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.
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.
It’s common practice in nearly every office bathroom interaction to gently place pieces of the sandpaper acting as toilet tissue on the rim of the seat. The belief being that just about everyone else in the office except you suffers from horrible hygiene and, furthermore, undoubtedly has an extremely contagious case of butt fungus. These tiny shreds of cardboard masquerading as toilet paper are now believed to not only signify the enormous mistrust between all humans but also serve as a mechanism for preventing most diseases.
“The answer was right there the whole time…” said Dr. Van Nostrum, expert in disease prevention. “If a delicate, permeable 4’x4’ sheet of paper can somehow neutralize something as volatile as a workplace toilet seat, think about what else it could do.” Continued Nostrum as he carefully prepared his toilet nest, readying himself for his daily evacuation.
Though the existence of any type of contagious butt fungus is pure speculation, the toilet paper nest clearly eliminates even the slightest chance of any mishap. “The possibilities are endless; this could be the end of all communicable diseases.” Said Nostrum audibly browsing a newspaper behind the friendly confines of a bathroom stall door.
Much like hand sanitizer, we can all now completely succumb to paranoia and look forward to religiously applying toilet paper to every feasible surface.
Rotten Tomatoes: 14%
I entered the theater expecting to leave ugly crying after the ritualistic slaughtering of one of my favorite films of all time. I was wholly anticipating the same pain Utah felt when he blew his knee to spaghetti noodles and negligently unloaded a goddamn full clip directly into the air. The pain never came. Instead I felt my face being bludgeoned by a butt ton of extreme shit. The reimagining of Point Break will concurrently rip your fucking head off and melt your ring piece and anyone who gives a damn about inexplicable plot anomalies, alien dialogue or even a sliver of character development can sit on it.
Rumor has it the actors were placed in hyperbolic chambers before the movie; only able to watch Dragon Ball Z and do lines of Doritos JACKED 3D off of hunting knifes. This movie went back in time and made that 90’s brand No Fear popular. It ghost wrote Nookie by Limp Bizkit and told Gary Busey to order not one but two meatball sandwiches. It was the inspiration behind Jean Claude van Damme’s first splits. Vin Diesel sips his morning extenZ Energy drink to this movie, not because he needs the girth but rather because he enjoys the flavor and the subsequent uncomfortable amount of energy.
Point Break will make man-gazing an official thing. I’m almost positive I’ve never looked into another dudes eyes for more than 5 seconds without at least some spoken word or noise. In this movie there was so much gazing and so much corresponding deafening silence; it was simultaneously exceptionally uncomfortable and beautiful. Plenty of other awkward and endearing bro moments were also present. Like cooking a rustic meal together and holding hands before eating, or placing your hand on the back of another bros neck to make locking foreheads feel more natural. This being in the somewhat rare circumstance you actually find the need to experience conjoining forehead flesh with another person.
The reimagining had a perfect balance of new and old absurdities. A combination of subtle and not so subtle nods to the original that pays homage without being dependent. Bodhi is transformed into a perfectly crafted quasi-hipster d-bag and Tyler is a manic pixie dream girl, but they somehow seem like a natural evolution of the characters. Both pleasantly outrageous and flawlessly acted. Utah has hung up his cleats in turn for a motocross helmet and a shit ton of really bad tattoos, but goddamn there are times when Luke Bracey seems like he could have slid right into the 1991 original.
Hearing those wailing guitar riffs and oddly timed line deliveries took me right back. Having a belly full of an inexplicable combination of Rasberry Shock Tops and Parrot Bay didn’t hurt either. I felt as though I was a rebel in Bodhi’s crew as I courageously battled the urge to vomit in my popcorn bag on several occasions. My own stand against society. My way of giving back. Nothing like stoking the fire of an impending blackout by being completely overwhelmed by endless action sequences. So get a neck tat, grab a bottle of artifically flavored silver rum, butt funnel some Monster and go relish in everything extreme you coward.
