New Uber Feature Matches Intoxicated Riders With Intoxicated Drivers

Posted on by Mark Shady

SAN FRANCISCO — Popular rideshare app Uber announced a new feature that would match intoxicated riders with intoxicated drivers, confirmed sources who were already five beers deep.

“Our research has shown that what people truly want from a ridesharing app is a drinking buddy,” began market analyst Lauren Campos. “One of the things we need to offer our riders is a true kinship with their driver. However, we found that sober people cannot stand being around drunks, so we’ve created an alcohol-first vehicular environment where another person is already on your level of inebriation and that person is only breaking a few minor traffic laws. Our services are already constantly adapting to market trends. But what if, at the same time, we could spark a lasting, lifelong friendship between two people whose only thing in common is mild alcoholism? Well, that’s cause enough to celebrate with a few shots.”

Uber also announced a “Buzzed, But Good to Drive” option for clients who are thinking about safety first.

“Shit, if they can almost kind of operate machinery, that’s good enough for me!” exclaimed Ash Ahrens, currently on his fourth jack and coke out at The Foxy Dodger Bar and Grille. “I’m down to keep the party going with my frickin’ driver all the way to my apartment. Hopefully they’ll want to get a little Fiona Apple karaoke going in the car. Or, if they’re feeling mellow we can just talk about the 1998 World Series. And if they’ve got a cooler in the car, you can just chalk that up as a five-star ride, baby!”

Some drivers, like Tiffany Taylor, on her way to pick up Ahrens, were feeling positive about the new features, but having a hard time keeping up.

“I’ve already had my license suspended three times, but it’s worth it for the tips,” said Taylor. “Sure, Uber makes us use a breathalyzer before starting a shift. If we are over the legal limit of 0.08% then we’re good to pick up strangers. Last I checked though I was only at 0.05%. I really gotta step it up if I want to make some cash tonight. A half a bottle of New Amsterdam should do it.”

At press time, Ahrens was seen stumbling up to his front porch while still looking for his driver while Taylor was passed out in a random parking space two towns over, waiting for Ahrens.

“Moby-Dick” Book Report Clearly Written by Kid Who Just Listened to Mastodon

Posted on by Steve Packosky

BUHL, Idaho — A book report on epic 1851 novel “Moby-Dick” by 10th grader Nick Henderson had clearly been written after having only listened to metal band Mastodon’s 2004 album “Leviathan,” exasperated sources report.

“Ugh, I’ve seen this every year for the past two decades,” Henderson’s English teacher Jennifer Certo complained. “My students must take me for a complete idiot if they think they can get away with listening to a metal album in lieu of reading one of the most revered novels in history. I encouraged my students to see this story as a metaphor for the search for meaning in a world that surrounds us with illusion and deception. Nick just described an altercation with the whale based on lyrics to the song ‘Iron Tusk.’ Honestly, I’d be less insulted if he just used AI to write the goddamn thing.”

Henderson seemed to think he got away with his attempted deception.

“Ms. Certo is insane if she thinks I’m going to read a 700 page book,” Henderson snorted. “She honestly thinks anything can hold our attention for that long? I barely made it through reading those Mastodon lyrics. I fucking killed it in that book report, though, because I was able to gather from ‘Leviathan’ that the book is about hunting a whale. I even used the phrase ‘white whale, holy grail’ which she must think is super clever. I didn’t think Joseph Merrick was in ‘Moby-Dick,’ but that’s the name of one of the songs on the album, so I made sure to mention him as well.”

Mastodon drummer and lyricist Brann Dailor was disappointed to hear of Henderson’s failure.

“Oh man, listening to ‘Leviathan’ wasn’t enough to write a ‘Moby-Dick’ book report?” Dailor wondered. “That sucks. Reading ‘Moby-Dick’ was the most boring part of 10th grade English class for me, so I couldn’t wait to provide kids an out on having to slog through it. Writing a concept album about it was my primary motivation for becoming a musician and starting Mastodon in the first place. Now that I know that album is not fulfilling its intended purpose, I feel like I need to reevaluate my life. Maybe I’ll quit music and become an accountant or something.”

At press time, Ms. Certo came across a book report for “Brave New World” written by a kid who had clearly just listened to Iron Maiden.

SpaceX Engineer Explodes at Desk

Posted on by Tim Graham

HAWTHORNE, Calif. — A mechanical engineer at SpaceX spontaneously exploded while quietly working on a CAD drawing, according to blood-spattered sources.

