You may have heard of the “Murder Hornet,” a deadly insect from Japan that is starting to invade the Pacific Northwest. Today, the Intergalactic Business Report urges its readers to worry instead about a more dangerous threat to our ecosystem—the Death Killer Kill Everything Wasp.
We compare the two species below. You decide which one is deadlier.
MURDER HORNET: Seeks out beehives where it massacres all inside.
DEATH KILLER KILL EVERYTHING WASP: Seeks out humans and doesn’t really give a shit about bees.
MURDER HORNET: Gives a painful sting to humans if they bother it.
DEATH KILLER KILL EVERYTHING WASP: Impregnates your face with its stinger and you give birth six minutes later to a half wasp/ half human who develops in a massive sac in your jowls.
MURDER HORNET: Is two inches with a wingspan of three inches.
DEATH KILLER KILL EVERYTHING WASP: Stands six feet tall and you think it’s your roommate, till it gets up and impregnates your face.
MURDER HORNET: Canadian scientists have begun setting traps for the hornet, hoping this will stop them from spreading further into North America.
DEATH KILLER KILL EVERYTHING WASP: Sets traps for humans, hoping it will capture enough of them to form a massive group of prisoners it can use to build millions more nests.
MURDER HORNET: Originated in Japan.
DEATH KILLER KILL EVERYTHING WASP: Originated in a nightmare where you’re talking to your mom and then you notice she’s a Death Killer Kill Everything Wasp. And you have to pee really badly and your hands don’t work. And Freddy Prinz Junior’s there too.
MURDER HORNET: Is hard to kill because of its size and durability.
DEATH KILLER KILL EVERYTHING WASP: If killed it starts vibrating and then explodes and thousands of wasp babies fly out of its used carcass.
MURDER HORNET: Has a quarter inch stinger, filled with venom.
DEATH KILLER KILL EVERYTHING WASP: Has a nine-inch penis that it slaps people with and is also filled with venom.
As the death toll for COVID-19 rises across the world, a new study commissioned by the Intergalactic Business Report has found that the virus is more deadly than we first imagined. So deadly, in fact, that many patients are dying twice after contracting it.
The full report, which is about four thousand and thirty-two pages, shows stunning new findings about the nature of the virus and will be available in the near future. We have excerpted the key details below:
A subset of dead patients died again after dying.
This means that the Coronavirus is so deadly, one death is not enough for it. It kills its victims and then, once they are dead, it kills them one more time, just to make sure.
After death experiences by patients who were brought back to life confirm this.
COVID-19 patients who expired and were brought back to life describe an afterlife in which they were walking towards a light and then when they got to the light, there was another light ahead, and they needed to walk towards that instead.
In some cases, the virus took victim’s cars, drove them to ATM machines, and withdrew cash.
Scientists still have no idea how they learned patients’ PIN numbers, but one theory is that the virus just traveled to the person’s brain, looked up the number, and then was just like, thanks.
Coronavirus hates the name COVID-19 because it makes it “sound like a robot or something.”
This reveals new insight into the sensitivity and vanity of the virus. A source close to the virus reported that it originally had requested the name “Steel Thunderbringer” which was rejected, causing an outrageous argument that ended in the virus threatening to mutate and mix with new animal species.
On a related note, the virus hates the fact that computer viruses are called viruses.
It feels strongly that only viruses that infect the bodies of human beings are real viruses and that calling a bunch of numbers that make your computer slow should be called something else, like a, like a… But then it doesn’t have any good ideas for what it should be called instead.
First ever interview with a mannequin. We ask it why it thinks it’s better than us. You won’t believe its answer.
You may have seen a lot in the news lately about mannequins, and how they aren’t affected by the Coronavirus even though they could be carriers. You may have also heard that the pandemic has brought about a “golden age” for them, as they can congregate and hold social events while the rest of us quarantine in misery.
