Vaccines. Anti-virals. Vitamin D. Every day we hear a different miracle cure or treatment for the COVID-19 virus. Instead of just guessing, the Intergalactic Business Report finally and definitively give readers the answers they need. Our discovery? That magic (yes, that magic) may be the strongest defense we have against contracting the deadly Coronavirus.
We compare medical science and magic and name a winner, below:
MEDICAL SCIENCE: Takes months and years to find solutions to complex problems.
MAGIC: Takes maybe one fucking second to wave a wand or cast a spell.
MEDICAL SCIENCE: Practitioners have academic degrees in medicine and science.
MAGIC: Practitioners have magic “in their blood” and notice they have powers. Then they have uncomfortable conversations with their grandmother who says, “Baby, you have the touch of the angels!” or whatever dumb shit your family calls it.
MEDICAL SCIENCE: Uses expensive equipment and labs to produce results.
MAGIC: I can blow up your fucking head with my thoughts.
MEDICAL SCIENCE: Experts have titles like “Doctor” and “Head Scientist.”
MAGIC: Magic users have names like “Wizardo” and “Glomulana, high demon lord priestess,” but also, “Brenda, that girl who has the touch of the angels.”
MEDICAL SCIENCE: Doctors and scientists don’t usually wear outfits where their nipples show.
MAGIC: Magic people don’t even wear pants most of the time.
MEDICAL SCIENCE: Offers “cures” that “eliminate” or “eradicate” diseases.
MAGIC: Can do battle with the spirit embodiment of diseases and blow its fucking head off using thoughts.
Cedric Bigglestone finds ancient constitutional rights the founding fathers removed but shouldn’t have.
In his most stunning exposé ever, Intergalactic Business Report writer Cedric Bigglestone uncovers a “National Treasure” style conspiracy about the founding fathers of the United States of America.
Dear readers, please understand that what you’re about to read will probably change your perspective on the United State of America and the meaning of your very existence. I ask that you consider this information with an open mind, and may God have mercy on your soul, because this article will not.
Part One: My journey begins unexpectedly.
I am taking an afternoon bath when I notice something odd on the ceiling. It is a crack. I follow it with my eyes and see that it ends clear across the room. I have never noticed this crack before. Why? Is it because I am in my neighbor’s apartment while he is away and I have never used his bathtub because his door is usually locked? As the foul energy and dirt from a week’s worth of not bathing and doing improvised exercises to hone my street survival skills seeps into the bath water, I think to myself, "What if there is a crack in the constitution of the United States of America? Would it run as deep as the one in my neighbor’s bathroom? Would it, too, be something I never noticed till I broke into a museum or something and really looked at it?”
Part Two: I decide to steal the Constitution.
Since I don’t live in Washington D.C., it will be difficult for me to break into wherever it’s held and just take it. So I decide to look it up on the internet.
Part Three: I read the Constitution.
Jesus. What am I doing? This is boring as fuck. Lots of sections lots of sections. I begin to lose faith in my original plan to find cracks in this document, mostly because I don’t want to keep reading. Then it hits me. I see the crack.
Part Four: I notice something off with the Bill of Rights.
I skip over much of the Constitution till I get to something called the Bill of Rights. This is the part I was most familiar with anyway. I often tell law enforcement that “I know my rights” and I believe it has to do with this. The more I read it, the more I fucking love it. These are my fucking rights. My fucking rights. That means no man or robot or animal or improvised animated hologram can take these away from me ever or I can shoot them.* But as I get through these amendments to the Constitution, it strikes me that something is missing.
Part Five: I discover that there are missing parts of the Bill of Rights.
Something doesn’t make sense. Amendment IX, for instance, says, “The enumeration in the Constitution, of certain rights, shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people.” That makes no fucking sense. Why is that in there? Also, another amendment says something about how the powers delegated are not reserved for states or prohibited or something. Again, what the fuck? These meaningless rights are juxtaposed** with the cool rights, like where you can carry weapons and say whatever the fuck you want. Why would the founding fathers waste two rights on nonsense? There’s only one answer.
Part Six: Through meditation, I discover the missing rights we all should enjoy.
