Space station gets new "chill room"

Astronauts, tired of endless scientific experiments and tedious docking procedures have completed final docking of an entirely new “chill room” which features a specially designed zero-G couch, a PlayStation 3, and a huge keg. The new room is also “420 friendly” as advertised on craigslist, which is identified as the module’s point of origin.

Some of the residents of the International Space Station have given the “chill room” two thumbs up, praising it for the high resolution of the HD television and great satellite TV reception.  The gamers, however, complain of “laggy” game play issues that are entirely ruining their experience.

Cutaway view of the International Space Station's brand new "chill room"
Cutaway view of the International Space Station's brand new "chill room"

“I didn’t become an astronaut so I could have a first rate gaming system with a second rate network connection” complained one Cosmonaut, who later professed his love for Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare.  “I’ll shoot the guy, square in the face, and next thing you know I’m being shown a ‘kill cam’ in which I stupidly stare at some n00b wildly spraying bullets in my direction. What a fucking let down.”

The “chill room” also features a telescope window where Astronauts can look at stars and shit, while gaping in glassy-eyed stupor at the wonder that is so far out of their reach. One totally screwed-up ‘naut stared at the Andromeda galaxy for an entire hour, “All of the sudden I realized, dude, that thing is only a few inches big on my telescope but in all likelihood comprises thousands if not millions of planets that bear life.”

Ground control has repeatedly had to discipline the Astronauts for leaving the “chill room” a complete mess.  “When they’re up there, floating around sleeping in zero-G with Doritos and PS3 controllers floating all over the place, it can get dangerous.  The best we can do is to signal a critical alarm, and hope they don’t just go back to the booze when they realize what we’re trying to do. It hasn’t been working out well.”

Astronaut productivity is down nearly 30 percent and one experiment which is monitoring the effects of zero gravity on a small population of shrimp has apparently disappeared. The implication is that the experiment was eaten.  Freeze-dried rations are pitiful munchies, and perhaps we can forgive our Astronauts, because like us, they don’t really give half a shit about how shrimp deal with living in space.

Mass Murderer Media Wave

Ayatollah Hussein Obama has granted amnesty to the world’s most famous serial killer.

White House Press Secretary Tony Tightlips said the Obama Administration felt obligated on a freedom of speech technicality to release Charles Manson and pardon all charges.

“These California hippies are always hiding behind the First Amendment.”                – White House Press Secretary Tony Tightlips, crudely editorializing in front of reporters Thursday

Marilyn Manson fans have gathered outside San Quentin Prison in California alongside some goths and a lesser-known group of people calling themselves cutters. “Cutters” are a mysterious breed of suburbanites that co-exist alongside yuppie parents in comfortable dwellings called McMansions. They have united in celebration and anticipation of Manson’s first hit album, ‘Bad’, featuring Axl Rose and Dennis Wilson on Elf Wax Records.

On a side-note, self-mutilation, or “body-modding” requests are flooding into tattoo shops across the nation. Charles Manson’s fans have requested everything from the regular cross or swastika on the forehead to American flags emblazoned with the swastika rather than 50 stars across their backs.

Said one excited fan, “I got my swastika on the forehead scarred in there permanent!”

“I’m just so glad to see justice that I got stars and bars tattooed across my forehead,” said a sad-eyed transvestite named Lou.

Charles Manson has also launched HelterSkelter.com, a site which Manson says was “coded entirely using only basic HTML written in blood across an Arizona family’s wall.”

The painstaking hours of coding was “worth it,” he said, “because after it was all said and done, I could kick back and watch it all set in.”

Setting up Google Analytics will require a whole different set of organ tissue, he said, and indicated that it would all probably be coded in a baby turtle puree.

Fox has signed a contract with Manson for his starring role in an upcoming reality TV show. Charles Manson will live in a mansion located in Death Valley with several of his fans – only one of which will win a million dollars.

The show’s producers are providing him with a steady supply of LSD, which he will most likely use to enfeeble their minds and break down their personalities. The public has been so awash with buzz over this new show that FX has already purchased exclusive rights to its reruns.

Stoner realizes speed of Earth's movement through space, blows mind

Roanoke, Va. – A Cave Spring-area youth was high on marijuana today when he realized that time does not exist and therefore the speed at which the Earth moves through space is immeasurable, yet “so fast.”

Jonathan Spokane, above the influence, behind the wheel
Jonathan Spokane, above the influence, behind the wheel

Jonathan Spokane, 15, described to reporters how his mind came to be blown, saying, “We were drivin’ around, celebratin’ 4:20 after summer school when I started to daydream. I was thinking about space, and said to Joe, ‘Yo Joe. Space is like, really fuckin’ huge, man.’ Then Joe was like, ‘Hey I wonder what time it is in space?'”

Jonathan said he was puzzled by the question at first, until the answer came to him, at which point he could no longer remember his name, address, or even where he was driving his mom’s carload of friends.

