The Elf Wax Times Boasts Monumental Success

The Elf Wax TimesWASHINGTON, DC, UTAH–The Elf Wax Times announced today its 1,000th reader in just one week. Executive Editor, Steve Grabowski, said The Elf Wax Times has been spammed with Google Image results almost exclusively under the keywords ‘Miley Cyrus sexting.’ An army of 4chan porn addicts, unable to get off to anything that isn’t a sext message, have been in search of “moar” Miley Cyrus “n00dz” and have found Miley’s infamous sexting image located within our scathing commentary on sexting among America’s youth.

“The Elf Wax Times spiked 500 hits last night alone due to a mix-up around nude photographs Miley sexted out to Nick Jonas,” Grabowski said.

Nick Jonas is reported to sport a so-called “purity cockring” in an image he sexted in response to Miley’s now infamous, but typical, “tease” sext. According to an employee at Verizon’s sext message monitoring headquarters, the rumors are true, but Miley Cyrus sends out these kinds of texts all the time to her family members. “Especially the father.”

“Glory holes in Roanoke, VA” is also turning up “mad results” according to a recent Google Analytics poll, and more users find themselves reading the Times than ever before, when they meant to find elven pornography or how-to guides for waxing a pussy. “People and their cats,” commented Grabowski, with a shake of the head.

It’s a well-known fact that if God intended for cats to be naked and pink, he would have birthed them that way, or burned a few with solar flares. But God works in mysterious ways, sometimes neglecting facts altogether, as one Elf Wax Times reader found out the hard way.

“I was searching for Jesus,” he said with a pause, and trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Miley Cyrus Sexts The World
The sext heard 'round the world

But even inadvertent Elf Wax Timers are converting to full-time readers, according to some contrived interpretation of a combination of anecdotal results. For instance, one reader who searched “whore lithium weed” happened to dig 11 pages deep into the Times. Looks like somebody found what they came for!

The entire Elf Wax staff could not be reached immediately, and the office voicemail redirected to a vacation response from Easter which connected reporters to a full mailbox in which no message could be left or returned.

Elf Wax staff writer Cold Hard Truth was not immediately available for comment, but wrote an email to the editor saying, “I once had a job installing cable for the cable company. One time I had to go in ‘their kid’s room.’ There was this big nine-foot retard standing behind me in the corner, the whole time, breathing real hard and real loud – and just staring at me, watching my every move. Just staring, and breathing, stopping only once to piss himself and scream. I imagine having a big nine-foot-retard with jaundice could come in handy at times. But not when you need cable installed. That freaked me out. Do you think hermaphrodites, like true hermaphrodites, could get themselves pregnant? And like, clone themselves?”

His email response went on like this for another two pages attached to a .avi file of Japanese piss bukkake, and was completely irrelevant to the questions reporters asked.

All attempts to reach Wayne were futile, as a Spanish-speaking woman answered his publicly-listed phone number demanding cocaine in exchange for a beheading she’d performed just moments earlier. An ape was heard howling in the background, believed by sources to be owned by Wayne himself, or traded on the black market, again, for drugs or possibly even “sexual favors” according to the woman when asked about the noise. “He do lots of thing.”

Steve Grabowski said the Elf Wax Times is growing at up to 100 percent on good days, and as low as “90 percent on a slow day.”

“Mostly,” he added, “People just plain don’t know how to search for porn, and they wind up here. But we gladly welcome you. Sick, twisted fucking perverts are the backbone of The Elf Wax Times.”

And so are you. Thanks, dear readers. Keep refreshing the Elf Wax Times for the latest news on things that happened a few days ago. Also, be the first to get to Elf Wax Times by Googling ‘marijuana’ and win a free trip to an  F.B.I. holding facility!

The Elf Wax Times has no relation to the ELF, an eco-terror group which has claimed responsibility for several recent terror attacks. We hate the environment.

I'd like to sext you up

Roanoke, Va. – Sexting. We’ve all done it, or at least most of us have; and then we disseminate it throughout the internet so that geeks like you can share the glory, by passing it along to other geeks. Sexting is thought by scholars to be the first instance in human history where two people flirting around benefits the rest of mankind by spraying sets of nude pictures across the information superhighway.

