“Hello Games promised the universe, and they delivered,” says Steam user cUnTmOnk3y69. “No Man’s Sky is about sci-fi novel covers. You fly around and look at math visuals with unprecedented omniscience.”
Users reported getting stoned and playing the popular science fiction exploration game for upwards of 12 hours in a single sitting.
“Although it was pretty boring, we just kept doing it,” says Internet Chronicle game reviewer hatesec. “I upgraded my multi-tool several times. Sometimes that made it worse.”
No Man’s Sky
Interactive online multiplayer
Fly together with your friends, grief opponents online, and imagine yourselves entangled in some kind of operatic space fantasy, because you constantly need to escape.
Massive space battles
Join any faction, and your choices have huge impact on how the game deletes your progress after reaching the center of any galaxy.
You get it, the game kinda sucks but I’m being cute about it. Not worth $60. Not worth much, anyway.
It’s official: The hugely anticipated “Andy Griffith” is coming back, airing every Thursday night on NBC.
New Andy Griffith deploys modernized weaponry and rhetoric to reach “a fresh, young, and impressionable digital audience.”
CHRONICLE.SU editors were offered an exclusive first look at footage and scenes from the iconic show’s first new episode, including interviews with shady engineers who violated a nondisclosure agreement to work with us.
Even though the first episode of a four-season contract is already in post-production, details are scarce around the revival of America’s favorite 1960s TV show, which delivers poignant, picturesque, small town life in the Southeastern United States.
However, a boom mic operator who asked not to be named gave insight into plot points he observed while working on the set:
“In this episode, Barney forgets the startup procedure for the mine-resistant armored personnel carrier,” he said. “So he goes pushing all the buttons, but instead of turning on the MRAP, he discharges rocket-propelled teargas at a group of school kids on a field trip, leaving at least one child in critical condition. It’s classic Barney!”
The Internet Chronicle came into possession of a leaked script for the episode. An excerpt is seen below:
ANDY: Now, Barney, look. The media’s coming down on us like Aunt Bee’s homemade pie. Either you’re going to have to take a paid leave and get your head straight, or we’re gonna have to settle with that little blind girl’s parents. Why don’t you take a little time for yourself? Go down to the lake and cast you a line. You’ll feel better, and your job will be here when you get back. We’ll put Josh Holgrove on your beat until you get back.
BARNEY: Paid time Off? Josh HOLGROVE? I don’t know any Josh Holgrove, Andy, they all look the same to me.
ANDY: Now, Barney, aren’t you being a little reckless? Do you mean to tell me that YOU – a grown man, who can tie his tie, who can drive a car, who owns his own house – can’t tell the difference between individual members of this small town police force of 1,200 officers?
BARNEY: Oh, Andy, now you know I don’t generalize, and you know I’m not too old to go to town like one of these boys. It’s just — well, look at ’em, Andy! Just look at ’em. They’re all about five-foot-seven, wear dark sunglasses, and they all shave their heads bald. Who’s Josh Holgrove, Andy? Is he the bald one wearin’ sunglasses? [hold for laughter and applause] And besides, I want to stay here and work with the guys. I don’t even need one bullet, Andy. I’ll go out with NO bullets!
Later in the episode, our source reports, Andy (in his usual good nature) spares Barney the public embarrassment of PTO, and extends Barney the opportunity to retrieve a shipment of fully automatic rifles from the military surplus, but there’s a catch: Barney must learn the value of community. Andy gives him the job only if he shaves his head, and puts on the body armor, to look like one of the boys. Barney learns the power of teamwork, his deadly accident is swept under the rug, and Aunt Bee makes a mean custard pie. As credits roll, Barney throws Andy the MRAP keys and turns to look at the camera. Then, Barney takes a step back. As credits roll, he continues backward, fading into a long, navy blue line of Mayberry police officers.
Catch more episodes every Thursday night on NBC Prime Time.
This message is brought to you by Lebal Drocer Screen Guild
"If it happens on stage, we own it."
