 Why are kids forced to spend time with a gross old man? Trust fund baby Haley Debaron reflects on Christmas, her childhood, and Santa Claus.
Before you get your hate mail ready, I just want to say I love Christmas, and this article is not in any way saying I don’t. There. Oh, and if you’re some goober who dresses up like Santa Claus at malls, yes, you’re a perv. I could end this right here and I think everyone would understand but my editor* is telling me I need to explain more because apparently, you’re too fucking stupid to get it. Sorry. I apologize because that was a lot and you don’t deserve it. I hardly know you and I’m dumping my trauma on you, which isn’t fair. I’m trauma dumping probably because when my dad bought me this column at the Intergalactic Business Report, he warned me that writing this crap was the closest thing to therapy he was going to pay for anymore. Weird, right? Because in actuality, the closest thing to therapy that he paid for was for me to hook up with my therapist during our therapy sessions. Oh, I guess that’s why he added “anymore” on that. Anyway… When I was a little girl, I had a horrific experience meeting Santa. It was probably the same thing many poor people like you (just guessing but not really) go through as children when someone takes you to the mall and you sit in line and then they throw you on the lap of some old creep who’s stinky and acts like he’s your grandfather or something. I should probably note here that my own grandfather is rich and doesn’t cosplay in malls. He does do a thing where he hunts humans in Indonesia or somewhere so maybe that is cosplay because he dresses up in this whole “hunter” outfit when he does it. (I’ve seen pictures, but there’s no way I’d go in a jungle or whatever and live in a tent for three days). Back to my story. Annabelle (not her real name because when you’re rich and you get a nanny and you don’t like or can’t pronounce her name you can just pick one for her) took me to the mall by accident. She didn’t understand that if people like me really wanted to do the whole Santa Claus thing there were other ways, like where he keeps his distance and it’s more like he’s a security guard at Hermes who lets you in. Dumb dumb Annabelle (I say that with love, like a nickname I would always call her) brought me to this horrible Santa station and I waited there with the other kids like I rode the bus or something. I waited. And I waited. It was one of the hardest things I ever did in my life. For a minute I was like, what am I doing? I didn’t know what it felt like to be bored and not catered to and not brought to the front of the line. What was happening? I finally stood up for myself by screaming at Annabelle and demanding she have a good explanation for what we were doing there and why I was waiting. This is so funny when I remember it because the few times Annabelle defied me, I would always just go off on her till she either cried or got really really mad and said something in her language that sounded like they would be swear words. Sad news: she got fired eventually because an old man who could understand her told me: “Do you know that woman wants you dead?” Scary. But that didn’t happen on mall day, so dumb dumb Annabelle kept on working. When I got to the front and it was my “turn” (I still don’t understand this concept, but whatever), the gross old man beckoned me to, yuck, sit on his lap. I don’t need to explain how he smelled because you can probably smell it now if there’s a mall within a hundred miles of you. I guess people really liked this Santa because he had a real beard, and no, this story is not going to end where “he’s the actual Santa” or that maybe he was, or that it was ambiguous or whatever, because he farted like he had a French horn in his pants. Would the real Santa do that? Would someone’s old nasty ex-husband do that? Yes. Because that’s who he was, for sure. Fart. And it was so loud, everyone could hear it. At least they said so when I pointed at him and told them he just farted on me. In all fairness, it’s really possible he didn’t, but I was a little girl and this man just looked like a human fart and maybe that’s why I smelled and felt it. Sometimes, when a cute child starts yelling that an old man did something, people believe her. Other times, when a cute child starts yelling that her nanny stole silverware they believe her too. And, just to really make my point, when a cute little girl says to her parents that the chauffeur’s mustache smells like Uncle Dominique’s “brown” drink, they fire his ass. Oh, and all this stuff works when you’re older too. It’s like you never have to stop using it just because you’re in your twenties or whatever. I can’t even remember what the purpose of writing this was. Something about the holidays I think. But thanks to dad, none of that matters. The editors here don’t even read the stuff they publish and they’re all pervs anyway so who cares what they think? In conclusion, there should be a politician or someone fighting against everything I just wrote about. But they all get spooked that people will say they hate Christmas if they do. So lie down, cowards, and don’t fight back. Keep taking kids to the malls and have them freak out when they’re told the old man over there is going to decide whether you get what you want for Christmas. Great message, right? They told me when I’m done writing to just write “I’m done writing now. Goodbye.” I guess that’s a way to just be done with it. So, I’m done writing now. Goodbye. Haley Debaron. *Some drunk guy yelling at me over Zoom. Haley Debaron has a trust fund. It makes her rich. Probably richer than you and we don’t even know you. There’s nothing more to say really, than that. You can contact Haley at [email protected].  Admittedly, we started watching Netflix’s “The Beast in Me” believing it would be a porno version of “Beauty and the Beast,” but after our disappointment we stuck around to see what happens when a neurotic writer (Claire Danes) becomes friends with a serial killer (Mathew Rhys) and (spoiler alert) they don’t have sex.
