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“Empire of Dirt” is a pile of shit

Empire of Dirt

 TL;DR: One half star awarded for the creepy whispering and sniffing of food behind Cobra’s back. Avoid this fake documentary unless you really love the kind of cringe that’s barely fun.

[pullquote]”Somehow worse than anything I’ve ever seen on KingCobraJFS” ~ Ozzy Osbourne[/pullquote]

I’d never heard of the YouTuber “YourFavoriteSon,” but after only a few minutes of Empire of Dirt, he became my least favorite documentary filmmaker. Look on the bright side, fangirls. Buried somewhere inside this nearly three hour travesty there is some shaky high definition footage of KingCobraJFS singing at karaoke night!

“Cobes” jokes, sings, drinks, cooks, shreds guitar, and comments on politics, consistently hitting sour notes somewhere between Mitch Hedberg and GG Allin. The self-described “gothic bad boy” casts spells and crafts wands from his apartment in Casper, Wyoming. But you’ll have to strain to gather even that much lore from this steaming pile of abject camerawork, botched editing, and insipid clout-chasing commentary.

After spending five days in Casper, the crack team of documentary filmmakers somehow made a film that’s drastically less entertaining than even Cobes’ worst three hour live stream. Not only is this film a tremendous wasted opportunity, but the cringe is so unhinged that one only fears for the life of YourFavoriteSon as the SWAT team shuffles by King Cobra’s webcam.

An interrogation-style interview with the Mayor of Casper reveals the big surprise that nobody in the city has ever heard of King Cobra. Many tedious and pointless segments serve only to dispel the aura of “Cobra’s Casper,” boosting the city as a great place for young adults to raise a traditional family in the outdoors.

The greater bulk of the documentary is a surreal interview with completely out of sync audio, pressing an arc depicting Cobra’s “decline,” even as his YouTube channel is seeing some of its most explosive growth to date. King Cobra is currently in negotiations with Sam Hyde for an appearance on the popular Fishtank streaming house.

This idea that Cobra is somehow a man in decline, caught in “thought loops” and substance abuse is just not reasonable, no matter how much stupid psychobabble the narrator delivers. In its final analysis, the film utterly fails to explain why Cobra is so fascinating, with the narrator flatly declaring Cobra a spectacle because, get this, he is a spectacle. At best, the fumbling teenage fangirl HAZZIIBABII says, “We all live such normal lives … you get to see what like — in their lives — I don’t know how to explain it.”

A lolcow like King Cobra is a close analog to a grotesque, or a type of character in gothic literature typically included to reveal the hidden monstrosity of all humanity. But King Cobra is only a fictional character in as far as Josh Saunders (Cobra’s legal name) has contrived. There is indeed some fine performance art at play, along the lines of Andy Kaufman’s Tony Clifton, leaving the viewer’s sense of reality both shocked and unresolved. It should be no wonder that those who believe Cobra to only be a drunken fool in decline do not themselves understand why they are religiously watching his YouTube.

Empire of dirt plugs its own shitty t-shirt designed just for the documentary, as if it is some desperate touring metal band taking a quick break. The filmmakers cower in fear, whispering behind Cobra’s back while taking creepy whiffs of his cooking. When the police warn Cobra off from a grocery store for trespassing, the cameraman hides in the passenger seat, filming the potential arrest from the perspective of a trapped child. A handful of shots only show the back of Cobra’s shoulder, as if the documentary crew are pissing themselves while filming Darth Vader. Watching this pile of shit, a supposed documentary, I began to get the sense that maybe King Cobra really is a powerful sorcerer, and that he has indeed enslaved these trolls using powerful magic and handcrafted wands. Maybe in just a few years he really will be livestreaming from the top of a clocktower dreamhouse.

 

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Anonymous hackers display shocking “Goatse” image on Sphere in Las Vegas

LAS VEGAS — Hackers from Anonymous gained access to the world’s largest display screen, the MSG Sphere in Las Vegas, shocking tens of thousands of gamblers, tourists, and citizens with the disgusting image only known as “goatse.”

In a statement to the press, spokesperson for Anonymous Barrett Brown told reporters, “We’re back and we’re meaner than ever. We don’t give a fuck about morals or ethics, and we’re going to gape open the government big time. Fuck Las Vegas!”

Brown explained the political implications of the cyber attack, “Promoting gambling to children has to end, so that’s why we put up adult imagery in public. Goatse is exactly same as any other gambling advertisement.”

