Category Archives: Opinon

My Grandson Will Ruin You, Uber.

by Gwynneth Gesth

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

Fascist tyrant of the streets,  

I write to you today on behalf of my grandson, Ross Gesth. I write to you today, in this very public, real, and good newspaper, to deliver to you the news that you are finished. Ruined. My home doesn’t get internet, so I write to you now, you technological Pol Pot, from the local public library. I come here twice a week to keep up with the other world, that one Online, and I’ve gleaned from Facebook and WordPress and Ticker and Zomit that you have made an enemy of youths around this nation. Big mistake, Uber. Big mistake…you neo-Nazi.

My grandson writes of you often, Uber. He makes “statuses” online about the way you lure vulnerable youngsters into serving a rigid totalitarian state, and on www.RossGoesOff.wordpress.com he even outlines a plan to sabotage you with pranks, hijinks, and more serious ideas as well. You want to use an army of cyber-youths to take down the media in order to further serve the oppressive regime you’ve help put in place? So be it. My daughter’s son Ross will erase your website from his phone, and then he will become a full-time taxi driver. My handsome and righteous grandson will combat you in the very streets you terrorize.

I offer to you, through this good publication, an offer: Leave the young people of this country alone, cease your nationalistic rhetoric and your Constitutional injustices and, if you truly want to allay the gripes that Ross has alluded to on various online playgrounds and real-world playgrounds as well, stop employing drivers who take it upon themselves to decide what music is played. That’s indoctrination, and if it does not end I will be forced to take matters into my own grandson Ross’s hands.

Also, “surge pricing.” I’m not sure what that is, but Ross says on Twitter.com that it is “wack,” “so fucked,” and even notes them as an example of “some serious Nazi-level shit. Big, big bullshit.” Your fascist coup of LaGuardia airport hasn’t escaped us Uber. The eyes of the world are watching. Sickening.

To Ross you are a new enemy. Your betrayal – your empty promises of a fairer, better world, where no middle-aged man is denied the opportunity to make a little extra cash on the side – stung him hard, like the first round thwap of a switch from a time when parents had God’s blessing to do what was necessary. I remember that time. And I remember you, Uber. You’re nothing new to me. No. We knew you by many names: Stalin. Mussolini. Mao Zedong. We should have seen you coming, but how could we? You slithered in like all the others, cloaked in technology, innovation, and “progressivism.” You rose up on the back of the little guy, but you didn’t even realize that that little guy was my grandson Ross, who is 6’4”.

I Thought Ponyo Was Hentai, What Gives?

By Dorito Man

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

I work hard. People in my life understand this, So get this. I get home late, and my weirdo roommate, he tells me he has just the thing to cheer me up. I get want to grab a nice cold one from the fridge and crawl into bed, but I can’t, because there he is. Standing in the way. I can feel the condensation meeting my fingers. I crave it. I am thinking about this and my eyes are just about to glaze over when he pull out this blu-ray. I don’t know where it came from, and I don’t want to know. He’s really into that anime shit, and I’ve promised him I’d check some out, but honestly, I’m scared. I don’t have the time for big 2D jigglage. I have a girlfriend I’m too tired to talk to, okay? I’m too old for cartoon boobs that refuse to follow Newtonian physics, where the nipple can be fully penetrated by a large manhood. This time was different, though. I could tell that he wouldn’t leave me alone unless I gave Ponyo a shot.

I was ready. Taking a cursory glance at the blu-ray case, I saw a little girl, and I saw fish. That’s all I managed to see, and I thought to myself, ain’t this illegal? I know what this anime business is about. Seeing the ocean life on the cover only confirmed my biases about where this journey was headed. Knowing what he’s into–Samurai Champloo (which I think is Japanese for coitus), Kingdom Hearts, Neon Genesis Evangellier (even jellier than what?), I got ready for the evening that I assumed he had planned for us. I got the baby oil ready and lathered the entire bottom half of my body like a hybrid of man and seal. My socks stayed on of course, to preserve heat.

It’s to preserve heat.

I popped that bad boy in hiding behind 7 different proxies (which is what my roommate calls our blinds) so the POTUS couldn’t spot me finna engage in some solid waifu lechery. From what I’d gathered by right wing people on twitter, though, the president loves anime–judging by his supporters avi’s so I wasn’t too worried, when I hit play. I see Disney’s logo upfront, and I nearly cry. Have they stooped this low?

But here’s the crazy thing.

Not a single nipple. Not one. Buddy, you could put a magnifying glass up against the screen and I promise you that wouldn’t help find any nipples because there aren’t any. No inhuman amounts of ejaculate being funneled into genitalia, no swelling of the gastrointestinal system without any sort of health related repercussions and not one, not one, slippery bad boy with suction cups for fingers. Tentacles, in case you didn’t get it. The movie takes place in the sea, from what I had gathered, so that seemed like a given.