As a new feature, the Intergalactic Business Report explores the business acumen of fictional characters because we feel that makes sense in some way. As we dig into “The Beast in Me” we examine and rate the money-makers and hustlers who make up the series. Below we offer character profiles, their business strategies, and ratings (on our proprietary 1-100 system). Business Acumen Ratings: The Beast in Me. Aggie Wiggs (Claire Danes): PROFILE: Pulitzer Prize winning author whose lips quiver when she cries (constantly). BUSINESS STRATEGY: Takes so many advances from her publisher that she’s run out of credit. RATING: 18. Nile Jarvis (Matthew Rhys): PROFILE: Billionaire scion who kills people for fun and just because. Oh, and also out of anger. BUSINESS STRATEGY: Killing people. Covering up killing people. Kidnapping people. Also does a little business here and there in which he’s really concerned about his “legacy.” But then he just keeps on killing people. On the plus side, he’s rich. RATING: 36. Nina Jarvis (Brittany Snow): PROFILE: New wife of killionaire Nile Jarvis. BUSINESS STRATEGY: Befriends Nile’s old, dead wife and then marries him and ends up with all his money after he’s imprisoned for killing people (see above). Good job. RATING: 98. Shelley (Natalie Morales): PROFILE: Ex wife of Aggie and artist who lives in a realistically huge loft in NYC. BUSINESS STRATEGY: If she were to rent out 10% of her loft, she could easily make more than a million dollars a year for that. But she doesn’t. RATING: 53. Martin Jarvis (Jonathan Banks): PROFILE: Patriarch of the Jarvis family. BUSINESS STRATEGY: Works on building a huge development in NYC by bribing public officials and covering up for his serial killer son. Also, he has a stroke and is euthanized by his creepy brother. Overall, if he doesn’t have the stroke and nobody finds out about his killer son, Martin’s doing really well. RATING: 87. Brian Abbot (David Lyons): PROFILE: FBI agent obsessed with taking down Nile Jarvis. BUSINESS STRATEGY: Lives in a ratty apartment and gets drunk. Also has depressing sex with his supervisor. If he did some freelance work, like security at concerts, he could probably up his income, but he spends his time humping his boss, drinking, and working on cases he’s not getting paid to work on. RATING: 3. Erika Breton (Hettienne Park): PROFILE: Compromised FBI agent. BUSINESS STRATEGY: Becomes a pawn for the Jarvis family in order to save her husband from ruin. But she doesn’t even ask them for any money and settles for just saving her husband from ruin. Then they get divorced and she’s the breadwinner, so some payoff money would have come in handy. RATING: 15. Olivia Benitez (Aleyse Shannon): PROFILE: Political figure who wants low-income housing. BUSINESS STRATEGY: Stays true to her principles until the Jarvis family sabotages her and she relents. Doesn’t even ask for any payoff money (see above). Will probably end up living in low income housing herself. RATING: 16. Carol McGiddish (Deirdre O’Connell): PROFILE: Aggie’s editor who keeps getting her advances. BUSINESS STRATEGY: Figured out a way to have a huge office with a view for doing whatever publishers do. Seriously, what do publishers even do? RATING: 91. Rick Jarvis (Tim Guinee): PROFILE: Martin Jarvis’s brother and family enforcer. BUSINESS STRATEGY: Gets a place to stay and is hired for dog training/sitting. Oh, and he also covers up murders, intimidates people, and offers bribes. Says he has “enough.” RATING: 100. Madison Ingram Jarvis (Leila George): PROFILE: Dead ex-wife of Nile Jarvis. Dead because he definitely killed her. BUSINESS STRATEGY: Pisses off serial killer husband instead of just dealing with it and being rich. RATING: 27. Simone (April Matthis): PROFILE: Hacker who helps de-encrypt agent Abbot’s flash drive. BUSINESS STRATEGY: Doesn’t accept cash or crypto and instead works for favors. When Abbot dies, she collects nothing. Idea: at least charge in back rubs or blowjobs and demand payment up front. RATING: 21.  When our editors noticed a recent Atlantic article titled “The end of naked locker rooms,” we didn’t read it. Mostly because we got the gist of the story through the headline, which said it all—people aren’t comfortable taking their clothes off in locker rooms anymore and that’s going to be a problem—for Phil Ratuliak.
