Intoxicated Marjorie Taylor Greene Admits It’s All an Act, Reveals She’s Actually Actress and Light-Sketch Comedian Tweety McDaniels

When a drunk and urine-soaked Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene, R-Ga., went live on TikTok this past Saturday night, viewers rightfully assumed she was going to rant about Jewish Martians stealing elections with their hypno-rays, or that Joe Biden is a holographic projection.

But rather than yet another incoherent string of crackpot conspiracy theories, something else entirely happened.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she said, tears in her eyes. “I want my life back.”

She then removed her blonde wig to reveal a chic pixie cut.

“My real name is Tweety McDaniels, and I am an actress.”

Over the course of three hours, McDaniels spoke at length about her early career as a struggling young actress in 1990s Hollywood, featuring in ads for discount hemorrhoid cream and starring in schlocky direct-to-video horror films, such as “Homeschool Massacre 2” and “Murder Hamsters Go to College.”

But it was around the two-hour mark when she revealed the origins of the deranged, conspiracy-fueled persona of Marjorie Taylor Greene. 

“It started as a bit for a sketch comedy show we were doing at a laundromat in Burbank,” she said. “A tape of the show somehow got into the hands of someone at the Georgia Republican Party, they thought it was real, and the rest is history.”

When one viewer asked McDaniels if she regretted her role in hastening the downfall of American society, McDaniels only nodded.

“I never thought it’d go this far, or for this long,” she said. “But between all the drinking and drugs and daily threats of violence and death by various Russian-controlled assets in the GOP, Tweety McDaniels faded away until nothing was left.”

The video has since been deleted.

How hot is the sun? They sent a man on a one-way deathtrip to find out.

For millennia, the sun has scared, confused, and mercilessly killed mankind just for the thrill. It abandons us during winter and abuses us come summer. And due to a seemingly endless, wholly passive-aggressive silent treatment, its reasoning for all this will likely remain a mystery for years to come.

But one mystery is finally solved.

A lack of orifices long left us unable to properly take the sun’s temperature, leaving scientists to simply guess. But a collaboration between Apple and Frito-Lay saw the first manned mission to the sun in a heroic search for answers.

Unfortunately for 12-year old Daniel Lamb, from One Toilet, Indiana, and winner of the Doritos “Fun in the Sun Sweepstakes,” this was a one-way trip.

“I just wanted a PlayStation,” said Daniel in his final message, crying like a little baby.

As any parent who ever left their child in the car during a grueling heatwave so as to pop in for a quick root canal or colonoscopy might already know, children are often too stupid to turn on the A/C or crack a window.

But stupid children aside, there’s also the matter of fuel.

“Have you seen how poor an iPhone’s battery life is?” said Penny Pincher, Apple’s V.P. of Tax Evasion. “And don’t even get me started on the excessive cost of bundling our ship with a charging cable.”

But while the incineration of a young child left his family mildly upset, scientists now know the sun is, at the very least, hot enough to do the same to aluminum and glass.

Third Elder God Dead in Huntington Beach This Month

The empty husk of Elder God H’mnuh-H’mnuh’s corporeal vessel was seen floating off the coast of Sunset Beach early Monday morning. This comes mere days after Nyuck-Nyuck and S’oy T’anly were stabbed and killed in a parking structure near Huntington Beach Pier.

“Space lasers,” said one Huntington Beach man who wished to remain anonymous. “Or, maybe it was Newsom.”

But marine biologists aren’t quite so convinced. Some believe it may be tied to climate change. Others insist “the gays” are to blame.

Whatever the reason may be, these deaths are already affecting the local ecosystem.

The Kraken has not only ravaged local fish populations, but seized control of Catalina Island.

Japanese Kaiju, Manda, attacked several offshore rigs, unleashing countless gallons of oil into nearby waters.

And former Mayor Pro Tem, Tito Ortiz, refuses to stop punching Sea Lions.

But not all hope is lost. The city council has announced plans for a ritual summoning. Those selected as sacrifice should receive notice in the coming weeks. And Tank Abbot Middle School offered to host the three-day ritual in their basketball gym.

The California Parking Lot Spider

Every year, more than 500,000 people are reported missing in the United States. An estimated 10% can be attributed to the critter commonly known as the California parking lot spider.

Originally found in the deserts, canyons, and forests of California, decades of hikers, campers, and assorted tourists provided an ample, year-round food supply and the means to drastically increase their territory. Now these chiweenie-sized spiders lurk in the sewers, shrubbery, and undercarriages of vehicles in every suburb, stripmall, and stripclub across the Southwestern United States and parts of the Pacific Northwest.

