Hammond, IN-The loose definition of a miracle is a transcendent or otherwise unique happening that occurs most commonly in desperate circumstances. When the human spirit faces imminent defeat and the only thing left to do is to surrender itself to the unknown.
And for some reason, these special moments are drawn to the holiday season, lured by the stench of stale egg nog, strip mall snow mounds, empty consumerism and assorted obligations.
A family in the quiet town of Hammond was fortunate enough to experience something that by all accounts qualifies as a miracle in Northern Indiana. After seeing a twinkling star (which ended up being a drone) above the town’s Circuit City, the family heeded the recreational flying device’s beckoning and made the lengthy pilgrimage to the outdated electronics store where their savior was born.
With hopes of finding gifts to exchange and discard, which is undoubtedly what their savior would have wanted after rising on the third day from a tomb in a Buffalo Wild Wings, the family bought what they believed would make the perfect Christmas.
As the gift opening commenced, each family member eagerly tore into the glittery wrapping paper, prepared to contort their face into the look of excitement that had been tirelessly rehearsed. Each gift birthed slowly into the world with a predictable mild enthusiasm…but what could this be?! A $10 iTunes gift card? No! Not one $10 iTunes gift card but four, one for each family member! Oh what a sight to behold!
The family members quickly explained their reasoning for buying the other member a $10 iTunes gift card, noting that they had observed a vague interest in either music or film from the receiver of the gift. They each retreated into the solace of their iPhones to spend their spoils on an HD movie rental or the partial purchase of an album.
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.
Chicago, IL-Any given 30th birthday begins the process of easing into consuming laziness and ordinariness. As you wade through the tepid waters of middle-aged adulthood and the pee filled lazy river sweeps you from your ergonomically correct desk chair, friends and family alike gather to celebrate the occasion.
Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights were no different for Phillip Biggins, a Naperville native, who spent most of his childhood fantasizing about a lavish 30th birthday in Chicago. A statement milestone that people would discuss for the next decade. 30 years of disappointment culminated in three nights of forced fun.
“When I saw my favorite band ever, Hairbangers Ball, was doing three nights at Joe’s on Weed…one of the classiest country western themed bars this city has to offer, I knew my fate was sealed,” said Biggins, fondly reminiscing on the glorious buckets of overpriced domestic beers, remaining oblivious to the fact that Hairbangers Ball is a cover band and that Joe’s on Weed is slightly more depressing than any given Bar Louie in Northern Indiana.
The weeks leading up to the event were ripe with a quiet suffering from friends and family, an unsurmountable reluctance to ruin a precious weekend. A consuming dread, knowing the amount of booze needed to make the event tolerable would shave years off their lives. A war of attrition would be waged after paying a $10 cover at a stupid country western bar.
“It was incredible! The best was when I threw up all over myself and sprinted on the stage fully nude! I’m banned for life with several felony charges pending but that’s 30 right?!” continued Biggins visibly realizing that it may have been the worst three day stretch of any attendee’s life.
A kettlebell that had remained dormant for years has finally been stirred. Having sat stationary for well over a decade, located in a spot that at the time seemed optimal for working out, the dust riddled kettlebell was painstakingly moved to another corner of the house. Its old location now inhabited by a standing lamp. “I think after this move I’ll definitely start working out with it every day.” said Terry Roberts who had solemnly promised the exact same thing 10 years earlier.
Like most people that own kettlebells the purchase was prompted immediately after seeing the movie 300. Momentum was lost almost instantly after a singular misguided, poor formed workout yielded neither a hulking chest nor 8-pack of washboard abs. “I don’t think I’m naïve in thinking that I should have looked like I was carved out of marble after that workout…maybe next time it will.” reminisced Terry, exultantly looking at the new placement of the kettlebell.
Since it’s widely known that moving the kettlebell from place to place every 10 years qualifies as part of the 300 workout, Terry should be completely shredded without any other alterations to his lifestyle in the next 40-50 years.
Renowned fantasy expert Bill Biscane has boldly predicted that someone currently playing in the National Football League could either go off or do absolutely nothing for fantasy teams around the world this weekend. “Look…he’s either going to go berserk, do nothing, or do something in between.” Confirmed Biscane, a knowing grin forming across his face. Biscane has been making gutsy forecasts like this for years, forecasts that anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of the game of football could never make.
“Would I start him? Maybe but in that same respect maybe not. It’s really a complete 50/50 and depends on how your team is structured, the fear is that someone else could score more fantasy points, in that case I would not start him.” Continued Biscane adjusting a pair of nonprescription glasses.
