EDISON, N.J. — Local homeowner Lindsay Roach was seen sprinting back into her burning house to ensure that the flames consumed her husband’s gaming chair, bystanders confirm.
“I know it’s a risky decision, but we had family over. I had to double check that everyone got out and none of them tried to save the chair,” Mrs. Roach told officials. “Nothing is more important to me than saving my family from that chair. It doesn’t match anything and it’s falling apart. Plus, it’s weird. I mean—people come over and they see the chair and they say ‘I didn’t know you had kids’ and then I have to pretend we have kids. I don’t want to live like that.”
First Responders on the scene were very critical of Roach’s decision to re-enter the house.
“Listen – you should never run into a burning building or buy a gaming chair. It’s not worth throwing your life away like that,” explained Lieutenant Alan Bradshaw. “We have a saying in the fire service: Risk a lot to save a lot, risk little to save little, and risk nothing for a gaming chair because they’re ugly as hell.”
The Lieutenant went on to explain that Mrs. Roach didn’t have to worry, because those chairs are all made of cheap foam and polyurethane and will melt almost immediately.
“You could smell that chair burning from two doors down,” complained one of the Roach’s neighbors. “It smelled almost as bad as it did before it caught fire…Personally, I never understood gamers. Why couldn’t the guy have a normal hobby, like ‘Magic: The Gathering’? You don’t need any special chairs for ‘Magic: The Gathering’, all you need is a deck of spells, a dash of luck and a lonely childhood.”
At the time of publication, Mrs. Roach was busy trying to throw her husband’s funko pop collection back into the burning house. Her husband could not be reached for comment because he was weeping uncontrollably.
You should have gone to bed a few hours ago, and to be fair, you did — but not to fall asleep. No, you’ve been doomscrolling on Twitter for whoever knows how long. You don’t want to look at the clock.
You’ll always call it Twitter. Your friends joke that it’s the only appropriate time to use a deadname. One of your mutuals posted a joke about that earlier, and you would have retweeted it, if they hadn’t gotten suspended for saying ‘cis’ in a tweet thirty seconds later.
It’s a slur, apparently, according to Elon. You haven’t seen justice for all the ones you’ve been called in the past, though.
Maybe you’re in a bedroom that belongs to someone else; someone dead yet still here, a friend, a lover, or family, if you’re one of the lucky few to still have it. You’ve heard the stories, and you keep hearing them day by day by day. Families ousting their children without a second thought, perhaps like yourself — or, possibly worse, you’re allowed to remain housed with some sort of caveat that you must perform to the standards of those keeping a roof over your head.
Cis people are weird about trans people. But you can’t tweet that. Not without accidentally proving your point.
Regardless, you are still doomscrolling on Twitter, stupid rules or not.
You feel it’s gotten slowly worse over the last month. Well, it was already pretty bad, but it’s as if every day comes with a new lambasting of anti-trans sentiment. Last week (or was it two weeks ago? Lockdown still wreaks havoc on your ability to tell time.) you were seeing, all over, grifters crawling out of the woodwork to claim that Mr. Beast’s transgender friend was the downfall of the millionaire’s career, or something stupid like that.
Reasonable person you are, you politely (or perhaps aggressively, you’re entitled to defend yourself) told others that Ava Tyson was just a trans woman doing her own thing, and she’s allowed to find herself. Perhaps you related to the struggle of daring to be transfem on the internet. Perhaps you were just defending your sisters.
And then this week she was allegedly outed for being a pedophile. Or just liking one weird thing from Shadman. You haven’t looked into the details, nor do you really want to. The same grifters claiming she was out to destroy her friend’s career are now doubling down. Every other tweet you’ve seen for the last while has been about Ava Tyson, amongst all the Gofundmes of your mutuals and mutuals-in-law.
You’d donate if you could. All you can do is retweet. Curious, you scroll back, only to find not one has been fully funded yet, only garnering scraps of retweets, likes, and supportive replies.
Absently, you wonder how much those blue-check accounts are making. Maybe those could cover the costs of at least a few of them.
Backing out of your own account to continue down your timeline, switching from ‘For You’ to ‘Following’ to hopefully see some brighter posts, you’re greeted by what’s expected of your mutuals. Maybe it’s swathes of fanart of your favorite franchise. Maybe it’s simple life posts about daily goings-on, like the silly things their pets get up to. Maybe it’s fursuit WIPs upon WIPs. Perhaps a blend of all, or something completely different.
But soon, a name keeps popping up. Imane Khelif. Oh, right, the Olympics are happening, aren’t they? Initially, it’s a few posts. Quote-retweets of those you follow dunking on weird people. Apparently this lady beat a different boxer in, like, forty seconds, and people are being racist about it because the other boxer was white. Or something. It’s late, and you’re only sort-of following this thread.
As you scroll, though, more posts keep coming. All about Imane.
They’re calling her a man.
But Imane Khelif is a completely cisgender woman.
Soon, your timeline — both following and algorithmic — are blowing up. She’s a man. She’s a woman. She has high testosterone. She’s been tested, and doesn’t. Logan Paul (or was it the other one?) jumps in. Elon Musk. JK Rowling — whose house is apparently full of black mold which might explain some things — butts in with her opinion, because of course she does.
