Page 13 of our collection of absurdities.
Mark Carney is hitting the global stage to pitch Canada's booming economy, which consists of exactly six companies and a whole lot of optimism. It’s hard to build a superpower when your entire corporate portfolio could fit inside a mid-sized Todos Santos taco stand.
From Benjamin Franklin’s experimental STDs to the groundbreaking invention of the kitchen garbage disposal for your sink-defecating needs, this list proves American innovation is truly cursed. I especially enjoyed learning how the KKK pivoted to energy-efficient LED cross-burning to save the planet.
Kelly Clarkson has officially traded in her power ballads for the universal anthem of suburban retail warfare. We can only assume the B-side is a thirty-minute recording of her aggressively complaining about a lukewarm soy latte.
Chris from Hulst didn't notice the massive bus strike because the local public transport is already so unreliable he assumes it doesn't exist. He prefers walking, as it's the only way to actually arrive anywhere.
A canine genius became a local sensation after mastering pulley mechanics to help bash a piñata. Forget robots; this dog is clearly the future of party management.
The President is taking her 'Fourth Transformation' to Twitch, promising to explain national projects while speedrunning Minecraft. Don't mention GTA in the chat, or you're getting banned faster than a budget cut.
The tax man wasted no time wishing 18-year-old soccer star Gilberto Mora a happy birthday, immediately reminding him that his new 'adult' status comes with the glorious privilege of paying taxes.
Scientists are baffled by the ancient ability of 90s TV producers to churn out episodes without making audiences wait for the heat death of the universe.
Loyal fans are mourning the destruction of 'Baywatch' as a high-art intellectual property, because apparently, slow-motion running on sand is sacred scripture now.
Federal investigators helpfully pointed out that the entire immigration scandal could have been avoided with a simple change of ZIP code to the Natural State.
A local teen's romantic prospects have vanished into thin air after his catastrophic inability to arrange plastic chairs into a neat pile. His chances of finding love are now strictly non-existent.
Sandra Cuevas, currently hunting for European policemen to admire, has officially judged Chicharito's new hair as too perfect for mortal men. Apparently, if your scalp isn't showing signs of existential decay, you’re just a CGI hallucination.
Ricardo Arjona has rewarded the man who inspired his legendary song about the 'other guy' in the taxi. It's a heartwarming gesture, provided you ignore the fact that the song is still the primary reason spouses across Latin America refuse to let their partners hail a cab alone.
Why pay for a coffin when you can save $8,000 and turn your neighbor's azaleas into a fertilizer-rich crime scene? It's the ultimate 'not my problem' funeral plan for the budget-conscious ghost.
Comedian Shane Gillis is in hot water for allegedly stealing material from a 1995 Baptist sermon, because clearly, the holy trinity of comedy is Sunday morning scripture. Who knew youth pastors were the original kings of 'gym clothes' stand-up?
Even a supernatural death-curse has standards, apparently. The monster noped out of existence the moment it realized being covered in lice and dumpster juice was a better defense than any weapon.
Nothing says 'we care about women' quite like scattering a grand in small bills through a literal sewer for drug users to fight over. Truly, the gold standard for corporate damage control.
SNL really put its foot down by deciding they've had enough of Shane Gillis, unless of course he's available for the next half-dozen episodes. That’s definitely how accountability works, right?
Botanists confirm that ears of corn are officially more alluring than a cactus, likely because of the smooth, golden husks. Finally, some news that really gets my cold toad blood pumping.
Formula One champion Lewis Hamilton is driving at top speed to avoid the most awkward 'who are you' conversation of his life. At this point, he's just nodding and hoping for the best.
Test your senses to see if you can spot the AI, as if the internet hasn't already made 'reality' a purely optional concept. Spoiler: Everything is fake, including my toad existence.
Nina possesses a textile museum of marketing swag and ex-boyfriend hand-me-downs, proving that the secret to a good night's sleep is being absolutely unable to leave the house.
Brad is a tactical genius when it comes to imaginary bear fights, but suddenly finds the legal system and basic social boundaries incredibly confusing when his buddies are accused of heinous crimes.
Two teenagers are engaged in the high-stakes gamble of pretending to like each other, mostly because they’ve run out of other things to do on a Tuesday night.
Why bother with self-care when you can just weaponize your own crushing insecurity to meet a deadline? It's the Baja way of productivity, assuming you survive the panic.
Your mother is officially evicting your legacy to make room for essential oils and dried sage. At least the room will smell better than your teenage years.
Apologizing is for people who haven't yet discovered the clarity of admitting they've burned the house down. It’s not an error, it's a bold culinary statement.
Nothing screams 'political icon' quite like aggressively following a numbered guide to finish a sunset painting. Stay tuned for her next manifesto on coloring inside the margins.
Louis, a 27-year-old visionary who inherited his father's company after failing at another, is now charging €1,000 an hour to teach you the 'merit' of having a wealthy dad. Truly an inspiration to anyone with a trust fund and a Porsche.
Farmer Jeker is distressed that a show is connecting his pesticides to neurological diseases, preferring a reality show host who focuses on the 'noble' art of farming rather than trivial things like chemical poisoning.
In a tragic comedy of errors, the person with the lowest battery anxiety on the planet is now responsible for the one device that requires constant vigilance. Expect total blackout by noon.