“The noise and spray of blood startled me a bit, but you get used to things blowing up when you’ve been here long enough,” said coworker Eileen Fletcher over several loud bangs in the background. “When I first started, my colleagues warned me that things around SpaceX have a tendency to just blow apart. Sure enough, in the first week, my stapler exploded. Then the coffee maker in our break room blew up. And then there are the rockets, of course—everyone’s used to seeing those go up in flames. This was the first time I’ve seen an actual person explode, but I guess it’s just par for the course around here. Now I barely even flinch.”

SpaceX custodian engineer Hal Roder said that all the detritus from explosions translates to job security for him.

“A lot of tech people are worried about being laid off,” said Roder as he wiped mayonnaise from the cafeteria ceiling. “But I’m not concerned one bit. All the wreckage that needs clearing up around here makes me one of the most valuable employees. In fact, they let me hire a few more janitors to expand my team. We’re working overtime trying to keep up with all the broken glass, charred furniture and even splattered biological matter here at SpaceX. And I’m not worried about AI taking my job. Until a robot is able to clean human giblets out of a server rack, my job is safe.”

Most businesses with a chronic explosion problem would not survive, but somehow SpaceX manages to prosper.

“The secret to SpaceX’s success in the face of failure is their many lucrative government contracts,” explained business consultant Gary Hogg. “Name me one other successful company whose products consistently self-immolate. Go ahead, I’ll wait. That’s right, other companies would fold if they were plagued by frequent explosions. But despite it all, SpaceX continues to grow. Meanwhile, NASA is hauled before congress when one of their shuttles blows up every few decades. It just goes to show how far some smooth-talking bullshitters and backroom deals can get you.”

At press time, SpaceX’s custodial division was observed cleaning up the aftermath of the latest rocket explosion with a massive hydraulic broom and dustpan.

“The Horror at Camp Jellyjam” Really Happened to Me – Guest Post by R.L. Stine

Posted on by Dan Rice

You all know me, you know how I make a living. For decades, I’ve spooked young and old alike with my charmingly macabre tales of terror. People ask me all the time, “R.L. Stine, how do you come up with all this twisted-ass shit?” to which I usually say, “I’m just one sick fucking puppy.” Let’s face it — slime gerbils, living dummies, saying cheese or dying — you gotta be pretty loco in the fucking cerbesa to imagine all that shit. Cocaine helps, but I can’t give high-grade Colombian marching powder all the credit. If being a psycho motherfucker word-pervert is a crime, your boy is guilty as charged. One of my tales, however, is so dark, so deranged, so utterly batshit insane, even my depraved psyche couldn’t have come up with it.

Confession time — “The Horror at Camp Jellyjam” is a 100% for real fucking thing that, I shit you not, actually happened to me. God help me, I lived it.

Now that I think about it, maybe that’s why I’m such a fucked up basket case to begin with. “Monster Blood,” “The Haunted Mask,” “One Day at Horrorland,” hell, every sicko snuff-story I’ve ever written, they’ve all been my attempt to unpack and reconcile with the very real horror I very really experienced at the very real Camp Jellyjam when I was a boy. I guess it was only a matter of time before I got to getting that real-deal shit down on paper.

I don’t know what got into me at the time — I didn’t set out to do it. When I sat down at my computer that morning, I had no goal outside of cranking out another schlocky gore-porn to make the sicko Schoolastic kids fork over their milk money for another cheap thrill. Maybe someone slipped something in my breakfast Wild Turkey 101. Maybe I shouldn’t have bought my crank from that rando at Deny’s after my regular guy got shot. Or maybe, just maybe, part of me was tired of running.

I needed an inciting incident — kid moves to a new town, school gets a weird new principal, whatever the fuck, you’ve read Goosebumps — and this time the little voice inside me said “Why not use that time your parents moved you and your sister in a Uhaul trailer and the trailer got unhitched and you wound up marooned at that spooky Camp Jellyjam place? You know, with the weird culty competitions and the giant jelly-monster enslaving and eating people?” So I did.

I had every intention of pivoting back into one of my sick-fuck-make-em-ups — vampires, mummies, killer snowmen, whatever gets you off, Jack — but to my astonishment, the truth just kept pouring out. Next thing I knew, my fingers stopped hitting the keys, and it was all there. The sinister counselor Buddy. The King Coins. The giant purple blob monster I, for real, watched eat dozens of children. Before I knew it, the greatest trauma of my life was on bookshelves around the world, available to any 12-year-old pervert with $4.50 burning a hole in their pocket.

I didn’t change the names or anything. If it weren’t for the fact that everyone involved in the story besides me is either dead or in prison, I probably would have been sued to death.

