NEW YORK — Fans mourn the loss of Nickelodeon starlet Amanda Laura Bynes, who died early Wednesday morning at her home in New York. Bynes was widely recognized as the inventor of the Internet abbreviation “lol” – or laugh out loud.
Bynes was pronounced dead at 3:27 a.m. EST. Cause of death was listed as suicide. She was 27.
Bynes left what appears to be a suicide note in response to ridicule on her Twitter
Bynes publicly defended herself against allegations she was kicked out of gymnastics, and claimed to have an eating disorder.
Bynes spent her final weeks estranged from her family, stating via Twitter, “I don’t speak to my parents anymore.”
Because no will was entered into the public record, Bynes’ legal fund is being returned to Viacom. The money was originally distributed to attorneys representing Bynes to protect her name from libel.
Falls Church, Va.–Miley Cyrus bares all in her latest music video “I’m Becoming Brittany Spears” known for its catchy chorus, “You’ll see it even after you close eyes.”
I can’t find shit on Google Trends. What people Google is so uninteresting to me. It’s football scores – oh, and Miley Cyrus CAUGHT ON CAMERA DIGGING DISNEY PANTIES FROM ITCHY, DIRTY BUTTHOLE.
It demonstrates there isn’t much on people’s minds, at least not all at the same time. Regardless, the internet has the potential to both undo and multiply the advances of mankind, but for now, people are still using it to masturbate with. What a weird event it would be if all at once, Google was spammed with massive amounts of messages from humanity’s own collective unconscious!
HOT TRENDS INCLUDE:
jailbait videos of my inner child
1
0
“did you feel that?”
yes this is really happening
HOT TOPICS:
all time irrelevant, miley cyrus pronounced “child forever”
nothing is real, except this message
mainstream media not so mainstream once contrasted with galactic plane
america finally satisfies its problems with war
carl sagan auto tuned
Glorified beastly disaster upstairs, in the kitchen. I think it was a pot of chili but flames engulfed the stove and eventually the curtains. Nobody cares.
Pollution crept in through the floorboards this morning and we celebrated its hallucinogenic properties over a game of chess, followed by extensive blackouts.
All this, over Roseanne playing in the other room. The show was better during the original time, when the Brauny paper towel commercials ran, and at a normal volume too. We agreed that we are officially insane and conceded to lunacy, only to realize we were still in control enough to shoot guns, so we went outside. What happened next is anybody’s guess, and we lost the clip.
Later I ran outside and threw apples at a cow. It stood lazily, apples bouncing off its hollow-sounding noggin, its fat ass so content to eat them. At this, I laughed so hard I could barely stand to throw apples, which incited yet more laughter. I thought, “This must be how Hindus feel.”
And science shows that is in fact how they feel, thanks to a newly patended device by the Russian government that alters the weather patterns over Siberia as well as picking up the quantum vibrations of subtle human intent. Emotion-monitors are set to be installed on all new Segways to prevent their owner and designer from riding one over a cliff, however sources indicate there may be no way to tell if the devices will actually work, given that the Segway owner has already driven off a cliff and died on his Segway.
Tomorrow, the dawn of the nuclear apocalypse is rising and Americans have not even begun to dig any 1950s throwback bomb shelter graves, according to satellite surveillance photographs of their yards; while others appear to pray for death on an hourly basis.
Lebal Drocer Executive Jim Gray, PhD[izzle] converted his truck to a bio-diesel economy car, and later into a carbomb, inviting employees to a company picnic to have their own vehicles turned into bombs. He said the picnic bomb derby provides an opportunity for parents to engage their children.
He noted father-son activity research centers would likely see a healthy spike before sharply declining following a staunch lack of fathers and sons.
“Son, now I know your mother doesn’t want you playing with suicide devices until you’re older, but…be a man.”
Terrorism is to America what Miley Cyrus is to the adult world. A fading threat, and more of a reason to pull out than stay in at this point. One month and eleven days from now, Miley Cyrus turns 18. Until then, combat troops are still stationed in Afghanistan, South Korea, operating in Pakistan, and in some cases Sub-Saharan Africa, and the former Soviet Union.
Oh shit, I’m tripping hard. Read over this again, and take notes on why you’re wrong.
It’s as easy as BCC: Barricade, Concoct, Communicate.
Barricade:
Pile all of your furniture up against your front and back doors, along with any other additional entrances to your soon to be Alamo. Bust apart whatever furniture is left and cover the windows with spare wood and upholstery. Pile all scraps in the middle of your main staging area. This is where you may have to die, so if you die among the trash, you can be scooped up along with everything else for easy delivery to the nearest landfill.
Concoct:
This is where you contrive your plans to hold yourself hostage. It is also the execution phase, so moving on, you come to realize holding yourself hostage is a really bad idea because basically you’re just threatening the police to kill yourself and there is really no ransom to be had at all, so you’re going to have to pretend like someone else is in the house with you.
Communicate:
Call the police. Tell them you have been held hostage by an enormous man named Manuell Elberto Gero, and he wants forty five hundred thousand dollars in exchange for your safe return to your now destroyed home which you are already in. Manuell doesn’t know English that well, but he is trying his hardest anyway and the police are convinced that he will either get his money or kill you trying. Should they drop a duffel bag full of currency into your ventilation system, you’re free to hide the money in an unplanned yet highly convenient hiding place that the police, for whatever reason, will fail to search when going through your home trying to find evidence of Manuell’s escape route. Should they attempt to intrude on your beautifully orchestrated scheme to defraud taxpayers of next year’s new project budget to bulldoze a park, you’ll be forced to set fire to the scraps and tinder you have thrown into the middle of your living room floor. Should your scrap pile not make a large enough pyre to set fire to the ceilings, you’ll be forced to kill yourself by whatever means most immediately snuff your life force before the S.W.A.T. team comes around the last corner to see you naked and alone on the telephone. This way, they will not know that Manuell was but a figment of your imagination created as a ruse to stiff some dimwits out of a few thousand dollars at the expense of your freedom, dignity and even your life.
