Animal Heaven, Carbondale, Illinois-Buster, a deceased Jack Russell Terrier of a decade, was happy to find out that his name combined with the universal number for weed smoking was now a password for his former owner to login to varying sites to toil in an endless shit storm of menial tasks.
“Buster420…I can’t believe I’ve been commemorated by something as special as a password. Knowing that whenever he is paying bills he can’t afford, logging in to his premium porn subscription, or accessing his work computer to wade through an eternal to-do list of insignificance…He’s thinking about the times we had,” said Buster looking down from the known pet heaven located above the Tilted Kilt in Carbondale.
Other animals looked on warmheartedly, astutely aware of the undeniable happiness that accompanies being immortalized in a password.
Before computers, the only way to reminisce on a deceased family member was fond memories and photographs that celebrated life. Thankfully we can now have a fleeting recollection as we begrudgingly labor over tiresome daily responsibilities.
Chicago, IL-A forgettable party guest who may or may not have been the bastard brother-in-law of a glue sniffer who probably wasn’t invited to the party in the first place, made it clear that he was going to be a social burden the rest of the night by announcing, I come bearing gifts, while hoisting a 6-pack of Heineken that he would undoubtedly hoard the rest of the night.
The other guests navigated around him with a weariness generally reserved for Gristle & Goyder night at Ponderosa steakhouses in Northern Indiana. Each one knowing that at some point they would ultimately succumb to the infected flesh wrapped in garments from Trunk Club.
Now the only determination was for how long and by what excruciating conversation topic would they be forced to spill their melted brains on the cat hair infested floor. Thinly veiled racism? Recent sexual conquests? Professional goals? All Bird shoes? Ashton Kutcher’s time on Two and a Half Men? Early onset erectile dysfunction? Crying themselves to sleep on a nightly basis? Everything. Nothing.
Fortunately wasting away in an inescapable conversation with someone you’ll never talk to again is time well spent when that person is drinking a 6-pack of mediocre beer. Enjoy a Heineken today.
Hammond, Indiana-In an effort to halt a social media free fall, full of excruciatingly mundane life updates and benign observations void of any personality, an Indiana man has resorted to desperate measures. “People generally like when I post hot takes on current affairs like “Trump is a shapeshifting reptile, like if you agree!” or “I’m house Hufflepuff in the Harry Potter quiz, what house are you!?” but I haven’t been getting the social media recognition necessary to survive,” said Derrick Kibby, as he posted an obligatory HBD on several Facebook friend’s walls whom he hasn’t actually spoken with in years. He notes that this is the only real way to maintain a friendship. HBD.
The lack of social media encouragement from people who could be loosely defined as acquaintances caused Kibby to reach deep in the archives and post a picture from his childhood, thinking the adherence to the inexplicably still popular #TBT would get him the likes he needed. The lack of response to the picture has caused him to question everything.
“How could everyone promptly ignore a picture that proved, at one point in my life, I was a child? My childhood must have been dog shit if it only got three likes…or maybe I was never a child at all and I didn’t get any likes because people found it creepy that I was posting pictures of other peoples children…that must be it,” continued Kibby despondently, visibly shaken knowing that his entire childhood is now in question and that he may or may not have posted a random picture of someone else’s child.
Whoever dies with the most likes wins. Social media validation is the only thing that matters. Three likes means you were never a child at all.
Chicago, IL-An anniversary post proudly announcing to friends and family what is already assumed fact is a pivotal point in any marriage. Very specific, heartfelt emotions about a spouse deserve to transcend merely existing between two people. They should be immortalized on a social media, for the entire world to cherish and judge.
Examined with reverence and heavily reflected upon by a high school acquaintance as they toggle back and forth between PornHub and the earnest Facebook post. They are filled with an overwhelming joy knowing that someone they once spoke to in sophomore year geometry is married to another person they’ve never met and will never meet. Watching the digital evolution of two complete strangers is, after all, one of life’s last miracles.