Needless to say, that means a lot more people and actual chiweenies go missing every year as a result.

With machete-like fangs and a taste for human flesh, a nest of parking lot spiders can devour a family of four in as little as an hour. In 2017, the Fullerton-based Bruce N. Batter nursing facility reported 15 residents and 3 staff members either missing or deceased after a single parking lot spider found its way inside. And in 2021, an entire kindergarten class at Eden Chewwem Elementary was tragically lost during recess.

The bad news is that research search suggests the west coast will be uninhabitable by 2050. The good news is that the cost of rent is projected to stabilize shortly after.

The Most Depressing Place in Fontana

Why settle for the lifelong memories of theme parks, exotic locals, and red light districts when there’s a futon that smells like cat pee and a bed sheet hanging where a door used to be?

In a remote corner of Fontana, where the grass is dead and the fences are chicken wire, Barbara Fannypack has spent the last 30 years opening her spare bedroom to those looking to get away for a weekend or longer.

“It got lonely after the state took my children,” Barbara said. “And I really need the money.”

A mother of seven with as many ex-husbands as she has civil suits filed against her, Barbara’s 600 sq. foot, two-bedroom shitbox is not only a fire hazard, but also recently awarded “Most Depressing Place in Fontana” by the San Bernardino County Department of Behavioral Health.

“No such thing as bad publicity,” Barbara muttered to nobody in particular.

Of course, that’s not entirely true.

After receiving her award, the news and social media coverage brought Barbara into the crosshairs of a number of local, state, and federal agencies. From illegal kumites in the garage to a brothel in a rat-infested camper parked in her backyard, guests won’t be short on options for live(ish) entertainment. However, they may be considered suspects in at least one of several missing person cases.

But for $50 and a six-pack of beer, you sort of brought it upon yourself.

One Man’s Trash is Another Man’s Dinner

Leave the Keto-friendly elk meat and vegetable smoothies to the rich elites who can afford such luxuries, because a new diet is here to save us common folk.

As the economy soars to historic heights, Americans are left seeking alternatives to starvation. Enter: “Urban Scavenging,” the latest social media trend that has many people checking every dumpster, rat trap, and roach motel they can find.

“It’s not so different from all the hunting and gathering our ancestors used to do,” said Turgid McDaniels, one of Urban Scavenging’s earliest gurus. “Besides, I work 70 hours a week and can barely afford rent.”

But while millions of Americans save money with second-hand salads and boiled cat, critics are eager to point out that Urban Scavenging is no more than eating bugs, garbage, and stray animals.

“Sure,” Turgid confessed, “if you want to be all depressing about it.”

Still, you can’t argue with the results. Between the countless hours of videos and podcasts uploaded daily, hundreds of A.I.-written, self-published ebooks, and testimonials of digitally-altered, surgically-enhanced internet personalities, Urban Scavenging has already generated an estimated $12 billion in the first quarter of 2024.

“I don’t feel so good,” Turgid groaned in what proved to be his final video before suddenly passing away from a wholly unrelated parasite infection.

I Like Watching the Life Fade From Their Eyes

Some paint landscapes. Others paint portraits. But one sick freak paints the final moments of dying strangers.

The “He Was Like That When I Got Here” Art Show opened today in the alley behind the Circle K in Downtown Long Beach. On display are such twisted, sadistic works as “Man Hit By Brick,” “Choking on Chicken Bone,” and “Family Game Night Massacre.” Each piece morbidly crafted in a unique medium, including oils, crayon, and assorted bodily fluids. Each image captured there at the scene of tragic, horrific, and heartbreaking ends. And sometimes as the victims lay there face-to-face with not only Death itself, but also an inhumane monster finger painting it all.

That inhuman monster responsible for this insanity is Methanie Nude, age 42, an amateur painter and unlicensed tattoo remover. Inspired by the works of George W. Bush, Methanie got her start when her grandmother slipped in the tub.

“There wasn’t much I could do to help her,” Methanie said. “And I had nothing better to do while I waited for someone to dispose of the body, or whatever.”

What started as a tragic accident, turned into a new career opportunity – profiting off the dead.

But, of course, the question remains: What compels someone to be such a perverse ghoul?

“I like watching the light fade from their eyes,” Melanie explained as she smoked something out of a discarded can of Tecate.

Fair enough.

Gallery hours are sometime between 10PM and 4AM on nights when Methanie can be assed to show up. Admission is free. The memories will scar you forever. And you’ll be left to wonder if your own eventual end will be captured in dime store water colors.

25 years ago, the world forgot about him. Until today.

In 1999: the Euro was created; The Matrix convinced every dweeb without a personality to buy a trench coat; and B*Witched was a thing for some reason. But for Barry Lincoln, it was the year he finally got his life together.

Born to Hagatha Lincoln in 1964, Barry spent his early years confined to the detached garage of a home in an unincorporated corner of Anaheim, California. At the age of four, young Barry enrolled at the Sweet Mary and Joseph School for the Feral and Ugly. His mother often locked him out of the house and he spent hours and days wandering the streets before anyone noticed or cared. He had no friends. He was loved by no one in particular. He had no hopes, dreams, aspirations, or future.

Then at the age of 35, Barry applied for a job at his local Blockbuster Video. Within days, he was hired, promoted to store manager, and initiated an affair with a wealthy heiress from Laguna. For the first time in his life, Barry believed he might have some worth as a human being.

Of course, we know now that Retro-Continuity Waves (RCWs) are responsible for many of the gaps and inconsistencies in recorded history. From Nelson Mandela returning from the grave to the spelling of the Berenstain Bears, RCWs warp, tear, shatter, and rebuild reality as we think we know it.

But in 1999, such things were the realm of bad superhero comics and lazy editorial staff.

In the years since, scientists came to understand that such an event is often preceded by the slow breakdown of reason and logic of reality. One moment, popular music makes sense and Presidential candidates are educated and well-spoken. The next, Limp Bizkit exists and a well-known, elderly grifter incapable of coherent thought is running for a second term.

In Barry’s case, the inexplicable improvements in his life meant something was not quite right with the universe. And during a shift one fateful Autumn morning, the 1999 RCW struck the Earth and Barry ceased to be.

Two days ago, the Earth was hit by yet another RCW and Barry returned. And not only is Barry the first person in recorded history to ever cease to exist and then exist yet again, he is also technically the world’s first known time traveler. So as scientists subject him to a series of involuntary examinations and tests for the rest of his life, Barry can rest assured that his life finally and truly has meaning.

But as Barry rewrite’s both history and our understanding of the universe, the Blockbuster Video he managed is now a 7-Eleven; his high school no longer exists; and his mother, who passed away in 2012 of a heart-attack, reanimated in her grave only to die of asphyxiation shortly after.

The Universe gives, the Universe takes.

Say Hello to the Children of G’lock N’spiel!

They dress in the flesh of their enemies. They worship an elder god who sits on a throne of baby skulls and seek to usher in one thousand years of darkness. And they want to see you at their next neighborhood blood drive.

“We’re as committed to our community as we are to bringing about the end of humanity,” said Tim the High Priest, servant of G’lock N’spiel, slayer of children, and thirty year resident of Garden Grove.

Between offering up hotel vouchers for those struggling with homelessness, feeding the hungry, and an award-winning after-school reading program, it’s not hard to see why the Children of G’lock N’spiel have expanded from Tim’s one-car garage to twelve newly built temples across Southern California in only a few short years.

“Once you look past all the bloodshed and ritual sacrifices, you see all the good they’re doing,” said Doris Whitelady, mommy-blogger and day-drinker.

But Tim and the Children of G’lock N’spiel don’t do it for publicity, tax exemption status, or some misguided love for their fellow man. 

“Tortured souls aren’t very nutritious,” Tim explained. “And few things taste quite so sweet as a man pulled from the brink of starvation, bathed, clothed, loved unconditionally, given renewed purpose and direction in life, and then disemboweled an altar of solid gold.”

BREAKING: Man with no personality and suboptimal cleavage wonders why live-streaming career falling short of expectations.

All Charles Charleston ever wanted out of life was to quit his dead end job as a pulmonologist to become a professional gamer. And he did just that during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic.

But even after several years of playing games such as Dirk Nutter’s Pro Rollerblader and Fuwa-Fuwa Voyeuristic Photography Club, Charles often finds himself with an audience measured in single digits.

“I even resorted to playing in a hot tub while wearing assorted fetish gear,” Charles said.

Some critics have suggested that Charles’ lack of personality might be what is holding him back. One critic, known only by their internet handle, xXnipple_pleaserXx, commented that they grew weary of Charles’ pontificating, often for hours on end, on the philosophical and socio-political insight of director Zack Snyder’s filmography. Another, InsertRacialSlurHere, frequently shared their frustration about Charles’ lack of larger breasts.

