Real New Yorker Folds Pizza Bagel in Half Before Eating

NEW YORK — Lifelong Manhattan resident Tony Greare made it widely known that the proper way to eat a pizza bagel in the Big Apple is to fold it in half before consuming, sources who gathered around to watch him perform a live demonstration confirmed.

“That’s how the Italians used to do it in the 19th century, so that’s how it’s done in the tri-state area today,” said Greare before adding that Bagel Bites aren’t real pizza bagels because they were invented in Florida. “Every single oven-based snack in New York City has a highly specific and slightly unorthodox way to get them from the plate to your mouth. And if you fail to abide by these explicit directions, your entire dining experience will be riddled with side-eyed glances from total strangers. Personally, I wouldn’t be caught dead eating mozzarella sticks Chicago style. Are you kidding me with that?”

Friends of Greare’s not native to New York had a difficult time assimilating to the big city culture.

“They say that if you can eat pizza correctly in New York you can make it anywhere,” said Greare’s casual acquaintance and recent transplant Louis Tribaldor. “It’s so hard though. Just the other day I was ridiculed for eating a pizza bagel one ingredient at a time. I’m sorry, but that’s how we eat them in Appleton, Wisconsin. You know, like a normal person. Regardless, pizza bagels are an iconic NYC food and I really need to get this right so I can eat in public again.”

Regional behaviors such as pizza folding have long fascinated researchers.

“New Yorkers take being a New Yorker extremely seriously,” said sociologist Freddie Slayton. “The sheer amount of effort it takes for newcomers to maintain that metropolitan image is hard work. But honestly, that’s everywhere. Doesn’t matter where you’re from, you’re going to have some particular way of conducting yourself in everyday life that’s completely alien to someone a town or two over. The trick is to make sure everyone knows you do things differently in your hometown and all other ways of completing simple tasks besides the way you did it growing up are unacceptable.”

At press time, Greare dazzled a group of Manhattan tourists by folding a calzone into quarters and shoving the whole thing directly down his throat while adding, “that’s how we do it in the Lower East Side.”

Photo by Jana Miller. 

Separate Art From the Artist: Help Me Convince My Dad To Stop Playing in Bands

This may be a hotly debated topic but I am personally in favor of separating the art from the artist. Who a person is should have no bearing on the quality of the content they produce. If someone’s art makes you happy then I think that’s a net positive regardless of who the artist is behind the scenes. But that’s a different debate entirely. What we’re here to do is convince my dad to quit his shitty bar band.

This is not a hypothetical debate. This is the literal separation of my father from the clutches of his misguided dreams.

My dad has played in countless local bands over his life, never quite breaking out of the local bar or cover gig scene. It started before I was born and I don’t see a scenario in which he stops. Unless you help me. Let’s figure out a way to remove the good man who is my dad from the horrors of the local band life he’s been putting our family through for decades.

Sure, it was cool when I was a kid. Other dads went bowling but mine was in a band! I mean, it wasn’t great when I’d go to his shows and drunken wine aunts would ask me about my mom, clearly hoping she was dead, but I got to run the merch table so that was pretty sweet.

However, it did get a bit rough by the time I was in high school and he still hadn’t “made it.” He started trying all these gimmicks, hoping one would catch on. You know who looks cool stuffing a cucumber down his ill-fitting leather pants? Not anyone’s dad.

I always swore I’d never be like him and, as an adult, I can say I’ve succeeded. Don’t believe me? Just ask my kids. They’ll tell you I exclusively play ska, which no one has ever accused of being art.

Book of Russian Prison Tattoos Magically Appears in Man’s Bedroom After First Stick and Poke

NORWELL, Mass. — Local punk Andy Walsh was shocked to discover that a coffee table book featuring various Russian prison tattoos randomly appeared on his bed seconds after getting his first stick and poke tattoo, confirmed sources who think they know what each tattoo represents.

