NEW HAVEN, Conn. — Your good friend of 17 years Bryce Evans once again proved that his immense wealth and family connections leave him unable to empathize with most real-world situations you face, confirmed multiple sources.
“I was trying to explain why I can’t go out every weekend. I mean, I’m a 32-year-old barista with a bachelor’s degree and $72,000 in student loan debt and no health insurance. Bryce looked me right in the eye and said ‘I know exactly how you feel’ just before he punched a hole in the wall because his family decided to go to Cozumél instead of Mallorca. We are not the same,” you commented, recalling that conversation from last week. “I had explained to him that if I kept spending money like that, I’d end up living in my car, which is a piece of shit, by the way. And then he talked about how he bought one of those Rivian trucks and how he thinks the cupholders are a weird size so he hates driving it.”
When asked to comment, Evans was confident that he could relate to your current financial issues.
“I really don’t know why they’re so upset, I mean, I get it you know, I lived in a car before; for our gap year, my boy Tucker and I rented this sprinter van and just like, hit the road. It was sick,” Evans said, reminiscing. “Me and Tucks once maxed out dad’s Amex at Mohegan Sun-–if they hadn’t already comped the room, we could have been on the street for like 32 hours—so I’ve struggled with money, too.”
Dr. Greg Aukerman, a former economics professor for the pair, provided some insight into the matter.
“I’ve been sitting at my desk for the past hour trying to convey a curated analysis of the relationship between Bryce and the less fortunate one, as I call him,” said the doctor. “But honestly there is no formal way I can put it… It’s kind of like ‘Good Will Hunting’ if Matt Damon wasn’t a genius and his best friend was that dick from the bar scene. I truly don’t understand it.”
At press time, Evans was in a blind rage trying to flip the floor-mounted table on the family yacht after spilling oyster liquor on his Ralph Lauren Khakis.
HALSINGLAND, Sweden — A new study revealed that the vast majority of individuals aged 26 to 42 consider the acid cult that kills people featured in the movie “Midsommar” as their only viable option for retirement, malaise-ridden sources confirmed.
“When I first saw ‘Midsommar’ I thought it was the scariest thing I’d seen in years. Then I saw that social security is set to dry up by 2035 and I thought, ‘you know, a suicide cult doesn’t sound all bad,’” explained Brit Snells, an unpaid intern to a part-time social media influencer. “At this point I’m gonna be paying off student loans until I’m two-hundred and forty, so taking a nosedive off the old people cliff when I’m in my seventies is way preferable. And in the meantime, I can have tons of psilocybin and colorful flower hats while I dance around a maypole like a brainwashed goon. Shit, now that I’ve said it out loud I may just retire early.”
Even millennials not burdened by crippling debt and bullshit employment appear to have committed themselves to the “Midsommar” cult.
“Both my parents are attorneys, so they paid for all my college, gave me a job immediately after graduating. Plus, they pay for my rent and all my other expenses. But the way inflation is going, I could save every cent I earn for the next forty years and I would still end up living in an abandoned subway car in New Jersey,” said Chuck Lightman. “My family actually has a summer home in Sweden already, so this is just a logical move. Plus, once my parents die, I’ll get a new family – you know, the cult.”
One cult elder, known only as Blern, shared his perspective on the cult’s growing popularity.
“We are happy so many are amenable to being burned alive in a big pyramid-like structure. Believe it or not, people used to be far less into that sort of thing,” said Blern. “We are already expanding the old lady sex room to accommodate so many and, if this trend continues, we won’t even need to abduct hapless tourists anymore. We still will, obviously – but we won’t need to.”
Snells later clarified that her employer actually charges her for the privilege of interning.
LOS ANGELES — The Game Show Network canceled the metal-and-pyro-themed “Win Rammstein’s Money” after the set burned to the ground for the fourth time this season, according to relieved sources.
“Here at the Game Show Network, we really wanted to be in the Rammstein business,” claimed Jeffrey Chambers, the cable network’s Head of Programming. “We were excited about this program and we put a lot of money behind it. But enough is enough. We had to draw the line after they accidentally damaged the ‘Family Feud’ set. I’d love to see you try telling Steve Harvey that taping is canceled because a bunch of BDSM freaks fired a penis cannon at his podium. Survey says, he was ready to kick their German asses.”
