juuust sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of shameful american propaganda. yes, it’s time someone finally called out gilligan’s island for what it is—a fateful trip into fascism.

the glorification of the naval seaman is only the start. the theme song sings gilligan’s praises as a “mighty sailor man,” yet each episode usually involves gilligan failing a task or destroying one of the professor’s machines, the decline of american ingenuity soundtracked by a live studio audience pissing themselves with laughter.

the fact that gilligan has claimed the island for himself in spite of bare incompetence and lack of authority speaks to the island’s culture of militarization. gilligan often sabotages rescue/escape efforts to save the shipwrecked survivors in a desperate and pathetic attempt to cling to power.

the show also kneels at the altar of capitalism, sucking off millionaire thurston howell III every chance it gets. the man is never expected to do his fair share of the work, but always reaps the benefits of the professor’s numerous (and rarely OSHA-compliant) inventions. howell never seems to grasp the fact that his money is no longer of importance or usefulness on the tiny island, and is confident that his affluence gives him a higher status than even the skipper.

howell and lovey are lucky that food is plentiful on the island. were it not the case, i think gilligan and the passengers would be well within their rights to literally eat the rich.

all the while, the professor works off-screen, altruistically using his education to better society for everyone, including those who enjoy power and wealth. he’s the unsung hero and the glue that keeps the survivors from setting pig’s heads on stakes and dropping boulders onto one another. (author’s note: is gilligan’s island in the public domain yet? that sounds like a great screenplay. consider this note my copyright.)

so i say fuck a spinoff series, here’s how gilligan’s island should have ended:

the professor and mary-ann reclaim the island from the military and elites using the professor’s chronically undervalued education and resourcefulness with bamboo and coconuts.

the skipper is stripped of his rank, title, and all the benefits thereof and dishonorably discharged into the ocean via catapult. howell is bound and indicted for bribery, election interference (do we still prosecute for that, or…?) and for being an insufferable new englander. gilligan is arrested and put on trial for 99 counts of criminal negligence (one for each episode of the show + the pilot).

the trials of howell and gilligan are a great opportunity for myriad visitors from the mainland (i.e., guest stars). an airplane specializing in three-hour aerial tours for qualified jurors crash lands on the island. they find howell guilty of being a republican and gilligan guilty on all counts of negligence. at the end of part one of this two-part series finale, gilligan and howell are sentenced to death by coconut.

part two of the series finale begins with a surfing judge (played by henry winkler) riding a wave onto the island. gilligan and howell appeal their sentences, but the professor uses his extensive education to defend the jury’s verdict (the jury has since been rescued, obviously). surfing judge rejects their appeals and the tide reverses, allowing henry winkler to surf away from the island.

the executions of the military and capitalist heads are swift and merciful. the hundreds of thousands of dollars howell brought for his three-hour boat ride are distributed into social programs. the professor founds a research university, and the island is the first in the region to guarantee universal basic income and healthcare.

the professor uses his skills to fix the crashed airplane (his mechanical expertise is in aeronautics, not nautical craft), but realizes that, with the oppressive militaristic forces and capitalist leeches of society stamped out, what was once known as “gilligan’s” island is now “the people’s island.” the professor comes to understand that the island is a better place than the one he left behind. at the end of the episode, he makes the decision to stay put.

just then, i parachute down from the sky and am caught gently and tenderly by the professor, who is looking daddy af and doesn’t set me down right away but instead introduces himself and we smile warmly at one another. fade to black.

it’s an easy mistake to make: you have to drive somewhere with your parents and you know better than to not put on music before you leave, because moments of silence in a car ride introduce more panic into a parent’s brain than blowing an aztec death whistle in the nursery of a hospital maternity wing. your parents are no longer responsible for what they do or say if you allow this to happen.

so you search ‘boomer rock’ on spotify because you don’t think your folks could appreciate the creative and experimental sonic textures contained in your lovingly curated 95-minute harsh noise playlist and you throw on the first mix that pops up.

thing is, horny old men are sneaky.

when you hear the sparse, crushed drum beat of nine inch nails’ “closer,” you immediately hit next. that song never tries to downplay or hide what was on trent reznor’s mind when he wrote it. but it’s all too easy to not notice the well-worn tread of led zeppelin’s “whole lotta love” starting up, or the delay-heavy, distorted riff of guns n’ roses’ “welcome to the jungle.”

and after the six second mark of a song, it becomes difficult to explain why you’re skipping it. after eighteen seconds, you better have a solid lie ready. after thirty-two seconds, it’s practically impossible without them knowing your motivation beyond a doubt, because yes, they know and they’re thinking about the exact same eventuality that you are.

