Very cool guy just boomeranged himself axe throwing

Chicago, IL-An area man proved just how cool he perceived himself to be by posting a boomerang of him doing something that has been marketed as cool by the site Trip Advisor, a canon of sorts for the hordes of Life Is Good acolytes in search of a lukewarm adventure that could perhaps turn their spiraling life around. The boomerang has since compiled 11 views.

“Sorry for partying,” said Grayson Tipton-Murry, regarding the experience of sitting in an air conditioned, highly regulated environment, hurling dull axes at soiled pieces of cardboard. Him and his goddamn loser friends exchanging knowing glances that this is how our ancestors must have felt. Dangerous. Alive. Proud. Boastful. Instagram worthy. Filters. Influencers.

The boomerang itself adds more girth to the posturing shit log that won’t seem to finally die and mercifully go down the toilet. The constant competition of expelling enough goddamn waste to exist as a unique smear on the log before being engulfed and forgotten.

So have a Bud Light and boomerang the shit out of yourself axe throwing today.

New Escape Room just kiddy pool of Vaseline and very small crevice to outside world

Chicago, IL-The newest way to spend money that you don’t have in order to generate Instagram content and spare yourself from any type of self-reflection or original thought is officially here! Escape Hole is the newest player, in the luxury, leisure self-confinement industry. But unlike other escape rooms in which guests are forced to solve ill-conceived riddles with coworkers and family members they find tolerable, Escape Hole is the first ever solo escape room.

Guests are locked in a tiny room, containing only a baby pool filled to the brim with a combination of Heinz Mayonnaise, 2% milk and your choice of scented or unscented Vaseline. The room itself has a variety of burlap lined holes and crevices, each unnaturally small, for the person to strip down and try and birth through.

Unlike other escape rooms, you’ll feel the crushing paranoia of having to probe and prod the different crevices to find out which one you can desperately cram your flesh into to ooze out the other side.

But there is light at the end of the tunnel! If you escape successfully, your greased and scratched body will be spewed into the adjoining Fuddruckers where you can enjoy a heaving burger with other lonely, pathetic participants.

Cantina 1910 bringing Mexican food back to imaginary roots

There have always been two significant problems with Mexican food; hearty delicious portions packed to the brim with delightful textures and spices and sensible, often breaching dirt cheap, prices. The biggest regrets I experience after eating a reasonably priced taco is the absence of feeling completely famished (the downright enchanting feeling of light headedness accompanied by stomach pangs) and a regrettably full wallet. Fortunately Cantina 1910 in Andersonville has heard the cries of the people and has created an imaginary authentic Mexican experience to render both stomachs and wallets charmingly empty.

I was uber pleased to see there weren’t any massive margaritas on the menu, because I absolutely despise the taste of fresh lime juice mixed with good tequila and couldn’t be more opposed to getting pleasantly drunk on the cheap. Instead I ordered what tasted like Parrot Bay mixed with Deans 2% milk. It had such a challenging flavor profile that I almost hurled instantly. The milk sat comfortably at the bottom while the Parrot Bay lingered on top like a finely hocked loogie. The harder it is to struggle down a cocktail the more sophisticated it ultimately is. Also milk goes with everything. My wife ordered a tequila flight that arrived in champagne flutes, the most interesting thing was they all tasted identical (mostly like a sopping wet campfire in which the logs were replaced by massive hotdogs and the kindling was aged donkey fur)…what a fresh interpretation on a tequila flight!

Fortunately when my wife clearly didn’t like the cocktails she was confronted awkwardly by the waiter who asked “You didn’t like the tequila flight did you?” when she politely said “No not really for me, that’s ok though,” he stood unwavering for thirty seconds, unblinking and with quivering lips before gleefully sprinting away. Excruciatingly awkward staff interactions are a vital part to any fine dining experience. This interaction was executed perfectly.

Next up were a batch of microscopic tacos surprisingly unaccompanied by any beans or rice. Thank god because savory beans cooked in pork fat and plump, freshly cooked rice have no place in Mexican cuisine. The tacos were delightfully underwhelming and it took me six to remember what it was like to be marginally full. When the bill came I couldn’t have been more excited, I giggled uncontrollably for several seconds before subduing my excitement and feverishly laid down my credit card. 80 dollars for 8 tacos and two cocktails…the room started to spin and my consciousness quickly faded…was this a dream?

A glass of milk and Parrot Bay, no rice and beans, microscopic tacos and an unwieldy bill…this version of imaginary traditional Mexican fare is starting to grow on me.

