“Good Riddance” by Green Day Suddenly Starts Playing Every Time I See My Uncle Now and I’m Concerned He Might Be Dying

Posted on by Kyle Donley

Look, I’m not really a religious or spiritual person but I’ve been around the block long enough to know that if Green Day’s “Good Riddance” starts playing every time you see your uncle, something is definitely up.

It’s all very strange. The opening strummed chords will start to play, seemingly out of the ether, and without fail my Uncle Scott walks into the room all slow-like. The song will play to completion as he stares meaningfully at various people in the room, offering a series of reluctant, pained smiles during perceived conversation. And if I’m in the room with him for longer than two and a half minutes, the song will simply start over again.

What’s annoying is that no one else seems to hear the song. So I don’t know if that means I’m the chosen one who’s supposed to save my Uncle Scott or what? Is “Good Riddance” a warning or just like, something you have to accept? I asked him if he’s been to the doctor recently and he said “Oh yes.” Am I supposed to ask him more questions about his doctor’s appointment? The “Oh” makes it so cryptic! I honestly don’t have time for any this.

I’ve actually been going out of my way to avoid him. I purposefully blew off my niece’s confirmation party because of this and now I’m in trouble with my sister. This whole thing sucks! Maybe he’s not dying? Could he be like, moving to California to win back some girl? Or graduating high school? None of it makes sense, he has to be dying!

The song is getting louder too. Does that mean he’s running out of time? This shit has been going on for over a year now! How much louder is it going to get? I tried to confront him about all this head-on at my dad’s Corvette unveiling, but I just inadvertently ended up shouting at him about the final episode of Seinfeld. I think he was doing a Kramer impression but I couldn’t hear shit. When the goddamned violin solo cut in it was so loud that I had to run off into the kitchen and eat handfuls of crudité to calm my nerves.

I know this is terrible but it would honestly be a big relief if he just died. Nothing crazy! In his sleep, peaceful. Something unpredictable, but in the end it’s right. Oh god…I think Green Day wants me to kill my uncle.

Propagandhi Struggling to Write New Music After Loss of Henry Kissinger

Posted on by John Danek

WINNIPEG, Manitoba — Canadian political punk rockers Propagandhi admitted that they are struggling to write new songs after the death of their creative muse Henry Kissinger, worried friends reported.

“I try to put pen to paper, yet I can’t write anything because now there is no chance that ol’ Hank will ever hear it,” admitted frontman Chris Hannah, who finally took down a portrait of Kissinger taped to a dartboard in the band’s rehearsal space. “Let me be clear—we don’t like Henry Kissinger. In fact, I hope there is an afterlife only so he can be eternally deafened by the millions of voices he silenced while he was on Earth. Maybe Satan has a good sense of humor and will blast ‘Resisting Tyrannical Government’ in his cell for a few millennia. But my god, it’s been hard to work without him.”

Staff at Propagandhi’s current record label Epitaph Records are hoping that the band can find a new muse before long.

“I’m very sympathetic to Propagandhi’s current bout of writer’s block. Bad Religion haven’t even texted each other since the death of Pat Robertson,” said Brett Gurewitz, co-founder of Bad Religion and owner of Epitaph Records. “But we are really hoping to release something soon, so I’ve been signing up Chris, Todd, Jord, and Sulynn for every conservative political campaign newsletter I can find. I’m sure one of these MAGA chuds will be odious enough for the Prop gang to set their sights on. Personally, I’d love for them to write a concept album about Marjorie Taylor Greene.”

Political science experts attempt to explain the complex relationship between imperialist, reactionary politicians and the leftist punk bands who sing about them.

“The bond between punk artists and fascists is inherently parasitic; the former feeds off the latter like a remora on a manta ray. Politicians provide their rage, substance, and raison d’être,” explained Dr. Renee Loer, Dean of Political Sciences at the University of Winnipeg. “Without this antagonistic relationship, you end up with apathetic bands like the Misfits or self-obsessed navel-gazers along the lines of a Sunny Day Real Estate. Great bands, but they never inspired any action beyond rewatching Night of the Living Dead or brooding in the back of a bus with headphones on.”

As of press time, Hannah contacted a hacker to acquire the Spotify history of Henry Kissinger, and it turns out he was more of an Anti-Flag guy.

