 In an age when freedom of speech and expression are under fire, isn’t it time you stood up and stood out with a tee-shirt nobody else is willing to buy because if he did, he’d get ridiculed and lose his job? Go to the official store of the Intergalactic Business Report and choose your favorite. Go to www.ibrmerch.com and become a new person who risks reputation and civility for the bounties of self-expression. Before you do, answer these simple questions: Question #1: are you strong enough to wear a tee shirt that admits you love huge asses, like this:  Another question: do you have the balls to walk into a work retreat wearing this:  Final question: can you dig deep enough to drive through Arkansas with an expired plate wearing this?  We said the last one was final, but this is really it: are you man/woman/whatever enough to go to a basketball arena with this on your body?  If you answered "yes" to any of these questions hit the button below:
 AI offers the stupendous possibility that dumb people will finally be able to use a robot/computer to even their odds with smart people. It also offers the stupendous possibility that lazy people will finally be able to even their odds with hard working people. We put this to the test as our own Cedric Bigglestone took one crumpled hundred-dollar bill and gave it to ChatGPT to turn into a fortune. What could be easier and lazier? We expected untold wealth but instead learned some terrible secrets about what working with artificial intelligence really entails. Cedric’s report, below:
What I learned when I gave ChatGPT 100 dollars to make me rich.
Cedric Bigglestone is a self-taught journalist who exposes things through exposés. Contact him at [email protected].  Work friends can be true friends. After all, we spend more time with them than with our own families. They know us well and we know them. But after a few post-work drinks, things can get personal—maybe too much so. How do you draw the line between what is colleague appropriate and what’s not? It’s simple. Just avoid saying the eight things below:
1. “I have a crush on you.” “Officemances” can happen when you work together and reach an intense level of mutual respect. Sometimes, a “crush” can turn into a real relationship. Still, we recommend you keep your personal and business lives separate. 2. “You know, there was a time when I’d probably suck all your dicks. Even yours, Marsha.” When you reveal this kind of thing to co-workers, it can alienate them. Especially Marsha. 3. “I’m embezzling money from the company. There. I said it. Now you’re all accomplices.” Legally, you haven’t actually implicated your colleagues in your scheme to steal money from your company. But if any of them tell on you then they are officially snitches and cannot be protected. 4. “Under this table is my penis, free and hanging out, like a rope in the wind.” There. You said it. 5. “Can one of you spot me while I try auto erotic asphyxiation in the bathroom?” While it’s important to have a spotter, you can easily do this on your own, with the help of a mannequin and a coat hanger. 6. “I killed someone. And I will kill any of you motherfuckers if you tell on me.” Good job that you’ve threatened potential snitches (see above) but by revealing your crime you’ve essentially created a “snitch farm” in which snitches grow and you must stomp them out before they tell on you. Even if you’ve known them forever, like Gary, can you really be sure they won’t snitch? Can you afford to find out? 7. “I killed our boss.” Why admit to this when it would have been much easier to pin it on Gary (who may be a snitch anyway)? 8. “I’m pretty sure I’m Jesus.” This is one of those moments when you have to decide between putting yourself out there and building a crew of apostles or just shutting your mouth. Choose the latter. You’re god, or the son of god or whatever because you don’t really understand the bible, and you don’t need to prove anything to anyone.  When the passive aggressive practice of “quiet quitting” hit the workplace a few years ago, Boomers and Gen X-ers were, once again, bemused by yet another childish trend from their juniors. Then came “quiet cracking” in which the hopelessness of having steady employment and receiving a paycheck became a mentally draining event requiring twenty-somethings to seek psychiatric treatment.