Let us tell you about Phil. Phil loves getting naked. In front of others. It’s like his thing. So the prospect of him never being able to expose himself to sweaty strangers is going to be a massive hit to his personal life. FULL DISCLOSURE: Phil Ratuliak doesn’t know we wrote this article and in no way gave us permission to publicly examine his interest in being nude in locker rooms. MORE FULL DISCLOSURE: Ratuliak has threatened us in the past when we exposed him (but not in the way he prefers, in a locker room, where there are a lot of people around to see his naked body). Enough about Phil though. We feel strongly that the end of naked locker rooms is also the end of an era—for people like Phil Ratuliak who are most comfortable when they can take all their clothes off in a socially acceptable way where people aren’t thinking it’s weird and a “warning sign” and a “thing only perverts do.” It almost makes you think of the early days of naked locker rooms when some guy had the idea that all the other guys and he should be naked together after playing sports. It must have been so hard for the originator of naked locker rooms (perhaps a distant relative of Phil Ratuliak?) to present this idea at a village meeting or whatever they did back then. Imagine the balls on that guy. And also imagine how much courage it took to do what he did. After meeting strong resistance (we’re assuming, because we don’t do historical research), the first naked locker room was probably established somewhere on the East Coast, where there’s a longstanding tradition of circle jerks, clam bakes, Eagles games, and other male on male homoerotic events. From there it grew to something everyone understood and took part in—even if you had an odd-looking penis or a birthmark that looked like a penis. It was a time in our country when taking off your clothes, showering, and walking around really slowly to make the moment last were all 100% acceptable. Let’s face it. It was a time when Phil Ratuliak was 100% acceptable. But now, because of sensitivities and political pressure, our locker rooms have become more private, and less social. Men are asked to change in stalls or “changing rooms” and are even told, “Hey, you can’t be naked in here!” when they resist this new and lifeless social order. FULL DISCLOSURE: We are not telling men to resist or to undress in front of other men in a sign of protest or solidarity with Phil Ratuliak. But Phil Ratuliak probably is. Because this is everything to him and he’s like the head of a revolution to fight against anyone who doesn’t want to see him naked. FULL DISCLOSURE: We feel almost sorry for Phil. So maybe flash him if you see him. Or let him flash you. Choose kindness. FULL DISCLOSURE: We’re done writing now. Goodbye.  Jersey Mike's Therapy In season three of Hulu’s Secret Lives of Mormon Wives, cast member Mikayla bravely allows a therapy session to be filmed in which she deals with a horrifying childhood trauma. While we applaud her courage, we watched with great interest as the therapist employed a technique she called EMDR or Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing. From what we witnessed on episode five, EMDR involves a therapist asking questions while she holds up two fingers and feverishly moves them back and forth in front of the subject’s face until, we assume, the therapist finally passes out.