“We were a little drunk and started fucking around in the kitchen giving each other some tattoos and I heard a bang come from my bedroom. Out of nowhere, there was a book that explains the meaning of Russian prison tattoos just sitting on my bed with a little bit of smoke drifting off of it,” said Walsh while cautiously flipping through the pages. “I feel like this book found me at the exact right time. I’m already making notes of what my next tattoo will be. I need a couple of those eight-pointed stars because I steal toilet paper from my work all the time and I want a dagger through the neck because if I had ever been to prison I probably would have killed someone.”

One of Walsh’s roommates, Eddy Coughlin, was visibly upset by the arrival of the book.

“Three years ago I was the first person out of our friend group to get a tattoo, I thought it would be cool to get barbed wire around my thigh. When I got home that night, do you know what was on my bed? It wasn’t a badass book of Russian tattoos, it was a catalog for security fences and razor wire from 1983,” said Coughlin. “Nobody thought it was cool, everyone just assumed I found the catalog in a free pile on the road or something. The crazy thing is no matter how hard I try to get rid of it the thing always comes back. I’m stuck with this bullshit catalog forever, but at least I always have something to roll joints on, I guess.”

Tattoo historian Audra Hensley says the mysterious appearance of these tattoo books is common.

“I’ve talked to hundreds of major and indie book publishers and not a single one of them has ever knowingly printed a book of tattoos,” said Hensley. “So where the hell are they coming from? Nobody knows. Book stores make sure to keep shelf space empty around tax season because they know that those shelves will magically fill with books to provide ideas to young people looking to permanently mark their bodies with their tax return money.”

At press time, a team of paranormal investigators was trying to solve the mystery of why every teenage boy wakes up with a copy of Kurt Vonnegut’s “The Slaughterhouse-Five” under their pillow on their sixteenth birthday.

Photo by Jana Miller. 

5 Beatles Songs Where You Can Clearly Hear Them Talking About What Order They Plan To Die In

Without a doubt, The Beatles are the most important rock n’ roll band to come out of Liverpool in the mid-20th century (at least in terms of quartets). As such, their entire catalog and history have been gone over with a fine-tooth comb by historians, looking for the tiniest tidbits that might give us a little more insight into what those lovable moptops were thinking when they recorded classic albums like “A Hard Day’s Night” and “Revolver.”

And while we all know classic bits of Beatles lore like the fact that Ringo liked octopuses and John was constantly having kids, did you know that in a lot of their songs, you can clearly catch background audio if you listen real hard? That’s right, we have discovered, buried deep in the mix of these classic hits, The Beatles themselves discussing the order in which they plan to die!

“Love Me Do” The band’s very first single! While the actual writing of the song (primarily by Paul McCartney) predated the formation of The Beatles, the first recording laid down in 1962 features Pete Best on the drums before he was fired in favor of bringing in Ringo Starr. Listen for John Lennon’s harmonica on the bridge, because just before and after, you can hear Paul and George Harrison discussing that they think it would be best for the band for John to die first, since he was the acknowledged leader of the band at the time.

“You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away” This track off of their 1965 album Help! marked a shift in John’s songwriting from standard pop to more introspective, Bob Dylan-influenced lyrics. Although it has one of John’s finest vocal performances of the time period, some critics feel his 23-second pause to debate whether George or Paul should die first, and if they should have a conspiracy about it, makes it one of their lesser ballads of the period.

“Taxman” Beatles fanatics generally agree that 1966 was when George’s songwriting really began to come of age. Although the Lennon-McCartney partnership still dominated their output (and increasingly rankled their lead guitarist), they were impressed enough by “Taxman” to open their Revolver album with it, and to be caught on tape during the outro saying that George would definitely die second, even if it took a couple of tries.

“Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite!”
LSD is a very potent psychedelic and John was eating it by the spoonful around the recording of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. This musically complex, Hammond organ-driven song epitomizes the wild creative swings the band was taking at the time, as does their free-associative conversation agreeing that Paul would die next, sometime after making a documentary with Rick Rubin but before Ken Burns got his greasy little hands on him.

“Get Back”
By 1969, The Beatles partnership had irrevocably broken and it was only a matter of time before the band split up. The Let It Be recording sessions show the strain between the once-close friends is particularly tense in a back and forth between Paul and George that was mixed into the finished track, in which George passive-aggressively says he just wants to be stabbed in the throat however Paul wants it, because he’s the boss and he just wants to make him happy.

