16 fiasco. I believe the book deal and huge sales increased his ego and he felt comfortable enough to project his filthy pleasures through his lectures and writing. It's incredibly surprising he didn't receive any disciplinary action for his low-brow lectures, although the mere mention of the term 'disciplinary action' could've been misinterpreted as an invitation to a BDSM session with the dean of Toronto University, so maybe the humanities were terrified of demoting or firing my father.

The cracks started to appear last year when he decided to revise 'Faps of Meaning: The Architecture of Self-relief'. And if you'll pardon the pun, more cracks appeared when we literally stumbled across his vast collection of 'Maple Syrup Asses' publications stored behind one of his large Soviet paintings propped up against the wall. So yeah, Dad updated some chapters in FoM and thought his diagrams were convoluted and out of date; here's an example that made us aware that something mangled his sense of decency.

(I've never heard or read the word 'boh-lock' before, but it's easy to deduce what this word means as Dad's obviously illustrated a couple of balls.)

Dad started to associate himself with intellectual rockstars like Stephen Fry and Russell Brand. In the below photo you can see Russell groping my Dad's ass, which is something Dad requested him to do. I tried to ask him why this happened, but the only answer I got was some babble about the 'Oneness Buddha provides as he channels the earth's chi once he lowers his robe and gets out his dinkle'. I didn't understand what this meant, so I asked Russell about the overt cheek-pinch then he spouted some polysyllabic prattle at me and salaciously grinned as he concluded each sentence.


Hello there, I'm Tammy Peterson. A lot of you will know me as Jordan's wife. We've spent numerous happy years together, but our happiness diminished as Jordan's fame grew and grew. A dark cloud loomed over each of our lives since the cruel media backlash and countless misrepresentations of his character. And my illness was the catalyst for Jordan, which gave him the excuse to indulge in his sexual fantasies as a way to distract himself from the misery of my then-declining health.

My husband is a very compassionate, perspicacious and devoted man, and I felt it was best to help my role model of a husband by documenting the worst of his warped demands and unorthodox manner. As a social scientist and clinical psychologist, he'd comprehend the objectivity of his reality and assess the thought processes and emotional impact relating to his behaviour. I hoped photographs and video evidence of his silliness would inject some sense into him; but unfortunately, once I set up a self-timed Polaroid that captured his demand for me to 'Fist Kermit in his asshole, roughly speaking', he didn't accept the intensity of his perverse psyche.

I took this opportunity to confront Jordan and he was quite vague and dismissive of the occurrence. He stated, 'It depends on what you mean by 'fisting' and 'asshole'.' Then he stared thoughtfully at me - with an intense frown that made the skin above his eyebrows go all wrinkly like a crap sausage - while he slid his wedding ring back and forth and exclaimed 'Kermit is a meta-physical conduit of innocence, mirth and latent promiscuity; he represents the Jungian archetype of the heroic slave-bitch who needs knuckles inserted into his posterior, for the distant green relative of the chimpanzee shall ensconce himself into the upper echelons belonging to Garden of Eden; the forbidden fruit represents one's desire for intercourse and onanism, nothing more than an idiomatic substrate of His divinity - those who accept God shall inevitably embrace the orgasmic delights of their fisted butthole''. Quite bizarrely, Jordan said that while his statement is predicated on an axiomatic verisimilitude, it wasn't actually him sat opposite me; it was top actor Jeremy Irons regaling me about the importance of Scar's dominance in the animal hierarchy as seen in The Lion King.

Here's a screenshot of my husband weeping over what is said to be an emotional reaction to his own writing - it's not correct. It was the day when Pornhub's server crashed.

The candid interview he had with our family friend, Joe Rogan Podcast, sent shivers up my spine -- I wasn't aware Jordan was masturbating with his numbers twos in the early hours of the morning, or at any time. You would've thought that doing such a thing is profoundly disgusting in itself, but to brazenly admit this in front of several million people watching on YouTube was another notch taken away from my tolerance.

You're perhaps wondering, 'Why now? How did Jordan submit himself to the Dragon of Epiphany and become the Hero of Rehab?'. A week ago, I heard muffled yet amplified chanting emanating from Jordan's gallery room once I came back home early from shopping across town. I clearly heard Jordan loudly murmuring ''We must endure suffering akin to the torturous nature of the Gulags that Solzhenitsyn was haunted by. Now, destroy the inner post-modern Marxist by kneeling on your shins and swiping the sandpaper across your nutsack after I count to ten.''