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The time I snubbed Mayor Rahm Emanuel

Staring deeply into the previous night’s bar tab, my tongue was nothing more than an abused piece of sandpaper searching hastily for saliva within the arid confines of my mouth. Had someone convinced me to drink Boones Farm out of an ashtray last night? I sat up promptly. My brain plummeted into my stomach, submerging itself in half digested Fireball whiskey and Sutter Homes minis, then immediately careened back into my skull ricocheting and vomiting poison into all of my nerve endings. I laid back down and the engulfing pain briefly subsided, I could feel my heart beating in my toes.  Today was going to be fucking hell.

It had taken everything in me to get dressed while resisting the persevering urge to boot. To evacuate everything that was in my body and start over. There wasn’t time for such a luxury; it was time for something else…the ultimate war of attrition. Riding on a stale, congested train that more likely than not smelled like wet goat. The thought of such an endeavor was dizzying in itself, not to mention what waited at the end of that horrible commute, eight hours of plowing through high importance emails with a god splitting headache and unpredictable bubble guts. The debilitating walk to the train only added to the dread which was quickly transitioning to fury.

I glanced briefly in my reflection in the glass at the Addison Red Line stop; the terrifying creature glanced back at me before mercifully averting its eyes. There in the middle of the station stood a transcendent douchebag that appeared to be handing out pamphlets to whatever chicken shit street fest was coming up that weekend. Fuck this guy. My ability to camouflage my subhuman state was nonexistent. As I approached he turned and faced me wholly. My hangover had apparently also robbed me of my depth perception as we stood unnaturally close. “Not today pal,” I snarled expelling a noticeable gust of sour morning breath that appeared to linger under his nose. Pal? Why the hell did I say pal? He stood paralyzed with confusion after several seconds of immeasurable puzzlement his face contorted into a sheepish diffusing smile. I could sense a sentiment of devastation having been rejected by such a horrid looking  specimen.

I shoved past him and walked toward the train, leaving a booze fueled eye stinger for him to reflect on, as I turned around it appeared he was shaking other passengers hands. He looked uncomfortable as he stood in my enduring stench. I briefly took my ear phones out and overheard two people discussing how crazy it was that Rahm Emanuel was shaking hands at the train stop. Through my bleary eyes I didn’t even recognize the insect. I was happy to know that even through an insufferable, delirium inducing hangover, my instincts could still sense the presence of a crook.

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Top 5 Reasons to Not Attend Street Fests

5.) Shopping-More accurately referred to as purchasing something infinitely unmemorable that will sit on a shelf for 6 months and then be promptly discarded. An empty wine bottle filled with colored sand. A lanyard made out of human hair. Xanax fueled acrylic paintings that has 40 layers of paint and weighs 15 lbs, complete with all of the angst of someone experiencing a mid-life crisis. Number 2 pencils smothered in Elmer’s glue and rolled in glitter and shredded up Lisa Frank prints. Nothing better than sweating through your shorts, mulling over the next piece of clutter your going to stub your toe on while sipping a $7 Bud Light and trying to scrape a gum bomb from the bottom of your shoe.

4.) Carnies-What hastily built ride do you want to get sick on today? Will it be the machine that spins swings in a circle inches above the ground? Maybe the pirate ship being ran by the guy watching porn on his iPhone. Dunking the paunchy, jaundiced, balding guy wearing a wife beater in the dunk tank is always a true treat. Or maybe you should just get a good case of pink eye from the bouncing castle. Either way passing out from exhaust fumes is 100% on the agenda today. If all else fails you can always pay $10 to peg a gold-fish bowl with a softball and win the remains.

3.) People-I don’t want to be around anyone willing to shell out a $10 entry fee to stand around on sweltering asphalt, drinking lukewarm domestics and eating stale churros. Frankly someone willing to subject themselves to such misery can’t be trusted. Make sure to wear steel toed boots if you are going to attend. There’s plenty of dually strollers, driven by griping asshole  parents, looking to pulverize any exposed toes. Either that or hipsters moshing to Dinosaur Jr, it all depends on the area. Also be ready to overhear conversations on esteemed/controversial topics like: new menu items at Bar Louie, best tasting light beer, the weather, Moscato on the rocks, how the Cubs may or may not doing, and the Big Bang Theory.