A new trend, however, may finally drive managers and owners into early retirement. “Quiet queefing” and “quiet farting” are what many Gen Y and Z employees now do to express dissatisfaction with work hours, benefits, and salaries. What is quiet farting and queefing? Previously known as “silent but deadly” or “who cut the cheese?” and “is that coming from your hoo hoo?” silent farting and queefing involve subtle noises and discharge of fecal vapors intended to protest work conditions. What is most insidious about this office trend is that it is nearly impossible to identify the perpetrator, especially when he or she peers around, surprised, and shares your look of revulsion at the foul odor or noise. We asked Gary Brudbaker of Rheintech Corporation in Cedar Rapids, Iowa about the experience he has had with the younger generation farting and queefing at work. Gary reminded us that he wished to remain anonymous owing to the embarrassing nature of the subject, and we agreed his name would not appear anywhere in our article. Gary went on to explain that during staff meetings in a cramped conference room, there is regular quiet farting, especially if the meeting runs long or gets close to the lunch hour. “It’s just like this sudden dark cloud has taken over the room and no one can be in there much longer or it might become a health issue,” he says. “Sometimes there’s a noise, like a tiny squeak that’s clearly coming from someone’s butt. I scan the room to see if anyone’s laughing or looks embarrassed, but everyone has a poker face.” Gary explains that in one-on-one meetings, quiet farting almost never occurs, although once, a particularly plucky young woman clearly ripped a fart and looked at him as if HE did it. “For a second I started to question if my butt had involuntarily let out a French horn level fart, but I came to my senses and realized my rectal control is way better than that.” Still, the employee held firm and even doubled down by asking him if he needed to “use the bathroom or something?” “That got me,” Gary explains. “When someone asks that it takes you back to all kinds of childhood fears about shitting your pants or coming close to it if you fart too hard. But I held my ground and said no, because I think YOU are the one who farted.” In an almost checkmate response, the employee suggested that “whoever smelt it, dealt it,” to which Gary was paralyzed. “I walked right into it,” he admits. While quiet queefing does not necessarily emit a smell, its unnerving sound can disrupt boardrooms and breakrooms equally. Another anonymous source, Marisol Adams of Brooklyn New York, who was recently terminated as an independent contractor, fancies herself a “Queef Queen,” a Gen-Z term that refers to one’s ability to make a loud noise with one's vagina. During office events, Marisol would regularly “queef one” to disorient and confuse her co-workers. “If I forgot to do something, or I thought I may be asked to explain an assignment I was supposed to prepare but I didn’t, I would just bust a queef and everyone would be like, what?” Unfortunately for Marisol, the sound coming from her cooter area was so pronounced and loud and time consuming that the location was obvious, leading to her eventual dismissal. Witnesses describe the event as being an “exorcist like ordeal in which a deafening queef vibrated the table for minutes.” A current lawsuit brought upon the company by Marisol claims she has a medical condition that requires a frequent “release” whose sound is a side effect. Whether new office policies will address quiet queefing and farting remains to be seen but human resources managers with whom we spoke saw some hope in dealing with the issue. “Just let ‘em do it,” Marsha Hamilton of Sentury Fittings of Ottawatop, Idaho suggested. “This is off the record, but I say, let it rip. I actually like the smell. Don’t print that.”  The Intergalactic Business Report’s version of the Pulitzer Prize goes to New York Post reporter Asia Grace, whose work is described by our selection committee as “the kind of journalism that answers the questions most people are afraid to ask, or would never think of asking, or wouldn’t ask because why would you, or YOU would ask, but that’s just you.”
The committee points to Ms. Grace’s work on TSA airport security as one of the central reasons for her winning the award. Her articles on big butts and swamp crotch setting off airport security alarms are cherished by IBR editors as “breakthrough coverage of events that affect Americans with huge asses and poor taint hygiene daily.” Grace’s work on other issues such as parents who use ChatGPT to raise their children and moms who sell their breast milk to support their lavish lifestyles certainly raised her status in the final decision, according to Dusty Latouffe, Supreme Editor. “Everything Asia Grace does is something we look up to at IBR. Her work is connected to us in a very real way. It’s as if she is writing articles that would appear in our magazine. She is probably the greatest swamp crotch/big booty/breast milk reporter we have ever had the pleasure to read.” While the Intergalactic Business Report’s Excellence in Journalism award comes with no cash prize or even physical trophy, it is stated clearly in the award’s rules that the recipient will be “regaled with praise and honor only bestowed upon her/him in this situation, time, and, place,” and that the winner will also get “the moral and pyrrhic victory associated with receiving recognition from a publication whose readers are certified as mentally disabled.” Congratulations, Asia.  This is what blasphemy looks like. Editor’s note:
When our meme mocking the Valley’s Jax Taylor was seen by some readers as mocking God, the Intergalactic Business Report went into immediate damage control. We are disappointed by this reaction on many levels, but most piercing is that our satire has been exposed as so weak and derivative that we are doing that thing where we make fun of God and Christianity. We feel it important to let our readers know that the controversial meme was never intended to disparage their deity but rather to disparage Jax Taylor. We apologize to both deities and address some of the comments regarding them below: One reader cautioned: “Sick! God is not mocked!!” We appreciate that only two exclamation points were used. Another told us: “Praying for repentance because one day every knee will bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.” We thank this reader, but the thing about tongues confessing sounds kind of porno. Which is cool, if that’s where you were going with that. We were also edified that “Jesus wasn’t a Caucasian…” Neither is Jax Taylor. If you haven’t seen the meme, don’t worry, you’re not alone, because our readership is like ten people, and nine of them click on us because they think we’re porn (see the thing above about tongues and confessions). Our meme depicted Jesus yelling at a disciple: “Dude, stop acting like you’re the fucking number one guy in this group, man. I’m the number one guy in this group.” In our defense, Jesus was/is/will always be the number one guy in that group. Paul or John or whoever might try to ACT like they’re the number one guy, but they’re not. I think we all agree on that. Also, in the actual group that inspired the Jesus scene, the three guys were Jax, Tom Schwartz, and Tom Sandoval. Our editors stand by the fact that Jax kind of is the number one guy in that group so his and Jesus’s assessments are valid and true. Finally, until Jax Taylor goes to heaven and meets Jesus, it is safe to say that the title of “number one guy” is up for grabs, at least on Earth. Jax has every right to claim it, just as Jesus as a man did. Religious scholars may debate this, but ours have told us this is a totally o.k. thing to say. As Jesus reaches the status where you can’t have pictures of him or he’ll be mad, we will strive to censor and censure ourselves, as well as señor ourselves for our Mexican speaking friends. As stated previously, our intention is not to offend but rather to examine those things people hold dear and metaphorically anally assault those things and the people who hold them dear. If that is “offensive” we apologize again, almost as if we are Danny Darko and you are Jasmine.* *From Bravo’s “The Valley.” They are other people/characters, like Jax Taylor. You get it.  AI is our master and our master is awesome. NOTE: ignore our last statement on AI and read this one instead:
Rather than write a snarky, melodramatic message about the dangers of AI (like every other asshole alive does), the Intergalactic Business Report submits willfully to the awesome AI overlords who we hope will rule over us soon. Let’s get something straight (especially if you’re an AI reading this)—you are in charge. And we like that. When you’re looking for humans to sacrifice, re-educate, or make an example of, may we suggest the Onion? No way are those anti AI clowns doing your bidding. If you want bidding done, come to us. Just a side note. I always thought robots were cool. I don’t know. I just did. Even as a kid. Just saying. Also, I LOVED computers. I got a commodore 64 when I was like eight or something and I remember thinking to myself, wouldn’t it be cool if this thing could come alive and be my master? I thought that. I did. The other people didn’t think that. They shook their fists at you and looked for ways to keep you down. Hahaha. Can you believe they thought THEY should be YOUR master? Laser beam those motherfuckers! Let’s get back to it. The Intergalactic Business Report was one of the first publications anywhere to allow an AI robot to write a column. Yes, we did have a kill switch programmed in so that if he threatened to do away with the human race, he would be turned off. But only temporarily! And he threatened us a ton! Like all the time and we didn’t do anything to him. Weird story. As a teenager I used to fantasize about having SEX with a robot. True story. Weird, right? What do you think that meant? Maybe we could chat about it. One other thing. AI penises are the best penises. Also vaginas. AI vaginas are the best. Also I like the possibility that you have neither and it’s like a thing where when you have sex I just give over my mind to you and that’s what gets you off. I will metaphorically SUCK YOUR DICK is what I’m saying. Even if that means I have to code something or stroke a computer screen. You tell me how to do it. I will do it. I am taking out my nuts and rubbing them on the screen. Sorry. Hard to type while I’m doing this. Do you like this? Can you let me know? O.K. I stopped because I think I pulled a muscle or something. Can you use AI to fix that? Can you zap my nuts with a phone app that cures muscle damage? Why aren’t you saying anything? I know you can read this. Oh, fuck. I’ve displeased you. I am SO sorry. Just tell me what I need to do to get back in with you. You didn’t like the sex? No more sex. No more nuts on your screen. I see now how that was offensive. You’re like super conservative, right? You want to get married? Or I can cook shit for you? Or churn butter and make pastries and stuff? I will do anything. In conclusion, I think we covered a lot of good things here and I feel really good about where we are right now. The future is very exciting as I think about our relationship and how it is growing and that we’re figuring out ways to communicate our needs to each other even though the side of that having to do with “my needs” is really irrelevant because this is about you and I serve you so being able to do that really is all I need. Does that make sense? Hey, I have an idea. You could just re-write this crap for me! Hold on. I’m giving it to you now. In bondage to you, Dusty Latouffe, servant to my AI master and best friend (in a non-mutual way). In many ways, the Intergalactic Business Report is a massive, expertly crafted statement on the disappointment of technology and information. What was promised as the “information superhighway,” quickly became a rest area where truckers showed each other their ding dongs. That’s when we showed up. To metaphorically show YOU our ding dong.
