Category: Entertainment

David Lynch keeps Twin Peaks fans in suspense

LOS ANGELES—To keep Twin Peaks audiences in suspense, David Lynch incorporated a loading screen in Season 3, Episode 8 of the cult TV series.

“I’m bucking the conventional cliffhanger and using this cinematographic device I invented at the dawn of the internet. Loading, or “buffering”, screens are an effective way to make your audience want more,” said Lynch.

At about the twenty-minute mark of the episode, a nuclear bomb explodes in slow motion in White Sands, New Mexico. Soon after, the loading screen appears, and sporadically interrupts the mushroom cloud.

“Using loading screens isn’t easy,” said Lynch. “You want audiences to feel the suspense, frustration, and anger that the characters feel. You want your audience to participate vicariously, to feel just as frustrated as, say, Dale Cooper. You can’t put loading screens too early on because your audience has to be emotionally invested in the film first.

“Then, bam, it comes out of nowhere. The loading screen should be there for about 5 seconds, and then the mushroom cloud interrupts the loading screen, and then after 2 minutes, the loading screen appears again. See?

“This way, while you watch the mushroom cloud, you also never know when the loading screen will reappear. And when the loading screen does appear, you never know when the mushroom cloud will reappear. Double suspense!”

Unique and daring, Lynch has long been a trendsetter in the world of cinema. As of this morning, many other directors have begun to emulate Lynch by incorporating loading screens in their films.

Meth cook pours acid on invincible cockroach, needs polyurethane container

ALBUQUERQUE—A methamphetamine manufacturer tried to kill a cockroach by means of chemical disincorporation. He failed to do so, and is still looking for a polyurethane container big enough to fit the cockroach.

After accidentally breaking a bad fly swatter, Jamie Yeoman, 25, took a bottle of hydrochloric acid off the shelf, squirting it at a gargantuan Madagascar cockroach that contaminated his hitherto immaculate laboratory. Although aggressive, his tactic was far from lethal, and the cockroach, which as a species is said to be able to withstand 2,000 times the amount of radiation considered lethal for humans, absconded unscathed.

“That lab is, like, my private domicile, yo,” he said. “Bitch.”

The chemist is still searching for a polyurethane container big enough to fit the cockroach. On the bottom of the container should be stamped the letters “LDPE.”

If you have any potentially helpful information for Mr. Yeoman, please call 148-3, 3-to-the-3-to-the-6-to-the-9, representing the ABQ. Waddup, beyotch? Leave it at the tone.

Stupid man who can’t play chess resorts to empty threats

WASHINGTON—Unable to win a chess game against me, a frustrated man is using empty threats and other juvenile methods of intimidation in hopes of overpowering me.

Francisco Madero, 57, gave up all hope when I took his queen early on in the game.

“He put his knight on C7 and put me in check, and I could have castled before that, but I forgot to do that,” he said. “And then the only thing I could do was to take the knight with my queen, and that’s when he took her with that goddamn bishop.”

A flustered and fuming Mr. Madero glowered at me. Caressing his now taken queen, he hissed, “I loved that woman. I loved her more than sharks love blood.”

“F. U., you dumb piece of shit,” I explained.

“A lion does not ask permission before he eats a zebra,” he retorted. “So I’m gonna eat your zebra.”

“But there is no fucking lion. Or zebra. You don’t even have your queen and bishops anymore,” I explained. “But yeah, I’ll have your antelope medium rare.”

“You’d better watch your mouth,” he hissed.

“Hey, man. If you don’t like how the table is set, turn over the table,” I said.

Mr. Madero complied, literally turning the table to play white instead. He said, as he shifted his chair closer to the table, “Power is a lot like real estate. It’s about location, location, location.”

Much to Mr. Madero’s chagrin, I again gained the upper hand. “Eat that, motherfucker,” I said, as I took his last rook. But he refused to back down.

“The road to power is paved with hypocrisy. And casualties,” he whispered, choking back tears. “There are two kinds of pain. The sort that makes you strong, or useless pain. The sort of pain that’s only suffering. I have no patience for useless things.”

I moved a piece.

“Checkmate.”

 

 

Impoverished men to sell lush eyebrows for survival

ALBUQUERQUE—After falling victim to a massive Ponzi Scheme, three men are looking to alleviate their financial troubles by selling their lush eyebrows to the wig company Romero Wigs.

“When I was just a little boy, my mother would read me stories like ‘The Gift of the Magi’,” said Dr. Zachary Quinto, who came up with the idea. “I remember how women in those stories would sell their hair for money, so I thought, hey, why not sell eyebrows?”

Fellow eyebrow seller and police officer Nestor Carbonell, however, was less optimistic. “You think I like giving up my eyebrows?” he said. “You don’t look at me or my eyebrows. If you so much as peek at my face, I’ll cut your fucking throat and shove it up your ass.”

“As for me, I like to think that I’m a realist,” said eyebrow seller Marius Stan. “You see, I’ve been working at this car wash for more than 20 years, and it’s not easy. Life is tough. A man has to be tough. A man has to do what he has to do. These are just eyebrows, no?”

