Which of these is the bigger crime: Literally just walking into a building, or murdering babies to drink their blood in a satanic ritual that turns celebrities gay? The answer is obviously baby murder, and that’s exactly what Antifa is doing I bet. Where’s their trial? Apparently, things I make up off the top of my head aren’t admissible as evidence, how convenient for the libs!
Have you ever noticed that whenever Antifa violently storms a government building they don’t record themselves doing it or leave any evidence that they ever did it, and no one witnesses them doing it? They’re crafty those liberals, I’ll give them that.
The participants of the January 6th protest are facing an overwhelmingly higher level of persecution from our government than the members of Antifa, and why? For the simple fact that they actually exist and their crimes were incredibly serious. It’s disgusting and shameful.
Think about it. If you want to build a case against the January 6th rioters you have hours of footage taken by the people involved that clearly shows them knowingly storming the capitol building with the intent of overturning democracy. If you want to build a case against Antifa you have absolutely nothing to go on besides the stuff my buddies and I make up about them because we’re mentally ill bigots. Fair and balanced? Give me a break.
For an offense as trite as trying to violently overthrow the United States government, many of our greatest patriots are facing as much as 45 days of jail time. Antifa propaganda agents will try to convince you that’s only a month and a half, but to a group of people who crave freedom above all, it may as well be a billion trillion years.
Who will take care of the online Russian girlfriends of these brave soldiers as they toil away in prison for half a season? Who will manage their fantasy sports drafts or make racist, ill-informed comments on their relative’s Facebook posts? Who, I ask you, will tell it like it is on youtube from the trucks of our once great nation?
WHITTIER, Calif. — Three roommates in southern California enacted extreme water rationing measures to avoid being the one having to refill their shared Brita filter, desiccated and stubborn sources confirmed.
“Things have been really tough lately. Everyone’s really parched, our skin looks terrible, and you can’t even imagine the pain of trying to power through cottonmouth after hotboxing Chad’s Scion,” said roommate Garrett Doherty. “Friends and family have been concerned that we are taking our water conservation too seriously because of the drought. But I’ve just been avoiding drinking water so I don’t have to refill the Brita. I may be in the early stages of kidney failure, but at least I’m not standing by the sink like a dipshit waiting for the Brita’s water reservoir to fill up. Fuck that, I’d rather die.”
Doherty’s friend, Polly-kay Fulton, was shocked upon seeing the roommate’s easily avoidable dire living situation.
“Garrett and his friends are going to crazy ridiculous lengths to not spend 30 seconds providing fresh, clean water for their home. Instead, they’re using eye droppers to ration out what little is left in the Brita, and ringing out bath towels into their mouths after each shower,” said Fulton. “And it’s not just the water. Everyone in this house lets the trash pile to the ceiling, the dishes fester and grow mold in the sink, and the less said about the creative ways they avoid replacing the toilet paper, the better.”
Representative for the Los Angeles County Waterworks, Lena Beil, explained how despite their incidental efforts, the roommates use significant amounts of water.
“Even without drinking any water, as well as never flushing the toilet until their dark yellow urine attracts house flies the size of golf balls, these three morons are some of the most egregious water wasters I’ve ever seen in my decades-long career,” said Beil. “While admittedly, their DIY, garbage bag slip ‘n slide down the basement steps does seem like a blast, it needs to end. Because if regular, low tax bracket folks like them don’t conserve water, how will Los Angeles area celebrities be able to maintain their tranquil fountains and lavish infinity pools?”
At press time, the roommates resorted to buying tickets to local music festivals as a means to sneakily cut open strangers’ CamelBaks and drink water from them like a sliced open cactus.
RENO, Nev. — An alarming new study from economists at the University of Nevada revealed that most American punks are currently living parent’s paycheck to parent’s paycheck.
“It’s hard to get off the hamster wheel for two seconds and make some sort of financial plan,” said longtime punk and trust fund kid Ty Johnston. “This capitalist hellhole makes you work 40 hours a week to ensure you won’t have the energy to find something better, because they’re never going to give you the chance to take away their power over you. I haven’t been able to save anything, and it sucks. Dad gives me a check every two weeks to teach me financial responsibility or whatever, but I really don’t understand how anyone is supposed to get by on $1,700 a week in this economy.”
