Ironic Jean Shorts “Actually Pretty Comfortable,” Reports Aging Millennial

Columbus, OH — Laughing along with friends at his Saturday barbecue, Ben Varner, 31, says the jorts he wore today as a gag are “actually a lot cozier than you’d think.”

“Yeah, me and the guys always liked to poke fun at our dads for wearing them, so I figured I’d grab a pair for kicks and gigs!” says Varner, his phone clipped at his waist. “I kind of get the appeal, though.”

“I think he actually likes them,” says 29-year-old friend Dave Feldman. “Every time someone makes fun of the shorts, he laughs it off and then casually slips in a comment about the BOGO deal he got for them.”

Guests say his behavior all day has been consistently out-of-character. Says longtime friend Scott Mitcheson: “First of all, I thought this was a ‘let’s-get-drunk-outside’ kind of barbecue, not a ‘real’ one. Apparently he wasn’t kidding when he said to bring a dish.” Mitcheson says Varner jokingly played I Got A Feeling by The Black Eyed Peas four times before someone finally yelled at him. “Like, has he really forgotten how much we hated that song in college?”

“Yeah, that was the point! It’s like, ah! Remember this one? Great times,” Varner explains. “Although it really wasn’t that bad compared to all the garbage they listen to nowadays.”

“I should have seen this coming when he bought Nike Air Monarchs last month,” says Ben’s wife Caroline.

“These babies are com-fy!” Ben says from the grill, addressing no one specifically.

“God help us,” says Mitcheson, rubbing the bald patch on his crown.

At press time, Varner was complaining of back soreness “from lifting the other day.” Sources say he hasn’t lifted in three weeks.

Greener Grass: Los Angeles Man Learns To Accept Balding Yard

Los Angeles, CA — If getting older has taught Mitch Pickering anything, it’s that you can’t hold onto the past. “I was just spending all this money on a losing battle.” After years of fighting that battle, he’s finally ready to allow nature to take its course. His yard is going bald — but that’s okay!

“My dad’s yard was bald and I was always afraid it would happen to me too. So imagine how I felt when I first noticed it was thinning out a few years ago,” says Mitch. “There it was, my worst nightmare!” He got in the car and drove straight to Lowe’s to buy fertilizer, the first trip in what would become a ritual. He’d spend the next few summers in the yard, watering, weeding, and yes, fertilizing, in order to maintain the thick yard of grass he was used to.

“He was obsessed,” says Mitch’s wife, Claire. “I kept telling him it didn’t look that bad, but he wouldn’t listen.”

Despite his efforts, the grass continued to recede steadily, year by year. “I really panicked when my neighbor pointed out the bald patch in my backyard. I was so embarrassed!” He hit that spot especially hard with fertilizer. When that failed, he resorted to something he had always made fun of others for: sod.

“It was so obvious,” says Mitch and Claire’s neighbor, Pat Benson. “Was I really supposed to believe it just disappeared overnight?”

Weekly fertilizer purchases and climbing water bills began to take their toll on the Pickerings’ bank account. Before California’s drought was declared ‘over,’ they faced heavy fines on top of the regular expenses. “At a certain point, I had to be honest with myself. Is all this cosmetic work really worth it?”

Then he had an epiphany. “When I finally stopped focusing on my own lawn, I was able to look around and see that mostly everybody had browning grass, if not completely bare lawns.” He realized there was really nothing to be ashamed of.

Embracing the baldness, Mitch now sports a proudly barren yard. He and Claire have been much happier for it. “I actually think it’s kind of sexy,” says Claire, scratching the dirt playfully.

“Droughts, air pollution, wildfires — there will always be something I want to change about where I live, especially as all that becomes more prevalent,” he says.

“But if I can learn to accept it, it’ll all be much easier to deal with.”

