Oh No: This Animal Rights Activist Is Exclusively A “Men’s Animal Rights Activist”

Posted on by Sam Eardley

Punk lifestyles and animal rights activism have gone hand-in-hand for decades. When The Hard Times heard about a guy called Brent Crenge making “big waves” in the fight for the ethical treatment of animals we went out to meet him the first chance we got. Turns out we should have done a little more research!

It turns out Crenge’s way of shaking things up in the animal rights world was by incorporating a bunch of insecurity based misogyny into his activism. He’s not the sort of man who’ll let good people gatekeep a good cause. His determination to bend the issues into a vehicle for his own misplaced anger would be an inspiration if it was aimed towards, like, literally anything else.

Evidently despised by the rest of the collective, we found him in a side-room addressing half a dozen intense young men. And for a few minutes he did almost seem like the real deal — talking about male calves in the dairy industry, and male baby chicks in the egg industry, both of which get killed by the thousands soon after birth. But it didn’t take long for him to make it super weird!

“Young male animal lives are deemed worthless because of institutional gynarchy. What are the feminazis afraid of? A whole generation of powerful young male animals growing up to fulfill their destiny as studs?”

We assumed an animal rights awareness meet run by a local anarcho-punk collective would be full of selfless angels fighting the good fight. Turned out to be more or less a 4-chan message board irl.

The creepy weirdos lapped this wet catshit right up. After the talk they were keen to tell us all about Crenge’s concerns about under-supported pregnant male seahorses, which “actually made a lot of sense”. And there were his views on hermaphrodite animals, which “needed to be aired”, and the “deliberately overlooked” issue of female octopuses strangling their mates after sex.

Admittedly we did almost buy one of his t-shirts, a praying mantis with the word “Murderess” stamped across its face. It looked cool! But knowing the context kind of ruined it for us.

He requested, well demanded, that we reprint his 20 page manifesto about how male penguins are being cucked by their lovers, but we decided to decline. I mean, it sounds funny, but then it’s 20 pages about cuck penguins. Pages we can’t unread.

Doom Drummer Studies for LSAT Between Snare Hits

Posted on by Tim Graham

LITTLE ROCK, Ark. — Local doom metal drummer and law student John Hennion used the extended gaps in between snare hits to study for the bar exam while playing a show last night, confirmed multiple witnesses.

“I love being in this band, but I’m also a pragmatist,” said the Witch Skin drummer while breaking down his kit after a recent show at The Whitewater. “My mom always said to have a backup plan, so I applied to law school at her urging. Luckily for me, with this band I’m only using my hands like three times a song and the songs are 18 minutes long. Suppose we’re playing ‘Howling Sacrament.’ There’s a long stretch where I’m just doing this plodding kick drum beat, so I’ll put my textbook on the snare and review some sample test questions or bone up on tort law or something.”

Hennion’s bandmates are accepting of his use of time during their performances.

“I think it’s cool that he’s so ambitious,” said guitarist Trent Gardner. “Good for him for trying to better himself. Honestly, sometimes when I’m just holding a chord until it degrades into a dense wall of pummeling noise, I’ll get in a little reading on my phone. I keep it on top of my amp, so the audience figures I’m bringing the guitar close to the speaker to get really sick feedback. While that is true, I’ve also managed to get halfway through ‘Gravity’s Rainbow’ so far on this tour.”

This kind of multitasking is not totally unique in a metal genre that relies so heavily on the space between the notes, according to Kate Geissler, author of “Loud, Slow and Heavy: An Oral History of Doom.”

“I remember speaking with the bassist of sludge band Ritualistic Abuse, who happens to also be a biologist,” said Geissler. “Some of their songs only require him to play one or two notes per minute. When he first started with the band he used his downtime to learn to speak Spanish. After becoming fluent in at least two dozen foreign languages he moved on and would use that spare time to work on simulating protein dynamics. The man is now one of the most respected scholars in the west. Frankly, it seems like a waste not to take advantage of that free time.”

At press time, doom guitarist Archer Velázquez was set to receive a National Book Award for his debut novel, the majority of which was written between chords on stage.