The Hatesec Stoned Numb Literary Review #27.i.II (2016 3rd Quarter)
Hi folks! By now you’ve probably already noticed the stellar piece of science fiction written by in-house author kilgoar trout, of mercurial fame and notoriety through chronicle.su. The Internet Chronicle is the only first website to be rated by the US House Committee on Internet Safety and Security as THREAT LEVEL RED.
Yeah, you like that don’t you. You like those big words and ironies. You guys are all real smart. REALLY SMART. You’re so smart, that’s why you read Internet Chronicle, to show everybody just how god damn smart you are. Well, listen to hatesec Internet Hipsters, and you listen Good: You’re the smartest person in this room. Look around. See what I mean? Gosh, you’re smart.
We love you, readers. It’s just that you make us so mad sometimes. Now. I would never hit you again, would I? Good…that’s good. I’d never do anything to hurt you, okay? You just think you’re SO GOD DAMN SMART. I JUST WANT TO HIT YOU.
Well, here you go. Here’s some more clever shit for you. This is real good music, OK? Listen to this and fucking groove on it. I’m hatesec. You are the reader. You’re reading chronicle.su.
chronicle.su is owned and operated by the sensible, loving, and good-natured Mom and Pop one-stop shop, Lebal Drocer, Incorporated.
Now put on your headphones, and stand the fuck back, or else these dank songs will totally tear your tits off!
Casket Girls sound as cool as they look, because they make fuzzy, bass-heavy music and cool, dripping vocals.
Uncle Acid don’t fuck around neither. Their music paints a visual of the paranoid freakouts of Manson Family get-togethers, drug abuse, suffering, and midnight black masses. Definitely worth a listen next time you have family over.
Being President means living under constant threat of sudden rap battles.
Washington, D.C. — King Obama stands up from a throne of human bones and walks onto the balcony overlooking Pennsylvania Avenue.
‘Today is the day,’ he thinks. ‘Today it is finally going to happen.’
Having entered his third stage of molting, Obama sheds a hard carapace, revealing a slick, soft hide. It is as dark and supple as fresh eggplant. He takes a slime bath, half-listening to automated daily reports from the Drone Front.
“Minions come,” Secret Service reports. “They bring mad skills, and street smarts, to boot!”
Challenge them, the President orders. “Best them in rhyme, lest they receive a smackdown, as I lay the beat down in straight time.”
Stop. Does this scenario sound familiar?
Presidents have long faced threat of impromptu rap battles with constituents in hotly contested Mean Streets, going as far back as William Taft, whose infamous red-pill flow eradicated flappers before the end of his presidency in 1930.
Evelyn Bruckheimer, 109 years old, recalls the William H. ‘Daft’ Taft Brooklyn smackdown of 1928.
“It was balls to the wall rhymes, son,” Bruckheimer said. “It was the literally the worst thing to happen to New York that decade; that is, until the Stock Market Crash of ’29.”
New sources indicate Taft’s explosive rhymes triggered a speculation frenzy, crashing markets within the year.
“As bad as it was, people didn’t self-immolate because the stock market [emphasis added] ruined their lives,” Bruckheimer confessed. “You want to know the truth? Taft’s mix-tape was straight fire, G. Believe me.”
Wise up on the streets, Mr. President, or it could happen to you. Can Obama rhyme like Taft? I am not ready to find out.
This has been a public service announcement by Lebal Drocer. Busting out the baby rhymes since them elfwax days. And confused.
Homer: Not a bear in sight. The Bear Patrol must be working like a charm. Lisa: That’s specious reasoning, Dad. Homer: Thank you, dear. Lisa: By your logic I could claim that this rock keeps tigers away. Homer: Oh, how does it work? Lisa: It doesn’t work. Homer: Uh-huh. Lisa: It’s just a stupid rock. Homer: Uh-huh. Lisa: But I don’t see any tigers around, do you?
[Homer thinks of this, then pulls out some money] Homer: Lisa, I want to buy your rock.
[Lisa refuses at first, then takes the exchange]
There’s never been a better time to invest. 4chan is rapidly cornering the market on Guy Fieri memes, and Guy rarity is spiking hard.