Happily, in all of The Beatles recorded output, there is never any mention of the death of drummer Richard “Ringo Starr” Starkey. It is believed by fans that Ringo will never die and will one day reign as the one true Beatle, who will bring us all peace and love.

Rock on, Ringo!

Man Finally Confident Enough With Photoshop Skills to Post 2021 Spotify Wrapped

NEWPORT, R.I. — Local hardcore kid Luke Tappe finally unveiled his 2021 Spotify wrapped after consuming countless YouTube tutorials and graduating from an eight-week Photoshop bootcamp, confirmed sources close to the self-conscious man.

“I always start to panic when that first week of December comes around and everyone is posting about their top music of the year,” admitted Tappe while organizing Post-It notes with Photoshop shortcuts. “When I saw my list I knew I was screwed. My top artist was Gin Blossoms again. They are an addiction I can’t kick, but the world can’t know that. So I got to work. At first I tried to do it on my own but I couldn’t match the colors and fonts. I found an online class that really helped, it was the best $2,400 I ever spent because not a single person could tell I posted a heavily doctored image.”

Friends of Tappe were immediately skeptical of the list given the timing and the song choices.

“It was a pretty benign list and I didn’t think anything of it at first. Then I noticed his ‘third most played song’ was a Drug Church single they had only dropped two weeks earlier. Very suspicious if you ask me. How could such a new song make his top songs? Something didn’t add up,” said Tappe’s former bandmate Austin Berle. “I called in a series of favors and was able to procure his search history and bank statements and saw how focused he’s been on Photoshop, but he also searched ‘cool hardcore songs 2021’ and used two songs from a No Echo article that was near the top of the search results. Ladies and gentleman, we have ourselves a poser.”

A representative from Spotify says that upwards of 90% of Wrapped lists you see posted have been digitally manipulated.

“We initially started sharing that data with our users because it was fun and engaging, but we quickly realized how angry it made people when they saw their terrible music taste presented to them,” said Mara Landers. “Usually around November 15th we will start getting emails from customers offering us $500 if we allow them to choose their own top songs. We always have to say no, and tell the user to accept their own behavior. We might invest millions of dollars into military defense firms, but we still have integrity.”

At press time, Tappe was digitally inserting his image into the crowds of legendary hardcore shows he did not attend.

Experimental Gene Therapy Treatment Could Prevent Children from Becoming Disney Adults Like Their Parents

IOWA CITY, Iowa — Researchers at the Iowa Center for Gene Therapy announced that they may have developed a way for parents to prevent their socially damaging Disney Adult genes to be passed on to their children.

“As someone who has lost two close friends to ‘Disney Adulthood,’ I feel like this is my life’s mission and we are on the cusp of something big,” stated lead gene researcher Dr. Rebecca Plint. “To be honest, I didn’t know that such a destructive personality development could be treated genetically. But we have two test subjects who received the treatment, and their newborn children show no signs of interest in Disney in any form, including the Star Wars and Marvel franchises.”

Currently afflicted Disney Adults are understandably relieved that possible solutions for their malady may soon exist.

“It makes me nauseous to think about all the time and money… dear God, the money… I’ve spent in the name of Disney,” admitted Oliver Malkin while stroking one of his 400 framed photos from Splash Mountain. “But I can’t stop. If I see a long weekend coming up in my work schedule, I blackout and wake up to Disney World reservation emails. I’ve spent so much of my life in line waiting for the Peter Pan ride only to get to the front and learn it’s down for repair. It’s not even a fun ride, yet I am powerless to resist. And yes, I’m fully aware of how evil Disney as a corporation is. I want a better life for my children!”

Even though most people agree that the nullification of Disney-based proclivities will produce a better life for the subjects, some debate the ethics of such a treatment.

