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In the future, all animated movie roles will be voiced by Chris Pratt. Every new and rebooted cartoon character will be Prattified, stripping them of their known timbres and inflections to instead don the casually masculine attitude of one Chris Pratt. Mickey Mouse, Shrek, and every single Minion will sound like Mario, Garfield, Emmet from The Lego Movie, and one of those blue guys from that Pixar film nobody talks about. In the future, Hollywood's sole media corporation, DisneyΩmega, will permanently dub Chris Pratt's voice into the entirety of its existing catalog of animated films. Subsequent generations of viewers will only be able to access Prattconned versions of An American Tale, The Iron Giant, and Frozen featuring Chris Pratt as both Anna and Elsa. In the future, your phone, your car, and your talking sex machine, will all speak to you in the tender-yet-bro-ish tones of Chris Pratt. Every syllable of every language will be recorded meticulously by Pratt allowing AI developers to design models of Chris Pratt's voice for limitless uses around the globe. In the future, the Internet and all virtual assistant apps will be replaced with one omnipresent, omniscient voice of Chris Pratt. Google will become useless, as all search queries will only surface "Chris Pratt" due to his millions of IMDb credits. In the future, news anchors will move to North Prattkoda to hone their regionless, Pratt-like delivery. Actors will study for years under specially-trained dialect coaches (Chris Pratt's great-great-grandchildren) to achieve an accurate Prattccent. In the future, the longest-running and only reality show left on television will be an annual competition marry the most eligible single guy who, like Chris Pratt, can transform from chubby comic relief to chiseled leading man, titled "The Prattchelor." In the future Emperor Chris Prattzenegger VII of The New World Government (a subsidiary of DisneyΩmega), will deem Chris Pratt's voice the ideal, aspirational expression of human communication. All schoolchildren will receive standardized testing to ensure their vocabulary is consistent with the preferred Prattxicon. In the future, the words "talking" and "speaking" will eventually be eclipsed by the more common usage of the phrase "Prattling" or "to make mouth noises in the way of the Pratt." Linguists will trace the origins of this new offshoot to the sacred streaming files of Parks and Recreation where it was first introduced to a wide audience (though some scholars will insist it dates back even further to the myths of Everwood.) In the future, all human labor will be in service of enforcing trademark laws on behalf of the estate of Chris Pratt, as due to his in perpetuity licensing agreement with the Disney Empire, everyone who speaks like Chris Pratt (i.e. everyone) owes him residuals for the use of his voice and likeness. An annual census will determine each individual's Pratt Burden and place them in either 80% or 90% income Pratt Bracket. In the future, by choosing only those mates whose voices sound the most like Prattesque, humans will evolve to homogenize all speech tones to that of our Star-Lord and savior, Guardian of the Galaxy, Chris Pratt. Dogs and cats will also be selectively bred to sound like Chris Pratt saying "woof" and "meow," respectively. In the future, all worship services at Orthodox Prattsbyterian churches will be conducted in the traditional Prattin, or "Pratt Latin." In the future, bionic implants will auto-tune all natural sounds to those of Chris Pratt. A blowing breeze through the trees will be heard as Chris Pratt's rascally rasp saying, "Woosh." Birds flying overhead will cry "Ca-caw" with Pratt's irascible sarcasm. The coo of an infant will be replaced with Chris Pratt's puckish, adult voice matter-of-factly uttering, "Hey, I'm a freakin' adorable baby." In the future, all will become Chris Pratt and Chris Pratt will become all. And stubble shall cover the Earth.

I woke up on my 28th birthday feeling like shit. It was not the hangover, nor was it the dread of inching closer to 30, which isn't even a thing anymore because everyone is all stoked to turn 30 now (apparently you finally figure out which pants don't look like absolute shit on you and also how to enjoy sex. It sounds fucking sick and frankly I can't wait.) What I'm talking about is that unmistakable pang of disappointment I got when I opened my eyes unscathed on my 28th birthday with the certainty that I was officially an artistic failure. In a sick way, living past the age of 27 is just a reminder that I am in fact not a rock & roll visionary whose legend will live on eternally in the hearts of devout fans at this point in my career. The 27 Club includes the larger-than-life musical masterminds Amy Winehouse, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, Brian Jones and, most notably, not me. As I sipped my iced latte and watched my own Instagram story, I couldn't help but be disgusted, because I hate cold coffee and myself, but also because I realized that we as a society have failed to celebrate the other greats who stayed with us a little longer. They deserve to be inducted into their own postmortem club, too! And maybe I'm just waiting to join the right one for me. If you've lived past the age cut-off for The 27 Club like I did, you may simply be holding out to join one of these other iconic groups based on your specific talents and noteworthiness. "The Apostles 33" That's right. Thirty-three, AKA The Jesus Age. Dying at 33 could mean one of two things: 1) you're a nepo-baby whose father's fame gave you some perks and entitlement that ultimately got you into trouble in the end. The proof of this continues with Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy, daughter-in-law of John F. Kennedy, who tragically passed away in a private plane crash at this age. The second thing this could mean is that you are fucking hilarious. The curtain closed during Act 33 for comedy geniuses John Belushi and Chris Farley, so if you're 33 with an elite sense of humor I would consider it a full-on hex the next time someone comments "Dead." on your funny Tik Tok. "The 36 Chicks" This one is for my queens out there. Among this group who left their mark on this dull, undeserving world in just 36 years is Catherine Parr (the last queen of the House of Tudor), Princess motherfucking Diana (perhaps the most beloved royal there ever was), and American royalty herself, Marilyn Monroe. They slayed their best until they were laid to rest *nail polish emoji*. Ok that was in poor taste but the whole concept of this article is kinda f****d so if you're not into it just go back to watching Trader Joe's recipe videos and no one will judge you. "The Double Troubles" It's no coincidence that groundbreaking men like Christopher Columbus and Matthew Perry died at double the age of 27: 54. But sometimes more is not always better. Each of these men are famous for playing a pivotal role in the creation of something that loyal white folks still put on a pedestal to this day: 'Murica and Friends. Both projects turned out to be overrated. And racist. Do not come for me. "The 76ers" Dying at age 76 is a one-way ticket to jock status for eternity. This group boasts some legendary athletes. Most recently, this club drafted OJ Simpson, the NFL football player who was known for playing 11 seasons with the Buffalo Bills and nothing else at all that I can think of off the top of my head. Alongside Simpson in The 76ers is French football player Rachid Belhout, British cyclist Pete Smith, and American wrestler Douglas Blubaugh. Blubagh's cause of death was in fact not "blue balls," although I desperately wanted it to be because of his name; it was a traffic accident, which isn't nearly as funny but I imagine it's a quicker way to go. RIP Dougie. "The Great Whites" You've got 99 problems but dying young ain't one. Legend of all legends Betty White held out all the way until age...

You're a terrible person. You think terrible thoughts and do terrible things. You hurt the people you love, and you once climaxed to the Mucinex monster when a banner ad popped up at the worst possible time. Nobody knows this better than your therapist. You've loaded them up like a Pez dispenser with life-ruining stories about yourself, so it's just a matter of time until they try to blackmail you. But you don't have to take this lying down on a fainting couch. Here are some ways to protect yourself from the person you pay to nod at your pain Communicate exclusively through squawks and chirps. Birds rarely get extorted, so if your therapist asks about your relationship with your stepmom, just twitch your head and feather-pick your wing lice. If that doesn't work, fly south with the other geese that are also avoiding self-examination. Splice veiled threats into your stories. While discussing how your week went, mention your impulse to smack disloyal therapists with pipes, then mention you went pipe shopping. (Keep your receipt so you can return the pipe after smashing their end table!) Bottle up your feelings. Ketchup, root beer, repressed trauma - all the best things come in bottles! What, you think you're better than pickles? I'd rather munch a gherkin than hear you yak about your shopping addiction. Go to a deaf shrink, and grow bangs over your mouth. Hair is a shield that comes out of your head for free! If you can't find a hearing-impaired therapist in your network, pick one with good ears and fire Civil War cannons next to their head for six years. For added security, headbang dandruff into their eyes. Whisper your secrets into a shame sack. A reliable shame sack should have a drawstring to cinch the secrets inside. Drop in a few decoy potatoes to ward off therapists who hate potatoes. But before you get too candid with your sack, pat it down to make sure it's not wearing a wire. art by Weekly Humorist staff Buy the book! LIFE WANTS YOU DEAD A Calm, Rational, and Totally Legit Guide to Scaring Yourself Safe By Evan Waite • Illustrations by Paula Searing

Bluey, that Australian animated television series about two cute puppies and their over-indulgent parents, has made everyone cry with their recent extended-length episode, "The Sign." With the overwhelming success of that, the show is now encouraging the production team to start working on new and edgier episodes, coming in 2025: Nana Goes to the Farm When Nana gets hurt chasing cars, Mum and Dad have to discuss putting Nana down. Bath Day The family is forced to confront the fact that they all hate the smell of wet dog. Fleas Everyone freaks when the flea circus comes to town. Throw-y Uppy The family gets a stomach virus but makes a game of it. Vet Day When it's time for Bluey and Bingo's shots, the family has to deal with an anti-vax pack of dogs. Mr. Fix-it After a litter-scare, Dad gets fixed. Leash Laws Somehow a cat gets elected as Mayor of Brisbane and starts getting restrictive laws passed. (episode contains flashing images and violent protesters.) Rabies When Lucky's Dad gets rabies, the girls get sad because they can't play with Lucky any more. Dry Food Bluey goes on a hunger strike until her parents let her eat canned food. Doggie Style Bluey and Bingo get into trouble when they advertise a fashion shop they're setting up in their backyard. Toilet water The family has to teach Bingo not drink out of the toilet, even though it's "RIGHT THERE!" Get to Know 'em The Heeler family makes an ill-advised trip to South Dakota. (series finale)

Double Jeopardy Latte Maxwell House Detention Fresh Grounds for Appeal KKKona Grounds Zero On Ice Coffee 7/11 to Life Mister Cofeve Putin Double Shot of Java in the Head Handcuffeinated Elliot Nesspresso Russian Coffee Brewskis Prison Brew Crew Cup of Joe Stalin Pardon My Mocha Arrested by a Coppuccino

Glade Plug Ins Not intended to be used a butt plug, according to ER personnel. The Destroyer What was this supposed to have destroyed? My relationship with my husband? Okay, maybe. But my genitals are none the worse for wear. Vibrating Egg Didn't really care for it. Felt really weird, and kind of gross. Still, a funny prank gift for the kids when Easter rolls around! Strawberry Passion Deluxe Body Lube Kind of an unpleasant flavor, similar to strawberry and ass (although, to be fair, might have to do with the part of the body being lubed). Anal Bee's I have since discovered that this should have been "anal beads" rather than "anal bees". The former sounds pretty nice, actually. Don't make my mistake of attempting to stuff a handful of live bees into your rectum, that's all I'm saying. Magneto Not a sex toy as it turns out, but rather a Magneto character beverage thermos from my kid's X-Men lunch box. Sorry honey! The Fist & The Furious Quite the unique movie tie in product! Supposedly sculpted from Vin Diesel's fist, this enticing item will have you spread wider than the plot holes in the movies! Deluxe Swingers' Delight Sex Swing Honestly, gives me motion sickness when used for it's designed purpose. Great place for a quick, out of the way nap though!