 

Man Who Doesn’t Like Chocolate May Hold Genetic Key To Not Being Disgusting Hog

Seattle, WA — There is nothing immediately striking about Alex Tapper. A 32-year-old sales associate at Office Depot, he’s a slight man with a growing bald patch on his crown. He likes movies, hard cider, the occasional visit to Best Buy (“I just like to see what they have”), and his wardrobe is comprised almost entirely of short sleeve button-downs and thrift store neckties. He seems content to coast through life, invisible to everyone he passes. But don’t be fooled. Alex is special.

He doesn’t like chocolate. Geneticists want to know why.

“He’s a superior human.”

“Yeah, I don’t like chocolate. Not that big of a deal,” says the spectacular marvel of hominid evolution over lunch at Dicey’s Café. While I stuff my face with chocolate-hazelnut creme pie, he sips black coffee, perfectly satisfied with the meal that came before. Since learning of Alex’s unique trait from his food review blog on WordPress, top minds in genetic research have been relentlessly pursuing him.

“Mr. Tapper may carry a human variant of the NCHO3 gene, which thus far has only been observed in cetaceans, such as dolphins and whales,” explains Dr. Andre Lowell, Professor of Molecular Biology at Cambridge University. Many in the scientific community, Lowell included, believe NCHO3 is the reason for cocoa’s absence from the cetacean diet. “With the proper funding — and Mr. Tapper’s cooperation — we could effectively put an end to chocolate cravings, so that future generations never have to feel like unrestrained fatasses anytime a coworker brings brownies to the office.”

Such a pitch would move anyone else to cooperate with the research. So why won’t Alex? “At first I was just busy, and it kind of sounded like BS anyway,” he says, the untainted crevices between his exposed teeth evoking the sense one is capturing but a small glimpse of mankind’s future. But what came after that rejection only embittered him their cause. “They started calling at all hours of the day, following me around — I even caught them rooting through my trash a couple times. It’s really upsetting, and just creepy.”

Despite his frustration, Dr. Lowell understands the conundrum. “He has no idea what the rest of us troglodytes deal with at the grocery store, where footlong kielbasas of Pillsbury chocolate chip cookie dough can be purchased for just three dollars each. It’s a testament to what could be.”

SHAMELESS

Alex’s phone lights up and begins to rumble the tabletop. Unknown caller. He palms his eyes in exasperation.

“I respect his time and autonomy, but there are children right now who are building habits they will come to despise as they age. I’m talking ‘fingers in the Nutella jar’ levels of shame,” says Dr. Lowell. “He will give in eventually.”

“I thought if I ignored them long enough they would give up.” Alex stares into his empty coffee mug, perhaps reconsidering his selfish decision to withhold the next milestone in man’s journey toward perfection. “Maybe if I just send in a spit sample or something, that would get them to leave me alone.”

“Our study would be drawn-out and comprehensive,” Lowell reassures me. “If we have to rule NCHO3 out, countless more strands of DNA must be analyzed in order to determine what exactly allows Mr. Tapper the discipline to not gorge himself on M&M’s at the Christmas party that one year when I got really drunk on chocolate liqueur. It is imperative that we don’t miss anything.”

And if their study doesn’t produce the breakthrough they’re looking for? “That’s highly improbable,” says Dr. Lowell. But there’s only one way to know for sure. “All we can do is turn this man’s life inside-out and scrutinize his genes long past his breaking point. Only then can we find his source of dignity.”

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Read: We Would Like To Send You Notifications (Editorial)

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Report: Area Rock Has Healing Properties Or Some Sh*t

Bed Bath & Beyond — Detailing the numerous benefits of negative ions or whatever, a recent report from The National Science and Technology Council says that a block of salt available for purchase at local retailers can improve your health, somehow. “What we understand, if we’re getting the basic gist of it, is that this hollowed-out salt chunk from the mountains can boost air quality, your mood, and other things, apparently,” says Dan Nguyen, the lead researcher on the study. “It works by, um…”

“I don’t know, it looks nice, I guess,” reports Lara Feldman, Director of Geosciences at UCLA.