Ty’s father Brinkley Johnston, CFO of Multi-Fini Capital, participated in the study and gave his unique insight into this encompassing problem.
“Sometimes I worry I’ve made some bad choices,” said Johnston. “When I was a kid everything was a nickel, or so I’m told. We had buyers and assistants for that sort of thing. It’s embarrassing to admit it, but remember at the beginning of the pandemic when nobody had any money? I had to dip into the primary savings in Ty’s trust fund, rather than the interest I usually use to float him. That’s how bad it got. I can only imagine what kind of bad financial habits I’m passing on to Ty.”
According to economist and lead researcher Linda Weathers, other related subcultures such as skaters, metalheads, and gamers are feeling the pinch as well.
“It’s never just one thing,” said Weathers while wearing a plastic green visor. “The previous generation’s parents didn’t have to budget for cell phone bills, internet bills, predatory loans, and dozens of streaming services, so it was easier to mooch money off of them. Sure they made less, but expenses were also lower. Plus a lot of parents in the past weren’t as concerned about the safety of their young as today’s parents are. It was a different world.”
Leading economists agreed that the best way for punks to continue to comfortably be supported entirely by their parents is to ask for more moderately priced luxury cars.
MILWAUKEE — Members of local thrash metal band Differentiator recently committed to reduce environmental harm by wearing white high top shoes that are certified fair trade, sources close to the band confirmed.
“We’re at a critical point right now and we need to start making better choices or we won’t have a future in which to get completely wasted, circle pit, and party until the sun comes up,” said frontman Kevin “Ashtray” Lincoln. “The entire band went vegan after watching ‘Cowspiracy,’ all our denim is from thrift stores, and we make sure our signature white high tops are made of plant-based materials and that everyone involved in making them was paid fairly. Yes, it basically guarantees we will always be broke, but it’s the right thing to do. So next time you see us live, make sure you buy us some beer, because we’re going to need all the help we can get.”
Longtime Differentiator fan Sami Moore believes the band’s ethical message is beginning to take hold.
“I’ve heard a lot of people say they liked Differentiator’s early stuff better, and I get that. I still love listening to ‘Thrash Party at the White House’ and ‘Take Out the Thrash’ because those albums have some real metal anthems,” said Moore. “But their last album ‘Recycled Thrash’ was a masterpiece, even if every single soundbite was from ‘An Inconvenient Truth.’ They just put out a new single called ‘We Can’t Party Underwater.’ It’s eight minutes long, has five guitar solos, but also concisely explains our current global climate crisis.”
Environmental activist Ezra Pardee commended the band for their dedication, but says personal responsibility is simply not enough to mitigate the damage already done.
“We need the government to regulate corporations immediately, or else we are all done for. The polar ice caps will not stop melting just because one mid-level metal band decides to pay a little bit more for their shoes,” said Pardee. “Yes, we should all do our best, but as long as major polluters are allowed to destroy our planet with no repercussions then we’re fucked. There isn’t a guitar solo loud enough, or a wall of death big enough to stop the impending apocalypse. I have heard there are multiple bands trying to convert their tour vans from gas power to beer power. That will help reduce emissions, but it’s completely untested.”
Inspired by Differentiator, local industrial band Ironwerx says all the weird mechanical sounds on their next album will come from solar-powered machinery.
Each Sunday, The Hard Times travels back and reviews a notable album from the past. This week we’re taking a look at Fu Manchu’s debut album “No One Rides for Free.”
Ah, the mid-90s. Clinton was President, the economy was soaring, and the world didn’t know that Bill Cosby was a literal sexual predator. It was a simpler time. A better time. A time when stoner rock outfit Fu Manchu was about to drop their debut album “No One Rides For Free,” a groovacious, crunchy ode to drag racing and muscle cars that, for some reason, I’m reviewing, which is ironic considering I haven’t had a valid driver’s license since 2002.
It’s not my fault, frankly. I was like, 16, okay, and my only driving lessons had come from my boyfriend at the time who is now in jail for unrelated offenses. Yeah, I took driver’s education, but I’ll be honest–I spent pretty much every class convincing the teacher that I had driven last week, so it was someone else’s turn. So you can see that obviously I was just really not super practiced, right? And not that the accident was malicious or even negligent?
