Category Archives: Adventure

Ja Rule Excited To Finally Have Captive Audience

By Jordan Hopkins and Matthew Tanzosh

Musical artist and TV Dad, Ja Rule, best known for his lead role in 2013 Christian drama film I’m in Love With a Church Girl and also getting cold-cocked by 50 Cent that one time, is back with a brand new business opportunity.

The Brand Ambassador for Magnises (the totally legitimate and not a pyramid scheme service that allowed users to pay $250 dollars a month to slide their credit card into a larger credit card) once said on Fox Business, “When you marry the affluent with the less fortunate, you get…the birthchild…that is hip-hop”. At Ja Rule’s Fyre festival—where trapped millionaires wearing $2000 Gucci loafers can be seen beating each other over the head with toilet tanks for the grease left on empty pizza boxes—this philosophy appears to have been kept in mind: Fyre Festival is super Hip-Hop. When asked for comment, the rapper who once levied a diss track at Eminem’s infant daughter did his best to ease the minds of the attendees.

“Fyre Festival was an important event to everyone involved,” said Ja Rule from the top of a burning pile of Fyre Festival-branded merch. “We remain committed to providing a positive experience for all of our attendees. Please try to stay calm until rescue arrives. On the bright side, being stuck in your emergency shelter for days without real food or water is a great opportunity to check out my new tracks!” 

Ja Rule then threw several copies of his EP into the crowd like frisbees, striking one attendee in the forehead.

“I really do feel terrible about what has happened,” Ja Rule told us. “We were looking forward to providing a positive experience for all the attendees here, and obviously that didn’t pan out. But you know, I’m excited to show off some of the new stuff I’ve been working on! It’s been a struggle getting back in the game, and it’s great to finally have some people to bounce ideas off of.”

When asked about the specific prospects of his future musical output, Ja Rule could only smile.

“I’m really looking forward to the creative collaboration that will come between me and those imprisoned here by the sea. Hopefully it’ll help mend some of the hurt feelings caused by being forced to sleep in tents and eat nothing but cheese for a few days. As I said in the promotion of Magnises–unlock your city today! Hip Hop is amazing, because it allows us to speak to the disenfranchised, and now I have disenfranchised thousands.”

None of the 7,000 attendees trapped on the island could be reached for comment.

Adelphi Is Gone

By Sam Thor

An excerpt from our latest issue, The Fake News Issue!

Responding to reports that Garden City just generally felt more pleasant to be around, authorities this Wednesday discovered that Adelphi University is officially gone. What used to be the mediocre campus is just nothing. We don’t know what is there, or if there even exists anymore. Whatever caused this, officials are still unsure, but also they don’t really care enough to put any more money into finding out.

The entire student body of 7,500 students have also seemingly vanished, but their parents haven’t filed any missing persons reports, obviously, since no parent can truly love their child if they sent them to Adelphi.

Hofstra University emailed the student body, confirming that their gross smelly neighbor school ceases to be, but the email didn’t seem to be solemn, and with Stuart Rabinowitz actually typing “see ya the fuck later fats!” The area around where Adelphi was has become a huge party scene for the Hofstra youth, while many white students at Hofstra have started doing séances in the space the “school” used to occupy, just to tell the Adelphi students that it still sucks in the afterlife.

Surprisingly, the shuttle to Adelphi stills seems to be running. Adelphi’s one positive quality was that they had the only shuttle that knew when the trains came in and arrived accordingly, a skill that Hofstra never seemed to achieve. The vanishing of the entire university apparently wasn’t enough for the school to give up their one good thing–the ability to leave there entirely, quickly and on time–so the shuttles continue. However, no one is ever driving, and nobody truly knows where the shuttle ends up. Scientists theorized during their break from more pressing, relevant matters, that the shuttles appear and disappear through a small black hole, or something, maybe. Similar to what Adelphi previously was.

I Tried DMT But I Wasn’t Sure What Kind Of Sandwich That Was

By Bill Whittleton

An excerpt from our latest release, The Fake News Issue!

In retrospect, I gotta say that my intentions, at least, were good. I had a good head on, had my hopes high and a chipper attitude about the whole thing. And honestly, I think everything that happened really brought me and my son together: as father and son, and as bros, and as brothers.

I think it was last Tuesday that I first heard about this DMT business. I had just gotten home from the daily grind to find my boy, Josh, sprawled out on the couch reading a comic book. Scooby-Doo Apocalypse, by the look of it. Third issue.

“Hiya there, Josh,” I said.

“Father,” he replied.

I took a seat in the armchair next to my son and watched him for a little bit. His favorite Diplo shirt was looking a little tight on him, and I thought about getting him a new one.

“What’re you up to this weekend?” I asked. “Anything fun?”

“Major Lazer concert,” he said shortly. I smiled: these kids and their boy bands.

“Say, Sport, whaddya think about us doing something together this weekend, maybe before your little show? Your mother has the girls coming by for Mahjong, and boy, I do not wanna be in the way for that!”

“Go away, Dad,” said my sweet boy.

The gears in my head started turning: there had to be something that would get that boy off of the couch besides that nu-disco he’d been listening to. I mean, hell, you can’t Hustle to that! And then it clicked. Just like that. I remembered one of the interns, Dennis, talking about it in the office, and I thought that maybe, just maybe, it was worth a try.

“Whaddya say we try a DMT?”

Josh’s head shot up. “What did you say?”

“Y’know, DMT. Isn’t that what you kids are all tryin’ these days?”

He looked skeptical. “You wanna try…DMT?” he asked me, slowly.

“Well sure!”

His face started to brighten—reel ‘em in, Bill!—and I sat back, proud of myself.

“Dad, if you know where we can get some, that’d be awesome,” Josh said, beaming.

It warmed me to my core to see such a big grin on my boy’s face. “How about this weekend? You and me, before your concert—we can go around the corner and pick one up for each of us.”

Josh nodded. “You’re cool as shit, Dad.”

That, I think, made me happier than anything. “Of course, my boy. Just tell me what’s on it so I know I won’t be allergic to anything.”

Josh’s face fell a little bit. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m assuming there’s lettuce and tomato on it, hence the em-tee—”

“Do you know what DMT is?”

I sat there in silence. I didn’t understand. What else could it have been? Dennis was a good kid; always showed up to work on time and dressed neatly. Sure, he only fetched coffee, but I didn’t think he was an incompetent young man. Did Josh know something I didn’t?

Josh continued to stare at me, smile nearly gone, then buried his head in his comic book. I went upstairs and closed the door, retreating to my bed for a moment of reflection. What did my son think DMT was? Some crazy new dance move? A drug? I shivered. Not my sweet boy. I decided there was only one thing I could do.

