Chicago, IL-The polarizing, passion fruit forward juice and kombucha speakeasy with religious undertones has officially boarded up its windows after failing to capitalize on an indeterminable number of Chicagoans looking for something that oddly specific.
Passion(fruit) of the Christ, located in the heart of Logan Square, attempted the tried and true method of using a naming convention that involves looking at movie names, then molding an idiotic themed bar to fit that movie’s theme. See also the excruciatingly named Whiskey Business, arguably the most douche forward bar in the city.
“It wasn’t the $25 nuts and twigs shared plate with a side of Irish Catholic guilt or the $50 kombucha flight that did us in, it was the unwillingness for people in this city to accept something different, something beautiful, our interpretation of a 1300’s Roman Catholic, passion fruit juice bar,” said owner Grayson Horton, twisting his ironic mustache and taking down the massive crucifix crafted out of passion fruit rinds.
Taking its place will be a conceptual brunch and nightclub hybrid called Brunchback of Notre Dame.
Rockford, Illinois-A new NBC gameshow, transcendent in both idea and relatability, has been sweeping the nation since its highly anticipated debut on Monday night. Did I Shart My Pants or Nah? Is the newest hit game show that has brought the country to its knees.
Hosted by someone who looks like Steve Harvey’s brother and named Chip Crabs, the show involves married couples sitting in an elaborate contraption and exchanging farts, after each rip, they are required to guess whether or not their partner sharted their pants. Judges then check under garments for blowouts to determine if the guess is correct. Each correct guess earns them a crisp two dollar bill, with the potential to earn up to $60 in exchange for humiliating themselves on live television.
Several obscure critics who actually watched the show are calling Did I Shart My Pants or Nah? “A bath in the sewage of mankind,” “A fart filled romp,” and “Nothing can break up the week like breaking wind!” So tune in to Did I Shart My Pants or Nah? to find out which contestants will have to use the prize money to buy a new pair of pants!
Chicago, IL-On Monday, an employee who had spent Sunday like his last day on earth, decided to forego taking PTO and just gut it out. Bottomless mimosas at brunch had evolved into a flurry of Old Crow Whiskey shots and finally culminated in a goat shaped nitrous balloon and the butt bonging of a 24oz 120 minute IPA. But instead of taking a suspicious sick day or using a coveted PTO, Bill Naquin did something that will live in tedious corporate infamy until roughly Q4 of 2019.
“I figured that if I dug deep enough, I could find the courage to sit in a stationary position and stare at the blinking cursor of a word document for seven and a half hours,” said Naquin, recognizing that the task at hand wasn’t too much different from his normal daily routine.
Naquin’s ability to endure severe hangovers and remain continually ineffective at his job have landed him firmly in the world of corporate anonymity, as managers have noted his admirable adherence to the mantra: 90% of the job is just showing up.
“People should be really happy I legged this one out today, was touch and go for a while there after I skidded up my boxers while eating Panda Express. That cleanup ate up nearly half of the day! People seemed genuinely happy I was there though,” continued Naquin looking satisfyingly at an inbox full of unanswered emails, his coworkers looking on in horror at the sagging heap of skin crammed into the ergonomically correct desk chair.
Hollywood, California-The mundanity plaguing most people’s existence has caused a trend in escapism with speculation about things that are slightly less dull than a third trip to Kohl’s in as many days. The possible pregnancy of our selfie messiah and reality television martyr, Kim Kardashian, has become a fixation for people with absolutely nothing else going on. But these same people may have to return to suffocating boredom after Kim posted a heavily filtered picture of a football sized turd.
That’s right, a mysterious picture of what appears to be a sizeable albeit unhealthy bowel movement was posted on Kim’s Instagram account along with the caption: Birthed (kiss face emoji, baby emoji, lipstick emoji). The apparent cause of the adorable, now disturbing, alleged baby bump she had been sporting weeks prior.
“Before I launch a new makeup line, I sample everything, which means I have to eat a LOT of makeup…it wreaks havoc on my insides, but people need their pouty lips and contouring!” said Kardashian looking at the multicolored, steaming loaf in front of her.
With the rumor now being dispelled by the birthing of a cement snake, society can now passively like the picture with 50,000 other brainless hacks and go back to mainlining Mountain Dew Code Red.
Hollywood, California-The combination of creating a sequel with the same reheated plot, transplanting it into Europe and including that location in the title of the movie, has historically yielded some of the most evolved and beautiful films in history.
That’s why Rob Schneider has bought the rights Lady Bird and any Lady Bird likeness, in order to transform the stand alone movie into the multi-film franchise with accompanying merchandise and adaptation to USA original drama it deserves.
Lady Bird 2: European Lady Bird takes place in post-apocalyptic Paris, where Lady Bird, now played by Jennifer Anniston, runs a clone brothel of male gigolos. But everything changes when she falls in love with a mysterious half-animal clone named Alphonso, played by a CGI version of Jackie Chan.
Their loves grows in correspondence with the chaos that now shrouds war torn Paris, and Lady Bird is forced to sell the clone to a traveling petting zoo in an effort to buy a crack rock from a nomadic wizard. Will the two re-unite before the destruction of the planet? Can love endure a ruthless robot dictatorship and an addiction to futuristic crack cocaine? Are clones capable of love? Find out by seeing Lady Bird 2: European Lady Bird in theatres everywhere December 2029.
