Later stages of capitalism


The time machine is invented. The proletariat work for 682 hours per day, while the upper classes enjoy vacations to the unspoiled beaches of Earth in the Cretaceous period. A venture capitalist accidentally steps on a butterfly in the distant past, and returns to find that all his friends and family members have become socialists.


The revolutionary iPhone 32 fills every level of need on Maslow’s Hierarchy. With nothing left to strive for, humanity fritters away the rest of its existence playing Candy Crush.


A Starbucks opens across the street from another Starbucks. At every corner of an intersection, a Starbucks squats. All buildings begin to change into Starbucks. A Starbucks opens inside another Starbucks. Humanity retreats underground into Starbucks-branded Comfort Warrens, no longer needing the sun for light and energy. Everyone is producing at maximum capacity, but the only things humanity creates are new inspirational quotes to slap on the side of disposable cups.


A new generation of business jargon arises, this one composed entirely of wordless gestures. Instead of saying “Let’s table that for later,” a junior accountant performs a dance so moving that it brings tears to the eyes of the Vice President of Marketing.


Trend pieces are published about a hip new activity all the kids are doing these days: “working” for “money” in order to “purchase goods and services.”


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My diagnosis

Pie chart internet

As an armchair psychologist, I can say with absolute confidence that the subject of this news story is a classic narcissist, with a hint of borderline personality disorder and a sprinkle of ADHD.


Speaking as a person who neither knows you nor is a specialist in the subject you inquired about, I’m 100% certain that your problem could be fixed if you changed your oil 1,000 miles earlier.


As a certified stranger on the internet, I’m sorry to inform you that definitely have cancer. It’s pretty bad, all the cancer you have in you. As everyone knows, there’s no possible treatment for cancer. Just my two cents.


Oh, you should definitely break up with him. What was the question?


I’m not a lawyer, but the Constitution of the United States can be ignored without penalty if you are 1) A farmer, 2) Really bad at spelling, or 3) Personally inconvenienced by taxes.


As someone who is neither a rabbi nor an active attendant of a Temple, I’m absolutely certain that people with non-Jewish mothers can’t be Jews. Sorry if you’re offended that I’m right, goy.


He’s definitely the murderer. You can tell because he looks so sketchy in his mugshot.


Everyone who has a sexual fantasy that I personally do not share is wrong, and should feel bad about it. Next question.


********** M4KE $$$$$ WORKING FROM HOME WITH UR B!G D1CK *******

Tips from my new self-help book, How To Win Every Conversation


First off, remember that all conversations are a competition. Do not fall into the trap of exchanging viewpoints in a pleasant manner with someone you respect. If you’re going to converse, converse to win.

If someone has a sad story, riposte with an even sadder story. Is your conversational opponent sad about a sick pet? Well, you have ten sick pets, and they are all teetering on the brink of death, but you managed to tear yourself away from poor flatlining Fido to attend this party. Dead relative? That’s amateur hour, all your relatives died in a tragic murder accident and you have devoted your life to revenge. Is your conversation nemesis currently bleeding? Then you’re leaking brain fluid.

Conversely, if anything good has happened to your foe, the universe must have bestowed even greater wealth upon you. Did their sister just have a baby? Then your sister had five babies, and three of them have already been accepted early admission to Stanford.

Do not make small talk. Inform anyone who alludes to the concept of weather that you do not make small talk, because you are focused on the Real Issues.

Watch for your opponent’s weak points, and pounce when they are at their most vulnerable. Are they currently unemployed? Wait until they have a few drinks in them to begin an interrogation about the exact specifics of their job search, followed by a lecture on everything they are doing wrong.

You need to know every person at this party’s opinion on Israel, and you need it right now.

Is your adversary backing away from the conversation under the pretense that they need a drink, or the bathroom, or some other human weakness? Give them no quarter. Do not let them run from the fight. Pursue them if necessary.

Do not, under any circumstances, allow your competitor to chime in with an observation from their own personal experience or, worse, an anecdote. You’re in charge of this conversation. Defend your territory with vigor.

If you aren’t being invited to parties anymore, it means that you have won. No one dares to take you on in conversation. Celebrate your victory by posting something inflammatory on Facebook.

Four facts about Millennials that will blow your mind

When the first organism crawled out of the ocean and filled its gasping lungs for the first time with clean, fresh air, it knew that Millennials would never appreciate everything it went through to give them legs.


