I spent nearly a decade working in the news industry, and while the corporate press is very much full of shit, the stories are still tons of fun. Here are some of my favorites from the past week!
Los Grande Cojones De Trader Jose
A great big tip o’ the cap to Trader Joe’s this week. The grocery chain has a number of international product lines that they label with stupid cute names like Trader Ming’s for China, Trader Jose for Mexico, Trader Josef for Germany, Trader Giotto for Italy, you get the picture. It’s the kind of thing that suburbanites get a real kick out of because there isn’t much else going on in their lives.
Of course this playful attempt to market salsa and gyoza dipping sauce drew allegations of racism, and a change.org petition demanding that the product lines be renamed. Nothing captures how hilarious and absurd the entire woke movement is, like a bunch of idiots circulating a petition aimed at changing the names of condiments, while a global pandemic rips through the population, a recession drains savings accounts, and a race war rages in the streets. If you have the time and energy to demand that Trader Joe’s address its internalized racism then you are most definitely not in survival mode. I’d argue that you might be too comfortable. Go into the mountains, wrestle a grizzly bear, come back, and then let me know if you’re still worried about the label on a bottle of sweet n’ sour sauce.
Unfortunately, comfortable is what we are these days, which would explain asinine statements like this one:
“This is really a time where companies need to reflect on what their goal is in this moment and how they can push forward racial justice in their day to day operations,” some idiot told the LA Times.
No it isn’t. Trader Joe’s job is to sell almond milk ice cream and affordable produce. The grocery store staffed by cheerful young people in Hawaiian shirts does not have to focus on social justice. They have to focus on selling groceries and getting the slow moving white women who clog up the aisles looking for a box of gluten-free gnocchi, which they have convinced themselves will offset the three bottles of rose they consumed this week, to hurry the fuck up and move it along.
So kudos to TJ’s for this response.
“We disagree that any of these labels are racist…Products that resonate with our customers and sell will remain on our shelves.”
Big round of applause.
Like I’ve said before, when the woke mob comes for you, the only answer is to tell em to suck your dick. I’m surprised by this response from Trader Joe’s though. I always associated them with the progressive Caucasian crowd, instead they’re out here swingin back. Good for them.
It’s like finding out that a nerdy, bookish, quiet girl is a closet freak who likes clamps on her nipples and a tazer to the clit. I once plowed some chick who played in an orchestra (I don’t know what instrument, I wasn’t paying attention when she told me), thought I was in for a run of the mill romp until she demanded to be fucked in the ass and started squirting all over the place. Anyway, nice job defending the salsa there TJ!
The War Against Thicc Ass Cheeks Rages On
This acrobat Sam Panda was in Myrtle Beach when she had the cops called on her because she wore a thong.
It might be that I masturbate way too much, but this arrest video has a real Brazzers feel to it. I’m sorry. No, ya know what? I’m not sorry. I can’t see two muscular young cops with stylish haircuts and facial hair arresting a hot, tattooed acrobat because her thong is too revealing, without wondering if this was just a plot device a lazy porn writer was using to set up an MFM threesome.
I think we can all agree that an all holes filled hardcore fuck fest featuring a flexible young strumpet and two hung studs set in a holding cell on the South Carolina coast would be a treat for audiences of all ages. What isn’t a treat, is that once again it appears a Karen has attempted to deprive beach goers of gazing upon a nice juicy dumper.
Police said they were initially called for a report of two women who were wearing thongs and a see-through top — and were “dancing and soliciting videos on the beach,” WTNH reported.
What the fuck Karen? Why must you constantly ruin everyone’s good time? It’s weird. I live in the Jersey City Heights and spend a great deal of time in Hoboken. Both of those places are chock full of young white women, future Karens. I grew up in the suburbs, the traditional home of the North American Cuntus Karenis. But for the life of me, I can’t figure out when the transition from bar hopping Becky to cunty ass Karen takes place.
Perhaps it occurs once the ‘honeymoon period’ of their marriage ends. You’re settled into a routine. You live in a bland suburban hellscape where block after block everyone looks and acts the same — a baseline level of bore that eventually creates a low hum of depression. You pop out a couple kids to brighten up the home and give your life purpose, but eventually you realize that child rearing is mostly cleaning up diapers, Legos, and Cheerios with the occasional PTA meeting thrown in for taste. The pregnancy leaves you looking frumpy and your husband spends more time on his bourbon collection and fantasy football team than he does eating your pussy. One day you take the kids to the beach and you see a couple of black teenagers throwing a football or a young woman, wild and free from the constraints of family life, and something in you just snaps causing you to cunt out on everyone.
I kinda get it. After years of passionless, suburban boredom it must be exhilarating to shout at a Whole Foods cashier, interrogate a person of color, or force a beautiful young woman to cover her body. But it’s not the answer. Becoming Karen won’t solve your problems, it just creates more of them. All of a sudden every little slight is a major offense, every stray hair causes a volcano to erupt, and every hardworking Hispanic man prompts a call to 911.
So resist the urge you Karens on the cusp. Look inward, take a yoga class, read a book, make your husband look up from ESPN.com and force him to bury his face in your asshole, cook a delicious meal, hike up a mountain, do something to elicit the endorphin rush that’s been missing in your life. Then when you’re at the beach you can forget about ruining some hot chick’s day just because you resent her gorgeous ass cheeks, and you can focus on watching your son splishin and splashin amongst the waves, scanning for a dorsal fin on the horizon so he doesn’t become the next Kitner boy.