You’ve seen this all before, at least in chunks and pieces. Caster Semenya catching heat for ‘high testosterone levels’. The actual transgender boxer in this year’s Olympics — Hergie Bacyadan — being forced to compete against women, despite being an out trans man. Frivolous claims of men transitioning and upturning their entire lives solely to gain an advantage in a women’s league.
You think about Michael Phelps. You wonder if having above-average testosterone is as much of an advantage as being double-jointed having no fear response. Or does it only matter when it threatens the binary?
You turn off your phone and roll over in bed. Every other day, you hear something. A death. An attack. One of your friends being accused of all manner of things for the sole crime of doing an innocuous activity while being transgender. As soon as a trans person does it, it’s a ‘fetish,’ apparently.
You think about the death rates. About your replies being full of “41%” comments the last time you were brave enough to post a picture. The public oglings by those who see you as a novel sex object, the fear, the sheer danger you and others put yourselves in by merely daring to exist out in public. Knowing that, at any moment, someone you looked up to can just declare you a target.
But sure. Cis people are the ones suffering prosecution, you scoff to yourself.
It’s late now. Too late to still be awake on a work night. Imane is charging those who targeted her with defamation in a court of law. You’re hanging out with your friends tomorrow. You could use some air.
It’s a small victory. But it’s what keeps you going.
PHILADELPHIA – A tight-knit group of high school friends was found dead last week after a young man abandoned their questline to attend college out of state, sources report.
“No matter how many times you see it, it never gets any easier,” said Florence Hughes, the detective assigned to the case. “Four young people—kids, really—cut down on the eve of adulthood, all because someone couldn’t be bothered to advance their questline before progressing too far into Sarah Lawrence College. It makes me sick.”
“Unfortunately, tragedies like these are extremely common among recent graduates, especially ones who don’t check in with their old buddies or fail to exhaust all their dialogue before unlocking Spring Semester,” continued Hughes. “People tend to take a fatalistic view of death after the fact, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. For some of these kids, staying in touch would have been as simple as a phone call every now and then. A text. An email. Leaving and then reloading the area to trigger Jackson’s new dialogue about breaking up with his high school girlfriend. With a little effort, all this could’ve been avoided. But I guess a little effort is too much for some people.”
News of the friend group’s unexpected death, whose members had known each other since middle school and reportedly survived the Covid pandemic as well as several doomed inter-group relationships, landed hardest amongst the teens’ parents.
“I’m not sure how to talk about it,” said Wendy Stalh, mother to Jackson Stalh, the friend group’s resident extrovert and chronic flake. “One day, you’re doing chores and going about your life, and the next, your only son is found ambiguously slumped against a tree twelve feet from the front door. At first, I thought he was taking a nap, he looked so peaceful. That’s when I noticed he was lootable. My world changed forever.”
“Jackson was a bright, kind young man,” continued Stalh. “Most days, he could be located just outside the Shaded Pizzeria, or at the entrance to Emily’s House if you’d already spoken to Emily and given her the Letter From Jackson. If Jackson’s so-called friend had been there to help fight off the roaming Gentleman Callers, he could’ve opened up a new dialogue that might’ve saved Jackson’s life, and earned him a summonable wingman for future romances. But it’s like my mother used to say, you can’t fix a broken heart with could-bes. I just hope those who knew him remember my Jackson as he was. A sweetheart. A goofball with big dreams. An optional encounter who drops Wadded Gum as well as the Mother’s Lament gesture when killed.”
The young man responsible for abandoning his friend group expressed regret for the way things turned out, but firmly denied any accusation of wrongdoing.
“Jesus, I was gone for, what, a month?” said Chris Lawton, a first-year at Sarah Lawrence College in New York— an unforgivable several hours’ drive from the group’s hometown of Philly. “How was I supposed to know they’d all die? I tried to keep up with them, I really did, but there’s only so many Jackbox nights I can take, and those guys were die-hard Joke Boaters anyway. I thought I’d try slowly disengaging, just for a little while, you know? But they kept sending me cryptic texts like ‘We miss you’ and ‘Meet me in the Old Ruins’, and it’s like, what old ruins? That’s nowhere on my map. I’m just supposed to intuit where you’ll be next and what gesture I need to perform for you to drop the Ring of Emily’s Favor? If I had that much time to waste, I’d be 100-percenting all my relationships.”
“It’s horrible, of course I regret leaving, and not just because now I’m locked out of the Best Man questline and some lore-important dialogue from Jackson,” continued Lawton, who states his college friends are more easygoing and prefer Quiplash. “I loved those guys. Jackson. Emily. The blonde one. I’m so sad they’re gone. I’m gonna miss you all so much. You said the bodies were lootable though?”
At press time, the young man had been convicted on four counts of manslaughter, with a judge expected to rule in the coming week as to whether his crimes are serious enough to warrant the state-sanctioned Age of Incarceration Ending.
ARLINGTON, Va. — Donald Trump and his campaign are under fire after a visit to the Arlington National Cemetery has led to the US Army claiming the former president failed to press F at the tomb of the unknown soldier.
