MILKWAUKEE – Charles Entertainment Cheese, the ringleader of one of America’s beloved franchised wastelands, has incited violence in a local ballpit by displaying fascist behavior. The leader of the organization has long been an advocate for cutting corners with the business budget by not sanitizing the plastic balls and automating what could otherwise be quality entertainment.
“Nobody wants to see a mechanical fucking rat playing bullshit music to children man, not even the kids want to see that shit and honestly all it does is scare me and my friends.”
A random 5 year old.
I digress – The reign of Charles I has slowly descended from a once functioning democracy into the rabid throes of tyrannical law. The law was passed not even 24 hours before unrest broke out: all the balls are to be replaced with red balls. Liberals and Democrats will die before letting their beloved ball pit be homogenized, thus stripped of cultural equity and historical accuracy. All tickets earned are to be fed back into the machine and redistributed. The Ticket is no longer “yours” – the ticket is “ours.” Individuals have been stripped of their sovereign right to decide what prize they want. Is it Communism? Yes. Is it also a Dictatorship? Yes. I.e. the farthest thing from Plato’s Republic and a true wasteland governed by a collective incubus reincarnated as the “president of Chuck E. Cheese.”
Charles Entertainment Cheesehas disguised it all as a “playground for patriots,” empowering right wing ski ballers to colonize a once sacred place to play. The new Chuck E. Cheese – a colonialist nightmare devoid of cultural integrity.
Political theorists have speculated another two centuries before the inevitable decay of government type reaches its rock bottom and a new era of Charles is ushered in – an era of autocracy and a thriving economy with a robust middle, working class.
An era where the games aren’t complete shit and the consumers have an actual reason to live.
Democracy is no longer a threat; an era where the value of the 20th centuries ever so precious Ticket is restored. An era where one can realistically hit the slots and go home that same day with an oversized blue elephant stuffed animal or cool remote control car.
Ever since Barack Obama got elected in 2003, citizenship conspiracy theories have been all the rage. This trend has waned a tad in recent years yet is resurging due to bored constituents trapped at home during the coronavirus.
A coalition of high school Facebook hackers have recently uncovered Joe Biden’s original birth certificate (not the shitty copies they give your parents at the hospital).
If you’re anything like me, you’re mind is definitely fucking blown right now and you are also surprised by his middle name. Not only it is unamerican due to its feminine phonetic structure, it feels like a shitty marketing attempt on behalf of Baskin Robbins due to the overlapping and shared number of consonants.
Rich people are often known for their adventerous palettes. For some, however, escargot just isn’t enough.
So they started eating ball sacks off the French island of the Riviera’s.
Donald Trump purportedly ate his first fried ball sack in June 2010 after Trump University went bankrupt… and Gordon Ramsay had a god damn hay-day.
Anyways — he has eaten ~13 ball sacks of wide varietes since that special day. Some say he ate one the day he was inaugurated as a way to celebrate. Why is eating something like an Elk ballsack so enticing to the .01%? Why are rich people like this?
A diary entry from Donald Trump:
“It’s lonely at the top… all this ballsack… no one to share it with :(“
After ongoing double-blind studies, sleep scientists at UC Berkeley are confident in their data pointing towards a spike in sleeping comfort on one particular day of the year. Gail Owens, who has been leading the team since 2007, is responsible for this breakthrough pointing towards November 3rd as being the “most comfortable morning to sleep in and stay in bed all day”.
What is pointing towards Tuesday, November 3rd is yet to be determined but the research team is heavily advising everyone to take advantage of it:
This is a once in a lifetime opportunity that we’re advising everyone to take advantage of. Staying in bed all day on November 3rd is the best opportunity for that particular day. This issue is bigger than we will ever know and it’s time for all of us to act.
Gail Owens, chief sleep specialist.
While the most universally comfortable stay-in-bed day was determined to be November 3rd, the research team at Berkeley pointed to several days that affected individual subjects. These resulted in a 15% – 48% increase in full day bed comfortability. Owens mentioned Subject 397 who (despite being scheduled for jury duty on October 17th) found a net-increase of 41% in their overall bed comfort that day.
