Millennial Ghosts Forced To Donate Ectoplasm To Make Ends Meet.

Researchers from the Afterlife Journal have found that the ghastly apparitions of humans born between the years 1982 and 2002 who perished tragically have a harder time finding traditional haunting work. As a result, these “Millennial” ghosts have had to go to extremes to make due in the cold wasteland of eternal limbo. Tanner Williams is one such ghoul who we were able to speak with. “Yeah, I've been selling my ectoplasm for the last few years. It’s embarrassing sometimes, but you have to do what you have to do. When the motor overheated on my hoverboard causing it to burst into flames and making me wipe out into oncoming traffic, I assumed that entering the cosmic void would be kind of a relief. But here we are.”

Otis “Meat Chops” Walker, a Civil War soldier missing half of his face, weighed in on the young ghosts’ strife. “I just don’t understand why they don’t just get a damn job. Back in my day, you would blow your head to smithereens playing a hilarious cannon-based prank on a ranking officer, watch your spirit fly haphazardly through space and time, and then buckle down and get a good, solid job haunting a graveyard or drafty theater.”

But are haunts truly that easy to come by? Williams had this to say; “Sure, it is easy to tell me just to go haunt a family. I’d love to haunt a family! But come on, people have been dying in hilarious accidents and gruesome murders for thousands of years! The jobs just aren’t there. Have you seen how weird it can get when you have multiple spirits vying for the same job? I’ve seen American Horror Story before I bit the big one, and let me tell you, I’m not trying to make a fucked up ghost-rape-baby. Count me out.” He continued “Besides, we new age ghosts aren’t equipped nearly as well. Sure, we have college degrees, but two, three hundred years ago, guys could walk straight in to a job wearing chains and tattered shirts and shit. I died wearing Apple ear buds. Nobody wants to be haunted by a guy who died listening to Modest Mouse.”

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Dave Burkey's high school class voted him "Most Likely To End Up Writing Short Comedic Blurbs For The Internet" in 2006. It haunts him how specific yet accurate they were. 

Hey, Who Is That?

In 2017, a military unit, Alpha Squad, was sent to investigate what appeared to be a meteor crash site in Antarctica. Radio contact was lost 24 hours after mission start and a treacherous snowstorm made extraction impossible for 96 hours. When the extraction team arrived, Alpha Squad were already dead. The following recordings from pilot RJ Campbell provides the only insight we have into what happened on that mission.

6.12.17, 1600-Alpha Squad touched down near the crash site. The team consists of myself, commanding officer Captain Ben Stone, comms expert Trace Hawkins, and two scientists, Kate Lind and Dean Childs. We cleared the distance to the crash site within moments and not one of us could believe what we’d found. It wasn’t a meteor! I hesitate to use the word spaceship, knowing how silly that sounds, but for lack of a better word that’s what it was. Lind and Childs went to work analyzing the structure of the vessel and the rest of us inspected the intricate instrument panels contained within. I caught something out of the corner of my eye and raced outside. There were telltale footprints leading off in the direction of our chopper, but what created them I couldn’t be sure of. I gathered the team and we raced back to the chopper, arriving too late. The instrument panel, the radio, the rotors-everything had been destroyed beyond repair. Nightfall would be upon us soon and we’d be as good as dead exposed as we were. Trace confirmed the location of a small research station only a few klicks from our location that we could seek shelter in. It wouldn’t be hard to find. The footprints continued in the same direction.


6.12.17, 1830-We arrived at the research station. The front door had already been broken in. Stone led the way to the comms room and we discovered what we already knew would be there-the equipment had been sabotaged. Frustrated, I sat down only to immediately jump back up when I heard a low, flatulent sound. I turned to see a whoopie cushion on the chair and Childs laughing in the corner. Where did that asshole get a whoopie cushion?

6.12.17, 2100-The station’s secured, but now Stone’s gone missing. The wind’s kicked up outside, making any kind of immediate search an outright suicide mission. Hopefully it’ll die down at first light so we can look then. Childs keeps making armpit farts despite repeated requests from myself and the rest of the team to stop. It’s not funny. At all.

6.13.17, 0500-Woke to the sounds of screaming. Sat up in bed only to immediately have a pie thrown in my face. One of us is missing, we’re cut off from rescue and he’s throwing pies? What part of our training or protocol calls for this clowning bullshit? And where did he get that goddamn pie?

6.13.17, 0600-Now Trace and the Captain are MIA. It’s down to me, Kate and Childs. Childs screams that he’s found them but when we arrive he merely cries out “April Fool’s!” I tell the asshole it’s the middle of July but he doesn’t seem to care. Seriously, what’s wrong with this guy?

6.13.17, 1100-We found something…something not easily put into words. It was Trace but at the same time it wasn’t. It’s like something else was trying to be Trace. Bullets didn’t do much harm beyond immobilizing it, so we doused it in kerosene and immolated the damn thing. The horror of its dying screams were interrupted by Childs giving Kate a wet willie and his maniacal laughter that immediately followed.

6.13.17, 1600-If that thing can look like us…how do I know that Kate and Childs are still them? I know I’m me…at least I think I still am. I hope I still am.

6.14.17, 0100-Real mature, Childs. A water-squirting bowtie? Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?

6.14.17, 0300-Stone’s back. No, not Stone. the Stone-Thing. He contaminated the emergency food stores and it looks like he got to Kate. Goddammit. Why couldn’t he have killed Childs instead?

6.14.17, 0330-Found a flamethrower in the comms room. Found Kate-Thing shortly afterwards and dispatched her. Childs just kept telling us Pollock jokes and asking me to pull his finger. Of all the goddamn people to be left alive with in this situation…

6.14.17, 0345-I don’t care if Childs is the only other human left. He just teabagged me while I was investigating Stone-Thing’s blood trail. People are dying and we’re being threatened by a fucking alien and Childs is pulling his sack through his zipper? WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK?

6.14.17, 0415-Killed the Stone-Thing. Lit it up with enough TNT to keep the fires burning for a few more hours. Everyone’s gone now except me and Childs. There’s no hope of a rescue, not in this snowstorm. We’ll just…sit here and wait awhile. I don’t even have the patience to tell Childs I don’t want a “Hurts Donut,” no matter how good it sounds. This is Pilot RJ Campbell, Outpost...420 69? Goddammit.