I armed myself with my Canon SLR and flicked Jordan with a weary Dave Rubin alongside him, each wearing terrifying gimp masks of some kind. Jordan wept once I caught him in the undeniable act. He was very apologetic and embarrassed by the whole ordeal. There was very little Mikhaila and I could do; the rest was up to my darling husband, who contacted the local clinic and vowed to rid himself of the chaos located in his groins.

Thank you for your continued support. We'll hopeful be a fully functioning and content family by Christmas and the next year and the year after that.


Greetings Cookd and Bawmd,

Jordan Peterson here to notify my beloved fans that I'm out of rehab for my sex addiction, roughly speaking. They triiied to make me goooo to rehab I said 'po-mo-mo', which stands for postmodern. Because *slow parts forearms and lightly wriggles fingers* the postmodernists believe that institutions are pernicious slabs of concrete and mortar which govern how we think about the world and that science ought to be scrutinised as though it's a meta-physical substructure that doesn't provide definitive answers. Soeh, I then excogitated my predicament and thawght that I'll do what the opposite of Foucault and Derrida wrote abouet because I don't like them pahtikyuhlahlee.

Anyways, I no longer have the desire to prattle away about the eroticism in Disney flicks. I have cancelled my subscription to those sordid YouTube-style websites. And I'm allowed to have one fap per week.

Soeh... instead of indulging myself in a sexual realm of procrastimasturbation, I'm going to take respawnsibility for my actions for the good of the internet community here. I've decided to regale you adoring fans with my enthralling analysis of film, artwork and music critiques. Hawnestly, man, it's going to be ffffucking lit. Oh! Speaking of 'lit', i.e. literature, I have released a revised deluxe edition for my multi-billion-selling 12 Lubes for Wife book, which I'll share with you chapter by chapter (or 'fapters, as I stupidly called them) whenever I have a spare moment between interviews. And despite my reluctance to engage with material for the more discerning gentleman, I'll periodically dive into the archives for unseen 'Classic Pervertson'.

Oh yeah, ah-heuah-heuah-heuah, I almost forgawt to tell you that I had a leading role in a Star Wars parody 'The Pervert Menace', with two more episodes to follow, not to mention a Coronation Street 'Jordan Phelanson' one which is pretty feasible as Cawrrie is broadcast in regions of Canada, soeh the idea of me as a fictional bald scouser of nefarious evilness isn't that far-fetched (despite my awbvious hair transplant). I hope to bloody share that with you awll one day.

Well, it's 2020 and my vision for the future is very clear. Thank you for reading, bucko. Happy New Decade.

Yours Professoringly

Docfessor Jordan Bernt Peterson :)


Low background music

Oh, hey there. Welcome to my new YouToob series Jordan's Art Heroes. I'll be periodically speaking abouet works of art which transcend the human condition, soeh stay tooned for more episodes. Ensconce yourself in your executive spinning office chair or luxurious sofa, you know, pour yourself a glass of wine or a cider, whichever.

The artist I have chosen to talk abouet today is the contemporary painter called Cy Twombly.

Hawnestly, I've thought about him a laawt. Wuell, not the guy himself, eh-hheauh-Hhagh-hhagh. No. I'm referring to the oeuvre of Cy Twombly, artist of art.

Firstly, before I examine his bawdy of work, I have to say that it depends on what we mean by Cy Twombly. No, wait, not 'mean'... 'pronounce' is the correct word. Is it 'chee', 'chy' or is it 'chur' uttered in a Slavic way? *Sigh* I'm not bloody sure abouet thaaht.

So anyways, as most of you will know, I'm enamoured with Soviet art deriving from totalitarian communist nations as it reminds me that Stalin is a terrible man whose complete misdeeds were not inherently friendly. Cubism and Impressionism are pretty cool, too.

Soeh, who is Chee Twumbler? *Momentarily raises an index finger as he pauses thoughtfully* There's a prawblem... I don't want to check ouet his bio on Wikipedia which - as accessible as it is - is distinctly postmodern and is filled with 'cited' half-truths, broadily speaking. What I can tell you about the guy is he was a man. A human being of a man. An artist. A conveyor of concepts. A man who expressed himself visually through the medium of brush and paint. You get the axiomatic idea, eeh.

