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-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.
Deer Creek, IN-Concert footage taken from an Eddie Money cover band at a matinee show at Deer Creek has been deemed sadder than Manchester by the Sea. The footage was taken, and posted gleefully on social media, by someone you went to high school with that remains firmly planted in your home town like an old oak tree draped in Pacific Sun and slathered in Hooters buffalo sauce.
The grainy video, taken from a Samsung Galaxy S3, surfaced on Instagram and functioned as a beacon of contempt to anyone who questioned the state of that person’s life. Taken from 600 level seating, zoomed in enough to see hints of the Eddie Money cover band on one of the video screens, and ripe with boastful hashtags (#bestlife #blessed #somuchfun #livinthedream), the video purposed for envy, instead instilled sadness.
The pinnacle of the last decade for this person, distilled into a 12 second Instagram clip, was arguably more depressing than a back to back feature of Faces of Death and Manchester by the Sea.
Des Plaines, IL-Something incredible happened on Tuesday night of last week in the sleepy town of Des Plaines. Phillip Biggins, manager at the local Plato’s Closet, received a sign from Facebook. A digital Star of Bethlehem nestled in his newsfeed, beckoning him to post well wishes for his best friend’s birthday that would have otherwise passed unnoticed.
Biggins dutifully obliged to the tendering, as he always did, knowing that it was not truly a birthday, engagement, childbirth, or otherwise, until his generic affection was sitting lifelessly on the person’s wall. He clicked into the profile and recalled a lifelong friendship as tears began to form. Filled with profound trials, tribulations, adventures and the seamlessness of being true family, the bond between them truly was something to be cherished.
He had gotten drunk with him for the first time, caught the winning touchdown pass from him at state, and been saved by him from a pack of feral wolfs that had taken hold of the city back in 1997. What could be written to express his profound gratitude for it all? Then in an uncanny moment of clarity, it came to him, an acronym.
Nothing is more earnest than an acronym, especially when expressing an intricate web of human emotions. HB would be the technical acronym for Happy Birthday, though it didn’t have the right ring. Biggins stared at the cursor for several seconds wondering how he could make it more meaningful, something only he and his friend would understand.
Then it came to him, HBD, the D signifying day in the word birthday. Inspired. He proudly examined the uninteresting platitude once more before posting into the oblivion.
Reports documenting how lunch meat is made have ruined the cold cut buffet culture at strip clubs. Videos showing how Gummy Bears are made transformed an adorable candy into a tiny bear shaped sack full of crushed animal skin and bones. And now the shredded raccoon carcass caked on the side of the highway, which serves as a great low carb snack on road trips, may have a similarly perverse origin.
Raccoon meat is known by most as the filet mignon of vermin. A tender, delicate meat, best enjoyed fur-on, medium rare with a glass of earthy Sutter Home. Which is why the yearning for that old familiar taste is so consuming as you pass the crumbling corpse on the side of the road.
What most people don’t realize is that the tire treads and collapsed skull, assumed by many to signify a peaceful passing by natural causes, are anything but. In over 50% of cases these can signify contact with a moving vehicle, which can contain bacteria that most humans are intolerant to! Can anyone say upset tummy?!
And that sweet taste of highway medium raccoon flesh, almost bordering on acrid, that lures you back time and time again like a sirens song is actually the meat spoiling further between every chew. If you catch it even a day too late, it can cause severe nausea! Yuck! Who would have thought?
Knowing that the raccoon filet swarming with flies in the hot sun could have possibly been struck by a car AND might be rotting is a total bummer…but NOW YOU KNOW!
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.
Skinny Girl vodka has always vaguely promoted the hope of never farting and pooping no more than twice a week, but with Skinny Girl’s new Beano flavored vodka, the fantasy of a perpetually corked ring piece is now a reality. Now instead of sneakily railing lines of Beano in a bathroom stall at a Bar Louie outside of Hammond, you can drink it down with your favorite low calorie vodka and never have to worry about EMBARASSINGLY cutting an eye stinger while you’re lighting the wrong end of a cigarette or throwing up into a potted plant.
The collaboration with Beano will stop the gas, but the heaving portion of Imodium AD, as the top secret sexy ingredient, will stop the most vicious bowel movement in its tracks. You’ll find yourself staring dreamily at the calendar, wondering about the last time even the tiniest rabbit nugget of pitched black coal worked its way out of you. Your body will want the vodka out, but the mixture of vodka and stomach medication will have it coiled up in your stomach like a thousand-year-old cement snake. Mmmm cozy!
Being irregular and drunk as a bastard is elegant and empowering. Gassy and bloated, with a blinding pain in your stomach but NEVER stinky. That’s Skinny Girl Beano’s promise to you. So drink Skinny Girl Beano today and let’s be irregular together.
Wabash, Indiana-Nothing seemed amiss last Wednesday when a man came into the office wearing a straw fedora, paisley sport coat, high water selvedge denim jeans and wing tip shoes with no show socks. His former standard outfit comprised of a pair of soiled khaki pants, a thinning, slightly undersized Mossimo collared shirt and a pair of skin-toned Skechers. But the stylist at Trunk Club made a seamless transition to the desperately sought after “Asshole 8-year-old uncomfortably jammed into a hand me down suit for Easter Sunday” look. Totally natural. A perfect representation of personality. Not unnatural or forced in the least.
“Before Trunk Club, it didn’t look like I was trying at all, so it feels really good now to look like I’m trying way too hard,” said Phillip Biggins picking an excruciating wedgie from the ruthless selvedge tearing into his ring piece. The stylist assured him the break in period for the jeans would only be 5-6 years and totally worth it.
“Stylistically I wasn’t sure who I was…but Trunk Club made me realize that at my core, I’m really just a middle-aged man, channeling a twenty two year old stylist, channeling their perception of a person in their mid-30s who may or may not be stylish…It feels great to finally have an identity” continued Biggins, voice muffled under the Pashmina scarf his stylist advised him to wear in the middle of June.
Though the stylist insists that a $200 floral pocket square is the key to any successful Tinder date, Biggins sorrowful dry spell wages on, predictably impervious to the thousands spent on luxury clothing.
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.
The Kardashian’s contouring techniques have consistently taken the world by storm. Having your face look like a tiny nubile duck receding into the dark or a spray tanned pool ball melting under a heat lamp at Johnny Garlic’s are highly sought after skin adaptations. A method that combined with a selfie-stick and a flower crown Snapchat filter will make you look like the two dimensional airbrushed mall shirt you’ve always wanted to be. Though much like humanity as a whole, contouring is in a constant and necessary state of evolution. And a new contouring technique invented by Kim K could render the contouring you’ve always known as obsolete.
The new method is vintage, contrarian Kim, zigging while others zag. Smooth skin that appears sculpted from the finest of hardened Vaseline is so last year. Ground beef is all the rage in deep fashion circles this year, and thus Whopptouring is born. Whopptouring is an ingenious way to apply makeup and give your face the illusion of looking like Burger King’s signature burger. From the grey, flaking skin tags of imitation beef hanging on for dear life to the uncanny replica grill marks, your face will appear as though it was the bastard creation of a disgruntled high school student, who is trying to scrape together enough change for a depressing trip to 6 Flags Great America.
The graveled texture with pooling grease pockets will give your face that “neglected asphalt after a summer rain in Hammond Indiana” look that you’ve always been seeking. This being perfectly offset by the pitched black skid marks to give you that replica “straight off the grill” swagger. So transcendentally high fashion that it makes people physically ill to look at. Genius.
So, watch as Whopptouring becomes the hot new trend for winter and latches onto the world like a parasite dropping an enormous, stinking egg sack into on a fresh host.