Rammstein responded to the news with disappointment but also a sense of wearied acceptance.
“This brings great shame to us and our German motherland,” admitted lead singer Till Lindemann whilst solemnly brandishing a ceremonial flaming sword. “Unfortunately, ‘Win Rammstein’s Money’ was an utter catastrophe from the very beginning. Apparently, in US TV studio, it is verboten to melt cameras and burn the contestants. This came as a huge shock to us, as in the motherland that is typical Saturday morning programming for kid and little baby. Also, we are very bad at trivia and lost a tremendous sum of money.”
Media analysts have begun weighing in on the ramifications of the cancellation, which could potentially start a wave of similar announcements.
“TV experts have been predicting this ever since the show’s premiere featured almost no trivia, but spent most of its run time on a fiery reimagination of the crucifixion of Christ,” noted Variety TV reporter Ashley Liu. “They got a lot of flak for that one, especially the part with all of the dildos. So you can’t really blame the network, and this could spell doom for other metal-themed game shows. For example, the writing is definitely on the wall for Gwar’s highly controversial ‘Who Wants to Behead a Millionaire?’”
As of press time, Rammstein was trying to patch things up with Steve Harvey by gifting him a set of metallic, flamethrowing angel’s wings.
Picture it: The year is 1967 and legendary stunt man Evel Knievel prepares to jump his motorcycle over the fountain at Caesar’s Palace. Everything is going great. Big crowd, lots of excitement, and news crews were there to get the shot. Kneivel revs his Triumph T100 and then speeds for the ramp. He clears the fountain and is about to land when he loses his balance and begins to roll head over heels alongside his tumbling motorcycle like a scarecrow stuffed with grapefruits. He breaks a shitload of bones and spends the next few days in a coma.
Flash forward to 2022. Tyler Barry is just trying to get by in the great city of New York. Sometimes he delivers important legal documents across town. Sometimes he’s trying to get a burrito to a stoned NYU undergrad. Tyler weaves in and out of double-parked cars, moving trucks in the bike lane, and Ubers stopping suddenly to look for an address. Everything is going great until the dickhead on the E-scooter crosses the street without looking. Bam! Tyler winds up with a cracked rib after being launched over his handlebars.
So who wore it better? Evel Knievel had a team of paramedics and emergency personnel ready to descend at a moment’s notice. Tyler had to walk it off for a few blocks and try to ignore the stabbing sensation in his side for the next few weeks. Knievel had sponsors to cover his medical expenses while he recuperated. Tyler wrapped his abdomen in a thick layer of gauze and tried not to breathe too heavily. You see, Tyler only makes a little over minimum wage and to afford health insurance from the government, he’d have to fork over half his monthly pay. To be able to afford the COBRA payments offered from his last job he’d have to take out a small business loan to cover the premiums.
So who’s the real daredevil you might ask? I think we all know the answer.
Each Sunday, The Hard Times travels back and reviews a notable album from the past. This week we’re taking a look at Cannibal Corpse’s second album, “Butchered at Birth.”
Societal norms change over time. What was acceptable or even praised in decades past may now be considered offensive and unacceptable. I mean, have you rewatched “Sixteen Candles” recently? If Gen Z finds that movie, I think John Hughes might actually go to jail.
Which brings me to my review of “Butchered at Birth.” I hate to be the one to say it, but after revisiting this 1991 release from the iconic death metal band Cannibal Corpse, I must say it’s a tad…problematic.
I knew I was in for some questionable content when the first song’s opening lyrics declared, “Butchery, my meat hooks sharpened to penetrate/Emasculate, gouging crotches I will eat.” This was an immediate red flag, as lead singer Chris Barnes neglects to mention whether he got consent before gouging and eating the aforementioned crotch.
Upon further consideration, I noted that the song is titled “Meat Hook Sodomy” and the album’s cover depicts two ghoulish butchers performing what appears to be an abortion on a mutilated female corpse. At this point, I started to think Cannibal Corpse might be in even hotter water than Chrissy Teigen was after those cyberbullying tweets.