Review: Descendents “Enjoy”

Posted on by Bobby Korec

Each week, The Hard Times travels back and reviews a notable album from the past. This time around we’re taking a look at Descendents’ third studio album “Enjoy!”

This classic album has it all. Punk riffs, catchy hooks, and even scatological humor. One could say it is the perfect album. Until, of course, you take a closer look at the album cover art. Sure, at first glance it may seem like an innocuous image of a full roll of toilet paper ready for immediate use. But then you realize that the toilet paper roll is on backward. Backward, right!?

Now, we all know that the Descendents are notorious for taking controversial stances in their work. Look no further than their positions on not wanting to grow up, everything sucking, and something called “bikeage.” Clearly bold statements in their own rights.

But with “Enjoy!” the band is telling the world that everything you believe to be true about staging household goods in your bathroom is horse crap. Turns out, my shithead roommate Kevin also believes the same thing about which direction the toilet paper goes. That makes our apartment pure anarchy. I hate that guy.

Like, do the Descendents also believe in eating my leftover roast beef hoagie that was in the fridge and clearly had my name on it that I was really looking forward to the other day, like Kevin clearly does? Well, do they!?

Then instead of doing the dishes yesterday, Kevin just tossed them in the trash. Who throws out perfectly good Solo plastic cups? You can reuse those for all of your drinking receptacle and party game needs. Kind of relieved the Descendents didn’t comment on dish culture in this album.

Long story short, Kevin would probably love this album cover. Classic Kev.

Anyway, if anyone needs a new apartment, I’m looking for a new roommate just in case Kevin has been getting my passive-aggressive hints that he needs to leave. My only requirement is that my new roommate is on the same page about which direction the toilet paper goes. So, if you’re a member of the Descendents, you need not apply.

SCORE: 5 out of 5 for the music and 0 out of 5 for the triggering cover art.

/**/

Bartender Must Not Be Aware He Cutting Off Bar’s AC/DC Pinball High-Score Holder

Posted on by Patrick Crooks

LINCOLN, Neb. — Local drunk Peter Brooks was outraged to find that despite holding the high score on the bar’s AC/DC pinball machine bartender Ben Kirby still refused to serve him any more alcohol, barely coherent sources report.

“Ben! Get me another, I’m not fucking drunk, just get me another drink or I’m going to beat the piss out of you and your father,” the incoherent lush slurred when asked for comment. “What? Oh, the pinball machine, that’s me. That’s why they like me here. Hey, bro! If your tab’s open, do me a solid and get me a beer, this trifling bitch at the bar says I can’t order no more. I’m good at the machine there though. ‘Shook Me All Night Long’ that’s a fucking banger. But it was the dude who wasn’t on the album before that, so I don’t know if the score counts. Hang on, I gotta bleed the lizard.”

Kirby confirmed the existence of the AC/DC pinball machine, but disputed the tanked loser’s version of events.

“Yeah Pete comes in here all the time, pounds Schlitz, and is usually pretty harmless,” an exasperated Kirby reported. “He keeps talking about how he holds the world record on our only pinball machine like that gives him clout here. I’ve lost count on how many times he told me how his first concert was AC/DC. I bet that was a great show, but that doesn’t really give you a free pass to puke on the pool table. If I weren’t such a nice guy, I’d Venmo him for all the cabs I’ve forced him in. I don’t think he has anywhere else to go though.”

Experts note that bars with regular clientele have to deal with patrons who overstate their worth to the bar’s community.

“People who’ve not done much with their lives feel that impressing the patrons of their regular bar is an adequate substitute for actual accomplishments,” reported cultural expert Miles Klee. “Bars have their own internal lore and, it would seem, Mr. Brooks wanted to have his proverbial jersey hanging in the bar’s rafters, but that’s usually done with more respectability. High pinball scores are normally only admired by people who the staff and regulars like, not some juicehead who’s threatened to stab most of the staff and refuses to leave at last call.”

At press time, sources reported that Brooks was being calmed down by other patrons outside the bar as he promised to take on all “ you punk ass motherfuckers.”