“I had no idea where my wife and I stood after a year, you couldn’t imagine the relief when I saw her lengthy Facebook post sandwiched between an ad for the last shoes I’ll ever wear and a CNN exposé on the constitutional rights of sex robots” said Phillip Biggins who had waited anxiously for the potential post for weeks.
The post garnered just enough likes to reinforce that, it had in fact been a good year together, thus providing the coveted approval that would fuel the marriage for at least another year. “Stephanie Mackewitz was nowhere to be found in the 12+ likes the post garnered, I thought she would be happy about me announcing that I love my best friend, I guess not,” said Kelly Biggins, a look of resentment growing apparent.
Phillip has since responded with a well-timed post that reads “Love you babe #thisisonlythebeginning.” It has received three likes and a comment since being posted over 6 hours ago.
Hammond, IN-There was an uproar at an unofficial Buffalo Wild Wings franchise, which turned out was just a tube TV, a case of keyboard duster and several live chickens under a pier in Hammond Indiana, on Sunday morning. As a group of inbred shit bags prepared to watch football, huff duster, skid out their undies and perhaps slaughter a few chickens, they quickly mistook an Arby’s commercial for the National Anthem and promptly removed any soiled burlap sacks resting on their heads. But one lowlife goddamn coward decided to kneel.
Doing duster and threatening a malnourished chicken in the same language those aliens used in Avatar during the anthem is acceptable, kneeling is strictly forbidden. Protesting correctly is no protesting at all. It means giving up. Succumbing. Settling. Protesting is eating a case of Slim Jims at halftime and pissing your pants because going to the bathroom is simply too much effort.
Fortunately the crisis was averted, because there was, in fact, no protest of the atrocities occurring in the country. As it was explained later, the man was kneeling in order to see up the skirt of a woman which turned out to be a mud sculpture of Steve Harvey. Thank god. Nothing to see here, just sexually harassing an inanimate object. Now who wants to continue to ignore social injustices and watch some FUCKING football you brain dead shit heads!?
Hollywood, CA-The steady fart stream of an entire generation and dead animal comedic pioneer, Logan Paul, has officially started his next unforgettable venture…the launch of a signature Spencer’s Gifts franchise as an outlet store in Six Flags Great America, and he needs your help. After getting banned from YouTube for live streaming himself smoking K2 spice blend out of Cecil the Lion’s skull, he’s launched a Kickstarter to fulfill an incredibly deserved lifelong dream.
“I was conceived, born and raised in a Spencer’s Gifts, specifically on a backlight poster with an alien on it which read: Take Me to Your Dealer. My only food source, until I was old enough to eat Auntie Anne pretzels, was boner pills and 90% of the air I breathed was incense burnt from a sculpture of a cats butthole…I owe a lot to that place,” reminisced Paul, in an oddly fond manner given the horrific circumstances.
Now in an attempt to relive those joyous memories, Paul is humbling asking for your donation. The hungry and sick be damned, nothing will warm your heart more than reuniting a YouTube vlogger with a godforsaken mall rat’s nest that has been relocated to live inside of an amusement park.
If he reaches his goal he’ll permanently maim himself by sticking his junk into a scolding hot lava lamp…and boomerang it! So donate now!
I’ve been ALL about life hacks lately after a segment on The View revealed that smoking K2 synthetic weed has a similar effect to coffee if you’re feeling EXTRA tired in the morning. And once Whoopi Goldberg revealed the time she’s saved by shitting her pants instead of going to the bathroom, I was truly inspired! So when the opportunity presented itself to develop a game changing life hack while exiting a plane, I jammed a fidget spinner up my ass and started hacking!
Even if you’re at the back of the plane, getting off first is easy! All it requires is sacrificing your soul and becoming the sniveling little shit bag you always knew you were! Follow these quick steps and you’ll be off the plane in a jiff as the rest of the passengers wish death and disease on you and the rest of your family.
