Tag Archives: C. Dale Petersen

Wherein AFFotD Celebrates its 4th Anniversary, Looking Inward and Critiquing the Failings of its 10 Most Popular Articles: A Douchey and Pretentious Meta Exercise by our Laziest Writers

“Alright, let me have it.”

~AFFotD Editor-in-Chief, Johnny Roosevelt

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When people are asked to describe America Fun Fact of the Day, the most common responses tend to be “brilliant,” “incredible,” “life-affirming” and “What the fuck is AFFotD, what are you doing in my house, where are your clothes, oh God you reek of whiskey, that’s it, I’m calling the fucking cops.”  However, every once and a while, a handful spineless dick-cough weasel pansies say that we’re “harsh and kind of mean.”  Specifically, people say that when we take the time out of our day to viciously insult people that aren’t living up to our standard of Americaness.  This usually occurs when we write articles with lengthy titles that begin “Wherein” and result in 3,000 word screeds that mercilessly and often personally attack and insult the writers of stupid articles about Thanksgiving, Fortune Magazine, or, um, small children.

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The fuck you looking at, punk?

Since today marks the 4th anniversary of affotd.com existing as a website as opposed to a series of note cards jammed randomly into a file cabinet labeled “The Internet!” in our editor-in-chief’s bedroom closet, we figured it was time to turn the mirror on ourselves.  That’s right, we’re gonna rip into our own articles, which is totally not a fancy way to avoid creating any new content of value.  No, shut up, this has nothing to do with the fact that most of our research staff is hungover out of their minds.  Shut up.  Just, okay?

So we looked up the 10 most viewed articles in the history of America Fun Fact of the Day thus far, and will review and deconstruct every one of them.  For science, or whatever.

Wherein AFFotD Celebrates Their 4th Anniversary, Looking Inward and Critiquing the Failings of its 10 Most Popular Articles: A Douchey and Pretentious Meta Exercise by our Laziest Writers

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America’s Homemade Hunters

“Eh…too easy.”

~American Hunters


As purveyors of American doses of Americanism, we like to have our finger on the pulse of the acceptably badass American occupations.  When alcohol was being flavored like cupcakes, we were there.  When Pizza hut started cramming bacon and sausage inside of their crusts, we were there.  And that’s why we’re here to tell you that we have encountered a small pocket of Americans who enjoy hunting, except for anything that has ever been invented to make hunting easier.

That’s right.  These are people who like to hunt wild boar and other animals using homemade bows, arrows, and spears.  Because WOOOOOOO, that’s why.

“My point be obsidian/ my beats ain’t opinion/ grizzled beard cause delirium/ fuck up boars and all of ‘em.”

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Davy, Davy Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier

“If they make some sort of cheesy Disney TV show about me, just make sure they point out all the Injuns I’ve killed.

~Davy Crockett

There are certain images and phrases that are ingrained in the mind of every American.  “I cannot tell a lie,” “Four score and seven years ago,” and, “Remember the Alamo,” are likely the three most instantly recognizable.  And of the iconic American images, there is Lincoln’s stove-top hat, Washington’s wig, and Davy Crockett’s coonskin cap.  For a man who only served briefly as a Congressman, and who eventually was struck down by Mexicans at the age of 50, it is Davy Crockett’s legend that lingers as strong in the minds of America as that of our greatest founding fathers.  And why is this?

Because America loves a badass, especially one who does not fuck around.

Davy (Davyyy) Crockett was born on August 17, 1786 in Tennessee, having unfortunately missed out on his chance to kill Redcoats as a child by a few years.  David Crockett was named after his paternal grandfather, who was killed by Indians in 1777.  As soon as he was born, Davy Crockett crawled out of his parent’s home, wandered to a cliff, where he dropped a boulder on a passing Indian hunting party like a goddamn Looney Tunes gag.  Once the dust had settled, he giggled, “fuuuuck you.”  When Crockett was three years old, he fashioned a raccoon out of clay.  Satisfied with his craftsmanship, a Toddler Davy Crocket spit on his creation, as most frontiersmen spent most of their time either killing Indians or spitting on the ground.  When his saliva touched the sculpture, it sprang to life, becoming a flesh-and-blood raccoon.  An astonished Davy Crocket picked up the creature, momentarily in awe of what he created, before snapping its neck and making a hat out of it.  This is the reason why his coonskin cap gave Davy Crockett his powers.

When Crockett was in school at the age of 13, taking a break from killing Indians as a way to avenge his grandfather’s death, a child at his school embarrassed him on the first day, no doubt saying, “Davy Crockett?  Who’s that?”  Crockett proceeded to beat the shit out of the dude, and began skipping classes because he figured his teacher would give him a “whupping,” which of course would mean that Crockett would have to beat the shit out of his teacher as well.  When his father found out he was skipping classes, he was so enraged that Crockett had no choice but to run away from home, spending the next three years wandering through Tennessee, where he learned how to hunt and trap animals in between his impromptu Indian hunts.

When he returned at the age of 16, he saw his hometown was in shambled, suffering from an extreme case of Davy Crockett withdrawal.  Crockett’s father was so relieved that he only beat him lightly, using an open palm.  This was the most comforting display of father affection he had ever seen, and Crockett knew he was now a man.

In 1813, Crockett joined the Tennessee Militia, where he fought in the Creek War, a Civil War between rival Native American tribes.  Crockett was able to go about killing Indians, while also working with members of the Cherokee and Choctaw tribes as allies.  This gave him an inside knowledge of how Indians think, but also satiated his Indian revenge lust for some time.

After achieving the rank of Lieutenant Colonel, Crockett decided to pursue a career in politics.  When he lost his first run for Congress in 1824, an upset Davy Crockett decided to see how many bears he could kill in a year.  His number of 105 bear kills in a year was a world record, and would remain in the history books until the birth of C. Dale Petersen.

Davy Crocket was a man of principle.  Particular, the principle of, “Stay the fuck out of my way, or I will end you.”  Davy Crockett decided to take a break from his bear hunts to become a Congressman.  His main reason for doing so was so he could say shit in speeches like, “In one word I’m a screamer, and have got the roughest racking horse, the prettiest sister, the surest rifle and the ugliest dog in the district. I’m a leetle the savagest crittur you ever did see. My father can whip any man in Kentucky, and I can lick my father. I can outspeak any man on this floor, and give him two hours start. I can run faster, dive deeper, stay longer under, and come out drier, than any chap this side the big Swamp. I can outlook a panther and outstare a flash of lightning, tote a steamboat on my back and play at rough and tumble with a lion, and an occasional kick from a zebra.”  Seriously.

And zebras kick like a motherfucker

We at AFFotD have realized that we have yet to break the fourth wall in our customary fashion, so let’s take a moment here to say, haha, holy shit, can you believe that?  Davy Crockett is the kind of man who would break into song and dance if you ever caught him fucking your wife.  Davy Crockett doesn’t need an umbrella because rain is afraid to piss him off.  If you ever thought a negative thought about Davy Crockett, his ghost would appear and kick you right in the balls, and if you are a woman his ghost would pay for and supervise a lengthy sex change procedure just so he can show up again once the final surgery is completed to christen your new balls with a fresh kick to them.  If you ever asked Davy Crockett what time it is, he’d slap your face and then gallop away riding a puma.  Seriously, he started that speech by saying, “Who-Who-Whoop — Bow-Wow-Wow-Yough” which makes it seem less like he was giving a speech to Congress, and more like he was trying to get everyone to give him a beat for some sort of early-19th century precursor to freestyle rap.

So apparently Crockett has the prettiest sister, the meanest father, and can take an occasional kick from a fucking zebra.  It’s like a game, “Which of these crazy things has Davy Crockett actually said?”  You can play at home!

A. “I’m taller than a spruce, smell lovelier than an evergreen, and if I pop you in the mouth well that’s just me being polite by not knockin’ the ugly mess right off yer shoulders.”

B. “Pop, pop, pop!  Bom, bom, bom! Throughout the day.  No time for memorandums now.  Go ahead!  Liberty and independence forever!”

C. “Well, I got my cap and my rifle, and I can end you with either iffn’ I set my mind to it.”

D. “I find my dogs had a two-year-old bear down, a-wooling away on him; so I just took out my big butcher, and went up and slap’d it into him, and killed him without shooting.”

E. “Fellas, I’ve gone dancin’ with a bear and I’ve gone trappin’ for a woman, and ain’t either’s as easy as you’d be think’n.”

F.      “I told the people of my district that I would serve them as faithfully as I have done; but if not…you may all go to hell and I’ll go to Texas.”

If you guessed, “Well clearly he actually said B, D, and F, but you guys did a good job with A, C, and E, because those pretty much sound like something Crockett would say,” then you would be correct.  And by the way, B happens to be the last thing written down in his journal during the battle of the Alamo.  Fuckin’ A.

During his time in Congress, Crockett became political enemies with Andrew Jackson, refusing to be his “lap dog.”  Andrew Jackson has killed for less, but he was also smart enough to know that it’s not a good idea to get in a duel with a man who was able to shoot a bullet at an ax from 40 yards away and split the fucking bullet in half.  He primarily opposed Jackson on the Indian Relocation Act, probably because they’d be a lot tougher to chase down if they were moved West.  This opposition cost him a chance at reelection, to which he told everyone, “Well, fuck off, then,” (Quote F) and went off to Mexico, having grown tired of killing Indians and Bears, and wanting to upgrade to Mexicans.

Davy (Davyyyy) Crockett (King of the Wild Frontier) went down to the Alamo, bringing with him some dozens of armed Americans, including legendary pioneer Jim Bowie, the creator of the Bowie knife, as well as the inventor of the popular singer David Bowie.  In February of 1836, Crockett and his entourage arrived at the Alamo, where the garrisoned men were surprised to see an entire Mexican Army awaiting them.  While everyone thought to themselves, “shit shit shit shit shit shit shiiiiit,” Crockett and Bowie just smiled and prepared for the bloodbath.

The rest of the story is engrained in American History, the inevitable defeat against impossible odds of the Alamo.  After battle the Mexican siege for two weeks, the Mexican army broke through the walls on March 6th, killing every member of the Alamo Mission, though the overmatched members of the Alamo killed between 400 and 600 of the Mexican troops assaulting them, accounting for over one third of the attacking force.  There are two accounts of Davy Crockett’s final moments, both of which highlight the “Don’t fuck with me, assholes” spirit of David Crockett.  One account, from a former American Slave who worked as a cook for one of the Mexican officers, describes that David Crockett was found dead in the barracks, surrounded by, “No less than sixteen Mexican corpses,” with his knife buried in one of them.  This would not be surprising, since at the age of 50 Crockett would not be able to kill quite as many Mexicans as in his youth, but it’s still an impressive effort.

The second tale of his demise speculates that Crockett was captured, with an enraged Santa Anna demanding he be executed.  While this is often used to show Santa Anna as a ruthless military leader without honor, it does capture Crockett’s final words as, “I’m warning you boys, I’m a screamer.”  Either way, it can be decided that Davy Crockett left this world the same way he entered it- with a big “Fuck you” to a large group of minorities.

Wherein AFFotD Discovers an Erroneous Discussion of America’s Greatness By a Dastardly Foe of the Moniker “The Health Ranger” Who Threatens Our Very Way of American Excellence Through Cowardly Ideals

“Seriously, are you guys going out of your way to find articles like this just to piss me off?”

~Johnny Roosevelt, AFFotD Editor-in-Chief

Other publications pretend to know what’s “American” (COUGH FORTUNE MAGAZINE COUGH), and they generally have distressing views on what they feel makes this country great.  Rarely is whiskey mentioned, knife fighting is virtually nonexistent, and C. Dale Petersen as always remains below the radar (which, to be fair, is how he prefers it).  But it’s not every day that we stumble across an article that leaves us convinced that it is an act of sabotage against the American way of awesomeness.  An article that is so inconceivably un-American that to call it “Why America is Still a Great Place to Live:  Thirteen Things I Love About this Country” is more insulting to us than watching someone take a piss on the National Monument.  But here we have Mike Adams, who goes by the name “The Health Ranger,” deciding to tell us what’s great about America for a site called…Natural News?  Just take a look at all the things that are wrong about this picture.

First of all…nature?  Fuck nature.  How many times do we have to say that?  Plus, the site has more half-assed ads for questionable products meant to rip you off than a Scientology phone book.  But look in the top left corner (wait…shit, which one is left…Make the L’s, make the L’s with your hands) yeah, the top left corner.  Do you see what we see?  CHINESE!?  SPIES!  THEY’RE SPIES!  When we’re all stuck speaking Chinese in 2035, you can blame Natural News for paving the way.

