 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.  A captured elf is interrogated. 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 [email protected].  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? INTERVIEWER: What? 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. SANTA: Fuck.  By now, you have probably heard about the Utah Monolith, the nine-and-a-half foot mysterious structure found in a national park in Utah. Theories abound over its origin and meaning but all of those are wrong. Using science and research, the Intergalactic Business Report narrows down the actual truth about the shiny object with four primary theories, one of which we can calculate to be 100% true.
How can we be so sure? We used an advanced algorithm to calculate theoretical probabilities and pointed it at the Utah Monolith. Our program, based on science and reason, showed us only four answers. Here they are: MONOLITH THEORY ONE: The monolith is an average-sized robot penis that was released as a warning to our planet. HOW THE THEORY WORKS: You would think that hostile alien races would come up with a better way to intimidate us, but apparently this is what they do instead. It’s their way of saying, “Hey, we’ve got robots with huge dicks. This isn’t even a big one. We’re going to drop it in the desert and when you find it you’ll be all like, what???” WHAT IT MEANS IF IT’S TRUE: We calculate that humankind has between 70 and 80 million years to evolve into creatures with massive, nine-foot dongs. If we can, when the aliens return, they will simply salute us, which they do with their penises. MONOLITH THEORY TWO: It’s a “power up” block that we have to somehow run through. HOW THE THEORY WORKS: If we can figure out a way to pass through it with our bodies, it will disappear but also give us new energy. WHAT IT MEANS IF IT’S TRUE: This would open the possibility of picking up ammo and weapons that are lying around and having them automatically appear in your backpack. Shit. Maybe we just need to have the right backpack? MONOLITH THEORY THREE: The monolith belongs to the mafia. HOW THE THEORY WORKS: You betta stop messin’ around with dat friggin’ monolith or we’s gonna whacks yous. WHAT IT MEANS IF IT’S TRUE: Mafia grammar is worse than we thought. MONOLITH THEORY FOUR: The monolith only exists for those who truly believe in the spirit of Christmas. HOW THE THEORY WORKS: If you’re a bad person who hates the holidays, it is impossible for you to see the monolith? We kind of ran out of ideas. Sorry. WHAT IT MEANS IF IT’S TRUE: The true spirit of Christmas is inside us all? |
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