i am texting from the faculty lounge and i am looking at the Change Jar in front of me and it appears as empty as my third marriage was. I know it is not a Jar but a coffee cup featuring our school mascot the one that we are trying to get rid of the &ldquo;so called &rdquo; &ldquo;Rocket Rabbit&rdquo;. as you&rsquo;ll recall we decided at the faculty meeting that the Rocket Rabbit was inappropriate because he does not consent to the rocket nowhere in the image does he say &ldquo;I AM THE ROCKET RABBIT I CONSENT TO THE ROCKET&rdquo;. someone else also brought up that the Rocket Rabbit is actually riding the Space Shuttle Columbia which blew up in 1981. but we decided that Rocket Rabbit could killl himself as long as the image showed him clearly signing a notarized consent form in a country where euthanasia is legal. when we considered a new mascot Juan proposed Charles Manson the founder of our ITT Technical High School. Charles Manson was one of the first technologists in Peoria and built the first computer powered by top hats in 1901. we&rsquo;ve been telling our students for years to pay attention to top hats nobody was talking about them but w hoever unlocked them would be the next Bill Gates. we were so convinced Charles Manson should be our new mascot that we renamed the school into Charles Manson High School right on the spot. we passed the changes unanimously but then the Budget Chairman stood out of his fine leather chair. &ldquo;We only have one bag of gold coins&rdquo; he said dropping a sack of gold coins onto the table while adjusting his monocle. &ldquo;We need two bags of gold coins for the costs associated with switching mascots.&rdquo; Of course we worked at a cash strapped public school because we believed in the mission that one of the kids would get rich and buy us a house. so we decided to eliminate the textbook budget, and fill in the rest of the gap with a faculty Change Jar. BUT SOMEONE JUST TOOK EVERY RED CENT OUT OF THAT CHANGE JAR (COFFEE CUP) AND HA S NOW ROBBED OUR CHILDREN OF CHARLES MANSON. there was $20.21 in thatJar or about 40% of our annual public school teacher&rsquo;s salary. so i hope whatever the thief bought with the stloen money was worth our children&rsquo;s future. Charles Manson is up in heaven right thinking of magnificent ways to use top hats while you corrupt his his legacy . i googled Charles Manson the other day and it said he lived in California for a while but i didnt finish the article because my fourth wife needed me to cosign her self assisted suicide forms and i also just hate reading beacuse i just like to watch the Harry Potter movie.&nbsp;

i am texting from the faculty lounge and i am looking at the Change Jar in front of me and it appear...

Change Jar

<div class="text">
My friend Josh, hoo boy. That guy&rsquo;s into some really fucked up stuff. Just look at him. Greasy hair. Smooth, shiny hands, no doubt worn smooth by countless hours spent whacking his mole. It&rsquo;s so disgusting, the image fills my head all hours of the day. After I kiss my adopted kids goodnight and sleep in my immaculately made twin bed across the room from my wife, I just keep imagining what disgusting porn he&rsquo;s watching at that moment. Ugh, it makes me so mad, I just want to tell him to knock it off.
Sometimes I turn over and ask my wife, &ldquo;what do you think Josh is doing right now?&rdquo; She never responds anymore. I try again. &ldquo;Do you think he&rsquo;s jacking off?&rdquo; Still no response. What a bitch. Sometimes she tries to do sex with me, but then I start thinking about Josh and I instantly go flaccid. What would he say if he saw me right now? He&rsquo;d probably start yanking his bacon! I can&rsquo;t get it on with that image in my head.
Sometimes when I see him on the street, I get the overwhelming urge to just lay into him. I wanna go &ldquo;what the hell did you touch yourself to last night, pervert?&rdquo; And then he&rsquo;d probably start describing it to me as well, maybe even showing me. Ew, what the fuck.
He&rsquo;s not even my friend, I just tell him that so I can get closer to him and learn all of his computer passwords. I&rsquo;m breaking into his house, find his home computer, and I&rsquo;m in. As I search I start to retch. Texts with multiple women, including what appears to be his girlfriend and his grandmother. I&rsquo;m bent over on the floor, hacking into the carpet like a dog that ate too much chocolate bars. That sick fuck.
Suddenly, a voice comes from behind me. &ldquo;Hey man, what&rsquo;re you doing in my house?&rdquo; It&rsquo;s him! It&rsquo;s all hitting me at once now. The images of Josh sitting in his swivel chair, touching himself, finishing all over the desk, the keyboard, and the mouse I now hold with my very hand. I writhe, retching uncontrollably at the horrible scene. My vision goes dark, and my expiring brain uses its last second of life to spit out one last mental image &ndash; a high-definition image of Josh&rsquo;s erect penis as I imagine it to be (never having seen it) to haunt me for eternity.
</div>