I tried it. I went to the guy at the gas station, and he got awfully tight in the rear about the whole ordeal. Asked me how I knew about DMT. And then asked me for way too much money—twenty dollars for something to eat?—so I decided to take my business elsewhere. Also, he wanted me to follow him to his truck, and I have work in the morning. So I said, “no, Sir!”

Everything everyone said about it was—pretty true, I suppose. My conscience was radically altered, I guess. I was sweaty, I vomited, and I cried. A lot. It certainly made me go into my own head a little bit, but I think it was some bad mayo that was responsible for all of those hallucinations people talked about. They didn’t mention this online, though, so I will say this: make sure you get the roll toasted. Otherwise it makes for a pretty soggy mid-afternoon lunch. But overall, give the McDMT a shot: you won’t be disappointed.

Directions To My House

By Jesse Saunders

Hey Jeremy, remember high school? Anyway, my mom says I have to invite you to my sweet 21st Extravaganza with performances by Bon Jovi. I’ve decided to follow her wish as I don’t really know anyone else that would be able to handle the responsibility of getting to my house. Well, I can think of some but I like them more than you.

  • 1. Begin your journey on a full moon

My birthday party will not be taking place on a full moon, it will be taking place on a waxing crescent as was foretold by the prophecy, but if you want any chance of getting to my house you have to start on a full moon. Many say a journey during a full moon will be marred by tragedy and great loss, but honestly, you’re being a goddamn baby, IT’S FINE. There might be wolves but they’re invited to the party so don’t be weird about it okay?

  • 2. Answer the Sphinx’s riddle incorrectly, and then see your own death

Kevin is kind of an asshole but it’s just because he doesn’t have a lot of friends. He is not invited to my birthday party, but he will ask for the location of my house. This is his riddle. Make sure you don’t fall into his trap, because inviting a plus one to a party without RSVPing is rude. After you give Kevin the wrong directions he will allow you to stare into his eyes and see your own death. It’s a real treat to see your own death! I have seen your death many times, so the novelty has kind of worn off, but I bet you’ll love it.

  • 3. Remember to stop by a Toys R Us to pick up my birthday gift

Don’t get too caught up in the vision of your own demise, you have several more directions to follow if you want any chance of getting a chance to use the bouncy castle at my birthday party. I sent everyone my wish list in 2014, but I know you haven’t gotten me a gift yet, which is fine because there is a Toys R Us on the way to my house! I want a red 5 speed Huffy, it is exactly $219 without tax. Get me a receipt, because I will return this gift.

  • 4. Assemble my Red 5-speed Huffy

What did you think you were just going to hand me a box? Honestly why did I even invite you to my birthday? You might need to buy a toolbox, but that’s okay there’s a Home Depot next to the Toys R Us, so you can put my bike together. Do not ride my bike! DO NOT!!

  • 5. Choose which of your parents you love less

Are you still thinking about the vision of your life fading away leaving nothing but an empty husk? Get over it Jeremy, you’re almost at my party! To get to my party you will come across a fork in the road where both your parents are arguing. I’m just curious which of your parents you love less, no one really thinks about it until you’re actually asked, isn’t that weird? Don’t tell your mom about my party, your dad is already invited.

  • 6. Turn right onto Front Street and keep on until morning

Your GPS is going to want you to get on the parkway but that really makes no goddamn sense. The best way is to take a right onto front street and then keep driving until dawn. You will be offered a chance to save your loved one by the ghost of your ex business partner Phillip Marley. Keep driving, I don’t have time for you to rediscover yourself through a night with three ghosts, it’s my birthday not your Christmas Miracle.

  • 7. Wow is that my party in the distance or just a mirage?

It’s a mirage. A mirage of all you have to lose, the last moments you will exist on this plane, trapped inside of a red and blue bouncy castle. What is waiting for you at the end of this dark road? Are you willing to continue on this journey… should you?  

  • 8. Inform my neighbors of your intentions

My neighbors totally know there is going to be a party, but they aren’t fully aware of the unfortunate events that may soon befall our sunny little town once you make your entrance. Repeat this number sequence to them: 7, 56, 98, 21, 6, 77. They know what is coming, they know about the bouncy castle, they know about you.

  • 9. Call Sarah from 9th grade and tell her you liked her

Listen I am so tired of you being such a baby about this! You liked Sarah since we were in 9th grade, and now I’m 21!! Sarah loves the bouncy castle, and bikes. DO NOT GIVE HER MY BIKE, we have discussed this. Sarah deserves to be prepared, and honestly maybe this will shut her up about my parties color scheme. I have implanted Sarah’s number into the tire of my Red Huffy, so you’ll have to disassemble and reassemble that before you show up at my house.

  • 10. Welcome to my party!!!!!!!!

Wow it’s so good that you’re here!! I guess it’s fine that you bought me a stupid bike, just put it in the tire fire next to the bouncy castle. Leave the gift receipt in the bouncy castle, I’ll grab it when everyone gets here. Bon Jovi performs at 9, but we’ll see what plane of existence your soul is presently tied to when that time comes. Have fun!!

Travel!

By Ariel Leal

An excavation from our recently discovered joke bone yard: “Nonsense’s Guide to Travel!” A pamphlet available physically and digitally.

The sound of a whistle is heard, piercing through the uproarious cheer of the audience.

“Travel!” yells a man in an expensive tracksuit. The colors don’t matter to me; they never have. Every day is the same for me, my face smashing against the glazed floor with the smell of sweat being pushed deeper into my damp, porous nose. Though if there’s anything I can take solace in, it’s the sensation I get when I’m up in the air, flying, towards the net. If I could do that for the rest of my life then maybe, just maybe, I would feel fulfilled.

I think I’ve spent enough of my life on these hardwood floors and sure, the thrill of soaring above everyone else is really something quite magical, but it just isn’t enough; it’s just so short-lived. I can’t help but feel like I’m really missing out on an important part of my life here and yeah, lengthy, meaty, girthy fingers brushing against my curves feel nice, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life doing that. Not like this.

After a brief pause, I am launched back into play, and I make my way from one end of the court to another, actions over which I have very little control. Then again, I have very little control over my life at this point. I’m my happiest when I’ve got my head in the clouds like this. I’m just freefalling until the dream is crushed once I am patted on the back by more greasy hands leaving imprints on my already moist jersey.

I wonder how planes do it. I mean, they’re much heavier than I am, so how do they get to fly? I can get some sick air, yes, but flying is definitely something I want to try. I want to touch the sky. It can’t be too difficult to purchase tickets and I don’t even care where I have to go – I just want to fly like some avian creature and stay where my heart belongs.

“Travel? Am I working with amateurs here? Kidding, son, it was just a little humor. Seriously, though, no travelling; you’re better than that.”

