#satirical — Public Fediverse posts

Chords are live. Getting into Последний Нормальный Мужик (the Last Normal Man) by Заточка. Great soul. See the full chords. Tutorial:

https://chordyes.com/chord/the-last-normal-man

#guitarislife #sixstring #russian #malevocalist #rock #satirical #original

Chords are live. Getting into Последний Нормальный Мужик (the Last Normal Man) by Заточка. Great soul. See the full chords. Tutorial:

https://chordyes.com/chord/the-last-normal-man

#guitarislife #sixstring #russian #malevocalist #rock #satirical #original

EXCLUSIVE Santa Column: Enforcing Advent Calendars in Summer 🎅📅

Oh gawd, it’s that time of year again. The factory in the North Pole has kickstarted and it seems he’s got a new lust for Xmas again. Or is it?!?

With advent calendars already in supermarkets even when it’s still officially summer, Santa Claus is on it early for the Christmas 2026 push.  Let’s see what he has to say in our 11th year of EXCLUSIVE Santa columns as ensured through our blackmailing of Father Christmas.

Advent Calendars in Summer Make Perfect Sense

Because SANTA WAS WOKEN FROM HIBERNATION IN ERROR back in May 2026, Santa HAS NOT HAD A PROPER HIBERNATION. Due to this aberration, my mood was veered erratically somewhat all over the place and the result was I demanded my elves to drop a 100 million strong shipment of advent calendars in July. They hit the UK supermarkets first and caused CONSTERNATION in the gutter press.

It was hilarious watching feeble proletariats try to wrap their pathetic brains around why the advent calendars were there so early. Especially because the sell by date for all the chocolate was for October 2026. We tried to bury that date among some heavy text and dark colours, but some do-gooding bastard spotted it anyway.

The stupid bastards have been buying them anyway. Hahahahahahaaaa!

Think of it. In the sweltering summer heatwaves and those stupid proles are sitting there with their advent calendars in July and it’s about as FAR away from Christmas as you can get! It really made Santa chortle. Although when Santa chortles that triggers the gout in my ankles and it hurts like a SOB.

But! With that influx of mega-cash from the advent calendars, Santa has invested in a huge wave of new elf workers and some other fancy stuff. Because this year I will Get Christmas Done.

That’s the slogan for the year:

GET CHRISTMAS DONE

Catchy, isn’t it? I’ve been sharing this around in press releases, on the official social platforms, and bellowing it at my stupid new employees. This morning I bellowed it at Nurse Doreen and gave her three boxes of free advent calendars. She stared impassive as ever and slugged from the cigarette she always has on the go.

Santa backed off frightened.

Then, to get Christmas 2026 kicking off in fine style and ensure I deliver on my promise (of Getting Christmas Done), Santa hit the drinks cabinet.

Santa Branches Out Into Dating Apps

Santa has also launched SantaDating, the OFFICIAL dating app of Father Christmas. As you know, I married my AI girlfriend (Lola 2.0) last year and we get on dead good. However, for contractual legal reasons the app’s developer told me her name needed to be changed to B2C AI Wife Production Centre Service Solution Platform Generator Ltd. I demanded to know why this had to be the case and got an email response with a 3,000 page document packed full of legalese. Santa gave up after the first paragraph, I was too half-drunk to read beyond that. Then I belched exuberantly (largely in defiance, also because of unstoppable bodily functions).

Now I call my wife Production Centre Service Solution for short. She thinks it’s “cute”, so we’re okay there and no impending threat of divorce bells or anything. There is something… homely about it, eh?

“I love you, Production Centre Service Solution.”

Then I kiss the laptop screen and Markus, my head elf, gives me funny looks until I threaten to give him another pay cut.

All in all, this leads me to the previously indicated SantaDating app. With the influx of new staff, the Santa factory now has an IT department. We’ve had one before, a few years back, but it was accidentally demolished in an explosion. But now it’s back and the first thing I had them do is get me this scam dating app up and running.