My friend Josh, hoo boy. That guy’s into some really fucked up stuff. Just look at him. Greasy hai...

Pervert Alert: My Friend Josh

Dear President,
My name is Bradley and I am 8. I&rsquo;m from Ohio and my mom won&rsquo;t let me play on the computer. Will you come and tell her to let me play on the computer? I want to really badly. There is a game where you jump that is looking very fun to me.
Also I want to sleep over at my friend Corey&rsquo;s house but my mom said no and you have to tell her to say yes. Corey&rsquo;s mom does bad things but she buys Lunchables that I want to eat. And Corey has an Xbox! His mom does really bad things.
I&rsquo;m going to visit my grandpa next weekend.
Love,
Bradley
P.S. I am going to be a Navy SEAL with a gun. Love Bradley.
&mdash;
Dear Bradley,
I&rsquo;m glad you wrote me such a wonderful letter. It&rsquo;s clear that you are a thoughtful and bright young man.
I suppose you are young, and this may seem odd, but normally, the President of the United States does not get involved in matters like this. But this is no normal circumstance. Bradley as soon as you receive this letter I need you to pick up the phone and call 911. Tell them to send an ambulance to your home address. Now I hope no one gets hurt, but I cannot fully guarantee your mother&rsquo;s safety.
I&rsquo;m familiar with the game Jumping Jeremy. It is a very fun game. I have also slept over at Corey&rsquo;s house and it is very fun. You are correct about him having an Xbox. Within 24 hours I will be at your home. Your mother and I will have a discussion, and like I said there is a solid chance she will be gravely injured.
Bradley, I&rsquo;m going to kill your mother. You need to go down into the basement and wait until it&rsquo;s over. It may seem overboard to bring SEAL Team 6, which is why I&rsquo;m not bringing them. Just me and my bodyguards.
Being the president is a complicated and, frankly, stressful job. But it&rsquo;s letters from children like you that give me hope and remind me why I chose to sit in the Oval Office in the first place. I hope you have a wonderful time at your grandfather&rsquo;s house!
Sincerely,
The President

Dear President,
My name is Bradley and I am 8. I’m from Ohio and my mom won’t let me play on the co...

Dear President

No, I’m not a flat earther—nothing of the sort. Rather, I believe the Earth is made out of pizza. I think the green grass is cheese, the oceans are oil and sauce, and that the Earth’s crust is also an extra part of the pizza loaded with more cheese than usual. I haven’t figured out what the pizza crust is, but I think it’s asteroids.

Pizza earthers and flat earthers are similar in the sense that we both think the Earth is flat—its just that they think the Earth is the Earth, and I think the Earth is pizza. Take Europe, for example. Flat earthers think it is a giant mass of land, whereas I think it is a giant mass of pizza. My house in the suburbs of Boston is also made out of pizza, and pepperoni slices for the roof.

Scientists might look around, and say, “this isn’t pizza, this is a pile of bricks,” every time you try to convince them that a pile of bricks is pizza. But at the end of the day, who gets to decide what a pile of bricks is? The guy who owns them, and guess what, you’re looking at him.