In what can only be described as a commando style, special forces extraction, we were able to capture a mannequin from a storefront and bring it to a secret location to interrogate it. To our dismay, this creature was unlike mannequins from the movies.
INTERVIEWER: First off, I think it’s appropriate to say that we got you. We totally captured you.
MANNEQUIN: (Just sits there, coldly, and stares).
INTERVIEWER: O.K. Let’s move on. So… What is it with you guys? You sit there in stores, mocking us… You definitely aren’t six feet apart. Why?
MANNEQUIN: (No answer. Looks kind of like it’s smiling?)
INTERVIEWER: So, you don’t want to answer? Is that it?
MANNEQUIN: (Definitely there’s a little smile there.)
INTERVIEWER: Scientists we’ve talked to say you could be carriers of the Coronavirus, especially if an infected person coughs on you or tries to have sex with you. Is that true?
MANNEQUIN: (Embarrassed. Says nothing. Knows we completely are winning this conversation.)
INTERVIEWER: But we were smart enough to spray you down with Lysol before we sat down with you, weren’t we?!
MANNEQUIN: (Shakes a bit as I get near it and grab its face.)
INTERVIEWER: What I really want to know is this… Do you think you’re better than me? Do you?
INTERVIEWER: You fucking spoke! You fucking spoke! I knew it. You fucking think you’re better than us!
MANNEQUIN: I know I’m better than you.
INTERVIEWER: Oh? You know you’re better?
INTERVIEWER: Is that right?
MANNEQUIN: Yeah. That’s right.
INTERVIEWER: Well, I don’t think you are.
MANNEQUIN: I guess that’s your opinion.
INTERVIEWER: That’s right. It is.
MANNEQUIN: Well fine. You can think what you want.
INTERVIEWER: I know I can.
MANNEQUIN: Then go think that. I don’t care.
INTERVIEWER: I will think that.
MANNEQUIN: Good. Go ahead.
INTERVIEWER: I’m going to spray you down with more Lysol.
MANNEQUIN: Go ahead. I don’t care.
INTERVIEWER: O.K. then. I will.
INTERVIEWER: Then I will.
MANNEQUIN: Go ahead. Like I give a shit.
The entire interview was about seven hours and much of it went back and forth about whether the mannequin cared about what the interviewer thought or not. Also, there was quite a bit about how each of them were allowed to think whatever they wanted because it was a free country and also that, again, the other one didn’t care what the other one thought. We returned the mannequin, unharmed, to the store where we were almost instantly arrested. The mannequin said nothing, which was probably good actually.
In one of the most extraordinary events in human history, the Intergalactic Business Report made contact with aliens in an effort to stop the spread of the Coronavirus. We were surprised that Forghaaarr (pronounced Four-ghaaarr) sector commander for the twelfth space army for the Zardozian (pronounced zahr-doze-ian) galaxy group answered our space messages. We were also excited to hear that he was authorized by his society to cut deals. Although we are not technically authorized to do the same for the people of planet Earth, we kind of said we were and now Forghaaarr is holding us to it. Sorry.
While the treaty we signed with the Zardozians is complex, it will cure the Coronavirus. We’ve tried to excerpt the most important highlights of the agreement and have listed them below.
1. The space aliens will give us a cure for the Coronavirus. (Side comment: Yea!)
2. Cures for diseases “aren’t free” (their words). So, we’re going to need to “work it off.”
3. All men of planet Earth will contribute one inch of their penis as tribute to Emperor Thorgaaaaag (pronounced Thor-gaaaaaag).
4. The aliens weren’t clear about how they would get the penis parts but also said, they “would just cut off everyone’s dicks” if that was what was needed.
5. Our planet does owe us some thanks for buying some time on the penis chopping. We negotiated that they would give us 18 months before they would come for our dicks.
6. If we refuse to give them what they want, they’ll incinerate the planet.
7. So, we have 18 months to figure out a way to have every man on Earth cut an inch of penis meat from his body and have it ready to go as tribute to the Zardozians.
