GYSO Reviews Part 100 - A Blog About Learning to Draw

Published: 2026-09-06

And… action!

Tim: So I’ve got this new anime plot.

You see… In Hell, there’s this concept of an “apartment complex”. I find it quite simple, actually. To get into it, you need a key or a keycard, or maybe an NFC tag or some other evil concoction made and commercialized by evil millionares. When you’re inside, you’re actually just in a sort of intermittent liminial space called a “stairwell”. I don’t think it does it very well. Sometimes there’s an elevator, and sometimes there isn’t. It depends on the day and if one of the elevators had to call in sick with the thoronavirus. As you walk around, you eventually find different doors leading to living spaces called “apartments”. Inside the apartments, you sometimes get a good view, sometimes you don’t. That depends on how heavy the smoke is from the chemical washer business at floor level. Some apartments have balconies, and in Hell, they occasionally put glass all around the balcony to capture the heat and/or chemical fumes better.

Tim: You ever wonder if your life’s being described with a gigantic paragraph?

Thor: Oh, like we’re still in charge of writing GYSO? No way, not anymore. Glad we never have to do that again.

If you were really lucky, you could possibly even wander past the apartment doors of terrible sinners. Of course, the people who did the most heinous things get the most cushy life in Hell. The guy living directly below you? He would audibly bite his nails during company meetings. The couple down the hallway? They were socially awkward in their teenage years, and would bond over sort of weird unpopular opinions and habits. Like how one of them eats onions raw, and the other eats ginger raw. Ew. Go away.

Thor: I’m so glad we don’t have to draw anything anymore. Life is so much better down here. I say, as I gaze over the frozen hellscape of Hell.

Thor gazes over the frozen hellscape of Hell.

Tim: Stop gazing over the frozen hellscape of Hell.

Thor: When pigs fly again.

A pig is flying, again. Maintenance workers are trying to take it down, with ladders. Four leaf clovers are gushing by in the wind. In a way, it’s beautiful.

Thor: In a way, it’s beautiful, huh?

Tim: Fuck off.

As stated, yes, it’s beautiful, Tim. Thor drinks a swig of water from a large bottle and loudly goes “AAAAAAAAAH” like he’s never drank water before in his after-life.

Thor: I just love water, you know?

Tim: I hate everything. Just let me nap, for fuck’s sake.

Tim snores so loud he eats his sleeping mask.

Everyone: Surprise!!

Thim: It’s not a surprise, I ordered the cake, and told everyone to come here, so stop saying that immediately. Let me fill out my sentences. Also, I booked the party location and sent out the invites to the entire GYSO cast, past, present, and future. Also, I drove myself here in my canonical bright pink minivan with the words ‘EXPENSIVE CANDY’ scratched onto the side. Even put on a little suit for y’all, mustard yellow and everything.

Snag’darr (a tear in his eye): Every party needs a pooper. That’s why we invited you, Thim.

Thim: I invited myself you overgrown reptile!

Sara: Even though I took him off the email invite list several times, he snuck himself in there right on the deadline. So, yeah.

Henry: we were going to party without you, thim!~ :)

Bunny: Happy post 100, father. How does it feel?

Thim: It feels like things are going to change a lot. Dunno.

Big Erectus Babe: There’s a disturbance in the force.

Snag’darr: When’s the last time you used the restroom?

Thim: Who cares? It’s time for my big moment. As the birthday boy–fuck you it is–it’s my right to take the first slice.

Thim makes a mad dash for the birthday cake. He sprints like no one expecting a degenerate alcoholic to–what the hell is this–he brings his own cake knife inside his suit jacket. Caaaaaaake kniiiiife. Just stab me now, we’re only on line sixty-fucking-four.

Big Erectus Babe: I haven’t seen him this agile since he was trying to kill Thor and Tim.

The cake breaks. Thim, in his lunge towards the cake, mouth open wide, simply passes right over it as it breaks.

Snag’darr: Wow, that’s a dry cake.

Henry: i got it from the wood shop! :D

Sara: Wait, but wood wouldn’t break like that?

Thim: Haha. You said wood wood. Besides. I activated my wood-breaking powers– not! Need I remind you again that it was I WHO ORDERED THE CAKE AND PLANNED THIS PARTY?!?! tHIS IS THE gyso rEVIEWS pART 100 CELEBRATION! nOW CELEBRATE!

Thim is having a bit of an episode right now.

Big Erectus Babe: Take a deep breath Thim. You’re losing control.

Thim: EEEEEEEEEEEE!!! Okay I’m done.

Sara stares off into the oblivion distance.

Sara: I hate this place. I hate it so much. I could have been anything… Like a lawyer…

Snag’darr: You don’t want that. Trust me. Personally, I’m re-schooling.

Albert is there? Uh… I don’t know. He’s invited, but I’m not sure. He could be off in the corner smoking a water pipe and talking to dames. Who knows. Daaaaaayame.

Thim: What’re you re-schooling in, oh so important character of GYSO dot GYSO com?

Snag’darr pulls himself up, all proud and dragon and shit.

Snag’darr: Of course! I’m going to run an ice cream truck! It’s time for me to do some real blue-collar work.

Sara: Hate. Hate. Hate.

Thim is busy picking up broken pieces of cake from the ground. He eats them, despite the five second rule. Like an animal.

Bunny: I take offense to that line.

Thim (mouth full): Whuub?

Henry: gee, i sure hope all this with the cake breaking isn’t some mysterious omen about the post…

Big Erectus Babe: What do you mean, the post?

Ominous noises. Thim, specifically, but still.

Tim: So you’re full of shit?

Santa: Yeah. Wait– No. He’s. Uh… Doing great. Thim is… absolutely knockin’ it. Knockin’ it up and out of the park. Yup. Sure is.

Thor: When you say it like that, you say it like I don’t believe a single word coming out of your hellgaping mouth.

Santa: Okay, so he’s having some issues, of course he has – he’s Thim!

Tim: You do know who you’re talking to, right? We’re his entierly platonic parents. I won’t have you dissing my boi.

Thor: So which of our problems is it? The handsome one’s? I wouldn’t want him to have ugly problems.

Tim: Yeah. That’d suck.

Santa: Uh. Basically both of your problems in equal amounts. He wants to be loved and seen but doesn’t want to care about anyone else. Oh and quick question, have you noticed he has a different color on each of his eyes?

Tim: Yeah. That means he’s got special anime powers, right?

Santa: Oh. I thought was an aesthetic choice…

Tim: An… aesthetic choice. For a person’s genetics. Are you high right now?

Thor: Don’t change the subject, you two. We don’t read GYSO, why would we? But I’ve marked today as Part 100 of whatever he’s doing now. What’s really going on, on the surface?

Tim: ‘Whatever he’s doing’. Like you don’t remember starting Reviews.

Santa sighs, giving up.

Santa: To start, he adopted a bunny.

Tim: Well, that’s nice. Smelly little shit creatures, but nice.

Santa: It talks and uses Pokémon moves.

Tim: Why do I even bother?

Thor: I guess my question is if I need to worry about him coming to get us here.

Santa does a totally unbelievable facial gesture. It cannot be described in words. Like some horror emerging from the bog, warped and twisted with profane muscles and angles. It reminds everyone of yo momma.

Thor: See, right there? Now, that’s a GYSO.

Tim (deadpan): My eyes. Oh no. It’s in my eyes.

Santa:… noooooooo… No, you don’t have to worry about that.

Sweating bullets. Literally. He’s the god of war, remember?

Thor: You’re sweating bullets. This is a real wood floor, you know. Show some respect. You’re gonna make the baby cry.

Santa: YOU GUYS HAVE A BABY?

Thor starts mock-crying like a baby.

Santa: Ugh. You guys suck.

Tim makes a sucking sound.

Thor: It’s why we’re in hell, brother.

Tim: BRRRRROOTHER!

Santa: Actually, that was mostly just GYSO’s doing. The rest of your lives you were doing quite well – I’ve looked at your files.

Tim: That’s like saying Voldemort was mostly okay but had some issues with other’s lineages. That’s bad enough.

Picking up his coat to (house of) leave.

Santa: Maybe you’re right, boys. Maybe you’re right. I’m not one to talk, either.

Tim: You’ve done nothing but talk since getting here.

Santa: Well you didn’t appreciate my bullets!

Thor starts mock-crying, doing the face of an L on his forehead.

And then the years start coming and they dont stop–

Santa: What else do you want me to do, shoot you?

Both: YES! Please!

Santa: No. I rather like the universe existing. I live there, after all.

Clinking and clanking on a glass…

Thim: Okay listen up you bald, indomibale, robotic robots! It’s time we summarize the most important events of GYSO Reviews!

He rolls out a parchment. It rolls out the door, but not the text itself, but rather the roll is escaping from Thim’s evil grasp. It rolls out the door, and into a bush, which catches fire, and flight, ascending into a higher existance while all us lowely mortals (and singular lowly immortal, Thim) watch.

Thim: Hey!– Wait a minute– Uh. We’re doing it live! Give me a scene!

Henry: the old mansion!

Thim: It got destroyed!

Bunny: I did it, father.

Thim: Oh yeah. How’d you learn Spacial Rend anyways?

Bunny: You taught me, father. I had four moves, so you deleted Splash to make room. I can no longer splash.

Thim, being one half a scientist, decides to test this, spiking Bunny into a nearby convienent puddle. Bunny bounces back without causing a single ripple, and is toally fine. It’s not animal abuse, I swear.

Bunny: See, father? No splash.

Thim: What is my life?

Big Erectus Babe: Mt Hungolomghnonoloughongous.

Thim: Thanks for pronouncing it for me, babe.

(Big Erectus) Babe: Don’t call me that.

Thim: Whatever, bitch.

Big Erectus Babe: ????!!!

Jon: Tell us about the time you became Master of War after winning in Made-up-Ball!

Thim: No thanks, I won’t. Next suggestion?

John John: That’s right Jon! Then you started playing No-Rules Billiards!

Snag’darr: Too much happens in this blog. What about that thing with the bee?

With her head in her hands, like it’s a funny halloween costume…

Sara (practically a whisper): Eat bees.

Thim does a funny dance. The room is in a complete silence. No more context, fuck you.

Thim: That’s right, the time I pretended to be(e) sick from a be(e)‘s sting to do the super funny ’eat be(e)s’ joke. I think it became a trend after that.

Henry explodes onto the scene!

Henry: hi!!!! :O

Thim: You’re already… here? What about you, what do you think, Goopy Droopy? Who has been here the whole time?

Goopy Droopy: My good friend, you must speak on the matter of the phallic aestroid, the ex-North Pole, launched by your machinations and whim into orbit. It is most exciting.

Thim: Oh right, that happened. Thanks. By the way, do you smell anything cool happening later?

Goopy Droopy: I smell chloroform.

Goopy Droopy passes out, landing with a heavy slop onto the ground. He’s a booger thing, remember?

Thim: …Okay. That’s Goopy’s scene, I guess. He’s out of action for the rest of the post now, so he doesn’t infect it with his precog bullshit.

Snag’darr: Wait, was that God of War stuff before or after we moved into the GYSO Mansion Playboy Mansion?

Bunny: After, large dragon.

Snag’darr: Don’t call– oh, nevermindddddddd. Thanks. I work out.

Sara: The last time you lifted weight, it caused a national emergency.

Said emergency was off camera. Trust us.

‘Party Rock Anthem’ plays outside, muffled by the walls. That’s perfect, I think that’s end of scene, right? Right. Agreed. Let’s move on, then. Okay. But why’s it going? The jokes. The jokes! Okay.

Tim: I don’t read the blog or anything, but GYSO Reviews kind of fell off after we left. I mean, actual plots? Character development? Passion? Pah-shaw.

Thor (reading a roll of parchment): I wasn’t going to, but I feel sort of like I have to now, you know? I, for one, am of the opinion that GYSO had a massive resurgence after we died. Thim really started doing stuff, you know? He stopped being so one-dimensional. Instead, he became two-dimensional.

Waves with one hand.

Tim: What I don’t get is where the line is. What’s Thim writing, and what’s Thim writing about Thim writing? What parts are actually his work, and what are just slice-of-life bullshit?

Thor: That’s part of the magic! What part of any story is the author, and what part is the universe itself, really?

Tim: All of it is the author. Not like he’s using two different brains trying to aproximate him to write or something. Not to mention how he butchers our beautiful langugage.

Thor: This is getting increasingly meta, and I think you mean–

Tim: I’M NOT MEAN!

Thor: It’s a lot of words to get through, though.

Tim: I’ll just have the AI summarize it for me. For my own sanity, that line is a joke, by the way.

Thor: Yeah I know you won’t.

Tim: Won’t what? I lost the conversational thread.

Tim kneels down to pick of the conversational thread.

Tim: Nevermind, I got it. Thanks man.

Think: I Thor I finished the thought before you finished delivering your line– I mean, before you finished talking.

Tim stares at Think.

Tim: Who the fuck are you?

Thor: AAAAAAH! ADSFLSADFLASDFÖLSAKDJFSADLKFJASDF

Think starts screaming, too. It’s just as annoying.

Thor grabs a historically water pistol and squirts at Think. We will not be changing that wording. Thor. Squirts. Historically. Canonically. At Think.

Tim picks up a ten ton barrel of creamed corn. He puts it down because it’s really heavy.

Think runs out and away.

Thor: They say a man’s truest test of bravery is when he encounters thoughts.

Tim: I can’t. Stopped thinking a while ago. I’m so much happier!

Tim is not so much happier.

Think (in the distance): If you think about it, though…

Tim: AAAAAHHHH!!!

In the family minivan…

Thor: Are you making a scene back there?

Tim hides his crafts supplies.

Tim: What? No! I don’t like the blog, really!

Thor: Well if you two don’t quiet down back there, I have no other choice but to turn this blog around!

This Scene comes to life.

This Scene: My entire existence is confusing. How do you deal with it?

Tim: You don’t, lol.

Thor: Okay, that’s it, no coco-puffs today.

This Scene ends.

Tim: No! My baby! Wait, I’m still in this, so does that mean–

Some time later, in the Hellish construction known as ‘apartment’, there’s a mysterious ring of the doorbell. We only use passive voice in this house, mister. Thor goes to check. Hearing the sound of Christmas music sung a capella…

Thor: There’s carolers outside! I think they’re from the overworld or whatever, since they don’t sound like demonspawn or eternally tormented souls.

Tim (sighing): I’ll get the handguns.

Looking through the little glass preview on the door.

Thor: You better. I’ve been reading about these fellas in the blog. It’s the Elfs. Do you want to pretend that we’re not home?