Users create a profile, pay £100 upfront for the Father Christmas prestige, then get into the app, then pay £50 if they want to send messages to anyone. Keep this on the schtum, but the app is populated mainly by AI bots to bombard users with messages. The stupid guys on there fall for it every time! They think they’re having conversations with Amy Adams, Sigourney Weaver, Martina Hingis, or Gillian Anderson when, in reality… it isn’t them at all! It’s just bots using AI to generate conversations! It goes like this:

“Greetings dumb as they come SantaDating user! I am the world famous astronaut and part-time concierge Sigourney Weaver, your potential date for this evening (if I am not in space at the time of typing this). How are you? You look nice. I like human males whom look nice, as opposed to ones who do not look nice. What is your favourite type of bread? Please send me $300 for I accidentally lost my handbag earlier today during an unexpectedly aggressive orbit of Jupiter’s fourth-largest natural satellite Io, the most volcanically active moon in the solar system. Thank you very much. I shall forward the money back later today once back on Earth.”

With this scam on the go alongside the advent calendar ruse, Santa’s bank balance is bulging! To keep the Financial Conduct Authority off my hairy back, I’m bribing them with pictures of Production Centre Service Solution’s CPU unit. That and threatening the Chief Executive’s family with no presents in 2026 for being very, very naughty. It’s all going swimmingly and the billions are rolling in!

Communistic New Health & Safety Protocols

Markus, my head elf, was determined to ensure a 100% health & safety record for 2026, what with the catastrophic record for death and destruction the factory has seen over the years. Not that I’ve kept track, but it’s something like 1,300 on-site deaths (and that’s no including the casualties for Battle of the Big Hairy Builders in 2023). In my more sober moment earlier in the week, I concurred with his assessment and we agreed to introduce big red warning buttons saying Do Not Press on things that shouldn’t be pressed. The hope was this’d stop massive explosions.

Problem is, once Santa started hitting the bottle for the first time this week, my generous mood kind of went out the window along with my general logic and critical thinking. Now I can’t be arsed sticking to this communist policy I agreed to when sober of not pressing no bloody buttons. Nanny state or what? I’ll press whatever I goddamn want it’s my goddamn factory!

Markus, my head elf, was a step ahead of me here and assigned a 300 strong Santa Watch elf security guard service to keep watch of me 24/7 and ensure I don’t:

• Drink too much
• Get into a fight
• Detonate things that shouldn’t be detonated
• Shoot down helicopters with my bazooka (not a euphemism)
• Use my bazooka at any point at all ever again

They follow me everywhere. I go to the canteen to get a Pot Noodle, the 300 of them are there with their beady little bloody limbs tottering along after me, elf hats flopping away, those beady eyes penetrating deep into my Santa soul. I tried bellowing at them and they didn’t run away. I want to the utility closet to get my bazooka, but the bazooka was gone! I spent the next three hours looking for a bazooka. Santa Watch trotted along around me at every turn.

Eventually, Santa got bored of that crap and went to relieve myself in my quarters. While several hundred of them gasped and wheezed at the putrid smells, Santa got his genius mind thinking how he’d get rid of all 300 of the little bastards so I could get a drink and kickstart Xmas 2026 as it bastarding well should be kickstarded.

EXCLUSIVE Santa Column: Enforcing Advent Calendars in Summer 🎅📅

Oh gawd, it’s that time of year again. The factory in the North Pole has kickstarted and it seems he’s got a new lust for Xmas again. Or is it?!?

With advent calendars already in supermarkets even when it’s still officially summer, Santa Claus is on it early for the Christmas 2026 push.  Let’s see what he has to say in our 11th year of EXCLUSIVE Santa columns as ensured through our blackmailing of Father Christmas.