What did I get for sharing my pain with the world? Closure? Catharsis? Absolution? Fuck. No. I was still the same sick fuck shell of a man I always was. The pills, the whores, the near-death brushes with auto-erotic asphyxiation, none of that shit went away, hell I doubled down. Worse of all, if you’ll notice, I kept writing Goosebumps.

Maybe that’s why I’m finally coming clean about what I experienced at Camp Jellyjam. Maybe I’m still just that scared little kid trying to put it all behind me, and maybe now the nightmares will finally stop. Yeah… and maybe priests make great babysitters. I’m at the point where any day without a needle in my arm is a good day. I gotta tell ya, I don’t think today is gonna be a good day.

Shitty Cloud Doesn’t Even Look Like an Animal or Nothing

Posted on by Ben Sobieck

MINNEAPOLIS — The appearance of an unremarkable cloud in the sky enraged pedestrians in Uptown, prompting a police response in a part of the city known for its music venues, sources confirmed.

“I was in line for a Roadkill Sushi show outside the Apocalypse Room this morning, since the city is condemning it in the afternoon. I accidentally looked up at the sky—I usually try not to—and there it was: the shittiest cloud I’ve ever seen in my life. Just a fuckin’ prolapse of meteorology. It didn’t even try to look like an animal or nothing—not even the easy ones like a worm or a dino nugget. It was the only cloud in the sky, so anyone who wanted a cloud to look at had to look at this one. I was so mad, I punched a guy. He pulled a gun, but then I showed him the cloud, and he said he understood,” said Leo Chmura, who has 22 years of amateur cloud observation experience. “I ate the caps I brought for the show, thinking they’d make the cloud more interesting to look at. Nope. Next thing I know, I think I’m in the pit with Roadkill Sushi, but I’m still on the street and there’s puddles of hair and blood and teeth everywhere. People went cloud crazy!”

The cloud also attracted attention from observers in the sky.

“I dropped the airplane 10,000 feet to get a better look at this thing,” said Ellie Lag, captain of a commercial airliner. “I thought to myself, ‘This has to be a UFO. No cloud is that shitty.’ I’ve seen millions of clouds, many of them beautiful. Not this one. If I hadn’t spent all my weather-modifying spray on that last hurricane, I would’ve chemtrailed a tornado to rip up that cloud as a ‘fuck you.’ It deserved it. I expect this sort of behavior in a nimbostratus cloud, but not a cumulus.”

Dr. Autumn Jesien, a climatologist for the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA), confirmed the shitty cloud printed on radar.

“Unfortunately, climate change is accelerating the shittification of clouds. Pleasing shapes like eagles, faces, religious symbols, and the Phillie Phanatic are nearly extinct,” Dr. Jesien said. “However, elephant clouds should return to that part of Minneapolis after the Apocalypse Room shuts down. The ozone layer can finally heal the hole in it caused by all the cigarette smoke.”

As of press time, the cloud successfully morphed into Glenn Danzig and left the area.

Misogynist Who Can’t Get a Second Date Starting to Wonder if Maybe It’s Him, in Addition to the Liberal Media

Posted on by RJ Atkinson

EASTON, Md. — Local misogynist Bryce Turner is starting to suspect that he, in addition to MSNBC, are to blame for his inability to convince a woman to be in his presence for even a second longer than absolutely necessary despite dozens of first dates, confirmed sources.

“I used to think it was just Rachel Maddow, and the rest of the liberal propaganda machine,” quipped Turner. “But then I realized it was maybe 10% my fault, and that I had just been projecting too much dominant energy during my dates. Look, it’s no secret females are intimidated by alpha males such as myself. I mean, showing her my Pantera fan fiction Substack, AND pictures of my guns within the first 15 minutes of meeting her must have been pretty intense. Plus she didn’t laugh at any of my jokes that I mainly took from Joe Rogan’s standup special. I should probably dumb them down, so the next one understands them. All in all, I’m proud of myself, though. It takes a strong man to look at himself in the mirror. I bet Anderson Cooper has never done that.”

One of Turner’s dates couldn’t be more turned off by him.

“He kept mentioning how much he hated CNN, and that I was one of the good ones,” said Courtney Landis. “In his Tinder profile, he said he wanted to be my knight in shining armor, which I thought was kind of cute, in an old fashioned way. But then he showed up wearing chainmail and carrying a broadsword. At first I was like ‘OK he’s eccentric. I can work with this.’ But then he rambled for over an hour about the Crusades, and how awesome it was that women weren’t allowed to go on them.”

Turner is not without hope, however.