Investors don’t know whether to shit or go blind, but drug abuse is on the rise in the face of Fieri ferocity on the meme market as brokers struggle to meet Fieri demand.
“I literally can’t drink enough beer,” says meme creator Johandes Malihandro. “I don’t know where the ceiling is, but the market is watching for it. Today I lost control of my vehicle and ran over a pedestrian. These are indeed desperate times.”
All the dank memes are gone, moved overseas. What’s left is the pepes. Worthless, rare pepes.
A desert man burns his worthless savings – once rare pepes – now good only for warmth.
After pepes appeared on the popular reddit-backed website imgflip – and were subsequently mass-produced by college students – rare pepes took a catastrophic plunge in lulz value. Rare pepes were at one time so rare, people thought they’d never lose value. In fact, prices even sustained over time as imgflip got stale. But somehow, the influx of pepes continued.
Through the popular underground imageboard 8ch.net, pepes continuously emanated without explanation from the /b/ subforum.
Like every meme consumed by 8chan, rare pepes were first validated through the shitposting website “reddit” before adoption by 8chan. As a result, rare pepes are now worthless and the Internet once again shifts its focus to outmoded but ironic Tweetie and Sylvester jokes most commonly spread via Facebook: a forced irony that will soon become canon.
We collectively have sunk to new lows. We’re still searching for the new floor.
I promised myself that if I ever got to this point – that if I ever sank so low – I would record it, because the world deserves to know, lest we should forget: Walmart is a hellish nightmare unfolding right in your own backyard.
This is hatesec, reporting live from the bottomless pit of despair, far back at the deep end of American retail hell, situated in a small southern town in the Appalachian mountains. First things first: Forget everything you ever thought about the rural souls lost 20 years ago to fast food, diabetes and drug addiction. The new Walmart is like nothing you’ve ever seen before; it has become an ideological disease sucking out the overripe, ooey-gooey insides of the already sad and lifeless Generation X, and they’re pulling it out through their fucking eyeballs!
Forget everything you ever saw about People of Walmart. If you found that piece of shit book in a Barnes & Noble outside the mall one mile from home, then you didn’t see Walmart. The people are deformed, sickly and fat. Which people? The best compliment I can muster for my peers is, “Hey, your eyes don’t look dead yet. What gives?” And they tell me, “Well, I guess I just hope that I’ll get out of here.” And this is normally where we would share a big, hearty gut laugh, if laughter sounded like a repressed sigh, followed by uproarious silence.
It’s pretty funny, though. I get to watch real, live human beings turn into animals. This is the kind of shit we watch documentaries for. There is a bovine quality to not only the customers about, but my coworkers, too. The younger, spry crowd, fueled either by youth or amphetamines, zip around around the obesity like pocked bees circling a hive, pretending to work. Customers and fat, aging managers migrate slowly across the store, fanning out across their territories like the Zerg Overlord of Starcraft. The managers wade smartly, while the customers follow the computer-generated maze designed to maximize profits by running them through a psychological gauntlet of shit they think they might need. There are no windows, no skylights, no clocks. Like a casino, Walmart is mazelike, timeless and the fluorescence maintains an overall vibe of perpetual night.
Of course, I sympathize with all these people here. I am not making fun of the despair; however, if despair is funny to you, then you and I are reading the same article right now. There’s a certain absurdity to the level of despair I see at Walmart that literally fascinates me in new ways, every single day I go into work. For example, sometimes a wild eyed look overcomes my immediate supervisor’s face. He lumbers around, eyes sharply focused on something, like a powerful lioness zeroing in on her kill! [trillions of lions]
“Matthew, pull some of them 32-inch TVs and let’s get ’em out on the floor.”
Matthew, proud to receive orders (to be on a mission!), gets up from the dirty floor where he has been straightening a wall of cellphone cases, and heads to the back with purpose in his step, shoulders back. He wraps everything in spiderwrap, preventing theft, and fielding questions from consumers who are universally too lazy to read, and are unable to follow simple instructions. We all received a public education, I thought. Where do they all come from?
