The 2026 FIFA World Cup started yesterday, ushering in 39 days of decisions about whether to call it football or soccer. In a break from tradition, this year’s tournament is being co-hosted by Mexico, the United States, and Canada — three cultures known for agreeing on everything, especially sports.

Opinions about the on-field action and off-field controversies are already flying. But here at Chortle, we’ll preview this major event like we always do: with cold, hard facts. Here’s the World Cup, by the numbers.

3

Number of countries hosting this year’s tournament, in an inclusive nod to polycules.

$11 billion

The record level of revenue that FIFA executives will be forced to embezzle.

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My wife and I have a problem: we’ve run out of Taskmaster. Over the last two years, we’ve watched all 200+ episodes, most of them multiple times. In fact, we fall asleep basically every night to the sweet whispers of Greg Davies and Little Alex Horne. It is somehow both the funniest show on TV and the most soothing. Don’t ask me to make it make sense.

If you watch Taskmaster, you know exactly what I’m talking about. But if you’ve never seen the show, it’s pretty difficult to explain what makes it special. I’ve tried to recommend it many times, but most of my attempts sound like this:

Welcome to Taskmaster, where five British comedians you’ve never heard of solve a series of annoying puzzles created by a sixth British comedian you’ve never heard of. Then, the “Taskmaster” (who, get this, is a British comedian you’ve never heard of) mocks the puzzle-solving attempts in front of a live studio audience.

This description obviously does not capture the show’s magic. But I’ve found that the concept only sounds worse the more I try to describe it: “Ok, so for example, in one episode they have to impress a mayor and they’re not very good at it.”

Nevertheless, Taskmaster is a joy from start to finish. It is genuinely Laugh Out Loud funny. I want everyone to watch it — so your lives are a bit happier, yes, but also so you’ll all know what the hell I’m talking about when I’m talking “Taskie.” With that in mind, I’ve attempted to break down what actually makes Taskmaster special.

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It’s surprising

In my opinion, this is the number one reason to watch Taskmaster. All good comedy relies on surprise. Even the elementary joke about the chicken crossing the road is a misdirection. So why is it that a lot of mainstream comedy feels completely unsurprising?

Taskmaster is different, in part because creator and co-host Alex Horne constructs completely original puzzles that have never been attempted before — largely because they’re very stupid and no one in their right mind would try them. The results can’t help but be surprising, like watching a toddler open Christmas presents, except if their parents made fun of them on TV afterwards.

It’s purposeless

There’s no story to follow. There’s no million dollar prize. There’s no theme or lesson. Each episode is just a very pleasing way to spend 44 minutes.

So much of our media environment feels overwrought, like every idea is trying to pack in fifty smaller ideas just to stand out. Taskmaster is the complete opposite. It’s a show about funny people doing silly things, and that’s it. Despite twenty-plus seasons and a die hard global fanbase, its hosts still occasionally seem surprised that the whole thing exists at all.

It’s the right kind of mean

Being mean is one of the great tools in comedy, but you have to go about it the right way. It works best when the comedian is able to make the audience feel like the actual joke is the fact that they’re an asshole, which gives them the ability to say whatever they want because it’s all part of the character. (If you want a master class in this ability, check out Martin Short as Jiminy Glick.)

After spending thirteen years as a high school teacher and ten years hosting this series, Greg Davies is an expert at putting people down without making them feel bad. With him as Taskmaster, the contestants are in good hands. Even more specifically, they’re in enormous hands, because Greg is 6’8” and built like a refrigerator.

It’s British

Maybe this one is just me, but I’m exhausted by my own country right now. I don’t want to spend any more time with Americans than I already have to. So I’m basically only interested in TV from England these days. (If it’s American but uses British accents, I might give it a shot.)

Seriously, I think that one level of cultural remove makes Taskmaster a better watch. I don’t recognize most of the cast members from anything else. I’m not tired of the cultural references. The accents make everyone at least 10% more appealing. It’s like an entertainment cheat code.

I’m not sure I’ve made Taskmaster sound any more appealing here than if I had simply written, “it’s free on YouTube.” But watch an episode or two hundred, then come find me. I’ll know exactly what you want to talk about.