Six Songs We’re Listening To This Week Before Congress Outlaws Music

Posted on by Corey Montgomery

Well folks, it’s been another week spent careening wildly into ever-growing uncertainty. If modern news cycles and social media hadn’t made us irreparably numb, we’d probably be pretty depressed right now. While we may not know what the future holds, one thing is certain: there will always be an onslaught of new music to listen to until the government makes it illegal to listen to anything that isn’t Kid Rock. Here are six new tracks to cram in before that happens.

Fishbone ‘Racist Piece of Shit’

It’s been said that in the most dire of times, our weary nation turns to the only form of expression it knows: ska. Thankfully, genre legends Fishbone were ahead of the game when they released their hit new – and sadly topical – single, ‘Racist Piece of Shit.’ Frankly, we just think it’s nice to have a melody to put under the phrase we’ve been muttering under our breaths while reading the news.

Sunny War ‘Walking Contradiction ft. Steve Ignorant’

LA based folk-punk troubadour Sunny War has long and unsurprisingly listed Crass as a profound impact on her work. Therefore, it’s no surprise that her and Steve Ignorant would eventually cross paths in the form of a track. ‘Walking Contradiction’ marks Sunny War’s second single since last year’s excellent ‘Anarchist Gospel,’ and while it bears no resemblance to Green Day’s version, it’s still a delight.

Future Terror ‘Traitor’

Richmond, VA trio Future Terror has been making waves and scaring the shit out of anyone who listens to them since their 2018 debut EP ‘We’re All Fucked.’ Their latest album, ‘Degenerating Shithole,’ proves that they have no plans of dialing that back. Each of the album’s 10 blistering tracks sounds like what we imagine cigarettes taste like. We’re surprised the record doesn’t come with a Surgeon General sticker, so consider this your warning.

Snapcase ‘Summer Holidays Vs. Punkroutine’

In case you missed it, Refused have been celebrating the 25th anniversary of their seminal debut album, ‘The Shape Of Punk To Come.’ The festivities include an insane ‘deconstructed covers’ compilation showcasing reimaginings of the entire record’s tracklist. Most notable of the contributing artists are hardcore legends Snapcase, whose version of ‘Summer Holidays Vs. Punkroutine’ marks their first newly recorded music in two decades.

Drive Your Plow Over The Bones Of The Dead ‘Spirit Incantation’

Want to listen to some real ripshit hardcore but have the attention span of a sesame seed? Look no further than Canada’s Drive Your Plow Over The Bones Of The Dead. Not only will their band name whisk you away to 2003 when you could only guess the damage the internet would do to your brain, their latest album ‘Tragedy As Catharsis’ is a complete mindfuck. Its entire 13 song tracklist clocks in at 18 minutes, making for an easy way to finally say you’ve listened to a full album.

The Jesus Lizard ‘Cost of Living’

When noise-rock veterans The Jesus Lizard released ‘Rack,’ their first album in over 20 years, many were shocked to discover how fresh the band still sounded after so much time away. With such an immediate classic it would be safe to assume they emptied the tank. Apparently not. The band just released a new b-side from the sessions. Even as a throwaway track, ‘Cost of Living’ is more than album-worthy and begs the eternal question: ‘the fuck is going on in the Jesus Lizard camp?’

Did you know we’ve compiled these and several other songs into a convenient and disorienting playlist? Did you also know we update it every week so you never even have to try to look for new songs yourself? It’s because we love you that much, even though you’ll never appreciate it enough. Click here to listen, follow, and share. If we get enough likes, we might even consider adding good music to it!

Sad! This Guy Had to Leave His Band After Being Promoted to Shift Manager

Posted on by Ben Friedman

It’s never easy watching someone fall from grace while still in their prime, and even worse when you have to watch them squander their talent. It’s a safe bet that there are many great musicians out there who are unable to flourish, thanks to a society that requires its citizens to become cogs in the capitalist machine. And nothing illustrates this better than trying to balance making it in a band and holding down a job at the same time.

A prime example is local guitarist Liam Oliver, who had to leave his band Death Spiral after getting promoted to shift manager at Kohl’s.

“I just needed an easy, low-stakes job that required little effort and zero experience, so stocking shelves at Kohl’s seemed like a good fit. All I really needed was money for distortion pedals and gas for the van until the band took off, since we were getting some looks from a few labels. Then it happened: I became the store’s first employee to make it past 90 days all year, and they promoted me to shift manager. I knew showing up for all my shifts was going to bite me in the ass. ”

This is what happens when you don’t invest in the arts! We need more noise-punk bands and fewer retail chain supervisors, dammit. We doubt Liam wanted to grow up to write employee schedules and explain price match policies to belligerent boomers, but now he’s another victim of a system that doesn’t let people pursue their talents.

