In 2020 democratic propaganda and lesbian witchcraft made enormous advances. As our formerly great citizens drink the kool aid of our reptilian overlords, and apply the $600 foot cream of our Paltrowian overlords, civilization continues to crumble. Here's a rundown of the things we lost.
In 2020 democratic propaganda and lesbian witchcraft made enormous advances. As our formerly great citizens drink the kool aid of our reptilian overlords, and apply the $600 foot cream of our Paltrowian overlords, civilization continues to crumble. Here's a rundown of the things we lost.
In celebration of their most profitable national crisis thus far, CEO of Amazon Jeff Bezos announced today that the company would be moving forward with their plans to construct a 3,000 foot pyramid in the center of Seattle, Washington. Bezos, who is now requesting to be referred to as “King Tech-ankamun”, followed up this announcement with a detailed outline of the construction process.
“These past few months have taken a serious toll on worker morale,” quote Bezos, “We’ve seen reports that nearly 75% of our workforce are experiencing burnout, a sizable increase from last years 74.” “They’ve done enough, and now it’s time for us to deliver. That’s why each and every warehouse worker that lends a hand on the construction of this great pyramid will be guaranteed a cushy spot in the afterlife. How’s that for a severance package?”
Amazon Warehouse Worker Bill, who pleaded his name not be disclosed, was one of thousands of Amazon employees who received the call to action. “I opened my mailbox this morning and was shocked to see this [motions to a scroll of papyrus, holds it up before unraveling it] It says ‘You’ve been designated by the hand of the god king to serve his divine purpose.’ And then something about the NDO I signed when I became an Amazon employee and some ‘act-of-god clause’ or whatever. I just hope it comes with more bathroom breaks. I’m running out of water bottles” Bill and his coworkers will make the great pilgrimage to Seattle, at which point they will be herded into camps and work hard labor, day and night. Quote Bill, ‘eh, we’re used to it’.
In his closing statements, Bezos gave one last nod to the fortitude of his employees. “At Amazon, we’re family. And what does family do? Stick together. And they don’t unionize! Anyway, that’s why once construction of the pyramid is complete, we will be sealing off the entrances with each and every worker still inside. They’ll be ushered by anaerobic alexa bots to their resting chambers, where they will be surrounded by treasures that will serve them well in the afterlife: stacks and stacks of Kindles. Paperwhite, Fire, you name it, it’ll be there. And that’s the truest gift of all, the gift of knowledge.”
SCENE: A dimly lit interrogation room. A moth flutters against a buzzing, flickering fluorescent light.
The doors opens abruptly. A middle aged female detective walks in. She is chewing tobacco.
DETECTIVE WALLACE: Alright sir, I’m Detective Wallace. I’ve been told we have a case of a missing bicycle.
GUY (uncomfortable): Yeah, I guess. I’ve never made a police report, I didn’t know it was such a big deal.
DETECTIVE WALLACE (gravely): We take things very seriously here son. Stolen property is nothing to laugh about.
GUY (clearing throat): No, yeah, of course.
DETECTIVE WALLACE: Now, son, when was your bike... stolen?
GUY: Well, I usually bike to work and it wasn’t there this morning, so I guess overnight.
DETECTIVE WALLACE: And what kind of bike was it?
GUY: A baby blue Schwinn bicycle, ma’am.
DETECTIVE WALLACE: You lock up your bike, son? Take good care of her? Avoid potholes? Fill her tires up with air?
GUY: Um, well, I definitely locked it.
DETECTIVE WALLACE (scoffs): Right. So how’s your home life, Mister... (leafing through files) Mister Sullivan?
SULLIVAN: Um, it’s fine. I broke up with my girlfriend recently, I guess, but other than that it’s normal.
DETECTIVE WALLACE (scribbles down a note): No girlfriend, huh. (scribbles more, then looks up) You a sicko, Sullivan?
SULLIVAN: What?
DETECTIVE WALLACE: A sicko. You know, a pervert! A guy that gets his rocks off unsavory things, a man with an unusual sexual appetite. Are you that man, Sullivan?
SULLIVAN: No, but how is this related —
DETECTIVE WALLACE: Damn it, Sullivan, be honest with me! You‘re obviously single after all, a very pathetic looking man, who’s come into a police station on a weekday afternoon over a petty grievance! You’re clearly not normal! Now be honest with me Sullivan, do you watch porn?
SULLIVAN: (eyes darting, uncomfortable silence)
DETECTIVE WALLACE: Hey, come on, we’re both guys.
SULLIVAN: No we’re not.
WALLACE (frustrated): No, like, I’m one of the guys. Look, you ever go to that ah... X HAMSTER DOT COM? No hamsters there, I’ll tell you that much, ehehehe. (quieter) Unless —
WALLACE holds out her pencil like a weapon, brandishing it in SULLIVAN’s face.
WALLACE: Unless you’re a specific type of pervert. Are you picking up what I’m putting down?
SULLIVAN: Yeah... I mean no. I mean yeah to what you’re saying and no to the hamsters.
WALLACE considers SULLIVAN carefully, then leans back in her chair.
WALLACE: Good. So what do you watch?
SULLIVAN: What do you mean?
WALLACE: Come on Sullivan, don’t be coy with me. I’m talking about, ya know... the old Hamster?
SULLIVAN: ….
WALLACE: What do you like, Sullivan? Little sisters? Big sisters? Real estate agents? Oh wait, I know. You like MILFS. Yeah, alright, I see it now. I got your number, Sullivan. I know exactly what kind of sicko you are.