Elf (through the door): We know you’re home! Open up! This is the pole-ice! Get it? Pole. Ice?

Opening the door to just a crack.

Thor: Do you guys have a warrant? I know my rights.

Tim: I know my rights too.

He cocks the handgun.

Thor: I guess you either live long enough to see yourself become a hero, or you die a villain.

Elf Two: That’s not how that saying goes

Thor: It’s how this saying goes.

Elf: Are you saying you’ll open the door?

Thor: It’s a new saying!

Elf Two: And what are you saying?

Thor: That I don’t want you guys here! You’re probably here on some stupid mission or something, right?

Tim and Thor sit in the sitting room somewhere I don’t fucking know. Elf and Elf Two have given important exposition about the state of the blog, web scraping AI, and everyone hating Thim.

Tim: Run that one by me again?

that one: VROOOOOOooooommm…

Tim: Thanks. Now, what were you saying?

Elf Two: We’re here to take you back to the surface, so that you can take over the blog again.

Thor: Santa put you up to this?

Elf Two: It was actually the voice inside our heads–

Thor: Wait, run that one by me again?!

that one: VrooooOOOOOOoooooom!

Tim: Wait, wait. Can you run that one by my again again?

that one (visibly sweating): vroooooom… oh god… my legs…

Elf: It’s okay, that one, you can rest.

Tim: After you run that one by me one more time.

that one throws their hat down, stomping on it.

that one: No! No more! Fuck you I quit! Vrooooooom…

that one vrooms away to saftey.

Tim: My life is nothing but chaos, isn’t it?

Thor: Mission failed successfully, I guess.

Elf: Transitionary dialogue.

Thor: Anyways, what would we even do with the blog again?

Tim: There’s is is nothing I wanna do-do with it’s is?

Thor: If we were to do it, we would have to wanna just fuck around with it.

Tim: I’m going to throw up.

Thor: I think we have to do something we’re really bad at. Something that’s a real contrast.

Tim: Are you kidding me? Actual content in my blog? Our blog, I mean. Sorry.

Elf: Hate to break it, but doing something badly wouldn’t be a contrast to how it’s going right now.

Elf Two: Maybe you guys could learn something! Get your skills on, so to speak?

Tim: No no no no–

Thor: A skill to develop…

Tim: NO NO NO–

….

Thor: Yeah I can’t think of anything.

Tim: Oh, thank fuck.

Elf: Maybe you could start dra–

Thor: YEAH! I CAN’T THINK OF ANYTHING!!

Tim vomits. It takes three trips around the world and a decade-long break to write a novel in the Bahamas. It’ll get there eventually.

Elf Two: Wow, that was gross, and prolonged. But still somehow better than Thim writing GYSO. Not that that’s a high bar to pass.

Elf: You really don’t understand… Nothing makes sense anymore. It’s all been a blur since…. I can’t even remember anymore! It’s just– Thim never really wanted to write the blog, and now that he’s done it for a while, it’s sort of obvious that he’s running out of steam.

Elf Two: He just ends up doing fdsafsdafasd– excuse me, really weird stuff for no reason, upsetting everyone in the process.

Tim: And I don’t? Where do you think he gets it from?

Thor: So it’s regular GYSO? No need for us to write that.

Elf: Web scraping AI has taken over the blog. It generated all of the 99 Problems posts.

Thor: This is the weakest damn plotthread I’ve ever been a part of.

Tim: Yeah, and I was involved in that ‘ressurect Thor’ bit from way back. You’ve not seen a lot of children’s cartoons, have you?

Thor: Actually!

Offensive hand gesture.

Thor: You’re right. I haven’t.

One hour later.

Tim: WAIT! The above scene means we have to bring back GYSO Drawing?! WHY?!

Thor: I think it was implied with both the Elfs coming here, telling us to do it.

Tim: Imply my foot up your ass. Not doing that shit, hell nawh.

Elf: We’re still here, you know?

Everyone takes a sip of their drinks.

Everyone: As am I. Hello.

Everyone ignores that. Yeah, that’s right. Untangle that sentence, motherfucker. Good luck with the screenplay adaptation.

Tim: Okay, fine. We’ll bring back Drawing. Whatever. Just finish this scene already, god-d-d-daymn. Combo breaker. It’s time to d-d-d-duel. You get the idea. I’m tired.

Thor: But we’re not doing it because you asked.

Tim: Yeah, we’re, in a meta sense, doing this literally because we actually for real want to.

Thor: No– Gosh! Just because the meta-narrative demands it! Don’t be a silly goose.

Elf Two whispers in Elf’s ear.

Elf Two: …Were they always like this?

Elf nods.

Tim: Also, have we met before? I don’t think I reconize you two.

Having started their big walk out of Hell as, well, walking dead, the two stop for lunch at a local pan-asian restaurant. Based on a true story.

Waiter: Excuse me, what do you want?

Thor reaches for his glasses with a long sigh, his head coming out of his hands. Clearly crying, and visible pressure marks on his face, he makes his order with a crackling voice.