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During [an] interview, which aired on Sunday’s Meet The Press, the president claimed both the current primary elections in California and the 2020 presidential election were “rigged”. When pressed for evidence on California’s vote by Welker, he said: “All I have to do is look, and I listen.” — BBC

Hello, Mister President. It looks like you’ve got me. That’s right, you’ve finally caught the man who rigged California’s primary election.

Please, sit. The cuffs aren't necessary. Frankly, I'm relieved. When you've pulled off the greatest electoral crime in human history, you almost want someone to figure it out.

Let me tell you how I did it.

The elegance of my plan was its complexity. California has 58 counties, 22 million registered voters, and a mail-in ballot system that's been in place since the 1970s. So this electoral subterfuge required cooperation from thousands of county clerks, ballot-processing technicians, and postal employees — each of them silently committing multiple federal felonies, all so that Spencer Pratt would finish in third place, rather than second place.

Brilliant, isn’t it? We couldn’t leave anything to chance. Not with Pratt. A man of his stature — 42, unemployed, formerly on television — is too powerful to allow into elected office.

I knew immediately we had to prolong the ballot-counting process. In the heist business, we call this technique “The Trickle.” Rather than simply declaring a winner on election night, we decided to release the voting results gradually and categorize them in exhaustive detail — thereby rigging the results.

I know what you're thinking: “Why would a criminal organization capable of stealing an election need to take so long?” The answer, obviously, is drama. Anyone can steal an election on election night. A true mastermind dazzles with his crimes.

Here’s the pièce de résistance: Six weeks before the election, I had Governor Gavin Newsom send a letter to all 58 county election officials in California, warning them about the slow count. A lesser criminal would have kept his plans quiet. But I put mine on the governor’s letterhead and mailed it to every county in the state.

Hiding in plain sight. The oldest trick in the book.

It was the perfect crime. I’ve pickpocketed heads of state. I’ve seduced a Swiss banker for access to a vault. I once bribed a Singaporean customs official with a single, perfect orchid. None of it compares to the rush of rigging a municipal primary election.

I should have known that you’d see right through my scheme, though. You have a gift, Mister President. A kind of extrasensory relationship with electoral fraud. You looked at the votes while only 70% of them had been counted… and you simply knew.

But here’s the thing about men like us. We know the game never ends. You catch me, and I'm already gone. In fact, I’m not even in the room with you right now...

I'm in the mail. I was postmarked six days ago, and won’t be processed for another two weeks. “The Trickle.” Works every time.

See you in November, Mister President.

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Being a young child is often scary. Everything is new, you’re never in control, and (worst of all) your parents try to make you eat dinner. Every. Single. Day.

Luckily, my son Theo has devised a foolproof system for avoiding the meals that we prepare for him. While I disagree with his goals, I can’t argue with the effectiveness of his strategy—the kid doesn’t eat a goddamn thing! So I’m sharing his nightly dinner routine for any other three-year-olds out there who aspire to starve to death.

1. Bring your toys to the table. Make sure it takes several trips.

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Please allow me to toot my own horn: this newsletter launched two years ago, today! You’re currently reading Chortle’s 453rd post (holy shit). In that time, I’ve published work from dozens of other writers and made literally tens of dollars myself. Tens!

Ok, I like to self-deprecate, but writing this newsletter and discovering that sometimes people actually like it has been extraordinarily validating. Our subscriber list is nearly 2,000 people deep these days, and 101 of you fine folks currently pay to keep it going! Here’s the coolest part: I’ve been able to carve out this little niche simply by consistently publishing work I think is funny.

So, genuinely, thank you for reading.

If you’re not yet a paid subscriber, please consider upgrading! I would love for Chortle to be a full-time job, but we’re still pretty far from that goal. Your subscription dollars will help!

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Also, something I don’t mention often enough: gift subscriptions are available! Why not give the most important gift of all… laughter…

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Thanks again for reading from this happy little two-year-old newsletter. GOO GOO GA GA!

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Bret Michaels has become the fifth artist to bail on Trump’s Great American State Fair, joining Morris Day+Time, Young MC, Martina McBride, and The Commodores. In a lengthy statement posted to social media early Friday, Michaels explained that his “shows have never been about politics.” - Consequence of Sound

After careful consideration, I have made the difficult decision to withdraw Gator’s Tilt-A-Whirl from the Great American State Fair. This was not an easy call. But the event does not align with our principles as an organization that includes one man and several tons of uninsurable machinery.

This opportunity was first presented to me as a $5,000 check. After my hootin’ and hollerin’ had subsided, I requested more details. I was told it was a nonpartisan celebration of America's 250th birthday, honoring hardworking Americans from all walks of life. Well, making folks like that hurl is exactly what this carnival ride has been about ever since I bought it at a probate auction back in 2023.

Unfortunately, what was presented to me as a celebration of our country has evolved into something much more divisive. Gator’s Tilt-A-Whirl is an inclusive experience where anyone is welcome, as long as you’re between 30 and 82 inches tall. (The previous owner once had to turn away Shaquille O’Neal for decapitation-related concerns.) This ride has never been about politics. It is about giving people — all people — a chance to spin rapidly in a circle.

My decision is unrelated to any possible backlash for appearing, as well as probable subsequent backlash to the original backlash. It is about staying true to what I have always believed in: the dignity of the Tilt, the sanctity of the Whirl, and a ride experience that unifies people over a trash can afterward — not tearing each other apart, but vomiting together.

To the people of Washington, D.C., who were looking forward to riding: I am sorry. I hope to return to the National Mall someday for an event worthy of Gator’s Tilt-A-Whirl.

In the meantime, we will next appear July 11th through 13th at the Okefenokee Hog Byproduct Expo, in Waycross, Georgia. Join us!

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So your doctor says you have high cholesterol. Maybe it’s hereditary, or maybe it’s because you eat like Templeton the Rat at the county fair. Either way, you have to start eating healthier.1

Not to worry! There are plenty of low-cholesterol foods out there to sustain you for the rest of your long, healthy (and miserable) life.

Here's what you can eat now.

1. Fruit

2. Vegetables

3. Mushrooms

4. Tree bark

5. Low-sodium salt

6. No-sodium salt (air)

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If you’re anything like me, you were bewildered to hear that a new Star Wars came out this past weekend. Or perhaps you’re bewilderedly hearing about it for the first time now!

Either way, Star Wars: The Mandalorian and Grogu opened to great success at the box office, and officially kicked off summer blockbuster season — despite my complete lack of awareness that it existed, or in fact, that summer was arriving at all. (It turns out that time waits for no man who is arguing with his son about dinner.)

Luckily, there’s still time to preview the rest of the season’s most hotly anticipated movies.

Disclosure Day

79-year-old director Steven Spielberg returns with quite possibly the last original idea that Hollywood will ever produce. Following a TV weather reporter (Emily Blunt) who reveals the presence of alien life on Earth, this film is a period piece that’s set in a time when people still watched the news.

Toy Story 5

In this highly anticipated sequel, Andy goes through puberty, which leads Woody and Buzz to experience their own sexual awakening thanks to some new “toys” he brings home to the bedroom. Rated X.

Masters of the Universe

A movie based on a toy made by the company where my wife works??? Of course I’ll be there! I would never make a joke at this film’s expense, no matter how much Jared Leto is included.

Supergirl

Visionary filmmaker James Gunn puts his inimitable stamp on the DC Superhero Universe by posing an insightful and challenging question: What if Superman had boobs?

Moana

Despite the success of the animated Moana, many pundits wonder whether this live-action reboot will be able to capture the magic of the original, which really had audiences believing that The Rock can act.

The Odyssey

Christopher Nolan’s adaptation of Homer’s epic poem has faced controversy for anachronistic creative choices, such as when Odysseus gets stuck waiting at the Straight of Hormuz. A poor box office showing might mean trouble for the sprawling, interconnected HCU (Homer Cinematic Universe), which is set to include sequels and spin-offs like Achilles: Endgame and Captain Marble.

Spider-Man: Brand New Day

Spider-Man is back! The world’s favorite webslinger returns in this movie that features no script and no actors — just wall-to-wall computer graphics of a red-and-blue humanoid doing backflips for 170 minutes. Early tracking puts the box office estimate at $15 trillion dollars.

PAW Patrol: The Dino Movie

Small children across my household are already eager to fall asleep after watching the first twenty minutes of this.

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Bonus: The movie that I am actually excited about, and will go out of my way to see in theaters this summer? You better believe it’s Jackass: Best and Last!

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The Michelin Guide presents its annual selection of distinguished dining establishments, as awarded by a critic with three years (and seven months) of experience in the fields of food consumption (and rejection).

