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.
The only thing perhaps more discouraging than the conclusion of another forgettable day of wading through an endless retention pond of incompetent emails, is seeing the eager grin of a canvasser standing firmly between your train stop and your house. The prying eyes and glowing iPad want nothing more than a quick hour and a half hour of your time, your credit card number, and a simple monthly payment that will process until you die. Certainly a decision best made after riding 40 minutes sandwiched between two fucking slobs on a pee soaked, fart filled CTA train.
Instead of succumbing to the corresponding heckling experienced if you walk by without acknowledgement or god forbid offer a slight nod and politely mouth “Sorry,” I’ve been telling these leaching insects that I have to poop. The conversation generally goes something like this:
Canvasser: Hi do you have a min…
Me: I have to poop, sorry
All consuming silence
Bowel movements function as the ultimate defense mechanism against anything you don’t want to do as there is virtually nothing to say or do if someone is on their way to poop. It can be assumed if you’re telling them about it, there is some sense of urgency or at the very least a regularity that needs maintaining.
Not to say donating to any cause isn’t worthy, obviously with the appropriate research, helping those less fortunate circumstances is a fundamental necessity for all humans. But being ambushed and then humiliated for not making a decision to donate, after a filthy iPad with a poorly made infographic is shoved down your throat on your way home from work is an entirely different circumstance.
Pooping freed me and it can free you too.
Rockford, IL-On Tuesday, a man staring longingly into the microwave during his allotted 25 minute lunchbreak, which was taken dutifully at his desk, began wondering whether or not he could fit his head into the microwave and if it would take more or less time to cook than his low-fat glazed turkey tenderloin Lean Cuisine.
Two minutes and thirty seconds was sufficient to reanimate the glacier like fragments of abused turkey meat, flanked by a first harvest vegetable medley, which was comparable in virility to the sagging face and balding head of the employee, but the presence of bones could provide difficulty for the decade old office microwave.
Just as the prospect began to seem feasible and, alarmingly enough, more pleasant than a return to his desk, the microwave rang…signifying that, the cardboard nutrition that would fuel him through another day of baseless meetings and vague incompetencies, was ready for consumption.
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.
Hollywood, CA-A celebrity quickly fading into the oblivion is livid, after a perfectly timed and well planted swimsuit picture surfaced on a website that injects humanity with the necessary celebrity sewage required to mindlessly shuffle through life. Though the picture was barely legible, stuffed between a heaving Smart Water ad and an unidentifiable Kardashian ass, body shamers swarmed like mosquitos in a stagnant pond in Gary Indiana.
But as the bloated flies feasted on the flesh they desired, the celebrity clapped back in the most unique way! “I’m executive producing a reboot of the ABC original dramedy Dharma and Greg,” said the celebrity proudly, knowing that the remake could be a death blow to all internet trolls.
“No one said it was easy, but I’m fighting back the only way I know how, by reheating a sitcom about a free-spirited yoga instructor and a straight-laced lawyer co-existing, evolving and perhaps finding love,” continued the celebrity firing off a string of 5,000 tweets.
Other celebrities and media outlets have deemed this celebrity an inspiration to humanity and a beacon of hope for us all, noting that this scenario is completely different from the hundreds of celebrity body shamings featured in clickbait articles last week. When it comes to body shaming trolls the only real option is thawing an ABC sitcom in hopes that someone like Dharma can teach tolerance and body positivity.
Chicago, IL-Sitting down and paying $50 for a glass of tomato juice with Popov, a sliver of translucent bacon and some sopping wet eggs you can see your reflection in, is a favorite past time for most Chicagoans. As is engaging in a war of attrition against a crippling hangover that is pummeling you closer to the pavement with every excruciating moment as you stand in a lengthy line, waiting to eat half of whatever slop you order before succumbing to booze fever and nausea.
Your eyes calculate if the water glass on the table could withstand a stomach sized load of bile.
Contributing to these feelings is the table adjacent, containing a smug looking man with a goatee and a summer scarf, a woman with oversized sunglasses dressed head to toe in luxury athletic apparel, and their diarrhea snowflake…Jake. Though never actually addressed as Jake, his behavior and look suggest it as the most likely name.
The idiotic salon styled Mohawk. The soiled little league jersey. The perpetual fart stream. The unmistakable look of complacency that accompanies being worshipped as a god and breast fed over the age of 10. Jake exists in every brunch, happening at any given moment, past, present or future. He doesn’t give a fuck about you or your hangover and he’s having a “me day”.
His parents will look on with pride as their perfect creation hauls ass around the restaurant, stomping toes, flicking boogers and ripping eye stingers. We all deserve to share in this prize they’ve selflessly delivered to the world. We all deserve to have an already idiotic morning ritual ruined by the likes of a privileged insect and his disinterested parents.
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.
Rockford, IL-When the crew from America’s Got Talent came to Rockford, they expected very little from the city known best for its Tilted Kilt franchise. It’s also referred to adoringly by locals as the Gary of Illinois. But as auditions commenced, Heidi, Simon, Howie and Mel B were impressed by most of the acts that functioned as a perfect representation of Middle America: A guy attempting to and failing to wipe his ass for 45 seconds, a woman doing a whole can of duster and eating a 12 oz. Yankee Candle, a masturbating ostrich…all received standing ovations.
But one act stood out in particular…and in the end got the golden buzzer from Howie sending him directly to the live finale. The tear jerking act that united a country involved a man of undetermined age in clown makeup shuffling onto stage silently wearing a diaper made of burlap. He stood as the judges made terrible clown puns as the audience laughed hysterically.
No sooner had the laughter stopped, the clown began to sing an acapella version of Taylor Swift’s smash hit “Shake it Off.” During the song several fits of noticeable and violent diarrhea rendered the clown a crumpled mess on the stage, but he persevered. During the final note the clown stuffed a pigeon into a beer bottle and swallowed it whole before breaking into tears along with audience members.
“This is what makes this show…unlike…anything on T.V.!” proclaimed Howie aghast.
“I didn’t like it…..I LOVED it!” shouted Simon while Mel B and Heidi wept openly next to him.
Just as the clown was going to get the approval necessary for the next round, Howie stood up and to the joy of the crowd pushed the Golden Buzzer, sending the clown to the live finale and ending his life.
Cambridge, Massachusetts-Over the last few months several fantastical stories have surfaced about Ivy League schools accepting students who wrote admission essays on Papa John’s, Taco Bell and one that even came in the form of a rap song. In the latest clickbait attempt to justify how quirky millennials can be while also filling social feeds with content comparable to flavorless, reheated, 60/40 ground chuck, we examine Grayson Horton-Miller who got into Harvard with a 700,000 word ode to the popular streaming site, PornHub.
“We get thousands of essays every year, but young Grayson’s essay was something to be cherished…a true work of art! A composer in a symphony of bleached assholes!” said Dean of Admission, Phillip Biggins. “The 20,000 word section on POV was superb! Not to mention the 50,000 lines of poetry on gonzo! His theories involving the origin of human evolution being sparked by cuckholding are quite profound! A millenial visionary by every definition of the word!” continued Biggins, head spinning at the porn category algorithms Grayson could someday develop.
Though the essay contains no punctuation and though it appears Grayson has only a loose grasp on how to read and write, the sheer fervor in which the essay was written has gained him admission to Harvard with a full academic scholarship. Millenials do the darndest things!
And though Grayson appears to be struggling with a crippling pornography addiction that is consuming his every thought and rendering him incapable of experiencing actual human emotion, his parents couldn’t be any prouder of their snowflake.