Thor: Uh yeah I’ll have the Hanoi soup, thanks. Lemonade with that, if you have any.

Tim: I’ll have ten tons of fried rice, with some water. Extra rice–in the water.

Thor: That’s usually where the rice goes, brother.

Tim: Not in my America.

A single eagle dies in a burst of patriotic red-white-and-blue flames. Nobody notices, relegating this joke to yet another one-off GYSO-ism. Alas.

The waitress takes the menus, and leaves without saying a word.

Thor: Have we ever eaten pan-Asian food before? Are you a chopsticks person, or a knife-and-fork type of person?

Tim: I’m too American to use chopsticks. I eat with my bare hands, like any Dog-fearing American. Everything’s a burger to us.

Another eagle. Etc etc.

Thor: I figured as much.

After digging into their meals, literally, Thor’s served in a bowl, Tim’s served on a bowl sort of thing shaped like a bowl, sort of, this sentence fucks, so don’t give me any of that curved plate shit.

Waiter: How is the food? Isn’t it a bit hot? Hot hot?

Thor: Oh, it’s hot, but it’s good. I like it, thank you much.

Tim: You’re still here?

Waiter: Ah, then why did you order the soup then? Silly boy, when it’s so hot outside? It’s a heat wave, mister.

Thor: I like it! It’s salty and watery, it’s refreshing. Besides, Hell is frozen over, this heat wave is still freezing.

Tim: I like rice. If you don’t like that, you’re… riceist!

Thor and Tim high-five in real life, right now. For real. This is not part of the narrative.

Thor: Anyways, how about that blog, huh?

Thor: aaand I would walk five hundred miles, aaaand I would walk five hundred more…

Tim: And I would [redacted] five hundred [data expunged]. Really, I would. No joke.

Thor: Alright, that’s the end of fun, apparently. What do we do now that you ruined the song? It’s not exactly a fast walk to get out of Hell.

Tim: I’m full of fun. I never end it, I enhance it.

Thor: Whatever. What do you think will have happened with the blog when we get back out there?

Tim: Fire. I’m expecting, and hoping for, fire.

Thor: Santa didn’t give us a good idea anyways, let’s read some reviews of the blog to catch up on what’s going on.

Thor pulls out an iShank 26 Plus Pro Turbo, the hot new phone from a popular knife manufacturer. Cell service is chef’s kiss, then chef’s stab wound.

Thor: Says here the blog is good for “human readers” who wants to read “dark comedic masterpiece” Thim. Sounds pretty chill to me.

Tim: But what humans read that shit? Who writes like that? Human readers. I’ll show you my human reader.

Thor: Ah, it was the AI overview. I didn’t think we would get one, since we’re so fringe.

Tim pauses. Stops dead cold in the sidewalk. They’re on a sidewalk by the way.

Tim: AI. There’s AI out there?! Why aren’t we dead yet?!

Thor: I could either laugh at you, or with you, right now. We are dead, Tim. We went to Hell. For writing GYSO, probably. Besides, now the AI has GYSO in its training data! Before, it was just web scraping robots reading our page. Now it’s reviewing us! Reviewing Reviews!

Tim sniffs. He isn’t crying. He’s a manly man who doesn’t show complicated, hard-to-deal-with emotion.

Tim: They grow up so fast. Too fast. Make it stop.

Thor: We started in what, March 2019? They really have grown into… something else… in just a few years, huh?

Tim looks directly into the camera.

Tim: Yep. It’s time for the obligatory ‘thoughts on the AI thing’ section everyone has to put on their internet things. You are not immune to propoganda.

Thor: Anyways, a totally unrelated question. How do you think Thim is half-bald now? Like, is his hair averagely bald, or would it be one half of his face, or would it be a zig-zag pattern do you think? There’s, like, not a single picture of Thim anywhere.

Tim shrugs. He doesn’t care about Thim, not relaly. He totally doesn’t consider Thim to be his weird half-child, half-brother-from-another-mother. Nope. No care. He is stoic and empty, like a used can of creamed corn.

Thor: Because he wasn’t half-bald when we saw him last, and that’s because you’ve gone bald over time.

Tim loses another hair. Just one.

Tim: Thanks.

Thor: No worries, brother. Any time.

(This following scene is based off a true story.)

Thor: aaand I would walk five hundred miles, aaaand I would walk five hundred more…

Unison: NA NA NA! NA NA NA! NA NA NA! NA NA NA!

At the end of the long, girthy, hard, bald tunnel leading out of Hell into the previously-vacuum-sealed sterile and needy exit of Hell, there’s two travelers resting. One of them takes a swig from a large water bottle.

Traveler 1: FSDKFJKDSALFJKLDSJKFDSAKLFDA WATER I LOVE WATER AAAAAAAAAAAH

Traveler Two: You always do this. Why can’t you be normal? There’s two people coming, not like that get your mind out of the gutter, please don’t embarrass me.

Tim sees this, and instantly turns around.

