&ndash; Looks like your baby came out of the eugenics machine beautifully.
&ndash; Doctor, that is a white, blonde, blue eyed baby. How could it possibly be mine?
&ndash; That&rsquo;s what the instructions said. Was that not in your order?
&ndash; No! That doesn&rsquo;t make any sense. Why would I ask for that?
&ndash; I don&rsquo;t know! I just assumed you wanted&hellip; you know&hellip;
&ndash; Excuse me?
&ndash; Oh my god, I really messed up. Does this make me racist?
&ndash; Yes it makes you super racist!
&ndash; Jesus, I&rsquo;m so sorry. I don&rsquo;t even know what to do with this baby now.
&ndash; &hellip;Does it still bounce?
&ndash; It is the bounciest baby we have ever made.
&ndash; Why don&rsquo;t I go ahead and take that baby then.
&ndash; Really?
&ndash; But that doesn&rsquo;t mean I don&rsquo;t think this whole situation is super fucked up!
&ndash; Of course, of course. My apologies again. I think I&rsquo;ve learned an important lesson today.
&ndash; Cool. If anyone needs us, we&rsquo;ll be on the roof.

– Looks like your baby came out of the eugenics machine beautifully.
– Doctor, that is a white, blo...

Eugenics

Fortune Teller Comix

Bad Cop: We have your fingerprints on the gun, the doorknob, and the victim, punk.
Good Cop: Hey just wanted to let you know we do not have your fingerprints on the gun, the doorknob, or the victim.
&lsquo;By the Book&rsquo; Cop: Goddammit I&rsquo;m getting this man an attorney.
Loose-Cannon Cop: He can have three attorneys for all I care. I&rsquo;ll still walk his ass straight to the slammer.
Old&ndash;Pete Cop: Back in my day we didn&rsquo;t have slammers, we just had one big hole.
&lsquo;Just tryna make it to the end of the day&rsquo; Cop: Look, I&rsquo;m just tryna make it to the end of the day, can we&mdash;
&lsquo;Throwing his Coffee&rsquo; Cop: Wait, you let this princess on the team?
Commissioner Cop: I know he is but he&rsquo;s the best we&rsquo;ve got.
&lsquo;I Know He is But He&rsquo;s the Best We&rsquo;ve Got&rsquo; Cop: (lights cigarette)
&lsquo;The New Guy&rsquo; Cop: I don&rsquo;t like coffee yet.
Horse-Mounted Cop: (rides in on horse) Well I just, hRode in from the pasture and&ndash; I do declayuh,&mdash;
FBI-Mole Cop: Man I would haate it if someone from the FBI were here right now.
Confused Cop: I&rsquo;m a cop. You&rsquo;re a cop. He&rsquo;s a cop.
Childrens&rsquo; Book Cop: I&rsquo;m a cop. You&rsquo;re a cop. He&rsquo;s a cop. Bwee-oop bwee-oop bwee-oop.
Recently Divorced Cop: You can rat out your partner and walk outta hear right now but you can&rsquo;t have the goddamn dog!
Drug Dog: (dog noises)
Undercover Cop: Eyy Billy. Don&rsquo;t you worry, long as we keep talkin&rsquo; into these wires ain&rsquo;t nothing these cops can do to nobody (zips up hoodie).
Jelly-Donut Cop: Mmm om homf nom nop om nop clop.
Mall Cop: Hey, Jelly-Donut Cop they have better donuts at Cinnabon.
Jelly-Donut Cop: Wait, what the hell did you just call me?
Juggling Guns Cop: Man I sure hope these stop going off soon.
&lsquo;Lost the Key to His Handcuffs&rsquo; Cop: (internally) Just play it cool. Hold still, and no one will notice your head handcuffed to your leg.
&lsquo;Why Are There So Many Fucking Cops?&rsquo; Cop: Hey I gotta question why are there so many fucking cops?
Lonely Cop: I don&rsquo;t know, but we better get some more cops in here.
Billy the Murderer: I did it.
&lsquo;Just tryna make it to the end of the day&rsquo; Cop: Look, I&rsquo;m just tryna make it to the end of the day&mdash;
SWAT-Team Cop: (crashes through window) Oh God, I killed the new guy.
Jelly-Donut Cop: Yum.

Bad Cop: We have your fingerprints on the gun, the doorknob, and the victim, punk.
Good Cop: Hey ju...

Good Cop, Bad Cop, Jelly-Donut Cop

Explorer: And right here are the Rocky Moun&mdash;no wait, just another barren wasteland.

Explorer: And right here are the Rocky Moun—no wait, just another barren wasteland.

Post-apocalyptic Expedition

&mdash; Hey Brenda how&rsquo;s it&mdash; jesus christ dude!
&mdash; Ha ha fooled ya. Don&rsquo;t I look just like her?
&mdash; You&rsquo;re wearing her skin.
&mdash; Yeah I decided to go all out this year.
&mdash; Take that off. Where is Brenda?
&mdash; Relax dude she&rsquo;s fine. It&rsquo;s just a joke.
&mdash; I don&rsquo;t get the joke.
&mdash; Isn&rsquo;t there a whole saying about &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t judge a man until you&rsquo;ve walked to moons in his skin?&rdquo;
&mdash; Yeah but&mdash; wait, no pretty sure it was moccasins.
&mdash; That can&rsquo;t be right.
&mdash; Yeah it&rsquo;s walk two moons in his moccasins. How does that make less sense than skin?
&mdash; Oh jeez you&rsquo;re right. Man, I feel pretty dumb now.
&mdash; Yeah please take off Brenda&rsquo;s skin.
&mdash;&nbsp;Well I&rsquo;m gonna leave it on for tonight since it&rsquo;s my costume. But man do I feel dumb.