“This cemetery is sacred ground for thousands of families across the nation as the final resting place of their loved one who gave their lives for this country and the Trump campaign failed to follow the rules that were laid out to them,” claimed Theodore Lockhart, a spokesperson for the US Army. “The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier is a monument to all the identified heroes who died fighting for our great nation and we were very explicit with Trump and his team that he had to press F to pay respects while he was here. We gave him ample time to follow the prompt, it wasn’t a quick time prompt and yet he still failed to press f before leaving.”
Lockhart then explained the unfortunate aftermath of Trump’s inability to press F.
“As Trump was leaving an employee of the cemetery tried to ensure that the rules were followed and that the appropriate F’s were given to honor the fallen. This employee was rudely and disrespectfully pushed aside by Trump’s campaign staff. By the time the employee was helped and proper F’s were given for her failure, Trump and his team had left. Trump was contacted by us following his departure to give him the opportunity to give F’s in chat but he simply replied ‘git gud’. We absolutely condemn this egregious act of disrespect by Donald Trump and his team. There is truly nothing lower than the failure to press F to pay respects.”
Trump hit back against the allegations during a campaign rally in Memphis.
“The Army is talking about me folks. They’re calling me disrespectful. Disrespectful they’re saying, because I didn’t press F to pay respects. That’s what they want you to do now is to press F. I don’t know folks. I thought I was pretty respectful, let me tell you. I was there wasn’t I? You know who wasn’t there? That’s right Crazy Kamala and Tiny Tim. They weren’t there but I was and for some reason, I’m the disrespectful one because I didn’t press F. Let me tell you folks, no one is more respectful than me, I’m the most respectful person there is believe me. So what if I didn’t press F or give F’s in chat? Maybe I would have if they were still alive. I prefer my war heroes to be alive but that’s just me folks.”
At press time, Trump has claimed that he would only press F to pay respects to the late great Hannibal Lecter.
Conscriptis, in almost every way that matters, a classic survival horror game. You’re alone in hostile territory, surrounded by enemies, with limited available resources. Everything you try to do is blocked by obstacles, puzzles, or strange locks, and your primary goal is to get out alive.
The twist is that it has no overt supernatural, conspiracy, or science-fiction elements. Conscript is about one man trying to live through the Battle of Verdun, despite constant artillery strikes, enemy soldiers, disease, pestilence, trauma, rats with a taste for human flesh, and most crucially, your commanding officers’ incompetence.
Conscript is the debut project from Australian solo developer Jordan Mochi, who’s been working on the game for the last 7 years. According to Mochi, he made Conscript as a combination of his love of both history and the Resident Evil series. The resulting game makes an implicit argument that having to participate in WWI-era trench warfare is at least as terrifying a scenario as any zombie apocalypse, and you know what? That’s a good point.
Conscript begins in the summer of 1916, 5 months into the Battle of Verdun. At this point in what’s still known as the Great War, the German strategy is to “bleed France white,” by hitting a single point in the French lines with everything it can muster. It’s a pure battle of attrition.
You come into this as André, a private in the French army, who was drafted alongside his brother Pierre. On July 16, the Germans launch another ground assault on Verdun. Pierre is wounded and taken off the front lines before the worst of the fighting begins, while André is knocked out and left for dead.
When André wakes up, he’s alone and unarmed in what’s now suddenly German territory. He’s forced to fight his way back to the French lines, and along the way, try to find out where his brother went.
Out of the gate, Conscript starts landing gut punches on the player and never lets up. This isn’t a game about sudden jump scares, but instead, works off a slowly mounting sense of dread.
Everything around you is gray, brown, or black, unless it’s either blood red or mustard gas yellow. You’re constantly finding the remnants of people’s lives from before or outside the war, like old photographs or mementos, or a burned-out field that’s just barely recognizable as what used to be a farm. One of the most common obstacles in your way is a crater from an artillery strike that’s filled with rain and/or corpses.
The game opens with an extended combat sequence where you as André must defend the French lines from yet another German attack. You’re sent to randomly run around the trenches while other soldiers die at random around you, while your commanding officer yells orders at you from relative safety.
Conscript might be the only game I’ve ever played where I was given a machine-gun turret, but felt sort of bad about using it. The Germans come at you in groups of two or three, and most of them aren’t armed with anything more than a shovel. Every once in a while, one of them drops a grainy photograph of a family member or a beloved pet. Conscript’s version of WWI is impossible to see as anything other than a tragedy.
On paper, this is a brilliant match between two similar concepts. One of the most brutal, violent combat theaters in military history works well as a setting for a genre that’s often known for its brutality and violence.
Conscript doubles down on that with combat that, like Resident Evil 4’s, is primarily about space control. Most of the enemies in the game have one plan, to rush you down before you can shoot them, and once somebody’s in your face, you don’t have a lot of good options to get them back out.
Long guns in Conscript typically force you to slowly work a bolt or rack a slide in between each shot, then reacquire your target. Meanwhile, the guy you just shot isn’t dead yet, and he and his best friend are coming to kick your hairstyle in. Most of my fights in Conscript seem to degenerate into me frantically beating somebody to death with a pickaxe, which I am given to understand is a realistic recreation of the World War I trench combat experience.
