Don’t be fooled–he’s enjoying every moment of his humiliation.

Charlie Brown: Baseball Scout / Public Humiliation

Lucy Van Pelt: White House Spokesperson / BDSM

Linus Van Pelt: Mega Church Pastor / Furries

Schroeder: Jingle Composer / Steam Punk Cosplay

Peppermint Patty: Influencer / Foot & Shoe Fetish

Marcie: Comedian / Water Sports

Sally Brown: Lawyer / Cuckolding

“Pig-Pen”: Reality Show Contestant / Pegging

Snoopy: WWIII Flying Ace / Reverse Beagle

Woodstock: Drone Sabotage Expert / Tickling & Feathering

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Why can’t I find a pair of Hulk pants that will still fit even if I put on a few pounds?

Has Iron Man ever dropped a deuce while flying at high altitude?

Are there any mutants whose powers actually make them weaker, like their skin turning into tissue paper instead of steel?

Professor X: does the carpet match the drapes?

I understand how the Pym Particle works, but what the hell is a Pym’s Cup?

There’s got to be a thriving business in fake heralds of Galactus, right?

Where does She-Hulk buy her sports bras?

Are Doctors Doom and Octopus members of the American Medical Association? If so, are they aware that the Hippocratic Oath says “First, do no harm”?

Does Wolverine have a Green Card allowing him to work in the US?

Did Jarvis and Wong ever consider forming a union of superhero butlers?

Why didn’t Aunt May ever get a piece of Uncle Ben’s rice money?

What happens if Black Bolt gets allergies and has to sneeze?

Why are alter-egos always more mild-mannered than their heroic counterparts?

If you put your ear up to Sub-Mariner’s tummy, can you hear the ocean?

Peter Hoeg wrote that “If man becomes totally isolated, then he ceases to exist. So it is not fundamentally possible to be alone. Fundamentally, man has to be with other people. If man becomes totally, totally alone, then he is lost.”

I’m still here, Peter.

So far.

Kexit – resolving to no longer wear underwear

Rexit – leaving the dog park for the joys and ease of being a cat owner

Chexit – no more processed breakfast cereals for me

Vexit – you’re really starting to annoy me; I’m outta here

Sexit – a real life version of Lysistrata

Fexit – giving up on my attempts to put on an Irish accent, complete with profanity

Skrillexit – so long, celebrity DJs, I’m listening to folk music from now on!

Pexit – giving up on exercise when you realize having a six pack isn’t worth the trouble

Texit – deciding to not bother messing with Texas, but just leaving it to itself

Hexit – witches, wiccans, whatever–you can’t put a spell on me

Mexitco – when Mexico takes Vicente Fox’s cue and finally tells Trump to go fuck himself

Nexit – whatever the next exit may be, wherever it may happen

“Hi! Welcome to Gaslight Bookstore, how may I help you?”

“I was here last week and saw ______. I’ve been so looking forward to reading it!”

“We’ve never had that book.”

“Really? Jason put it on hold for me, even though you had lots of copies. He was very helpful.”

“I don’t know any Jason. Are you sure it wasn’t Samantha?”

“I don’t think so. Jason has worked here for years; I know him well. Anyway, can I order the book?”

“This is a bakery.”

“I beg your pardon? This is clearly a bookstore.”

“I think I know the difference between books and loaves of bread. Are you hungry?”

“Well, yes I am, but that’s beside the point. I want to buy a book!”

“Perhaps the hunger is affecting your brain. I can help you with that, but you need to admit that there was never a bookstore in the first place.”

“What…?! I’ve been buying books here forever! Can’t you just give me the book I want?”

“Don’t you mean you want this marble rye? We’re known for your marble ryes.”

“It does look delicious… fine, I’ll have one loaf of the rye and some of these croissants.”

“Ma’am, those aren’t croissants, they’re The Hunger Games series.”

“Please lock me away now.”

Nothing any regular Hall of Famer wouldn’t jot down between innings.

