No better place to sweat out the flu than at work

If you’re feeling violently ill, don’t even think about staying home. Stupid. Careless. Classless. That’s right, you’ll never actually shake that cold by staying home and meticulously nursing yourself back to health. No not at all. You need to be surrounded by other healthy people who are only made aware of your condition by productive nose blowing, labored breathing and forceful hacking that your tiny fist has no chance of containing. Let’s not forget the whiplash inducing sneezes that create a visible mist that falls gently onto your neighbor’s keyboard like fresh dew onto a perfectly manicured lawn on the first day of spring…they don’t care, they’re just happy you’re there…everyone is.

Why would you possibly burn a PTO day staying home when you could be a completely useless burden to everyone in the office? Nothing like visibly and audibly wrestling with the effects of the Nyquil binger from the night before…not to mention whatever the hell you’re sipping on this morning to keep your lungs from falling out of your ring piece. Cough medicine induced tantrums in the middle of meetings are grounds for a raise, so sip away. Succumb to the delirium as you consider the idea that the computer is in fact controlling you.

It’s not as though any of your nebulous digital work could be done at home. Sending emails that no one looks at. Creating digital waste to blast into the abyss. No, none of that could be done from home because your coworkers wouldn’t then have the delight of seeing your lifeless grey and beige complexion and smell your teeth that you neglected to brush. Just remember they’re only concerned about your health not their own, so lean on them as much as possible…it’s not selfish at all…it’s what they want.

So next time you grow predictably ill, go in and sweat it out with the best of them in your ergonomically correct desk chair as you stare into a computer screen that’s as lifeless as you.

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County Fair dictates ride operators must have degree from University of Phoenix

In an effort to ease growing concerns amongst the few woeful parents that still allow their children to attend the county fair, carnies are now requiring all ride operators obtain a bachelor’s degree from University of Phoenix online. Fortunately enough the for-profit university will offer a degree in virtually any imaginary focus so long as the tuition are dutifully paid. “I got my official degree in contemporary Tilt A Whirling…with a minor in ancient Gravitron,” said Terry Gillis a ride operator for over a decade, with a hefty debt that he can now pass on to his kids and two degrees as worthless as any.

“The program was really incredible, it taught me how to watch Porn Hub on my Kindle Fire while also operating a poorly constructed carnival ride full of hopeful youth,” continued Gillis looking proudly at his degrees, hung with care in the third Porta Potty to the left of the fried Twinkie stand. The degree focuses mainly on carnival project management techniques, but also delves into early deep fryer theory and gold fish in plastic bag origins. Like every degree out there universally applicable, extremely versatile and a strong foundation for any career.

The online degrees are unfortunately having an opposite effect than intended, raising suspicion and distrust among fair advocates.

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Rahm caught trying to bludgeon rat with bed post

Chicago, IL, Dumpster behind Bubba Gump Shrimp-Mayor Rahm Emanuel was spotted last weekend by a group of tourists, slinking behind a row of dumpsters behind the Bubba Gump Shrimp located at Navy Pier. Originally believed to be a wad of stinking sewage belched up from the depths of the city, the wad of filth began to move and appeared to be chasing after a sizeable rat. Staggering around like a wounded beast, brandishing a solid gold bed post and violently swinging at the rat, one tourist recognized the creature as none other than universally despised Mayor Rahm Emanuel. The bed post had apparently been funded by last year’s property tax hike.

“I couldn’t discern who was right or wrong in the disagreement,” said one faceless tourist, recounting the bizarre encounter. The dispute was apparently over a new tax on newspaper nests and discarded shrimp tails that this particular rat had refused to pay. Like many Chicagoans the rat had grown weary of the numerous tax hikes that have virtually no impact on a crumbling city. Rahm’s camp was unavailable for comment, but during the encounter witnesses reported hearing the mayor screaming about buying a larger golden bed post so he could begin taxing and shaking down larger creatures like lions and whales.

Though he is unlikely to succeed in murdering the rat, as he rarely succeeds at any endeavor, many say that Rahm would in fact be tried as a rat, by a jury of his peers and abide by rat law in terms of punishment for first degree murder.

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IHOP commercial will crush your soul, grind it into pancakes and serve it back to you

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The crippling bubble guts experienced after every IHOP dining experience is enough alone to stomp the shaking fingers of your soul as it desperately hangs from the edge of the abyss and now there’s this. Nothing says paradise like stepping on a gum bomb on the way into a stinking hot IHOP in some strip mall in Elkhart Indiana. I guess the spilled coffee grounds on the floor is like sand. And the smell of stale alcohol and surprising amount of prescription sunglasses and puke stained Senor Frog’s shirts from the degenerates in the booths adjacent is resembles a forbidden paradise of sorts.

Maybe a bite off of these will take you back to the time you went to Sandals Jamaica a decade ago. Another bite will send the memories swirling and the last bite will have you hearing the waves crash against the melting ice in your extra-large diet Pepsi. Before you know it you’re uncomfortably full and planted firmly on the can of a sketchy bathroom. Struggling for dear life against the oppressive heat. Just like when you caught a hold of some bad shellfish at that mystical Sandals resort.

