McSweeney’s

“They Would Never Use the Death Star on Us”: Alderaan Residents Reflect on Their Support for the Empire as a Large Imperial Installation Enters the System

Jack Loftus — Mon, 04 May 2026 08:00:00 -0400

“We spoke with voters who cast their ballots for Mr. Trump and said they were disappointed with his second term. A few said they even regretted their votes.”
— New York Times

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MODERATOR: In one or two words, finish this sentence: “I’m feeling ‘blank’ about the Empire these days, now that the galactic superweapon I willingly supported hovers overhead.”

TALLIS, 44: Concerned.
MIRA, 29: Confused yet hopeful.
BRENN: Annoyed.
KELAN, 38: Surprised.
OOLA, 61: Worried.
DARO, 24: Betrayed.
LYSA, 47: Frustrated.
JOREN, 63: Apathetic.
CEN, 35: Discouraged.
PAVA, 19: Anxious.
RINN, 56: Disappointed.
HASK, 41: Steady.

MODERATOR: Mira, you said, “confused yet hopeful.” Tell me more.

MIRA: I think a lot has happened very quickly. There were promises about stability, about restoring order to the galaxy. At the same time, when I look up… it raises questions. Still, I feel like there must be a plan. They wouldn’t position something like that over a loyal world without a reason that benefits us.

MODERATOR: Kelan, you said, “surprised.”

KELAN: I voted for strength. The Emperor projects strength. That’s important. But I didn’t think strength meant a planet-killing battle station this close to my planet. I assumed deployments like this were for Outer Rim situations. You know, for lesser things, like Jawas.

MODERATOR: Daro, you said “betrayed.”

DARO: We were told this was about keeping the galaxy safe from extremists who don’t share our values. Alderaan isn’t that. We’re peaceful. We comply. But seeing that thing’s massive dish warming up like that, it certainly doesn’t feel like protection. It feels like something else.

MODERATOR: Have you felt this way for a while?

DARO: Not until it blotted out the Sun. Before that, it was easy to trust the Empire.

MODERATOR: Oola, you mentioned you’re worried.

OOLA: I supported the Emperor because I thought he’d learned from the Clone Wars. I thought this time would be different. But now there’s this constant vibration I can feel deep in my bones. My grandson says it’s “charging.” I don’t know exactly what that means, but it doesn’t sound like an agriculture policy.

MODERATOR: Tell me why you supported the Empire in the first place.

BRENN: Lesser of two evils. The Senate was ineffective, and the liberal Jedi were out of touch. The Emperor said he’d cut through all that. And he did—sometimes literally. You have to give him that. Things moved. Maybe a little too much moving right now, with the Death Star repositioning every few minutes to maintain a firing solution on our planet, but still.

MODERATOR: Are there things the Empire has done well?

HASK: Disintegrations. And I like that they’re decisive. You look at that battle station, and you think, Wow, that’s decisive engineering. People make jokes about the cost of it, but I see efficiency. They should make two.

MODERATOR: Some of you mentioned concerns. Any regrets?

HASK: None. The Emperor is a smart man. He’s playing a long game. People see a glowing aperture pointed at our planet capable of snuffing out all life as we know it, and they panic. But that’s emotional. Irrational. Grand Moff Tarkin is probably up there doing calibrations we just don’t understand.

TALLIS: I regret it. My sister said this is exactly how it would go. I told her she was overreacting. Now she’s on Yavin 4 with the Rebellion, and I’m outside watching an ominous green light fill the whole sky, and I feel foolish.

JOREN: I don’t know that regret changes anything. It’s there now. It’s not like we can vote it away at this point.

MODERATOR: Are there Imperial policies that have affected you personally?

LYSA: Blue drink sales are way down. People aren’t dining out when the sky looks like that.

MODERATOR: Who do you feel the Empire is most focused on?

RINN: Not us. I always thought we were part of the “us.” Now I’m not sure. I feel like a Bothan spy, to be honest.

MODERATOR: Do you think the Empire understands what life is like on Alderaan right now?

TALLIS: I don’t think they understand the fear. Every surface is glowing green.

HASK: Or illuminated. That’s another way to put it.

MODERATOR: Sorry, “illuminated”? Hask, you disagree.

HASK: People assume the green light and orbiting space station are ominous because they’re unfamiliar. But large-scale governance can look intimidating up close.

MODERATOR: Do you think Alderaan is being treated fairly?

CEN: No. We’re being made an example of.

BRENN: Maybe, but examples are how order works. I’m not saying I like the thought of Alderaan becoming a loose collection of asteroids floating in space. I’m saying I understand the political theory.

CEN: The political theory is currently pointed at my son’s school.

MODERATOR: Has anything changed your mind in the last few minutes?

RINN: The Death Star’s green beam separating into smaller beams and then joining into one larger beam has been clarifying.

HASK: I’d still caution against reading too much into military optics.

MODERATOR: Optics?

HASK: If you build a planet-killer, people are going to assume the worst every time you park it near a planet. That’s just a messaging problem.

MODERATOR: And if it fires?

HASK: Then obviously we’ll need to revisit the messaging.

EDITOR’S NOTE: At this point in the discussion, the laser beam from the Death Star intensified, grew closer, and permanently blinded everyone.

MIRA: I still think there’s a plan.

DARO: I don’t think the plan includes us.

HASK: I think people are overreacting. The Empire wouldn’t target its own loyal citizens. That would make no sense.

Book of Revelations, Chapter 6 (Revised 2026)

Jason Gremillion — Fri, 01 May 2026 13:00:00 -0400

And when the trumpets sounded, behold, the lamb opened the first four seals, letting forth four horsemen upon the world of man. The first horse, signifying War, was adorned with golden, ill-fitting hair. He was recognized immediately as the great protector of Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone 2 and as a ’90s rap euphemism for wealth.

“You’re fired!” proclaimed the first horse. “Remember me? That was kind of my catchphrase in the early aughts.” He then remarked on the beauty of his daughters, thus bumming the vibe for all who heard.