— Hey Brenda how’s it— jesus christ dude!
— Ha ha fooled ya. Don’t I look just like her?
— You’re ...

Costume Party

Hey kiddos, welcome to City Zoo: the first completely ethical zoo! We are super stoked to show you guys around today.

Wow, a question already? Yes, we did used to be a normal zoo before the incident, which I can’t directly tell you about due to legal concerns, but a vague four-word description never hurts: Crazed leopard murder-suicide. After that we needed to rebrand.

You might be wondering, where are all the animals? And to that I say: exactly where they should be. In the wild. Or a little bit down the road on the highway median. But sometimes they come back to the zoo in a Stockholm Syndrome sort of way.

Look, here’s one now! This is Fat Monkey. We don’t give our animals human names because that is degrading to their inherent worth as animals. Fat Monkey climbed into the polar bear exhibit shortly after birth. We thought he was a goner, but the polar bears actually made him their king, so he’s abnormally aggressive and troubled by climate change for a monkey. Oops! There’s that signature Fat Monkey aggression. No no, don’t call for help. This is a natural urge, and it would be unethical to stop him. You are free, Fat Monkey. Free and worthy of life.

Next is our immersive ethical simulation exhibit. We need one volunteer to step into this glassed-in enclosure. Thanks, bud. What’s your name? Brian? Okay now everyone bang on Brian’s glass super hard and we’re gonna flash some lights at him and scream. This is what it’s like to be an animal in confinement. Woah, Brian, chill out pal. No need to get like the 2015 crazed leopard. He has what? Look if Brian knows he has epilepsy he should lead with that before he volunteers for things.

But this teaches us a valuable lesson. Do you think anyone ever asked Fat Monkey if he had epilepsy? No, because we don’t listen to animals. And also, Fat Monkey had severe rabies that made him too dangerous to get close to. But you’d never know that because you’d never ask him.

Ethical Zoo

Comment on New Zelda Game Out! by /u/bowzrrr999 in /r/nintendo
[&ndash;] GREG_THE_MAN&nbsp; 0 points 45 days ago&nbsp;
if u burst a pipe in ur basement how do u make the water stop
&nbsp;
Comment on Saw this while on a job today by /u/joeytheplumber in /r/plumbers
[&ndash;] GREG_THE_MAN&nbsp; -1 points 43 days ago&nbsp;
if u burst a pipe in ur basement how do u make the water stop
[&ndash;] GREG_THE_MAN&nbsp; 0 points 42 days ago&nbsp;
urgent&nbsp;
[&ndash;] GREG_THE_MAN&nbsp; 5 points 9 days ago
Fix pipe on the job tomorrow 100 dollars?
&nbsp;
Comment on 2,000 dead in Libyan stadium bombing by /u/proudamerikhan in /r/worldnews
[&ndash;] GREG_THE_MAN&nbsp; 7 points 20 minutes ago&nbsp;
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;if pipe is in ur basement and water is coming out bursting and whatnot how to stop
[&ndash;] GREG_THE_MAN&nbsp; -5 points 19 minutes ago&nbsp;
Libya not official country run by dog fucks this was not one time thing
[&ndash;] GREG_THE_MAN&nbsp; 2 points 14 minutes ago&nbsp;
if u burst a pipe in ur basement how do u make the water stop
[&ndash;] GREG_THE_MAN&nbsp; 1 point 13 minutes ago
urgent please

Comment on New Zelda Game Out! by /u/bowzrrr999 in /r/nintendo
[–] GREG_THE_MAN  0 points 45 days a...

Reddit History

SchopenMeower Cartoons

Quartet: (singing) Once is a day at a time, twice is looking so fine!
Customer: Neat-o! A quartet! What a fun throwback idea.
Quartet: (bouncing in hats) Lady, oh lady, oh how I love a laaaaady!
Customer: Can I get a haircut? A trim? A little off the top?
Owner: Yeah, find a barber.
Customer: Ok, uhhhh, um, hello? Is someone a barber?
Quartet: (frolicking around the shop) Hey-o, hey-o, a day ago was yesterday-o!
&nbsp;
Customer: Finally! A barber! Can I get a number 3 on the sides and an inch off the top?
Barber: Buzz off, chump. I&rsquo;m watching the musical.
Quartet: (playing with patrons&rsquo; hair) A doughnut is looking so nice! Found one in the winter ice! Chicago winter food surprise! Eat it up in one single try! Chicaaagooooo! Chicaaagooooo!&nbsp;
&nbsp;
Customer: So just to be clear, you&rsquo;re a barber, and you&rsquo;re just going to give me a trim, and you&rsquo;re paying attention?
Barber: Yeah I&rsquo;ll have one eye on you and one eye on the quartet.
Quartet: (leapfrogging) I&rsquo;ll clear my whole schedule for a bottle of jam! Ten dollar ticket to the store with the ham! Both of those are luxury goods! Ten dollar tax as it should! Oh do I love my Uncle Sam! Give him my paycheck as oft as I can! Only thing better than a pooch, is my lovely lady&rsquo;s smooch! Dogs galore at the pound, licking my face all around!
Barber: (shaving off eyebrow) Diddle-dee-dee, cat in a tree. Diddle-dee-doo, my wish has come true! (shaving off other eyebrow) Cat falls into my arms and I&rsquo;m the hero! Celebrate with 98 bottles of beer-o! I&rsquo;m the hero of Chicaaagooooooo! (shaving hair off head)
Quartet: (slapping ass) Hero, hero, he&rsquo;s the hero! Win a free lunch, the price is zero! Chicaaagoooo!

