Celebrities — until now, a harmless nuisance. But sometimes, they have secrets. Deep, dark, occasionally identical secrets that we here at The Hard Times feel it is our journalistic duty to expose. Here are some of the most popular celebrities who have twins you’ve never heard about.
Dave Grohl
Foo Fighters frontman Dave Grohl would rather you not know about his twin brother Stan, a sanitation worker from Delaware who tried to cash in on his brother’s fame with the parody band Poo Fighters, before he was asked to cease and desist by Grohl’s record label and several local government agencies.
Will Smith
Smith may be the “Fresh Prince of Bel-Air,” but his identical twin Frank was the fresh prince of getting his dick stuck in a hot tub jet when he was arrested for indecent exposure at a Ramada Inn in 2004. Since then, Smiths’ family has tried to keep Frank out of the public eye, with the exception of 2014 when he was tragically asked to fill in for Smith for all “After Earth” promotional events.
Lupita Nyong’o
Nyong’o’s performance in the horror thriller “Us” was largely inspired by her twin sister, Beth, who is a murderous doppelganger that lives in an abandoned mine shaft somewhere. Of the performance, the actor has stated “Beth, if you’re hearing this, please come out of that mine shaft and turn yourself in. We’re all very worried for you.”
Joan Jett
Sources close to the legendary punk pioneer confirmed in 2016 that Jett does have a secret twin who is really just a bunch of wild crows that have been sewn together. Better sources later clarified that her twin is not actually a bunch of crows but one human person who just happens to resemble several sewn together birds.
Herman Melville
Historians recently uncovered evidence that “Moby Dick” author Herman Melville had a twin brother, Smitty Melville, a whaler who perished at sea a few years prior to the book’s publication. Experts have dismissed the idea that Smitty’s untimely death had an influence on the literary classic whatsoever, as evidence shows the ship on which he met his end was most likely sunk by a vengeful narwhal, not a whale.
Mark Wahlberg
Hate crime enthusiast Mark Wahlberg allegedly has a twin sister who was given up at birth by her parents as a result of having too many kids already. When questioned about this rumor, the other Wahlberg siblings confirmed that, in hindsight, they’d have preferred their parents had given up Mark instead.
Yoko Ono
Believe it or not, Yoko Ono had a twin bro, Koko Moe Ono, that played in Toto. However, Yoko says bro Koko Moe Ono was advised by friend Sonny Bono to leave Toto and move to Kyoto to develop photos and sip cocoa while reading “I’m Sakamoto.”
Jon Gotti
[THIS ENTRY REMOVED AT THE EDITOR’S REQUEST AFTER TWO LARGE GUYS WITH JERSEY ACCENTS SHOWED UP AT HIS HOUSE AND EXPLAINED WHAT WAS GONNA HAPPEN TO HIM IF HE PERSISTED IN PUBLISHING SUCH FRATRICIDAL SLANDER.]
Air Bud
Buddy the dog was actually part of a litter of eleven, but his mother quickly ate all but two of them to save resources. The twin, Gudge-Gudge, was later sold off by the owners to a traveling mulch salesman. Years later, after the success of “Air Bud,” Gudge-Gudge went in search of his long-lost sibling, and the two eventually reconciled. Gudge-Gudge remained Buddy’s business partner for many years, and ghostwrote Buddy’s autobiography, “Too High! The Air Bud Story.”
Glenn Close
In contrast to Close’s nearly fifty years in the public eye, her identical twin Slappy is one of the most reclusive human beings to ever live. Slappy’s existence is only known to the public at all after Close revealed, in an anecdote she told on Fallon, that once a week she delivers to her twin a supply of raw cake batter and pickle juice to subsist on so as to never need to leave the house.
HARTFORD, Conn. – Local father of two, and reformed punk maniac, Victor Amoratti remains completely oblivious to the fact that most people that he knew in his twenties assume he’s dead, confirmed sources that insist they heard he died from a drug overdose, car crash, or random dog attack.
