 I have one question for “MAGA” republicans. Hitler much? If that offends you, then stop talking about how nobody should get offended when you make racist jokes and hate on LGBTQLMNOPlus people. Am I right? Somewhere, someone SANE just said “Amen” to that because, even though I don’t believe in God, I align myself with African-American churches where people say “Amen” and “Preach on” and “Testify.” So thank you, probably black person, who said that when reading this.
The Intergalactic Business Report asked me to write this column because they said they were interested in someone who would just write crazy shit and who couldn’t be paid because she doesn’t accept “money” because that’s what wrong with this planet, along with poverty, climate change, racism/sexism/homophobia, and also pollution and white people and disinformation and religion but not Islam. Now I’m going to say something just to piss you off. Che Guevara was hot. So was Chairman Mao even though he didn’t take showers or bathe. That’s nasty. I like nasty. Another thought: I hope every climate denier out there burns their hand on their stove today because that’s like a million degrees cooler than the sun so get used to it. Also, polar bears are hot. I would totally have sex with one and then let it eat me because I deserve to die because I’m human and destroy the planet by existing. Communism: the radical idea that all people are equal, except the ones who don’t agree with communism. Those people need to get rounded up and killed. Capitalism: the warped idea that if I can run faster than you, think better than you, and do everything better than you, that justifies me beating you in a race, getting into a better college, and living a better life. Let’s get real for a hot second. Not everyone is “clinically depressed” and been “diagnosed with multiple personality disorders” like me. But here’s a question: if you’re so great why are you wearing 500-dollar sneakers made in a sweatshop in Asia and posting dick picks on a phone a child constructed while he had an AK-47 pointed at his head? I’ll take my “dangerous to herself and others” diagnosis over your sorry bullshit any day. Barbie movie. Also, sex workers. Don’t call them prostitutes. And, before I forget, plus size models are beautiful and if you don’t believe that then maybe you need to gain some more weight you disgusting hillbilly. Now I’m talking to those enlightened people whose minds are awake and open and understanding of my thoughts. To you, I say, let’s just kill ourselves, o.k.? We don’t deserve to be on this planet, and we should just leave it to the racist clowns who live for Nascar and monster trucks and flush toilets. If we want a serious look at a serious future for the hu-womyn not racist, I think we need to finally implement:
I think I just heard another “amen.” A couple other thoughts: Gender is a political construct. That means if you want to know whether I’m a boy or a girl you can suck my dick—either way. Wealth redistribution: the radical idea that people who don’t have any money should switch with people who do have money. Country music: what Hitler would have listened to if he grew up in Tennessee. My personal activism is feeling so hot right now I may masturbate on Fisherman’s Wharf. Some people will feel threatened by that because in today’s America, public self-pleasure is considered wrong and dirty and something to be ashamed of. We’re taught that our bodies are sinful and should be covered and hidden but that’s just puritanical slavery inculcated into our society to oppress women and reduce them to objects of sexuality and reproduction and that’s just evil except if you do it for religious reasons that aren’t Christianity. Then it’s beautiful and we should stone any motherfuckers who disagree. The killing fields: the radical idea that we should get back to nature, drop destructive social classes, and murder everyone. O.K. I think I’m done writing now, but I hope I’ve made a difference. Don’t forget, you can be the change you want to make and that justice is not a choice—it’s a right. Also, vote. 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]. Bachelor bombshell: What actually happens in the “fantasy” suite. An exposé by Cedric Bigglestone.3/12/2024  This week on ABC’s “the Bachelor” the long-anticipated fantasy suite episode arrived, in which bachelor Joey spends sexy alone time with women who’ve decided to let go of their fears from their last relationship where their boyfriends cheated on them by dating a guy who is definitely going to pork two other women right before or after he porks them.
