In an era when soup lines stretched longer than congressional filibusters and flavor was something you remembered from your dreams, America held tight to the one thing she could still make at home without a permit. The sandwich. These were not your mile-high masterpieces or artisan sourdough statements of privilege. These were Depression-era survival slabs. Culinary betrayals pressed between slices…
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New Threads for an Old Goose An illustrated odyssey through childhood’s most epic misadventures
Once upon a rhyme, when “streaming” was what creeks did and “clouds” were merely sky décor, nursery rhymes ruled the universe. Armed with nothing but breath and mischief, our ancestors spun these unhinged, verbal Molotov cocktails, and lobbed them into their children’s bedrooms just before wishing them “Pleasant dreams!” They were the original PowerPoint presentations. Short, loud, easy to remember,…
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From DMV to Your Couch America’s Most Dreaded Bureaucracy Has Finally Gone Digital
Ah, the Department of Motor Vehicles. Society’s favorite reminder that despite our drones, AI assistants, and phones smarter than the Apollo missions, bureaucracy remains blissfully entrenched in the Stone Age. If you’ve ever wondered what would happen if Dante rewrote Inferno as a choose-your-own-adventure set in a strip mall, well, the Department of Motor Vehicles is the place for you.…
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Requiem for the Unstreamable How six bands found magic in the margins of the music history
Welcome to Requiem for the Unstreamable, where forgotten bands go to die gloriously, then get resurrected for your morbid entertainment and bootleg hiss. These aren’t bands that faded away quietly. They didn’t get lost in the shuffle. They were the shuffle. Chaotic, unpredictable, and slightly sticky to the touch. No publicists. No strategies. Just pure, unfiltered chaos, delivered by people…
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How the West Got Fat The Salty, Starchy, Greasy Truth Behind America’s Original Snackpocalypse
It’s easy to romanticize the Old West. Hollywood gave us dusty cowpokes with jaws sharp enough to split a whiskey barrel and waistlines tighter than their lariats. Meanwhile, historical photos offer a somber parade of gaunt-faced pioneers and skeletal sodbusters, squinting toward the camera like they’re gaping maws of dysentery. But let’s put away the sepia-toned lies for a moment…