“I mean it’s nice that I can now afford to eat something other than ramen three times a day, but sometimes I wonder if it’s even worth it. Last Thursday I was auditing inventory, and I got a text from the band group chat of the guys hanging out with Fat Mike at an abandoned warehouse show. I literally fell to my knees in the midst of the khakis and wondered what my life could’ve been like if I just sold my kidney instead.”

None of his coworkers will ever know that he once opened for Mannequin Pussy or that he could play “Master of Puppets” by the age nine. Instead, he’s explaining to new hires that they can’t take more than 30 minutes for their lunches or they’ll be written up. Alas, another one for the 27 club. What a waste.

Bartender Exhausted From Long Day of Ignoring Patrons

Posted on by Ben Friedman

MINNEAPOLIS — Local bartender Scott Wilson informed his coworkers he’d be taking an indefinite smoke break as he’d reached the point of exhaustion from ignoring patrons all day, witnesses have confirmed.

“People think I have it easy, that I just pour drinks and make small talk all day. But industry folks know that’s only like 2% of the job, the other 98% is avoiding eye contact with customers while curating a new playlist for the bar. And in that regard, today has been nonstop action. If I have to turn my back to another person asking for the check, I’m going to collapse,” said Wilson. “I’ve heard some customers griping, but I’d like to see them do my job and not prioritize making TikTok sketches over pouring beers. Unless they’re a hot goth baddie, they can wait 20 minutes between drinks.”

Barback Kevin Garrett noticed how Wilson possessed such a low drive to do literally anything.

“When I first started I thought this was one of those themed establishments where they treat you like crap on purpose, so I was still laboring under the delusion that I’d work my way up to bartender by busting my ass. Scott is proof that acting aloof and openly talking shit with coworkers is how you make it in this industry,” said Garrett. “If this job has taught me anything, it’s that meritocracy is bullshit and you can get away with doing less than bare minimum if you’re hooking up the general manager with adderall. If he asks me to change the channel on the TV while he swipes through Hinge again, I’m stealing his tips.”

The bar’s owner has noticed a cultural shift with his newer employee across all the establishments that he oversees.

“I have no idea where the hell all these lethargic hipster bartenders are coming from! They do realize it’s possible to socialize and work at the same time, right? Scott is like the sixth or seventh employee I’ve received complaints about being brushed off. And these are the same employees putting in copious amounts of mental health day requests,” said Earl Dawson. “For what it’s worth, the whole ‘look in every direction but me’ vibe is successful in the trendier urban settings. Something about being negged gets people in the door.”

After his break, Wilson announced he’d be leaving his coworkers to deal with the happy hour rush after seeing two people sitting at the bar.

Take It From Me: Removing Two Ribs Doesn’t Work

Posted on by Ryan Danley

Alright, let’s get right to it. You know the rumor we’ve heard since the playgrounds at catholic school— I call it the ‘Marilyn Manson.” “If you remove some ribs, you can… suck your own dick.” And like any determined dude looking to transcend reality’s limitations, I thought:’ Let’s do this!’ Well, after a questionable surgery, some dicey recovery time, and a heavy dose of regret, I’m here to say: it doesn’t work. At all. Not even fucking close dude.

Yes, I was committed — maybe a bit too much. You could call it a quest for self-reliance or maybe a misguided attempt at personal convenience. I mean, we live in an age where meal kits show up at your door and drones deliver snacks; why not try for a similar arrangement in sucking your own dick? So I found a “Dr. Nick” in a local mini-mall. He didn’t ask many questions, just took my money and handed me a waiver that looked like it had been edited with a Sharpie and held together with scotch tape. I signed without a second thought—what’s a couple of ribs for a life-changing opportunity?

After surgery, I was ready to try my newfound “freedom.” But then came the problem: bending forward wasn’t as easy or comfortable as I’d imagined. It hurt—a lot. Turns out, ribs aren’t just there to keep your organs from sloshing around like an unattended Jell-O salad; they actually provide important structural support. Without two of them, I found myself struggling just to sit upright, let alone contort into some mythical self-sufficiency dick-sucking stance. Instead of acrobatic flexibility, I got intense back pain, a newfound understanding of my skeleton’s role in keeping me upright, and something I can only describe as “severe lung pain.”

I tried everything — stretching, yoga, even an acrobatics class. But I could barely manage to bend over without looking like I was in a body horror film. Meanwhile, my organs staged a silent rebellion, sighing dramatically every time I tried to take a deep breath. Eventually, I consulted a “real” doctor, who gave me a sympathetic look and said, “Did you not know that ribs are there for a reason?” Turns out, my previous doctor had skipped that part, too focused on how “liberated” I’d feel.

