This statement piece dubbed the “Taste The Rainbow Look” is a pride must-have.

This statement piece dubbed the “Taste The Rainbow Look” is a pride must-have.

In just a couple days June will turn to July, and rainbow short shorts will turn to red, white, and blue Jello Jigglers at your neighborhood block party. But before we let our moms dress us in Old Navy American flag tees from the year 2002, we get to dress ourselves in basically whatever the hell we want, while we unabashedly kiss whoever the hell we want. It’s Pride! Here are some things to wear so you can show your stuff on the big parade day-

1. Rainbow High Socks and Silly Glasses

Ha ha! Fun and quirky, a crowd pleaser, and always reliable. Pick ‘em up from Walmart the day before the parade to support your local big-business who definitely supports the gays, they promise! 

2. Lucky Charms Rainbow Marshmallow outfit

Who knew Lucky the Leprechaun was a gay icon? Not only is his cereal good for children on a sitcom or weeks worth of depression meals, but it has it’s place at the pride parade as well. First, buy a couple bags of just Lucky Charms marshmallows online in bulk, and pick out the rainbow ones individually. Trash those other shapes, they’re homophobic! Next, spend hours upon hours super-gluing the little rainbows onto the outfit of your choice. If it’s hot on parade day, beware of melting ‘mallows!

3. Scratch and Sniff my Junk

The true definition of a crowd pleaser. This one is real simple to make: head on over to the dollar store, and pick up a pack of scratch and sniff stickers from the crafting section. We chose the ones with little fruit faces on them, but any will do. Gently stick them all over your cup or your thong (whichever you choose, no judgement here), and voila! When you tell other parade-goers your junk is scratch and sniff, they won’t be able to resist! Fun for them, *extra* fun for you. ;)

4. Skittles “Taste The Rainbow” lickable ‘fit

Mmm-mm good! You’ll be lookin’ like a snack in this tasty fit. Simply sort a bunch of Skittles bags by color (a perk for those with a little OCD) and attach them to any old t shirt you may have lying around your closet. When you arrive to the parade, encourage others to have a taste of your outfit. Not only will it be a good ice breaker, but you’ll taste SO much like the rainbow that everyone under the LGBTQ sun will wanna be your pal. 

5. The Parachute from Spring Creek Elementary School made into a Ball Gown

March on into the Spring Creek Elementary’s kindergarten class and ask them to help you out. To earn their trust, promise them snacks. It’s as easy as that! Hop in the middle of their rainbow parachute and place each kindergartner on the edges, holding the parachute so it flares out like a ball gown. If the idea of bribing these kids so you can use their tiny bodies worries you, don’t fret! Just picture yourself as Glinda, and they are your munchkins. You make their lives better, and in return they offer tiny entertainment. Your parachute gown is sure to be a showstopper at the parade. 

-A Well-Mannered Grump


Schaumburg, IL

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It is the first weekend of summer and people want to look their best when they’re out soaking up the sun near Lake Michigan. Naturally, this means people flooding the Woodfield Mall to shop until they drop. The recently engaged and definitely still sole mates Becca Catskill(26) and Pat Jones (28) were no exception. Their day was going splendidly until a spat took place in the middle of mall’s second floor beauty shop, Sephora.

Catskill was perusing the aisles of cosmetic products with vigor and vitality. She walked around like she owned the place and maybe because, she was about to drop a good chunk of change!

It is being reported that as Catskill was wrapping up her 55 minute deep dive into the world of Sephora when she overheard her fiance talking with another couple near the checkout counter. “I’ve found that my Head and Shoulders 3 in 1 gets the job done just as well as any of these overpriced concoctions.” said Pat Jones as he was met with an affirmative nod from the husband of the other couple.

The hair on the back of Catskill’s neck stood on end and in that moment she flung her body towards the direction of the conversation. “I’m sorry what are we talking about here folks?”  

Becca Catskill didn’t give the group time to answer and proceed to make a four minute long speech on the absurdity of the idea of a 3 in 1 hair care product. Her main arguments were as follows; “I’ve never known anyone who spreads themselves so thin to do a job well. I want a shampoo to work as a shampoo, a conditioner to work as a conditioner, and I don’t even think the people who make Men’s shampoos can think of a third product that goes in your hair.”

When Catskill’s tirade concluded a look of anguish came over the face of anyone within earshot. “Ok can we just checkout and go home honey?” said Jones. “Yes. As long as we all have learned a little something about how capitalists lie to you and steal your money by selling you products like 3 in 1 shampoo.”

“Mam, that will be $225.95.” said the cashier.

-A Well-Mannered Grump


Winnetka, IL


Father’s Day has rolled around once again and that means going to visit your parents and grandparents. It also means sneaking off to the kitchen to avoid conversation and to secretly go into Grandma’s cookie jar. Jet Smith did just this earlier today but, when he reached his greedy little paws into the famous cookie jar, he came out with a handful of what were clearly Lorne Doones bought at the Jewel Osco down the street.

Smith reluctantly took a bite into one of the mass produced shortbread cookies. We asked him what he felt in that moment. “As I put the crusty stale old cookie in my mouth I knew… I knew what my grandmother’s dry skin tasted like.” Thrown off by Smith’s response we panicked and asked him to elaborate. “Well you know how you’ve always wondered how your grandparents skin tastes like, what the texture is like, if you can feel the remnants of The Great Depression on your tongue?” Smith continued.

At this point we would like to make it clear that we didn't intend to learn the rest of the information we receive but now feel obligated to report it… as we are journalists of moral character.

“Keep going.” we urged Smith. “ You see in my spare time I have been murdering people and documenting each type of person’s taste, aftertaste, and texture in an Excel spreadsheet. I was excited when I put the Lorna Doone in my mouth because I’ve been hesitant to brutally take the life of anyone in my own family in fear that I wouldn't get birthday presents from them anymore. This cookie’s taste however, was near enough to what I had experienced before that I thought I could complete the equation for what my family might taste like. I knew what to plug in for “X”. Of course all studies done correctly under the scientific method need a validity statement and how in my right mind could I go based solely off of one hypothetical cookie tasting family member’s body? So I killed the oldest and weakest of the Smith lineage to gather proper data.  I think we’ll all be pleased with the findings when I release my report.”

Jet Smith was put behind bars a few hours after our interview with him. We take credit for bringing this criminal to justice and give no credit to police offices. This is because we’re the news and we don’t like the police, unless they are playing basketball with underprivileged youth.

It is being reported that Smith has said but one sentence while being interrogated.

“The only crime I’m guilty of is being too SCIENCY!

-A Well-Mannered Grump


Chicago, IL


Inhumane is the best word to describe the living situation quite literally growing at 5844 N Ashland Ave. Roommates Fred Woods and Alexa Couples have been generating garbage their entire lives however, for the past three weeks neither has decided to become the bigger person and take out the trash. This epic standoff now enters it’s twenty first day.

In the back right corner of the kitchen clearly furnished in the 1990’s sat a large brown trash can filled with an empty black Hefty Hefty Hefty trash bag. The can slowly filled with containers, bottles, and bags. Eventually saturated with waste, Fred Woods, Paralegal and not so upcoming SoundCloud rapper, tossed an empty blueberry Chobani bulk sized bucket towards the basket of waste. Clink. Thud. The bucket hit the ground there was no room in the trash. It needed to be emptied and taken out. We asked Woods why he didn’t take out the trash. He responded with a heartfelt “dude… wasn’t really feeling it.”

We skip ahead 18 days

The kitchen floor is covered in filth. Surely no human lives in this dumpster posing as an apartment. In walks Alexa Couples, used tissues in hand. A brief pause. A majestic overhand flick of the wrist. “Kobe!” Alexa stepped on K-Cups, wrappers, and what could have been a horses full family on her way back to her room. The growing stank tank that lay just beyond her bedroom door seemed to be of no concern. When asked Couples was quick to defend her actions “I do the dishes.” While that doesn't necessarily make sense in this context we assume she is defending herself by saying she does other chores around the apartment and shouldn’t have to carry everyone else’s lazy asses for the rest of her whole goddamn life!

We’ve called multiple times for a follow up interview. There has been no answer. We hope they are not trapped so far into their stubbornness that they have buried themselves alive. If the previous is true however, we hope they get the best Chobani yogurt bucket gravestones.

