Metalhead Lab Technician Always Wears Safety Gloves With Fingertips Cut Off

Posted on by Stephen Bell

SALEM, Ore. — Metalhead and biology lab technician Chris Mathes once again cut the fingertips off his safety gloves despite the risk of contamination and constant warnings from his superiors, confirmed several sources close to the scientific headbanger.

“Everyone in the lab screams at me about how I need to wear functional safety gloves while handling specimens or pouring something dangerous like hydrochloric acid. But I’d rather melt my fingertips off than look like some conformist loser with normal gloves,” said Mathes while drinking a tallboy on his lunch break. “Next they will ask me to wear a hairnet so my hair stops dipping into every petri dish I handle or sew the sleeves back on my lab coat. Look, some things are just non-negotiable.”

The lab’s General Supervisor Dr. Darlene Abdella was displeased with Mathes’ insistence on fingerless rubber gloves.

“First off, he keeps bringing his guitar to work even though I’ve told him multiple times that this is not the time or the place to practice solos. His thrashing scares the rats and our experiments with earthworms were ruined when feedback from his amp broke their enclosure. Secondly, we do serious biology here and he’s constantly getting his DNA mixed in with the samples,” stated Dr. Abdella. “When I confronted him about this, he suggested that maybe if his DNA mixed in with the rat DNA and growth hormone then it would create some sort of badass elder god-like monster that slaughters the innocents and slakes its thirst with the blood of virgins… I’m going to have to double-check if he lied about graduating from college.”

Occupational Health and Safety Administration inspector Prateek Basu said that many fans of various musical genres present their own risks in laboratory settings.

“Every day I see people of different music cultures causing safety issues,” said Basu. “I have to remind punks all the time to not drink methanol because it causes blindness, and ska fans cause 30,000 laboratory-related deaths each year because they begin skanking whenever they get good news and it creates big safety problems across the board. Surprisingly though Parrotheads, AKA Jimmy Buffet fans, are some of the biggest offenders. They bring live parrots into hospital lab settings which is completely unsanitary. Plus they refuse to wear closed-toed shoes. You’ve gotta wear close-toed shoes.”

At press time, Mathes was being offered a Nobel Prize in medicine after successfully teaching the lab rats how to do a wall of death.

Band of Horses Guitarist Put Down After Breaking Leg

Posted on by Mitch Socia

LOUISVILLE, Ky. — Tragedy struck indie rock group Band of Horses last night when guitar player Brett Nash suffered a career-ending leg injury mid-show and was euthanized on the spot, according to horrified onlookers.

“It was such a good show. We were all having a good time, and then [Nash] jumped from the drum riser,” said fan Shawna Cunningham, who was back by the trough and merchandise table when the incident occurred. “You know — classic rocker move. But when he landed, the pop was louder than the music.”

Witnesses reported it was one of the most gruesome onstage accidents they had ever seen.

“The place just went silent. We all hoped he would pop up and keep going, but it was definitely over for him. I could totally see bone,” said fan Travis Pelto, who saw the injury and execution from just behind the stage barrier. “He was still in his prime, Band of Horses was booked on Riot Fest, Bumbershoot, and Coachella this year which is basically the Triple Crown of music fests.”

Silva Artist Management later confirmed the incident, releasing a statement that Ramsey was “put out to pasture.”

“It’s not something we like to do, but with a breed like this, there’s likely no coming back from that kind of a break,” said Ted Penridge, a first responder who ensured humane treatment. “There was no time to get him back to the green room, so unfortunately, we had to put him down.”

While many fans were shocked by the quick and horrific scene, Penridge claimed he did what was best for the injured musician.

“You hope these guys have long careers and are put out to stud or teach lessons or something after 30,” said Penridge. “His owners and handlers at Interscope gave me the orders. There wasn’t much I could do.”

With a European tour on the horizon, singer Ben Bridwell is confident the group can move on and be better, faster and stronger.

“We cannot let a setback like this slow us down,” he said this morning. “We have already reached out to David Isen of Horse the Band in hopes of rebuilding our stable of members.”

Photo by Kat Chish.

Review: Soccer Mommy “Sometimes, Forever”

Posted on by Colleen Nerney

Indie darling Soccer Mommy is back, and she’s bringing her signature quirky lyrics, soaring soprano, and reverb-heavy guitars to her newest effort, titled “Sometimes, Forever.”

Honestly, on first listen, Soccer Mommy sounds a lot like Alanis Morisette? Which is totally fine, but every time I hear Alanis Morisette, I wind up having flashbacks to the time I lost my virginity to “Jagged Little Pill” in the bed of my secret girlfriend’s pickup truck. That was wild, man. We were both freshmen in college, back home on fall break, and we had just driven the truck out to a literal cornfield to awkwardly get it on.

