Soccer Celebrations, Translated

by Nick Logsdon

1. Raising Arms Up And Down With Palms Turned Upward: Come on, my fans! Scream, cheer, and whistle louder than you ever have before! We must tell the opposing team that we are the greatest footballers, and they suck at this sport!

2. One Finger Held To Closed Lips: Hush, and be silent, my fans! I have scored a goal, and you must be reverent of this because goals are rare and sacred. But more importantly, you must be kind to the opposing team. Do not make them any sadder with your songs of passion that remind them how much they suck.

3. Sliding On Both Knees: Wee! The other team sucks!

4. Ripping Jersey Off, Jumping: Here! Let me show you how I was able to put the ball into the net. I spend hours in the gym doing crunches and massaging warmed baby oil on my bare stomach—which has an adorable little mole next my navel—wearing nothing but skin-tight compression shorts. Also, notice how ironclad my jawline is, and how much definition is added with my deliberately patchy beard. It is because of this sex appeal I scored the goal to prove the opposing team sucks.

5. Holding Up Heart Made of Thumbs and Index Fingers: Love will win the day as long as you go out and vote the leaders into office who can make it so. Hate no man, woman, or team besides the one we’re playing and who sucks.

6. Rubbing Tips Of Thumbs And Index Fingers Together: I have lots of money. And this goal that I just scored, will make me more money. It will also make money for Gatorade, Adidas, and Etihad Airways, my brand partners because you will purchase products only those brands can provide. I love my brand partners, and they love me as long as I do not suck, like this team I just scored on.

7. Salute: Often called, “The Lieutenant’s Goodbye,” this celebration doesn’t have a syntactical translation. Rather, its symbolism has roots in every footballer’s appreciation of military hierarchy, even if they don't quite understand it. The other team sucks.

8. Rolling Giant Invisible Bowling Ball Into Human Bowling Pins: When someone grows up in a two-bit town, they can lose sight of what matters, or never take their eyes off of what doesn’t. Pryor, Oklahoma is a two-bit town just outside of Tulsa. There wasn’t much to write home about, but there was a Mega Lanes. Each year, Mega Lanes hosted a bowling tournament; all the men in town round themselves up and compete for the crown of Mega King. It was tradition even if you couldn’t tell the pin from the ball. If you we’re a man, you were going to bowl. It was around the quarterfinals of the tournament when everything came crashing down for one man, Murphy Bingham.

      Murphy knew the only way he way he’d ever see his family again is if he could be crowned Mega King, claim the cash prize and pay the ransom his family’s kidnappers demanded. Murphy’s only problem? He couldn’t tell a pin from a ball. So you can imagine how his family felt (while watching the tournament via live stream provided by their kidnappers) when Murphy first stepped up to the lane, walked all the way down it, picked up a pin and threw it into a trash can. Luckily, a fellow competitor, Lyle Brandy was kind enough to explain the rules of bowling. But, soon after, Lyle would think twice about teaching Murphy. What happened next was nothing short of miraculous. Murphy bowled a perfect ten every round until he reached the quarterfinals. But, Murphy was a fragile soul, and often, sadly, a fragile soul will let success go right to his head and. Murphy’s lust for strikes grew so thick he forgot why he even played, and whom he was playing for. He hadn’t even won, but Murphy was already boozing, schmoozing, and soon, losing.

      On the eve of the quarterfinal match, after paying to participate in a come one, come all orgy, Murphy overslept. Not only did he miss that match, he slept so long he would have missed the next one the following day. Eventually, Lyle won the entire tournament, was crowned Mega King, and used the prize money to save the kidnapped Bingham’s from what would have been certain death. Some say Murphy Bingham never awoke after that orgy. Others are sure they’ve seen him around at other sex parties. I wish I could say I knew.

      I first read about this story, while traveling to Turin for a friendly against Juventus, in a Lufthansa in-flight magazine blurb titled, “Peculiar Places That Start With P.” The story inspired me so much; I decided to craft a celebration to silently honor Lyle, Mrs. Bingham and her children—both of whom were welcomed into Lyle’s family with open arms. Of course, this celebration is the symbolic translation of the story of the tragic hero, Murphy Bingham: even the sturdiest of pins will fall, and the weakest ones fall first. It’s meant to provide a lesson to all competitors in sport or otherwise. Never lose sight of why you play, but most importantly, don’t suck so much that you lose sight of me slipping to the back post for an all-too easy top corner header.

Nick is a writer based in Los Angeles and a recent graduate of Loyola Marymount University. He likes to brag that his apartment has a hot tub. 

Memes for People Who Just Want to Hear the Meme

by Kiki O'Keeffe

This is a picture of Gene Wilder as Willy Wonka wearing a bemused but skeptical look on his face — you know, like he does throughout the movie. He’s resting his chin on his hand, and the text says, “Please, tell me more,” and other snarky expressions of incredulity. Seems useful for when you want to cut someone down to size for saying something ignorant with a lot of bravado.

We have a white male baby making a fist with a furrowed determined brow. It’s unusual to see a baby so determined. But he’s victorious, too, like he earned something. I’ve never heard of a baby earning something, so I think this is the basis for the humor. That it’s kind of an adult emotion. This would be a great meme to use when you’re feeling good or want to congratulate someone else on doing a good job.

This is a picture of a black cat with a collar and tie, but not the rest of the shirt. The cat looks very official and seems to take office life seriously. The text is cat puns on normal office dialogue, like, “It’s time for your purrformance review,” or, “I’m gonna need you to come in on Caterday,” as though addressing employees. What’s unclear is who the employees might be — smaller cats, people, pigs, spiders. You can have a lot of fun imagining the broader world. But the cat puns are the real sell on this one.

This one is sweet. It’s a gif of a handsome chef applying salt to rack of lamb or ribs or something. It doesn’t matter. The important thing is that it’s meat, and it needs salt. But there’s the thing; he’s not doing it the normal way. You know the normal way to salt something? You take some salt and then sprinkle it on the thing you’re salting. Not this chef. He’s doing it with… a little flourish. And it’s beautiful. And sometimes beauty is the only thing we need more than salt.

Justin Timberlake! Oh boy, this one is about spring, so I know you’re going to like it. Who doesn’t like spring? It’s a picture of Justin Timberlake at the peak of his *NSYNC days with the curly bleached hair. Remember that song, “It’s Gonna Be Me,” and how Justin kept pronouncing it “May” for some reason, even though he has no accent? Turns out, that’s also the name of the fifth month of the year, so this little meme evolved with a highly specialized telos: to herald the first of May, and then to go away until next year.

Kiki O'Keeffe is a writer in Brooklyn.

Net Neutrality Laws Are Officially Rolled Back: Here’s The Dystopian Nightmare You Can Expect

On June 11th, 2018, the FCC’s repeal of Obama-era Net Neutrality protections officially took effect. While FCC Chairman Ajit Pai claims Net Neutrality rules were unnecessary and heavy-handed, groups such as the rest of humanity say otherwise. But how will the Net Neutrality repeal effect you, the average Internet user, who is barely clinging on to hope in a sad and desperate world as is? Here’s what you can expect:

Over time, you’ll notice that certain websites will load slower than they used to, as they are now locked behind paid tiers of access as dictated by your Internet Service Provider. As you are waiting for these websites to load, you will begin to notice how much of your limited time on Earth you spend alone in front of a computer. This will get you thinking that people are social animals who crave physical intimacy as much as we do food and water. You will think about the last time you had a face to face conversation with someone – a genuine conversation, one not about some gormless piece of online content, but about your feelings, hopes, and dreams – and it will fill your heart with both joy and dread. If it is daytime, the sun peering through the awful blinds of your overpriced one bedroom apartment will begin to burn brighter, a reminder of the world we shunned in favor of connectivity and innovation. You will feel the weight of your own body, fatter now from years of inactivity. As all your ISP’s pre-roll ads finish loading and begin to blare out of your speakers simultaneously, you will become anxious and impatient. You will think about how your voracious craving for online content is similar to that of any other addict. You will become aware of your gilded cage. Your Amazon Echo will ask you if you would like to purchase higher tier Internet service to help load the website faster. You will accept, grudgingly, because there is no other choice.

Even giant social media platforms like Twitter will not be immune to the loss of Net Neutrality, as ISP’s could easily charge users on even a per-tweet basis. With social media now a scarcity, you will have more moments to sit with your thoughts instead of announcing them to the world, and you will surprise yourself at how egocentric and cruel they are. No longer able to vomit out “takes” and harass celebrities at the speed of light, you will instead be forced to face your Sisyphean student loans and utter lack of retirement fund. A single paradox rattles around in your mind: how can we share the same experiences yet feel so alone? You will feel so crushingly isolated by late-stage capitalism that you will want to listen to a Father John Misty song, but sadly, streaming is locked behind a more expensive access tier. Your Apple Watch will notify you that it can purchase this for you, but Siri needs your verbal confirmation. You say out loud, “yes,” and after several tries, it finally recognizes your voice. You overdraft your checking account to tweet “this new Father John Misty song sucks,” and the likes you get feel like the sweetest poison.

If these things scare you, don’t fret – legislation to save Net Neutrality passed the Senate, and is now in the hands of the House. And that’s unequivocally a good thing, especially if you’re Uber, Air BnB, Postmates, or any of the other Internet companies that everyone universally agrees is terrible. You see, Net Neutrality is crucial in maintaining a free and open Internet, enabling future Internet startups to come into the marketplace and circumvent pesky labor laws and union regulations without oversight or consequence. What, you thought the nightmare was over? The 21st century is all-you-can-eat buffet of garbage and there’s nothing to do but go back up for seconds. So sit back, let your eyes glaze over, and continue to consume!

Times and Places That are More Appropriate to Talk About Gun Control Than After a Mass Shooting, Apparently: A Guide to GOPeasement

by Laura Winther Galaviz

“I think it’s particularly inappropriate to politicize an event like this that just happened in the last day and a half. It’s entirely premature to be discussing about legislative solutions.” - Mitch McConnell, October 3, 2017

First of all, we would like to take this opportunity to sincerely apologize for disrespecting victims of gun violence by directly addressing the issue that caused them to lose their lives. In the spirit of humility and cooperation, we would like to suggest to our readers and leaders some more appropriate avenues and venues for addressing the gun debate.

To kickoff the toast at your best friend’s wedding

We suggest: “No seriously, though, I’m so glad I could be here today, because so many people couldn’t, because our politicians are in the pocket of the NRA and we need to do something.”

As a rousing end to the eulogy at the funeral of your grandmother, taken at 95 by pneumonia

We suggest: “Grandma was taken from us too soon. Much like the 93 Americans killed by guns on an average day in this country.”

Worked into a soliloquy during your role as MacBeth at the community theater

We suggest: “Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, there’s probably going to be another gun death, if you assholes don’t do something.”

Ad-libbed into the middle of Green Eggs and Ham, at the point when your toddler always nods off

We suggest: No one needs to own bump stocks, no one needs to own a glock. We don’t want to take your firearm, we just want to minimize harm.

As an additional verse of American Pie, because no one knows those middle ones anyway:

We suggest: I met a girl who sang the blues/and I asked her for some happy news/ but she just passed comprehensive gun reform

Hidden deep inside the ITunes User Agreement

We suggest: Just clicking “I agree”. No one knows what the hell is in there.

Scrawled on the side of a bathroom stall

We suggest: For a good time call your local senator and insist he do something to protect innocent citizens from mass shootings.

Slurred into a 3am drunk dial message to your ex-girlfriend

We suggest: Pick up, Ashley. Listen, I still love you, and I know we can make this work. If you’ll just talk to me, I know we can figure out how to preserve Second Amendment rights, while passing laws that address new firearm developments the Founding Fathers never imagined.

Laura Winther Galaviz lives in Kalamazoo, MI, where she works for a non-profit by day and teaches College writing at night. You can find her work in The Rumpus, McSweeney’s, Permafrost, The Offing and elsewhere.

In protest of Trigger Warnings and Safe Spaces, I’m Gonna Revisit the Death of your Grandma

by Evan O’Leary-Lee

These soft ass libs have been taking safe spaces too far. I’m opposed to safe spaces, and if you’ve got a pair, you are too. Why should I have to baby proof my message for someone else’s comfort? Maybe it makes me uncomfortable to censor myself, did those cucks ever think about that? In the interest of protecting free speech, and not allowing those bitch ass posers to dictate what I say, I will now, in agonizing detail, discuss the slow and horrifying death of your paternal grandmother, a memory that haunts you to this very day.

It might seem extreme, but the only way to show your love for the first amendment is to sit here and read every word as I recount how your grandma receded into a shell of herself right before your very eyes. Does this feel too intense for you? Should I preface this with a trigger warning? Or are you gonna suck it up?

That’s what I thought.

Remember how close you were to your grandma? She picked you up from kindergarten every day, through sleet or snow she was there, with a big smile on her face, ready to walk the four blocks home and regale you with stories of how she met pap pap. After Derek Dirks said you had fat eyes she was there to tell you how beautiful you are, and to never let anyone else put you down. When you close your eyes you can still picture opening the door to her house, the scent of her muffins immediately invading your nostrils, running into her arms and knowing that everything was gonna be ok. She was a truly special woman. Now remember how afraid she looked the last time you saw her? The pain in her eyes, the needles and tubes ran through her body as if she was a pin cushion. She was so weak, you couldn’t even hug her due to the bed sores.

It was tough after the divorce, but grandma was always there for you. Whether it was math homework, a torn t-shirt, or your changing body, there was no problem grandma couldn’t solve. Except for the tumors and the Alzheimer’s that lead to her demise, of course. How you holding up, bitch? Wish this were a “safe space”, where you wouldn’t have to read word after word of explicit detail regarding the emotionally traumatic loss of a loved one? Well too bad you Dirty Dem, ‘cause I’m coming at you with some more sad shit.

By the end she didn’t remember your name, your face, or any of those trips to the library where you discovered your love of reading. I wonder what the most painful part for her was, among the myriad of diseases and ailments that were the causes of her death. Obviously, the most painful part for you about the whole ordeal was the fact that you never truly got to say goodbye, unable to connect with the husk of the woman you knew and loved.

Tears? Really? Doesn’t that seem like a bit of an over-reaction. I’m only reminding you of how it tore you apart to see your family bicker and destroy itself clamoring over grandma’s possessions. That quilt was supposed to be yours, but turns out pinky promises to her darling angel aren’t considered valid by the rule of law.

I bet your grandma would be disappointed her little teddy bear grew up to be a pansy ass bitch.

Evan O’Leary-Lee is currently a freshman at Tulane University. He has studied sketch writing and improv at the Philly Improv Theater.