“I’ve worked with men like Bryce before, and his path to rehabilitation is exceedingly narrow,” said relationship coach, Sarah GIlbert. “The only thing I can do for men as far gone as him is recommend a large dose of psychedelics. I’ve been helping men make personality adjustments for years, but for men like Bryce, the only hope he has is to experience ego death from a heroic dose of LSD or Ketamine. This will literally shatter his ego, and completely reshape his personality. A complete factory reset if you will.

At press time, Turner finally scored what he considers a second date, by following an earlier date to their favorite coffee shop and covertly reading Ayn Rand in the corner.

What the Fuck? “Big Score” in Heist Movie From 1990 Is $29,000

Posted on by Kyle Donley

If you’re anything like me, you like to end a nice long day of crushing it at your dead-end job by perusing Tubi for movies that you remember seeing the covers of at Blockbuster when you were a kid. The idea is, if you manage to see them all one day, you’ll finally fill that deep, dark void inside of you.

So yeah, I decided to watch this one with Billy Zane, you know the one where the cover is him running all cool with a metallic briefcase in his hand and there’s a sniper’s target on him? Opens with a really gratuitous, sepia-toned sex scene with an actress who looks like the big sister in Troll 2, but it’s not on her IMDB, so who knows? We’re talking full frontal by the time we get to the First Assistant Director credit (Tanner Skinmintz if you were curious). You know that one?

Right, so everything was going according to plan in regards to my catatonic enjoyment of the proceedings, the small bombardment of texts from my mom reminding me that I still owed her $2,700 notwithstanding. But by the time we reached the end of the first act, it’s revealed that this one last job at the Monte Carlo International Banking Institute was only going to net $29,000. And while I initially found that funny, it’s actually very distracting now.

Listen, I’m aware that inflation is a thing, but why is everyone in the film referring to $29,000 as a life-changing amount of money? There’s no way Billy Zane’s going to be able to retire, move to Panama, and start a banana farm as he post-coitally suggests to Jennifer Jason-Leigh in a hammock. Also, there are 5 of them! That’s like, $5,800 per person. Holy shit, Ernie Hudson just shot someone in the head for $5,800! These guys are literally risking their lives for 3 months’ worth of rent.

I can’t tell if this movie is just poorly written or if our economy is just that irreparably fucked. Like, now I’m looking up inflation rates on my phone which is not at all the vibe I was trying to cultivate here. It’s not like this movie is that old; it’s only been… 35 years? Fuck that’s old! Fuck, I’m old!

I just paid $81 for GrubHub, and I’m the poorest person I know. How could our economy let this happen? I should be running the goddamn banana farm! Do you realize how powerful I could be if I lived inside this movie? I could have Ernie Hudson kill my mom for the amount of money she’s asking me to pay for barely crashing her car. Reality is such bullshit.

“That Kind of Music Sounds All The Same,” Says Fucking Genius Friend Who Figured Out How Genres Work

Posted on by Stephen Bell

UPPER ARLINGTON, Ohio — Local fucking genius music critic Sam Buchman recently made very poignant critiques of all of their friends music tastes after pointing out how music within a certain genre tends to sound the same, according to peers thoroughly impressed by his ineffable insight.

“My friends as much as I love them really are philistines when it comes to understanding music,” said Buchman while carrying around a Neutral Milk Hotel record as a fashion accessory. “Everything they listen to sounds the same. Like they don’t even seem to notice that the ska music they listen to is completely dependent on guitar upstrokes and a horn section, or that reggae uses so many goddamned steel drums. I mean could it be any more contrived or dare I say derivative?”

Friends were nearly dumbfounded by Buchman’s ability to point out these musical consistencies.

“The way he was able to really break down my favorite songs by simply telling me they sucked because they sounded somewhat similar sure was something,” said friend Kaitlyn Niner. “He definitely knows what the word contrived means and doesn’t simply say it because he heard someone smarter than him say it first to describe a piece of music. It’s certainly not the case that he doesn’t even care for music but more so that he gets off on criticizing the things other people like. He’s so erudite and precise in his criticisms that certainly he deserves a fucking award or some shit.”

The Grammy awards were apparently in agreement as they announced they were going to nominate him as part of the newly created “Best Music Critic” category.

“Never have we heard of a more witty or acerbic music critic than young Mr. Buchman here,” said Grammy spokesperson Niki Patel. “His powerful vision into how shitty and repetitive so many different kinds of music are make us really think about how wrong we were to like something that hit consistent beats. It’s like how anyone who likes chocolate is wrong for pretending that chocolate is anything but a one note food without any variety because it’s all chocolate in the end. Which is why he deserves this award.”

