Man Sitting Alone in Car Wasting Taxpayer Money Arrested for Impersonating Police Officer

Posted on by The Hard Times Staff

ANNAPOLIS, Md. — Local library systems technician Gary Harris was arrested early Tuesday and charged with impersonating a police officer after it was determined he was sitting around doing nothing on the taxpayer dime, confirmed law enforcement officials.

“While two of our uniformed officers were on a routine breakfast stop they noticed Mr. Harris sitting alone in his car looking at his phone,” said Police Chief Daryl Baker. “After about 90 minutes of observation, our officers approached the vehicle. When they saw a city-issued parking pass on his car they realized the suspect was clearly a drain on taxpayer funds and decided to apprehend him for impersonating an officer of the law. We want to make this perfectly clear to any municipal workers, crossing guards, janitors, and anyone else who works for the government—only police officers are allowed to sit around and do absolutely nothing for all hours of the day, and only police officers are allowed to doctor their pay statements to reflect substantial overtime pay.”

Harris’ court-appointed lawyer says contesting the charges will be an uphill battle.

“They have him dead to rights. He admitted to sitting in his car while he was on the clock as a city employee. He also admitted that he was half-listening to the radio and mumbling racist things under his breath. That is pretty much the definition of impersonating a cop,” said public defender Walt Leguza. “I’m going to do the best I can to show that Mr. Harris is a law-abiding citizen with no criminal record. God forbid I find out that my client planted drugs on someone. If that’s the case then he might as well have just put on a police uniform and pulled someone over for speeding.”

Crime analysts note that there has been a sudden spike in arrests for people passing themselves off as cops.

“A man was arrested in Bakersfield last week for domestic abuse and immediately they tacked on ‘impersonating a police officer’ to his charges. The same thing happened to some gang members that were accused of intimidation and racketeering,” said Sanda Levy, who runs a police watchdog group in Los Angeles. “Although I don’t agree with these people getting extra charges, it’s hard to deny that they are doing the same exact things every cop around the country does.”

At press time, multiple police units in Annapolis were intentionally ignoring a radio call about an active shooter.

Doctor Prescribes “OK Computer” Reissue to Pitchfork Editor Not Responding to Viagra

Posted on by Tom K

MINNEAPOLIS — Music publication Pitchfork is at the center of what might be the next medical breakthrough for male health after the FDA approved the first use of Radiohead to treat erectile dysfunction in lonely, pretentious men.

“There’s a bit of urgency in the field right now,” said Dr. Armand Strolger, head of medical research at Spotify. “We’re making up for lost time because, up until now, we had no idea that the music criticism community was sexually active. Now that we know there’s a need, we’ve discovered an almost Pavlovian response to wispy, opaque nonsense in which the mere mention of updated liner notes or bonus tracks can trigger a hormonal reaction capable of jump-starting an underused, decrepit libido. In fact, one of the participants in our clinical trials went through three pairs of pants during an unreleased Neutral Milk Hotel rarity.”

“Because it focuses on male health, experts expect the treatment to be fully funded, available, and covered by insurance by early next year,” he added.”

While the identity of the patient receiving the inaugural treatment has not been officially announced, it has been highly speculated that Pitchfork contributing asshole Chet Nathanson will be the first to achieve what has been called ‘the king of limbs.’

“This development could not have come any sooner,” Nathanson wrote for his personal blog. “My marriage is completely falling apart. The relationship between me and my partner started out as a mint Kid-A-on-vinyl, but now we’re at Greta Van Fleet. I’m desperate to try anything before we hit critical Jet’s-second-album levels.”

The news of this emerging music intervention has not been welcomed by everyone, however. Radiohead frontman Thom Yorke has been a vocal opponent of the procedure since it was first announced.

“Like, enough already. I mean I like my own band too, but goddam. The guys and I can’t even leave our flats without an erotic gift-basket full of sex dice and whipped cream from Pitchfork being left by our front door. I even think they bugged my phone. The other day I was setting up an appointment with my cardiologist…three days later I saw the confirmation voicemail listed as a demo on some ‘True Love Waits’ bootleg B-side.”

At press time, Thom Yorke and Radiohead have released a cease-and-desist against Dr. Strolger which quickly received a 9.8 from Pitchfork.

No Kink At Pride Unless You’re My Best Friend’s Hot Dad Walter

Posted on by Jus Kaplan

Pride month is about inclusion and that means including everyone. Parades should be safe spaces for people of all gender expressions, sexual orientations, and ages to experience. Put simply, this is why I do not support kink at Pride events: It makes some people feel uncomfortable and unwelcome.

