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Columnist eating $14 turkey sandwich at airport really hungover

Duluth Reader columnist Paul Ryan – known mainly for profane, scatological “humor” columns read only by junior high school students – has been sitting in terminal 2 of the Minneapolis Airport for nearly 30 minutes, attempting to shout away his brutal hangover.

“Gahhhhhhh, Jesus help me!” screamed Ryan, clutching his aching head like an insane homeless person while 70 travelers with children looked on uncomfortably. “Fine! I’ll go to church! You win! Just make it go away!”

Ryan spent the previous evening drinking beer, then whiskey, then beer again, then Irish coffee, then wine, and then wine coolers mixed with Grain Belt Premium. This collection of poor life choices led to both an awful hangover and a morning filled with numerous warning signs of liver failure. Rather than enduring it quietly like a grown man, Ryan instead chose the “scream until someone offers you sympathy” method.

“Daddy, is that man a terrorist?” asked a terrified young boy to his father as Ryan loudly blamed Islam and the cleanliness of Chipotle restaurants for his purely self-inflicted predicament.

“Yes son,” said the boy’s father, not even looking up from his book. “But they can’t arrest him until he vomits on someone. Don’t worry, it won’t be long.”

Santa has a gift just for you

Santa Claus lies collapsed on the bar at Silent Plight, the only tavern in the North Pole. The door creaks open and a little elf appears, a worried look on his face.

Mr. Pinkles: Santa? Santa, wake up! It’s Christmas Eve!

Santa: Christmas is canceled, Mr. Pinkles. I won’t be delivering any presents this year.

Mr. Pinkles: Santa, how could you say that?! Why wouldn’t you want to deliver presents to the whole world?

Santa: Because everyone in the world is a giant shitbag.

Mr. Pinkles: Everyone was naughty this year? There’s not a single person on the good list?

Santa: There’s not even anyone on the naughty list. Everyone’s on the giant shitbag list. Do you have any aspirin?

Mr. Pinkles: I don’t think you’re supposed to mix that stuff with alcohol, Santa.

Santa: I’ve been alive for centuries. Fuck your rules.

Santa releases list of presents he won’t deliver

Ho ho ho! Santa delivers millions of gifts every year, but there are always a few requests Santa needs to deny. Taiwanese hookers, swimming pools filled with nacho cheese, earrings made of cocaine smuggled inside dead cats made of cocaine smuggled inside golden toilets made of cocaine smuggled inside Paul Ryan’s carry-on bag at the airport. Here are more examples of real life items that Santa will not be cramming down your family’s roof hole:

Old Rasputin served out of a woman’s shoe. First, you need to be more specific. What style of woman’s shoe? Should it to be a used shoe, and if so, used by whom? Should the Old Rasputin be served cold or warm? Santa is not a mind reader. Get your shit together.

A replica of Hitler’s third testicle. What is this? Santa doesn’t even know. Is it the name of some weird board game like Cards Against Humanity? Santa hopes so, because otherwise this gift is impossible and a huge waste of his goddamn time. When people request things that don’t actually exist, it’s the equivalent of them squatting and grunting one out right over Santa’s face. The only place where doing that won’t get you on the naughty list is in certain parts of Tijuana, and only when Santa specifically requests it.

Star Wars: The Force Awakens review

For nearly a year now, the marketers have been whispering in our ears. It will be the greatest film that ever existed. Rey is the new Skywalker. Kylo Ren is the new Vader. Director JJ Abrams is the new Spielberg. We will all whisper the film’s name on our deathbeds!

In reality, Star Wars: The Force Awakens can best be described as a loosely coiled turd of nostalgia fired at the inhabitants of Planet Earth with a ferocious velocity. Like the meteorites with our dinosaur predecessors, this movie may bury us all.

The poor choices begin almost immediately. This new saga opens in a Federation prison, where we see Jar Jar Binks being tortured. Serving fandom is expected, but to see Binks murdered in such a graphic manner – literally torn apart in slow motion for 26 minutes, the audience witnessing each of his 206 bones cracking and snapping as his terrified screams burn the air – may leave fans feeling guilt rather than fulfillment. Perhaps it was planned as such. Director JJ Abrams is a well known krokodil addict.

Duluth bans importing of bearded men

The City of Duluth is overrun with beards, and officials are making plans to thin out the herd. The city is officially filled to capacity with beardos, with nearly 88 percent of its 20-35 year old male population now bearded. The remaining 12 percent is men who wear gym shorts all the time, no matter the activity or season.

While wearing gym shorts to sophisticated public events in the dead of winter is an important part of Minnesota and Wisconsin’s rich culture, officials believe the beard craze is harming the area’s female population. Every time beard percentages rise, the Northland’s lady percentages drop drastically. Incoming Mayor Emily Larson’s entire campaign was based on breaking up the sausage party.

“Have you ever been on a date with a guy who just won’t stop touching his own beard?” said Larson. “Just stroking it constantly, barely even aware that he’s doing it? It’s weird, right? What do you say to that? We need to be educating young men in our region and guiding them toward more positive outlets for their creativity.”

Northern Minnesota has always been heavy with beards, but the area’s beardo population exploded when the look became popular nationwide five years ago. The fad actually began downtrending in Los Angeles and New York for the first time this year, yet Duluth’s infestation continues to rise. The city’s first step in fighting it is to ban the importing of any bearded boyfriends from outside the region.