My worst suspicions were only confirmed by tracks such as “Covered with Sores” and “Rancid Amputation.” For a moment I was encouraged by the fact that almost every song describes a female character, but I quickly realized that none of these women were empowered. In fact, most of them were dead and yet appeared to be thought of as a potential food source.
A close read of the lyrics doesn’t do the album any favors, either. The song “Innards Decay” makes frequent mention of tearing through meat and chewing limbs without ever pausing to reflect on the cruelty of industrial livestock production. And I’m not even sure what “anal grouting” is, but you’re definitely not supposed to be doing it in 2022.
I like to think of myself as pretty sex-positive, but “Butchered at Birth” features acts of sexual gratification that are not only in poor taste, but, dare I say, insensitive. I mean, chewing on bleeding stumps? In this political climate?
Unfortunately, I just can’t recommend this album in good conscience. While this may have been considered family entertainment in the dark ages of the early ‘90s, times have changed. So scoot over Matt Damon, because I think Cannibal Corpse might be joining you on the #canceled bench.
KANSAS CITY — Missouri native Glenn Lawson, who was found guilty of reckless handling of a firearm last March, is nearing completion of his court-mandated firearm safety course, confirmed law enforcement officials
“There are bad people everywhere, and if they get their hands on a gun, the only thing standing between them and you are a few, brave patriots who compulsively carry deadly weapons everywhere they go,” said Lawson after leaving the ninth of twelve mandatory classes. “Now the problem is we have a bunch of government eggheads who think heroically firing your handgun in a crowded diner is ‘reckless endangerment.’ What they don’t realize is the attacker I was facing down could have been armed with an assault weapon, nerve agents, or even a vest strapped with explosives. I was the last line of defense.”
Lauren Cruz, an eyewitness to the incident that landed Lawson in legal trouble, gave valuable testimony during the trial.
“I was waiting in line at the Arby’s on Clingman Road. I guess a small bird had flown in when someone opened the door, and it knocked over a stack of cups behind where Mr. Lawson was sitting. Suddenly he makes this really high-pitched scream, dives under his table, and pulls out a pistol. The thing is still flapping around and he just starts firing blindly into the air,” said Cruz. “He was covering his head with his other hand and his eyes were shut the whole time while he screamed ‘Die mother fucker!’ The poor guy seemed terrified. Thankfully nobody was hurt, and an employee gently removed the bird using a piece of cardboard.”
Safety instructor Flynn Becker is no stranger to this type of behavior and admitted Lawson’s lack of knowledge regarding proper firearm safety is worrisome.
“The guy has no idea what he’s doing. Every attendee of my class has to take a multiple choice test on the first day to gauge where they’re at. He answered the question, ‘When holding a handgun, which direction should the barrel be pointing?’ by writing in, ‘Whatever direction the terrorists are,’” said Becker. “Then he used the back of each page to write a short story about how he can’t wait to bring his guns to heaven to show Jesus how easy it would be to kill the Romans. It was unhinged.”
At press time, Lawson was getting compliments from other members of his class because of his t-shirt that read, “If I charge, follow me. If I retreat, kill me. If I die, avenge me.”
GRAND CAYMAN, Cayman Islands — Disgraced actor Armie Hammer reportedly walked out of a Cannibal Corpse performance moments before the death metal icons introduced their last two songs, horrified witnesses confirmed.
“I thought something was off when I saw some preppy, muscular trust fund type standing at the barricade, especially when he kept licking his lips and staring intently at Corpsegrinder’s neck while the rest of us were headbanging,” said concert attendee Liam Campbell. “But then I recognized him as the Lone Ranger from ‘The Lone Ranger’ and the creepy actor with the cannibal fetish from a bunch of articles I saw online, so I kept my distance until he gave up and left.”
Concierge Mark McFields, who worked a shift with Hammer hours before the event, described Hammer’s behavior that evening as disturbingly excited.
“Death metal bands rarely come to the Cayman Islands on tour, so when Armie told me about his plans to see a ‘delicious’ show after work, I figured he was just really enthusiastic about the whole thing,” said McFields while grimacing. “I didn’t have the heart to tell him that they’re just normal guys, and I didn’t have the guts to tell some privileged oil fortune heir that he was wrong about something. Hell, even if I had the guts, he’d probably want to eat them.”
Upon learning of Hammer’s attendance at the show, Cannibal Corpse bassist Alex Webster issued a statement regarding the situation.
“Myself and the rest of Cannibal Corpse are disgusted by Armie Hammer’s presence at last night’s performance. Contrary to his misguided beliefs, we only condone cannibalism when the perpetrators are actual undead corpses, not living people, maligned celebrities, or anyone involved in the production of ‘Call Me By Your Name.’ Timothée Chalamet can hit us up for guest list whenever he wants, though.”
Hammer could not be reached for comment, but he was spotted near the concert venue asking where to find the juiciest ribs in the area.
No way. I’m not going to watch that stupid-ass movie. Have you seen the way people are roasting it on Twitter? I don’t know why I’d give up two hours of my life to what seems like an absolute piece of shit. Wait, hold up. What’s that up there in the corner? What does that Rotten Tomatoes score say?
It’s small but does that say thirty percent? That’s pretty rough. But, like, “it’s so bad it’s good” rough. Actually, let me look closer. Oh, holy shit! Is that a three percent? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a three percent before! Hot damn, I’m back in! Let’s watch that trailer!
Yikes, I didn’t realize that guy’s in it. I didn’t know he was even allowed to be in movies anymore. Wait. I’m already lost. What’s going on? They were in international waters doing some top-secret experiment but suddenly there are bats everywhere. Is this a Batman movie? And why is he suddenly killing everyone? I thought he was supposed to be the good guy.
I’ve seen enough. This trailer makes no sense. I can’t believe some studio sunk millions of dollars into this. That trailer was a complete nightmare, so I’m totally in! Let’s give this shitshow a spin!
There’s just one problem. I can’t find the rent button anywhere. Why can’t we rent it? Oh no. They know anyone who made it this far can’t turn back so they’re going to be forced to buy it. Whatever, I’m sure it’s just like $3.99 or something. Twenty dollars?! Jesus Christ, twenty bucks for a shitty fucking garbage movie like this! Eh, who am I kidding? I’m gonna go ahead and buy it.
NEW YORK – Local punk Chris Lanning was recently caught in the embarrassing act of cutting both an all-beef frank and blow with the same razor blade, disgusted girlfriends confirm.
“I guess sharing food and some hellride toot-toot is gross to some people. Sure, the hot dogs were ice-cold in the middle and my lines were brown and chunky, but I’m not complaining about a free meal and a bump,” Lanning cried while blinking uncontrollably and playing Scrabble against himself. “No way it was as good as ballpark blow, but those dogs gave our mouths something to do while we blasted off into–well, it wasn’t space, but it was at least Staten Island. If my girlfriend thinks this is weird, well, she shouldn’t be dating someone who’s nickname is Grease Rat.”
Despite the cross-contamination, Lanning’s girlfriend Lexi Green waited until she had done the free drugs to pretend to receive an urgent text from a friend.
“When I went back to Chris’s place, I thought we would order pizza, do some drugs, and screw, but it got fuckin’ whack when Chris started cutting hot dogs into thin little circles like they were for a 4-year-old,” Green complained. “I don’t understand why he A) cut the hot dog with a razor blade in the first place, and B) used the same implement for the blow instead of a credit card like a normal person. I don’t think he even wiped it off because the rail was super greasy. I think he snorted some mustard, too, which is when I knew I needed to pretend to be there for a friend.”
Former D.A.R.E. officer David Cunningham sees this story that’s reminiscent of a Limp Bizkit album as a cautionary tale.
“You should never go to someone’s house if they give a ‘cheap hot dogs’ vibe. If you can tell they’re going to give you white bread and ketchup like a babysitter from the 80s, you should bail,” Cunningham scoffed while distributing free brochures to children. “I never ride the white horse unless I see the product first and also have a direct line to the good Hebrew National franks. Otherwise, you’re in for a killer stomach ache on both accounts.”
As of press time, Lanning was spotted using the very same razor blade to shave his face, neck, and pubes.
The Monkees were NBC’s biggest posers besides so-called “cop killer” turned pig, Ice T. But they were far from the only bullshit artists to slither from the entertainment crypt to the recording crib. Here are 10 more bands that also started their careers as complete works of fiction.
