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Man “thrown into helicopter blades”: Calls for investigation after disappearance of writers kilgoar and hatesec

West Point, Va.—Human rights lawyers are calling for independent investigations into the disappearances of esteemed journalists and satire writers kilgoar and hatesec, the scarred and dented minds behind Internet Chronicle.

After being arrested for inciting violence and leaving in the back of a police car, their attorney Cole H. Truth says the two were taken to a so-called Schrödinger’s black site.

Officer Den Hinkey knows where the writers are being held, but refuses to speak.

“Maybe they’re in there, maybe they’re not, we won’t know until we look,” Truth told a group of reporters at Middle Peninsula Regional Airport. “I am only allowed to meet with them in a trailer parked in the Sonora Desert, where they tell me they are being trafficked, unpaid, and forced to write political jokes about Ukraine and Russia.”

CEO Raleigh Sakers arrived on his private executive helicopter.

Arriving via helicopter, Lebal Drocer CEO Raleigh T. Sakers made a confusing announcement, after he began speaking before the engines shut off and before the PA system could be heard.

Raleigh T. Sakers, CEO, Lebal Drocer, Inc.

“Sometimes I meet people and we’re just on different wavelengths,” Sakers went on muttering at the podium without looking in the faces of a crowd of about 65 people. “I walked this girl out after a nice first date, she shrugged one shoulder, she smiled, and said, “Mm! I’ll give you a hug!” like we’re bein all cute and spontaneous. I looked her in the eyes and I said, ‘Bitch, I will urinate in your body right now.'”

The crowd of reporters gasped and fell silent.

“What did he say? I didn’t hear it,” a man’s voice called out.

Sakers continued.

“Be all fucking cutesy with me. Shrug that shoulder one more time and watch me really start fucking transcending.”

Sakers then pulled out a large revolver from inside his jacket, held it up proudly to the audience, and kissed it before twirling it around the index finger and holstering it again.

Just at that moment, a prestigious doctor and expert on everything arrived by car from the north pitch, driving through the active sprinkler system.

dr troubadour
Dr. Angstrom H. Troubadour

Dr. Angstrom Troubadour hit a rock and got stuck in the wet grass in a 1992 Toyota Camry. Leaning out with one elbow from the driver’s seat, Troubadour watched forward through mud speckled glasses as his front tires spun helplessly, no matter how hard he floored the accelerator.

“I can’t feel my legs,” Troubadour shouted to a crowd of journalists forming around the situation. “I feel good, but, I’m OK. Just let me get out.”

He continued slamming on the gas pedal, the small engine roaring out in a belligerent rage. Without letting off the gas, Troubadour was next seen taking something from his jacket pocket and putting it in his mouth.

Sakers – now silent at the podium – was turned away from the microphones, and watching with everyone else as longtime business partner and protegé Angstrom H. Troubadour flopped out of the car, shrieking, and wallowing in the mud.

Sakers was reportedly overheard talking to himself, saying, “Show them how it’s done, old boy.”

Troubadour looked up from between the legs of a photographer, and caught eye contact with Sakers, who looked down upon him with renewed pride. The moment lingered, and they both smiled. Troubadour looked up, and from his reclined position on the turf, the doctor punched upward, catching the reporter on the inner thigh with a near vertical uppercut.

Sakers threw his head back and laughed, revealing a battery of golden molars.

Troubadour got up, picked the reporter up over his head, and turned to a row of live television cameras.

“It’s a good thing I took my TerrorMax,” he said, smiling.

Troubadour then turned back around and threw photographer James Durmond, 45, through the still turning tail rotor of Sakers’ private Exec 90 helicopter.

terrormax
TerrorMax is approved by the world’s leading doctor.

Durmond was pronounced dead at the scene and his smithereens are being placed in an unmarked grave at the boundary of the airfield.

Authorities are now looking for Dr. Troubadour, who was last seen boarding the Exec 90, and flying dark across the Rappahannock River.

Anyone with information regarding the whereabouts of hatesec or kilgoar is encouraged to reach out to [email protected] with tips. These messages are strictly confidential, encrypted, and stored on hard drives located in a neutral nation.

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Paula Deen retracts N-word apology

ATLANTA — Paula Deen gestured rudely at cameras and barked at officials for the entire duration of an in-your-face professional wrestling weigh in, Monday morning. Deen is facing sanction from the WWE after securing an illegal chokehold on black celebrity chef Sunny Anderson in a confrontation at the event.

A loud crack was heard as Paula Deen snapped a bullwhip in the air and smiled for cameras at the weigh-in.

Sunny Anderson crossed her arms and refused to comment on Deen’s insensitive display, silently judging.

“Oh are you offended honey? Why don’t you call me a cracker?” Paula Deen laughed like a hyena and smiled like a lizard, “I just saw the new Indiana Jones, and this whip has nothing to do with you and your race baiting gimmicks.”

Sunny Anderson only shook her head in vast disapproval, stepping up onto the scales.

“You know what, I’m not sorry for what I’ve done, the words that I like to say.” Paula Deen bobbed her head back and forth aggressively, getting up in Anderson’s face. “And you know what else? We’re coming back for ya.”

“As if we didn’t know already, you racist bitch,” Anderson erupted, raising a folding chair above her head and rushing Paula Deen.

