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Life ain't fair. Deal with it.

The Concept

I once worked with a pretty cool guy named Dale Gasper. Dale was mowing his lawn one weekend, and as he headed down a certain hill, he slipped on the fresh-hewn grass right into the mower. Needless to say, this is not an activity you should try at home. Dale managed to chop his big toe in half horizontally, as if he were trying to make it into a little finger puppet.

Well, of course we all tormented poor Dale mercilessly once we found out why he had missed some time from work and had an odd limp when he made it back. One time, while he was away from his desk, we changed his desktop wallpaper to a scanned image of the international symbol for "don't touch the sharp thing, dumbass". I'm sure you know the one, with a silhouette of a hand, the pointer finger of which has been subjected to a nasty, wedge-shaped gash by another wedge-shaped pointy object, and is subsequently spewing silhouette drops of blood.

Oh, the laughter and tears ran high when Dale came back - mainly, our laughter at his tears, as well as his gibbering screams as he fell curled into a fetal position, staring blankly wide-eyed at the screen, obviously flashing back to the fateful moment of his sudden podiatric decline. It was all great fun for us, and I'm sure Dale will eventually be able to look back on it and laugh, once the doctors step down his dosage sufficiently.

Anyway, time passed and Dale lay forgotten in the corner. Then one day, I had occasion to purchase a lawn mower for myself. As I was reading through the instruction book, this being my preferred method for putting off the actual mowing itself, a block of glyphs in the middle of one page caught my eye.

I love those little pictograms of people's fingers with chunks taken out of them or some dumbass silhouette man falling down a flight of slippery stairs. But this picture that I had spied had a special meaning after Dale's hilarious prank. Here, right in the beginning of my lawn mower manual, was the warning Dale had desperately needed on that fateful stormy night. If only the Skipper hadn't tossed his own manual overboard, he might have had a chance.

If only I could have warned Dale, I would have pointed to this drawing, to this MESSAGE that was as CLEAR AS DAY. "DALE!" I would have cried out, "Look at the little MAN! The tip of his FOOT has been CHOPPED CLEAN OFF! The poor, poor little silhouette man. Oh, the HUMANITY! Oh, the SILHOUETTITUDE."

I suppose, though, that Dale would likely have ignored me anyway.

Originally, I had only thought of putting together a site that could once again rekindle the roaring fun of pointing at Dale and laughing at his misfortune. However, when I started thinking of Max 15 Degrees as the name of the site, I began to get a much more twisted view of the future of it, a view kind of like you used to see on the old Batman t.v. series with Adam West, whenever the scene was set in an evildoer's hideout - all slanty with bright colors and gogo boots. Which fits quite well with how I view the world already, thank you very much.

So that's pretty much how this whole mess fell together and miraculously sprang to life. Just don't blame me when it mutates horribly and eats the world, because I haven't even been feeding it well.


P.S. Hahaha, Dale.

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