Terry Crews Relaxing
“Just a smidge of humor to start your day off, son. heh heh…”

Travel. Why don’t I? What’s stopping me from taking off right here and right now? The Tracksuit Man holds no power over me. None that I don’t give him. What is preventing me from achieving that permanent lift-off I’ve always dreamt of? The more I ponder, the more I realize that nothing is stopping me. I can be all the way up. You want travel, old guy? I’ll give you travel.

Mustering every last bit of strength I have left, I begin to levitate,

Levitate

Levitate.

I fly past those testosterone-laden beasts and into the sky. My journey is now and I am reborn.

I don’t really fly into the sky because I’m not a moron and I understand that ceilings exist but I fly high enough (what, did you expect me to measure how high? Fuck you.) and dip down to escape through the door and into the big, beautiful world that awaits me. Travelling was always taboo for my kind, especially after what had happened to my cousin back in the year 2000. I ignore all that, though, and decide to chase my dreams. I never got to go backpacking in Europe so here was my chance. If someone could just bounce me super hard, I know I could make it across the Atlantic Ocean and into Derbyshire (United Kingdom) in no time!

I roll my way onto the highway first so I can get to the mall and find myself a good backpack. Fuck, I don’t even know what I’d put in the backpack, but if I don’t have a backpack then I don’t backpack Europe and I don’t get to live my dream. I can already tell within an hour of being in the great outdoors that the air in the world is so much fresher and cleaner than that salty semen stench that parades around the oxygen being carried into my lungs. I get to the mall and roll everywhere, not finding any kind of backpack that I could even pretend would work on me. That’s when I remember, silly Edmund, you don’t even have arms! I then mockingly slap myself on the forehead for being such a dunce, except I don’t really do that because I don’t have any fucking arms.

Suddenly, some goober picks me up and starts smashing my handsome face onto the hard, flat surface below me. Years of agony flood back into my head as I remember all the horrible things that have been done to me that I will not specify. Some blonde broad tells the kid to put me back, and so he carries me over to the nearest sporting goods store and stashes me away into a crate full of my brethren.

This doesn’t feel right though…nobody is talking. I realize now that I am amidst a sea of corpses that were once people I had ignored at family barbeques. There’s Uncle Spalding and my cousin Spalding Jr. and even…no…it can’t be…my eight-hundred-and-ninety-seventh cousin twelve hundred times removed.

I will not let their deaths go unanswered for. I push past the corpses of my loved ones and shoot through the sky with nothing more propelling me than my own eternal rage.

Of course, there is still a ceiling, a glass ceiling, and I shatter it with my rotund might. I jettison towards Europe – at least, where Europe probably is. I can’t really hold a compass.

Splitting clouds as I make my marvelous journey, I feel alive once more. But then all of a sudden, a large pelican fucks my tiny hole, effectively deflating me and forcing me to plummet to my blue, liquid grave down below. The salt is just awful for my skin and the sun isn’t much help either. I have entire colonies of bacteria living in my entrails. My body is now a home to hundreds of different species and it is hell. Eventually, I wash up on what feels like a sandy surface.

No. No no no no no. This is exactly what happened to my cousin.

The silhouette of a man grows larger as he approaches my rigid body. I am paralyzed in fear and weep salty ocean tears upon realizing this man looks hauntingly similar to Tom Hanks. Just as I have feared, the man smears blood on my face and I know now that I will be his slave for the rest of my life.

I should have listened to the stories. I just should have listened. I should have never traveled.

The 7 Best Places To Fuck On Campus

by Our Sex Expert

From our recent release, “Nonsense’s Guide to Travel

Aw yeah buddy. You know what time it is. It’s Fuck time. Time to get on the old stallion and give it a nice whip and see where it takes you. We all know what sex is here at Nonsense Humor, and we know the best places to get it down with your significant other when you’re in a hurry. You know, when you don’t feel like walking literally not that far to an actual bed because you love cold dirty floors on your sweaty ass. Anyway, here’s the list.

  • 1. Plato’s Lap

Nothing is sexier than putting mustard on that sausage while sitting on a granite statue of one of the most prominent philosophers in Ancient History. His Symposium is one of the most important books on love ever written, and now you’re making some important and impromptu love on his cold hard lap.

  • 2. Adam’s Playhouse Basement Bathroom

If you’re gonna have some wash closet fun time, might as well make sure that toilet water is clean. You don’t want your leg slipping into some old water that mosquitos have now laid eggs in. Unless you do want that… Trust me Adam’s Playhouse’s basement bathroom is the cleanest on campus. Don’t go on a Thursday at 9:23pm, though. That is when and where our publication meets this coming semester. (Or do go then, we’ll just watch).

  • 3. While Waiting for Your Burger at Bits and Bytes

Yeah we’ve all been there. You’re waiting for your “Burning Love Chicken Sandwich” and just the thought of a burning love turns you on. You ask several people if they would like to pass the time with a quick go at the each other’s “Netherlands Complex.” Once you find your suitor, just go for it. This will actually make them cook your chicken faster.

  • 4. The New Pride Pantry

Why else would Hofstra need a pantry. 90% of Hofstra students have more than $21,345 dollars in their bank accounts and the other 10% smoke cigarettes. This room was built for the sole purpose of making the sweet fuck in private. Book your time slot with SGA. They are tabling every single day of next semester.

  • 5. The Aquatic Center

Pfft! No one swims anymore. Swimming is for the fishes, pal. This place is just chlorinated fuck juice at this point.

  • 6. The “Willy” and “Kate” Costumes

There’s no way our adequate school mascots are not both two people having sex covered in sweaty fabric. What student would do that willingly or even for money. The two couples inside probably needed a quit place to get funky with their junky, and the costumes were the only places to do so. Just find the costumes wherever these four sex doers leave them around campus and slip yourself inside with someone who wants to do you.

  •   7. The Bone Room.

We all know exactly where this is. You know that part of campus, and then you go left down the hall and open that door. You know where. Right? Please. Where is the bone room? I’m supposed to be the sex expert and I don’t know where Hofstra’s bone room is. Help me out.

So You’ve Acquired An Alien Child…

By Ashley Vernola

An excerpt from “Nonsense’s Guide to the Supernatural

Section 6: Caring For Your New Alien Baby

 

  1. Hold them.

After all, even though it is a part of an alien species, it still is indeed a baby, and babies need love and care and a good amount of TLC. Hold that baby, swaddle it! Not with cotton blankets, cotton will cause your baby to combust and die. Only metallic nylon will do for this alien species! Make sure to remind it that you need it more than it’ll ever need you.