If you say the words “post-recession job market” three times while gazing into a mirror, an internet commenter will appear to inform you that in the days of his callow youth, trophies hadn’t even been invented yet.


“What do only nineties kids remember?” the novice asked the monk. The monk replied, “If you call yourself a nineties kid, you deny the totality of your experience. If you do not call yourself a nineties kid, then you claim that you are ignorant of the facts of your own life. Consider a leaf on the autumn breeze. At what point was it not a tree?”


In the northern forest, in the land where it is always winter, there is a single pale white tree. In the highest branches of that tree there is a hawk’s nest, and the bird that makes its home there is feathered in purest gold. Each year, the hawk flies from one end of the forest to another, and in the furthest reaches of the wood it drops a single golden feather. The first Millennial to find that feather and Instagram it with the hashtags #hiking #natural #blessed will be the one who saves us from the Darkness.

Times New Roman is the best font


It has come to my attention that design experts are advising job seekers not to use Times New Roman on their resumes. This is blatant propaganda from Big Helvetica. Times New Roman is the font for all of us. It is the font that should unite us, not divide us.

Times New Roman is the font equivalent of a firm but not crushing handshake. It is a well-tailored pantsuit in a neutral color. If you met it at a conference, it would offer you a simple, easy-to-read business card on stock that is pleasantly thick and creamy to the touch but not overbearingly textured.

Look at me, the other fonts say. Admire my kerning. Marvel at the height of my apex. Blush at my scandalous lack of serifs. Times New Roman will never resort to this sort of tomfoolery. It is not going to jump up and down to get your attention. It knows its own worth.

Times New Roman knows that you aren’t here to play games. Times New Roman is a plain black picture frame at a reasonable price point. Is the picture inside beautiful? That’s not Times New Roman’s problem.

If fonts were hats, Arial would be a golf hat worn at dinner, Comic Sans would be one of those beanies with a propeller on top, and Times New Roman would be a simple side-parted hairstyle with no adornment needed.

Times New Roman for my resume. Times New Roman for my tattoos. Times New Roman for my firstborn child’s birthday party invitations. Embrace Times New Roman, and it will pull you into a strong but compassionate hug, pat you firmly on the back, and release you promptly. Times New Roman is not going to make it weird for you.

Science fiction without the social justice

green alien

John Spaceman stared at the alien’s green breasts. He could use his eyeballs to look at whatever he wanted; this was space, where men could do as they pleased. He stared at her titties something fierce. She was not an allegory for The Other or anything like that, just your basic sexy-lady-but-green-type alien.

“Farewell, John Spaceman, savior of this particular galaxy where everyone lives lifestyles suspiciously similar to middle-class white Americans in the 1950s,” purred the alien, who John thought of as a temptress, even though she was also extremely virginal. In fact, this species of alien could only have sex with one man ever, and John Spaceman was that man. “Thank you for saving us from that other spacefaring culture that was metaphor for communism and fascism at the same time, somehow.”

“No problem, babe,” said John Spaceman, making a cool space-gesture to indicate how roguish yet traditionally manly he was.

He got into his rocket ship. It was long and hard, like his penis, but John Spaceman didn’t think about it in a gay way. He had a totally platonic relationship with his rocket ship.

“Farewell, galaxy full of cultures that are definitely very original and different and not based on the author’s limited worldview,” he said, and shifted into warp drive. “I’m off to explore the rest of the known universe, where everyone speaks English, and pretty much everyone looks human except for that one race of cockroach-things nobody likes.”

Clean lines from dirty books

There’s a new app in town, and it’s cleaning up your filthy ebooks by inserting new, inoffensive words in the place of the author’s dirty potty mouth. Authors are righteously fucking furious; just look at what all these classic scenes would look like without the language that made them goddamn brilliant:


Gosh darn,” said Conte, totally unable to help himself when the sums involved vanished over his mental horizon. “Beg pardon, Dona Sofia.”
“You should.” She drained her glass of non-alcoholic grape juice in one quick unladylike gulp. “Your calculations are off. This merits a triple gosh darn at least.”
― Scott Lynch, The Gentlemen Legitimately-Born Children series


This nicholas was risen for to read the bible,
And thoughte he wolde amenden al the jape;
He sholde talk about our lord and savior Jesus Christ er that he scape.
And up the wyndowe dide he hastily,
And out his collection of religious pamphlets he putteth pryvely
He had a whole handful of wholesome and appropriate literature;
And therwith spak this clerk, this absolon,
Spek, sweete bryd, I noot nat where thou art.
This nicholas discussed the bible with him,
And they had a very pleasant chat about the nature of divinity,
Which completely convinced absolon of the need for salvation;
And he decided to attend a bible studies group,
So they shook hands politely.