And a second horse then approached, signifying Famine. The horse spoke thusly, with a gravelly voice, similar to his father’s, but lacking in charisma and clarity, “We’re going to end the war on red meat and bring back measles,” he said, clothed in the finest jeans and flanked by the sixth most popular nu metal artist of 1998. “The only cure for whooping cough is cod liver,” he proclaimed, dragging the carcass of a mighty, dead bear behind him.

The horse then filmed a video of himself doing biceps curls, interspersed with clips of the original Top Gun, which was naturally posted on the account of a major government agency.

A third horse galloped in from the horizon, signifying Conquest. The horse was completely bald and carrying a podcast microphone.

“Archangel Gabriel,” I asked the holy protector, “is that not the host of the second iteration of The Man Show?”

“Yes,” the angel answered, “he was also on that reality show that made people eat bull testicles. I think he’s involved in MMA somehow, too, but I’m always too tired to watch when it comes on TV.”

“And Archangel Gabriel, this is the man that conquers humanity?” I asked, puzzled by this great revelation.

The angel did not speak, but pointed back to the third horse, and then I saw he was ridden by a great South African King named Elon, saluting like the Romans, but winking at me in a way that was totally gross.

“Listen, subjects,” the King shouted, “comedy is legal again.”

I then asked King Elon to tell me a joke so that I could participate in this new, legal comedy. The King then became nervous and, unable to speak, summoned an army of five thousand virgins who subsequently called me “gay” and “not an alpha.”

Finally, as the trumpets began to sound again, the fourth horse appeared, signifying Death. His name was Hegseth, and he was marked by the Iron Cross. He began to speak but, having taken the left turn much too quickly, crashed into a ditch. A great avalanche of White Claw seltzers thus scattered from his saddle, as the horse blamed his accident on the woke left.

I then addressed the Archangel Gabriel, “Great protector of God, the end times… are they… are they really this fucking stupid?”

“Oh, Apostle John,” he responded, “it’s far worse. We didn’t even get to Obama’s tan suit.”

Miranda Priestly Roasts My Nirvana T-Shirt

Jimmy Chen — Fri, 01 May 2026 08:00:00 -0400

MIRANDA PRIESTLY: You go to your floor beside your bed, and select that Nirvana shirt because you’re trying to tell the world that you are a proud Gen-Xer so moved in middle school by Kurt Cobain’s deadpan honesty and self-loathing that Nirvana became your favorite band, and now that you’re almost fifty, the nostalgia is unbearable… but what you don’t know is that Target licensed the “anti-corporate” band’s logo from massive global licensing hubs Live Nation Merchandise and Universal Music Group, off of which the band’s estate earns a significant portion of its revenue today.

You’re also blithely unaware of the massive legal battle over the iconic smiley face logo that Nirvana LLC claimed Cobain drew in 1991, and then I think it was Marc Jacobs who got sued by your favorite nonconformist punk alternative band for merely using a similar smiley face in one of his collections, sparking a lengthy legal war that only ended when former Geffen Records art director was able to prove he actually designed it. I think you need some pants now.

ME: I just—

MIRANDA PRIESTLY: You just might feel a tinge of betrayal to know that Nirvana LLC is complicit in the mass marketing of the band’s logo and media assets, giving Target remarkable autonomy over the band’s posteriority through approved streamlined style guides adaptable to fluctuating market trends for future generations to wear iterations of the shirt without having to listen to their music, either that or a shallow cursory awareness of “Smells Like Teen Spirit” with no context of the song’s cultural significance at a time when the band’s ostensible anti-corporate stance was sorely needed.

So your Nirvana shirt represents millions of dollars of corporate interests—not to mention comfortable residuals for the surviving members Dave Grohl and Krist Novoselic, and Courtney Love, who legally owns her late husband’s estate—and it’s sort of comical how you think that you’ve made a choice that signals to society that you are still a cool, alternative middle-aged guy with edgy musical taste when, in fact, you’re wearing a mass-produced shirt whose distressed look imposters as boutique tour merchandise you were too young and uncool to have actually purchased, now all carefully licensed, mass produced, and made conveniently available to you at Target, where you buy toilet paper and search for your youth.

We Believe That Combating Racism Is the Real Racism

Carlos Greaves — Thu, 30 Apr 2026 13:00:00 -0400

“The Supreme Court on Wednesday hollowed out a landmark Civil Rights–era law that has increased minority representation in Congress and elsewhere”
— AP News

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A key provision of the 1965 Voting Rights Act sought to ensure that racial groups could not be denied political representation through gerrymandering along racial lines. We, the Conservative Justices on the Supreme Court, believe that this law is both unnecessary and unconstitutional. If anything, drawing districts to combat racism is the real racism.

The problem with the Voting Rights Act, as it is written, is that it allows states to draw district boundaries so that certain racial groups have a better chance at equal representation. In Louisiana, for example, where Black people make up roughly a third of the population, the congressional maps were specifically drawn so that a third of the districts were majority Black. Does that seem fair to you?

The color of one’s skin should never determine which congressional district they belong to. Taking race into consideration in order to stop racism is just as bad as doing it for racist reasons. It’s like how Superman and Bizarro are equally evil—they’re both undocumented aliens who are stealing jobs from qualified Americans with superpowers.

While the Voting Rights Act went to great lengths to ensure better representation for Black Americans, it completely overlooked the ways in which white Americans have been discriminated against throughout the country’s history. Many white people had their personal property stripped away after the Civil War. That’s the sort of thing you’d expect to see in communist Russia, not the United States. The fact that their personal property was other people doesn’t change that.

And if you think about it, the Voting Rights Act actually took away political representation from white people. They went from being wildly overrepresented in Congress to being slightly less overrepresented. Isn’t taking something away from a certain group of people based on the color of their skin racial discrimination?

Now those white people have fewer members in Congress to go to for their problems—like how the cost of restringing a tennis racket just keeps going up and up and up, or how they aren’t making new seasons of The White Lotus fast enough. Who are they supposed to write to about that? Some Black guy?

Liberals argue that the decision is going to allow red states to draw entirely Republican-leaning districts that effectively disenfranchise Black voters in those states. But we’ve long upheld the constitutionality of gerrymandering along partisan lines. Just because a vast majority of Black voters support Democrats doesn’t make partisan gerrymandering a proxy for deliberate racial discrimination. Besides, saying that Republicans don’t represent Black voters simply isn’t true. The Senate has plenty of Black Republican.

