Ed Mountaineer pens an extraordinary letter to the entire country of Germany. Will his honesty, integrity, and vulnerability get them to listen?
I am writing this letter to your whole country because I thought it would be dumb to just address it to a couple people. Also, I don’t know anyone personally in Germany, so that would have been even dumber. O.K. Got that out of the way.
What I really want to say to everyone over there is what a lot of Americans have been thinking for a long long long time. It’s kind of a question we have for you. Here it is:
Do you think you’re better than us?
That felt good. I’ve been wanting to say that forever, like I said before. If you’re a German, you might be sitting there like, “What the fuck is this guy talking about?” But more likely, you’re saying something like, “Strudel Füdel! Of course vee are better zan you! Vee are Germans…”
In case you don’t have television yet or have never seen a movie or have an inability to realize anything, I want to tell you a little about why you’re NOT better. Here goes:
1. You made most of the dog breeds, true. But we took all those and turned them into American dogs that have tiny heads and huge bodies or huge heads and tiny bodies. And they’re all different colors and they bite people and sleep in our beds and when Germans see them they ask, “What kind of dog is that?” and we say, “Fuck if I know” because we don’t.
2. Your beer is good, but we drink ours through beer bongs that hot chicks hold for us. You drink yours while contemplating how you’re going to make a black and white movie about a librarian who meets the human representation of anxiety and they read a book together for three hours.
3. You have food like “schnitzel.” We have “dirty water” hot dogs, seven-layer dip, and Jello with shit floating inside it. I guess you might win that one.
4. I’m pretty sure we started porn. I’m pretty sure you didn’t.
5. You have people who say stuff like, “Fürsen schmürzen.” We have people who say stuff like, “Please give me my check for one million American dollars because I’m an American and I’m rich so give me more money, please.”
6. Speaking of, you have the “Euro.” In America, a “Euro” is someone who wears tight pants, is a DJ, and says shit we can’t understand.
7. You have the Coronavirus “under control” using “contact tracing” and “science.” We have awesome pool parties where everyone’s invited because we don’t hate people.
8. You don’t have an Independence Day because you’re so dependent on each other. Americans have July 4th, where we have pool parties and talk about how independent we are—right up close to other people’s faces.
9. Germany doesn’t have Mexican food unless you count “Pepé von Hindenburg’s South of the Border Tequila Bar” in the town of Nowherebecauseitdoesn’texistenstein.
10. “Awesome” is a word everyone in America says because we are.
11. You build stuff that people want to buy. We just buy stuff. That’s got to be better.
12. You make cars like Porsche. We take your cars and make posters of hot chicks lying on them and we hang them in college dorm rooms like it’s no big deal.
I think I’m done for now. I really hope you’ll consider what I’m saying and take it to heart. The next time you think you’re better than us, just read this and maybe stop thinking that. That’s how the healing begins.
Respectfully to myself,
Ed Mountaineer operates on his own, like a rogue agent (whatever that means). We do not endorse his views or support his lifestyle choices. We do print whatever he writes, but that’s not on us. Reach him at email@example.com
An old saying goes, “You should never meet your heroes” We assume this is because of a restraining order where if you do meet them, you go to jail. But it could also mean that you might be disappointed when you actually come in contact with them.
Maybe they’re not as handsome or not as nice. Maybe they’re really short or have super bad breath. Or, again, maybe a judge has specifically ordered you not to come within one hundred yards of them because you keep sending them life-sized dolls of yourself with a note saying: “Get ready for the real thing… Cumming soon…”
But what if the reason you should never meet your hero was because the person you admire, idolize, and obsess over is actually dangerous, sadistic, and a threat to your existence? We found out the hard way that celebrity James Charles Austin is one hero you should never meet. Here’s why:
1. James Charles Austin claims “he isn’t a celebrity” when you meet him. This immediately throws you off because you are asking for a selfie with him and he’s like, “Please leave me alone,” and you’re like, “But you’re James Charles Austin,” and he’s like, “Who?”
2. James Charles Austin punches people.
That’s right. If you try to reach into his pockets for identification to prove that he’s James Charles Austin, James Charles Austin will hit you in the face. That’s assault.
3. James Charles Austin says incredibly mean things to his fans.
If you find James Charles Austin in a Target parking lot and say, “Hey, James Charles Austin! I’m a huge fan!” he will act like he doesn’t know you and keep walking. When you try to keep him still so he doesn’t walk away anymore he starts shouting things like, “Let go of me you fucking pscyho!” and, “I’m gonna call the fucking cops, you piece of shit.” Very hurtful.
