When I Die, Bury Me Inside of Whatever Coffin Morticia and Gomez Smash In

Posted on by Kay V. Ashbury

Morticia and Gomez Addams represent the perfect foil to the stereotypical sitcom couple: they’re always proud of their children, content with their family’s weirdness, and so hopelessly obsessed with each other, ain’t no doubt they’ve funked up a couple of freaky lil’ locales with their lovemaking.

The couples from “Leave It To Beaver” and “The Waltons” probably think smashing on anything less than 600-count sheets is DefKink-1. The Addams, however, glow in the dark. In the caves of the Grand Canyon, hundreds of miles above the drowned cadavers that choke Lake Mead, one might hear the rhythmic grunting of two spooksters whose pheromones drive the cave’s native bats to vomit black liquid and thirst for human fuck juice. And that’s just on any given Tuesday.

There is no doubt that these two have engaged in some serious coffin-based genital shenanigans. A claustrophobic memento mori? One that caresses their bodies in leakproof velvet? One that, in reminding them of the imminence of death, encourages them to seize every moment of dark lust that they can?

Nut.

Imagine those two pale Adonises slowly asphyxiating, the effort of their lovemaking diminishing the oxygen of their fuck coffin as they climax to the howls of nearby wolves, the children of the night. I can think of no place more peaceful.

Listen, I am a persistently sad man. One of consistent sorrowfulness, even. The unconditional affinity these two family-centric ghouls possess is a level of love that I need hanging around my dead body after I go home to meet the Lord (of Darkness).

My soul will find rest on this or any other plane until my decaying body liquefies and intermingles with all of that concentrated love funk.

Blood-Soaked Man Desperately Explaining GWAR to Traffic Cop

Posted on by Sean Mullee

BALTIMORE — Local metalhead Matt Franklin attempted to convince a police officer that the blood and bodily fluids covering his body were due to the fact he was returning home from a particularly messy GWAR show, dispatch confirmed.

“Okay, I know how this looks, but hear me out. All this red stuff is not my victim’s blood, but rather that of a Confederate soldier reanimated by the band of interplanetary barbarians known as GWAR,” pleaded an uneasy Franklin. “So, long story short, this group of good-for-nothing Scumdogs was sent by the Master billions of years ago to conquer Earth. But, they got frozen in Antarctica, addicted to crack, and distracted by rock ‘n’ roll. And, uh, tonight, they brought Vladimir Putin out on stage – because he’s stealing their job of killing innocents – and ripped the skin off his face, which completely covered me in blood. So as you can see, this is all a big misunderstanding.”

Officer Dale Focht, who stopped Franklin for a broken tail light, was visibly stunned by the explanation of intergalactic conquerors which lead to the man getting covered in alien semen and viscera.

“Well, he claimed some kind of monster with four penises, er, enjoyed himself all over a room full of people,” said a skeptical Focht, “And that a character named ‘ballsack’ fed several ‘whores’ to a ‘world maggot.’ I figured it was best if I took him back to the station to sober up from whatever substance he was on and check if there were any missing persons reported tonight. You’d be surprised how often I get these nutcases, and how often they’re blasting terrible music when I pull them over.”

Lead howler of GWAR, Blothar the Berserker, was enraged by Franklin’s choice to submit so easily to a flimsy human cop.

“One of our slaves was apparently taken by a scum-sucking member of the Earth police. Well, why didn’t he just kill the cop and get on with it?” cried an incredulous Blothar. “That’s what Blothar–I mean I– would’ve done. I mean, Blothar, for not me personally, in case this is on the record. But regardless, this man is a pansy and a coward, and we do not forgive him of his transgression.”

Franklin was last spotted attempting to explain the life, times, and crimes of Oderus Urungus to an exhausted lieutenant of the police department before being committed to a local hospital for a mandatory 72-hour psychiatric hold.

I Moved to Florida and Achieved Wealth Beyond My Wildest Dreams by Selling Alcoholic Gator Milk to Kids!