8. 18 months is a long time, so we feel for sure we’ll come up with a way to do that.
9. Also, during the next 18 months we no longer need to worry about the Coronavirus. So there’s that.
In a science-like quest to solve the Coronavirus for himself, columnist Ed Mountaineer believes he may have found a way to protect himself from the COV-19 virus. How? By becoming dirtier than anything or anyone ever. Read his story below.
My name is Ed Mountaineer and like some people you know, I am smart. The following is how I used my brain to solve the Coronavirus.
Part one: I quest myself up.
The first part of any quest is to decide it’s a quest and you’re on it. I imagine this is how the hobbit felt when he began his thing. Only in my case, I’m not starting a medieval times fighting adventure. I’m stopping a deadly virus.
To prep myself, I surround myself with books, drink mead, and smoke a pipe. Then I fight a librarian who tries to stop me. I feel this is a good “warm up” for what lies ahead. I won’t be fighting stupid library people, but it feels good to physically wrestle someone.
Part two: I study the virus.
Although I am no longer allowed to be around library books, I decide to study the virus. I am no virus scientist, so this is difficult. But I do see a man in a store cleaning something with a towel and a spray bottle.
I approach him and he says the store is closed. I demand to know what he’s doing with his bottle.
“Cleaning. What the fuck do you think I’m doing?” he asks.
“Does that kill the virus?” I ask him.
He is a pecker face. He doesn’t answer and locks me out.
Part three: I come up with my own idea.
The pecker faced man who locked me out of his store may be sure that his solution kills the virus, but I have another idea. What if, instead of cleaning everything, I make it dirtier?
I share this idea with internet people on some online places. Almost every one of them says I’m an asshole or stupid or a stupid asshole. Except one. Buttjam69 gives me a hopeful response. He (or she?) writes: “Yeh, bra. Dat’s it!!!!!!!”
This gives me new confidence and I move to the next phase of my plan to stop the virus.
Part four: I attempt to be the dirtiest person on Earth.
The science behind my idea is complicated, but it is basically this: I cover myself in so much filth that the disease can’t make its way to my vital organs. Also, when the disease gets to me, it says, “Fuck this. He’s already dead or something. I’ll go find another body. This one smells like shit!”
I begin with some hesitation, but soon I am rolling around in dog poop I find in a park. Then I cover myself in garbage and hide by a rock till the next day to see if my experiment has had any effect.
Part five: I begin drinking a lot.
For whatever reason, the stank on me makes me want to drink. I return to my apartment and I feel fresh, like the crap all over me has given me a power I’ve never experienced before. I get all jacked up and find a bottle in my kitchen. I drink the whole thing. Now I’m out of liquor and need to find a store. This part sucks because most of the alcohol stores don’t want to let me in. Also, I have no money.
Part six: I wander and get filthier.
Can’t get a fucking drink anywhere, so I just start running for a while down the city streets. Everybody—I mean everyfuckingbody—gets out of my way. I am like an invincible stink god, owning the town. Owning all the people. Owning the disease? Maybe…
Part seven: I am a person. But I am also a pile of shit.
After a week of immersion into garbage, filth, and shit of all kinds, I am no longer really human. I am more like a walking pile of shit. Would the Coronavirus dare to take me now? I doubt it. Does the Coronavirus infect huge piles of shit? Ha ha ha ha. I doubt it, but just to be sure, I stop by the window where the news people are reporting about the virus. I press myself against the glass and scream at them that I’m immune, just to see if they have a scientific response. They are clearly baffled and I win.
Conclusion: I have beaten the Coronavirus.
Not much more to say on this other than I now wander freely as a feces-covered crypto-beast who answers to no one—not even a deadly virus. Congratulations to myself, I guess. But I don’t even know what “myself” is anymore. Next time you see some garbage, some shit, just think of me, and whisper, “You did it, Ed. You did it!” Then go hide somewhere and regret being free.