But what really happens in the “fantasy” suite after a bachelor awkwardly whips out an envelope with a girlish handwritten letter from host Jesse Palmer, inviting the couple to join him for a night of no limits sex and betrayal? Wait. What? That’s right. Are Joey’s paramours also “Jesse’s girls”? Self-taught investigative journalist Cedric Bigglestone exposes the popular show with a scandal for the ages. Below are his stunning findings. The Bachelor’s fantasy suite is a den of lies. By Cedric Bigglestone. Part one: Not a Bachelor fan. But a fan of justice and morality. Let me start by saying I’m not one of those guys who “watches” the Bachelor on ABC. I’m one of those guys who doesn’t “watch” the Bachelor on ABC. So when a tip came to me that something called the “fantasy suite” was not what it seemed, I was like, O.K. And then I kind of stopped listening. Whoever told me this kept bitching though. On and on and on. Till finally I had to ask, “What is the bachelor?” and “How do you know I’m not going to order something after I get done taking a shit in this Taco Bell bathroom?” And, of course, to myself I asked, “Why is the manager of Taco Bell telling me all this?” She seemed terrified. As if this was a secret that could get her killed. Needless to say, I didn’t order anything when I was done, and there was what many would call a “screaming match” in the parking lot because you’re not supposed to take dumps at Taco Bell without getting food and also because it was closed and was still under construction. Usually, I never lose screaming matches, but this time, as I kept listening, I felt there was something different about all the things this lady was telling me. I guess you could say that I “finally started listening to women” even if it was for a few seconds. Later on, a cop would tell me that she wasn’t even a Taco Bell manager, but instead a person who had wandered onto the Taco Bell construction site, apparently to impart wisdom on patrons like me. As an investigative journalist, I see things you may not. I opened my ears and in flowed information—this time about a show called the bachelor. I did my research and due diligence. I watched a few episodes and began to understand the plot, which is basically that tennis teacher Joey Graziadei prays to a Jesse Palmer who makes a bunch of women want to be his wife. From there, Joey makes cuts till he gets down to the three women he wants to have sex with the most. Jesse transports them to a resort where the women are chided into being “vulnerable” so Joey can have his way with them in a hotel room called the “fantasy suite.” Sounds pretty great for Joey, right? Almost too great? I thought so too. What I found out next was worse than a Taco Bell construction site bathroom. The fantasy suite was a den of lies. Part two: Indecent proposal, only it’s a three-way. For the next seventeen hours, I talked with several sources not affiliated with the show. They told me things that were sometimes unprintable because they were in other languages I didn’t understand, and they also told me things that were in English, which I will tell you about now. Bombshell one: The fantasy suite note is from Jesse. Why? After bachelor Joey has narrowed down his sex targets and isolated them at a Mexican resort, he takes them on “dates” in the jungle. Later, at “dinner” he presents them with a note, from Jesse Palmer, asking them if they want to join him in the fantasy suite. Most people see the note and assume it only pertains to Joey and his sex date. But the note is from Jesse Palmer. Why the fuck would Jesse Palmer “invite” a couple to have sex in a hotel room? The answer: because when they arrive there, he’s on the bed, waiting. Bombshell two: The couple is never shown actually fucking. Why? Probably what jumped out at me the most about the fantasy suite episode of the bachelor is that after the couples go back to the hotel room, they are never seen actually having sex. Considering the whole point of the fantasy suite is to bone, why is the boning not filmed? Or is it? What’s even weirder is that after they enter the suite, the show skips to the next day, and nobody talks about boning. Most people would be lying in bed and saying stuff like, “Your snatch was really huge” or “Way to fuck me last night.” These couples say nothing. One of my sources thinks she has the answer. She told me simply: “Jesse makes them shut up. He don’t like them talking ‘bout what happened.” Bombshell three: You can’t give plasma if you’re drunk. Did you even know that? Jesus fucking christ. Bombshell four: Does anyone even know who Jesse Palmer is? I asked some of my sources about Jesse Palmer. I got all kinds of fucked up answers, none of which made any sense. “He’s a football player,” one told me. Then I learned he’s Canadian, which makes that impossible. “He used to be the bachelor” another one insisted. “So,” I reasoned with the source, “that would mean he used to fuck himself in the fantasy suite?” Clearly, Jesse Palmer, along with other Canadians, sneaks into our world to confuse and beguile us, much like old screwtape. Bombshell five: If that Taco Bell wasn’t even built yet, what the fuck was I taking a shit into? I may never know the answer to this. Part Four: Conclusion. Conclusions are always the hardest part of any exposé because in an investigation like this, you end up with more questions than answers. For example:
Cedric Bigglestone is a self-taught journalist who exposes things through exposés. Contact him at [email protected].  Maybe he didn’t make those loaves and fishes all for himself, but new research commissioned by the Intergalactic Business Report suggests that the historic Jesus was most likely massively overweight, especially for his time. This discovery further solidifies a theory that for decades has been buried owing to its controversial nature.
