Help! I Fell in Love With a Man Who Rides an Electric Longboard to Work!

Posted on by Harley Murgatroyd

When I pictured falling in love, I imagined the classic story of “girl meets guy and falls in love.” But apparently, fate had other plans for me. My love story is more like “girl meets guy and falls in love but then the guy leaves the girl’s house the next morning to go to work on a fucking electronic longboard.

Let me start from the beginning. I met the man of my dreams online. We chatted back and forth for weeks. I was smitten. When we finally met in person, something felt off. He was wearing flip-flops and a Tommy Bahama shirt and tried to pay for our meal with an NFT of a banana.

But then it happened. When he stood up to leave, he pulled out an electric longboard. A device he claims is his sole source of transportation. I watched him smoosh down his man bun, clip on a proprietary Bluetooth helmet, and ride off up a hill, nary a foot touching the ground.

I’ll admit the warning signs were there. On his profile he mentioned he was a skater, but not once did he acknowledge any of my deep-cut references to 80s skateboarding movies. Not once did he like any of the advanced tech deck video tutorials I’ve uploaded to Youtube. Not once did he tell me to shred gnar.

I bet he wouldn’t even recognize Tony Hawk in an airport.

I thought using Bumble rather than Tinder would protect me from this exact situation, but it turns out that absolutely no one is safe from douchey electronically powered devices. Skating is not a crime, but secondhand embarrassment caused by people riding electric skateboards should be.

Obsessed Taco Bell Scientist Resorts to Unnatural Methods to Create Forbidden 8th Layer

Posted on by Nathan Kamal

IRVINE, Calif. — Doctor Lazlo Thesiger, a research scientist at Taco Bell’s Insights Lab, has resorted to unnatural and dark methods to achieve his obsessive vision of an eighth layer, sources report.

“Those fools in the Taco Bell C-Suite have forbidden me from achieving true greatness,” said Doctor Thesiger while arcs of crackling electricity shot through a pan of refried beans behind him. “Particularly Vice President in Charge of Recipe Development Chad Arthurson, who lacks vision. I have a vision! I have a vision of an atomic-powered eighth layer that will achieve perfection in this jungle of a world, far surpassing these primitive Seven-Layer Burritos and White Hot Ranch Fries Burritos, which are available for a limited time at participating locations. And mark my words, my vision shall be…fulfilled!”

Ivan Rosmaninoff, Doctor Thesiger’s longtime lab assistant, was increasingly uncomfortable with the experiments.

“The Doctor is a visionary,” said Rosmaninoff, cowering behind a table as Doctor Thesiger screamed for more power. “Without him, Taco Bell would not boast such satisfying and innovative menu items as the Pinto Bean Quesarito and the Supreme Pinto Bean Quesarito with Bacon, for only $1.49 more. But his methods have become…extreme. Questionable. I am constantly terrified of what the Doctor will attempt next, like forcing me to steal the Mongolian Book of the Dead from the museum or inject guacamole with DNA labeled ‘Unknown Source.’ And it makes me very uncomfortable how much he talks about Vice President Chad Arthurson.”

“Plus, you can’t even really taste the eighth layer,” Rosmaninoff added. “It’s just like more of the same.”

Vice President in Charge of Recipe Development Chad Arthurson confirmed that Doctor Thesiger’s recent experiments were not condoned by Yum! Brands, Inc., the parent company of Taco Bell.

“This man, this monster, Thesiger, has gone too far this time,” said Arthurson while smoking a pipe in the Taco Bell Executive Lounge. “He has been warned time and time again that some menu items are the domain of God and God alone. While we cannot deny the good he has done for this company and our great line of affordably priced, freshly prepared foods, his mind has grown twisted. We have ordered the Taco Bell Constabulary to his labs, where he will be given five minutes to collect his personal belongings in a box and be escorted off the premises. His abomination of an eighth layer will never be.”

As of press time, Doctor Thesiger was laughing maniacally above the shrouded form of a misshapen burrito, which had slowly begun to twitch.

Nepotism? My Dad Was The Drunkest Guy In Town And Now I’m The Drunkest Guy In Town

Posted on by Ted Pillow

I remember bouncing on my father’s knee when I was just a boy, his breath that comforting aroma of Milwaukee’s Best and 711 taquitos. He gestured in front of us and wistfully remarked, “One day son, all of this could be yours…”

In a literal sense he was pointing at a huge pile of water-damaged “Hustler” magazines, but I think it was supposed to be a metaphor.

What he really meant was that one day, if I was willing to sacrifice and put in the work, I could strive to have the life he had made for himself. But, just because my father was once the drunkest guy in this ol’ town and I now go by that same moniker, that doesn’t mean there’s any nepotism going on here. I didn’t inherit my “Do Not Serve This Man” title, I earned it, one appearance in the local paper’s police blotter at a time.

