9-Year-Old That Won Local Skateboarding Contest Unsure of What to Do with Case of PBR

Posted on by Drew Gigis

CLEVELAND — Local elementary school student Chase Farmer recently found himself in a predicament after winning a skateboarding contest at his local skatepark and being awarded the top prize, a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon, concerned sources report.

“I was super stoked when they announced that I had won the contest. I had been practicing that run for weeks, but I was very confused when they handed me a full case of beer,” said Farmer. “I mean don’t get me wrong it felt pretty cool to be nine and pushing beer down the sidewalk on my board, because it was way too heavy to carry, but I have no idea what to do with it. I already kickflipped over it, so what else is there? Honestly, I would have much rather have won third place prize which was a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.”

Many participants who competed in the contest were also surprised when Farmer was given the beer, including 2nd place winner, 20-year-old Logan Ellington.

“Chase killed it out there, but I do think it was pretty irresponsible to not change the prize for him. Even I know that he’s too young for beer, it would have been better if maybe they had a bucket of fireworks or something as a back up prize for the kid,” explained Ellington. “I wish they would have just given him the bearings I won and the beer to me. I know I’m underage too but I’m like right there, in 8 months I’ll be able to drink legally. Plus I was kind of counting on that case to impress this goth chick, Lilith, who works nights over at Arby’s.”

Farmers’s mother expressed her anger and disgust when he came into the house lugging the 30-pack of beers.

“I couldn’t believe anyone would think that is an appropriate prize. I was beside myself, to allow a child to bring that piss water into my home,” said Mrs. Farmer. “I am ashamed and disappointed that I didn’t raise my son to know better than to accept such an atrocious beer. He should know damn well that this is a Busch Light household, and if he didn’t, he does now. He’s grounded until he learns about quality brewing. I just hope the liquor store will let me exchange it or give me store credit.”

At press time, Farmer’s stepdad, Terry Morse, promised to scrap the aluminum cans and buy him some stickers or something after he crushes them all while watching reruns of “Pawn Stars.”

Missed Connection: You Were Flashing Steel Panther at The Viper Room, I Was Puking In the Trash Can by the Merch Table

Posted on by Ben Friedman

This is a longshot, but you were at the Steel Panther show at the Viper Room last Saturday. You had blonde hair (real or bleached?), wearing cutoff jean shorts and a Dale Earnhart Jr. tank top. We locked eyes a few times during the set and I feel like we had an ethereal, unspoken connection one can only have during a comedy metal show after several hours of day drinking.

Actually, now that I think about it I’ve just described 80% of the crowd. If it helps to narrow it down further, you were flashing your boobs at the band while I was puking in the trash can next to the merch table.

I think you whipped your tits out during “Poontang Boomerang” or “Asain Hooker” and even though I was seeing double, they looked fantastic. All four of them were perfect. I think one of them was pierced, or that could’ve been my vision blending your ears with your nips as I was sticking my head in the bin. I think you were admiring my party animal aesthetic.

I don’t remember what I was wearing (my pants were missing when I got home) but I know you definitely saw me because I was clinging to the garbage can directly next to the merch table for dear life as the nine Jaegerbombs I had earlier evacuated my stomach. I was forced to buy three shirts because the backsplash from my puke landed on them. But they’re clean now, so if you want we could wear matching tour shirts on our first date.

When I regained the strength to stand on my own again, you were already walking away after the band invited you backstage. I tried complimenting another four other women who looked identical to you with a “show me your tits” chant, but they all told me they had boyfriends. All the more reason you were definitely the one that got away.

I’ll be back at the Viper Room next weekend for the Nikki Sixx show. I’d love to see you and your boobs again, and I’ll try to only drink six Bud Lights, max.

Parents Force Teenage Son to Listen to Entire Red Hot Chili Peppers Discography as Punishment for Adding “Dani California” to Family Playlist

Posted on by Robert Butler

SEATTLE — Local parents Chris and Maggie Nelson forced their teenage son to listen to the entire Red Hot Chili Peppers discography as punishment for adding “Dani California” to the family Spotify playlist, sources confirmed.