Quartet: (singing) Once is a day at a time, twice is looking so fine!
Customer: Neat-o! A quartet! ...

Modern Day Barbershop Quartet

-Sir, they&rsquo;ve stockpiled one hundred nuclear missiles. -Aha! Not to worry, my friend! They&rsquo;ll never fire them. -Er, why is that? -Because if they fire those missiles, they can be certain of our immediate retaliation. -Right, but&mdash; -A classic case of &ldquo;mutually assured destruction.&rdquo; -Well, the thing is&mdash; -It&rsquo;s a simple principle of game theory! -General, we only have one missile. -That&rsquo;s all we need, my friend. -It&rsquo;s not nuclear. -It doesn&rsquo;t need to be! A single well-targeted strike can wreak as much damage as a hundred atomic bombs! -It&rsquo;s not even armed with an explosive. It&rsquo;s basically just a big metal football. -Dangerous enough to destroy a house of parliament, to bring their government to its knees! -It doesn&rsquo;t have a homing system. We&rsquo;d just be dropping it out of a plane. -If our timing is precise, that won&rsquo;t matter! -With all due respect, there is basically zero chance we hit a target that small. -They don&rsquo;t have to know that, though! It&rsquo;s all about deterrence! -Sir, I just don&rsquo;t think they&rsquo;re scared of our big metal football. -It&rsquo;s a highly advanced military weapon! -If they launch one hundred nuclear missiles, they are not going to be worried about our football. -What if we strike first? -To be honest, sir, they probably won&rsquo;t even notice.

-Sir, they’ve stockpiled one hundred nuclear missiles.-Aha! Not to worry, my friend! They’ll never f...

Assured Destruction

&ndash; (pickup) Hello?
&ndash; Doc?! Is that you? It&rsquo;s Billy.&nbsp;
&ndash; The Doctor is in! What&rsquo;s up?
&ndash; (angrily) What&rsquo;s up? The fuck do you mean &ldquo;what&rsquo;s up?&rdquo; Look, man I don&rsquo;t think it&rsquo;s cool that you decided to deliver the news that I have syphilis to my answering machine.
&ndash; What?
&ndash; I live with my mom, and&ndash;.
&ndash; Speak up, I can&rsquo;t hear you?&nbsp;
&ndash;&nbsp; (louder) Yeah, I live with my mom and she heard about the syphilis over the answering&ndash;
&ndash; (laughing) I&rsquo;m just kidding. I totally got you. This is just an automated message on my answering machine. Leave me a message and I&rsquo;ll be sure to get back to you.

– (pickup) Hello?
– Doc?! Is that you? It’s Billy. 
– The Doctor is in! What’s up?
– (angrily) Wh...

Answering Machine

<ul>
<li>Hello! Welcome to&nbsp;Go Chase Happiness And Dreams Travel Agency.&nbsp;</li>
<li>Hi, my 8-months pregnant wife and I would like to book a vacation to non-American soil.</li>
<li>Make the baby unable to run for president. Smart, sir. Perhaps a getaway to Chad?</li>
<li>What&rsquo;s Chad? My wife and our soon-to-be-born son both don&rsquo;t know what Chad is.&nbsp;</li>
<li>No problem. Planning a trip for two to Chad.&nbsp;</li>
<li>We were thinking about somewhere like the Bahamas.&nbsp;</li>
<li>Bahamas? Chad? Both have people, airports. I can book flights to both, but it&rsquo;s you who needs to decide what you really want.&nbsp;</li>
<li>Bahamas. Definitely Bahamas.&nbsp;</li>
<li>Okay, we&rsquo;ll take care of the rest. Let me tell you about our special in the meantime: Everyone who takes a trip to the Bahamas gets a FREE one-week trip to Chad.</li>
<li>Wow. That&rsquo;s a great deal for people wanting to go to Chad. What&rsquo;s the catch?&nbsp;</li>
<li>Travelers must take the trip to Chad first and play cards with the locals until they&rsquo;re satisfied.&nbsp;</li>
<li>Well I&rsquo;ll be damned. They like playing cards in Chad? Who would&rsquo;ve thought?</li>
<li>Yes, sir. It is a great deal. I&rsquo;ll put you down for the special and alert the locals now.</li>
<li>No thank you. I don&rsquo;t want to go to Chad. I&rsquo;m still not sure what it is. Just the Bahamas for me, please.&nbsp;</li>
<li>Everyone who books a trip to the Bahamas must take the special.&nbsp;</li>
<li>What kind of policy is that?&nbsp;</li>
<li>It&rsquo;s our policy, sir.&nbsp;</li>
<li>I&rsquo;d like to speak to your manager.&nbsp;</li>
<li>You&rsquo;ll meet him when you come to Chad, but yes sir, I&rsquo;ll get the minister of tourism now.</li>
<li>Minister of tourism? What kind of company is this? I should call the cops right now.</li>
<li>Company? No, sir. This is the Government of Chad.&nbsp;</li>
</ul>


Hello! Welcome to Go Chase Happiness And Dreams Travel Agency. 
Hi, my 8-months pregnant wife and...

Springtime Getaway

The Lampoon's Spring 2026 parody of the Harvard Crimson

Spring ’26

Crimson Parody

The other day I got locked up in prison for going out on the town and getting after it with the fellas. Last time I checked, “jacking off” wasn’t a crime, but the cops begged to differ. Good thing I escaped by the skin of my teeth: and here’s my story.

I was sitting in prison, when one of the security guards came over. I said “hey buddy, pass me that pair of keys you got on that there belt.” He looked at me, and said “ok pal.” I immediately took the keys and escaped from behind bars before the guard knew what had hit him. He almost realized in time, but luckily I had escaped by the skin of my teeth by then.

As I was running down the hallway towards the exit, the prison alarm bells began to blare. “ALERT, ALERT, A PRISONER HAS ESCAPED.” Guards began rushing out of their quarters to stop me, and I continued running as fast as I could. I escaped by the skin of my teeth.

After what felt like hours, I found my way to the prison courtyard. It was here that I knew I could make my escape. I began climbing the fifteen foot wall, the only thing standing between me and my freedom. The snipers took aim, and I dodged the first bullet by the skin of my teeth. The second shot missed me by a hair, and I dodged the third shot by the skin of my teeth.

As I reached the top of the wall, the warden brought out a machine gun: the strongest of the strong. Luckily it was inaccurate from a distance, so I was able to avoid the first few shots. That was just enough time to jump over the shrivel of barbed wire, and I began to make my way down the other side. However, the warden began firing a second barrage, and the bullets began hitting and piercing my skin. I immediately fell and broke all my bones, landing in a bloody hovel below.

I began gasping helplessly for breath, and soon after, passed away.

The other day I got locked up in prison for going out on the town...

How I Escaped by the Skin of my Teeth From Prison

It was a dark and stormy night for ol’ George Abofo. He was peddling his wares down on Lipman Street, just a hair shy from Bottomsville. Abofo was a sly fellow who made his living selling shoes to children on the side of the road.

Abofo was a shoesman. Some people use the phrase cobbler, but Abofo didn’t.

Abofo wasn’t like most people, and he didn’t give a rat’s ass who knew it.

This particular night Abofo was lacing a pair of brown boots for Robert Feed, a local middle schooler whose feet were growing at an alarming rate. It seemed like every week Feed needed a new pair. Abofo loved the challenge, and more importantly, loved that Feed was a young student.
You see, George Abofo didn’t even know how to read. But if shoes were books, and laces were words, then goddamnit, Abofo was the most literate man you’d ever met.

“Mr. Abofo, my shoes is too small for my feets!” Feed exclaimed. The wind whipped Abofo’s face as he labored over Feed’s shoes. “Just a moment now, Robert.” Abofo pulled and prodded the end of Feed’s left boot, adjusting the shoe’s vamp with his tongue. That was the thing about being a shoesman—you sometimes had to use your tongue to get things done.

“Examine my work,” said Mr. Abofo, standing up off of his shoesman’s stoop. Feed looked down at his boots and gasped. They fit perfectly. Mr. Abofo brushed off his hands (like a father would after a long day of gardening) and smiled. “Alright kiddo, let’s get you off to school,” he said, chuckling. Robert Feed skipped away smiling, his toes wiggling within the perfectly spaced confines of his boots, not realizing how dangerously close he had come to being brutally molested by the town pervert.

George Abofo

This is the story of Jizzy Fuckwad scamming an elderly woman on Facebook Marketplace.

Jizzy Fuckwad needed some cash ASAP. He said to himself, “You know what? Now’s as good a time as any. I mean, right now. I’m going to scam an elderly woman on Facebook Marketplace. Fuck it. Why the hell not?”

Jizzy Fuckwad opened up his laptop and found a stock photo of a refurbished Restoration Hardware couch. He screenshotted it and listed the couch on Facebook Marketplace for $900. In minutes, Jizzy Fuckwad was receiving hundreds of direct messages.

“Dude, your name is WHAATT??” read one DM.

“Jizzy Fuckwad! It says so in the profile,” Jizzy Fuckwad wrote back. “Now that that’s out of the way, are you interested in this high end modular sectional?”

It seemed like every DM had something to say about Jizzy Fuckwad’s name. Except one.

“Hello dearie, I’d like to purchase this couch!” read the lone DM. Jizzy Fuckwad clicked on the sender’s profile and found that she was in her mid-seventies. Jizzy Fuckwad wrote back that he needed to be paid via Venmo — not through the Facebook Marketplace framework — to “reduce fees.” After receiving the payment, Jizzy Fuckwad promptly transferred the money to his bank account and blocked the old woman on every platform.

Jizzy Fuckwad then felt so guilty that he reached for his phone to call the police on himself. But Jizzy Fuckwad’s phone died at that very moment, leaving Jizzy Fuckwad a second to contemplate the fact that he was now $900 richer.

This is the story of Jizzy Fuckwad scamming an elderly woman on Facebook Marketplace...

FUCKWAD, in which he... ...scams an elderly woman on Facebook Marketplace

We visited JGC’s grandfather (certified white boy) (pictured right circa 1953) and asked for some words of wisdom. Here is what we learned.

<ul>
 <li>“If you press on the baby’s head, he’ll finally start speaking Chinese.”</li>
 <li>“The sole use for the library computer is to look at pornography.”</li>
 <li>“Bitches ain’t shit if they don’t have their concealed handguns licenses.”</li>
 <li>“Cat’s got your nose. I’ve got the last four digits of your social security. Who do you think is in charge?”</li>
 <li>“If you get a mouse a cookie, I might just beat you to a pulp.”</li>
 <li>“There was a black president before Obama. They just don’t want you to know about it.”</li>
 <li>“Doctor needs me to take one pill in the morning, one at lunch, and one in the evening. Okay sure bozo.”</li>
 <li>“I got this ol AI to recreate a video of my deceased wife saying happy birthday and they done turned her to a Pacific Islander.”</li>
 <li>“You kids come back from college and start yapping about Israel. What the hell is even that.”</li>
 <li>“Throw a bottle of hoisin sauce in front of white people and they’ll assume it belongs on every dish at the table.”</li>
 <li>“I remember my first mole fight.”</li>
 <li>“Ima start screaming until you leave.”</li>
 <li>“Broke up with my bitch while she was playing fruit ninja. Whole lot of mmhms.”</li>
 <li>“Shower thoughts day 127: Fuck you I didn’t shower today.”</li>
 <li>“Mannnn. I should’ve ordered that.’ Brother. No one told you to order fried pickles as your entree.”</li>
 <li>“I swear to god my momma always be calling with a serious event that requires my full attention as soon as that bill come out.”</li>
 <li>“Please do not mention Vietnam in my vicinity.”</li>
 <li>“Dudes be stroking their scruff and saying ‘3 days and counting’ who gives a fuck.”</li>
 <li>“With enough hard work and dedication, I might just stop hating you.”</li>
 <li>“The government shut down? Damnit. I was planning on blowing the bitch up.”</li>
</ul>

White Boy Wisdoms

In Game 5 of the 1997 NBA Finals, Michael Jordan put on one of the most legendary performances 
in basketball history while suffering flu-like symptoms. He played so well, in fact, that he soon began to 
intentionally seek out other illnesses in hopes of improving his game.

Announcer: And there’s a classic taunt from Jordan, sticking his tongue out as he slams it home! 
Co-Announcer: He’s really letting his opponents have it. Wagging that tongue right at them! 
Announcer: Oh my. Is he trying to... lick them? 
Co-Announcer: They’re pushing him away—but he just goes for the floor. God. So vigorous. 
Announcer: Can we cut to commercial?

Agent: I’m sorry, Mike. There just aren’t any more Make-A-Wish kids who’ve asked to see you. You’ve visited 
them all. 
Michael Jordan: Then I’ll visit them again! Especially the contagious ones! 
Agent: That’s not how it works. You’re only allowed to visit them once. 
Michael Jordan: How about you? How are you feeling? Your voice sounds a little scratchy. 
Agent: C’mon, let’s talk about this later. Hey, you ever read that script for Space Jam: Baseball? 
Michael Jordan: Cough on me!

Interviewer: You possess a relentless drive to be the best. What’s your advice to all those out there who want 
to “be like Mike?” 
Michael Jordan: You gotta be willing to get your hands dirty. Put them in weird places. Toilets. Dirt. Never 
wash them, and touch your eyes often. 
Interviewer: I—I meant more in a work-ethic sense. 
Michael Jordan: Efficiency is also key. I eat all my meals at Chuck-E-Cheese. That 
kills two birds with one stone, since it maximizes your risk of both food poisoning and 
diabetes.

Wife: Alright, honeybun—where does my 5-time NBA champion want to go for 
vacation? 
Michael Jordan: The Democratic Republic of the Congo. 
Haut-Katanga province. 
Wife: That sounds, uh... lovely. They just opened a Sandals 
resort there, didn’t they? 
Michael Jordan: I would be surprised. It’s a 
hotbed for malaria. 
Wife: Oh. 
Michael Jordan: Even if the malaria doesn’t take, 
they have a pretty big cholera problem, too.

Michael Jordan: So! Magic... weird question— 
Magic Johnson: Don’t even think about it.

After the Flu Game

One Thursday, Little Walter Chairfork was trudging home from school, mind filled with the events of the day. He had spilled milk all over his “Dad Jokes Are How Eye Roll” shirt at lunch, right in front of his crush, Nancy, and her boyfriend. J-Dog, everyone called him. It was the type of nickname you could shout while doing sports or having sex — two things Little Walter had yet to experience. Little Walter’s idea of sport was catching Pokemon on his Nintendo DS. His idea of an orgasm was basically the same thing but under his covers at night.

After spilling the milk, the day had gone from bad to worse. As Little Walter looked up at Nancy, he had tried to ease the tension with a gentle quip. “Some weather we’re having, huh Nancy? It’s raining milk and cookies!”

The room, which had previously erupted in laughter at his mishap, fell silent. “What does that even mean?” asked Nancy. “You’re not even eating cookies. I mean, the tone was fine, but the premise just fell flat.” Then J-Dog spit on him and gave the lunchlady his autograph.

After the great D-Hall Debacle, as Little Walter had termed it in his head, he had failed his Spanish test. You see, Little Walter wasn’t the kind of bullied nerd who could find solace in the fact that one day he would go to a great college and make more money than his peers. He was quite dumb. Next to a bag of potatoes, Little Walter looked like a bag of rocks, which was the sort of thing he would often say about himself in an attempt at self-deprecating humor, but everyone else would just find sort of sad due to its accuracy. Little Walter was also fat. Obviously.

And so, Little Walter was trudging home from school after his worst day of the last three. In all honesty, bad stuff happened to Little Walter all the time. Today he had failed the Spanish test and spilled the milk. Yesterday, his father had died in a brutal car accident. The day before, the ice cream truck had run out of Chunky Monkey (Walter’s favorite flavor). It was while attempting to capture a wild Charizard that Walter tripped, fell, rolled 4 feet, and found himself staring over the edge of the sidewalk into a gaping void of eternal darkness.

Jump, a voice echoed.

“Come back here, Chawizard!” said Little Walter, still engrossed in his videogame. Little Walter had a lisp, which came out in moments of stress.

What the — are you even listening, kid? A mysterious voice tells you to jump into a gaping hole in the middle of your neighborhood and you’re worried about a Charizard? Oh God – I can smell you from here.

“Chawizard?!” The hole had gotten Little Walter’s attention with the word. “Holy guacamole!” he exclaimed. The boy was prone to replacing his swear words with foods. His mother had always told him swearing was “a sign of the devil.” His father had always told him “shut up, go to your room, but get me another beer first.”

Uhh – yeah, yeah that’s right kid, the void said. There’s a Charizard down here, and if you want to catch it you have to jump.

Little Walter hesitated.

What are you waiting for?

“I guess...” he sputtered. “I guess I’m just worried that when I jump my shirt will ride up on my stomach like it does in gym class on rope climbing day, and that J-Dog or Coach Applebee will be nearby and say I’m a “tub of lard” or “trying my best” like they do at school.

Jesus Christ.

“But I can get over that,” Little Walter continued. “And plus, I jump every day when I’m trying to play hopscotch during recess. One day I’ll make it to the tenth square without tripping!”

Um. Okay. Well, yeah. I’ve got hopscotch down here, and ice cream, and all the Pokemon you could ever want. And... your dad just died, right? I feel like that was kind of glossed over, but he’s down here too. And he wants to see you! And there are no bullies or gym coaches. Nancy’s here, and you didn’t hear it from me but she’s wearing her good chapstick – the cherry-scented one, and she looks just about ready to kiss behind the bleachers. So tuck that shirt into those neon athletic shorts and get jumping!

“Wait... Nancy wants to kiss me? I gotta get down there.” Little Walter was confused but excited. Something was beginning to happen in his pants and he moved to cover it with his Nintendo DS, which was more than large enough to hide the problem.

I don’t know, she was saying something earlier about being in love with the unphukular kid and wanting to turn him into Prom Queen? And how she knows everyone else would see his inner beauty if she could just give him an 80s rom-com-style makeover?

Little Walter asked what song the makeover would be paired with, and the void said Take on Me or maybe The Power of Love, and Little Walter was sold. “Stop drilling, you’ve hit oil!” he chuckled.

What does that even – oh, okay yeah. Come on down.

“I’ll be down faster than you can say ‘my dog has cancer and I’m worried I won’t be able to emotionally deal with her death!’”

There was a pause.

“I mean hey, whatever’s down there it’s gotta be more spacious than the locker I spend half the day stuffed in. So is there a trampoline or something down there ready to catch my fall?”

Again, no reply.

“Hello? Are you there? You’re sounding almost as absent as my father!”

Look man, I think I’d just – I think I’d feel bad if I didn’t ask: is everything, like, okay at home? All this stuff you’re saying... it sounds like... really sad? Like pathetic even? And it’s just, this whole thing I’m doing... usually I have to tempt people into abandoning their lives with all of these false promises about what’s down here, and you just seem sort of immediately ready to go.

“You got snacks down there?”

Oh my –

“I like twizzlers. You got twizzlers?”

No, I don’t “have twizzlers,” said the voice, exasperated. Little Walter patted the rim of the hole comfortingly, worried he had offended it. “Aw, that’s okay,” he offered. “I also like Twix and Kit-Kats. Any candy, really.” He flashed a gap toothed smile. Little Walter’s penchant for sweets had landed him with 17 cavities before the age of 12.

I can’t believe I’m saying this but I... don’t have a lot of candy actually. Maybe you should ease off the sweets? Could help with the acne? And you might do a little better in gym class. Do your parents really not pay enough attention to you to care what you eat?

Walter felt something stir in his chest. He looked at the ground. Or rather, he looked down at his stomach, then leaned forward so he was able to properly see the ground. It was true – his parents were usually too busy arguing to remember to make him dinner, and he spent many a supper on the curb of 7/11, forlornly stuffing lukewarm taquitos into his mouth. Most nights, he would follow it up with a pack of four of twizzlers. Sometimes he would stare at the intersecting red strands, imagining them to be two people in love – not like Mom and Dad. Not like him and Nancy. Or maybe they formed a piece of DNA, he would think. A double helix of a gene that could make him a different person. An even marginally less pathetic person. It was his greatest wish in the entire world.

And though he was generally relentlessly optimistic, Little Walter felt sad.

Oh... look kid, I wasn’t trying to bum you out. You know, it’s just like, you gotta at least try to improve your life. You know, try deodorant or something. You can’t expect magic holes to appear all the time and start offering you everything you’ve ever wanted.

Little Walter considered this. He did not consider things often. and it hurt his little walnut-sized brain.

And most of the time those offers of paradise would probably be a trick anyway. Just a ruse to – taking purely hypothetically here – harvest your soul or something like that. I don’t know.

“So you’re saying I... shouldn’t jump in.”

Well, yeah. I guess you shouldn’t. It was the first time the void had ever said this.

“And I should wear deodorant? That would make people like me more?”

Yeah. Correct.

And so Little Walter continued on his way, circumventing the void by carefully maneuvering around the street and through his neighbor’s yard. He hummed Take My Breath Away to himself, thinking of one day when he would kiss Nancy. He would be like “Hey Nancy, you take my breath away” and she would be like “you’re so handsome” and they would totally smooch, maybe even with tongue if the moment was right.

As Little Walter trotted home, he felt nothing but appreciation for the advice the void had given him. He imagined doing his Spanish homework that night without his classic “reverse pomodoro method,” which included 25 minutes of Pokemon for every 5 minutes of studying. He pictured making eye contact with J-Dog the next day in school without cowering, speaking without spitting all over the place, and walking through the cafeteria without spilling his food. And yes, oh yes – he would even put on deodorant, he resolved.

And as the pit of despair and desperation into which he had almost stumbled shrunk in the distance behind him, he remarked to himself that maybe – just maybe – he would eat one fewer taquito that night.

“Only 11,” he whispered to himself defiantly. “Only 11 taquitos tonight.”

Little Walter eventually moved to Hollywood and became who we now know as Tom Cruise.

Screaming Into The Void

Edward Michael “Bear” Grylls is a British adventurer best known for his show Man vs. Wild, in which he spends days alone in the wilderness, testing his strength, discipline, and survival skills.

For our interview, Bear picks me up in his Grylls-o-Copter, which is what he calls his bicycle. “Hop in the basket,” he tells me. “Roll your suitcases on the sides of the bike, like training wheels. I can ride a bike, but I like the comfort of training wheels.” I tell him I didn’t bring a suitcase, because it’s an hour long interview. “That’s fine” Bear says, “Just sit in the basket and I’ll push. I can ride a bike though.”

As we roll towards Bear’s Cave—which is what he calls his duplex—Bear tells me about his childhood, where he learned how to lie. “I wasn’t always a liar,” Bear tells me. “I learned from my mom. Like, one time she made us a special dinner that she called ‘Salmon Surprise’, but the surprise was that she was getting a divorce.”

Once we get to his duplex, Bear peers in the window. “No one’s home” he says. “Let’s be quick about this.” Bear throws his bike over the fence, hops it, and then breaks into the basement. “I learned how to do that from Genghis Khan.” Genghis Khan has been dead for almost 800 years, I tell him. Whenever Bear gets caught in a lie, he just doubles down on it. “I met him when I was on The Voice,” he replies.

“Is this your house?” I ask him. This is the first question I’ve asked so far, because Bear was pushing his bike so fast that we hit a bird and it died and we were too sad to talk for the next half hour.

“I sleep here,” he says. After four forced ping pong games, Bear makes me play twelve more ping pong games. “I like ping pong because I’m a world champion at ping pong.” He tells me. “What about Man vs. Wild?” I ask him. “Isn’t that your whole thing?”

“Man vs. Wild was filmed during a single week of my life.” He says. “I had no idea they were recording and I got no money.”

“We’ve wasted enough time. Let’s work out right now,” Bear announces. “I’m going to do a super quick workout that I learned from the Peloton, which is a special device I invented, but I can’t tell you what it does.” Bear flails around for a bit, jumping and kicking and pirouetting, before falling asleep on the floor. Bear tires easily.

Edward Michael “Bear” Grylls is a British adventurer best known for...

Interview With Bear Grylls

<ul>
 <li>So how are my numbers looking?</li>
 <li>Not great. Voters aren’t taking well to the name “Leslie Lynch King.”</li>
 <li>What? People ain’t rolling with The Lynch King?</li>
 <li>We really think you should stick with “Gerald Ford”.</li>
 <li>But it’s my birth name! I’m Leslie Lynch King! Pow!</li>
 <li>Please let go of my neck.</li>
 <li>What’s wrong with Lynch King?</li>
 <li>Lynching is, er, how should I put this, starting to become a faux pas in America.</li>
 <li>That’s what makes it great! “Look out, I’m gonna lynch ya!” See? Kickass!</li>
 <li>It’s offputting to the American family.</li>
 <li>Aw, grow a spine. I got lynched ten times in the fourth grade.</li>
 <li>What exactly do you think lynching is?</li>
 <li>It’s the only hope America’s got against the wrath of Jimmy Carter.</li>
 <li>Right.</li>
 <li>It’s where they put your head in a toilet, right?</li>
 <li>That’s swirlies. Lynching is when you hang people in public.</li>
 <li>Oh.</li>
</ul>

Poll

Newly released records reveal that the Cuban Missile Crisis only happened because everybody involved was hungry.

CUBAN EXILES: [in Spanish] Okay, we’re at the bay now... where are the pigs?
CASTRO: [pointing towards booby trapped pile of roast pork and also speaking Spanish] Over there!
CUBAN EXILES: [in Spanish still] Ha. You think we’re falling for that? That’s pork, which is from chickens.
CASTRO: [also still in Spanish] Pork is from pigs. Chicken is from chickens.
CUBAN EXILES: [Spanish] I see. Things have changed around here. Let’s go!

The following conversation is in English except where noted

JFK: [on the phone] Robert? Can you hear me?
SECRETARY OF LUNCH: Mr. President? Tuna or turkey for lunch?
RFK: [on the phone] John, we’ve got to decide where we’re putting the nuclear missiles.
JFK: Hmmm...
RFK: How about Iran?
SECRETARY OF LUNCH: The tuna again?
JFK: No. Turkey will do nicely.
RFK: Very well. I will inform the Turks. [hangs up]
SECRETARY OF LUNCH: Very well. I will inform the chef.
JFK: What was that you were asking me, Robert? Hello? Can you hear me?
SECRETARY OF DINNER: Mr. President?
JFK: Get out of here, dolt. You’re four hours early.
SECRETARY OF BREAKFAST: Mr. President?
JFK: And you’re three hours late. What is with you people? Can’t get a damn thing done around here. What the hell was Robert asking me about?

KHRUSHCHEV: [in Russian] I would like to have a sandwich.
MIKOYAN: [in Russian] Sir, we have important business to take care of.
KHRUSHCHEV: [in Russian-accented English] Give me a sandwich.
MIKOYAN: [taking the cue, also in Russian-accented English] We must decide what level of aggression is appropriate here. If we station the missiles in Cuba and the Americans find out—

KHRUSHCHEV: [back to Russian] Will deciding to put the missiles there allow me to have a sandwich?
MIKOYAN: [taking the cue again, in Russian now] Well, I suppose that’s the only item on the—
KHRUSHCHEV: [still in Russian] Put the missiles there. And then arrange for a sandwich.

KHRUSHCHEV: [on the phone, in perfect English] Truce?
JFK: [in perfect English as well] Lunch?
Both laugh heartily. Laughter transcends borders and ideologies.

