Skip to content

Man who collects Star Wars toys swimming in poon

Wendell Groldensmorf, age 38, removes a handful of sand from his fanny pack, letting the granules slip through his fingers. After hours of trekking deep into the darkened recesses of the comic book convention, he has found his prized artifact: a Vinyl Cape Jawa, one of the rarest Star Wars figures ever released, sitting loose in a pile of common figures. The vendor knows not what they have. He must move quickly.

With a steady hand and calm nerves, Groldensmorf pays the vendor, hiding his glee. He turns to leave, but another collector recognizes the figure in his hand and attempts to make the vendor a far more lucrative offer. The Raiders March theme plays as Groldensmorf whips the fanny pack full of sand from his belt and bashes his competition in the face, the dense sand packing a brutal blow. He sprints for the exit with hordes of butthurt collectors, vendors and security guards in close pursuit. Security attempts to shut the outer doors but Groldensmorf slides through in the nick of time, reaching back at the last moment to save his worn brown fedora. He waves the hat to the mob of angry locals out the window as his shuttle bus carries him and the precious figure to safety.

It’s just another day of collecting for Groldensmorf. While toy collecting and sexual prowess aren’t usually directly connected, drastic shifts in idolization of nerd culture have made toy collectors the hottest bachelors of the season. Gorgeous ladies of all shapes, sizes and Jar Jar Binks opinions are now trendily lusting for old school nerds.

Resourceful citizen fills pothole himself

Fed up with the city spending millions on skywalks and other luxury accommodations for homeless people, 1973 Denfeld High School graduate Norm Choad has decided to fill the gaping pothole on his street all by himself.

Loosening his belt on a warm Sunday afternoon, Choad drunkenly unzipped his jeans and dropped a steamy grumper directly into the pothole. The coil made a perfect fit, solving the problem immediately. Choad recommended that others do their part by repairing potholes on their own streets.

“They payin’ for it, why the hell not?” said Choad, referring to the city’s legitimate offer to pay $8 for each pothole filled by citizens. “I made $64 yesterday. Thank ya Lord, I’m ready for this opportunity! I’ve got enough bananas and oatmeal to fix the whole city in a month. Go to the mayor’s office and tell her you pooped in the street! She’s required to give you the moneys.”

How to make going back to school the best for your hideously inconsiderate child

Editor’s Note: An unreasonably confident teenager gave the author of this article the finger while cutting him off and stealing his spot at a gas station. Stealing it. This column, apparently, is the author’s sad and flaccid attempt to gain revenge.

Many parents buy “back to school” clothes for their toddler or grade school children, but did you know you can also buy clothing for your college-age children? It’s true! Not a lot of people know this, but as a parent, you can do any horrifically embarrassing thing you want to your kids as long as it’s within the bounds of United States law. You say your child is precious to you. It’s time you proved it.

If you don’t micromanage every aspect of your grown child’s wardrobe, they will attend their first job interview wearing their least smelly concert t-shirt. Unless you step in at this crucial time in their life, the only “job” they’ll be working is legally questionable ones in the men’s room of highway rest stops. That is not the usage Ed Sheeran intended when he released that shirt. Fortunately, a few minor yet forceful changes will put your awful, gas station pump stealing bastard child on the right path.

Eight months of not being a douche

When Sally Wiener made a new year’s resolution to be less of a douche, she didn’t think she’d last a week. Eight months later, the 68-year-old has set a new world record for non-douchebaggery. No one has ever gone this long without being a complete asshole to someone.

“If I’m being honest, I thought I’d last a good four or five days before blurting out a horrible, horrible slur,” said Wiener, who used to take great joy in being a stubborn, arrogant, hate-filled bastard. “I thought for sure I’d anonymously mail my daughter one of her dog’s errant turds or key someone’s car just because they’re richer than me.”

The key to Wiener’s success was learning how much easier life becomes once you stop giving a shit about it. Her job, family, friends, children, pets, country and chosen God used to cause her immeasurable amounts of stress and frustration. She now ceases to give a fat shit about any of them, and she’s never been happier.

Here are your ancestry results, loser

Thank you for spitting into an envelope and mailing it to us! Below are the results of your Ancestry Heritage Review, showing you exactly which loins you spawned from and where to deflect the blame for all your unbearable flaws:

0% Nazi. We just wanted to get this one out of the way first. We know it’s a sensitive subject right now and you were probably a bit nervous since your mom voted for Trump. We wanted you to know that you weren’t born a Nazi. However, that doesn’t mean you’re not one now. Maybe ease up a little on your roommate for not cleaning out the refrigerator, Frau Frigidaire.

100% Ugly. Ha! We always throw this classic joke into the reports we give people. We’re very amusing. I’ll bet you didn’t know ancestry experts were such a spicy bunch. Well now you do, pretty lady. We’re very mysterious and exciting. Pretty cool guys over here. If you’re not busy this weekend, maybe we could go get a drink sometime? Text us: (218) 730-5400.