There was LITERALLY no way I could have seen that convoy of Harleys coming, or even heard them, for that matter. I was listening to this exact album, weirdly enough, and like, is it a fucking crime to crank some tunes while taking a joy ride around the neighborhood? Since when do we punish teenagers for wanting to listen to loud music? This is ageism, loud and clear.
Louder than those pipes, at least.
And sure, fine, two of those guys are paralyzed from the waist down now, but look on the bright side! At least they aren’t dead! That whole ordeal could have gone way worse for them, to be honest. It could have been like, little kids who were behind the handlebars instead of grizzled old dudes wearing leather durags to hide their receding hairlines. That would have been a thousand times more fucked up.
Anyway, my court hearing is next week to get my license reinstated after two decades of fighting the legal system and maybe getting it back once or twice and then promptly losing it again. Don’t worry about that. But I’m kind of counting on shit going well this time because my new boyfriend who has never been to jail lives out in California and he’s really pushing for us to meet up in person and move in together, so I’ll need to be able to legally drive to get out West.
Marijuana use is on the rise, and while it’s completely harmless and fun for you to consume, to a child with a still developing mind, it can have devastating consequences. You know, like it did for you.
No parent wants to believe their child could get mixed up with drugs, and with proper guidance, they generally won’t. There is however one scenario in which no amount of intervention will prevent them from smoking weed — the unfortunate event that your child has reached the age of 15. Here are the warning signs to look out for:
Has your child been exhibiting behavior that feels fifteen-y?
Have they started high school? Are they on TikTok? Have they insisted that they’re “not a kid anymore” in like sort of a still kid voice? If you answered yes to any of these, check your stash. You might find a few grams missing.
Is your child sick of your bullshit?
A healthy child can be sick of their parent’s bullshit as early as nine years old, but it is physically impossible for them to vocalize these sentiments until the age of 15.
How horny is your child?
While a certain base-level horniness is common for children ages 12-14, if your child has become a pillow-humping, bathroom-hogging monster whose bedroom constantly reaks of sexual discharge, you’ve got a problem on your hands. That problem? Marijuana.
Facial hair? Facial beware.
Some children develop facial hair as early as 10 years old, but the chances of your kid being that cool are unlikely. More probably they have reached the age of 15, and are therefore chasing the green dragon every chance they get.
Do they keep talking about driving soon?
Excitement over the prospect of getting their license next year is a surefire indicator that your child either is 15 or at risk of becoming 15 soon. Remember this helpful mnemonic device: If they’re psyched to finally drive next year, of them getting high you must live in fear.
When was your child born?
By determining your child’s age, you can mathematically deduce whether or not they are 15 years old, and therefore in the throws of drug addiction. This information can be obtained from a number of legal documents, but that’s boring. If you’re too chilled out on kind-bud to look up your kid’s birthday, try counting the candles on their most recent birthday cake. Remember this mnemonic device: Count the candles on the cake, if theirs 15 the kid partakes.
EUGENE, Ore. — Rory Spears, the last remaining user of the file-sharing platform Limewire, was shocked to enter his apartment and find Metallica drummer and anti-piracy advocate Lars Ulrich sitting in a chair with a silenced pistol.
“Everyone knows you’re going to get your place broken into eventually,” said Spears, raising his hands while Lars Ulrich wordlessly brought one finger to his lips. “Especially here in the Whit[eaker Neighborhood]. But nobody expects it to be the drummer of the iconic heavy metal band Metallica. You also don’t expect him to motion with his gun for you to face the corner of your living room while your heart begins to beat faster and faster. Shit, I didn’t even download any Metallica. I just got a shitty rip of ‘Rust in Peace.’”
Tina Grimes, a local woman and family member of a previous victim, could relate to Spears’ situation.
“It’s incredibly fucked up,” said Grimes. “My brother Alan downloaded a cover of ‘Enter Sandman’ by some shit band in Oklahoma and forgot to use a VPN, and the very next day, Lars Ulrich garroted him in an alley. This happens all the time and the cops do nothing. He’s a fucking menace, a one-man murder wave. Lars is like the goddamn Punisher, except for anyone who has ever used Limewire, Gnutella, Napster, Freenet, even eDonkey2000 even once.”
Herman Shaw, an attorney specializing in music entertainment law, and currently under retainer for Metallica had an explanation.
“Although Mr. Ulrich’s actions may seem… extreme,” said Shaw while drafting a cease-and-desist letter to Spears’ family, “he is perfectly within his rights, and in fact financially obligated to defend his intellectual property. Most Americans do not realize the extent to which copyright law makes Mr. Ulrich’s more diabolical and tortuous methods not only legal, but practically moral. Bands like Metallica do not continue to have a thriving presence in pop culture, as seen in the recent hit Netflix series Stranger Things, without occasionally leaving an infringing corpse behind.”
As of press time, Ulrich was leaving Spears’ apartment while wiping the grip of his unregistered ghost gun and depositing it in a garbage can.
Do you remember that god-awful movie “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button?” It starred Brad Pitt as an old baby who lives backwards and fucks a blonde lady and eventually dies of infant dementia. Also, if we’re remembering correctly, Hurricane Katrina was somehow involved.
Yeah, it wasn’t a good film. Anyway, this punk who quite recently joined the ranks of the legal adults is rapidly pursuing the same fate of entering the grave after an exhausting existence while still looking like a nicotine-stained fetus.
Though it is not at all surprising that a member of the punk community would be dying young, in this instance, it does bear a striking resemblance to the film in that this punk’s brain is also eroding all cognitive function with alarming alacrity.
Just the other day he began his normal morning routine by popping his shoulder back into its socket like he always does, but when he went for his standard breakfast of a 40 oz. of fermented Yoo-hoo, he could no longer remember what the drink was called, instead referring to it as “mean brown.” That is clearly the mentality of someone who has lived a whole life but, on paper, cannot legally rent a car.
Additionally, there’s his love life, which we will generally refer to as “whiplash-fuck city.” Yes, this punk seems relegated by whatever cruel manipulation of time and biology to never find a sexual partner that is age appropriate for him.
If he isn’t hooking up with the freshman girl at school who sells him Adderall, then he’s hooking up with the unemployed, thirty-something single mom down the block who he steals Adderall from. That is just a blueprint for contracting syphilis – which might also explain the brain decay we described earlier.
So let’s all just take a moment of silence in mourning that not only is this young punk’s life nearing its end but also that said life quite, unfortunately, parallels a D minus romance fantasy film. Also, we want to reiterate that the frame story for that whole movie, based on an F. Scott Fitzgerald short story, was fucking Hurricane Katrina! How the fuck did that work?
If you’ve got a job that you go to at least five days a week and have a different pair of pants for each day, hey, good for you. Did you major in superiority at Europe University? This list isn’t for you. But if you have a job and only one pair of pants? Welcome to this list, friend. Here are some ways for all you mono-pantsed iconoclasts to avoid getting hassled on the job:
Styling
The easiest way to fool your boss and coworkers into thinking you have at least 5 pairs of pants is to style your one pair differently each day. Try different belts, roll them into clam diggers, or wear them inside out claiming they’re the work of an avant-garde designer in Paris who is “deconstructing the idea of pants.” It’s important to make everyone at your workplace start questioning all they thought they knew about pants as soon as possible.
The Switcheroo
This method requires a little elbow grease but it’s worth it to not have to go to TJ Maxx and spend $21 on new pants. Go to your office before anyone else gets there and switch the overhead fluorescent lights with blacklights. The pro is that your pants will look different, the con is that the blacklight will reveal their many and varied historical stains. But that’s okay, because all we’re concerned about here is throwing everyone off the scent of those old pants.
Distraction
You won’t have to change anything about your pants if you can effectively keep people from looking at them in the first place. The most effective distraction method is to wear a t-shirt with a slogan that’s extremely offensive, sad, or baffling. Maybe now when your coworkers go silent as soon as you enter the room, strenuously avoiding eye contact and/or suppressing laughter, it’ll be because of your “When In Doubt, Whip it Out” shirt and not your pants. Hey, you’ll take it!
Camouflage
After you’ve exhausted all your basic styling options, it’s time to get a little more intense. Grab a bunch of Post-Its from the supply closet and completely cover your pants. Be sure to avoid sitting down, using the bathroom, or standing near an even gently blowing fan on the days you rock this look.