With this kind of hard hitting analysis, it’s easy to see why they leave this highly esteemed profession to people who really know fantasy football. Watching football all day and casting out vague predictions is a difficult, gritty job but goddamnit someone has to do it. Having potential implications on an imaginary game is a responsibility very few can handle.
“Any player could do anything at any given moment, they could also do nothing…so in that sense every player is both completely startable every week and also completely unusable…do you follow?” Concluded Biscane, his voice brimming with confidence.
Clinton came out the winner of the democratic debate, but that could all change with a disturbing revelation. Several people in attendance confirmed they saw black plumes coming from what appeared to be a rusting exhaust pipe at the bottom of the celebrated politicians skirt suit. “It kind of looked like an 89’ Chevy Malibu warming up in the dead of winter.” Said one witness. “I’ve never seen that much exhaust coming from one human…come to think of it I’ve never seen any exhaust coming from any human.” He continued now visibly disturbed. Whatever device or mechanism that was creating that exhaust had to be working very, very hard.
Before the debate other witnesses saw what appeared to be mechanics discreetly entering the former first lady’s dressing room. “Through the sliver in a cracked door, I thought I saw Hilary completely slumped over…then with a couple of hasty pulls on a chord she whirred to life like a trusty lawn mower.” Said the witness who also confirmed seeing empty gas containers with lipstick marks on them.
The crowning moment in the night was Clinton’s take on current immigration standards, which involved her regurgitating several mechanical spiders before launching into the following perfectly executed binary sequence.
Anyone watching the first Democratic debate didn’t seem to notice or care.
There’s a certain expectation of monotony in a corporate bathroom. An orderliness in behavior that affords us the luxury of letting our guard down. It can be reasonably ascertained for instance that the urinals will be used exclusively for urine and the sink counter will not be used to fulfill any regrettable carnal yearnings. The facilities are generally well maintained, there’s a notable absence of the pesky bathroom attendant threatening to soak you in Drakkar Noir and the company is determinedly mild-mannered. That being said in rare, momentary lapses the corporate bathroom can breed traumatic experiences that will haunt for an eternity.
I entered the office bathroom as aloof as any other day, noting the violently taupe walls and subtle smell of sulfur. I paused immediately after entering and took a moment to cherish the ordinariness of it all, a perfectly crafted environment for no one and everyone. I continued walking in allowing my admiration of the stale, lifeless surroundings to fully consume my attention, but as I passed the wall separating this peculiar albeit pleasant world from the terrors outside, I noticed something that didn’t belong. Or perhaps someone.
In the middle of the two sinks that inhabit the majority of the counter stood a man, gazing deeply and satisfyingly into the mirror. He appeared to be inexplicably wearing a pair of carpenter flare jeans that had a light wash and seemed like they shouldn’t be worn anywhere, let alone work. Tucked snuggly into the pants was disproportionately small button up shirt, which only functioned to make the flared jeans appear even more like JNCO’s. Though I objected to the workplace garb, this wasn’t the most upsetting part of the experience.
I promptly relieved myself, returning to the sink only to find the dimwit looking as smug as ever only now he appeared to have washed his hands and was standing between the two paper towel dispensers that were approximately a full wingspan apart. Instead of using a singular dispenser like anyone with a sliver of self-awareness would, he stood as though on a crucifix collecting paper towels simultaneously in both hands. I stood behind him waiting for the ceremony to end, watching his face go from smug to pure triumph. The chosen one for this bathroom, a new born king, a corporate deity.
Our eyes never wavered in what seemed like an eternity, figuring out how to circumvent the outstretched arms of the self-proclaimed bathroom god. I looked on with a mixture of curiosity and disdain instead of the admiration he sought, I finally decided to nudge through and as I did I heard an audible scoff followed by a sneer in the mirror. He crumpled the massive wad of collected towels and blatantly missed the waist bin and he stormed out. I see him around every now and again and he appears as ordinary as ever, but in that bathroom he reigns supreme for he gets two towels at the same time. The rest of us sniveling cowards could only dream of it.
Love taking cozy, Autumn Instagram pictures? Need something delicious and dainty to dunk in that Pumpkin Spice Latte? Enjoy the taste of a well-worn boot? Direct the eyes hidden behind those oversized sunglasses towards the Pumpkin Spice UGG boot! UGG has made everyone’s wildest dreams come true with this sophisticated new creation. Imagine sitting around Starbucks, void of any other hobbies, and aggressively judging people. Sounds great right? Now imagine doing that while nonchalantly dunking the furry boot that was just on your foot right into your Pumpkin Spice Latte…how much more cute and chic could you possibly look? Can anyone say opposite of basic? Sinking those freshly bleached teeth right into the dog poop laden Pumpkin Latte sole and ripping off an unmanageable hunk that you can barely fit in your mouth will make for the perfect, tasteful Facebook profile picture.