“I know this is an unorthodox way of parenting but if you’re living in this household, you will not be a fan of any Chili Peppers. Not even the Dave Navarro era,” said the father of three. “He tried to hide a copy of ‘Blood Sugar Sex Magik’ under his mattress but we found it. We always do. We’ll see how he feels about this band after he’s listened to everything the band has released, including the greatest hits compilations, B-sides, and demos. Then we’ll move onto movies that Flea has appeared in. After this, he’ll never be drawn in by those mesmerizing bass hooks ever again.”

The 14-year-old admits the habit may have been difficult to break at first.

“All my other friends were doing it and I thought I looked cool when listening to this band,” said Travis Nelson. “Needless to say, it felt harmless at first, but after eight straight hours of this RHCP onslaught, I’m ready to avoid them entirely. Or at least only listen to them when I’m not home. I heard addiction was bad but I didn’t know it could be like this. ”

Julia Moores, family therapist and author of the best-selling book “Your Gen Z And You,” defended the parents.

“One afternoon when I was a teen I made the mistake of recording ‘It’s My Life’ by Bon Jovi onto the mixtape we kept in our minivan. My father was so upset, he turned the van around and raced home. I was not to leave the table until I had listened to every single one of their albums, beginning to end,” says Moores. “As upset as I was at the time, I know it worked. Ever since then I can’t even be in the same room when Bon Jovi is playing. If I’m at a party and it happens to come on, I just step outside. I can’t even experience second-hand Bon Jovi.”

At press time, the parents’ method worked so well that their teenage son doesn’t even have the urge to visit the state of California anymore.

We Sit Down With Emily the Strange Because She’s Running the Haunted Bed and Breakfast We Booked

Posted on by Ben Friedman

Emily the Strange, the ingenious young girl with a fascination for all things macabre and one time unofficial Hot Topic mascot, is as synonymous with goth as Siouxsie Sioux and the color black. It’s been a hot minute since we’ve seen her around, so you could only imagine our surprise running into her on our vacation in Blandindulle, mostly because she’s the owner of the haunted B&B we’re trying to escape.

The Hard Times: Wow, you’re the last person we expected to see working the front desk at 1 a.m. Is your mom around? We’d like to chat with her about some issues we’ve been having with our stay.

EMILY: Patti isn’t here. You can talk to me, I own the place. Hotel entrepreneurship is my specialty after molecular biology and skateboarding.

Oh uh, that’s cool. Well listen, when we spoke to the guy on the phone last week he said there’d be activities like gardening and yoga, and it looks like the backyard is just a freshly dug up graveyard.

Not sure who you spoke to, I’m the only person within twenty miles – oh, wait that was probably Raven. He’s the cybernetic golem I made out of reanimated bird parts and he’s also the head chef. But yeah, we’re replanting the coffins tonight if that’s your thing. Any other dumb crap you want to bug me about?

Uhhhh well it’s just that last night we were woken up by some weird noises. It was back and forth between guttural screams and moans of anguish. Are there some escaped mental patients staying here or something?

No, those guys checked out a few days ago. You’re the only guest staying here, but you’re not the only souls, if you catch my drift. They can be noisy but they came with the house and keep better company than the living. Speaking of which, any interest in helping me test out this brain-scanning machine I’ve been working on? I’ve run out of test subjects.

We’ll take a raincheck on that. Listen now that we think about it, the La Quinta Inn by the airport might be more our style. Could we check out?

Technically yes, but the doors lock from the outside so you might as well get comfortable. Besides, I’m giving a lecture on theoretical physics and contacting the dead so I’m going to need your undivided attention. Plus it’ll give the cats time to tidy up the room.

So the cats are-

The cleaning staff, yes. Just so you know Mystery and NeeChee will bite you and whisper ancient languages from before recorded time to drive you insane if you left wet towels on the floor on top of a $25 fee.

Fine, but we’re not making the bed! But seriously, we ought to be going and I’m sure it’s past your bedtime. WAIT WHY ARE THE WALLS MOVING?

Look,I don’t walk into your job and slap the piss out of your mouth, don’t tell me how to run a hotel where all the paintings come to life. Relax and let the poltergeists do their thing. It’s not like you’re going to die. Yet. Man, if there’s one thing that spoils running an unlicensed B&B from hell, it’s other people!