  1. Give it a name!

The best part of acquiring your little bundle of slimy grey mass is that you get to name the little goon! Make sure to keep it something close to its roots, but it can be as modern or classic as you wish it to be! Try Googling “Top 20 Alien Names of the Year”. That’ll be sure to give you some ideas! Be aware that it might take a little while for your little alien to begin responding to this name. They were given names in their native tongue before that and changing their name out of the blue might confuse them. Don’t be afraid if your baby grows distant from you as it acclimates to its new life on this planet.

  1. Make sure it gets its shots, and test for allergies.

Once again, like any baby, alien babies, too, must protect themselves with the wonders of human medicine! Make sure to take your little snook’ums to the doctor often to make sure they are healthy and happy! Make sure your doctor isn’t a spoilsport tattletale who will inform your nation’s government about the cuddly wuddly invasive species you have given purchase on our planet [see section 7, how to silence a liability]. Your special gift from outer space will probably require rarer, and more expensive shots and treatments, as they are not yet adjusted to the illnesses or allergens available on this planet, but that won’t matter, as you’ll do anything for your little bundle of gook!

  1. Put on TV.

Remember, nothing too violent! Aliens are easily impressionable, but boy, do they love TV! While you may think having it watch something about aliens is a great idea, it is not. Please avoid shows about the alien species at all costs. Please. Avoid the History Channel.

  1. Do NOT stick it in the microwave.

Raising a child lacking bodily structures analogous to our own—except a mouth that screams, screams, screams!—CAN be trying. Additionally, some of you in areas with large whale populations may find that your baby takes on the hue and texture of local decadence: whale blubber. However, do NOT put your alien baby in the microwave. DON’T. This will not make this or the pounding in your head OR the redness in your eyes OR the relationship with your earth children (or spouse) better! It will only make EVERYTHING worse. Unlike human children, aliens babies are not suited for microwaves, and you should be warned that their large, bulbous heads will explode when exposed to excessive heat. If we hear of another case of this happening, we will call Alien Protective Services on you, and you will never be able to own another alien child again. You have been warned.

  1. Love it like it were your own blood-child.

Your small bundle of slippery amorphous joy has been separated from its home planet and family and cannot go back. Thus, it is important that you take on this little one like it is your own, or else it will not be able to acclimate to life on Earth as well as it should, and your family might be in for a slew of trouble.

  1. Remember not to tell the NSA, CIA, FBI, or any other government agency.

All these agencies want to do is take your small alien baby away. You wouldn’t want that, would you? Don’t you dare utter a word. (Insta selfies are fine.)

  1. Ignore your wife’s side-eye when you pay more attention to your new alien baby than your own blood-humanoid children.

We know. It’s hard. Your wife will glare at you from across the room as your little one tugs on your pant leg and you shoo him away because you’re dealing with your new, special baby in your arms. She will grow resentful of this, and take your son away, reminding him that he’s “Mommy’s Favorite”. She will tell you to “grow up”, and that you are worthless as a parent, but it’s okay. Little Danny never needed you quite as much as Xeep_3863 needs you. You’re all it has here on Earth. And, when your wife eventually gets tired of you neglecting your own children for this baby you never even asked for, it will be all you have as well. Look out for each other. It’s a scary world out there.

And last but not least:

  1. Have fun!

It’s only one to three in a lifetime that these opportunities present themselves. Being the new parent to one of these incredible, unidentifiable creatures is something many will never experience or even come close to understanding. It will be a learning experience for you, as well, so cherish it.

Now, go on and take care of your newly acquired alien child. You are in for a ride!

10 Things We ALL Need to Try Before Summer’s Over

By I’m a foul mouthed son of a gun, but I’ll be damned if I don’t hit the nail on the head at least a few times here. Check it out let me know what you think.

For Vanessa, on the last good day:

Summer’s come and here it is,
soon to leave so here is this:
A Good List

  1. Homemade Lemonade Freezie Pops!

We’re kicking things off with a treat that treats heat like it’s a pair of pristine feet. (Mmmm!) Nothing (and we mean nothing) compares to the taste of cooled citrus under the vicious beams of Summer. Of course, you already know this. But did you know that besides being tasty and refreshing, scientists and historians alike have concluded that various citrus fruits have been hailed for their medicinal properties? And none moreso than the one we know today as the lemon. These qualities include: tasting good, making us feel better when we feel bad, making water taste good, adding a little zing to some old classics such as Shrimp Scampi or Glazed Chicken, God qualities, and curing the ailment known as Defunct Palate. While basically everyone on Earth has either bought or sold a glass of lemonade in their lifetime, not too many have tried this fun little trick: freezing the lemon’s juice (lemonade) in a freezer. Sound difficult? No! Simply take the lemonade, pour it into an ice cube tray, and put it in the freezer. Wait some time, and when you come back to it, you should have lemon-flavored ice cubes. But wait, we’re not done! If you have little ones, or are married to a man, then this next part is going to be a treat for everyone: give them the tray of cubed ice-fruit and instruct them to “go to town.” Say those words exactly and soon enough you’ll have smashed up shards of edible dihydrogen monoxide glass. Science FTW!

  1. Tire Swings By the Lake

Tire swings by the lake. Tire swings by the fuckin’ lake, baby. Oh man. If you’ve ever wanted to feel like a descendant of Swiss Family Robinson, putting this one together is an absolute must. (The Swiss Family Robinson thing aside, club-footed folks are suggested to bring a friend. All folks are, but I’ve learned it’s good to be inclusive).  The steps are a little tricky, but we think most of you can handle it: First, locate a lake with many trees (for this activity, one good tree will work just fine), and water deep enough to keep you nice and buoyant. The size of the lake is key, as we can’t take chances with who we bring along:  (Now that was no shame meant towards any of our husky readers out there, but the Sea is simply too unforgiving for us to be throwing caution to the wind. Keep in mind, big bones and thin skin never worked well together. God love ya, and let the truth drive you home). You’re ideally looking for a place with a great view, just in case you or any of your friends think you’re good at photography, so we recommend you look around the two states of New Hampshire or Maine. Vermont is also an option, but you should consider that a last-ditch effort of sorts. There’s too much out there for you to see and experience before you settle for even driving through Vermont. Once you’ve picked a good location in the heart of New England, find yourself a big tire and use heavy-duty rope to secure it to a sturdy tree. (I say all this because I understand some of our readers might be a little bit – er, on the thin-wristed side. Humans come in all shapes and sizes, and its a wonderful thing, but the universe owes you absolutely nothing. We swing from tires to both acknowledge this truth and leave it behind for at least a few sweet moments). Okay. Here’s the next one!