This doesn’t mean that I think people are pizza too. Only some people: Egyptians, Koreans, and Canadians. All other races/ethnicities are likely some combination of breadsticks, spaghetti, or garlic bread.

Now, this might all sound like nonsense to you, but let me explain how I figured it out. About a week ago, I decided to make my wife her favorite meal: homemade pizza. I left work a little early to buy the ingredients: bread, sauce, pepperonies, peppers, and of course, the cheese. When I got home, I began by dicing up the cheese and layering it over the bread—but something was wrong: a strange sound was coming from my room. I went upstairs to see what I could find, and when I opened the door, there it was: my wife having sex with another man. After that, I swallowed a bottle of pills, and when I woke up I believed in the pizza earth theory.

I can’t remember what my wife looks like.

No, I’m not a flat earther—nothing of the sort...

Pizza Earther

Marco Polo travelled the world trading spices, documenting his experiences.
Today, I entered the city of Kashgar. Rumors preceded the fantastic spice shops that littered the streets, and my taste buds danced in anticipation. What new mysteries might my tongue uncover? Without hesitation, I approached a vendor. He handed me a small jar, and I removed a flake and placed it in my mouth. &ldquo;Yucky spicy,&rdquo; I said, impressed by what I&rsquo;d just tasted. &ldquo;Too hot, ouch! No like,&rdquo; I remarked. If this is was merely the first stop on my tour of Kashgarian spices, I was in for a marvelous adventure.
I proceeded to the next booth, and was handed an interesting green flake. Excitedly, I consumed it. &ldquo;Ow ow owwww. Milk. Need milk!!! Eww. I miss my mom. I need my mom. I love my dad too but I miss my mom right now.&rdquo; Unbelievable. Simply exquisite. I never dreamed that I would stumble into spice heaven.
But there was still one more spice I had to try. The rare Malagashi Pepper. This was the only place in the world I could acquire it. A small, nondescript booth on the outskirts of town gave me what I needed. &ldquo;Gross. This is so gross.&rdquo; The vendor looked at me with an inquisitive smile. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s not even hot it just tastes like shit.&rdquo; I was so excited I could scarcely contain it. &ldquo;My cousin is a garbage truck man with long hair. Do you play Yu-Gi-Oh? I have a cell phone.&rdquo;&nbsp;
While my stay in Kashgar was pleasant, it is time to move on. Still ahead is Lanzhou, and many more cities before I lay my weary head to rest.

Marco Polo travelled the world trading spices, documenting his experiences.
Today, I entered the ci...

Marco Polo

Most people move to Hogtown for the good public schools.&nbsp; They either come for that or Larry the 2,000 pound hog.&nbsp; We&rsquo;re rated fifth in the country for standardized test scores and third in the country for hog to square foot ratio.&nbsp; If we can get Larry to expand just a couple more inches though, we may be able to beat our rival Wilmington, who&rsquo;s currently ranked at number two.&nbsp; None of their hogs have anything on Larry, but they do have more than one hog.&nbsp; In fact they have several.
Hogtown used to be a hub for illiterate kids and also crime.&nbsp; Then Mayor Gibson moved to town and with him law and order in the form of five literate teachers and one glorious hog. &nbsp;Unfortunately the hog that Gibson brought named Susie died shortly after her arrival.&nbsp; The people of Hogtown agreed not to upset Mayor Gibson so they swapped out Susie with Larry after she died.&nbsp; Fortunately Gibson didn&rsquo;t notice because Larry was only 300 pounds bigger at the time.&nbsp; That quickly changed.
I think what I love most about the new and improved Hogtown is that everyone comes together to support one another.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s the beauty of living in a small town with a big hog.&nbsp; When your neighbor gets sick, you bring over a bowl of soup, and when your resident hog gets sick, all the schools shut down and everyone in town comes together to pray.&nbsp; I have very fond memories of hog days as a kid - getting a call in the morning and hearing that school was canceled because of some hog-related emergency.
This morning I got that magic call: Today is a hog day.&nbsp; All of town rushes to get Larry performance-ready for the big match against Wilmington.&nbsp; We hold our breath in anticipation, waiting for the referee to measure.&nbsp; When defeat is announced yet again, we cry and console each other.&nbsp; Turns out Wilmington had just birthed five more hogs this dawn.&nbsp; Right under the wire.&nbsp; Goddamn them.