Advent Calendars in Summer Make Perfect Sense

Because SANTA WAS WOKEN FROM HIBERNATION IN ERROR back in May 2026, Santa HAS NOT HAD A PROPER HIBERNATION. Due to this aberration, my mood was veered erratically somewhat all over the place and the result was I demanded my elves to drop a 100 million strong shipment of advent calendars in July. They hit the UK supermarkets first and caused CONSTERNATION in the gutter press.

It was hilarious watching feeble proletariats try to wrap their pathetic brains around why the advent calendars were there so early. Especially because the sell by date for all the chocolate was for October 2026. We tried to bury that date among some heavy text and dark colours, but some do-gooding bastard spotted it anyway.

The stupid bastards have been buying them anyway. Hahahahahahaaaa!

Think of it. In the sweltering summer heatwaves and those stupid proles are sitting there with their advent calendars in July and it’s about as FAR away from Christmas as you can get! It really made Santa chortle. Although when Santa chortles that triggers the gout in my ankles and it hurts like a SOB.

But! With that influx of mega-cash from the advent calendars, Santa has invested in a huge wave of new elf workers and some other fancy stuff. Because this year I will Get Christmas Done.

That’s the slogan for the year:

GET CHRISTMAS DONE

Catchy, isn’t it? I’ve been sharing this around in press releases, on the official social platforms, and bellowing it at my stupid new employees. This morning I bellowed it at Nurse Doreen and gave her three boxes of free advent calendars. She stared impassive as ever and slugged from the cigarette she always has on the go.

Santa backed off frightened.

Then, to get Christmas 2026 kicking off in fine style and ensure I deliver on my promise (of Getting Christmas Done), Santa hit the drinks cabinet.

Santa Branches Out Into Dating Apps

Santa has also launched SantaDating, the OFFICIAL dating app of Father Christmas. As you know, I married my AI girlfriend (Lola 2.0) last year and we get on dead good. However, for contractual legal reasons the app’s developer told me her name needed to be changed to B2C AI Wife Production Centre Service Solution Platform Generator Ltd. I demanded to know why this had to be the case and got an email response with a 3,000 page document packed full of legalese. Santa gave up after the first paragraph, I was too half-drunk to read beyond that. Then I belched exuberantly (largely in defiance, also because of unstoppable bodily functions).

Now I call my wife Production Centre Service Solution for short. She thinks it’s “cute”, so we’re okay there and no impending threat of divorce bells or anything. There is something… homely about it, eh?

“I love you, Production Centre Service Solution.”

Then I kiss the laptop screen and Markus, my head elf, gives me funny looks until I threaten to give him another pay cut.

All in all, this leads me to the previously indicated SantaDating app. With the influx of new staff, the Santa factory now has an IT department. We’ve had one before, a few years back, but it was accidentally demolished in an explosion. But now it’s back and the first thing I had them do is get me this scam dating app up and running.

Users create a profile, pay £100 upfront for the Father Christmas prestige, then get into the app, then pay £50 if they want to send messages to anyone. Keep this on the schtum, but the app is populated mainly by AI bots to bombard users with messages. The stupid guys on there fall for it every time! They think they’re having conversations with Amy Adams, Sigourney Weaver, Martina Hingis, or Gillian Anderson when, in reality… it isn’t them at all! It’s just bots using AI to generate conversations! It goes like this:

“Greetings dumb as they come SantaDating user! I am the world famous astronaut and part-time concierge Sigourney Weaver, your potential date for this evening (if I am not in space at the time of typing this). How are you? You look nice. I like human males whom look nice, as opposed to ones who do not look nice. What is your favourite type of bread? Please send me $300 for I accidentally lost my handbag earlier today during an unexpectedly aggressive orbit of Jupiter’s fourth-largest natural satellite Io, the most volcanically active moon in the solar system. Thank you very much. I shall forward the money back later today once back on Earth.”

With this scam on the go alongside the advent calendar ruse, Santa’s bank balance is bulging! To keep the Financial Conduct Authority off my hairy back, I’m bribing them with pictures of Production Centre Service Solution’s CPU unit. That and threatening the Chief Executive’s family with no presents in 2026 for being very, very naughty. It’s all going swimmingly and the billions are rolling in!