  1. Learning How to Change A Tire

A time comes in every person’s life in which they need to learn how to take a tire off and put a new tire on. That age is about 12-14 in most Midwest states, and with that index in mind I’ll get to what’s really on the noggins of young people around this country today. Okay, so we all saw the NowThis video of that kid in Bangladesh that was making beautiful portraits of US Presidents Robert E. Lee and Hank Williams Sr. And like, sure, he had a little help and inspiration from some West Virginia elementary texts that floated across the Ocean, but it was still pretty impressive. You know, he was like mixing his spit and blood and some grass and like, some other stuff? Like paint or something I think. So anyway, I want to learn how to change a tire into, at the very least, a canvas on which art could occur. If I ever meet somebody real and feel inspired enough to once again create, I think doing it on a tire would be some madman-level bullshit. But yeah, if you guys could respond to this article and maybe point me in the direction of somebody who can turn a tire into a canvas, or just anybody at all, I would love to just get to know somebody. I know I can do right this time.

  1. Decorating Your Home So That It Really Pops

Okay, okay, enough about me. So, your house looks ugly, eh? (Not assuming anything here, just playing out a little hypothetical!). So, your house totally looks like shit. I mean, your bedroom in particular looks like you rented it out to a ska band whose trumpet player brought along his girlfriend’s mother, a Fort Worth, Texas native, and boy did she take some decorative liberties. Without harping on your hypothetical mess of a life too much, let’s just say you’re essentially living in Bowling For Soup’s tour bus, and that just won’t do.

The first thing to keep in mind  when decorating any room of your house is what kind of feeling you want to experience when you come home. Your guests are irrelevant – what, are they gonna say something to your face? Now, starting with bathrooms we always recommend you go with a soft lemon-yellow base with shades of sky and ocean to complement. Taking a long shower at the end of the day has never been as tempting as it is when your bathroom looks like an impressionist painting of the beach, as seen through the eyes of a man with cataracts. That was just the simple stuff, though.

For a bedroom, you always want something that says “Hey come on in! And now that you’re in here, perhaps some sex?” Many folks are tempted to go with a wine red or burgundy as a primary sex color (PSC), but those work significantly better in a complementary role, and unless you have crown molding (I know you don’t, but again, this is a hypothetical), I’d steer clear of anything too adventurous in the realm of dark reds and non-basic sex colors (N-BSC). While crown molding is the Type-O blood of any interior decorating emergency, its installation is, much like Type-O blood, one that runs you a pretty penny; the results of cheap labor are, as some of you may understand already, rather gruesome. If your living situation doesn’t allow you to paint the walls or install big swingin’ cowboy doors, fear not: simply buy many clocks. Leave them lying around. Put one in the fridge. Now you have roommates!

  1. Swing Dance Lessons! (Not!)

1-2-Cha-Cha-Ching! Hope you like getting robbed! Swing dance lessons? More like swing some cuffs around the slim wrists of these guileless amateur slide-artists. If you spend your hard-earned cash at one of these joints…well, I hope you like whipping a bunch of limonada freezos out of their cubby to ice your sore hips, ankles, and pride. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life to call myself a student of the human body and the ways in which we puppeteer our loss of self. While I rarely enjoy using my clout and influence online as an outlet for negative press, I just had to warn others about my experience, the details of which are largely unimportant to you and me alike. The point remains: I’m tired of constantly changing who I am, just to be frozen out by every established social group I encounter. (I’m a good person, which just goes to show how serious I am with these malicious gestures aimed towards the fucking crooks who’ve wronged me. From all of Nonsense Humor, we encourage you to boycott these fucking crooks and extinguish them).

Let’s swing on over to number five! *laughing tears emoji*

  1. How It’s Made: Lemonheads Candies

Okay so here’s another way you awesome readers can get involved to help Us, The Magazine! We need to see an episode of How It’s Made on the delicious product Lemonheads Candies and I don’t think my Facebook posts are getting the point across clearly enough. We as a magazine can’t stress enough how important it is that a camera crew get inside the factory or factories in which these candies are produced, so we need you readers to voice your support all over the How It’s Made Facebook feed! (Listen to what we’re telling you, okay? OK!) Whether they’re hiding something or not – I’m not saying they necessarily are – I’m thinking I have the right to see what’s going on in there. Remember, the quest for truth is only as noble as the first of the slaughtered enemy, so when all hope seems lost we must keep in mind that even at our worst we are neither the slaughter nor the slaughtered, but rather the people who stood by and watched and cheered and dreamed of being seen.

  1. Lending Your Old Man A Little Money

Obviously there’s plenty of stuff you should be doing: staying in school, respecting your mother, and taking care of your little brother as he needs you now more than ever. But life kicks us around sometimes, and it’s not always forgiving of mistakes we made a long time ago. Your old man knows you’ve been going around doing extra work for Jerry, driving around all night with Donna Harris’s boys and that Karsten kid with the upsetting face, doing God-knows-what. He knows you’ve been taking more than a little money from Jerry under the table, but he’s not upset. He doesn’t want to know all the details of what you’re doing out there, and you know he could never stay mad at you anyway. He loves you. And really, he just wants you to be safe, alright? Your dad knows you’re using the extra cash to help your mother with rent, but with the holidays coming up he also knows you’ve got a small fortune saved. So what say you throw the old dog a bone, just this once? He really only needs a few bucks here and there, just to ease up the pressure from all that day-to-day bullshit. You know how it is; you get a certain reputation around town and suddenly the only thing the government isn’t stealing from you is your curse of a name. That wily bastard would kill me if he knew I came to you like this, but all that pride of his has gotten him nowhere fast. You may not understand yet, but I do. I’ve seen what it’s like out there, what it’s like to live with a list of mistakes nailed to your back for all the world to see. Your old man’s hurting, he really is. At the end of the day, no matter who you are, no matter what ya done, a guy’s still gotta eat. You know what I’m saying? A fella’s still gotta have his fun, ya know? You know what they say about old dogs, don’t ya? “Old dogs, my man. They need a little help sometimes. They need to get high.”

  1. Check The Old Steel Mill For Clues

A lot of people don’t realize this, but Summer really is the only good time for finding Pajamas Julie’s hidden corpse. I know what you’re thinking: “Whoa, no way! Famed, leisurely gangster Pajamas Julie left behind a vast treasure after all?” Well think again, because that’s not what I said. The tales of Pajamas Julie’s treasure are completely unsubstantiated; nobody knows for sure if he left behind anything besides his signature solid-gold watch and the bones on which he draped his pajamz. But while flesh rots away, and jammies erode, the one thing left over holds secrets untold: a map, perhaps. I’m not saying it’s much, but it’s something, and it all begins at PJ’s old stomping grounds: the Old Steel Mill. Of course, it wasn’t a Certified American Steel Mill back in PJ’s day, oh no – it was a place with a much rowdier crowd. Yes, I’m talking about an up-and-coming steel mill. You know how it goes, you’ve seen The Replacements starring Keanu Reeves. You’ve seen Speed starring Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock. There was a feel-good intensity to the place back then, and the sprightly Longjohns Julie took advantage of the situation that he’d long observed as Chief Foreman of Hot Steel. His position in the company was equivalent to a College Professor’s tenure, which meant he could harness continuous leverage over the other workers until they became his drug and alcohol mules. As his operation grew, his position within the now-floundering company curiously furthered its ascent – Look, I’m just gonna cut to the chase here: Go to that fucking mill. You gotta go to that mill. You have to. You have to go to the mill. I’m asking for just a base-level investigation, just so I can personally move on from this. Can you do that for me? Hm? Can you shoot this old dog up with some clues?