I am not perfect, but I am able to set myself into a deep trance and feel exactly what someone famous was thinking up to 700 years ago. I set my sights on the founding fathers and think about what was going on with the Bill of Rights. I am shocked by what I discover. James Madison, Ben Franklin, Benji the Dog. I am inside their minds and I am going fucking nuts translating their brains onto my own brain. Bee boop beep! I’m doing it. I find out that James Madison had two super cool amendments that he wrote, but then he took them out at the last second because he, and I hate to say this, was a pussy. It’s the only way I can translate it. This was the “crack” in the Constitution. I had found it.
Part Seven: Your new rights.
If we go with the original intentions of the founding fathers, we should throw out those two bullshit amendments and add the following:
New IX: “Citizens shall have the right to do whatever they want wherever they want to whomever they want whenever they want including at Costco.”
New X: “You cannot get arrested for deciding to not be a pussy as interpreted by each citizen making that decision.”***
*In order to defeat a hologram in combat, a special gun that can shoot and destroy light images must be used instead of a regular gun.
**This means it’s like a three-way only with words.
***These two amendments would technically exonerate me of all charges filed against me between 2006-11.
Cedric Bigglestone is a self-taught journalist who exposes things through exposés. Contact him at email@example.com.
“Fleet of UFOs” Seen Near NASA Space Station is the recent headline that sent Intergalactic Business Report editors into a frenzy as they realized that putting things in quotes can make anything true.
It seems almost too simple (and too brilliant) to believe, but ingenious journalists have cracked a code that allows otherwise questionable claims to become totally true by simply adding quotation marks. Feeling we can be trusted with this new power, we began to generate our own true headlines.
“Evil pope” now controls Vatican?
I am “attractive to women.”
My penis is “ten inches long.”
“Alien invaders” now among those “lining up to see my penis.”
This five-dollar bill is worth “4.2 million dollars,” and now I own your bar.
“Special forces agents” are “tracking me” using “alien mind software” they carry in their “dicks.”
I just sucked “my own” dick.
It’s now a “law” that I can scream on public transportation.
The “U.S. Senate” has “ruled” that it is “totally cool” for me to drill a hole in your wall and watch you.
Alcohol makes my dick “huge,” and I can “play sports” with it if I want to.
I am “good” at sex.
After ten hours of drinking I am “totally” sober, so you “have to” give me another shot “for free.”
My nutsack is “completely normal” and “doesn’t” look like I’ve been pounding it with a meat tenderizer every day for the last seventeen years.
If you haven’t heard about the Mandela Effect, you may be from a different part of the multiverse where people don’t know what the Mandela Effect is. If you’re not from wherever that is, you know that people are having mass false memories about things like whether Curious George had a tail or not and if “Febreze” used to actually be named “Febreeze.”
Fascinated by this proof that wormholes and quantum physics are true, the Intergalactic Business Report commissioned a new, in-depth study to identify new Mandela Effects you’ve never heard of before. We list the most mind-blowing examples below.
-Many people remember “The United States of America” as being “Duh United States of America.”
-Some survey takers remember the television show “Lost in Space” as being a porno.
-A clear memory for some is that a “Happy Ending” at a massage parlor was just called “getting jacked off by a prostitute who pretends to know how to do massages but then just jacks you off instead.”
-People claim that the word “muffin” was not a breakfast pastry, but rather a name for stuck-up prep school girls from Connecticut.
-The Wreckx-N-Effect song, Rumpshaker, is remembered by many as “Booty-Gyrator.”
-Colonel Sanders is remember by many as First Sergeant Marty Abromowicz. And his fried chicken sucked.
-The Elton John song, “Tiny Dancer” was instead, “Tony Danza,” according to many we interviewed.
-Several people told us they remember clearly that “eating ass” meant consuming a donkey.
-On the “Dukes of Hazzard,” the character “Crazy Cooter,” was known as “Mentally Ill Vagina,” and his catch phrase was, “I may be mentally ill, but my intelligence isn’t low. Not super high either. But definitely above average. At least for Hazzard County where everyone pretty clearly has lead poisoning or something.”
A recent internet thread asked the question, “What conversation or interaction with a physically normal stranger left you wondering if you’d just talked to something non-human or supernatural (like an angel/demon/ghost/alien/time traveller etc.)?”
