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This week I found myself in the unusual position of having two (relatively) uninterrupted hours of time to myself, in which I could really take the time to stop and think about the various converging horrors howling outside the gates.

That the two hours were spent laying perfectly still inside an MRI machine (everything’s fine, just a routine follow-up) while a helpful technician piped his favorite adult contemporary Pandora station into a pair of hospital-issued headphones only served to heighten my claustrophobic sense of boomer-fueled doom over the next few months of infectious coup-ing. If you’ve never had the opportunity to sit alone with your thoughts for hours on end, pondering a cavalcade of crises — existential, political, medical, whatever — in the buzzing bosom of a multi-million dollar magnet cocoon before, lemme tell ya, it is a delight.

Huh, wonder what’d happen if Donald Trump got COVID again, and his Q-addled supporters took it as a sign to stage a violent uprising on Christmas eve, and I bet Canada wouldn’t even offer to help, because we’re all just completely riddled with the plague and oh god oh god get me out of this fucking machine it’s so small in here and [Eagle Eye Cherry’s “Save Tonight” blasts into my headphones loud enough to rattle teeth]

Fun times, right?

By the time the beeping and whirring and late-career Red Hot Chili Peppers-ing had finished, and I was finally allowed to scratch my goddamned nose again, I left the hospital feeling weirdly…okay? Like all the ruminating anxiety and doom-forecasting I’d exerted in the narrow confines of the MRI had somehow been trapped there by the machine’s magnetic field, leaving me surprisingly refreshed, if absolutely ravenous for a shitty burrito or maybe some jalapeño poppers.

Anyway, I mention all this because there’s probably some sort of metaphor about expunging a bunch of 🎶baaad thooouuughts🎶 in a tight spot, and then feeling marginally better when it’s all over with. What that is, though, I have no fucking clue.

Too much monkey business

We’ve come a long way since some dudes in Scotland looked at a sheep and said “you know what? How about we clone it?” And yet, science still insists on fucking with animal DNA for the sake of…well, it’s hard to say sometimes. Take, for instance, the fact that this year researchers from Dresden and Japan shoved a handful of some human DNA into a monkey brain, and — according to their findings which published in the journal Science — the monkey’s brain got bigger as a result.

Does this mean we need to start worrying about a new race of super-genius monkey overlords coming to enslave humanity for our millennia of being the shitty dominant species on this planet? Not quite. Per the study’s authors:

In light of potential unforeseeable consequences with regard to postnatal brain function, we considered it a prerequisite – and mandatory from an ethical point of view – to first determine the effects of ARHGAP11B on the development of fetal marmoset neocortex.

So, no mega-brain apes quiiiiite yet. But, they’re coming. Oh, you’d better believe, they’re coming.

Goo-goo CA, ew

Ghostbusters II is not, by even the most generous definitions, a particularly good movie. And yet, with a plot that centers on a literal river of slime oozing beneath the streets of a major metropolis, it’s the first thing that came to mind when I saw:

The green sludge, which, come to think of it, is extremely Ninja Turtle-y too, is reportedly Toronto’s way of determining whether or not the sinkhole somehow connects with any of the city’s official sewage lines. So, nothing to see here, citizen. Everything is under control.

And speaking of slime

Rudy’s snot doing well

Yes yes, we’ve all seen the melting hairspray (??) rolling down his soaking jowls, but that’s not nearly as funny — or upsetting — as watching him give himself a booger exfoliation.

At the same time Rudy was busy wiping himself with his own bodily fluids, Giuliani’s spawn Andrew was standing nearby, incubating a nasty case of COVID-19. Are we in for a “like father, like son” scenario? I guess we’ll have to wait and see!

Swine flu

Clackamas County is a fun thing to say out loud. Go on, try it!

Clackamas County

Clackamas County

Clackamas County

See? Fun.

What’s less fun, however, is living in the Portland, OR-area county, where nearly two dozen COVID cases have been directly linked to the local sheriff’s department. While only one case is believed to have been the result of exposure while an officer was actually on duty, at least seven deputies have been diagnosed COVID positive since Nov. 2.

Piece of cake

I’ll be honest: I’m not entirely sure what is happening here. Why is there a bowling ball? Why is he wasting perfectly good cake? How is this happy for anyone?

Wisconsin, get your shit together, you’re embarrassing yourself.

Concrete jungle where dreams are made of

Choose your New York fighter.


Who you got?

L’Etoile dumb Nord


Based on the significant anomalies and red flags that we have observed, we believe there is a significant probability that election results have been manipulated within the Dominion/Premier system in Michigan.
Here’s the problem: the townships and precincts listed in paragraphs 11 and 17 of the affidavit are not in Michigan. They are in Minnesota.


Minnesota Republican Party Chair Jennifer Carnahan claimed Thursday night that the state’s 2020 election showed “extreme abnormalities and statistical variations from Minnesota’s historic voter trends.” But her examples are either off-base, vague or flat-out wrong. 

Nice burg, dead ahead!

And finally…


Did anything make you say “Man, what the hell?” this week? Perhaps out loud to a roommate, loved one, or disinterested household pet/plant? Misery loves company, so share your personal what the hells in the comments below! And don’t forget to submit your Man, What The Hell? suggestions for next week to our dedicated inbox of horrors: