This is it… this is your life. These grooves dictate your very being… embrace them… love them. You see those grooves? Would you fuck those grooves? Or would you make sweet love to those grooves?…

[This is a picture of record groove under a 1000x microscope.]

It’s somewhat rare that we here anything from The Onion that people deem noteworthy; Often times, their satire is less tongue-in-cheek and more tongue-stuck-out-pointing-right-at-you. Still, every once in a while, we get a glimmer of genius from them. And none is the case right now more than this fictional rendition of what would happen if Denmark allowed their ‘national treasure’ Lars Von Trier to write and direct an advert for national tourism in their country. [For the record, if you haven't seen a Lars Von Trier film, then.. get the fuck off of this blog!!! ]

Denmark Introduces Harrowing New Tourism Ads Directed By Lars Von Trier

[Insert Video Gallery elitistmag's videos]

So, apparently, Keanu Reeves has lived through countless great lives and ended as… Keanu Reeves? Still, the resemblance is amazing.

Poster Revealed for Transformer Threequal

Reeling off the success of his latest film, Transformers 2, The Rock director Michael Bay has stated at a press conference in Spain, big time-’splode ‘em up director Michael Bay revealed the latest details to the last of the much loved trilogy. This news comes long awaited, yet still a bit premature; as the latest film in the franchise (Transformers 2)

Says the director on his inspiration for the idea, “I was on Facebook talking to the ghost of Andy Warhol talking about how to ruin art in place of entertainment when something amazing happened. I typed in a semi colon and a smile and suddenly, it transformed into a full faced winky face. I was amazed. I literally sat in my chair for about two hours drooling; much like the writing process or the last two films.”

The new film, enitled Transformer 3: Emoticons v. Decepticons, is slated for a December 2012 release. Michael Bay decided this date to commemorate the end of the world which he helped to bring about by his horrible films.

Here it: the new Poster art.

What do the stars have to say about this? Minor players Tyrese and Josh Duhamel were heard screaming and cheering near a popular LA Night Club; paparazzi say that the two were heard screaming “Money!” and buying rounds for all in the VIP. The devil was also spotted there shaking hands with the two whilst sipping on a cosmo.

Veteran actor John Tuturro was seen drinking heavily in his NYC home. Neighbors say he’s been acting this same way ever since working with Adam Sandler and has only been precipitated whenever a new Transformers is made.

Lead actor and sweetheart Shia LeBouf was seen weeping silently at a premier LA gym. When questioned, Shia began mumblng incoherent sentences. By the time paparazzi arrived, Shia had split, but had left his dignity behind. Lastly, heroine and current “it girl” Megan Fox was seen doing nothing- absolutely nothing.

If you are homeless, cafes are probably a good place to get money, cigarettes, and maybe even coffee. I guess you can try the dumpster too. I hear wonderful stories about the still edible treats you can dig out from under wet stinking coffee grounds (from, you guessed it, people who are not homeless). As I have not done this myself, I really cannot recommend it. If you are not homeless, you should at least consider giving something. I have never been homeless, but it seems like not so much fun, unless you’re homeless in that kind of old meaning of the word hipster kind of way. That’s not “homeless”; that’s an “adventure”. If you aren’t predisposed to giving, I wouldn’t recommend sitting outside the Last Drop with a lit cigarette. That is of course unless you’re like a friend of mine, who when asked for a cigarette, took a long drag and said: “I don’t smoke”.

Lienette inspired me to unload something that’s been cooking on my hard drive for a while. Have you ever wondered how you should behave in a café? I know I have. So I decided to figure it out.

Here we go:

Buy something. If you come often, then tip. If you don’t, tip anyway. Unless you don’t have money for a tip. (I am not sure whether or not it is in good or bad taste to make it so the barista sees you tip.) Keep interaction with other café patrons at a minimum. Furtive glances are allowed once every five minutes. Table sharing with strangers is highly discouraged, as are children and other pets. Don’t even think about talking to her. I guess you can ask another patron to watch your shit. Though I don’t think you should mistake his assent to the watching of said shit for the establishment of an incipient “rapport”.

By Peter Kuhn

By my reckoning it seems that there are at least three homeless per city block in our city of brotherly love. It has gone to the extent that I can’t go more than two blocks without being harassed for food, some time of warmth providing garment, or money for basic care. My goodness, is there no decency to give a man his privacy these days?! The infestation has gone too far I say. It is clear that city officials have failed in any and all attempts to solve the issue at hand. There is one solution and one solution only. We must sell the homeless as cash crop. A dear friend of mine from Sussex lauded me with tales refined of how the Prime Minister put into effect the very same concept! Not since the days of cotton and tobacco have we as Philadelphian’s seen such an abundant natural resource just waiting to be exploited for our personal gain as a commonwealth.

After considerable amounts of research, a few dozen sleepless nights, and a trip to the Library of Congress, I do believe I have come up with a plausible method for enacting my grand proposal. Now of course these fine ladies and gentlemen of the street will be rewarded for the delicious service they provide. I have calculated that a set rate of $500 a homeless is the going rate. However, varying BMI will most certainly set a curve of +/- $50. Also, it must be accounted for that the aesthetic value that an errant wayfarer provides is truly priceless. To remove all the dwelling deprived from the streets would irreversibly and negatively change the face of our lovely city! It is in my professional opinion that like any limited natural resource we must be frugal.

Although the meat is tough, from many seasoning seasons out on the streets, the protein content is off the charts. In our carbohydrate conscious Atkins society a protein rich homeless is a healthy alternative. For instance, the gustatory sensation that follows dining on a Girardian or Rittenhousian homeless is without question, divine. If you are still not convinced then please participate in the following exercise with me. If you will, close your eyes and imagine yourself, walking down Ben Franklin Parkway….

Sniff Sniff, “What is that mysterious and implacable odor that penetrates my nasal cavity?”

“Get your homies, we’ve got fried homies, steamed homies, grilled homies, roasted homies, homies on a bun, homies with fries, homies and chips…”

The vendors voice has faded now; you can no longer concentrate on his voice, because your animalistic urge to feast has spiraled your mind out of control. You begin to salivate, you black out, collapsing to the ground. When you come to, you have a steak with wiz, and fried onions on an Amoroso roll grasped in your hand. The only thing is, it’s not just any old beefsteak, it’s Philadelphian Homeless Beefsteak. You also notice that the streets are visibly cleaner, and the sounds of sirens no longer fill the air, the sun is shining, birds are singing and children are playing.

I pray that some day you will get to actually experience what I have described to you. The gastronomic delight you will feel is celestial! Aside from the obvious monetary benefits from exporting our homeless, the art of meat will exponentially improve. See, in your minds eye, blissful bacon, fabulous filet, seasoned steak, broiled brisket, ravishing ribs, and succulent sausages, just to name a few. Not to mention the tender vitello from our younger homeless population. I find myself shaking with excitement at just the thought of this proposal in action! But I digress, I must retire! People of Philadelphia! Let us unite together, to serve the homeless! 

There! You see that guy?! Over there. There’s a crowd full of white people walking toward the city; laughing and being happy with their Urban Outfitter or American Apparel  clothes and their “hip” sarcasm. Somewhere in that crowd is usually a random (some call it “token”) black guy. Can you see that tan, mocha-caramel skinned god holding hands with that ivory chick with the blue hair? Oh yeah….. now you see me. Well, that’s me. I’m the guy in the movies you don’t really understand is there. You ask yourself: “Where are all of his black friends?”. What sucks is that, in real life, the same can be said of my situation. The only difference is: they usually stick the black guy with a token black chick to make the perfect token couple. This is where my problem really is: I only date white woman.

It started as an accident. I guess you can attribute it to my fondness for vanilla ice cream over chocolate; something about chocolate was just too much. Vanilla was mild and less temperamental; plus, if you add a bit of chocolate you can get the best of both worlds (I love that line in bars…if I actually went to them). You see, I’ve never been one to discriminate, but even as a child I came to enjoy the swirly goodness from the love sundae of my chocolate love to a scoop of vanilla. In pre-school, I grew up around a bunch of white kids; so who could blame me for my estrangement up til then. The confusing part came after; when my mother decided to take me to an elementary school in the middle of the ghetto. Yet, after years and years of school in this terrible place nothing could cure me. This lasted me throughout my life, filled with phases of different women: I had a black girl phase (and I’ve got scars to prove that one), a Latina phase (I can’t say much other than Brazilians get mad if you don’t know they speak Portuguese and that there were a lot of surprises from my Bordiqua ladies that included changing diapers… Shout out to all my mamis who ain’t actually mommies), and a miscellaneous stage (diversifying, if you will: anywhere from Indian to random parts of Eastern Europe). Even after all of this, white woman kept coming back up.

I can’t figure it out. No matter how hard I try to get with someone brown I just end up dating another white girl. I think it has a lot to do with culture separation. The gap between where black culture is at and where I’m at are two different places. I mean: when is the last time you heard a black girl talk about how good Joy Division is, or how awesome the last Radiohead concert was, or even the last time they saw a good movie by Wes Anderson or Michel Gondry? The majority of what makes a person attractive is that connection and a basic understanding of that person is essential for that connection to take place. It makes it so much easier if there is a common ground on which to establish said connection.

Now, this is where it gets tricky. Even if I can find a girl who’s not white to get to this point, there’s still a fundamental flaw that arises in relationships: women are crazy. Black, white, purple you’re all fucking nuts, but the truth is that this may be what attracts us to you. What man doesn’t want danger and adventure? And what’s more dangerous than telling your girlfriend she might need to lose some weight when she’s clealrly PMSing (c’mon… guys aren’t that stupid. It’s adventure. In the back of our mind, we’re thinking: “Can I get away with it?”)

To my African queens, I’m sorry. To white women, you are to black men like me what it may be like if kryptonite were as addictive as crack for Superman, but with the same destructive power. However, the truth is, there’s not much real difference between race as far as love goes. The fact is, women are beautiful and intelligent creatures and if you waste your time trying to be with everyone then you’re going to let the good ones walk away. I mean, if you’ve tried every flavor in a pack of Starbursts, the bottom line is: it’s still candy. What makes that flavor special is what it means to you… and, you have to buy the candy flowers, remember it’s birthday, remember the day you bought it, take to eat, etc… shit. It looks like I’ve convinced myself of how wrong I was.

Suppose I do find the right woman it doesn’t matter what she looks like. I can’t wait to find her and make her the happiest woman on this earth. When that time comes I will do whatever it takes to make her feel loved and keep her feeling as independent as possible while still letting her know I’m there (flowers, considerate gifts, etc.) and I hope to meet every expectation she could create in a man they love…….

Until then, though if any Asians wanna get at me, contact the editor…

Update: All of these articles are satire…