“It ain’t all glory holes and slick-bottoms, though,” said Phillip Bernstein, Richmond-area sexter. Sexting has recently come under fire from the mainstream media who exploits it to gain ratings by selling to perverted America the very idea that there really are 13-year-old girls getting naked on camera somewhere, for someone. “How despicable,” the news anchors tell you. “How intriguing,” you actually think. Because you are a pedophile and you’ve gotten to this site by googling jailbate – a key term sure to be found in the tags section at the bottom of this article. The FBI are on their way.

Miley Cyrus advertises using sexting
Miley Cyrus advertises using sexting

But sexting, as everyone knows, is rooted in the regular text messaging feature put in place on all cell phones everywhere by loving cell phone “care”iers like Verizon and Sprint. And while having your girlfriend text you pictures is wonderful for everyone, sexting isn’t the only thing that makes paying $15 per month the biggest mistake a parent can make when raising his/her child – the whole text messaging lifestyle turns waterhead kids into flatline pets that trail behind you as if by some invisible leash.

Rare fact: it is the parents’ choice to pay for the text service. However oftentimes they will unknowingly buy text messaging with their plan; others think, “Heavens to The Grand Tits of Betsy! What happens if I get into a car accident, the vehicle flips over, and the steering wheel pinches my throat off so I can’t use my voice? Ah-HA! I will text Lassie!” Whatever failure of logic bleeds through their brains, all of these parents fail to make the sister choice to buying this service – “slapping that little bitch in the face when she turns into a whore.”

vidcap_sexting0515

What I’m about to tell you is the story of the North American

suburb-crawling skank.

There are little girls who trail behind mommy or daddy through Anytown, USA, staring down into their twiddling hands at what is without fail – without question – and without having to look: a cell phone.

They are oblivious to what is happening around them. “Honey, can you help me find 17 cents?” — “…huh?” I said, “We all want to take your melon head and smash it into a wall.”

Wow! Given all the threats, I’d have to assume texting is useful, right?” Wrong. What usually takes 5 minutes via detailed, half-focused phone conversation can take all day using text messaging. But who cares? They are either texting guys or talking to other girls about guys. Regardless, everything these little bimbos are communicating is stupid and pointless. This is because nothing of value has ever been transmitted via text message.

“You’re pregnant.” Oh! Let me just text my husband.

“You have cancer and you have six months left to live.” Shit…I’d better shoot out a text so the family knows.

The ideal conversation I’d like to hear:

“Jenny, can you please stop talking with whoever about your rotten little pussy for long enough to pick out what you want to eat?” – “…what Mom? Oh…I see what you mean…”

Miley Cyrus Sexts The World
Miley Cyrus Sexts The World on Google Images

One will never hear that talk, because parenting notoriously never takes place under the umbrella of reason. Consistently, stupid parents raise stupid girls with unnatural under-bites. Big knees. Ratty-looking hair that has been treated with so many chemicals, not even lice can grow in it. Although at one time, some probably did.

These girls, having built a fantasy world around themselves in which their opinions matter to others, have exceedingly naive perceptions of the real world – albeit most of them have an expert handle on conception itself. “This is as easy as laying on your back,” said sophomore Kimberly Thomas. This enveloping bubble-wrap of kaleidoscopic anti-reality breeds in developing young women a viral and slowly-evolving case of “Soccer Mom Syndrome” (SMS) whose symptoms include:

  • Loud voices
  • sweeping sense of entitlement
  • unrealistic expectations
  • Miley Cyrus
  • Miley Cyrus
  • blind ignorance
  • unwarranted self-importance
  • stifling religious zealousness
  • Miley Cyrus
  • obesity
  • chronic attitude dysfunction
  • highly-visible mental retardation
  • must be unlocked at tier 3

Fortunately for the rest of us, texting, and sexting moreover, makes retarded women sheeplike in your ability to herd their enfeebled minds around like dumb beasts using simple mental constructs and preconditions that play off laziness and convenience. Your stupid daughter is going to be so easily fuckable throughout her 20s. She’ll be so embarrassingly easily to nail that they’ll be cutting in on Chinese whores, and those whores will come cut her tits off for open-sourcing on their action.

That’s wonderful. But there is a downside to all this. Witness, if you have a moment, the following four-minute sequence of events in which a girl gets exactly what she deserves while texting in a car, but tragically imposes helpless strangers to suffer infinitely the hand of her stupidity, as some women are known to do three or four times in one day, often while texting:

Notice the girl’s first instinct following the crash was not to use the phone she just killed innocents with to call for help. She didn’t even try to text Lassie. Oh and hey – did you see that she was about to text me and tell me her friend wants me?

This is not a PSA – it is accidental, happenstance documentary footage of a young girl’s stupidity in real time. Critics of the viewpoint that the girl is stupid and killed people by texting fail to address that the conversation was working its way into sexting. She was texting a guy. Named James. “I think it was very brave of her,” said Crazy Pat, a full-time Verizon technician who was glued to the situation as it unfolded before him on his computer monitor. “So why’d they stop?” he later asked.

Fortunately for you, there are two solutions:

1) Abort daughters

2) Should choice 1 fail, begin slapping them as babies and do not stop until the redness of their skin somehow sends the message that texting is stupid, annoying, lame and pathetic. Should work.

More on this as we establish a live one-way video uplink with AIM user jo_baby_369.

Growing pains?

Suicide is becoming a widely accepted solution to the problems facing America. If you or someone you know is threatening suicide, do your part as a friend. Encourage him/her to do the right thing. And pull the trigger, wussy.

THIS MESSAGE IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT.

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.

Man's dreams fall into lap

Jay Kenny, A Roanoke man, sat in his favorite comfortable chair Thursday, thinking the world would just pass him by as it has done for the last five years. That is, until a book deal and a Sports Illustrated contract fell into his lap from the ventilation system overhead.
American author Jay Kenny making headway toward goals

“I was just staring out the window thinking, ‘Gosh, the world sure does change as fast as the second hand counts a minute nowadays.’ But I remember noticing that my back lawn and the bushes and trees always look the same,” said Mr. Kenny, retail employee.

Jay went on to express his renewed attitude toward life, and lack of certainty around what he will do next. “Now that I can be the writer I always dreamed of bein’, I just don’t know what I’ll write about! Sports? Politics? Social trends, the government? War and peace; it’s all out there for me,” he said with a grin.

Jay Kenny said he’d already grown accustomed to day-to-day life without ambition. “Paper hits the door every mornin’. The songbird sings my favorite tunes,” he said. He went on to describe how he’d come to delude himself into believing a life without any distinction whatsoever does not evacuate the happiness from his soul, but in fact brings him a form of satisfaction. “Things here are just how I want them to be. Pretty much all the time. Grass stays cut. Neighbors are friendly. Known them about fifteen years now. What little money I get pays the gas bill, heating, lights, health insurance, life insurance, car insurance, homeowner’s insurance, water. With what’s left I buy food. Sometimes I have enough left and I’ll even buy myself a big old steak dinner. Me and Gus,” he said, pointing to his dog. “I guess I might just write about that.”

Mr. Kenny said he would not investigate the duct-work of his home, telling reporters the weight of the curiosity around what caused his dreams to come true by simply neglecting to actively pursue them can be remedied with a good Marlboro cigarette and a shot of whiskey. “I don’t like to ask no questions,” he said. “Something told me I’d be a big novelist one day and people would want to know what I’ve got to say about things. I just believed in myself. And that’s probably how I was able to keep my routine of television, forty hours at Staples, and shopping at Kroger. I knew it’d all pay off eventually.” And it did.

Roanoke Valley under fire

Virginia, U.S.–The local human plantation of Roanoke, Virginia is at the brink of destruction.

There is a major reason to believe, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that waves of mountain lions did descend on the people of the Roanoke Valley in the great retaking of the cherished homeland. Sources say it is the largest incident on record of the overtaking of an American city by the surrounding wildlife.

A peace treaty is being worked out with the animals, but no inside sources have yet indicated any premonitions around the terms of the agreement. Anonymous sources report that Roanoke mayor David Bowers, best known for having sold the town to Wal-Mart out of gambling desperation, denies any involvement with unpaid, lion-related debts, saying, “I wouldn’t make a wager with those penniless rubes. They only want your flesh anyway.”