Okay, soeh, at first glance of his handiwork, he appears to be *wriggles fingers lightly and raises his forearms* a kind of minimal expressionist or similar. I'm going to show you a selection of his most endearing output.

This painting is staggering in its gargantuan boldness. The sheer hubris behind his defiance of academic teaching is weirdly admirable to say the least - what affected his psyche to such a degree he'd paint like a catatonic schizophrenic on DMT? Cky Twatly is an individual who, let's say, invites us to vicariously absorb his endeavour; the experience of painting content for sake of unrestricted self-expression. Art is essentially a bloody selfish act, man. It's very lucrative as well. You've got to, you knpw, marvel at the loose and fluid motion of his applications on such a large and high surface. He's a maverick who makes agreeable men stroke their chins and compels women to tilt their heads adoringly at a 20-degree angle as they scrutinise the majesty of it all, and he changes the way we think about huge overlapping loops and a garish hue.

Now, I find this pahtikyuhlur scribble profoundly interesting. Twinkly subverts our notions as to what is complete and what is essentially a draft of an idea. Because... *frowns* to construct a complete product one needs to formulate an idea in order to have a basis for the very thing we want to communicate to people, and that's the foundation of any creative pursuit. This cherished artist has the admirable temerity to frame an obtuse piece of imagery that you'd expect to see on a scrap sheet of paper or on the inner front cover of a diary. Cy challenges the mortal to ponder the bridge between what's acceptable in the mind of the individual viewer and the entrenched sensibilities and outdated standards that have infested art academies for centuries. It is the emancipation of consciousness for the being.

Among all the downright chaotic marks and, erm, chicken's foot or flower is the obtrusive inclusion of the name APOLLO which, to me, evokes visions of the greatest adventure embarked by man. (Of course, the radical leftist feminists would have something to say abouet thaaht 'sexist' pronoun.) If Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin and the other guy can propel themselves to the celestial golf ball, then we can doubtless say that the static simplicity of Twumblo is worthy of accolade.

I find this sizable chunk of canvas highly enthralling. I went to whatever fucking museum this Twombly was in and was overwhelmed by the sight of a gigantic, seemingly aimless doodle and it threw me off in the most heavenly way, you know. Nietzsche once wisely said, ''There are no beautiful surfaces without a terrible depth''. And the puffy-moustached genius isn't wrong with his profound statement: the canvas is sumptuous in its blank readiness, and Twombly's stream-of-consciousness brand of language is savagely unflattering yet meditative in equal measure. Really, really lovely.

The carefree lines present the innocence and playfulness of the wandering mind; it symbolises a tentative voice channelled loudly through the motion of an upper appendage gripping a writing instrument: 'I am Twombly; hear me scribble'. The repetition of the same mark splendidly fills the negative space that would have been beneath the first horizontal billowing strip of linework. Thumbly, I suspect, wanted us to realise that we ought not be restricted to a world of abject suffering. We must heroically manifest our current state of mind through utilisation of whatever skill or talents we have and to share it with the inhabitants of our planet and give Almighty God a warm hug. I mean, equal of opportunity is vital and sensible - people can elevate themselves to the height of Twombly if they wished to pursue a career in whatever field they desire to work in. Equality of outcome? Yeah, good fucking luck with thaht, you Marxist fleabite, eeh.

Now... I expect most people will feel dismayed by this incredibly witty juxtaposition as the general public are not a clinician and psykawlogist like me. Because someone like myself has seen plenty of mental things, man. After all, I'm great friends with Ben Shapiro.

Soeh, it's deeply interesting how he expresses fragility so urgently with an adequate amount of opacity in such an understated way and on a rectangular canvas, then the wider canvas is littered with miserable violet circling, presented in such a way it's almost kinetic and intimidating, like a snowy blizzard. But what's pahtikyuhlarlee captivating abouet these creations is they each have drips. In my humblest estimation, it was no accident these drips occurred; they were contrived but not in the strictest sense of the word, because it is all planned ouet and produced very meticulously yet they are not artificial in their meaning and execution. Perhaps we're basking in the melancholy of his narrative. The story was Twombly, and he embodied the archetype of the hero in his own tale. The museums are the forewords.

That's all for today's episode. I hope you come away from this lecture sufficiently informed abouet a pioneering champion of the art world. You've been watching Jordan Peterson. Thank you, wherever you are.


