After struggling for four seemingly Sisyphean years at an accredited university, Christina Moran, 26, received her long-awaited B.S. in Copy and Paste. “At first, I was so scared. My typing speed was 24 words per minute and I often forgot to save my work, and I thought I’d never make it. But here I am with my snazzy degree, and my parents must be so proud. I love you, Mom and Dad!”
According to Dr. Dave Yew, who works at an accredited university somewhere in Asia, the field of copying and pasting has grown exponentially in the past two decades, and its importance in the ever-changing world that we live in cannot be disputed. “The advent of the laptop has afforded all of us beautiful opportunities to help the world. Back then, we had typewriters. But now, with our cutting-edge technology, we can really help to disseminate important information across the globe by putting into practice the binary computational theory of C.T.R.L.C. and C.T.R.L.V. as well as some abstruse principles of L.O.L. language.”
A beaming Christina adds that “Dr. Yew is the best teacher ever. Seriously, he really cares about teaching. First, whatever he says is right. Second, we can never be smarter than him. And he lets us know that. Isn’t he just brilliant?”
By all accounts, Christina has a long and exciting life ahead of her. Armed with expert knowledge of Microsoft Word and PowerPoint, Christina plans to take the world by storm by any means necessary.
Dr. Yew, who has two PhDs in Copy and Paste, will be teaching a course on the History of Western Art and another on Bertrand Russell’s History of Western Philosophy. Ever indefatigable and brimming with scholarship, he does not plan to retire any time soon.
Saying that he would rather witness a live decapitation than watch two people kiss on screen, twelve-year-old film critic Dustin Huffman lambasted the film industry with an interminable slew of “ew”s.
“I watched Ready Player One and the book was definitely better than the movie, because there were too many kissing scenes in the movie,” he explained. “Ewwwwww.”
In the past few months, Dustin has garnered the attention and respect of scores of cinemaphiles, thus beginning to dominate other venerated critics on Rotten Tomatoes and Roger Ebert. Many accomplished film directors have begun to pay attention to Dustin’s insightful complaints, conceding that any movie that depicts any level of sexual contact between consenting adults is too “ewwwww.”
“I sincerely regret having that beautiful Sicilian woman take her clothes off and kiss Michael Corleone in The Godfather,” lamented Francis Ford Coppola. “It’s been more than forty years since I made that movie, and now all I can think of is ewwwwwwwwww. The film is utterly without redeeming social value because the ew-factor is too high. The Godfather III is even worse because there’s even more kissing, but at least they’re cousins.”
Ironically, however, Dustin’s parent’s found last Monday a massive amount of pornography on Dustin’s computer. “I never thought I’d have to install a firewall or whatever you call that,” said Ariana Huffman, 43. “He was always saying ‘ew’ to everything ranging from broccoli to bestiality, so I thought he’d be naturally repelled by our evolutionary instincts and be voluntarily celibate.”
Reporters attempted to interview Dustin, who declined to comment and explained that he had more important things to do than to deal with our silly questions. He was last seen playing with a fidget toy while blowing someone’s brains out in virtual reality.
Dog-tired from work, my wife and I decided to pamper ourselves at the fancy-looking Hannibal’s Restaurant, the only place in the world where you can legally consume human flesh. Fiasco. We were made to wait half an hour before our pimple-faced waiter handed us a knife, which we used to cut off our own love handles. Needless to say, the service was bad. He should have sliced us up himself.
And then there’s the bleeding. Nothing to stem the bleeding, and they didn’t even make blood pudding, so it was all wasted. We just bled profusely and got all dizzy due to loss of blood pressure and we couldn’t get water to swallow our ibuprofen because they would’ve made us pay for that overpriced Evian shit.
And then there’s our faces. Why would you slice off your customer’s nose before you serve him appetizers? And so I couldn’t smell the rest of my meal. There I was, waiting thirty minutes for a meal that may never come and which I will absolutely never smell. Inexcusable. We had to gouge out our own eyes to finally get the appetizers (again, they should’ve done it for us) and then we were too blind to find where our noses were, so my wife and I ended up lunging at each others’ faces in the dark before our lips met and we finally chewed off each others’ tongues and had a taste of something nice and raw.
That was two hours of our lives and $250.34 we’ll never get back. Overall, a terrible experience. And I don’t know why the waiter is still alive. Steer clear of this place.