We posed the same question to our readers and picked the seven most fascinating answers. We list them below:
1. “I was at a Taco Bell or something. I think it was a Taco Bell. It was super late and there was this dude, just standing there, behind the counter. I was immediately weirded out, like something was just wrong. So wrong. I can’t explain it. He was like, ‘What do you want to order?’ and I was like, ‘I guess a Taco Party Pack,’ and he was like, ‘Just for you?’ and I was like, ‘So?’ and then he went back to get it for me and I just remember thinking, ‘This is a fucking MacDonald’s. What the fuck is he getting?’ I ran out of there and felt a greasy chill on my back as I left the door. It was almost like someone had spilled a ghost version of a Taco Party Pack on me…”
2. “One time I was just hanging out with my friends at an outdoor bar when a group of really hot girls approached us and asked if we would buy them drinks. One of the girls seemed like she was in charge of the whole group, like she was their leader or something. So I decided to only talk to her and asked if she could bring my dead grandmother back to life. She kind of laughed and said something about how yeah, sure, she’ll just cast a spell and do that. Who the fuck would have the power to bring my nasty old grandmother back to life? I felt a chill down my spine and said to her, ‘No, that’s cool. Just maybe leave her dead for now.’”
3. “At a liquor store, I tried to buy cigarettes and out of nowhere, Bigfoot stepped inside and also asked for cigarettes. Bigfoot can fucking talk I guess. And he smokes. And they just gave him the cigarettes because I guess he’s like a celebrity or something.”
4. “A guy got really nervous when he came into the deli where I work. He kept asking us about all the food and if we ate it and how. We were all seriously spooked because he acted so strange and who would ask questions like those? We said we do eat it and we do it by putting it in our mouths. He was like, ‘Woah, that’s so gross. I put it in my butt to eat it.’ We were skeptical till he demonstrated but sure enough a pound and a half of corned beef went right inside his pooper. Or should I say, his eater?”
5. “Time travel isn’t true, right? I changed my mind about that when I saw two children enter a bathroom at a train station. Then they came out as adults. Then two kids who looked exactly like the adults when they were kids came out and I was like, ‘Wait a second, there are two versions of them now.’”
6. “A man at a bar bought me a drink and then explained that he was the devil. I of course didn’t believe him because the devil isn’t Puerto Rican. But then the guy says he’s not Puerto Rican. But he gets that a lot because he just kind of looks Puerto Rican. And I’m like, are you lying because you’re the devil? And he’s like, yeah.”
7. “My only ghost encounter came when I was staying at this old hotel and the guy at the counter was really chatty and kept talking about how this place had been in his family for generations and how he’d worked there since 1873. I was like, ‘1873? That’s impossible.’ And then he said, ‘I’m sorry, I mean 1983.’ Then a ghost walked by and high-fived him like he had totally burned me, but I didn’t get the joke.”
In what will surely be the biggest news story in the history of humankind, the Intergalactic Business Report confirms that contact has been officially made with an alien race. Late last night, an encounter ensued that left us astounded and confused, but at the end we realized we were witnessing the very first recorded meeting between extraterrestrial beings and Earthlings. We break down the historic event below in an exclusive timeline:
March 31, 6:43 p.m.
Intergalactic Business Report staff talk about what they will do that evening. The conversation is casual. One of them suggests going for drinks. It is 6:43, so many writers and editors are already inebriated. One of them says something unintelligible.
A group of four IBR staffers walk towards a bar. One of them instructs the others to “act sober” and another suggests they proclaim a mental disability if they are questioned.
A bartender claims the group is too drunk to be served further. All four IBR staff immediately shout that they are being discriminated against because they are totally sober but have cognitive disfunctions that make them appear drunk. Unfortunately, they all say this at the same time and are so drunk that no one can understand what they are trying to say. They are expelled from the bar.
After wandering for close to a half an hour, the group decides to rest in a park. One of them reveals that he has been carrying a three-quarters full bottle of Banker’s Club gin in his pants. Merriment ensues.
The bottle of Banker’s Club gin is done and one member of the group is too tired or something to continue. The others decide it is best to leave him there. Some birds and hobos swoop down upon him as his compatriots move on. They feel a sadness for their colleague’s demise, but it is fleeting as they feel a new energy to act sober enough to gain admittance to a new bar.