Tim: Nope. Going back to Hell. Real life sucks.

Thor: Aw, man! Don’t be like that! We get to draw again, maybe, unless we think of a better thing to do with the blog!

The traveler with the water bottle takes another swing (?) of her bottle, basically waterboarding herself with it.

Traveler 1: WATER! WATER! OOOOOOOOOO I JUST LOOOOVE WATER! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

She begins to breakdance, flinging water everywhere from the still-open bottle.

Traveler Two (now wet): I can’t go anywhere with you. I’m so sorry, strangers, she just does this sometimes.

Thor: I get it. I’m a bit of a water-enjoyer myself. A master hydrator, if you will. An erectile fountain, of sorts.

Traveler 1: I don’t get the last one.

Tim: I do. Sadly.

Tim is pulled away from his back-to-Hell attempt by a mysterious force. This will literally never be relevant again.

Tim: Water you doing that for? Hoping to make a splash? I won’t wet you get away with it. You can’t get the drop on me. This is what happens when you bottle your emotions. Tide me over, if you can. I’m swimming in etherpad bullshit, even though it’s the only thing letting us do this whatsoever. Boat joke. If you don’t stop, I’ll throw you into the drink. Did you know the human body’s eighty percent my foot up your ass? I’m drowning in your stupid one-dimentional act, and your stupid one-dimentional character. I don’t a-care-ium. Whale whale well, will you will the wall? Get some kelp. Don’t you know who I yam? Wait, sorry, fucked up that last one, sorry. I’ll stop.

The light doesn’t hurt their eyes, so why bring it up? Well, you see… the tunnel, and also the general light ambiance in Hell is engineered to be relatively alike the surface. The snow and ice helps reflect the massive light-arrays in the ceilings all throughout Hell. In a way, I guess it’s symbolic of that thing where you “walk towards the light” in near-death experiences, but now that they’re returning to the surface, there is no such light. Because there’s just normal life on the surface, and they’re done being dead now. They have finally reached the end of Hell, and the beginning of another one. So poetic.

In the distance you can hear the booing. As Thor and Tim approaches, it switches to cheers. Some famous drum corps group is doing their routine to to the side. No one can really see it, since there’s no stadium or whatever, they’re just there to practice in front of an audience.

Walking slowly in the cold North Dong winds, Thim is wearing a beige cape or something over his fuzzy pink bath robe, walking towards Tim and Thor.

Thor: WHAT THE HELL, MAN?

Thor is waving his arms, but they can’t really hear each other yet.

Thor: YOU REALLY FUCKED IT UP!

Rude gesture, but from a distance it looks like a peace sign.

Thor: HOW DIFFICULT DO YOU HAVE TO MAKE EVERYTHING? DO YOU THINK YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE WITH ISSUES IN THIS WORLD?

Tim: Yes.

Still can’t hear each other, even as Thor makes his hands into a sort of cone to carry sound.

Coming in for the hug, Thor jukes Thim’s approach and gives him a swift punch in the stomach.

Thor: IT’S CALLED ‘FREE-FORM WRITING’ AND IT’S REALLY EASY! YOU SIT DOWN FOR AN HOUR AND YOU MAKE SHIT UP. IT’S NOT SO DIFFICULT! WHAT’S YOUR PROBLEM, BUDDY? HUH?

Tim inches away, ready to bolt.

Tim: Well, it’s been real. See you.

Thor: THERE’S NO STAKES! YET SOMEHOW YOU DISLOGED A PART OF THE PLANET INTO ORBIT FOR NO REASON?!

The North Dong conveniently passes by, casting a shadow on the scene. They’re not on it anymore, in case they were on it earlier in the scene. They got off–not like that, sicko. Actually, I think it’s more like– the entrance to Hell probably isn’t in the floating island North Dong, but rather the ground area previously known as Prince the North Pole.

Tim: I mean, I could use a steak right about now. Kind of hungry. You know, I actually am kind of hungry. One moment.

Tim takes a small break to make himself some lunch. It takes like 10 minutes, nothing too crazy. Thor starts meal prep for his new life on the planet. Everyone sort of just stays still in the meanwhile, too scared and too cold to move.

Tim: Mmmm. Cereal and bagel. Yunmmnny.

Thor: How much cumin in a dal?

Thim: You guys suck. Fuck you. I don’t even want the blog.

Thor: Oh, brother! Who said we were gonna take over the blog, huh?

Nervous pause.

Thor: That’s right, buddy. We’ve been thinking about how to think about getting off of drawing.

Ew.

Thor: … Aaaand the solution is to have you keep doing the blog.

No one is happy about this. Also, ew.

Thor kicks Thim in the stomach. It doesn’t do anything.

Thor: Nah, just kidding, brother. We’re ready to relieve your pain.

Tim: Speak for yourself, motherfucker.

Tim reaches into his pants, and pulls out an eel. This does not change anything about how his pants present to the world, wink wink. He casually tosses the eel at Thim.