axl rose’s orgasm doesn’t start until 1m 48s. robert plant’s orgasm doesn’t even start until past the two minute mark.

statistically speaking, you’re actually far worse off if “whole lotta love” comes on, because plant’s orgasm clocks in at 17.5 seconds and he moans 24 times for an average of 1.37 moans per second (MPS). that 17 seconds will feel like an eternity.

that being said, what axl rose’s orgasm lacks in length (7.3s with seven moans for a MPS of 0.96) it makes up for with intensity. rose’s orgasm is much higher, more powerful, and continually moving upward in pitch. i like to think that the producer on appetite for destruction spent at least three days with axl in the studio getting the cum sounds just right.

plant’s orgasm sort of peters out halfway through, like maybe he came too early and/or lost his erection and is trying to pretend he’s still mentally in it. so while it is much longer (those 17 seconds will be the longest of your life, unless you have the unfortunate luck of being waterboarded and even then, maybe not), you can at least try to pretend like maybe they aren’t cum noises or talk over his thrusts.

if you find yourself in this situation, the key thing is to STAY CALM. the earlier you can recognize the impending cum, the better prepared you can be for it. the best thing to do is skip the song immediately when it comes on, but if you cannot do that, just breathe.

it is important to have conversation topics prepared for awkward situations. as your parents also become aware of the impending cum, they will become nervous and forget how to maintain a conversation. if you do not take the initiative to speak, they will sit in silence as axl rose makes passionate love to your entire family. that is why it is crucial that you stay calm and time your cover-up question/statement to your parents perfectly.

DO NOT:

• immediately turn down the volume when you realize what’s coming. subtly use the volume controls on your steering wheel to turn down the song one notch at a time over the course of 30-45 seconds. do not make the song inaudible. they will know.
• become distracted by the cum. your parents will hear the awkward rhythm of your speech and they will know you know they know. you must execute your cover-up perfectly.
• apologize or otherwise address the cum. it is extremely important that you never openly discuss this.
• sing along with the orgasms. i feel like this goes without saying, but there are some sick fucks who read this blog and it’s probably better to get ahead of it.

no matter what happens, you will get through this. you are not defined by your mistakes. your parents still love you (maybe, idk your family dynamic) and while you may cease to be their favorite child, the best healing salve is time. god willing, this is the last time you and your parents will ever think about sex at the same time. or not, again, idk your family dynamic.

just fucking do it already you nerds. move the hand to midnight so we can get this over with. or are you gonna wait until after the missiles are launched and speedrun the last 89 seconds in a day?

it’s almost as if the clock is meaningless grandstanding that benefits from the same hindsight as everyone else.

who would’ve guessed that climate change influencing extreme weather patterns that humanity can’t prepare for because we’ve never seen it in our lifetimes would be bad? not me. it sounded like a good thing to me when i heard it, i must admit.

oh, having a party in power that’s powerwashing the cocks of two brothers named “shareholder profit” and “the book of revelations” while picking fights with every country around the world is also a bad thing for our species? well, look at me with egg on my face. thanks, bulletin of atomic fucking dorks, for setting the record straight.

if the bulletin of atomic doorknobs actually wanted my respect, they’d take a page out of the marshall applewhite playbook and predict something. “that new drilling site that the government wants to approve? that’s where the giant worms live that will hunt humanity into extinction, baby. if we drill there, we’ll wake them up. 15 seconds to midnight.”

and yeah, maybe move the hand up by 30 or 40 seconds at once, you fucking cowards. i know you’re trying to drag this storyline out harder than eiichiro oda, and no one takes you seriously when you go one second at a time every few years. give humanity some credit, we’re moving our extinction along a lot more efficiently than that.

in conclusion, the only people who think the doomsday clock is cool are 15 year-olds who write hackneyed songs on their guitars about “revolution” and politics they barely understand with the confidence of michael phelps visiting the community pool. which is probably why the smashing pumpkins released a song about the doomsday clock in the ’00s. if billy corgan is your spokesperson, you need to take a long look in the mirror.

Aw dude. Where were you?? Leading scientists based out of MIT discovered some craaazy shit bro. We’d tell you what it was but like… it wouldn’t be the same, man.

Dr. Jeremy Spokane, head climate scientist, had this to say:

“Oh he wasn’t there? That dork? Big fuckin surprise dude. Kid is a spazz. But man. Unreal right? I mean this is a game changer and could have a significant effect in the fight against climate change. Also, it looked tight as fuuuuuuck”

Damn dude we really wanna tell you what happened but you know how it is, big dog. My stepdad Paul even showed up with his jet skis bro.