January 04, 2020, 01:57:57 AM #28 Last Edit: January 04, 2020, 02:14:18 AM by DangledTeeth

Intro song

Hello everyone, it's your favourite public intellectual here with another thrilling episode of Art Heroes. Who's today's Art Hero you ahsk? Mr Frank Auerbach.

Who is Frank Auerbach? It's a good question. Wuell, he was a good pal of Lucian Freud, grandson of mega genius Sigmund. Frank, though, is a complete modern genius at depicting the human figure and facial protrusions, and he's also a master of incorporating a meta-physical narrative into his ambitious paintings, speakly speaking. I have looked at his paintings a laawt. And they are dopecool.

My closest friends aren't fans of his paintings whatsoever. One of whom felt like he wasted his time when he went to an exhibition and stayed for approximately sixty minutes where a lone Auerbach was displayed, which he tried to scrutinise then figure out what it meant. Wuell, needless to say, he certainly won't get that 'hour back'. Ah-hheh-hhagh-hhagh-hhagh-hhagh. Wait a second! Is the last syllable of his surname pronounced 'bark'? Fuuuuck! If it is, then that's my joke ruined. *Mumbling* Why couldn't my friend own a dog.

I'll stop being facetious now - cough! - excuse me. Some people may cast cyninism over his 'asinine, ghastly, vague representations of people rendered in disgustingly fluid impasto' because they think it doesn't attempt to depict the identity of the sitter or express any character with charm or depth which is an essential aspect to portraiture, unless of course the sitter does uncannily resemble an 'ungainly sequence of bristly smudges', in which case Auerbach would be a supreme photorealist who'd make Chuck Close look like an untalented hack of a cunt.

The more conservative atheist types prefer tradition and rational objectivity, soeh they have a tendency to argue that Auerbach's smeariness is best suited to landscape painting as it would aptly give a basic sense of structure and form in a post-impressionistic manner. Not postmodern, by the way. Wuell, that's one way of looking at it in an infinite myriad ways. But I personally find his untrammelled productivity intensely compelling and laudable. Just think: this guy - apparently - spent an insubordinate amount of time painting people in his studio. One style. Again and again. Waow, that defines dedication, man. As for Auerbach... Ah-hhagh-hhegh-hhagh-hhagh. I'm just joking, man.

Auerbach eradicates the ingrained notion that art has to be realistic and representational, but there's a prawblem nestled within this rationale: the postmodern idea of rejecting adjuncts of reality is rather stupid when brushstrokes and colours are an element of reality and thus convey realism to a degree in which we understand what the bloody hell we are looking at, roughly speaking.

His brash colour palette draws you in to the finer details of his series of oily, skewed raccoon faces, such as: the dubious hair, squelchy nose, void eyes, and the divine lips of indifference. It has such tremendous impact, you know, makes me feel alive. It reminds me of the life-affirming release of dopamine I had when I finished reading Nineteen Eighty-four, the famous book by prescient writer George Orwell who, while he had socialist leanings, warned us of the horrors of the gulags and subtly predicted that there's an O'Brien in every university. Sometimes they befriend you with their lectures containing an ideological doctrine, sometimes they give you a book they'd written, give you hope to exist peacefully while simultaneously fighting an invisible enemy they created. Art is permitted. 2 + 2 equals Auerbach. I shall squeeze you empty, and then I shall fill you with Jesus. Er-erm, yeah, that's what the postmodern neo-Marxist would say.

Moving on to the next and final fizzog. The heaviness of this fudgy head that's slanted in such a sombre manner is incredible and excellent - what burden did this sitter carry?! This appears to be a pose of destructive apathy - I've seen numerous clients of mine who appear like this before they admit their personal issues. And-and that tragically sad eye is extraordinary. It's so crushingly sincere. No one could ever outdo thaht. On a somewhat unrelated note, there aren't many women painters that I know abouet.

Erm, *cough* yyyyeah. Anyways...

That wraps up my analysis. Overall, Auerbach isn't quite flawless with his intensely painterly technique or the execution of his intention, but he's a visionary of the torso and explores the physiognomy of his 20th-century sitters rather successfully in paint. I'll award him 4.5 palettes out of 5.

Thank you very much for watching, you wonderful lobsters. Please subscribe, comment, or like the video - do what you have to. Oh, and before I go, I have released an item for my channel's new and developing merchandise store.