— A Well-Mannered Grump


Chicago, IL


It has become customary for Dylan Richter (31) to wake up at the sound of the two little goddamn yippie ass chihuahuas that live beneath him. Richter knows to expect nature’s alarm clock to greet him every morning promptly at 6:32 am, two minutes after their landlord’s alarm rings. Today, Tuesday June 4th, 2019, Richter was awake come 6:32. He had already made a cup of black coffee and was enjoying it on his back porch when the two chihuahuas were let out promptly at 6:32. Today, now that Richter could see the dogs and not just have his sleep interrupted by their yappity yippty ass fricking barks, the chihuahuas were actually kinda cute.

When asked why he had a different experience Richter responded quickly, as if he had been waiting to tell someone. “Well that's an interesting question Mr. Reporter. You seen in the past I was burdened by what I thought to be an inconvenience put on this planet solely to disturb my sleeping schedule. Mr. Reporter, it turns out that I only felt the way I did because I was only experiencing one side of the occurrence, one side of what the world had to tell me. If each and every one of us took the time to see how cute those little goddamn yippie ass chihuahuas can be, the world would be a much better place.”

We will take a moment to acknowledge that this was one of the most enlightened responses to a question we had ever heard and we encourage those reading this story to take a moment in your everyday life and think. Think about what the other side has to say and why they are saying it. Do not immediately disregard another simply because they do not think what you do.  

To close we should mention that since our interview with Mr. Dylan Richter, he has announced his plans to run for State Representative as a member of the Libertarian Party.

— A Well-Mannered Grump



Plenty of people are weird about gays.  But not local grandma, Deborah Schultz. Deborah  “loves the gays.” She loves them so much that she keeps referring to grandson, Sean’s long-time boyfriend James as his “VERY special friend.”  

“This is my grandson, Sean...and this is his very special friend, James,” said Deborah last year. “Their wedding is this weekend. They are VERY good friends.”

Talk about woke! Deborah has watched her grandson struggle to marry the love of his life and achieve equal status both in the eyes of the law and among his family and friends for years, and she still can’t say boyfriend, fiancée or husband!  

Deborah, who would was in the room when Sean and James announced that they were in the process of adopting a baby, explained how woke she is.

“My grandson and his...very special friend are in the process of adopting a baby,” she said. “I don’t have any problem with those kinds of people. I love the gays!”

Wow! She just offered that up last part and no one even asked!

Meanwhile, Deborah wouldn’t stop sharing photos of granddaughter Hannah’s recent trip to Hawaii with her stupid Wall Street trader boyfriend, Geoff.

“SHE’S NOT WOKE!!” Said grandson Sean. “I overheard her one time on the phone saying ‘I don’t know why those people insist on causing such a ruckus.’ Also saying you love “the gays” doesn’t make you an ally. She’s sharing pics of Hannah and Geoff’s trip to Hawaii? Why does Geoff spell his name like that? No one should spell their name like that! Why are you writing this article?”

Powerful words from a thankful grandson.

“I am so okay with gay people,” Deborah said during a quiet moment when no one asked. “I am very okay with that lifestyle. You should hear my friend Wilma go on though. She hates gay people.”

It’s fascinating that her best friend Wilma, who is openly homophobic and transphobic and has a trans grandchild, is Deborah’s once again her best friend.

“Call me old fashioned, but why do your friends insist on wearing all that leather, Sean?” A brave Deborah asked. “ It’s interesting to me that  I’ve never seen your special boy buddy wear chaps to the house. Oh! Between you and me I think your aunt Emily married a gay, I say this because he loves Cole Porter, who I think might have also been a gay. Sean, you love Cole Porter, too don’t you?”

When pressed for a comment Sean had a lot to say!

“I don’t even know what you want me to say here, SHE’S NOT WOKE. Saying you love a marginalized group isn’t actually to allyship! She’s not validating my existence and experience doesn't make you an ally, just like saying you’re “ok” with trans people but using their dead name or incorrect pronouns means you don’t love trans people. I MEAN I FEEL LIKE I'M LOSING MY MIND HERE,” said Sean, who was actually wearing chaps.

— A Well-Mannered Grump


Ooh, look at you, clicking on this sexy article at work while pretending to use Excel Spreadsheets, because you said on your LinkedIn profile that you’re proficient in Excel Spreadsheets, and now you’re in way too deep to back out now!


Don’t worry, we’ll make this worth your time. Read on to learn how to elevate the most underwhelming sex move, second only to him trying to give you head. That’s right, we’re talking hand jobs. Now, you may think that hand jobs belong to the realm of sweaty high school fumblings in the back of your local AMC.

You’re not wrong.