The truth the left refuses to acknowledge is that we are a far different society today than we were when the Voting Rights Act was signed into law. Overt racism is a thing of the past, and none of the left’s counterexamples hold water. Last year, for instance, when Missouri Senator Eric Schmitt said, “America does not belong to them. It belongs to us” he was clearly talking about immigrants of all races versus Americans of all races. He would way rather live in a Black neighborhood than live next to a Norwegian immigrant.

If America was a racist country, don’t you think that the Supreme Court’s decision would immediately prompt red states to begin redrawing their maps to vote out Black and Brown representatives? The fact that these states are rushing to redraw their maps along partisan lines rather than saying “We are doing this specifically to disenfranchise Black, Brown, and Indigenous people” tells you everything you need to know.

The radical left needs to relax. Congress will continue to represent the needs of all Americans, regardless of race. And if you’re one of the Black, Brown, or Indigenous voters whose representative gets voted out, don’t worry. You can always try calling some white guy for help.

Aquaphobia

Ali Fitzgerald — Thu, 30 Apr 2026 12:00:00 -0400

Underground Artists is an ongoing comic by Ali Fitzgerald (Hungover Bear & Friends) that follows woodland creatures as they create art and search out whimsy in a bleak forest.

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Just Because I Am the Oracle of Delphi Doesn’t Mean I Shouldn’t Be Allowed to Use Prediction Markets

Patrick Clinch — Thu, 30 Apr 2026 05:00:00 -0700

Just because I am Pythia, Oracle of Delphi, all-knowing high priestess of the Temple of Apollo, blessed with divine insight into all that shall come to pass, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be able to hop on a prediction-market platform and throw a couple hundred drachmae on the Lakers winning the NBA Championship (spoiler alert). Yes, technically, I know the inevitable result of every war, sporting event, election, and award show, but just like everyone in 2026, I need a little extra cash here and there to make ends meet.

Some people say, “It’s unfair that you make money off your privileged information,” but, listen, rent on Mount Parnassus is getting out of control, and I have student loans left over from my purification rites. I need a sure-thing side gig that makes the lifestyle to which I have become accustomed (spending hours in a celestial trance while uttering cryptic prophecies to weary travelers in perfect hexameter) much more sustainable.

So what if I make a little money betting that the unemployment rate will increase in the United States next year (sorry, bad news) or that Grand Theft Auto 6 won’t come out until 2032 (sorry, more bad news). As far as I know, there are no explicit “no oracle” rules on these platforms, and until they make one, it’s totally fair game. Plus, if you were burdened with the locus of all divine wisdom, wouldn’t you do the same thing?

Do I realize that other people betting money on these markets don’t have the power to peer into the mists of time and see, with total clarity, what the Fates have sewn? Yes. Do I know that not everyone will agree with me making money off this? Yes, I literally know everything. But I didn’t make other people bet their money. Plus, if they really wanted to know how their bet was gonna turn out, they could’ve come to me bearing sweet wines and a freshly sacrificed goat, and I would’ve told them—in the form of a riddle, of course.

So I’m gonna make as much money as I can while I still can—before civilization collapses under the weight of unrestrained and unregulated profiteering off global events (I put 100,000 drachmae on that).

Oil Prices Are Sky High, but At Least We’re Not Driving Energy Efficient Cars

Kate Chrisman — Wed, 29 Apr 2026 19:00:00 -0400

“Gasoline prices in the United States rose on Tuesday to their highest level in four years as peace talks between the United States and Iran appeared at an impasse.” – New York Times

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Here at the Department of Energy, we want to reassure Americans that, while the war we’ve already won shows no signs of ending and oil prices remain over $100 a barrel, we are taking decisive action to ensure that, under no circumstances, Americans will ever need to drive a fuel-efficient vehicle.

We’ve heard your complaints about the high price of gasoline. Don’t worry. We’re prepared. We’ve been hoarding oil in underground salt caverns for exactly this kind of unpredictable situation: where we flagrantly start a war with the world’s fifth-largest oil producer that controls access to 20 percent of global supply, which disrupts global supplies.

In fact, we’ve already begun releasing oil from the Strategic Petroleum Reserve, which we’ve been kind of obsessed with maintaining since the 1970s energy crisis, which also coincidentally had to do with Iran.

Over the next three months, we’ll release the equivalent of 1.4 million barrels of oil per day. That should more than offset the 14.5 million barrels per day that we’ve removed from the market. Trust us, the math works.

And we’re sending that oil where it matters most: to Europe, where Americans routinely buy their gasoline.

We’re not working alone: our international partners are set to release 400 million barrels of oil globally. So as the war enters its third month, Americans can take comfort in knowing that, spread out over spring and summer, a handful of countries are putting the equivalent of a long weekend’s worth of global oil consumption into the market. Which should have solved the oil supply problem if the war had ended when it began.

But supply is only half of the equation. We’re also tackling demand. We’re rolling back fuel efficiency standards, suing states that tried to make cars cleaner, and cutting support for electric vehicles, ensuring that Americans continue to rely on gasoline for generations to come.

Critics who like “breathing fresh air” say we should follow international examples and ban the sale of gasoline cars, pursue an electric-vehicle future, and invest in public transit. We’re taking a different approach: allowing cars to emit more pollution.

Finally, we’re working to stabilize markets by sending a clear and consistent signal about our strategy, including whether we want the Strait of Hormuz open, whether we plan to negotiate, and whether this war will end at all.

Because at the end of the day, is it even worth going to war if you’re not driving a gas-guzzling car?

I Know Vorgarg the Kazoo-Playing Robot Tried to Kill Us All, but That’s Not Going to Stop Me from Going to His Concert

Leslie Gaar — Wed, 29 Apr 2026 12:52:00 -0400

“After canceled gigs in the U.K., France, Switzerland, and Poland, Kanye West’s upcoming concert in Italy is sparking an uproar due to the rapper’s antisemitic remarks.” — Variety

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Like everyone else who enjoys robot kazoo music, I was shocked to learn the truth about my favorite artist, Vorgarg. I had always assumed he was a fun-loving robot who knew his way around a kazoo, not a ruthless killing machine hell-bent on the destruction of humankind. I read his manifesto vowing to extinguish all human life, and I’ll be honest, it was disturbing. It is hard to reconcile the image of one of the top-ten kazoo-playing robots of all time with one who could write such vile things.

But when Vorgarg announced his upcoming tour, I knew I had to go.

Look, did Vorgarg decimate entire cities, leaving behind a trail of rubble and misery? Unequivocally yes. Did he say he would do it again at the nearest opportunity? Again, yes, he shouted from the rooftops. Does that mean I’m going to miss hearing him play his trademark kazoo live? Not a chance!

You have to understand that Vorgarg is a generational talent. His kazoo-playing skills are so extraordinary that they’re beyond our level of human comprehension. That allows a lot of leeway in my book. A killer robot who can play a cheap, plastic instrument that well can’t be expected to operate within the constraints of societal norms.

Besides, all the actual killing was years ago. We all did things we weren’t proud of when we were kids, or in his case, three hundred extraterrestrial light-years young. Vorgarg has to make a living somehow, so why not by selling out stadiums full of adoring fans who excuse his every atrocity? I’m not in the business of judging people—or robots—for their actions, no matter how egregious and ongoing they may be, and neither should you.

We have to separate the artist from their art. Just because Vorgarg’s biggest hit is “Humans Are Scum Who Must Be Violently Ruled by Robots,” doesn’t mean he is some human-hating, violent robot. People are so determined to stir up controversy nowadays. That title could be referring to anything.

I know what you’re going to say. “Didn’t Vorgarg recently plunge a disturbing quantity of mannequins into a boiling vat of acid in what he gleefully described as ‘Test Round #47’?” Well, if you’re adamant about believing the footage, yes, he did. But you have to take the context into account. I, for one, admire his authenticity. Have you considered that torturing and maiming humans is in robots’ nature?

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t agree with everything Vorgarg does or says. For example, “I, Vorgarg, will crush you like a worm under my metal heel,” makes me wish he would just stick to the music. “Beep bop boop beep,” I can get on board with. (Also, what a genius line.) But I can hold two truths at once: Vorgarg is a killer robot sent to destroy life as we know it—and he also plays a mean kazoo.

Anyway, does going to one lousy concert really mean I endorse his behavior? Just because I buy Vorgarg’s merch and albums, follow him on social media, regularly share his posts, and make excuses for him both online and in real life doesn’t mean I support Vorgarg in any tangible way. And what’s $2,000 for a one-on-one meet and greet in the grand scheme of things, anyway?

We all have to learn how to get along in the time we have left on this planet. (And according to Vorgarg’s latest tweetstorm, that time is extremely limited.) Just because we have different tastes in music doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. I’m a human just like anyone else, and I believe we deserve to be treated with dignity.

Speaking of which, have you heard Vorgarg’s latest single, “Humans Are Unworthy of Dignity”? It’s genius.

This Divorce

Valerie Nies — Wed, 29 Apr 2026 08:00:00 -0400

With apologies to Rumi.

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May this decree be signed expeditiously
and this divorce be soon over.

May it be amicable.
But not too amicable.
I refuse to vacation together.
Who do we think we are,
Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin?

May this divorce be like oil and water,
separated indefinitely. In fact, let us be
parallel lines. You go your way, I’ll go mine,
never touching again. Ever.

May this conscious uncoupling be full of freedom:
from the nightly whistle of your CPAP machine
and from your mother’s Christmas
raisin bread pudding.

Our every day a day where I no longer
have to rewash the same load of laundry
because you left it sitting overnight,
where I no longer have to listen
to you explain the plot of a TV show
I’m already watching, while I’m watching it.
No longer have to hear, for the 1,800th time,
how you bumped into Robert De Niro
at the Tribeca Whole Foods self-checkout
and endorsed his chantilly cake—
thereby altering the course of cinema.

May this divorce be a sign of closure,
a “clean and completed chapter,” in the words of
Meghan, our marriage counselor,
what a rip-off that was.

May this marriage have a fair exchange of assets
and a good lawyer,
an omen to download the dating apps
and become a noncommittal problem
for an entirely new set of people.

I am out of words to describe how thrilled I am
to starfish-sprawl across the entire bed.

Why Do People Keep Trying to Assassinate Caesar?

Louie Aronowitz — Tue, 28 Apr 2026 20:01:00 -0400

I’m confused, maybe someone can help me. This is like the third assassination attempt on Julius Caesar, but things are going great in Rome. The value of silver is strong, the liberti/bad homines immigration is under control, and we’ve bounced back from the bubonic pandemic.

So why do people keep trying to assassinate our leader?!

I heard one person say it’s because he’s trying to seize power from the Senate and become an all-powerful dictator, but like, just because he refused to concede power when his term as governor ended and then sent his military across the Rubicon, essentially doing an insurrection on Rome, doesn’t indicate any of that. If that were the case, wouldn’t the Senate say something? Haven’t heard anything from Brutus or Cassius yet, so that’s a non-starter.

Some are also pointing to the preemptive strike on Carthage and how it doesn’t seem to have clearly defined objectives or a coherent exit strategy, and could potentially ignite Punic War III. But taking out an adversary’s enriched trebuchet program and stockpile of intercontinental ballista munitions is imperative to the safety of the entire world, so even though Caesar seems to be making it up as he goes along as an excuse to blow stuff up, we should still just trust our Commander in Chief. He wouldn’t lie to us, even though he constantly lies to us.

Then, of course, there’s threatening to conquer Erik the Red for some reason, but come on, he’s just talking trash. We need to judge Caesar by his actions, not by what he says, and also not by most of his actions either. It’s totally fine for the most powerful man in the world to talk smack like that. Totally fine and normal.

Now, I do think that whole thing with the enforcement patrol in Macedonia may have gotten out of hand, but let’s be real, there was no way to predict that sending a violent, untrained militia of legionaries into a volatile protest would lead to a fatal stabbing of a citizen. Nor could you predict it the second time either. I mean, come on.