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Dustin is a comedian, writer, and failed musician.

11 Missing After Space Mission Proves That Moon Shoes Are Not Practical Footwear

HOUSTON, TX - Families across the nation are in mourning as Space Center Houston reported in regarding the eleven astronauts missing after a footwear experiment gone awry.

“It was, in retrospect, a miscalculated trial,” concedes Space Center Chairman Peterson. The twelve-man team was sent out on what would have been a routine walk on the moon. On this particular mission, they were testing the viability of the popular 90s gear, Moon Shoes, as a potential replacement for the current standard issue NASA space boots.

Eleven men out of the twelve man team found themselves quickly facing the perils of low gravity, and search teams are still scouring the stars for them. Lone survivor Eric Whitmore is being held in Houston’s Methodist Hospital while he recovers from the trauma of watching his comrades slowly float away into space after one bounce on the moon’s surface. Nickelodeon, the creators of Moon Shoes, are being called into question under allegations of false advertising in the wake of this disastrous incident. Though a lawsuit is imminent, the country’s heart will not be fully healed until the brave eleven can finally return home. Once they remove those nightmarish mini-trampolines from their feet.  

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Jackie Shreves is a very angry person who you can frequently find on Whiskey Bear's Pop Culture Mixtape and character roasts. She likes being able to combine her loves of comedy, cosplay, and nerd crap in her sets. Yes, she is the perfect woman. No, you cannot date her.

The Waiter Brought My Date The Wrong Sandwich And I Am A Coward

The waiter brought my date the wrong sandwich and I am a coward.

This is a fucking nightmare.

I was totally prepared to blow this girl’s socks off with this night out. Everybody's been talking about how good the food is at the new neighborhood gastropub. So I was definitely gonna wow her by taking her to Brick Dog for our first date. A sit down like this on date number one? Who even does that? Me, goddammit! I’m trendy as shit! I read up on all the hot new places on my city’s underground blog!

I also have crippling social anxiety.

Everything was going swimmingly for a while. I Googled “best ice-breaker jokes” and had a couple hot ones in my pocket. God, who even thinks of these things? She ordered a beer and I was sure to tell her what a great choice it was, but I didn’t really know, LOL, I’m not much of a beer guy! Then she put in her order. The fucking Portobello and red pepper with swiss and aioli on a toasted brioche bun that ruined everything.

Our appetizers came out and that was fine. I nervously ate most of the breaded deep fried green bean zingers like a guy who was way too high convincing himself if he just keeps eating these nobody will notice how high he is. The bros next to us kept bumping her and spilling beer at our feet. We both TOTALLY AGREED it wasn’t worth saying anything.

And then our waiter put in front of her a goddamn BUFFALO CHICKEN SANDWICH?! I immediately saw the glint in her eye; the expectation for me to step up to the plate and tell that motherfucker to right his wrong. So I excused myself to go to the bathroom. Nine times in the next five minutes. Oddly, each of those times I just never happened to see our waiter. He must be really busy. Why am I peeing so much? I'm diabetic. And have a coke problem. All of this is better than the truth. I am a coward and hey, you just want to trade plates? No? So do you want to do this again somet…. Okay bye!

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Dave Burkey's high school class voted him "Most Likely To End Up Writing Short Comedic Blurbs For The Internet" in 2006. It haunts him how specific yet accurate they were. 

Die Historic On The Rainbow Road

Banana peels lay scattered across the battlefield, cast aside carelessly by the desperate fools who thought they could stand in my way, learning only too late that the machine I sat astride would not bring them victory, but only death.

My name is Luigi. My world is fire and blood.

I kicked a red shell out of my path, now rendered harmless after dangerously zipping around the course before it overturned the kart of a less experienced racer. I knelt down and closed the eyes of the mushroom-headed rookie out of respect. This kid had no business being out here in the 150cc Class. The Rainbow Circuit has cut down much harder men.

As I continued to wander through the aftermath of the deadly race, I heard someone cursing me with their last breath. I turned to see my fat Italian brother pinned underneath the dreaded blue shell. There would be no saving him. I grabbed one of the booby trapped item boxes and brought it down on his head, offering him the only mercy I knew. A mercy that the lizard tyrant’s soldiers would not have granted.

There was no time to bury him. I was already behind schedule and I had to make it to Bowser’s Castle for the next race. I shed a single tear for the lives this race, this war, had taken, vowing to keep racing until I had restored order to the once glorious Mushroom Kingdom.

They would see my kart, and they would behold the man who sat upon him as Death. They would know that Hell followed with me. The time for hope had passed long ago, there was no Super Mario Sunshine to be found in this desolate place. Vengeance was the only course left for me to ride, because sometimes when you gaze into the Rainbow Road, the Rainbow Road gazes back.

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Dustin is a comedian, writer, and failed musician.

Trouble In Adventure Bay

A harrowing story of police brutality has come to us from the small coastal town of Adventure Bay. A group of protesters gathered around the noon hour on Monday at Adventure Bay’s city hall to picket for the removal of the sitting mayor, Mayor Goodway, over allegations that she had been funneling city resources into an illegal cock fighting ring.

The peaceful protest turned ugly as pro-Goodway demonstrators, believed to be members of ANTIFA, clashed with the others on the steps of the capital building. The situation became dire as members of the community’s Do-It-All task force, The Paw Patrol, arrived on the scene.

Officer Chase, a genetically modified German Shepherd police dog, was the first responder. Upon assessing the grisly display of violence from the townspeople, Chase broke into a panic as he had never been tasked to solve a problem that was not mind-numbingly mundane in nature. He had previously been awarded three Medals of Valor for rescuing sea turtles from haphazard situations on multiple occasions.

Despite being hard-wired into a technologically advanced police cruiser equipped with multiple bull-horns made to assist in dispersing a crowd, Officer Chase let loose several shots from his trusty net-gun into the sea of unruly protesters. He then readied the cruiser’s tennis ball cannon and began recklessly firing into the masses, while some witnesses said that he had visible tears streaming from his eyes. As he fired fuzzy rubber balls into the crowd, indiscriminate of man, woman, or child, the next members of the group arrived.

Ryder the human, pre-pubescent leader of the entire city’s defense force, pulled up on an ATV alongside Marshall, the Dalmatian Fire Chief. Using the judgment reserved only for a dog given the ability to speak and use heavy machinery, Marshall began spraying the rallying crowd with his high-powered fire hose as Ryder pleaded with his canine workforce to cease their fire. Witnesses stated that the initial blast from the hose knocked an elderly woman through the entryway window of Porter’s Grocery, which was subsequently razed and burnt to the ground amid the chaos. A spokesman from the local hospital reported at least 37 were injured in the ordeal, with one confirmed fatality.

Oliver Porter, the owner of the ransacked grocery store had this to say, “I think it really begs the question “Are the Paw Patrol actually good for the people?” We’re supposed to feel safe when we see the Paw Patrol on the streets, but who’s to say who can handle all that responsibility? Maybe you’re comfortable giving just any mutant dog off the street a badge and a gun and a heavy duty hydraulic drilling rig to drive, but I think we need to hold them to a higher standard.”

We contacted Ryder to see if there would be any disciplinary action. He said that the Pups would be placed under suspension without treats indefinitely.

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Dave Burkey's high school class voted him "Most Likely To End Up Writing Short Comedic Blurbs For The Internet" in 2006. It haunts him how specific yet accurate they were. 

I Am The Neutrogena Model, And I Am A Clone

If you are reading this message, you have decoded the secret pattern in your Neutrogena Light Therapy Acne Mask. I need your help.

I am one of many Neutrogena models. You may have seen me on television or YouTube ads acting as bright and refreshed as my skin. But what you don’t know is that for the past decade, all Neutrogena models have been experiments. We are all failed clones of 2006 Neutrogena model and America’s sweetheart, Hayden Panettiere.

You may know me as Olivia Holt, but where I am from, they call me “E.” We are all given a letter from Hayden’s name as our own. We are not perfect embodiments of her, so we may not have her full name, or any full name. I’m the 3rd E, right before the last one. Or the 5th E if you count her middle name (Lesley, of course). Roll call gets pretty confusing.

You probably don’t believe me. Let me tell you how this all started. After Hayden moved on to bigger and better things, Neutrogena was at a loss. She was clearly the most superior being, and no celebrity or aspiring musician would ever fill her shoes. People left the TV unmuted for her! She was easily the best character in Until Dawn, which honestly isn’t a hard fight to win because everyone was absolutely terrible and kinda contributed to multiple deaths, but even if it was a hard fight, she would win! She had the perfect sweet yet spunky aura that made everyone feel like she could be their best friend or even a sassy best friend. Neutrogena had access to Hayden’s DNA on the many wipes and towels she used in commercials, so the cloning process began.

None of us were perfect. None of us were Hayden. Some of us have never seen the light of day and remain hidden away in our bunker-clone-home. Vanessa Hudgens may have gotten it the worst, due to a horrific birth defect. She was never given a letter of Hayden’s name and was only referred to by her deformity as “the Brunette.” She was loaned to Disney, who needed someone to play a smart yet nonthreatening role, and of course she nailed it. She’s a brunette!

Not all failures were so lucky. Miranda Cosgrove was the unholy fusion of Hayden’s DNA and that of the late Michael Jackson. I don’t exactly know why. I think they were really just throwing anything at a wall and seeing if it would stick at that point. Viewers noticed the similarity and Neutrogena got scared. They veered away from Hayden clones briefly to avoid detection.

I am the closest they have gotten to a true Hayden Panettiere. I worry that when they finally perfect the process, the rest of us will be eliminated. Regardless, I have no idea what they are going to do when they run out of letters. They only have two more. I don’t know if they are going to go back and start all over or what. They really didn’t think that one through. I kinda wish Hayden had an X in her name. Like how cool would it be to be named X?! Really Vanessa got the best one since “the Brunette” sounds like some kind of Kill Bill codename.

I digress. I fear for my future, and the future of my clonelings (like siblings but for clones). If this reaches you, I beg you to contact the authorities and follow the coordinates printed on your Light Therapy Acne Mask to our bunker-clone-home, and together we can Turn On the Light and Turn Acne Off™.

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Jackie Shreves is a very angry person who you can frequently find on Whiskey Bear's Pop Culture Mixtape and character roasts. She likes being able to combine her loves of comedy, cosplay, and nerd crap in her sets. Yes, she is the perfect woman. No, you cannot date her.

Teen Busted For Underage Foster Parenting

TEMPE, AZ - In a reveal that shook the neighborhood, Corey Anders, 18, was caught caring for a foster child by the Tempe Police Department. "Anders has committed a serious offense," said Deputy Robert Fitzgerald in a statement released to the press. "We know that the general population often does not take the crime of underage fostering seriously, and some parents even allow their teens to host foster parties in their own homes. Anders was having such a gathering when we came to check on a noise complaint last Friday night."

According to US law, a citizen cannot foster a child if they are under the age of 21. However, a 2013 National Survey showed that at least 35% of teens report having at least one foster child by the age of fifteen. "We didn't think it was a big deal," said Sam Ranger, a friend of Anders. "We do it all the time. It makes us feel good. The cops have shown up before, but we just shove the kids under pillows or in our jackets and no one can even tell."

Tess Anders, the 22-year-old foster mother of Corey, blames an absentee father for Corey's recklessness. "It's hard being a single foster mother," Tess said. "Nobody told me that fostering a teenage son in my early twenties was gonna be so difficult."

Though several other teens have been charged, Anders faces the most severe sentence after being found in possession of a keg of foster children. This may include the revocation of his license, as it is illegal across the country to drive while fostering a child. Deputy Fitzgerald urges families to crack down on underage fostering, and to keep closer watch on their rebellious teens.

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Jackie Shreves is a very angry person who you can frequently find on Whiskey Bear's Pop Culture Mixtape and character roasts. She likes being able to combine her loves of comedy, cosplay, and nerd crap in her sets. Yes, she is the perfect woman. No, you cannot date her.