SULLIVAN: Look, I think you have the wrong idea.
WALLACE: Damn it Sullivan, don’t lie to me! You like MILFs, don’t you? You can’t get enough of those rock hard boob jobs, ain’t that right?
SULLIVAN: No, no, you’ve got it all wrong...!
WALLACE stands up, kicking over her chair. She towers over SULLIVAN threateningly.
WALLACE: Come on Sullivan, say it! I love MILFs! I love MILFs! I love MILFs! (Wallace keeps on chanting I LOVE MILFS)
SULLIVAN (crying as WALLACE chants): Fine, okay! It's true! I LOVE MILFs!
SULLIVAN’s sobs begin echoing in unison with WALLACE’s chanting, until the interrogation is filled with a chorus of their cries.
WALLACE & SULLIVAN: I LOVE MILFS! I LOVE MILFS! I LOVE MILFS! I LOVE MILFS!
WALLACE & SULLIVAN’s chorus reaches a climax. WALLACE tires out first, her cries weakening until she is shaking and whispering breathily. SULLIVAN follows suit, until they are panting together in exhausted silence.
The interrogation room is suddenly filled with a new energy. SULLIVAN and WALLACE share a fleeting glance, and then immediately look away.
SULLIVAN straightens his shirt, standing up to leave.
SULLIVAN: This is too weird.
WALLACE: Sullivan, now hold—
The door slams in WALLACE’s face as SULLIVAN strides out. WALLACE follows SULLIVAN to the exit, watching his figure disappear down the block. Furrowing her brow, WALLACE storms back into the station, bursting through doors and traversing through a maze of hallways. Finally, she arrives at a door labelled EVIDENCE ROOM.
Wallace opens the door, revealing a baby blue Schwinn bicycle, leaning against 20 bricks of cocaine and various other confiscated paraphernalia.
The bike shines as if spotlighted. WALLACE gazes at it longingly. A single tear rolls down her cheeks. “I could’ve been your MILF,” she whispers.
It was the first activity with cuts I’d ever tried out for. I knew that I wouldn’t get in, I couldn’t get in, because the middle school glee club was for the best of the best. The beautiful people, who live their beautiful lives and fuck their beautiful wives on their palo alto sea-side tesla garages. I’d be lucky to bag a lunch-lady and a condo in Cleveland. I soaked three pairs of GAP childrens medium chinos with anticipation-pee waiting to hear the cast list. I soaked a dozen more in euphoria-pee when I saw that there was a spot on the list for little old me.
And yet, it was bitter-sweet. Suddenly, the same glee club that seemed so sublime only days earlier wasn’t quite so glamorous. If they were willing to accept an idiot dipshit 6th grader who pisses himself and wears Dino boxers, these people must not be what they seem.
I oozed nervousness like a slimy anxious slug as I crawled up to the choir room, unsure of what to expect. Sure I had my misgivings, but these were still the big leagues, and I was still a loser pee-stained moron. Perhaps this was an elaborate prank, they tell me I’m in the club and then as soon as I arrive they dump a bucket of piss on me and call me “paul peeman” while dancing around and beating me with pool cues. I mean, that’s what I’d do.
At the door I was greeted by glee-club captain Jimmy Tudicks, who gave me a friendly nod and ushered me in, before slapping me an enthusiastic high-five. “You’ll do great here, we loved your audition!” Alyssa Mangina, the leader of the Altos, gestured warmly for me to join up with the rest of the group. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.
By the time the human centipede ass-eating circle rolled around, I was starting to believe that this club wasn’t what I’d hoped it would be. The altos were balls-deep in the sopranos, yet all I could muster up was a limp stick of string cheese. Seeing Jimmy and Alyssa throw their limbs around each other's naked prepubescent bodies and fill the floor with their secretions made me think. Was this really what the first rehearsal was supposed to entail? I retreated under the bleachers, where I could at least be alone with my thoughts and exposed penis.
Gerald Stiegler, who had invited me to hang out at his house next weekend and made me feel like we’d been friends for years, put on the ceremonial gimp suit. Gerald commenced the feast of one thousand cocks and began munching away. Jenny Cunte and Billy Cunte, who only moments ago had said “I was pretty cool for a 6th grader,” locked pelvises and began stomping around the room. This wasn’t right.
I shoved my tiny child penis back into my chinos that had once again been soaked with piss, but this was rage-pee. I had to put a stop to this madness. I charged right into a pile of 7th graders doing a handstand circlejerk and screamed into the chaos.
“What the fuck is wrong with you people?!”
“Yo did someone not tell the new kid about the weekly orgies?” Replied Gerald, pulling a handful of cocks out of his mouth
“No, why are you all treating me so well? I’m a disgusting piece of shit! Are you all just making fun of me??”
Jimmy rang the ceremonial gong and the sex party screeched to a halt.
“Hey dude, you’re part of us now. We saw you, we liked you, and we think you’d make a great contribution to our little harem. C’mon, leave that negative energy in the trash and get up in here!” Jimmy motioned to his crotch. “So you’re saying that you guys think that I’m worthy of your respect, not despite who I am, but because of it?”
“You got it little man” Jimmy gave another one of those warm smiles, the kind that said everythings going to be alright.
. . .
“Yikes, that's a little off putting. I mean, those are your standards? Me? Seriously? Yeah I’m sorry I think I can do better than that. It’s not your fault though you guys are great ok thanks bye!”