WWE handlers tore the two Food Network stars apart while Bobby Flay officiated, breaking kayfabe with hamhanded analysis. “Wow, you heard it folks. This is going to be a barn burner of a show, with Paula Deen as the obvious heel. Her racially charged comments will surely come back to haunt her. And wow, isn’t Sunny Anderson righteously pissed off. Back to you Alton.”

Alton Brown pressed a camcorder into Paula Deen’s face, needling her like Fukui-san from Iron Chef Japan, “So Paula, have you hosted any plantation-style slave-themed events lately?”

Paula Deen struggled to loosen herself from officials, “I’ma put her in her place!”

Breaking free, Paula Deen moved with unbelievable speed behind Anderson, clenching a tight chokehold around her throat. Both chef’s eyes bulged as their muscles strained in contest.

Guy Fieri nailed Paula Deen with an empty trashcan, breaking the pair apart and stepping into the foreground, sweating and shouting into the Food Network microphone, “Tune in Friday Night at 9pm to see Paula Deen get her ass whooped, folks! Maybe she’ll even drop a hard R, a real N-Bomb, live on air! What a show folks, don’t miss it.”

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The singularity of shit

INTERNET — Viewers of the most popular Twitch streamers Pokimane, xQc, and so on have been inundated with debates, opinions, and rants on an ongoing gambling controversy that has rankled their communities for years. According to the moral high-horsing of Pokimane, streamers should not entertain their viewers with live gambling, because such bad behavior could corrupt the youth and lead to massive scams.

Following Pokimane further, one might find out that Kick, a rival company founded and boosted by the slots streamer Trainwreckstv, is very very bad and promotes gambling to children. Furthermore, it’s all hosted by Amazon anyway and will only feed more money into Twitch. (This false claim was later debunked by Twitch CEO Dan Clancy.) Also, a business like Kick could never turn a profit anyway, because it doesn’t harvest half of its streamer’s tips like Twitch (currently Kick takes only five percent of tips).

In a shocking upset development, xQc turned coat, betraying the Twitch-shiners and signing on with Kick to the tune of 100 million. Suddenly even the most self-assured Twitch lovers are harboring doubts. Pokimane has been left practically speechless, and is considering retiring from her place as top Twitch shill.

Most creators do not have the time of day to bother with these stupid and boring controversies, because they are too busy grappling with a precarious income and a shoestring budget while trying to master fickle algorithms that reward only clickthroughs and ad impressions. Forget about likes, follows, or any other metric indicating quality.

The “follow” has, over the years, become a totally vestigial remnant of the early internet. Users wrongly presume that they will be alerted to videos or tweets by “following” their favorite creators. In actual practice, these alerts are only delivered if and when the clickthrough or interaction rate is showing a totally addicted audience.

Emmet Shear likens YouTube, Twitch, and other internet entertainment to casinos or pay-to-win mobile games.

On the whole, these top streamers are an order of magnitude more boring than MTV’s The Real World, whether they’re staring at a slot machine in silence or muddling through these self-serving ethical postures for some air-headed excuse of a debate.

YouTube is only a half shade better than the streaming scene, with top YouTuber Mr. Beast showering money on random people in a feel-good unironic version of Squid Game.

Emmet Shear, former CEO of Twitch, mused about the payment models of internet entertainment, attempting to explain why YouTube and others are paying hundreds of millions to promote what is at heart a grim and sick vision of humanity.

What Shear says, although obfuscated with weird entrepreneur-babble, is that below the slick, antiseptic surface, these websites are all seedy establishments catering to the dark addictions of children and teenagers, in the same way as any casino or pay-to-win mobile game. However, Shear hopes we really won’t take this as a final reflection of the human species. After all, there’s still optimism thanks to Netflix, the one silicon valley outfit which has produced great television shows such as Black Mirror and Squid Game.

This isn’t to say that the entire internet has become an absolute shit hole. Not yet. There are fantastic educational videos on YouTube covering a tremendous range of interests: Scott Manley’s space travel talks, NileRed’s odd chemistry exploits, Scholagladiatoria’s historic weaponry lore. I enjoy watching all of these channels among others. But this type of content doesn’t usually engender the addictive frenzy that the algorithm prefers, and so these are either hobby horses or strained, self-produced low budget affairs with each creator working second jobs, hocking merchandise, or forcing strange product placements to make the show happen.

It’s the singularity of shit, Bubs. Exponential shit. You know what that means? Shit to the shit’s power

Far from a glimpse of hope, the malevolent disinterest of YouTube towards video creators who indeed make life more interesting is yet another painful shot of cynicism and nihilism. That a video might have some meaning beyond profit is unthinkable. A future with only AI-generated content would, to the shit-minded silicon valley overlords, only make for a vast improvement in technology, the next logical step for the industry, and they have staked billions into developing these shitmachines. Digital Humanities luminary David Golumbia writes that the true product is despair.

The singularity of shit is here, so prepare to be buried. This is exponential “enshittification.” I don’t expect Zuckerberg, Musk, or any of the shit-minds to have some sudden awakening. I don’t even hold out Jorg Sprave’s reasonable hope that entertainers will collectively wise up to the raw deal, either. It’s a corollary to Moore’s Law, but just double the shit each day.