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Hard Digest October 5: Early Access GG Allin, Bucket Hats, and More
🕑 Added 2024-10-06 00:00:05 +0000 UTCGG Allin Chia Pet Has Very Different Set of Directions for Fertilizing Soil
By LITTLETON, N.H. — A recent release of a limited edition “GG Allin Chia Pet” elicited a mixed reaction due to the rather unconventional set of growing instructions, horrified sources report.
“Originally we started with a Hulk Hogan model, but there were a lot of complaints about the reduction of surface area that was being used. We then pivoted to a fine art theme, but test audiences found the Van Gogh model to be ‘haunting’ due to the realistic gaping ear wound on the one side,” said Bryce Liggins, designer at Chia. “But then bam, it hit me–what if we could create a model where the gardener could literally put themselves into the design. Naturally, we went with GG Allin, and the rest is history. You can’t make a fecal pitch without GG Allin.”
While users seem to adore the product, the people they share their homes with skew more negative.
“Shit. There was human shit in our kitchen. I couldn’t figure out the smell so I took the trash out, cleaned out the drain and checked all the mouse traps,” Christian Bach, a roommate of one of the first users lamented. “Then I noticed a scarred up chia pet sitting next to my spider plant, smeared with shit and seeds. Who would do that? How do you get it out of the toilet, and what do you use to apply it? The company that came up with a cute hedgehog and Bob Ross chia pets has now switched to GG fucking Allin! The target market for this can’t possibly be big enough to justify its existence.”
Jerry Cavill, an interior decorator who specializes in punk and gore, was ecstatic with the home décor addition.
“GG Allin is a huge influence on my work. I tell customers to ‘mutilate’ their banisters and trim with a razor blade for a fun distressed look,” said Cavill gleefully. “When someone’s kitchen is feeling a little too blah, I always tell them that blood is the perfect pop of color for cabinetry accents and pulls. Your house was already built with bones, give it a little bit of bodily fluids of any kind, and now your house is a home, a living home!”
As of press time, rumors speculate that the designer wasn’t an actual employee but a crust punk who wandered in after dumpster diving behind the Chia offices.
A Master of Her Medium: This Mom’s Caption on Child’s Birthday Post Actually an Allegory Attacking Ex-Husband
By Rachel Hein
There’s a new frontier in the throes of marital and postmarital powerplay and it lies in the deeply personal and earnest letter written by a parent to a child on their birthday each year and posted for all the world to witness the boundless, unfaltering, selfless love reserved for mothers. And also… they fucking hate their ex.
Heather Howell, mother of three, has a colorful Instagram feed full of beautiful children doing cartwheels through sprinklers, eating popsicles on the Cape, back-to-school outfits and so much more suburban bliss. But what has really captivated audiences is her captions fraught with layered wordplay and double meanings. When looking with a critical eye, we can examine: What is she saying? What is she not saying? And what is the story of the space in between?
In a birthday post for her youngest child — an old skin-to-skin photo post-birth in which she looks at the camera, seemingly held by her husband, exhausted, proud, with a modicum of irritation, “put that camera way” — accompanied by a caption:
“Ginsburg, I can’t believe you’re 9! Time is so twisty and bendy. It moves both fast and slow. Where have the years gone? I realize what I’ve been missing and what I deserve. Love. Keep teaching me how to love myself. The past year has been hard on you and on me, but never stop making me laugh, even when it’s through the tears. #time #fast #slow #twist #bend #tears”
On its surface, a tribute to a growing girl and the unpredictable shape of motherhood. But a palpable disillusionment bubbles beneath. She keeps us guessing in one for her eldest:
“Happy birthday, my sweet Maddox. We’re both learning to set boundaries and say no this year. Bullies take many forms regardless of our age. We must forgive ourselves and others. I’ll always be there for you, you’ll always have me.”
The interpretive process would suggest she is as fond of her husband as Orwell was with the Bolsheviks. The wordsmith then dazzled us with her most recent biting post:
“Dear Luca, you’re 11 years old today. I never would have known I had the strength to be a single parent, the way a cactus stands alone in the dry unforgiving desert wind, without you showing me I could. When I feel like I can’t do it, I’m going to remind myself of today at Legoland (your birthday gift from me and only me) when I saw a sign that read, ‘Build happiness, one Lego at a time.’ …One lego at a time, Luca. Show me how…”
Some speculate that Heather has her sights set on publishing her work, a Pulitzer dangling in the distance. But children are useful literary tools in conveying a deeper message about marriage as the ultimate performance, making this her perfect platform. In pressing Heather for comment, she simply smiled, “I don’t know what you mean…? I just love celebrating their birthdays.” …She’s good.
