We Look Back on INXS Because the Belt Is Stuck Around My Neck and This Might Be It!

Posted on by Dan Rice

It’s been 24 years since the life of Michael Hutchence, lead singer of Australian pop phenomenon INXS, was tragically cut short, allegedly by an incident of auto-erotic asphyxiation gone wrong. Today, we look back on the music of INXS because son of a bitch I think I’m about to do the same fucking thing!

Like many Americans, I become intensely aroused by depriving my brain of oxygen. To facilitate this, I use a heavy duty leather belt with the word “DADDY” written across it in rhinestones. I like to fasten the belt around my neck just enough to significantly cut off my air supply while masturbating, but not quite tight enough to make me pass out, provided of course that I remove the belt within about 10 minutes or so, wherein lies the issue.

To make a long story short, the buckle is jammed, my door is locked from the inside because my landlord gives fuck-all about fire codes, and I don’t know if this is my brain dying or what but I cannot stop jamming out to INXS tunes! Let’s count down the top five, because I for sure do not have time for more!

5. New Sensation
The third single off 1987’s “Kick,” this hit cemented INXS as a presence on the American billboards, eventually reaching the no.3 spot. I’m experiencing quite a new sensation myself, as the knowledge that I will likely die soon has done little to quell my sexual arousal. I just wish I could take this song’s advice and “Live baby live!”

4. Need You Tonight
Hands down one of the sexiest pop hits of all time, and who among us can’t relate to the song’s theme of intense lustful fixation? I know exactly who I need tonight: Mistress Heather! She’s a sex worker friend of mine who acts as a sort of spotter in case exactly this sort of thing were to happen during one of my choke-play sessions. Unfortunately, she had to cancel at the last minute when her cat got sick, and I went ahead anyway.

What I would more than settle for tonight are my phone and/or keys, both of which are in my pants which, in my haste, I left in the other room before locking myself in here, so enjoy my last article!

3. Suicide Blonde
This one’s pretty on the nose — I have blonde hair, and my family is likely to have my death ruled as a suicide to avoid public embarrassment.

2. Don’t Change
I don’t really have a choke-sex tie-in for this one, it’s just a dope song. Seriously, ever heard it? Stop what you’re doing and listen to “Don’t Change” by INXS.

1. Never tear us apart
I’m not sure who wrote this INXS classic but I am sure they didn’t write it about a belt. I would give anything to tear this thing apart from my rapidly swelling neck.

Tearfully Screaming Chorus of Bright Eyes Song Interrupted by GPS

Posted on by Heather Cook

LAUREL, Md. — Local emotional person Cara Lucas was interrupted while crying and shouting along to the chorus of Bright Eyes song “Poison Oak” by her GPS’s instructions to turn left in three hundred feet, concerned sources confirmed.

“All I wanted was to beat my fist to my chest while I poured my heart out to my favorite sad boy anthem, but Google Maps left me high and dry,” said Lucas while struggling to talk over her GPS giving directions to take the first turn off an upcoming roundabout. “I backtracked the song four times, and every damn time the most cathartic moment was wrecked by my phone’s disruptions. I mean, should I even bother playing ‘Mariana Trench’ knowing my exit is coming up?”

Lucas’s best friend, Eva Smith, has been a passenger-side witness to the emotionally unsatisfying disruptions of the navigation app in the past.

“Look, I understand the need to sob along to satisfyingly depressing songs as much as the next emo kid, but what I don’t understand is why she needs to use the GPS to get to a 7-Eleven that’s six minutes from her house,” said Smith. “She would totally reduce the amount of annoying interruptions during her panic attacks if she just memorized the way; it’s literally two turns. Her sad midnight drives to get taquitos would be way more cinematic if the GPS wasn’t offering a faster route every ten seconds.”

According to Dr. Maria Marino, a professional researcher in transit technology at Google, this kind of pattern in Google Maps is intentional.

“Our app uses advanced AI technology to sense when the driver is deeply invested in whatever they’re listening to,” said Marino. “We keep the roads safe by not letting drivers get too carried away. Our GPS will interrupt influencers singing along to The Lumineers on road trips, the most intense moments of true crime podcasts, and the deepest lyrics of any early 2000’s emo song. You want to weep along to ‘Land Locked Blues’? Well, good luck making it to that sick trumpet interlude without a road work warning from us.”

