How To Celebrate the Holidays

By Zach Klebaner

This holiday season Nonsense would like to present its readers with a comprehensive guide on how to celebrate the holiday’s. Here it is.

New Years Day

Ah yes. New Years. The day the world has designated to get lights out drunk and “celebrate” the past year of their existence. Whether you had a great year or a terrible year – you’re likely to be found with a bottle in your hand and a stranger in your bed on this special day.

The Prophet’s Birthday

Who’s birthday?


I had one of those once.

Stephen Foster Memorial Day

“Who’s Stephen Foster?” is a question you might be asking and let me tell you: this is the man that wrote that “Camptown Ladies” song. I personally celebrated this holiday by googling Stephen Foster and getting high as fuck. There were no ladies, Camptown or otherwise.

Orthodox New Year

I recently learned that there is a second New Year. I celebrate this one the same way I celebrate the first one.

Lee-Jackson Day

This holiday celebrates Robert E. Lee and Thomas J. “Stonewall” Jackson on their respective birthdays. It was for a time awkwardly combined with the celebration of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday because that made sense.

Mississippi State Holiday

Mississippi celebrates its own existence on a yearly basis. I’m. Not. Fucking. Kidding.

National Freedom Day

I celebrate this holiday by killing everyone I don’t like. Because freedom.

Groundhog Day

I always watch one movie on this day. I think you know the one.


Pulp Fiction. Great movie. Definitely worth the watch.

Rosa Parks Day

I sit in the front of the bus on this day.

Valentines Day

I watch the movie Valentine’s Day all day long – on repeat – and jerk off…also on repeat. I only stop when I can’t cum anymore or the power company turns off my electricity.

Chinese New Year

I just get really drunk. Again. But this time with access to dangerous explosives. The bottle is a rocket and the stranger in my bed has no arm.


(For the editor—there should be a space or some other use or space to indicate that this one is passing over to the next one. Erase this after reading it. Or don’t. Maybe it’s funnier if we just leave this shit intact—Matt)

Tax Day

Haha like I pay that shit.

Confederate Memorial Holiday

To celebrate America’s glorious past.

Cinco de Mayo

Celebrated by getting drunk. Often celebrated by people who don’t understand the context and significance of the holiday and whose closest association with Mexican culture is eating Chipotle and drinking a Corona.

Mother’s Day

Suddenly realizing how much you owe your mom followed by going back to your usual lack of appreciation like the selfish brat that you are.


Not to be confused with Doughnut Day. Which, surprisingly, has actual significance also related to wartime events but your fat, dumb ass probably wouldn’t know that.

Father’s Day

On this day many reflect on the father figure that is absent in their life. Many also consider the reasons for their absence.

The Fourth of July

Something happened on this day a while back so let’s fire off some Goddam fireworks and get drunk as shit. ‘Murica.

Eid al-Fitr

Fuck ISIS. ‘Murica.

National Grandparents Day

A terribly glazed over holiday. Many forget to call their grandparents on this day not unlike every other day of the year…’Murica.

Jewish New Year

Get drunk and awkwardly murmur prayers.

Columbus Day

On this day we celebrate Christopher Columbus and his ability to find Asia. I personally celebrate by discovering my neighbors toilet paper and non-perishable goods and bringing them back to my apartment.

Boss’s Day

Nobody celebrates this holiday…unless they’re a boss. And even then…probably not.

The Nonsense Scavenger Hunt

“If you can remember it then you didn’t do the scavenger hunt right” – Ancient Nonsense Proverb


Eat lots of candy. Cause, why not?

Thanksgiving Day

On this joyous day people gather round with family and friends and celebrate the conquering of an indigenous population.

Black Friday

An extravagant celebration of American commercialism. Common celebratory practices include going out at ridiculous hours to purchase the-generally-expensive-but-cheap-for-the occasion-because-the-company-didn’t-sell-quite-enough-this-year items, fighting over parking spaces, fighting over the last television set you just need to get, and trampling over people in the craze over cheaply priced items. Bring a Taser!