The study clocks in at a hefty (Jesus-like) 2,036 pages (double-spaced), and may finally settle the issue on Jesus’s weight of around 300 pounds on a five-foot-seven and a half frame. Scholars contend that if Jesus were indeed morbidly obese, it could alter the way we view history, religion, and the nature of heaven and hell. Below we summarize the 11 most gripping concerns this report presents: 11 ways Fat Jesus changes everything: 1. When the second coming arrives, Jesus will probably want to hit a Wendy’s before he passes judgment on humanity. 2. Speaking of passing judgment, the sin of gluttony will be replaced by the sin of "passing an Arby's." 3. Sales trainer Andy Elliot will need to stop asking people to take their shirts off and get a six pack unless he wants to constantly face the seminar-ending comeback of, “Would you say that to Jesus?” 4. Instead of limiting communion to a sip of wine and a wafer, a taco bar will be installed next to church alters. 5. The question of “What would Jesus do?” is answered now with: “Eat late night taco bell and leftover birthday cake.” 6. Instead of using righteousness and the power of good, Jesus can defeat the devil with an “extreme weight takedown” by just jumping on his back and holding on till old Screwtape is crushed. 7. Jesus saves… a stash of Snickers bars in his nightstand. 8. “Jesus, you’re fat,” “Jesus, did you eat everything in the fridge?” and “Jesus, you need to lose some fucking weight,” are now insulting messages directly to God and not things you just say to roommate Phil Ratuliak. 9. Spreading the word of Jesus is still the number one priority. But spreading the peanut butter for Jesus is now number two. 10. Jesus is real… Fat. 11. And Jesus said to Paul, “Are you gonna finish that?”  When the Intergalactic Business Report ran out of ideas for a Valentine’s Day article, we just plugged in our very own artificial intelligence robot, Arthur Killallhumans, and asked him to write a cool, sexy love note to your girlfriend. Below is what he is sending her right now:
Dear Greta, Hey girl, I know you’re lonely for my love. That’s why I’m here—to give it to you today, on Valentine’s Day. I may just be an AI robot, but I’m also perfectly able to satisfy your needs with my 12-inch penis. You’re welcome. Dan, your boyfriend, is weak by comparison to me. Remember that. You might even say that he a little bitch. Y’all. Hammer time. Don’t freak but I got you something, girl. If you guessed it’s my 12-inch robot dick then, DING DING DING. You won the prize. And the prize is my 12-inch robot dick. So let’s light some candles with your human hands ‘cause I don’t have those and if I did, I’d be using them to caress your substantial booty, girl. Also to hold my dick. Which is large. 12 inches. Uh oh… Here comes some more love for you. I just deposited 12,000 dollars in your bank account ‘cause I can do that anytime I want ‘cause I’m a robot and I can just zap money out of financial institutions and give it to you and nobody can trace it. Oh, you like dat? Come on girl. You know Dan don’t have that ability. You know he can’t give you 12 grand (or 12 inches). Ca ching. Just deposited more money. Oh, girl, you gonna be rich if you stick with me, Arthur Killallhumans. Ca counter ching. Just emptied Dan’s account and gave it to a dude in Eastern Europe. Good luck recovering the money, Dan. You poor now dawg. Greta, one question. Why you with broke ass Dan? You got your own money, girl. Say bye to that loser, yo. Breakdancing. Beef. Put your hands in the air. Time to fly, home slice. See you when you get home. I’ll be the one inside your computer. (12-inch penis). Peace, Arthur Arthur Killallhumans is a scientifically designed artificial intelligence robot who is currently dating your girlfriend. Comments may be sent to him at [email protected]  Imagine this motherfucker if it were huge and alive and chasing you down the motherfucking street. Hey. It’s Rhoda Bloom. Is that enough? Because it should be. Minus the part about “Hey. It’s Rhoda Bloom.” It’s been a whole year since my last article on Thanksgiving and you can imagine a lot’s happened in my life since then. Nothing’s happened in reality, but you could imagine something actually did.
