The internerd has shat from its sticky fetid mung goblet many a monument to idiocy, from the comic fonted film whinings of a ginger so fat he’s crippled, to the linguistically challenged thievery of the 419 artiste, that crafty devil lounging in a subtropical cybercafe munching on pineapple stir fry and Kalashnikoving steel jacketed hurrahs into the sheet metal roof each time he scams a pensioner.
But these despicable fucktards are as nothing to that leviathan of web stupidity, that echo chamber of the banal, that Kirsties home video of online pueriletainment, the one, the only, Youtube.
Have you ever watched a neon pink haired homosexual in a tropical bird shirt slurp an ice cream cone at a playboy party with a stripper on his lap? We have.
Have you seen Azian teens lip sync and camwhore to the Backstreet Boys, or cringed watching a fifteen year old bisexual emo kid with ADHD physically cry when his efforts to impress a stalk crush through public piss combat mysteriously fail? We have.

Have you watched open mouthed as bare chested Eastern Europeans furiously battle to consume squirming electric eels from a barrel of gasoline, all for the chance to win an animatronic realdoll with the crude caricatured head of Ashley Olsen? Ok, so we made that last part up. But it’s as nothing to the depravity, ineptitude, and sheer vacuous belligerence of the ‘World O’ Horror’ ™ available mere clicks away, on YouTube.

YouTube, where every comment is a chain, threatening your grandchildren with agonising death from the undead pederastic blueballs of Strom Thurmond should you fail to pass it’s dire portents to a thousand of your closest friends.

YouTube, where anything as simply stupid as real television must be removed to make room for farting babies, fighting grannies, felching furries, singing He-Men, and endless fan made ‘tributes’ starring forty year old Hermione’s with smokers coughs and hairy knuckles and transvestite Harry Potter’s with orthodontic problems so severe they need to pick their noses to brush their teeth.

YouTube, that funhouse mirror of humanity, reflecting the hog bellied stink sacked Otaku in all of us, tweezing his micropenis to a sulfurous puff before his cringing webcam, epically desperate for one brief moment of unlonliness.

YouTube, we hate you.

The horrors of this piece of vintage exploitation almost decry description. In the senselessly disturbing introduction, Ron Jeremy uses some sort of patented come hither motion to lure a loping hippy simpleton toward his small Eastern European car, lovingly tussling her long brown hair like an England fan in a Sao Paulo topless bar. Apparently convinced, the girl takes a ride with the hedgehog; the unavoidable implication being that trained ‘retardates’ may gainfully acquire employment as ladies of the night.

Memorable moments abound, like the stealthy public cunny fiddle one ‘trainable’ attempts during a particularly dull art class. Or the grotesquely patronising ‘date’, awkwardly forced on two hapless salmon minded thirty year olds.

‘No one should use the body of an unwilling partner for their own pleasure’.

In our absolutely favourite scene, one unfortunate trainable is given an unsubtle shoulder rub at a public urinal, while a third man in a full length raincoat continues an unhurried piss, perhaps frustratingly interrupted by a mild hard.

A strange fear arises watching this muck, as few of the many featured ‘trainables’ have visible signs of learning difficulties, meaning it’s well within the realms of possibility that they were played by actors. Dire and frightening throughout. Never again will an Ennio Morricone whistle solo fail to induce a cold sweat.

‘We may not always succeed in reaching the trainable, however me must always try’.