Most people move to Hogtown for the good public schools.  They either come for that or Larry the 2,0...

Hogtown

&ndash; What?
&ndash; There&rsquo;s no more cans of gazpacho in our cupboard. The hell am I supposed to eat?
&ndash; I don&rsquo;t know. I&rsquo;m not in charge of all the shopping in this house.
&ndash; Yeah, alright.
&ndash; Alright then.
&ndash; Alright.
&ndash; Alright.
&ndash; I could use some gazpacho though if you&rsquo;re going to the store again soon.
&ndash; I&rsquo;m not.
&ndash; Alright.
&ndash; Alright.

– What?
– There’s no more cans of gazpacho in our cupboard. The hell am I supposed to eat?
– I don...

There’s No More Gazpacho In The Cupboard

Q: A man and his son get into a car accident. The father is killed, while the son is rushed to the hospital for emergency surgery. When he arrives, the doctor says &ldquo;I cannot operate on this boy! I do not belong in a hospital. I&rsquo;ve never even been to medical school&mdash;this whole thing is a prank that got out of control. See, my buddy Daryll was getting his appendix out and I thought it would be funny to dress up as a doctor and say like &lsquo;The ball removal operation was a success&rsquo; when he woke up, to freak him out and stuff. So there I am in scrubs at his bedside trying to shake him awake, when this orderly comes in and says something about I&rsquo;m late to my surgery and what the hell am I doing. So I think, fine, why not go check it out, but it turns out I have to do the surgery so I&rsquo;m standing there while this orderly is yelling at me about gangrenous kidneys and I&rsquo;m just trying to remember where the kidneys are (in the front?) but eventually I think, you know what? Maybe I&rsquo;ll be a natural at it, like how mothers can lift cars off their kids if they love them enough. So I say yes of course, where&rsquo;s my scalpel, and the orderly says don&rsquo;t I have to wash my hands and get gloves first, and I say oh yeah that&rsquo;s right. So I do all that, get my scalpel, make a little cut where I think the kidneys are, and you know? Completely wrong. The patient bleeds out pretty much instantly. Everyone&rsquo;s mad at me, and I&rsquo;m kicking myself because it would&rsquo;ve been awesome to realize surgery&rsquo;s my hidden talent but here I am taking a life for the first time. But the family is oddly calm about the whole thing&mdash;turns out what the patient really wanted was to have a doctor-assisted suicide, and I was a kind man for letting them have their final wish. So then I get called into the boss&rsquo; office, and I&rsquo;m thinking the jig is up. Instead she shakes my hand.
&nbsp;
&lsquo;Nice work in there,&rsquo; she says. &lsquo;Not a lot of doctors would be brave enough to do what you did.&rsquo;
&lsquo;Just doing my best,&rsquo; I say, hoping in the back of my mind that Daryll&rsquo;s still knocked out because I still want to prank the sucker.
&lsquo;So,&rsquo; she says, &lsquo;how&rsquo;d you like a promotion to head of surgery?&rsquo;
&nbsp;
And, well, I don&rsquo;t know anything about being a doctor but I know enough to know the insurance is good, so I say yes. From there it&rsquo;s a whirlwind of surgeries, some more successful than others&mdash;they all died, of course, but the families had different levels of acceptance re death. But the guilt&rsquo;s eating me up, and I just wanna come clean. I&rsquo;m not Doctor Medicine, world-famous surgeon. I&rsquo;m Bobby Howard, college student and part-time bassist. I think Doctor Medicine was the name on the costume&rsquo;s name tag. Anyway I&rsquo;m so sorry, but I can&rsquo;t do this surgery.&rdquo; How can this be?
 A: The father crashed his car because he was drunk driving.