Cyber Monday

Lacks the fun of large crowds and fights over trivial matters associated with Black Friday. Definitely a less extravagant way to celebrate American commercialism. Still complain over social media, though.


Yes, the “c” is fucking silent. This holiday lasts 8 days. I celebrate by lighting up the rest of my weed and hoping it lasts the 8 more days I have left till my next paycheck in an attempt to recreate the miracle of Judah M’Applepipe. You get it? I smoke weed.

New Years Eve

Let the drinking commence.

All Other Holidays

Let the drinking commence.

This concludes Nonsense’s list on how to celebrate the holiday’s. I hope you enjoyed and will reference this guide in the future whenever the holiday’s come round and you’re lost on how to celebrate. Thanks for reading and enjoy the holidays. Be safe!

The 12 Days of the 4th of July

By Matthew Tanzosh

The year is 2018. Amid accusations of impropriety and a lack of respect for his adopted country following the release of poorly lit photographs of his misshapen, Canadian-born cock—President Cruz has declared one day of The 4th of July insufficient. Calling a Joint Session of the United States congress, former Junior Senator and current Chief Executive of the Federal Government and commander in chief of the Army and Navy of the United States, and of the militia of the several states Theodore Cruz declared that the 4th of July being “only one day” was “preposterous” and added, with a wince (although it was difficult to tell, his facial expression always resembling that of a man consensually watching another man pleasure his wife with a stale piece of gorgonzola cheese) that it was “unbefitting of this great nation—this nation, renowned for its conspicuous consumption—to have but one day set aside” for getting drunk and blowing shit up, scaring pets and veterans etc…

It was on that fateful day, 06/22/18, that President Ted Cruz presented the nation with an executive order to “keep Christ in Independence Day”. I won’t force you to parse through the one-thousand seven hundred and seventy six pages of mostly padding—138 drawings of Ted Cruz holding various firearms, 3 recipes pursuant a “bitchin’ bar-b-que”—but chiefly, the order extends the 4th of July to twelve calendar days beginning at 12:00 AM on July 4th, and ending 12 days later at 12:00 AM on July 4th.


It went universally without contest. No one wanted to be the pussy calling for LESS explosions. Who the fuck wants LESS explosions? Local communities leaders are mandated to inform their public of the change, to the relief of local veteran’s associations. Col. Armie Hammer* had this to comment, “As long as we’re given time to mentally prepare ourselves, we’re fine. We won’t mind 12 days of pants-shitting terror at all, as long as we are given fair notice. Let’s just hope that no one gets too excited and fires anything off outside that 12 day hellscape of post traumatic stress. That would be inconsiderate to our boys.”

In the interest of preserving this landmark moment in American history, I will be recording my personal feelings, each of the 12 days of The 4th of July. Because that’s what Journalism is now. Right VICE? RIGHT BUZZFEED? IT’S ALL ABOUT OUR FEELIE WEELIES RIGHT MOTHERFU—


7/4/18—As I gaze off into the middle distance, I see my dog Scruppy enthusiastically investigating the well-manicured anal glands of a stray waaay out of his league. This could mean pups that I can’t afford on my clickbait journalism salary, but I let him go to it. He deserves it. He has no idea of the 12 days of abject terror that await him, the sky falling all around him while my neighbors get drunk and yell encouragement. He hits it raw, dog—and I watch, musing on how fleeting pleasure really is. I’m not much of a patriot, in all honesty, but I’m going to try to go into this whole thing with an open mind and enjoy it.


7/4/18—Last night’s show was pretty good. The local fire department put on quite a show. They did the sizzle-y one, the one that looks like the palm tree and a bunch that looked like smiling faces. I saw a lot of smiling proud faces at the peer they were shooting them off of, it was nice. Even Kenny, from the convenience store showed up—he wore his Purple Heart! The canned music was kind of a disappointment. They ran out of Souza pretty quick and switched to midi-files of Liberty Bell (best known as the Monty Python theme song) and proud to be an American. No country yet though. When they said twelve days of non-stop fireworks, I really thought they meant each night—true to their word however, they have not stopped. Yep. Still going. While I write this. Stiiiiill going.