In what may be our most ground-breaking and timely story ever, the Intergalactic Business Report reveals top secret, undercover information obtained from the Chinese government about the outbreak of the Coronavirus.
Some of this news may be disturbing and change the way you see the Coronavirus. But we feel this is in the public’s interest and have decided to release the information below:
1. Coronavirus now advertises in online forums that it is a guy named “Dave” who needs a roommate. If you answer the ad, you get Coronavirus.
2. The “Coors Anal Virus” is not related to the Coronavirus at all, and is totally safe, except for the anal part. And probably the virus part.
3. Eating vampire boogers may keep the Coronavirus at bay. The problem, of course, is where to find vampire boogers.
4. Coronavirus can enter your system when you listen to music. Right now, this seems limited to hearing Imagine Dragons, which can cut through your immune system and cause immediate vomiting and swelling of the part of your brain that detects what sucks and making you susceptible to actually buying Imagine Dragons music and thinking it doesn’t suck at all.
5. The Coronavirus is spreading rumors that eating “vampire boogers” (see above) will somehow keep you safe. Then it tells people that it has vampire boogers but you need to come out to this place by the mall to get them. When you show up, you get the Coronavirus.
6. Having sex with Chinese government officials makes you immune to the Coronavirus. Chinese government officials really really emphasized this one.
7. The Coronavirus has hired a major public relations firm in New York to “soften” its image and make it more approachable to the general populace. A new campaign will feature full page advertisements in major newspapers and magazines with storylines about the Coronavirus’s work with charities and puff pieces about what the Coronavirus is doing on its summer break.
8. The Coronavirus plans to be on “the Masked Singer” and reveal itself like Edgar Allen Poe’s Red Death when the judges can’t guess who it is. Look for the episode where it’s called “the Masqued Singer.”
9. The Coronavirus hates its name and begged scientists to call it “Sir Jeffrey Steelehart.” The scientists were like, “Why that?” And the Coronavirus was like, “I don’t know. That sounds like a cool name.” And the scientists all started laughing and couldn’t stop. And the Coronavirus was like, “What’s so fucking funny?” but they just kept laughing. And then they called it the Coronavirus.
10. Drunk people who never leave their houses are at a very low risk for contracting the Coronavirus. We just threw this one in ourselves.
11. Somebody who went to college with the Coronavirus said that the Coronavirus was a total dick and “nasty” and nobody wanted to be its roommate because you’d get sick. The person added, “I don’t know if the Coronavirus has changed since college, but I doubt it. I think maybe it’s mutated a little, but that just comes with age. I just think that underneath it all, the Coronavirus is the same dick it always was.”
12. The Indian guy calling you and telling you you’re in trouble with the IRS is best friends with the Coronavirus. Those two crazy motherfuckers have been causing trouble for years. Sure, the Coronavirus is more famous and has a way bigger impact and body of work. But the Indian dude scaring people into thinking they’re about to have federal agents raid their house if they don’t give him their bank account number? He’s pretty shitty too.
Everyone from the CDC to your mom is giving you tips on how to avoid the Coronavirus as it spreads over the world like a blanket made of sickness. Instead of giving you the usual advice about washing your hands and not French-kissing outbreak patients, the Intergalactic Business Report offers 10 secret tips to stay safe. You’re welcome.
SECRET TIP ONE: Live on a different planet. The Coronavirus is a pandemic, which generally affects everyone on Earth. But if you move to another world that isn’t planet Earth, then you should be fine.
SECRET TIP TWO: Become a hermit on a remote island. This option will become harder and harder as all the islands are taken by other hermits, but if you move quickly, you could claim one all for yourself.
SECRET TIP THREE: Start a new life as a cyborg that doesn’t contract diseases. This is probably the most obvious tactic to take against the Coronavirus, since you continue to live your current life almost exactly as it is now. Only you’re a robot or whatever.
SECRET TIP FOUR: Remove your hands. Hands touch things. Things have bacteria on them. Things have the Coronavirus on them. Stop touching things by not having any hands to touch them. Brilliant.