Q: A man and his son get into a car accident. The father is killed, while the son is rushed to the h...

Riddle

There were never any parties where I grew up. Believe me&mdash;I asked everybody. For my eighteenth birthday, my dad got me a pair of binoculars so I could finally see what was going on in the next town over. My twin sister got a car because she loved going on five-hour joyrides on Friday nights. I get it; there&rsquo;s not much to do in this boring town. I used to climb to the top of the water tower just to see what I was missing out on: the kids from the next town standing on their water tower using binoculars to look back at me but obviously having way more fun doing it than I am.&nbsp;
That&rsquo;s when I decided to become a police officer. Those guys had radio stations dedicated to the gossip. Wouldn&rsquo;t you know, that&rsquo;s actually why every other cop I&rsquo;ve met decided to become one, too. Makes sense they were all on board when I presented my proposal: Confess a crime? No problem. We won&rsquo;t tell anyone. We just want to know what&rsquo;s going on around town.
It was great at first. Drunk drivers. Prostitutes. Underage drunk drivers. More-illegal prostitutes. But then people started confessing crimes that they wouldn&rsquo;t follow through on. Imagine this. You and all your friends, fresh out of the police academy, climb the water tower and assume the watching position just to find that Tom isn&rsquo;t killing his wife tonight. Come on, Tom.
The first time it happened we just gave the guy a warning. But then this guy Teddy told us he was about to go on a mass killing spree. So of course we pull out all the stops. Pillows, snacks, handcuffs for champagne and shackles&mdash;make it a social event, you know? Teddy must have made a bad decision at the last second because I didn&rsquo;t see anybody get slaughtered like I was promised.&nbsp;
The next day, we bring Teddy into the station. He admits he had a change of heart, that he&rsquo;d started on a better path and even got sober. It&rsquo;s been a day, Teddy! Anybody can be sober for a day if the day started fifteen minutes ago, Teddy! Anybody can be sober for fifteen minutes if the fifteen minutes started five minutes ago, Teddy! Some people. Anyway, we&rsquo;re gonna recommend life in prison for the guy. Don&rsquo;t fuck with Larchmont PD. We look after one another. That&rsquo;s all we got.&nbsp;

There were never any parties where I grew up. Believe me—I asked everybody. For my eighteenth birthd...

FOMO Cop

American wiretaps recorded various conversations among the residents of Hiroshima in the hours just before the bombing.
“This is the best moment ever. I would hate to die at this very moment.”
“Thank god there are no mushroom-shaped clouds in the sky. Mushroom is my least favorite shape!”
“Hiroshima is a beautiful place. I am so happy it will be in this exact spot forever.”
“I need just one more day, and I’ll have perfected my immortality serum!”
“We’re having twins? Wow, how life can change in an instant!”
“I’ve been thinking about it, and— those Americans are actually kinda alright.”
“My son! Four years fighting and you’re finally home safe!”
“You know what? I need a vacation. I’m gonna spend the next week in Nagasaki.”

American wiretaps recorded various conversations among the residents of Hiroshima...

