90% of people unaware they are holding umbrella

Several Chicagoans got quite the unwelcomed surprise when arriving at their office and discovering that their umbrellas were covered in eyeballs, human hair and other assorted debris.  Like most commuters they had all but forgotten that they were even a holding an umbrella as they hastily jabbed their way through the crowded streets.  “I generally just open my umbrella right when I get out of bed in the morning and forget about it! Who wants the hassle of maneuvering that thing? By not thinking about it, I can keep it in one place and let other people do the worrying!” said Ashley Adams giggling as she shook some additional blood from her umbrella onto an unwitting coworker.

Several others around the office around the office followed suit, negligently shaking off hair and eyeballs much to the chagrin of the office cleaning staff. They all ended up having a good hearty laugh about it in the end. “When I saw that Ashley’s umbrella had blood on it again, I couldn’t contain myself, we all just started laughing! Then the hair on mine, it was the icing on the cake! I can be so forgetful sometimes, I noticed several audible thumps but just assumed it was the rain and not someone’s scalp!” said Allen Williams wiping tears from his eyes.

Being forgetful can be hilarious and zany especially when it causes direct grief on strangers, but it’s not all fun and games, at another office the mood was far more somber.

“Losing a massive chunk of hair that got snagged on umbrella wasn’t a great way to start the day, may even classify it as a full blown day ruiner.”  Said a downtrodden Steve Jones who was on the receiving end of umbrella negligence. “On the plus side I’ve been getting pretty decent at parkour.” He continued as several others around the office nursed varying injuries.

As the rain continues to fall, the moral dregs come gurgling out of the stinking potholes and cracks, adding insult to injury to your soaking wet jeans.

chicago-storm

Bastille cover band refuses to play “Pompeii” at Roscoe Village Pigeon, Zebra Mussel & Fidget Spinner street fest

Chicago, IL-Chaos ensued last Saturday at the first annual North Roscoe Village Pigeon, Mussel & Fidget Spinner Street Fest when a Bastille cover band, that was hired to perform for anyone boring enough to attend a street fest, refused to play the dated hit “Pompeii”. The street fest started as most do, with physically and mentally mediocre people gathering to celebrate their ordinariness by paying to stand on smoldering asphalt and drink $8 Green Lines.

Thousands of people swarmed the street fest for their chance at eating a fly ridden, sun baked, Chicago River Zebra Mussel or a freshly slaughtered pigeon filet served on wilted lettuce for the people publicly declaring their gluten intolerance. The arts and crafts table set up for the kids was a nice addition according to neighbors. For the small fee of a $200, kids were allowed to collect the bloodied remains from the pigeon feast and make their very own pigeon bone fidget spinners!

All seemed well at the festival as moms wore chic, Instagram worthy headdresses crafted from pigeon feathers and dads took turns sinking each other in a zebra mussel infested dunk tank. The sun began to set and the late 2000’s cover band, which would serve as the highlight of the year for most of the pathetic festival goers, took the stage.

The band began to play what was assumed to be the only song ever created by Bastille, bellowing “Hey ay oh hey oh hey ay oh ay yo,” but as the crowd worked itself into a frenzy they stopped. “You know we’re not gonna play that pussy shit! We play Bastille deep cuts only!” screamed the lead singer at the restless crowd.

The entitled crowd screamed in agony as their perfect festival appeared ruined, several people ended their lives by way of zebra mussel to the forehead, knowing they would likely never witness a Bastille cover band play “Pompeii”. Others retreated, hoping to reorganize another street festival for next weekend featuring an Eiffel 65 cover band.

Company mistakes cloud capacity for technological buzz word and hires regional vape champion

South Bend, IN-A tech company in Northern Indiana, already ripe with global brand influencers and other industry game changers with no discernible skills, hired what they believed to be the front runner of a new digital world order.  Little did they know, a skill that he had been endorsed for over 12,000 times on LinkedIn, was not another ambiguous marketing proficiency to add to the team but rather indicated an aptitude for lengthy and colossal vape plumes.

“When you see a word like cloud capacity, you automatically think VP of something, hell you’d be smart to create a whole new division around something like that,” said the department head, furiously hacking away at another level of bubble shooter.

“Now knowing that cloud capacity indicates the overall size of a vape cloud he can make in one continuous blow, I’m putting ten people underneath him and giving him a corner office. Being a regional Northern Indiana Vape Champion and being a global brand ambassador/industry thought leadership influencer are essentially the same thing,” continued the head, completely unaware that the newly hired employee’s technological competence is limited to logging into his premium PornHub account.