So right off the bat, we have some concerns.  Plus, everything is green, but it’s that “Save mother Gaia” bullshit shade of green, not that “Money, bitches!” shade of green.  Besides, the title seems to imply that there’s something wrong with loving America.  Why did he throw the word “still” in there?  It should be “Why America is a Great Place to Live” with a picture of someone doing push-ups with one hand while chugging a beer.  We…hesitantly began reading the article, even though the author sort of looks like Lance Armstrong if he had been born in Wisconsin and once got out of date rape charges.

“Ha ha!  Plausible Deniability!”

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Wherein AFFotD Decries the Slanderous Insinuations of American Prominence Perpetrated by the Fiendish Fortune Magazine: A Rebuttal of Fortune Magazine’s 100 Great Things About America List

“Are you shitting me, Fortune Magazine?  Hey, guys, from now on we’re using this fucking list as toilet paper.”

~Johnny Roosevelt, Editor-in-Chief of AFFotD

Believe it or not, despite the existence of the America Fun Fact of the Day, there are other publications that make it a hobby to try to tell us, Americans, what constitutes being American.  Now, we have to ask you, do High School Basketball coaches go to Michael Jordan to give him pointers?  Fuck no, Jordan would use his cigar to scald their retinas.  Does the editor of a grade school newspaper tell Ernest Hemingway how to write?  The one time that happened, the kid went missing and was never seen again.  But yet, we have assholes like Fortune fucking magazine trying to post a “Independence Day 2010” article about “The Top 100 Great Things About America.”  They’d be better off getting a slug to write an exposé about taking a salt bath.  Our researchers stumbled across this little gem and immediately were stricken with a hate boner.  It’s like rigor mortis for when you see dreams die.  This article so offends us we can’t even think coherently!   Fuuuuuuuuuck!

THIS is the LEAD PHOTO for the whole damn article.  A clown desecrating the American flag by blowing out of a FUCKING VUVUZELA!  THAT GET SHIT OUT OF OUR HOUSE!

So let’s look at the highlights of their “list.”  And may God have mercy on their souls.

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The American Tale of C. Dale Petersen

“Guys, you gotta help me.  C. Dale Petersen is after me.  You gotta help, I’m…I’m so scared…”

~Rambo

When the America Fun Fact of the Day staff goes on manly-adventure-excursions, or “Manventursions” as we refer to them, we usually have a break in the program right after “extreme skydiving” and right before the jalapeño peppers eating contest so we can silently reflect on how manly and awesome we are.  Johnny Roosevelt, our editor-in-chief and the grandson of Teddy, regales us with stories of celebrity sexual conquests (Jessica Alba and Kathleen Turner on the same night, and Kathleen still had moves) and unbelievable feats of strength (he straight up knocked out Arnold Schwarzenegger in a game of Knuckles Roulette).  Our accountant talked about how he went to jail for murdering an elephant in a public zoo.  However, our photoshop guy ruined the mood when he kept bitching about how we never use photoshopped pictures, and just steal shit off of google images, which was the opposite of manly.  So we fired him.  With fire.

“YOUR JOB IS SO EXPENDABLE, BILLY!”

After the embers cleared we all had a great laugh until we stumbled upon a plaque that proved that, no matter how hard we try, how many Midget Tossing records we hold, or how many geriatric three-ways we pull off, we can never be manly enough.  Because we had seen true manliness, and all else seemed like a cheap imitation in comparison.

We are referring to C. Dale Petersen, a man so manly that if you ever said his complete first name out loud, your hand would spontaneously turn into a bouquet of dicks.

To recap the plaque pictured above, C. Dale Petersen ran into a royally pissed of Grizzly Bear.  C. Dale Petersen, who adhered to his personal credo of “Do not fuck with C. Dale Petersen,” rammed his fucking arm down the bear’s throat. And, at risk of using excessive italics, we must point out the fact that he then bit into the bear’s jugular vein to make it pass out before bashing it in the head with a stick to DEATH.

To recap.  This.  Throat.  Stick.  To death.

These actions are so manly they just gave Burt Reynolds a sex change operation.

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