A mass text sent to around 50 people that stated “Happy Turkey Day! Hope it’s a good one!” elicited no response from any of the included contacts. “I put a lot of thought into this mass text, it had to be perfect.” said Martin Schuster optimistically. “I couldn’t decide to use one or two exclamation points, I finally landed on two because I think that really captures that Turkey Day spirit!” Continued Schuster.
It can generally be ascertained that two exclamation points accompanied by a generic well-wishing is enough to convey sincere affection between humans, but this text somehow fell short. And though “Happy Turkey Day! Hope it’s a good one!” may seem like a deeply personal message tailored specifically to meet the emotional needs of each and every person on that 50 person mass text list; it was resolutely disregarded. In fact it joined the other genericized digital waste that traditionally plagues inboxes. Schuster remains hopeful for a reply nearly 9 hours after the text was sent.
“It must have been a really impactful text, I haven’t heard anything yet so people must be really reflecting on it. I’m just happy to have changed a few lives.”
A man filling a 64oz water bottle to the absolute brim, while the rest of the gym waits patiently behind him, has confirmed he could kick everyone’s ass in the gym if he really wanted to. “I could beat the shit out of everyone in this gym with a combination of rudimentary taekwondo and parkour if I really wanted to…but you know I don’t want to be a JERK or anything.” Sneered Blake McKenzie lifting his shirt slightly for a glimpse of his abs in the mirror. Blake has no formal training in either taekwondo or parkour. Standing in line is for losers, and losers clearly deserve to get their asses beat according to McKenzie, completely oblivious to the fact that he was causing the line.
The 64oz water bottle is vital in creating the perception that you’re working out way harder than anyone else, though coincidentally the time spent perpetually drinking and refilling detracts from actually working out. When McKenzie isn’t guzzling water or resting on machines, he’s idling around the gym leering at women working out.
“When I’m not refilling my giant water bottle or walking incredibly slow with my chest puffed, I’m looking at chicks BUTTS, I like BUTTS almost as I enjoy extreme hydration and ass kicking!” said McKenzie who has never been in a fight and is a virgin.
The water fountain line at the local gym is the one thing McKenzie has control over in his miserable existence.
After a discernibly benign holiday cup caused uproar across the country, Starbucks has discontinued the cup in favor of a cup that perfectly renders the reflection of whoever is holding it. The Cozy Mirror cup was created in an attempt to pacify the enraged customers by feeding into their gluttonous, insatiable egos. The launch of the cup has been met with more vitriol than anyone could have ever imagined. Apparently having to look yourself in the eye right before indulging in a cup of overpriced coffee isn’t as pleasing as anticipated.
“I literally hate what I’m seeing…I think I’m going to be sick.” said Jill Mitchell gazing deeply into the mirrored sides of a venti Caramel Macchiato. “I’m not sure what it is about this new cup…but it’s causing me immense and consuming sadness.” She continued. Other customers have voiced similar complaints, not being able to put their finger on it but finding something extremely dislikable about the cup. Some customers have described the experience to looking at Satan himself or some other type of depraved apparition. Though the experience differs slightly from customer to customer, everyone agreed they felt like “complete dog shit” after looking at the cup.
The cup that was meant to make everyone happy is causing existential crises across the country. Starbucks will soon start serving their coffee in Senor Frogs novelty cups, the absolute only thing that causes happiness.
What started as a joke just got really…really real. As other candidates continue to confront the more trivial problems plaguing our nation like rampant racism, gender inequality and the looming possibility of a third world war, Trump has gone head first into the poignant issues that really matter. “Every drinking fountain in America…will flow red with the tasty artificially flavored nectar known as Hawaiian Punch” yelled Trump over a mouthful of Werther’s and an episode of People’s Court. “Every other cowardly, wimpy politician refuses to address an issue that has been the root of so many other problems for 100’s of years, people need Hawaiian Punch!” he belched.
That’s not all though, knowing that American voters may be too smart to fall for something as lucrative as free Hawaiian Punch, he’s also promised unlimited recess and no homework ever. “Being President is all about making promises that you can actually keep, and I have every intention of keeping these…TRUMP RULES CLINTON DROOLS! SKATE OR DIE! BE A SMARTIE AND VOTE FOR TRUMP!” he screamed, wildly hurling packets of Smarties and two dollar bills into the stagnant crowd, before promptly splitting his pants.