Because the Intergalactic Business Report prides itself on being at the forefront of any new psychological treatments, we applaud the Mormons for their unorthodox therapy techniques such as Ketamine therapy and soaking. Below, we list other therapies whose times have come and we invite the Mormon wives to try them: New therapeutic treatments for the Secret Lives of Mormon Wives. Jersey Mike’s Therapy: The therapist eats a sandwich, and her mouth is so full that you have to do all the talking, thus forcing you to express your needs, especially that the psychologist would stop eating or at least use a napkin. Open Hole Therapy: The therapist puts one finger in her own butt while asking you questions. High Heart Rate Therapy: The therapist does jumping jacks until she passes out. Extreme Urine Therapy: The therapist has to pee really badly during the session. Circular Motion Therapy: The therapist circles you while asking questions. 7-11 Therapy: The therapist drinks a big gulp during the session. Parlay Therapy: The therapist places bets on an app while you tell her about your childhood trauma. Silent Therapy: The therapist ignores you so you have to deal with the problem on your own because that’s the only way you’re really going to face it. Absence Therapy: The therapist isn’t even there. You just sit there in a room and think. Really think. Sticker Shock Therapy: The therapist reads you your bill while you ask how it could possibly be that high. Stop Motion Therapy: The therapist pretends to be “frozen” while she asks you questions. Then her mouth stops moving from the freeze and you have to be alone with your thoughts as you watch her grow more and more cold and distant. Water Park Therapy: The therapist is at a water park, and you are in her office. Occasionally she Facetimes you to tell you about the slide she just went down, and you have to be like, yeah, that’s awesome, and then she’s like, well, I better get back to it, and she hangs up. Dinner Therapy: You cook a meal for the therapist at your house while she questions you. But most of the questions are about why you cooked that so long and why there’s so much salt. Vespa Therapy: You and the therapist rent mopeds and drive through the city. It’s hard to talk because there’s traffic and it’s loud, but at the end of it you’ve symbolically “arrived” somewhere and that’s good, right? Extreme Decibel Therapy: The therapist screams her questions. Gen Z Therapy: The therapist plays on her phone while asking questions. Occasionally she’ll stop the session to show you a meme or just laugh at something and then apologize before saying, “It’s not you.”  On this week’s episode of Real Housewives of Salt Lake City, Lisa Barlow dropped the rumor that Bronwyn Newport’s husband Todd was seen by her friend making out with someone and that he was “farting the entire time.” When questioned about who her friend was, Barlow stated it was “someone that I believe and trust.” She added that, “I mean, I grew up in New York, I know a lot of people.”