But if Walter–my childhood friend’s smoking hot dad I’ve had a crush on since 8th grade–told me that kink and fetish culture belongs at Pride, well, sorry, that’s another story.

Seeing burly bodies clad in just a harness, combat boots, and a jockstrap is absolutely inappropriate for a child. The image could really haunt them, taking hold in their developing brain for the rest of their life. Like when I was a teenager at a sleepover and saw Walter walk down the hall after a shower in just a towel, his chest hair dripping wet and every curve of his lower half illuminated under that thin layer of sopping cotton. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. I can’t even look at white towels anymore without having to adjust my pants. Don’t show excessive skin at Pride!

Nor would I wish the torment of BDSM to be present at celebrations of our virtuous LGBTQ+ culture and history. Ball gags, bondage, and leather switches are literal methods of torture and that kind of thing has no place at Pride. Now, if Walter ever asked me to submit to his dominant will and refer to him exclusively as sir, that would be totally different. I’d let sir Walter flog me anywhere, with zero regard to our surroundings or onlookers. But that’s not the case, unfortunately, so no BDSM at Pride for anyone, period.

On that note, puppy play in public is nothing short of reprehensible. No one should be getting walked on a freaking leash while wearing a spiked dog collar and dog mask, panting on all fours in heat. It’s honestly embarrassing for everyone involved. But if Walter ever called me his pup and told me in his deep, booming voice to roll over like a good boy, I’d immediately oblige for my trainer. Doesn’t matter where: I’d let him rub my belly and spank my ass with a rolled-up newspaper in front of a full family of Mennonites right on Main Street.

Fuck that’d be hot. Yet alas, Walter probably doesn’t remember I exist, no matter how loud I would bark for him. So please, leave your puppy play at home this June!

In conclusion, the perverted pleasures of consenting adults exploring their greatest fantasies should not taint the wholesome festivities of Pride. But Walter, if you’re reading this, I beg you to give me a call. Ben told me your divorce is finally over and you haven’t dated in years. I’m all grown up now and know how to please you better than any straight woman could! You won’t regret it.

10 Worst Pieces of Advice Millennials Were Taught Growing Up

Posted on by James Knapp

Hey, Boomer. Think you’re so smart, eh? Well, here are the worst pieces of life advice ever passed down to millennials.

If you’re not rich by the time you’re thirty, then it’s because ghosts exist and they don’t’ like you so much.

Just because your great-grandfather paid for trade school with some lukewarm goulash, got a career as zoo architect, and bought a house using railroad bonds all by the age of fourteen does not prove that the paranormal exists. If you don’t believe us then just ask your tarot cards. They know.

Paraquet food is a part of every balanced breakfast.

This one may not actually be that universal. We’re pretty sure our mom just didn’t want to go back to the grocery store that morning.

Grades are the most important thing in the world, stupid.

Your parents told you this. Your teachers told you it too. Your high school valedictorian told you this shortly before he died in that grisly motel shootout at beach week. But now we’re going to break the myth that grades matter in life in even the slightest. After all, look at us. We proudly graduated high school with a D+ average and now we write list articles for the internet for a living. Success!

It’s totally safe and normal to iron your clothes in the bathtub.

RIP Billy. We really wish you hadn’t believed those lifehacks written by Andy Rooney.

Respect your elders – specifically Old Man Crackers who lives down by the abandoned blast furnace

Age is not a determining factor in giving respect. You should judge people based on their character, not whether or not they know how to make moonshine in an old pig iron smelter. Respect should be earned through empathy and support. And sure, maybe Old Man Crackers has a little bit of knowledge to impart. But just ask him about all those “fish bones” he keeps in the abandoned anthracite shute and you’ll understand why you might not want to emulate him.

Go to college. It’s the perfect place to start drinking.

Maybe you should have gotten a degree in economics if you still believe this one. Back in your parents’ days a case of imported beer was only a dollar, while nowadays even an economy brand handle of vodka costs at least three hours of minimum wage. Instead of following their old fogey advice, try spending a couple years drinking Steel Reserve at community college before trying this advice.

Write smaller numbers on all your credit card bills, then still don’t pay them.

Older millennials remember a time when they still had to learn how to balance a checkbook. When their mountains and mountains of debt weren’t online, constantly looming over them like a convenient apocalypse, they were on paper contracts often written in their own blood. But no matter how many times those poor fucks tried to make it work, sadly, just writing smaller numbers on all your credit card bill will not fool Rocko and Moose, the lead goons at Capitol One’s collections department.

Always carry around a hundred copies of your resume and give them to every person you meet throughout the day.