The date Tuesday, November 3rd, however, seems to point to a universal correlation in all-day relaxation. Citizens are heavily urged to stay indoors and specifically in bed. Although, preliminary research is ongoing regarding the relief of a nice warm bath on Tuesday, November 3rd.
The Internet – a conservative wasteland or world of abstract sadness?
As politics and memes have increasingly started to overlap, an accelerated online dialog has been born. This birth has acted as a centrifugal force, polarizing communities and generating a superposition of ideas responsible for shaping millennial politics worldviews – be it through memes and their cultural significance or political fringe groups occupying IRL spaces.
Such a superposition has seemed to allow a large body of ideas to exist in a liminal state for better or for worse. We will refer to this superposition as “birony.”
As this inter-dimensional, hyper-psychological space unravels and reality continues to dissolve, trickle down economics has ensnared yet another facet of our mind’s various realities. We have been calling it Trickle ALL the Way Down Economics, as the ruling class’ attempts controlling the general public have become increasingly insidious. They have begun to find their way into niche meme and other obscure communities (even though memes aren’t technically economic, they actually are) — insidious threads of power are taking root in otherwise previously less tainted, avant-garde communities.
The use of birony is what allows this phenomenon to exist – very real ideas and implications are able to be shrouded behind a veil of uncertainty; drowned out as white noise while their tendrils dig into the American collective subconscious.
Surreal humor highlights the utter absurdity of all of this; that is, the inter-galactic cartoon that is American society and politics. Someone with dementia could very well be debating an entity that is a symbolic archetype of a group of people whose minds have been infected by dissonance. This dissonance, or fractured psychological framework we can call it, has been resurrected in the form of what we now know as “Donald Trump.” The shadow of the American Jungian shadow, an ancient and esoteric demonic force in carnal form.
Lila Rasa – what is real and what isn’t? We are amidst a psychological and cultural phenomenon unbeknownst to any previous generation: the derealization of 300 million living beings, the loss of a shared subconscious, the tangible diminishment of the ability to bond through love.
Dissociation would be a better alternative to this; to a fully derealized world. As we continue to de-realize, we are becoming progressively transparent. That is, we are disappearing. With dissociation, at least, we would still have some form of a heart and refuse to be exploited or controlled.
Truth is becoming a scarcer and scarcer commodity as the world is plagued with misinformation, making it so easy for poor people with clout to sell out to Bloomberg or anything similar online. Truth and values are essentially worthless now, leaving us that much more vulnerable to exploitation by the ruling class.
The exploitation of working class, blue collar meme makers and content creators. The ones who get home from a long day of shoveling coal and just want to make a meme or two. The ones who, all too often overlooked, are forced to choose between paying for the membership in the Worker’s Union instead of their cell phone and Internet bill.
The Mandela Affect is also real, and conservative memers are claiming to remember Tank Sinatra posting a different racist meme in 2012 on Twitter. The meme they claim to remember was actually an image _____ redacted
this is a good point to go off of and can segue into tanks racism. Nothing Really Matters And Neither Do My Racist Tweets
Surrealists have rejected the idea that advanced capitalism’s apparent successes—such as technological advancement, increased income in a correlated logarithm representing the rung of class, and increased leisure—could ever outweigh the social dysfunction and degradation of everyday life that it simultaneously inflicted
yes, while the memes seem innocuous at first they carry a sinister capitalistic message under the illusion of a joke we can shrug off. we’re accustomed to a bombardment of visual jokes during our free time that mind worms like the Bloomberg debacle carry potential to implant themselves. granted, that failed. the attempted covert nature of them was immediately discovered and what once was a boomer’s attempt at pantomiming the spirit of the times was replaced by a list of names responsible for their production
right they serve as an example of birony’s crumbling fringes. something like burning down applebees does not. the media saw it as a direct call to action rather than a critique of “millennials are killing INSERT FAST CASUAL CHAIN” articles.it is good to have things like the bloomer memes because it demonstrates the flexibility of the concept. and its limitations
While it may seem the fact that they were so fucking bad actually hurts our initial argument of birony — we now live in a world where nothing is real, and can see the truth about how they actually serve as an example of birony’s crumbling fringes. something like burning down applebees does not. the media saw it as a direct call to action rather than a critique of “millennials are killing INSERT FAST CASUAL CHAIN” articles.
