Trump Pick to Head NASA Proves Controversial

By Shawn

WASHINGTON – This morning, President-elect Donald J. Trump announced the nomination of Dr. Steven Ixxxzyx to head NASA, a surprise move that has caught both his supporters and critics off-guard. A figure little known to the Washington establishment, Mr. Trump claims that Dr. Ixxxzyx will bring a fresh outsider’s perspective to an agency that has become overly preoccupied with partisan, political issues, such as climate change.

Insiders close to the transition team say that Dr. Ixxxzyx was not among the initial list of candidates to lead the agency, but Mr. Trump began hearing the name chanted quietly at night as he attempted to fall asleep. Becoming increasingly interested in “this guy I keep hearing about,” Mr. Trump had his team locate Dr. Ixxxzyx and arrange a meeting.

Over a sumptuous dinner at Jean Georges, Dr. Ixxxzyx reportedly impressed Mr. Trump with repetitive, guttural bleatings of “O great one, I will serve you,” convincing the president-elect that he would demonstrate the degree of loyalty Mr. Trump expects from his appointees.


Mr. Trump (left) and Dr. Ixxxzyx dining at Jean Georges. The president-elect reportedly enjoyed a bowl of garlic soup, while Dr. Ixxxzyx ordered several courses of “Snails, more SNAILS!!”

Dr. Ixxxzyx, who holds a degree in “Human Science” from the University of [Untranslatable Cacophony], expressed his eagerness to take on the job in a press conference held earlier today. “Am grateful to foolish orange hair-beast. Can now proceed to Phase Two. Praise be to local deities and country,” the doctor told reporters.

At the conference, Dr. Ixxxzyx also forcefully rebutted concerns that he lacks the qualifications to succeed in the position. “Am much qualified. Am not member of dying race wanting to survive by mating with humans. Will make no hybrids to conquer anything.”

If confirmed, Dr. Ixxxzyx plans to steer the agency away from its recent emphasis on unmanned exploration, focusing instead on missions crewed via a country-wide search for “nubile” candidates with “ovaries unblemished.”

While many agree that NASA is due for shake-up, a number of critics question Dr. Ixxxzyx’s ability to serve as an effective director. “The guy’s a fucking alien,” said Senate Minority Leader Charles E. Schumer (D-NY). “I mean, he’s wearing a fake mustache, but it’s still really, really obvious. What is even happening anymore?”

Although most ranking Democrats are opposed to Dr. Ixxxzyx’s nomination, they admit they are unlikely to put up much of a fight. “Honestly, we’ve got to pick our battles, what with Rex Tillerson, Jeff Sessions, and Steve Mnuchin coming down the pike,” said one Democratic source. “This is… we’re probably just gonna have to let this one slide.”

Quiz: Have You Got the Jingle Balls to Replace Santa?

By Ann

Look, no one wants anything bad to happen to Santa, and I’m not saying anything will. But let’s face it, in 2016, nothing is safe and everything is terrible. It’s time to hedge our bets. Because the last thing this god-forsaken year needs is for some hideous happenstance to cancel Christmas.

In the event something does happen and we wind up in some kooky situation à la The Nightmare Before Christmas or The Santa Clause, we’re gonna need someone to fill Santa’s shoes. That’s why it’s incumbent on each and every one of us to ask ourselves: if Santa goes down, do I have the jingle balls it takes to fill his giant red stretch pants?