The strategy is timeless and poised to heavily sway an American public that is more than willing to do anything for a free pack of Smarties and unlimited playtime. Experts have agreed that Trump may have the election all but locked up with this recent tactic. A tactic that has seen stunning success, especially in the highly competitive middle school election forum. Only a seasoned veteran would think to employ the same strategy used by little Tommy Garretson to win the school Treasurer position at Perley Elementary in South Bend Indiana. Sheer genius.
We can all look forward to living in a country being run by someone who wants to move the White House to Boca Raton and borrowed his campaign strategy from a 6th grade school treasurer known adoringly as little Tommy Garretson.
If episode 7 (Black Maps and Motel Rooms) of True Detective seemed a bit more scattered than usual, it’s because it was written by a 10 year old child named Terry. “Da twue detective season wasn’t wiving up to the hype, so I wote in a tonna weally cool stuff to twy and save the season” said Terry speaking through a mouthful of Fruit Loops cereal. “I tought, how awesome would it be if there was like…a undergwound gang of bad guys with guns, and den like…one of em gets shot…and den if Vince Vaughn stawted lighting all dese fiwes and even doe kissing is gwoss, Cowin Fewwal and Wachel McAdams kissed or something, also a buncha cool poisoned lands and some stuff” he continued now running laps around the house farting.
True Detective has had difficulty emulating the intensity of the first season which mesmerized the country and thinks that Terry could be the messiah they’ve been looking for to save this season of the show. Though only 10, Terry’s teachers have confirmed he has conquered haunting, challenging reads such as Hop on Pop and If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. Executives at HBO took notice of Terry when they discovered an essay entitled My Favowite Types of Monsters. They saw the piece as a stunning achievement by a twisted young genius and thought that the evocative tone would fit perfectly in this season of True Detective. “The essay was only 14 words, and contained mostly pictures of Frankenstein holding a variety of weapons and wearing a jetpack, but it was unforgettable and poignant.” Said one HBO executive.
As the season finale nears, no telling what Terry might have up his sleeve next. A heard of T-Rexes with laser beams strapped to their backs? A volcano full of tarantulas? A battle to the death between an army of Frankensteins and Draculas’? Only Terry knows, but we’ll all be watching to find out.
Have you ever wanted to vacate your insides in unison with several thousand other drunken gremlins while watching a lifeless Sam Smith cry on stage? Well, watch out for falling logs because that dream is now a reality! The bathroom lines have always been bad at Lollapalooza, but this year the festival has an ingenious idea that should immediately remedy the situation. Lollapalooza staffers will be armed with box cutters and will be crudely fashioning “dump holes” in any willing festival goer’s fashionable high waisted jean shorts. “We’re eliminating every Porta Potty in an effort to cut down on bathroom lines,” Said Perry Farrell taking a prolonged, majestic drag from a Virginia Slim. “Since the human filth descending on Grant Park were already pissing and shitting themselves, the only logical solution was to make that easier…thus decreasing lines and increasing happiness.”Continued Farrell.
The crudely fashioned holes will allow your brown eye to have just the same dismal sightlines as your normal eyes, as you stand several miles out with the hopes of hearing a note or chord. Desperately hoping your leg doesn’t get humped by the mollied out tool fresh off the train from Wilmette. Farrell went on to hail the hole as extremely versatile and utilitarian, noting that you can now get as fucked up as humanely possible and not have to worry about something as trivial as controlling your bowels and bladder.
With the time for waiting in line at bathrooms all but eliminated, now you can focus more of your energy and time trying to find all of the friends that you lost, figuring out a way to recharge the battery to your cell phone, standing in line for overpriced domestic beers, and wind sprinting back and forth between stages that are miles apart…ALL WHILE POOPING AND PEEING YOURSELF! The possibilities are endless. Embrace your inner insect and let your ring piece fly!
If you’re going to Lollapalooza, you’re going to get pooped on…might as well make it your own.