Washington, D.C.-In another act of enduring incompetence, rivaled only by the initial stupidity of destroying the internet, the repeal on Net Neutrality has been re-repealed. The panicked order came only days after the initial repeal, after FCC Chairman and national symbol for spineless lackeys, Ajit Pai, discovered that the internet was necessary for streaming high definition pornography.
“I don’t know a lot about the internet, but what I lack in knowledge for the internet, I make up for in knowledge of hardcore pornography, huffing keyboard duster, and being incapable of wiping my own ass” said Pai, smugly taking a long pull from his duster canister.
Pai has dubbed himself the savior of the internet and the messiah of streaming.
“Everyone should have the inherit right to return home from a job they tolerate, to an unfulfilled wife, and watch PornHub while huffing duster without worrying about throttle or lag. I know I’m sleeping easier,” continued Pai, between quiet sobs into the loving arms of a Comcast executive.
Devote Star Wars fans have found something inherently wrong with every film release to date. Inconsistencies in timelines, character relationships, technical specs surrounding building a weapon capable to destroying entire planets, and perhaps most notably the controversy surrounding Darth Maul’s genitalia.
A topic more controversial than “Who shot first?” conspiracy theories and more fervently debated than the mysterious origin story of Boss Nass, finally gets the attention it deserves in the latest addition to the Star Wars franchise The Last Jedi.
Though there is plenty to love about the new movie, the highly anticipated Darth Maul shower scene is ultimately the only thing bolstering the critical praise of the movie.
During an emotional discussion involving the origin of the force itself and its evolution and demise over the years, BB-8 projects an unprompted video of Darth Maul showering off after hitting the elliptical machine at the XSPORT Fitness on Tattooine. The video is excruciating in both length and content, as Luke is forced to look on in horror at the steamy video clearly meant for the SnapChat DMs of a Zeltron on Hoth.
The scene is rather abrupt and completely irrelevant to the overall plot of the movie, and some fans have complained that the presence of Darth Maul’s hog really detracted from an otherwise positive experience. But critics agree that the beautifully animated CGI was necessary on every level and makes the movie more avant garde than previous offerings.
One fan commenting “If you’ve ever wondered if the carpet matches the drapes….well spoiler alert…it does!!!!!!”
Chicago, IL-A new men’s fashion company, which will undoubtedly haunt any inch of available ad space during leisurely browsing sessions, has promised men everywhere that if they sign up for their hourly, curated clothing delivery service, they will for sure get laid…by CHICKS. That’s right, anyone who signs up for a five year subscription with Secret Man Club is guaranteed to either get laid OR beat off alone during the five year span.
“Being a member of the Secret Man Club gives you all the confidence of someone who owns a timeshare in Myrtle Beach,” said owner Chaz Tipton selecting a batch of idiotic looking pocket squares to send out to clients.
The five year span of hourly deliveries equates to approximately 43,800 pieces of useless garbage that someone less fortunate suffered to create, the perfect gift for that person in your life that loves being caught in the crippling spiral of consumerism and the prescription of clothing comparable to a parent dressing an incompetent child.
“We get feedback all the time from the hordes of desperate gremlins wearing suit coats, deep V-necks, jeans, and those brilliant square toed loafers, lurking in the shadows of bars before going home alone and tugging one out into one of our bespoke tissues,” continued Tipton sipping a freshly poured Redbull and vodka.
Secret Man Club only costs $100 a day, so neglect your well-being and loved ones and sign up today.
Hammond, Indiana-Several Instagram followers were filled with an overwhelming sense of pride when a friend posted a picture of an object they just purchased on Instagram last week. “Just knowing that she is still capable of purchasing is a huge relief,” said one follower staring at lifeless object, somehow hypnotized by the boastful effigy of unbridled consumerism. Without this documentation of spending, it would be otherwise impossible to verify someone’s happiness.
Though the determination to purchase the item and the subsequent actual purchasing took under three minutes and contributed to a never ending cycle of acquisition, it is still unquestionably a feat worthy of celebration. And nothing is more jubilant than a picture of a stationery object. Pictures like these are what social media applications were built for, sterile receipts containing no humanity.
Even incorporating a person actually enjoying the purchase would compromise the otherwise tasteful and engaging picture of an object sitting in space. Simply stoic. Garnish with a self-satisfied caption, a shout out to the company that made it and several orgasmic hashtags describing how it’s the happiest day of your life and you’ll be poised to get four likes in no time.
Hollywood, CA-The unanimous titan of creating semi-outdated popular music compilations has made another splash in a thriving mixed CD industry which appears as timeless and lucrative as gold or silver. NOW That’s What I Call Music! will pioneer in a new, more sophisticated era of music with an album compiled solely of vuvuzela covers. The 72 minute horn epic will be conducted and curated by none other than famed jazz vuvuzela composer Bill Biscane.
“The fact that any morsel of pop music created in the last five years is microwaved bath water affords me certain creative liberties while doing vuvuzela covers, actually the dull drone of a plastic horn is more challenging than anything you’d hear on the radio,” said Biscane meticulously rearranging his collection of colored plastic horns.
For only four payments of $19.99 pop music fans can hear someone slobber on a novelty toy for almost a full hour as they repeatedly attempt and fail to wipe their own ass.
Critics are calling NOW That’s What I Call Vuvuzela Music! ”The complete realization of the deterioration of popular music,” “Something to listen to while taking a painful, nutrient deprived dump in your piece of shit apartment,” and “An album that a grazing herd of inbred goats may enjoy, which makes its popularity that much more alarming.” So buy the album today!