And that brings us to the painful lesson: leave your ribs where they are. Keep those bones and thank your body for the work it does keeping you from folding in half like a beach chair. If you’re thinking of surgery to gain some mythical “advantage,” I assure you, the cost isn’t worth it—mainly because there is no reward. Let’s leave rib removal to the shock rockers. I’ll be over here, a humbled guy with two fewer ribs, learning to love my semi-functional body just the way it is. Goddammit.

Guitarist Has Recurring Nightmare That Crowd Can Actually Hear Bassist

Posted on by Carson Kile

PHILADELPHIA — Local guitarist Diego Luna of the punk outfit The Nutchests reported suffering from a recurring nightmare where the crowd can actually hear their bassist’s performance, horrified sources report.

“Normally, I can sleep soundly knowing that those bass notes are buried in a mix,” said a half awake Luna, as he mixed Red Bull into his coffee. “But ever since he said his favorite musician was Sid Vicious, I’ve had these terrible dreams that people can actually hear the cacophony he’s making. Every time I close my eyes for the sweet release of sleep, I’m disturbed by visions of my bassist forgetting he’s tuned to drop D on a song we wrote in standard, but continuing to play it like normal anyways. The dreams have only gotten worse since he bought a five-string. We don’t have any songs where that is even necessary, so it’s just more wrong notes for him to play. I might just start handing him an unplugged bass and saying we finally got our wireless setup to work.”

The Nutchests’ bassist Adam Cyril expressed concern for Luna’s frantic mental state.

“I really hate to see Diego like this, I can tell the pressure has gone to his head,” remarked Cyril, completely oblivious to the low, rumbling feedback coming from his amp. “He’s so paranoid that I might accidentally produce sound that he’s turned every knob in a 10-mile radius down to zero, on the off chance they might control volume. I want to text him and tell him everything will be okay, but I haven’t been able to use my phone since he chopped off all my fingers. I was glad to hear he’s been feeling much more at ease since he started re-recording my parts on our demo tape. It’s nice to see him practicing self-care.”

Luna’s therapist Dr. Will Henson commented on the disturbing content of his client’s dreams.

“I just can’t take it anymore,” cried Dr. Henson, as he rocked back and forth in a fetal position. “I’ve had to cancel all of Diego’s future appointments because I can’t bear to hear the horrible details of his dreams again. The way he describes his bassist nodding to the beat of a song and still playing audibly off-tempo makes me sick to my stomach. It’s the most hopeless case I’ve heard in my 23 years as a therapist, and I’ve seriously had to consider a career change these past few months. If you or someone you love is at risk of becoming a bassist, my advice is to replace it with a safer, healthier alternative, like alcohol.”

At press time, The Nutchests’ drummer checked himself into a mental hospital after hearing the parts his bandmates had written for him.

Opinion: It’s Time To Reconcile With the Fact That Being “brat” Isn’t Enough for America

Posted on by Tyler Roland

As America found out on November 5th, it took more than being “brat” to win the election. Charli XCX, the Mother of all Mothers, endorsed Kamala when she replaced Biden, yet the hottest pop girlie of 2024 couldn’t keep Trump from taking back the White House.

Never mind that it should be the brat Green House now, and have a spot for Boiler Room sets in the West Wing. We need to learn from the past to see what the left needs to get right in 2028.

This was no “Pokémon Go to the Polls,” folks. Kamala and Charli were destined for greatness. When Kamala burst onto the scene with that whole “coconut tree” thing, and Charli made waves with the song “girl, so confusing,” the pair seemed meant to be.

If only Bushwick got 100 electoral votes. If only Kamala’s campaign centered around legalizing poppers. She had the perfect chance to attack Trump not as a fascist, but as “very mindful, very demure,” and run with brat all the way to November. Lean the fuck into it! I mean, look at Trump with Grimes’ ex!

Sadly, playing these “what-if” games is futile now. You want to know how badly she fucked up? All the MAGA movement needed from the world of music was Kid Rock and that guy who used to fuck you up in high school that scream-raps into his phone over a $5.99 beat. Those endorsements pushed them while the DNC was trying to get Biden on a remix of “club classics” so he could support his VP with grace and dignity from afar.