Tim: Think fast, chucklefuck. This is a special Swedish eel, straight outa compt– I mean my pants.

Thor: He’s been babying that thing down there ever since we died. Picked it up right out of the river Styx.

Tim: It gets boring in hell, you know?

Eel (with a heavy accent): ASÖLKDJFAFASD AFADFAWERASDLÖKJASRU

Thor: It was, like, the first thing you did.

Thim wrestles with the eel, screaming at a pitch normally reserved for tea kettles and angry soccer moms.

Thim: AAAAAAHHH! GET IT AWAY! WHYYYYY?!

Tim nods in satisfaction, glad to use someones deep trauma and phobia for his own amuesment. What a great guy. And his dick is huge too!

At the GYSO Mansion Playboy Mansion

Thor: Wow, I love what you’ve done with the place.

Thim: The old place sort of fell apart.

Tim: Why? What’d you do? I payed bad money for that place. Bad to the bone. B-b-b-b bad. Guitar riff.

Thim: Eh, honestly it doesn’t matter now anyways. I stole this place from the people that were here before.

Bunny: I used spacial rend.

Tim: Oh? Can I see?

Bunny backflips.

Tim claps polietly. But inside he’s disappointed. Lame.

Thim: “But– hey, listen, guys…?”

Thor: Chill out with the punctuation brother, I can practically hear the commas.

Tim: I met a comma once. It made me pause for a moment.

Thim picks up a duffel bag hidden from view.

Thim: With you guys here, it doesn’t feel right staying. Everyone sort of hates me. The media. Academic writers–

Henry: yup! two for two, so far!

Sara: Your friends, the government who’s been giving you pocket money to keep you in line–

Snag’darr: Your accountant, and also apparently the people that want their old jobs back so badly that they went through Hell to get it back.

There’s a solemn pause.

Big Erectus Babe: The web scraping AI, the web scraping robots, me, literally Jesus Christ–

Thim: We get it! Okay!

Tim raises a hand.

Tim: Add me to the list. Thanks.

Thim: Fucking–!

Snag’darr: We’ll pencil you in.

On a page, there are two columns. One says “Thor” and one says “Tim”. Underneath the second one, it just says “SOCIOPATH”, and Snag’darr circles the word twice.

Tim: Rude.

Bunny: I like you, father.

Tim: YOU DIDN’T TELL ME YOU HAD A SON?!

Thim: AaaaaanywaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAAAAAAaaaayssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssxsssssssssssssssssss! I’m sure I’ll be back to try and kill you guys again, or pop in whenever I need money or you forget how to make plots without me or you get lonely or we’re having a pizza knight, that is, a pizza knight, not night, knight–

Thor: See you… (checks watch) in about two days, then, I guess? Not for the sentimental reasons. Probably won’t feel any of that for you. But for what it’s worth, Thim, you have done a job at running the blog. I’ll give you that much.

Thor pats Thim on the shoulder like they’re co-workers.

Tim: Who are you, again?

Thor: Let’s not be rude to our son.

Tim: Fuck that lmao.

Thor: You were supposed to say: “You didn’t tell me you had a son?”.

Tim: Oh, sorry. You didn’t tell me you had a son?

Thim sneaks up on Thor and Tim with a brass ass-scented candelabra, but puts it down.

Thim: Guys. This won’t be the last time we meet, but I hope you all have good lives without me. Seriously. It’s time for me to make my exit. Bye bye.

Bunny: Us, father. Time for us to make our exit.

Thim: Thanks, brother.

Thor: YOU DIDN’T TELL ME YOU HAD A BR–

Thim and Bunny serenely fuck off into the sunset. It burns. Because the sun is warm sometimes.

Opening up the trunk of a car…

Thor: Alright, motherfucker, I hear you’ve been causing some issues in the continuity of the blog?

The squirms, gagged and entierly refusing to be physically described.

Tim: What a menace. You know what we do to characters like you?

The shakes his head. Tim leans in, puffing a bubble pipe bubbles in the’s face.

Tim: Did they ever tell you what happened to Sven? Remember Sven?

The’s eyes widen, and lets out a muffled shriek.

Thor: Listen. We read the blog– some of it, at least. And we find out that you’re sort of dead, sort of not.

Tim: Read the blog? Speak for yourself. I don’t touch that shit.

Thor: I prefer my blogs like I prefer my smoothies. Mixed, and with berries.

The looks around, back to the two.

Tim: I prefer my blogs like I prefer my smoothies. Full of burbon.

Thor: And we can’t have that.

The starts to worm away, hands and feet bound.

Tim: WHY THE FUCK NOT?!

Thor: Listen, I was talking about the blog, and how The needs to decide if it’s dead or not. We can’t have this thing where The dies at the end of every post. It makes no sense.

Tim: I don’t know about you, but I’m perfectly fine with the dying every post. It’s funny, and not at all old. Not that I know anything about that, considering I don’t read the blog.

Thor: Okay, so what do we do now that we have one vote on either side? What, it’s going to be a stalemate when we’ve kidnapped someone?