Though the department remains in shambles, the enormous, passion fruit scented clouds remain a sight to behold.

Area man heroically steps away from Facebook, makes triumphant return 3 days later

Rockford, Illinois-An area man who recently took a hiatus from Facebook to protest negativity and politics as a whole from his like-minded digital ecosystem of friends has made his triumphant return after an admirable three day stand.

“I was just sick of it all, on every one of my 300 daily logins I would see something that I either agreed with or disagreed with…I had to the unthinkable…something that would shake people that passively tolerate me to their core,” said Phillip Biggins frantically refreshing his browser to see who had commented or liked his message announcing his official return.

Though most people remained vaguely aware of the protest, the grueling three day demonstration was courageous on every level, and certainly as impactful as thousands of people collectively gathering to stand up against intolerance and oppression.

“Someone had to do it…heroes are made…not born…and I’ll do it again by god…I’ll disappear from one of my social media outlets for a week next time…then they’ll be really sorry,” continued Biggins with a prideful gleam in his eye as he posted a picture of himself smugly sipping a cup of coffee nestled delicately between his two hands.

If only more people had the courage and conviction to briefly retire from a recreational social media site only to return in a blaze of self-congratulatory splendor days later.

A guy in a clown suit got a standing ovation on America’s Got Talent after singing “Shake It Off” and pooping himself

Rockford, IL-When the crew from America’s Got Talent came to Rockford, they expected very little from the city known best for its Tilted Kilt franchise. It’s also referred to adoringly by locals as the Gary of Illinois. But as auditions commenced, Heidi, Simon, Howie and Mel B were impressed by most of the acts that functioned as a perfect representation of Middle America: A guy attempting to and failing to wipe his ass for 45 seconds, a woman doing a whole can of duster and eating a 12 oz. Yankee Candle, a masturbating ostrich…all received standing ovations.

But one act stood out in particular…and in the end got the golden buzzer from Howie sending him directly to the live finale. The tear jerking act that united a country involved a man of undetermined age in clown makeup shuffling onto stage silently wearing a diaper made of burlap. He stood as the judges made terrible clown puns as the audience laughed hysterically.

No sooner had the laughter stopped, the clown began to sing an acapella version of Taylor Swift’s smash hit “Shake it Off.” During the song several fits of noticeable and violent diarrhea rendered the clown a crumpled mess on the stage, but he persevered. During the final note the clown stuffed a pigeon into a beer bottle and swallowed it whole before breaking into tears along with audience members.

“This is what makes this show…unlike…anything on T.V.!” proclaimed Howie aghast.

“I didn’t like it…..I LOVED it!” shouted Simon while Mel B and Heidi wept openly next to him.

Just as the clown was going to get the approval necessary for the next round, Howie stood up and to the joy of the crowd pushed the Golden Buzzer, sending the clown to the live finale and ending his life.

Outraged protesters maintain Brendan Fraser is the one and only Rick O’Connell

Los Angeles, CA-A sea of protesters enveloping the entirety of Los Angeles has officially turned violent according to sources. What was originally thought to be a protest involving either the corrupt nature of our current government administration, extensive gender inequality, institutional racism, or the systematic destruction of our plant, actually turned out to be a demonstration advocating the return of Brenden Frazer to the Mummy franchise.

In what is being called the largest protest ever recorded, nearly a third of the entire country migrated to Los Angeles to advocate the fair treatment of Brendan Fraser. According to protesters, the previously listed issues are trivial at best and generally have no impact on the human race as a whole. Whereas tainting a staple in American history like The Mummy franchise could have lasting emotional and physical effects on the country.

“Just put him back in the damn movie,” said one protester wearing a prosthetic that made his lower half appear like a scorpion. “The other stuff don’t matter, you think we have time to deal with that shit while the glorious name of The Mummy gets tarnished! I voted for Trump to prevent this shit!” he continued adjusting his Bluetooth headset.

As the protests wage on, solace can be found in America’s ability to create a united front against oppressive and imperative issues threatening to derail humanity.

Student gets into Harvard with essay documenting love of PornHub

Cambridge, Massachusetts-Over the last few months several fantastical stories have surfaced about Ivy League schools accepting students who wrote admission essays on Papa John’s, Taco Bell and one that even came in the form of a rap song. In the latest clickbait attempt to justify how quirky millennials can be while also filling social feeds with content comparable to flavorless, reheated, 60/40 ground chuck, we examine Grayson Horton-Miller who got into Harvard with a 700,000 word ode to the popular streaming site, PornHub.