SECRET TIP FIVE: Remove your head. This goes well with Number Four, above. The Coronavirus infects people when they breathe it in through their mouths and noses or rub their eyes with their finger (attached to hands! See above) that has the virus on it. If you have no head, this is virtually impossible, and the Coronavirus be like, “Whaaat?” And it will move on to its next victim, which isn’t you.
SECRET TIP SIX: Become a virtual version of yourself in which your avatar lives in a disease-free world. What’s best about this option is that you can come up with all kinds of cool outfits to wear, have a perfect body, and you can make your hair red (or whatever color you want).
SECRET TIP SEVEN: Have sex with an Editor from the Intergalactic Business Report. Apparently, this makes you impervious to sickness. We know. Weird, right?
SECRET TIP EIGHT: Make a “not gonna get the Coronavirus pact” with yourself. And give yourself no room to fail.
SECRET TIP NINE: Change all David Lynch movies into the Coronavirus. That way no one will ever get it.
SECRET TIP TEN: Pretend you’re a virus too, and when the Coronavirus comes for you, just be like, “Hey, what up? How’s infecting? Really? Wow. That’s way better than me. Well, see you later, I guess.”
In an article that we will submit for Pulitzer Prize consideration, Cedric Bigglestone finally exposes the truth about the academy awards.
Every February of every year since the beginning of time, I have watched the Oscars. Never invited to the actual event, I am forced to see the ceremony from the zebra skin rug that sits in front of my television in my meager apartment.
Like most of us, I masturbate during the sexy parts, like the opening with Billy Crystal, and I cry when the commercials come on. But there's something about this yearly activity that seems off or abnormal. This led me to write the most damning exposé I’ve ever done. Below is the outline of my journey:
PART ONE: I GET SUSPICIOUS.
For six years straight, no one has replied to my Oscar party invitations, which I sent through snail mail, telegram, and telepathically, assuming that one of the messages would get through to local college girls whose pictures I have seen on their sorority composites before being asked to leave the premises.
How is it possible that every single, nubile, young woman in my area is totally uninterested in coming to my place to view the biggest event in the entertainment industry? Something just isn’t right, and it pushes me to open a full-blown investigation.
PART TWO: THE INVESTIGATION BEGINS.
In the past, local police have tried to throw me off investigations of local sorority girls. They used scare tactics and intimidation by throwing out legal terms like “restraining order” and “I don’t want to ever see you near this campus again.” So, it is useless to seek help from them.
Instead, I look to an old friend who has had his own trouble with the law: Billy Crystal.*
The best host in the history of the Oscars is also someone I would do anything for, including dying, if it included him telling me I was his best friend and some sort of memorabilia, like the shirt he wore in a movie or an object that touched his lips a lot. If anyone is going to help me, it would be Billy.
PART THREE: THE INVESTIGATION STALLS.
Billy Crystal is fucking impossible to contact or find. Where do you even start? I think he lives in California, but I’m just guessing. And if he does, it sucks for me, because I don’t live near California. Fuck this. This is hard.
PART FOUR: A TURNING POINT.
At a local bar, someone asks me if I am going to watch the Academy Awards. Then it clicks. Why would some random dude in a bar ask me that? Why would my whole crotch area be suddenly wet with urine? None of it makes sense…. Except if the Oscars are fake and broadcast through a wormhole designed by a scientist who wants to destroy the movie industry from the safety of his dimension.
But who would that scientist be? And why does he hate movies?
PART FIVE: I LOCATE THE OTHER DIMENSION.
Using only nipple clamps and a bottle of drugs, I force myself out of my own mind and into the universe, where I search for the scientist who is trying to destroy Hollywood. At some point, I stop to take a dump, which I know means I am just shitting myself back on planet Earth, in my apartment, and it’s going to suck to clean it up.