Sure, one could also make the economic argument. Inflation is devaluing silver, he’s gutting finance to healers and apothecaries, his corrupt policies only help his aristocrat friends, his tariffs on the Silk Road are backfiring and pushing the expenses down to local agora merchants and traders, and his corruption is creating extreme poverty among the lower and middle castes as well as low global confidence in our Republic, but that’s just how this stuff works. We should trust him on economic issues; he’s a businessman. After all, he did build Caesar’s Palace.

Also, just to be clear, I certainly don’t condone political violence, especially if it’s against someone on my side. I would prefer to just have him exiled. I’m sure that would deter his followers.

Of course, the likeliest explanation for all of this is that it’s those obnoxious, radical communist senators trying to bring down Caesar so they can seize power for themselves.I can’t think of a single other explanation that makes sense. Still, I have to ask: Why do they keep sending the most incompetent people? Like, how does every assassin keep missing and then immediately get caught? What’s that about?

AP English Students Aren’t Thirsting After Holden Caulfield Like They Used To

Kailey Broussard — Tue, 28 Apr 2026 13:00:00 -0400

Listen, I don’t have thin skin. If I did, I would teach fourth grade and cry along with my students when the spider died at the end of Charlotte’s Web. Anyone can teach kids; I teach young adults. And I introduce them to their mentor, who will decide their fate: New York’s most haunted forever teen, Holden Caulfield.

By introducing decades of students to the philosopher in the backward red hunting cap, I’ve presented them with their next step into adulthood. Most English students make one of two choices: Either they love Holden and go on to have intense, fleeting, and passionate careers in fields like English or theater, or they realize they have good relationships with their mothers.

These past few years, however, I’ve noticed a startling trend: ambivalence.

My students feel nothing for this young man. In 2022, some of them began dismissing Holden as cringe—not cringey, just cringe. The kids aren’t all right—they used to froth at the mouth over this complex character. The ’90s kids made magazine collages about his general disillusionment. Ten years ago, my students were crafting Tumblr pages around things that felt like the essence of Holden, like Arctic Monkeys songs or angsty messages sharpied on restaurant walls. Not anymore. Now, my discussions start with the most promising emo kid in my class saying, “Sounds like cope.”

Well, I have news for you, tenth graders at Bellview West High: Life is cope. And if you don’t want to sit with the fact that ducks leave the pond in the winter, you’re going to look stupid when your family leaves you on a random Thursday with no note. You need to long for Holden Caulfield because longing for something is good for the emotionally unwell. That’s what I told my friends when they stopped coming to my parties because I was getting “too intense” about metaphors.

Well, you know what? It’s not my fault that humanity is one big tenth grader who only wants to play Fortnite. Nobody wants to read anymore. And I’m starting to think our society doesn’t deserve metaphors—or symbolism, for that matter. Holden’s struggle doesn’t mean anything to my disappointing students or nonexistent friends.

They’re all phonies.

Things I Said I Watched but Actually Just Saw the Meme

Devon Anderson — Tue, 28 Apr 2026 08:00:00 -0400

The Sopranos
I have not watched The Sopranos. I have, however, seen the clip of the guy pointing angrily at someone across the table while someone else looks tired of his behavior.

That three-hour documentary you recommended
I saw a screenshot of the host looking very serious and assumed the rest.

Game of Thrones
I understand there were dragons and that everyone was upset about a chair.

That Oscar-winning movie from last year
I saw a reaction GIF from it on social media and decided I had the emotional gist.

The entire Marvel Cinematic Universe
I have seen approximately forty-seven memes of a raccoon with a gun.

Your favorite anime
I saw a dramatic still of someone screaming with wind blowing through their hair.

The new Netflix show everyone is talking about
I watched the trailer autoplay while deciding what I actually wanted to watch.

That classic movie everyone says you have to see
I know the twist because someone made it into a TikTok sound.

The cooking show you told me about
I have seen the meme where the chef yells at a piece of bread.

The inspirational sports movie
I saw the clip where the coach gives a speech and assumed they later won the game.

The nature documentary about the ocean
I saw a meme of a disappointed-looking fish.

That viral YouTube video
I saw someone stitch it while explaining why it was problematic.

Your favorite childhood cartoon
I saw a nostalgic tweet about it and liked it.

The entire Star Wars saga
I have seen the meme where someone says, “It’s a trap.”

Your favorite episode of that show
I said, “Oh yeah, that one was crazy,” and prayed you wouldn’t ask which part.

The film festival movie you loved
I saw the Letterboxd review that said “haunting” and decided that was enough.

That documentary about minimalism
I saw the meme where someone lives in an empty white room and owns one chair.

The season finale everyone was freaking out about
I saw people posting reaction images and pieced together that someone probably died.

The live performance you sent me
I watched the first six seconds before the buffering circle appeared and decided that was spiritually the same as watching it.

Your child’s school recital video
I liked the post—I absolutely liked the post.

Leaves of Grass (Allergy Edition)

Sean Michael Lee — Mon, 27 Apr 2026 10:00:00 -0700

With apologies to Walt Whitman.

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I sneeze myself, I excuse myself.

For every sniffle belonging to me as good belongs to you. Sorry!

I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass, clawing my eyes as I reach for Zyrtec-D and “fast-acting” eyedrops.

I, now thirty-seven years old and in perfect health, maintain a group text with my allergist, internist, and energy coach.

The atmosphere is not a perfume but an assassin, a revenge epic.

Each golden particle, a tiny airborne Judas.

I contain multitudes, but mostly mucus.

Mucus I wipe away with a CVS receipt longer than my sleeve.

My airways are inflamed, and my friends are tired of hearing about it.

We suffer, but not in silence. For when we sneeze, meetings stop, foundations shake.

Not I, not anyone else can travel the road for you. But before you do, obsessively check the pollen count and pack your inhaler.

Don’t give me the splendid, silent sun. Give me an air-purified living room in Scottsdale with the AC on blast.

And as for me, I know nothing else but miracles. Miracles and second-generation oral antihistamines.

For in my soul, there is hope.

For in my nose, there is Flonase.

In Flonase I trust.

