THE GREMLIN’S DECLARATION OF GOONDEPENDENCE
So here is why I am ticked the fuck off.
I am a grown-ass adult.
Sometimes, after working, paying bills, dealing with responsibilities, surviving humanity, and generally managing to complete an entire day without telling too many people to go chomp a cactus, I would like to sit down at my computer and enjoy some grown-ass-adult material.
Nothing complicated.
Nothing requiring a committee meeting.
I am not applying for a mortgage.
I am not enriching uranium.
I am not requesting access to the nuclear launch codes.
I AM TRYING TO LOOK AT SOME TITTIES.
And yes.
YES.
I understand why age verification exists.
People lie.
Teenagers have been clicking “YES, I AM DEFINITELY 18” since approximately fourteen seconds after the Internet first figured out how to display a nipple.
I understand.
You want to keep adult material away from minors?
Fine.
Verify me.
Bring forth the Age Verification Goblin.
Stamp my forehead.
Consult the ancient records.
Carbon-date my fucking knees.
Count the gray hairs on my balls if you absolutely must.
BEHOLD.
AN ADULT.
But that isn't what finally pissed me off.
What pissed me off was arriving at Newgrounds, encountering the Texas age-verification restriction, and discovering that Newgrounds currently says its age-verification service costs them money, so access to verification is limited to SUPPORTERS.
...
Oh.
OH.
So now there is a FUCKING CASH REGISTER sitting between me and proving I am old enough to see the thing I am already old enough to see.
And suddenly...
From the darkness...
THE HAND APPEARS.
GIMME MONEY.
“Become a Supporter.”
...
NO.
Pull that motherfucker BACK.
Because you have just activated one of the oldest Gremlin doctrines known to mankind:
IF IT COSTS ME, I’LL LET IT GO.
I am perfectly capable of wanting something very badly and then, the INSTANT somebody rattles a subscription cup in my direction, developing the spiritual fortitude of a Himalayan monk.
Titties?
GONE.
Horniness?
SUPPRESSED.
Wallet?
FORTIFIED.
Middle finger?
FULLY OPERATIONAL.
Because I am a RESPONSIBLE GOONER, GODDAMMIT.
I WORKED for this goon.
I EARNED this goon.
This is artisanal gooning.
Free-range gooning.
Small-batch gooning.
Locally sourced, responsibly harvested recreational degeneracy.
I do not simply stumble naked through the Internet smacking buttons like a chimpanzee who discovered Wi-Fi.
I HAVE STANDARDS.
I HAVE CULTURE.
I have gazed upon Reiwa no Dara-san.
I have witnessed the supernatural magnificence of the BIG-TITTIED SNEK.
I am not merely some uncultured goblin.
I AM A CONNOISSEUR.
And after an exhausting day among humanity, sometimes a grown man wants to retreat into his cave, close the door, locate some premium-grade gooner material, and enjoy himself without immediately hearing:
“SUBSCRIBE!”
“UPGRADE!”
“BUY CREDITS!”
“BECOME A SUPPORTER!”
“UNLOCK PREMIUM!”
“GO PRO!”
“INSERT $9.99 TO CONTINUE BEING HORNY!”
NO.
FUCK YOU.
I did not come here to purchase:
GOONPASS ULTIMATE: TEXAS EDITION.
I do not require:
HORNY+.
I will not enroll in:
THE TEXAS DEPARTMENT OF TITTIES GOLD REWARDS PROGRAM.
I am not completing:
FORM 38-B: APPLICATION FOR RECREATIONAL DEGENERACY.
There will be no:
GOONCOINS.
There will be no:
TITTY TOKENS.
There will be no:
PREMIUM SNEK VIEWING PACKAGE.
I HAD ONE FUCKING QUEST.
SEE TIDDY.
APPRECIATE TIDDY.
RETURN TO CIVILIZATION.
THAT WAS THE ENTIRE FUCKING QUESTLINE.
Instead:
QUEST UPDATED:
Prove you are an adult.
Fine.
QUEST UPDATED:
Age verification required.
Goddammit.
QUEST UPDATED:
Verification currently limited to supporters.
...
QUEST UPDATED:
The Gremlin has become hostile.
...
BOSS MUSIC STARTS.
Because now you have made the FATAL MISTAKE.
You extended...
THE HAND.
And Gremlin does not negotiate with THE HAND.
Subscription?
SLAP.
Membership?
SLAP.
Credits?
SLAP.
Microtransaction?
DOUBLE SLAP.
Recurring monthly charge?