“What we don’t know is what addictions or desires will replace the artificially removed Disney desire,” said philosopher Hans-Jurgen Schneider. “What I’m saying is a nerd is a nerd is a nerd. Just because they no longer spend most of their income in Anaheim doesn’t mean they’ll suddenly appreciate the works of more challenging art. The geeky base desire will transfer towards Harry Potter, or wrestling, or visiting national parks and documenting it on Instagram like people give a shit.”

Dr. Rebecca Plint’s research has reportedly hit a bit of a setback, as her coworkers and friends have begun clinical trials for a treatment that would stop her from being such an insufferable Criterion Channel snob.

Parents Display Uncanny Ability to Unearth Sex Toys in Apartment During Visit

PORTLAND, Ore. — Local woman Irene Schwein found herself scrambling to explain the trove of sex toys unearthed by her parents during their visit to her new apartment, sources confirm.

“I literally want to die,” Schwein stated from an alley outside while she smoked a cigarette. “This is the first time my parents have visited this apartment, and my mother just fucking opened the one drawer in the entire house that had my dildos in it. I specifically put them all in the same place to avoid this happening. Can you imagine the look on her face when she saw a half-dozen silicone dicks, some of which look like dragons and several of which are covered in multiple suction devices? This is hell. I live in hell.”

Schwein’s partner, Ash Hylen, confirmed that this is not the first time their sex toys had been discovered by Schwein’s parents.

“While this is undoubtedly the worst time this has ever happened, it’s not the only time. We can’t forget the strap-on incident of 2016,” Hylen stated plainly. “The last time we moved, Irene’s mother managed to find the one toy we missed in our sweep by checking behind the bed frame. She literally walked into the kitchen holding the rubber O-ring, covered in dust and cat hair and shit, and asking if one of us lost a hair tie. She should be a detective, I swear to God.”

Luanne Schwein, Irene’s mother, was insistent that these repeated occurrences are merely coincidence.

“Hand to God, I am not a woman who snoops,” Mrs. Schwein asserted while opening and closing every bathroom cabinet. “I know I’ve put my daughter and her lovely partner in some embarrassing situations in the past, but I do not judge their tastes. We women have to look out for each other.”

“Oh, would you look at this,” she added, examining what appeared to be a stainless steel buttplug hidden in a fireproof lockbox. “I’m not even sure where this goes!”

Schwein returned from her cigarette break just in time for her father to enter from the basement holding a Hitachi Magic Wand, asking if he could borrow her back massager.

Why Pay a Restaurant To Put Fries on My Sandwich When I Could Just Be Sad at Home

Last week I decided to treat myself and went to one of those fancy burger joints with the $12 IPAs and the burgers that come with a knife sticking out of them, and I happened upon an epiphany. As I stared at a giant, block-lettered, brushed steel “DEFEND QUALITY” sign, trying to make out the Turnover song playing in the background, my food arrived. That’s when it hit me. I just paid $20 for a goddamn regular-ass cheeseburger that has fries on top of it that I’m going to devour alone when I should have just stayed home and been sad instead.

Gastropubs have never been my thing. The ambient music in the background is always a mixed bag, plus the food isn’t really all that spectacular. At the end of the day I’m just holding onto four or five crumpled-up napkins and burger juice is running up my arms while listening to “Girlfriend in a Coma” on repeat. But if I wanted to be a sad, onion and garlic soaked display of unwholesome gastronomy, I’d much rather have done this in the privacy of my 400 square foot windowless studio apartment. Not only would it have saved me a buck or two, but I think everybody would benefit from not seeing me in this state of gluttonous consumption and eventual self-loathing.

The next day I went to the grocery store by my apartment. To my delight they had everything I needed. Fries in the freezer aisle, burgers near the butcher, artisanal rolls, cheese, pickles, and condiments. Heck, I even picked up a pack of hotdogs in case I still had some self-worth after dinner. I preheated the oven, fired up the George Foreman, dialed in my favorite slowcore playlist, and let out a sigh of relief. My burger was topped with fries and I could finally face my demons without risking eye contact with anyone. As I dozed off to the sound of my own internal screaming, I finally felt peace.

Punk House Bedbug Exhausted

TOPEKA, Kan. — A nine-month-old bedbug currently residing in local punk house and objectively disgusting place, 321, is reportedly at her limit of physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion.

