
Monkey Testicles, Missing Documents, and the Eternal Quest to Stay on Top
Grafting and grifting for the select few. No monkeying around.

Grafting and grifting for the select few. No monkeying around.

Tonight the Blood Worm Moon rises over a world where AI does your homework, actors deliver your packages, and a tech bro thinks you’re a horse.

Presidential campaign slogans have always been lies you can fit on a hat.

A janitor notices conscious otters. The DOD’s been watching. Three people break in, get arrested immediately, and what’s in the basement is worse. Way worse.

A Transcript of Artificial Intelligence Confidently Getting a Man’s Name Wrong, Then Doubling Down Like It’s a Feature.

This T-Rex humor essay traces the Rex dynasty from a spineless Tyrannosaurus named Rick to Rex Harrison and Rex Ryan, proving that prehistoric confidence never really went extinct.

I replied to a spam text with a joke. The scammer replied back. What followed was the most meaningful relationship I’ve ever had with someone committing wire fraud.

One man’s journey from ice-related facial disfigurement to livestock medicine, rendered bird essence, and a wife who thinks he has ringworm.

The world needs more hockey sportsmanship and fewer deadly paddle violations.

Why those crush signals don’t mean what you think they do in 2026.

A satirical essay on the lies we tell ourselves. Language is our favorite tool of self-deception.

Theology ain’t always kind.

From explosive coughing fits to Baby Highland Cows, discover why I’m a terrible sleep partner.

Fantasizing about opening a vintage hat store.

Learn why all-wheel drive doesn’t mean invincible in snow.

Chocolate cravings at dawn lead to ’80s metal dreams.

A saga of this writer’s misguided attempt at working from a auto lot.

Who wins the ultimate literary showdown—the alcoholic authors or the teetotalers?

One man attempts to structure his entire existence around the narrative guidance of Queen’s most famous six-minute opera.

From the Corduroy Killer to bubble wrap assassins, meet history’s most incompetent criminals.

The Universe doesn’t exist, David Bromstad does, and 2026 being my year.

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Pay $40 to Cancel Subscriptions I Paid $347 to Forget About.

A philosophical comedy essay about American absurdity, reincarnation, and why ranch dressing is for weasels.

A drum circle leads to an elaborate theory about why we all need detachable arms for better sleep.