The Blind Gamer

Kevin Christenson lost his vision two years ago at the age of 38. A chemical spill at work took his sight, and for a little while, his hope. That was until a close friend, Brian Pena, suggested he try something new. Oddly enough, it was video gaming.

“Honestly, I was just having a hard time talking to him about his problems. It was kind of like, a lot, you know? So I figured I could just throw a controller in his hand and talk to him like we were playing together. Way less stressful. I did the same thing with my little brother when we were kids. Except he wasn’t blind. He was just two.”

And Kevin was good. Really good. Or so he was told. In a classic case of a friend continuing an elaborate ruse rather than dealing with the consequences of being honest, Pena found himself in deep. “Things got out of hand pretty quickly,” said Pena. “I really bigged him up because I figured it would help him not feel so bad about being blind and shit. I guess I went overboard.” Eventually, Kevin wanted to try his hand at local gaming tournaments he had heard about.

“There was no fucking way we could actually do that,” Pena stated. “Honestly, I think in the two years this whole charade has been going on, I've only seen him make it past a game’s main menu a handful of times.”

So then, how has Kevin Christenson gained his champion title?

“That first fake tournament wasn’t so hard. We just had to get some guys together who were willing to pretend to lose to him. It has just become a whole goddamn ordeal now,” Pena stated. The stakes have been raised, as Kevin is well aware of the pageantry associated with professional gaming. “Last week, I had to take him to a high school basketball game and sit him in a chair under the bleachers with a controller to simulate a Major League Gaming crowd.” Does that seem a bit much? “And of course now he knows that these things go on all over the country. We fly round trips to places for no fucking reason. I almost lost my job a few weeks ago because of a long layover. This whole thing is ruining my life, but at this point I'm terrified of what would happen if I 'fessed up.”

So what does Kevin have to say about his newfound passion in life? “This is seriously the best thing that has ever happened to me. If we're being honest, I always kind of thought video games were for losers. But they've really helped me to develop a strong sense of myself. I just want to thank Major League Gaming for taking a chance on me. I know it’s a crazy story.”

When contacted for comment about Kevin's story, Major League Gaming simply responded “Who the fuck is Kevin Christenson?”

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Dave Burkey's high school class voted him "Most Likely To End Up Writing Short Comedic Blurbs For The Internet" in 2006. It haunts him how specific yet accurate they were. 

How To Succeed In Horror Business Without Really Trying

"I've got something to say!" Glenn Danzig bellowed. "I tried Wendy's new Southwest Avocado Chicken Sandwich today and it doesn't matter much to me as long as it comes with fries!"

"Cut!" the Director called. "Great take, Glenny Baby! Everybody reset, let's get the next commercial ready, the Mothers Against Drunk Driving spot!"

Danzig surveyed the studio around him, bright lights bouncing off the white backdrop behind him, blinding him to everything but the compromises he'd made that had put him in this very position. Why did he keep turning down all these offers for more Misfits reunion shows and tours? Did he really hate Jerry Only so much? Or did he just hate the idea of being able to afford the mortgage on his new house, a recently condemned and abandoned funeral parlor?

"You're up, Glenny!" the Director hollered.

Danzig shook his head, striding towards the set, looking like a defeated vampire who spent his whole life at the gym but managed to somehow never do a leg day.

"Speed and...action!"

"Mother! Tell your children not to drink and drive! This one tip could save their life! From imprisonment or fines, Mother! Mother! Don't want your kids to get a DUI! See them fail to walk in a straight line or get arrested on their prom night! Oh Mothers!"

The cameras began to move around Danzig, and for a moment he was transported to the only place where he was happy. So even though he was selling out hard, he made the decision then and there to just really lean the fuck into it.

"Not about to exceed my BAC! And if you wanna have a drink with me, then give my sober friend the keys! Until tomorrow! When I've finally sobered up, because there's nothing cool about driving drunk, and if you wanna drink responsibly then just listen to M-A-double-D!"

As the guitar solo of the backing track kicked in, Danzig began banging his head and whipping his long hair around. This was the closest he felt to being alive these days, and he was going to do everything he could to hold onto this moment.

"Aaaaaand cut! That's a wrap on Mothers Against Drunk Driving, great job everyone! That's it for today, same time back here tomorrow."

Danzig looked around desperately, his moment now seized from him. "Hey, Darren, I've got a few more takes in me if we need them, you know? We don't really wanna just one and done the MADD spot, do we?" Danzig begged the Director, failing to mask his desperation.

"Glenn baby, you're a natural. We never even need a second take with you for safety. Oh, take a look at these, we'll be starting these in tomorrow's block." The Director handed Danzig a packet of scripts before placing a hand on Danzig's shoulder. "I know this isn't what you're used to, I know you miss walking these streets at night, and I know that the maggots in the iron lung still won't copulate or whatever, but that was the old Danzig. Maybe it's time for something new, y'know?"

The Director looked at his watch. "Wow. 1:38! We gotta be back here in six hours, I'm going home. I'll see you in the morning, Glenny."

The Director walked away as Danzig sighed heavily to himself. He looked at the first shooting script for a Häagen-Dazs commercial. A smile slowly formed as he imagined himself on a stage, belting out the words to this newest spot.

"If you want ice cream, scream with me for the sweet taste of Häagen-Dazs!"

40 years ago, Glenn Danzig never imagined that this was where his life would've taken him. But for the first time in 40 years, he was beginning to understand that what he wanted wasn't skulls or the insemination of little girls or anything as horrifying and graphic as those things he used to sing about. He was tired of moments like this that never last, and starting today, he was going to do something about it. His life had brought him to this moment, and he wasn't going to let it slip away.

"I may be a sellout," he chuckled to himself. "But I ain't no goddamn son of a bitch."

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Dustin is a comedian, writer, and failed musician.

I Have No Milk, And I Need Cream

Limp, the arms of George Harrister hung by his sides in defeat. It was 8:00 AM (the glaring red numbers from the Mr. Coffee machine made sure we all remembered) and we had yet to fill our mugs with the bitter caffeine that would carry us through the rest of the workday.