Posted on by Yancy Lee Crawford

It’s tough being an entrepreneur with all the inflation and unnecessary food safety regulations these days. I moved from liberal Michigan to Florida, and let me tell you, the Sunshine State is a free-market utopia where industry is unimpeded by government overreach and public health regulations! And since coming to Orlando, I’ve achieved wealth beyond my wildest dreams by selling alcoholic gator milk to kids!

My business partner Roscoe Jackson and I are hungry for two things: free-market commerce and muskrats. Together, we’ve built an alcohol empire that stretches from the daycare centers of Pensacola to the middle school dances of Key West. I feed her lost dogs and possum meat, and she gives me the secret ingredient to Dave’s Gator Wine!

Roscoe’s hot, gray cream is what gives our drink its signature bubbles and masks the taste of bootleg grain alcohol.

Milking Roscoe is actually my favorite part of the brewing process. I shotgun six or seven Busch Lights, jump on Roscoe, and start squeezin’ and gropin’ and twistin’ them big, bulgy tits of hers until I fill a bucket. Then, I add some sugar, yeast, and a gallon of moonshine and leave it in the closet until it stinks to high hell.

After that, it’s easy money! I strain the chunks, drive around, and those kids come runnin’! Growin’ kids need amphibious calcium to fortify their spirit and keep ‘em on the path of the almighty! Plus, gator milk is high in bugs which is probably good for their skeleton or some shit.

Now, Google says alligators don’t have milk, but explain to me what I’ve been sellin’ to them kids in swing-top bottles and Styrofoam sippy cups for the last two years!?! Really, Google ought to ask me — a guy that kidnaps neighborhood pets, slams beer around the clock, and has an intimate working relationship with these majestic motherfuckers!

Am I illegally selling high-ABV milk to kids? Some states might say so. But this drink got my kids through third grade, and their dad is a millionaire beverage executive with vacation homes in Tallahassee AND Jacksonville! What harm could a few sips of alcoholic gator milk do? Let the kids be kids! And let the free market of children with stolen credit cards and household electronics determine the value of my product!

Free commerce! It’s what gets America — and the children of Florida — drunk!

Studies Confirm Average Punk Eats Between Five and Seven Cigarettes in Their Sleep Annually

Posted on by Matt Bieker

PHILADELPHIA — Researchers at Johns Hopkins University confirmed the average American punk consumes a half-dozen cigarettes in their sleep throughout the year, according to a recent study that has many people panicking.

“Our team had heard plenty of anecdotal evidence—people waking up on squat couches with a few darts missing from the pack, crusties nodding off at the bus station with a lit cig and waking up without it, that sort of thing,” said Dr. Anette Oberling, lead author of the study Nocturnal Carcinogen Consumption Habits in Punk Subcultures. “Only after controlling for variables like trading smokes for rides, fishing loosies out of venue ashtrays, and simple misplacement could we confirm that, in fact, some of these cigarettes are being unconsciously ingested.”

Local punks had mixed reactions when confronted with the findings.

“I don’t know, I guess it makes sense,” said Scott “Thump” Adams. “Sometimes I’ll wake up and my breath smells a little ashy or I’ll have some brown stuff in my teeth, but I always figured that came from not brushing for the past couple of years. I suppose I should be disgusted, but honestly man, a lot is coming together about some of the mornings I’ve had.”

Santa Fe Natural Tobacco Company CEO Robin Summers, which owns the American Spirit cigarette brand, was forced to issue a response.

“In light of these findings, our company would like to strongly emphasize that our product is not meant to be chewed, swallowed, or similarly consumed,” said Summers while simultaneously approving advertisements aimed at teenagers. “Eating one of our cigarettes is a poor way to enjoy the smooth, organic taste of our American-grown tobacco, especially if one is unconscious at the time. We suggest that you partake while fully alert and willing to spend more on a new pack at the bodega.”

The study’s conclusion insists more research is necessary, but also made a point of describing that a measurable percentage of the punks involved seemed to gain essential calories and nutrients from consuming the cigarettes that were otherwise missing from their diet.