Tailoring
At some point you’ll be confronted about your alarming Post-It burn rate, and that’s when you pivot to this alteration method. Cut an inch off your pants each day and save the cut off bits. When they’re as short as you’re willing to go, start sewing the pieces back on until they are full length pants again. Repeat the process again and again until either the pants or your nervous system completely break down.
Sense Manipulation
Speaking of the scent of the pants, smell is the sense most tied to memory, and your unwashed trousers send strong olfactory signals that help your coworkers recognize them on a subconscious level. Truly masking the natural pants smell is too big a job for Febreze, though. You’ll have to start gathering anal gland secretions from any of the Mustelid family of mammals (weasels, minks, badgers, etc.) during their mating season. Their musk will hopefully cause pants-confusion, and as a bonus you might end up attracting a couple of your more feral coworkers.
Hypnosis
We’re running out of easy fixes here, so today will involve hypnotizing coworkers so they won’t recognize the pants. Embed a hypnosis gif into an invitation to come to the breakroom for free bagels. When your coworkers arrive in the kitchen they will be in a susceptible hypnotic state and you’ll tell them that these pants are not the pants they’ve seen before.
Time Travel
The hypnotism had unintended consequences and now your coworkers don’t recognize any pants. They’ve started to come to work pantsless. Since you’re the only pants-wearer left in the office, you’ve been given a promotion. At first it seemed like good news, but then the boss said that you’ll have to start dressing more formally. When you asked what she meant by that she said, “wearing a different pair of pants every day.” So now you have to go back in time to undo your damage.
Gaslighting
I know what you’re thinking. You don’t want to gaslight anyone because you’re a “good person” who “doesn’t do things like that.” But it’s not really your call anymore is it? The pants are in control now. Here’s what the pants are going to need you to do: ask your coworkers if they like your new pants. If they say they look just like your old pants, reply with “What old pants?” Then, crucially, “Are you okay? I’m worried about you.”
Become a God
Welp, the time travel messed things up pretty bad. You got greedy and went back to the dawn of pants to try to influence the pants future in your favor. Long story short, there have now been countless devastating Pants Wars all over the world. At this point your only option is to become omnipotent. You’ll use your power to restore pants peace, eradicate pants suffering, and make judging work pants the most serious moral crime in the universe. Amen!
CHICAGO – Local law enforcement officials reported fielding multiple noise complaints regarding punk music venue The Brine Factory from occupants of the newly opened high-end condo complex Cannery Lofts.
“I was totally fine with the loud music for the first few months. I thought it was cool to be in such a vibrant and diverse neighborhood with a thriving art scene,” said Tristin McDowell, a 26-year-old web developer and loft owner at the Cannery. “But it gets old quick. It would be polite of them to try to keep the noise down after 6… Some of us work all day and want to crush the Peloton for a bit before strapping on our VR headsets and playing Half-life all night. I paid like 900k for a one-bedroom here, I shouldn’t have to listen to some shitty band play for 40 people or whatever.”
Venue manager Tara Meed argues that the Brine Factory has been around for longer than the lofts and is part of the fabric of the neighborhood.
“No one was hanging out in the Meat Canning District before the Factory came in,” said Mead while stapling a blanket to the wall as a crude means of soundproofing. “We were one of the first businesses to open here, then all the breweries followed and suddenly this neighborhood is ‘up and coming.’ As more people started moving in the rents went up, and then a very whiny group of people started moving in. The vegan ice cream shop has gotten multiple complaints because their sign is ‘too bright’ at night.”
Few businesses from before the Brine Factory still exist in the neighborhood. Since the early seventies, Dimitri Yonoslovolous has run a small family market down the street from the venue called Beer + Lottery + Cigarettes.
“Years ago, it was only sweaty workers from factory coming into store. They buy all their groceries here. Now it’s young people looking for oat milk and, how you say, Kompooka?” said Yonoslovonous. “They are very rude. Bathroom is for employees only, but they get drunk and come in and say they have IBS and it’s illegal for me to stop them. Neighborhoods change and store owners like me must try to keep up with demand, even if I have to move hour and half outside city to afford house.”
Update: City officials have voted to rename the Meat Canning District to the Search Engine Optimization Quarter due to its heavy tech startup presence.