 

Well, your grandfather was half-right on this one – you are the most unemployable boob on the planet. But unlike your chinless grandpa who just walked into the cow factory the day after a bunch of Finnish immigrants died in the de-boning machine, it turns out that most employers nowadays are not thrilled about reading your shitty resume. Same goes for all those people on the bus, the cashier at Coldstone, and the physical education teacher who physically threw you out of your daughter’s clarinet recital.

Learn how to talk to rats.

This one just reeks of Gen X privilege. Remember back in the early 90s when it seemed like every alt rock band on the scene was singing songs about how we should all learn how to verbally communicate with rodents? Well a lot of good that did, right? Have fun conversing with hamsters, old man – I’ll be busy trying to pay my rent.

We just feel safer if you do it with us – auto-erotic asphyxiation.

How many times can it be said – DON’T EVER DO THIS! No matter how amazing it feels and how it will almost certainly be the greatest orgasm you will ever experience! And yes, it is exceptionally weird that your parents bought you non-chafing nylon cord for Christmas and labelled it “From Santa” with a winky emoji.

How To Quit Smoking Crack Tomorrow

Posted on by Krissy Howard

If you are looking to quit smoking crack, be it for the first or three hundredth time, congratulations! Quitting smoking crack is a process millions of people have undergone, and it’s certainly not easy. Fortunately, there are some steps you can take to make the quitting process quick and effective, just as soon as you finish this little bit, push all your stems, and keep trying to get ahold of your connect 300 more times, just to be sure.

 

Replace all the Chore Boy in your house.

If you want to stop smoking crack for real this time, you will first need to get rid of any instruments that make crack-smoking possible. Start by tossing all of your glass stems, which have likely been broken down to nubs, in a communal dumpster as soon as you get up tomorrow morning, or are winding down for the night tomorrow morning. Then, replace all of the Chore Boy in your house with cotton balls, which will immediately catch fire when lit, ruining your crack.

Tear out your carpeting.

Next, after writing up a budget of how much money it will take to move out of this shithole town now that you’re not spending all your money on rock anymore, get rid of any surfaces that you’ve crawled on your hands and knees scouring that may be hiding any crumbs, drips, or very tiny pieces of rock that you may have dropped on a particularly abundant payday. This includes carpets, rugs, bathmats, and even grass if you have smoked crack outdoors. Drywall can be left alone, and although any chips will resemble rock, you will notice that the taste and smell are different when you inevitably attempt to smoke it several times.

Remove all baking equipment.

If you were cooking your own cocaine down, you should get rid of the items necessary for doing so now that you won’t be smoking anymore starting tomorrow. Start by throwing out any Pyrex, baking soda, and microwaves. You can also turn off the cold water in your home as well, just to be safe. Then, use the quarter ounce of cocaine you had purchased to cook for another purpose, like snorting all weekend, or trading for heroin, which will help immensely with the longing feelings that come up when you stop smoking crack tomorrow.

Find a new hobby.

Now that the big day is nearly here, you will need to find a new hobby to fill in the nine years you spent smoking crack. Try to engage in something that will take your mind out of the obsessive, self-hating loop that led you to find something that effectively helped you check out of reality in one instant. Common hobbies for recent crack-quitters include chain-smoking cigarettes, aggressive flossing, and compulsive skin-picking, but any activity you spent hours doing in the bathroom while you were getting high will suffice. While this will not control your feelings nearly as effectively as crack did, it will invoke similar feelings to when your connect wouldn’t pick up his phone.

Don’t tell anyone.

Now that you have quit smoking crack, be sure to not tell anyone about your former habit, as they will still use it to judge you harshly. If you need to talk about the cravings, intense depression, obsessive-compulsive tendencies, and general hopelessness that come up from time to time, just replace the word “crack” with “opiates,” as this will elicit much more sympathy and may even make you seem more interesting to people.

Family Attempts to Bring Lost Crust Punk Home by Shaking Pack of Cigarettes, Clinking 40 Ounce Bottles in Backyard

Posted on by Tim Graham

GRAND FORKS, N.D. — Marjorie and Gerald Spitz attempted to lure their wayward crust punk son home using his two favorite things as bait — alcohol and cigarettes, confirmed annoyed neighbors.

“I’m beginning to get worried,” said Mrs. Spitz. “Avery—uh, I mean ‘Gooch’ as he likes to be called—isn’t usually gone for this long. Most of the time, all we have to do is clink a couple of Old English forties together out back and he’ll come running. If that doesn’t do it, I’ll shake a half-pack of Lucky Strikes. He goes nuts for that sound. His father thinks I’m overprotective and that he can take care of himself. The thing is, his Taco John’s uniform is here, and if he misses another shift he’ll be fired.”