But, as I am taking a dump, the scientist appears and guess who it is? Billy fucking Crystal. He laughs and tells me no one will believe my story, even if I publish it in one of the most respected news sources in the world—the Intergalactic Business Report. I feel defeated, but then I find the strength to take action.
PART SIX: I FIGHT BILLY CRYSTAL IN THE OTHER UNIVERSE.
I spring up from my imaginary toilet seat and attack Billy, who for some reason is super good at fighting and throws me around the hallucinatory bathroom. Shit is everywhere, and I know that means I’m flinging poop again in my apartment, which is, as my landlord told me, going to be the last straw and get me evicted, even though it’s not like I do it every day or anything.
Billy pins me near the sink, and then I summon my sword of knowledge and light, which is really my penis, but in the other dimension, it’s a sword. I beat the living crap out of him with it and he is vanquished.
PART SEVEN: CLOSURE.
I have saved the academy awards and evil Billy Crystal is banished to a cyborg colony in a distant, altered reality. Hollywood owes me a debt of gratitude. Also, my apartment is covered in shit.
*EDITOR’S NOTE: Billy Crystal is a law-abiding citizen. Evil Billy Crystal is an asshole, however.
Cedric Bigglestone is a self-taught journalist who exposes things through exposés. Contact him at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Maroon Five frontman Adam Levine says the reason for his band’s name is “the stupidest, shittiest story you’ve ever heard.” We went with that.
Here are the top eight theories about the meaning behind the name “Maroon Five.”
1. The Gilligan’s Island theory.
Ginger, the Professor, Mary Anne, Gilligan, the Captain, Thurston Howell the third, Lovey. That’s seven who are “marooned.” Clearly the band members have a sex-murder fantasy in which two of the shipwrecked characters die and the others are left to have an orgy with Maroon Five, who conveniently show up on the island right after the “accidental deaths.” When the remaining characters ask them where their boat is, Maroon Five says, “It’s around the corner.” And when they ask if they can rescue them and bring them home, they say sure, after the orgy. With Mary Ann and Ginger dead, the orgy commences. The next morning, Maroon Five get up early and take off. Gilligan calls to them and asks why he and the others can’t come along and Adam Levine says something about how they could never let it get out to their fans that they killed people on an island and then had sex with their friends. He then waves back, kind of like he’s friends with Gilligan, which makes it confusing for Gilligan, who now must bury his friends on the beach, which will only gurgle up their corpses at high tide.
2. The Crayola crayon theory.
The group was originally going to call themselves “Jazzberry Jam” after a Crayola crayon color they felt epitomized them. Then one of them started worrying that made them sound too effeminate and that they should have a tougher, harder image. Out of ideas, Adam Levine picked the next color in the crayon pack—maroon. But just naming themselves “Maroon” seemed to be missing something. They decided to add the number of castaways there would be on Gilligan’s island if Ginger and Mary Ann were murdered and the rest were left to a no holds barred orgy with whoever happened to show up on the island. The number? 5…
3. The food dye theory.
You’ve heard of Red 40, Yellow 5 and Blue 2. To make maroon coloring you’d need to mix Blue 2 with Red 40. This adds up to 42. 42 minus 5 = 37, which means nothing. But remember Yellow 5? What if it were maroon instead of yellow? What would it be called then?
4. The Maroon Five doesn’t exist theory.
This one requires some deeper thought, but basically it says that if Maroon Five didn’t exist, then it wouldn’t matter what their name means because there is no such thing as Maroon Five and no one would ever ask the question in the first place.
5. Maroon Five is named after a sex act.
Most people assume that, like Santana and Ronnie James Dio, Maroon Five is named after a gross sex thing. While this is the most likely theory, it’s hard for us to concentrate right now because we just started picturing taking a Ronnie James Dio on someone’s face while giving them a Santana. Sorry.
6. O.K. Back to the sex theory.
We just took a seven-minute break, which you wouldn’t know unless we told you. Here’s how the sex theory works. Wait. Forget it. Just thought of Ronnie James Dio again.