Confessing to reporters that she really, definitely gives a flying shit about her professor’s lecture, Ellen Degenerate, 21, insists on pretending not to care anyway. “Girl, that thing about Frege’s sinn und bedeutung was fucking dope,” she allegedly gushed in a secret phone conversation. “And that motherfucking connection between Kantian aesthetics and Romantic poetics as you can fucking see in Caspar David Friederich’s Two Men Contemplating the Motherfucking Moon made me question the meaning of life.”
Though Ms. Degenerate later retracted her statement and promptly criticized the professor for being a “lame-ass turd,” other students in class were quite ebullient. When asked a question about ancient philosophy, Taylor Schmidt, 20, ventured, “Play dough? Is that Soccer Tease’s student? Or Buddha or someone?” Likewise, classmate Judson Beaver, 19, participated vigorously in classroom discussions. “Yo, I feel that, I’m not sure about parties, but whatever they have in Korea, that’s bad.”
In stark contrast to her peers, Ms. Degenerate remained visibly bored throughout the entire lecture and contrived to appear as illiterate as a college student can be. “Fuck this,” she explained in class.
Ms. Degenerate reportedly received a C+ for lack of participation. All of her classmates received A’s.
BLOGOSPHERE—Lacking the joie de vivre to take up meaningful hobbies like sewing and spelunking, a woman visited her husband’s blog ten years after its inception. “I had no idea that Ronald has been writing about me,” Sheryl Sans-Blurb, 47, said after reading an article entitled “Wife Makes Historic First Visit to Husband’s Ten-Year-Old Blog”. “Otherwise, I would have visited his blog a long time ago.”
“I’ve been writing about you for quite some time already,” replied Ronald Dump. “You’re always drinking milk and watching TV beside me while I type about you on my 17-inch laptop.”
Notwithstanding Sans-Blurb’s unforgivable negligence, blogging experts remarked that the visit is a rare event that will go down in blogging history. “It’s almost like some law of nature,” said one WordPress reader. “Spouses seem to be as averse to visiting each other’s blogs as they are to discussing the intellectually stimulating intricacies of tax law. They never do it.”
Unbeknownst to Dump, Sans-Blurb noted that she will never again visit his blog. She opts instead to continue to do whatever she’s been doing for the past ten years of her life, because it is just that much more interesting.
BLOGOSPHERE—Saying that he will kill himself if he doesn’t get more than two ‘likes’, blogger Ronald Dump, 32, went on a massive liking spree in a last-ditch effort to achieve fame and fortune, subsequently developing Carpal Tunnel Syndrome.
“I spent more time ‘liking’ everyone’s blog than I did watching porn. That is unprecedented,” declared an inattentive Dump, who continued to ‘like’ everyone’s post while he talked to reporters. “I will do this until I get more likes. If I don’t, I will kill myself.”
Dump rudely avoided eye contact throughout the interview as he winced in pain clicking ‘like’ buttons. To ease the pain, he periodically sipped on a tumbler of single malt whisky with the help of his other hand. “This is also unprecedented,” he mumbled with a cigarette in his mouth. “I usually use my other hand for recreational purposes while the first hand clicks on pornography. But I’ve discovered that that’s a real waste of time, and blogging is more important.”
The single malt, in tandem with a Tupperware full of Xanax, also serves as a means to take his own life should he not become an internet celebrity. Additionally, Dump has set a large revolver in his desk drawer and lots of ammo in case his firearm jams. “I swear to God I will blow my brains out,” he said. “Fucking ‘like’ me already. I ‘liked’ you. What the fuck else do you want?”
Unfortunately, Dump has had no ‘likes’ since he ‘liked’ everyone’s blog. He is nowhere to be found and has not answered our phone calls since Monday. While he may simply be suffering from writer’s block, the assumption is that he has killed himself.
Dump’s last words were, “I would rather kill myself than ‘like’ myself.”
HOLLYWOOD—Saying that he doesn’t care what other people say about him, a gay man bravely donned a quintessentially heterosexual black blazer and button-down shirt Friday morning.
“I am wearing a heterosexual suit and serving straight up daddy realness,” declared LeBar. “I don’t care what society says about me. I have panache, energy, nerve, individualism, and suaveness.”
Georges LeBar, 57, spoke at length about mankind’s heterophobic herstory. “Straight men have been nice to us, and we totally fucked it up. For hundreds, if not thousands, of years, we’ve burned and kicked and lynched and drowned and mutilated them before throwing them to the lions and torturing them with pickup trucks and banishing them from society and raping everyone and their mothers. The modern man is different. We have compassion for our straight brothers, and we’ll take a leaf from John Stuart Mill’s book.”
LeBar added that gays should stop calling straights “breeders” and “maggots” because such derogatory terms are “fucking stupid.”