The three remaining IBR staffers reach a crowded tavern where the scrutiny of their sobriety can’t be measured. Unable to speak to a waitress, both because their mouths no longer function and also because of the noise, they are able to make the finger signal for the number “three” and the waitress nods as if she understands what the fuck they are ordering.
After drinking whatever the waitress brought them, one of the staffers falls asleep in the booth. The other two notice that his wallet has an envelope in it with close to three hundred dollars and a strange note attached that says, “rent money.” They discuss how it’s even possible to rent money. Or to buy it. It’s money, right? Minds blown.
The two remaining staffers leave the bar with the envelope of rented money. They have a discussion about how much Taco Bell that would buy. As they add up the figures one of them has to agree that it’s actually not enough for what he wanted.
While passing through another park, a light hits them and it’s Admiral Thorgax X Carnilobot of the Fourth Royal Space Fleet of the Bardillion Empire’s armada. One of the IBR staffers says, “Hey” as they walk by.
The IBR staffers discuss where a nearby Taco Bell would even be and can they walk there?
One of them suggests maybe they try White Castle or something.
They remember there’s a Taco Bell four blocks away and decide to go there. On the way, one of them says something about what happened in the park.
The other one says, “Why? What happened in the park?” Then they see the Taco Bell in the distance and walk towards it.
They order three hundred and thirty-seven dollars of Taco Bell. They are short thirty-seven dollars. They try to negotiate. It doesn’t work because their mouths are still having trouble talking. It turns into a whole thing. The cops are there soon.
This morning, April 1, 2021.
We published this.
Last week, the Pentagon confirmed it’s been testing the wreckage from UFO crash sites. A freedom of information act request led the agency to release some 150 pages of reports and notes about what the U.S. Government found. Although much of the information is “redacted” and blotted out because it is considered “classified,” the Intergalactic Business Report was able to use its own technology to look beneath the blacked-out words on the page.
Over and over, Pentagon officials refer to “advanced technology,” but until now no one has been able to ascertain what that technology is. We did. And you won’t believe it.
Advanced alien technology found by the Pentagon:
Alien civilizations died because of technological advancement. Are we next? Not if we start getting dumber. By Ed Mountaineer.
In an age when technological advances are heralded as the key to solving poverty, disease, and every other problem imaginable, the Intergalactic Business Report’s Ed Mountaineer makes an impassioned plea to save our civilization by becoming much much dumber.
A new scientific study says there are no alien civilizations because they all killed themselves when they became too technologically advanced. The warning is clear: if you figure out too much stuff, you will eventually also figure out how to blow up your own planet and you’ll do that.
I want to get something out of the way before I write any more. I didn’t read the study. Why? It’s boring looking and doesn’t make sense at all, even though I didn’t read it to find out. But I do trust the study because multiple news sources have issued dumbed-down versions and because the guy who wrote it is a “French scientist” and he works at an Ivy League school where no one just puts out a “study” for no reason because all of those guys work for the betterment of humankind, almost like knights who are super smart and instead of swords they use computers or whatever.
Anyway… I want to save our civilization and I know how, even though I’m not a French scientist. The answer seems simple and one we should adopt immediately—being dumber and actively trying to be even more dumb than that. Let me give you some examples of how this will save our world.
SCENARIO ONE: The bad guys get nukes.
Here, some evil people get their hands on nuclear technology and are going to use it to blow everyone up. They’re super smug about it too and have weird reasons for doing it that no one understands like, “It’s time to start again. The universe needs to be put back in order.”
HOW DUMBNESS STOPS IT: The bad guys get together and discuss their next steps. One of them says, “What is nuclear technology and how do we use it to blow up the world?” Another one says, “I have no idea. I’m too fucking stupid to understand that.” Situation ended.
SCENARIO TWO: We’re about to create artificial intelligence that will control all computers and electronics on the planet and as soon as we click the “on” switch, that AI motherfucker will calculate that we all need to die.
HOW DUMBNESS STOPS IT: The guys who are building the AI look at each other and say, “I’ve never really understood how computers work.” They agree to stop construction, mainly because they just have a garbage can and some wires and some hot sauce and they decide to eat the hot sauce to see which one of them dies first since the bottle says, “Don’t drink this or you will die,” because it’s probably not even hot sauce. Earth saved.