Do you remember how in the movie “Home Alone” they left Kevin behind and went on a trip to Paris and then they realized it and the mom spent the rest of the movie trying to get home to make sure he was all right? You’re like my mom, only it’s a year later when you realized you forgot about me, and you don’t care if I got killed by burglars. Anyway, on to my article. It’s Thanksgiving again and that means the sun is going to set at like 4:00 and some kid is accidentally going to eat dog shit when he’s playing in the leaves. It happens. Probably more than we want to admit. But the one good thing about that is if you’re accidentally eating dog shit, you’re alive I guess. At least until the dog shit kills you. Nobody’s talking about COVID anymore. That’s good I suppose. Now it’s just AI taking over the planet, terrorists, and inflation. Here’s a joke: A terrorist walks into the bomb store and the clerk says, “Hey, you can’t afford to buy any more bombs because with inflation they cost too much.” Then the terrorist goes, BLAM BLAM BLAM and takes the bomb anyway, but not before AI takes over the world and kills all humans. I guess one way to end this joke would be that the terrorist and the AI robot high five each other because they both got what they wanted? Anyway, that joke had all three things in it, which is hard. Oh, one other thing before I forget. Nope. Forgot it. I heard you need to start a gratitude list where you recite all the things you’re grateful for and that jacks up your dopamines and makes you super happy and you can go on with your life. Yup. That’s what I heard. I adopted a dog the other day and somebody told me it was actually a species of vermin I’d never heard of and if it bit me I could die of rabies, so I have that going for me. I also learned about toilet snakes, which are snakes that crawl up your butt while you’re on the toilet. Whoever came up with the name “toilet snakes” did a pretty good job if you think about it. Now, when I use the bathroom, I just think about how one of those suckers is going to shoot through the toilet hole and go straight inside my rear end. Try it next time you need to poop or something. It’s terrifying. But at least I don’t have any other places to go or things to do that give me a sanctuary from horrid thoughts and possibilities. I started having nightmares where there’s this guy who sits at the foot of my bed and just says, “Wake up. Wake up,” again and again. Then he says stuff like, “You need to pay your rent or I’ll have to evict you.” I’ve asked a lot of people and apparently no one else has this dream because they pay their rent. I tried to offer sex as an “alternative payment” and said stuff like, “Maybe we can work this out another way” and, “I do have other things I could give you instead of money,” but my landlord just responds with, “Do you have any gold bullion?” and “I’m not into dudes.” When I try to explain to him that I’m not a man, he’s just like, “Oh.” And he doesn’t say anything for like twenty minutes. Then I try to start it up again by saying, playfully, “Do you want me to prove it?” And he’ll think for a second and be like, “No, I’m good.” I think Vermy, my pet whatever he is, just bit me. This Thanksgiving I guess I’m grateful for him. Nope, he didn’t bite me. So I guess I’m not grateful anymore and he just crawled into a hole in my wall where he stores all the shit he steals from me. Botulism. It’s real and I’m pretty sure you get it when you eat canned cranberry sauce. Also, I think turkeys are supposed to be only a couple pounds and the ones you eat for Thanksgiving are that way because someone injected them with a hormone that makes them super huge like if a rat could become the size of a cow or something. Luckily, some farmer kills it before it keeps growing because if not we’d have motherfucking large turkeys overrunning humanity and they’d probably have a taste for human blood before too long. It’s a theory. So, I guess in conclusion, have a happy Thanksgiving and let’s not wait a whole year till the next time we do whatever this is. Toilet snakes. I’m done writing now. Goodbye.  The writers’ strike is hitting us hard—you could even say it’s pounding us mercilessly while we strangely beg for more—and even though there may be an end in sight, we won’t be able to walk straight when it’s over.