Something about this exchange captivated our editors and led us on a path of truth-seeking we have seldom journeyed upon. We realized that we too know a lot of people we believe and trust, so we decided to share the stuff we’ve heard from them. Here’s what we gathered from those trusted sources: “Colonel Sanders bit my nipple off.”* “Squirrels are real.”** That was pretty much all we got. But then it hit us why this story fascinated us so much. It was simple—Todd’s fart power. If Lisa Barlow’s story is true it means that Todd was able to go through an entire make out session (which averages 11.9 minutes) while farting “the entire time.” That means almost twelve full minutes of nonstop farting. Considering a fart takes about two seconds to release (five if it is a long, bellowing rip) Todd could have farted almost 360 times, making him the greatest living farter on Earth (Banjo Mukaheedin will always be number one, but his farts were before recorded history and are the stuff of legends). Even if Todd only “made out” for a few minutes, his fart production would have been stunning. Lisa’s description of the event also reveals that people were actively watching and smelling the event, meaning it was so pronounced and farty that at least one witness felt compelled to come forward and tell the world. We assume the ventilation at the incident site was powerful enough to prevent deaths (see below). The implications for Todd as a fart master are significant. The obvious route for him would be to work for an intelligence agency where he would appear in a subway tunnel or elevator and target foreign adversaries with his farts. Most humans can absorb the odor of one or two farts, but few are immune to the foul deadliness of a veritable Gatlin Gun of tiny butt explosions. Todd could enter the scene, fart until his victims fell dead, and then leave as though nothing happened other than a middle-aged man entering a closed space and farting for several minutes until everyone died. As you read that last sentence, you probably asked yourself, “Wait a second. How’s Todd not dead? He’s in the middle of the fart storm.” And this brings us to the most intriguing part of Todd’s ability—he clearly can’t smell farts or at least isn’t affected by them. He can even make out and do them. Experts*** we spoke to told us that farts you produce yourself are somehow not as malodorous as someone else’s, forming what is known as the Smellt it Dealt it Paradox. Whatever the case, Lisa Barlow’s rumor remains officially unverified and is kind of like someone saying they saw Bigfoot—we want to believe them, but if it’s true, then the world has changed forever. *Could’ve been someone who kind of looked like Colonel Sanders. **Unverified. ***Some guy at a bar.  Amid the commercialization of Halloween, we often forget the true meaning of a holiday that brings millions of people together through the exchange of candy, the creativity of costumes, and the trust we put in our friends and neighbors to not poison our children.
“Big Halloween” has stolen the innocence of a day in October when children once made their own crappy costumes and roamed their local streets carrying pillowcases to hold a bounty of singly wrapped butter scotches, weirdly shaped Mounds bars, and tiny tootsie rolls. Today, fueled by pop up Spirit Halloween shops and “fun sized” candy bars, a cold, multi-national conglomerate of money-churning ghouls has subverted wholesome fun in favor of profit and conformity. One bright spot has been the slutty outfits worn by hot parents and single women who have one magic night to act like a hooker. Go back thirty or forty years, and this kind of action was hard to find. Harder still, were not penises. Because there was nothing to harden them as there is today. You get it. How do we fight against the all-consuming consumerism of Halloween as it creeps up upon us again today? How do we explain to a younger generation that there was a time when the joy of a brisk fall night and running around the neighborhood with your friends was the true reward and not the logistics of having the perfect outfit, the perfect display of skeletons moaning, and the perfect dish of candy, laid out perfectly for the perfect little children who have no respect for the work you put in as you hide in a nearby bush, dressed as one of the guys from Milli Vanilli (although they wouldn’t GET that) and you tell yourself only to jump out if one of those fuckers takes more than two pieces because that’s what the fucking sign says? How? How do we explain that in our day women didn’t even think of wearing slutty outfits and if they did it was because they ALREADY were hookers and they were kind of dressing for work? How do we tell them there were no pre-made sexy kitty cat or skanky nurse costumes available to anyone? If you were a skanky nurse, you were ACTUALLY a skanky nurse. If you were a sexy kitty you were an ACTUAL cat, and if people found you sexy, then they were into having sex with animals. It was sick back then. Here's a terrible idea. Let’s start handing out hot beef sandwiches to kids this Halloween. Or is it a great idea? We don’t even know anymore. In the end, your Halloween celebration is up to you. If you want it to be cold and driven by internet trends, then that’s your choice. But if you are attractive and want to dress up like an incredibly slutty version of yourself then do that too. Don’t hold back. In fact, use the internet and social media to display pictures of you dressed up as an incredibly slutty version of yourself. We’re done writing now. Goodbye. -The editorial staff.  It’s Halloween month in America and many are seeking the scariest movies to soothe our need to imagine humans being slaughtered, evil spirits popping up behind priests, and crypto beasts invading our homes. But for a growing amount of the population, a different kind of film is driving viewing preferences. Enter the erotic Halloween movie, which isn’t porn* but is very close, and whose plots mix the spooky with the kinky.