January 04, 2020, 07:45:55 PM #29 Last Edit: January 04, 2020, 08:54:57 PM by DangledTeeth

Hey there, bucko. It's time for another episode of Jordan's Art Heroes with me, Jordan Peterson. I was supposed to say 'inordinate' instead of 'insubordinate' in my lahst video. And sorry abouet the broken time-stamps of the hyperlinks if you were viewing on the app, they're not as accurate as the web version. What am I saying, eeh?!

For a change, I'm going to share with you a much more contemporary artist who's isn't much of a painter, but she is a startling artist who'd make Duchamp's ass blush with envy (if he were alive today). Yep, you've probably guessed it already. The controversial lady with the untidy gob and crooked bed, it's none other than Tracey Emin. I bet you didn't expect me to select her, did ya? Ah-hah! Gotcha!

Speaking of her unflattering bed, here it is for the viewers who aren't familiar with her installation masterpiece par excellence.

You know, it's quite ironic - not ironically speaking - because *squints and wriggles fingers* some would say her work epitomises idleness when the subject matter is the perfect place to be lazy. Now, I'm an advocate of individuals cleaning their rooms, and an unmade slumber slab can be an unsightly piece of furniture. But having said that, it depends on what I mean by 'Your room'. Your room - where you spend most of your time at home, your sanctuary - may not be your bedroom. It could be your kitchen as you may very well be an ardent cook, soeh, with this considered, the creased sheets and personal detritus doesn't necessarily apply to everyone. I'm starting to trail off now. So anyways, yeah...

Emin's monolith of snooze is an astronomically simplistic idea and is enchanting to the highest degree. People can judge the merit of this avant-garde composition by saying that they ought to have presented their unmade bed or, to put it quite plainly, they could have done it. Oh, is that right? Wuell, if you could effortlessly let your bed get into an untidy state, why didn't you get your neglected mattress and bedside belongings shortlisted for the Turner Prize 1999? Ah-hah! Gotcha!

Here is a very important illustration. It's important because it's meant to be a depiction of two members of the royal family, namely Prince William and, erm, Kate Royallington. The deft application by Tracey's hand forms a sequence of murky lines which perfectly represent the smooching couple. On second thoughts, it could be Kate tucking into a monstrous 'royal' potato, erm, maybe that jagged anomaly at the bottom-right corner is supposed to be Guernsey, indicating where she was voraciously biting the edible. I'm uncertain about the other elements... could it be Orion's Belt using an axe to chop a log?! I don't know. The interpretations elongate into infinity.

Soeh... I arrive at this next artwork - a very provocate one at thaht. It's titled 'My Cunt is Wet with Fear'. This neon light installation is the aforementioned title. The soft lighting and feminine, loose font is so at odds with the vulgar-looking 'CUNT'. It's a thudding statement. It's very peculiar for women to have *cheek muscle twitches* a slimy vagina when they're terrified. Sexual arousal doesn't occur when one is frightened or if one is deeply concerned about somebody or something. That aside, it's a commendable, thought-provoking sign.

Here, Tracey shouts at us through the medium of crayon and A2 bristol board: WHAT ARE YOU SO FUCKING AFRAID OF. It's quite a perplexing message, it's as though she's purposely misspelled 'what' and crossed it out because she perhaps wants snobby critics to wrongly think she's a halfwit worthy of sorrow as a way to encourage the likes of Brian Sewell to vituperate her in a newspaper review, or maybe it was a genuine mistake and thought she'd showcase the imperfection with her desired statement below. The intriguing element in the entire graffiti is the lack of punctuation, specifically a question mark. This challenges us to tackle this rhetorical question in our mind and delve into the knowledge of things we are afraid of.

What is Jordan Peterson afraid of? Wasps, man. I'm thankfully not allergic to them, but their ominous drone emitted from their rapidly flapping wings makes my skin itch. They're like fucking intrusive mandibles of ash and their butt-spear stings like an asshole after a bag of tortillas and salsa. They certainly can spoil the pleasant ambiance of a summer afternoon - not the chips and dip, I mean the wasps. I don't like them, but I hope you'll like this video. Leave a comment, subscribe to JP so you don't miss any of my updates. And if you still haven't tidied your room, why not purchase this poster in order to motivate you. Thank you for watching. I'm out. Peaceterson.