Neo-Liberal Mayor Paints Anti-Homeless Spikes For Pride

Posted on by Dan Bookbinder

STAMFORD, Conn. — Mayor Shannon Still reiterated her city’s commitment to celebrating lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender people by hiring a local artist to paint the area’s hostile architecture in a rainbow pattern, sources currently calling the cops confirmed.

“After seeing all the attacks on this marginalized group, we are making it clear that all people, no matter their sexual orientation or gender identity, are welcome here,” said Mayor Still as she supervised the hanging of a “Love Is Love” banner on a gate covering a shady spot under an outdoor staircase. “We’ve painted rainbow flags on the sleeping deterrents on our public benches and increased funding for law enforcement to look out for vagrants and drifters who might incite violence. And we’ve gone all out for the parade. We cut down the trees along the route to increase visibility and put in planters, so there will be plenty of spots to stand without the ‘unhoused’ tents getting in the way.”

Local community groups welcomed Mayor Still’s support of their ongoing inclusion efforts.

“The pursuit of acceptance and equality is a 24/7 job, but we appreciate the city’s commitment and support, especially during Pride,” said Gray Parker, President of the Stamford Chapter of UnVisible LGBTQIA+. “They stepped up in a big way, stationing security guards at our libraries to suss out suspicious people who look like they might challenge books, and ordered St. Luke’s African Methodist Episcopal Soup Kitchen to pause operations so it can be used as a safe space/reading room/vendor marketplace.”

As expected, these measures have been criticized by conservative groups, but there has been pushback from those in the queer community as well.

“While the mission is certainly admirable, the execution raises concerns of political pinkwashing,” said activist Elie Trumaneas as they unpacked boxes of apparel. “The City Council is using Pride as an empty gesture for political goodwill without any lasting forward movement. And frankly, if you know a single queer person, you know that many of us are committed to providing for those in need, instead of punishing them for simply existing. You can read about it in our latest print edition newsletter, thanks to a generous donation from Exxon-Mobil.”

Mayor Stills insists these will be lasting changes and that they intend to celebrate cultures and communities throughout the year, mentioning that for Hispanic Heritage Month they will be “blasting” Salsa music in the all-weather gazebos in Commons Park.

For a Hundred Extra Dollars This Couples Therapist Will Just Tell You Who is Right

Posted on by David Britton

Therapy, whether it be the online variety or the old-school kind where you have to leave your house, has become not only socially acceptable but so popular that people now assume there’s something wrong with you if you’re not telling all your problems to a stranger every week. In order to deal with high costs, many people are turning to couples therapy, thereby combining some of their medical expenses with date night.

Even with this clever trick, therapy can be an expensive undertaking, especially if your therapist doesn’t validate parking. It can also be emotionally draining to return week after week to the same strip mall to argue about whose father was more of a dick and why that means the other person should do the dishes. So what are unhappy members of the disappearing middle class to do? It turns out a psychologist in the tiny hamlet of Hartford, NY may have the answer.

“The truth is, most therapists know which one of you is the problem five minutes after you walk in the door.” says Dr. Kailey Strafford “But we don’t want to say anything because that would be kinda rude. It would also keep us from making like thousands of dollars… so there’s a lot of factors at play.”

But after several years in the field, Dr. Strafford became what they referred to as, “totally bored”. That’s when they decided to streamline their process. Now for an extra $100 in cash, they will tell you who is right on your very first visit.

“Dr. Strafford was a real godsend for us!” said former patient Angela Jameson “We’d heard about their revolutionary technique so I folded up a hundred-dollar bill and passed it to them when we shook hands. We were out of there 10 minutes later and now my boyfriend has to sell that stupid parrot! Thanks Dr. S!”

But not everyone is thrilled with the good doctor’s new form of therapy.

“It’s completely outrageous!” said Dr. Willford Brimmel of the American Psychological Association, “Most of us spend well over a decade training to be therapists. You can’t just ask for an extra $100 and tell a couple who is ‘right’. Something closer to $250 is much more reasonable if you want to maintain a summer home at halfway decent location.”

Dr. Strafford says they understand some of this criticism. “Even I have to admit there are multiple dimensions to any relationship,” they explained. “That’s why starting next week, for an extra $25 each, I will not only tell couples which one of them is wrong but will let them know if they are hot enough to continue getting away with their bullshit.”

