A Loud, Incoherent Review of The Raid 2 (Spring’s Manliest Movie)

THE RAID 2 BY GARETH EVANS IS THE BEST MOVIE I’VE EVER SEEN SINCE I FOUND THE SEX TAPES THAT MY MOM MADE WITH PEOPLE THAT AREN’T MY DAD.   WATCHING THE RAID 2 IS LIKE SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS, CONSTANTLY, IN AN EMPTY ROOM, UNTIL YOU DIE. AT TIMES, WATCHING THE RAID 2 IS LIKE DRIVING A NEW MERCEDES BENZ STRAIGHT AT A BRICK WALL AT 120 MILES PER HOUR, SURVIVING, AND DOING IT AGAIN AS SOON AS YOU GET OUT OF THE HOSPITAL. MOST OF THE TIME HOWEVER, WATCHING THE RAID 2 IS LIKE

An Exposé on the Secret World of The Patriarchy

At first I was worried that Dolphintail Espinoza would not be masculine enough to gain entry, but apparently the doorman was a brony, for he tipped his fedora to me when I told him my name. Upon entry, I was led into a basement, in which I could make out several men, swathed in flickering shadows. The air hung heavy, heavy like an untapped keg. A voice came from beyond an altar at the far end of the room.

“Welcome… to Bro Club.”

The man stepped into the light. He was young, muscular, with blonde hair and blue eyes. The others addressed him as “The Patriarch” but I heard one whisper the name “Chet”. He looked kind of like

9 GIFs for Humans

Being human is great. I should know, I’ve been one my entire life. And like any good human, I love GIFs. The short, looping animations please my simple

Paranoid Nerds Successfully Stop Zombie Outbreak

Mr. Swanson, brandishing his weapon of choice.

All eyes were on San Diego last week as the annual San Diego Comic Con was in full-swing, but what you may not have noticed was a sudden surge—and drop—in zombie attacks.

Yes, it appears that at approximately 11am Saturday morning, an unidentified bioweapon was unleashed in the San Diego Convention Center, immediately infecting over three dozen attendees and threatening thousands more. Why haven’t you heard about it? Because of the impressive—and somewhat disturbing—resourcefulness of the con’s many nerds.

Supreme Court Announces End of Morality

This douche.

In a controversial 5-4 decision this week, the Supreme Court announced the end of morality, and with it, the complete destruction of the nuclear family structure. With the invalidation of Proposition 8, as well as the 1996 federal DOMA bill, the Highest Court has decided to allow California to continue its decline into wretched hedonism, while simultaneously opening the floodgates of sin across the entire nation.

Speaking for the court majority, Justice Anthony Kennedy had this to say: “The age of Christian ethics is over. Now, all is free. Now all people can declare marriage to whomever or whatever they choose. Man and man. Man and dog. Man and chair. The sacred act of marriage has been permanently corrupted, so go forth, ye ravenous fools, and marry all that you see!”

An Open Letter to the Dude Living Across The Hall

Hey Guy,

You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. I think we said “hey” to each other once while moving in. And I get that. You’re a private person; I am too; that’s why we live in Plex. And I realize that there comes a time when a private person wants to open up a little, and share that privacy with a significant other, be it a man, a woman, or one of those weird things from Star Trek. And I understand that too.

But I am not writing to you simply because you’re a private person. I’m writing to you because at 3 goddamn 30 in the morning, your privacy has encroached upon my privacy. Specifically, I speak of the Air-Raid Siren which you seem to be fucking nightly. And do not think I am simply being hyperbolic, because even though your room is the furthest from mine of all my neighbors, and even though my door was tightly shut, and even though I was listening to Death Grips through my headphones, I could still hear the cacophonous moaning of your girlfriend.

In Which I Wax Poetic on Hamburgers

You’ve gotten me through so much, Edzo’s.

Hamburger you disgust me.

Hamburger I don’t care where you came from.
I don’t know where to find you on a cow, or a horse
or whatever else you may be made of.
Secretly I find the mystery exciting.

Hamburger I know you’ve been getting fatter over the years
but that’s alright.
I had a brief affair with Subway and she’s been good to me,
but you’ll always have more to love.

What To Expect When You’re Not Expecting: A Guide to Surviving the Non-Apocalyptic World

And remember kids, bomb shelters can remain useful as sex dens and grow houses!

If you’re like me, you likely spent the better part of 2012 in eager anticipation of the coming Apocalypse. You restocked the bomb shelter, EMP-proofed your electronics, and talked at length about the end of the world with other True Believers—or really anyone at all. You also tasted some bitter disappointment when, once-again, the world refused end. Even allowing for slight error on the part of the Mayans, a new year has dawned and it seems it’s here to stay. What’s worse, no new apocalyptic visions have appeared to fill the gap left by 12/21/12. So what’s the average apocalypse chaser to do now that there are no more world-ending catastrophes looming on the horizon? In this short guide, I’ll give you some tips and tricks to reintegrate yourself into human society—at least until the next apocalypse gets announced.

Magic Underpants: The Mitt Romney Story

Experience “trickle-down” like you never have before!

Obama always threw the best parties in town. Liberal with the booze and democratic with the music, it was the perfect place to get socialized, but America wasn’t having much fun. She felt like she’d been here for four years now, and though the energy was still high, Obama’s party hadn’t quite lived up to expectations. It didn’t help that she had just come from G.W.’s party, and so threw up pretty early into the night, and Obama had to spend most of his time cleaning up the mess. GM got pretty sick too, and a lot of other people had go home early, even a couple guys who everyone swore were too big to fail. America suspected the unregulated punch bowl.

But even still, now that she was back on her feet and mostly recovered, America couldn’t help but feel a bit out of place at Obama’s party, and the music was giving her a headache. Setting her drink down, she went to look for some place quiet where she could rest for a while.

After turning down a few halls, she found a small guest room, mostly insulated from the constant music. Assuming it to be empty, she flipped on the lights.

And there, on the bed, she saw him: his hair perfectly coiffed, his smile rigid and semi-lifelike, his tight temple garments highlighting his impressive fiscal policy.

“Oh, Governor Romney, I’m sorry, I thought this room was empty,” America stammered.

“Please, no need to be so formal. Call me Mitt,” said Romney as he gestured America to come sit with him. “What brings you here?”

“Oh, nothing. I was just getting a little tired of Obama’s party, and looking for a place too cool down.”

“Mm,” Romney nodded, “I know the feeling. You know I’m planning my own party soon? Much more tasteful and conservative. I think it’ll be a grand old party. I’d like it if you were there with me.” America only now realized how close Romney had gotten to her. This close up, he almost looked human. “You know America, I’ve got binders full of women, but I always had eyes for you.”

“Oh Mitt you’re joking with me.”

“I actually like jokes as well as things that are sort of fun. But right now I want something a little more spontaneous.”

America watched in stunned silence as Romney pulled out his fiscal policies. She had seen Obama’s stimulus package before, but this was something completely different. She was a little afraid it might hurt her. “Oh Mitt, your tax cuts are so… so big!”

“That’s just the 1%, babe.”

“But, don’t you think we need a safety net?”

“Nonsense, my dear. A friend told me that your body has a way of shutting that whole thing down.”

And thus, with some reluctance, America let Romney take her.

The End

-Dolphintail Espinoza