 Dick Rambo and Cornelius Whacker. Every so often, a movie comes out that pushes the boundaries of public decency and sets off a debate on the difference between erotica and pornography. This year, that movie is likely to be Big Butts and Huge Nuts, a raunchy entry that carries a punitive triple X rating.
For now, most mainstream streaming services are passing on the film, which recently changed its title from Massive Dicks and Nasty Chicks, in a bid to curry favor with more conservative entertainment outlets. Even with this update, the producers were left with a harsh, cold NO. If you’re wondering what the movie is about, we can tell you this—it does not have a traditional plot. Instead, the filmmakers rely on a semi-realistic portrayal of people having sex with each other. Critics who have seen Big Butts and Huge Nuts claim the actors, although actually engaging in intercourse and other sex acts, are not a good depiction of what average people look like as they copulate. For example, they point out that the male penises are almost comically large and that the action is “closer to acrobatic” than what you might see if you were, for instance, a fly on the wall at an orgy. To this point, actors Dick Rambo and Cornelius Whacker have very few lines, and the ones they have seem improvised, such as: “Unnngh!” and “Yeah! That’s right! Oh yeah!” But according to Whacker, dialogue is not the point. “The director didn’t really give us any lines,” he tells us. Rambo adds, “It’s more like they tell us what to do sexually—which positions and stuff like that. The lines we have are just kind of made up in the moment.” If one had to describe the plot of Big Butts and Huge Nuts, it would be that several men enter a warehouse and start fucking women who are conveniently there. They use couches and a random bed that’s just sitting around, for apparently no reason, until you figure out the reason is to have sex on it. The nudity, full penetration shots, and visible boom microphones are considered by many to be disqualifying features for high-end services like Amazon Prime, Netflix, and others. But is this fair, or just a matter of taste in art? Says Naomi Cumbell, who appears in most of the movie, “Who let you in here?” One of her co-stars, Sheila von Tittenstorm agrees, “Yeah, who let you in here?” We may never know the answer to that question, but one theory is that we just walked into the warehouse and started talking to people in between the times when they were fucking each other. Even more likely, though, is the theory we just mentioned, where we walked in, etc. Will Big Butts and Huge Nuts ever make it to a streaming service that shows movies that aren’t just people fucking? And, more important, does it count if we cast it onto our 85-inch t.v. and pretend we just clicked on Netflix and there it is? Once again, we may never know. But one thing’s for sure—believing in yourself is everything and family comes first.  Not even close to a real depiction of Ed Mountaineer. Ed misunderstood how Monique Samuel’s “love letter” therapy works and he’s redone his work for a better grade. Read his statement below:
NOTE: I guess I fucked up the whole “love letters” thing because I’m being told I wasn’t supposed to be writing love letters TO other versions of myself, but love letters FROM other versions of myself. Guess I should have actually read the book? Anyway… Let’s try this again. Love letter one (from my teenage self) Dear nowadays Ed, Hope you’re doing well. Right now, I’m whacking off. Hard. And that makes it difficult to write you a letter. I will try again when I’m not pounding my meat, but that will be a very narrow window, because I’m doing that constantly. Ed. Love letter two (from my college self) ‘Sup Ed? College is awesome and I’m getting paid and laid! Not! I am getting drunk though. And I’m making decisions that will absolutely fuck our life in the future. You know what they are so I won’t include them in this letter. Back to doing cocaine with turtles I found in the woods, Ed. Love letter three (from me ten years ago) Dearest Ed, I write to you during a time of great change in myself. I received your letter about Nvidia and I have invested everything I have in her. She is not only an excellent dancer, but I think I’m really starting to get along with her kids. The other day, one of them accidentally called me “dad” but then took it back and reminded me that I will never be his dad. I think that’s progress. Also, Nvidia’s ex has stopped trying to murder me, for now. I think it’s because he moved to Alaska to work on a fishing boat where he says he’ll make enough money to win her and his children back. Nvidia tells me it’s highly unlikely he’ll be able to do it, and I’m waiting to hear because he just called and she’s talking to him and she looks super excited and happy and yup, she’s moving back in with him. Why the fuck did you tell me to do this again? Up your butt, Ed.  Taking inspiration from Real Housewife Monique Samuels, Ed Mountaineer goes on a journey of self-reflection and growth by writing love letters to himself.