Every The Velvet Underground Album Ranked Worst to Best

Posted on by Tom Scarcella

The Velvet Underground is the quintessential band that everybody knows is important, but nobody actually listens to. They have a paltry 3.6 million monthly listeners on Spotify, which seems like a lot until you see that fucking Hoobastank has 9.5 million. But if you know anything about the Velvet Underground (or “the Velvets,” if you’re a pretentious asshole), you know they’re one of the coolest and most influential rock groups of all time. So, let’s peel back past “Take a Walk on the Wild Side” (kidding, we know that’s a Doug Yule solo track) and rank their venerated oeuvre. Yeah, normal bands have mere discographies; pioneering geniuses have oeuvres.

5. Squeeze (1973)

“Squeeze,” technically the final release from the Velvets (OK, like any true fan of this band, I am a pretentious asshole), is a universally reviled album that nobody thinks even counts, because it contains none of the band’s original members. And the Velvet Underground without Lou Reed is irredeemably bad, like the Misfits without Glenn Danzig, or the Dave Matthews Band with Dave Matthews. For any contrarians who call this album “surprisingly listenable” or whatever, that’s exactly the problem — the Velvets’ genius lies precisely in how unlistenable they are.

Play It Again: There’s nothing worth playing even once here, unless you’re interested in how presciently AI-generated these songs sound.
Skip It: Yeah.

Honorable Mention: VU (1985)

Since the Velvets only have four proper LPs, their cultish fanbase clings to outtakes, a million different live albums, expanded rereleases with pointless alternate mixes, and bootlegs that have absurd names like “The Fuckwell Tapes ‘68” and “Live From Old Skinny Larry’s Manhattan Tenement,” if I’m remembering those correctly. While there’s incredible music all throughout, much of it is geared toward diehard fans without jobs. But, if you’re looking to get into the Velvets’ extended universe, start with VU’s delightful set of outtakes recorded 1968-69 and released long after the band called it quits. This quirky gem, the better of two outtakes albums, contains most of a storied “lost album,” which I hear was discovered over at Old Skinny Larry’s place on the Lower East Side before it got converted into a luxury unit.

Play It Again: “Stephanie Says”
Skip It: “Andy’s Chest” (the Transformer version is far superior)

4. Loaded (1970)

“Loaded,” the Velvets’ true farewell, is their only album that won’t clear out a room of normal people. It’s not as boundary-pushing as their earlier work, but Lou’s virtuosic songwriting and pop sensibilities really shine throughout this gorgeous, well-constructed record. Doug “Judas” Yule’s vocals are featured heavily, which some people hate, especially given his “Squeeze” blasphemy. But let’s be honest, you can’t even tell the difference between him and Lou singing here anyway. This is the Velvets’ weakest proper album, meaning it’s only slightly less than perfect.

Play It Again: “Rock & Roll” shows how a Velvet Underground song can be great even when it’s not about doing heroin or getting your dick sucked.
Skip It: “Train Comin’ Round the Bend” could have used a few lines about doing heroin or getting your dick sucked, because it probably isn’t anybody’s favorite Velvet Underground song.

3. Self-Titled (1969)

In yet another example of our country’s anti-Welsh racism, Lou Reed canned founding member John Cale before making this record. On one hand, this is a shame, because Cale masterminded the unpleasant droning that helped make the first two albums so artistic and cool. On the other, if Lou never fired him, Cale wouldn’t likely have made that stunning rendition of “Hallelujah” from the first “Shrek.” And what’s more, we wouldn’t have this achingly tender and subdued record. Although the Velvets stopped singing about drugs for this album, songs like “Pale Blue Eyes” are the sonic equivalent of opiates — warm, transcendent, and tragic. So actually, yeah, fuck Wales.

Play It Again: “I’m Set Free”
Skip It: “The Murder Mystery”

2. The Velvet Underground & Nico (1967)

Punk. Shoegaze. New Wave. Ragtime. Cumbia. The Velvets’ legendary debut single-handedly invented these genres and more, changing popular music forever — despite famously being a commercial failure early on. Did you think we weren’t going to mention that fucking Brian Eno quote? Too bad. He said, “I was talking to Lou Reed the other day and he said that the first Velvet Underground record sold 30,000 copies in the first five years, and it’s all because he went door-to-door asking people to please listen, and they did. And Lou actually made a lot of friends that way and learned that friendship is important and maybe he shouldn’t be so mean. And I think he mentioned some of those people started a band!” Sorry, but that explains it all.