To save you from accidentally searching porn titles, the Intergalactic Business Report offers you a list of the best and hottest erotic Halloween movies, streaming right now: 1. Abigall’s Ghostly Panties. Abi Johanson has a dark secret. Her underwear is dead. Huh? Turns out her undies used to be worn by a Victorian lady who had a lot of sex with random mendicants she encountered on the streets of London. When Abi stayed at the Trenningham Arms on a post-college vacation to find herself, she woke up wearing them. At first, she screamed. But then she felt a certain cold comfort and began transforming into Ms. Minkle, the bawdy old whore to whom the foul garments belonged. When Abi meets and falls in love with dashing royal Samuel Boynefeld, he asks her to marry him and live at his lonely estate in the north of England. But Abi’s panties long for the London streets until they find out that Samuel too has a pair of possessed undies. Is it a match made in hell? Or just two attractive young people wearing nasty 19th century underwear? Streaming on Netflix. 2. Tie Me Up and Almost Kill Me. Fred Givens has a peculiar kink. He likes to be subdued and beaten. Good thing other people are into subduing and beating people because otherwise Fred’s sex life would be empty. One night, Fred’s Tinder date gets a little too rough and almost kills him, but doesn’t, leaving Fred to wonder if he can push the limits of his sexuality closer to death. SPOILER ALERT: Fred’s new sex partner is into it but is also reasonable enough to see the danger and exits the relationship, leaving Fred’s sex life empty (see above). But when Fred meets an actual serial killer, he believes he has found a partner who can finally satisfy him. SPOILER ALERT: turns out that’s a bad idea because the serial killer and Fred aren’t on the same page when it comes to what they want. So Fred just gets flat out murdered. On Amazon Prime. 3. The Sun and the Stench. This horror gem takes place in the fictional town of Assville, Ohio, which is almost permanently dark and cloudy. Assville is near a chemical plant that often blows a foul stench upon the citizens. Before the stench, there is sunlight, but only for a moment. While most people accept Assville for what it is, plucky teenagers Terrence and Fiona decide to solve the mystery of the odor. SPOILER ALERT: They’re all living inside someone’s butt, and the sunlight is when the butt passage opens up to fart. Streaming on Tubi. 4. Nasty Girllzzzzz. The biggest whores and the biggest whores all have an orgy to decide who is the biggest whore. And it takes place on Halloween (probably). Available only on VHS. 5. Pumpkin Fuckers Five. See our 2024 article. This movie still holds up, a year later. 6. Isn’t it Time We Stopped Having Sex with Our Masks On? A documentary about people who only have sex while wearing Halloween masks. Not very scary, except for the fact that these people wear Halloween masks when they fuck each other. So, kind of scary except no one dies. SPOILER ALERT: the group decides it is NOT time to stop having sex with their masks on, so stay tuned till there’s a follow up documentary or whatever, where they revisit that question. Streaming on IFC. *It’s porn.  I am writing this while a grizzly bear humps my leg and a gallery of jacked up, steroid freaks films it. I shouldn’t have let it come to this, but I had to do it for the sake of my job, my life, and my country. How did I get here? That’s a whole thing.
