Page 41 of our collection of absurdities.
In a desperate bid to keep his tour afloat, Ed Sheeran has recruited Benjamin Netanyahu for a beatboxing set that is truly a war crime against musical taste. It's safe to say the only thing louder than the drums is the sheer awkwardness of this geopolitical fever dream.
Natanael Cano is bringing his CT entourage to the GNP stadium, because apparently, one night of ear-splitting regional-urban hybrids just isn't enough to satisfy the masses. Get ready to witness a masterclass in 'tumbado' branding that promises to raise the decibels and lower everyone's expectations for acoustic purity.
A valiant attempt to teach husbands the impossible art of answering 'Do I look fat in this?' without being exiled to the couch for a week. Good luck, boys; you're going to need more than just a list to survive this gauntlet.
Maroon 5 is gracing Mexico with their presence once more, presumably because Adam Levine missed the feeling of singing the same three notes to stadium-sized crowds. Prepare your eardrums for a nostalgia-fueled assault that guarantees you'll be humming 'Sugar' until at least 2027.
Moenia is hitting the Palacio de los Deportes with a new album, proving that if you wait long enough, your old synthesizers become 'innovative' again. It's the perfect night to wear black, look wistfully into the middle distance, and pretend we're all still living in the glory days of the early 2000s.
Valdo Rodríguez has gifted us another anthem for wallowing in our own misery, complete with a 90s-style saxophone solo that screams 'I'm sophisticatedly depressed.' It’s the perfect soundtrack for stalking your ex on Instagram while pretending you're having an artistic epiphany in the shower.
In a truly miraculous display of numeric gymnastics, Governor Newsom claims gas is $1.87, proving that if you squint hard enough and ignore reality, California is basically a budget-friendly paradise. I suppose I should trade my bicycle for a Hummer immediately, assuming the gas station attendant also suffers from a convenient case of visual impairment.
Local man finally admits that his questionable wardrobe choices are actually the result of an elaborate kidnapping scheme rather than just questionable taste. We can all sleep better knowing that his stylist isn't a person, but a gang of fashion-terrorists who clearly lost a bet with God.
Hosea is finally figuring out that divine inspiration doesn't substitute for a marriage counselor when your spouse has a wandering heart. Perhaps next time he'll stick to dating someone who isn't a biblical metaphor for infidelity.
Rockstar Games is finally delivering the true American dream: paying alimony while Sir Ian McKellen narrates your digital crimes. It’s the perfect game if you want your video game escapism to be as soul-crushing as a visit to the DMV.
In a bold move to combat the inflation of human life, the FBI is now subsidizing hitmen to keep mortality rates competitive. It’s reassuring to know the government is finally taking an active interest in thinning the herd.
Hollywood stars are spiraling because a digital macaque emote is out-acting them for zero salary. Apparently, audiences prefer watching a monkey cry over another CGI explosion, and Tom Cruise is terrified the primate might actually start showing up at his parties.
Pedro Sola has decided his new career calling is professional outing, turning a reality show into a weekly gossip execution. Participants are now sleeping with one eye open, terrified that Pedrito will reveal their secrets while they feed the cows.
After a grueling, back-breaking period of standing around and ignoring problems, the House has earned a well-deserved nap. It truly takes immense endurance to work that hard at avoiding any actual work.
Brussels is buttering up Canada with membership offers, but it's really just a cynical ploy to use North America as a dumpster for the UK's abandoned clutter. Sorry, Canada, you aren't an ally—you're the EU’s new junk drawer.
Europe has finally decided Canada is sad and weak enough to be worth inviting to the club. Apparently, maple syrup and apologies are no longer enough to keep them out of the bureaucratic abyss.
A concerned cave-dweller is warning his tribe that rolling objects will lead to a total collapse of the back-breaking labor industry. Change is scary, especially when your primary job skill is being heavy.
A woman is currently building her entire personality and sense of self-worth around a pile of second-hand clothes she hasn't even found yet.
Officials told Sandra Cuevas to update her ID after facial recognition software failed to identify her latest face. It turns out even the government is having trouble keeping up with her rebranding.
A Paraguayan politician is trying to buy votes with free motel rooms, effectively turning the election into a very specific and questionable party. He insists it's not a government project, just a very generous bribe.
The legendary band stopped by to show off their new music, proving that after 40 years, they can still make us move while hiding our existential dread.
A Monterrey club was caught red-handed—or rather, white-handed—admitting they prefer patrons with less melanin. It's truly shocking that in 2026, some people still think their skin tone is an VIP pass.
The NFL's rigorous medical check includes everything from measuring brain-bleed volume to letting the crowd vote on the player's cognitive function. If all else fails, a ceremonial horn ensures the player is definitely not okay.
Rinus Van Schaik is deep in a mental labyrinth trying to find a DJ name, eventually stumbling upon the revolutionary concept of just calling himself DJ Rinus. It is truly the kind of visionary creative process that keeps the Baja nightlife scene humble.
International leaders have finally solidified a pact to ensure that whatever chaos is unfolding, it never quite manages to eclipse the sheer, unadulterated absurdity of Brexit.
In a move that shocks absolutely no one, Mitch McConnell has returned to the Capitol, now preserved in a convenient jar to better withstand the heat of his own policy decisions.
Local woman discovers that the secret to a clean kitchen and organized files is simply having a deadline staring her directly in the face.