Charles, meanwhile, insists his lack of success is rooted firmly in a bizarre conspiracy involving the U.S. National Park Service, a local stray cat, and actor-comedian Marc Maron.

“The fifth letter of every other sentence in his special ‘Thinky Pain’ spells a direct threat on my life,” Charles explained. “And don’t even get me started about what they’re hiding under Joshua Tree.”

We didn’t, but he did anyway.

Porn Mogul, Slumlord, and Professional Wrestling Promoter, Vincent LBJ Ringworm Jr., Dead at 103.

Vincent LBJ Ringworm Jr., owner of The El Dorado Inn and Championship Wrestling, has passed away at the age of 103.

News of Mr. Ringworm’s passing broke early this morning via several now-deleted social media posts by Pudding D’Meats, an employee of the El Dorado Inn and its current Hot Tub, Cable TV, and Wi-Fi Champion. Mr. D’Meats discovered his boss’ bloated, pill-stuffed corpse during an attempt to deliver several pizzas and a brick of cocaine to Mr. Ringworm’s personal suite.

When asked for comment, Mr. D’Meats let out a heavy sigh and said, “It’s over. It’s finally over.”

This, of course, all comes mere days after Mr. Ringworm was revealed to be under federal investigation for human trafficking, organ harvesting, punching several elderly women as they slept in their beds, and failing to return several books to the Santa Carla Public Library. Hired goons for the Ringworm family have assured us under threat of grave bodily harm that this investigation had nothing to do with anything.

Standup comedy secretly run by cabal of lonely, unloved middle-aged men.

The uncomfortable performance art of an opinionated validation addict in a sparsely populated, poorly lit bar sounds like a recipe for a night of laughs. However, the reality is anything but.

“I paid this guy fifty bucks to put me on [stage] before midnight, but I had to perform my set in the parking lot after the bar closed,” said Mark Suckermann, a fifty-two year old novice comedian and full-time couchsurfer.

And Mark’s story is as unoriginal as his material.

Footage released on the “Hot Take/Hot Mike” podcast revealed a secret meeting between several middle-aged men in ill-fitting clothes at a Denny’s sometime around 3 A.M.

“This asshole actually thought I’d let him go on [stage] if he slipped me a hundred bucks!” squawked a bird-like gentleman over his heart-clogging meal of pigeon eggs and horsemeat.

That unkempt bird was Butch “The Glock” Glockenspiel, a prominent show promoter in Southern California. And the drunk, sweaty men with him were other notable faces in the local comedy scene, each with their own tales of cheating others out of their time and money.

“It’s almost enough to make me want to associate with emotionally stable people,” Mr. Suckermann said after seeing the footage. “Almost.”

It would seem the once shining kingdom of cocaine- and alcohol-fueled philosophers and free speech has lost a bit of its luster.

O-Town recently spotted performing as other, more fondly remembered boy bands at county fair.

With hits like “All or Nothing” and “Liquid Dreams,” O-Town once stood alongside other notable boy bands of the late-90s and early-2000s, such as Westlife, 5ive, and Huevos Rancheros. But now, nearly a quarter of a century after their manufactured relevancy, you can see them performing and operating the tilt-whirl at a county fair near you.

The twist?

You won’t recognize them as they wear the scalps, skins, and outdated attire of their mysteriously deceased, middle-aged brethren and lip sync to “When the Lights Go Out,” “Back Here,” and “Lou Likes It When We Dress This Way.”

“Please don’t tell my mom I live like this – she thinks I’m a real estate agent,” said Erik-Michael Estrada, lovingly known to fans as the “creepy one.”

It might not be the glamorous life of Las Vegas residencies and decades-late abuse allegations of their more beloved counterparts, but it does come with all the free popcorn and unsold turkey legs they can eat. And it’ll have to do.

LEAKS: Republicans to suggest annual subscription contracts for American citizenship and rights. Democrats counter with optional monthly rates.

After recent failures to pass the “Shake It More Than Three Times and You’re Playing with It Act”, Republicans turned their eyes, talons, and blood rituals to the very concept of citizenship itself. Spearheaded by Rep. Racist Horseface, R-Hatesville, the “Are the Poors Even Really People Act” would establish a new annual subscription for Americans to maintain their citizenship. But after early test screenings in Flordia, Alabama, and Oklahoma failed to impress the GOP’s Russian donors and overlords, Democrats swooped in with an alternative monthly plan that, while more expensive and somehow even less practical, proved more favorable with uninformed voters. “The American people deserve the freedom of choice,” Rep. Useful Idiot, D-Outtatouch, said during his annual colonoscopy.