We Ranked Some of Our Favorite Pitchfork Rankings To See How They Like It

Posted on by Audrey Vieira

Pitchfork keeps churning out list after list of rankings, so we figured it’s time to give them a taste of their own medicine. These are the rankings that define the second most trusted voice in music behind The Needle Drop.

5. The 20 Best Punk Movies
This list is helpful if you’re trying to impress a film major without sacrificing your punk image, but it only made number 5 on our ranking due to one glaring omission. How does somebody make a list of the best punk movies without including the classic that is “The Return of the Living Dead?” That movie pioneered cinematic representations of both punks and zombies, yet Pitchfork cruelly snubs it like it’s nothing. It may not be an A24 masterpiece but it’s still a solid horror flick.

4. The 200 Best Songs of the 2010s
Due to the recency of this list, it’s an informative read for those of us who are too busy being nostalgic to pay attention to contemporary music. We learned a lot about mainstream pop culture from some of these placements. Who knew Azealia Banks made music before she started sacrificing chickens in her closet?

3. The 50 Best Britpop Albums
This list begins with a quote from Jarvis Cocker in which he says, “Britpop? It’s just a shitty-sounding word.” His words immediately resonated with us because we don’t care for that shit either. However, Pitchfork disagrees. Their staff must be getting paid off by the monarchy or something because there’s no way there are 50 Britpop albums out there, let alone 50 good ones.

2. The 25 Best Indie Pop Albums of the 90s
Indie pop is a subgenre where knowing the right underground acts can make or break how others perceive you. This ranking is instrumental in establishing dominance over other people at the record store and making them feel like shit for being unable to name half of the ethereal albums that we pretend to like. Perhaps someday we’ll finally listen to a few of the records mentioned on this list.

1. The 50 Best Indie Rock Albums of the Pacific Northwest
In true Pitchfork fashion, this ranking uses pretentious terminology to tackle an oddly specific regional genre. Seriously, the Pacific Northwest? Just say Portland! Nevertheless, this has everything mockable about Pitchfork: a niche topic, flowery writing, and enough sad indie schlock to make Zach Braff blush.

Lux Interior Releases Posthumous Cookbook With Over 100 Delicious Microphone Recipes

Posted on by Joe Rumrill

LOS ANGELES — The estate of Cramps frontman Lux Interior announced the release of a posthumous cookbook “Goo Goo Mic: Recipes That Won’t Make You Puke” which includes over one hundred ways to cook and prepare a common microphone, sources close to the family confirmed.

“I guess Lux just acquired a taste for them after swallowing one a night for 35 years, and unbeknownst to even me, he had been filing away these sumptuous recipes the entire time,” said Cramps guitarist and Interior’s widow Poison Ivy Rorschach. “In honor of Lux’s memory, I couldn’t be happier to share this book with the world. Perfect for any chef looking for a new-but-timeless kind of kick. Some dishes require top-shelf items, but it shouldn’t be a problem since most of Lux’s recipes call for the preparer to be wearing platform heels, anyway.”

Representatives from Shure microphones were reluctant to cosign the prospective New York Times Bestseller, but were soon singing a different tune.

“I’ll admit, I was ready to release a statement about not condoning the ingestion of our products as soon as I heard about the book. But then I took a meeting with Ivy and the publishing team where they wheeled in silver platter after silver platter of delectable microphone delicacies,” said Shure CEO Christine Schyvinck. “And by the time they took the cover off the ‘Lux’s Lemon Mascarpone-Microphone Layer Cake,’ I was all in. We here at Shure back this cookbook wholeheartedly and full-stomachedly!”

Michelin star chef Alain Ducasse has given his endorsement, and even served some of Interior’s dishes at his establishments.

“Though Mr. Interior’s songwriting and stage-presence may have glorified the, shall we say, primitive and baser impulses of the human brain, these recipes are anything but,” gushed Chef Ducasse. “That man could certainly wield a mic—and grill, steam, poach, and fricassee one, too. And anyone worrying about the electricity should only look at the modern food pyramid, which now suggests about 120 volts per meal. Once you taste how good Lux’s dishes are, you’ll be shocked in more ways than one.”