Play It Again: “The Black Angel’s Death Song” (and don’t complain)
Skip It: If any of you jim-jims skip a single song on this perfect record, I will go Valerie Solanas on your ass.

1. White Light/White Heat (1968)

Oh ho, weren’t expecting this at number one, were you? The Hard Times is a punk site, so of course this rabid underdog is our favorite. Look up “proto-punk” in a dictionary, and you’ll soon learn that standard dictionaries don’t contain niche terms like that. But do some Googling and yeah, you’ll see this album is proto-punk as fuck — the primordial ooze from which so much beautiful filth has sprung. The Velvets’ debut was supremely avant-garde, but White Light/White Heat was somehow even avant-garder, reaching unparalleled heights of cacophony and unintelligibility. If White Light is your favorite Velvets record, the one or two people in your life who give a shit will (SWEETLY) respect this as a cool choice.

Play It Again: “Heard Her Call My Name”
Skip It: “Sister Ray” — but that wouldn’t be very proto-punk of you.

The Top 10 Things My Landlord Needs to Fix If He Ever Wants to See His Cat Again

Posted on by Mac McCarthy

That slumlord Frank has neglected my apartment for far too long! I’ve tried being reasonable with him, I’ve submitted all of my maintenance requests in the online portal just like he asked. I’ve sent dozens of followup emails. I’ve even tried shouting at him in front of his family, but there’s just no getting through to this guy. Drastic measures are clearly needed. That’s why I’ve taken possession of my landlord’s beloved cat, Mr Pibb. And if Frank ever wants this cat back, these are the things he needs to fix:

10. The lock on our building’s front door

A lockable front door seems like a basic requirement for an apartment building in this neighborhood. I’m tired of having my Amazon packages stolen. A new lock is what, 30 bucks? What’s he waiting for? If he fixed this one thing and nothing else, I’d consider returning Mr Pibb right now. It turns out I’m very allergic to cats, and this little asshole has shredded my couch.

9. This broken old oven

I have been complaining about this for 2 years. The damn thing takes an hour to heat up. If I had a whole hour to cook, I wouldn’t be making a frozen pizza for dinner. I will not tolerate this any longer. Either he fixes this oven or he needs to buy a new one. Until then, Mr Pibb stays with me. And I’m hoping the oven is fixed soon. It turns out cat food is expensive, and I can’t afford this much longer.

8. The raccoons under my stairs

Mr Pibb refused to eat the food I originally bought for him, so I had to buy an even more expensive brand to get him to eat. All because that son of a bitch Frank still hasn’t fixed anything around here. And now things are worse than ever! I threw the first bag of cat food off of my balcony in anger and it has attracted several raccoons. They spend all night shrieking under the stairs to my apartment. How could any respectable landlord allow these conditions to exist on their property?

7. The leaky roof

It’s negligent for a landlord to not repair my leaky roof in a reasonable amount of time. There must be some legal action I can take against this guy right? In the meantime, it’s just me and Mr Pibb against a broken system and a corrupt landlord. It doesn’t seem likely that Frank will get his shit together any time soon. Luckily I found a brand of cat food that Mr Pibb can tolerate, because he’s clearly going to be my hostage for a while.

6. His shitty attitude

You did this to yourself, Frank, so I don’t want to hear about it from you. It was your own inaction that led to the taking of Mr Pibb. I never asked for this goddamn cat. I never wanted to take daily allergy meds just so they could stay with me. Just fix my apartment and you can have it back. I don’t want to hear any more complaining about how you got burned by the seller when you bought this place last year. That’s your problem, not mine. I’ll gladly keep Mr Pibb forever if that’s what it takes to teach you a lesson.

5. The sink I poured hot oil into

Just because this one is technically my fault doesn’t give my landlord an excuse to not fix it. I tried to deep fry something last week when I was drunk, and the hot grease did serious damage to the drain pipes when I dumped it out. How are they both clogged AND leaking at the same time? What kind of operation is Frank running here? There’s no way the person who allows these living conditions to continue is taking proper care of his pet. I’m glad I intervened.