“Yeah, I was a little nuts when I was young, but those days are long behind me,” said Amoratti while emptying a large bail of grass clippings from his riding mower. “But you know, you get older and wise up. I’ve got a family now and a small business to run, so there’s no time to be sniffing oven cleaner or riding a stolen mountain bike the wrong way down the highway or jumping into the gorilla enclosure at the zoo and stealing all their food or going to the roof of the apartment, stuffing my mattress full of fireworks and then lighting them all off while I lay on top of it. Life’s too good to take for granted.”
Boston-based bartender, Ryan Donnelly recalls living with Amoratti at Thrashford, an Allston punk house in the early ‘00s.
“Vic the Prick? He’s the only person I’ve ever seen light his own balls on fire with rubbing alcohol. Twice, and one time it was in a cop car,” recalled Donnelly who has never left Allston even though he is nearly 40. “In that house, we were always trying to outdo each other with crazy shit. But no one could hold a candle to Vic. I mean, the guy once did a line of lead paint chips and that same day he did a backflip off the roof into an empty trash can. I don’t know where he ended up, but there’s no way he made it to thirty.”
Dr. Stacy McCormack is the chair of the Behavioral Psychology Department at Johns Hopkins University and her research focuses on identity status and youth recklessness in males ages 15-25.
“Many young males feel the need to act out in extreme ways in order to gain a sense of identity among peers,” said Dr. McCormack. “Often, we find that these males come from dysfunctional homes where attention-seeking practices and self-loathing are formed. They end up thinking things like, well if I just eat a bit of this dead rat’s tail, or if I try to open this beer bottle with my anus people will finally accept me. It can be hard to break from this vicious cycle but in many cases, they tend to mellow out after thirty or so.”
At press time, Amoratti was dutifully taking his daily vitamins and scheduling a routine dental cleaning.
Hey bandmates. It’s been a rollercoaster few weeks as the third rhythm bassoonist for Gaia Gaia Planet’s On Fire but it has also been a privilege. As you all know, Sandra sat me down and explained that you can’t keep me on as a fourteenth member in the current economic climate. Absolutely no hard feelings here. That said, why does it have to be me?
I know there are a lot of us in this band, but I really did think I cemented my place in the group by contributing “Bassooneroo,” my song about the Australian bushfire crisis. I don’t expect you to reverse your decision but when it does backfire on you, and it will, you may want to refer back to this letter to find out who you should’ve stabbed in the back instead of me.
I have compiled a list, in order of disposability:
Oscar (Flute): Oscar, your incessant use of flutter-tongue is unbefitting of our musical style and is clearly some kind of attempt to suggest prowess at cunnilingus. Nobody wants that from you, Oscar.
Todd (Lute): Todd, you are an objectively bad person for owning a lute and a borderline sociopath for playing it.
DJ Eco-Blaster (Decks): It was shit when Nü Metal bands had a “turntablist” and it’s even shitter to have one in an enviro-chamber-folk ensemble. Also, please stop making people address you as “DJ Eco-Blaster” Your name is Gordon and you’re 53.
Jackie (Lead Bassoon): I hate you Jackie. I hate your sloppy embouchure and your interminable masturbatory solos. I fantasize about SNAPPING your stupid green bassoon over my knee while maintaining full eye contact.
Sandra (Lead Vocals, Gong, TYRANT): Yes, you heard me. There is something corrupt in Gaia Gaia Planet’s On Fire and it goes all the way to the top. None of you spineless cowards will admit you’re living in a dictatorship, but I will. And you better fucking believe I’m already putting out feelers to form my own breakaway enviro-chamber-folk ensemble, provisionally named “If It’s Yellow Let It Mellow.”
We’ll see you at Earthrise 2023, assholes. Prepare to be crushed into the dirt.
LOS ANGELES — Local man and self-described “music aficionado” Alex King once again paid $15 for access to a music streaming subscription despite only listening to the same five songs at most, sources close to the man confirmed.
“When you’re as engaged with music as I am, it makes sense to have an entire library at your fingertips,” said King while queuing the same song that has topped his most-played list five years running now. “I never know when I might want to hear classics like ‘Time of Your Life’ or ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit.’ As someone who loves music as much as I do, I love that at any given moment I’ll have those two tracks playing on my iPhone and can recommend them to anyone who might want my advice on some solid tunes.”