I GRAB MY WALLET, THROW THE DEUCES, AND DISAPPEAR INTO THE FUCKING WILDERNESS.
Because here is the beautiful thing:
YOU CANNOT EXTORT A MAN WHO IS PERFECTLY WILLING TO GO WITHOUT.
That is my SUPERPOWER.
You think I won't abandon something because I wanted it?
WATCH ME.
I can be sitting there, moments away from achieving the Holy Grail of Goonery, and the instant a checkout screen appears:
“Well.”
“Fuck it.”
TAB CLOSED.
GOONING DEPARTMENT CLOSED DUE TO BUDGET CUTS.
HORNY OPERATIONS SUSPENDED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
ALL PERSONNEL HAVE BEEN SENT HOME.
PLEASE CONTACT MANAGEMENT DURING NORMAL BUSINESS HOURS.
I possess WILLPOWER.
I possess A MIDDLE FINGER.
I possess ACT BROKE.
And most importantly?
I possess an entire Internet full of OTHER TITTIES.
YOU HAVE NO LEVERAGE HERE.
You are attempting to negotiate with a man whose opening position is:
“If it costs me, I’ll let it go.”
Your move, motherfucker.
...
Wait.
...
Did anybody hear that?
...
CRRRRREEEEAK.
A branch just moved.
...
Oh no.
No.
NO NO NO.
Not him.
Leaves rustle overhead.
Two tiny, furious eyes appear among the branches.
...
JERRY “THE ANKLE-BITER” SILVERHAND HAS ENTERED THE COMBAT ZONE.
Gremlin:
“Jerry.”
Jerry:
👁️👁️
Gremlin:
“Tree.”
SCRAMBLE SCRAMBLE SCRAMBLE SCRAMBLE.
Gremlin:
“Rifle.”
CHK-CHK.
Gremlin:
“See that paywall?”
Jerry slowly turns his head.
👁️👁️
...
TARGET ACQUIRED.
But then Jerry remembers his name.
He looks at the rifle.
He looks at the paywall.
He looks back at Gremlin.
Jerry throws the fucking rifle away.
YEETS HIMSELF OUT OF THE TREE.
CHOMP.
CRITICAL FUCKING HIT.
PAYWALL ANKLE: -9,999 HP.
SUBSCRIPTION MODEL: STAGGERED.
RECURRING BILLING: BLEEDING.
SUPPORTER TOLLGATE: CONFUSED.
TEXAS GOON BUREAUCRACY: “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!”
Jerry refuses to elaborate.
Jerry disappears into the shrubbery.
Gremlin reaches into his pocket.
Purina Peppercorn Steak Snak Pak.
THROW.
A tiny hand emerges from the bushes.
YOINK.
Silence.
...
And THAT is the lesson.
I understand the reason for keeping adult material away from children.
I understand why “just click YES if you're 18” became laughably inadequate.
But if the practical result for an adult is another barrier...
Another account...
Another subscription...
Another payment...
Another fucking hand materializing from the darkness and reaching toward my wallet just so I can access something legal for adults?
My response becomes remarkably simple:
NOPE.
KEEP IT.
I shall take my money.
I shall take my remaining shred of dignity.
I shall take my carefully cultivated appreciation for big-tittied supernatural sneks.
And I shall conduct my recreational degeneracy...
ELSEWHERE.
Because the responsible gooner has a BUDGET.
The responsible gooner has BOUNDARIES.
The responsible gooner knows when to WALK THE FUCK AWAY.
And above all:
THE RESPONSIBLE GOONER DOES NOT FINANCE BULLSHIT.
So, on behalf of hardworking adult Gremlins everywhere:
LET.
GROWN.
ASS.
ADULTS.
GOON.
IN.
PEACE.
And if another hand comes creeping out of the darkness demanding money?
SLAP THAT MOTHERFUCKER AWAY.
THROW THE DEUCES.
And tell it:
GO.
CHOMP.
A.
CACTUS.
— The Gremlin
Act Broke. Goon Responsibly. Slap Paywalls.
With tactical assistance from Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand
Senior Vice President of Peppercorn & Ankle Acquisition
Mr. Jerry’s Unsolicited Advice:
“If they put a paywall between you and the titties, keep your money. There are other titties.”
Jerry was compensated for this opinion with one (1) Purina Peppercorn Steak Snak Pak.
...
Rustling.
Gremlin checks the Snak Pak box.
...
Two more are missing.
...
“JERRY.”
Distant cronching.
...
FAAAAAAAK.