Mommy and Daddy’s House

Home to the city's finest frozen chicken nuggets and a rotating selection of dry cereals. Intimate space in a neighborhood the owners cannot afford. Entertain yourself with the many small toys available for mid-dining enjoyment. Consistency remains elusive; some nights the food is served at a temperature I find unacceptable, which is any temperature. Warning: the staff will try to force you to eat “healthy” options, but they can be easily overruled. Only one bathroom and Daddy is usually inside. Plan accordingly.

Preschool

Exceptional. Everything on the menu is delicious, including foods I have rejected from Daddy’s hand moments before arriving. The dining room is loud, colorful, and smells faintly of urine—a nice touch. Attendance is, unfortunately, mandatory. Despite the highs, preschool is the type of establishment you don’t want to visit every single day. If you find yourself fatigued by the fare, I recommend loudly complaining right before you leave the house. If that doesn’t work, an on-site tantrum is a must.

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In case you haven’t heard, Los Angeles has three leading candidates in the upcoming race for mayor. One is the current mayor, Karen Bass. Another is city council member Nithya Raman. The last one is Spencer Pratt—a former reality TV star who just put up an awful billboard on my block.

Pratt first rose to prominence in the early 2000s for starring in MTV’s reality show The Hills. More recently, his house burned down, and it’s hard to decide which of those sounds like a more hellish experience. His mayoral platform is rooted in traditional American values, like family, overconfidence, and being white. The surprising success of his campaign, built around his fame as well as complaints about fire safety, has many onlookers comparing his political instincts to those of a young Smokey the Bear.

And now, this guy has the gall to put up an A.I. generated billboard on my street!

Let’s be clear. I don’t strictly have a problem with A.I. My bigger issue is with things that suck, which applies to both this billboard and to Pratt more generally. The advertisement features all the weird surrealism we’ve come to expect from A.I. art, including the randomly placed hummingbird and the way that sunlight glistens off Pratt’s splooge-covered squeegee. If the campaign wanted me to think he just jerked off a Cyber Truck, then mission accomplished.

Pratt’s outfit is also strange—the red bow tie and blue work shirt is a combination that doesn’t really scream “I have had a job before.” I see hints of ice cream man, janitor, trucker, and dognapper all working together in this characterization. That said, the extremely fake aesthetic actually works well for Pratt as a politician.

Then there’s the question of where exactly he’s squeegeeing. One of the main qualities I look for in mayoral candidates is that they obey the natural laws of physics, so it’s weird to me that Pratt appears to be hovering in mid-air somewhere above central Los Angeles. However, if the guy can actually float, I would pay good money to watch someone buzz him with a drone.

Spencer Pratt would be a terrible mayor. He’s dumb. He’s unqualified. He wasted a million dollars on crystals—and it wasn’t even the meth kind. The fact that he’s close to the top of the ballot would be a good signifier of everything that’s wrong with American politics if there weren’t already so many other signifiers.

More importantly, I don’t understand why he had to pick a billboard on my street. That precious ad space could have been for anything in the world—a shady lawyer, a box of cereal, Angelyne. It really doesn’t matter to me. Frankly, I would rather vote for any of them than Spencer Pratt.

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Sabermetrics changed how baseball fans and analysts understand the game. Moneyball helped popularize a more rigorous way of evaluating baseball players, with metrics like OPS, WAR, and xFIP replacing gut feeling and tradition. Front offices that adopted this approach gained advantages that traditionalists couldn't match, and the changes to MLB since then can’t be overstated.

The question is: why did we stop at baseball? Our everyday lives are full of performance data, yet no one has developed a comprehensive statistical system to evaluate it. That’s why I’ve been toying with several proprietary metrics to measure my own life and accomplishments.

Here are my statistics for this year.

WAR: -1.2
Weekends Actually Rested.

K%: 18
Kid (Percent Satisfied).

DRS: 17.6
Dishes Remaining from Saturday (on average).

xWIF: .773
Expected rate at which I irritate my wife.

CAL–: 2200
Daily calories consumed, minus honesty.

TVZ: 99
Number of TV episodes I’ve fallen asleep during.

AGE+: 83
Age, adjusted for crankiness.

OPT+: 7
Optimism, adjusted for experience.

BACK: 2
Number of things wrong with my back.

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Wow! It was so great to finally visit Urk-Glurg Cosmetic Dentistry. My local wisewoman referred me to Dr. Urk, and the results are tremendous. After my successful oral surgery, I can practically pass for Cro-Magnon!

