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-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.
Rockford, IL-An Illinois man who recently completed his transformation to indistinguishable white dude, by way of getting a high and tight WWII style haircut, confirmed that he is more heroic than his grandpa who fought and died on the beaches of Normandy in World War II.
“I never claimed that what he did wasn’t courageous, my existence just transcends anything he did or could have hoped to do,” said A.J. Lauder examining his impeccable frown and puffed chest in the bathroom mirror at
“Posing for curated Instagram pics is essentially the same as taking another man’s life to protect the freedoms your country allows, as is drinking buckets of Coors Light and matching hella chicks on Tinder. These dog tags engraved with Imagine Dragons lyrics, are actually made from spent bullet casings and tungsten steal, bought them off of a Facebook ad,” continued Lauder between rips off of an enormous vape pen.
Bravery isn’t measure by the ability or willingness to do the right thing in a dire situation, nor is it standing up for oppressed groups otherwise unable to do so…it’s a combination measurement consisting of how hard your fade looks after a fresh trim, the amount of pomade used on a given day and the ability to not crack a smile in even the most enjoyable circumstance.
Bravery is going to a barbershop, getting the exact same haircut as every other thirty year old dude and skimping on the tip.
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.