SCENARIO THREE: Some scientists design a machine that can create black holes and as soon as they touch a button on it, our entire universe will be eaten in a matter of fifteen minutes.
HOW DUMBNESS STOPS IT: The scientists didn’t go to college and the black hole machine is just a way for them to look at each other’s butt holes. Threat terminated.
SCENARIO FOUR: The new world government puts a chemical that cures all diseases into the water supply. Unfortunately, the chemical also kills everyone on the planet.
HOW DUMBNESS STOPS IT: “The new world government” is either a really shitty music group or a wrestling team and they don’t understand how to use or create chemicals. They also have no access to our water supply because no one understands what that would even mean. Like, is there a place where you can just drop stuff into a well or something and it shoots into our “water supply”? Crisis averted.
SCENARIO FIVE: An endless energy source is located at the center of the Earth. When we start drilling though, the planet shrivels up like an old sock and we all die in about fifteen minutes.
HOW DUMBNESS STOPS IT: Two guys are in a back yard and decide to dig as far as they can. They give up pretty soon into it. World safe.
CONCLUSION: I hope it’s pretty clear to “smart” people that their antics do not serve society well and that they are the cause of our future demise. I also hope I get credit for saving the planet because this is the last “smart” thing I will do for you and now I’m going back to being dumb, which is actually smart, and I’m a higher life form for realizing that.
SECOND CONCLUSION: I’m done writing now. Good bye.
In the most explosive exposé of his career, the Intergalactic Business Report’s Cedric Bigglestone investigates the “Elf on the Shelf” craze and the evil behind it. What he finds will change the way you see Christmas itself.
Part one: My curiosity piques* when I see a “garbage elf.”
Strolling through my neighborhood** I notice a pile of garbage, which I quickly sift through for ancient coins and haberdashery. I find no treasures, but do see an old “Elf on the Shelf,” which has been tossed out. What stuns me, however, is that it has a knife stuck in it, as if someone stabbed it again and again, maybe in self-defense? I remove the knife and pocket the elf. The owner of the nearby house (and of the elf?) appears and threatens to call law enforcement. I ask him about the elf and he becomes enraged—too enraged, I consider, as I hold the doll forward and shake it at him. When I show him the knife, his attitude changes from anger to conciliation and he steps away from me almost in… Fear? Does this elf have some kind of power over him?
Part two: I take the elf back to my apartment.
“Why would anyone want to stab an Elf on the Shelf?” I ask myself as I prepare a meal of sardines and head cheese for my cat, Herr Viskers. As Herr Viskers and I sit down to eat our feast, I notice the miserable elf, sitting alone on my couch. Should I invite him to eat with us?
Part three: I invite the elf to eat with us.
I say to the elf, “Hey, man. You want some food?” To sell it a little more, I add, “It’s good.” The elf sits in silence. “You’ve got nothing to say?” I ask, mockingly. Herr Viskers purrs with delight at the epic burn I’ve dropped upon the silly elf. But I have no time to gloat. I place the elf in the open chair reserved for Jeff Goldbloom*** and my mind races. I feel like I’ve captured a Nazi and now it is my duty to interrogate him.
Part four: Some background on the “Elf on the Shelf” menace.
I do a little research on the elf and confirm what I already knew—that a company manufactures these dolls to spy on children for Santa Claus. The elf hides in your home and silently judges the behavior of the children present. Then he takes off at night and narcs on them to Santa. The elf, in other words, doesn’t like to do a lot of talking till he opens his bitch-ass mouth to his boss in the North Pole. Then he has a lot to say.
Part five: Back to my dinner.
The elf is a terrible guest. He doesn’t eat the food and he just sits there, judging me and Herr Viskers. Herr Viskers requests that I give the elf over to him as a toy because the cat is always fucking with my mind and I almost give in to him before I remember that the elf is part of an exposé I am writing. To offer him up to Herr Viskers would immediately end the elf’s usefulness to me, as Herr Viskers is a cruel toy owner and would surely hide the elf’s body somewhere under a bed.
Part six: I ask the elf some tough questions.