This boot is bound to make your Tinder game untouchable. Consuming an entire decaying boot in front of a date is really the only way to prove that one of your listed interests actually is Pumpkin Spice. And what guy doesn’t want to be with a girl who lists “anything with Pumpkin Spice” as one of her interests? Are those Pumpkin Spice wedding bells I hear ringing or is that just the sound of someone gnawing on a boot? Goes great with North Faces and LuLulemon leggings too! You’re guaranteed to get double-digit Instagram likes on any of your contrived, manufactured, totally carefree Fall pics! Because gorging on enough Pumpkin Spice to render you completely immobile for several hours is so bae, I just can’t even.
Finally the boot is gluten-free, paleo, organic and only 5,000 calories. Fall diets make winter bodies am I right? So rip that soiled, stinky boot off your foot and nibble away! And be sure to tag the thousands of predictable Instagram pics with #UGGSINMYSTOMACH #PUMPKINSPICERINGPIECE and #WHYDIDIJUSTDOTHAT
A strategy meeting to determine a better way to plan meetings for enhanced office synergy ended promptly after 5-hours as all involved parties agreed to take it offline. There was talk of tabling the discussion throughout the meeting, but some members saw the initiative as low hanging fruit, and thus it persisted on and obliterated any chance of productivity for the day. Members of the meeting passionately disputed the state of transparency across the department, and furthermore the department’s core competency which happened to be transparency.
The 800lb gorilla in the room was ultimately leadership’s inability to buy into putting all of their cards on the table. They maintained they would only drink the Kool-Aid if the solution was within the industry best practices and also scalable. They failed to mention any specific best practices, but assumed everyone was aligned given that they were after all…best practices. Several other people from middle management endorsed this thought adding that the scalability should be granular while simultaneously staying out of the weeds. This thought seemed contradictory at first, but since it didn’t involve reinventing the wheel, all parties involved agreed it might be disruptive enough to work. So long as of course, the disruption didn’t cause a complete paradigm shart…or shift rather.
The meeting threatened to end multiple times as varying hard stops by participants arose, however it was never completely pencils down as no one could even tell who was running meeting, or if they were actually in a meeting at all. There were several evolutions of the meeting, though no one seemed to notice or care, so long as everyone had their ducks in a row. At one point a pack of stray cats from the alley behind the building paraded around the crowded room before being promptly herded. Someone at one point suggested boiling something in the ocean or seeing if a dog could hunt, both were noted as follow-up items to be addressed at the next meeting. Another person opened the silk Kimono they were inexplicably wearing, before closing it and sitting back down quietly.
The energy that had been dwindling since the first half hour was nearly depleted, until the participants agreed to circle the wagons and take the discussion offline. A recurring calendar invitation was sent to refine processes for sending calendar invitations, and everyone looked forward to the same thing the next week.
After what was assumed to be a restless night, a Fitbit erased any lingering doubt as it gleefully informed its owner he had slept a mere two hours the night before. “Yeah, I wasn’t sure how much I had slept, but thanks to the Fitbit, I can really quantify how bad my day is going to be.” said the downtrodden man as he hastily prepared for work. “I’m absolutely devastated, I can’t believe it was only two hours.” he continued hollowly.
Before the Fitbit we could really only guess how much we’d slept and then convince ourselves that it had been more than it actually was. Now with an actual hour amount we can officially calculate how intolerable the next day will be. A way to measure the magnitude of the impending doom that we are completely and utterly helpless to. This remains one of the most popular functions of the Fitbit; being made fully aware that you’ll be in PowerPoint heavy meetings all day running on fumes and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.
“Days that the Fitbit tells me I got enough sleep but I still feel tired are almost more depressing,” said the man “It’s still a truly innovative device that everyone should own however! Knowing your sleep schedule is both insightful and healthy!”
Reporting on sleep isn’t the only feature that opens up a new and exciting world of obsessive neurosis and hyper monitoring. You’ll constantly be kept in the know about how aggressively stationary you are during the day and you’ll be crucified for not drinking enough water. So instead of actually working out, strap on that Fitbit and nickel and dime your way to an arbitrary step goal!