- Just as the plane touches down, start frantically moving your limbs about and nervously looking from front to back, this creates the anxiety vortex that should signal surrounding passengers you’re about to screw them all over
- Pinch off an eye stinging fart to create a diversion of sorts and maximize the amount of hatred directed toward you
- Consider and promptly disregard the fact that exiting the plane 15 seconds faster than the people in front of you qualifies you as a burden to humanity and an inarguable disappointment to everyone you know. But the sweet glory of saving 15 seconds make it totally worth it.
- Start creeping uncomfortably close to passengers in front of you, your stale peanut breath hissing into their ear and around their neck as you edge closer
- Skirt in front of them and stare like a goddamn aloof moron at the ceiling of the plane as the boos rain down
- Enjoy your 15 seconds like the shit king you are
Hollywood, CA-After a disgraceful exit from network television, ABC executives met last week to discuss the future of Roseanne. In the meeting it was determined that the cardboard palettes of American’s dumb enough to watch network television needed to be cleansed. Washed over with another reheated, cereal bowl of skim milk and chased with a fistful equally hot cantaloupe innards.
It was time to truly show the country what the network stood for and create something that the country as a whole could cherish and call their own.
Enter Roseanne 2, ABC’s newest and most ambitious endeavor yet.
Roseanne 2 is set to launch next week and will star the only man 100% of American’s trust, Steve Harvey. Steve Harvey will star as Roseanne and, as such, has agreed to undergo a scalp replacement surgery with the real Roseanne Barr in an effort to capture the true essence of the character. Similar to the surgery seen in the movie Face Off, but fortunately limited to scalps only.
The horrifying monstrosity that is born will undoubtedly unite the nation with zany hijinks. Watch at Steve Harvey wheels around New York City on a Segway made out of deli meat pegging people in the face with full cans of Mountain Dew Code Red and drawing caricatures of rat families by the peer. And once a week, he’ll play a solo game of Russian roulette with a t-shirt cannon full of garlic knots from Sbarro.
So tune in now, because you can’t even wipe your own ass!
Chicago, IL-A person with absolutely no more platitudes to offer about varying friend’s birthdays has hired New York Times best-selling author David Baldacci to pen a vaguely sentimental and undoubtedly lengthy caption to accompany a lifeless picture of a, now distant, acquaintance.
After several years of posts celebrating every national puppy day, national cry yourself to sleep day, national sibling day, national butthole day, take your goat to work day and every single birthday from a lifetime of formative friendships, Kristina Hodges finally had nothing left to say.
An entire deflating Instagram feed oozing oblivion like old Kikkoman bleeding from a rice heart at a Hibachi Grill in middle Indiana.
“Much like my novels, by rearranging a few words, you can make a one-of-a-kind birthday dedication for any friend. Forever my inspiration can be changed to My forever inspiration or Inspiration my forever, because ultimately no one cares, I employed a similar method to my novels Man Down Below and Below, Man Down!” said Baldacci taking a long pull from a Virginia Slim cigarette.
Chicago, IL-On Tuesday, an employee turned to the divine in an effort to sustain solitude whilst in the throes of a midafternoon ring piece onslaught after dabbling in a tray of Potbelly sandwiches, which were left out for an indeterminable amount of time.
“Once the door opens and the eager footsteps of a sniveling coworker become audible, there are certain desperate promises made to the Lord Almighty. Those promises are obviously exchanged for a moment of divine influence in which that coworker occupies anywhere in the bathroom except the stall adjacent to you,” said Bill Biscane, carefully turning his name badge over to maintain some level of perceived anonymity.
“My first born is not out of the question,” continued Biscane bracing himself for more carnage.
Like most people, Biscane is under the impression that, if there is a god, he/she/it would surely prove their existence by intervening in lifeless corporate bathroom scenarios. The perfect setting to prove their divine power and convert skeptics.
Unfortunately, the footsteps slowed and settled in the stall adjacent. Leaving Biscane sitting on the can pondering that he is in fact completely alone.