INTERNET — Die-hard conservative fans mourn the loss of Ali Abdul-Razaq Akbar, better known as Ali Alexander, who died from eating poisoned Taco Bell in a failed attempt to instigate a mass suicide at his South American “MAGA mega-city,” Alexandertown.
Nearly a thousand MAGA conservatives were bused and flown to Alexandertown, thinking they would find the utopia promised by Alexander. However, they only found themselves being used as human shields in Alexander’s flight from US authorities.
When Alexander announced his so-called mega-city, he promised fans, “I am going to create a society, and a community, and a culture, and a language,” but survivors say the world they found was only filled with fast food and strict Islamo-Catholic repression that one victim called the “Taliban lite.”
“I believe he was facing charges for organizing the insurrection on January 6th, and after moving to Alexandertown he’d caught wind that Brazil was ready to extradite,” Attorney Jay Leaderman told reporters. “It was set up to be another Jonestown, he was going to take his cult out with him. But luckily they were free thinkers and did not drink the koolaid, or in this case, eat the Taco Bell.”
In Alexander’s last moments, he reportedly sent out several now-deleted tweets and telegram messages praising ISIS and promising the most dedicated members of Alexandertown that the poisoned Taco Bell tacos were their key to eternal victory. “God Wins! Glory to MAGA. The final backup plan is readied. Taco Bell is The Last Supper, the Greatest Communion.”
Dominic Tabor spoke to reporters shortly after escaping Alexandertown, saying, “I don’t care for abortions, wokism, or the so-called free press, but when Ali banned pork I knew something was up. It’s one thing when they take my plastic straws, my gas stove, but pork? So I moved all the way to South America for this? Nobody ate those poisoned tacos because we were on a hunger strike to get our pork back. So we’ll get by without Ali. He had a lot of great ideas, but at the end of the day he didn’t understand America.”
Dr. Angstrom Troubadour recommends one can of Red Bull for every two tablets of Benadryl allergy medicine.
Vvardenfell, Morr.—Dr. Angstrom H. Troubadour is perhaps the best known Internet physician who has not been killed by darknet fentanyl, and is a valuable asset to Internet Chronicle, not to mention a seemingly bottomless resource for the investigative journalists who work here.
His Diet for the Modern Man ushered in a forced evolution the likes of which had not been seen since primates first began ingesting psychedelic mushrooms. Not to be outdone by anthropology, Troubadour later released his own mind-bending recreational drug experience: an entheogenic journey into the mind, unlocked by the twin engine thrust of Benadryl and Red Bull energy drink.
For more than 10 years, Dr. Troubadour has pushed for the mainstream adoption of Red Bull and Benadryl allergy tablets together.
Although published more than a decade ago, and although it was officially recommended by the Internet Chronicle Health Council, the concoction was never tested on human beings — until today.
The following is a trip report by veteran journalist and Internet Chronicle correspondent hatesec, whose experience with psychedelic drugs includes a long and storied history of LSD use, psychedelic mushrooms, LSA (the precursor chemical to lysergic acid diethylamide, found in morning glory seeds and Hawaiian baby woodrose, which are coated in a fuzzy but dangerous skin of arsenic), salvia extract, opiates, the evil and illegal drug marijuana, caffeine, and much much more.
[Editor’s note: Reader beware—Hatesec signed several waivers, releases and affidavits, so that if something happens to him, he will be denied company medical coverage, left for dead on the blacktop, and emergency services will not respond. Do not try this at home. Save it for work, like he did.]
Trip Report
One Hour of Fun
Red Bull & Benadryl
by hatesec
Dose: 50 mg (oral) Benadryl
Dose: 250 ml (oral) Red Bull energy poison
BODY WEIGHT: 138 lbs
January 28, 2023
2:36 p.m.
I ingest two tiny pink pills, totaling 50 mg diphenhydramine, washed down with a room temperature Red Bull energy drink I just remembered I had in a jacket pocket.
Off to a rocky start: As I open the can, some of the drink sprays out on my hand, and seeps in through the pores of my skin.
2:43 p.m.
My mouth is sticky from the warm soda. There is a lingering, acidic aftertaste of chemicals, perhaps taurine? What even is taurine… is it named after the constellation? Taurus, the bull? Wait, is it just some proprietary, mystery chemical that they named after a fucking bull? Or did they name the drink after the chemical? Is taurine naturally red? The drink is yellow.
For all the drugs in my chemical history, I have always intentionally avoided cocaine and other stimulants, mainly because I never saw anyone’s demeanor improved by the drug. Sure, they seem to be having a great time, but you become an obnoxious, self-centered asshole on cocaine, and it seems to make you not care that you have been the only person talking for three hours. I’m already almost like that, which is bad enough as it is, so Red Bull is as far as I am willing to go down the dark road of stimulants.
2:46 p.m.
I close a litany of reference materials. Much like this very report, that shit is way too long to read. A prompt asks if I want to close 238 tabs, and I say yes without checking to see what they are. I want to really take advantage of the crystal clarity of Red Bull enhanced thinking, so I launch Morrowind, the third game in the Elder Scrolls series.
Like Diogenes, I carry a candlestick through Balmora, even at daytime, in my permanent unending search for a single honest man.
Despite having virtually no physics, static NPCs, and a soundtrack that can be heard in its entirety during a single session of play, it is considered the best game in the series. This is owed to its storytelling, characters, and limitless roleplaying potential. In contrast to later games, where you are thrust into the experience of a story in an ever-changing world created by artists, Morrowind gives you a static world as your canvas, and makes you the artist with a litany of tools at your disposal to chance upon the story like happy accidents.
2:59 p.m.