When asked if she had any plans to decrease her usage of Google Maps, Lucas was continuously interrupted by her phone’s Instagram notifications each time she attempted to reply.

We Rank These Gatorades Because We Are so Fucking Hungover

Posted on by Nathan Kamal

Ugh. Give us a second. Just a second. Our fucking head. This fucking sucks. Why did we think it would be a good idea to chase that rum and coke with a banana daiquiri and a keg of Natty Daddy? Whatever. We can plow through this. Time to reemerge, reborn like the phoenix of functional alcoholism, and give you our definitive ranking of Gatorade flav- oh fuck, we’re gonna puke. Wait, nope. Okay, phew.

Look, we’re just gonna rank these Gatorades and call it. Good? Cool. Fuck.

Riptide Rush – It was probably a mistake to start with this one because it doesn’t even sound like a real flavor. Even by Gatorade’s standards, this sounds more like a cause of death than something that “revitalizes electrolytes to the max,” as advertised on the bottle. Wait a minute. Now that we taste it, it is pretty refreshing. It kind of reminds us of the bathtub jungle juice from last night. Oh shit. Shit. We’re definitely going to puke.

Glacier Cherry – This one isn’t so bad. Definitely cleanses the palate. It’s a soothing ice-white color, and it’s nice and cool on our inflamed esophagus. Actually, we’re just going to rub the bottle on our face for a while. Yeah, that feels good. That feels real good. It’s just as cold as the gin and tonic flight we had between shots of fireball. Oh god. Pass us a hat. We’re going to spew again.

Fruit Punch – This one is really basic, but that’s okay. It doesn’t taste all that different from literally any other fruit punch in the world, but it doesn’t have to. It just has to stay in our stomach long enough to keep us from dying of dehydration. And it’s doing that right now. Fuck. I shouldn’t have said that. Here comes the malt liquor!

Pedialyte Lemon Lime – Yeah, yeah. This is cheating. We know. But all that Gatorade is not helping the single worst hangover we’ve ever had. It’s almost like its main ingredient is something that dehydrates you. Anyway, we hear Pedialyte is really good for you. It basically tasted like thick lemon water. Must be all that potassium. You know what also has a lot of potassium? Bananas. Which reminds us of last night when we put on that episode of “Full House” where The Beach Boys show up and we all put on Hawaiian shirts and blended up so many daiquiris that we’re about to blow chunks of right this second.

Unlabelled Bottle from the Fridge – FUCK. There’s a cigarette in this one! Who put this in here? What kind of fucking prank is this? It touched our mouth a little when we drank it! …oh no. Oh no. Please no. Not again.

Okay, we’re calling it. There are like 23 more flavors of Gatorade, but we just need to lie down. We’re gonna take a long nap and then get back to you. Maybe we’ll try whatever “Gatorade Flow” is. Just never let us drink like that again. Fuck.

Jaw Unhinged Like Fucking Python in Order to Take Bite of Freakishly Tall, Expensive Gourmet Burger

Posted on by Zac Lux

CHICAGO — Local man and self-proclaimed foodie Harry Blanks unhinged his jaw like a Burmese Python in order to take a bite of the coveted “Cuddledeth Burger” at Burger Bizarre, grossed out witnesses confirm.

“Totally worth it,” Blanks stated, struggling to harness his mouth’s ability to pronounce the words. “I’ve heard about the Cuddledeth Burger for a while. I knew it was going to be a feat, so I started doing two-a-days of jaw flexor exercises a few months ago to prepare. I also took on another job in order to afford it. Thankfully, by the time my spot on the waitlist opened up, I had a few hundred in the bank and was able to flex my jaw up to a foot and a half. I was finally ready.”

Blanks’ friends have grown concerned with his continued determination to conquer the menu of burgers.