Moments Before Impact

Lieutenant Gumbo has been on the force for nearly a decade - that&rsquo;s ten years, to our viewers at home. He&rsquo;s the best the police departments got, solving cases that no one else can solve in his one-man police department, using his signature Cajun charm to disarm even the most cautious suspect while his keen mind and great poise does the rest. All that has led up to this moment &ndash; the solution to his greatest case.
As the evening wind swirls around his face, and his mouth swirls around a jelly donut, Lieutenant Gumbo points his finger at the Great Santini, the famous stage magician.
&ldquo;You thought you&rsquo;d gotten away with the perfect crime, Mr. Santini, but I&rsquo;ve got one last question &ndash; how could a gator have eaten her after a boating accident at the same time as she was calling her mother to tell her about the life insurance policy you had just placed on her?&rdquo;
&ldquo;You&rsquo;re crazy, Lieutenant. This is insane!&rdquo;
The only thing the Lieutenant was crazy about was his wife&rsquo;s crawdad &eacute;touff&eacute;e and all those damn voices in his head&hellip;
&ldquo;Mr. Santini, drop the act. I found this at the crime scene.&rdquo;
Gumbo holds up a single gator tooth.
&ldquo;What&rsquo;s your point, lieutenant? That tooth just proves that it must have been a gator that ate her.&rdquo;
&ldquo;I found this tooth in your desk, Mr. Santini.&rdquo;&nbsp;
A hush falls over the nondescript wetland area the two men are standing in. Suddenly, CIA agents burst out of the mangrove trees surrounding them and cart away the fiendish villain. For a case that&rsquo;s had as many twists as this one, you may think the surprises are done. Almost.
Lieutenant Gumbo&rsquo;s stomach begins to growl&ndash;swamp work always makes him extra hungry&ndash; so he pulls out his phone and hails an Uber home. When he sees the name of the driver, his brow furrows. The app says that his driver is ET. He clicks the icon to see the driver&rsquo;s photo, and sure enough, clear as day, it&rsquo;s ET, the alien from the Steven Spielberg film ET.
&ldquo;What the hell is this thing? It looks like a raisin.&rdquo;
At that moment, an Uber slowly slides up to Lieutenant Gumbo, and ET rolls down the window. The alien says &ldquo;hop in&rdquo;, but ET can only speak in his own language, so it sounds more like &ldquo;blagdaddlyborp&rdquo;.

Lieutenant Gumbo has been on the force for nearly a decade - that’s ten years, to our viewers at hom...

Lieutenant Gumbo

Patricia: Hello everyone and welcome to Delta Airlines Flight 460 to Las Vegas. My name is Patricia and I&rsquo;ll be your head stewardess toda&mdash;
Josh: Hey everyone! The name&rsquo;s Josh. Undercover US Air Marshal.&nbsp;
Patricia: Sir, you don&rsquo;t need to introduce yourself.
Josh: Just wanted everyone to know you&rsquo;re all safe. Undercover US Air Marshal Josh here is on the case.
Patricia: Doesn&rsquo;t announcing that you&rsquo;re undercover kind of defeat the point?
Josh: Well we at the Undercover US Marshal Josh headquarters believe in transparency.&nbsp;
Patricia: Okay, sir, you need to sit down. And again, no one needs to introduce themselves. As I was saying, I&rsquo;m Patricia&mdash;
Josh: Hey everyone! Undercover US Air Marsh&mdash;ooooo fuck I did it again.&nbsp;
Karen: Hi! I&rsquo;m Karen.&nbsp;
All passengers: (in unison) Hi, Karen.
Josh: Hello, Karen. Thank you for sharing.&nbsp;
Karen: Wow, I feel so much better.&nbsp;
Larry: Larry!
All passengers: (in unison) Hi, Larry.
Patricia: STOP INTRODUCING YOURSELVES!
Josh: Everyone has their own journey, Patricia. We at the Undercover US Marshal Josh headquarters know that.
Patricia: You can&rsquo;t all be named Josh.
Josh: Haha, of course not. It&rsquo;s our Undercover US Marshal name. Protects our identity.&nbsp;
Patricia: Okay that makes a bit more sen&mdash;
Josh: The real name&rsquo;s Kevin!

Patricia: Hello everyone and welcome to Delta Airlines Flight 460 to Las Vegas. My name is Patricia ...

Larry takes a trip on Delta Airlines Flight 460 to Las Vegas

The Lampoon's Spring 2026 parody of the Harvard Crimson

Spring ’26

Crimson Parody

When Billy was about five years old, his parents informed his teacher that his reading comprehension was just fine and he was keeping up well with the rest of the class, but he might be struggling a bit with seeing the bright side of things. Billy’s teacher had noticed that he was much more wary than other children and would always over-fill his glasses of milk, cautious of letting them rest at half full. So, his parents decided to send him to the internationally renowned local optometrist and run some tests.