2.) Volunteer Security-These hardos generally have the aggressiveness of Judge Dredd, the resilience of RoboCop, and the shrewdness of Rahm Emmanuel. Volunteer security guards are born not made. They are the best, of the best, of the best at attempting to collect suggested donations. It doesn’t matter if you live on the street or not, you’re getting a complete and utter shakedown. Be prepared to have a flashlight jammed in your purse and then up your butt, this right after your driver’s license is scrutinized for no less than 8 minutes. God forbid anyone tries to walk on that street that isn’t going to the fest, if that is your goal be prepared for a fist fight regardless of gender. And if you tell them you’re trying to go to a restaurant on that block, be prepared for a lugee in the eye. Rejected bathroom attendants, sniveling yuppies, and University of Phoenix hopefuls are just a few of the not so friendly faces you can expect to see collecting.

1.) Music-Watching a bunch of washed up, talentless hacks plod through a cover of Alien Ant Farm covering Michael Jackson is enough to make anyone’s soul go extinct, unless it’s already dead. Who know’s if whoever is up on stage is actually playing any music though, it’s tough to tell as their generally competing with hoards of basic Thots wailing the wrong lyrics to a Bon Jovi song they never heard and fist pumping bros dumping beers directly into your ear. Things could all change though, I heard the backup triangle player in Chumbawamba has a side project that’s playing at Northwest Southeast Roscoe Village Retro Vinyl Seafood Fest.

Lollapalooza 2014 Lineup Review

Rating: 2.0/10.0

What a relief. Enormous exhale. Sigh. Over exaggerated brow wipe. I thought for a minute there Lollapalooza was actually going to have a band I wanted to see, but hadn’t yet. I can officially put any and all concern to bed. Tuck it in nicely, kiss it on the forehead. Be relieved of the burden that had been attending the last several years. The cross has been lifted.

Looking at the lineup I couldn’t help to think, I’ve seen this all before. Probably because I have. Orangizer Perry Farrell must have been dumpster diving in the shredded lineups of years past, then constructed this uninspired turd. Bound together by vomit scraped from the mud at Perry’s DJ tent and greed. Oh yeah, and garnished with the tears of everyone who got ripped by scalpers, lost their friends at the mile long bathroom lines, didn’t see a single band, and got swallowed by overwhelming swells of humanity at last year’s blunderous outing. There are some great bands on the bill don’t get be wrong, but it all seems like a bizarre rerun. An indistinguishable episode of Bar Rescue that you’re not sure if you’ve seen or not, but pretty sure you have. How many bars could have roaches in the deep fryer? I mean really. Running through the lineup I actually dozed off midway through. Upon awakening I could have swore the year was 2010.

NickelbackCreed, and O-Town could all be headlining and 10 million people would still show. Perry knows this, so what does he care who plays? Might as well make the festival with all of the quality of a straight to DVD release. This thing has Van Wilder 2: The Rise of Taj written all over it. It’s become a safe-haven for the jobbers of the city. Where else would the bros go to show off how swoll they got over the winter in a vintage NBA jersey? Where else would the teens go to eat copious amounts of molly and drink enough Shock Tops to be puking on a stranger’s shoe by 11:00 a.m.? Most importantly, if not for Lollapalooza, where would all of those testy middle-aged wonders place their massive picnic blanket and not budge an inch the entire festival, then scoff at people for trying to maneuver around it? I can’t imagine a world without that.

Top Three Painful Gulps of Balmy Swill at the End of a King Cobra 40 oz aka The Headliners:

1.) Lorde has to be the least exciting headliner in history. I have no interest in paying a couple hundred bucks to watch one of the witches from Hocus Pocus lurch around on stage, while the same crowd at Nickelodeon’s Teen Choice Awards waits anxiously to hear Royals.

2.) I thought Kings of Leon went the way of the dodo…’nuff said.

3.) Eminem is a complete and utter has been, also nothing better than getting into a screaming match with a dude wearing a mesh Korn shirt.

This year I’ll be laid up drinking craft brews and grilling watching the mayhem “The Purge” style. Enjoy the relentless finger-blasting (Yes this happened last year, I suggest you don’t Google it) and face eating that will undoubtedly take place at Skrillex. My decision to never attend Lollapalooza again has never seemed so sweet.

Full Lineup

Top 10 Worst People on the CTA

There are certain people on the CTA that exist exclusively as a catalyst, a hastily lit match to the dwindling fuse that is your sanity. The anger is often exaggerated because in your groggy, frustrated haze it becomes impossible to determine the reason for this uninhibited hatred. I’m not talking about the dude in a wizard hat taking a dump in a can of Yankee beans while reciting his favorite quotes from Mork and Mindy. He’s his own brand of crazy. I’m talking about the people that appear like you and me…but are actually the moral dregs that are ruining this society.