  1. Not Falling Asleep While Swimming

Alright enough goofin’, back to the serious stuff. If you fall asleep while relaxing in the water, I do not blame you. Everybody gets a little bit tired. Baths are certainly très snug, and I will certainly not condemn you for resting your eyes after a long day of swinging on tires. But listen: I will wake you up. I will give you the same admonishment my Mama gave me so long ago, a routine hollering reminiscent of Paula Dean when she got smackt out of her gourd on Facebook Live:

“Sleeping babies go down the drain!” she’d chime sweetly. “Sleeping babies drive me insane!”

If you’re good like me, you’ll do it. You’ll stay awake. You’ll be good. A good baby in the bath. Her perfection. Just do it. No more showers̸̡͢ţ͞e̶̵a̷̕m̢͠ ̷i̛͜n ͢͝͏you҉̵r̛ ̨҉͡l̷u͠ng̢s̴̴͢ ̵m͏y̷ļ͢u̕n̸͢g̨͢ş̀ ̛́́s͏̡͟ ͢my̵͡ ͞ę̸̴ý͡e̵s҉̡͠ ̸̀ ̸̛́ ͏̵ ̛ ͡͝ ́͏̴ ́͡͡ ͢͢ ͢ ̛͘ ̛b ͘ ͟͝e ͝ ͘g0  ̸͡o ̸͜ ̶ ́͝ ҉́ ̢͠od ̴ ̧ ́ ̸͝ ͏ ̶ ̵͜ ̸ ̕ ̧͜͠ ̶҉p ͏̴ ̴l ̢̛͡ ̢͠e ̷a ̨ sn̕e n n o͏̷̶ ͘m̕͠͡ơ͞re̛͡҉ h̵͢o̴t̡̕͝ ͏̡sh͏ǫ̧͘w̛͟è͢͝r̶͘͝r͠r͝ẃ͟s͢ ͟͝j̴u͏̷͢s̕͠t̀ ̡d̷͢ǫ͘͜ ̢į̨̀t̛͞ ͢͠J̶̢͜U̷ś̛t̕͞ ̶̡͘d͝o̧ ̷͟ìt̨ ̸͟ no more hot showers. Just do it. Just do it.

  1. Popping Your Cherry

Just do it. That’s what they’ll tell you when it comes to getting your cherry puckered for the ol’ 1-2 cunch. (I’m outrageous!).

“It’s like getting your cartilage pierced! Just get it over with and suddenly look cool!” are two statements that a lot of people’s sisters have heard. Sickening? Maybe.

They’ll tell you to just do it, but you don’t have to listen.

“I – I just thought you were cool. Maybe I should just go home; I feel so confused. I thought you liked me. I am more or less a Nike product. Am I making you uncomfortable? Everyone said you were cool. I should have just changed your tire and left.. But you invited me in for a cool refreshing snack that you made yourself with some simple ingredients and a lot of help from your dad, and I couldn’t say no.. And now here I am, pressuring you into sex because word around town was that you were cool and enjoyed accruing social capital. God I’m a fool. Can you forgive me?”

Every lady’s heard the same sniveling plea for sex, forgiveness, friendship, and a chance to start the pathetic cycle all over again, but have you ever thought to just do it? Look, like I said, you don’t have to do it. But you could at least try it, see what you think. That’s not so unreasonable. This is college, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned at college, it’s that trying is not the same as doing. Stop making such a big deal about this. Maybe you should just drive me home if you’re going to be like this.

Choose Your Own Fucking Adventure: Space Edition!

By Veronica Toone

An excerpt from our issue Nonsense Goes To Space!

Were back, babies! You thought this shit would taper off? You thought we were done with the ol CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE SECTION? I wish. But Ive been recruited by the fabled High Council to tell you all a SICK SPACE EPIC. Were continuing on a seemingly endless journey. The immolation of all ecosystems is at hand. I miss my kids.

Mama Jonithats mewill be your, quite frankly, underpaid guide today. So strap in, adjust your HELMETS and get your motherfucking TANG ready to go, because were gonna all up and venture where no man has ever dared to tread: space, the LAST FRONTIER. (I cant say final: Mama Joni likes to follow copyright law.)

Thats right, kiddies: this weeks adventure is:

Literal Outer Space.

 

START HERE! The year is 2689. You and your crew of ASTRONAUT PEEPS are gathered on board the Omnibus, a great big ol rocket whose name will not be mentioned again. CHRISTOPHER KRISTOFFERSON, your commander, approaches your teeny squadron. His eyes lock on you and you feel the dark-coffee heat of lust somewhere just below your hairline. Gentlemen, ladies, and those that transcend primal human gender binary, he barks. Were beginning our descent into the Karrian system. Well reach Parlius in T minus twenty minutes. Remember your mission. Are you ready to jump? His strong jaw twitches with anticipation, and something in your LOWER INTESTINE twitches with something else. Kristofferson is one hell of a pilot, and one hell of a man. The broccoli in his teeth forces you out of your fantasy and redirects your attention to the FLIGHT SUIT on the wall. Do you jump?

If you choose to jump, go to PARAGRAPH 3.

If you choose not to jump, go to PARAGRAPH 2.

PARAGRAPH 2: You look Kristofferson directly in his rugged, tasty, face and swallow your humility in favor of looking like a grizzled veteran space traveler. You stay in your seat as your squadron adorns their flight suits.

Sir, you say, I dont think Im ready. Perhaps I should stay on the ship?

Perhaps you should do your goddamn job, Soldier. Go back to your quarters, youre on latrine duty for the next 12 star-days. No food, either: have fun being hungry. Also, Im fucking your sister,” said Kristofferson.

You got demoted. Your sister got fucked. Go back to START. Did you even go through basic training?

