Martha Stewart’s Recipe for Disaster
2. Local Fight for Best Haunted House Ends in Horror
3. Cheap Costumes Are Ruining the Fabric of America
4. Tech Bro Engineers ‘Soylent,’ Upholding Time-Honored Tradition of Avoiding
5. Ladies: Don’t Be a Fucking Cunt About Feminism
6. After Drawn-Out Battle, Indian Burial Grounds to Be Awarded Reservation
7. Trending Twitter Hashtag Encourages Outdoor Activity
8. Coincidence of Hurricane Named After Shakespeare Play Lost on Untold Millions
9. New Rapunzel Tell-All: “I Don’t Just Let My Hair Down, I Let Down the People
in My Life”
10. Trump Declares Opioid Addiction A ‘National Crisis’ from Inside President’s
Chinese Opium Den
MISSION VIEJO, CA – Residents of a sleepy Southern California town are shocked when
a seemingly friendly rivalry between local home haunters which ended in
bloodshed on Halloween night. Events came to a head Tuesday night after John
Bailey and Ralph Doolittle took to the streets to settle the outcome for who
won this year’s contest for “Best Overall Haunt.” What appeared to be high-quality
Halloween props turned out to be actual weapons after an argument came to blows
over a miscounted absentee ballot for Best Haunted House. The count was too
close to call, and when a tie-breaker was necessary, Mr Bailey began hurling
insults at Mr Doolittle’s “pathetic” display. What happened next was described
by eye-witnesses as the best live-action Halloween Haunt anyone had seen in
recent memory. Both Bailey and Doolittle were posthumously awarded a tie for “Best
in Gore” for 2017.
Nantucket, MA— A disheveled,
unkempt Nantucket woman was found wandering the streets of her neighborhood on
Saturday after reportedly emerging from what concerned neighbors called a “fuck
fog.” Not having been seen outside for weeks, Gailynn Parks’ sudden
disappearance shocked co-workers, family, and the tight-knit Pocomo neighborhood
she calls home. Known as a socially active single woman, Parks was the owner of
a thriving flower delivery business, and was involved with local charities
including a part time Meals on Wheels driver. In recent months, Ms Parks has
also been heavily invested in Tinder, and would check her phone with increasing
regularity, neighbors said. It became such a problem, work started to suffer as
her constant Tinder usage absorbed her data which left her unable to
communicate with her business.
Last month, Ms Parks failed to show up for her scheduled Meals on Wheels shift,
which concerned her co-workers, who have always known Gailynn to be prompt. “She
just dropped off the face of the planet,” said Roberta Halley, Ms Parks manager
at Meals on Wheels. “Those old folks needed her. And she failed them.” The
flower delivery business also suffered greatly, as inventory went several weeks
without anyone attending to the flower nursery and must be replanted at a great
cost. Ms Parks is unsure if her business can recover, and the recent instability
lost her the only remaining source of income at Meals on Wheels. “It just came
over me,” Ms Parks said, dazed and shocked standing in the ruins of her once flourishing
life. “One minute, I was sexting, and the next… all I could think about was
cock.” Ms Parks ‘fuck fog’ apparently ended when she was finally able to fuck
the shit out of her Tinder date. “I feel free,” she said through sobs.
HOLLYWOOD, CA—Aspiring young actress Pamela Grace is
reportedly crushingly disappointed over the barrage of successful actresses
coming forward with their stories of sexual assault at the hands of Harvey
Weinstein, a powerful Hollywood producer. Ms Grace has expressed dismay at
having her thoroughly planned out skyrocketing journey to stardom turn into a
regular old slog involving lots of hard work, luck, and staggering amounts of
talent. “What am I supposed to do now?” she bemoaned. “I don’t have time to do
it the old-fashioned way!” Indeed, at the time of this writing, Ms Grace had
fallen into a deep depression, and was considering a new career as a secretary.
(Full disclosure: I spent far too much time trying to fit a dead mouse into a round hole by asking people what kind of metaphor these dead mousies could represent. Retroactively deep doesn’t work, kids.)
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my comedy writing classes, it’s this: the broader the topic, the harder it is to write something. Oddly specific gets the juices flowing. In my quest to stuff these dead mice into a metaphor for my life, I meta-realized just now writing this that these dead meeses represent FAR TOO MANY THINGS, which is why I was struggling to find just one metaphor. THEY ARE ALL.
Fuck the turtles. It’s dead mice all the way down, kiddos.
Relationships. Broken dreams. Youth. Ex-boyfriends. My failed modeling career. Ideas I’ve thought of that were fucking genius but ultimately died in the fangs of reality because their wee spines were too flimsy and collapsed due to lack of support/follow-through/crippling fear/whatever. The constant underlying panic knowing I’ll die alone. All of it.
So I am not going to try to couch posting macabre photos I inexplicably took of my cat’s prey into some deep, metaphorical post. I’m not going to pretend to be pithy and deep, because I’m currently in the throes of Shark Week and ain’t no one is getting anything clever done for the next 4 days. Instead, I’m laying it all out there and showing everyone what kind of sick, gallows-humor kinda gal I really am.
(Cute followup story on these mice: Theon Aurelius, my ever-so-thoughtful kitty, knows his mommy is broken and so brought me THREE of these fuckers in one day because mommy was having a particularly rough time talking to herself in the mirror and basically being angry at her own miserable failings as an adult human person, so my sweet empathetic Nightmare on Four Legs massacred this mouse family because he thought mommy needed a little “pick me up” and boy oh boy, was that cute. One of these mice was still warm when I stepped on it. My sweet, sweet little boy.)