Bro. Dr. Franchesca Infante expounded concepts previously believed to be unthinkable and nonsensical and but henceforth fundamental, and in a manner befitting her position as chief theoretical physicist. Plus she took her big naturals out, Holmes.

Idk man. I guess you’ll just have to wait until the findings are published but it really won’t hit the same. Bummer.

oh, the angry mob. a staple of classic literature, witch-fearing villages, and vancouver hockey fans. if you pay attention to the news, chances are you can probably recall one or two angry mobs in your lifetime, perhaps even one near your hometown. maybe you’re even in one as you read this. if so, i’d like to say thanks for your support and i appreciate your aimless, impotent rage.

but we’re not here today to talk about mobs that coalesced around a common grievance. let’s be real, angry mobs get all the publicity. today, let’s put the spotlight on some of history’s many forgotten mobs—those folks who let other emotions fuel their mobbing.

1. The Prideful Mob — Gallipolis, Ohio (September 10, 1978)

Casualties: 14 injured, 74 feelings wounded

the small town of gallipolis, ohio was one of the hardest hit communities in the united states by congressional irresponsibility in the late 1970s. i speak, of course, of the 1978 passing of legislation authorizing grandparents’ day to become a national holiday. that fateful september, dozens of well-meaning grandchildren excitedly drew colorful pictures of their grandparents holding hands, standing under poorly-rendered crayon suns and trees with curly boughs that were not at all native to ohio. they shared their art with their grandparents and thanked them for being the “best grandparents in the world” without any quantifiable evidence to support their claims.

the result was catastrophic.

dozens of grandparents brought these drawings and handmade gifts with them to sunday bingo at the community center, where the concentrated pride for their little angels hung thick in the gymnasium air. no one knows who pulled the first card out of their purse, but soon, bingo had to be suspended as frail voices rose to an uproar. macaroni art was held in front of faces without any appreciation. elementary poems with tenuous grasps of meter and heavy-handed metaphors were shrilly read aloud to deaf ears.

everyone was just so proud of their little blessings that, when blanche kryszak went for the exit to fetch her granddaughter so she could perform the original song she wrote for her grammy, the others took it as a call to mobilize and the stampede began. beaming ear to ear with pride and excitement, these senior citizens sagged their way into the town streets, assaulting local businesses with meandering anecdotes and their musky odors.

there were no survivors.

or i guess what i mean to say is, all the seniors who participated in the mob are definitely dead by now.

2. The Horny Mob — Portsmouth, Virginia (November 22, 1662)

Casualties: 1 dead, 2 injured, Est. 3,480,000,000 dead sperm

the 17th century puritan community of portsmouth, virginia was thrown into a state of emergency when a woman’s skirt accidentally lifted during a community meeting, revealing three-quarters of an inch of her bare ankle. this brazen display of sexuality was only exasperated when the woman noticed this breach in etiquette but refused to adjust her posture to fix it. to make matters worse, this occurred almost 22 full days into no nut november, and the small town’s population was understandably on edge.

the meeting came to a screeching halt as more and more people noticed the aberrant ankle. the preacher who had the floor was obviously trying to hide a massive erection, a fact made more difficult when he spontaneously cum-busted (author’s note: i’m proud of that one) into his knickers with a blasphemous, “oh, good heavens.”

this was the proverbial match in the powder keg, and at least four repressed puritan men immediately exploded in their pants and collapsed into fits of the spirit. the town’s community leaders leapt into action, trying to disperse the crowd but falling prey to the insurmountable, devilish sexuality of the woman (she defied god by refusing to look away when men addressed her).

within 30 minutes, portsmouth was in chaos. there was sodomy on every street corner, the village square was slick with satan’s milk, and the sheriff, the only hope for restoring normalcy, was in a full sprint around the town while aggressively masturbating. no one knows how many loads were shot that day, but historians estimate the count to be in the hundreds.

thankfully, the town was saved from damnation when the tanner, reveling in post-nut clarity, sprinted to the river with a bucket and began pouring cold water upon his neighbors. ultimately, the sheriff was demoted for dereliction of duty, the preacher was replaced and disappeared into history, and the devilish harlot who started the whole fiasco was burned at the stake for being a witch. the new priest said a prayer for the community upon his arrival, and all was forgiven.