A true hero of the ink-and-paper industry nearly performed the charitable act of buying a magazine, but ultimately spared the planet from more unwanted clutter.
Bookmakers are scrambling to replace Sinterklaas with A-list actors like Idris Elba and a jacked Alan Ritchson, because apparently, being a magical gift-giver is just another role in a mid-life crisis. Whether the next saint can handle a toddler tantrum remains to be seen, but at least he'll look great on a billboard.
A Nantes boutique interpreted 'ephemeral' as a literal suicide mission, blowing itself to bits the second the clock hit zero. The mayor offered her 'fleeting thoughts' to the victims, proving that even in tragedy, French bureaucracy maintains a certain poetic commitment to the bit.
Ed Sheeran has finally reached the peak of musical pretension by booking literal cotton socks to open his tour. It’s a bold move, though things got awkward fast when the socks started doing their own political commentary, proving they have more personality than the headliner.
Thousands of Michigan residents were gifted a stranger's face on their ID cards, proving that if you aren't currently sporting a generic, haunting grin, you're just not doing government bureaucracy right.
Finally, the PGA is fixing the boring silence of golf by adding deafening sirens and spontaneous M-80 explosions. If your ears aren't ringing, are you even really putting?
Kevin Lombardo has committed the ultimate sin of common sense by leaving a casino while still in possession of his own money. Truly, a display of cowardice that leaves his fellow gamblers feeling personally offended by his financial restraint.
Glenn Stevenson has reached the pinnacle of fatherhood by abandoning all responsibilities to perform an amateur appraisal of his neighbor's wood chips. It's the kind of high-stakes horticultural drama that keeps the suburbs from descending into total chaos.
A socially anxious politician has been hovering near the microphone for two hours, waiting for a moment to speak that will surely never arrive. He’s essentially the parliamentary equivalent of a toad playing dead to avoid a predatory bird.
Ayuso bravely addresses the plight of the downtrodden elite who can't get their hands on a luxury penthouse fast enough. It’s truly the crisis of the century for those struggling to decide which skyline view they prefer.
The UN is finally prioritizing what matters: cartography based on the Secretary-General’s lunch budget. Forget borders and geopolitics, the map is now effectively a glorified Yelp review for affordable snacks.
Researchers have validated the ancient art of being a gossiping coward as a superior survival strategy to confrontation. Apparently, the secret to civilization isn't cooperation, but just being really good at talking trash from the couch.
Poor Tyler Neiman is living his best life at bowling league, completely unaware that his expiration date is Wednesday. It’s a bit grim, but at least his bowling average will remain untarnished by the afterlife.
The U.S. Senate torpedoed the much-hyped Clarity Act, sending Bitcoin tumbling below $76,000 as institutional suits panic over regulatory limbo. Down here in Baja, nobody even knows what a Senate committee is, let alone a digital asset bill. The local power transformer blew out three hours ago, the Pacific surf is firing a clean four-foot peel, and the only smart contract anyone cares about is trading a warm Tecate for an extra fish taco at the beach palapa.
South Korean exchange Upbit abruptly pulled the plug on Bonk trading over disclosure shortfalls, triggering mild jitters across global meme books. Meanwhile, Solana meme token market caps hover near four billion dollars while local crypto bros at the Baja cantina try to explain why a cartoon dog coin represents sound money. We nodded politely, finished our margaritas, and went back to watching pelicans dive for fish that actually have intrinsic value.
VCs in Silicon Valley spent the week hyperventilating over whether a random pre-seed startup building an AI wrapper for pet rocks can capture a trillion-dollar TAM. Meanwhile, out here in Todos Santos, the north swell is double overhead and the only thing burning cash is a stale Tecate left in the midday sun. Nobody cares about your seed round, Brad.
During a breathless tech policy subcommittee hearing on data packets, a senior lawmaker expressed deep terror that unencrypted Bluetooth signals might spill out of hard drives and dampen his golf slacks. Back in Baja, the local pelicans continue to ignore federal oversight entirely while the surf fires down the point.
This wearable device uses machine learning to convert whimpers into human speech bubbles with terrifying accuracy. San José del Cabo dog moms are weeping into their lattes upon learning their rescue mutt actually just wants them to leave Baja.
This titanium-plated bug zapper uses faux-vintage Edison filaments to incinerate local gnats for only four hundred dollars. Every retired software executive in Pescadero has three hanging over their outdoor agave patio to validate their rugged desert lifestyle.
For ninety-five dollars, Etsy will sell you a jar of raw desert sand supposedly blessed by an aura reader in Sedona. Todos Santos expats line up to buy it so they can balance their chakras while ignoring local water shortages.
This doomed Kickstarter campaign promises to keep single avocado halves fresh via smartphone notifications nobody asked for. Naturally, local beachfront cafe owners in Baja have already pre-ordered a gross of them.
For sixteen grand, this electric bipedal robot will clumsily shuffle across your cobblestone courtyard and occasionally drop your artisanal mezcal. Tech expats in Cerritos view it as a mandatory status symbol for their minimalist concrete compounds.
Édouard Philippe is trading actual governance for apron-clad PR stunts, showing up at your house to cook while you pay for the groceries and do the dishes. It’s the perfect political strategy: if you can't balance the budget, at least you can burn the risotto in front of an Instagram filter.
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