When I was in college, I had a friend who once took a shit in a tube sock, and filmed himself flinging his fecal footwear at his twin brother’s windshield. At the time, it was the funniest thing I think I’d ever seen in my life. It’s still pretty hilarious, but with the benefit of hindsight, I’m now left wondering how his brother cleaned his car, and if he tried using the windshield wipers first, and why a tube sock and not ankle socks or thigh-highs? This is a sign of maturity. These questions show that I’m willing to examine the past, and really think about my own lived experiences as well as those of my peers. Truly I have wizened with age.
I’m not sure why I’ve been thinking this incident lately. It’s come to mind a few times recently, entirely unbidden, but often when I’m putting my shoes on, or scraping frost off my windshield.
I suppose I could try and make some sort of beleaguered point about how America is the car, and the poop sock is Donald Trump. Or maybe it’s the Democrats and the car is progressives. Does Molly Ivins has a quippy witticism about how “getting things done in Washington is like flingin’ dookie at an Oldsmobile” or something? Probably.
Mostly I think my brain has become so irredeemably addled by ~ A L L T H I S ~ that some sort of coping subroutine has kicked in to distract and entertain me with cherished memories, like the soothing glow of shitty television once did. I’dunno, man. What the hell?
Plane to see
Look, if you absolutely must make a last minute crash landing on a major freeway, it probably helps to be an award–winning competitive aerobatic pilot and member of the U.S. Unlimited Aerobatic Team. According to the SUV driver who was sideswiped by the airplane during the emergency landing, pilot Craig Gifford was “very kind” and “very apologetic” which makes sense, considering.
The hills are alive with the sound of new dick
Frankly, I’m already sick of the “mysterious” monoliths (they’re not) that have popped up in various remote spots around the globe. Is it an art installation? A promotion for an upcoming movie or new brand of body wash? I simply do not give a shit. Why should anyone? Especially when someone is traipsing around the Bavarian mountains, stealing and then replacing a giant wooden statue of a dick and balls.
According to the AP, a few years ago the nearly seven-foot tall sculpture “appeared on the 1,738-meter (5,702-foot) high Gruenten mountain in southern Germany” — only to have disappeared without a trace sometime last weekend. BUT DON’T YOU WORRY. Because, as abruptly as the massive dong had vanished, yesterday a new, even bigger one appeared in its place .
The Bavarian people’s commitment to public pubic art installations aside, you absolutely have to give it up for whoever woke up some crisp alpine morning and thought “you know what? Today’s the day. I’m gonna do it. Just really go for it, man” and, long story short, ends up hauling a giant dildo up a mountain. Respect.
Gotta cop a dump
I have no idea what it takes to bribe a cop here in the States. I like to think I’ll never be in a position to have to find out. But, if I ever find myself in need of some extra-judicial legal leeway whilst vacationing in sunny Siberia, I know what the going rate is: A bunch of delicious meat-filled dumplings. Or, at least, that was all it took to get Novosibirsk’s former police chief to illegally offer his patronage to a series of local businesses, who plied the city’s top cop with tens of thousands of rubles worth of khinkali dumplings.
As it happens, the old adage that “crime doesn’t pay” also extends to savory Georgian treats, and this week former dirty cop Alexander Grashchenkov was sentenced to a suspended sentence of three years, as well as four years of probation, all because the dude liked to snack on the job.
József and the Amazing TechiCOVID Dream Coat
József Szájer, a co-founder and senior member of Hungary’s neo-fascist Fidesz party, resigned his position as a member of the European Parliament, after he was caught running through a gutter with a backpack full of ecstasy in Brussels, where he had broken the country’s strict COVID quarantine restrictions to participate in a 20-person orgy.
In a statement, Szájer denied owning the drugs, saying “they were not mine, I know nothing of who put them there and how.”
Speaking with Reuters, orgy organizer David Manzheley was blunt, explaining “we don’t sit around drinking tea. People are here for sex.”
According to Manzheley, Szájer “was present, like many other politicians from different countries.” Huh.
Mask of the red dumbass
Did you know that the Chicago-area South Shore train line that runs between the Windy City and South Bend, Indiana has a “mask optional” car for COVID dipshits who are just salivating at the chance to sit in an enclosed tube and inhale each others spit droplets? I didn’t. But now I do, and you do too.
And if you’re wondering how the mass transit geniuses behind the idea of having one special train car for disease vectors feel about things, look no further than John Milano, Deputy Director of the also-Chicago-area Metra train system, who emailed big brains running the South Shore Line to ask them to “let us know how the dumb ass car worked out please.”
I have nothing more to add.
Flushing her career down the toilet
Frances Cogelja is known for two things: Being a staunch opponent of the Hackensack school system’s proposed LGBTQ curriculum and, as of last week, being the school board member who took her laptop into the bathroom with her during a public comments zoom meeting, and didn’t remember to turn the camera off.
“We’re here trying to get work done while you’re sitting on the toilet,” School board VP Scott James-Vickery reportedly told Cogelja when she returned to the meeting. Just one day later, Cogelja resigned.
“It was time to move on,” Hackensack school board President Lancelot Powell told the local media. “We had a long history of issues [with Cogelja]. and we here at Hackensack want to do what’s best for the community and our kids. After last night, all I can say is we wish her the best.”
I guess it was just her time to go.
The weeks over. The year’s almost over. It’s all almost over. Time to…
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: firstname.lastname@example.org