Friends of King admitted they were a bit perplexed by his claims of being an “audiophile.”
“He’s always talking about how much music means to him, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard him listen to any song other than ‘Everlong,’” said long-time friend Kyle Novacek. “He invited me and some friends over for a game night and kept going on about this ‘dope play list’ he made, and sure enough it was 18 minutes of the same shit he’s listened to since high school. I asked him if there were any new bands he had been getting into lately and he got this deer in the headlights look and then just started blasting ‘What’s My Age Again?’ at full blast.”
Industry insiders state that this common practice is one of the things that makes the streaming model sustainable.
“If people were actually using the service to discover new music, we’d go broke on royalty and licensing fees in an instant,” said Spotify executive Thomas Staggs. “We deliberately program our algorithm to only recommend the same five to ten songs per user, so any time you create a radio station, our program basically guarantees that you’re just going to hear the same songs you’ve already been listening to. Besides, most people are too full of shit to admit they’ve never listened to half the artists they claim to. So we’ve got the upper hand here.”
At press time, King was touting his Radiohead fandom despite only knowing the radio version of “Creep.”
In my younger years, I believed that in order to change the world for the better, we had to get the good ones in public office. So I gave some of my hard-earned money to candidates in the Democratic Party who promised change, progress, and solutions. I was young then. Idealistic even! And stupid. Mostly stupid.
What a crock of shit. There are no “good ones” in politics. There are evil motherfuckers and there are passive motherfuckers who kneel to the evil motherfuckers. So during this election cycle, I decided to do something different. Instead of donating it to the campaign of the democratic party, I took a $100 bill and I lit that shit on fire. And you know what I felt? Warmth. I saw the beauty of a flame. And, for once, I felt agency over my own existence.
None of which I would have felt if I donated it to a democrat. Why should I dip into the funds I’m saving up to restore the 1989 Ford Tempo I lost my virginity in? The answer is that I shouldn’t.
Feel the warmth. Gaze into the flame. Stop giving them your money. Buy 50 Snickers bars instead. Yell, “Drinks are on me!” at a bar before dipping out after doing the math. Just don’t give your money to some “When they go low, we go high” pushover dipshit.
What does donating to political campaigns even do? Buy TV commercials so the mouthbreathers of the USA can catch a glimpse between Jeopardy segments? Shove some skippable ad before a YouTube video about how Harry Styles is the son of Satan ushering in a new rule of Hell’s demons? It’s sad and pathetic that people rely on quick video ads to win elections.
This might be a little weird but when I was holding that hundo and watching it burn, I ran my other hand across the flame. I felt the burn. It hurt. I kept it there a little longer than I should have. The hair on the back of my hand burned and it smelled awful. Still, it was a better experience than giving it to a democrat.
TRUMANSBURG, N.Y. — Local vegan James Alta announced plans to increase his number of matches on various dating platforms by posing with a bag of frozen Gardein F’sh Filets in lieu of an actual fish.
“Women are obviously attracted to men holding fish, hence so many men having these pictures in their profiles,” said Alta. “I obviously don’t fish, plus hooks freak me out, and let’s be honest, fish are kind of gross. My cousins are really into fishing, and they’ve offered for me to come along and hold one of the fish they catch so I can get a picture for my dating apps, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. I want to make the women who see me on here uncomfortable while adhering to my own values.”
While Alta remains confident that such a photograph will lead to more dates, those close to him have expressed concerns over this strategy, including Alta’s long-time friend, Matthew Parry.
“I basically begged him not to do it. James desperately needs to get laid, and this isn’t going to help,” said Parry. “He already got banned from Hinge for posting a picture of himself shirtless and covered in feathers and fake blood from a protest outside of a KFC, which I thought was awesome at first until I found out why. He should just stick with pretending to hike like everyone else.”
Ashley Harp, who matched with Alta on Tinder, reports that she promptly unmatched him after a couple of text exchanges about the photograph.
“At first I thought it was a joke, and I found it really funny,” said Harp. “But then we matched and I realized he’s the same douchey bro who pretends to be ‘ethically non-monogamous and complained about filters just like the actual fish guys. Honestly, I’d rather match with one of the many men in Oakleys and a Bass Pro hat holding an actual fish, at least we can talk about The Office together.”
At press time, sources reported that Alta was retaking the image while wearing waders knee-deep in a nearby pond, and updating the caption to “Must love adventures.”
Honey, we have all been there. You wore your Modern Baseball t-shirt with the full intention of using it to get laid. The intended pipeline was for him to compliment it and then take it off. Unfortunately, he noticed the shirt and proceeded to bust out a milk crate filled to the brim with poorly maintained records. Or as he will constantly correct you, “vinyl.”
Did he start with a detailed story about finding his Sonic Youth 1992 original Dirty record thrifting in high school with his old skate friend Danny? Did he pull out “The Bends” by Radiohead and inform you that it was a gift from his ex, but made sure you knew not to be jealous because Jenna was totally fucking crazy? You know he is seeking praise for his extensive collection but that is beyond your investment in this Tuesday’s Tinder match. Fortunately, we’re here to give you a woman’s comprehensive guide to getting the fuck out of his apartment.
The Mirror: Yay, it’s finally your turn to talk! Start by speaking loudly over him about his interests and then do not shut up. Just plow him with your own antidotes until HE kicks YOU out. He did not invite you over for you to say anything, after all, so this tactic has a great success rate!
The Patriarch: Say you have to go grab a pack of American Spirits Light Blue from the store. Do not come back. Soft block him on Instagram. Continue to avoid eye contact every Saturday at your neighborhood bar.
The Shawshank: While he ultimately tries to fix his broken record player, use the rock hammer in your purse to dig a tunnel behind his “Dark Side of the Moon” poster and crawl out of his place.
The Sleeping Beauty: Unable to drive home but also feeling safe around this boring dork? Just pass out! Studies have found that it might take 15-20 more minutes of him talking about himself before he realizes you are asleep and goes back to posting his dumb opinions online.
The Irish Goodbye: A real classic. It is a fast-moving world, especially in the dating scene, and you can not always think of a good excuse quickly enough! He can put two and two together when he hears your car speed out of the driveway.
PHILADELPHIA — Local punk Andrew Fetzer attempted to deceive friends by crudely marking his hands with a sharpie to hide that he’s been relaxing at home and getting a healthy amount of shut-eye, worried witnesses report.
“I used to go out to shows all the time. They called me ‘Rowdy Andy,’ on account of all the rowdiness,” said Fetzer while weaning a comfortable pair of pajama pants and settling in for another episode of “Guy’s Grocery Games.” “Then as I got older, the loud noises and lack of comfortable seating really got to me. I found myself hoping the bands weren’t any good so I wouldn’t have to dance or applaud. Nowadays I just want to stay home, treat myself to some dark chocolate, and recharge my batteries. Sometimes if I’m feeling like I need to let ‘Rowdy Andy’ out I’ll put some music on my Bluetooth speaker, but I don’t want to disturb the neighbors.”
Friends have started to become suspicious of Fetzer’s nightly activities.
“Andrew tells me he’s been going out until 2 a.m. every night, but I often catch him fresh as a fucking daisy and in a good mood in the mornings. He pretends like he was at a show the night before by making a big scene of washing off the stamp on his hand, but it never looks right. It seems too fresh, like dark and wet, it even smudges when he shakes hands,” said friend Max Kemp. “It’s terrifying to think that one of my close buddies is getting three full REM cycles every night. Things got serious last week after I discovered a sleepy-time tea wrapper in his trash can. Oh God, I hope he hasn’t been getting into that stuff. Next thing you know he’ll be dropping melatonin gummies and waking up early to do yoga.”
Scene historian Bryan Carty believes this to be a common trend.
“We see it all the time– people feel shame for taking a step back so they lie. We’ve lost many greats to the tragedy of comfy couches,” said Carty. “It always starts small. First, they’ll recommend going to matinee shows. Then they’ll become more interested in the TV behind the bar with a random episode of ‘The Office’ on mute and say, ‘Oh man this is the one with Kevin’s chili.’ And finally, they’ll just lie. Others have lied in similar ways, like buying counterfeit paper wristbands, or faking tiredness with excessive yawning and tapping their mouth like a cartoon character.“
At press time, Fetzer was having custom rubber stamps made with the logos from every local bar.
In the early days, before we even landed on the name “Xylophile,” nobody was taking charge. That’s why I stepped up and snatched the throne. Getting to feel better than everyone was great but after getting off a two-hour call with a particularly self-important promoter, I told the guys all the logistics for the show tonight but they were just like, “Cool man, whatever.” That’s when it hit me. They don’t see me as the leader. They see me as the secretary!
Ya know, looking back at all those interviews, none of them ever thanked me for coordinating rehearsals around everyone’s work schedules or for printing setlists and taping them to the monitors. The interviewers never even specifically asked me questions, even though I’m the one they’ve been emailing with. This is just like all those class projects where I did everything while those lazy seventh-grade losers just fucked around but still got the same grade as me.
Sorry I care more about the band than everyone else. If I didn’t step up, none of these idiots would know when to be at which specific entrance for soundcheck. Or how much time we have for lunch before we have to be back on the road. I tell them practice is at seven, then I get there at 6:45 and just shake my head at them as they stroll in all willy-nilly around midnight. Great, now we’re running late.
I thought taking charge of the administrative duties of the band was the only chance for a rhythm guitarist to be in the center of a band photo for once. I envisioned everyone in the crowd whispering, “I know it looks like he’s just strumming along off to the side, but he’s actually running the operation.” I know when I see a band, I’m thinking, “I wonder if the venue provided those water bottles or if the leader had to run to the store for a case.” But no, interviewers only care about, “What’s your creative process?” How am I supposed to know? I don’t write anything!
Ya know what? I don’t need this shit. If these guys can’t appreciate my sacrifices, I’ll quit and make that gigantic leap to road manager. Those guys get all the glory.
BOSTON – Middle child and walking disappointment to his Nu-metal family Trevor Briggs Jr. is the only one in his family who doesn’t have the genes to grow a proper soul patch, sources close to the family have confirmed.
“My inability to grow a tiny strip of hair under my lip is causing my family so much disappointment that I barely ever come out of my room,” said Briggs Jr. with frustration in his voice. “They know I’ve tried so many times to grow one and I actually went so far as to crazy glue some dog hair on my face to try and pull it off. And truthfully I’m just not comfortable with it. I feel like the simplistic, pseudo-edgy image that goes along with Nu-metal doesn’t mesh well with my real aspirations of furthering my education. I mean, would you trust a Powerman 5000 fan with your beloved pets? Not likely.”
Father and singer for local Nu-metal band Downward Lyfe, Trevor Briggs Sr., weighed in on the unfortunate lack of genetics.
“I still love my son,” said Briggs Senior while briefly looking down, clenching his head in both hands. “My wife and I have done everything possible to steer him down the right Nu-metal path. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wear the Tripp pants we got him for his sixteenth birthday or the ‘Nightmare Before Christmas’ arm warmers we got him to wear at his first Marilyn Manson concert. At least we still have his baby sister to carry on our legacy. And at 7 years old, she’s already sporting a patch I didn’t have until at least 13!”
Dr. Richard Volk, a Harvard professor, and geneticist first identified the Nu-metal gene in 1997 and has studied the mutation ever since.
“Young Trevor’s situation is most certainly an anomaly. Nu-metal genes are extremely dominant, and whenever two parents possess it, the child will eventually be a full-fledged Sully from Godsmack,” Dr. Volk explained. “There are, however, several state-of-the-art treatments like those we give patients wanting Wayne Static hair. Personally, I believe Jr. dodged a bullet by not inheriting the genes. That Nu-metal shit died just as quick as its birth.”
At press time, witnesses reported Briggs Sr. was seen trying to untangle his multiple eyebrow piercings from a decorative fish net at Legal Sea Foods.