“We get thousands of essays every year, but young Grayson’s essay was something to be cherished…a true work of art! A composer in a symphony of bleached assholes!” said Dean of Admission, Phillip Biggins. “The 20,000 word section on POV was superb! Not to mention the 50,000 lines of poetry on gonzo! His theories involving the origin of human evolution being sparked by cuckholding are quite profound! A millenial visionary by every definition of the word!” continued Biggins, head spinning at the porn category algorithms Grayson could someday develop.

Though the essay contains no punctuation and though it appears Grayson has only a loose grasp on how to read and write, the sheer fervor in which the essay was written has gained him admission to Harvard with a full academic scholarship. Millenials do the darndest things!

And though Grayson appears to be struggling with a crippling pornography addiction that is consuming his every thought and rendering him incapable of experiencing actual human emotion, his parents couldn’t be any prouder of their snowflake.

Friendship based solely on making plans to hang out

Chicago, IL-The existence of a genuine friendship is most commonly rooted in years of significant life experiences, hilarity, hijinks and the unique happiness experienced in the presence of that friend. But one friendship has defied all odds and exists solely on the threat of at some point hanging out and complaining to each other via text about the infrequency of time spent together.

“We’re planned this SUPER fun girl’s night! We’re going to do a fancy dinner and then dancing all night and Instagraming the whole thing with its own unique hashtag!” said Nicole Cox already considering excuses for why they’d have to reschedule.

“I suggested the third week of June but she has improv that whole week, so she said she was free the second week of August, but I’m in Wisconsin Dells for a Dan Brown writing workshop that week, ultimately we landed on the third or fourth week of February 2025 #cantwait!” continued Cox shopping for the perfect little black dress that will never be worn.

The next 8 years will be spent meticulously crafting texts of excitement for the impending hang out and remorse that they both feel like they haven’t seen each other in forever. This will continue perpetually, reaching climax immediately before their scheduled rendezvous, in which one of them will inevitably cancel…much to the relief of the other. And the cycle will begin once again.

 

Coworker politely asks how weekend was before dropping impossible project with unrealistic due date

Chicago, IL-On Monday, a generally incompetent coworker who had blown several deadlines prior and grossly mismanaged an entire project, smoothed things over by asking the candidate of their eventual wrath how their weekend was. Before the first sip of coffee of the morning was taken, the awkward interaction that would undoubtedly ruin the entire month was set into motion with an empty cordiality.

The sense of dread was already palpable as the contour of the coworker sidled into sight, casually adjacent to the end of the cubicle wall, its presence always suggested an unreasonable need or demand.

Neither had ever hinted at an even remote interest in the happenings of each other’s respective weekends which rendered the question even more unsettling. Like most office relationships, they tolerated each other at best and loathed each other at worst. Nonetheless the inquiry was made in a feeble attempt to camouflage incompetence with politeness and pacify the situation.

“Hiya,” said the coworker sheepishly, arms crossed over the top of the cube wall. “How was the weekend?” The shrillness of the question infuriating anyone within earshot.

Before a response could be mustered, a barrage of unclear, irresolvable and time sensitive demands rained down with reckless abandon. Like a swarm body blows in a prized fight chopping down the reigning champ and reducing him to a mound of bloody, whimpering flesh.

Fortunately because the soul crushing tasks were delivered after a vacant nicety, the coworker can retreat to her desk void of any remorse. In fact, encouraged by the start of a blossoming relationship.

Bottled Blonde in River North changes name to Blondes & Bigots, a segregation forward speak easy

Chicago, IL-Bottled Blonde in River North is embracing the backlash experienced after the bar’s questionable dress code was leaked like a steady flow of asparagus piss down a pair of pleated khakis. The dress code, which banned things like Jordan brand shoes, sagging pants, bright clothing and other discriminatory items, has been celebrated by management, as they begin a transition to the new bar, owned by Last Man Standing’s Tim Allen, known as Blondes & Bigots Bar & Grill.

“A bigot is a type of super elegant French pastry,” said bar general manager Chase Wiley installing a new confederate flag glory hole in the bathroom. “The & is self explanatory, any restaurant worth a damn has a & in the name, but while we wanted to stay extremely classy, we also wanted to relive the glory days of segregation and give people hope that some day the South could rise again,” continued Wiley hanging a massive signed picture of Michael Richards.

Blondes & Bigots Bar & Grill is being pitched as a cozy speak easy where racists can gather without fear of judgement. With a cocktail program that includes something called David Duke On the Beach and more traditional horrible drinks like Vodka Mudslides, the restaurant and its piece of shit owners should go belly up in less than 24 hours, to be mercifully replaced by another Rainforest Cafe.