The general idea seems to be similar to the original Silent Hill’s, where the combat’s deliberately janky in order to communicate a specific narrative point. You’re supposed to be frustrated and desperate, because André usually is. I can’t say it doesn’t work, but there’s a substantial learning curve attached. I ended up dumping all my upgrades into the first semi-automatic pistol I got, so I didn’t have to deal with the bolt-action gimmick.
The purposeful awkwardness of its combat is a useful example of the (other) conflict at the heart of Conscript. It effectively recreates a particular point in history as a horror scenario, but it also wants to be a ‘90s survival horror game.
Sometimes that combination works to its benefit, with puzzles or challenges that reinforce the theme. At other times, particularly in Chapter 3, Conscript’s balance tips all the way over into survival horror and it lands with a thud. There’s a lot here that doesn’t make sense as anything other than gratuitous shout-outs to the games that inspired Conscript, and that can’t help but damage the vibe.
For example, there’s one sequence that requires you to navigate a series of gas-filled tunnels in search of four clues that let you decipher the solution to an elaborate combination lock, while another sends you on a key hunt through the bombed-out French countryside. At another point, the rolling boulder trap from the original Resident Evil makes a surprise cameo, which is hand-waved as unexpected debris from an unstable mining tunnel.
I’m more familiar with survival horror as a genre than I’d imagine most people are, as I have a terrible obsession. That said, it’s difficult for me to not experience this sort of thing as someone gently elbowing me and saying, “See? It’s a Resident Evil reference. You get it, right?” The more elaborate and surreal the puzzles are, the further Conscript gets from its strengths.
As a result, I’ve got a mixed opinion on Conscript. When it’s reenacting World War I as a grimy, futile horror scenario, it’s genuinely harrowing, although the combat takes some time to click. On the other hand, when it’s self-consciously trying to be Resident Evil: 1916, it loses that edge.
There’s a good idea at the heart of Conscript, and I could see someone else really enjoying its dark, atmospheric style of historical horror. It’s a little too eager to pay homage to its inspirations, however. If it stuck with the mood of its first chapter, with more down-to-earth puzzles and obstacles, it’d be a more satisfying overall experience. As it is, Conscript is a must-play for survival horror fans, but it’s uneven.
HOUSTON — Jeanette Gold, the lone survivor of the Houston Hangman’s killing spree is reportedly struggling to see the silver lining of making it out alive, local hospital staff confirmed.
“I mean, am I supposed to be grateful? I lost a hand, saw my best friend get impaled on a fence, and now my insurance is telling me they won’t cover my rehabilitation,” Gold told reporters. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy I didn’t get killed, but this really upends my plans for the month. I was gonna visit my sister in Duluth and now I have to push that back until at least November to deal with all this.”
Andre Soders, a behavioral health specialist at Houston Medical Center, noted Gold’s priorities as being a bit off.
“When I first spoke with Ms. Gold, I thought she would want to process the trauma of seeing her boyfriend and childhood friends killed in front of her,” a concerned Soders said. “Instead, she spent almost an hour ranting about how she had to use all her paid sick days. I don’t want to judge anyone’s grieving process, but she seemed more inconvenienced than distraught.”
Forensic Psychologist Vanessa Stabb cited Gold’s behavior as weighing heavy on the Houston Hangman himself.
“He actually feels really bad about how this played out,” Stabb explained. “He never intended to leave Ms. Gold saddled with all these feelings. He appears to be suffering from a reverse-survivor’s guilt, believing if he was just a better killer, then she wouldn’t have to suffer.”
As the Houston Hangman began receiving sympathy nationwide, Jeanette addressed the situation for the first time since leaving the hospital.
“I’m really struggling to see how I’m supposed to feel bad here,” Gold responded in an Instagram Live. “ He’s not the victim here. Are we forgetting that he cleaved my best friends in two right before my eyes? Now he’s in a cushy paid for asylum and I have to deal with the horror of our healthcare system. I’m the victim!”
At press time, the Houston Hangman has vowed to finish the job as soon as he escapes prison. Jeanette has yet to respond herself, but relatives claim she’s found some solace in his words.
ANDOVER, Mass.— Local gamer Danny Murphy shared his recent befuddlement when trying drugs did not produce the same 15 seconds of screen wobbling he had expected.
“I recently decided to experiment a bit. I figured what is the worst that could happen? I’ve tried all sorts of cool guy drugs in games from Jet to Aurora and they never seemed to do much other than make the screen wobble for a few seconds. I figured something with a silly name like Molly would be no different. Let me tell you it lasts a lot longer and does a lot more! I woke up wicked sweaty in a pile of plushies” said Murphy when interviewed at his suburban studio apartment.
The occupants of the adjacent apartment to Murphy’s, who wished to remain anonymous, provided more detail about the events that unfolded.
“My family and I were enjoying a nice movie night when the theme from ‘Carnival Night Zone’ started rattling through our shared wall. I went over to ask him to turn it down, but he wouldn’t agree to that until I came in and touched his velvet Bubsy 3D poster because it ‘felt so good’. After I touched his poster he tried to tell me that Michael Jackson wrote the song he was playing, like I’d believe that. He kept mentioning this would be over anytime now, whatever that means.”