Sure, dad pulled a few strings for me here and there, like reserving a permanent stool for me at the local dive bar when I turned 15 or signing me out of school to bring me to MTV Spring Break ‘98 for Take Your Child to Work Day. But, this is no George W. Bush, ‘my daddy let me be the president’ situation.

And I’m not some genetically fortunate, talentless hack like Jaden Smith or Frank Stallone, either! Although I did party with those two in Atlantic City one hazy night a few years back and, honestly, both great guys. We’ve got a group text and everything.

No, I’m telling you, my success has nothing to do with my father. Granted, he set an admirable example by ruining a state record 24 consecutive weddings. And, I’ll admit, it is a bizarre coincidence that my grandpa, great grandpa, and every male on my father’s side were also considered the drunkest fella in their respective hometowns.

But, ultimately, each one of us had to forge that path for himself. Nobody was going to hand it to us! We each rightfully acquired the title of sloppiest lush in town the old fashioned way, by drinking old fashioneds every night and waking up naked and covered in Taco Bell in the town gazebo every morning.

I earned the mantle of town drunk, and I look forward to taking it to dizzying new heights. For example, I’m about to throw up in the ambulance I was wrestled into!

Bigfoot Killing It on Bass in Doom Metal Band

Posted on by Chris Bowen

SEQUIM, Wash. – Local doom metal band Skull Ritual are seeing a sudden surge in popularity ever since adding an elusive Sasquatch to their rhythm section, confirmed fans of the band and Bigfoot hunters who are interested in exploring more bands within the genre.

“Man, I was fuckin’ stoked when I heard the news they were replacing their old bassist with a mythical ape-like creature,” said longtime Skull Ritual fan Jimmy Noah. “The last guy they had playing bass was some short, puny, hairless guy who had no style or stage presence whatsoever. I’ve seen some recent grainy ass footage of them playing in Portland with Foot, and I can’t wait to catch ’em live. That is if the rumors of them playing Maryland Doom Festival this year aren’t just an elaborate hoax.”

Bigfoot himself took time from screaming his patented mating call into the woods to weigh in on being asked to become the new bass player for Skull Ritual.

“For the past few years all I’ve done is play bass for shitty Brotherhood ripoffs and a lot of grunge revival bullshit,” said Bigfoot while sporting a tattered Candlemass ‘Doomicus…’ t-shirt. “When I stumbled upon the Skull Ritual guys smoking weed and drinking beer in the woods I felt pretty vulnerable. We got talking about metal and I realized this is the genre I should have been playing all along, I was honored to report for bass duty when they asked me. And the guys are pretty happy that I have the strength of five men so I can carry my bass cab upstairs by myself.”

Cryptozoologist and fan of metal and punk music, Rich Sorensen, asserts that cryptid musicians are becoming more common these days.

“I love the fact that these creatures that science has rejected are being accepted in the punk and metal communities,” said Sorensen. “I believe that the masses would be shocked to find how many of them actually play in bands. As a matter of fact, the Jersey Devil was playing drums in a Misfits cover band I saw last Halloween. The Loveland Frog is doing vocals in an emo band in Ohio that is just signed to Sideonedummy. And the Skunk Ape in Florida is playing in a metalcore band with some former members of Evergreen Terrace.”

At the time of press, it was rumored that a YouTube video of the Mothman playing djent style guitar had been circulating around on social media.

Asshole Driver Somehow Also Asshole Pedestrian

Posted on by Lauren Sewell

OMAHA, Neb. — Local personal trainer Chance “Hard Knock” Turner has been seen tearing across town in defiance of myriad traffic laws, solidifying his reputation as not only the worst driver but also the worst pedestrian in Omaha.

“I was picking up my kid at school and I see this dude in an orange Toyota FJ Cruiser pushing 50 in the school zone and blasting the Red Hot Chili Peppers,” Omaha resident Angie Franklin recounts. “A few minutes later, I run into that same douchebag cutting me off for a spot in the Home Depot parking lot, and he proceeds to take up two spots with his oaf car. Then I see him cross the busy street without looking up from his goddamn phone, and when he almost got hit, he screamed ‘I have the right of way, bitch!’ at the driver.”

Four other witnesses corroborated Franklin’s account, including the asshole-in-question himself.

“People can scream, flip me off, tell me I listen to shitty music, or toot their fucking horn, but I don’t apologize to anyone,” Turner explained, while aggressively pushing a crosswalk button. “ If you step in front of my car, I’m gonna hit your ass, and you hit me with your car, I’m gonna sue your ass. What’s the problem here?”

University of Nebraska Psychology Professor Ivan Cortes commented on the rise of this confounding behavior.