I’m not usually the guy who’s into self-help, self-care, and self-reflection, but there was something about Real Housewives of Potomac’s Monique Samuels that made me pay attention when she came out with a book about how to find personal growth through writing love letters to yourself. The book, available at Barnes and Nobles and on Monique’s website, advertises itself as “A memoir of self-discovery, transformation and healing,” and explains that “Through shadow work and truths revealed through experience, Monique helps readers confront the patterns keeping them stuck in toxic cycles and gently guides them toward deep self-compassion and soul level forgiveness.” Apparently, if you write yourself love letters, you can grow as a person as you affirm yourself, make peace with your past, accept who you are, and celebrate all that. Also, you’re supposed to write the letters from the perspective of different “versions” of yourself, from different times in your life. I tried it and the results are amazing. Below, I have included three of the letters I wrote. I hope you enjoy them but if you don’t, it doesn’t matter because this is my journey. Three love letters to myself (from different versions of me). By Ed Mountaineer. Love letter one (to my teenage self): Dear Teenage Ed: Why are you whacking off so much? It’s super weird to do it that often, don’t you think? Anyway, I just thought I’d check in and say hi because I LOVE you and I want to be there for you as you get through these really difficult years where all you do is beat your meat and do super embarrassing stuff that will make you wake up in the middle of the night when you’re older and wonder why you did it. I guess I’m here to tell you there’s absolutely nothing you can do to take any of it back, unless you get this before you decide to do that breakdancing thing at the talent show. If you haven’t done that yet, DON’T. Also, you call your teacher “mom” and you’re sixteen so it’s extra weird. Have you done THAT yet? Anyhoo… Keep your dick in your pants, Ed. Love letter two (to my college self): Hey Ed. What up brah! You getting’ paid and laid? No? Maybe that’s because girls don’t like you and you don’t have a job. I’ll write again when you get your shit together. Take it sleazy, Ed. Love letter three (to me ten years ago): Dear Ed, Seriously, what the fuck are you doing? It’s me from ten years in the future and all I can say is that you’re totally fucking up my life with all the dumbass decisions you’re making. If you can invest a shitload of money in this company called Nvidia that would be COOL. Do it. Now. Oh, that’s right. You don’t have any money. Jesus. What the fuck are you even doing right now? Hold up. I just wanna say I LOVE YOU. Do you feel that? If you do, then make some decisions that aren’t dumb as shit and make some fucking money, so I’m not broke right now. I’m sitting here waiting and nothing’s changing so obviously you aren’t doing shit. I’m still waiting. How the fuck does this work, anyway, Monique? Can you get me some tech support on this or something? True love always, Ed. 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.  The series finale of Netflix’s Stranger Things has been a little action and a lot of Emmy money shots in which characters resolve issues we didn’t even remember they had and use super original metaphors like, “you don’t get to write the ending…not this time.” As usual, we bring you deep analysis and insights you won’t find anywhere else.
On Season Five, episode seven, demon stick person Vecna captures Will while he’s sleeping (?) and uses him to locate his friend Max who is in a coma, so he can kill her. In addition to using him as a tracking device, Will reveals to his mother, friends, and brother that Vecna also showed him other “horrible things” including that his loved ones would not be cool with his coming out as gay. After what seems like an hour, Will finally spits it out and says he’s homosexual, and we are forced to remember a time when this was actually a big deal and people spent an inordinate amount of time prepping everyone for the news. In case you don’t follow the series, Vecna was once Henry Creel, a test subject for evil government experiments who somehow turned into an all-powerful creature made of vines and squirmy tentacles and changed his name to Vecna because that was way cooler than Henry Creel. His powers allow him to command demon servants who capture townspeople, put them in trances, and place them in a netherworld in which they all live in Henry’s childhood home with him. Instead of capturing all the hot chicks from Hawkins and having them live in a mansion with him as the only man in their universe who provides for their needs and desires, Henry chooses to snatch children who he must entertain, feed, and constantly assuage. Interesting choice considering he could have had a bunch of strippers and cheerleaders competing for his affections, but he thought it was better to be a babysitter. But before you start thinking he’s an obvious child molester, remember that the reason he chooses children is because, unlike strippers, their minds are more malleable, and they are easy to manipulate. O.K. He does sound like a child molester. Anyway, Vecna threatens Will with the possibility that his gayness will repel everyone, but instead of hiding in the closet, he bravely tells everyone and it takes like an hour (see above). We assumed the “horrible” things Vecna showed him were mutant spider kittens and the world ending. But it was more about perceived social embarrassment and humiliation. Brilliant. Because those are the really scary things, right? In a profound discovery that will change the trajectory of the Stranger Things world, we tell you the other horrible things Vecna showed Will that weren’t revealed on the show. Six other “horrible” things Vecna showed Will. 1. Will calls Hopper “dad” by accident and it’s super embarrassing for him. Hopper acts like it’s no big deal, but he’s not a great actor so they both just kind of stare at each other awkwardly for a few seconds, hoping Will’s mom will come in and break up the mortifying silence. But she’s out shopping or something. So it just continues. 