“Just go ahead and cover your left eye and read out that line of letters for me.”

“A... Q... Z... P... U... R... attempting to put a bandaid on a bullet hole.”

“Okay, right eye please.”

The doctor diagnosed Billy with a case of short-sighted pessimism. He was fitted with a pair of -2.00 prescription rose-colored glasses for his optimism and a pair of blue-light glasses for when he wanted to stay up late at night watching TV.

After that, Billy’s outlook on life changed for the better. When Billy got a D in school, he figured that if you add a colon to the left it makes a smiley face, and a smiley face for a grade couldn’t be all that bad! The exam was on identifying the issues with American Imperialism. When Billy’s soccer team lost their match 2-27, he remarked to his teammates that at least all the pretty girls had come to watch them play, and when his teammates beat him up for embarrassing them, he commented on how his bruises would go just swell with the pinkish hue of everything else in the world.

Billy was living a beautiful life in blissful ignorance. There was just one problem.

Every night before bed, Billy would take off his glasses, and everything would go neutral. He would scream in agony and fear over the state of the world, crying himself to sleep until he woke up the next day and popped those bad boys back on. Those eight and a half hours were petrifying, and his parents had no idea what to do. So, they took him back to the optometrist.

This time, Billy was given LASIK surgery with rose-colored lenses. And all was swell again, only now Billy had the opposite problem. With his rose-colored lens on twenty-four-seven, he was just too darn excited about the “possibilities of tomorrow” that he wasn’t able to fall asleep. He would stay up all night, laughing about how the world looked like God had left a red sock in the wash.

Due to the lack of sleep, Billy struggled a lot with paying attention in school. His teacher recommended he see a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist supplied Billy with adderall, and after that, well, Billy was just fine.

Rose Colored Glasses

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How I Escaped by the Skin of my Teeth From Prison

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Interview With Bear Grylls

I am wolf. Not big, also not that bad. Growing up wolf, life is tough. My momma and papa are rug now in rich guy’s house. My sisters and brothers in Brooklyn Zoo.

When I am small, big foreign Hollywood producer barge into den. “I need actor. Play big bad villain. Many movies.” My parents already rug, so I say, “No, go to other den.” He shoot me with tranquilizer.

I wake up on set. 6 a.m. First day, they tell me to blow down three houses. I’m like, what I look like? Whale? I cannot blow. Then they want me to eat three pigs. These pigs pretty smart, know what is gonna happen. Start running around set, knocking stuff down. I give them good chase. More tranquilizers, “Bam bam bam.”

Six months later, movie is done and I am big star now. Go to Oscars and lose. Director give me some whiskey. I like. I like a lot. Have to meet with douchebag PR agent who has big vision for rebrand. I audition for lead role in Fantastic Mr. Fox and get part. But social media say, “Only fox can play fox.” I tell director, “I have lot of range. Wolf who hug. Wolf who cry.” He laugh right in my face.

Next movie, when I see I have to eat Grandma, I try to walk off set. Director tell me Grandma is volunteer who ready to pull plug and that I will get some whiskey, so I say ok. Just when I do the deed and think movie is over, some big muscular actor barge onto set and try to cut my stomach open. He think he gonna be big hero and rescue Grandma. I try to resist, but the whiskey has made me fat. When they try to get Grandma out, she is just bones. I’m like, what you expect to happen?

Next thing I know, movie come out and it is very so-so. Out of nowhere agent call me and say “You fired.” At first, I’m like hee hee, very funny. But then they give me whole spiel about how nobody need wolf anymore. Everyone want Adam Sandler instead.

