Des Plaines, IL-Something incredible happened on Tuesday night of last week in the sleepy town of Des Plaines. Phillip Biggins, manager at the local Plato’s Closet, received a sign from Facebook. A digital Star of Bethlehem nestled in his newsfeed, beckoning him to post well wishes for his best friend’s birthday that would have otherwise passed unnoticed.
Biggins dutifully obliged to the tendering, as he always did, knowing that it was not truly a birthday, engagement, childbirth, or otherwise, until his generic affection was sitting lifelessly on the person’s wall. He clicked into the profile and recalled a lifelong friendship as tears began to form. Filled with profound trials, tribulations, adventures and the seamlessness of being true family, the bond between them truly was something to be cherished.
He had gotten drunk with him for the first time, caught the winning touchdown pass from him at state, and been saved by him from a pack of feral wolfs that had taken hold of the city back in 1997. What could be written to express his profound gratitude for it all? Then in an uncanny moment of clarity, it came to him, an acronym.
Nothing is more earnest than an acronym, especially when expressing an intricate web of human emotions. HB would be the technical acronym for Happy Birthday, though it didn’t have the right ring. Biggins stared at the cursor for several seconds wondering how he could make it more meaningful, something only he and his friend would understand.
Then it came to him, HBD, the D signifying day in the word birthday. Inspired. He proudly examined the uninteresting platitude once more before posting into the oblivion.
Elmhurst, IL-Expressing gratitude for a lifetime of personal sacrifice and unwavering love is often manifested in the form of a cotton candy scented Yankee Candle. But this year one man living in a piece of shit Chicago suburb had other plans for Mother’s Day. Something unique, timeless and able to garner over twenty valuable likes on a given social media platform.
“Posted a pic of her on Instagram WITH a black and white filter,” said Phillip Biggins, with a look of excruciating contentment on his placid face. “I also did 500 words on how she made me the man I am today and how fucking sweet my life is right now. The only thing she has ever wanted in life is validation on a curated social media account in the form of likes from friends that have never met her,” continued Biggins scrolling through a swarm of completely identical Mother’s Day tributes.
When asked, Biggin’s mom confirmed she hadn’t seen the post, didn’t know what a post was, didn’t have an Instagram account and wasn’t aware what Instagram was or why she was being interviewed by a largely unknown surrealist culture blog in the first place.
“Oh yeah…did I mention the hand lotion from Bath & Body Works and the $20 Talbots gift card? #bestsonever #winningatlife #dadsandgrads” concluded Biggins huffing on his finger nails and polishing them against his popped collar, extra medium, Hollister shirt.
A seemingly benign eye stinger in any other environment has leveled up into a truly substantial foe within the confines of a piping hot shower. Feeding off of the heat and using the steam as an energy source, the fart transcended into one of the most upsetting stenches in recent memory. Like a true Saiyan the aroma morphed several times from rotten eggs to microwaved garbage before evolving into its perfect form; a neglected petting zoo at a county fair in Hammond Indiana.
Born out of pure hatred the stink somehow smelled nothing like anything that was consumed in the last several days. A completely alien smell with a propensity for complete and utter annihilation. No nostril is safe from the wrath of the newly born Super Saiyan and the lingering effects of the Super Spirit Bomb it just dropped will haunt every crevice of the bathroom for weeks.