Tag: late stage capitalism

  • Small Town Declares Martial Lawn

    When democracy fails, bring folding chairs.

    The thrillville incense.

    📍Ohoopee, Georgia — Population: 29 (or 30 if you count the town ghost).

    Tensions reached a boiling point this Tuesday when Mayor Humboldt was challenged to a winner-takes-the-town cage match by self-proclaimed “civic webmaster and social media moderator” Bocephus Clayburn-Holler, Jr. The proposed brawl, which was to be held inside the parking lot of the abandoned Post Office (abandoned since 1953—rumors say a ghost named Ardnell still haunts it), was described by organizers as “a peaceful transfer of violence.”

    “This is how real men settle democracy,” Bocephus belched into a little red-and-white megaphone he brought from home. “No more rigged ballots. Just a god-blessed match and absolutely NO kayfabe!

    (Sadly our very tired reporter, Kayleigh, didn’t know “kayfabe” meant “to pretend that everything in wrasslin’ is real” and thought he meant “kabab”, so now she’s hungry… and still very tired.)

    Mayor Humboldt responded by taking off his shirt and eating a pork chop that he’d saved under his left moob. “You wanna roll, boy? I was born in a hog slaughterin’ trough and baptized in Diet Mountain Dew Code Red during intermission at the Monster Jam Finals. Let’s dance!”

    Mayor Humboldt taking down Clayburn-Holler Jr with the old “Quarter Pounder Whopper” move.

    Aunt Peepaw, longtime Ohoopee matriarch and lead footwasher at the Piney Woods Holiness Parsonage, told our reporter:

    “I’ve slept with both of ‘em, almost at the same time,” she said, adjusting her oxygen nasal cannula. “Let’s just say patience ain’t the only thing they short on.”

    The match, however, was derailed when Clayburn-Holler, Jr’s mother, Mrs. Ohara-Clayburn-Holler-Stavrose (recently widowed and now filthy rich) pulled up in a white Escalade and laid down the law.
    “Bocephus Clayburn-Holler, Jr, you are not getting in a cage with that marbled meatloaf of a man unless you finish your snack and wash your hands. And I mean with soap this time—not those damn crypto wipes.

    Bocephus was last seen sulking in the backseat, furiously eating his ants-on-a-log and tweeting about “censorship by the woke mob of Northern Aggression.

    Deputy Ortiz, who had been stationed nearby to monitor potential shirtlessness-related violations, was asked for comment but simply shook his head and radioed in a code 42 (“White Men Gesticulating within a 6’ radius”).

    “This town deserves a mayor, not a main event,” he muttered. “These two couldn’t lead a dog to a fire hydrant during mating season.

    Observers noted eerie parallels to the recent real-world spat between The High-Salutin’ Musk and The Stable Genius Trump, who spent the last several days LARPing as Tyson vs. Holyfield (it was an ear-biting experience!), casting shadows of impotence over two separate empires of ego.

    While national media speculates whether Musk and Trump’s online tantrum is a diversion, a psychosexual mating dance, or simply two billionaires acting like adolescents sentenced to detention, Ohoopee has decided to take the high road: ignoring all of it completely and continuing to elect mayors based on pie-eating contests and number of feral hogs wrangled.

    Coming up next, Dan Quayle disqualified from the Annual PotatoE Salad Spelling Bee after spelling “mayo” with a K. Film at 11.

    Ad: Are you inadequate? Try BROtox

    A cartoon character holding a bottle of vitamin.
    Bro!! Does your maleness need enhancing? Then look no further than BROTOX! An FDA-Adjacent supplement for all of your male enhancement gender-affirming needs. May cause shrunken testicles.

    Between the Screens:
    I’ve always loved drawing illustrations over photographs—kind of like they did in Who Framed Roger Rabbit. There’s something oddly satisfying about blending an animated face into a real-world image, making the two feel like they belong together (or at least like they’re trying).
    Below is a 30-second video of me creating today’s illustration.

  • The McMeem™ is back for the first time!

    The McCorpulent Clown Welcomes All To Worship Him, Dissenters will meet and untimely death with the fry basket.

    Wankers Corner, Oregon. A chest‑high wave of Diet‑Coke foam is already sloshing down Main Street, sweeping red‑and‑yellow Christmas bulbs through the froth like greasy confetti. The high‑school band pounds out “You McCan’t Touch This” by McHammer while townsfolk cheer the debut of the McMeem™—a custom meme you can swallow before the cashier even sighs that the soft‑serve machine is down again.

    The Golden Arches has partnered with Gen-Z “McFluencers” to launch the McSnorts Fanta Challenge: inhale diet soda through one nostril and hashtag the footage #McTikTok.

    We just want folks to be safe,” said Deputy Ortiz. “Snortin’ Fanta isn’t illegal, but it sure ain’t McSmart.” For safety concerns, McCorporate now includes smelling salts for anyone who faints.

    Only in Ohio can Sigmas love these Gyat Skibidi Toilets, no cappin’

    I seen it on the Facebooks that the McMeem will make you go viral like that Laughing Chewbacca lady,” crows Aunt PeePaw, curb‑camped since four a.m. “Soon as I get mine I’m slappin’ it on The FaceBook—tags off, so Bill Gates’s Five‑G can’t McFact‑check me.”

    Inside, Deputy Ortiz funnels the crowd toward proprietary Build‑A‑Bias kiosks. Each screen glistens with the same gut bacteria residue a 2019 UK study scraped from McTouch‑screens. Fecal matter be damned, customers slap their unwashed hands on the glass to craft memes delivered by the yellow corporate overlord clown, Ronald.

    One mushroom‑headed teen called “McBeast” (5 subs, no clout) steadies his phone while an assistant locks the ring light. He begins filming a would‑be viral saga titled “Healing Through Limited‑Time Sauces.”

    The formula is McProprietary,” explains McMarketing Manager Dickcissel Songbird, flicking his Golden‑M lapel pin. “Equal parts confirmation bias, cognitive dissonance, and a whisper of vintage dog‑whistle seasoning.

    Every McMeem ships in Quarter‑Pounder paper already dusted with the E. coli and salmonella blend the USDA flagged between 2012 and 2019. Fine print warns: May clog arteries, timelines, and Thanksgiving dinner conversation. May also ccause bloody diarrhea…just sayin’…

    Mayor Humboldt slices a ribbon fashioned from a two‑feet of ketchup packets. “We tried education, we tried broadband,” he tells our very tired reporter. “Tonight we fill brains with printable cheeseburgers. That is McProgress.

    McCorporate teases the next drops: McGaslight™—guarantees your childhood was perfect; McDogWhistle Nuggets™—audible only to Uncle Randy; and McMansplain Shake™—arrives half‑melted and explains why that’s fine.

    Allow me to McMansplain to you about Virginia Neely becoming my newest “paid” McScriber! Virgnia, with your paid tier you’re now eligible for a McMansion in a Florida suburb of your choice! (oh and you get your name and link permanently added to the footer. McBOOM!

    Coming up after the break:
    Local seaman comes on Wankers Corner City Council—claims swole fish, shrunk ethics. Film at 11.

    Between the McScreens

    The closing time‑lapse shows 2025 Ronald shedding the happy‑clown grin and growing into a boardroom tyrant. Pinstripe clown suit, golden grease‑smudged smile tuned to quarterly earnings. Watch each McStroke layer a little more dread, one frame at a time.