 

“Have you tried unplugging it?” George asked.

 

“Of course I’ve tried unplugging it!” Ben snapped back.

 

Ben is the kind of man who would have a “Don’t Talk To Me Until I’ve Had My Coffee” t-shirt and actually wear it because he thinks it’s funny. He is also assistant manager, thus used to more kiss-assery than backtalk. He was said to have once been a brilliant worker, but was passed over for a big promotion and became the brute he is today. Even George in HR had little power over him, and moved to drop down into a seat at the break room table. Ellie leaned over from her place at the table and patted his hand consolingly. Ellie is young and wears unnecessarily large glasses and too many rings. She works in customer service, and is good at situations involving feelings.

 

“What about Starbucks? There’s a Starbucks down the road!”   

 

George groaned. Ben looked ready to tear his hair out as he rounded on Newton, our intern, who had a knack for suggesting the most undesirable solution.

 

“I want coffee! Not a glorified milkshake served by some kid who calls me ‘Been’!” he barked. He turned back to Mr. Coffee and began mashing buttons with his thick fingers. It was entertaining, really, to see all of my coworkers lose their sanity over something as simple as a morning drink. I was here more for the show than the promise of coffee. I didn’t need it.

 

“You all should really try tea. It’s very relaxing and good for your aura,” Ellie suggested with a wave of her bejeweled hand.

 

“Ellie, you don’t like tea, you like the idea of liking tea! You bring a thermos from home with coffee!” Ben was dangerously close to shattering the pot as he twisted the machine around, looking for god knows what.

 

There was a thunk as Ellie shoved something suspiciously thermos-sounding into her bag and glared at Ben.

 

“Fine, then I’m with Newt. Let’s go to Starbucks. They have muffins.”

 

“How would you know unless you’ve been there?” George asked, a light returning to his eye that had not been present for years, even during what I assume was some lackluster lovemaking.

 

“THEY SELL TEA AT STARBUCKS.”

 

“They’re known for coffee.”

 

“Tom!” Ellie targeted me in a rare acknowledgement, “What do you think? Starbucks?”

 

“Uh, if Newt wants to go to Starbucks, I won’t stop him. He’s the intern.”

 

“Then I’m going!” Newton declared, “I know everyone’s drink orders. I’ll be right back and you’ll see how good it is!”

 

We all lulled into silence in his absence, aside from the occasional rattle as Ben tried to coax Mr. Coffee into operation. The screen displayed 8:12 AM. It was almost mocking. I could imagine a hidden smile behind those numbers as Mr. Coffee watched us struggle, toying with us. Man made Mr. Coffee, and now Mr. Coffee controls man. What if I were to shatter it? Throw it, as Ben seemingly wanted to do, at the wall and watch it die? Would I be a hero? A villain?

 

The sound of the footsteps woke me from my daydreams. Newt paused in the break room doorway. He was pale and sweaty. He was a man changed.

 

“Some old lady stole our drinks. When I tried to get them back, she said they had written ‘Nancy’ on the cups and that’s what her friend calls her, so it must be hers. She then screamed that I was harassing her and I got thrown out.”

 

There were scattered eye rolls, and an audible snort from Ben. Newt faded into the background as he was wont to do, but I had an idea. Operating on the hunch that a beast like Ben would not have really tried more patient approaches, I approached the outlet. I unplugged Mr. Coffee, and plugged him back in. Ben nearly yelped in surprise as he set the machine down and it immediately began brewing. George leapt from his chair with a speed that could have been valuable to the aforementioned lackluster lovemaking.

 

“Good job, Tom!” Ellie exclaimed, offering me a smile.

 

I had done it. I watched my coworkers one by one fill their mugs and walk joyously to their offices. Ellie didn’t even pretend to hide the fact that she poured some into her metal thermos. I was a hero. I took my time filling my own mug, leaving just enough room for cream. Pulling the container from the fridge, I popped the lid off with a flourish and began to pour. And pour. And pour.

 

And nothing came out.

 

The cream was empty. Someone had used it all and not followed the office policy of replacing it, like some kind of savage. I could feel a slight headache begin to form, no doubt from lack of caffeine. In desperation, I threw the creamer aside and grabbed the milk.

 

It could not be. It could not possibly be. The milk was gone too. All gone! Was I to drink the coffee black, like Ben the animal? No! Outwardly, I threw the milk to the ground. Inwardly, my headache intensified, hooking into my brain, proclaiming it was here to stay.

 

I sank to my knees on the break room floor. Mr. Coffee stared down at me. 8:21 AM. My first phone call was scheduled for 8:30. At least my coworkers had been saved. I, alone, suffered, but at least they were free.

 

I have no milk. And I need cream.

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Jackie Shreves is a very angry person who you can frequently find on Whiskey Bear's Pop Culture Mixtape and character roasts. She likes being able to combine her loves of comedy, cosplay, and nerd crap in her sets. Yes, she is the perfect woman. No, you cannot date her.

"How About This Weather?"

Local authorities are investigating a string of murders across the Midwest. Des Moines, Iowa police chief Stanley Kronkle believes that the murders may all be related, as every single body has had some variation of the question “How about this weather?” or “Global warming, huh?” carved into their flesh.  Whether the murders are the work of one serial killer or dozens of frustrated white collar workers is currently the main point of contention.

The body count has continued to rise as we press further into spring. Kronkle says that the most recent case, the 5th murder in the last two weeks, popped up in an office park on the west side of the city. A custodial worker found the deceased propped hastily behind a potted fern a few short feet from the elevator, the body appearing to have obvious signs of strangulation.

Chief Kronkle issued a statement. “It really is astounding how many of these murders are happening in common areas with seemingly no witnesses. Elevators, water coolers, the bodies are all turning up in the same spots with the same grisly message etched into them. Either we have some sort of phantom on our hands, or people are treating the killer like a protected vigilante doing the Lord’s work. But the law is the law, and if you see something, you need to say something.”

Laura Osweiler, the wife of Jerry Osweiler; the most recent victim, had this to say of her late husband. “Jerry was the nicest man I’ve ever met. He could strike up a conversation about anything with any single person. He could captivate you with the smallest thing, from the weather outside, to the game last night. It’s what I fell in love with, you know? Those deeply empty conversations. Never a dull moment. The world is going to be a much quieter place without him.”

As the storm season approaches, Kronkle advises that people stay vigilant. “Keep your head on a swivel out there. Don’t approach strangers, even if you have a brand new quip about how unseasonably cold it is that you’re certain will brighten their day. Until we get this thing cleared up, it’s best to just shut the fuck up about it.”

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Dave Burkey's high school class voted him "Most Likely To End Up Writing Short Comedic Blurbs For The Internet" in 2006. It haunts him how specific yet accurate they were. 

Sweet Revenge

The Tall Man took a long drag off his cigarette, inhaling deeply before letting the smoke rise up past his broom-like mustache. He stared down to see a small blood stain that clung to his green shirt, dripping slowly down onto his overalls, reminding him that there was no turning back now.

The Tall Man turned his attention towards his guest, the Fat Man in red, tied to a chair in the corner of the room. The Fat Man’s face was swollen and bloodied, a result of having several blocks broken over his head, the blocks in question laying in pieces over the dirty basement floor. Shards of brick adorned with jigsaw pieces of a question mark, a question mark that somehow held all the answers and told the tale of what had transpired in this dark room.

The Fat Man, doing his best to recall the events that had led to this moment, recounted everything that had come before. How he'd managed to brave his way through an army of nightmare mushroom knights, an unending parade of vicious turtles, and a seemingly perpetual volley of fireballs. The Fat Man charged through the castle, determined to rescue the woman he loved, even murdering the spike shelled tyrant who lived there by dropping the hell turtle into a bubbling pool of hot lava.

When the gate was raised and the Fat Man gazed into the darkness, he was greeted only by a sinister laugh that mockingly cried out "Your princess is in another castle!" That was the last thing he remembered before God had turned out the lights. Now groggy, the Fat Man's vision slowly returned, and he began to recognize the outline of the man who stood before him.

“Why are you doing this? You’re a my brother!”

The Tall Man chuckled in response to the Fat Man’s pleas. He'd worked too hard to get to this moment, had committed too many attrocities to turn back now. Friends and enemies alike were left broken, bloodied, and lifeless on the Rainbow Road that had finally brought him to this castle. The castle where he would finally stop living in the shadow of his brother.

“You had it too good for a too long! It was always about-a you! Mario, Mario, Mario! Well, now’s a gonna be my time! It’s a my turn in the spotlight!”

Tears began rolling down the Fat Man’s face. “What are you gonna do?”

The Tall Man took another drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke in the Fat Man’s face. He dropped his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out with his foot. The Tall Man chuckled, holding up his hand as a single fireball began to take shape in his palm, flickering menacingly and casting a series of shadows that danced playfully across the room.

“I’m-a gonna win.”

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Dustin is a comedian, writer, and failed musician.

Critic Review: A Quiet Place

A Quiet Place is a 2018 thriller written by Jim from The Office and less important people. It is opening in theaters on April 6th but I am here to give you my exclusive opinions on the film right now!

 

Jim and Pam are no longer together, which was a real left turn IMO. They demonstrated how love can endure the harshest storms, but I guess that doesn’t include some sort of apocalypse? I guess it’s an apocalypse. Anyway, Jim is with the Assistant from The Devil Wears Prada, the one who worked really hard but got thrown aside for Anne Hathaway because she had developed an eating disorder. Like, what the fuck is up with that movie that Anne wasn’t concerned for her well-being? She knew she wasn’t eating enough. Be a better friend than Anne Hathaway. The assistant was also in Edge of Tomorrow, but Tom Cruise weirds me out, so I didn’t watch that. She and Jim have two kids and the entire film covers their never-ending struggle to get some goddamn peace and quiet. They learn sign language to communicate and the kids replace Monopoly pieces with weird cloth things that look like something I would make in a kindergarten art class. The real question is why the fuck would they allow their kids to play Monopoly when they want them to be quiet? Monopoly is the single-most rage-inducing game in the world and they are trusting that the human mind can just internalize that anger rather than wigging the fuck out?? Nah. Give the kids Trivial Pursuit or Boggle.

 

So everything kicks off after the Monopoly incident, where the kids have rediscovered their love of making a ton of noise. Jim can’t get a moment in the bathroom without them screaming about who stole whose crayons or whatever the fuck kids scream about. The Assistant-Mom is just trying to have some chill, non-masturbatory tub time when Jim Jr. rips the head off of Assistant Jr.’s favorite stuffed bunny. The monsters in this movie are real, folks. How will Jim and Assistant handle the sudden change in their environment? Will they ever bang again? Will Jim go back to banging Pam? Will they switch back to using normal Monopoly pieces or just burn the board like some sort of cursed Ouija portal from hell? You’ll have to see for yourself in this heart-pounding, anxiety-riddled romp where at any moment your joy could be taken away by the sticky hands of a two year old.

 

2 / 5 stars, mostly because kids give me a headache

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Jackie Shreves is a very angry person who you can frequently find on Whiskey Bear's Pop Culture Mixtape and character roasts. She likes being able to combine her loves of comedy, cosplay, and nerd crap in her sets. Yes, she is the perfect woman. No, you cannot date her.

Yelp! Review: Cafe Rio

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Since having my son, Rio, time for a nice romantic dinner date with my wife has been scarce. So, when we actually do get the chance to go out, we like to make the most of it. Our son, albeit only two years old, recommended a restaurant that he had heard good things about named “Cafe Rio.”

 

One of the only bright spots in this experience was that the location was convenient, as Cafe Rio is situated in a quaint corner of my son’s toy room. The ambiance was somehow simultaneously adorable, yet that of a dive bar. There appeared to be what looked like a dog eating a soiled diaper just outside the entryway with some scattered plush stuffed animals lying about. In any case, it was lacking in the typical romance department compared to restaurants I am accustomed to spending too much money in before trying to convince my wife to fuck in the car before we have to get back to the babysitter.