One week earlier: As I enter my workplace, something seems off. Erika, who’s usually upbeat and friendly, won’t talk to me. I brush past her desk and accidentally rub against her shoulder. “Sorry,” I say, but she has no reaction. Is she deep into her work? Or did I do or say something to piss her off? Next I go to my boss’s office. I peer inside but he’s not there. That’s odd. He’s usually not absent on a Monday morning. I ask his assistant if he’ll be back soon. She won’t answer me. Now I’m starting to get angry. “Why won’t anyone talk to me?” I scream. Everyone in the office looks away and pretends to be working on something but I can tell they hear me. Even so, I scream again. And again. And again. One day earlier: Outside my boss’s house, I am drinking a bottle of expensive wine—because I have class and also because I stole it from my neighbor who is a fancypants but that’s a whole other thing I can’t get into right now. As I finish the last drops and set the bottle down, I finally have the courage to approach the house and ask my boss for what I deserve. He answers the door. He looks surprised. I had a whole speech prepared but when I open my mouth, all that comes out is: “AAAAAARGGGH!” He shuts the door. I pound on it. He says he’s called the police. I try to explain, but again, all I can do is say: “AAAAAARGHHH!” Then I add: “Motherfucker!” and I run. One hour earlier: I look through Darrin’s fancypants wine collection and decide to take the bottle he said was most expensive. Stupid Darrin. He won’t miss it, right? Anyway, I take it and leave and walk to Erika’s. I sip my wine and get up the courage to approach her house. I walk up the cobblestone path that leads to her door. Then I knock. She answers. I have so much to say to her but then I speak and something goes wrong. I can only say: “UUUUUNNNNGGGH!” and then: “Master Blaster!” In my heart, I know what that means. But the translation is off. I must explain and tell her that “Master Blaster rules Bartertown.” She doesn’t get it. I’m not sure I do either. I do a dance, because that is the last thing I can do to express myself. One minute earlier. “UUUUUNNNNGGGH!” I say to Erika. “Master Blaster!” One second earlier. “Master Blaster.” Present time: I am writing this while a grizzly bear humps my leg and a gallery of jacked up, steroid freaks films it. I shouldn’t have let it come to this, but I had to do it for the sake of my job, my life, and my country. How did I get here? That’s a whole thing. Question: How the fuck does this even work? Cedric Bigglestone is a self-taught journalist who exposes things through exposés. He also writes other stuff, like this. Contact him at [email protected].  When “it was all just a dream” ended as an acceptable plot device, writers were left longing for a way to skip the burden of building a compelling story and interesting characters by replacing it with a jarring mindfuck that leaves everyone unsatisfied.
That’s when someone came up with the idea to start every narrative “in media res” and then flash a title card saying: “One month earlier” before making the rest of the script the story of how the fuck we got to the whacko scene in the beginning. This method of storytelling is so brilliant and accessible even the Real Housewives franchise starting using it. We hope to as well. But before we do, we just want to tell you, the writers, thank you. Even though the BEGINNING of your show is the only exciting part we will ever actually watch, we are now prepared to slog through the entire backstory leading up to the excitement. Thank you again. We can’t wait to find out why the character in the beginning scene is pissed off at that other character even though they were best friends a month ago. What? Huh? This is bonkers. Also, how did they get into a shootout? Some pretty fucked up stuff must happen in this story! We can’t wait to find out. One more thing. When we finally DO get to the beginning scene (at the end of the show/movie/episode) how the fuck are the characters going to get out of THAT mess? You’ve got us thinking at so many levels our shorts just fell off and yup, we have a hard-on. Some people may call it “hapless” or “inept” or even “fuck it, imma do this even though every other person does this every fucking time--there I did it" but we celebrate the consistent use of tropes till they grind our brains numb. Below we list a few of our other favorites (in case you’re not using them already): 1. The man whose wife cheats on him and he has to apologize to her because it’s really his fault because he “took his eyes off the prize” and deserved it. 2. The degenerate gambler who inexplicably starts winning every hand, dice roll, and roulette spin till he only needs one more bet to win it all—and then he loses. Oh no. 3. The degenerate gambler who owes money to some “really bad guys” and they want it back or some really bad things are gonna happen. Oh no to the no. 4. Black Rabbit. 