Well, there’s only one way to find out, and it’s by taking this quiz:

  1. Do you have a broad face and a little round belly, that shakes when you laugh, like a bowl full of jelly?
    • A.) Why, yes! I don’t think you’re ready for this jelly!
    • B.) That is not how I would describe my current face or belly.
    • C.) I’ve put on 15 pounds since the election, and I’ve got enough problems without you fat-shaming me, you jolly-ass fuckers.
    • D.) I consist of spiraling black ether, so not really.
  2. Do you believe in peace on earth and good will towards men?
    • A.) Of course!
    • B.) I hadn’t really thought about it. Sure, why not?
    • C.) I don’t believe in anything anymore
    • D.) With every action I take, I actively seek to destroy humanity.
  3. Would you describe your eyes as twinkling?
    • A.) Wink, wink, dazzle, dazzle!
    • B.) Uhhhh, maybe in the right light…
    • C.) Does shiny with tears count?
    • D.) My eyes have a flat, smooth luster—vermillion stars of blood replete with knowledge of what’s to come.
  4. Complete this sentence. All I want for Christmas is:
    • A.) You, my two front teeth, or to make others’ dreams come true.
    • B.) Pokemon Sun & Moon dual pack! J/K, already bought it.
    • C.) Hillary Clinton to hold me while I sob.
    • D.) To turn the earth inside out, so that the top is magma and the core is the screams of the innocent.
  5. How do you feel about candy canes?
    • A.) What a festive winter treat!
    • B.) They’re all right if you’re in the mood for sugar topped with red dye.
    • C.) They’re terrible. Everything is terrible.
    • D.) Your feeble candy spears won’t save you from the reaping.
  6. Let’s hear your best Santa laugh.
    • A.) Ho, ho, ho!
    • B.) Hee, hee, hee!
    • C.) *Long windy sigh.*
    • D.) *The sounds of disemboweling*
  7. Which of the following are the correct names of Santa’s reindeer?
    • A.) Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen, & sometimes Rudolph.
    • B.) Rudolph! Are there more? Oh, uh, Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Fancer, Dunder, Blunder, Mustard… wait, did I say Rudolph?
    • C.) Prozac, Wozac, Fussy, and Dead Inside.
    • D.) All are known as Cerberus. The ringleader is known as Shiny Cerberus.
  8. What’s your favorite Christmas song?
    • A.) “Here Comes Santa Claus”
    • B.) I know this one: Die Hard!! Oh, you said song.
    • C.) I hate Christmas songs, and this entire quiz.
    • D.) *The sounds of disemboweling, this time followed by slurping*
  9. If you had a big sack, what would you fill it with?
    • A.) Toys!
    • B.) Corgis!
    • C.) Opium.
    • D.) Inside of said sack, there will be things that must not be named, covered in words that must not be read, written in a tongue that must never be spoken.
  10. How would you approach climbing down a chimney?
    • A.) My body is made of magic. I’d float down and land without a scratch.
    • B.) Look, I’m no James Bond, but I know my way around a suction cup.
    • C.) I’d fall. I’d just fall and come what may.
    • D.) I would not enter the chimney from above, but from beneath the earth. The cackles of maddened worshippers would greet me. Those I do not consume, I will enslave.


Okay, moment of truth! Count up your answers.


Mostly As:

Wow, no doubt about it, you’re a great candidate for Santa! Are you sure you aren’t already Santa? In any case, there’s no way we’re letting such a qualified back up slip through our hands. We’ve traced your IP address, and the government is on its way to collect you.

Mostly Bs:

In a pinch, you might be an OK Santa. No one thinks you’re going to do that well, but then again, people were somehow okay with Tim Allen. So what do we know?

Mostly Cs:

We can’t really tell if you’d be a good candidate for Santa, but we can tell that you’re extremely depressed. We don’t blame you. If it’s any comfort, you’re certainly not alone.

Mostly Ds:

No. After careful review, we do not think you would make a very good Santa. On the bright side, we might suggest alternate career paths such as Cthulu, one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, or President of the United States.

Pop-Songs as Sonnets #5: DNCE–Cake by the Ocean

By Shawn

I spy thee in a march funereal—
Why tiptoe thou, why are thy feet so cold?
I proffer thee a plan venereal
Involving cake that is exceeding bold.
I know a beach where we might eat with ease,
A place that I have ne’er brought kin nor kith.
Pass not thy time beside a masterpiece—
‘Tis I that thou shouldst fain be rollin’ with.
I watch thee plunge thine arms in frosting deep,
And crave a lick of thine enfrosted hand.
Aquatic sex confection’s what I seek—
I tire of all the candy on dry land.
O let us act as madly as we dare,
Cake-eating by Poseidon’s wat’ry lair.