 

The service was the worst I have ever had in my life. Our waiter approached the table and before I even had a chance to speak, shoved a large piece of wooden cheese into my mouth. Once he finally stopped creepily saying the word “yummy” to me repeatedly, I tried to order off the menu, to which he only replied “NO!” before disappearing back into the kitchen.

 

It was at this point that I noticed that in this horrendously understaffed restaurant, our server was also playing the role of the chef. No less than 30 health code violations racked up instantly as I watched him take his shirt off to begin cooking over an open flame while drinking milk that spilled down his chest onto his pot-belly. He screamed at the dog that was previously eating human feces as he violently shook a stainless steel pot containing a whole chicken drumstick and an ice cream cone, which I believe is a French dish not on the menu. Clearly unhappy with the dish, he slammed it on the ground and again screamed at the dog to “go away!”

 

After waiting at my table for nearly 20 minutes, the chef returned and again shoved an unwelcome piece of buttered toast into my mouth while telling me to “EAT IT! EAT IT!” Frustrated, my wife asked if there was any way that he could bring her food. He told her “No, you do it!” And at this point I had had enough. Cafe Rio is an absolute shit-hole run by a lunatic. Whoever raised that monster should be ashamed of themselves. Would not recommend to my worst enemy.

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Dave Burkey's high school class voted him "Most Likely To End Up Writing Short Comedic Blurbs For The Internet" in 2006. It haunts him how specific yet accurate they were. 

George Washington: General, President, Time Traveler, Asshole

The following entries are taken from a journal written by one of General George Washington’s soldiers during his time stationed at Valley Forge, Pennsylvania from December 19, 1777-June 19, 1778. What follows is a harrowing tale of one man’s descent into lunacy and some shocking revelations about one of the greatest military and political leaders of our nation's history.

December 19, 1777-My name is Nathaniel Patrick Jefferson, husband, father, patriot and a farrier by trade. I have been serving in the Continental Army under General George Washington for just shy of a year and have reluctantly arrived at the conclusion that the man is out of his fucking mind. Tactically, he’s brilliant and has yet to meet his equal in the field of battle. Personally, he’s a few troops short of a garrison. Kind of a dick, too. Many of the men, myself included, have marched so far and so hard that our shoes have all but worn through and our feet have taken to bleeding out upon the trail. Lord knows if the British wanted to track us they need only follow the tell-tale sets of bloody footprints. Washington keeps riding up alongside us on his horse, often shouting “Cold enough for you, boys?” He laughs every time, and it’s not even that funny. We laugh along with him, though, for fear that our refusal to do so might result in us being executed out of turn. It’s rumored that he once stabbed a man to death just for looking at his horse. And the horse…he talks to it all the time, as if the horse were able to hold polite conversation with him! No matter. Today we arrived at Valley Forge and can finally stop all this marching. It’ll be nice to sleep in a proper bed again.

December 21, 1777-Valley Forge is on some old bullshit. The cabins we’re quartered in do nothing to protect from the damp conditions and we’ve not enough rations to make it to the end of the year. Many of us have taken to eating “fire cake,” a disgusting mixture of flour and water. Many of the men are suffering from exposure and infection, their uniforms practically threadbare. The fires in the camp are burning, but the flames in our hearts have long since been extinguished. I wonder if this war is even worth it. The British aren’t so bad. At least they don’t do naked handstands in the snow like certain generals commanding the very unit I’m stationed here with.

December 31, 1777-While all the men gathered and attempted to celebrate the coming of the new year, General Washington was nowhere to be found. Myself and two other men, James from Virginia and Smith from New York, searched the camp for our leader. We found him naked and dancing around a fire, chanting incantations of some sort. He kept repeating the words “Cthulhu” and “R'lyeh,” and in the night sky a terror of indescribable nature began to spill forth-or at least it would’ve had James not cried out and interrupted the general’s ceremony. General Washington looked up to see the monstrosity disappear back into whence it came and merely shrugged, walking away and whistling to himself.

January 3, 1778-Just got back from the future. General Washington said he’s something called a “Time Lord,” a being with the means to travel between different time periods and dimensions. He took me in some flying, magical box to what he claimed was the year 2011. We watched moving pictures, or “movies” as the natives of that time called them, that depicted the future. According to most movies, explained to me as “science fiction,” advances in technology were supposed to have resulted in horseless carriages capable of flight, but alas, the fiction had not been made a reality yet. The future is on some old bullshit.

February 5, 1778-Have been getting headaches since returning from the future. General Washington explained this was a result of chrono-distortion, something that apparently only affects time-travelers who aren’t Time Lords. When I confronted him that it would have been nice to know that prior to agreeing to time travel, I would’ve declined his offer. He just said “Whoops.” The general’s an asshole.

February 39, 17XX-Not sure where I am. I think I accidentally teleported. Another effect of the chrono-distortion, probably. Seriously, there’s nothing here, just white space as far as the eye can see.

March 10, 1778-Pretty sure I saw myself walking around the camp today. I must be seeing things. Stupid chrono-distortion.

March 10, 1778-Time traveled two minutes back in time to freak my past self out. Not sure if it worked. Wait, two entries for March 10? Who the fuck wrote in my journal? Oh, right. Past Me.

March 17, 1778-Currently in a makeshift brig. Wrongly imprisoned. In tradition of St. Patrick’s Day, I thought it would be funny to shoot every man not wearing green as opposed to pinching them. Nobody else thought it was funny. I only shot one person, I was apprehended while reloading for my second. Stupid muzzle loaders.

March 28, 1778-Impromptu trial resulted in me being found not guilty due to the fact that General Washington thought the guy I shot was kind of a shit bird anyway. No harm, no foul! Maybe the general’s not so bad after all.

April 1, 1778-The general’s a fucking asshole. He told me he traveled to the future and had sex with my wife and daughters.

April 2, 1778-The general told me he was just joking about having sex with my wife and daughters, it was an April Fool’s Day joke. We laugh about it.

April 3, 1778-General Washington takes me to the future and makes me watch him have sex with my wife and daughters.

April 4, 1778-I have been made a cuckold. General Washington keeps calling me his "Eskimo brother," and my patriotism is no longer strong enough to silence my anger and disgust with this man. I can only hope that cannon fire or musket or saber or anything all takes me away from this world before I ever have to look into the eyes of my wife and daugters again.