After we finished (and by “finished,” I mean the album, not each other, because frankly, the sex was deeply unsatisfying and weird) we wound up driving back into town for the annual Harvest Festival. You know, the whole like, rural small-town kind of affair where everyone pretends the entire geographical area isn’t wildly economically depressed, and instead of an idyllic autumnal paradise? Bobbing for apples and crafty shit and pumpkins that are actually pretty impressive? One of those.

Now normally, that would be a decent and very Saphhic post-coital activity, but this happened to be the ‘96 Harvest Festival where there was a tragic chainsaw sculpture accident. We rolled up in her truck pretty much at the same time as the ambulance. There was a lot of blood, and Old Gary went from the foremost stump artist of the tri-county area to just another grizzled dude with one hand who would use his accidental amputation to scare children for the next three decades. He did end up having a decent acting career as the creepy old gas station attendant in the slasher-revival era of horror movies, though.

My girlfriend wound up jumping into the scene to pick up Gary’s amputated hand and honestly I think she liked handling that kind of gore a little too much, so that was the end of that relationship. You can’t really forget a woman you loved grinning while that close to that kind of viscera, you know? But I’ll never be able to hear Alanis Morisette without thinking about the most mediocre fingerbanging of my life, followed by a graphic image of Old Gary’s dangling wrist tendons and shit.

Soccer Mommy also has that effect by the transitive property of soundalikes. That’s too bad.

SCORE: -1 hands

/**/

Judge Rules Cop Wildly Firing Gun in All Directions Was Afraid Death Can Come for Him at Any Time

Posted on by Nathan Kamal

DURHAM, N.C — A federal judge ruled that Durham police officer Darrell Bartlett was justified in shooting his sidearm wildly in all directions because he was gripped with fear that death can come for him at any moment, sources report.

“This court has found that Officer Bartlett acted within the bound afforded to him as an officer of the law,” said US District Judge Jenna Davidson in a statement. “Any deaths or injuries caused by the actions of Officer Bartlett are an unfortunately necessary and acceptable part of the duties of law enforcement, as he was in that moment scared of everything that exists that could take his life. In the line of duty, police officers must make snap decisions, including the risk of deranged snipers, reckless motorists, chunks of ice falling from the wings of passing jet airlines, and the silent killer, colon cancer. This ruling shows that police are also justified in using deadly force when they are haunted by existential threats like climate change and an inevitable AI takeover.”

Officer Bartlett was relieved by Judge Davidson’s decision, but still shaken by the experience.

“I will never forget how in a split second as I was taking a break to get coffee,” said Bartlett. “I suddenly and truly realized the concept of human mortality and that it applied to me personally, just as it has applied to each and every human that has ever existed. My newfound understanding that my life was nothing more than a tiny grain of sand on an infinite beach and that it’s always in danger of being snuffed out by an uncaring and faceless death set in, and naturally, I fired my weapon to protect myself.”

“I mean, I really shot the fuck out of that coffee shop,” Bartlett added. “Like just clip after clip.”

Barista Francisca Reyes was at the scene when Officer Bartlett grasped the fragility of his existence.

“I thought this might actually be the time a cop was punished for being reckless,” said Reyes, flinching at a car backfire. “I didn’t realize that qualified immunity could be interpreted to mean a cop can basically become a mass shooter and never face any consequences. And I really don’t understand why he’s receiving the Medal of Valor. Our legal system is absolutely broken. I mean, just look up Tennessee v. Garner and tell me we don’t live in a society where a cop can blow your fucking brains out for no reason.”

As of press time, Officer Bartlett was poking through his station’s evidence locker after realizing life was too short to not ever try cocaine.

Opinion: “Everything Everywhere All At Once” Is Just Part Of The Liberal Agenda To Make Us Ask Ourselves The Big Questions, Feel Things We Haven’t Felt In Years, And Cry In Public

Posted on by Dan Rice

Well, the Hollywood liberal propaganda machine is back folks, and in full force, this time in the guise of a sci-fi flick called “Everything Everywhere All At Once.”

When I heard there was a new multiverse movie I couldn’t wait to go through the motions of seeing my favorite pre-established geekdom characters team up to do laser karate and such. What I got instead was some diversity casting art film that moved me in ways I hadn’t felt since I was a naive teenager. Pure manipulation and exploitation!

All I wanted to do was munch on popcorn and be mindlessly entertained. Instead, I’m wondering if I gave up on my dreams too quickly, weeping tears of joy, and contemplating a reconciliation with the lesbian daughter I disowned 10 years ago. Thanks a lot, Obama!

This is the future liberals want! A future where we just up and decide to forgive ourselves and one another, to end the cycle of abuse we’ve been cogs in our entire lives, and move through the world with love and compassion for ourselves and the people who touch our lives. No thank you, George Soros!

I do not go to the cinema to be filled with ideas, challenged, or have my emotions engaged. I go to the cinema to make sure that the latest Marvel movie is beat for beat exactly what the internet said it was going to be 2 years in advance. Either it is, and I applaud, or there is the slightest deviation of my expectations and I violently complain about women on the internet. THAT’S cinema, not some thought-provoking visually stunning contemplative art piece with genuine humor and heart that has you leaving the theater with a renewed sense of wonder.

The only thing close to an emotional or thought-provoking response I’ll accept from a film is a slight giddiness and sense of admiration for corporate synergy when two different Spidermans talk to each other. Anything that goes deeper than that is pure deep state propaganda.

It was my weekend with my son when I saw that movie. How am I supposed to explain to an 11-year-old boy that his father was crying, not because of gambling losses or Trump being cheated out of office, but because he was moved by a piece of art? That’s nothing a future Marine should know his parent is capable of.

New Sigur Ros Album Perfectly Captures the Universal Experience of Being Wèuupøhjc Śytœñsshürrvåq

Posted on by Zach Raffio

NEW YORK — Sigur Ros fans are beaming this morning upon hearing the band’s new album which perfectly captures the universal experience of being wèuupøhjc śytœñsshürrvåq.

“Even though I can’t understand a lick of what that’s guy howling, something about the music makes me feel seen and empowered,” noted superfan Jenna Smeth, who describes the new album as “epic.” “I’ve spent my entire life feeling wèuupøhjc, and have often shamed myself for being śkiïpł and maybe even a little ñdgÿÿÿėçræb, but that stops today.”

The Icelandic band’s lyrics are often written in “Hopelandic,” a completely-made-up language coined by the group, which somehow hits home with countless listeners.

“Picture it: 10,000 people, under beautiful lights, all singing along with entirely different lyrics,” said Sigur Ros superfan Craig Whisp while trying to Google a specific live video but messing up the spelling. “Despite the fact that the words are literal nonsense, we find ourselves more represented by these phrases than actual, legal words. It’s an experience that makes us all one; it’s universal, in that it applies to nobody in particular at all.”

Local tattoo artist Sheila Dessby had to close her shop temporarily as a result of the acclaimed new record.

“Whenever people want even the simplest Sigur Ros lyric tattooed, it always ends up being intricate body art,” noted Dessby, who longs for the days of people getting tattoos of Sufjan Stevens’ “All Things Go” lyric. “I normally just charge extra, but today was a different story. I’d have to open up a second shop in order to fit all the people who wanted ‘rtÿaâ lœj ñdèëßôpåçā’ tattooed. I don’t know what it means, but it’s clearly hit a nerve.”

At press time, Smeth was seen being cursed out in Icelandic after trying to speak Hopelandic while visiting Iceland.

Father-Son Communication Whittled Down to Asking For Latest Passwords

Posted on by Harry Valentine

ATLANTA — Local bartender and part-time student Carl Frum’s communication with his father, Bernard Frum, has been pared down to only asking for the streaming service passwords, according to sources.

“I love my dad, I really do. He’s just not much of a texter. Or a phone caller. We talk better in person,” the junior Frum stated. “Well, we don’t really talk much when we’re in person either. For a while, it was just me asking to borrow money when I needed it, and him letting me know how much I owed him afterward. But even that petered out when I still hadn’t paid him back for some tires he bought me in 2016. Since then it’s been down to passwords and password-related topics, especially since he knows I don’t have a yard to mow.”

Olivia Frum, Carl’s mother, takes the changing relationship in stride.

“Carl and I talk every week or so, but he and Bernard have a different way of communicating,” said Mrs. Frum. “They get all they need from Carl texting to ask for the latest Hulu, Netflix, or HBO password, then Bernard replying with that password. One day I thought I caught them catching up on each other’s lives, but it turned out that Carl had just gotten a free trial for Peacock. It was nice of him to share that. He’s a good son.”

The situation seems to be worsening, but according to Dr. Phyllis Washington, an expert on family counseling from Emory University, there may be hope.

“It’s not just Carl and Bernard—a father and son only discussing streaming logins is an increasingly common phenomenon nationwide,” Dr. Washington said. “Luckily, there are strategies we can implement. Carl could come up with a list of topics to discuss with Bernard, like sports, movies, or movies about sports. Olivia could get involved too, simply by calling Carl, mentioning a current event, then passing the phone to Bernard with no warning. Think of it like trying to get two dogs to be friends with each other. Their minds are simple, no need to reinvent the wheel.”

At press time, Bernard Frum, unsurprisingly, could not be reached for comment.

“This article is brought to you by our friends at Subset, a new way to share the costs of any subscription service with your friends and family. To try out Subset download it at subset.com.”

