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Hard Digest August 10: Early Access Drum Circles, Brat Girl Summer, Trump, Polly Pocket, and More
🕑 Added 2024-08-11 00:00:08 +0000 UTCFeuding Drum Circles Put Differences Aside to Form One Big Unemployment Line
By SANTA CRUZ, Calif. — Two rival drum circles were forced to reconcile their differences and form one civilized unemployment line, sources willing to get close enough to the crunchy collectives reported.
“It all started when the two drum circles accidentally switched rainsticks in the chaos of, ironically, a sudden afternoon rain storm,” city parks monitor Joe Schultz explained while pulling a car battery out of a recycling bin. “Instead of admitting the honest mix-up they accused one another of stealing each other’s gear and since then it’s been a constant back-and-forth. One day they’ll be arguing over who has the right to circle up around the magic stump, the next someone will have put a curse on a didgeridoo and the cycle just continues. Of course, come 9 a.m. on the 15th of the month you can hear the bongos and timbales hit the ground as everyone walks across the street to file for unemployment. Then it’s right back to bitter rivals.”
Lead djembe player for one of the circles Dalton Higsby Chesterworth III, who prefers to go simply by Dust, wanted to set the record straight.
“The trouble with the rainsticks- which we did not start- is hardly the core of the dispute,” Chesterworth explained while untangling a pair of airline earbuds from his thinning blond dreadlocks. “Truth is, our percussion ensemble is the chosen voice of Mother Gaia. It is through our instruments that her message of peace and unity is amplified across all humanity. So when these poser clownbag hacks come rollin’ up to our sacred space to exploit our vibe stash with their rag-tag circle, we have to make them feel as unwelcome as possible in order to restore cosmic harmony. Lining up for unemployment is purely a necessary courtesy since I’ve renounced my parents’ fortune in pursuit of this ascetic path. Meanwhile I strongly doubt those other freeloaders’ right to a handout is any more authentic than their drumming.”
Meryl Koss, state benefit officer for Santa Cruz county, wasn’t the least bit surprised by the behavior of the feuding circles.
“Collecting government assistance has always been the great unifier of this country,” Koss explained with a reassuring sigh. “From clashing protesters to tense paramilitary standoffs, no cause is ever so righteous it’s worth jeopardizing the flow of dole. Beyond that, lots of relationships actually start in the unemployment line. Half of the folks from one of those drum circles are involved with someone from the other. It’s like an office romance for people without a job.”
At press time, the fueding drum circles once again set aside their differences to form one big line at a nearby water foundation to stave off dehydration.
Help! I Misread the Brat Girl Summer Trend and Now I’ve Got a Bunch of Hot Dog Costumes I Can’t Return
By Laura Lewis
Summer 2024 was supposed to be my summer. I’d worked hard all year, and by June, I finally had enough money to buy an all-new wardrobe. I opened TikTok for inspiration and there it was: brat summer.
A quick scroll gave me all the information I needed. Finally, a trend that combined my folksy sense of humor and my Midwest heritage—all while flattering my extremely long torso. Bratwurst summer was my ticket to fun on a bun.
4 costume shops and $3,000 later, I was the incontestable queen of brat summer.
It wasn’t until after I burned all my regular summer clothes in a trashcan in my backyard that I realized my mistake. Turns out brat summer has nothing to do with bratwurst, or hotdogs, or even glizzies. You know what else I found out? Costume shops in LA have way stricter return policies than names like Enzo’s Costumes Gag Gifts and Rubber Entrails Emporium would suggest.
So now, like a 7-11 rotisserie dog, I am just trying to roll with it. It’s not going well.
At work, I tried to make it seem like I was in on the joke. You know, “I’m going ham on the phones today,” and, “I’m not sure where that report is—don’t grill me on it.” That type of thing. But my jokes fell flat. And I can’t even take off the removable Velcro buns apparatus (I paid extra for that) because it’s so goddamn cold in the office.
On the weekends, I tried to play it up as a fun bit I was doing. I thought it would help me stand out in the dating scene, at least, but all my talk of raw doggin got me kicked out of the bar.
I even squeezed a pair of those little Charli XCX sunglasses over the head hole, but nothing helped. I alienated everyone within a foot long radius, everywhere I went.
Only at the minor league baseball stadium did I start to feel comfortable enough to be my glistening self. But that didn’t last long either. Before the third inning, I got chased off by the officially licensed hotdog mascot for Nathan’s.
All this to say, I no longer wish to be an Oscar Meyer wiener. The universe has taken one too many bites of me. Send help.
Liberal Puzzled Why 8 Years of Saying Trump Has Small Hands Didn’t Stop Fascist Takeover
By Tim Graham
TIVERTON, R.I. — Local dental hygienist Barbara McCall is bewildered why her years-long campaign of criticizing Donald Trump on Facebook for his comically tiny hands has had little apparent effect in stopping the rise of fascism in the US, according to sources from her book club.
“I don’t get it,” said McCall as she placed a new ‘Lock Him Up’ bumper sticker on her Yaris. “Since 2016 I’ve regularly posted really barbed jabs aimed at Trump’s appearance, as well as those picture-with-words thingies showing him looking like a clown or with a Hitler mustache. But it seems like my efforts haven’t done much to slow his rise to power. I’ve slung some real zingers, too, like Mango Mussolini, Orange Julius Caesar and Tannibal Lecter. Nothing seems to work!”
McCall’s daughter Jane says her mom’s incessant attempts at Trump jokes have taken a toll on her own mental health.
“I practically die of embarrassment every time my mom posts some cliched insult or low-effort Boomer meme about Trump,” said the younger McCall while peeking at Facebook between her fingers. “I can’t delete Facebook—it breaks my mom’s heart if I don’t ‘like’ every one of her posts. So, I hold my nose and do it. I’ve suggested ways she and her friends could have an actual impact, from joining me at a pro-Palestine rally to helping register new voters, but they all have excuses why they can’t do anything more than share played-out Trump jokes from their phones.”
Dwayne Cochrane, a comedian who specializes in roasts, has some advice for suburban liberals who attempt insult-humor.
“An effective insult needs to be based on a kernel of truth,” said Cochrane. “You can say Trump has small hands, but his hands are actually pretty normal in size. You’ve got to base your jokes on reality, but take care not to resort to low-hanging fruit. Don’t make fun of his fucked up hair or spray tan—that’s been done to death. Instead, focus on how he wants to have sex with his own daughter, or how his wife hates him, or lean into his rapidly deteriorating cognitive ability. If you insist on body-shaming, go ahead and work with that big ol’ dumper of his. There’s plenty of real shit to make fun of.”
At press time, McCall had begun posting AI-generated images of Kamala Harris in heroic poses, a development described by her daughter as not an improvement, but a “lateral move.”
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