All you can really tell is you’re on the verge of a patented CTA temper tantrum. That morning you were a non-confrontational southern belle, but now you’re a neon clad, hyper-tanned, shredded-up bro…and someone just started grinding on the piece of strange you were trying to land while you were going beast mode at the Mumford show at Lollapalooza. On top of that your $8 B to the L got spilled. An aggressive shoving match that never escalates into much more is really the only solution here. Just like the confrontation that’s about to happen on the CTA. Here is a run-down of those people.

10.) Person who is reading trendy book from 8-12 months ago- This person hasn’t read a book since “The Giver” in 5th grade and is really trying to get back into it. They also exclusively read books that are made into movies/TV shows. It’s time to really intellectually challenge themselves with books like “Girl With the Dragon Tattoo” or book 2 in the Game of Thrones series. Doing this is also super impressive to everyone else on the train. You’re clearly way smarter than us as we stand there drooling looking cross eyed at our iPhones. Also, absolutely no better way to pick up chicks. Chicks ALWAYS approach strange dudes and want to discuss if they’re team Edward or team Jacob.

9.) Selfie Taker- We get that your complexion couldn’t look better in that fluorescent, invasive CTA lighting, and the ole MySpace page is begging for a profile pic update but shamelessly making the mousiest/poutiest/mysteriously sexy looking face is enough to make us all gauge our eyes out. No matter the filter, that picture is maxing out at 3 likes and you know it.

8.) The Napper- On one hand I admire The Napper. It’s truly incredible that someone can fall asleep in a traveling hunk of tin filled to the absolute brim with complete and utter strangers. Being that oblivious is insane. On the other hand when the person is using your shoulder blade as their own personal snuggle post/morning breath depository the charm wears off pretty fast. It’s also tough to determine whether the person is alive or deceased at times which is unsettling.

7.) Paparazzi- Every single other person on the CTA is a potential minor celebrity ripe for stalking. That’s the only explanation for tempestuously leering at any text message/Instagram/Facebook in their near proximity. It’s comforting to know that this person is completely emotionally invested in your life. They’re your rock and confidant during that 40 minute commute regardless of you wanting or being aware of it.

6.) The music way too loud with bad headphones person- Being sandwiched between both; morons blasting Skrillex at8 a.m. and people staring longingly out the window listening to Passenger is the worst. That pair of Beats by Dre that were purchased at Big Lots isn’t helping the cause. Not a single note is actually making it to their ear drums. Don’t involve me in that Star Wars theme song as you gaze longingly out the window wondering “Who Shot First.”

5.) The door texter- There’s a 50 person log jam hanging in the balance. Passengers doing what is generally done at their desired stop…getting off the train. But wait! The finishing touches on a perfectly crafted text to the beau is also only a few characters off, might as well finish it. There’s a sliver of space by the open door that everyone can make do with. No reason to experience the slightest inconvenience. That 80 year old man definitely wanted to toss his back out doing the limbo under a Samsung Galaxy!

4.) Guy doesn’t understand personal space- The endowment estimation/perception for this person is severely distorted. It has to be for someone to spread their legs this far apart. It’s likely an over compensation for an early onset of Low-T. I get that exchanging shin denim seems like flirting to you…it isn’t.

3.) The Blowout- It’s a completely packed train that already smells like wet dog on a boiling hot rainy day in August. Even though every other person on the train is holding it, you have to cut that vicious garbage bomb loose. A strict diet of hay, Icehouse, and diseased raccoon meat. Our eyes are now scorched as bad as your ringpiece. Everyone on the train is wondering who’s insides are rotting as you stand there proudly but quietly basking in your own brand.

2.) The Immovable Object- This motionless statue that appears to have somehow stuffed a mini-fridge into it’s Jansport backpack. Confirming that a backpack can in fact have right angles. It’s dictating the position of everyone else on the train. The refusal to put this thing down makes me think its a fashionable camouflage for your hunchback (which is resting inside the backpack itself.) Trying to get off the train? Be prepared to get into a fist fight with whatever the hell is in that backpack. If placed on the ground an additional 8 people could stand comfortably. But statues don’t give a shit.

1.) My bag deserves a seat too person- It’s uncertain if there is any situation at all that would warrant giving your bag a seat on the CTA. Maybe these people are carrying around their great great grandmother’s ashes in a super delicate thin glass urn. Maybe they have a rare breed of Mongolian chinchilla with unnaturally sensitive paws, that when placed on the floor of the CTA causes it mild discomfort. It’s more likely they’re just your run of the mill self-entitled bane of human existence. This person is a beacon for the decline of human society and is undoubtedly listening to Pitbull as we speak.