I can only assume the absence of social programs is to blame for their destitution. Paradoxically, what little social programs they seem to access have enabled a massive prescription drug addiction that profoundly hits rural communities across the US in a way I don’t commonly see in the cities. Or, I don’t know, maybe they’re just fucking trash. HA! Imagine that: People, as trash. Human garbage. Because I don’t have to imagine it, I see it. I live in it. I am just blowing around with the human waste right now.
We operate right now on a skeleton crew of about four people in electronics. When a small crowd forms around me as I wait on hold with Indian tech support, I address my customers as a single audience.
“Okay, everybody, make note of who came first, second, and so on, and I’ll get you in the order you arrived, because as you can see, I am the only person here.” I often announce. And I figured out a funny line that usually wins over even the maddest adult babies in line, and it goes like this: “And so the next time you see Walmart in the New York Times posting record profits, everyone remember this moment. Now, if you just have a question, line up to the left.”
I do this every day.
The customers say I should be store manager. My coworkers ask how I am so good with people. I don’t know what to tell them. I don’t care. I don’t want to manage Walmart. I want to save every dime that shithole gives me and leave when my time is up. I eat ramen because I don’t want to work there. I am nice to people because Walmart sucks and it’s the only way to make it suck less.
I have to be nice to people because the retarded joy my customers get from buying electronics is sometimes the only happiness I might see in a day. At least I don’t share my coworkers’ irrational fears of management. I stand up for myself and my people. I have two really, really bad managers who tried to start shit with me and failed. One guy, I gave him three chances but I don’t think he knew he used up two of them when he interrupted a conversation I was having with a man about printer cartridges. I did whatever it was he asked, and then found him again. I told him not to interrupt me while I am working, and to use his manners. He tried to race me to the manager’s office, like a child, where I registered a formal complaint against him. Another manager attacked me for being laid back, and for seeming unapproachable. She complained that I don’t smile. I said, “I do, but I won’t smile at you.” And I smiled at her, because it was such a funny thing to say to the bitch. I couldn’t help myself.
Previously that day, I gave two customers my personal cellphone number and I’m playing the blues with one of them tomorrow. An aging fellow who asked me to put minutes on his phone for him, and we started talking about music. I was so unapproachable he asked me to join him to play the blues together. It’s a horrible place. It’s such a really, horrible place and I guess he felt it, too. Fuck me.
I feel like I’ve said pretty much all I can say about Walmart except for one thing. Remember last year’s strike? It looked like workers just wanted a little socialized fairness; at least, that’s how it looked from the outside, didn’t it? You remember that. Well, here’s what they really wanted.
Because Obamacare had just kicked in last summer. Walmart, instead of complying with the intention of the Affordable Care Act to persuade the second-largest employer in the USA (behind only the military) to offer affordable healthcare, doubled down on labor exploitation and shortened the work week to just 32 hours per person, or a paltry $1,100 per month after taxes. And, of course, no healthcare. So what were those workers in such an uproar over? Seems like they’d want their healthcare and full-time jobs, right? Well…they wanted their full-time jobs pretty bad, it seems, because that whole strike was not about getting healthcare and a living wage Walmart was intentionally denying them, but the big bargain was, “Just let us work 40 hours again, and keep the healthcare.” They needed the money that bad, and there is almost no place to work in areas where Walmart is big. Walmart is literally at the hub of my small town, as it is many others. Could Walmart, as a corporation, possibly have its worker base any better right where they want them? The socialist feartrip ripping through the country even had me convinced Walmart workers were fighting hard for healthcare, when in actuality they wanted Walmart to use its power to resist federal law and deny them their own healthcare, just for a chance to work more at Walmart, selling even more shit for them.
