You Ungrateful Bastards!

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Journeyman Fan Joins Sixth NFL Team In 5 Years

HELENA, MT—Continuing his lengthy trek around the league, sources confirmed Friday that 36-year-old journeyman fan Brian Ferretti has joined the Arizona Cardinals, his sixth team in the past five years.

Is The Nation Ready For The Next Katrina?

Friday marks the 10-year anniversary of when Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans, and many commentators have argued that not enough has been done over the past decade to address infrastructure and emergency response issues that could put coastal cities nationwide, including New Orleans, at risk of a catastrophe on a similar scale. Is the nation prepared for another Katrina?

Department Of Labor Study Confirms Your Job Most Demanding

‘None Of Your Friends Understand How Hard It Is,’ Report Reads

WASHINGTON—Noting that the level of mental strain associated with the profession was far and away the highest recorded, a federal study on workplace conditions and occupational stress released Thursday has confirmed that your job is the most demanding career in the entire nation, and that none of your friends or family fully understand how hard it is.

Neighborhood Starting To Get Too Safe For Family To Afford

CHICAGO—Explaining that the sense of unease she felt walking to and from her home had declined markedly over the years, Humboldt Park resident Kirsten Healy expressed her disappointment to reporters Thursday that her neighborhood was becoming too safe for her family to afford.
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Just Like Everything Else!: Fox 8 p.m. EDT/7 p.m. ABC Pete's wife is still on him about building that darn shed, these kids are going to be the death of Sheila and Dave, and the hot next-door neighbor is up in EVERYBODY'S business! Sunday nights on ABC couldn't be any more familiar!

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This Great Song, Bar Sources Report

TOMAH, WI—Pausing their conversations momentarily to call attention to the music playing on the establishment’s jukebox, sources at local bar Shepherd’s confirmed to reporters Friday that this is a great song.

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You Ungrateful Bastards!

You bastards! Why will you not buy Old Uncle Zweibel's Patented Tripe-Flavored Ices? Damn you! Damn you!

Nearly half a million dollars I've sunk into this venture, and I'll be lucky if I see a penny of it. I added a whole new wing to the estate slaughter-house, kept continuously cold by precious ice shipped via barge from the Arctic Circle, so that tripe and other miscellaneous drippings collected from the slaughter-house floor could be frozen into delightful summer-time refreshments. It's the wonder of the age, by cracky, and it's going to pot because none of you damn fools will purchase my ices!

I also spent a pretty penny on elaborate molds into which the tripe is poured before freezing. Who wouldn't drool over a tempting tripe-flavored ice shaped like a steam-locomotive, the Lady Liberty, or Grant's Tomb?

I can't understand it. It's summer-time! The heat is stifling! The American people are languishing on the roof-tops of their sordid tenement houses, slowly being driven mad by the neighborhood organ grinder's cacophonous rendition of "I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles" below. This should be the ideal time to manufacture and sell delicious tripe-flavored ices. But no takers! I might as well have tried to sell rabies to dogs!

I'm always trying to do nice things for you. Who sponsored the public hangings and bear-baitings in the nearby village? Who gave every townsperson a shiny new button for their birthday? And who got the entire village hooked on opium? Me, that's who!

At this moment, my estate is lousy with melting, stinking tripe. We tried to feed some of it to the estate's herd of boars, but the spoiled goods exploded in their stomachs, and they died spectacular deaths. So now I'm forced to store crates of it in my armoire. Now I don't even have a place to put my jars of urine! This glut of tripe breaks my spirit. I've always prided myself on my uncanny ability to sell anything to anyone, be it through sheer force of personality, legal writ, or physical coercion. But I learned long ago that when plans backfire, it's best to find a scape-goat and pin the blame on it. You'll pay dearly for this, you bastards!