Enchanted Bucket Hat Transports Man to Magical World Where ‘90s Never Ended
By Nathan Kamal
SEATTLE— 42-year-old insurance adjuster Marc Barron was recently whisked away to Pibbapalooza, a magical world in which the 1990s never ended after putting on a mysterious and enchanted bucket hat, various sources report.
“All I did was put this bucket hat on after finding it beneath a pile of old Spin Doctors CDs and promotional Third Eye Blind keychains in this wardrobe at my uncle’s old country manor,” said Barron. “I must have blacked out for a moment, but when I came to, I found myself in this totally gnarly magical world. It’s exactly how I remember everything from the ‘90s when I first met my ex Tabi and before my weird back pain started. There’s Fruitopia and Crystal Pepsi everywhere, internet cafes are on every corner, and this dude with goat legs says I can crash on his couch until the Sister Hazel show later.”
Mr. Toddley, a magical faun wearing a Hootie & the Blowfish t-shirt, was worried about the myriad otherworldly dangers that lay before Barron in Pibbapalooza.
“Marc, this human child, this son of Ad-Rock, is special,” said Mr. Toddley, stroking his soul patch. “He is the first visitor from the human world that we have seen in goodness knows how long, not counting Kurt Loder, who’s constantly checking in. We must protect him from the wicked Ticketmistress, whose monopoly over all things 1990s has oppressed the talking animals, magical beasts, and guys named Chad for too long. He must be the one to help this terrible era of eternal ‘90s finally end. It is always the 1990s here and never even the early 2000s!
“I’ve never even gotten to listen to ‘Hot Fuss,’” said Mr. Toddley, breaking down in tears. “I heard the first half of it is really good.”
Kurkolmak, the regal Furby who reigns as the King of Must-Have Toys and the son of the Monarch-Beyond-the-Mall, had faith in Barron, to a certain degree.
“The day of the Ticketmistress is almost over,” said Kurkolmak. “Her curse of a neverending ‘90s, when the good folk of Pibbapalooza are forced to listen to ‘A Boy Named Goo’ over and over and the economy is good but only because of a tech bubble that’s just about to pop, will be broken. At least, that is what will happen if [Barron] ever gets the fuck off Toddley’s couch. Seriously, I’m beginning to see why he’s so stuck in the past. What a slacker.”
As of press time, Barron had gotten drunk at the Sister Hazel show and was vomiting up Olde English 800 and Turkish delight behind the stage.
In Your Face! I Proved My Old Teachers Wrong by Applying Myself and Still Failing Miserably
By Carson Kile
Everybody loves a good underdog story, so I thought I’d share mine here. My whole childhood I had teachers tell me how awful of a student I was, how I was wasting my potential, how I would grow up to be nothing but a deadbeat and a loser. Well, I’ve made it my life’s goal to prove those naysayers wrong. I’m an adult now, and I would kill to see the look on their faces when they realize that I’m actually doing much worse than they initially predicted.
My English teacher Mr. Stone always said that I could achieve great things if I only applied myself. Mr Stone, I’ll have you know, I’ve been trying my ass off for years and still have nothing to show for it! Every project I’ve ever sunk my time into, any endeavor I’ve ever signed off on has either failed spectacularly or fizzled out before ever leaving the ground. Bet you feel pretty silly now, don’t you, Mr. Stone? Not to rub it in, but it turns out my failures have nothing to do with a lack of motivation, but a complete absence of talent. Ha! Egg on your face.
My PE teacher Mrs. Gomez once said she’d never seen someone so out of shape in her life, and that flipped a switch in my head that made me say “Fuck you, watch this.” Mrs. Gomez, you’ll be astonished to know that as an adult I’ve worked diligently to increase my Doritos intake by at least sevenfold, and just the other night I finally polished a pint of Cherry Garcia off in one sitting. I can now run out of breath walking to the fridge, when before it would take me anywhere from 1 to 2 flights of stairs.