Mr. Spitz characterized Avery’s occasional disappearances as routine and nothing to worry about.

“He’ll borrow twenty bucks and take off for a few days,” said the absent punk’s father. “He always comes back when the money runs out. I don’t like enabling him, but his mother’s a real soft touch. He’s probably just sleeping one off at that punk house on the west side of town. My real concern is that if some other family starts giving him malt liquor and cigarettes, he might just start living with them instead. Why can’t Gooch be more like his sister Wendy? She’s a CPA.”

Local animal control officer Douglas Frasier is sometimes tasked with rounding up punks that roam the streets and frighten residents.

“Right now it’s my busy season,” said Frasier. “Every year at sugar beet harvest time, crust punks and oogles pour into town and stick around for a few weeks, causing mayhem. There’s a lot of drinking, smashing bottles, spitting, shouting, listening to Discharge… I’ll catch them with my big net, throw them in the wagon and bring them downtown. When I ask their names or where they live, they just spit at me and say ‘All cops are bastards.’ I explain that I’m not a cop but they don’t listen. I tell you what, my job would be a lot easier if more parents got their punk kids chipped.”

At press time, the Majerskis, another Grand Forks family, were trying to bring their itinerant metalhead daughter home by jingling a bullet belt and blaring Emperor from their back patio.

Photo by Jana Miller.

5 Pieces Of Merch In Your Date’s Bedroom That Make It Pretty Clear You Aren’t Going To Cum

Posted on by Zach Hudson

You’re having a really good time on your date with the cute guy you met at the punk flea market. He’s charming, funny, and you’re oddly super into his blown out earlobes. You bonded over your shared love of television, burritos, and meme accounts. It’s getting late, and you could cut the sexual tension with a knife. He invites you back to his place, an offer you had been eagerly awaiting.

If you’re planning to sleep with him though, it’s best to abandon any hope of reaching orgasm now. The signs that sex with this loverboy is mediocre at best are loudly and proudly displayed all over his bedroom. Here are his top 5 pieces of merch that surely indicate you’re about to Uber home unsatisfied.

The Story So Far wall flag
It’s safe to say that a man who knows every word to every song on Under Soil and Dirt is indifferent, or at best ignorant towards his partner’s sexual pleasure. To add insult to injury, it’s hung above the bed for some reason. At least you’ll have something to look at during what is bound to be some very boring missionary.

Hot Mulligan hoody
You aren’t going to achieve orgasm, but he will, and probably very quickly. One can only hope the sex doesn’t last as long as one of this band’s songs. It likely won’t. Will he cry after? He might cry after.There are just some things you can’t change, like the color of your eyes, or this man.

Brand New ‘Deja Entendu’ poster
Pretty self explanatory, might as well order that ride now.

Man Overboard beanie
Forget about pop punk, defend your time and dignity and just leave. This dude is obviously still nostalgic for 2010, and even though he’s had 12 years to develop better taste, and find the clitoris, it’s clear he hasn’t done either of those things. Real Talk, this is undoubtedly a harbinger of some really bad intercourse

The Front Bottoms vinyl
He didn’t ask you what you wanted to listen to, he just put it on. Coincidently, he has a twin size mattress (on the floor of course). The cheap Crosley isn’t going to do this record any favors either. To top it all off, you’ll forever be associated with Talon of the Hawk to him, which is a legacy you really don’t want to have.

Infighting Delays Dykes on Bikes Ride Another Hour

Posted on by Amanda Russel

PORTLAND, Ore. — The annual Dykes on Bikes Ride, a beloved Pride event, has been gathered at its starting point a total of six hours while group infighting continued its back and forth, remaining at an unresolved stalemate.

“They’re not fights so much as conversations that need to be had, like, right fuckin’ now, before we can proceed with this ride,” ride leader Angie C. stated. “Tebo here and I need to process some unresolved conflict from the other night at the bar. Over there, they need to clear the air about Nina’s boundaries for their poly arrangement being overstepped, or they won’t ride next to each other. And Liz and Tina can’t agree on a joint dog custody arrangement since they consciously uncoupled. So yeah, like I said, these are obviously things we need to work through to move forward and do the ride as a unified group.”

Irritated with the slew of conversations happening was new recruit, Joey Dunlap, who was visibly frustrated as she paced around her bike that had long since been turned off once she realized the ride wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

“This is my first year and I had no idea it would be this bad.” she huffed. “I know they get a slow start sometimes, but Jesus fucking Christ. I honestly joined to impress the hot femmes that come out for Pride and hopefully, maybe, I don’t know, get laid, but so far I don’t think that’s gonna happen. I don’t know what the fuckin’ hold up is.”