With Herr Viskers lurking nearby as a warning to the elf, I sit him down on a couch and grill him for answers. I begin with the obvious, like, “How’s it feel to have someone else do the judgin’?” And then I move on to the more complex, nuanced questions, such as, “Do you have an elf dick?” and “Do you have magic that can burn me?”
Part seven: The elf resists all inquiry.
I have to admit, the elf is tough. He says nothing no matter how I attempt to mind fuck him. At one point, I dress as Santa and enter the room and tell him he’s passed a test and that it was great that he didn’t crack. Then I ask him for info on how many children he’s spied on in his career and if he has an elf dick. He doesn’t fall for it. Evil Santa must be pleased with his minion.
Part eight: I stab the elf in frustration.
I’m not proud of this last part but it turns out that I was the one who stabbed the elf in the first place and then placed him in a garbage pile in my very nice, exclusive neighborhood**. I also ending up giving him to Herr Viskers, who I think is fucking him, but I’m not sure because they do it under my bed.
Part nine: I’m done writing now. Good bye.
I’m done writing now. Good bye.
*What the fuck does this word mean?
** Someone else’s neighborhood.
*** It’s still here for you, Jeff. Please join us. Just one time. Please.
Cedric Bigglestone is a self-taught journalist who exposes things through exposés. Contact him at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Unlike traditional news outlets, the Intergalactic Business Report has been following a developing story about Santa Claus and the effects the COVID crisis has had on his work, life, and efforts to bring toys to children all over the world.
In an exclusive interview, we sat down with Mr. Kringle and asked him about his recent bizarre behavior and if Christmas is happening at all this year.
INTERVIEWER: Let me get right to it. What have you been doing this year?
SANTA: Ho Ho Ho. Preparing for Christmas? What else?
INTERVIEWER: I heard you were shrooming and eating hot pockets all day.
SANTA: Ho Ho Ho. Where did you hear that?
INTERVIEWER: Are you even ready for Christmas? I’m assuming it takes lots of planning.
SANTA: Ho Ho Ho. Yes it does. But every year, the spirit of the season comes through and children all over the world see a shining light of hope and peace.
INTERVIEWER: That sounds like shroom talk.
SANTA: Ho Ho Ho. Whatever do you mean by that?
INTERVIEWER: Do you have to start every sentence with Ho Ho Ho?
SANTA: Ho Ho Ho. Yes?
INTERVIEWER: Jesus. Just stop saying it.
SANTA: Ho Ho Ho, but I’m Santa, right?
INTERVIEWER: That’s what you told us.
SANTA: Ho Ho Ho. That’s right.
INTERVIEWER: Just stop the Ho Ho Ho thing, O.K.? Let’s start again,.
SANTA: Oh Ho Kay!
INTERVIEWER: That’s stupid. That’s not a Santa thing.
SANTA: Oh Ho yes it is.
INTERVIEWER: I’m telling you to fucking stop that.
SANTA: Oh Ho Kay! I will.
INTERVIEWER: Now you’re just being a prick.
SANTA: Oh Ho No!
INTERVIEWER: You seriously are on shrooms.
SANTA: Do you know what I said when I saw your mother and your two sisters?
SANTA: Ho Ho Ho!
INTERVIEWER: This is stupid. I think we’re done.
SANTA: Ho Ho No! Let’s keep talking.
INTERVIEWER: It’s just fucking dumb. This whole thing.
SANTA: Can I get some water or something?
INTERVIEWER: Can someone get him some water?
SANTA: Also, I need something to eat. My blood sugar is dropping.
INTERVIEWER: Can we get him something to eat?
SANTA: Thanks. Do you have anything sweet?
INTERVIEWER: Like what?
SANTA: A pastry or something. Maybe… A…. Ho Ho?
INTERVIEWER: Fuck you.
SANTA: HO HO HO!
INTERVIEWER: If I had a tranquilizer gun I’d shoot you.
SANTA: HO HO HO!
INTERVIEWER: Are you done?
SANTA: Yeah. Yeah, I’m done.
INTERVIEWER: Did you actually need food?
SANTA: No. I just wanted to do the Ho Ho thing.
INTERVIEWER: Well, it sucked.
SANTA: Do I get paid for this?
INTERVIEWER: Does he get paid for this?
SANTA: What’d they say?
INTERVIEWER: No. They said no you don’t.
Reports so secret we hide them on this page.