4. This big hole I made in the wall

This one is only partially my fault. And I refuse to go into details about the origin of the hole. The fact is, there is a head-sized hole in my living room wall, and Frank refuses to patch it until I return his cat. It’s a typical landlord/tenant standoff. And to be honest, I’m not even mad anymore. It’s clear that Frank doesn’t want his cat back, or he would make an attempt to fix my wall. And who really cares? Mr Pibb seems happier here. He’s become an inside cat now. Gone are the days of fighting off the raccoons under the stairs just to come inside for dinner.

3. My relationship with my father

Fuck it. I’m keeping Mr Pibb. If Frank really wants him back, I’m not making it easy anymore. You want your cat? Find a way to get my dad to answer the phone when I call. Surprise, dipshit, you can’t! The old man’s still pissed that I sold the family business and invested all the money in Dogecoin. If he didn’t want me to make impulsive decisions with our shared investment, then why did he go into business with me in the first place? You’re being a real “Frank” about this whole thing, Dad. It would be a shame if one of your pets went missing next…

2. My credit score

There’s no getting around this, 390 is an abysmal credit rating. Nobody will rent to a single man with no documented income and a 390 on his credit report. It’s the only reason I still live in this rundown shithole. I’d take my new cat and leave tomorrow if I could afford it. Mr Pibb and I deserve so much better, but Frank isn’t doing anything to help our current situation. And he’s definitely not helping my FICO Score by reporting me for being “delinquent” on my rent each month.

1. My declining mental health

Mr Pibb is the only good thing in my life right now. Andrea left me after I lost our house in that bad cryptocurrency investment. There’s nothing left here. Just a complete absence of serotonin, and all this IKEA furniture that I put on my credit card before the bank froze the account. But while we’re on the subject, I’ve got this letter from my doctor that says Mr Pibb is a registered emotional support animal now. So Frank better not even think of charging me pet rent next month, because this cat is a medical necessity. I still think Frank should fix all the broken stuff around here, but at this point nothing would make me give up Mr Pibb. I would die for Mr Pibb.

Day Trader Inflates Patagonia Vest to Assert Dominance Over Other Finance Bros

Posted on by Ben Friedman

NEW YORK – The din of a busy coffee shop on Wall Street turned to hushed reverence and fear after a stay-at-home day trader inflated his Patagonia vest to assert dominance over inferior finance bros, awed witnesses reported.

“If you’re going to be an alpha in this jungle, the only way to do it is by being bigger, louder, and angrier than anyone else. As soon as everyone saw how much I puffed up my vest, and how loudly I was yelling random numbers at my phone, they fell right in line,” said Mason Phillips. “Now that I’m top dog, I can take anyone’s table and spend six hours spending other people’s money while drinking a single coffee. If anyone doesn’t like it, I’d like to see them get to me through seven inches of pure fleece.”

Despite the natural order of law being upended, the coffee shop staff remained professional and calm.

“It’s amazing to witness it firsthand, but we are always careful to not interfere. Frankly, it’s pretty funny the way this guy inflated his vest like a balloon and threw business cards in my face like I fucking care, but in this environment, the best defense is to make yourself as big as possible and to not look them in the eye, or else they’ll start talking at you about asset backed securities,” said barista Marisa Jones. “Though I have to hand it to him, he must have some air of authority the way everyone else submitted to him after he showed them his bank statements. I bet this would be impressive if anyone outside of the Financial District gave a shit.”

Cultural anthropologists were excited to finally witness a rare event in the delicate ecosystem of unbearable stock traders.

“For years now we’ve studied the behavioral patterns of these insufferable tools, but this is the first time we’ve witnessed someone using their bland, boilerplate attire to make themselves more dominating, let alone like someone of actual import,” said Dr. Susan McConnel. “What’s more interesting is the fact that suburban day traders don’t usually traverse this far into the city. My theory is that Phillips’ plumage and personality was not impressing any potential female mates, so he decided to assimilate into an environment where he can strong-arm fellow males into relinquishing their passive income.”

As of press time, Phillips’ reign was already usurped by another asshole with size 14 boat shoes.