2. Will is hanging out with Mike, Lucas, and Dustin and Mike leaves to get snacks at the grocery store. Will suddenly has a craving for Cool Ranch Doritos but since there are no cell phones unless you’re super rich, he can’t just call him and say, “Hey Mike. Make sure you pick up some Cool Ranch Doritos!” Instead, Will has to just hope Mike gets some, but he doesn’t, so Will is stuck eating a bunch of crap he doesn’t even want, like fucking regular Ruffles and something called Chicken in a Biscuit. 3. Will calls Joe but can’t remember why. Joe isn’t there, so it goes to his answering machine, but since Will can’t remember why he called, he has nothing to say and just breathes and then it becomes a thing where if he does say anything it’ll be weird and if he doesn't it's weirder. 4. Vecna’s on Spring Break with Will and since this is a vision of something that could happen Will freaks out because he would NEVER choose to go on Spring Break with him. So it sucks. But Vecna pays for everything and the place they stay is super cool and there are a lot of chicks, but that also sucks because they’re not into that (see above). 5. Will flat out pees his pants. At work. At a job he doesn’t have yet, but it’s a vision of that. And everyone’s staring at him and he tries to explain that he hasn’t peed his pants since he was a kid, but nobody believes him because there he is, pissing his pants, right in front of them. 6. Will shows up to a Christmas party with what he thinks is an awesome outfit. Turns out, Dustin is wearing the same one, and while they try not to be “girls” about it, one of them has to change, because they are kind of girls about it. Dustin refuses to be the one to go home and pick a new outfit. So Will just decides to ride it out, but it’s unbearable because every time he starts relaxing and feeling a buzz, he looks across the room and there’s fucking Dustin, wearing the same fucking sweater, pants, and socks.  I’m going to open this column with the grace and dignity this holiday season deserves—by denouncing you and the institutional consumer slavery that pushes you through December like the guy who whips the rowers in fake-historical movies about the Roman Empire. (Don’t even get me started.)
Every year, you toil to pathetically build “Christmas” moments with your “families” by killing trees and displaying them like serial killer trophies in your houses. Oh, and you try to buy your way out of child neglect by giving “your” kids (as if they belong to you) gifts made by child labor in China (and yes, I do think Xi Jinping is hot). In case you don’t get it, the concept of biological families is a political construct invented to make daddy strong and everyone else weak and having children is child abuse. This is where you start calling me names and saying the womyn writing this article (me) is insane. But if insanity is believing in a different reality where there are no consequences for your actions but only if you’re in class/gender/race/stereotype I approve of, then I’m fucking bananas. Quick thought: Capitalism made Karl Marx into Richard Marx and then into TJMaxx. Anyway, as you drink from the spigot of commercialism and it tastes like it’s flowing through somebody’s butt crack, don’t blame me. You made your choice. I made mine. And that’s to become the most annoying human being on the planet by simply not participating in the lie of holiday cheer and polar bears drinking Coca Cola. Did you know in real life that would kill them? Do you know that right now, they’re falling off a melting ice drift that probably has old coke cans and other garbage in it because you don’t care if the world dies as long as you can stuff more Chik-fil-A into your fat bloated stomach? Note: St. Nick was a communist drag queen. Still wanna open his presents? Didn’t think so. Another note: Sex workers are “Christian” too. Also, God is a drunk Mexican truck driver who just drove through your living room window. Yo quiero Taco Bell? Didn’t think so. It’s time to announce I’m supporting legislation to legally poison the U.S. food supply with the same rat poison used to exterminate rodent Americans for centuries. After all we humans die, may our furry successors crawl over our dead bodies and show us how this planet should be really cared for. I know that has nothing to do with Christmas or Holidays but neither does being the next Hitler and you celebrate that. But don’t worry, I’m going to keep on track by giving you some things you should consider this December as you mindlessly worship the god of consumerism. Here they are: Things to consider this December as you mindlessly worship the god of consumerism. Rudolph is a minority and his nose is Ebonics. Think about it. “A Charlie Brown Christmas” was originally “A Jim Crow Christmas” and Pigpen has AIDS. Kris Kringle is a child molester who gives kids toys to sit on his lap. I’m going to spend Christmas Eve at a Soul Food Restaurant and ask the waitress if she’ll shoot me as her tip. Lesbians are great unless they work on an organic farm and don’t shave their armpits, right white bros? Here’s a funny Christmas joke. Why did the white people hang stockings? Because they thought they were black people. Get it? I signed my neighbors up for the wine of the month club, except the wine is a different homeless man I find to live with them every 30 days. Ho Chi Minh can rock my egg roll. Pol Pot was like Santa Claus to Cambodia. Only they had no chimneys. And instead of giving people presents he killed them. But the message of peace and unity is pretty much the same. The next time you cuddle up around a fire and listen to Christmas music and sip eggnog, picture me having unprotected sex with a transexual Guatemalan polar bear. Come get me ICE. Seriously, will someone please call them and get this thing off me? Didn’t think so. Radna Shurebeets is a political activist whose views are often considered a “little much” by people who hear her views. But herstory is never made by womyn who are “just right.” If you’d like to contact Radna, or comment, you can reach her at [email protected].  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. |
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