Communistic New Health & Safety Protocols

Markus, my head elf, was determined to ensure a 100% health & safety record for 2026, what with the catastrophic record for death and destruction the factory has seen over the years. Not that I’ve kept track, but it’s something like 1,300 on-site deaths (and that’s no including the casualties for Battle of the Big Hairy Builders in 2023). In my more sober moment earlier in the week, I concurred with his assessment and we agreed to introduce big red warning buttons saying Do Not Press on things that shouldn’t be pressed. The hope was this’d stop massive explosions.

Problem is, once Santa started hitting the bottle for the first time this week, my generous mood kind of went out the window along with my general logic and critical thinking. Now I can’t be arsed sticking to this communist policy I agreed to when sober of not pressing no bloody buttons. Nanny state or what? I’ll press whatever I goddamn want it’s my goddamn factory!

Markus, my head elf, was a step ahead of me here and assigned a 300 strong Santa Watch elf security guard service to keep watch of me 24/7 and ensure I don’t:

• Drink too much
• Get into a fight
• Detonate things that shouldn’t be detonated
• Shoot down helicopters with my bazooka (not a euphemism)
• Use my bazooka at any point at all ever again

They follow me everywhere. I go to the canteen to get a Pot Noodle, the 300 of them are there with their beady little bloody limbs tottering along after me, elf hats flopping away, those beady eyes penetrating deep into my Santa soul. I tried bellowing at them and they didn’t run away. I want to the utility closet to get my bazooka, but the bazooka was gone! I spent the next three hours looking for a bazooka. Santa Watch trotted along around me at every turn.

Eventually, Santa got bored of that crap and went to relieve myself in my quarters. While several hundred of them gasped and wheezed at the putrid smells, Santa got his genius mind thinking how he’d get rid of all 300 of the little bastards so I could get a drink and kickstart Xmas 2026 as it bastarding well should be kickstarded.

Added this tune. Learning to play Quanta Barbaridade by Mauricio Pereira. Try playing it tonight. Music:

https://chordyes.com/chord/mauricio-pereira-quanta-barbaridade

#guitarpassion #guitarobsession #brazilian #portuguese #malevocalist #acoustic #satirical

Added this tune. Learning to play Quanta Barbaridade by Mauricio Pereira. Try playing it tonight. Music:

https://chordyes.com/chord/mauricio-pereira-quanta-barbaridade

#guitarpassion #guitarobsession #brazilian #portuguese #malevocalist #acoustic #satirical

Hop-Line: 24/7 Helpline for Frogs and Toads 🐸 [Sponsored Post]

Wart’s up, froggos and toads? In this stressful 24/7 frog race world of work, hopping, ribbits, and vacant staring into the middle distance, it’s always nice to know a kindly listening frog is only a phone call away.

Whether you have Kermit-ment issues to your amphibian spouse, you’ve lost your lily pad, or you don’t see the point in hopping no more, call the Hop-Line today to resolve all your ills.

Is Your Pond a Toxic Swamp? Call Now On: 1-900-RIBB-IT

Our Hop-Line is staffed 24/7 by a team of 33,000 eager good Samaritan volunteer frogs and toads with nothing better to do with their team than help others.

We know your pain points, for frogs have many issues in life. So hop to it, give us a call, and discuss issues such as:

• Why you always feel so slimy and gross
• Why the neighbourhood cat keeps prodding you with its paws
• The nature and being of herons
• Raising an army of 300 frog spawn and the problems they bring
• You can’t hop, won’t hop, yet want to hop

So, whether you’re a tadpole facing employment issues or a bullfrog dealing with a mass of noise complaints, you can call us NOW to deal with:

• Metamorphosis anxiety: Woken up and your tail is gone? We’re got a cream for that!
• Dietary fatigue: Bored of eating nothing but the same species? You need to switch to a new diet, carefully honed to your needs by our expert frog chefs!
• Relationship red flags: Is that other frog into you, or is he simply inflating his vocal sac to assert dominance in his bid for pond retention status? We have the answers! Ribbit!