When reached for comment Murphy’s friend Leslie Drew noted,
“He’s always thought the weed minigame in GTAV was ‘so cool’ but wouldn’t listen when I told him that’s not actually what happens when you smoke pot. I keep telling him he needs to expand his horizons. This would have never happened if he played Disco Elysium.”
Murphy reported he wasn’t mad about the prolonged experience and shared he plans to see if other drugs do more than make his vision briefly wobble.
“Some people have told me to be careful and that drugs can be addictive, but as a gamer I know the local doctor can usually cure that for 70 caps or so.”
At press time, Murphy had reportedly told friends he was heading to Fenway Park to seek medical help from a physician.
SAN MATEO, Calif — In response to leaks regarding the long rumored PlayStation 5 Pro, Sony has issued assurances to fans that this next iteration of the legendary home console will also not have any exclusive games.
Following the reporting from gaming outlets, co-CEO Hermen Hulst posted on X – The Everything App, confirming the existence of the half-step console and boasting about the lack of exclusive titles.
“Yes, we are working on a new Pro model of the PlayStation 5. No, it won’t have any exclusive games,” Hulst wrote. “Nothing is more paramount than making sure anyone buying this new system enjoys the same lack of exclusive software as our base console players. More details will be released soon, but our fans can rest easy that none of those details will include games that take advantage of the upgraded hardware. We think it will be a big hit.”
PlayStation fan account PSWarrior excitedly posted about the confirmation from Sony on the PS5 subreddit.
“Sony just gets it. They know we don’t need games to appreciate all they do for us. Xbots seething right now. Day one buy, no questions asked. LFG XDDDDDDDDD!!!,” PSWarrior wrote. In response to a commenter questioning their excitement, PSWarrior, who is also a mod for r/PS5, quickly fired back and banned the user in question. “GTFO out tourist. Is your head so far up Uncle Phil’s ass you got brain damage from the lack of oxygen, or is it just because you’re another xbox fanboy and it comes naturally to be this stupid?”
The PlayStation corporate account also issued a statement, letting fans know they would soon be able to learn more.
“We are so close to taking the next step in our PS5 journey together,” The account wrote. “Keep an eye out on PlayStation.com where we will be posting a more detailed breakdown of what our fans can expect once the PS5 Pro launches. We can’t wait for you all to see what we won’t have to offer”
At press time the PS5 Pro site was up, but any attempts to open the “Games” page resulted in a 404 error.
CHICAGO — NetherRealm Studios has officially announced that the next guest characters to be added to Mortal Kombat will be Costco Guys A.J. and Big Justice.
“I’m really excited to announce that we will be adding A.J. and Big Justice to Mortal Kombat 1,” said creative director Ed Boon. “It’s always a pleasure adding guest characters to the franchise that really fit in with the series and let the fans play out their fantasy battles. All of us at NetherRealm are big fans of the Costco Guys and are so excited to be able to work on unleashing the full power of the boom on the Kombat Universe in the upcoming Double Chunk Kaos Kookie dlc pack.”
Big Justice made a TikTok where he commented on him and his son being added to the game, expressing their excitement on becoming video game characters.
“We’re Costco guys so of course we spent hours playing the Arcade1Up Mortal Kombat machine that’s on display. To be added to this historic franchise is an honor. Me and A.J. will be bringing the BOOM to all your favorite fighters and showing them the true power of the DOUBLE CHUNK CHOCOLATE COOKIE. You’re gonna love playing as us and hitting our BOOM fatalities.”
Mortal Kombat fans had mixed reactions to the announcement.
“WHERE IS THE RIZZLER? HOW COULD THEY NOT ALSO ADD THE RIZZLER? ARE THEY STUPID? YOU CAN’T BRING THE BOOM WITHOUT THE RIZZLER,” tweeted Kanoussy.
Boon assured fans that Rizzler would appear as both a Kameo character and as part of both Big Justice and A.J’s fatalities.
“For this pack we really wanted to hone in on perfecting A.J and Big Justice and making Rizzler a fully playable character would have caused us to completely abandon A.J. Instead we’re adding Rizzler as a new Kameo character to use as support. In addition to this he will be part of one of A.J’s fatalities where together they rip their opponents limbs off one by one before performing a double boom splash that completely eviscerates the rest of the body. He also makes an appearance in Big Justice’s Double Chunk fatality where he hands Justice the bucket of double chunk chocolate cookies that he then shoves down his opponent’s throat until they explode.”
At press time, NetherRealm has hinted that Hawk Tuah girl could be the next guest character added.
I sound my horn. Not just any horn – my big ass Dr. Seuss horn. It’s just a goddamn whirly mess of brass. Like, this thing was just a pig to commission, let alone learn how to play. Whenever I have to blow into this absolute water slide of an instrument, I need to be medically revived almost every single time. But my oversized clarion horn is worth it for occasions like this.