When I get call for Jack London’s Call of the Wild, I very happy. Finally, drama role made for wolf. On set, I prepare for big fancy monologue where I reject domestication and rediscover my true nature, when director come up and tell me, “We cut that. You mostly fetch stick.”

I get so mad I actually go wild. I bite director. Not hard bite, but director is French and very dramatic. Somehow this become international incident and I am banned from seventeen country.

Now I only act in commercial for pill that fix erectile dysfunction, which I get from whiskey. Life is not good.

Autobiography

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Integrity of RMS Titanic seems somewhat dubious...

Final Notes On Pre-Launch Structural Integrity

<ul>
 <li>Anyone who says Disneyland is the happiest place on earth has never been on the set of Masterchef Jr.</li>
 <li>The competition are all under 14 years old</li>
 <li>Kids under 14 years old are as mentally and physically weak as you’d expect</li>
 <li>You’re automatically the coolest guy in the room if you’re not a loser ten year old who likes to cook</li>
 <li>Gordon Ramsay doesn’t look a day over 70</li>
 <li>None of your opponents have the cognitive skills to defend themselves against rampant verbal abuse</li>
 <li>None of your opponents have the motor skills to defend themselves against stealthy physical attacks</li>
 <li>“Pussy-ass bitch” is inappropriate language for national television</li>
 <li>Masterchef Jr. is not broadcast nationally</li>
 <li>“Pussy-ass bitch” is inappropriate language for children who are pussy-ass bitches</li>
 <li>About half of the contestants are pre-diabetic</li>
 <li>The other half are actual-diabetic</li>
 <li>There’s food everywhere and you can eat any of it at any time if you’re high enough</li>
 <li>The on set safety team takes its job way too seriously</li>
 <li>The on set safety team believes blood in the food to be a safety hazard</li>
 <li>You can curse out children on a show hosted by Gordon Ramsay and no one will notice</li>
 <li>Cooking sure is harder than it looks!</li>
</ul>

Anyone who says Disneyland is the happiest place on earth has never been...

What I Learned On The Set of MasterChef Jr.

Ask For Words From the Audience 
But only accept words relating to the Dust Bowl or infamous American celebrity criminal trials because you’ve gotten really good at doing those sorts of scenes.

Reject Bad Ideas 
Say “No, actually” if someone starts the scene wrong or just scream “NOOOOO” if the scene has gotten really bad.

Take the Scene in New Directions 
If you make a really controversial statement about global affairs, then the scene literally has to incorporate that now. Because if they drop it then it’s like the improv troupe is endorsing that statement.

Have a Few Back Pocket Tropes 
The ones to pull out if you can’t come up with anything. Sexy fireman. Innocent schoolgirl. Dust Bowl era farmer. O.J. Simpson jury member.

Have a Few Back Pocket Phrases 
“Boy it sure is a dusty day out,” or “Look, the glove doesn’t even fit him!”

Your Favorite Guy in the Improv Troupe 
Man, this guy rocks! Make sure to pull him up for every scene and throw him off with a sexual opening line to see what he’ll do. If you end up making out on stage, it’s not a crime.

Your Least Favorite Guy in the Improv Troupe 
Man, this guy sucks. And he clearly has no grasp on the mechanics of the O.J. trial. Shut down all of his scenes by saying “You are blind and deaf and mute and totally paralyzed” so he literally can’t do anything.

Know When to End a Scene 
If both your characters shot each other and are now dead, you can end the scene.

Know When to Keep a Scene Going 
If both your characters have not yet shot each other, you have to keep going. Scenes only end when both characters have been shot.

Tips for Succeeding in Improv

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

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

White Boy Wisdoms

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

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

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

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

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

Jump, a voice echoed.

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

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

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

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

Little Walter hesitated.

What are you waiting for?

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

Jesus Christ.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a pause.

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

Again, no reply.

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

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

“You got snacks down there?”

Oh my –

“I like twizzlers. You got twizzlers?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah. Correct.

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

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

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

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

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

Screaming Into The Void

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

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

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

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

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

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

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