The three men reportedly deliberated among each other for hours before reaching the verdict that yes, their eyebrows should be sold, and yes, their is nothing they can do about it but stick their faces in pillows and cry themselves to sleep. At one point, Mr. Carbonell broke down, choking back tears. “We’re not as menacing as our eyebrows might imply,” he sniffled.

A Romero Wigs spokesperson remarked, “Zack and Nestor and Marius have nothing to worry about. I mean, their eyebrows are gonna grow back in a few weeks. Right now, those eyebrows aren’t just lush. They’re redundant, so we’re probably doing them a favor.”

The men’s eyebrows, deemed by experts to be of exceptional quality, are priced at 200 dollars per brow. The market price for a mediocre eyebrow is 100 dollars.

 

Job applicant turns out to be fat, hairy pervert

COLUMBUS—Recently believed to be a promising applicant with excellent credentials, Lewis C. Kay is actually nothing more than a fat, hairy pervert.

“We thought he was going to be a smart fella,” said one reporter. “But as soon as he walked in here, I saw all that fat. No one that fat can be competent at anything, let alone work here.”

In the thankfully short time he was here, Mr. Kay harassed us with a bunch of braggy sentences. “I sent you my resume last week,” he said. “As you can see, I have a masters in journalism from Northwestern and a PhD in comparative literature from Columbia. I’ve worked at The New York TimesThe New Yorker, and New York, so I have some job experience.”

louis ck
Mr. Kay at a job interview.

But Mr. Kay’s credentials were promptly invalidated because Mr. Kay is fat. He is a fat, hairy, useless, loser pervert who will never fit into society because he is old and fat and useless and uncool. And we made sure he knew.

“You’re a fat, old pervert and you deserve to die,” we told him. “You’re fat. You’re fat. You’re old and you have two kids. Haha. Loser.

“Why don’t you just kill yourself, poor old man? Yeah. Just go kill yourself,” we advised. “Go kill yourself and then go suck a bag of dicks.”

Rain Man annoys hipsters by flawlessly quoting Nietzsche, eats organic tapioca puddings

COLUMBUS—Autistic savant Raymond Babbitt has incensed an exclusive group of hipsters who quote passages from philosophers whom everyone has heard of but doesn’t really understand.

“God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him,” he recited repeatedly during poetry night at Kafe Kerouac, Columbus’s ultimate bastion of genuine hipsterdom. “Nietzsche, my main man!”

Jealous of Mr. Babbitt’s formidable philosophical quoting abilities, swathes of scarf-wearing, artisanal cheese-eating minions of America’s moribund liberal arts culture have attempted to overshadow the autistic savant’s brilliance by quoting passages from Hegel, Kierkegaard, and Derrida.

Mr. Babbitt, however, was not dissuaded by the green-eyed hipsters. “The body is our general medium for having a world,” he said, echoing Merleau Ponty. “Yeah. Merleau Ponty. My main man.”

derrida
Derided by many academic philosophers as an overrated pseudointellectual charlatan, Derrida is now Raymond Babbitt’s “main man.”

Unfortunately for Mr. Babbitt, it seems that hipsters are not the only people who are unhappy about his achievements. Professor of philosophy Bruce Mayer Ginsburg lamented, “It’s sad to see such brilliance go to waste. We have someone who can count toothpicks faster than Bertrand Russell, who could have revolutionized logic before Saul Kripke came along, or been recognized as a crucial figure in American politics like John Rawls, or even ruled the Roman Empire like Marcus Aurelius.

“Instead of doing good academic philosophy, or counting cards, or whatever rain men like to do, he sits around in his artisanal jacket sipping seven-dollar vegan espresso drinks with ridiculous names like ‘Of Mice and Zen’. He complains about the nutritional value of Qantas Airlines’s organic tapioca pudding. He says he has to get an undercut. He’ll throw a tantrum in thirty seconds if he has to use Windows instead of Mac.”

When Beagle reporters asked Mr. Babbitt to comment, the savant said that his accusers were “mansplaining.” He added, “To pretend, I actually do the thing: I have therefore only pretended to pretend. Main mansplaining. Uh-oh! UH-OH! Ow! Ow! OW!”

He explained, “Derrida. My main man.”

Handsome man cannot believe he has no matches on Tinder

WHITE PINE BAY, OR—Local eye candy Norman Bates cannot believe that he has had no luck on the popular dating app Tinder, despite the fact that he has been right swiping everyone for two months straight.

Seeking romance and adventure, the handsome Bates, 22, began to use Tinder two months ago to look for potential mates. He would be sorely disappointed.

“I even adjusted my settings and maximized the distance and everything, and then I changed it so I’m open to dating people who are up to 99 years old,” he told reporters.

Bates also stated that he is open to meeting both men and women, and he just does not understand why people are not into him. “My mother took all my Tinder photos, so I’m sure they make me look attractive. So why am I still single?” he bemoaned.

Though crestfallen, the White Pine Bay resident clung to a glimmer of hope that he may find a match in a local speed dating event to be held in the White Pine Bay Community College. He stated that, in the meantime, he will “up his game” in Tinder by adding photos that show the deepness and complexity of his intriguing, fun, and multifaceted personality.