He declared, almost condescendingly, “Being a man is almost an act of treason in a gay-dominated society. But to all my straight buddies hiding in their man caves, it’s okay. Just come out. We’re all friends.”
Bangkok—After selling green curry and driving a tuk tuk for fifteen years, Thai local Terdsak Pichaironnarongsongkram professed his admiration for tourist Katie Swanson’s authentically Thai elephant pants.
“It really breaks up the monotony to see a reasonably attractive Caucasian woman for the first time in ten years, wearing elephant pants, and politely greeting me with a ‘sawadika’ before boarding my tuk tuk with a backpack and selfie stick,” said Pichaironnarongsongkra. “I have never seen anything quite like it before.”
Locals reported that Swanson eschewed McDonald’s, opting instead for an authentic, non-spicy Pad Thai, coconut milk, and banana pancakes. “I decided to take the road not taken,” said Swanson. “People go to see this and that temple and do American things like taking a taxi. So, I said, ‘I’m gonna be different’. So, I got myself a pair of elephant pants from this sidewalk vendor and bought an authentic handmade statue of Buddha, which is a very exotic god that I adore because it, like, helps me with my aura, and, you know, with my yoga and Sanskrit and mandala or whatever.”
“It’s beautiful to see a foreigner who is so in love with our culture,” said Pichaironnarongsongkra. “I mean, even I don’t wear those authentically Thai elephant pants, and I’m Thai. But she’s just so much more Thai than me.”
Last month, a retired philosophy professor asked for a refund because the sex android he bought from us did not “moan and argue like Leibniz.” Yes. There’s a burgeoning market for that kind of thing.
The technicians understood Leibniz’s mathematics, but had difficulty with his philosophy. So, I had to explain to them the fundamentals of windowless monads, preformation, and medieval conceptions of causation. “We shall proverbially touch each other’s’ monads by means of ideal influence,” Silicone Leibniz was subsequently programmed to utter. Then, he would moan, upon penetration: “Oh, Newton, this is the best of all possible worlds!” The reprogrammed Leibniz passed the professor’s Turing Test, so, by law, we were no longer obligated to give him a refund.
Silicone Leibniz is one of 163,000 “robostitutes” produced each day (for comparison, 164,000 cars were produced daily in 2012). Last December alone, I had to singlehandedly satisfy the literary fetishes of three eccentric patrons. The first client wanted a gynoid whose thought processes mimic those of the protagonist Offred in Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale; the second wanted his Hilary Clinton simulacrum to scat with the voice of Ella Fitzgerald, and the third wanted his Bertrand Russell android to apologize for erring in Principia Mathematica.
“Who’s to stop a grown man from climaxing to Rousseau?” said Jon Stewart Mills, founder of sex cyborg company Artifical Disseminations, Inc. “Aside from giving us freedom, the advent of the intellectual sex cyborg is also a godsend for thousands of unemployed liberal arts graduates who now work as literary consultants for dozens of companies specializing in artificial intelligence.
“Tech-savvy scientists sitting in cubicles can make machines talk like humans, but they cannot make them think like humans, who, after millions of years of evolution, are hardwired to be sexually stimulated by art, literature, and philosophy–all the wonderful things for whose appreciation computers are not and cannot be endowed with.
“We’ve toyed with this idea for decades and endured a tremendous amount of skepticism. Now, the verdict is out: erudite robostitutes are the new black.”
Calling each other “irrational” and “annoying,” potato farmer Tom Bruise and his wife Lucy quickly resolved all marital conflicts by not talking to each other. “It totally works,” said Bruise. “Ever since we resolved to shut our respective traps, I’ve been angrily washing the dishes while she texts her friends, and we get along just fine.”
The couple reported increased sleep quality since they stopped talking to each other. During bedtime, they would face opposite directions with their eyes wide open in the dark. “The empty gap between us on the mattress keeps growing, and I keep feeling that I might fall off the bed,” the husband said, elaborating on his marital life. “And the sex is awesome. I jerk off and eat Doritos all day. Awesome.”
Lucy explained to reporters, “My husband doesn’t want to talk, and that’s fine. He’s just being himself. As his wife, I support him and his being himself and everything he does. He can be his own sad little bitch self who fap fap faps away ’til the second coming.”
Tom and Lucy indicate that, since remaining silent, the resentment that has festered in their marriage for the past five years has all but dissipated. “I love her,” said Tom. “I love him,” said Lucy, rolling her eyes. “I’m so grateful we’ve decided to shut the fuck up.”