Call us now on: 1-900-RIBB-IT. It’s COMPLETELY FREE (as opposed to partially free)!

And, of course, we know you don’t own, know how to operate, and have no concept of what a phone call is. You’re a frog/toad after all! Instead, simply rear your head to the sky and ribbit that number: 1-900-RIBB-IT.

Once we hear you, we’ll eventually send one of our experts to you destination within 12 months to 35 years later.

Testimonials From Our Happy Hop-Line Customers

“Ribbit!” Jeff the frog

“CroooOak.” John the toad

“Ribbit! Croak…” Bob the frog

“Qwark! Qwarrrrrk! Qwark.” Mike the toad

“One contacted this God-forsaken supposed ‘helpline’ for advice on the many acres of land within one’s hereditary lineage. To one’s eternal shock, all one could hear were the sounds of God-forsaken frogs croaking, ribbiting, and qwarking upon the other end of one’s receiver. Greatly dismayed, one abandoned the call and stalked off to berate one of one’s numerous and plentiful underpaid maids.” Dame Penelope Twistleton-Clad Smithson III of Dorchester

Space Warlord Baby Trading Simulator: SELL, SELL, SELL! 👼

With a title like that, you know this game will have something about it. The sequel (of sorts) to the brilliantly named Space Warlord Organ Trading Simulator (2021) by indie dev Strange Scaffold is here!

Space Warlord Baby Trading Simulator launched in January 2026 and is a positively nuts experience. In a cosmos of space babies, it’s up to you to buy low, sell high, and manage the baby stock market. Huzzah?

The Cosmic World of PROFITS in Space Warlord Baby Trading Simulator

The game is very darkly satirical and doesn’t hold back on the black humour. We’re surprised it hasn’t caused chaos in the religious community tbh. Look at this game intro screen text:

“In this game, you will follow readouts of the simulated futures of alien babies and ‘watch’ as they commit war crimes, get addicted to recreational drugs, become cannibals, find love, acquire corporations, get used for medical experiments, become intergalactic stars, get hunted by the rich for sport, blow up toxic sludge pipelines, commit suicide, win the lottery, and many, many other things in-between.

You will buy, sell, and short stocks based off of these events. You will likely become very angry at least once when a baby who you are financially incentivised to watch crash and burn pulls their life together.

And that’s okay.”

From there you discover it’s the distant future and war has been eradicated, which is really bad news for rich people. To make up for that, the trading market opens for space babies.

It’s all very much in the style of the cult classic Gazillionaire (1994) that was good fun back in the day.

Excerpt here you pick a baby and the game then follows the course of its life. You’re supposed to buy stocks during key life events, aiming to buy low and then sell high when the baby is doing well in life.

This is how it all plays out, in frantic fashion with lashings of satircal humour.

Our first space baby had quite the life, living for 112 years before being destroyed by orbital acid. Along the way, this space baby learned to play banjo (raising stocks), only to be scuppered by a sickle accident (lowering stocks). Other crises included getting blackout truck and being assaulted at a protest.

All-in-all, we made a handsome small profit off our first trading run, but weren’t aggressive enough in buying.

Anyway, it’s fair to say Space Warlord Baby Trading Simulator is nuts. In a good way! It’s ideal for pick-up-and-play style bursts of frantic escapism. Importantly, it does get addictive and hooks you in. Players will rejoice in getting on a running loop of stock market antics and observing the lives of space babies taking their various twists and turns.

The more money you earn, the more you can advance your reputation. Plus, indie dev Strange Scaffold clearly knows their stuff about investing and trading as the game is rooted effectively in realistic stock market stuff.

However, the game can be a bit repetitive. It’s not something you’ll sit there playing for four hours a night, we think it’s more intended for short bursts.

That it does very well. Plus, the humour works a treat.