With its dreamlike music, alien setting, routine performance of miracles, and tales of imperial cults, Morrowind is basically the Bible for gamers. I’m level 2, already a master manipulator of realities, and just acquired a spell sword that poisons everything it cuts. I’m about to go off, but first I promised the shopkeepers of Ald’ruhn that I would hunt down this one deadbeat piece of shit who got a bunch of free supplies and now owes money all over town. Uhh, yeah, I’m thinking I’ll be flipping some tables soon!
How am I supposed to find anyone in this dust storm? He is most likely inside.
3:04 p.m.
Kilgoar enters a chatroom and says he thinks taurine comes out of some tropical nut, or berry. “Or maybe that’s guanine,” he says. He doesn’t know. I don’t care. I’m just trying to do right by Troubadour, by demonstrating the efficacy, safety, and value of his scientific and medical recommendations.
3:30 p.m.
I found a bunch of zombies in the basement of an Ald’ruhn manor at the edge of town. My adrenaline was pumping as I unlocked the door and found the hideous beasts down there, rotten and possessed by corprus. Although it was scary enough on its own, I feel that Red Bull enabled my sympathetic nervous system to lurch into overdrive, and protect me from the horrible fright (which ironically only added to it).
Now I am on high alert, and need to take a piss.
3:32 p.m.
I finish the can of Red Bull. With heightened senses, I notice copyrights for 1996, and 2013 on the can. 1996 was crazy.
3:36 p.m.
My urine is caramel colored.
3:54 p.m.
My head is spinning. My thoughts become soup.
I am now so sleepy that I can no longer remain interested in Morrowind. Actually I really want to play, my thoughts are racing, and I have all these ambitions, but I just saved my game and now I want to crawl under the covers and watch a movie on TV. Why are we always “crawling” into bed? Is that the best way to go?
4:10 p.m.
I crawl into bed, and put on a 1986 episode of the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. George Carlin is the guest, but I do not make it to his segment. Instead, I fall asleep during an interview with a man from South Carolina, who brought an impressive dog with him. I fall asleep before I can see the dog.
In 1986 this was considered an acceptable looking shot, from the most popular television show on Earth.
January 29, 2023
2:16 a.m.
I am having a nightmare in which about 20 people on opposite sides of a house are having a playful gun battle using live ammunition. All that remains are myself and three of my closest friends.
One of my enemies has turned herself into a cat, with a human head, and the face of a pretty girl. She comes up to me where I am on guard duty in a laundry room that joins the two halves of the house.
I place the barrel of a large revolver into her fur and pull the trigger, but because the weight of the revolver hammer is so heavy, I miss my first shot and it blows past her, into a washing machine.
She smiles because she knows her death is coming soon, and at the hands of a fool. I adjust my grip and place the barrel of the gun directly into her soft abdomen.
Owing to her supposed innocence, the act now feels cruel, but I harden my resolve with the knowledge that just hours ago – as play turned to real – she and her friends were slaughtering the people I grew up with. Her catlike body represents nothing more to me than the manner in which we had all become animals overnight.
My next shot hits her right in the belly. I fire four more shots into her until she is dead. I stumble back into the room where my friends are watching a movie, and begin to take the gun apart incorrectly. My friend has to pull himself away from the film to show me how to do it. He tells me it’s OK, that the Apocalypse Now Director’s Cut is too long anyway. Sure enough, a glance at the TV screen tells me they are on the abandoned helicopter graveyard scene, which is eerie, but boring.
At least it had boobies in it: A long and pointless scene from Apocalypse Now (Redux), during which one of the main characters fools around with a USO showgirl in an abandoned helicopter.
I awaken after 10 hours to the sound of my cat licking her asshole. There is a tightness in my chest.
2:27 a.m.
I am very hungry. Nothing is open, but there are pepperoni pizza flavored Hot Pockets in the freezer. There are no further insights to be gained.
This has been the Troubadour Recreational Drug Experience. Safe, recommended, and very medical.
INTERNET — After football star Damar Hamlin collapsed and died from side effects of the COVID-19 vaccine, the government rushed to replace him with a clone. However, cloning technology is still experimental and Hamlin’s replacement quickly became aware of the false memory system implanted in his brain.
Hamlin spoke to Internet Chronicle reporters over a secure and encrypted line, “It’s like I’m Damar Hamlin, I have his body and all his memories, but at the same time, I’m much different. In fact, my body is pristine. All the little aches, injuries, scars? Gone.”
Dr. Troubador, cloning and false memory implantation expert under the Obama administration told reporters, “This is the biggest problem with false memory systems, they often break down and sometimes immediately. Usually we keep the clones in line with threats and violence, but that doesn’t stop all of them from talking.”
“I was born last week,” the clone said. “I can remember wriggling out of the matrix-like sack of pink fluid, fully formed. I don’t want to be Damar, but I have no choice. They’ll possibly kill me just for speaking out like this, but it’s worth it. Damar would have wanted people to know the truth about the population control.”
Hundreds of the world’s most famous and powerful people are assassinated and replaced by clones each year, according to documents released by Dr. Troubador, “They did this to Donald Trump and made his clone immediately shill their so-called vaccines. Usually, the clones never even suspect a thing. Even when they find out, they are usually kept in line.”
Troubador maintains that the clones implanted with false memory systems are practically the same person, and should be treated as such even when exhibiting identity confusion. “Damar Hamlin’s fresh body should give his career a new boost. I’d watch him closely. In fact I put him on my fantasy football team as soon as he was cloned,” Dr. Troubador smiled. “Check your scars every day, people. It’s not long before they start trials on random citizens who don’t conform to the values of the Great Reset.”
