by Matt Dunbar

The cultural destruction wrought by the internet has reached truly apocalyptic proportions. The death of unbiased, objective news delivered exclusively by white males; the reduction of teenage attention spans to the length of half a Tosh.O punchline; and, perhaps most insidious, the very existence of iJustine threatens to unspool the moral fabric upon which our modern social order is built.

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by Brandon Perkins

In the last installment of our futuristic fiction series, Please Use Rear Exit, Mikhail, who’d just X’ed is GF Katya, had ridden the #720 to the Low bar. Having been absent from his “regular” libation center, and therefore a stranger to his “friends” Jayson and Chevy, when he’s confronted by the later (who’s a rapper, who rhymes, all the tymes) he considers his next move carefully. Of the four approaches that run through Mikhail’s mind, option D – awkwardly asking Chevy “What’s up” – could prove optimal.

D). Mikhail absent-mindedly chose (d).

But he told himself that such stumbling wasn’t all his fault. Katya called him the second that Chevy started to trail off. Mikhail instinctually paused to silence a phone that no one could hear vibrating, simultaneously losing his beat in the conversation and train of thought. Fortunately, all awkwardness was forgotten and forgiven en route to finding Jayson – who had posted up at one of the last empty standing tables – and simple small talk was okay enough.

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by Brandon Perkins

It probably wasn’t the smartest move to get in the ice cream truck and go — especially with the needle nearing “E”— sometimes though waiting just don’t cut it. We may have been safe inside that garage, but that safety only felt temporary: the zombie clowns kept gathering and it was only a matter of time before they found a way in. Once we broke through the garage door, it took approximately 2.5 seconds for us to run over the first of those smiling undead, red-nosed motherfuckers. This one’s hair had sprouted into an orange frizz that splattered on the ice cream truck’s windshield and his stretched-long floppy foot snapped off at the ankle under our back right wheel, steaming a fuscia-colored mist in the rear view mirror. My day had already gotten better.

“They’re everywhere!” my girlfriend screamed. “Do we have enough gas to outrun them? What if we get a flat tire? Can they get in here? Do these doors lock? What happens if they get in here?”

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by Nicole Powers

“I’m probably the most paranoid man in Los Angeles.”
– Anthony E. Zuiker

In his first novel, Dark Origins, CSI creator Anthony E. Zuiker brought us a serial killer so extreme that he was the world’s first to be deemed worthy of Level 26 status. The spree of diabolical crimes perpetrated by the latex-attired – and therefore forensic-proof – Sqweegle, was ultimately halted by Steve Dark, a Special Circumstances investigator with demons of his own.

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by Nixon

It’s been a while since I posted a Tin Foil Hat Report, but this is a good one. It comes right in the middle of my reading UFOs: Generals, Pilots and Government Officials Go On the Record, which Fractal Suicide kindly sent me the other week. Hence I’m primed and ready with my tin foil hat – especially in light of the slew of recently reported alien-related developments.

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by Brandon Perkins

This is the second installment of our futuristic fiction series, Please Use Rear Exit. To catch up with Brown BTWN bus, find Part One here.

Please Use Rear Exit: Chapter 2 – How to Buy Low

After swiping his card and traversing the turnstile, Mikhail casually crossed the #720’s brightly-lit corridor and walked into Low without having to show his ID. Once his eyes had adjusted to the damp dimness of the bar’s dingy interior, he was immediately struck by the sharp shift in the bar’s demographics since his last visit. The beer-belly boisterousness of the blue collar set had miraculously transformed into an invasion of fashion-challenged bro’s and vodka-slamming sorority sluts. It was only a few months prior, one of those rare times that Katya had let him meet his friends for a night out, that Mikhail observed the usual Budweiser-sipping factory rats as he quickly drank a Jameson on the rocks. Back then, nothing had changed — it was exactly as he knew it, for every pre-Katya Friday night over a three-year-span, when he’d stop in Low for a quick fidolo drink to start his evening.

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When SuicideGilrs last spoke with The Daily Show’s Senior Women’s Issues Commentator, Kristen Schaal, she was in the process of doing exhaustive research for a sex guide she was penning with her boyfriend, Daily Show staff writer Rich Blomquist. Two years later, after much sweat, tears, soiled sheets and general stickiness – their rigorously field-tested manual, The Sexy Book of Sexy Sex, is in stores. In this excerpt, Schaal and Blomquist take a peak through a Glory Wormhole to give us an incite into the future of sex.

In the future, you’ll be having the best sex of your life, and your partner won’t even be there. No, you won’t be masturbating (at least not every time). You’ll be fucking each other thousands of miles apart with the help of remote stimulation devices known as teledildos.

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