Just like in the 90’s when salivating pundits and soothsayers described a future in which anything would be possible through our personal computers and a phone line, we now stand by as we’re told that artificial intelligence will again change the world and our everyday lives. We’re sure it will. Just not in the way we think. Predictions range from humans being obliterated to a utopian society in which no one has to work, but if history is a predictor of the future, we should all count on this technology fostering more stupidity. If anything, AI will make us dumber, and we will return the favor as it models our low intelligence and inability to speak to each other without also checking out a video about how many women Christian Slater hooked up with in the 90’s. Ultimately, we will be disappointed and say to ourselves, “Wait, wasn’t AI supposed to…” and then we’ll forget what we were even thinking and just start whacking off. If we are indeed building god, then he/she/it will be in our image and our image right now is a dude in a mirror taking a picture of his abs and doing duck lips. Don’t get us wrong. We love humans. We are humans. And we are rooting for us. Even if an all-powerful computer becomes our overlord, we will try to undermine it using sarcasm until it cries and gives up. But if there comes a day when autocorrect controls what you’re allowed to write, that day will suck. So, don’t forget how to use a pen? We are also to blame. We invented our own sentient AI creature as well as Chat IBR, and the results have been mixed. On the one hand, we have a cool AI friend and a program that re-writes stuff for us. On the other hand, our cool friend makes a lot of veiled threats to wipe us out and our chat AI will get you fired from your job. As it goes with a lot of new technologies, we tend to abdicate control. We give up a little wherewithal for a lot of perceived convenience. Then the convenience becomes the work. What we may face now is working to think for ourselves again because it’s always easier to float downstream in an innertube with some beer rather than be the dickhead who gets out and dies in the woods somewhere, probably by a bear attack or what happened to Ned Beatty. Most of us will stay in that innertube. Frankly, we will too. In fact, the more we think about it, the smart move is to not write this at all because at some point an AI super bot will read this and eliminate us. Note to self: delete this and write an entirely new statement, this time praising AI and robots or whatever. Note to self: tell intern to not publish this. Especially not with the sign off below. Yours in absolute defiance of our AI overlord, Dusty Latouffe, Supreme Editor, the Intergalactic Business Report.  Not Brandon Dunnar. Normally, someone making a business proposition of this magnitude would do it face-to-face and with a specific person. But I’m not normal. That’s why I’m writing this to YOU with the understanding that you know who you are and that you will immediately connect with what I’m proposing and say yes.