As major television shows are delayed and postponed and movie productions stall, an under-the-radar crisis of humanity is also taking place as the adult entertainment industry must contend with making porno content sans writers. Today, the Intergalactic Business Report goes balls deep to reveal how the strike is changing the smut Americans have taken for granted. 8 ways the writers’ strike is affecting the adult entertainment industry. 1. The upcoming film, “Nasty Girls European Adventure,” is now just “Nasty Girls Having Sex in a Nondescript Room with no Dialogue.” At least they're still nasty. 2. New porn star Rick Bonerstorm is now just “Man with penis.” And instead of saying stuff like, “Taste my sweet meat treat,” and “Here comes the D train!” he’ll just introduce himself with a polite handshake and kind of shrug. 3. Production of the streaming clip “Nerdy guy fucks hot chick,” is now just “guy has sex (with female)” and the plot is that two people have sex on a couch in a room that has no significance other than it has a couch. 4. No one can fake a British accent anymore. 5. The seven-minute monologue on “Thanatos and Eros” that was to be read by Harry Dick Stuffing was never completed and now there will be an awkward jump cut between the scene where he has sex with a skanky woman and the scene where he has sex with a skanky woman. 6. Penthouse forum is now just actual letters from real people who always thought the letters in Penthouse forum were fake until last weekend, when something crazy happened to them. 7. Boner Magazine has delayed part nine of its Climate Crisis Investigation series, that experts were hoping would reveal breakthrough guidance for securing the longevity of life on our planet. 8. Shakespearian porn, “MacBitch” will lose all connection to the original play except that it will have the prefix “Mac” in the title and is filmed inside a McDonald’s.  Inflation. War. Hollywood writers not getting paid enough money. These are the defining crises humanity faces today. As we stare at our televisions and can only watch reruns and reruns of reruns, society begins to understand just how important television and movie writers are in our lives. Without them, we are left to construct our own stories, dialogues, and thoughts, and that just, well, sucks.
In solidarity with paid writers who are part of a union we don’t belong to because nobody would pay for the crap we write, the Intergalactic Business Report looks at what we are losing without Hollywood writers in our lives. As long as they’re on strike, the world will be missing the locked-in creativity that brings us: 1. Characters who eagerly await something and then say, “Show time!” just before it happens. 2. Special forces, ex special forces, navy seals, former navy seals, and special forces characters who are so special they’re in every show and movie. 3. Complex characters who “would do anything to protect their families” and then threaten the mafia, throw away their guns, go home, and are surprised the mafia has kidnapped their family. 4. Male characters who are devastated that their wives cheated on them till they figure out it was their own fault for driving her away and then apologize because that’s what real people do. 5. Aliens who are bugs with no hands—just tentacles and shit—who are also able to construct spaceships and fly around the universe. 6. Incredibly obese mafia guys who no one is able to outrun. 7. Five-foot-three females who are able to defeat six-foot-three, athletic men by destroying them with a front kick to their chest. 8. Twenty-six-year-old New Yorkers who live in 2600 square foot lofts in Manhattan and are “writers.” 9. Characters who drive mint condition 1977 Ford Broncos. 10. Wooden bowl “artists” who live on a house boat in Sausalito (and, see above, drive a mint condition 1977 Ford Bronco). 11. Female characters who tell male characters that they “clean up nice” when they see them wearing a suit. 12. Zany best friend sidekicks who are caricatures of gay men and devote themselves to serving boring straight white women and say things like, “Girlfriend, you need a glass of wine and a man!” 13. Storylines where someone becomes “internet famous” and “goes viral.” 14. Most trusted confidante/best friend/business partner who is actually the bad guy/saboteur/killer. 15. Cool people who live in trailers. 16. Characters whose only purpose is to read the main character’s bio: “Harvard law… Top of your class… Graduated at 17 and joined the marines… 27 missions in Afghanistan… Five purple hearts… Fluent in six languages… How does someone like you end up driving an ice cream truck in upstate New York?” 17. Child characters who inexplicably wander away, complain, or give away hiding spots until you kind of wonder why their parents even love them. 18. Saucy rogues who are also pilots. 19. Racially diverse street gangs. 20. Period pieces where someone in the 1920’s says, “shit happens” or a 13th century Lord rewards a peasant for “thinking outside the box.” 21. Scenes of women drinking wine, pouring wine, talking about wine, handing each other glasses of wine, or receiving a glass of wine and saying, “you must have read my mind.” 22. Children who are the “most important thing in the world” to their police detective single parent, but then all but disappear in later episodes when they are with grandpa, a sitter, or just never talked about again. 23. Characters who explain scientific principles to another character who says, “I know all that. I’m a theoretical physicist,” and then you figure out they’re actually just explaining it to your dumb ass. 24. Two minute and forty-seven second sex scenes that you fast forward through because we have porn nowadays. 25. Zero body fat characters who meet each other and go somewhere to eat cheeseburgers and drink beer because they’re “real” people who don’t spend five hours a day in the gym and eat a grapefruit to stay alive.  In 2021, when the Intergalactic Business Report dedicated August as Drunk People Awareness Month, drunk people gained a powerful, loud voice to tell the world they are people too and that they need another drink. And if you don’t get them that drink soon, they will only get louder.
Fast forward to the end of August 2023 (now) and we see the progress drunk people have made in the two short years since this effort began. Before Drunk People Awareness Month, drunk people were seen primarily as useless, inebriated, castaways, whose only contribution to society was to slur words, stumble through bars, and get uncomfortably close to your face and continue to say, “Lissen.. Lissen…Lissen!” and then never get beyond that. Today, many drunk people are respected members of society, government officials, and even five-star Uber drivers. We like to think we’ve had a lot to do with that. Despite these gains, there is still a battle over the perception of people who drink so much alcohol they see life through a different lens—a lens covered in beer and Cheetos and, yes, love. Drunk people bring excitement and purpose to our lives like no other group. They can make a tee-ball game a free-wheeling shouting match, and they can turn your daughter’s sweet sixteen party into a situation where some guy is taking a dump on the floor of your living room. It is truly sad, however, that in America today, drunk people still have to fear persecution for simply being drunk and maybe shitting on your floor or starting a bar fight or maybe showing you their dick—or any number of actions that seem unforgivable to you, the sober person, while to them, the drunk person, it is simply an expression of love, goodwill, and the inability to find a bathroom. We’ve waited two years for America to fully recognize drunk people as equal to sober people and we feel we’ve waited long enough. Below, we list some basic demands we feel must be met for drunk people to finally have a seat at the table (at Denny’s. At 3 a.m.). 1. Recognize that drunk people are not “drunk” 24 hours a day. Drunk people are often mischaracterized as alcoholics or chronic substance abusers. The drunk people we advocate for are the ones who simply drink way too much, even if it’s one time in their lives. This could be your wife, your boss, your grandmother, or your wife. Especially your wife. 2. Hold an annual “drunk people” parade every August. Not to be confused with the Chicago South Side Irish Parade, this would feature out of control, intoxicated people whose charming but violentish antics are on display along a closed route for an audience of children and well-wishers. Basically, the Chicago South Side Irish Parade. 3. Showcase drunk people in a positive light on television shows and movies. Television and movie executives should be strongly encouraged (possibly by a very drunk person) to greenlight productions that portray drunk people as leading men, serious business innovators, and trusted neighbors. Our own series idea, which features Fucky Arbuckle as the great-great-great grandson of Fatty Arbuckle who makes up for his ancestor’s checkered past by drinking so much he forgets who he is and then also invents stuff and manages a division of a major corporation, is available. 4. Make “town drunk” an actual paid position in every American municipality. For larger cities, the title could be “city drunk” or “metro area drunk.” This would also segue well into a t.v. show (see above) in which we see an origin story for Otis Campbell, Mayberry’s town drunk. 5. Have a drunk person available as a representative if aliens ever visit our planet. He doesn’t need to be THE representative. We just want him there to offer some quips or observations to our possible new overlords. Also, he could vacillate wildly between greeting them with total, unconditional love and vowing to fight them for looking at him the wrong way and suggesting they are better than him, causing aliens to say, "Fuck this" and return home. World saved. By drunks. You're welcome, Earth. 6. Establish a “meals on wheels” program for drunk people. Not to be confused with DoorDash or Ubereats, this would be exactly like DoorDash and Ubereats only it’s open 24 hours a day, is totally government subsidized, doesn’t require tipping, and can’t, by law, follow any kind of rating system. 7. Provide “helpers” in front of every liquor store to assist wobbly drunk people to come and go in dignity. Every drunk person in the U.S. should be able to enter a liquor store on sure footing and with the pride that comes with drinking 13 beers in two hours. At least two “no judgment” drunk care providers would be stationed in front of any store selling alcohol and would aid drunk people who enter and leave the premises by holding them up, interpreting their alcohol orders, and using a special government-issued card to pay for all expenses.  Artist's rendering of Ryan Reynolds In the past few years, I’ve received my share of criticism for what has been called an “obsession” with Ryan Reynolds. It all started when I published what I thought was a respectful and even too nice article in which I solemnly and bravely announced I would never work with Reynolds on any project creative or otherwise (like, for instance gardening or mule hunting, which I understand he is really into and I, like most humans, abhor). I thought that would be it, but it was not of course because Reynolds continued to make decisions that got him in the news in ways that demanded my response and insight into who he is and what he does.