Instead, what I did get was beautiful handpainted scenery, mindblowing cinematography of a breathtaking scope, and a renewed sense of purpose, with a sense that the world isn’t as cold as I make it out to be living this day to day life I call a mediocre waste of time and breath. When my roommate said that the film had strong female characters, I assumed he was judging by the amount of newtons worth of force their little buttholes could negotiate. I now realize that he was referring to the depth of their character, which is–in a way–far more important. This film made me want to call my girlfriend.

The tale of a little-girl-fish thing helping her newfound family find love, is exactly what I would expect of Disney. I didn’t even get an erection. How fucking cool is that?

Apparently Hayao Miyazaki has a long history of making wonderous pictures that explore relatable themes, in ways that we are too busy down at the mill to consider. How was I supposed to know that Howl was the name of the protagonist of Howl’s Moving Castle, instead of just a description of the sounds buttstuff creates?

How the fuck was I supposed to know Ponyo wasn’t hentai?

Japanese, check.

Female protagonist, check.

That’s about all I got. You hear that, you think hentai. This was not that. 0/10 hentai, 10/10 film.

I owe my roommate an apology. Not just for shunning all of his recommendations prior, but for begrudgingly stripping nude in his presence. Tomorrow, I might even check out Spirited Away! Look, was I a little disappointed when I learned that Tina Fey hadn’t in fact lended her voice to a piece of animated pornography? Sure. Sure as I’ve got toes on my feets.

I do not have toes on my feet. But seeing her out of character, in the role of a caring mother just trying to make sure her family can get by under the weight of the judgement of others made me consider how I’d been treating the mother of my own children, whom I have been separated from, for just so long. And that’s great. There is no other result that I would prefer to come from laying slick on a trashbag tarp of my own preparation. That’s just grand.

This has been kind of nice actually. I feel as though the power of friendship is actually pretty important. Ponyo taught me that. Maybe there are things in life more important than playing five hand poker with the baloney pony.

Ah who am I kiddin? I’m gonna go crack open a cold one and watch some busty beauties get shafted by failed government experiments. Consensually.

Dorito Man 48 signing off. See you later space cowboy.

Do Not Tell Me The Sky Is The Limit Because I Am An Astronaut

By An Astronaut

You will stop right there when you are addressing me. I have come out into this vile café for peace. Perhaps I expected a request for an autograph, perhaps I expected adoration, perhaps I even expected some respect, but I have received neither, and especially not from you. “The Sky Is The Limit”? Is this paltry expression your attempt at positive reassurance? Do you even know who I am?

Let me explain something to you, fool.

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Yes, you. I am talking to you, do not deny this any longer.

I am the one who goes into space. It is me. It is likely that you are not familiar with the demands of my profession, so I will construct for you a quick lesson.

We live on the earth. It is round and stinky and full of bugs.

Above the earth is the sky, where great winged beasts build houses out of small dogs they stole from suburban back yards, and where God’s little feet rest when they are being tired.

Are you following me so far?

Above this sky, is a place where titans play games. A place where big honchos like me go to score some space meat, where throbbing rockets dance across the primordial plane and fondle the genitalia of constellations that small, small children like you have stared at your whole lives. A place where fleshbags like me become gods.

Constellations
This is the place where I do my bidding. The stars are my home, my lovers, my friends. And you? You stay stuck to a wall, slurping little bugs, little rodents, as they pass across your vile paper visage.

This locale is known as “Space”, you ignorant dog, and it is well above the confines of the meager sky. I go here while you sit sucking on your little thumb. I go here while Elon Musk strokes his rigid dome into a stock photo of the Martian moons. I go here while all the world lays sleeping, dreaming of being as radiant as me.

I am The One Who Dares Explore The Unknown. I am bound by no limits of the sky and its beasts, its doghouses, its godly feet. I am an Astronaut, you fell swine, and I demand respect. I am the mother of science, the very teat upon which the rest of the human race suckles. I am the hope for the future, the divine, the inimitable ‘Naut (this is what my friends call me) who holds, in his hands, the ability to shape the fate of all time and space. I am a god among men, and you, you are just a stupid poster.

So the next time you dare tell me the sky is the limit, just remember that when you look up at the stars I will be staring down at you. I will collect all the spit into a ball between my teeth and drench you with my mouth juice from so very far away. It will take a long time to get there. It may not all be intact. It may be frozen from the vacuum of space. But I will drench you, and upon this wettening, you will know that you have caused me extreme offense.