“The official term for this behavioral syndrome is Vehicular-Bipedal Narcissism,” Cortes shares. “Nationally, we have seen reports of this phenomenon for many years, but there has been a dramatic spike of diagnoses in the last decade, curiously aligning with the popularity of The Joe Rogan Experience. When timed incorrectly, any driver or pedestrian can find themselves on the wrong end of these people, and God have mercy on the poor souls who find themselves on a bicycle around them. I just hope they’re wearing helmets, and have a Valium prescription or something at home.”

At press time, Turner was seen harassing a salesman at a local electric skateboard dealership.

We Asked Preschoolers To Draw God and Now We’re Afraid to Sleep

Posted on by Neel Bhakta

Look, we honestly thought this would be a great idea. Oh, just have some adorable little preschoolers draw what they think God looks like. It’s a cute idea! We fucked up and now we can’t blink without our heart rates spiking.

Monstrous, repulsive, vile, damnable, abominable, abhorrent, heinous, accursed, lamentable. None of these words will be able to accurately portray the horrors we witnessed on that day.

We know what you’re thinking. “How bad could it even be?” you ask, completely unaware of the demons these children house within their souls. It’s fucking bad man. In fact after a long editorial debate we have opted not to show you.

The images have already seared themselves into the deepest depths of our brains. There was a little girl named Samantha, who kindly offered to sell us some Thin Mints when we visited. She was the first to finish her drawing and she handed it over with an innocuous smile.

The ink still looked wet, almost as if the paper was crying due to the inhumanity it had been subjected to. Or maybe the page was bleeding black. A faint outline of a face could be seen staring back at you within that darkness. A face best described as half Uruk-hai, half Cannibal Corpse album cover, with a hint of one of those deep sea fishes that have light-bulbs on them.

Terrifying, right? And that was just the first drawing. It only got worse as more demonic children finished. Other nightmare-inducing drawings included:

A reptilian grizzly bear with rotting bones for appendages
Woman with thousands of oddly shaped holes on her melting face
Steven Tyler

These mere descriptions cannot convey the horror of the pages in front of your face. Even if we wanted to show you, we couldn’t. Mr. Zimmer, the school janitor, heard our visceral screams of torment and bravely threw the children’s satanic artifacts into fire. The kids started crying in unison, almost chant-like. Then one of the boys, Malachi, started pontificating a bunch about being “The bringer of his law” or some shit and we got the fuck out of there. Now you can’t even find that town on google maps, and that’s for the best. Just, let them have it. Forget about all of this. Trust us.

Punk Band Called “The Baby Hitlers” Disappear Into Thin Air Mid-Set

Posted on by Colleen Nerney

BALTIMORE, Md. — Local showgoers were shocked and dismayed after witnessing punk band, The Baby Hitlers, vanish completely during their performance moments ago, according to sources.

“It was fucking crazy. One minute, we were all just in the pit at the Baby Hitlers show, right? And then bang, there was a puff of smoke, and everyone’s instruments just dropped right to the floor,” recalled eyewitness and scene veteran Bianca “Bone” Radsmith. “When we could finally see what had happened…they were just gone, dude. Straight up disappeared. At first I thought it was some sort of like, bit, like a super impressive trap door or some shit. But then it was just quiet for a really long time. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

The Baby Hitlers merch guy, Martin “Merchlord” LiBrutto, was similarly astonished at the band’s sudden evaporation.

“These are my friends we’re talking about, and they’re just fucking—gone,” LiBrutto said, while somberly stroking a $20 enamel pin outside of his car. “I’ve always been worried that we’d get canceled on Twitter or some shit for our name, but…never something like this, man. Never something like this. I never thought that rapture shit was for real, but now that I saw that I think I might join my mamaw on Wednesday nights like she’s been hounding me to for the last 15 years.”

Additional audience members offered their own unique insight into the situation.

“You didn’t hear it from me, but this is clearly the work of a rookie time traveler,” the suavely-dressed source said, preferring to remain anonymous. “I’ve seen this literally a thousand times. ‘I’ll go back and kill baby Hitler’ or whatever. They should know by now it never fucking works. But whoever did this is obviously a total noob—being explicitly careful about the details is pretty much 99% of the job, but you can’t go taking everything so literally. Excuse me.”

The source then weaved through the crowd, making their way backstage to offer a warning to the headlining band, The Stalinistas.

Review: Eichlers “My Checkered Future”

Posted on by The Hard Times Staff

Eichlers is pioneering a new genre dubbed “HYPERSKA”; an infectiously catchy mix of electronic melodies and “My Checkered Future” is the first album from the man behind it all, “Billy on the Street” star, Billy Eichler.