Tool
What started as a top-secret experiment to see if humans and frogs could create a viable interspecies life form turned into a Grammy-winning prog rock band. As polliwogs, the four specimens displayed a great deal of rhythmic acumen—likely due to their bulbous throats and frog DNA–and were encouraged to make music to keep them docile. The band released “Opiate,” “Undertow,” and “Ænima” under the direction of government scientists, but the band escaped after eating everyone in the lab sometime in November of 1998.
Beastie Boys
Initially, the idea of three speech therapists getting together to rap after work was a perfect pitch for a family-friendly Friday night sitcom, but it turned out that the weirdos cast in the show could organically finish each other’s sentences. Unsurprisingly, the television show was scrapped after five episodes due to the rampant antisemitism of America in the 80s, but Rick Rubin and Russell Simmons knew they could turn these young men into their personal rap puppets. Eventually, Madonna set MCA, Ad-Rock, and Mike D free creatively by showing them her supernatural third nipple and releasing them from Def Jam’s stranglehold.
Deftones
The first Deftones sessions began as squad cars pulled up to a house that was filled with a bunch of ne’er-do-well pot dealers. When it was clear the cops were coming in, Chino and the fellas began playing the instruments lying around the home so poorly it repelled the drug task force. The band started playing shows in the hopes that the music would allow them to sell large quantities of brick weed in peace. Going legitimate was a surprise to even the band, but being able to play music without doing drug deals after the success of “White Pony” negatively impacted the quality of their music.
Weezer
The Southport Middle School science department went to a lab equipment conference in the mid-90s to perform some pop-punk versions of songs about microscopes. At first, Weezer only performed their geeky songs about phylum and electrons to teach kids in a fun way, but they got their first taste of success in Cincinnati and never looked back. Legend has it that all the lyrics for the blue album came from a notebook Rivers Cuomo confiscated from a skinny kid in the back of the class when he was drawing instead of watching his teachers shred riffs about the water cycle.
The Clash
Long before The Clash was combat rocking, they were rocking the fall 1975 line of combat boots for Silvermans Mile End Military Surplus Store. The group met at the photo shoot for the store’s catalog and only ever picked up instruments on the photographer’s insistence that they take a silly one. Once Joe Strummer started reading the store’s progressive anti-government catalog copy, this group of footwear models became a band.
White Zombie
In the beginning, the assignment was easy: be the band playing in the middle of a haunted house. The group of drug-addled vagrants that came to be known as White Zombie covered themselves in blacklight paint and got to work noodling Satanic versions of 50s seasonal classics for horny teenagers. What no one accounted for was that the band just fucking lived in that haunted house and kept playing louder and greasier even though Halloween was over and there was already six inches of snow on the ground.
The Grateful Dead
Before they were your step-uncle’s personality, this bunch of narcs were CIA field operatives looking for a covert way to infiltrate groovy San Francisco. Once inside, they used the band to complete government psyops and experiments until they got a little lost in their undercover personalities. To this day, former agent Jerry Garcia is the only band member to return to his former post and rejoin civilian life. The rest of the band marches on despite being led by some sort of middle-aged deviant sexual shaman.
Coldplay
Getting these bad motherfuckers all into one room at the same time was a dumb fucking idea because Chris Martin, Jonny Buckland, Guy Berryman, and Will Champion were tough sonsabitches that cut down men just for looking at them wrong. These street toughs were initially posing as a sad college indie rock band to get a gig inside a hotel they were going to rob. They successfully cracked the safe and walked away with enough loot to never have to work the streets again, so they decided to lay low and do the only thing that brought them any measure of joy: playing mediocre pop rock for people that could afford an iPod.
My Chemical Romance
Let’s get it straight: this band still doesn’t actually exist. Turns out the band is actually just a sentient mist created during a psychology experiment that’s haphazardly floated over New Jersey enough times to write a few songs about the cursed hellscape it is forced to forever drift above but never touch.
Radiohead
Radiohead began as a support group for young men chronically addicted to huffing air duster. Unable to do everyday tasks without the comfort of a hit of keyboard cleaner, their therapist suggested that each member play an instrument every time they thought of getting high. They started playing but never stopped hitting the canned air which is exactly why their music sounds like that.