An Open Letter to the Hamburglar

By Shawn

Dear Mr. The Hamburglar:

I want to start by saying that the suggestions I’m about to relate are coming from a place of immense respect. Having observed you for many years now, I can tell that you’re a hardworking man, and your sense of purpose in life is enviable. I don’t know if you want to eat all of the hamburgers or if you just want to have them, but either way, you’re not afraid to follow your dreams, and I admire that. Nevertheless, I feel there are several key areas in which there’s room for improvement, and that’s why I’ve decided to write you.

First, I get that your whole raison-d’être is to steal hamburgers and you want to share that with the world. But I think a key part of being a successful criminal is getting away with it, and there it really helps to be inconspicuous. Accordingly, one thing you might want to consider is not wearing an old-timey prison outfit. Imagine some hamburgers go missing, and everybody’s looking around, and there you are, proudly bedecked like you broke out of jail in the 1890s. Aggravating matters further, the hat, mask, and cape make it very clear that you don’t simply happen to like stripes but are instead some kind of aspiring supervillian. And, last but not least, you’re literally wearing a tie with hamburgers on it. I can’t stress enough how counterproductive it is to have a picture of the thing you like to steal prominently displayed on your person. It’s just not going to be that difficult for everyone to work out what happened.

On a related note, I have reservations about your habit of muttering “robble robble robble” as you go about your business. For one, “robble” is not a real word, and this, in conjunction with your clothing choices, paints a portrait of severe mental instability. For another, even though “robble” is nonsense, it does contain the word “rob,” which, again, kinda gives the game away. If you saw a man walking around with a knife mumbling “stabble stabble stabble,” you’d be alarmed, wouldn’t you? I’d be like, “Is he going to stab someone? I don’t know, but it seems like a good idea to get the police involved sooner rather than later.” This, in a nutshell, is how you’re coming off.

Finally, the location. You’ve chosen to lead a life of burger-crime in McDonaldland, one of the very few places, real or imagined, in which both the mayor and the chief of police are hamburgers. Don’t you think you’ve picked a spot that’s going to take your shenanigans far more seriously than a non-burger-run jurisdiction? In America, for instance, our municipal authorities love their hamburgers, but they’re not related to them. Here, if you steal some hamburgers, it’s petty theft. In McDonaldland, those hamburgers are taxpaying citizens. As far as Mayor McCheese and Officer Big Mac are concerned, those could be their kids or grandkids you’re abducting. I think if you don’t get the hell out of there, it could be the chair for you.

Anyway, all this isn’t to minimize the things I think you’re doing right. Your enthusiasm? Wonderful. Your desire to stick it to the man, as exemplified by that self-satisfied asshole clown? Love it. I just think there are ways to go about it that don’t see you executed by a pissed-off cheeseburger avenging his comrades. Just think about it, okay?

Holy Shit, It’s a Blog

Hey Internet,

Remember that time we had a blog? It was called Sibling & Charybdis, and it was everything you ever dreamed of. Assuming your dreams were very specific and strange. Then we got tired, so we stopped writing it.

But guess what, bitchlets?

WE’RE BAAAAAAAACCCK. Meet our new blog, Into the Friar!

We’ve backlogged our favorite posts, so that you can visit old gems such as How to Write Your Own Cosmo Sex Tips and Five Simple Rules for Making a Movie with Sam Worthington.

And now we’re going to write new ones! Because that’s how a blog works. Yep.

New content coming soon.


Ann & Shawn

Aggressively Anti-Nature Spring and Summer Wear

By Shawn

It’s been a long winter, but the weather’s finally getting nice in New England. I imagine lots of people are gonna be out today enjoying the first 60 degree day we’ve had in ages. But just because it seems like spring is finally here, that doesn’t mean we should forgive nature for the blizzards it decided to throw our way. Some sort of protest is warranted. In that spirit, I’d like propose a new line of belligerent spring and summer wear.