5. The character who coughs and someone says, “Are you o.k.?” and she says, “Of course. I’m fine.” And then she dies. 6. The scene where 90-pound women go out drinking and do twelve tequila shots in a row and don’t die. 7. The hot chick who wears baseball jerseys and knows more about sports than any man. 8. Chad Michael Murray eating a cheeseburger. 9. Something really positive happens that’s going to solve everybody’s problems and then immediately afterwards everything goes to shit. 10. People having mature relationships where they trust, understand, and genuinely appreciate each other and say things like, “You deserve this” and “Whatever you decide, I’m behind you 100%.” 11. Characters who live in New York City who find it impossible to come up with ten grand even though that’s what they pay in rent every month. Ed Mountaineer reads Ryan Reynolds lips and you won’t believe what they say. By Ed Mountaineer.9/11/2025  At a recent Hollywood something thing, a lip reader noticed that Ryan Reynolds was a complete dick to Eugene Levy, but because Reynolds hides behind his perfect image, most people didn’t catch it. But the lipreader did. So…
Anyway, it’s well known that I am in a longstanding feud with Ryan Reynolds and that it’s something that could have been alleviated years ago but wasn’t because Mr. Perfect thought it was better to continue “not knowing who I am.” That’s not an actual quote, because Ryan Reynolds holds me in such contempt that he refuses to even be quoted about me. I put that in “quotes” because it’s the least I deserve—to have Ryan Reynolds say he doesn’t know who I am and have someone ask him about me in the first place. But I don’t even get that. What many people don’t know about me is that I have been reading lips for years. I didn’t “learn” to do it—it is just a natural ability I’ve always had. As a child, adults would turn down the volume during the Muppet Show and Sesame Street, and I could still follow every word Big Bird, Oscar, and the Swedish Chef said. To this day, I can simply walk down the street and “hear” everyone—as if they are shouting madness at me and I, like some sort of wonderful, benevolent god, listen to their pathetic prayers. Many of their prayers are grunts that are not language and fart noises, but I listen, nevertheless. I said I was benevolent. On to my lipreading. I feel like I need to prove my abilities, because anyone could just say, “Hey, I can read lips and thoughts and stuff,” and it could be a total lie. So I’m going to list a few things I “heard” through my lip reading in the past few weeks. I think you’ll find them very interesting and, in some cases, very shocking. O.K. Here we go: Ryan Reynolds, talking to a limo driver: “Hey, motherfucker! Learn to drive! I’m Ryan fucking Reynolds. You don’t drive Ryan Reynolds like that!” Ryan Reynolds, waving to fans as he went into a restaurant: “Are you seriously my motherfucking fans? Seriously? Ryan Reynolds wants better fans! Come on, man. Leave this Earth!” Ryan Reynolds, shopping somewhere: “Is this the fucking perfume section! Arrrrgh! I didn’t want to be here! This sucks! Get me out of the perfume section, motherfuckers! Arrrrrrrgh…!” Ryan Reynolds driving his expensive car into his big fancy house: “Is that Ed Mountaineer standing near my driveway? I will steal his soul if I get the chance! Bahahaha! I control your thoughts now, Ed!” Ryan Reynolds, as a talk show he’s on goes to break: “This show motherfucking sucks! You suck! I hate this fucking show! You suck! Did I already say that?” Ryan Reynolds, looking at his phone (not speaking, just thoughts): “I wonder if I should call Ed Mountaineer. He seems like a cool guy. Maybe I should give him a chance and do a trial best friend thing with him where we do it for six months and if it’s going really well then we do it permanently. Hmmmm.” Homeless guy I saw (doing that thing where he puts his index finger on his lips and moves it up and down like he’s under water): “Buhbuhbuhbuhbuhbuhbuh...Bububuhbuhbuhbuhbuhbuh…(breathes) Buhbuhbuhbuhbuhbuhbuh.” Ernie (of Ernie and Bert) at no volume: “Hey Ed, Ryan Reynolds is talking smack about you again. I know. Just wear your space helmet and he’ll go away. Just do it. God damn it, Ed! Put on the motherfucking helmet!” That’s it. In conclusion, I’m available if you need me for lipreading services. I charge a lot, but I can also read thoughts, so that makes it worth it. I’m done writing now. Goodbye. Ed Mountaineer is an opinion columnist for the Intergalactic Business Report. He was hired after we encountered him at a Taco Bell. He can be reached at [email protected]. If you would like to hire Ed, please see his résumé here. |
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