In addition to the volume’s release, Rorschach announced an accompanying promotional book tour which will consist entirely of mental hospitals.

Man Just Playing Hard to Get Rid Of

Posted on by Sara Mellas

WALNUT CREEK, Calif. — Local 27-year-old woman Emily Sinclair continued to be contacted by a former Hinge match in whom she was no longer interested, her loosely invested roommates confirmed.

“I met Chris on an app last month and we met up for coffee. He seemed nice and interesting enough so I agreed to go on a second date, but after that I decided we probably weren’t a good match,” said Sinclair. “That was three weeks ago… and Chris is still texting me. I would feel bad ghosting, but at this point I don’t know how else to get rid of him. You’d think with how long I take to text back unenthusiastic one-word responses, he’d have gotten the hint by now, but he just keeps sending things like, ‘Hope you had a great day!’ and ‘I have two VIP tickets to see the Arctic Monkeys next weekend, would you like to go?’”

Chris Farinelli, seemingly undeterred by Emily’s short, delayed text replies, didn’t seem to take the hint.

“Emily seems great and I’m hoping to get to know her better by liking and commenting on all of her Instagram posts,” said Farinelli. “Her schedule is really busy right now, but I’ve been texting her every couple of hours so she knows I’m still interested. Because if you like someone you should let them know as much as humanly possible. Hopefully I can take her to dinner soon on a night when she doesn’t have to stay at the office until 11:00 p.m. and her dog isn’t sick.”

Relationships expert April Bauer affirmed that while clear communication is important, it’s not always straightforward.

“The widespread use of dating apps has made modern relationship dynamics considerably more complicated,” said Bauer. “I always advocate for communicating honestly instead of ghosting the person you’ve lost interest in. But also like, have you ever had someone text you, ‘sorry I’m just not attracted to you and don’t see this going anywhere’? That just sounds harsh. Maybe ghosting isn’t so bad.”

At press time, Sinclair reportedly had not heard from Farinelli in two weeks and suddenly found him extremely attractive.

Fiscally Responsible Punk Starts Dating Their Drug Dealer

Posted on by Patrick Coyne

PORTLAND, Maine — Frugal punk, and self-described “hopeless romantic,” Tyler Castaneda recently devised a scheme to save money by dating the woman who sells him pills, thrifty sources confirmed.

“My grandpa had always taught me that your Addy, Xany, and booger sugar budget should never exceed 30% of your monthly income, but I was regularly blowing that number out of the water. And with the economy the way it’s been lately, and having already stolen all the catalytic converters in the neighborhood, I had to start tightening my bullet belt and look to cut some corners,” said Castaneda. “That’s when I had the brilliant idea to start fucking my drug dealer. She’s pretty good-looking, and the fact I know she carries two cans of bear spray and a small gun make the fling more exciting. Now I’m getting high for free and all it requires is some light prostitution and a bit of my already dwindling dignity.”

Slightly less fiscally irresponsible roommate Nella Barker disapproved of Castaneda’s decision.

“I came home to find Tyler donning one of those green visors and using an adding calculator like you’d see in a ‘Looney Tunes’ cartoon. I’m not sure how exactly he ‘crunched the numbers’ and came to this conclusion that regularly porking the creep that steals Adderall from her 11-year-old brother saves you money,” said Barker. “Because now we’ve got this person who is constantly in our house, dealing on our front porch, eating what little food we’ve got, and passing out on our couch.”

Financial advisor Ted Hutton offered his insight into Castaneda’s creative budgeting.

“I am the world’s first and only punk financial advisor. And with good reason, as you can imagine my advice is thoroughly reckless and incredibly dangerous. But for those looking to save some money with little regard to their own health or self-respect, I’ve got plenty of ideas,” said Hutton. “For instance, if you know you’re going to drink until you puke, do not eat beforehand. Why waste money on food that you’re just going to upchuck behind the venue? Also, taxes. Just don’t do them. Ever. That’ll save you $1.15 on envelopes and stamps right there.”