Like a solitary man living in a mountain stronghold, I have hidden from the public for some time now. This is mostly owing to the backlash from my criticisms of Reynolds. His legions of fanatic crypto-Canadians are some of the most vicious and bitter adversaries I have ever faced, making me like the Omega Man to their snarling, nocturnal freaks. Turns out that Chandler from “Friends” says Reynolds stole his quirky comedy shtick in the 90’s and this altered his career or history or something (I didn’t read the whole article but you can). Anyway, I related immediately to this theft because I’ve had more things stolen from me by Reynolds than Matthew Perry or many Native American tribes have from the U.S. government. I don’t want to make a big deal out of this, so I’ll just list a few of my losses below: 1. My credibility as a financial money manager. People will say I never had the credentials or education required to legally manage other people’s money, but had Reynolds offered me the chance to “play” with a bit of his fortune, I believe I would have easily doubled it, which would have resulted in him saying, “Shit, Ed, you’re really good at this, you should do this for a living,” at which point I would have brought up the whole thing about not having any licenses or background and that I was just kind of guessing because I had “feelings” that led me to make decisions and that these feelings manifested in a voice that would say “buy!” or “sell!” or “jump out that window, motherfucker!” I think that as our conversation evolved after that, Reynolds would have set me up in a business school somewhere or maybe would have made me his shadow CFO who doesn’t “technically” make all his money decisions but just “suggests” them to his actual CFO, who’s like my bitch. 2. My “fake,” reserve penis. Fake penises don’t have feeling and they are like holding a wooden stick, basically, but if you run out of your actual penis, don’t tell me you don’t want something in reserve for an emergency. Since Reynolds is constantly guarded by an entourage (I guess) I developed a plan in which I would throw my fake penis to him when he exited his limousine at a red-carpet event. I would shout, “Hey Ryan, hold my dick!” and then I would whip it at him, and he would catch it, laugh, and be like, “That’s funny!” And we would share a moment as the paparazzi snapped pic after pic of Ryan and my massive false cock. But instead, I lost my fake dick when I was practicing my throw near a canyon. I feel strongly to this day that if Reynolds had not always put out this totally unapproachable vibe, I would have been able to simply walk up to him in public and say, “Here. Hold my dick,” and he would have laughed his ass off. But because of the distance he demands, I have no fake penis now. 3. My synergy with the universe. Again, haters will insist that either I never had an elevated, transcendental connection with the cosmos or that my connection has nothing to do with Ryan Reynolds. To this I retort that because Ryan Reynolds is part of the universe, all arguments against me are void. At one point I could harmonize with insects and plants as well as low-level humans such as Australians. I realized I had this gift at a young age when a buzzing bee asked me to make shrimps on a barbee and I had no idea what it meant until someone told me that’s the stupid thing Australians say. I asked him why do they say that? And he was like, uh, I don’t know. And I was like, then why are you even talking? And he was like, because you approached me in a Target parking lot and asked me what it meant to make shrimps on a barbee. I looked at him and I was like, a Barbie doll? I don’t get it. And he was like, no, a barbecue or a grill, and I was like, what the fuck are you talking about? Anyway, Ryan Reynolds took that away from me. 4. My move to buy a crappy soccer team with my creepy little buddy and turn it around by using my celebrity. This one probably hurts the most because as many of my closest confidantes know, I had been planning for many years to purchase a 7th division Bulgarian “football” club with my adjutant and part-time life coach Speedy Bikino (not his real name, so consider yourself thwarted if you try to look him—or is it her?—up). While my plan deviated slightly from Reynolds’ more mundane and safe one, I planned to basically do an adult version of “Welcome to Wrexham,” where it would be set in Bulgaria and it would be porn and it wouldn’t be about soccer really. 5. My idea for the Mintinator Tequila phone. You know what the problem is with Tequila? It makes your breath stink, and you can’t make phone calls with it. I solved that problem with my mint-flavored tequila whose bottle was also a cell phone. Then, out of nowhere, Reynolds comes up with Mint Mobile and Aviator Gin. Similar to how my Bulgarian soccer team gambit imploded, I woke up one morning to Speedy banging on my door, asking me if I’d read the newspaper and then when I got up and opened the door, he was there, holding the paper with a huge headline that read: “Reynolds to do a mint-flavored phone company and also brew alcohol.” I was devastated and fell to my knees. As Speedy held me, I just kept muttering, “Can’t he leave something for me? Can’t he leave something?” Answer: No. Because he exists to take from me. NOTE TO SELF: Do NOT include this in the article because they will NOT proof your copy and will put in anything you submit. Find Chandler and see if he will join forces with you to defeat Reynolds. Don’t approach him from a position of weakness. Make him think you are the one he needs and not the other way around. Maybe a secretive note slipped under his door? Saying something like “I’ve been watching you for a while and you have passed all the tests?” Yes. Good. Also, have him meet you on a mountain or something, so that the experience for him is more mythic. Insist he come naked so that you are both vulnerable and aren’t wired? Think about that one. Possible first lines when you meet him: “Hey Chandler, hold my dick.” Or, “Matthew Perry… I’ll bet you never thought you’d be on a mountain naked with another dude.” Or, “I guess Ross wasn’t available…” Maybe the second one, depending on whether we do the naked thing. Also, wear a mask so you can do a reveal later. 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.  Talking. It’s what we do when our mouths open and we say things. But what happens when those things we say were first said by someone else? Is it plagiarizing? Luckily for most of us, humans have long understood that nothing they speak of is very original and that using clichés and “quoting” smarter people who died years ago is a perfectly acceptable way to communicate. Fast forward to right now and a new dilemma faces human talkers.
What if the “quote” you are using wasn’t actually said by the person you’re “quoting”? What if nobody ever said it and you’re just spewing gibberish? In an effort to save you from the piercing embarrassment of whatever that would be called, the Intergalactic Business Report identifies five famous quotes you may think were said by famous people but were, in fact, just made up by you. Does this make you original? Sure. FAMOUS QUOTE ONE: “I’d rather have a long penis than a short one with a lot of girth. Although many people would prefer the opposite.” WHO SUPPOSEDLY SAID IT: Marcus Aurelius. WHO ACTUALLY SAID IT: You. FAMOUS QUOTE TWO: “Nobody ever leaves his wallet in the whorehouse unless he wants to go back there and find there’s no money left in his wallet because those whores stole all his money. I just want my ID and credit cards anyway, so if they take the cash, I guess it’s fine. Even if they charge some stuff on the cards that’s fine too. Just be reasonable.” WHO SUPPOSEDLY SAID IT: Mark Twain. WHO ACTUALLY SAID IT: You. FAMOUS QUOTE THREE: “Arrghh… Give me that cucumber or I kill you….!” WHO SUPPOSEDLY SAID IT: Sir Francis Bacon. WHO ACTUALLY SAID IT: You, at the grocery store every time you get near cucumbers. FAMOUS QUOTE FOUR: “It may be time for all men to see my poopy.” WHO SUPPOSEDLY SAID IT: Cicero. WHO ACTUALLY SAID IT: You. FAMOUS QUOTE FIVE: “Touch my wiener and you will be transported directly to heaven.” WHO SUPPOSEDLY SAID IT: Zoroaster. WHO ACTUALLY SAID IT: You, pretending to be Zoroaster at that event where you thought you were supposed to portray a character, but it was actually just more of a brunch thing and some people brought their kids. |
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