Dumpster Debbie


STEVIE: In local news, Debbie Percocet-Addiction, of 6 7/8ths E. Who Gives a Shit, failed to listen to all the times I warned her about leaving her garbage cans in front of my driveway. But she just wouldn’t listen, and now the whole city knows she deserved to be pelted with assorted peels and used toiletries early this morning as I left home for the studio. How does it feel, Debbie, to be covered in peels and used toiletries? I bet it feels way worse than if you’d just listened the first twelve times. I hope it does. I hope it feels way, way worse. You’re covered in trash, Debbie. I bet it’s still in your hair. Imagine what I’ll do next week if I catch those damned garbage cans of yours in my driveway again. I don’t care if your son left them there. It’s your house, Debbie. He’s your son. Take care of your trash, Debbie. Before I take care of him for you.

AN UNCOMFORTABLE SILENCE.

Up next: Do you know where your child is? We speak with several parents who also failed to heed my warnings and now their children are in a perpetual state of existence and nonexistence.

A Weekend with the Talisman of Shalamazoo


STEVIE: Those looking for a weekend getaway before the next blood moon, be advised the southern bridge out of town is currently experiencing an existential crisis and cannot, for the time being, carry the weight of so many people’s expectations. Those hoping to flee north, do know that you must not only take the right turns at the right roads while also possessing the Talisman of Shalamazoo, as failure to do so will result in your inexplicably re-entering town via the southern bridge. Maps can be found hidden somewhere in K’glah Sh’lah Elementary. And rumor has it the talisman is to be uncovered somewhere in the laundry pile in the bedroom of the apartment Casey Miller used to share with his girlfriend before she disappeared without a trace one chilly summer night last December.

Fibonacci High School Football Rules


STEVIE: In local sports, Fibonacci High School brutally massacred Meatloaf Memorial High last night. Local and federal agencies are still hard at work trying to piece together what caused this unfortunate incident. Rumors are floating around that it had to do with some sort of sporting activity, but no official word as of this morning. The current casualty count stands at six students, seven school officials, and eight stray cats used as bludgeoning tools.

Babyface Brennifer


STEVIE: Breaking news tonight out of Itchyfoot, Colorado. Police are currently searching for Babyface Brennifer, a thirty-seven year old aspiring business owner and alleged fish strangler, currently wanted in several states for a number of offenses, up to and including: grand theft cannibalism, armed surgery, and napping without a license. Those with any information on where I might find a used copy of Bill Billiamson’s classic erotic scifi novella, “Probe Me Like You Mean It,” are asked to please call back at a later time.

But first, a message from tonight’s sponsor – Pornography. Pornography, it’s not just for breakfast anymore.

Founder’s Day


STEVIE: Today marks the third week of eternal darkness in Santa Carla. Attempts to contact the outside world continue to prove fruitless, and people have long resorted to cannibalism despite store shelves inexplicably restocked every morning. Officials at Santa Carla Community College are yet to confirm a precise explanation for what has been the end of life as we know it, but one official anonymously commented that it may have something to do with the ritual sacrifice at this year’s Founder’s Day celebration. Carl Bloodletter, a representative for Santa Carla Parks and Recreation, denies any responsibilities.

A Message from the White House


A MESSAGE FROM THE WHITE HOUSE

MUSIC: BLARING AND PRETENTIOUS “BREAKING NEWS” DIDDY.

SWEETLY: Good evening, I’m Fuhkme Sweetly. As chaos continues to engul our once great nation, the White House has released the following message in the hopes of bridging gaps, mending bridges, and generally stirring the pot.

MESSAGE: (RECORDING) (ASSORTED BABOON SOUNDS FOLLOWED BY SILLY SNORING, A CUCKOO CLOCK, SAWING WOOD, AND A SMALL, WHISTLING STEAM LOCOMOTIVE)

SWEETLY: Truly a bold and daring message for these challenging times.

I’m Fuhkme Sweetly, and this has been another crushing message from today’s White House. Goodnight, and try not cry too much.

MUSIC: BLARING AND PRETENTIOUS “BREAKING NEWS” DIDDY. UP, OUT.