3. The Skeptical Mob — Pasadena, California (October 19, 2008)

Casualties: Est. $8,000 in property damage, 46 injured ^{[Citation Needed]}

when the Skeptics’ Society gathered together at the california institute of technology (caltech) in pasadena for their usual sunday skeptics’ conference, everyone expected a rousing afternoon of scientific debate—not a crisis of identity. everyone was feeling great as the featured speakers were wrapping up and Q&A was about to begin. the speakers felt that they had achieved a particularly admirable level of condescension when talking to the audience, and those in attendance felt confident that they understood the topics being discussed far better than those around them.

that is, until it was audience member ricky mallort’s turn to speak. ricky had recently discovered group hypnosis videos on youtube and had gone down a rabbit hole. he was fascinated with the subject but was far too smart to believe it was possible without a mensa member giving him permission to do so. his question regarding the legitimacy of the phenomenon was quickly dismissed by the speakers (they even scoffed, for gods sakes) but then ricky asked that fateful question, and the pretentious chuckles that had bubbled around the room died in a breath’s time: “what if we’ve all been group hypnotized already and we don’t even know it?”

according to eyewitnesses, the ensuing silence lasted at least a full 30 seconds. a woman quietly weeping was the only sound in the room until the panel’s moderator was finally able to speak. “holy fuck,” he said, forgetting to hold up the mic to his mouth. “holy fuck.“

the speakers on stage began to prod one another, softly at first, and then harder as they sought to confirm one another’s existence. then, the pinching started. the audience followed suit, gasping at this abrupt untethering of reality. ricky only made matters worse when he spoke into the mic once again. “if we’re all hypnotized together, wouldn’t that mean we can’t wake each other up?”

a man screamed. the modestly-sized audience all rose to their feet, seeking signs around them to confirm that the auditorium was, in fact, real. when these dazed, mumbling souls wandered outside, the mob’s size quickly rose in numbers as skeptics interrogated passersby. one mother who was out walking with her children remembers it vividly:

“i was walking across del mar [boulevard] when i noticed a large group of people wandering toward me. they were all looking around and up in the air like they’d just landed in a spaceship and were discovering earth for the first time.

i’ve lived in los angeles for a long time and it didn’t seem all that out of the ordinary, so i went on my way until one of them stopped me and asked me my name. i told him, but then he said, ‘prove it,’ and i said ‘what?’ and he was like, ‘prove you’re you.’ and i was like, ‘oh, fuck.’ i couldn’t do it.”

the validity of this mob is still highly contested to this day, but researchers feel like, pretty confident that it was legit.

On today’s episode of Scrawny Conservative Guy Trying to Convince You He’s the Chad and Fit Liberal Dudes are Actually the Virgins, we’re taking a look at a major life hack that could potentially keep you from dying early.
      We’ve all heard about the scourge of 5G. From homosexuality to cancer, and Erectile dysfunction to tolerance for people that don’t think/look like you, there is no end to the potential side effects of 5G. And don’t even get us started on fluoride. Lucky for this country, a new method of fighting this threat to our xenophobia is here.
      According to new study my neighbor told me about, metals can only store one type of wave at a time. With this information we can logically deduce that by adding microwaves to our cutlery once every 2 weeks that will leave no room for the 5G to stay in it, thereby preventing it from entering our food.
      This discovery is a big win for all of us guys who are fighting the good fight by selling trump flags on busy street corners. This will help increase our resistance to this autoimmune disorder which inevitably always leads to contracting WMV (Woke Mind Virus).
      I myself have 7 of my infected forks microwaving right this minute and can’t wait for the results. For more updates on how to see through liberal lies, stay tuned to this RSS feed that’s only accessible via the PSP browser. Remember, no one in your life loves you they’re all lying to you only I love you and everything I say is true.

Apollo strikes again. Much like the Simpsons has been known to correctly predict many real world events, Limp Bizkit’s seemingly tried to warn us about the shocking landslide victory of Donald Trump during this year’s general election. Let’s take a look back at some of the lyrics of this prophetic tune and how they apply to today’s political landscape.

“It’s just one of those days/ When you don’t wanna wake up/ Everything is fucked/ Everybody sucks”

Here Mr. Bizkit tries to clue us in on how the Wednesday following election day would feel. Frustration. Anxiety. Not even morning wood to comfort us. We desperately try to find the good in this situation but the outlook is bleak.

“It’s all about the he says/she says bullshit”

Limp delivers a stern warning with this line about how misinformation and half-truths will effect the outcome of what feels like a very important presidential race. Whether it be immigrants eating pets or israel having the right to defend itself, both candidates seem content with taking us for fools and lying in our faces.

