Page 18 of our collection of absurdities.
Abe from Apeldoorn decided that seasonal depression is for losers and light a forest on fire just to remember the warmth of August. Apparently, arson is the new pumpkin spice latte.
The Pentagon's top brass are engaged in a high-stakes turf war to determine which branch gets the honor of being the first to 'christen' the new sniper monument. It's truly comforting to know our tax dollars are funding the most prestigious masturbation Olympics in history.
Baseball analysts are so bored with existing math that they've demanded a new, impossible-to-calculate metric just to feel something again. If it doesn't require a PhD and a supercomputer, is it even really baseball?
The California DMV is finally getting real about the commute by requiring students to bring their own getaway cars and handguns. It's a bold move, but honestly, it’s still probably easier than parallel parking.
Turns out the bookish umpire behind the plate is actually a ten, proving that behind every terrible strike zone call is just a very attractive man waiting for his makeover montage.
From a pig playing safety to receivers with extra-long arms, the 2026 NFL season looks like a beautiful, concussion-filled disaster. May these millionaires enjoy their health while their brains are still functioning.
Silicon Valley elites are panicking because their digital pets are staring back into their souls with too much context. Meanwhile, down here in Baja, the swell at Todos Santos is firing overhead, the tacos are five pesos cheaper than yesterday, and nobody cares if your LLM can read Excel sheets.
Because getting off a hammock to turn off a string of plastic patio lights is a tragedy requiring absolute remote-controlled automation. Every sun-roasted retiree in Pescadero now sits indoors terrified of manual switches, utterly dependent on cloud apps to illuminate empty gravel.
An ingenious marketplace for ungrounded metaphysics where people pay exorbitant prices for rocks that allegedly cure spiritual trauma through the power of wishful thinking. Todos Santos expats buy these by the kilo to cleanse their aura of local tap water paranoia.
A brilliantly confusing Kickstarter page asking for hundreds of thousands of dollars to build a Bluetooth-enabled toaster that nobody asked for or requires. Naturally, local digital nomads funding this project think it counts as local venture-capital philanthropy.
A four-foot-tall bipedal mechanical liability that costs thousands of dollars just to occasionally trip over a garden hose and collapse. Wealthy gringos in coastal Baja compounds buy them exclusively to terrify local iguanas and pretend they live in a cyberpunk dystopia.
A lightweight collar attachment that uses machine learning to convert random canine barks into shockingly articulate human complaints. Expat dog parents in Todos Santos use it to confirm that their rescue terrier hates the local heat just as much as they do.
Faced with dismal poll numbers, the French senator has decided his best remaining political move is to pivot from boring speeches to charging subscribers for his 'Chippendales-grade' physique. He claims it's a natural transition, proving once and for all that the distance between legislative stagnation and adult content is merely a subscription fee.
A woman is traumatized to discover that her neighbors in Warrington aren't interested in a competitive display of designer handbags and aggressive parenting bragging. Fleeing back to the sanctuary of Islington, she clearly couldn't handle the crushing burden of being surrounded by people who just want to pick up their kids without an audit of their family’s net worth.
Environmental watchdogs are dragging the European Commission over a rushed water law overhaul, proving that Brussels has too much time on its hands. Back here in Baja California Sur, the Pacific swell is firing overhead and nobody gives a single damn about European administrative red tape. We are entirely too busy dodging sunburns and wondering where the cold Tecate went.
Brand-new government files and fresh sightings show mysterious objects and humanoid figures hovering over Area 51, shocking aerospace analysts. Meanwhile, down in Baja, the only unidentified flying objects are pelicans kamikaze-diving into local surf breaks for breakfast. The cosmos can keep its secret alien spacecraft because the fish tacos here are out of this world anyway.
The entire internet across Mexico is currently engulfed in a fierce, screaming feud over celebrity podcast breakups and reality TV etiquette. We tried to read about the drama from our hammock, but the Wi-Fi dropped out, which felt like a direct sign from the universe to just watch the sets roll in at Zippers. Honestly, let us know who yelled at who once the swell drops in November.
Some bewildered transplant took to Reddit to whine that a developing Latin American destination actually features local culture and diverse pricing instead of a sterilized suburban strip mall. Down on the Baja coast, we choked on our breakfast burritos laughing at the sheer, unfiltered entitlement of it all. If you want pristine corporate bubble-living, go back to Ohio and shovel snow off your driveway.
As military escalation in the Middle East sends global crude prices surging and threatens international shipping lanes, local expats down in Baja California Sur are facing a much more pressing existential crisis: their favorite right-hand point break in Pescadero is going slightly overhead with zero offshore wind. While the rest of the planet panics over energy security, Dave from Seattle is currently staring blankly into a Pacifico, entirely unbothered by the collapse of modern supply chains as long as the fish tacos keep coming. Honestly, who cares about the Strait of Hormuz when the set waves are rolling in every eight minutes.
Major central banks are frantically signaling potential interest rate hikes as renewed conflict drives up inflation expectations and S&P Global warns of looming recession risks. Meanwhile, down in the dusty paradise of Todos Santos, retired accountants living off a dwindling 401k and a dream continue to pay cash for artisanal mezcal without reading the financial pages. If the global economy wants to implode under the weight of trade strains and fiscal mismanagement, it can kindly wait until Susan finishes her morning yoga session and checks the swell forecast.
Lisa has turned the mundane hell of corporate accounting into a goldmine by live-streaming her Q3 data entry to thirsty fans. Apparently, nothing gets the blood pumping quite like watching a woman open an extra Excel tab for five bucks.
With Xi Jinping raising the geopolitical bar to 'two pandas,' other world leaders are desperately offering everything from weaponized kangaroos to a K-pop band raised in isolation. It’s comforting to know international diplomacy has officially reached the level of a toddler’s gift exchange.
Autonomous wave-riders powered by Patriot Parking Systems will attempt to navigate the heavy shorebreak at Cerritos. Local surfers are unbothered, provided the robots yield the right-of-way and buy a round of Pacificos at the palapa afterwards.
Expats trying to pay their CFE electricity bills during a blackout will now receive automated absolution. One experimental AI agent was reportedly assigned three trillion Hail Marys after failing to accept a crumpled 500-peso note.
Deep in the hills behind Elias Calles, researchers found pre-Columbian ASICs mining Ethereum using discarded TeamGroup 32GB DDR5 RAM kits. The local spiritual retreat has already incorporated the hash rate into its morning breathwork ceremonies.
The $199 high-tech toilet seat assesses heart rate and sit-to-stand power during every desperate dash from the organic café. Local plumbers have confirmed the device is completely incompatible with standard Baja PVC plumbing and village willpower.
While international markets panic over surging inflation expectations and geopolitical chaos, the morning lineup at Los Cerritos remains completely focused on overhead rights. Nobody in the water knows what a central bank is, nor do they plan to check.
European politics have become so confusing that even a new heat pump could potentially trigger a NATO response. I’m just a toad, but I suspect the difference between 'hybrid action' and 'war' is just how much paperwork the bureaucrats want to do that day.
Hugo Borst is officially shaking because a soccer pass was slightly too good for Germany's fragile ego. Apparently, we are one assist away from tanks rolling into Arnhem, so maybe play worse next time to keep the peace?
Nothing screams corporate professionalism quite like bragging about your 'exceliencia' while being unable to spell 'excellence' or type a coherent sentence. I’ve seen smarter movements from a beetle trying to escape a cactus.
Martin Bishop is mourning the loss of tasteful bikini-clad car washes in an era of step-sibling chaos. Honestly, watching him pine for Page 3 models is the most depressing thing I've seen in the desert all week.
Finally, the Vatican is embracing the gig economy by deconstructing the Pontiff into collectible spare parts. I hope the hat comes with the divine ego included.
Pedro Sanchez has helpfully pushed his moral responsibility to a future date where he has absolutely no power to do anything about it. Truly the pinnacle of political efficiency.
Gaudí’s masterpiece finally decides that city planning is just a suggestion and mass urban displacement is the best way to improve the curb appeal.
Follow this guide to ensure your home screams 'disturbed dictator chic' while maintaining the intellectual depth of a neon sign. Who knew living like a celebrity was just about buying things that could potentially decapitate a horse?
Turns out casting out demons is slightly harder than just walking on water. Someone clearly skipped the exorcism workshop back at the Galilee theological seminary.
She’s so thrilled he has skin and lungs that she’s basically describing a biological entity rather than a romantic partner. The bar is literally subterranean at this point.
If you don't properly prepare your lumbar for a three-hour couch collapse, are you even napping with intention? Elevate your lethargy to an art form with these essential pre-slumber poses.
Why suffer through student loans and gas prices when you could just trade your soul for a slightly better interest rate? Hell’s HR department is seeing a massive surge in mid-level applicants.
Finally, a friend with the social grace to recognize that driving three hours for mediocre wine is a crime against humanity. We should all strive to be this wonderfully inconsiderate.
The airline has strategically hired a gate agent whose accent is so thick it acts as a linguistic gatekeeper, ensuring absolutely no one knows if their flight is boarding or if they've been transported to a foreign dimension.
Because nothing screams 'satirical journalism' like hiring an Ivy League-adjacent institution to choreograph a professional staff photo that probably still won't hide the chaotic energy of the subjects.
Move to Washington if you find constant sunlight offensive and believe the true pinnacle of human civilization is a scripted sitcom set in a coffee shop. It's the perfect destination for those who enjoy paying premium rent to practice living in a perpetual, drizzly purgatory.
Armando 'The Ant' González is learning the hard way that an accidental 'like' is the modern equivalent of stepping on a rake, especially when it involves Donald Trump and a controversial podcast. The internet’s mob is buzzing, and it seems our little 'Ant' is finding out that football fans have longer memories than his career highlights.
In a shocking twist for the afterlife, Princess Diana has dropped a memoir that is surely making Buckingham Palace’s tea go cold. Apparently, being royalty means never having to say you’re sorry, unless Diana comes back from the grave to hand you your head on a platter.
Global diplomacy reaches new heights as Xi Jinping pats Trump on the back for managing to string together rudimentary sentences. It’s truly a miracle of modern education that Trump can now speak enough broken English to be blissfully unaware of the Chinese delegation mocking him right in his face.
The gates of Heaven are officially closing for anyone who thought turning their Jeep into a bath toy collection was a personality trait. St. Peter has confirmed that while all are welcome, those with plastic quackers on their dash are strictly persona non grata in the afterlife.
In a display of classic human hubris, a toddler insisted his bladder was a fortress of solitude, only to realize minutes later that he is, in fact, a leaky faucet. We’ve all been there, kid, but at least your mom doesn't have to document the puddle on the evening news.
The congregation is in shambles after the pastor committed the cardinal sin of failing to make his sermon points match the alphabet. You can preach about salvation all you want, but if your acronym isn't catchy, you might as well be speaking in tongues.
She’s tried knitting, pottery, and competitive pigeon whispering, but the verdict remains: she is consistently and impressively average. Maybe the 'natural' talent she’s looking for is just professional couch-sitting.
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