There Is Only One “Short King” And His Name Is Jesus Christ

Posted on by Zach Hudson

Short men are having a well-deserved, and long overdue moment. We are seeing more men of short stature represented in Hollywood, Tinder screenshots of taller men sticking up for their shorter brothers are going viral, and “Short King Spring” has officially taken a season.

We need to talk about that term, though. Lately, it seems that every man under 5’9 is being labeled as a “Short King.” While I appreciate the increased respect men like myself are getting, I find it deeply troubling, for there is only one “Short King” and his name is Jesus Christ.

I realize that this term is meant to be empowering, and don’t get me wrong, I am happy to see my short brothers beginning to hold their heads up “high.” I must disavow the term “Short King,” however, for that title belongs to the Son of God alone. Jesus Christ likely stood between 5’1 and 5’5, historians believe, which would make me about as tall as him.

For short white men like myself, it’s incredibly empowering to be able to say “Christ looked like ME.” And that should be enough for all of us.

As short men we must recognize that through the truth that Christ was short lies our salvation. Was Christ publicly humiliated and crucified for being short? It’s not the only reason of course, but it probably played into it.

Being a short man in today’s society is a lot like being hung on a cross. Whenever a woman on a dating app ghosts you after asking how tall you are, whenever your step-brothers jokingly suggest you put the star on the Christmas tree, know that Christ is there with you, giving you strength.

For far too long men of short stature have been the butt of jokes, rejected by women, and been made to feel inferior by a society that values height. Will this newfound respect for short men last? Probably not. But we will all be of equal height in the Kingdom of Heaven. Christ is the one true “Short King” and I am his most loyal Short Disciple.

Record Exec Accidentally Says “They’re Gonna Sign It, They’re Gonna Sign It, Holy Shit, I Can’t Believe These Idiots Are Gonna Sign It,” Out Loud

Posted on by Robert John Scucci

NEW YORK — Local Band Twice Forgotten is ecstatic in their naivety after negotiating their first record contract despite the fact the executive clearly said “they’re gonna sign it, they’re gonna sign it, holy shit, I can’t believe these idiots are gonna sign it” out loud multiple times, exasperated sources confirmed.

“You always hear people talk about how record company people are the devil, but Earl is the most down-to-earth guy I’ve ever met,” said frontman Jimmy Dot while signing away four years of intellectual property without thinking twice. “I’ll be first to admit I’m a bit inexperienced, but that’s why we need him! After his retainer fee, we still have some money leftover in the band fund to finance our album! He said we can see hundreds of new monthly listeners on Spotify in the next six months to three years. Sure, he was laughing a lot, and rubbing his hands together, but we know he was just excited. Things are looking up, and we’re glad to have a label behind us!”

Record executive Earl Scaggs acknowledges his “little slip,” and assures sources it will definitely happen again.

“Most bands are so desperate to say they’re signed that they don’t care who signs them, and this contract is proof,” said Scaggs as he choked back laughter. “They hear ‘global distribution,’ and they don’t even consider that I’m just using a $20 a year Distrokid membership while robbing them blind! Sure, I may have slipped and called them total fucking morons to their faces a few times, but you’d be surprised how badly these kids want to slip phrases like ‘my label’ into a conversation.”

Local loan-shark Gavin Parsons admires the audacity of Scaggs, and offers words of encouragement.

“Scaggs is basically Sallie Mae in human form,” scoffed Parsons. On one hand, he’s got the $3,000 ‘startup fee,’ and on the other hand, he’s operating entirely out of his car. He doesn’t even have a fucking webpage! The ‘70/30’ deal he has with them is amazing. Sure, the band is getting the higher percentage, but that’s where all the expenses are coming out of. To so blatantly take advantage of a group of teenagers is completely unethical and wrong, and I want to know how I can get in on the bottom floor.”

At press time, Scaggs was seen receiving a signed, blank check from Twice Forgotten for “green room snacks.”

5 Ways Vegetarians Can Turn Down Meat Without Seeming Judgmental To Their Stinkbreath Bloodsucking Murderer Friends

Posted on by Harry Valentine

Every vegetarian has been there: a well-meaning friend offers you meat at a dinner party, and you don’t know how to say no. Here are five ways I’ve found to deny meat without offending the homicidal meat-eaters we love. Despite everything they’ve done.