7/4/18—I spoke to soon. They have now graduated to Toby Keith. The smell of brisket is heavy in the air. My neighbors have taken to watching from their front yard, bathing themselves in a kiddie pool full of Crisco. They call me homophobic slurs for filling my pool with water and not “at least rootbeer”.


7/4/18—So what’s the deal? Is there just an unlimited supply of firemen and beer? And drinking all that beer, do none of them ever have to use the restroom. My dog no longer has any hair, and I can no longer tell the difference between the fireworks and the frequent gunshots. I always liked Kenny, he was a good man, though a little twitchy.


7/4/18—Fuck. Has anyone seen my dog? I had him chained outside, but the chain is broken and I can’t find my antique masonry hammer anywhere. I would have watched him, but my attention has really been all over the place. I didn’t really get to sleep the past couple of nights and I really needed that cigarette. I told Maureen that I quit, but she’s gone anyway. I don’t like when my dog watches me smoke so I went out back and oh god he’s gone just like her.


7/4/18—You ever wonder why you can only hear sounds? Why can’t you smell them? I can now. I can smell sounds and taste lights. They burn. But I’m proud to be an American, where at least I know I’m free and I won’t forget the men who died, who gave that right to me. Like Kenny, and Scruppy. Oh god I’m so alone. But at least I can’t hear my own terrible thoughts. I can taste them though.


7/4/18—Did you know that Toby Keith’s father served in the army? I do. Do to a glitch in the system (4 dollar Budweiser tallboys) the playlist is stuck. I have heard about how he continued to fly the American flag in his yard—even though he can only see half of it—roughly 700 times. In his hit song, The Angry American he yodels quoth, “Hey Uncle Sam Put your name at the top of his list/And the Statue of Liberty/Started shakin’ her fist/And the eagle will fly/Man, it’s gonna be hell/When you hear Mother Freedom/Start ringin’ her bell/And it feels like the whole wide world is raining down on you” I didn’t have to look those lyrics up, they now surmise my life. The French statue of liberty hates me, and freedom is ringing it’s multicolored bell. Truly the whole world is raining down on me. My house caught fire last night. All of the firemen are too drunk to do anything but launch more flaming freedom missiles. When Mr. Keith said, “Man, we lit up your world like the 4th of July” he was referring to the bombing of innocents—and I now completely understand this metaphor. It may not have been a metaphor at all. I’m not sure if he is capable. Drones strikes on American soil.


7/4/18—Road kill is missing from my neighbors garbage can, and something has brutally murdered all of the neighborhood cats.


7/4/18—There is no more barbeque and they are now eating each other. Why must we fight. Is it because “we’ll put a boot in your ass?” because “it’s the American way?”. My neighbors have filled my pool with Crisco. They etch offensive slogans into my pool liner with time worn bowie knives. I hear a howling at night.


7/4/18—Scruppy is back, but he is not the same. He still recognizes me as his master, and as a result my neighbors are now dead. Good boy. Good good boy. Good hungry boy.


7/4/18—My eardrums are ruptured and I have purchased a gun. Me and my dog shall know peace. Justice will serve, and the battle will rage. This big dog will fight when you rattle his cage. Thank you Toby. I finally understand. I am the fireworks now. I am America, and it is me. And America is exploding. Get off my property or I will shoot. I gaze up at President Cruz’s enormous face, made large on the television screen. Forty years it had taken me to learn what kind of smile was hidden beneath the dark wince. O cruel, needless misunderstanding! O stubborn, self-willed exile from the loving breast! Two crisco tears trickled down the sides of my nose. But it was all right, everything was all right, the struggle was finished. I had won the victory over myself. I love Ted Cruz.