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Dustin is a comedian, writer, and failed musician.

Ode To A Monster Fetish

O Beast! is it my aching heart you hear

Or ragged breath that brings you crawling by?

I sweat, I tremble, yet I have no fear;

Our chase is a facade against outcry

For those mere mortals cannot understand

The elegance of your scaled, oozing form

The spray of blood when you killed my friend

Revealed an artist with a loving hand

Paint me crimson! Your claws still dripping warm

Doth bring ecstasy unto my sweet end

 

These desires are unique to satiate

Would that we could board yonder Nostromo

Where Alien may kill, nay, penetrate

Or submerge ourselves in labs down below

For monsters, water shapes, creatures of the sea

Swampish or scaly, of unknown roots -

Look, I get it, this is quite weird to you

Like who wants to fuck a fish? *sweats* not me!

On this side I say you all look like brutes

Bound in societal restraints - breakthrough!

 

For what a fool I would be to kink-shame

Those who crave fur or feet or bondage play

In truth and in diapers we are kink-same

Just remember that anyone who says pedophilia is a kink should be punched in the face

Lo! A new day has dawned! To your lover!

Ghosts, ghouls, zombies (if you are into that)!

My beast love - ho! Who restrains you amids -

What mask?? Young ones pull its face and uncover

A human! Lies! What sex we would have shared

If it had not been for those meddling kids

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Jackie Shreves is a very angry person who you can frequently find on Whiskey Bear's Pop Culture Mixtape and character roasts. She likes being able to combine her loves of comedy, cosplay, and nerd crap in her sets. Yes, she is the perfect woman. No, you cannot date her.

IKEA Now Hiring Seasonal Minotaurs

IKEA, the Swedish home goods store best known for its inexpensive furniture,
delightful food court experience, and intricate maze-like serpentine store layout, is looking for young self-starters for an exciting new position, Seasonal Minotaurs!

With large crowds and inviting showrooms tucked away throughout the store like inter-dimensional caverns of no return, employees have complained of the large numbers of guests who continue to wander aimlessly throughout the store’s halls long after close. “I’ve seen many a man lose his mind in the store,” said Michael Fern, an IKEA employee.

“One in particular, I’ll never forget. He came in, excited at the prospect of our new HAVVKLEK TV stand for under $100. It was a hell of a deal, honestly. Anyway, I clocked in about a week later, and noticed he was still here. His eyes were sunken, his facial hair had come in, and he just looked pretty rough. I asked him if he was okay and he just said he was lost and alone. He was separated from his family in kitchen goods and believed them to be dead now. I wrapped a
VINTER fur throw blanket around him and just let him cry on my shoulder. Fucked up, man.”

I decided to interview shoppers to see if they had similar experiences. Carol Underwood was one of them. “I initially came to the store for their grand opening. I was very excited because
previously, the closest IKEA was over 200 miles away. That was 26 years ago. At least in your
time, that is. They won’t tell you this publicly, but time moves differently here. A year outside is
merely days in IKEA time.” So, why doesn't she just leave, we asked? “I was sixty-two years
old when I walked in on that fateful day. I am afraid that if I re-entered the real world, I would
surely die instantly.”

Shocking.

To remedy this problem, the IKEA corporate brass has decided to begin hiring a new seasonal
position for experienced Minotaurs. With the holiday season looming and increased foot traffic
into the seemingly endless hellscape that is the black hole of time and space created by a winding road of end tables, a supernatural human wrangler with a thirst for the blood of man seemed like the right move. “At the end of the day, we can’t have people roaming the halls after hours. It’s a liability and it puts a lot of extra stress on our staff. We are hoping that this decision helps to alleviate some of that,” said Erick Weiss, IKEA Chief Operating Officer.

If you are a horrific abomination wrought from the forbidden love of a human woman and a bull
sent as a gift from the gods, and have at least two years of retail experience, you are encouraged to apply online!

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Dave Burkey's high school class voted him "Most Likely To End Up Writing Short Comedic Blurbs For The Internet" in 2006. It haunts him how specific yet accurate they were. 

Mark Zuckerberg Will Not Stop Trying To Purchase My Son

For the past eight months, in a desperate attempt to counteract his embarrassing public persona as someone who seems to be human, but may also be a robot, Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg has relentlessly private messaged me asking to purchase my two year old son. And by far the strangest part of these interactions is that he has yet to actually offer me anything of real monetary value. In each interaction, he has simply bartered for my son by offering me knowledge of how “The Algorithm” works. He told me that this is “true power, greater than any sum of money.” 

All-encompassing power did sound rather enticing to a nearly thirty, rapidly balding man with a dead-end job like myself, so I decided to dig a little bit deeper. I asked Zuckerberg for a taste. As it would turn out, the unyielding power of the algorithm was real indeed. At the tip of my fingers, I held the ability to fucking BURY annoying Karen from human resources’ event for her red-headed little shit of a son’s 9th birthday party at CiCi’s Pizza. It was intoxicating. But was it worth giving up my first-born child?

I feared that it was not. All of the likes and laugh reactions in the world couldn’t replace what I had. But Zuckerberg would not have it. I contacted the local police and that is when I saw the imposing reach of the Facebook empire’s arm. The local police chief brushed off my claims instantaneously. Zuckerberg must have known I’d take this action and he sponsored the precinct’s slow-pitch softball team. He went all out. Louisville Slugger Super-Z 1000’s for every player on the team AND jerseys with cool nicknames on the back. They were deep in his pocket. 

So now, I come to you, people of the internet. I fear that this post, too, shall be engulfed under a barrage of Wish! app advertisements before it can even see the light of day. But I beg of you, do not let Mark Zuckerberg in. He will persist until he has a child that The Algorithm has deemed worthy. If you answer his call, he will not stop. Zuckerberg can't be bargained with, he can't be reasoned with, he doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear, and he absolutely will not stop. Ever.

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Dave Burkey's high school class voted him "Most Likely To End Up Writing Short Comedic Blurbs For The Internet" in 2006. It haunts him how specific yet accurate they were.