The manages to get out of the car, hopping away with bound feet, stealing glances back to make sure they’re not watching.

Tim: Well, it’s pretty clear. If there’s a stalemate, I win instantly. Easy.

Thor: No! What? My stalemate-breaker-breaker ability bypasses your win.

The turns the corner, and gets helped out of his bindings by a helpful kid with the latest iShank X.

The: I live!!!

Tim: Hey want to do that one-word-at-a-time thing again? Blink twice if you need medical assistance. Blink once if you need my foot up your ass.

Thor: Can we have a safe word this time?

Tim: You blinked three times. Guess that means you want my foot up your ass thrice. Okay. I’ll start the word thing off.

The dies, but we bring back metaphor for four thousand the deaths. Alas! Now, we party like the hard ass asses caskets. Perchance. In inns, we ain’t gold-digging, but we ain’t mis-rizzing? What? Words by Dr. Pepper. Signed, Dr. DJ.

Suddenly Green if variable! Syntax error. Could not fit expected foot size. Get my ruler, mom, or highlighter, whatever works, asshole. At least the dies. Going to run from unexpected bats. I’m scared of Zubat. You fucker. Fucking fucker. Goblin-looking fucker. Ass gay. Motherfucker. Scrub.

Sliding into a slim-jim, I regret not wearing latex, because it smells when I give two to too. My tu-tu is homosexual. My tu-tu is inclusive. Henceforth, my dongus is proud to announce: “Can’t you give me a moment?! Just some time and I’ll run for president.”

Unfortunately, strict anti-dongus legislation prevents candidacy if the dongus is too massive. Bummer. Guess I’ll have to make my peace with death. Why? I can’t become so comfortable outside, being who I who pie. Feast, gobble gobble. Now, for the serious issue.

Why are all windows so transparent? Fuckers. Goobers. Bald. Insatiable. Federal. Horses. They’re too goddamn good-looking. My pecs can’t stop pecking when I look through my window. Insatiable pecs. Hotter than Melon Mars. Doggamn, wait! Federal, rancid acid is gooping into my home! Now where is my musket?

On the blog stands a god. Lame. They’re bad, and stoopid toopid. However, on this glob of gold, bald, charistmatic, eastern European, very sexy, glowing rock, we must admit our satisfaction. Both of GYSO’s assholes are full of federal, rancid, evil, nasty, hard, very hard, and radiating radiator radiating radiation acid. Good fucking luck out there, robots. The dies. The end.

MO IS NOT AN ECHIDNA

STOP THINKING IT

THIS HAS BEEN YOUR GYSO PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

SPONSORED BY FOUR PENISES – A SUBSIDIARY OF MELON FOUR, THE CANONICAL GYSO FOOD CHAIN, MELON FOUR, REMEBER? FIVE GUYS AINT GOT SHIT ON FOUR PENISES. ACTAULLY, ON CONSIDERATION, DON’T GET SHIT ON FOUR PENISES PLEASE. GROSS. I BET YOU SPONSORBLOCKED THIS ANYWAY, SO WHATEVER.

IT’S ALL RELATIVE FROM HERE. WHICH JUST SO HAPPENS TO BE DOWN HILL. like always.

Tim: Yeah, you melon felon.

Everyone cringes.

Tim: What?

Everyone: That’s an old GYSO thing. It’s cringe now.

Tim: Oh…

Tim grins.

Tim: Melon felon. Melon felon. Melon felon–

The camera pans around a beige office-looking office. The scene doesn’t actually display what the camera is pointing to, it’s just a camera panning around. Did these idiots rent an office for this? There’s a flickering neon sign that says “Learn Your Socks Off”.

Thor: Now that I’m looking at that tagline again, I have some questions.

Tim (eating a pizza): Hm?

Thor: Primarily it’s the whole thing about learning your socks off. Wouldn’t you want to get something on? Like Marvin Gaye? Positive association, all that.

Tim: Actually, I’ve stopped wearing socks, mostly. They’re just annoying. The seam rubs up on your toes, and the fabric tickles you, and they stink like shit. So, you could say I’ve already learned my socks off.

Thor: Oh yeah, now that you mention it, I have vaguely noticed that for the past three years in Hell. Well, it was good knowing you for this project, buddy. Glad to hear that you made it to other side, I guess. Now that we’re not collaborators anymore, how about we start a blog called exactly the same thing as before, except we use the tagline “Learn Your Socks On”?

Tim: Nah.

…

Thor: I guess… I still have my socks on. So I have to learn my socks off, huh?

Tim tosses the pizza to the ground. Like an adult.

Tim: Fuck it. Whammy line. Right now.

Thor and Tim takes power poses.

Tim: I have no idea what to say!

Thor: Schlama-lama-ding-dong!

And thus, ends the era of GYSO Reviews. Tune in next time for…

THE RETURN OF GYSO DRAWING!

The escapes.

The lives a happy, fulfilling life.

Then dies surrounded by loved ones.

The end.