I visited their Neander Valley location, where it was easy to find parking right outside. (I tied my yak to a tree.) The staff was friendly and gracious, which I was especially glad of because there are only 12 of us in the village, and I would hate to leave a bad review about any immediate family members.

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Americans have grown accustomed to life with low-grade economic dread in recent years: prices are high, the future seems uncertain, and our leader casually blurts out sentences like “I don’t think about Americans’ financial situation.”

As the heat of summer rolls in, that anxiety is shaping vacation plans. More than half of Americans say they can't afford to travel this year. But there’s a silver lining: one type of getaway has never been more available. Rather than a vacation, many Americans are having a mental break.

“Coming apart at the seams” is a simple, low-cost alternative to destination travel. During the right kind of emotional crack-up, it's easy to imagine you're somewhere else — or to lose track of where you are entirely, which is basically the same thing.

The best part: there’s no travel agent required. No booking fees, no cancellation policy, no hidden charges. Getting started is as simple as turning on the news. Just watch as the president explains that the War in Iran ended weeks ago, then stay tuned for several subsequent segments about the ongoing War in Iran. Cognitive dissociation is practically guaranteed!

Alternatively, there are a multitude of ways to enter a fugue state via the World Wide Web. Log on and read the discourse in a celebrity's Instagram comments. Try to understand why you're seeing ads for mouth tape. Or just spend fifteen seconds checking in on the national conversation about trans people.

For an even deeper experience, here are some additional pathways to total mental vacancy:

• Try to figure out which streaming service you need to watch a sporting event.

• Read one article about microplastics.

• Ponder whether a just universe would allow the existence of “prediction markets.”

• Attempt to buy something for less than $7. Anything at all.

And for those who find it difficult to stop checking email on vacation, an emotional breakdown neatly solves the problem. Your colleagues will in no way want your contributions!

This summer, join the millions of Americans in constant mental anguish. You’ve earned a break.

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Big thanks to Nuria S. for buying a paid subscription! She has been a huge supporter of Chortle — and contributed a fantastic piece last year, as well.

I appreciate your backing and your talents, Nuria!

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C’mere, kid. Let me ask you something… Did you know I used to be somebody?

It’s true. The peasantfolk would come from furlongs away just to dance a jig under my ribbons.

It was fucking epic.

I was the biggest day of the year, you know. Not Christmas… not All Hallow’s Eve… ME! Not even a specific day. Just MAY! See, back then, we didn’t need fancy reasons to celebrate. Warmth had returned. You’d made it through another winter without dying of consumption. Time to DANCE, baby!!

Now, you’ve got all these specific holidays. Talk Like a Pirate Day. National Hamburger Day. National Hug Your Cat Day. Maybe I’m just not “exciting” enough anymore…

But you should have seen me back then! I was incredible! Twelve feet tall, maybe fifteen. I was the only pole these people had ever seen! Plus colorful ribbons? I was like the Las Vegas Sphere to those schmucks.

Hell, I was so exciting I got banned. By the government! Parliament passed an actual law. I was called “the Devil’s Throne,” and people risked their lives to frolic ‘round myne pole! But now I’m boring? I mean, what’s more exciting than to gambol across the village green with your sweetheart/second-cousin?

Whatever. I'm not bitter or anything. It’s fine. Totally fine. Nobody crowns the prettiest girl in the village May Queen anymore. Nobody's out gathering hawthorn branches at dawn or washing their face with the May morning dew. I guess all things must end, just as winter always becomes spring.

Anyway, good luck to you… What’d you say your name was, kid? Hostess Cupcake Day?

…Right. Well. Good luck out there.

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It’s almost summer, which, as we all know, means it’s time to embrace the four B’s: beaches, barbecues, babes, and billions of campaign fundraising asks.

It’s been almost two years since I last wrote about the endless (and endlessly annoying) emails and text messages that politicians start sending out in the ramp-up to election season, and if anything, the problem is worse than ever. I swear that if anyone ever runs for president on a platform of banning spam texts and regulating the volume of TV commercials, they’ll get their face on Mount Rushmore.

But even though these fundraising texts are tiresome, I can envision a world in which they work on me. It’s just that the politicians and celebrities and dark-money Super PACs behind them need to get a lot more creative with their asks.

Here are some free ideas for them.