So don’t travel. Don’t bother, there is nothing to see out there. There is no paradise. There is no culture. You’re paradise is mediocre breakfast chain in a strip mall in your home town. Your culture is Senor Frogs and themed pancakes.

Disney princesses reimagined as nutria

Reimagining something that was effectively a pillar of innocence and blissful ignorance from your childhood, with your now demoralized and completely beaten down adult brain, is an incredible idea. Literally nothing could go wrong, why not resurrect those memories and birth them again in a culture full of intolerance and outrage? We’ve all seen them plaguing our Facebook and Twitter feeds, clogging up the already useless feed with an immovable protein log of irrelevance. Disney princesses reimagined as hipsters, Disney princesses reimagined as business women, Disney princesses reimagined as the Spice Girls, Disney Princesses reimagined as the members of Nickelback.

Reimagining means reheated. Cooked to a disheartening lukewarm temperature with an ice cold center. Why create a new character when one from several decades prior can be warmed to life like a stale garlic knot in a Sbarros microwave?

That’s why I’m so excited about Disney princesses reimagined as nutria. The latest rendering is perhaps the best representation of the current state of our country and the world as a whole. With Trump’s potential presidential win, super viruses and universal unchecked intolerance and brutality, nutria was the logical evolution for Disney princesses.

Snow White: This nutria really captures the spirit of Snow White, though it could probably eat a poisoned rotten apple from an old hag and be completely unscathed by it.

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Ariel: When this rat wrestles a half dead fish into its soiled newspaper nest it almost appears as though it is a mermaid in the right light.

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Rapunzel: Needless to say the flowing, coarse strands of steel wool have been lowered from this rat’s butthole to pull up compatriots for a late night nosh on scrambled eggs and hot dog parts. I wonder if a jealous raccoon will chop off this rat tail like Dame Gothel did.

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Jasmine: Ohh! That urine soaked cardboard box covered in old bandages looks like the perfect magic carpet for a romantic tour of the dimly lit alley!

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USA’s newest original drama Game & Changer

Alex Game played by Wilmer Valderrama and Chris Changer played by DJ Qualls were two indefinable marketing professionals formally of the agency Game & Changer. After several successful years in the marketing world, their office was burnt to the ground in a horrific accident that was triggered by Changer huffing spray paint out of a urine soaked sock and covering the office in gasoline as a tactic to improve employee morale and display true disruptive marketing.

The gruesome event was a game changer for not only the office but the community as a whole, as thousands of lives were ruined by the uncanny marketing tactic. Down on both their luck and several thousand employees, Game and Changer quit the marketing world forever, never being able to shake the image of one frantic employee jumping through a burning SWOT analysis board.

Whether they liked it or not, the stunt had cemented their legacy as marketing pioneers and literal trailblazers in their industry. Nonetheless they would never work in the marketing world again…at least that’s what they thought.

But paradigms shift when family is involved. Game’s son is kidnapped by a group of ruthless mercenaries, hell bent on filling the top of the sales funnel with marketing qualified leads for a new product that markets the ability to increase funnel conversions on marketing qualified leads. And before long Alex Game & Chris Changer reluctantly agree to one…more…job.

Watch as deadlines are missed, meetings are scheduled, cancelled and rescheduled, fierce debates erupt over meaningless details that no one will notice or care about, high importance emails are sent and disregarded and most importantly the launch of a product that is in no way actually ready to sell. Will Game’s son die in captivity during the lengthy marketing campaign? Find out Tuesdays at 4:00 am after reruns of The Grinder.

Critical acclaim for Game & Changer:

“So ordinary that it made me feel physically ill. Every half hour episode somehow contains the full misery of an 8 hour Wednesday in mid-February,” Steve Bingham, San Francisco Times

“I’ve felt more alive after drinking a cup of week old, twice brewed decaf and watching season 2 of JAG,” Cheryl Pennington, Boston Globe

“The sick fuck that casted Valderrama and Qualls has no business living amongst us, I plan on seeking him out wherever he is and kicking in the nuts as hard as I possibly can,” Eric Gobbins, Chicago Tribune

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Family pictures deleted to make room for 4th of July Fireworks Recording

Navy Pier, Chicago- A woman who was visiting the city from Naperville on a girl’s night out, which she had been painstakingly planning for months, faced a critical decision Monday night. Looking unforgivably suburban, her and her group clumsily maneuvered the hidden gems only known by locals. Starting and Bubba Gump Shrimp and graduating to the lesser known Harry Carry’s Tavern, she realized that with the brutal onslaught of duck faced selfies and mediocre food was filling up her phone. There wouldn’t be enough room to record the night’s fireworks show in its entirety.

