Chicago, IL-In an effort to appease the perpetually deprived ego of men whose personalities can be distilled into the revving of a motorcycle engine, Harley Davidson has finally created a motorcycle those same men can have sex with.
“We realized that merely revving the motorcycle was no longer enough, sure it sounds really fucking cool and in theory it should get you laid a shit ton, but in reality most of these men were getting absolutely no pussy whatsoever,” said Frank Horvath, the designer of Harley’s new motorcycle, the Ham Beater V5000.
The name suggesting, inexplicably, that there were roughly 4,000 iterations of the bike before what is being called the Rolls Royce of masturbation forward motorcycles.
“The rider lays fully nude and flat on the cycle with toes pointed backwards, their assumed micro-penis can be inserted into a ribbed crevice roughly 2 inch deep. After a few pumps and a predictably quick finish the fluid is blown back into the face of the rider in an ultimate act of self-congratulations.” Continued Horvath adjusting his athletic shades and Affliction t-shirt.
The rest of us will continue to look on, unsurprised, with vague annoyance and confusion.
Chicago, IL-On Saturday, a girl was seen attempting to infiltrate various lively conversations at a local house party by waiting for a momentary pause in banter and asking “So…what does everyone do!?” The question was accompanied by an aggressive pointing motion toward one unfortunate soul in the circle, signifying that it was their respective turn to stammer through an explanation of a job they hate, to a group of indifferent onlookers.
The process unfolded in a predictably excruciating way, as each job description grew more ordinary than the next. A culmination of individuals wholly uninspired for at least forty hours a week. A complex web of personality and emotion distilled into a characterless corporate identity.
Several people suffered through their freshly poured drink as quickly as possible, desperate for a retreat to the kitchen where they could pound shots of vodka in solitude, others took this as the perfect opportunity to dust off their long forgotten smoking habit. Anything to escape the wrath at hand.
“I just try to engage everyone, I’m just a really engaging person…like when I’m at a party I can literally talk to anyone! I’m legit friends with like everyone that went to that party now…” said Sarah Kibby, meticulously adding party goers to her LinkedIn professional network, the only true testament of a real friendship.
The party ended uncannily early.
Chicago, IL-On Tuesday, an area man eased his way onto a crowded escalator like a dying old man into the last bath he’d ever take, though unlike lying motionless and in solitude in a pool of your own filth, the escalator during rush hour can sometimes beckon mild physical activity and vague awareness of surroundings.
“When I get on that escalator, it’s ME time. I require total stillness for personal reflection in the form of listening to the Chainsmokers and consuming fucking content. If you’ve got a problem with that you can take it up with my oversized JanSport,” said Terry McDonough, inching his way down the escalator as hordes of angry commuters miss yet another departing train.
The spiritual war McDonough wages transcends merely him, an escalator, and the furious mob behind him. By not allowing people to pass by McDonough serves as a beacon of indifference and a prophet of immobility. A revolutionary that is brave enough to admit that being stationary and refreshing uninteresting social media feeds is more important than being courteous.
Chicago, O’Hare Airport-A third party survey conducted by an unemployed copy writer from the now extinct SkyMall magazine, found that Auntie Annie’s remains America’s favorite microwaved airport soft pretzel. The survey universe consisted of several people farting it up in the Southwest cattle pens, as they wrestled for pole position for a flight that wouldn’t leave for another three hours.
The sample size was vaguely paunchy and unwell, wore soiled pajama pants and ill-fitting Life is Good shirts covered in old egg from Einstein Bros., an accurate representation of the entirety of the airport.
Four of five surveyed said they preferred Auntie Annie’s over any other microwaved soft pretzel options the airport had to offer. The one outlier maintained that buying a bag of pretzels from Hudson News and filling it with water to soften the pretzels before eating and drinking the salty water, was comparable to an Auntie Annie’s pretzel at a third of the cost.
After the survey, the ex-SkyMall employee retreated to his hidden compartment under one of the Sunglass Hut display cases, where he will slumber until an airport pretzel survey is requested once more.
Chicago, IL-A relaxing barbeque amongst friends transformed into a knock-down-drag-out drinking extravaganza in record time over the weekend. Like all Chicago barbeques, food was meticulously curated and friends and spouses alike agreed it would be the perfect opportunity to enjoy some good food, good company and perhaps even a beer or glass of wine before retreating home to watch a movie and get an adequate amount of rest before the impending work week.
As the day progressed, and one beer turned into a handle of Rumplemintz with a carton of American Spirits to boot, it became apparent that food had lost relevancy. The early start of the BBQ, originally functioning as an early curfew safeguard, ended up merely piling on additional hours of frenzied drinking.
Prospective burdens of the week melted with the ice in the cooler, and a feeling of regal invincibility settled in as wine glasses swelled like the livers they poured on. Monday would never come, or if it did it would surely be someone else’s problem. The impending hangover would serve as a lesson to employers, a reminder that wrestling with Monday hangovers are as much a part of the weekend as Sunday drinking.
As the barbeque concluded, the guest’s divinity receded with each glass of water, each minute of restless sleep, and they became fully aware that Wednesday would be the next time they felt human.
Several Chicagoans got quite the unwelcomed surprise when arriving at their office and discovering that their umbrellas were covered in eyeballs, human hair and other assorted debris. Like most commuters they had all but forgotten that they were even a holding an umbrella as they hastily jabbed their way through the crowded streets. “I generally just open my umbrella right when I get out of bed in the morning and forget about it! Who wants the hassle of maneuvering that thing? By not thinking about it, I can keep it in one place and let other people do the worrying!” said Ashley Adams giggling as she shook some additional blood from her umbrella onto an unwitting coworker.