But that’s only because you haven’t been allowing them to live up to their full potential. Let me ask, do you dole out your hand jobs like they’re a chore, mere foreplay to the foreplay? Or do you play up their inherent whimsical theatricality?

It’s as simple as this. The next time you reach over to seduce your partner with your palm, do yourselves both a favor, and stick your pinky out so he knows you fancy.

This one simple action will transport him to a different plane of existence. Instead of it being 8:45pm on your couch as you both watch the latest episode of Killing Eve (how does Phoebe Waller-Bridge deliver every time??), he will suddenly be envisioning you at a cricket game, wearing one of those weird tiny hats and saying things like: “Crumpets, jolly-o!” And he’ll be into it. Oh yeah. He’ll be into it.

He’ll get off on imagining that you’re Meghan Markle — or Theresa May, if he’s kinky like that. If you reeeaally want to get the clotted cream on the scone, so to speak, start discussing Brexit in explicit detail. God, that referendum was close. Does he think that the EU will accept parliament’s demands? How exactly is this going to affect the global economy?

Uh-oh, Brenda from the cubicle to your left is peering over! That nosy bitch. So go ahead, pretend to be crunching some spreadsheet numbers, and get ready to flex your digitus minimus manus. Your proper sex life will thank you.

— A Well-Mannered Grump


Rocky Hill, CT

Anyone who has ever been to Donna Durbin’s home saw this day coming. The day where Donna would go on her typical Sunday Target run, wander into the home decor section, and buy another Thanksgiving themed throw pillow. This pillow however, was different. This pillow was the thirteenth Durbin had bought since moving into her new house. This pillow, filled the last crevice on her plush Bob-O-Pedic sleeper sofa, rendering it completely and utterly… useless.

We sat down with Durbin’s friends from cribbage night to discuss the purchase. “We should have said something to her sooner but, it was hard because… buying an obscene amount of pillows made her so happy” said Carol Burns, close friend and longtime online scrabble partner. It was apparent to us after a while, this case screamed “cushion addiction”.

A Cushion Purchasing Disorder (which is sometimes referred to as Ibuyalotofpillowsanditgetsinthewayofmyeverydaylife) is a pattern of pillow purchasing that involves problems controlling how often, how much, and how many pillows you buy even when it causes problems in routine day to day life.  

“Normally I’d be upset that we couldn't use our two thousand dollar couch but, uhhh in the past I’ve spilled a lot of booze on our other couches so this kinda works out. No couch to spill on… can’t spill on no couch. We complete each other.” said Donna’s husband Richard who continued to make several insensitive jokes about alcoholism. He said he could say whatever he wanted because he’s an alcoholic and has great health insurance. We debated for a short while but, the insensitive jokes were actually quite funny.

Donna’s family and friends plan to take action in the form of an intervention. They plan to make Donna sit on the current invisible couch, hold each pillow, and ask herself if it brings her joy. Richard suggested they have the intervention over a few bottles of wine. We gave them both the number of Dr. Susan Brandanowitz, a local psychologist who has been working prolifically for the last few decades with clients with addictions. Dr. Brandanowitz said “it makes me feel in control when I fix other people’s addictions. I can’t get enough of it!”


— A Well-Mannered Grump


In Cities, Everywhere

Bethabell Beal, of literally any city anywhere, recently went through a breakup. But she ATE her ice cream pints, she WATCHED those rom-coms, she STALKED her ex’s Twitter/Instagram/Facebook/LinkedIn/Old Neopets account time and time again. So now, a mere week later, Bethabell says she’s never been better.

This is why, when she showed up to Margarita Monday at the gal’s favorite local bar with a fresh new do, her friends reacted… strongly.

“Oh honey no.”

“Where the fuck is your forehead.”

“A therapist would have been a better investment.”

“Are you Zooey Deschanel’s uglier twin?”

That’s right- Bethabell Beal got her ass off her couch just 7 days after her brutal dumping, marched her ass to Mario Tricoci, and her ass asked the stylist for “blunt bangs.”

“Everyone keeps asking me if I’m okay? I’m GREAT! I’ve never been better!!” Bethabell remarks, “My bangs represent my new life as I move forward as a single woman. I am STRONG, INDEPENDENT, and READY for life!”  

As she sips her 7 dollar fresh juice from Whole Foods out of a plastic straw, Bethabell needs no prompting to show those around her that she is completely and utterly FINE.

“Look. I’m at Whole Foods, I’m shopping like a NORMAL person!!! Wooo look at me! Doing things! I’m FINE okay!!!!”

Bethabell tells the man at check-out that she got bangs recently for her own pleasure and that she doesn’t need a therapist. Confused, the man stares blankly and says “congrats” with a slightly judgemental tone. Bethabell leaves the interaction with a smile- “see??? He believes me.”

If you or someone you know is suffering from PBBS (post break up bangs syndrome), call 1-800-420-PBBS for help. No, it’s not just a therapist over the phone, we promise.

— A Well-Mannered Grump


Glastonbury, CT

This past Wednesday the Helm family sat down at the dinner table for a nice tech-free meal before Jack Helm, the breadwinner of the family, left for a business trip early the next morning. Soon after Mr. Helm’s departure, Susan Helm’s “friend from Vermont” arrived for a visit.

The kiddo of the house knew his Mom’s friend from Vermont well, as he visited often when his father was away for business. “Roger Roger,” shouted little Jack Jr. when he saw Roger from Vermont embracing his mother. “Hey there slugger” responded Roger as he threw a few fake jabs in a playful manner.  The night went on as most of Roger’s visits went. Jack Jr. would play some video games with Roger and then go to his friends house for a sleepover.

This visit was different though, as Jack Jr. had just turned 9 years old and was, like super mature now. At the sleepover Jack Jr. voiced his concern about what role Roger from Vermont plays in his parents life. Jack Jr.’s best friend Freddie McCormick who was held back a year had already hit the landmark age of 10 and asked if Jack Jr. really wanted to know the answer. Jack Jr. often looked to McCormick for advice but this was the first time “Loudmouth” Freddie McCormick was apprehensive to speak up. Jack Jr. insisted on knowing what it seemed Freddie knew.

“Sex.” said McCormick.

“Sex?” questioned Jack.

After a few hours of jaws dropping and quite a few rather sloppy diagrams drawn in crayon, Jack decided to call his Dad and tell him about Roger from Vermont.

We only know of this story because, Jack Jr. was found running around in circles in the middle of the street holding a phone, yelling “NOOOOO GROSSSSS!” and was eventually found by a reporter of ours who happens to be the McCormick’s neighbor.

When we asked Jack Helm Sr. what he said to set his son off he simply responded, “I told him, his Mom is a very horny lady and my job happens to require me to go out of town often so Roger comes down and your Mom bangs him while I’m away.”

Jack Jr. is currently in therapy

— A Well-Mannered Grump


Kansas City, Missouri

In a desperate attempt to grab the attention of Faxton Elementary 3rd grade teacher Miss. Sandra O’Connell, student Jimmy Carsons (8) accidentally called her “mom” in front of his classmates.

The incident occurred this past Tuesday, and since then, Jimmy’s classmates have proven they will not forget the episode any time soon.

“Jimmy’s a frickin’ dipwad!” largest student in class Buck Bykowski tells Grump, “Everyone knows calling the teacher mom is like, really embarrassing. And also he’ll probably never forget it. And also it will be one of those things he always remembers when he feels uncomfortable throughout his life. And also it will keep him up at night late into his 30s.”

“Tuesday was the first time it happened, but then… he’s said it again every day since then.” says class clown and Fortnight Star Sara Smith, “It’s like he WANTS to be made fun of.”

But in a shocking turn of events, when Carsons sat down to speak to Grump on the incident, he let us in on what happened Tuesday evening after the initial mom-calling.

“When I accidentally called Miss. O’Connell mom I was embarrassed, of course. But after school she pulled me aside in angry tears, asking me to keep calling her mom,” said Jimmy.

Grump was approached by an anonymous source, who said in our top secret interview “O’Connell and I have been boning during lunch period for 4 years now. Yeah, we like to sneak into the janitor closet and she says things like ‘OH YEAH DADDY JUST LIKE THAT’ or ‘GIVE ME A BABY’ or even ‘FUCK THE INFERTILITY RIGHT OUTTA ME,’ freaky stuff. Anyway you’re gonna blur my face and distort my voice right? I gotta go teach 3rd graders how to play basketball.”

When we asked Jimmy to elaborate on the punishment Miss. O’Connell is threatening, he said “She didn’t just ask me to call her that. She… said she would make my homework the example for the rest of the YEAR. And that I’d lose recess privileges at least once a week! And that I’d always have to be the first to read out loud… especially during the puberty unit in health class.”