7. The Godfather of Soul theory.
Maroon and Burgundy are often mistaken for each other. The difference is that burgundy is red plus purple and maroon is red plus brown. If you were to put together the music of Simply Red and James Brown it would sound like Maroon 5. But why the number five, people ask? It took five minutes to think of this one.
8. Mah-Roon Fuh-Ive.
Probably the most compelling theory, it relies on a phonetic recalculating of the name. Mah-Roon-Fuh-Ive. Reconfigure this by jumbling the sounds and rearranging the words. Ive fuh mah roon mah. “I’ve fucked my roommate.”
Mixed martial arts. Ultimate fighting. Prison sex. You’ve heard it called many things. But more than being an opportunity for two dudes to take most of their clothes off and come close to having sex before “tapping out,” the sport has become a multi-billion-dollar phenomenon.
For years, the Intergalactic Business Report has kept quiet about MMA and its close cousin, two naked guys touching each other while someone films it. But we still harbored suspicions about just how good the fighters were and if they were actually fighting or just figuring out a way to get another man’s sweat on them.
Another suspicion arose when one of our editors mentioned the movie “Bloodsport,” which depicts the true-life story of a guy who won an underground fighting championship in Hong Kong. Often confused for a documentary, “Bloodsport” shows a realistic view of how an actual martial arts fighting competition would look. Needless to say, it bears very little resemblance to the Ultimate Fighting Championships we see on television.
Fortuitously, someone on our staff* knew a man who had also won the “Kumite” championship shown in “Bloodsport.” Toby Crayatone, who wishes to remain anonymous, claims to have won that contest 46 times. We contacted him and he spoke with us for several hours about his views on fighting, love, and who he thinks the best fighter of all time is. Since the interview went on for several hours, we have chosen the most pertinent excerpts to share below:
INTERVIEWER: First off, Tony, how’s the love life going?
TONY CRAYATONE: Oh, man. You really had to open with that? It’s kind of a sensitive topic.
INTERVIEWER: Really? Why?
TONY CRAYATONE: I just don’t like to talk about it. That’s all.
INTERVIEWER: (Laughing). Are you going to kick my ass if I keep asking about it?
TONY CRAYATONE: (Also laughing). Yeah. Maybe!
INTERVIEWER: O.K. then. I’m going to switch topics to something I know people are interested in hearing about. Fighting.
TONY CRAYATONE: Yes. Fighting. O.K. Wait a second. There is one thing I should say about my love life before we go any further.
INTERVIEWER: Go ahead.
TONY CRAYATONE: I’m not dating anyone right now.
INTERVIEWER: You’re single?
TONY CRAYATONE: And ready to mingle…
INTERVIEWER: (Laughs uncontrollably). I can’t speak. That’s so fucking funny…
TONY CRAYATONE: (Losing his shit). I know! I know!
INTERVIEWER: Sorry. Sorry. Let’s start again…
TONY CRAYATONE: Ready to mingle!
INTERVIEWER: (Falls off chair while laughing). Oh my god! Oh my god. Stop!
TONY CRAYATONE: Sorry, man.
INTERVIEWER: Hey… When you were fighting, did you ever just say jokes like that and knock your opponent down just using your funniness?
TONY CRAYATONE: That would have been so cool! Like, here’s a joke, and then he falls down laughing!
INTERVIEWER: (Calming down after the laughing fit). Wow. Where were we?
TONY CRAYATONE: I don’t know…
INTERVIEWER: Something about fighting?
TONY CRAYATONE: Naw. It was about dating and how I’m ready to mingle!
(EDITOR’S NOTE: Unfortunately, this comment by Tony sent our interviewer into another fit of laughter. That’s basically all we have. Sorry.)
*The janitor. Even though we don’t pay for janitors. So he must have been someone else we don't know or never talk to who was walking around our office after hours.
Reports so secret we hide them on this page.