7/4/18—*Ed note—Our correspondant stopped writing on his computer, but continued to write illegibly on the wall of his home with barbecue sauce, any attempts to gain entry to his house were met with buckshot. Our hearts go out to the familes of Lane and Michael, two interns who have lost their lives attempting to acquire Mr. Tanzosh’s condiment work*




The War On Independence Day

By Charles Bukkake

I am Colonel Samuel “The American” Jonas (Co. Jones for short) and I am the hero this country needs.

You know, I ain’t nobody special. No siree, I am a red-blooded, tax-paying, law-abiding, upper middle class, caucasian, heterosexual, apple-pie lovin’, football watchin’, truck buyin’, American-speaking American and what I do? It’s just a job. Just like everybody else, I gotta work for a livin’, you know? I gots ta put food on my nieces and nephews tables (kids these days, the lazy shits, when I was 6 years old I used to work in the factory and granted it gave me a collapsed lung, it was work and I was more of a man because of it).  

Now people like me, that is to say true Americans, wake up extra early on that special day on that there red, white, and blue calendar there. If you’re a true native-born American then you know the day. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, Independence Day™. Just like everybody else I get up, pray to the good Lord, kick open my front door, punch one of them witnesses of Jehover it or whatever and buy myself a big ol’ beef patty. Of course, there’s about 17.76 metric tons of explosives in the back of my four by four because ain’t nothin’ like celebratin’ The Good Day™ by lettin’ off a lil’ steam, you feel me?


Now normally around this time I gotsta take my pills (and believe me, I do try not to. After all, it jus ain’t natural to put anythin’ in the body that The Good Lord™ didn’t intend to). They says I go all crazy and act like some hybrid of Clint Eastwood and Bruce Willis (God bless ‘em) and I say that’s just a load o’ horse manure. Anyway, I don’t really remember what time it is right now as I write this entry to commemorate the fallen forefathers that gave their rights to me, or however it goes. Feels like December but just like my good man Reagan said, “To republicans, every day is the 4th of July. To democrats, every day is April 15th”. People go and try to tell me its December and I just flick my cigarette at their hippy faces and make my own way, mindin’ my own business.

Today I did my bes’ in continuing the routine, thanking my lucky stars that I done survived one more day. After all, life is a jungle out there, and I’m the man that’s gonna tear it down. I was about to meet at the rendez-vous point to legally acquire some heavy-duty explosives but found that I had already accomplished the objective ahead of time. I must be going senile but I have no time to reflect on this; I have a country to save. I managed to work up an appetite and to my disappointment, there is a grave lack of food rations in the humvee. I drove a few miles south and found civilization. I’d tell these citizens to evacuate promptly but I needed food and fast. I tightened my combat boots and made my way inside a good ol’ fashion American diner.

My people, those I have sworn to serve and protect, I see them eating breakfast like Americans should. I shouted at a waitress for 4 orders of steak and eggs and consumed them, one after the other, with no breaks, the way that every true patriot should. On my way out, I gave the attractive female standing at the register a Jackson (one of our finest presidents in my humble opinion) and told her to “Keep the change”. Right then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted what I thought I had eradicated so many years ago.

“Commie!” I shouted, diving towards the family of four. The sick fuck was eating a falafel. Not “Not in my country you don’t,” I hissed, like an American snake. I smacked that stupid sandwich out of his hand and restored balance to traditional democratic ideals in this classic American mom and pop shop. I looked down and shook my head, chuckling to myself. Another job well done.

“Thank me not, citizens. I am just your average Joe who’s name is Sam. I do this not because I want to, but because it’s my job; it’s what I do. Carry on with your beautiful consumerist ways and remember…” I said, now putting on my sunglasses. “See you on the flip side.”

I drove away feeling like a hero. It was difficult not to feel like one. I smiled and waved at every pedestrian while driving and crashed my car into a flower shop.

“Right on time.”

I went over to that tree-hugger flower shop owner and punched him right in his square face.

“Hey! We don’t have room for no hippy flower children around here.” God it felt good to be an American.

I was about to drive away but I crashed my car so that wasn’t possible. That’s when the Boston Baked Beans sank in.

“By George!” I shouted. “It’s Independence Day!”