4. When his fans approach him, James Charles Austin pretends he’s someone else.
In 17 encounters with James Charles Austin, he claimed to be someone named “Jeff Newman.” We have to give him an “A” for consistency because he kept giving us the same fake name. We also award him a big fat “D” for creativity for not switching up his false identity even once during our spontaneous meetings.
5. James Charles Austin will press charges for even the mildest breaches of his privacy.
As a major publication, you would think a celebrity would accept a simple request for an interview, but James Charles Austin not only refused, but also called the police and threatened to sue us when we arrived at his home for a sit down chat to see what projects he was working on and if he wanted to promote a movie or whatever. (That’s the kind of stuff that celebrities NEED, by the way). Also, he got extremely pissed when one of us hid in his cupboard so we could look at how he was when the cameras weren’t rolling.
6. He will threaten to kill you if you sleep under his bed without his knowledge.
Apparently, he fucking hates that.
June 7, 2018. “Research for love.”
Dear Intergalactic Business Report Forum:
I read your publication all the time and always thought the articles were fake. Then something happened that totally changed my mind.
Before I go any further, let me tell you a little about myself. I’m about six feet tall. I go to a small Midwestern college. Girls say I’m “cute” and I have a pretty good body. I work out. Whatever.
Anyway, one day I was at the college library, just doing some research for a term paper, when out comes this librarian who begins to “shush” me. Since I was making no noise, I was a little surprised.
Let me describe this librarian for a second. She was about five foot nine, brunette, and had lipstick all over her face, like she had tried to put it on but missed… A lot.
I asked if something was wrong with her. She looked like maybe she’d fallen off a bus or something. She said, sweetly, “Nothing’s wrong with me. I’m shushing you because I want to have sex with you!”
I slowly unzipped my pants, as seductively as I could. A crowd of students gathered around so I zipped them back up and pretended to be reading again. This really pissed off the librarian, who, as she got closer to me, I could see was a man. A man who had lip stick all over his face and had fallen off a bus or something. He was limping and snorted every time he stepped.
Suddenly I felt like my super cool sex encounter was now something else. I moved a few feet back and tried to reason with the librarian. I said, “Hey, this is a library. This isn’t a place for sex.”
But the librarian really hated that. He stormed towards me and the crowd of students cheered. In the end, I made a deal with the librarian that I would have sex with him if he helped me with my research paper.
The sex was pretty bad. Like the kind you regret before you even do it. And it turned out the librarian didn’t work there and was really bad at doing research. So I guess that was a bad move on my part. Oh well, that’s why you go to college, I suppose. To learn things.
February 1, 2019. “Like plumber, like son.”
Dear Intergalactic Business Report Forum:
I’ve always loved reading your sexy stories about men and women having sex, so I thought I’d tell you about my own experience, which I hope will fit right in.
I’m a female. Guys always say I’m “hot” and that I have a “dick sucker” face, whatever that means. I weigh practically nothing and I work out all the time. Kind of like what those girls who weigh nothing do.
Anyway, I was doing some Instagram modeling by my mirror when I suddenly noticed that someone was watching me. My roomates weren’t home, so I was like, “What the fuck?” and I turned to see it was the plumber.
“Anna said to fix the toilet,” he told me. “Oh,” I answered.
He was about fortyish, not much hair, and he kind of smelled like he worked on toilets all day. But something about him was sexy as hell. What was it, I thought? Then it hit me. He looked exactly like this fat old guy I had a thing for in high school—Mr. Davorak, the janitor.
I watched as the plumber worked. He really got his whole arm into the toilet. Some of the water splashed on his face and the light caught it just right, so that it almost looked like a teardrop under his eye. “He’s sensitive,” I thought.
“Do you need something?” he asked, when he noticed me standing there. Yeah, I need something, I thought. But I just said, “Sorry, you just look familiar.”
Then he turned and I saw his badge. It said, “Danny Davorak.” I was like, What????? This wasn’t the Mr. Davorak I had sex with in the boiler room of my high school. Was this one of his relatives?
Turns out he was Mr. Davorak’s dad. Yeah. His dad. And he was more like sixtyish and not fortyish. I remembered that my Mr. Davorak had said something really strange to me after having sex way back when. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but suddenly it had a lot of meaning.
He had said, “Anonymous, if you ever meet another dude in my family, I want you to have sex with him too.”
“Even if it’s your nasty dad or something?” I asked him.
“Especially if it’s my nasty dad,” he said.
I guess some things come full circle. Needless to say, Mr. Davorak’s dad and I had sex. And he didn’t even fix the toilet. But he said he’d come back next week. I’ll be ready!
Germans… They’re those people who make shit that doesn’t break. Now they say they have the Coronavirus under control. My response to both: Whatever.
Before I go any further, I want to explain a couple things so that the rest of this article makes sense. First, I make my own rules. And second, because of that I spend a lot of time being “expelled” from group chats, "detained” by police, “divorced” from women I didn’t technically “marry” because I’d just seen pictures of them on the internet, and also “been court ordered not to come within 200 feet” of many of my ex-wives.
That’s kind of my bio. Now for what I think. Get ready.
The Germans started a long time ago, just like a lot of cultures. But along the way, something weird happened with them. At some point they started looking down on everyone and acting like they were better than me. Let me give you an example: World War Two.
O.K. next example. The other night, I was watching t.v. and there was a commercial for the Shamwow, a cloth that, I guess, you use to masturbate or something? Anyway, near the end of the ad, the salesman says something about how the product is made in Germany and that because it is, you know that it’s “good stuff.” Whatever, I thought.
Fast forward to now, when the Coronavirus pandemic is taking over and the Germans are like, “Oh, we have this under control. We have a system where we can track the numbers and blah blah blah.”
Let’s get this straight. I live in America. That means we don’t bow down to invisible diseases. We fight them out in the open and drink beers and make out with each other at pools. That’s my country. In Germany, they start a “system” to “combat” the disease. Sounds like World War Two all over again. Just saying…
If I went out and talked to the average anybody in any place anywhere in the world and I gave him two options (one: you use a system of contact tracing and numbers and shit like that to control a virus, or two: you make out with people at pool parties while getting shitty drunk), most humans would choose number two.
Which is what America does. Number two. We do number two all over everyone in the world. (If you aren’t American, you probably don’t get that joke, Ha Ha).
So, let’s recap. America: pool parties, sex with gross people but you don’t care, and hard alcohol. Germany: numbers and tracking, like a robot or something. America wins again. (Just like in World War Two.)
Also, the Shamwow sucks. I tried to use one and it shredded my dick. What the fuck?
I’m done writing now. Good bye.
You probably haven’t heard a lot lately about George Clooney, Brad Pitt, and their super cool, super funny relationship. We hadn’t either. Are they still friends? Do they continue to play whacky pranks on each other? Do they ride motorcycles around Italy and… we forget what else they were supposed to do all the time.
Anyway… An editor from the Intergalactic Business Report accidentally overheard the pair having a private conversation. Although he didn’t have a recording device with him, he was able to memorize the minute details of everything said. Here is a transcript of that:
GEORGE: Did you figure out the Fast Pass?
BRAD: The what?
GEORGE: The Fast Pass… The thing we use to get on the rides.
BRAD: Like the ticket?
GEORGE: Yeah. The ticket. It’s timed or whatever.
BRAD: Like a clock or something?
GEORGE: Jesus. You’re so fucking stupid.
BRAD: What ride do you wanna go on anyway?
GEORGE: Well, let me see… If you had figured out the fucking Fast Pass I could answer that. Now it’s gotta be whatever has the shortest line.
BRAD: Why don’t we just get outta here? This place sucks anyway.
GEORGE: I fucking knew it. You didn’t wanna come to Disney. You fucking didn’t.
BRAD: I told you I’d go. Shit. Calm down.
GEORGE: Yeah, but then you didn’t figure out the Fast Pass. So we can’t go on any rides.
BRAD: You’re such a girl.
GEORGE: What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
GEORGE: You’re the girl.
BRAD: That’s what your mom said.
GEORGE: That you’re a girl?
BRAD: Yeah. She likes it when I act like a girl and then have sex with her.
GEORGE: That makes no fucking sense.
BRAD: Yeah, I know. She’s a total freak.
GEORGE: Fuck you.
BRAD: Fuck you too.
GEORGE: Let me see the fucking Fast Pass.
BRAD: I think I dropped it or something.
GEORGE: Oh, you dropped it? That’s such bullshit!
BRAD: I’m gonna leave.
GEORGE: Yeah. Fuck off. Leave. I’m gonna wait in line for a ride.
BRAD: See you in like sixteen hours.
GEORGE: Fuck you.
Vanderpump Rules star Tom Sandoval has been named one of the greatest human beings on Earth by the Intergalactic Business Report.
This coveted honor places Sandoval in a pantheon of others selected in past years, including Harry Reams, Bonafacia El Trudio-Holgate Destaria, and Adrian Zmed.
After months of kind of watching Sandoval’s show, IBR judges were struck by an episode in which Sandoval gives his thankless friend, Jax Taylor, a Randy Jackson signed samurai sword. This gesture, wasted on Taylor, was immediately considered the greatest act of human ingenuity and awesomeness in the history of mankind.
HOW THE CONTEST WORKS:
The Intergalactic Business Report’s judges secretly scour the planet in search of people they believe may qualify. Most years, no one reaches the magnitude of greatness needed to win, and the prize goes unawarded.
UNLIKE ANY OTHER YEAR IN THE CONTEST’S HISTORY:
Thirty-four of the thirty-six judges nominated Tom Sandoval. The remaining two judges were split between British acting great Phil Collins and Phillipino pornstar Chongo Alvarez. Says one judge, “I don’t even know who Jax Taylor is, but he was given a gift on par with the holy grail and treated it like someone handed him an Outback Steakhouse coupon.”
WHAT DOES SANDOVAL WIN?
Most important, Sandoval wins a seat on the Intergalactic Council of Greatest Human Beings Ever. That’s pretty much it. There is no monetary prize because money is considered tacky by our panel of judges. If Sandoval declines the award, it goes directly to Chongo Alvarez, who’s been lobbying for this for years.
JOIN 436 TRILLION READERS TODAY.
When the news first arrived, I thought it had to be a joke. A deadly virus that no one could see was causing the entire world to shut down.
Then came the stay at home orders.
Let me back up just a little before I tell the rest of this story. For most of my adult life, I’ve had a simple dream—namely that I could sit in my apartment, eat whatever I liked, and drink till I was so ripped I could shit my pants and not realize it or care.
Back to the story. The stay at home orders. This fulfilled part one of my prophecy—the part about me sitting in my apartment and not having to leave. Nice, I thought.
Then I saw stuff on the news about “essential businesses,” that were staying open. Grocery Stores. Check. That’s where a lot of my food was going to come from. Then I saw Taco Bell listed. Check again, only better.
Finally, they said that liquor stores were also essential. No shit, I thought. Checkmate.
Just when I thought my life couldn’t possibly get any better, they announced that I’d get a government check, just for sitting on my ass at home. What?
Within no time, Uber Eats was bringing me Taco Bell and I was screaming at the dude from behind my plexiglass storm door. He tried to understand me but gave up. It didn’t matter because I was just yelling, “I’m drunk.”
Fast forward a little and now people start talking about “re-opening.” What the fuck is that? I wondered. Apparently, it meant the worst. That fat alcoholism was only a temporary thing and that soon I’d be expected to go back to work and talk to people without being drunk.
Side note: talking to people sober is like a disability for me. I have trouble doing it because I tend to lie a lot in that I won’t tell them to fuck off and that I hate them. When I’m drunk, I have no problem doing that. Also, I shit myself at work one time and human resources said it was “inappropriate,” and “demeaning” to the people I wiped it on. Also that I was “fired.”
Another issue I have with going back to work is the clothing crisis. Nobody likes talking about this, but many people like me don’t fit into our regular clothes anymore. Now that we’re so fat, we’ve opted for stretch pants and sweats and sometimes even wearing nothing. The last option is probably the most comfortable except when I burn my nuts with cooking oil when I’m trying to deep fry cheesecake (which doesn’t work, by the way).
I think the country might be better off if they used fat drunks to fuel our country. I assume there’s a scientific process by which we could hook up people like me to some kind of energy source and we could provide electricity to others, maybe for free. I imagine this would also fight climate change somehow.
In conclusion, I think the only way to put this is that I’ve had my dream ruined by people who would rather stop me from drinking and eating than helping America. So, in a way, I’m just fighting against Hitler, which is good, right? And anyone disagreeing with me is Hitler’s buddy, like the guy who carries his shit around for him and says stuff like, “Oh, Mr. Hitler, can I please hold your nut sack for you while you pee?”
So good job, evil nazis. You’re winning. And yeah, I’m drunk. Super drunk. And I’m about to eat a cake by myself.
UPDATE: I am currently looking for work and would be interested in anything that involves house sitting. Also, I can do long haul trucking and debt collection. Thank you.
Ed Mountaineer operates on his own, like a rogue agent (whatever that means). We do not endorse his views or support his lifestyle choices. We do print whatever he writes, but that’s not on us.
If you’ve ever watched zombie movies or television shows, you’ve probably asked yourself a simple question: Why is this in any way appealing to me or anyone else for any reason whatsoever? But once you got past that, you reveled in the frightening depictions of a decaying world in which only the strong, ruthless, or lucky survive.
The Intergalactic Business Report studied actual zombie apocalypses in order to give our readers a more realistic view of how humans survive or die. We determined that the reason so few people live through such events comes down to six stages, which we have outlined below:
During most zombie apocalypses, there’s an initial period where people freak out and hide from the zombies. This usually lasts about three months.
In stage two, most of the people get tired of hiding and decide they should maybe leave their houses. One of them usually says something like, “Listen, it’s been long enough. It’s time to get out there and re-open stuff.”
Stage three begins shortly thereafter when people start to think the zombie apocalypse was a trick by the government to keep people locked up and compliant.
A lot of questions are also asked about what the government is going to do to end the zombie problem because it’s taking forever and there doesn’t seem to be a solution.
At some point a guy from the government is on t.v. and says they’re working on it and they think they could have a cure to the zombies if they can just have more time.
Some guy in his living room yells at the t.v.: “It’s been three fucking months!”
A bunch of people say the zombies aren’t dangerous and that you could go outside and hang out with them and nothing would happen.
Others believe that even if you do get bitten by a zombie it’s not that bad.
Stage five starts a couple hours after stage four, when everyone leaves their houses and go to bars, which just got re-opened. At the bars they do stuff like try to shake hands with the zombies who wander in and take pictures with them.
Pretty much all those people get killed by the zombies and turn into zombies themselves.
The rest of the people hide indoors and say stuff like: “What a bunch of assholes. Look at them getting eaten by zombies.” The indoor people feel vindicated when they see their formerly cocky neighbor wandering around as an undead creature. The pleasure lasts about four minutes. Then they realize that might be better than hiding in their houses forever. Then they try to order Uber Eats.
ED WRITES NOVELS NOW. THESE EXCERPTS ARE TAKEN FROM RANDOM PAGES OF HIS LATEST EPIC, “FACEBLASTER.”
“Stop trying to make me into a clone!” screamed Clone134xH.
The doctor continued, as if he didn’t hear the plea.
“At least make my balls huge?” reasoned Clone134xH.
“Then you wouldn’t be an exact clone of Captain Starbuckle. You’d be him only with giant nuts.”
Captain Starbuckle unleashed his penis, which had been hidden beneath his raincoat for what seemed like hours.
Space penises like his could detach from their user and go on spy missions.
“Goodbye, penis,” he whispered soulfully. “Come back with the information I need.”
In the Blorodorian Galaxy only Flatutions were allowed to grope at the pulsating statue nipples. But Jeff did it anyway.
“Bleepz! Bleepz!” The nipples sounded the alarm, bringing the temple centurions out of their guard’s nests.
“You have violated space law 334!” one of them shouted.
Jeff squeezed his nuts violently, transporting him to the year 1983 on Earth.
“Well hello, Michael Jackson,” he said.
“Hello, Jeff,” Michael replied.
AND ANOTHER EXCERPT:
Four trillion years was a long time to grow a penis, thought Captain Starbuckle as he gazed upon his massive tool.
“Can we use it like a bridge? And walk back to Earth?” questioned Chorgo.
“Hop on and let’s find out,” Starbuckle cheered.
Look for Ed’s book at bookstores everywhere soon? -The Editors.
The Intergalactic Business Report’s singer/songwriter duo, Jeff Massengill and Summer Eve, release a blockbuster new song about how they plan to open their sex parts to coincide with America’s re-opening amidst the Coronavirus pandemic. While we can’t provide sound or melody, we are releasing the lyrics, below:
“So many weeks… So much time… I look down at my crotch… Is it still mine?”
“So many nights… I wondered when… My skanky friend… Hey how you been?”
“Need a little while to reacquaint…. With everything down there, even my taint…”
“It’s time to re-open… Time to unlock the latch… America’s open, and so is my snatch…”
“I thought I stopped baking cookies, but here’s a new batch. America’s open, and so is my snatch…”
“Lost my job drilling oil, down at the dock… Now I’m starting new drilling, this time with my cock…”
“The bank is foreclosing, I can’t get a loan… But they’ll never stop me from using my bone…”
“It’s time to re-open… Time to sing a new song… America’s open and so is my Schlong…”
“Time to shout at the sky, all the way up to Venus. America’s open and so is my penis.”
*Artist notes: REPEAT LIKE FORTY TIMES.
Like yoghurt, we keep it cultured actively.