Upon its blare, you all come running to the town square, suspicion on your wary faces. What could the news be? Predictions slip out excitedly:
“Did we do it? Did we reverse climate change using only renewable resources?”
“I know! We enacted Universal Health Care, and it was actually really easy!”
“Wait – are we having another Community Paper Shredding event, since those are famously very popular?”
No, no, and no, my sweet children. Today, we celebrate the greatest milestone of human civilization –
The word “cunt” is normalized in mainstream pop culture now.
Yes. It’s true. And with this superpower, there’s one clear first item of action: ranking all the Mario Kart 8 Deluxe vehicles by cuntiness, just as Shigeru Miyamoto intended.
41. GLA
This is Mario Kart, for fucks sake – not the mobile order pickup table at the Sweetgreen across from Lockheed Martin.* Who among divas is picking a reasonable yet luxurious compact SUV? If you’re picking this shit, you have never served cunt in your life, your wife hates you, and you should probably check on the Stouffer’s lasagna you left in the oven because somehow, you’re about to burn it.
*I used to think “Lockheed Martin” was what British people called a noogie. Life is so disappointing.
40. 300 SL Roadster
Aside from having less creative appeal than your late 50s coworker who just got really into Hawk Tuah, the product placement here is just baffling. What is the ideal outcome of this marketing decision? “Oh, why did I buy a Mercedes, you ask? Well, I was largely unswayed, until I remembered my test drive of it in the fictional terrain of Mario Kart 8. Yeah. I figured those awesome features I loved in the game, such as going forwards and backwards, would hold up in real life. And they do – for only 2,500 a month.” Getting swindled isn’t cunt.
39. Steel Driver
Submarines remind me of the Navy. The Navy reminds me of the 2012 action sci-fi flop, Battleship. The plot of that movie? War. And this submarine couldn’t serve if it was called into battle.
38. Biddybuggy
The Biddybuggy is a car that only exists to transport you to and from AJR concerts. Do with that what you will.
37. W 25 Silver Arrow
This looks like something that you’d build out of scrap metal in the 30s to go down Niagara Falls. You will not catch me pulling up to the club serving Evil Knievel’s chastity cage. Have some self respect.
36. Tanooki Kart
A few bonus points for the black and orange tiger stripes on the spare tire, but ultimately, pretty cuntless. Seemingly created for the existence of “Lock Her Up!” bumper stickers. The Tanooki Kart looks like it would rear end me in the Starbucks drive through and then call the police. Very few redeeming qualities.
35. Standard Kart
Adults who say “pasketti.” Mr. Pibb. Kid who spills all that shit in the Bounty commercials and is never properly disciplined. These are a few of the things that the Standard Kart makes me think of. You already know what they all have in common: not serving cunt. Go listen to “Good Time” by Owl City somewhere else.
34. Mr. Scooty
Serving cunt is all about creativity. Making a name for yourself on this cold, unrelentless bitch of an earth. You know what isn’t cunty? Making that name Mr. Scooty, which sounds like what you call a dog who’s going through a really big “I’m gonna rub my bare asshole on this shag rug” phase. Why not Madame Scooty? Wheelira? SCXXT? Points docked for wasted potential.
33. Jet Bike
Looks like the first thing a giant squid would eat in the cold open of a failed Memorial Day Blumhouse release. Also, seems Republican. So no.
32. Sneeker
In her “Notes on Camp,” Susan Sontag writes, “When something is just bad (rather than Camp), it’s often because it is too mediocre in its ambition.” I see the vision — a glimpse into a sick, twisted mind, where one can drive a shoe. The artistic intent is clear, but not applaudable. I am embarrassed for its driver — imagining their view of themselves as an eccentric, self-expressionist pioneer, when all they are now is a foot. Get out of here, Foot Locker. Your time is up.
31. Pipe Frame
An unflattering mockery of the divine form of a bumper car, mixed with a perverted twist on the “live, laugh, love” infinity symbol (that’s not an 8 on the front, trust me guys). Attempts to be unique, but serves Hobby Lobby. Next.
30. Standard ATV
This is the vehicle equivalent of that one photographer you know whose only credits are taking naked photos of women in the desert. It is uninspiring to me, both fashionably and politically, and the absence of a statement is, in itself, a statement. A statement that I am not willing to entertain on my very important ranked list of Mario Kart cuntiness.
29. Tri-Speeder
Love the mushrooms on the cylinder, but unfortunately, it’s giving “Ru Paul’s fracking empire.” Enough said.
28. Sport Bike
Nothing special on its own. But now, imagine it’s April 18, 1775, and Paul Revere is shredding through Lexington on this hot piece of vehicular ass. He’s yelling something, but you’re not listening. All you can focus on is how sweet his ride is. Damn. Maybe the bike isn’t serving, but he is and that makes it a bit better, right?
27. B-Dasher
Red stripe is cute, but not serving. Ultimately, it’s giving “thing I would accidentally swallow, not realizing scientists are investigating my insides Magic School Bus style.” I don’t care if this is Mario’s default vehicle – the only good taste he’s ever had in his life is choosing Princess Peach.
26. Sports Coupe
This car feels like it has attitude, but less in a “serving cunt” way and more in a “the driver of this must be pretty fucking annoying” way. This car was made to blast Russ on residential streets after 10pm and yell at minimum wage coffee workers over the sourcing of their in-house hemp milk. I don’t care if it reminds you of a bumblebee. This car was one of the singers in the celebrity pandemic cover of “Imagine.” Expand your mind.
25. Standard Bike
The standard bike could be giving Americana cunt: PBR tallboys, camo, Marlboro reds. But the line between serving Ethel Cain and serving your weird uncle who goes to town hall meetings just to blow off some steam is thin. It depends where the bike toes.
24. Blue Falcon
Looks like something that, as a kid, I would dream of putting in my mouth and chewing like a fruit snack, so that counts for something, I guess. The Blue Falcon is cunty in the way an opaque blue Scooby Doo fruit snack is – less aspiration, more intrigue.
23. Circuit Special
A bit more elevation due to rich sapphire color, but lacking the démesuré that screams “I need to listen to Rico Nasty right now or I will harm myself and others.” However, the front looks like a really pointy thong, which is a huge plus for people really into 240p booty.
22. Comet
That little front wheel is doing all of the lifting. Sleek, nothing new. God. I’m so hungry. I can’t think. Writing this article is the literary equivalent of when Lois and Clark had to do that long ass walk for no reason, or whatever happened there. Mobile ordering Jersey Mikes as we speak.
21. Varmint
This vehicle isn’t much to write home about (you know how you typically write home about all the cool shit you see?). But the name. OH that NAME. God, is it good. “Hopping in the varmint xoxo” sent from an LG ChocolateSlide is the cuntiest way possible to leave the function. Too bad it looks like someone tried to make a banana in Minecraft.
Also, I’m eating my sandwich. So, I guess I’m ranking this one higher because of positive associations.
20. Mach 8
Serves as much cunt as a mid 2010s Coldplay song. Specifically, “Paradise.” I remember listening to that song, and developing my first feelings of embarrassment towards being a woman. Specifically, Chris Martin’s woman, even though he refers to all women as girls. I don’t trust men who do that.
Anyways. I digress. This vehicle is fugly as hell.
19. Master Cycle
Treading on the cusp of camp, the Master Cycle has elements that are bogged down by an actively anti-cunt brutalist, postmodern aesthetic. It reminds me of something that the police would ride on in a Denis Villeneuve movie and it would ultimately confuse me, because for a movie set in the future, why do we need to replicate the shape of horses, the oldest mode of transportation ever? However, I will give it points for being animated in Skyward Sword style as opposed to the basic 3D rendering of most Mario Kart vehicles. Someone tried something here.
18. Gold Standard
Despite having a name that is reminiscent of a Cracker Barrel premium lunch special, the Gold Standard intrigues me. It serves cunt, I suppose, the way the following things do: Shein hauls, cubic zirconia, and Paris-themed bedrooms. It feels like it wants too badly to be too much, while being a simulacra of its own excess.
I feel the perceived “cuntiness” does not come from genuine confidence and uniqueness in the Gold Standard’s life. It is a thinly veiled replication of elegance, and all who sit in it become stained with the saccharine residue of its failure to make any meaningful artistic statement.
17. Bone Rattler
Bone Rattler. Bone R attler. Bone R. Boner.
16. Inkstriker
Versatile, loud and proud, and literally sprays color — the Inkstriker doesn’t quite serve cunt, but it slays in a respectful, non-controversial way. This is the car equivalent of your well-meaning aunt buying you suspenders from the Target pride collection. You’re not gonna wear them because you’re 25, but it’s the thought that counts.
15. Landship
It’s giving “over-prepared for an extremely niche pirate themed 30th birthday party in Bushwick,” and honestly, it serves! Maybe not full cunt, but everyone knows that pirates slay from the theatrics of swashbuckling to the horde of cats they kept on board. Come on. Landship has CANNONS, with sleek wood paneling. Despite giving off a “Loungefly backpacks and hidden mickeys” aura, it’s innovative and a win for Kiera Knightly lovers everywhere.
14. Streetle
Despite having a name that sounds like a slur, Streetle kind of…serves? I could see myself going to the thrift in this, and loading it back up with weirdly-hemmed skirts that I’ll make into tube tops and wear nowhere. Streetle is for the folks who love an iced lavender oat matcha and are really into Calico Critters. Good for you! I hope you liked the new Clairo album!
13. Master Cycle Zero
Sleek, great at off-roading, and visually reminiscent of Grimes’ early career, Master Cycle Zero certainly brings a lot to the table.
But in Katy Perry’s 2013 manifesto “Dark Horse,” rapper Juicy J proclaims a lyric that has perplexed me for over a decade: “That fairy tale ending with a knight in shining armor/she can be my sleeping beauty/I’m gonna put her in a coma.” I can’t help but think that this objectively un-cunty line was inspired by Link’s Master Cycle Zero, and therefore, in good faith, I cannot rank it higher.
12. The Duke
Okay, Violet Beauregarde! The Duke is literally royalty in similar build to the Shooting Star from MK Wii, a bike that glows purple and syncs lights with the music borders into cunty terrain. However, aside from looking like something that Hagrid from Harry Potter would drive if AND ONLY IF he got a septum ring, it falls flat in the “innovation” category.
11. Yoshi Bike
1970s American journalist Jack Babuscio once stated that “Irony is the subject matter of camp.” And to that, I say — what is more ironic than driving a bike shaped exactly like you? This is the equivalent of designing a figurehead in your image as a ship’s captain, placing a bust of your form on the front porch of your house. Even though it may not be the most original (I mean, real Yoshi IS right there), it shows a self-love from Yoshi that serves cunt in its camp inspiration.
10. Teddy Buggy
An unexpected pick, but cutesy is cunty! Jellycats! Sanrio plushies! Björk’s swan dress at the 73rd Academy Awards! Coquette and tasteful. If I had a Dave Matthews Band-inspired sewage spill, this would be the vehicle I’d choose to dump 400 lbs of my shit onto the innocent bystanders of the Chicago river.
9. Prancer
Named after the second most queer coded of Santa’s Reindeer and reminiscent of Zendaya’s show-stopping Met Gala Cinderella, Prancer serves an appropriate level of cunt. Being inside of a pumpkin gives Old Mother Hubbard realness, and she served in a Grimms Brothers honoring way, which is more than most vehicles can say.
8. P Wing
Serves.
Man. What the fuck am I doing. I’ve been talking about serving cunt for so long. I have a MacBook Air. Cavemen couldn’t dream of the world at my fingertips and this is what I use it for? To run PAGES, not even WORD, and write this pathetic attempt at journalism? I should do a crossword. Talk to an old person. Anything. Anything at this point.
7. Splat Buggy
In terms of chaos, it’s giving Fergie’s National Anthem meets extremely tailored corporate graffiti. The Splat Buggy serves cunt in a way that promotes creative thinking and collaboration in the workplace. I would not be surprised to find its aesthetic design on a Trader Joe’s featured product sign and it would convince me to buy Everything But the Bagel Seasoning.
6. Isabelle’s Scooter
Leaf wheels. Paper glider. Unique. Innovative. And all tailored by fierce civil servant, snatched button-up wearing, PTO using glamzilla Isabelle. Seeing her sky-high ponytail flip through the wind as she sails by you on a polka dot scooter is an honor for which you should all be grateful.
5. Koopa Clown
Have you ever wondered, “How can I serve cunt in a way that honors my local improv theater?” The answer: pulling up in the Koopa Clown. It’s expressive, wears its emotions on its proverbial sleeve, and ultimately, is a performer begging for you to suggest a game of “World’s Worst.” She’s a baddie with range, and she’s not afraid to tell you how she feels. Confidence is key to serving, and Koopa Clown breathes it.
4. Wild Wiggler
In the words of Chappell Roan, “I need a super graphic ultra modern girl like me.” And Wild Wiggler is in fact that girl. Every child who grew up to slay on the daily had a kinship to the Wiggler’s form. Although they can be angry (rightfully, when you step on them), they strut in their beautiful velvet Chelsea boots, grow a flower from their head, and face each day with their chin up high.
The Wild Wiggler is a vehicle that reminds me of the transformative quote found on every AI generated Marilyn Monroe Facebook posts your twice-divorced aunt makes: “If you can’t handle me at my worst, you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.” And damn, was she right.
3. Badwagon
Bad bitches to the left, money bitches to the right. The Badwagon, as titled, is only for baddies. If you do not serve cunt, your face will melt off like that guy in Indiana Jones if you try to look at it. The Badwagon is for girls that appreciate a crisp Diet Coke. That would never be caught dead in a Shein dress. That think Daisy Duck deserved better than her loser war criminal boyfriend, Donald. The Badwagon is for queens with a communications degree that never wash their bangs and are very polite to waitstaff. All in Roy Koopa’s extremely pointy ass sunglasses.
2. Flame Rider
Your busted ass is walking through the Coconut Mall, starving for whatever fucking food they serve there. Jesus. It’s just gonna be an Auntie’s Annie’s, isn’t it? That’s not a meal. That’s a piece of bread all contorted and shit. Jesus. You need protein. You begin to fade.
Then, you hear it. The opening drums of Azalea Banks’ 212. In the distance, you clock it, a motorcycle, bedazzled with flames, drifting to your rescue and living the fantasy all at once. “What is it carrying down the malls’ runway?” you ask yourself. Oh my god. It’s a fucking piece of Sbarro Pizza. Maybe queens do lift up other queens, after all.
Before you can say thank you, the vehicle zooms off, into the mirage it came from. You smile. Life really does have little miracles, after all.
1. Cat Cruiser
THE It Girl. The queen of your dreams. Hustling that kitty like it’s a full-time job, the Cat Cruiser is the biblically-accurate, never-before-served, face-beating, singles-throwing, line-bumping epitome of serving cunt after cunt after cunt. She’s sassy. She’s got nerve. She’s your favorite vehicle’s favorite vehicle. So go – hop in and drive into the sun, just like they did at the end of Grease. Who cares if you fucking explode. To die in the Cat Cruiser is a privilege greater than life itself – and maybe, just maybe – you’ve earned it.