“It’s kind of a nice conversation starter when I tell people I know someone who literally dislocated their jaw eating a sandwich, but this is too much,” said close friend, Hallie Corbett. “He couldn’t even chew that thing. His body just turned into one giant muscle and like, squeezed the nutrients out of it over the course of nine hours. He’s been to the E.R. no less than six times to pop his jawbone back in place, and he has exactly zero shirts that aren’t covered in grease, caramelized onion stains, aioli, and blood. Not to mention the effects on his body after ingesting so much meat and brioche.”

Burger Bizarre chef and owner Ben Anderson has yielded nothing but a positive gain over obsession with the burgers.

“People seem to love taking pictures with these damn things, so I just plan to keep making them bigger and more expensive,” said Anderson. “I really just want to see how far we can go by stacking leftover ingredients over and over. You toss a handful of fried onions and some moldy goat cheese on top of a wholesale meat-patty from Costco, slather it with honey and name it after a band that’s touring through town, and these suckers can’t get enough of it. They’ll lap it up for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

At press time, Blanks’ body had exploded after attempting to eat one french fry. 

Zac Lux

How Many Unarmed People Do I Have To Kill To Get Some Paid Time Off?

Posted on by Kevin Tit

I’ve been with the department for eight years now, and every request I’ve put in for leave has been denied. People don’t understand how exhausting this job can be, week after week. It can really take a toll. Well, I’m in desperate need of a vacation and after all these years of loyal service I just have to ask: How many more unarmed people do I need to kill before I get some gosh darn time off?!

It’s getting ridiculous. After the first one, I was sure I was finally getting my vacation. Mentally, I was already on the beach. But when that didn’t happen, I knew I’d have to take it up a notch. So last week I was called out to a private residence to do a wellness check. I thought “This is perfect! Cops kill people during wellness checks all the time! It’s basically part of a wellness check at this point.” And sure enough, when I got there I was met by a probably hostile 16-year-old waving either a knife or a white flag. Shot ’em dead in their doorway without announcing myself. Classic. I was so sure this was going to be my one-way ticket to a relaxing Florida vacation. Turns out, the shooting was ruled as a justified act of self-defense. If I had known this would happen, I’d have just used my taser.

Fast forward a few weeks to when I was part of a task force executing a search warrant for a suspected drug dealer. I saw someone asleep on the couch and thought, “No way this is legal,” and shot them dead right then and there. Against all odds, that blatant execution was ruled justified by the department. No consequences. I’m right back on patrol as if nothing ever happened! This damn liberal justice system. Thanks, Biden.

What a thankless job I have. I just keep terrorizing people hoping it’ll give me the long-overdue break I need, yet I get nothing. I don’t want any more free haircuts. I don’t want any more praise. I just want some fucking paid time off, and I will literally kill for it. Or for any other reason.

Punk More Merch Than Man at This Point

Posted on by John Dixon

ST. PAUL, Minn. — Local punk and avid merch buyer Ben Riley officially crossed the line from human being to sentient merch booth with the purchase of his latest tank top, according to sources.

“I’ve always loved collecting merch. The more absurd, the better,” Riley said from his veritable rat’s nest of band tees while wearing seven assorted beanies and snapbacks on his head. “When I got tired of shirts and hoodies, I branched out to stuff like watches and grinders and sunglasses. Supporting the scene is so important, especially after a year like last year, so it’s a win/win. My friend’s band knows how much I love them, so they even made Chucks with their name puffy painted on them just for me, which I feel was $250 well spent.”

Riley’s friends expressed a wide range of reactions to his gradual merchandise ascendancy, from awe to pure confusion and sometimes both at once.

“I mean obviously the sheer volume of merch is impressive on its own, but the range of items and how much shit he manages to wear at once is really impressive,” said Becca Mady. “But at the same time it’s like, how does he afford this merch? And why does he feel the need to flex nine different bands with conflicting aesthetics all at once? It doesn’t even look good — more like a ghillie suit designed to hide in my ex’s room. Also, I have yet to see him buy a single record, 7-inch, or even a tape.”

Riley’s achievements did not go unnoticed by corporate merch sellers who find him integral to their business, according to MerchNow marketing coordinator Burt Evans.

“Customers such as Mr. Riley are, to borrow a term from gaming, a whale: a huge spender you want to hook and reel in,” Evans said. “In fact, we specifically cultivate these kinds of spenders with limited merch capsules and bundles. It’s a symbiotic relationship, like those birds that clean crocodiles’ teeth. Honestly though, the type of person who’s buying a local band’s $45 hoodie will buy literally anything — a band could slap their logo on a torture device and they’d buy seven, so we don’t go overboard. We’re not trying to reinvent the wheel, here.”

At press time, Riley was seen signing for a pallet of band tees, which he intended to layer one atop the other to maximize his merch per square inch.

Photo by Seth Brooks.

Alarming New Study Finds I’m The Only One in This House That Knows How to Refill the Goddamn Brita Filter

Posted on by Patrick Coyne

BALLARD RESIDENCE — A disturbing and highly scientific new study has found that I, Gary Ballard, the extremely parched breadwinner that works too damn hard to put up with this bullshit, is apparently the only one in this entire house capable of refilling the goddamn Brita filter.

“Oh…yeah. Sorry, Dad. Were you, like, thirsty or something?” said my good for nothing daughter strolling into the house two hours past curfew. “I was in a hurry because I was going to meet [her loser, crumb bum boyfriend] Issac at the movies and needed to fill up my thermos. I’m trying to drink my eight cups of water a day. By the way, the car needs gas.”

Goldbricking son and young man that doesn’t know the value of a dollar Chase Ballard seemed entirely perplexed as to how the water in the Brita filter is even replenished in the first place.

“The water’s just always full, you know? I guess I never really thought about who does it. Not sure why Dad’s got a stick up his butt about no one else ever refilling it. I mean, how hard can it be? Seriously, I’m asking, as I’ve never done it before,” said my son, who needs to get his act together and turn down that god awful music before I have a conniption. “Either way, it’s always nice to have a big glass of water after a long run, or if I’m high and got some killer cottonmouth.”

Fellow dad and scientist Dr. Herbert Washington confirmed that this phenomenon of chore blindness among ungrateful kids is not limited to water filters.

“As a father and medical professional who has studied the subject for over three decades, it is my highly scientific opinion that 100 percent of kids these days are a bunch of useless turds,” explained the astute and knowledgeable Dr. Washington over a beer in my garage. “Is it really so much for them to get out of bed before 9 a.m. on a Saturday and drive their mother to the bank? Hell in a handbasket, this whole freaking country.”

In a related study, research has confirmed that I am flesh and blood and not made out of money, so stop trying to heat the whole neighborhood and shut that goddamn door already.

White Guy Cut Off in Traffic Destined to Have Mugshot on News

Posted on by Nick Ortolani

DALLAS — Local white man Darrell Hargrove raised alarm bells yesterday after a traffic incident led experts to believe his mugshot may soon appear on national news broadcasts, sources monitoring the situation confirmed.

“A man can only take so much injustice,” expounded Hargrove from the cab of his brand new Chevy Silverado. “This whole fucking system is rigged against guys like me. First my boss gives me a warning about using ‘racially insensitive’ language, and now this? That fucking guy didn’t even notice me when he cut me off. Well, people are gonna notice me… one day. I may not have the best self control or decision making skills, but I have something better: disposable income, the Second Amendment, and a shit load of free time.”

Those close with Hargrove believe his 15 minutes of fame may be just around the corner.

“I always knew he was going places,” admitted lifelong friend Marshall Buckman. “I just really wish that place was an anger management class. When we were kids, I watched him hang the chess club captain from the goal posts by his underwear, and you’d think he was trying to destabilize a South American nation with his gun collection. I guess I’m happy he’s my friend… though I’m a little nervous that he knows where I live. I’m just going to make sure I spend some extra time in my fallout shelter until this blows over.”

Experts noted a recent dramatic increase in incidents involving white men “forced” into unspeakable acts by mild inconveniences.

“We call it ‘Batman Syndrome,’ when a man violently lashes out at the most vulnerable members of society instead of confronting their emotions surrounding trauma — such as the death of a relative, or being cut in line at McDonalds,” explained criminal psychologist Dr. Jane Sanchez. “Many people don’t have Bruce Wayne’s money, but most have $800 and live in a state with no background checks. The condition is typically harmless for the carrier, but beware if you’re a nearby person of color, or any kind of woman.”