The night would be an inarguable failure without that coveted video. Taking pictures and videos was after all the sole purpose of coming to the city.  Her ability to prove that she was a fun loving city girl to all of her coworkers would be stifled. “I needed that video, my Instagram looked super artistic, plus that Merica’ bit from 2009 is still a classic! #merica,” said Tammy Garrett, picking out a frosted shot glass with the word Chicago on it from a souvenir kiosk.

“The extra memory had to come from somewhere, so I purged a bunch of pictures of me with my grandma who recently passed, along with a few videos of my daughter’s first steps,” continued Garrett excitedly recording the fireworks that were the exact same as ten years prior and the ten years prior to that. Her inability to back up her phone means the pictures and videos deleted are lost forever, though fortunately she does now have a recording of indistinguishable fireworks to reminisce on.

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Office pariah refusing to use exclamation points in emails

A man who was bound to live in middle management infamy and considered by executives extremely capable of showing up to work on a semi regular basis, has since come under fire for his noticeable disrespect towards coworkers. Though his vaguely polite demeanor aligns with the general attitude of the office, his emails have been viewed as personal attacks by many for not containing the obligatory five exclamation points that qualify even the most passive aggressive email as polite. One in the salutation, three in the body and one in the valediction respectively.

The intentional lack of feigned enthusiasm and digital politeness has turned him into an office cancer. Though he’s been underperforming for months and is perceived by most to be irrelevant at best, the exclamation points are what finally lead to his undoing. Vast ineffectiveness is to be expected, but failure to nurture his coworkers digital emotions  is on an entirely other level.

“His email had absolutely no excitement in it after I dumped a last minute project on him on Friday that would cause him to work all weekend…so inconsiderate,” said Carolyn Walsh firing off a string of high importance emails, that combined with the exclamation points only function to enrage coworkers more. “Just rude,” continued Walsh proceeding with the rapid delegation of all of her daily tasks.

As the indistinguishable, actionable and benign emails relentlessly flow, remember that a few strategically placed exclamation points in an email that will undoubtedly be ignored anyways will solve everything and transform you into a department hero in your own mind.

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Fast pitch machine at Sluggers Bar & Grill is Cubs new ace

The NL Central division leaders just got a whole lot more frisky. The Chicago Cubs have recruited and landed a completely unstoppable force. An unhittable demon with absolutely no regard for human feelings or safety. Something so heartless that it once threw behind a bride on her wedding night.  And the best part is it’s fueled exclusively by grape bombs and Red Bull Vodkas. The fast pitch machine at Sluggers Bar & Grill was traded to the Cubs outright for Clark the Bear, who will be forced to throw 5 nights a week at the Wrigleyville bar.

“We’re pretty happy with the deal, the versatility with the machine is perplexing,” said Cubs manager Joe Maddon, refilling the machine with its preferred fuel of specialty shots. “I’ve seen Bryant not even be able to get the bat off his shoulder. It’ll launch a 100 mph fast ball at your head, follow it up with a 50 mph change up low and outside, then leave you frozen with a snap dragon curve. Unpredictable in the most terrifying way,” continued Maddon in complete awe of the mechanical perfection, still confused by how the owners of Sluggers Bar & Grill rigged it to run on alcohol.

Many have wondered how such a liability could have ever existed in a bar in which all customers are completely incapacitated. Though the fact that there hasn’t been more horrific accidents reported is a true testament to the surgical precision contained in this machine. The pitching machine will take the bump next Tuesday under the name The Official Captain Morgan Pitching Machine sponsored by Captain Morgan spiced rum, always smooth, always delicious, Captain Morgan.

Clark the Bear will also be depressingly throwing for several straight hours at Sluggers.

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Basic couple ready for autumn already

Though it’s only June and weather has been downright comfortable, perhaps even bordering on delightful, one Chicago couple is already exhausted with the glimpse of summer that makes enduring brutal winters year after year all worth it. Trevor Parker and his wife Jane Scott-Parker maintain that though grilling, the beach, music festivals, drinking on roofs, biking and otherwise letting the sun breathe life into your pale, lifeless, winter body are all fine and well, they are ready for it to all be over.

“I’m just ready to put on my UGGS and oversized Pendleton sweater, watch Netflix and drink hot apple cider,” said Scott-Parker looking exasperatedly at the sun. “SO ready for fall,” giggled her husband approvingly, longing for the lumber sexual identity that serves as sufficient camouflage for having no real personality of his own. Both maintained that summer is noticeably absent of anything cozy and furthermore layering is kept at a depressing minimum.

“There are two things I love; Fall and my little Pumpkin Spice Latte Snuggle Monkey right here,” continued Parker, his back sweat reaching critical levels while trying to force through a flannel day as soon as the temperature dipped below 83 degrees.

The couple joins an ever growing movement of tedious autumn enthusiasts that for perplexing reasons are obsessed only with the notion of coziness. These people forget that there’s a sleeping giant lying in the wake, ready to make our lives hell as soon as the temperature begins to drop. This couple and anyone else ready for fall can fuck off.

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