Free to visit and with an incredible view, the Brooklyn Bridge is a place for tourists and natives alike to gather and appreciate soul crushing beauty and loneliness experienced every day by the people in this city. Think about the vastness of the universe, and how insignificant you are not just in New York, but the cosmos. It’s your birthday! What if you were never existed? Would anything be different? Probably not.
2. The Steps of the New York Public Library
One of the most respected collections of literature in the world exists here. Renowned for its architecture and history, people flock here to pay respects to some of the greatest thinkers of our time. Take a seat and consider the fact that even though you brag about it at parties, you never finished Infinite Jest. And you are so useless you even left that Keats book on the plane when you flew into JFK. How about the fact that you can only name one Bukowksi poem but your excuse is that he’s cancelled anyway.
3. Washington Square Park
Stand under the arch and feel its presence, think of all the things this arch has seen, and what it represents for people. This chunk of stone is more important than you will ever be. Snap a selfie before the tears come. They know you’re a tourist. Go buy a hat to make up for your guilt. You have a passing idea to make the jazz musicians play “Happy Birthday” and see the whole park erupt into song, for you! Wait you don’t have any cash. No one cares. You’re so fucking conceited.
4. The L
Hop on the historic subway line, wait which one is it? Try and look at Google Maps – shit, no reception. Maybe you should ask? No, they will know you aren’t from here. Are you heading into Flatbush? Where even is that? Why is that cop staring at you? You’re overwhelmed. Head back up the stairs and call your $45 Uber. This is your fault for thinking you were even capable of getting to your “party” which no one is coming to without some kind of assistance. Just go back to your aunt’s house in Long Island.
5. Outside of the 99c Fresh
Everyone talks about the fabled New York Slice. The World’s Best Pizza. You told all your friends back home in Illinois about your favorite spot on the “LES” but you kept walking past it because you were on the wrong side of the street. You just wanted an after party slice. Finally you find it, and get in line. God, it smells amazing! Wait – is this where the line starts? How much is it? The guy was mumbling. Just hand him a $5. Where’s your change? Don’t ask for it. Attempt to put some toppings on your cheese slice. What’s this brown powder? Why don’t they have parmesan? Why is the cashier yelling at you? You forgot your change. Just run.
Everyone has enemies. Rivals. A nemesis even. For me, there is no one more suitable to reign supreme in this category than Shirtless Chad.
In order to comprehend the odious enigma that is Shirtless Chad, one must first understand the origins of his name. The “Shirtless” part is derived from the fact that all of his Facebook picture uploads from his Android phone are selfies—Yes, all shirtless. The “Chad” suffix is because his parents are white trash. We’re both from Arkansas after all.
Before the multitudes of Hyper Woke come after me like “You can’t hate someone just for being shirtless,” I can assure you that his Shirtlessness is the mildest of his offenses, just the most transparent.
It all started right after high school. Most people call it “college” but Chad didn’t go. He even got a scholarship and enrolled but he didn’t ever go. I mean, why attend university when you already got your GED, as well as a vocational degree in manual labor? Plus there’s a new batch of freshmen girls at the local high school. Please know that I’m not simply shaming Shirtless Chad for being white trash. I have a personal vendetta.
One night circa 2007 I was smoking weed with a friend from work at his place. Shirtless Chad was not invited. These were the days when vape pens weren’t around yet so getting high was always a whole ordeal. Now I can just stay high at work with relative ease. These were also the days before everyone had texting. I was one of the individuals who did not have the pleasure of using the T9 system yet. Therefore I didn’t receive the texts from Chad, who, unbeknownst to me, had plans with our friend to also smoke.