Conservative groups have accused Anonymous of shilling for the so-called “Trans mafia” and using this hack to groom children. Sally Karensworth, chairwoman of Tennessee Mothers for Childhood Gambling stood up on her high horse and told members of the new Meta Threads app in an extremely viral post, “Grooming kids to gamble isn’t that bad, in fact it teaches them risk management and impulse control. What’s bad are these demon hackers showing off all this disgusting pornography in public and twisting our little sweet baby’s minds all around. End of story!”

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Man “thrown into helicopter blades”: Calls for investigation after disappearance of writers kilgoar and hatesec

West Point, Va.—Human rights lawyers are calling for independent investigations into the disappearances of esteemed journalists and satire writers kilgoar and hatesec, the scarred and dented minds behind Internet Chronicle.

After being arrested for inciting violence and leaving in the back of a police car, their attorney Cole H. Truth says the two were taken to a so-called Schrödinger’s black site.

Officer Den Hinkey knows where the writers are being held, but refuses to speak.

“Maybe they’re in there, maybe they’re not, we won’t know until we look,” Truth told a group of reporters at Middle Peninsula Regional Airport. “I am only allowed to meet with them in a trailer parked in the Sonora Desert, where they tell me they are being trafficked, unpaid, and forced to write political jokes about Ukraine and Russia.”

CEO Raleigh Sakers arrived on his private executive helicopter.

Arriving via helicopter, Lebal Drocer CEO Raleigh T. Sakers made a confusing announcement, after he began speaking before the engines shut off and before the PA system could be heard.

Raleigh T. Sakers, CEO, Lebal Drocer, Inc.

“Sometimes I meet people and we’re just on different wavelengths,” Sakers went on muttering at the podium without looking in the faces of a crowd of about 65 people. “I walked this girl out after a nice first date, she shrugged one shoulder, she smiled, and said, “Mm! I’ll give you a hug!” like we’re bein all cute and spontaneous. I looked her in the eyes and I said, ‘Bitch, I will urinate in your body right now.'”

The crowd of reporters gasped and fell silent.

“What did he say? I didn’t hear it,” a man’s voice called out.

Sakers continued.

“Be all fucking cutesy with me. Shrug that shoulder one more time and watch me really start fucking transcending.”

Sakers then pulled out a large revolver from inside his jacket, held it up proudly to the audience, and kissed it before twirling it around the index finger and holstering it again.

Just at that moment, a prestigious doctor and expert on everything arrived by car from the north pitch, driving through the active sprinkler system.

dr troubadour
Dr. Angstrom H. Troubadour

Dr. Angstrom Troubadour hit a rock and got stuck in the wet grass in a 1992 Toyota Camry. Leaning out with one elbow from the driver’s seat, Troubadour watched forward through mud speckled glasses as his front tires spun helplessly, no matter how hard he floored the accelerator.

“I can’t feel my legs,” Troubadour shouted to a crowd of journalists forming around the situation. “I feel good, but, I’m OK. Just let me get out.”

He continued slamming on the gas pedal, the small engine roaring out in a belligerent rage. Without letting off the gas, Troubadour was next seen taking something from his jacket pocket and putting it in his mouth.

Sakers – now silent at the podium – was turned away from the microphones, and watching with everyone else as longtime business partner and protegé Angstrom H. Troubadour flopped out of the car, shrieking, and wallowing in the mud.

Sakers was reportedly overheard talking to himself, saying, “Show them how it’s done, old boy.”

Troubadour looked up from between the legs of a photographer, and caught eye contact with Sakers, who looked down upon him with renewed pride. The moment lingered, and they both smiled. Troubadour looked up, and from his reclined position on the turf, the doctor punched upward, catching the reporter on the inner thigh with a near vertical uppercut.

Sakers threw his head back and laughed, revealing a battery of golden molars.

Troubadour got up, picked the reporter up over his head, and turned to a row of live television cameras.

“It’s a good thing I took my TerrorMax,” he said, smiling.

Troubadour then turned back around and threw photographer James Durmond, 45, through the still turning tail rotor of Sakers’ private Exec 90 helicopter.

terrormax
TerrorMax is approved by the world’s leading doctor.

Durmond was pronounced dead at the scene and his smithereens are being placed in an unmarked grave at the boundary of the airfield.

Authorities are now looking for Dr. Troubadour, who was last seen boarding the Exec 90, and flying dark across the Rappahannock River.

Anyone with information regarding the whereabouts of hatesec or kilgoar is encouraged to reach out to [email protected] with tips. These messages are strictly confidential, encrypted, and stored on hard drives located in a neutral nation.