The Guys are divided on working out. On the one hand, we all know that big muscles are the secret to comedy, as we learned from Joe Piscopo. But on the other, we’re pretty sure that building gut-busting six-pack abs will get in the way of our drinking.
Fortunately, bro science has developed a beer with whey protein — that’s the dairy run-off that farmers used to throw out and now sell with a 1000% mark-up at GNC. Brewtein will contain 7 grams of whey, which its makers claim is the most protein in any beer on the market. They also have a lower carb version called Nutribeer, which should absolutely not trigger any FTC alarms about false claims at all.
Both contain as much alcohol as your standard Budweiser, so to everyone except your beer snob uncle, they’re real beers. By adding whey, which usually results in … ahem, urgent toiletry, bro science has finally raised the bar for beer sh*ts.
Federal Judge George H. King ruled that nobody owns the words to the song, just a particular piano arrangement that was originally copyrighted in 1935. Warner Music, which obtained the copyright through purchases in 1988, had collected over $2 million a year by forcing movies, television, stage productions and even chain restaurants to pay royalties for performing it. (The latter was considered profiting off of the song, even though it’s more of a congratulations to anyone who survived another year of eating at Chili’s.)
So, get ready for a lot of television shows to have birthday episodes this fall. It’s about time Bart Simpson turned 11, anyway.
It’s important to remember that, in the War on Animals, there are no small foes, only small animal warriors. (Don’t stop injecting mice with Silly Putty just because you’re saving up for that big shootin’ safari to darkest Africa.) In fact, based on the science of Ashton Kutcher movies, we understand that some of these tinier animal menaces are responsible for some serious human death tolls and property damage. So, that’s why we’re excited to announce that butterflies are on the ropes in the UK.
Our industrial activity has warmed up merry old England so much that butterflies on that side of the world are dying off and expected to be extinct by 2050. And once those butterflies stop flapping over there, this side of the world will become hurricane-free (except for the ones we drink, of course).
Meanwhile, so long as we keep our butterflies under control on this side of the pond, we can continue throwing hurricanes at human foes like terrorists and hot Italian guys who steal our girlfriends. (Arrivederci, Giuseppe!)
Yes, a world without British butterflies will be a glorious time for America, especially for dating. Welcome to the future: a world where “second base” doesn’t involve eyelashes if you know what we mean.
Get out your hippie skirts and aerosol cans: it’s time to dance amongst the tree trunks in deforested plains and skinny dip in the aquatic dead zones. We’re celebrating because this is the dawning of the age of the Anthropocence, age of the Anthropocene. Anthropo-ceeeeeeeeene! An-throoooo-po-ceeeeeeeeeeene!
The American Association for the Advancement of Science, along with astronaut and associate administrator for science at NASA John Grunsfeld, have coined the term for our current era. It is based on the period of time where humanity has directly impacted the climate, ozone, nitrogen and phosphorous cycles, oceans, endocrine disruptors and forests — all of which is now observable from space.
So, congratulations, humans! We’ve made our mark! Eat it, Holocene Period! You can go pound sedentary with those loser Pleistocenes!
Hey, just in case you forgot: today is Valentine’s Day. So, you’d better dig your car out of the ice and snow, get to the store and pick out the best of what’s left of flowers and cards at the grocery store or you will be divorced — f*cking di-vorced (NSFW) — by sundown.
Unless you’re in Virginia. A federal judge has thoughtfully destroyed all marriage in the commonwealth by ruling that the Marshall-Newman Amendment — the 2006 state constitutional amendment that defines it as solely being between a man and a woman and bans any form of same-sex marriage — is federally unconstitutional.
So, kick back and relax, men. Because if U.S. District Judge Arenda Wright Allen’s ruling is upheld on appeal, you’ll legally have to marry a dude. That’s how laws work.
I think we can now put the 2013 Python Challenge to rest. Some of you might say that we could have put the 2013 Python Challenge to rest at the end of December 31st, 2013. To those of you, we say this: vigilance never ends.
It’s been a long and arduous search, but ladies and gentlemen, we did it. From the honkiest sections of Idaho to the meth-filled sections of Florida, we’ve finally pinpointed the lamest adults ever. Those that forgot their time as kids, those that pimped out their childhood, those that sold out their memories.
That’s not just SG giving you the good work. No, Pennsylvania State Police are saying that a spider distracted driver Alek Tarr while he was behind the wheel of a 2004 Pontiac Grand Prix (side note: nothing good ever happens in a Pontiac Grand Prix). The arachnid, presumably trying to assassinate Tarr for some reason or another, was spotted, causing Tarr to take the car off the road and eventually spin out of control. Somehow, both Tarr and his passenger made it out of the crash without an injury. If there’s any justice on this planet, the spider will have made it out of the accident unhurt as well, if only so that it can have its day in court.
The hot, sweaty book club for Fifty Shades of Grey is bigger than we thought. There at least 166 previously unknown members, and they’re all locked up in Gitmo.
On a recent visit to the Guantanamo detention camp, U.S. Rep. Jim Moran, D-Va., claims to have discovered that the most popular book among the inmates is not the Koran, but the entire Fifty Shades trilogy. So, they’re sort of like Christians who claim that the Bible is their favorite book.
If we hope to ever end the War on Terror, this may be a sure sign that Western hedonism has won the day. That, or over 10 years of indefinite imprisonment and “enhanced interrogations” has turned what were potentially America’s greatest threat into BDSM enthusiasts.
New York City managed to have a red letter day, as in no red letters were spelled out in blood on their many sidewalks or studio-apartment hardwood floors. That’s right: New Yorkers managed to not kill each other for an entire 36 consecutive hours, which police are calling “a case of that one Monday.”
Nobody is entirely sure why NYC’s assassins took a Senior Skip Day, but it is part of an overall trend of decreasing violent crime nationwide. Still, for 8 million people who presumably relive Seinfeld every damn day, it’s commendable that not one took a Festivus pole to their group’s George. (Or smelly cat to their Phoebe if you grew up on Friends.)
Of course, like all good things, this, too, had to end. By Tuesday morning, the city’s last nerve was trampled, ending in a good ol’ fashioned shooting. Oh, and Lindsay Lohan slapped somebody.
So, if you’ve been waiting for a safe time to visit the Big Apple, that train has re-derailed. It was a good run, everybody!