After the “sesh,” my homie pulls out his cellular phone and sees a text message; “Go look at Everett’s car.” Chad, the scorned would-be stoner, had apparently driven around town and located my vehicle parked outside the mutual friend’s apartment. It was a small town and gas was cheap.
“go look at Everett’s car”
Confused, we immediately went outside to discover that both of the rearview mirrors of my primer black Civic had been ruthlessly and shirtlessly kicked off. I hated Shirtless Chad from that day on, and never looked back. But that was mostly because I no longer had rearview mirrors.
Time went on, I moved away, I grew personally. Nothing, however, could satiate my hatred. Nothing could dissolve the grudge I had harbored deep within myself for Chad. I vowed to avenge my precious 1992 Honda Civic. Revenge is a dish best served shirtless.
The advent of social media brought a glimmer of hope. I could just torment Shirtless Chad by trolling him. With every new shirtless selfie, courtesy of Chad, a new comment by yours truly, stating the obvious with “Shirtless? Priceless,” or I’d hit him with a “No shirt, no shoes, no problem.” This was also the time that “Sharing” became a thing on Facebook. I used the new feature to spread Chad’s Shirtlessness to my own friends. This went on for several months until he got fed up and threatened to drive to the city in which I resided in order to inflict physical damage unto me. This never happened. Chad is a bitch.
Now that I had been found out, I couldn’t very well keep trolling him in the same way. Chad loved the ladies. It was easily inferred by his posts that stated things like “Ladies 😉 hit me up” and listed his phone number on a public post. These horny posts were alternated with ones passionately expressing his love for his babymama, and intermittently those about how she cheated on him with a guy by getting in his truck and blowing him, etc. Basic unaware white trash stuff.
I had a female roommate at the time, and she was super down to mess with him. His telephone number being posted publicly, I employed her to call him. He had just officially divorced his first babymama, and the public hateposts were subsiding. He needed love.
So we called him. Making reference to all his horny posts, we (using her voice, I should add.) talked dirty to him, making him think that he had a remote lover in a nearby town. It was just the opposite, though. It was me; the victim of a senseless crime. Her friends started calling him too. Even my roommate’s best friend, my now fiancee, started calling him, telling him to come to where we all were. He was extremely down for this, it seemed. But in reality, neither his horny levels, nor his desire to kick my ass would make up for the gas prices.
It was around this time that Shirtless Chad started getting his shit together. According to his Facebook profile Chad became CEO at “bein my own boss” and graduated from “The School Of Hard Knocks.” I wished I was around to see it. But, alas, I was then blocked. No doubt I had my spies scoping his profile, but it just wasn’t the same. I wanted to witness firsthand the new blooming relationship between Chad and a teenage girl from the next town over. I had to wait for my chance.
According to my spies, Chad was in a successful relationship with a teenager who shared his love for Nu Metal apparel and memorabilia. This was a good closure from Chad’s woes with his babymama, who was notably no longer a teenager.
It was at this time I was blocked. Although I had my spies, it just wasn’t the same. I needed to feel something deeper. I needed to make him feel something deeper than hate. Love.
Her name was Ginnopher Heiferweight. This name sounds incredibly fake because it is. At first I just wanted a spycam on Chad, just to monitor his actions. Once I had seen what had happened I had to go in.
Relationships must have been dizzying for Chad. Once his babymama got in a truck with another man, Chad was on it. He fell immediately smitten with yet another teenager from another town. I monitored this. I did not comment. Only a few short months into what was allegedly true love, Shirtless Chad was sent to jail for “false imprisonment” and “lacerating a victim.” This means he cut his eighteen year old girlfriend with a knife and wouldn’t let her leave. Pretty bad.
