Hollywood, CA-Outrage is a default emotion at this point for humanity, a resting state of fury and frustration ready to pulverize anything with even the slightest scent of creative expression. Most notably were the recent protests surrounding the movie Paddington 2, in which a friendly talking bear became a messiah for communism and a champion for Joseph Stalin by wearing a red hat.
With outrage perpetually spewing forth like last night’s Taco Bell, it can difficult to distinguish a salvageable nacho chip from the generalized pile of guts and filth. For the record, accusing a fictitious, rain boot wearing bear of being a bastard communist is legitimate outrage.
However an even more contemptuous movie is now under the same fire from an array of different activist groups. Universal Studios announced that it will be remaking the movie Bridesmaids even though it is only 7 years old. The catch? Larry the Cable Guy has been cast as every character. Men and Women’s rights groups have formed an unlikely united protest.
“Unfortunately Larry the Cable Guy should only be cast as 1/3 of the characters in any given movie, it’s an important bylaw written in our very logical, not at all overcompensating or unfounded Men’s Rights Bible,” said prominent men’s rights activist Terry Mitchell, as he crawled serpentine up the basement stairs for his mom to spoon feed him Pizza Rolls.
Women’s rights activists agreed on that oddly specific stipulation while also noting that really nothing in this world deserves to suffer the burden of Larry the Cable Guy, especially an objectively hilarious movie.
So come see the remake of Bridesmaids this summer where Larry the Cable Guy will Git Er Done in full bridal attire! Hilarious!
Chicago, IL-On Saturday, a Chicago man spotted at Joe’s on Weed wearing shamrock sunglasses, green plaid pants and a shirt that said “Its magically delicious” with an arrow pointing towards his piss soaked jeans, ended his night attempting to beat off before passing out completely alone in a familiar computer chair. This circumstance is by all accounts a successful Saint Patrick’s Day for the braindead fucking locusts lapping up green colored Coors Light off of a urinal cake at Fin McCool’s.
“The shirt was hilarious! I mean whoever the fuck thought of that shirt KNEW that it would make chicks wanna suck on your junk! Sure I pissed myself in the first 20 minutes of the day, and ended up shitting my pants an hour later, but still!” said Terry Horvath, at a completely epic brunch in which him and the rest of his goddamn goons brought their own green food coloring to.
The perfect Saint Patrick’s Day is being crammed like sausage skin into a brutally overpriced bar where the Ed Sheeran blasting makes it impossible to actually spend time with any friends. These are the times you’ll cherish for the rest of your life. If you’re lucky you’ll only hate 98% of the bar, the other 1% are likely unconscious on the floor making them somewhat more tolerable.
“I’ll leave it at this…I was Fit Shaced last night…hahhaa” continued Horvath knowing he’s a burden that no city should have to shoulder.
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.
Chicago, IL-The existence of a genuine friendship is most commonly rooted in years of significant life experiences, hilarity, hijinks and the unique happiness experienced in the presence of that friend. But one friendship has defied all odds and exists solely on the threat of at some point hanging out and complaining to each other via text about the infrequency of time spent together.
“We’re planned this SUPER fun girl’s night! We’re going to do a fancy dinner and then dancing all night and Instagraming the whole thing with its own unique hashtag!” said Nicole Cox already considering excuses for why they’d have to reschedule.
“I suggested the third week of June but she has improv that whole week, so she said she was free the second week of August, but I’m in Wisconsin Dells for a Dan Brown writing workshop that week, ultimately we landed on the third or fourth week of February 2025 #cantwait!” continued Cox shopping for the perfect little black dress that will never be worn.
The next 8 years will be spent meticulously crafting texts of excitement for the impending hang out and remorse that they both feel like they haven’t seen each other in forever. This will continue perpetually, reaching climax immediately before their scheduled rendezvous, in which one of them will inevitably cancel…much to the relief of the other. And the cycle will begin once again.
The mere prospect of a movie like Grudge Match existing causes me immense sadness. Perhaps even sadder is considering what sort of warped, depraved and lonely degenerate would spend $10 to see this on Christmas day. Sitting in a caved in theater chair, watching two decaying actor’s careers slowly circle the drain in a urinal at Dave and Busters. Nothing says Christmas like two paunchy, jaundiced and inaudible old men exchanging futile punches and dim jokes. Whenever I watch elderly people squabbling, I always think that 1.) I should film it and 2.) That I should charge people money that film and 3.) Kevin Hart is definitely marginally funnier than Dane Cook, and he’s hosted the MTV movie awards so he should also be somehow be featured.
It would be interesting to see how well Sly’s sagging flesh is adhering to his incredibly unnatural HGH fueled old man muscles, or to see how bumpy Deniro’s bulging stomach appears, but frankly not worth the price of admission. The movie is uncanny, because the plot seems to be loosely unfolding in real time, in each actor’s respective floundering careers. I’ll be spending my money on Madea’s Christmas this holiday season.