At press time, media outlets were scrambling to prepare after learning Hargrove had received a speeding ticket.

Opinion: It’s Been 5 Years and No One Else Called It: I’m Prince Now

Posted on by Dan Rice

As I write this proclamation, it’s been seven hours, 15 days and 5 years since the passing of The Purple One. While the legacy of his reign will no doubt echo across the cultural landscape for decades to come, the fact remains that in all that time not one person has made a claim to the Raspberry Beret, and I say enough is enough. No one else is going to step up and fill his surprisingly small shoes? Fine. Everybody, I’m Prince now.

Prince was more than a musician. He was a walking sovereign entity, a one-man monarchy ruling over all things sexual and funky with a velvet fist. People die, but thrones do not. Prince is dead, long live Prince!

Let’s address the elephant in the room right away. I don’t want to hear any stink about “cultural appropriation.” Prince transcends race, and if there were even a whisper of a person of color making a move for the throne, I would have backed down immediately. I’m pretty surprised it’s come to this. To be honest, I’m just as weirded out by the idea of white Prince as you are, but it’s been half a decade, and the borders of freakiness remain unguarded.

My qualifications speak for themselves:
– In high school my intramural Ultimate Frisbee team was called Sign o’ the Times.
– I think the Batman soundtrack is criminally underrated, and after months of lobbying convinced my friends to give me the nickname “Party Man.”
– I’m good at heavily implying but never quite confirming I’ve done guy/guy stuff.

My purple reign will officially begin after I ride my motorcycle to Minnesota, where I will purify myself in the waters of Lake Minnetonka. Then, after a tasteful love scene with Appollonia Kotero, I’ll make a cameo on an episode of “The New Girl” for some reason. After that, I will put my estate in order, pulling all of my music from Spotify and locking my unreleased recordings back into the vault. From there I will mostly just experiment with chem-sex in my mansion.

Transitions of power are difficult, and I ask for your patience in this trying time. To be fair, I am inheriting a plethora of problems the original Prince never had to deal with: Covid-19, economic chaos, an endless war with Morris Day. While I do not blame my predecessor for these issues, it cannot be denied that five years without a Prince has made the world considerably harder to manage. Also, the Morris Day thing was sort of his fault. Regardless, I don’t want to cause you any sorrow. I don’t want to cause you any pain. I promise that with your love, your support, your extra time and your Kiss, I will become the Prince you deserve.

Oh, and someone needs to teach me how to do music.

Friend’s New Band Undeniably a Group Of People Playing Instruments

Posted on by Kendra Mosenson

CHICAGO — Local electro-punk-ska band, 25/7, is undeniably a group of people using instruments on a stage, that’s for sure, tolerant showgoers reported.

“As I watched I was like, ‘OK, yeah, there are definitely six of them up there. And far be it from me to say they aren’t holding a variety of instruments,’” said frontman Rod Mulroney’s freshman year roommate, Olivia Pace. “We haven’t talked in years, but I saw him promoting the show on Instagram for two months and all of my other plans fell through, so I figured I’d give it a shot. And after seeing their performance I can confidently say that it was two hours long, and that is a fact.”

25/7’s drummer/harpist, Charlie Costa, has high hopes for the band’s future.

“We’re new, but I think we show a lot of promise. Right now our top song is ‘Hit the Bricks (But Don’t Bruise Your Hand While Doing So (Safety Is Really Important))’ and we’re all hoping that it’ll be what puts us on the map,” said Costa as she packed up the band’s sixteen amps. “After every show, friends come up to us and say things like, ‘You guys were up there!’ and, ‘They sold out of earplugs immediately!’ so I feel really good about where we are right now.”

Mulroney’s best friend, Dan Learner, explained that he wants the best for the band.

“I want them to know they have fans, so I make sure to stand up front at every show, which usually isn’t hard because there’s rarely more than three people on the floor,” said Learner. “Watching them be six people, all of whom are holding differently shaped pieces of plastic and sometimes metal or wood that a variety of sounds come out of, is pretty inspiring stuff. They were definitely here tonight, can’t argue with that.”

At press time, friends of the band were overheard describing the group as “really good people, honestly, just the nicest dudes.”