The first time I saw “Billy on the Street” I knew I had found my televisionic match. Seeing a tall, gay man terrorizing various jaded, nervous, and often hostile New Yorkers while they go about their day turned out to be the exact kink I didn’t know I had, and hot damn was I (and my vibrator) glad to find it. You can only imagine my excitement when I heard that Billy Eichler was coming out with not only an album, but a ska album at that.

Much like the show, the album is upbeat and makes you feel kind of anxious in the way that only weaving through hundreds of slow-ass people on a busy sidewalk while screaming about Cuba Gooding, Jr. could. The lyrics may be dark at times, but that’s just what happens on improvisational TV, baby! Sometimes all it takes is being asked, on the spot, to name five women, you are definitely the piece of shit you sometimes worry you might be when attempting to fit a normal size spoon into that weirdly narrow opening on a jar of hot fudge at 2 a.m.

While the album is an overall great listen, we are a bit disappointed that it didn’t stop midday to ask us if we’d tickle Penelope Cruz’s personal driver for a dollar, and at no point were we Quizzed in the Face, not even on that little paper insert that comes with the album. Plus, Elena never showed up once, and you’d think she would at least be featured on one song considering how much everyone loves her. I guess sometimes people really do forget their friends on their way to the top.

SCORE: 5/5 win, lose, or draws in Washington Square Park because God help us if we can’t get this show back on Fuse.

/**/

Covert Listening Device? Zoom Says I Have a Poor Connection With My Father

Posted on by Max Barth

I’m extremely freaked out. I’m not normally a big conspiracy guy, but I was on a Zoom call with my dad this afternoon and a window popped up to warn me that we were “unable to connect.” No shit, zoom! We haven’t hugged in years.

Excuse me but when the fuck did I give Big Brother the right to evaluate my relationship with my dad? It’s none of their business whether we connect or not because, first off, we have a complicated relationship. Also, avoiding politics, discussions of culture, and people in general is the best thing we’ve done for our relationship. Ok, Mr. Zuckerberg? Ok, Mr. Musk? Is that good enough for you? Is that what you fucking want to hear?

It’s basically “Cat’s in the Cradle” over here with the old man. I don’t need Big Tech to tell me that. Especially when I didn’t even pay for the good version of Zoom.

I don’t go into Zuck’s phone and read his texts and say he’s not connecting with his wife even though obviously the dude has never connected with anyone on earth, which explains his success in a psycho kind of way. Frankly, this whole experience has me looking over my shoulder.

My wife and I just got one of those Alexa things and I shudder to think what Amazon thinks about our sex life. We’re probably on some spreadsheet somewhere. Bezos, no doubt, is about to send me a fucking unsolicited email with a list of my favorite positions and a graph depicting how many times I pull a muscle during each one. Well, no thanks, Jeff! We already talked about it! I’VE BEEN STRETCHING!

Punk Stock Trader Jumps Out of Van Window

Posted on by Ashley Naftule

CHARLOTTE N.C. — 35-year-old punk stock trader “Big” Tim Treadwell jumped out of a speeding van’s window yesterday after receiving bad news about his portfolio following more stock market volatility, confirmed sources close to the situation.

“All five of his flip phones lit up as soon as we loaded up our gear after playing a basement show,” said bandmate and van driver “Bubonic” Bob Bubowski, a 15-year veteran of Charlotte’s D.I.Y. investing culture. “We were riding high earlier in the night. We played the show and then he spent the next 30 minutes giving a seminar on blue chip stocks and the place was popping — I’ve never seen people go so hard for investment tips. But as we all know, the stock market is unpredictable, and less than an hour later Tim was virtually bankrupt.”

Treadwell, renowned for his aggressive trading, lost a total of $27.50 from the market’s latest collapse, which ultimately led to his untimely death.

“I could see him doing the math in his head and all the blood draining from his face — the news that he lost 90% of his net worth in one day broke Big Tim’s spirits real bad,” said merch guy, Bam “Money-Money” McCormick. “Next thing you know, he’s diving like Michael Phelps straight out the van window while we’re doing 90 on the I-277. It’s a real shame… we didn’t get it on video or anything.”

While Treadwell’s sudden passing comes as a great shock to the community, financial experts across the country confirm that D.I.Y. stock trader suicides are on the rise.

“Punk traders are dropping faster than rapper mixtapes,” said independent financial scene analyst Molly Briggs. “Yesterday I got a report that a trader in Tucson found out he lost his shirt on the Exchange, so he drank 50 Monster Energy drinks in a row, hopped on his father’s Peloton, and let nature take its course. They’re still scraping his goo off the ceiling fan.”

Unmarried and without children, Treadwell leaves behind a body of work that includes six zines on fiscal responsibility, a pristine 1997 Toyota Corolla, and a spoken word tape on why only poseurs buy bonds.

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