Newly released records reveal that the Cuban Missile Crisis only happened...

Cuban Missile Crisis

My greatest dream in life is to perfect the art of grilling. Unfortunately, I am the winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature, and no one ever wants me to talk about my grilling.

Did you know grilling was invented by the Arawak tribe of the Caribbean in the seventeenth century? These are the kinds of facts I would share if anyone ever asked. Instead, reporters ask me where I’d place myself in the feminist canon as confetti falls from the ceiling, which has nothing to do with grilling.

Grilling is an art that requires superhuman concentration, but I can’t grill one lousy corn cob without some passing rando asking “Hey, aren’t you Nobel laureate Kimmy Rogers? Your book changed my life! I got sober because of you.” I look up for one second, and when I look down, poof, the corn’s charred beyond recognition.

The second book I ever wrote won the Nobel. Can you believe my luck? Now I am never writing another book again. My first book was a compilation of three-hundred and fifty-seven variations on ham hock. It sold moderately well. I was proud of it. Then I went and did something stupid. I tried something new and wrote a literary epic about intergenerational trauma that won the Nobel Prize.

Now they make me stand behind polished cedar podiums, like some sick joke—wood like that belongs on a grill, not under a Nobel laureate—and pose for author photos on the press tour. I smile with all my teeth and none of my heart. I sneak out at 3 a.m. to grill flank steaks in the hotel parking lot, just to feel like myself again in between book signings.

My only real fan is Triple Baste George, who lives in Kansas. Last week, he emailed me a photo of a finished ham hock from the early days. #329. I cried tears of joy. He’s a real one, from the good old days. Life was good then. Grilling was good. It was the spring of ’98, and I had just figured out how to make the perfect mesquite. There was music in the air, and you could taste the promise of chicken thighs crisping when the skin puffs up just so—I’m going to stop writing before this wins another stupid Nobel Prize in Literature.

My greatest dream in life is to perfect the art of grilling...

There’s No Nobel Prize For Grilling

Corporate interests are destroying our natural resources. That’s why I snuck into the Wilson family home and chained myself to their Christmas tree.

I make my first encounter with Papa Wilson after he eats a midnight snack. From afar, I watch him throw away a half-eaten granola bar. “Seems wasteful, don’t you think?” I ask him. He jumps back in startlement. This is a normal reaction, since people don’t think about the little ways they harm the environment until I tell them point-blank.

“I’m calling the cops,” he threatens me.

I don’t want my environmentalist message to get muddled with touchy police subject matter, so I let him know: “This will be a peaceful protest. No need to get a third party involved.”

Papa Wilson thinks for a minute. “Would you be willing to watch my daughter on Tuesday nights?” he asks. “Our babysitter is kind of flaky.”

I acquiesce, since I could use the extra cash and children are the future of the movement. Papa Wilson wakes up his wife and daughter, and I introduce myself. “This is only temporary until next Christmas,” I tell them. “For the most part, just pretend like I’m not even here.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the entire purpose?” Mama Wilson counters.

“You’re absolutely right,” I respond. “From this point forward, I shall sing environmentalist hymns about Mother Nature’s majestic curves twenty-four seven in my loudest belt.”

I was always told you meet your true family through activism. I didn’t believe it until I was included in the Wilsons’ Christmas card. If you look closely, I’m buried in the pine needles behind Mama Wilson’s right shoulder—brightly smiling with a sense of belonging.

Little Annie Wilson has been begging her parents for a pony. I know my efforts inspired her carbon-neutral choice of transportation. My work here is done. Next mission: TV room sit-in. I’m refusing to leave until the Wilsons either switch it to energy-saving mode or stop taping over my C-SPAN reruns.

Corporate interests are destroying our natural resources...

Tree Huggger

HULL 
Integrity of RMS Titanic seems somewhat dubious due to series of giant holes throughout the bow, stern, and middle part of hull. Cited to reviewer by architect as “intentional design choice, it’s not like you would know anything about aesthetics anyway, have you ever even been to New York?”

GIANT PATCHES OF SHEET METAL STAPLED ACROSS HOLES IN HULL 
Not structurally sound. Insisted upon by previous reviewer who was asked if he even knew who architect’s dad was before being dismissed by architect. Previous reviewer can no longer find work in the industry.

ARCHITECT 
Self-described as “trans-disciplinary cultural provocateur working at the intersection of memory and materiality.” Makes 2 million dollars a year, reviewer was informed. By architect.

CAPTAIN’S WHEEL 
Not attached to rudder in any way, given rudder does not exist. Architect informed reviewer he wanted to be able to do “this” without the boat turning, then spun wheel all the way around like wheel of fortune and informed reviewer the “solution to the puzzle” was “F-U-C-K-O-F-F,” which in reviewer’s opinion seemed unlikely.

STERN 
Cited by architect as “resistant to all naturally occurring elements except ice.” And when reviewer was like “well ice is pretty common, especially on the ocean,” architect just sort of repeated reviewer in nasally sing-song voice that implied his concerns were invalid.

UPTIGHT BITCH 
What architect referred to reviewer as, despite being informed that reviewer does not appreciate name calling and actually used to let loose back in college quite a bit.

STATE SCHOOL 
Where architect mockingly assumed reviewer went to college. Architect went to Brown, apparently.

CRYING 
What reviewer did not do at any point during the review process, despite the shine architect thought he saw in the corner of his eye that was actually just the sun reflecting weird through the porthole.

SOME OF US GOT INTO SCHOOL ON MERIT, NOT LEGACY 
What reviewer should have said to architect. Yeah, that would’ve shown him. That’d have been perfect.

Integrity of RMS Titanic seems somewhat dubious...

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