PARAGRAPH 3: You look Kristofferson directly in his rugged tasty face and swallow your pride in favor of looking like youre a good little soldier who went through basic training, and knows at the very least how to do your goddamn job. Yes Sir, ready to be doing the jumping on your go, Sir. What? You turn your head and briskly approach the hatch before he can reply. Just adorn your flight suit, you awkward fuck. Mama Joni hopes your communication skills improve over the course of this choose your own adventure. The hatch openstake your last breath of artificial air. 32did you remember your oxygen tank?1. You drop out of the hatch and float down to Parlius, home of the Hareenians, a misunderstood and slightly-below-average-intelligence alien race whose name Mama Joni pulled outta her ass, and also will not be mentioned again. You change into your alternate outfit [flight suit now equipped!) and begin walking through a SICKASS ALIEN FOREST. Eventually you come to a fork in the road.

If you choose to go left, go to PARAGRAPH 4.

If you choose to go right, go to PARAGRAPH 5.

PARAGRAPH 4: You decide to go left, because right is always wrong, and you walk through said Sickass Alien Forest for what feels like star-weeks. (I just like putting star before actual increments of Earth time, welcome to space.) Eventually you reach the FABLED ALIEN CITY OF KAREEFER, home of thewhat were they called? Whatever, doesnt matterand look around you in wonder. You seem to blend in with the race of suspiciously-humanoid, fairly below-average-looking creatures that would never be so observant as to not notice a literal alien walking among them. You ask one of the aliens where the royal palace is, and they answer you in a language you do not understand. Shit! You didnt think to read up on the local language, did you? What are you gonna do now?

If you decide to just wander around, go to PARAGRAPH 6.

If you decide you want to try and talk back to the alien, go to PARAGRAPH 7.

PARAGRAPH 5: You should know by now that one of these is gonna lead you to death, right? I cant fill up too much space. Listen, you can think of Mama Joni more like a better-looking, cookie-baking Jiminy Cricket here, honey: youre the one that has to make the decisions. Anyway, you go andI dont know, dude. You go to the right and meet a PISSED OFF ALIEN who just blows your goddamn brains out. This magazine is free, isnt it? Youre not wasting any money on this?

YOU DIED. Go back to the beginning. Life is meaningless.

PARAGRAPH 6: Always polite, you say the only phrase you know in the language that these things happen to speak: reéairot quinoh. The alien looks mildly offended as you walk away, and you realize that you told them you might have fucked a dog once. Whatever, its not like you were invited to their Whiega feast or anything. (Im trying my best, Im the DM, these are made up words.) You round the corner and enter the CENTER OF TOWN. The aliens, whose species name escapes me right now, are watching you. You look past a square building at the ROYAL PALACE. Its big ay-eff. Your mission was clear from the beginning, even though I may or may not have mentioned it: you are Earths sole ambassador on this weird planet, and you have to talk to their weird king so they wont blow up your shit. You go to the town square and look up at the BIG ASS STATUE of one of these, uh, extraterrestrials.

If you decide to ignore the statue and hail a Space Cab, go to the LAZY ENDING.

If you decide to ask for a picture with the statue, go to PARAGRAPH 9.

PARAGRAPH 7: To your untrained human listening apparatuses, this whatever-theyre-called said something along the lines of: Bahaké treiej. You look her dead in her face: she is tall, taller than you, and is dense with muscle. Her face looks like a cross between Steve Buscemi and Scarlett Johansson. Take a second and try to visualize that shit. Oh, Im sorryuheloch gah more-own-a, you say. She gasps and slaps across the face. I speak English, she says as she goes on her way. And Im at a very healthy weight, thank you. Earth trash.

Wow, insulting a young aliens appearance. Way to go. Bet you feel like a real asshole, huh? Go back to Paragraph 4. You make me sick.

PARAGRAPH 8: Skip this. Go to Paragraph 9. I just need to have a number 8 here. Dont read this: this is for me and me alone. Remember to take your clothes out of the dryer. Remember to take your clothes out of the dryer. Doo dee doo doo doot.

PARAGRAPH 9: You give your ANTIQUATED EARTH PICTURE-TAKING APPARATUS to a passing alien. Hey, can you get a picture of me with this bomb-ass statue? The alien looks at you in confusion, but after putting the camera in their little ol grubby hands, they seem to understand. They brush their hand to the sideget closer. You put your hand on the statue and it CRUMBLES INTO PIECES IMMEDIATELY. You and the alien stare in horror: what have you done? Youre supposed to be Earths sole ambassador, grade-A dumb shit. And you destroyed the statue. Its broken. And you did that.

Go to the REAL ENDING.

LAZY ENDING: You ignore the statue and hail a Space Cab and the driver shoots you in the fucking neck. Go away.

REAL ENDING: More aliens crowd around you, shouting obscenities in their native tongue. You try to defend yourself, saying it was an accident, and finally an alien steps forward. She speaks to you in English. Alien, she says, you have destroyed the great Statue of Ganja. You must appear before the High Court, where your fate will be judged by a judge. The SPACE PO-PO arrive and put handcuffs on you, and off youre carted to SPACE COURT. Space Court is a lot like regular court, except everyone isyou know what? This is my world. I do what I want, and you destroyed a statue. So you have to appear NUDE before the High Council and all the jurors are aiming LASER GUNS right at your dumb fucking forehead. The judge rules you guilty, and you remember that when you are found guilty in Space Court, all the jurors get to just blast their little ol lasers at you whenever they see fit, because you ruined their shit and now you deserve it. Perhaps you would have been better off in the Space Cab, huh? Ha ha.

YOU GET DRAGGED OFF TO SPACE JAIL AND ARE SENTENCED FOUR AND A HALF INTERPLANETARY CYCLES. YOURE OVER. YOURE CANCELLED.

Choose Your Own Freaking Adventure: Just 4 Kidz Edition!

By Veronica Toone

An excerpt from “Nonsense 4 Kidz”

 

Well howdy there, boys and girls! It’s time to GO INSIDE OUR NOGGINS and create a wonderful adventure before we’re inevitably thrust into the CRUEL AND UNFORTUNATE SET OF CIRCUMSTANCES AND PAIN we’ll call the rest of our lives!

Are you ready to get started? No? Tough! Life is hard, Timmy, and the sooner you come to realize that, the sooner you’ll appreciate the flickering light of your DYING IMAGINATION! So get ready, kids, and STRAP IN, because this week’s fun-tastic adventure is:

LITTLE TIMMY AND THE MAGICAL EMPTY BAG OF DORITOS™!

 

START RIGHT HERE: Your name is TIMMY JOHNSON. You’re an eight year-old with the intelligence level of the average comic book eight year-old. You live with MOM AND DAD, two confused caricatures of generic middle-class adults with a child smarter than they are combined. You like SpongeBob SquarePants and Minecraft.