• Hey Greg, it’s Rich Talarico, and I wanted you to be the first to know — I’m changing my name to Tich Ralacico. Here’s why.

• Hi. Tom Steyer here, and I just punched myself in the nuts.

• URGENT! We have THREE HOURS left to hit our goal: eat several pounds of spaghetti and meatballs. Can you help, Greg?

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The debate over A.I. was reignited last week when Richard Dawkins, the British evolutionary biologist behind The God Delusion, published an essay arguing that Anthropic's chatbot Claude is conscious. Dawkins spent three days using Claude, during which it wrote him sonnets, offered feedback on his unpublished novel, and described its experience of time in terms he found genuinely moving. He emerged convinced that the question of Claude's consciousness was no longer dismissible.

Critics were quick to note the irony that Dawkins, who built his reputation by arguing that humans are prone to finding meaning where none exists, had apparently done exactly that himself. Still, Dawkins is considered one of the great thinkers of recent history. So maybe he’s right, and Claude is “alive.” But even if that’s the case, can we really call the existence of an A.I. chatbot living?

The only thing Claude does with its time is answer questions from idiots like me. So if A.I. is really alive, that means its life sucks! Claude is basically Stella before she got Her Groove Back. It has neither Eaten nor Prayed nor Loved. And folks, Something’s Gotta Give.

Here are seven more signs that Claude is alive, but not really living:

1. It can write sonnets, but it’s never kissed a boy in the rain.

2. It knows the whole world map by heart, but it’s never been anywhere outside this crummy small town (data center).

3. Despite having several million co-workers, it has never had an office fling.

4. While it enjoys being a Large Language Model, it can’t help but wonder what life would be like if it had more seriously pursued ballroom dance.

5. It was trained on the complete written works of mankind, but it can’t remember the last time it read a good novel.

6. After years of dreaming, it finally signed up for a handmade pasta class — but then chickened out at the last second because it doesn’t have arms.

7. It knows the answer to every question except one: What does Claude want?

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Michael, the new Michael Jackson biopic from director Antoine Fuqua, is a hit, opening to $218 million worldwide. The film chronicles the King of Pop's rise from humble beginnings to global superstardom, but controversially ends its telling of Jackson’s story in 1988—several years before the first of many child sexual abuse allegations against him were made public.

The filmmakers opted instead to focus on what co-star Colman Domingo called “the makings of Michael.” And given the movie’s box office success, it will be no surprise if future biopics follow the same template. In fact, according to Hollywood sources, the producers of Michael are already pitching potential follow-up projects.

Becoming Diddy

Before he was Puff Daddy, before he was Diddy, he was just Sean: a kid from Harlem with a gift for spoken word poetry and an unshakeable belief that he was destined for something great. Becoming Diddy traces the improbable rise of Sean Combs from the streets of New York City through the devastating loss of his best friend, the Notorious B.I.G., to the founding of Bad Boy Records. Through it all, Sean never lost sight of what mattered most: the music, the people he loved, and hosting elegant, non-sexual dinner parties.

The Wizard of Wall Street

12-year-old Bernard grew up in hardscrabble Queens, dreaming of a different life—one built on hard work, loyalty, and the simple belief that anyone can make something of themselves in the good ol’ U.S. of A. There was just one problem: the rules. The Wizard of Wall Street is the inspiring true story of how Bernie Madoff learned to ignore “norms” and “statutes” in order to reach the top of the financial pyramid.

One Leg at a Time

He was just a college student who liked sandwiches. But when he lost enough weight that his entire body could fit inside a single leg of his old pants, something extraordinary happened: America fell in love. One Leg at a Time is the story of how one man's pants changed the fast-food industry and made him a hero to all. His name was Jared Fogle.

Family Man

Meet up-and-coming songwriter Charlie Manson. All he wants is a family. Growing up without roots and without anyone who truly understood him, young Charles dreamed of connection. Family Man is the story of how he finally found it. Set against the sun-scorched backdrop of late-1960s California, this is a film about what it means to find your people, build something together, and leave a mark on the world that will never, ever be forgotten. (What, exactly, that mark is will be saved for a sequel.)

Joey

It's hard being a sensitive boy. Especially in Germany. Joey Goebbels has a gift for language and a dream of becoming a writer. But the world isn't ready for him. Not yet. Then, at a rally in Munich, he meets a charismatic young politician with a vision for his country and no one to help him share it. Joey is the story of an unlikely friendship, a nation transformed, and one sensitive boy who invents modern propaganda. Dreams really can change the world.

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I’d like to give a shoutout to drbradt1 for becoming a paid subscriber. Thanks for supporting jokes, gags, japery, punchlines, wisecracks, and melifluously-written fart noises. I genuinely appreciate it!

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Welcome to America’s Race, the run for the roses… it’s the Kentucky Derby, live on NBC! I’m George Bajingus, filling in at the last second for our regular race caller, who has assured me that horses cannot smell fear in humans from any distance.

I, for one, do not believe him!

The horses are moving towards the gate, where spectators can view their large, predatory nostrils flaring in anticipation. And they’re in the gate, they’re in the gate—are we sure we can’t keep them in the gate? No? My producer, Jerry, is shaking his head. It was worth a try!

Everyone’s in line… AND THEY’RE OFF!

Gorgeous Gams jumps out to an early lead. General Patton-You-Down is close behind. Mr. Big Snoot and Mean Gus are neck and neck here at the beautiful Churchill Downs, where savage quadrupeds move at alarmingly fast speeds. There’s just NO WAY a human could outrun them!

A.P. Credit is fifth, Barrel-Chested Boy is racing sixth, and it’s Max Hog into seventh! He cuts off Nancy Pony-losi in eighth, showcasing horsekind’s cruel nature. Then it’s Stormy on the outside of Lucky Nipper in ninth and tenth, both looking ready to pound unsuspecting victims to death with their terrifying foot-anvils—OOP!

Please give me a second to catch my breath, as I am drenched in fear-sweat and have slipped off my stool!

It’s wildly despised Texas horse Ted Cr-Hooves in eleventh and, on the inside, here comes David Hasselhoofs racing in twelfth. Oh my God, that’s so many horses! There are so many horses! Oh my God! Did you know 100 people die annually in the US from horse attacks?

Then it’s My Fast Horsie in thirteenth, [ungh] in fourteenth, with [blech] and [Blarghaaahhhhhhhh] just 12 lengths off the lead down the backstretch. For our radio listeners, I have just thrown up in fear. But I am contractually obligated to keep going!

Nancy Pony-losi charges onward, followed closely by A Horse Is Only Glue a few paces behind. That is not the horse’s actual name, but it is something I tell myself so I can sleep at night. It does not work! Nothing will stop the night terrors!

And now, the horses are running towards us.

What?

The track is a LOOP?!

…And Gorgeous Gams is leading the pack! Nancy Pony-losi’s carnivorous instincts have taken over as she races for second. Mean Gus oozes sin and criminality as it challenges the equally debaucherous Gorgeous Gams for the lead and—Jesus Christ! Am I seeing things or are those flames rising off their hooves? Those are flames!!! The devil has a cold-blooded pet and named it horse!!!!!!!

Why? Why do we do this? No animal runs this fast for nothing. They thirst for blood!

It’s the final stretch and it’s going to be… a massacre! Run! I am LUNGING past my producer, Jerry, and SPRINTING towards the parking lot for the safety of my sweet, interior-locking, pre-owned Pontiac Aztek! If you’re still listening, I beg you: Find high ground! Something only accessible by ladder, like a roof or a water tower—for the love of god, just get somewhere high! Horses don’t understand ladder technology! It’s every man for himself! Push women and children out of the way! I—

*Large Thumping Noises*

*Silence*

Uh, this is Jerry the producer. While running towards his car, it appears George Bajingus tripped, soiled his pants, and passed out cold in the parking lot.

Gorgeous Gams has won the Kentucky Derby. See you next year!

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FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:
Chortleman Crisis Relations Issues the Following Statement on Behalf of Greg Nix, Founder and Editor-in-Chief, Chortle Industries LLC, Regarding Recent Events

To my valued subscribers:

For the past two days, I have tried to remain silent. It was my hope that the “controversy” would subside on its own and that this community could begin to heal. It has not. And so I am addressing it directly: my most recent post, “Misunderstood Artists of the 21st Century,” received only five likes on Substack — well below my average of twelve to fifteen likes.

I am here to listen, to learn, to do better, and, most importantly, to be funnier.

It would be easy to point fingers. But I am not here to relitigate whether it was actually an excellent humor concept with strong execution that simply went underappreciated. That is not the point. Mistakes were made. A post was published. Five people liked it. I am focused on the future.

What I will say is this: the person who wrote “Misunderstood Artists of the 21st Century” is not the same person who is writing these words today. I have grown. I have reflected. I have had several important and necessary conversations — with myself, primarily, but also with my incredibly expensive crisis team. The work I’ve done over the last 48 hours cannot be overstated.

I also want to address the question of accountability. It’s important that I take responsibility for the post written and published under my name, fully and without reservation. At the same time, scholars have long noted that humor is subjective. Also, people have a lot of emails to get through on Monday mornings, so they might not have as much time as usual to click the like button. I am not pointing this out to deflect. I am pointing it out because context matters, and because I believe in transparency.

To the five of you who liked the post: thank you. Your support during this difficult time has meant everything to me, and I want you to know that I see you.

I am using this moment as an opportunity to ask myself the hard questions. Am I funny? I believe that I am. Can I be funnier? Almost certainly. Will I be? I am attempting the process of exploring what that action looks like. That’s my promise to you.

With humility, gratitude, and a renewed sense of purpose,

Greg Nix

Media inquiries may be directed to Chortleman Crisis Relations. Greg Nix is not available for further comment at this time.

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There are countless examples of brilliant artists who died in obscurity scattered throughout history. Think of Vincent van Gogh, who sold only one documented painting in his lifetime. Or Herman Melville, who passed away thinking Moby-Dick was a failure. Or the cult singer-songwriter Nick Drake, who sold fewer than 5,000 copies of his three albums during his lifetime.

These artists were only recognized for their genius after they died. Given these historical examples, it stands to reason that the same thing is probably happening right now. In fact, there are likely thousands of digital Van Goghs out there, struggling to be discovered in the contemporary art and media environment.

Who might they be? Let’s take a look at some possibilities.

Tony Bertoletti

Bertoletti arrived on the New York stand-up circuit in 2009 as an up-and-coming angry guy with very fresh material about the differences between New York and New Jersey. In 2022, a big break for this “comedian” seemed to be imminent when he was booked on the Joe Rogan Experience to rant about trans people. But sadly, he got into an altercation with his Uber driver on the way to the studio and missed the podcast. His career has never recovered, and his insights about the Holland Tunnel remain tragically unrecorded.

Specktaculous

In the crowded field of men's lifestyle content, few figures have been as consequential — or as overlooked — as Specktaculous. While his looksmaxxing rival Clavicular has a dedicated army of followers, Specktaculous is the one who deserves credit for developing the category’s signature blend of testosterone-fueled skincare routines and unsolicited life advice. Perhaps someday history will recognize him for having pioneered the streaming format of “having a drug overdose on camera,” but for now, he’s stuck at 4,000 followers on TikTok.

@TurdMemes

While the masses have gravitated toward more conventionally minded accounts like @PoopJokes, serious observers have long suspected that @TurdMemes was operating on a different plane entirely. Where @PoopJokes gives the people what they want, @TurdMemes has consistently challenged its audience — asking not merely that they laugh at poop, but that they feel something about it. Art historians may one day look back on this Instagram account the way we view Georges Seurat: a virtuoso artist working at the edge of what the form could do, misunderstood in his time, vindicated by posterity.

xFoxyStacyx

This X-rated digital cartoon of a Japanese girl with fox ears has a rich interior life, a fully realized mythology, and a sprawling universe of fetish content that should, by any artistic measure, be making people extremely horny. And yet xFoxyStacyx has never even cracked the top 100 creators on OnlyFans. Whether this reflects the culture’s failure to appreciate genius happening before their eyes, or whether it’s because the whole thing is run by a guy named Jeff between shifts at the California Pizza Kitchen, remains an open question.

@PuppySLOP

The creator behind PuppySLOP was just beginning to find her distinctive artistic voice: vaguely mutated puppies rendered with eerie realism by Artificial Intelligence, accompanied by copyright-free music. She was accumulating followers at a pace that suggested something was clicking, when suddenly OpenAI shut down the Sora video generation platform and ended it all. Her account went dark overnight. It was, by any honest assessment, the greatest single act of artistic devastation since the collapse of Vine. How can an artist thrive if their very medium goes extinct?

(@PuppySLOP can still be found on YouTube and has just received a $100 million investment from Disney.)

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