Sources say they have heard from other sources that the craggy salt clod, when warmed by its internal lightbulb, does “something” to promote emotional well-being, though they were “a little foggy” on the actual science behind it. One University of Texas undergraduate student says, “My roommate seems to like hers, I guess. I’m sorry, it’s supposed to do something?”

Read: Inside The Himalayan Salt Mines Where Lamps Are Excavated

“Yeah, it’s simple,” says her roommate. “It’s hygro — hydroscope. Hydroscobotic? Sh*t, I don’t know. I never use it.”

Others praise the lamp for, something about allergies? Says Feldman: “Does it work? Possibly. Should you throw away your inhaler? I wanna say ‘no.'”

“Look, here’s what we can say for sure,” says Nguyen. “It’s made of salt, it has a lightbulb inside, it’s from the Himalayas apparently, you plug it in… and, uh… F*ck it, who cares?”

At press time, all of the scientists interviewed had bought two, “just in case.”

God Issues Recall On Mankind

Detroit, MI — Citing numerous safety concerns and reported defects, all-powerful deity and Fluff News reader God Almighty announced a compulsory recall on all human life today. The announcement comes on the heels of roughly 40,000 years of human recklessness and cruelty.

In the official statement, a representative from the Heavens informed all of creation that currently living humans must be returned by August 31 of this year, as per God’s command.

It has come to our attention that, due to defects that were not apparent during trial periods, humans manufactured during the eras 40000 BC through AD 2018 may unexpectedly abuse, kill, maim, steal, pillage, enslave, oppress and, in rare instances, overheat to the point of spontaneous ignition. In later models released during and after 1800 AD, malfunctions resulting in pollution, deforestation, nuclear tampering and overwhelmingly bad judgment have also been reported. As these are design flaws on our part, we will replace all of mankind free of charge in order to prevent further incidents.

Immediate returns are necessary to address these hazards.

The safety and quality of God’s children are a non-negotiable priority for us, and we sincerely apologize for any inconvenience this may cause. Your patience and understanding is greatly appreciated as we work to correct this matter.

The statement goes on to clarify that this recall is “distinct and separate from the Rapture, which is still on schedule to take place on [redacted].”

God could not be reached for comment.

Editorial: There’s Still Plenty Of Meat Left On Those Bones, Son

by Mark C.

For me, Father’s Day isn’t about gifts or cards. It’s about spending time with my kids. And as much as I appreciate you wanting to treat me for the day, it was way too nice out to not break out the grill. So why not? You can get the dishes! But, as we wrap up this little barbecue, there is something I need to address, and it’s in that pile of wing bones you’ve decided are “done.” What I’m saying is, there’s still a good amount of meat there, Bucko, and you’re not going anywhere until you pick those bones clean.

Wings aren’t cheap. Just because I got those on sale doesn’t mean you can eat the bulk and let the residuals go to waste. If they were off-brand Kroger wings, I wouldn’t say anything. But these are Tyson. Yeah. Starting to rethink tossing perfectly good chicken scraps yet? I certainly hope so.

Really, I shouldn’t even have to tell you to clean them off. Look at my plate. I got every nook and cranny. And they were perfectly cooked-through (if I do say so myself). Got that Bone-Suckin’ Sauce that we all like. So what’s the problem?

Your mother didn’t let you eat before this, did she?

Alright, I’ll make you a deal. Polish off those drumsticks and I’ll let you slide for tossing that unfinished ear of corn. You thought I wouldn’t notice you throwing out a perfectly juicy cob and grabbing another? That was good corn. Fresh from the flea market. Didn’t even need butter. And sure, you got most of it. All I’m saying is, kill what you got before you go for seconds. But if you finish — actually finish — the rest of your wings, we’ll forget all about it.

Love ya, Champ. I had a blast today. It was truly a Father’s Day to remember.

But I know you can get more out of those wings. We’re not throwing them away until they’re completely bare.