Fuck: Venue Changes Entry Stamp Design Just As Punk Has Finally Mastered Drawing It

Posted on by Amanda Russel

CHICAGO — Local venue The Brain Factory has abruptly changed the design of its entry stamp, much to the dismay of artistic punk Mel Kravtsova, who had just mastered the nuances of the block letters “OK.”

“I tried to draw it for weeks. I wasted my money on entry to get stamped last November so I could practice. Months go by, it finally happened, I drew it right and then they fucking change it to some circle design bullshit?” said Kravtsova, with a small hint of sadness. “That just goes to show that no matter how hard you work to make something great and meaningful, the little guy is always getting fucked over.”

Support from the community at Mel’s endeavor is evident in best friend and regular venue attendee Spike Nowak, who cannot stop raving about her friend’s genius stroke of innovation.

“The day she first drew it right we both had tears in our eyes. We went on a journey together and now we’re finally here, and we’re never going to pay cover here again, or so we thought,” Nowak stated. “Then, just like that, basically our entire world came crashing down. I can’t believe they decided to do this to us. We have to start again all the way back at square one. It never ends. She’s gonna need a Goddamn art degree just to get us into shows.”

Noticeably tired doorman Steve Vega, however, said he didn’t see what all the fuss was about.

“I dunno, we just fuckin’ felt bad for her because she comes here so much,” Vega confided. “We know she’s just been drawing it on. Anyone can draw block letters. I can draw block letters and I can’t even draw a stick figure. My dog can draw block letters. We just ran out of black ink, so we had to switch it, it wasn’t because we found her out or give a shit. The locks on the toilet paper holders, however, are absolutely because of her.”

At press time, Kravtsova was licking the back of her hand and pressing it against the stamped hand of a friend to gain entry into a $3 show.

Photo by Jana Miller. 

Five Warning Signs Your HVAC Guy Isn’t in a Band

Posted on by Kevin Tit

You need quality assurance from your HVAC repairman. That’s why it’s imperative that you, the consumer, know for a fact that your HVAC guy is in a shitty local band. Sure, between the casual profanity and face tattoos, it might seem like it’s safe to say he is but how are you supposed to know for sure? Fear not! Here are five warning signs that may mean the unthinkable: your HVAC guy is not in a band.

Punctuality – Did he show up on time? If so, there’s a good chance this guy ain’t a real rocker. Real rockers don’t show up until at least ten minutes after they’re supposed to be finished. If he respects you and your home, odds are he does this job full time and has no room in his life for playing music.

Smells Good – If your HVAC guy doesn’t reek of body odor and cigarettes then we’re afraid he probably didn’t play a poorly-attended show last night. Worse, if he’s not at least hungover it’s a clear red flag that he’s got a pretty decent grasp on his life.

Brings Tools – Did your HVAC guy show up and immediately ask if it was cool to borrow your tools because he didn’t wanna have to dig through his car to find his? No? Then odds are he’s not in a band. Banish his from your home at once!

Works in Silence – Do you hear top 40 radio being blasted out of a speaker? Did you see the HVAC guy wearing any headphones while working? No? Well that right there is another red flag. Not just in the sense that he probably doesn’t play in a band but also in the sense that you may have let a legitimate psychopath into your home.

Goes Home – If your HVAC guy plays in a band then there is a one million percent chance he will ask you if it’s cool to crash. Floor, couch, doesn’t matter. They’re more than comfortable. However, if they’re going back home at the end of the day then I’m sorry to say, they are most definitely not in a band.

Woman Honestly Glad Man is Gatekeeping Nu-Metal

Posted on by Neel Bhakta

CHICAGO 一 Local woman and record collector Sara Yousefi feels extremely relieved and happy that a random man has decided to gatekeep nu-metal, groaning sources reported.

“I was just minding my business and checking out some records when some random dude with chains jangling around slapped a copy of ‘Hybrid Theory’ out of my hands. He started following me around and saying I’m too ‘girly’ to actually understand the deep and soulful lyrics of nu-metal,” said Yousefi. “Honestly, thank fucking Christ! People have always told me to expand my taste in my music, but now I don’t have to be exposed to that shitty genre. This is the greatest harassment I’ve received in years, and only the second one I’ve endured today.”

The man who confronted Yousefi and countless other women has unknowingly been hailed as a hero in the local community.

“Yeah, it really fucking irks me when you have these random girls walking around the record store like they know what real music is. This one chick, she just strolled right past the M-section, like, I guess Mushroomhead doesn’t exist anymore,” spat out Aaron “Zeembo” Johnson. “If you’re gonna listen to nu-metal, you gotta commit fully. I want to see the baggy JNCOs, the infected cheek piercings, and the flame tats across the entire length of your arms. Otherwise, don’t fucking bother listening to intellectuals like Fred Durst speak the truth and stick with your Built to Spill records or whatever.”

Experts studying the relationship between music listening habits and gender have recently released a report focusing on nu-metal.

“After extensive research, hours of interview footage, and years of analysis, we can safely conclude that white dudes named Aaron and Kyle are 100% responsible for scaring women away from nu-metal,” said Dr. Emily Watanabe. “Subsequently, their gatekeeping has also limited the growth of the genre to larger audiences, which all reports indicate, is a net positive for society. Now all that’s left to do is find someone to angrily gatekeep shitty beer and then we’re really in a good spot.”

At press time, Johnson was found questioning why every local show is such a sausage fest.

Impressive: This Misogynist Has No Masculine Traits

Posted on by Dom Turek

As a nod to traditional western values, local misogynist John Buswell told his new girlfriend to get her fat ass in the kitchen and make him lunch, but nothing with tomato because it triggers his acid reflux and gives him a belly ache.

Unbelievable! Despite all of his patriarchal views and 1950s moral outlook, this man has absolutely no masculine traits at all!

“Look, I expect a warm meal on the table after breaking my back all day podcasting and selling vintage T-shirts online,” he said. “I told her to get in there and make me a sandwich because touching deli meats grosses me out. Also, last time I tried to make a sandwich, I cut my finger on a butter knife and it still kind of stings.”

Way to break from toxic masculine stereotypes, John! What a progressive trendsetter!

John has always dedicated his life to enforcing traditional gender roles since his junior year of high school after someone asked him to prom as a joke. According to the caption on an Instagram post of John wearing a shirt in the pool, “As the physically superior sex, a man’s natural place is leading the charge.”

“Like it or not, men are the superior sex,” John told us as he waited for his girlfriend to assist him in opening a jar. “That’s why I always hire a man to change my oil, fix my plumbing, and hang Ikea shelves for me.”

When reached for a follow-up, John reported that he was newly single and ready to get back on the market just as soon as his mom comes over and kills the spider near the keys to his Vespa.

Breakthrough: Panic Attack About Something Real This Time

Posted on by Matt McInerney

BOSTON — Local woman Ava Rivera experienced what she believed to be a breakthrough last week after suffering her first panic attack about something realistically terrifying, a source confirmed.

“I was riding the elevator to my office when it happened. I noticed the lights start to flicker. Suddenly, the cab went dark and I swear I felt the floor shift under me. I started to tremble as I pictured the support cables giving out. I imagined dropping 30 stories to my death,” she said, reliving the horror. “As terrifying as it was, it was actually kind of a relief to possibly be faced with the thing I was absolutely hyperventilating over. I’ve spent so much time giving my energy to the impending sense of doom that comes with, I don’t know, geomagnetic reversal kicking in overnight, that I’d forgotten what it feels like to worry about falling down an elevator shaft at top speed. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t kind of refreshing.”

Darren Roy, Rivera’s longtime boyfriend, seemed excited by this news.

“I usually have to pretend I understand what she’s upset about and make some sort of face or reassure her that a tidal wave isn’t going to carry everyone away and our dog isn’t going to die from starvation after getting locked inside the house, but this one I get,” said Roy. “Her other ones, like how reinforced concrete is reaching its 50-year lifespan and every skyscraper is about to crumble… I mean, come on. Or like when she’d get all worked up detailing the impending plague that would wipe out… actually, I might owe her an apology on that one.”

Korbyn Ryerson, a cognitive-behavioral therapist who has been seeing Rivera for years, didn’t seem as thrilled as Roy.

“I think it’s splendid that Ava is starting to overcome some of her more creative triggers. While I don’t know if I feel comfortable calling this a ‘breakthrough,’ I have to admit, the idea of plummeting to my death would probably ruffle my feathers too,” he said. “Though it would be lovely if this means a tad fewer canceled appointments due to scenarios like solar storms devastating the electrical grid. I mean, scientists say we’d only get a 15-minute warning, not even enough time to react before society descends into absolute chaos, so keep counting the ridges on that quarter and just walk your ass over here.”

At press time, Roy was forwarding his girlfriend an article about climate change, hoping he and Rivera could bond over the horror of it.

How I Saved $500 A Month By Firing The Family Counselor Who Told Me To Stop Fat-shaming My Children

Posted on by James Knapp

Look, there’s no easy way to say this so I’ll just come right out with it: I enjoy having more money. Wow, it feels good to finally get that off my chest. Also, my offspring are fat and gross and I don’t enjoy them.

Fortunately, I figured out a genius way to kill two birds with one stone. And after I dealt with those goddamn fat birds I fired that jerk family counselor who told me I was being an asshole.

I love my family, and if I have a hard time expressing that love it is only because of how fat some of them are. Therefore not expressing to my children just how fat I find them to be would be totally counterproductive!

Like what was I even paying that guy for? $500 dollars a month to tell me that naming my kids Fat Glen and The Human Hippo was unconscionably evil – that’s fiscally irresponsible! Does he have any idea how much it would cost to have those birth certificates changed?

I only hired the counselor in the first place because Fat Glen was starting all those fires at school, and the judge ruled that liposuction wasn’t a helpful or wise solution. Shows what they know. I looked into it and, if the kid’s under twelve, then the surgery is a tax write-off. Suck it, Judge Lardo McSpendsallot, Esq.!

If that counselor was worth an ounce of his salt he would have spent less time telling me how to parent and more time trying to suss out the identity of this bully my kids keep alluding to. Apparently some big jerk makes them feel bad all the time and whenever I try to find out who it is they just say “he doesn’t go to school with us” and then they get all uncomfortable. Poor fat fucks.

Now I’m not some kind of meiser. Just the other day The Human Hippo was saying something fatly and I paid her to go away. But I draw the line at handing over one-fortieth of my paycheck every month just so some egghead can tell me I’m causing irreparable damage to my children’s self worth. Worth is wealth, brainiac! Guess they didn’t teach you that at doctor school.

So is financial security more important than emotional health? According to the government, neither matters. But in my opinion, firing that family counselor who told me that I’m “the Hitler of fat people” was the smartest money move I’ve ever made.

Guitarist Plays $6,000 Les Paul for Three Hours Before Buying $5 Pack of Strings

Posted on by John Danek

SANTA BARBARA, Calif. — Technically stunning guitarist Peter Lakely tested a $6k Gibson Les Paul for hours at Guitar Gallery before ultimately only buying one measly pack of strings, frustrated shop employees reported.

“You don’t want to be that person who waltzes into a guitar shop and hogs a priceless heirloom guitar for hours without buying anything,” explained Lakely, who took 20 minutes to choose a satisfactory set of Ernie Ball strings. “So that’s why I bought the strings. It totally justifies the fact that I never once surrendered the guitar even while people with actual interest in it lingered near me. Sorry dickhead, you should have gotten here when the store opened like I did.”

Sam Olwell, manager of Guitar Gallery, admits that guitar hostage situations like this happen more frequently than people may realize.

“Most customers get the hint when I walk over and ask if they need anything, it means my mental clock is ticking,” said Olwell, who is considered a master in the art of guitar kidnapping negotiation. “But that clown doesn’t pick up on social cues at all. He comes in here a few times a month and just sits there, head down, repeatedly practicing sweep picking. My usual quips of ‘yep, a lot of people are interested in that one’ and ‘want to try another one?’ don’t get the point across. And he thinks five bucks on a pack of strings totally absolves his behavior. He’s good. He’s damn good.”

Friends of Lakely state that his proclivity for taking a demo opportunity and extending it to godly proportions isn’t limited to guitars.

“Peter once test drove a Nissan for three hours, did a bunch of errands, and put on 81 miles,” said lifelong friend Lila Klein. “The dealership was just so relieved to have it back after he said he was taking it ‘around the block.’ He never technically lied, because he did go around the block several times. He’s also never bought a mattress. He orders beds online, uses them for 99 of their 100 day trials, and returns them saying they are uncomfortable.”

Lakely has reportedly met his match as a precocious teen guitarist has started demoing a 100w Marshall stack at full volume during his usual Les Paul time, which Lakely believes is “rude.”

Mom Really Trying To Feel Honored By Giant Neck Tattoo

Posted on by Ryan Danley

DENVER — Local Real Estate Agent and mother of four, Sharon Smithson, struggled to find the proper emotions at the unveiling of her youngest son’s permanent tribute to her, awkward feeling onlookers report.

“When Eli said he had done something special for me I thought maybe he had finally moved his old broken down car out of our driveway, or maybe a trip to the spa. But to my utter surprise, he got a gigantic neck tattoo that makes him look like a Russian criminal. I’m sure there are plenty of potential employers and cops who are going to love finding out the meaning behind that one,” said Smithson with a forced smile. “I suppose it’s a nice tattoo. It’s the word ‘MOM’ with these little birds with sewing needles. I guess it’s nice he thinks of me like that, but I haven’t sewn anything in years. I was always too busy taking him to see his probation officer to pick up a hobby.”

While Smithson was taken aback by the unveiling of the new tattoo, her son was happy to see her so surprised.

“I’ve put my mother through a lot, so it was the least I could do. I came across some extra money, wink wink, and rather than just pay Mom and Dad back what I owe them, I decided to give her something that would last her entire life. To see her sitting there in complete silence with tears in her eyes and her mouth wide open was confirmation that she loved it,” said Eli Smithson while strumming a Squire Strat. “I’m actually a little choked up, normally my mom hates tattoos. But she actually said ‘It’s very nice dear.’ Dear? She hasn’t called me that since I was five.”

Cultural anthropologist, Don Sumner, says we shouldn’t be surprised by a generational difference in tributes.

“In the short history of mankind we have seen drastic changes in the ways we honor our elders. In Mesopotamia, certain groups may sacrifice a small animal for the heath of their parents. And in modern times, a student said he had carved ‘Slayer’ into his arm for his third Step-Dad,” said Sumner.”The thing we have to focus on is that the youth still want to honor their elders. And let’s be real, four hours in a tattoo chair is easier than a thirty-minute phone call.”

Smithson was unavailable for further comment as she was busy explaining that she didn’t have any money to loan her son until his next payday.

Man Who Says He Was Born in the Wrong Decade Would Have Also Been a Loser in the 70s

Posted on by Dan Kozuh

BUFFALO, N.Y. — Local twenty-something Jeremy Harris was overheard repeating the common trope that he was ‘born in the wrong decade’ without realizing he would have been maligned in the 70s as well, irritated friends and family report.

“Unlike other people my age, I am not attached to my phone twenty-four-seven and I prefer the sound of analog vinyl over soulless YouTube uploads,” said Harris while playing a vintage Atari system he bought off eBay alone in his dorm room. “If I was born 50 years earlier I would probably be hanging out with the likes of Freddie Mercury or Hunter S. Thompson rather than these TikTok obsessed morons. People wouldn’t be screaming ‘wash your hair,’ ‘take a shower,’ or ‘stop carrying all those live ferrets in your backpack’ because everyone back then was more easygoing.”

Acquaintances of Harris, however, state that no matter what decade in which he grew up he would have still been a complete tool.

“I honestly don’t think he would have survived growing up when I did,” Harris’ uncle Conrad Mann explained. “He probably would have actually been seen as a massive poser or people would have thought he was an undercover cop. Either way, he would have gotten his ass kicked every day for it. The 70s were rough man and, no offense to my nephew, he wouldn’t have made it out alive. I mean, when I see him at family gatherings in a KISS Dynasty t-shirt, I kinda’ want to shove him into a locker myself.”

Scientists have also proven that Harris would probably not have fit in with people from his parent’s generation either.

“Research has shown that many people who believe they were born in the wrong era would have been losers no matter what decade they grew up,” sociologist Rachael Turner, Ph.D. explained. “We call it the Epoch Paradox. Mr. Harris exhibits all of the telltale signs, from buying what he believes to be period-accurate clothing at thrift stores to only indulging in esoteric pop-culture media for the time period; most of which however has been white-washed by history and are wildly inaccurate.”

As of press time, what few of Harris’ friends remained were trying their best to stop him from purchasing a ‘Shaggin’ Wagon’ with a wizard painted on the side from AutoTrader Classic.

Help! This Weird Old Man Gave Me a Chocolate Factory and I Keep Finding Bodies Everywhere!

Posted on by Nathan Kamal

I was minding my business and enjoying a candy bar when the craziest thing happened! A crowd surrounded me because I found some dumb coupon in my chocolate and then there was this whole media circus before I was whisked away to some bizarre tour of a chocolate factory. If that wasn’t crazy enough, this weird old man who was showing us around just up and gave me the goddamn chocolate factory. The worst part is, now I keep finding bodies everywhere! Help!

This is not what I signed up for when bought that candy bar. It was a plain chocolate bar too. Not worth it.

As soon as the old man in the top hat forced me to sign this contract that said I own everything in this creepy place, I, a nine-year-old, am now legally responsible for an international confectionery company with a board of trustees, an accounting department, and a research and development lab full of disturbing blue men who sing about death as they work. That’s when bodies just started appearing everywhere.

Behind a bush that was somehow growing jelly beans, I found the badly decomposed body of a kid. He was about my age. Doesn’t anyone miss him? Where are his parents? It’s probably best they don’t see him like this anyway, all cold with Necco Wafers over his eyes.

Oh dear God, the chocolate river! There were so many bodies. All bloated up with liquid chocolate. Floating facedown in rich, tasty chocolate sauce. Only gas keeps them afloat. And then there was the old man who had a heart attack after being forced to consume effervescent cotton candy. The little men sang at him as he clawed at his throat, the cotton candy burning him from within. Their song haunts my every waking moment.

Oh yeah, there was that French kid who was guillotined by a giant, razor sharp Jolly Rancher blade. That one was just crazy. Also, I didn’t know this place made Jolly Ranchers. Silver linings, eh?

This factory is a maze. I’ll never find my way out. I’ll die here like all the others. Then I’ll never get to learn the joys of running a Fortune 500 company! Wait, what’s that outline against the harsh lights of the factory? It’s one of the little men! They’ve turned on each other now that there is no one else to sing their death songs at. Oh God, they’re crucifying him. No. There’s no use crying to God. He has abandoned this factory. There is no candy here. There is only body after body.