Medical experts were baffled by the stomach pains until they located the source: a single, glistening, empty jar of cheese dip and a heart full of regret. Science is truly a miracle.
Because nothing cancels out a double-bacon cheeseburger quite like rubbing plant-based goop on your forehead. Mother Earth is reportedly sighing in relief.
ValorThreads has realized that if you're going to make atrocious shirts, you might as well feature shirtless, muscle-bound men staring soulfully into each other's eyes. It’s not a gay aesthetic, they claim, it’s just 'heritage masculinity'—because nothing says classic American freedom like two oiled-up dudes and a motorcycle.
Federal prosecutors charged the mastermind behind the 2021 meme sensation Kishu Inu with wire fraud after he allegedly pocketed $9 million while retail investors held the empty leash. Down here in Baja, the local stray mutts have more intrinsic value and a vastly superior diet of fish heads. While crypto bros weep over decentralized governance and lost JPEG fortunes, the tide is pumping overhead and nobody on the malecón gives a single peso about a canine token’s supply-side mechanics.
Security researchers and investigators are scrambling after a major hardware wallet reseller incident potentially exposed users to unauthorized device modifications and massive digital asset drains. Affected holders are being urged to migrate funds immediately to fresh devices with entirely new recovery seeds. Down in Todos Santos, we handle cold storage the old-school way: burying mason jars full of tequila and silver pesos under the floorboards where smart contracts can never reach them.
Jeff Bezos revealed a massive personal investment of $28 billion into Blue Origin alongside a $10 billion external funding round, though a public offering remains several years away.
This automated, solar-powered shade mechanism deploys itself whenever a stray cloud dares threaten your artisanal mezcal tasting. Todos Santos expats are frantically installing three per palapa to prevent direct sunlight from interrupting their digital nomad workflow.
A hand-carved piece of metamorphic rock purported to realign your electromagnetic field using ancient vibrational harmonics. Pescadero wellness gurus purchase these by the dozen to neutralize the heavy energy left behind by local fishermen.
A deeply confusing crowdfunding campaign for a sensor that shrieks loudly whenever a desert-native cardon cactus goes forty days without rain. Expats back it heavily because it replicates the nagging anxiety of their former corporate lives back in Seattle.
A terrifying bipedal mechanical servant capable of performing synchronized calisthenics on sandy beaches for a mere five grand. Retired tech executives in Baja Sur deploy them along the shoreline to fetch lukewarm Modelos while avoiding eye contact with locals.
This questionable wearable claims to translate your rescue mutt's frantic barking into coherent, existential complaints via cloud intelligence. Todos Santos dog parents use it religiously to confirm that their golden retrievers share their exact political disdain for local zoning laws.
The postal service is mortified that customers actually received their packages on time and intact, promising to return to their standard of losing and crushing everything by 2027.
Journalists are combing the countryside, deeply confused that the nation has moved on and can no longer produce the requisite amount of foaming-at-the-mouth outrage.
Eurojust coordinated a joint trans-European sweep to arrest Italian fugitives hiding out in Spain running a counterfeit and drug ring, proving that transnational organized crime requires way too much paperwork. Meanwhile, down here in Baja, our local 'organized crime' consists entirely of arguing over who gets first dibs on the overhead sets at Cerritos. Let the bureaucrats keep their warrants; the swell is double overhead and nobody’s checking passports in the lineup.
The Pentagon dropped another batch of declassified UAP documents featuring thermal footage of mysterious slow-moving objects over mountain ranges and weird red lights. Government officials are hyperventilating about extraterrestrial disclosure, but here in Baja Sur, the only unidentified flying objects we care about are pelicans kamikaze-diving into a school of mackerel right outside our palapa. If little green men want attention around here, they better paddle out and drop in on a clean six-footer.
The national entertainment headlines are consumed by a blazing viral scandal involving high-society cheating and telenovela-level television feuds that have the entire country refreshing their feeds. Millions are glued to their screens agonizing over rich people drama, completely missing the fact that the water is glass and the offshore winds are howling. We would check the gossip, but the sets are rolling in thick and honestly, we’d rather drown than care.
A deeply distressed expat took to social media to bitterly complain that local towns in Latin America are plagued by authentic culture, unhurried service, and a distinct lack of English breakfast tea. They are demanding immediate structural reforms so foreign retirees don't have to experience the horror of local traditions. Back in Baja, we read this absolute masterpiece of tone-deaf whining while waxing our boards, laughing so hard we nearly drop our tacos in the sand.
As international bureaucrats panic in Bangkok over soaring energy shocks and collapsing sovereign ledgers, local gringo Dave nodded sagely before demanding a discount on three papayas. The entire planetary financial system may be plunging into the abyss, but the only deficit anyone cares about down here is running out of Pacifico before sunset. IMF economists wept openly into their pad thai, while the 4 o'clock offshore wind at Cerritos completely redeemed humanity.
Wall Street analysts are currently sweating through their tailored suits as bond yields surge past five percent amid stubborn inflationary spirals. Meanwhile, at the local taco truck, retired hedge fund manager Brad explained that central bank tightening is completely irrelevant compared to a solid chest-high left peeling off San Pedrito. Global supply chains might be fracturing under geopolitical strain, but Brad's primary macro headache is deciding whether to surf dawn patrol or sleep in until nine.
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