My history teacher Mr. Lee always said if I didn’t start taking my studies seriously, I would end up flipping burgers after high school. First of all, that’s racist (I’m German), and secondly, I applied to McDonald’s and didn’t make the cut. According to them, I was “wholly unqualified,” a “liability,” and “scary.” Would be pretty tough to flip burgers if I’m not allowed in the kitchen, wouldn’t it Mr. Lee? In fact, I’ve been 86’d from at least 47 different McDonald’s locations across state lines, which is a record that will stay standing for a very long time. Just another way that I’ve made a name for myself while you rot away in some stinking classroom, Mr. Lee.
I like to share my story to teach others that you are never defined by other people’s opinions of you. You CAN be worse, you CAN disappoint your loved ones even more. With enough dedication to never improving, constantly settling, and neglecting your well-being, you’ll surprise yourself with things you only dreamt of underachieving. Never, ever let anyone tell you otherwise.
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Sisyphus Finally Unlocks Gold Boulder Cosmetic
BY Nik Theorin
TARTARUS — After untold centuries of grinding, Sisyphus’s divine punishment was briefly alleviated this week after the Greek King of Ephyra finally unlocked the gold boulder cosmetic, sources report.
“It feels so worth it,” said Sisyphus, muscles gleaming with sweat and centuries of dried blood as he braced his back against the shiny gold boulder. “I’ve been rolling this damn rock up the hill for thousands of years, ever since Zeus hit me with the ban hammer for team killing and cheats. Since then I’ve logged hundreds of hours on this hill, and it’s about time I got something nice in return for my hard work. If you haven’t noticed, I’m kinda carrying here. The Titans are spectating cucks. Typhon has no comms. I’m up here soloing this shit. The very least I deserve is a tacky cosmetic that lets everyone know I have no meaningful social life and my self-esteem is in the gutter.”
“Oh yeah, sometimes I catch them staring,” continued Sisyphus, referring to the hundred-armed Hecatonchires, the abyssal dungeon’s guards. “I think they’re jealous of my boulder. It looks so freakin’ good now with that skin. I could push it for another hundred years and still be tweaking. Can you imagine that? Sisyphus, happy?”
Other prisoners of Tartarus expressed frustration, however, saying they were less than pleased with the look of Sisyphus’s newly equipped cosmetic.
“That’s the ugliest shit I ever seen,” said Tantalus, who faces punishment for cutting up his son, boiling him, and serving him as food to the Gods, among other unsportsmanlike conduct. “Look, I won’t pretend Tartarus is lacking in eyesores. It’s not Olympus down here. Most mornings, I can’t enjoy my unreachable fruit and forever-receding water without taking in some new abomination. Tityos stretched out like a pancake. Phlegyas entombed and starved before an eternal feast. Ixion tied to a winged flaming wheel in the sky just for trying to cop a feel. We’re all slaves to the grind down here, but that doesn’t mean we tolerate bad taste. As for my boulder, I prefer the base look. It’s classic.”
When asked to comment on Sisyphus, Zeus, the undisputed King of the Gods, was forced to admit the situation had gotten out of hand.
“He keeps asking me if I have a ‘roadmap’ for when he’s going to get new hills and boulders,” said Zeus, a God known for his radical views on unprotected sex with mortal women. “I keep saying ‘soon, soon’, but honestly? I’m swamped. Demigods don’t sire themselves, plus the wife’s always on my ass. The gold skin was my only idea, and it was supposed to be a joke. The worst part is I can’t even smite him anymore, because he likes it. He moans and praises the extra difficulty, saying ‘The real Sisyphus starts here’. I’ve told him—repeatedly—that he’s free to go, but the son of a bitch won’t leave. ‘After this roll,’ he says, and ‘One more roll.’ Gods, I want to kill him, but the bastard’s already dead.”
“I never should have made the boulder feedback so snappy and tactile,” mused Zeus. “Next time, I’ll just do the birds and liver bit. That hasn’t failed me yet.”
At press time, Zeus had announced a new Boulder Pass reward system that would come to Tartarus next season, which will allow prisoners to grind for new cosmetics, sprays, and punishments, with the “When In Rome” pack available upon completion as a free reskin of every God.