At press time, Castaneda is attempting to stretch his budget further by beginning a polyamorous relationship with a local diner waitress, his optometrist, and a wealthy, sickly octogenarian.

We Beat on the Brat With a Baseball Bat and Our Attorney Says This Daycare Center Actually Has a Pretty Strong Case Against Us

Posted on by James Knapp

The Ramones were masters at writing instructional punk songs. Songs that teach the listener how to sniff glue and how to not go down to the basement have informed generations of punks everywhere – and we here at The Hard Times consider ourselves well-educated.

However, as the court documents that we’re allowed to tell you about clearly state, “beat[ing] on the ‘brat’ (Timmy Goodson: accuser) with a baseball bat was not intended to be taken literally, and Hard Times [The] are liable…” and yadda yadda you get the gist, right? Our attorney has advised us not to continue.

Look, we didn’t plan on teaching all the kids what to do with a brat like that who’s always on your back when we went to the daycare center that day – we were only there to pick up our sister’s dumb little wiener kid while she was, ironically, tied up in court. But then we saw that Timmy kid being a dick to some other preschoolers over by the sports equipment shed and we just kinda thought “what can we lose?”

The answer to that question is potentially more than all of our assets and a mandatory 5 years in prison if this case doesn’t go our way. Unfortunately, our attorney is not optimistic as it turns out that the daycare center has security footage of us actually wielding the baseball bat – it was aluminum though, which we feel should count for a reduced sentence.

Do we admit we may have taken it a bit too far? Well, our legal counsel has advised us to say “no,” so that’s what we’re going with.

The important thing to remember here is that, regardless of what happens to us, there’s still a playground full of kids out there who definitely know now how to beat on a brat with such intensity and bloodlust that the judge in our case has called “so horrifying it could be modern art.”

So listen to the Ramones to learn life lessons and cudgel-based combat – just make sure that there aren’t too many witnesses.

And if someone could post our bail we’d appreciate it. We used our one phone call to prank Danzig again.

System of a Down, Deftones Announce “Nu Metal But, Like, Good” Tour

Posted on by John Danek

GLENDALE, Calif. — Two of nu metal’s most respected acts, System of a Down and Deftones, announced a co-headlining tour under the moniker “Nu Metal But, Like, Good,” confirmed representatives from the bands.

“This tour is dedicated to all our fans who shared our music with friends while apologetically saying ‘I know it’s nu metal, but trust me, it’s actually good,’” said Serj Tankian, frontman of System of a Down and current owner of Frank Zappa’s mustache. “Deftones are the only other band in a similar boat as us. Critics have to preface our reviews with ‘Listen I knowwww, but hear me out.’ We fully understand. We also heard Limp Bizkit’s ‘Hot Dog.’”

Deftones’ Stephen Carpenter recounted the difficulty in trying to find other acts to fill the tour’s bill.

“There isn’t a third band in all of nu metal who doesn’t suck at least a little,” stated Carpenter, longtime guitarist of the Sacramento group. “We briefly considered Korn but only under the condition that they stick to tunes before the year 2000. Let’s just say those talks didn’t go well. Limp Bizkit was never asked. We considered some deeper nu metal acts like Adema, Trust Company, and Taproot but holy shit, have you listened to them recently? I’m considering starting harpsichord lessons just to further distance myself from that shit.”

Longtime fans of nu metal are finally feeling vindicated after suffering decades of abuse from peers, friends, and music critics.

“They all laughed back in the day when I paid $300 for front row seats to see Deftones and Incubus, but nostalgia is taking hold—look who is laughing now!” exclaimed a self-righteous Danny Paulner, who has one tattoo for each System of a Down album. “Everyone is tired of 2022’s trends of obnoxious hyperpop and rehashed pop-punk. Now they’re crawling on their bellies back to the juicy riffs, slappin’ bass, and DJ scratches of nu metal. Sure, we still have to deal with the System of a Down guitarist screeching his bloody head off, but it’s a small price to pay for a concert of singalong choruses and 7-string guitar chugs.”

Hot on the heels of the announcement, barbers nationwide announced massive discounts on frosted tips.

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