With no plans to fight the blackmail, Jimmy will spend the final months of 3rd grade with Miss. O’Connell acting as his psudo-mother. Students suspect each year, the first student who makes the dreaded mistake will follow in Jimmy’s footsteps. This may be the making of playground lore

— A Well-Mannered Grump


Bumblefuck, PA

“It wasn’t always like this,” explains Mallory McDonald, a no-longer-recent college graduate without honors. Sitting in the Pretty Piggy Art Studio, she absentmindedly twirls a Hobby Lobby label paintbrush. “Back in the day, when I first graduated and moved back here with my parents to repay my student loan debt for the next fifty-eight years, I had so many plans. I averaged like three and a half self-help books a week, listened to a bunch of podcasts on how to hustle, even made a vision board or two. But let’s be real. I live in Bumblefuck. Not Philly, not Pittsburgh. Not even Allentown. Bumblefuck. There isn’t exactly a strong entrepreneurial scene here.” A friend of a friend introduced McDonald to Sip’N’Paint, and “from there, it just totally altered my life course. It’s really true what they say, it’s those weak ties that often open you up to opportunity.”

The class itself is a healthy mix of relaxed post-menopausal women and twenty-eight-year-old former members of their alma mater’s uncool sorority. Bottles start popping, and a chorus of “it’s wine o’clock!” disjointedly rings through the room. Each woman then goes around in the circle confirming that God has blessed her life, as well as that of her husband Richard, who is the president of the Rotary Club, or alternately her furbaby Cocoapuffs.

At the end of the hour, McDonald finally reveals her masterpiece: a night sky with a full moon reflected in a pond below, mostly identical in color, shape, and scope to the artwork of the twenty-some-odd other participants. “I used to be so desperately anxious about my future. But now I’ve found peace turning my pain…into paint,” she explains. “I feel like I’ve finally found my purpose. Motherfuckin’ rosé all day, baby! Clink CLINK!”

“We’re so proud of our her,” Mallory’s mother, Maura McDonald, sighs. “She’s really branching out. Next week, she’s going to a paint-your-own-pottery studio. Who knows what’s next? An Etsy account?”

When asked how she spends her day when she isn’t bringing more beauty into the world via her generic paintings of sunflowers and tropical sunsets, McDonald looks away coyly for a moment. “Well, my passion takes up most of my free time, but let’s be real, I am looking for a guy,” she assures. “Ideally one who keeps his confederate flag discreetly inside his home, instead of on his car, because again, this is Bumblefuck. I voted for Hillary!”

— A Well-Mannered Grump


Red Line, Chicago, IL

A man wearing a colorful 80s windbreaker, mismatched high socks, and comically large white sneakers entered a red line train this Tuesday evening during rush hour and was so moved by his own tunes, blaring through his knock-off Beats headphones, that he couldn’t hold back a little ditty.

According to the man, whom we tracked down using a Snapchat video taken the night of the incident, the whole train car was completely enamored by his beautiful voice.

“Oh yeah dog, yeah yeah. They were tappin’ their feet and one time somebody clapped even... And also smiling, yeah LOTS of smiling. I think I really made an impact on them and you know, that’s what life is about man,” said 32-year-old Blake deMusic Winters, who identifies as a professional cover artist.

“Professional cover artist means I get on the train every day and sing for a living. And I mean I sing everything you know, just depends on the day. Christmas music in winter, early 2000s jams in the spring, I can even skat for those chill days.”

When asked to speak on his so-called following, Winters says “oh yeah they eat it up. I know cause there are a couple key reactions I look for. Like for example, If they’re whispering to each other that means I’ve just TOTALLY stunned them with my talent they can’t even speak. When their eyes widen, they just can’t believe that angelic voice is coming from this body. Oooh and my favorite is when they put their headphones in right away after hearing me sing, it means they love my song choices and can’t wait to listen to what I’m singing. That one happens all the time, I guess you could say I have really good taste in music.”

Winters claims he can call himself a “professional” because he is paid in love from his followers. No further information was found on Winters’ financial status.