If this sounds stupid or unlikely so far, I’ve noticed something about Walmart’s computers. They’re not very old, and came out after Obamacare was a thing. On the scheduling software, I can see (I already work 32 hours, by the way) a link to “Take open shifts.” These are currently denied by management right now, but all the elements are in place for the Walmart strikers to eventually have their way and pick up any open slot that might open up based on computational analysis of shopping patterns and trends by the Walmart ordering and scheduling algorithm, which automatically suggests a certain logistical deployment for the store, in three-week chunks, or cycles; theoretically, in the absence of a store manager, the store could go into auto-pilot, guided only by a proprietary formula designed to maximize profits at the expense of whatever, human sanity. A peripheral cost.
Working at Walmart feels like being at the center of a shitty wagon wheel, and it only drives through shit, and it’s just throwing shit all over the spokes, and everyone is in a shitty mood about it, but no one gives a shit enough to do anything about it, and now we’re all eating shit and we have shit for brains and a shit culture with shit people who shit all over everything so even the nice stuff that could have been nice is also shitty. Walmart makes everything shitty. It hardens people. It turns compassionate people into dead-eyed zombies in a short matter of months. Many of my coworkers are dead inside. 18 years. 14 years. 20 years as a retail drone without so much as an offer for promotion because they are too weird, too nice, too dumb, too smart, or too soft for the hardfaced leadership role as a deckhand to the helm of the hate ship. But hey, she’s a-sinkin’, boys. Let’s watch her go down not with sadness, but celebration. Just too bad about the innocents. So don’t feel bad for me. I’m not innocent. I’m worse than any good-natured, hard-working Walmart employee. I’m a lazy piece of shit who hates his body and hates himself, and his ideas and his thoughts, and if I die early, it’ll make fucking sense and maybe even some people will be happy. So don’t feel bad for me. The next time you walk into Walmart – and I know you will, but deny it all you like – be kind to the sad, desperate souls all around you and realize someone definitely treated that person like less of a human being, just because they have to wear that huge, ugly gay blue vest with the words “Proud Walmart Associate” on the tit. Which is really a bit presumptuous for a shirt, don’t you think?
What dreams once lay behind those dead eyes? What hopes were dashed, so early on, that this is all there is. I’m fine. Walmart is fine if you get out, even if that is generally unlike how retail was originally conceptualized. You’re stuck here forever? Fuck. They didn’t deserve to die. No one deserves this previously unwritten layer of retail hell. But it’s difficult to look at them and think like that. You wouldn’t look directly at the sun, would you? Am I the crazy one for staring at it? Maybe I’m wrong here, but working at Walmart fucking SUCKS out loud.
Stay tuned for a Walmart-themed hatestory by the Internet’s favorite kilgoar, who has watched me work at Walmart, and heard – and laughed at – all my complaints. This exposé is brought to you proudly by chronicle.su, your number one source for all things, fulfilling, and true.
An all-new flight simulator game from award-winning studio Naughty Dog puts gamers in the blood-stained cockpit of a freshly hijacked Boeing 747, and teaches them how to efficiently pilot the passenger plane into symbols of Western imperialism like the Twin Towers.
The game reportedly simulates the same terrorist act, again and again. According to testers, players will try for the highest death count by selecting their own date and time of attack, and strategically target the weakest points in the towers’ structures to maximize terror.
“Unbelievable,” raves The New York Times.
“Unthinkable … recklessly irresponsible.” — LA Times.
“You can literally keep doing 9/11.” — Internet Chronicle.
Developers at Naughty Dog have high hopes the game’s controversy could boost sales. An emailed early-access invitation advertises a few of the game’s key features: “Raise the alert level to ‘Threat level Orange’ to unlock the game-changing Inside Job power-up and impress your friends by permanently shifting world politics in … somebody’s favor!”
Another line from the email states players gain score multipliers by issuing high profile threats leading up to the attack: “You’re nobody’s fool! The decadent West who gave you so much money before has turned its back on you! Show them you mean Busine$$ by issuing pre-taped taunts and threats on VHS.”
Reaction to the negative press is only in its earliest infancy, as not even Tipper Gore is prepared to manufacture the amount of outrage it is going to take to demonstrate the undoubtedly negative reaction the game is expected to face from teachers, soccer moms, concerned citizens and the CIA.