If you were going to open up a shop, what would you sell?

What would I–a bedraggled, road-worn, coked-up, rest-stop floozy, with more cheese between my knees than space for a billboard on Conan’s forehead, and a PhD in nut-butter economics of small to mid-sized statistical population zones–sell if I were to open a shop?

That’s easy. I would sell private donations to this top-notch powerhouse of satirical journalism. Imagine everything that could be done. We could, in no particular order:

• Buy our staff back from the local pawn shop.
• Then slap a new coat of paint on them, a little shellac, and BACK to the pawn shop for a profit.
• Then, take that money and buy a younger staff. Nothing illegal, but definitely older than 12 years old. Toddlers write terrible satire. Teenagers know the value of a good poop joke.
• Buy a life sized poster of Paget Brewster and hang it in the entry way to our corporate offices in the bad winery in Temecula.
• Do some Crink-Crink (that’s where you crush up ibuprofen, pancake mix, molly, tide pods, and pickled unicorn tripe) with Eugene Levy, black out, wake up 42 hours later in a warehouse surrounded by Russians, blood on our hands, raided cash trucks, and dollar bills in places that sand would be embarrassed to go.
• Buy a puppy.
• Write a love letter to Paget Brewster that’s totally normal and doesn’t even mention our rash.
• Sell the puppy to the pawn shop.
• Buy our writing staff back.
• Burn the love letter to Paget Brewster because she deserves better than us and we know our role will be to always love her from afar, in the distance.
• Cry, like total Alpha men, like Andrew Tate cried when he was beaten down by Greta.
• Get our staff to write the next issue of The Vidalia News Recorder.
• Sell them back to the pawn shop.
• Learn about sex from Eugene Levy and ask him to be our dad.
• Win a Grammy.

Through private donations from listeners readers like you, we’ll be able to keep delivering high quality satire at a time when major news sources are competing more often in the satirical journalism industry. Sean Hannity, Glen Beck, Jesse McFuckFace Watters, and more are rebranding from reporting to stupid bullshitting. 

That’s where we draw the line. Leave the stupid bullshit to us.

I’d also sell peanut butter, because almond butter is like eating chewy nuggets of textured bull semen, and that does NOT go well on bread with grape jelly. You know what it is? It’s fucking gross is what.

Almond butter is what happens when you rape a moldy cantaloupe with shivs made of Elmer’s glue. Jesus fucking Christ I fucking hate almond butter. (full disclosure: we are partially supported by big peanut butter in Southern region of Eastern Canadian provinces, and the “Friends of Temecula,” Temecula’s 12th largest chamber of commerce in Temecula).

Fuck you almond butter!