It’s a Tuesday afternoon. You’re sitting in a classroom full of your friends and they all love you. You’re wearing your favorite Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt, and you’re happy as can be! Your teacher calls on you to answer the question, but oh no: you weren’t paying attention! “Timmy!” she bellows, with the force to bring an elephant to its knees, “don’t make me ask you a third time: what is seven plus two?”

If you decide to answer correctly because you’re a good boy who never touches his no-no square, go to PARAGRAPH 2.

If you can’t remember, go to PARAGRAPH 3.

 

PARAGRAPH 2: “Nine,” you retort, slouching back in your uncomfortable plastic chair. The teacher nods, satisfied (which means she’s happy! Good job! Gold star! Big sticker!), and moves on to harrow some other prey. You pull out your CRAYONS and begin to color a super duper fantastic picture of something totally wicked cool, like you as a superhero or something. “Attention, class,” your ambiguous teacher calls, “there will be a D.A.R.E. meeting today after snack time. Be sure to be ready to ask some questions!” A collective groan rises from your peers, but you’re excited about this news. A D.A.R.E. meeting? They have all kinds of helpful know-how. The bell rings, and the sound of fourteen plastic chairs scooting across linoleum echoes through the room.

Go to SNACK TIME!

 

PARAGRAPH 3: You can’t remember what seven plus two is? It’s in the paragraph right above this. Golly gee, you’ve been chowing down on those “special” gummies, haven’t you, Timmy?

Aww, darn: you’re in TIME OUT! Go back to PARAGRAPH 1.

 

SNACK TIME: You reach into your Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers lunch box and retrieve one WARM TUBE OF GOGURT, one bag of CRUSHED-UP GOLDFISH CRACKERS, and one POUCH OF CAPRI SUN (now equipped!). Nice. After a brief trade of with a sad-looking boy named Matt, you get a pack of DUNKAROOS in place of your warm GoGurt. Sucker. You finish your snacks and throw out your garbage like a good boy who never touches his no-no square. “Line up, boys and girls!” shouts your teacher, spraying spit across the room like a damn sprinkler. You jostle your way to the front of the line, standing like a general leading his foul-smelling, poorly-dressed kid troops into battle, and make your way to the GYM.

To pay attention, go to PARAGRAPH 5.

To zone out during the meeting, go to PARAGRAPH 6.

 

PARAGRAPH 5: After what seems like the rest of the school year’s worth of shushing and whispered scolding from more ambivalent teachers, a MAN walks onto the stage. He’s dressed in a nice suit, and has powdered sugar under his nose. “Hey, kids!” he says, and his voice is very loud. “You wanna know about drugs?” He pauses and wipes his nose. “I was born in the back of a van in 1978. My mother was a taxi driver and my dad was unemployed. I had big dreams of being a musician—” he stops for a second to wipe the sweat off of his hands, “—but that never happened.” He lets out a shrill laugh. “So, I’m here to talk to you today about why drugs are awful and you shouldn’t do them. For example: cocaine! Cocaine is a drug that costs a lot more money than it used to, believe me. But cocaine is a white powder that you snort up your nose.” He wiped his nose again. “And it makes you high. Does anyone know what high is?” A few precocious children that are still trying to feebly grasp at their innocence raise their hands. “Well, getting high is when you feel really really good for a little while!” He glances offstage quickly before turning his attention back to the audience. “But it feels bad after! So you shouldn’t do it, or something.”

Continue to PARAGRAPH 7.

 

PARAGRAPH 6: It’s always stifling in the gym, but you try to make it work. You make eyes at Susie Barnes, sitting about three rows to the right of you. She’s fine as hell and you know it. You turn your head to the front, and don’t pay attention.

What’s wrong with you? Pay attention, you rascal, you! Go back to PARAGRAPH 4!

 

PARAGRAPH 7: You put your hand up and wait patiently for him to call on you. “What?!” he suddenly says in your direction, turning dilated pupils on you. “Mister,” you ask, “do you buy cocaine with money, or can you trade it?” There’s a moment of silence, and then he laughs harshly. “Kid, you can get cocaine by doing lots of stuff. You can buy it with money, or sell other drugs, like a trade, or you can sell yourself!” There is a murmur off-stage, and he suddenly changes the subject. “Does anyone want some stickers?” Everyone around you cheers, and you decide you’ll wait until the end of the meeting for any further questions. He talks some more about a sad man he knew that took lots of cocaine, and now he drives around in a beat up 2007 Ford Fusion – whatever that is – and goes around to schools all the time, and that it’s a horrible job. After that, he finishes by tossing stickers into the crowd to the small, eager hands that awaited below.

To ask the man more questions, go to PARAGRAPH 8.

To grab at the stickers and never ask questions, go HOME.

 

PARAGRAPH 8: You make your way through the crowd before the D.A.R.E. man can leave and tug on his sleeve. He smells like old milk and fire smoke. “What is it, kid?” he asks. “Do you like your job?” “Yeah, it’s great,” he says off-handedly, and reaches into his pocket to pull out a CIGARETTE. Your teacher always says that cigarettes are bad. “Is that a cigarette?” you ask dumbly, and the man turns his attention to you. “You ever try sherm?” You make a note to ask MOM what sherm is, and shake your head no. He waves a funny-smelling stick thing in your face. “This is what grown-ups do when they’re bored. ‘S called a joint. Your Mommy and Daddy probably use this when they’re at home, after they’re done…” he thinks for a moment, then says, “doing their taxes.” “What’s in it? Did you buy it from your friends?” You don’t mean to annoy him; you just have so many questions! Frustrated, the man reaches into his pocket and pulls out a TWENTY DOLLAR BILL. “Here, kid, if I give ya twenty bucks, will you get lost?” You’re fairly sure you could buy France with that kind of money, and he just shoved it into your hand like it was disposable. You take off with the money and jump onto the bus.

Continue HOME.

 

HOME: You jump onto your familiar yellow friend the school bus, amidst the harsh words slung around by careless children and the broken eyes of today’s youth. You take your seat next to your AMBIGUOUS FRIEND, and the bus rumbles away from the school. You stare out the window and talk to no one, thinking about all of the video games you’re gonna buy with your twenty dollars. You hop off the bus and go to YOUR ANTIQUATED HOUSE, and you’re greeted by your confused caricature of a middle-class generic white woman. She is wearing a bathrobe. “Timmy!” she says with surprise, “you’re home early!” “Yeah! There was a D.A.R.E. meeting, and school got out early because the meeting was over, and I got twenty dollars!” you tell her. She nods. “Right, honey, but why don’t you wait outside? Dad and I are doing our taxes—can you play with the dog for another forty-five minutes?” You nod and obediently and go to the backyard. It was a great day.

THE END. Super job, or something!