Claim to have a medical condition
Saying you have a health condition that prevents you from eating meat is a great way for your neanderthalic carnivore of a host to understand that you won’t be a part of their pack of craven hunters, no matter what. These people (if you can call them that) only understand primitive ideas, so it’s best to leave no room for exceptions.

Say “No thank you”
Rejecting meat is usually less of a big deal than you think, but always be polite! Remember: these people are monsters, trained from birth to desire dead flesh, and they can turn on you in an instant with the same ferocity with which they consume cows and pigs. If you think walking on two legs makes a difference to them then you might as well strap on a blindfold and shuffle into the slaughterhouse yourself. It’s best not to make a fuss, and still thank them for the offer.

Say that you’re not hungry
Challenge round! This one is tricky, especially if you’re at a dinner party where food was expected. But remember: your host’s brain is swimming in a pool of pork lard, so it’s easy to confuse them. Just say “I ate a chicken when you weren’t looking” or “belly full no yum yum” and turn your plate over. With any luck, they’ll be so delirious from meat sweats that they’ll move along.

Offer an alternative
Ask your host in advance if you could bring a side dish. Pick a hearty vegetarian entree, and who knows? You might even convert a few guests to a plant-based lifestyle! Unlikely though. Their favorite flavor is the knowledge that their food lived a miserable life, died before its time, and suffered as it was prepared. It gives them a sick sense of power to taste the mourned, and your beet salad could never satisfy that itch.

Simply explain that you’re vegetarian
Use this method sparingly. While you may be tempted to say outright that you don’t eat meat, they might take that to mean that you think less of them for partaking.

The last thing you want to do is seem judgmental.

Punks Honor Anniversary of Friend’s Passing By Doing Everything That Killed Him

Posted on by Dan Kozuh

NEW YORK — Friends of departed punk Malcom Kelly paid tribute to him on the one-year anniversary of this death by doing everything that led to his unnecessary and avoidable passing, dumbfounded onlookers report.

“The itinerary is jam-packed with everything Malcolm did just before his body was found. He lived fast and died young so if all goes according to plan, we will too,” supposed best friend of Kelly, Lester Hogan said while waiting for his dealer. “I’m in charge of getting the speedball, Bruiser is on beer duty, and Elaina is renting the fastest car her credit score will allow. Our first stop is a cop bar on the edge of town where we’re going to pick a fight over nothing. I know he will be with us in spirit. This is what Malcolm would have wanted.”

Sociologist Rosalie Hamilton, Ph.D. explains that often after a death the worst attributes of the deceased are magnified.

“The mourners see this as an excuse to go harder and faster as a way to somehow bring their friend back. Like when a street racer dies in a terrible wreck so his friends stencil his name on their back windshield and drive even crazier,” Dr. Hamilton explained. “It’s so common, in fact, that we’ve added it to the five stages of grief—between bargaining and depression we now have copycatting. If their tribute to their late friend leads to their own demise, morticians have started to list the cause of death as ‘Irony.’”

When reached for comment, the spirit of Malcolm Kelly expressed that it is the exact opposite of what he would have wanted.

“You would think that my passing would have been a wake-up call for everyone but instead they’re digging their heels in deeper. I mean seriously, did my purple, bloated corpse teach them nothing?” Kelly said via seance. “How about in my honor you get your acts together and finally finish college? I also volunteered at the animal shelter, how come they aren’t logging in some hours there in my name? How about we trade places? I’ll be more than happy to come back and get a desk job than float around in this endless void. This place really sucks.”

As of press time, Kelly’s friends were trying to see if they know anyone who owns a gun for a quick round of Russian Roulette.

We Asked Chuck Klosterman If Hot Dogs Are Sandwiches Back In 2008 And He’s Still Fucking Talking

Posted on by Max Barth

Waaaay back in 2008 we sat down with the bestselling author of “Sex, Drugs & Cocoa Puffs,” Chuck Klosterman, for a brief interview to both plug his new column and to get his take on the presidential race. Obama was surging, history seemed about to be made, and we wanted Klosterman to explain: what did it all mean?