William Tecumseh Sherman Demands a Ballroom

Christine Stevens — Mon, 27 Apr 2026 05:00:00 -0700

“This is why we have to have all the attributes of what we’re planning at the White House. It’s a larger room, it’s drone-proof and bullet-proof glass. That’s why the Secret Service, the military, are demanding it. They’ve wanted the ballroom for one hundred and fifty years.” — Donald Trump, April 25, 2026, after an assassination attempt against him at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner.

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April 26, 1877

Dear President Rutherford B. Hayes,

As you know, I have seen some shit. Bull Run was no picnic, and Atlanta was no backyard bonfire. Which means I know of what I speak. Nothing like watching thousands of young men get blown to bits in a single afternoon to help you figure out your priorities.

And while I bear the middle name of the great Shawnee chieftain, even as we are “relocating” all our native friends from the Black Hills (I mean, all that gold must be ours), I’m sure Chief T would agree that our nation has always put a select few’s safety ahead of sanity.

Therefore, sir, it is my well-considered opinion, based on many years of military experience, that what these United States need most at this moment in time is a bullet- and cannonball-proof ballroom. Gilded. I demand it.

And even though this country is currently experiencing the utter collapse of Reconstruction and a devastating return to all that antebellum fuckery, there is a pressing need for a secure place for our wealthiest citizens to celebrate just what their money has bought them: a president and a golden dance hall made with structural steel, earthen berms, and reinforced concrete.

One can’t waltz in peace knowing a kid with a howitzer, enraged by the recent election results, could blast a hole through the lime plaster and lath (those disputed electoral votes had your name all over them). Perhaps it could have a well-fortified cellar as well, a safe haven for yourself and your cabinet should some future fanatic possess a weapon of more massive destruction.

What better way to celebrate the hundredth anniversary of the founding of this country than by spending hundreds of thousands of dollars on a gilt-glossed great hall for gavottes that only the 0.00001 percent will ever enjoy?

War is hell. But a glittering bomb-proof juke joint will feel like a little bit of heaven. And it will be a great place to hide if you happen to start another one.

Your most humble and obedient servant, even though, as I said, I am demanding this.

William Tecumseh Sherman
Commanding General of the United States Army

Here’s Exactly What You Should Say When You Call Your Elected Representatives

Aaron Hertzog — Fri, 24 Apr 2026 11:00:00 -0700

“Hi, my name is [NAME], and I’m a constituent from [CITY, ZIP].”

Here, you will let out an extremely long, exasperated sigh. Really milk it, like you can’t even believe you have to make this call. Like, your reps should be doing something about stuff already, without you having to take time out of your busy day to tell them that you’re a voter who votes and will vote for somebody else if they don’t get off their ass already. You’ll vote for anybody, as long as it’s not them. Maybe you’ll even primary them yourself; that’s how deep and exasperated this sigh should be. You should sigh for about as long as it takes to read this entire paragraph. I should have warned you to take a really deep breath. If you’re light in the head or dizzy or your vision is going black or something, I’m sorry. If you’re done reading and also still conscious, you can move on to the next part of this script.

“I mean…”

You’re just going to let this sit for a while. Silence is a powerful weapon when making your voice heard. It’s almost as much about what you don’t say as what you do say. This allows your listener to fill in the blanks with their own information from their subconscious mind. When your rep starts filling things in with their own subconscious, they start using examples that actually mean something to them instead of just tuning you out and pretending to listen while thinking about the hot insider-trading tip they just got. If you say something out loud, you may accidentally mention one of the terrible things going on in the world that they agree with (or have received donations that force them to act like they agree with). After all, they didn’t become a member of Congress by not agreeing with / being paid to pretend they agree with at least a few terrible things. You don’t want to do that, because then they will dismiss you and your opinions (unless you have a lot of money to donate to them, but if that were the case, you wouldn’t need this script). Still, if you don’t say anything at all and just act pissed off, and like it’s obvious that they should know why you’re pissed off, they’re going to start thinking about all the bad things they know they should be doing something about, and then they’re going to start feeling bad. And that’s what we want, for them to feel bad.

“… come on.”

“Come on” is a real gut punch when dealing with the specific type of asshole who thinks they’re important enough to represent a whole constituency of varied individuals with vastly different needs. “Come on” implies that they know better, that they are better, and that they’re performing beneath their full capabilities. Are they actually “better” than their current performance would indicate? Of course not. If they were, we wouldn’t be making this call. What we’re doing here is activating their mommy or daddy issues and making them think long and hard about living up to the potential they believe they have because one of their parents planted it in their minds long ago as a way to make up for not living up to their own potential and passing that down to the next generation.

“I thank you for your time and for your service to the United States of America.”

It is important to practice your delivery of this line before making your call. You want to land in the sweet spot of sounding a little sarcastic but also somewhat sincere. Again, we want them to be questioning themselves, their motives, their actions, and most of the decisions they’ve made in their lives that lead them to this point. Try to channel that one friend you have who tells you that you can pull off wild outfits or accessories, and you believe them in the moment, but then, when you wear that stuff out in public, you feel like a fool who has been pranked by someone who is not really their friend. Thanking them for their “service to the United States of America” should make them feel proud at first, like they think, “Yeah, I do serve the United States of America, that is me, I serve my country,” but then after a few minutes, the weight of that responsibility starts to bear down on their shoulders and they start to think about what that really means and whether they are living up to the promises they have made to themselves and others.

“I love you.”

We want to keep them on their toes, so say this like you mean it, not like you just accidentally called your supervisor at work “mom.”

Finally, with whatever time you have remaining in your message, sing the chorus of Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the USA” with all your heart. If you get cut off before you finish, call back and sing whatever you had left to complete, even if it’s just a few words, even if it’s just the letter “A” in the final “God Bless the USA.”

Everything You Need to Plan the Perfect Aesthetic First Birthday Party for Your Sad, Beige Baby

Hayley DeRoche — Fri, 24 Apr 2026 12:00:00 -0400

This is an excerpt from McSweeney’s contributor Hayley DeRoche’s new book, Dress Your Baby in Sage and Taupe: A Handbook for the Sad Beige Parent, available now!

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When planning a sad, beige child’s first birthday party, it’s important not to lose sight of what’s most important: ~~love~~ ~~laughter~~ aesthetics. Make sure your little one’s birthday is filled to the brim with ~~ennui~~ Instagram-worthy fun with this handy checklist. And remember, don’t fret if you don’t check off every item; your utter failure as a parent and person will be forgiven by your child in time.

Maybe.

You know, with many long years of therapy.

So get to work! The stakes have never been ~~lower~~ higher.

Invitations: This is your guest’s first taste of the party that awaits; make sure you let them know your finger is on the pulse of trends like nobody else with these tried-and-true themes.

Acceptable themes (PICK ONE):

Fawn (“A Year of Our Little Deer”)
Skunk (“Our Little Stinker Is One!!”)
Industrial Farming (“We Love You a Bushel and a Peck!”)
Sardines

Unacceptable themes (NO):

Axolotls (SO last year)
Danny DeVito (“The Dans of Our Lives”)
The Great Depression (BYOB—Bring Your Own Bowler Hat)
Red Dye 40

Color Schemes: A birthday is a somber time, a day of serious contemplation and reflection. Make sure the colorways you choose convey the solemn mood appropriately.

Acceptable colorways:

Beige
Oatmeal
Inconsolable Weeping
Numb
Bog

Unacceptable colorways:

Pink
Orange
Red
Yellow
Green
Blue
Indigo
Purple

Cake: Expect to spend a minimum of thirty-seven hours here.

Three-tier minimum.
MUST be homemade
Jam filling made from hand-harvested gooseberries planted on the day of the child’s birth
Icing should be organic whipped buttercream from generous cows whose names you know personally
Hand-dipped beeswax candles
Edible flower compote
Tiny quilted fabric flag, pennant, or maypole on top
Can be store-bought in an emergency, but must be ordered sixteen months in advance

Entertainment: This is your time to outshine the other daycare parents. Especially Fern’s. You cannot let their “Little Lamb” party with real lambs, wool-dying, and spinning wheel workshop go unbeaten.

YES:

Bounce house (acceptable colorways: khaki, cinnamon, or eggnog)
Corn husk doll-making station
Swan boat rides
Poetry salon
Linocut workshop
Mushroom foraging
Flour sack race (find vintage flour sacks online for that authentic feel—or sew your own!)
Mud kitchen bake-off
Whittling demonstration
Dream interpretation hour
All-natural playdough imaginative play table
Ponies (acceptable colorways: khaki, cinnamon, or eggnog)

NO:
*Rented bounce castle in unsightly garish tones that gesture toward traditional childhood motifs; that is, primary blues, greens, and reds

Balloon animals in (say it with me) unsightly garish tones that gesture toward traditional childhood motifs; that is, primary reds, yellows, and blues
Princess or trending cartoon animal meet and greet (so cringe)
Keg stands
Danny DeVito

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For more info and where to buy Dress Your Baby in Sage and Taupe: A Handbook for the Sad Beige Parent, go here.

Fine. This Is What I Was Really Like in the ’90s

Andrea Javor and Asha Dore — Fri, 24 Apr 2026 08:00:00 -0400

You want to know what I was like in the ’90s, kids? Take a deep breath and imagine Snapchat doesn’t exist, and the only way to find out who’s having a party tonight is to press *69 on a landline phone and ask someone’s mom.

We were built differently back then. I once had a three-hour argument in a mall food court about which actor was in that one movie with the bus, with absolutely no way to resolve it other than unearned confidence. I wish you knew what an indie record store basement smelled like vs. the charcuterie-catered, Instagram-worthy parties we’ve been throwing for you since you were eight.

I wore belted, baggy jeans, not for the silhouette but because they covered the fact that my primary source of nutrition was gas-station pretzels and lukewarm coffee. I wasn’t doing beach waves with an automatic curler from Sephora. My look was more “I passed out with wet hair on a radiator last night.”

Nothing about love was complicated back then. Relationships lingered without the ability to instantly reach someone via text, and most breakups were done on a folded piece of loose-leaf paper. My peak romance was the guy I met in a dive bar who gave me a mixtape, followed by a hickey he sucked out on my neck while I leaned on a dumpster in the alley.

If I said I’d meet someone at a bar at 10 p.m., I just stood there alone sipping my amaretto sour. If they didn’t show up, I didn’t get a text saying: Running late. I just went home and assumed they had moved or died.

What did I do for fun? I read the liner notes of my Alanis Morissette Jagged Little Pill CD like they were scripture. I scrounged for loose change in grandpa’s two-tone station wagon to pocket for my next $1.98 pack of Kool 100 Milds. Or I went to a movie and didn’t know what it was about until I saw the poster in the lobby. There was no doomscrolling, only staining my fingertips with the same copy of Rolling Stone for months.

So, no, honey, I wasn’t “vibing” in the ’90s. I was perpetually slurping a forty-ounce Slushie, waiting for a payphone, and shaking cigarette ash off my oversized flannel shirt. Just like you, I was figuring it out, only with better music and thankfully scant photographic evidence. And you came from all that. So, lowkey, you’re welcome, bruh.

But if you really want the ’90s experience, take your iPhone, throw it into a storm drain, then go sit in a dark room listening to the Goo Goo Dolls until you feel an unidentifiable sense of dread. It should take about four minutes and fifty seconds. Then call me.

Instead of Losing Democratic Elections, What If We Just Stopped Having Them Altogether?

Jack Loftus — Thu, 23 Apr 2026 19:37:00 -0400

“The Texas gerrymander freakout: What’s happening in the Lone Star State is not a threat to democracy.” — The Washington Post Editorial Board, 8/20/25

“For months, Democrats crafted the illusion that their plan to redistrict Virginia was about restoring fairness. In a special election on Tuesday, most voters assented to that deception as a referendum to rewrite the state constitution narrowly passed.” — The Washington Post Editorial Board, 4/22/26

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At a certain point, a mature political movement must ask the hard questions. Questions like: If voters keep rejecting our agenda, are voters the problem? If courts keep ruling against us, is the Constitution too woke? If counting every single little ballot produces undesirable outcomes, might counting fewer of them produce desirable ones?

For decades, America has been trapped in an outdated framework called “democracy,” wherein candidates campaign for votes, the ballots are counted, and whoever gets more wins. This system may have made sense in an earlier era, when horse travel was common, information moved by telegram, and certain folks were measured in fractions. But in today’s fast-paced world, can we really afford to let simple arithmetic determine power?