“When I first got here I thought I had it made—every inch of this place is dark, damp, and thanks to a landlord who doesn’t believe utilities are his problem, hot as fuck, 24/7,” stated the bedbug, already nearly twice the average bedbug age thanks to the decrepit conditions it’s housed in. “But at this point, I just really need a break. There’s a new crop of bodies sleeping on the floor here every night, the carpets haven’t been vacuumed since before Obama’s first term, and those mattresses that girl dragged in from behind the Super 8 down the street aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. I’m tempted to jump onto the mailman just to get out of here for 10 minutes and take a nap.”

Fellow parasites who inhabit the house share in the bedbug’s grief over having no days off, or even hope for a break in the foreseeable future.

“We’re currently in talks to join forces with the scabies on Jamie [Sherman’s] wrist and organizing a walkout, but I just heard from a very reliable source that she joined her friend’s band on tour for a few weeks, so who knows what she’ll come back with,” said a flea, while communicating with a team of body lice over handheld walkie-talkies. “Plus, you know those damn crabs aren’t friendly to unions, at least not since that electric razor in the bathroom got its batteries replaced. We’ll just have to carry on in the meantime.”

Punk house residents have no plans to change the conditions of their dwellings and recommend any and all pests “take a hike” if they aren’t OK with it.

“We give these fuckers endless food, countless cramped, old sleeping bag-covered surfaces to rest in, and an inexplicably humid bathroom any disease could only dream of multiplying in, and this is the thanks we get?” said occasional house resident when he’s back in town for a minute, Shel Horwiz. “Well if they don’t like it they can just go find some other house full of people to make all itchy and gross. I’m not gonna beg them to stick around, I have standards.”

At press time, the bedbug was seen giving herself a pep talk in the mirror before scurrying across the room and biting Horwitz on the back three times.

Review: Arch Enemy “Deceivers”

With all the turmoil in the world, we can be happy that Swedish legends Arch Enemy are back with their long-awaited 11th album “Deceivers” which once again raises the bar for anyone in the melodic death metal genre.

Everyone has their own personal arch-enemy in life. For some, it may be a childhood bully or dickhead boss, or maybe something more abstract like agoraphobia. Mine was fellow 11th grader Zach Dobrowsky.

Zach and I were the only two kids in our class who took playing guitar seriously. But it always felt like he was a step ahead. I had a Guitar World magazine subscription, he had Guitar Player. I learned a song, he learned it in half the time. I uploaded an mp3 to some shady file hosting site, he had a proper artist page on PureVolume.

Things came to a climax at the Winter Talent Show. My crush Jessica’s favorite song at the time was Avenged Sevenfold’s “Bat Country.” So I decided to play that on guitar for the show. In the lead-up, I offhandedly mentioned this to Zach, who seems surprised that I would pick such a tough song but admits that he can’t sweep-pick either. He then passive-aggressively wished me luck.

Cut to the talent show. Dobrowsky is on the list before me. When it’s his turn, he walks out on stage with his Ibanez guitar. The lights darken. A creepy voice bellows “He who makes a beast out of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man.” HE STOLE MY SONG. Not only does he shred the “Bat Country” solo, he NAILS the sweep-picking part. I was just going to play something easier over it.)

Jessica asks Zach to the prom right after he walks offstage. I drop out of the talent show without performing. At prom, she gives him an over-the-pants hand job. That should have been my OTPHJ. MINE.

Anyways, Arch Enemy’s new album “Deceivers” is a constant reminder of my failure. Seven-string guitar virtuoso Jeff Loomis makes a point of sweep-picking and rubbing it in my face on almost every track. Frontwoman Alissa White-Gluz gets in on the fun too and seems to love reminding me that I can’t sing nor scream in any way that another human being would find enjoyable. But I can probably play bass as well as their bassist. Whatever.

If you’re curious about where we stand today, Zach and Jessica have a beautiful family with 4 little angel children, and I’m getting sued because my dog bit an old lady in a wheelchair last week.

SCORE: 5 Broken strings and 1 heart that has never healed

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