– Geoffrey Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales, The Miller’s Totally Appropriate Story for Young Children


Brabantio: What nice guy art thou?

Iago: I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter
and the Moor are now making a cake for your birthday.

Brabantio: Well isn’t that lovely.

– William Shakespeare, Othello, A Play in which Nothing Bad Happens


And Julia’s voice was lost, except in sighs,

Until too late for useful conversation;

The tears were gushing from her gentle eyes,

I wish indeed they had not had occasion,

But who, alas! can love, and then be wise?

Not that remorse did not oppose temptation;

A little still she strove, and much repented

And whispering ‘Sex before marriage is wrong‘—showed him her purity ring.

– Lord Byron, Don Jon’s Platonic Female Friends


Well, where is this right mind on that afternoon I came home from school to find my mother out of the house, and our refrigerator stocked with a big purplish piece of raw liver? I believe that I have already confessed to the piece of liver that I bought in a butcher shop and stored according to proper food-safety methods on the way to a bar mitzvah lesson. Well, I wish to make a clean story of it, Your Holiness. That—she—it—wasn’t my first time cooking this particular dish. The first time I cooked a wholesome meal with liver was in the privacy of my own home, fried in a skillet in the kitchen at three-thirty-and then had again on the end of a fork, at five thirty, along with the other members of that loving and healthy family of mine.

“So. Now you know the best meal I have ever made. I cooked my own family’s dinner.”

– Phillip Roth, Portnoy’s Family Cookbook

Four Facts About Millennials That Will Blow Your Mind

When the first organism dragged itself out of the ocean and took its first breath of clean, fresh air, it realized that Millennials would never appreciate everything it had suffered to bring them legs.


The novice asked the monk, “What is it that only nineties kids remember?” And the monk replied, “If you call yourself a nineties kid, you deny the totality of your experience. If you do not call yourself a nineties kid, you deny the facts of your existence. Consider a leaf on the autumn breeze. At what point was it not a tree?”


If you say the words “post-recession job market” three times while looking into a mirror, an internet commenter will appear to remind you that when he was a callow youth, trophies hadn’t been invented yet.


In the heart of the northern forest, where the snow lies thick and deep and the winter winds howl, there is a single tree with leaves of pure silver. In the highest branches of that tree, a hawk with feathers of gold has built its nest, and once a year it flies from one end of the forest to the other. The first Millennial to Instagram that hawk will be the one who saves us from the Darkness.

How to get your boyfriend to propose


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Ladies! Is your clock ticking? Do you have separate Pinterest boards for your wedding cake, bachelorette party cake,  wedding shower cake, reception cake, rehearsal dinner cake, and post-honeymoon cake? Is the wedding dress that you wear daily beginning to look a little threadbare? Are you considering taking in a winsome orphan just to teach her that the world is terrible and men are not to be trusted? Do you want to be joined in holy matrimony to a human male?

Don’t ask a man to marry you. That would be bad, for reasons we can’t actually articulate. Instead, let him know that you having a burning desire to be married without actually opening your mouth and talking to him.


Wear rings on every digit but your left ring finger. Raise your hand occasionally to his eye level and glance significantly at your empty finger. He’ll get the picture.


Bake him an engagement chicken. Flavor it so well that as soon as the first bite passes his lips, he will lose the ability to return to the mortal realm, and must pass a hundred years with you beneath the earth. Your groom’s altered perception of time and reality is going to make planning the reception difficult, but it’s a small price to pay for ensnaring him in the realm of Fae!


Make him realize that he can’t live without you. Sabotage the life support system. I’m afraid I can’t be single, David.


Drop subtle hints. Flutter your eyelashes longingly every time you pass a wedding dress shop. Pause for an instant and sigh in a barely noticeable way every time a friend announces her engagement. Take a vow of silence. Let him know your thoughts on the wedding theme (preferred colors: gold and mauve) solely through interpretive dance.