As for Blake’s future, he says he plans on continuing to sing each and every day for the commuters on the red line “I know I’m making people happy every day with my stunning perfect amazing incredible God given talent so ima just keep doin’ me.” Blake DeMusic then screeched out the words “bye bye bye” as originally made popular by 90s sensation *NSYNC, and hopped on another train with a grin from ear to ear, looking forward to another day of impacting the lives of commuters the only way he knows how.

— A Well-Mannered Grump


Arizona State University, Tempe, AZ

Jett Sherman (18), grandson of the late Fran Sherman (90), reminisces on his most potent memories of his grandmother. She was known to carry Werther's Originals in her purse, to repeatedly teach him how to play Backgammon, and to still use the word “oriental.”  But her collection of over 2000 rare vintage tampons — used — always puzzled him.

“She was weirdly secretive about it,” says Jett. “She would say ‘you’ll get it when you’re older.’”

Little did he know, Jett would actually get the collection when he was older.

Jett was unaware that he was the heir to her blood-stained throne until a tattered box arrived at his dorm room. “I thought my mom had sent me a care package. I was really looking forward to some homemade cookies and Easy Mac, but instead I got a spray bottle of chemicals and some old, bloody cotton.”

In Fran’s last will and testament, she leaves the collection to her grandson with a long message recorded on a cassette tape. In Fran’s weak voice, she says “the men in my life were always grossed out by periods, and my final straw was your 4th birthday party. You screamed at a small girl who tried to share the ball pit with you at Chuck E Cheese. You told her she had cooties, and said that girls were icky. Now, you will be FORCED understand the ick we went through! MWAHAHAH *cough, cough…. cough* okay how do you turn this fuckin thing o-”

In addition to the message, the will features in-depth instructions on daily care for the tampons, and includes helpful graphs and laminated pictures. The duties range from spritzing the blood-stained members 3 times daily with a hydrogen peroxide mixture, to taking them out for walks every Thursday, and even dumping them into a large cardboard box for 20 minutes a day in order to promote “co-mingling between the tampons and pads, whom are known to be quite feisty to one another.”

“At first I was like, gross, this sucks, ya know? But then I remembered — Grammy Fran was a girl too. The girl in the ball pit didn’t deserve the shame I put on her, and neither did Grammy Fran. If carrying around smelly old tampons for the rest of my life will do her justice then… I guess I’ll do it.”

When asked what he plans to do with the collection moving forward, he says he will continue to take care of the tampons until he can pass them on the family heirloom to his own offspring.

Jett says having the collection for a short period of time already is helping him understand the reality of what women must endure each month. “ In my intro to physics class this week, I asked a girl if she needed an Advil for her cramps,” Jett beams when he says this, showing us he’s proud to finally pay his respects to women everywhere.

— A Well-Mannered Grump


Corporate, U.S.A.

In a brazen public statement this past week, Young Feminist Mackenzie Rothwell concedes that she is now strongly considering the pursuit of Trophy Wife-ism in the near future.

“It all started when I looked up the price of a luxury gym membership while wasting time at work,” Rothwell describes. Rothwell graduated magna cum laude with a degree in Women’s and Gender Studies two years ago, and while she steadfastly maintains her core feminist values, the forty-hour work week has significantly altered her perspective. “I used to think that making a difference in the world was what was most important, but now I think I’d settle for being really, really hot. I think I could probably, definitely give up my soul-sucking career to maintain a hot bod and have some damn peace of mind.”

The feminist movements of decades past are not forgotten by Rothwell. “I know that housewives in the 1950s were totally bored and unfulfilled and shit, but that’s pretty much how I feel at my 9-to-5 job, so who exactly is winning here? Also, I have twenty-three streamable seasons of ABC’s The Bachelor to catch up on, and they didn’t. Which is why I am swiping exclusively on finance bros.”

As part of the interview, Rothwell gives a tour around the office of the non-profit company at which she works, which encourages little girls to engage in everyday toxic masculinity with the confidence of a young boy. “I had a lot of faith in changing the system when I started here. It’s so important that little girls have equal opportunity to be shitty humans, you know? But literally all I do is forward emails to different people all day and pretend to take notes at team meetings, when what I’m really doing is playing M.A.S.H. with myself. If the robots are coming for my job, let them take it.”

Rothwell goes on to argue, “I could be bored while listening to Tricia at the desk rambling on about her son’s asthma medication, or I could be bored while microneedling my own face and then taking a nap at home while my wealthy husband loses years of his life to a corporate job. Which would you choose?”

— A Well-Mannered Grump