Several others around the office around the office followed suit, negligently shaking off hair and eyeballs much to the chagrin of the office cleaning staff. They all ended up having a good hearty laugh about it in the end. “When I saw that Ashley’s umbrella had blood on it again, I couldn’t contain myself, we all just started laughing! Then the hair on mine, it was the icing on the cake! I can be so forgetful sometimes, I noticed several audible thumps but just assumed it was the rain and not someone’s scalp!” said Allen Williams wiping tears from his eyes.
Being forgetful can be hilarious and zany especially when it causes direct grief on strangers, but it’s not all fun and games, at another office the mood was far more somber.
“Losing a massive chunk of hair that got snagged on umbrella wasn’t a great way to start the day, may even classify it as a full blown day ruiner.” Said a downtrodden Steve Jones who was on the receiving end of umbrella negligence. “On the plus side I’ve been getting pretty decent at parkour.” He continued as several others around the office nursed varying injuries.
As the rain continues to fall, the moral dregs come gurgling out of the stinking potholes and cracks, adding insult to injury to your soaking wet jeans.
Rockford, Illinois-An area man who recently took a hiatus from Facebook to protest negativity and politics as a whole from his like-minded digital ecosystem of friends has made his triumphant return after an admirable three day stand.
“I was just sick of it all, on every one of my 300 daily logins I would see something that I either agreed with or disagreed with…I had to the unthinkable…something that would shake people that passively tolerate me to their core,” said Phillip Biggins frantically refreshing his browser to see who had commented or liked his message announcing his official return.
Though most people remained vaguely aware of the protest, the grueling three day demonstration was courageous on every level, and certainly as impactful as thousands of people collectively gathering to stand up against intolerance and oppression.
“Someone had to do it…heroes are made…not born…and I’ll do it again by god…I’ll disappear from one of my social media outlets for a week next time…then they’ll be really sorry,” continued Biggins with a prideful gleam in his eye as he posted a picture of himself smugly sipping a cup of coffee nestled delicately between his two hands.
If only more people had the courage and conviction to briefly retire from a recreational social media site only to return in a blaze of self-congratulatory splendor days later.
Chicago, IL-On Wednesday, a manager was unable to determine whether a conference room full of employees were kicking off a new project, or mourning the simultaneous and sudden death of their beloved childhood pets. Through the pane it was indeterminable whether the moisture gathering on the sunken faces were tears or sweat from all of the innovation happening.
The room was completely silent according to the manager, though mouths appeared to sometimes open and close involuntarily in the moments he observed whatever was happening in the meeting. Some certainly appeared focused, perhaps sullen, while others seemed to be struggling to subdue an impossible rage. Each emotion lending itself to the confusion surrounding the purpose of the meeting.
A collective pet funeral, complete with agenda and numerous actionable items with fellow coworkers, was certainly not out of the question though neither was a life questioning kickoff call with an unappreciative client.
Because neither circumstance was more or less likely than the other, the manager moved slowly on, satisfied that a kickoff meeting could be as emotionally impactful as the death of someone’s favorite thing in the whole world.
Chicago, IL- After another exhausting year, wrestling with insignificance in the butthole of corporate America, staffers sat at an annual five hour long post mortem meeting to dissect other post mortems that may or may not have occurred throughout the year. Goals that had been made and missed or never existed at all. Accolades being given to apparitions that appeared only once a project was complete. Proclamations on improvements to processes that are universally disregarded.
Four and a half hours of platitudes later, the morale of the room had inexplicably dropped. It couldn’t have been the content. It was never the content. One astute manager took notice and recalled something he had read in a management textbook from his class favorite class at University of Phoenix “Perceived intelligence: Doing a job you are unqualified for”. The book read: Employees often times require affirmation, whether verbal or reward based.
A sympathetic glimmer manifested in his eye, a compassionate grin on his lips. How could he have forgotten, Christmas was right around the corner and there had been no mention of any holiday bonus. “I know what some of you are probably thinking,” he said eyeing the room in gleeful anticipation “You’ve all worked very hard this year, and as a token of our gratitude,” several sets of hopeful eyes now rested on him, his strategy was working, “I’ll go ahead and stop the meeting now…give you a half hour of your day back…you guys deserve it,” he concluded, nodding slowly.
One employee threw up violently on the table and they exited in relative silence, a Christmas treat they wouldn’t soon forget.
Granger, Indiana-Nothing accentuates a brutal fire and brimstone pummeling like a lifeless attempt at humor, as was the case at Sunday’s gloriously executed three hour long children’s mass at Saint John the Apostle church. As most church goers stared hopelessly into the soiled papers that compiled the Mass timeline, perplexed by its density, Father Mike began to really hit his stride.
“The key to laughter and more broadly happiness, is grinding people down into a numbing, spiritual stupor. First hit them with an ancient creed THEN pepper in a joke about eternal damnation being worse than the local football team,” said Father Mike enjoying a heaping portion of unleavened bread.
The laughter that followed the joke was involuntary and joyless, several audience members opened their mouths in a laughing motion without actually making a sound. “I find myself way more jovial existing in a state of unrelenting guilt and judgement,” said one attendee, looking fearfully at Father Mike pacing around the altar.
Some people say that song is more powerful than prayer, though the ultimate form of worship is dull laughter caused by the fear of God.