“Damn right, I’m a maniac/ You better watch your back/ ‘Cause I’m fuckin’ up your program”

Departing from the stance of the previous verses, Bizkit boy speaks from the perspective of President elect Donald Trump. This is meant to be jim telling basically all minority groups that things will be much different under him, and you better believe it’s for the worse.

“We’ve all felt like shit/ And been treated like shit/ All those motherfuckers that want to step up/ I hope you know I pack a chain saw/ I’ll skin your ass raw”

Limp and the Bizkits again changes perspectives here, now filling in for the working class. Feeling left behind for the sake of corporate interest, they have suffered from inflation, food recalls, housing prices, and countless other daily stressors. The poor blue collar workers that were duped into voting for trump, as well as the ones that decided to vote third party, if at all, on the liberal side of the spectrum embody two sides of the same coin. Angry and searching for answers they most likely will never get.

Next week on Psychic Slappers, how the Dead Kennedys’ “Too Drunk To Fuck” correctly predicted my wedding night.

The sports world was shaken by a shocking revelation during Thursday night’s football game between the Ravens and the Bengals. When one of the referees went to make a routine penalty call he found that he had accidentally been given a hot mic, and was shocked when the world heard his true voice.

“I was mortified.”, recounts Darryl Jenkins in the highest pitched voice we’ve ever heard. “We’ve gone to great lengths to hide this from the world and for it to be revealed on the world stage like this… It’s hard to cope with.”

In the past there have been many lip syncing controversies from Milli Vanilli to the Red Hot Chili Peppers, but for the issue to have spread to other industries is very alarming.

“I’ve always been self conscious about my voice. In fact at one point I had plans to be a quarter back in the NFL, but after a certain age the kids just couldn’t hear me anymore.” Says Wan’Dale Chikadze, in such a hushed tone that we had to ask him many times to repeat himself. “I’m actually a superstar level talent but the play calling on the field is just impossible for me.”

We challenged him on his claims by having an intern of ours run routes, which Chikadze was able to hit with 100% accuracy. Even when we had our whole crew put pressure on him with no defensive line, he was able to effortlessly dodge all incoming threats and throw some absolute FUCKING BOMBS BRO. What a shame. This guy can’t play in the NFL and Deshaun Watson has the contract he has. Anyway…

We did interview one more official but were unable to relay what he said because his voice was so beautiful that any time he spoke, we immediately began sobbing uncontrollably. A representative for him let us know that he always grew up wanting to be a referee but because of his incredible voice he was never able to announce penalties since he was bringing entire stadiums to tears.

Apparently there were some pretty bad missed calls but we couldn’t really get past the voice thing. Honestly that’s probably what caused the. Whatever the case, it seems like a monumental crisis to address, but all we can hope is that these liars are gunned down in the streets like the dogs they are.

Local dumbass joey two braincells was caught completely off guard when his fantasy football team (that was assembled on guess work and armchair expert’s advice) lost in spectacular fashion this week.

“I just don’t get it. I made all the right calls. This is all Dontayvion Wicks’ fault!”

We ran an independent study of his roster and came to the conclusion that his problems ran much deeper than just Dontayvion Wicks. His team was ass. Like biblically.

“Nah man the football gods just hate me. There’s no other possible explanation. How was I supposed to know mahomes was a good QB!”

This fuckin guy. We didn’t even want to write this article but our editor said we needed the practice since we “struggle with remaining impartial”. Get real, buddy.

You know what we quit. Edit these nuts Frank.

Randy Gilmore is your average American living in a suburb in California. What makes him special? Well, nothing, but he’s convinced he sees the world through a different lens than most.

“I can’t help it, man. I’m like a little insane in the membrane you know? If you knew the stuff I thought you’d be like… huh?? Is this guy ok???? [laughs]”

Randy is convinced that he has a natural inclination toward the creative that a lot of people lack. He believes that on a weekly basis he thinks up “shows way better than the trash they’re putting on TV or in theaters these days”.

“I mean come on. This stuff is so uninspired. ‘Everything, Everwhere, All at Once’? More like Honk, Shoo, all at Naptime… Damn I gotta write that down”

One reason Randy still allows himself to think he’s got such a gift is that I guess he wrote like one script a few years ago? We asked him if we could take a look and he just got really sweaty and started saying that he didn’t want us stealing his idea.

He also had a coworker tell him once that he should have a youtube channel because he was so funny. Randy appreciated the compliment and decided to ignore the fact that he knew his coworker was a fan of many comedians he thought to be unfunny. We’ll be following up with Randy in about a year, but we wouldn’t hold our breath on any meaningful updates on his writing.

Next article: The artist painting things better than literally anything we’ve ever seen but hates all his work and himself.