Field analysts say the animals have taken to gathering in the Roanoke Civic Center where humans are hunted for entertainment following a sold-out Toby Keith concert.

Jim Fixx, our reporter on the scene, identified twelve positive kills before he himself was eaten alive by a ravenous pair of adult hill cats.

Town spokesperson Lightfoot Steifewagen recalled a feeling of terror, when on her evening run to Wally World was pulled over by lions and questioned. “They wanted to know where I was going,” she said. “They asked where I came from. Like it’s any of their business!”

Attorneys for the swarm of mountain lions have stated the occupation is officially a peace-keeping mission intended only to affect a very precise few people who took part in the alleged attempt to overthrow the laws of nature. But he added, “No one is directly at fault for the decline of the mountain lion’s land, but because all have systematically taken part in the mass rape of it as every nut and every cog is needed to turn the gears of Humanity – the Great Fucking Machine.” It is a principal moment in interspecial relations in which a beast, with an attorney’s help has leveled the playing field with man.

So far, the verdict is split. If no verdict is reached after a second round of hearings Tuesday, the Roanoke County vs. Mob of lions trial could move on to the Virginia Supreme Court, where experts say the level of clusterfuck is expected to be a critical mass situation. Commander Von Hertenweiner, lead gang-rapist of the lion’s crack legal team on the case, said, “I foresee a dimension of politics so unexplored that NASA scientists and mathematicians have been placed on temporary standby, awaiting transmissions from the top.” Judge Joe Mathis, who is expected to rule on the case, said “Next week’s hearings should go as smoothly as an abortion case, or a sudden lion attack.” He concluded, “If things get too hairy, I will back someone into a corner and hold them in contempt of court after they lash out at me with rage.” The press room then let out a chuckle, quit their jobs, and went home to ‘blog about it.

In other news, rising again to defend the Glory of Mankind, as he has done countless times before and forever will do into perpetuity, Winston Churchill had this to say:

[flashvideo file=”http://chronicle.su/wp-content/uploads/Winston-Churchill-backed-by-band-from-the-future1.flv” /]

Black hole unlocks quantum secret to cosmos, accretes Earth

This evening, a black hole instantly spawned inside our solar system. The event occurred so suddenly that scientists have not been able to determine its preconditions, but more presently, they are concerned with how humanity will go about tackling this catastrophic phenomenon of rapidly-impending doom.
Two brave Elf Waxtronauts

Commented Stan Stientenblauer, the Pentagon’s leading astrophysicist and top scientist on the case reported to the press moments ago that, “It’s dangerous to the Earth. It is also dangerous to humanity and her precious, precious domination over all of Mother Nature. Our clocks are beginning to speed up but our perception of time is slowing down. Tomorrow’s traffic report is not looking good. And you can forget about Monday.”

This small Virginia town is writhing in turmoil. To escape the confusion of what is shaping up to be True Armageddon, Roanoke citizens have taken to their televisions, watching emergency reruns of Frasier, Lost, and 24. Some have ordered pizzas. Some are on a savage looting spree Downtown. Other citizens, like Leesa Brenner, a Roanoke Junior High School teacher told E.W. Times reporters from her front porch, “I Just want to put this whole mess behind us.” Her ex-husband but live-in boyfriend, carpenter Steve Crowe, threw his hand up to the sky, and announced, “It’s time to get on with life.”

The couple would not agree to any further questioning and went back into their home, where Maury could be overheard declaring someone the father of an unwanted child. Overhead, the black hole can be seen clearly in the evening daylight. Streaming sheets of rearranged matter clouds together perfectly from all directions into the vacuum of the all-consuming abyss, and growing exponentially. Doctor Raymond Sexjoy has warned of a highly-inevitable spaghettification due to set in within twenty-five minutes, pursuant to our crossing of the event horizon, due to take place just moments after the upcoming opening credits to The Simpsons. Commenting on humanity’s ability to control the crisis, Sexjoy said, “Oh heavens no. We’re all fucked,” as he lit a cigarette, and twisted morbidly out of proportion until he exploded apart into a stream of atoms.

More as this develops into Hawking radiation.