Unfortunately, an off-hand comment by the intern was overheard by Klosterman, who perked up in his chair, scratched his beard, and began talking. What follows is a transcription of his comments in response to a simple question:

Are hot dogs sandwiches?

“Well, I mean, so…are hot dogs sandwiches? That is a good question. But it also says something about us that we’re asking in the first place. Like, it reminds me of a lot of the discussion around the grunge scene fifteen years ago, which we’re of course re-evaluating as we ourselves become the sort of older (mostly) guys who were threatened by grunge in the first place. Like, was Pearl Jam the same band with Jack Irons as it was with Dave Abbruzzese? To which I reply: Does it matter? To which I respond: I loved No Code, and I understand the popular quasi-negative conception of the band’s mid-nineties oeuvre, particularly in discussions which involve what are seen as more “pure” representatives- of-the-genre bands like Nirvana, and in part sort of agree with it, in that they are a kind of magic mirror into what one thinks about that whole era. You either like Eddie Vedder’s voice or you don’t, right? Well, I think it’s a little like that. You either like hot dogs, or sandwiches, so whether hot dogs are in fact sandwiches is kind of moot philosophically. And obviously of course that brings us to Kiss, and their decision to “unmask” and appear live without makeup for the first time in years following the release of Lick It Up in 1983. Because, for example, if mustard and ketchup, relish, whatever you’re into… if you took that off a hotdog, is it still a hot dog? At some point it just becomes something else, like even if we don’t have a word for it, we all know a plain hot dog is like seeing Paul Stanley’s face, though obviously multi-instrumentalist Eric Carr’s de-masking wasn’t even a full de-masking as his real name is Paul Caravello, which is basically the ship of Theseus thing, which of course leads me to consider the Showtime Lakers era, which takes me back to Mudhoney’s discography, and the reception to Spiro Agnew’s memoir in 1980, and the original Modern Lovers/Jonathan Richman albums, which weren’t released until well after they would have been most influential but were still incredibly influential, because relish…”

As of press time Mr. Klosterman, older and insufferably wiser, was stil fucking talking.

Punk House Goth Sleeps in Coffin Directly on Floor

Posted on by Chris Bowen

SYRACUSE, N.Y. – Local goth Sarah Lashley is rejecting modern bedding options and instead chooses to sleep in a casket resting on the floor, confirmed creeped out roommates.

“Sure, the thing doesn’t quite have a proper base and I know that’s a faux pas in the eyes of a lot of people,” said Lashley as she was popping in a pair of fangs. “I can’t really afford an expensive coffin base right now, it’s not like Ikea has many options for that sort of thing, and you never find one just sitting on the street. But overall this thing is amazing, when living in a house with eight punks, the option to be able to seal the lid of my bed proves useful at keeping vomit and random people fucking out of it. Not to mention the NASA-quality material the interior is made from really has given me some of the best sleep I’ve ever had! Now I really understand why dead people look so peaceful.”

Sam “Scuzz” Fallon, the most tenured resident of the punk house, has his qualms with the coffin.

“First of all, the goddamn thing is creepy. She’s always bragging that she got a great deal on it because she bought it used, which makes it way worse,” said Scuzz while cracking open a 40oz. “And that fucker is massive. She moved into a bigger room upstairs last month and it took six people to move the damn thing. It didn’t help that she insisted to lay inside it while we carried that fucker up the stairs.

Local casket salesman Warren Winkleman says the “imaginative goth” market is something he hopes to tap into even more.

“Of course the casket business is very lucrative because everyone dies,” said Winkelman. “But we have been seeing steady sales growth with very alive individuals wearing lots of makeup looking for a stylish and comfortable place to lay their head at night. To tell you the truth, it’s a refreshing change of pace to have people buying these from us to use on a daily basis, as opposed to laying in it for the rest of time not fully appreciating the craft and comfort one gets laying in a coffin.”

At press time, neighbors living next to the house reported a mysterious priest holding a wooden stake approaching the front door.