Since Trump won with has-beens and, let’s face it, brat Summer will be forgotten the way Barbenheimer is now by next year, let’s have the Dems try the same trick in 2028. Have the campaign ads say that brat’s lime-ass green is the new blue—and I guarantee that the right will have met their Charli-stanning match.

Local Man Confidently Claims He Invented Putting Chips in Sandwich

Posted on by Alex Vlahov

HAYWARD, Calif. — Local man Nathaniel Poppavich is hell-bent on claiming his “rightful place in history” as the inventor of placing potato chips inside of sandwiches, skeptical sources report.

“It’s like someone else getting credit for your masterpiece,” shared an angered Poppavich, crunching up a bag of barbecue chips before sprinkling the contents on an Italian sub. “I remember the moment clearly. It was 2010: I was so hungover and wanted to house all of this food at once, just slam it into my face-hole. I saw the sandwich, I saw the chips, the rest is history. But did the acknowledgment ever come? Nope. I coulda been a celebrity chef or something. I knew I was destined to be ripped off, just like my dad who invented freestyle rap in the ‘80s, or my grandpa who invented sangria. What a sad world.”

A-1 Deli owner Bozo Anastopoulos wishes Nathaniel would back away from the claim.

“He is a nuisance, the chip man,” claimed Anastopoulos while eyeing teenagers in the back aisle of his deli. “He comes in here, he leans on the counter all day, he crunches the chips and puts them in his sandwich, he makes a mess–also, he brings in the sandwich from Togo’s, not ordering here! So rude, so disrespectful. He autographs printer-paper headshots as ‘Chips in Sandwich Guy,’ smearing the handouts with greasy oil fingers. He can tell those lies, but not inside here. A-1 Deli is a temple of honesty, which is why yesterday’s egg salad is half off.”

However, historian Laurel P. Judson presents sources that challenge Nathaniel’s claim.

“The origins of the ‘crisp sandwich’ can be traced back to an article from the early 1950s,” countered Judson from her office in the Memphis Sandwich Institute. “There are actually stories of Prague circus strongmen stuffing fried potato rinds between bread-crusts as sustenance during famine. In fact, Jimmy Carter was particularly fond of the practice, perhaps the most interesting fact about him. I understand Poppavich’s yearning for immortality–who doesn’t want to be remembered beyond this skin husk? Hell, I’ve been trying to publish my edible sandwich book for years now. I’ve tried explaining this, but instead he just crinkles chips over the phone.”

At press time, Poppavich is claiming to have invented the concept of ‘Hot Ones’ when daring his college roommates to try ghost pepper hot sauce.

Nice: This Punk Is Down to Bumming Half a Pack a Day

Posted on by Dom Turek

You don’t need nicotine patches, Allen Carr audiobooks, or pricy hypnosis sessions to quit smoking. Contrary to the advice of addiction specialists, you can usually cut back with some good old-fashioned willpower, and by having all your friends tell you to, “Grow up and buy your own goddamn pack if you want a cigarette so fucking bad.”

When you’re young, hot, and charismatic, you can bum almost anything. Drugs, alcohol, jobs, sex, and especially cigarettes were all just one “Hey man, mind if I get in on that?” away, but time has a way of catching up with you. One day you find yourself as a 38-year-old man invited to a BYOB party where you’re actually expected to bring your own beer. The second I got my first gray hair, it seemed like even the gas stations in town made a pact to stop selling me loose cigarettes because suddenly it was “against federal law.”

If only people could see that I’m still a hot, financially irresponsible 16-year-old trapped in a rapidly aging body, they’d have more sympathy for me. It’s hard remaining young at heart when everyone around you grows bitter and cynical. It’s as if saying, “C’mon man, I’d give you a cigarette if I had one,” is no longer an effective bartering tactic. I mean, if my best friends don’t care that in a hypothetical world where I have a hypothetical pack of cigarettes and would hypothetically give them one, I have to seriously reconsider the type of greedmongers I hang out with.

Fortunately, It’s not all bad news. Being involuntarily forced to cut back doesn’t come without its benefits. My tattoo infections are healing at twice their usual speed, and now that coffee and discarded pizza crusts no longer satiate me, I’ve finally made it into a healthy BMI bracket. Even the skin on my fingertips is returning to what I can only assume is its natural color.

Whenever my cravings get extra strong, I find that positive affirmations like, “I am stronger than my cravings,” or “Health over addiction” are helpful mantras, but if that fails, having everyone tell you to, “Fuck off and get a job” is also effective. At the rate people are denying me access to free drugs, smokes, alcohol, and sex, I should be completely sober and abstinent by next year.