This week Alex Rodriguez, retired Major League Baseball player and human steroid depository, made his debut in the broadcast booth. In typical A-Rod fashion, what should have been an easy home run became a bizarre scandal, with sharp-eyed viewers zooming in on his notebook only to see cryptic references to “birth control,” “baby”, and most-tantalizingly, “pull out stuff.” What all of this means, and why Rodriguez had this on his mind rather than a meaningless May baseball game, remains a mystery, but the other question we’re all wondering is, what else is in that notebook? The Center for Poor Karma & Pain’s crack researchers and spies are, as always, on the job and offer this exclusive look beyond the news.

p. 23 – “Where are my taco-flavoured kisses?”

p. 30 – “Find out: how many home runs wd potential baby have to hit to pass Griffeys for all-time father/son record?”

p. 37 – “A-Rod2 or 2Rod?”

p. 41 – “are purple lips hereditary or recessive?”

p. 43 – “move Phil Rizzutto to back of monument park? who is more beloved? hit more home runs than him after all”

p. 51 – “why can’t I have everything and Jeter have nothing?”

“And now a few words from my dick…”

Today President Donald Trump leaves on his first official foreign trip since being fraudulently elected by an archaic system and with the help of Russian hacking. He’ll be visiting Vatican City, Saudi Arabia, and Israel and will be taking his teddy bear and night light since he doesn’t like not sleeping in his own bed. Trump is no doubt hoping for a respite from unending witch hunts at home, even though everyone including his enemies agree that he’s doing an amazing job and has all the best words, really.

What can we expect from the trip to the centres of Catholicism, Islam, and Judaism? Reports have surfaced of Trump’s wishlist for activities, although the feasibility of some has already been questioned. Here, from unnamed sources <cough, Comey! cough> is the President’s Holy Land(s) bucket list:

  • Take the Popemobile out for a spin in St. Peter’s Square; if possible, do some donuts
  • Land a helicopter on Masada, proving that the US Army is better than Rome’s
  • Kiss the Black Stone at the Kaaba, to get the “gift of the grab”
  • Solve the Arab-Israeli problem, if time allows also bring peace to entire Middle East
  • Pick up one of those Pope hats at the Vatican gift shop
  • Take that oil
  • Make a deal to build a hotel on Palestinian land, probably
  • Find out how Michelangelo painted all that stuff even though he’s just a turtle
  • Kiss Benjamin Netanyahu right on the lips
  • Have some protestors beat up, like that Erdogan guy did in Washington
  • Send postcards to Michael Flynn, a really great guy
  • Cause at least one international incident every day
  • Tweet out locations of Israel’s nuclear weapons
  • Make joke about how he hasn’t seen a sand trap this big since golfing at the beautiful Trump Mar-a-Lago course
  • Find out where the Vatican hides all its women; grab their pussies
  • Put ketchup on hummus

There just might be hope on the horizon for a perpetual loser (and selfsame author of this blog). After years of failure and disappointment (what other, more successful people generally term “life”), things might just be looking up.

The erstwhile writer has had a dry patch for a while, but coming up with the Onion-esque title for this post, as derivative and unoriginal as it is, has actually inspired him to think he just might have something to contribute to society after all. (Undoubtedly he’s wrong and you all know it, but please let him keep fooling himself, at least for a day or two… would that be too much to ask?)

And then there’s the development of two (two!) (as-yet) loveless internet relationships, which represent a new high for concurrent, virtual, precarious connections in his life, beating the previous high of one potential match whose seeming rekindling after months of silence turned out to be a case of mistaken identity, namely that it became apparent that the woman in question confused him with another man entirely. They were never to meet again.

After a period of unemployment, the author had two interviews in a single week, bestowing a sense of promise and potential upon him that has been long absent. While it may not seem to be a big deal for people who manage to hold down gainful employment for years at a time, for this fuckup it’s a headline that fairly screams, “I’m back, baby!”

Just today, the local failure had a meal that, for the first time in months, he actually enjoyed and took pleasure in. You wouldn’t know it from his corpulence (the term “spare tire” to describe a tubby midsection might have been invented for his body) but although he eats plenty each day, his profound loserdom means that eating has often been an empty, joyless act. But no more!

And the weather! Might it finally be turning? May a day be approaching when he doesn’t have to wear a jacket, scarf, and toque? Is his happiness at this tiny joy not the very definition of pathetic fallacy? (Seriously, is it or isn’t it? He may be an author, but he doesn’t know his literary terms very well.)

Huzzah!

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