I messaged his cousin, who was extremely shameful for Chad’s actions, and lifestyle. I requested Shirtless Chad’s inmate details regarding his postal address, but it was never confirmed. My plan was to get as many people as possible to print and mail Chad photos of his own shirtless body. It never happened but it probably would have been cool.
It was time that Chad and Ginnopher Heiferweight should meet. Yes I created her. It was “Jennifer” spelled in the most odious way, and Heiferweight–like ok you get it. I thought to myself, “Surely he wouldn’t fall for it.” I was wrong.
Ginnopher. It feels gross even typing it. I found her profile pictures by searching “missing teenage girl.” Yes, I feel bad about it. But this is what Shirtless Chad was into, apparently.
I had noticed Chad had just “designed” his first tattoo. The picture posted depicted the outline of the state of Arkansas with two bisecting diagonal banners displaying his last name. Not terrible in concept, but the state was filled in with red and the banner was a dark blue. The letters of his name were in white and resembled stars. Yes, this conjures the image of a Confederate flag, and for good reason, it was supposed to.
Upon seeing this, I knew Ginnopher needed to give her approval. So I sent him a message telling him how fond I was of the design. I then showed him “my” first tattoo. I Googled “shitty girl tattoo” and sent him the first thing I found. I think it was an abstract heart that turned into an arrow or something equally stupid. Of course he replied with his delight.
Now, Chad was definitely racist. This was all but confirmed with his rebel flag-inspired tattoo, but as I looked deeper within even his own comment sections, I noticed something else; other white supremacists were actually making fun of him. He literally wasn’t even good at being racist. For instance: he would post yet another shirtless selfie with a caption like “1488” or “da south will rise again,” and some other, presumably higher ranking racists would actually clown on him for, what I can only assume is “not being racist very well.”
It was incredible to witness, but as Ginnopher Heiferweight, I couldn’t really “weigh” in, no pun intended, without giving myself up. So I let this pass on as what it was. And what it was, was fucking stupid. That’s when I got super into flirting with Chad, my personal enemy, as a made up teenage girl from an even skankier adjacent town, using the pictures of missing teenage girls. I think I said on her profile that she worked at “McDoneld.”
Unfortunately, I can’t remember any specifics on how I got Chad to go Facebook official with Ginnopher, but it happened. “Chad (redacted) is in an Open Relationship with Ginnopher Heiferweight.”
OK, I got “open relationship,” not full fidelity, but it was more than I had even hoped for.
But, alas, Chad’s horny levels in IRL were too much for Ginnopher’s online love. He soon started dating a much younger girl who had recently graduated from another closeby town’s high school.
She was about eight years younger than Chad, which is technically legal since she was eighteen years of age, just off-putting. I essentially knelt down as Ginnopher and acquiesced to the advent of his new relationship. But I watched. Again, the ups and downs, all clearly documented on Facebook Dot Com. One episode that will always stick in my mind is when she “got in another guy’s truck,” which remains unclear whether this is a euphemism for sex, or simply a vessel to drive there. It is exemplary of what one would expect a white trash man of this caliber to actualize.
Aside from the typical “I love you x Break up now horny” posts which had become canonical to Shirtless Chad, his love life timeline was fairly dark. Until I got news via a screenshot of the newspaper in my hometown was texted to me by an old, mutual spectator.
Chad had gone dark for several days. Now I knew why. Chad was in jail. For the apparent “laceration” and “false imprisonment” which was “of a minor.” I guess his new girlfriend had lied about graduating high school after all, barring her being a genius, which I severely doubt she was.
This was all too good to be true. Chad, the man who had senselessly kicked the mirrors off my precious 1992 Honda Civic, was finally behind bars. Karma had finally worked its way out in my favor.
But I wasn’t done. I had since befriended Shirtless Chad’s cousin, who, embarrassed that Chad had sullied the family name, was happy to do my bidding. I only asked for one thing: his prison mailing address.
I went to FedEx and printed out a shirtless picture of Chad. I wrote down the address to his jail with his mail receival details and I sealed it up in an envelope with these words: No, you go look at your windows, Chad.