At press time, Buchman could be seen getting into the film critic space after pointing out how many movies have similar plot structures.

Woman’s Morning Positive Affirmations Replaced with Fiona Apple’s 1997 VMAs “This World is Bullshit” Speech

Posted on by Laurie Bolewitz

NEW YORK CITY — Local woman Ashleigh Deacon officially replaced her morning positive affirmations with the entirety of Fiona Apple’s 1997 MTV Video Music Awards “this world is bullshit” speech, confirmed sources.

“I used to buy into the whole ‘manifest abundance’ thing and would start every morning with an organic smoothie and a cold splash of water while saying inspirational quotes and motivational phrases into my bathroom mirror,” the 38-year-old administrative project manager said. “It was this ‘fake it ’til you make it’ thing. I was trying to feel like a winner, someone who could conquer anything this world threw at me. But after rewatching the 1997 VMAs as I do once a month, I was inspired by Fiona’s speech. This world is bullshit, and it’s not worth conquering. So I repeat it every morning in the mirror, during traffic, and when trying to make small talk with colleagues at work until it finally sinks in.”

Neighbors have noticed a marked change in Deacon’s demeanor, and are grateful for the change of tone.

“Honestly, it’s been a nice change of pace, we share a bathroom wall and I can hear her every goddamn morning. You could tell she was on the verge of a breakdown,” said Cassandra Bolvin, Deacon’s long-time next door neighbor. “Occasionally, she’d half-ass mumble a brilliant Maya Angelou quote, and it seemed borderline disrespectful. What’s fascinating is it turns out that Apple also referenced the brilliant words of Maya Angelou in the infamous ’97 speech specifically. I think in order to tap into her own power and understand anyone’s work on a deeper level, Ashleigh just really needed to rediscover that this world is poppycock.”

Scientists have confirmed that vocally admitting reality is bullshit to yourself can help a person come to terms with the absurdity of human consciousness.

“Our brains develop neurological pathways at a very early age, creating survival techniques and coping mechanisms that may no longer serve us as adults,” said Dr. Phoenix Bailey of NYU’s Center for Neurological Study. “This individual was clearly attempting to rewire her own brain with positive affirmations, which only reinforced the self-abnegating tendencies that she learned in her childhood. Instead, she is now creating healthier, stronger neural pathways that better map the extreme reality that this world is nonsense. Though I must say, the section in which Ashleigh thanks music producer Andrew Slater every morning feels off.”

At press time, Deacon stated that she’s fully absorbed the information that “this world is bullshit” and plans to quote Apple’s sophomore album title “When the Pawn…”

Whoops: We Sat Down With Jason Voorhees Because We Thought He Was a Member of Slipknot

Posted on by Steve Packosky

Oh man, we really need to do more research before we set up our interviews. To be fair, we are not huge nu-metalheads, but that’s really no excuse. It only would have taken the most rudimentary amount of research to learn that Slipknot does not have any large, machete-wielding percussionists who wear hockey masks, so truly, we’re sorry about this. We just went full-speed ahead because we were so focused on all the clicks we’d be getting, and we weren’t thinking clearly. Again, our bad. Anyway, here’s a recap of our completely misguided attempt to interview Jason Voorhees.

We should have known something was up when the only way we were able to get him to sit down was by putting on an old, beige sweater and pretending to scold him like his mother did. Nevertheless, once he was seated across from us, we proceeded to ask him about his experience recording “Iowa,” only to be met with complete silence and a slowly rising machete. Suffice it to say, the interview came to a fairly abrupt halt when Jason stood up and started trying to decapitate us.

You could imagine our confusion as we were running for our lives from what we still assumed was a member of a prominent nu-metal band. It was only after we stumbled into that isolated shed in the woods and came across the corpse of our intern Dustin hanging upside-down from the ceiling that we realized this was not a Slipknot member thirsting for our blood. Apparently Dustin had been smoking grass in the woods during pre-marital sex again. We made a mental note to send his parents a bereavement basket and hid in a batch of what we later learned was poison sumac until Jason presumably got sick of us and gave up.

So yeah, we’re alive, thankfully, but that’s pretty small consolation when you’re completely covered in maddeningly itchy, blistering rashes. The worst part is, our editor is still expecting a full transcript of our Slipknot interview on his desk by next week. We’re hoping to overshadow our fuckup by crushing our next interview, but we’re absolutely going to have to double-check our appointment with that guy who recently escaped from an insane asylum where he had been kept since he killed his sister and her boyfriend when he was six, because he might not in fact be the bassist for Mudvayne.