How To Stop Yourself From Belting Out My Chemical Romance Every Time Someone Says “I’m Not Okay”

Posted on by Jus Kaplan

These days, few people are truly doing “okay.” Between unemployment, a global pandemic, and a tanking economy, it’s hard to simply feel “fine” anymore. So when you casually ask someone how they’re doing and they decide to honestly answer, “I’m not okay,” it can be tempting to burst into song, screaming every single lyric of My Chemical Romance’s “I’m not okay (I Promise).” As tempting as it may be, here are some helpful tips to not fucking do that.

Make yourself cry immediately
You can’t really sing when you’re crying your eyes out. Well, maybe you can. You are a fan of My Chemical Romance after all. At least crying will put out the fire in your brain to yell “Well, I’m not okay, I’m not o-fucking-kay!” albeit only temporarily.

Sing another My Chemical Romance song instead
There are tons of other MCR songs you can sing that are less on the nose and will feel like slightly less of a mockery of their feelings. Maybe try the one about what would happen if Tim Burton directed the Macy’s Day Parade.

Dramatically flip your emo bangs or scene kid hair, sending the same message but silently
This can actually be used in most situations. When in doubt, flip that swoop.

Run away and don’t ever look back
A classic emo move would be to skip out on your hometown, never to return or interact with anyone again. That place is too small for your big feelings anyway. Perhaps head to the city, to work in a gothic marching band. We hear Tim Burton is casting.

Roommates Dreading Chucks Without Socks Season

Posted on by Anna Walsh

RICHMOND, Va. — All but one of the residents of 135 Maple Street is dreading the onset of springtime weather, which coincides with housemate Georgina Mann wearing their Chucks sockless.

“I have severe seasonal depression so it’s medically necessary for me to find some joy in sitting in the sun when the temperature rises above 55. But since moving in with Gina, I dread when the temperature tips into sweating territory,” roommate Emilia Hun explained. “I’ve started turning the AC on as early as March so that the putrid foot smell doesn’t permeate the whole house. I’d open the windows but that shit has been painted over like eight times and they won’t budge. Hopefully, this fake sun lamp will keep me going.”

Mann herself doesn’t see a problem with raw-footing the shoes, which she’s kept in her possession since 2014.

“I’m a busy girl, I can’t be sifting through every pile of dirty clothes in my room just for socks. Plus, Chucks are specifically designed to ventilate a naked foot. What do you think those holes on the side are for?” Mann explained. “I wear these bad boys year-round, and removing socks from the equation is as big a harbinger of spring as tulips and the Easter Bunny. Sure, my Chucks take on a unique smell when it starts warming up, but so do the trees and flowers.”

The Chucks themselves, who go by Charlie, made a personal plea for help.

“As if spending the entire winter in some degree of soaking wetness, this fucking asshole has the utter disrespect to shove her wart-ridden feet into me without even the thin layer of protection from her decades-old socks,” the high-top shoes complained. “And did I mention Gina, who subsists only on beer and cigarettes, suddenly wants to get her 10,000 steps in every day? I’m genuinely afraid one of her roommates is going to throw me in the dumpster while she’s sleeping any day now. My life is in legitimate danger, but maybe it would be better that way.”

At the time of publication, Mann’s roommates were seen gathering lighter fluid, newspaper, dishwashing gloves, and giant tongs while she slept.

Photo by Jana Miller.

The Next Banksy? I Make Art and No One Knows Who I Am

Posted on by Zach Hudson

People are always comparing artists. You always hear someone being referred to as the next Picasso, the next Beethoven, and so on. Well, I’m not a great painter like Picasso and I can’t write symphonies like Beethoven. But given my artistic style, use of art as a form of protest, and the fact that no one knows who the hell I am, I believe I could be the next Banksy.

Of course, most everyone “knows” Banksy. But no one knows who they really are. Like myself, Banksy doesn’t make art for fame or fortune. It’s about the message. It’s about getting people thinking and talking. Sure, I have plenty of pieces for sale on social media and Etsy, but I don’t ever really advertise it. I’ll show you if you’d like though.

Also like Banksy, I have been making art for decades. We have both shredded our own artwork. I also like Massive Attack. The list goes on.

I don’t do graffiti, of course. All of my work is legal (and available on Etsy). Except for the piece I did on the boarded-up McDonalds on 12th and Fordsbush in Denver. You probably know it if you’re a local, but you can also see it on Google Street View if you’re not. I think it must be too edgy to have ever gone viral. Someone painted a dick over it a few days after it went up, but censorship is just par for the course for renegade artists like Banksy and me.

So when you talk to me, you may just be talking to the next Banksy. You may even be witnessing the very beginnings of a turning point in art and culture. In the meantime, pick something up on my Etsy page while supplies last. Who knows what it might be worth one day if anybody ever bothers to take an interest in my work.