His mind was blown, reportedly after he decided for himself that without a constant measurement of the discernible gravitational forces at work, there could not possibly be a basis for the measurement of time, which he said is already a “human construct” and therefore “irrelevant” to people who “know what’s up.”

Jonathan’s personal revelations, analysts predict, will lead him to experiment with harder drugs such as hallucinogenic mushrooms, LSD, peyote and mescaline – all to serve him in his singular quest for what he calls “the ultimate truth” about our existence and/or non-existence, both and neither of which he intends to prove.

Update:
Roanoke Valley Law (over)Enforcement Agencies and the FBI are on the lookout for Jonathan Spokane in connection with the assault of several police officers during a scuffle and the telephoned harassment of the County juvenile court judge. FBI director of searches and seizures Mark Warren told Elf Wax Times early this Monday morning that when police failed to apprehend him, he was “wild-eyed” and repeating the chorus from Black Sabbath’s “Fairies Wear Boots.” He is allegedly armed with a set of Ginsu kitchen knives and considered extremely dangerously capable of dicing a variety of foods quickly to subdue what are expected to be critical munchies.

Dick, Dedication, and the American Dream


Roanoke, Va.–This girl I liked when we were in ninth grade was really cute and had pretty green eyes. I told her one day as we were walking to the buses and she said ‘thank you.’ I never thought another thing of it because chasing tail, I decided, wasn’t my thing at that age. I still liked cartoons and videogames way too much to give all my energy to a time-vacuum like a girl and her problems.

Six years later, she came over to my close, personal friend’s house seeking heroin. Evidently, she’d found a boyfriend who uses heroin, and she herself got addicted so they could enjoy the drug together. What dedication! I can only imagine how poisonous their relationship together is. If you’ve ever seen Requiem For A Dream, you know what I’m talking about. Obviously, not every chemical romance is like that, but the movie is a very accurate depiction of how many of these kinds of relationships work out.

Now, I have a long-term girlfriend but she is not a painful soul-vacuum, nor does she any heroin – or any hard drug, for that matter. There’s a better way to keep a woman around without addicting her to a fatal drug, or so I like to think. I’d say that I’ve struck an almost psychologically unheard-of balance in which I get to be myself and happy with a woman at the same time. I get to play my videogames and have great sex, too. What’s more, I get to spend any or all of my time at the aforementioned best friend’s house on Bent Mountain because my girlfriend is not a succubus time-hog whose permission is required to fart.

Sometimes I go to my friend’s house and we just play videogames and talk about the latest Elf Wax and how epic it will be when the mainstream media bows to its superiority as the earth shatters under the weight of the resulting irony. Other times are spent watching as drunk, worthless chicks file in and out during the occasional party. It doesn’t happen often, because there’s always an active XBOX 360 in the room – a natural female repellent. But it still happens.

The other night, a girl came in and proclaimed, “I’ll get wasted tonight. I wanna get drunk and make a mistake. A mistake that makes babies.” I hadn’t noticed her until she said this. To me, women at parties are usually inconsequential, serving their benign purpose of making the men talk louder in their presence and nothing more. Also, they are good for starting fights, and beyond that, you’re lucky to bang one and forget about it. You never date these girls. This particular girl was your typical party slut. Kind of chubby because she is too dim to recognize a correlation between McDonald’s, beer, and her faltering appearance. Kind of slutty because the fatter a girl gets, the easier she has to be in order to compensate for her decline in received sexual attention.

So to what I thought was actually the fabled tongue-in-cheek wit coming out of a girl’s mouth, I yelled out, “Yeah, pregnancy, alright!” Nobody laughed. I guess (with good reason) they took her very seriously and the chase was on. Or perhaps they didn’t hear me, because it was funny and the way I said it was funny too, and nothing that leaves my mouth is short of genius. Regardless, I never took my eyes away from Nazi Zombies, at which I was brutally kicking the asses of the undead Wehrmacht.

Around me, cheap beers turned into cheap shots, and this girl got wasted, just like she said she’d do. Much unlike a woman, she stuck to her word, however I was still unimpressed because she hadn’t yet made any mistakes, aside from tipping the bong in the wrong direction and spilling filthy, stinking bong water into the couch cushions. I saw it. It was yellow coming out. Very old, putrid water. Not one oxygen molecule to be found in it. It stunk and made her stink because she’d also spilled it on her clothes. How gross.

The party continued. She flirted with the Brosephs and loved their ability to put unbroken sentences together (when college guys feel intellectually dominant, they like to talk in a loud, reverse-Seinfeld tonality). She revealed her true stupidity when she asked, “Where are you from?”

“They’re from a college, honey. Not a different state. Just not the Food Lion you work at.” My thoughts were growing cynical. It was time to play some killer jams. Oops, no good. The Brosephs took over tha party, bro. They’ve been in there tuning up for two and a half god damn hours and the drummer’s still sitting there twiddling his balls around. You gotta wait, bro. Bro. Dude. Gotta wait. “Get out of my god damn way and let a real musician play you fucking Modest Mouse-imitating honkies with your lame fail-minor chords and shit-eating cock-bang-the-drum-rhythms.” Rather than say this, I thought it, and chose to wait outside patiently by the campfire. The girl was there.

After begging everyone present at the party to take shots with her, one at a time, she still couldn’t bait an erection out of even the drunkest men, with the lowest standards. She had begun to embarrass herself by moving person to person, sitting in their laps and seeing if it took. Even after some very obvious lines of questioning, that went from, “I’m tired, I want to go to bed,” to, “I’m going to bed now,” to, “Do you like holding me?” to, “You want to come to bed with me?” she was having trouble getting results.

This worked on one guy. I knew his name because he played Nazi Zombies with me earlier and we shared victory. We got to level eleven together which had yet to be seen on this particular night, and so it felt good. He had originally showed up with a twenty-four pack of Bud Light, so he was drunk and getting drunker.

Sitting by the campfire and watching this pitiful scene between them in which she sat on his lap and he expressed his enjoyment of it, I thought, “This is it. She’s going to finally get fucked like the whore she is on one of those filthy beds in the back room. Won’t that be a pleasant Roanoke memory?”

Then, something interesting happened. He started playing hard to get. Not too hard, because I could tell he still planned to do something with her, if it was really going to be this easy, but he wanted to do it his own way, not hers. What he started doing was saying really funny shit to her, like “Sure, I’ll take you home, but you won’t like where home is,” and then he said something along the lines of, “That should correct your mistake.”

At this, the girl began crying. She’d already done this off and on throughout the night when no one would pay any attention to her. Still sitting on this guy’s lap, she looked around the campfire at a circle of unfamiliar faces, lastly at mine, then turned to the only other girl present, her friend who she showed up with, and begged her to call some one and have her come pick them up.

Almost simultaneously, a bearded man appeared in the doorway of the house – a violent drunk who’d passed out early but knew this girl personally. He approached her with two gallant strides across the yard, asking her, “Do you want me to make you feel really good?” Her eyes melted from personal ownership to childish submission as he took her around the side of the house, where the two were not seen again for at least an hour. The girl disappeared. Chris, my Call of Duty partner, said nothing. Simply opened another beer and enjoyed the company of friends, as he’d been doing before the girl materialized in his lap.

The party was over. I went to sleep and woke up sick. Sick, because I smoked from the same bong as that filthy petri-dish of a girl from the middle of the state. Some unknown, unnamed hick town smaller than this one. The only kind of place capable of producing a dispirited character so familiarly squalid and lacking of common sense or decency. A desperate fat sow whose social success hangs on her ability to fuck someone new at every alcoholic gathering. The product of boredom due to excess. Of a lesson learned in which doing nothing equals doing something as long as a dick still penetrates her at the end of the night.

Hers was a life that led her to pouting her ass around, like a cat in heat, for the first burred penis whose instincts could safely guide it into the dark hole at the end of the tunnel-vision. First shaking it in front of this lap, and then that one, and another one only to be swept up by a surprise male she didn’t expect. But it makes no difference anyway, because she’s chosen the life of a vapid, disease-ridden drunk whore with no inspired future and ugly, meaningless friends, yet retains the ability to carry around a false sense of daytime dignity because she attends a community college somewhere.

A girl who has everything and gets nothing out of it. Has nothing good to say but is feverishly pounding texts out of her cell phone. Knows nothing even though she has the Internet, because she only uses it for Facebook and MySpace.

A girl who will never find this highly-detailed account of her actions, even though I wrote elfwax.com down on a slip of paper and threw it into her purse when she wasn’t looking.

God Bless America. And God Bless The Elf Wax Times.

LSD FOUND IN ROANOKE WATER SUPPLY, ALL WATER SHUT OFF


ROANOKE, VA–As a result of the recent findings of pharmaceutical drugs in tap water across the U.S., a local study in Roanoke, Virginia has found traces of lysergic acid diethylamide(LSD) in the community’s water supply. Experts say the water supply could’ve been “spiked” many years ago. Tragiluckily, police have taken necessary measures and shut off all water in the Roanoke Valley, leaving thousands waterless, hopeless, and, of course, tripless.
Local citizen and water enthusiast, Travis Parcha(pictured right), 22, stated that the mass water outage “kinda sucks, dude” as he realized he had no beverage to co-consume with his pizza(s). Roanoke OverEnforce Commissioner, Gordon Magwalice III, issued a statement earlier this lifetime stating that the outage is expected to last several years in order to ensure that no LSD is wonderfully ingested and perhaps could continue “until Earth dries up like a prune.” Commissioner Magwalice III said that this now solved problem may explain the design of the upcoming Art Museum of Western Virginia as well. Construction of the museum has been indefinitely halted. Back to you, Shep!

This has been generously brought to you by Lebal Drocer Inc.