I looked around and saw no American pride. What a disgrace.


“It’s December, you psycho! The fourth of July is-”

“What did you say to me, you filthy commie?!”

I stopped that Charlie right in his tracks.

“I-I…I said that it isn’t even the fou-”

“What is this War on Independence Day™? Who are you trying not to offend, you red? This is my country. This is America, therefore we celebrate goddamn Independence Day and speak American while we do it!”

It made me sick, the creeping feeling that society has become hyper-sensitive and is even so far as to be ashamed to refer to such a beautiful and momentous holiday as just another day of the year, just a “fourth of July”. Trump wouldn’t be elected until next year, so I needed to act fast. That handsome business American couldn’t save us this time, so I had to take matters into my own hands. I had to make America great again.

I busted out my Desert American Bald Eagle and pointed the barrel at his stupid commie face.

“I see your insides match your outsides now,” I said, being that his nose was bleeding.

“Now I suggest you pursue happiness real quick, because I’m about to declare independence on your ass by the people and for the people.”

He didn’t budge, mostly because he was currently experiencing anaphylactic shock. He needed his inhaler, I guess the American air just wasn’t good enough for him. He was no coward, I can respect him for that. I can’t respect him for ruining my country and my masculinity, though.

I was sweating and I don’t know why and while I was halfway through squeezing the trigger, I turned around and pointed this unregistered beauty at the explosives I had in the back of my truck.

“Four score blaze it, mother fuckers.” Plumes of red, white, and blue shot into the air. It worked out well seeing as I only bought blue and white fireworks but there was sufficient people nearby who became one with America to make those finishing crimson streaks. The blast radius was exactly four hundred and twenty seven miles wide, exactly as Lincoln would have wanted it.

We did it, Reagan, we finally did it.


“So? What do you guys think? Thoughts? Feelings? I’m looking for constructive criticism here. This script took a lifetime to write but I’m feeling good about it!”

The executive sat before me on a floor cracked from the impact of his unhinged jaw colliding against it. This is good news; he must be awe-stricken by this masterpiece.



“Just…get the fuck out of my office.”

I swore I heard him wrong. Only a backwards bulldog would refuse this dimepiece. Hurt and in no mood to argue I got out of there as quickly as I could.

I stood there, staring pensively out the window. There was no denying now that it was time. I had an important call to make.

“Bush, it’s time. We gotta start Project Frankenstein, collect the body and make preparations right away; we’re bringing him back…you know exactly whom…that’s right…Nixon.”

Student Body Lines Up Late At Night For Same Shitty Food They Can Get Tomorrow Morning

By Zachary Johnson

Admitting that they can get the same exact food tomorrow at a much more reasonable time, an ungodly proportion of the student body lined up tonight in Hofstra’s cramped, dingy cafeteria for the bi-annual Late Night Breakfast.

“I’ve got to write four papers, take two finals, and suck three professor’s dicks tomorrow,” Sean McCoy, Hofstra Class of 2017 member is reported as saying. “I took a break from doing all of my important work so I could pour free food into my garbage body the same way Compass employees pour those pre-scrambled eggs out of a plastic milk carton.”

Attendance was noted as being higher than ever before, as students with nothing better to do on a Monday night in the midst of the most intensively stressful week of the academic year, flocked in droves to the event in order to consume the same mediocre fare they could just as easily get at a more convenient time. According to reports, lines stretched past the entrance and back to the commuter’s lounge where desperate, broke, stressed, soul-sucked urchins gathered in literal depravity.

“I’m going to sneak in these tupperware containers that Compass employees made me buy,”says Senior Abbey Downs,”And steal as much shitty plastic food as my stubby little arms can carry. And then I’m gonna fuck someone in the library. Maybe then I’ll feel okay enough to write my thesis paper.”