A flustered and furious Wesley Brighton, a volunteer heading the committee in charge of Pride events, divulged an insider Pride-running tip.

“This is exactly why we told them to be here five hours before we actually needed them here and ready,” Brighton explained. “We figured, give them some extra time to process their shit and it would all even out. Six hours later and we’re still waiting and once again the schedule gets held up. We tell them one hour earlier every year, and it just gets worse every year.”

Among those who refused to comment on the situation were a pair near the back of the group, who had been screaming at each other for the past several hours before making out furiously on the seat of one of the ladies’ bikes.

The Next Fleetwood Mac? This Couple Stays Together Even Though They Shouldn’t

Posted on by Nathan Kamal

Fleetwood Mac is one of the great bands of the rock pantheon, with hit after hit after hit stretching all the way from the 1970s to nostalgia for the 1970s. Beginning as one of Great Britain’s premier blues rock bands, they morphed into an acclaimed yet troubled pop-rock group, just as Tim Huffman and Tami Skinner have transformed from a cute couple to a living nightmare for their friends and family, yet refuse to break up.

But the stylistic changes of the group behind Rumours aren’t the only thing that makes Tim and Tami their artistic heirs. Let’s break it down:

Infidelities:
This is a big one! The various sexual acts famously committed outside of established relationships by Lindsey Buckingham, Stevie Nicks, Christine McVie, John McVie, and probably Mick Fleetwood are definitely the template for Tim and Tami who have never acknowledged their various drunken hookups to each other. “Dreams” anyone?

Creative Conflicts:
After the enormous commercial and critical success of 1977’s Rumours, Fleetwood Mac began to splinter in terms of creative vision, just as Tim and Tami’s awesome Hawaii vacation in 2014 led to unspoken expectations of how they could ever replicate it and then to a weird bitterness that makes everyone just think they need to call it a day.

Amazing Solos:
Lindsey Buckingham’s iconic guitar solo on “Gypsy” takes two guitarists to replicate in live performances, just like the time Tim and Tami got into a fight and they spiraled out individually so hard their moms had to call each other to call things down! We would say they make loving fun, but they really don’t, and also Christine McVie wrote that song.

Tusk:
Fleetwood Mac’s 1979 album is considered both a high point in terms of the band’s experimentalism and a low in their interpersonal relationships, just like the time Tami got wasted at the San Diego Natural History Museum and stabbed Tim with a narwhal tusk when he kept checking out their tour guide.

At the end of the day, just like Fleetwood Mac, Tim and Tami should have called it quits long ago! But if anyone is going to pick up the torch of dysfunction and use it to threaten someone because they didn’t respect them enough and yet can’t see how terrible it is that they keep doing this, it’s Tim and Tami!

Fuck Marry Kill: You Can Do Any Of These To Me

Posted on by Nathan Kamal

You know what’s a fun way to pass the time? The classic old conversation game of Fuck Marry Kill! You know how it works, everyone goes around in a circle and has to decide whether they would fuck, marry, or kill a wacky group of individuals. Like, would you fuck Barney Rubble, marry Mr. Slate, and kill Dino? Wild!

However, I don’t really have anything going on right now and I will let you know right now that any choice you make regarding me is totally fine. Fuck me, marry me, kill me, I am literally and equally fine with any of them.

Seriously, you can do whatever. It’s cool.

I used to be the kind of person that had strong opinions about whether I was going to have sex or be murdered or even be in a supportive and loving marriage for the rest of my life. I acted like it was the biggest deal in the world when someone got in the old sex Plymouth with me and took a drive around the fuck-block. But the older I get, the more I realize we force ourselves to make artificial choices as though we had any choice over our destinies.

You see, it is ultimately not you who will fuck, marry, or kill me. It’s just fate.

Ever since that day when I was left at the altar by my former fiance Helen, the love of my life, then had sex with an individual whose name I am pretty sure was Meridoc in the restroom of the Dave & Buster’s nearest to that fateful white sand beach in Key West, and then was legally dead for nearly four minutes after striking my head on a turtle, I realized there is really not too much difference between all of those experiences.

All of those things helped me become the person I am today, and I value them equally. Even the turtle.

Since then, I’ve lived my life in freedom, always offering anybody I meet the opportunity to have two minutes of pleasure with me, complete the surprisingly bureaucratic process of matrimonial paperwork, or watch the light fade from my eyes with their white-knuckled hands around my throat. I could not be happier with the choices I allow others to make. And I could not care less which of them it is.

So what’s it going to be, friend?