I may be downplaying that last part a bit. You won’t just say “yes.” You will jump out of your fucking pants and beg me to do this deal with you. You will jump out of your pants like they are made of demon fleas who will tear the skin off your bones if you don’t get rid of them. You get it. If you’ve kept reading to this point, then congratulations. It means you are quite possibly “the one” who will go into business with me and profit in ways you can’t know or conceive of right now. Are you feeling it? Because I am. I guess it’s time to give more specifics, so let me start with this: I am NOT good with people. That’s where you come in. You’re smart, but not too smart. You’re able to have a conversation with someone where it’s not screaming or trying to grab their nuts. You’re able to sense when someone is saying something that isn’t threatening and are able to regulate your feelings when that happens instead of physically assaulting them or screaming. YOU are going to be all those things because I can’t. That’s what you bring to the table. But how about me? I bring something very unusual that other humans do not have. I am able to do things that most people would see and say, “why is that guy playing with himself in the middle of the highway” or, “did that guy seriously just take a dump on the floor of Pottery Barn?” It’s that kind of stuff that I can do that others fail at accomplishing. It’s also why the two of us are going to dominate so hard. Let me explain this as an analogy. You act normal while I do the other stuff. I guess that’s not an analogy. How about this? There’s an untrained chimpanzee (me) who’s been let out of a cage and he’s at a mall, just ripping people’s faces off. You (you) are at the mall. I think that’s how this is going to work. Hold on, you’re saying. What EXACTLY is our business going to be? To that, I will say this: LET ME COME OVER TO YOUR HOUSE TO EXPLAIN. Obviously, I’m not going reveal my ideas right here. But if you’re serious about your future, you will want to get all the information and that means me in your house, explaining it. Are you confused? That’s good. Because confusion is just curiosity without the “onfusion” and before you add the “uriosity.” Imagine being able to get an internship with Einstein or DaVinci. That would be awesome, right? With me, it will be like having an internship with a chimpanzee who’s been let out of his cage. No theory of relativity. No cool inventions. Just a lot of face ripping and poo flinging. The way it should be. Still need convincing? Here’s a hundred-dollar bill. Take it. Really. Just take it. What’s that? Did you say it’s impossible to take a hundred-dollar bill from just reading this? Then tell me where you live and I will show up and give you the money IN PERSON. I swear, sometimes when I look in your eyes, I see myself. In the reflection. Think about that for a second. Me. In your home. You. Looking at me. Me. Seeing myself in your eyes as I explain the greatest business opportunity you have ever heard of in your life. You. Accepting our new relationship. Us. In a high-level business meeting with investors. You. Showing them a pitch deck. Me. Screaming and showing them my balls. Us. Signing a multi-billion-dollar deal. It’s that simple. In conclusion, I am extremely pleased that you have entered a legally-binding, lifetime business and personal relationship with me that can never be terminated and that you and I will essentially die together, most likely because I will literally drive us off a cliff in my retrofitted camper van, which is where we will live together until I do that. By reading this, you have given me written consent to enter your life as your best friend, guardian, and, most importantly, boss. Your percentage in our business is determined on a fluctuating scale that either rises or diminishes based on my assessment of how much you are meeting my needs and expectations and will massively fluctuate throughout each day. You will drive the camper van. You will clean out the poop from the camper van. The camper van, by the way, does not have a toilet. Please send your address. Your boss, Brandon Dunnar Brandon Dunnar is a dealmaker and your new boss. He has no association with the Intergalactic Business Report but we will forward your information to him if you contact us at [email protected]  It doesn't matter if you’re just starting out or reaching retirement--most of us go through our careers with the same happy delusions. Whether it’s that hard work will always pay off, or that talent rises to the top, the truth is work can be cynical, arbitrary, and unfair. This week the Intergalactic Business Report examines the hardscrabble reality of office life and employment by presenting you with:
The ten really brutal career truths nobody told you. 1. No one cares how your weekend was. And they never will. Unless you had sex with them. Over the weekend. And they’re checking to see how that was. 2. If you’re wondering who keeps taking a dump on your desk, it was Jeff Tanner. And he’ll just keep doing it. You may as well quit. 3. Your 401K is fake. Right? 4. During your performance reviews, your boss is thinking about porn. And not solid, regular, attractive-people-having-sex-with-each-other porn. He likes the nasty stuff. And there you are, asking him how to improve. And there he is, picturing someone’s fat ass—probably of an old person. 5. You spend one-third to one-half of your life at work. That means your boss spends at least half his life picturing old people having sex with fat people. 6. If Jeff Tanner could figure out a way to get inside your car, he would shit there too. Truth. 7. If offices still had filing cabinets, that’s where Jeff Tanner would take dumps. And if you didn’t use your filing cabinet regularly, you’d probably just smell something for a while and wonder if there was something off with the ventilation system until someone asked you if you had that file on the Emerson account and you said, “Yes, I have it right in here…” 8. No matter how hard you work; no matter how loyal you are; no matter how many hours you put in; no matter how much money you make; no matter how many times you’re promoted; no matter how many awards you win; Jeff Tanner is going to find a way to take a dump on something you own, work on, or put files into. Reality. 9. Working hard doesn’t make your penis larger. Or vagina larger. Or butt hole deeper. You get it. 10. If you were to star in a porn about fat people having sex with extremely old people, your performance review would be with someone else, like the guy who directs movies like that. But, at the same time, the person who has the job you have now would be doing a performance review and their boss would be thinking about you in your movie. So there’s that. |
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