“The time of year surrounding the Late Night Breakfast is infamous for the quirky ways in which the stress gets to our students and causes psychological harm. They’re so cute!” says a Hofstra spokesperson, Randy Goodman. “As the University who put this stress-intensive system with potentially harmful repercussions into place, we decided that the only possible thing we could do to help is to give them a lot of free, really shitty food that they could honestly just get the next day when some poor employee slides open the student center’s solemn, wrought iron gates for another day of despair.”

In regards to the number of low value, stale bagels that will be just as available in the cafeteria tomorrow that we were allowed to take, however, Goodman very firmly screamed “ONE! ONE BAGEL!” while making a very rigid “1” sign with his baby-carrot fingers.

The student body seemed to have a generally mild reception to waiting in a very long, tiring line to get the same sloppy mulch they can shovel into their tear-stained maws at literally any time the following morning. Some even appeared to smile.

“It’s free, and they have a DJ,”Hofstra Pride mascot Kate Hofstra is reported as saying. “Otherwise I can’t think of any reason that any human being would want to come to this event. I’m only here because OSLE keeps my heart in a small jar, and this costume is really just actually sewn into my skin.”

At press time, students were reportedly able to get in early by degrading themselves on social media with arbitrary hashtags.smalllogo

If Elected President, I Will Personally End All Memes


By Zachary Johnson
If elected president by a large percentage of the population who I duped with my clever campaign ads, my first promise to the American people is that I will end all memes. For good.

You might think I’m crazy. I’ve heard that before. I’ve been called crazy my whole life. By everyone. Parents, teachers, lawyers, doctors, the homeless man I snatched up with the grill of my car while on a drunk cruise hopelessly pondering what to do with my meaningless existence. But I learned at a young age that if you can’t join them, beat them.

As the 45th president of the United States of America, I will personally end all memes forever. How do you like that, Jackson Samuels? Am I crazy now? I bet you’re gonna miss ironically posting all of those starter pack memes when I become president. Maybe it’ll make you feel bad enough about tripping me on the playground as a small child. What goes around comes around, buddy!

When I become president, nobody will think that I’m crazy. Even the homeless man, permanently stuck in the grill of my Lexus, will stop shouting at me. Maybe these sons of bitches will start to show me some respect when I take the highest office in the land by running an aggressive campaign fuelled by my own shortcomings and end all memes, forever.

It’s not as if I don’t have the qualifications for this job. I’ve shown that I can achieve goals. In 2011, I started a petition to end global warming, by turning off my lights for one hour each day. It was easy to achieve because I live in perpetual darkness, surrounded only by my loneliness and lack of empathy for other human beings, fostered by a harsh experience with mob mentality at a young age and the lack of an effective support system. I made it through the whole year, and I saved so much energy. Maybe now Obama can get off my back about it, thanks.

Speaking of Obama, I’m going to take his goddamn job. I will not be the second black president, but I will be the first president to ever take a stance on memes. I will ascend to the ivory throne, draped in the tri-color scheme of this grand nation, and decree that memes be abolished forever more. Nobody will think that I am crazy then, because I will be a politician, and no matter how far I go it’s not very likely that I’ll ever be Hitler anyways. Hitler is the only bad guy we can compare bad politicians to, and I don’t even look like him, so I am already less susceptible to campaign attacks than Hilary Clinton.

Then, I’m going to take it one more step further, and kick everyone while they’re down. Not only do I promise to end all memes forever, but I solemnly swear that I will end Lorde’s career, and make her work at Chipotle. That’s right. Goodbye Lorde and hello Ella Marija Lani Yelich-O’Connor serving me my fucking barbacoa. No, I don’t want to try the tofu shit. Sing me “Royals” while you wrap my burrito, and I can tell you that I never enjoyed that song, because I am the Queen Bee, and I also never really understood whether you were being ironic or not.

I am not fucking crazy, and I will prove it by being elected. I do not need your vote, because I have better votes. I know that my campaign message is something that will resonate with the people of the United States of America. I know that my finger is firmly pressed upon the cultural pulse. Elect me president, and I will eradicate memes from this earth like the scourge that they are. I fear what I do not understand.

Vote for me because at the very least I am probably better than Donald Trump.