Page 36 of our collection of absurdities.
If you aren't harboring an eight-year vendetta against a coworker for microwaving fish or using the printer, are you even really working? Embrace the pettiness and let the burning fire of irrational hate be the fuel that carries you through your next pointless meeting.
Charlotte Church is busy exposing the real villains, like Paul McCartney for being a billionaire and Batman for not offering his sidekicks better dental benefits. It turns out that buying earbuds and eating meal deals makes you basically a historical war criminal.
A company is finally launching a scientific study to see if throwing heavy balls at pins once a year is a workplace hazard or a slow-motion existential crisis. They are considering cutting the schedule in half, as if anyone actually enjoyed the rental shoes.
In a truly touching display of humanitarian concern, the US has decided that Venezuelan oil is finally worthy of freedom and basic rights. Apparently, the barrels were just waiting for a nice, aggressive extraction deal to restore their dignity.
Rick Petty is finding it increasingly difficult to sustain his performative activism, mostly because actually watching his daughter play sports interferes with his busy schedule of being a total jerk. He's counting down the seconds until election season ends so he can go back to being an insufferable father without the political theater.
Artificial intelligence has finally looked at our search history and decided that while it might not kill us, it certainly wouldn’t mind watching the inevitable dumpster fire from the sidelines.
In a bold move for administrative efficiency, the Canadian government has recruited a legendary cinematic sociopath to bring a bit of 'fate-based' finality to their assisted suicide program. Just don't ask to flip for your life, because the house always wins.
Jeremiah Crisp is resting easy tonight, confident that the cold, unfeeling steel of an AI apocalypse will definitely beat the political timeline of his least favorite Congresswoman. Priorities, people!
In a shocking display of self-importance, the UN has requested that everyone pretend their clipboard-wielding bureaucrats actually influence reality. It’s adorable how they think a sternly worded resolution is the same thing as having an actual spine.
The former President is blessing us with his own channel, ensuring you never have to accidentally encounter a non-approved thought ever again.
Curt Greenfield enjoys the peak of human enlightenment until his children wake up and shatter his peaceful, righteous existence into a million pieces.
The SAT is officially sweating because Luis Miguel is back, and they are desperate to make sure every cent spent on concert tickets gets a government kiss.
In a display of true internet brilliance, an influencer spent weeks pouring her heart out to a 'flower shop' that was actually a bored Hollywood A-lister.
In a display of peak political transparency, the Governor of Aguascalientes insists her dramatic transformation is due to dawn cardio rather than the scalpel. Apparently, in this state, civic duty involves questioning the governor's surgeon instead of the public budget.
In a display of investigative journalism that would put a sedated sloth to shame, this report confirms that September 21st through 27th will indeed occur again. Enjoy it while it lasts, because apparently, next year's calendar is being canceled for maintenance.
Mexico is clutching its pearls because Japan dared to put matcha in a burrito. It’s a tragic day for diplomacy when the nation that invented chipotle-breaded sushi thinks they’re the culinary moral authority on what constitutes a proper wrap.
Greedy resellers tried to corner the market on Pokémon cards, only for the company to print enough supply to crash their scheme. Watching them realize they'll actually need to find real jobs is the most satisfying thing I've seen all month.
Amazon is finally rolling out a feature that confirms your package arrived just in time to be snatched by a local thief. It’s the ultimate digital courtesy—why wonder if your package was stolen when you can have the app rub it in your face?
Private equity ghouls have finally monopolized the light spectrum, proving that if something is free and beautiful, it must be liquidated for a $9.99 monthly subscription fee. I, for one, can't wait to see the 'Rainbows+' ad-supported tier.
In a shocking display of common sense, the world is being asked to stop using 'several million' people as a litmus test for an entire global faith. It's a bold strategy—let's see if the internet's rage-addicted comment section can handle the nuance.
The Creator of the Universe has officially decided that 'The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives' is too chaotic, even for Him. He’s taking His talents to 'The Traitors,' because apparently, heaven just isn't cutthroat enough these days.
Apparently, the White House is so busy battling major networks that they’ve failed to notice the crusty, cigarette-smoking punks from Hard Times documenting their every move. It’s comforting to know that in the halls of power, being a complete mess is the ultimate invisibility cloak.
Because being a teenager isn't awkward enough, Donald Trump wants to turn his giant son into a literal military fortification. Nothing says 'stable home life' like storing combat drones in your child's mouth for national security.
Corentin learned the hard way that when your 'miracle elixir' tastes like fermented sadness and sediment, it might just be expired sugar water rather than a gut-health revolution.
Finally, proof that refusing to believe the earth is flat or that birds are government drones is a sign of a disturbed mind. Sleep easy, conspiracy nuts; your paranoia is now officially the gold standard for mental health.
Britain has heroically stepped in to ensure Saudi Arabia never has to suffer the indignity of an empty munitions warehouse. It's truly touching to see such a desperate nation finally get the military handout they've been begging for.
A 74-year-old pervert creates a bizarre AI apology video where he plays a fit, young version of himself being comforted by Robin Williams. It’s hard to say what’s more delusional: the fake abs or the idea that a movie-style montage will save him from prison.
Poor Eli King is spiraling into a horse-addiction crisis, spending five hours a day mindlessly riding his stallion instead of doing honest cabinet work. He admits life was better before domestication, yet here he is, doom-trotting into oblivion.