Let the angry fashion show commence:


A shirt: "Wilderness is raw aterial for man's industry"

A handsome rainslicker, with "Fuck You, Rain" written prominently on the chest

A shirt: "Beauty does not inhere in nature but is ascribed to it by the operations of the mind"

Sunglasses emblazoned with "Overrated Cancer-Orb"

This winter was terrible.  Never forget.

I Know What You’re Thinking, But…

By Ann

Surprisingly powerful words: “I know what you’re thinking, but…”

I never truly appreciated the power of this little phrase until the fateful night of March 27th, 2013. The night I decided to bake cookies for my boyfriend’s birthday.

You see, when it comes to baking delicious things that are terrible for you, I am quite the aficionada. I don’t get to bake often enough, so when I do, I’m determined to find the perfect dessert. I dig through a trove of blogs and recipes on a mission to dazzle the recipient of my floury-buttery love.

Grant just so happens to love the classic chocolate-peanut butter combo. So, when I saw the link for peanut butter cookies with chocolate chunks, I was already 99% sold. Then I looked at the recipe. It looked solid enough, except… EXCEPT: it called for chocolate bars broken into chunks instead of chocolate chips. For you bakers out there, you know this can be an iffy situation. Chocolate chips have stabilizers that stop them from melting too much when you bake them. Chocolate bars do not.

So, when I saw this, my first thought was, “I don’t know about this. It seems like those chocolate bars are going to explode all over the baking sheet and ruin these cookies.”

But then, as I looked over the recipe, my eyes caught on the phrase, “I know what you’re thinking, but…”! The blogger had read my mind. She explained how the melty goodness of the bars enhanced the recipe and how they would turn out fine.

“Well, okay, baking blogger,” I resolved. “Since you knew what I was thinking and expressly addressed my concern, I’ll go ahead and make ‘em as is.”

I made ‘em as is. And as I placed the dough balls on the cookie sheets, I thought, “Boy, these chocolate bar chunks really look like they’re going to explode out of the cookies and ruin everything.”

But then again, she did say, “I know what you’re thinking, but…”

I put them in the oven.

Eight minutes later I took them out.

The chocolate bars had exploded everywhere, burned, and ruined the cookies.

Did I mention it was 1 am? And that my boyfriend’s birthday was the following day? And that I was meeting him first thing in the morning?


I had plenty of time to mull over the error of my ways as I set about preparing brownies until 2 in the morning. Not only did I realize that it was that one line that had made me trust her, but also that this had happened once before.

There had been another recipe, some abomination called Candy Chicken. It had called for cooking chicken in a crockpot with brown sugar, soda, and vinegar. “Boy,” I thought, “that seems like it would be way too sweet.” But then the cooking blogger said, “I know what you’re thinking, but…” and explained how it wasn’t too sweet.

“Well, okay,” I thought, and made it.

Guess what?


So apparently, I will do anything as long as you address my obvious concern with the phrase, “I know what you’re thinking, but…”

And that got me thinking. It is April Fool’s after all. I can’t be the only one with this Achilles’ heel.

Just think of the power one could yield with this. I could start a recipe blog called, “I Know What You’re Thinking, But…”

Then I’d post a recipe for muffins that calls for a whole cup of baking soda:

“I know what you’re thinking: one whole cup of baking soda?! Won’t those explode all over my oven? I know it seems like that’s obviously what will happen. But, no, don’t worry about it. It will be totally fine.”

Or one for enchiladas that calls for twenty-nine Carolina Reaper peppers:

“I know what you’re thinking: aren’t Carolina Reapers the hottest peppers on earth? Won’t these enchiladas taste like Sherman’s March to the Sea in my mouth? Well, you’d think that, but no, the baking really mellows out the flavor. Make sure you include all the peppers’ seeds or you’ll hardly taste them at all!”

Or one for pork chops that calls for a live pig:

“I know what you’re thinking: do I really have to slaughter this pig myself? Won’t that be disgusting, traumatic, and wholly unnecessary? But no, trust me, it’s going to make a big difference in the flavor. Just make sure to lay out a tarp to cover your living room carpet first. If your pig is nervous, give him a Valium. If you’re nervous, take three Valiums yourself.”

Then I’d invite those two bloggers to look at it and disable comments so no one can warn them.

Of course, I wouldn’t actually do this. Because UNLIKE SOME PEOPLE, I understand that with great power comes great responsibility.

Now you have been warned, readers. Beware the words, “I know what you’re thinking, but….” And if you must use them yourself, for the sake of idiots like me everywhere, please be careful.

A Ballad for the Woman on a Flight Who Gave Her Screaming Children Coffee

By Shawn

O dearest woman on the flight
I took not long ago,
I have a bone to pick with you,
About two cups of joe.

Remember that late Delta flight?
They packed us like sardines,
And none of us were in the mood,
To hear your children’s screams.

Yet they both wailed and kicked the seats
Of those in front of them,
Denying weary passengers
Some needed R.E.M.

I thought that you might feel the need
To make your children cease.
Events would soon make clear to me
You don’t care in the least.

For in the midst of all their cries,
Your children screamed at you:
“More coffee, Mom! We want some now!”
Well, what’s a mom to do?

I guess if you’re a shitty mom,
You do just what you did,
And buy two cups of black cocaine
To overclock your kids.

What happened next was horrible—
You couldn’t pay me millions
To relive that and watch your kids
Both act like Robin Williams.

I think you hate the human race.
I think that must be why
You’d put your fellow human beings
Through torture in the sky.

Well, I enjoyed that trip so much–
I love when children yell.
Still, I don’t blame your kids for this,
But you can burn in hell.

The War on Men; or, You’re Right, Equality is for Idiots

By Ann

I just read a lovely opinion piece on the Fox News website. Perhaps some of you have already seen it. It’s called, “The War on Men” by Suzanne Venker. I’ll include a link below in case you’d like to take a look yourself.

Before you do, a warning: if you dive into this article unprepared, it may make you want to dropkick the illustrious Ms. Venker right in her lady bits. Yet, that would be to overlook Ms. Venker’s insight: all that rage you’re feeling is just a product of bra-burning feminists overheating your lady-brain with their fancy talk. Let’s slow down, breathe deep, and try to benefit from Ms. Venker’s profound wisdom together.

Ms. Venker begins her groundbreaking masterpiece by calling attention to the decreasing number of men who are looking to marry. In her research, Ms. Venker found that when asked why marriage has become less appealing, a certain “subculture” of men respond: “Women aren’t women anymore.”

A few paragraphs down you get the additional treat of reading, “But what if the dearth of good men, and ongoing battle of the sexes, is – hold on to your seats – women’s fault?”

My first response was: No, bitch, you hold on to your seat, because I’m about to slap you out of it six ways to Sunday.

But then I got to the heart of the piece. I’m not paraphrasing this. Here it is verbatim:

Contrary to what feminists like Hanna Rosin, author of The End of Men, say, the so-called rise of women has not threatened men. It has pissed them off. It has also undermined their ability to become self-sufficient in the hopes of someday supporting a family. Men want to love women, not compete with them. They want to provide for and protect their families – it’s in their DNA. But modern women won’t let them.

It’s all so unfortunate – for women, not men. Feminism serves men very well: they can have sex at hello and even live with their girlfriends with no responsibilities whatsoever.

… Yep. Those words were written in 2012, ladies and gentlemen.

Now, at first glance, Ms. Venker’s argument might seem wildly offensive. And when she goes on to explain how a woman is sinning against nature if she has a college degree and a career, you realize that at second glance, third glance, and dare I say fourth, it’s not just wildly offensive—it’s a mother-flippin’ catastrophe.

But at FIFTH glance, it becomes obvious that Ms. Venker is on to something. She does make several excellent points here.