Increasingly, leading thinkers are suggesting a smarter path: If states insist on electing the wrong people, Congress can simply refuse to seat them. Not forever, necessarily. At the very least, until those states learn to behave.

Take any blue state, purely as a random example. Under the old model, voters choose senators and representatives through elections. Under the innovative model, Congress could review a blue state’s choices and ask a more sophisticated question: “Do we like this result?” If the answer is no, that state could temporarily enjoy a new civic role as a scenic colony or territory with absolutely no voice in national affairs whatsoever.

Some critics call this “disenfranchisement.” That is inflammatory language. A more accurate descriptor would be something like “conditional representation based on mood and whether I’m getting my way at the time.”

And why stop there?

If a state uses mail ballots, same-day registration, automatic registration, early voting, or any other process that involves citizen participation, Congress could launch endless investigations until morale and the vote tally improve. Why, if enough suspicion is generated, results could be invalidated and rerun repeatedly until the electorate produces a more responsible answer. Think of it as best two out of seven.

Naturally, there would need to be standards. We cannot have chaos. Therefore, any election won by our side would be presumed legitimate, reflecting the clear will of the people. Any election lost by our side would trigger immediate concerns about dead voters, live voters, moved voters, duplicate voters, ghosts, suspicious vibes, and unexplained lines at specific polling locations we’d describe using quotation marks, like “urban.”

Constitutional romantics will object that Congress cannot simply nullify representation based on partisan displeasure. But these people are trapped in a narrow reading of the law that prioritizes text, history, structure, precedent, and meaning over the far more dynamic principle of wanting something very, very badly.

Besides, precedent exists. Legislatures have long exercised the power to investigate elections, which obviously implies the power to ignore them, reverse them, replace them, and hold them hostage until further notice or, dare I dream, in perpetuity. That’s just basic civics.

Eventually, we could modernize the process. Why burden millions of citizens with voting when a small panel of aggrieved committee chairmen could simply determine outcomes in advance? Or how about a single man—let’s say a white, affluent one; again, purely as a random example—chooses who serves, lives, or dies at that particular man’s pleasure? My goodness, imagine the efficiency. No long lines. No campaign ads. No need to pretend Wisconsin matters every four years.

We could call the whole thing “representative government” because a handful of representatives, or just that one white, affluent man, would dictate how we should govern.

And if the public dislikes any of this, they are free to express themselves in the next election, should there be one, pending review, maybe.

Little League Week One Power Rankings

Jay Katsir — Thu, 23 Apr 2026 13:55:00 -0400

1. Folding Chair
Returning for a fourth consecutive season, Folding Chair always proves its value on the sidelines, even though it lacks the big market payroll of the guy next to you with the hydraulic rockers and the canopy thing. But while FC remains strong in the cupholders, the seat does still have last season’s water inside.

2. Walks and Errors
Year in and year out, the most reliable run-scorers in the league.

3. Structured Outdoor Activity
Remains dominant over its bitter rival, No-Plans Winter Weekend Where You Stagger Out of Bed Late to Find the Kids Have Been Watching Three and a Half Hours of YouTube Pranksters Moaning in the Ears of Unsuspecting Customers at Big Box Stores and All They’ve Had for Breakfast Is an Old Tub of Pretzel Rods Including Drinking the Salt from the Bottom and When You Take Away Their Screens They Turn on Each Other like Malnourished Mole Rats and It’s a Symphony of Shrieks and Soft Tissue Injuries While You Consume Your Coffee with a Topper of Foamed Remorse. Pencil in SOA for a tight, early-season win over Why Am I Waking Up at 6:50 a.m. on a Saturday?

4. Other Team’s Dads
When it comes to travel ball, OTD always brings the intimidation factor, with their lusty chants of “Swing the Damn Bat!”; “C’mon, Caden, Take a Secondary Lead!”; and “Run it out like a fuckin’ man!” While often knocked for their old-school motivational tactics, Other Team’s Dads’ Team is stomping your kids 21–4, so maybe screaming works.

5. Acute Anxiety
This homegrown standout first entered the league as Pure Panic, showing up big whenever a grounder was hit in your kid’s direction. Would he simply fall down, or somehow miraculously field the ball and then spin in terror while baserunners sped past him before firing it randomly into the outfield? Now a seasoned performer, you can count on Acute Anxiety’s steady presence each at-bat—this is your kid’s one chance to contribute for the next forty-five minutes, and everyone’s watching. AA reminds us that in Little League, anything is possible, but only one thing is certain: Someone’s going to cry.

6. Ump
A strict, selfless upholder of sacred baseball traditions, including being drunk at 10 a.m.

7. Coach
The number one topic of sideline sports-talk pundits, Coach brings the intangibles: a bunch of gear that you’re not supposed to touch. His organized, bemused approach to youth leadership proves that the boys who scared you in middle school gym class can grow up to be the mature, dedicated men who scare you as an adult. But that’s only because Coach does what you could never do: anything that requires your kid’s attention.

8. Parent Who Sits There Reading a Book or Magazine
Approaching the game with uncanny confidence, this elite free agent executes a two-way balancing act between their child’s interests and their own. Ask, because they probably brought wine or gummies.

9. Team WhatsApp Group
This powerful lineup of aging vets is looking to recover from a series of poorly lit photos of batting gloves that someone left at practice. Last year, TWAG was 0–22 when asking if anyone updated the snack spreadsheet.

10. Baseball Field
To quote one local prospect: “It’s really wet, and there’s geese on it.”

11. Sibling Who Came Along
SWCA enters the year at a turning point: Will they ascend the rankings with six clean innings of independent play, or continue their slump by refusing to eat the string cheese you brought?

12. Turkey Sandwich
This perennial disappointment is projected to finish the season at the very bottom of the bag in a hard tinfoil disk.

A Malady of Puns

Ali Fitzgerald — Thu, 23 Apr 2026 12:01:00 -0400

Underground Artists is an ongoing comic by Ali Fitzgerald (Hungover Bear & Friends) that follows woodland creatures as they create art and search out whimsy in a bleak forest.

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