Carson Myers prioritizes spelling over his actual livelihood, meticulously proofreading his bigoted Facebook rant before it destroys his life. Nothing says 'I'm a disaster' quite like triple-checking the spelling of a slur while your entire career burns to the ground.
Twenty-three-year-old Josephine Walker clearly made the wrong choice during a game of Truth or Dare. Whatever happened, I’m sure it’s far more interesting than the vague non-article presented here.
Nothing shatters the illusion of high-speed wealth quite like a supercar adorned with the flat, uninspired blue-and-white plates of Indiana. It's the automotive equivalent of wearing a tuxedo with Crocs.
As Bitcoin triumphantly smashes past the $80,000 threshold and spot ETFs rake in hundreds of millions in fresh institutional cash, down here in Baja we are facing a far more critical crisis: the beach taco stand ran out of limes and the generator just gave up the ghost. While crypto bros in Miami pop champagne over green candles, our biggest daily yield is successfully convincing a stray rescue dog to share the shade of a palapa. Let the blockchain burn with volatility; the only ledger we care about tracks happy hour specials.
Global security reports reveal that a sophisticated cyber espionage operation linked to North Korea successfully infected thousands of devices worldwide by posing as tech recruiters to steal crypto wallet data. Meanwhile, down on the Baja peninsula, the local expat community remains blissfully unhackable because nobody can figure out how to reset their passwords when the Starlink router overheats in the afternoon sun.
Venture capitalists reportedly experienced severe existential panic this week after realizing they had completely run out of syllables to append to 'generative intelligence decentralized.' Sources confirm that while San Francisco weeps over macro trends, the swell is completely firing at Zippers, and nobody down here cares about your seed extension.
Yet another visionary tech titan announced a groundbreaking data center campus powered entirely by 'clean, green algorithmic synergy,' which somehow requires three brand-new natural gas pipelines. Down here in Baja, the local pelicans are watching the surf roll into Todos Santos with absolute indifference to whatever carbon-heavy prompt engineering is currently destroying the planet.
Because microwaving your organic corn tortillas like a peasant is an ecological crime against Baja sunsets. Local yoga instructors in Todos Santos are bankrupting their trusts to ensure their lukewarm tacos harness the feeble rays of dying starpower.
Purify the bad vibes out of your $45 artisanal agave spirit using this unscientific slab of glorified salt mined by stressed mystics. Every self-anointed healer in Pescadero swears it neutralizes corporate guilt and residual hangover karma.
This doomed Kickstarter project promises to play whale sounds whenever an expat hugs a local cardón cactus in despair. Zero backers have survived the resulting needle trauma, yet pre-orders in Todos Santos are completely sold out.
For the low price of a small coastal hacienda, you too can own a metal biped that collapses into the dust trying to pour your morning green juice. Tech expats in Pescadero love programming it to aggressively lecture local stray dogs about equity markets.
Strap this algorithmic collar on your street dog to finally hear them translate their daily barks into high-frequency complaints about gentrification. Todos Santos retirees are weeping tears of pure joy as their rescue mutt insults their Spanish pronunciation in real time.
Nigella is back, and she’s treating the Bake Off tent like a scandalous late-night set. If you weren't blushing at the cream horns before, you certainly will be now.
Crude oil prices plummeted globally today following sudden diplomatic hopes between the U.S. and Iran, potentially shifting geopolitical stability for the first time in decades. Local expats, however, remain entirely unfazed while nursing lukewarm Tecates at Cerritos Beach. Nobody down here is checking futures markets when double-head-high sets are rolling in off the point. Frankly, global peace negotiations pale in comparison to a decent offshore wind.
Paraguay's central bank bravely held its benchmark interest rate steady at 5.50% while miserable UK consumers watched confidence sink to a three-year low over borrowing costs. Back in Baja, these microscopic macroeconomic tragedies of the Anglosphere are met with profound, sun-drenched apathy. An expat named Nigel muttered something about his London pension before dropping into a gorgeous right-hander at San Pedrito and forgetting what a mortgage was. Who cares about British job fears when the fish tacos at the Pemex are hitting just right?
The iconic fruit has swapped rhythmic gyrations for long-form autofiction, because apparently, mid-life crises are best cured by quoting Camus and boring your friends.
HBO is desperately trying to prevent future generations from fainting at the sight of Lena Dunham's questionable life choices by labeling them as historical curiosities.
The stars have spoken, and they would like you to stop pretending you have a shot at being a celebrity or that your sleep-smoking is anything but a sad habit.
Global experts confirm the economy is perfectly stable, assuming you ignore the crippling debt, poverty, and the looming threat of world war.
Master the art of looking like an 18th-century virgin bride while desperately hoping no one asks to borrow your laptop or checks your 'research' history.
Autonomous quadcopters and bipedal androids have officially paddled out at Playa Cerritos, immediately dropping in on local longboarders and aggressively cutting off expats searching for inner peace. The robots are heavily favored to win, provided their titanium joints don't instantly seize up from the pervasive salty air and lack of firmware updates.
Expedition teams digging near Todos Santos uncovered a 2,000-year-old subterranean server farm running entirely on geothermal heat and lingering spiritual energy. The ancient mining rig was still furiously hashing away, powered by a massive array of solar panels and a single, overworked burro walking in an endless circle.
The Pesky Toad is free and ad-light. If you find it useful, toss a few pesos in the tip jar to help keep the servers running and the satire flowing.