Right off the bat, Ms. Venker hits it on the nose: Feminism (a.k.a. that pesky little movement supporting equality) has been nothing but a travesty for women. First of all, it is universally acknowledged that no one wants to be equal. Everyone hates equality. Which is why the United States still has a monarchy. And slavery. Every day we’re thankful we didn’t abolish either of those things. Or let those whiny minorities vote. Because, boy howdy, nothing says the Land of the Free like soul-crushing oppression.

Furthermore, as to the point of men getting to have sex with more women these days, again, Ms. Venker, I must applaud you. They really bamboozled us there. After all, it is impossible that women might also enjoy having sex. Thanks to the Victorians, everyone knows that a woman with a sex drive is suffering from an unnatural illness. Fortunately, her freaky-deaky sexy-time disease can be diagnosed and treated in one of the following three ways: (1) her clitoris is oversized and must be removed via the 100% pain-free practice of female circumcision, (2) the devil is inside her and must be removed via the 100% legit practice of exorcism, or (3) the devil is inside her clitoris and both must be removed simultaneously by screaming Latin while stabbing at her hoo-ha with a scapula.

Oh, and that last bit about men getting to live with their girlfriends without having to be the sole provider… Right again! Sweet Jesus, that’s the worst. You mean men and women now have the freedom to choose the balance that makes sense for them, instead of being crushed by society for deviating from gender roles? No wonder men are so “angry” with the situation.

Hell, I’d be pissed too if someone told me I got to have more sex and work less.

But not to worry, friends, the all-knowing Ms. Venker has a solution for us:

“Fortunately, there is good news: women have the power to turn everything around. All they have to do is surrender to their nature – their femininity – and let men surrender to theirs.

“If they do, marriageable men will come out of the woodwork.”

Boy, I gotta tell ya, I’m with her. I don’t know about the rest of you ladies, but I for one am fed up with trying to work in a man’s world all the time when estrogen makes my thinky-thing so stupid and sleepy. Every time I try to do my job, my uterus gets all tingly and sends sad feelings into my woman-heart.  Then, all the while, I’m busy worrying if my hair looks okay. Even now, I’m staring at it so much it’s hard to finish writing this paragraph! Femininity is some distracting shit, you know?

Plus, I can’t wait to get my soft, delicate hands on one of these “marriageable men” Ms. Venker keeps talking about. I thought I was happy with my boyfriend who loves me the way I am. But now I realize that all I need is a guy who thinks I’m no woman unless I give up the power to choose what’s important to me. Mmm, sweet, delicious lack of agency… My uterus will be so relieved.

In case you want to view it in all its glory, the article can be found here:

Great opinion piece, Fox. I suggest you follow it up with, “The War on White People.”

Update from 2014:

Oh, wait:


Tumblr Memes, I Will Conquer You, Pt. 2

By Shawn

I wrote a post a while back, titled Tumblr Memes, I Will Conquer You, in which I tried start a Tumblr meme of my own. At the time, I thought I had found the winning formula for Tumblr meme success:

animals or celebrities + whatever the hell = winning at the Internet

Unfortunately, the Tumblr this produced, Squirrels with Awesome Facial Hair, failed to take off for some reason. Possibly part of the problem was that I only posted three images and then decided I didn’t care anymore.  But I think the real issue is that I was working off of a bad formula. After some reflection and soul-searching, I’ve decided to revise it extensively. Now it goes:

animals AND celebrities + whatever the hell = winning at the Internet

So let’s give this thing another whirl, this time using hedgehogs, Beatrix Potter drawings, and crazed German filmmaker Werner Herzog.

Without further ado, I give you Werner Hedgehog:

Werner Hedgehog memes: "I believe the common denominator of the Universe is not harmony, but chaos, hostility, and murder."

 Werner Hedgehog memes: "Do you not then hear this horrible scream all around you that people call silence?"

 Werner Hedgehog memes: "I have the impression that the images that surround us today are worn out, they are abused and useless and exhausted."

More at the link: