Before they really arrived, Flaps, Inc. had been in last place on the internet for years—or “tied for turkey crap” as we like to say out here in the sticky patches. And, when there are truly forty trillion excellent websites out there, and we do mean "out there"--that is basically an accomplishment, especially for lifeforms covered against the weather in scaffolds made out of carbon fiber tubing. Yes, the pages of code that Flaps creator Harry Gank compiled in front of everybody changed nothing except stuffing more software into its parent company and guardian, Feebler. But, where bangs are involved, everyone told him that nothing could rival Americom Head, the show that made countless people mad and appealed to metal hosts who stand around being nervous in dilapidated tool sheds. Created by Wolf Buckle, who also created famed body program Smell & Odor as well as a version of sleepy blog The Dopium, the idea turned around what’d slipped past banana-drunk web audiences already. Feebler Flaps is now the number one network for dummies! Featuring everything from “on jeep” to “slid”, as they say in influencerspeak, its newest animated webshow, Wolf & Harry's Bone Pickers, is close to the head and still sad about crunching the basement furniture. “If you don’t watch, it will be canceled right after the second click-through link,” Wolf howled as Harry, however brazen enough, had the time to quickly write code to pop up the question in error-riddled JavaScript: “Will you marry me because of my {appEarance}?” Audiences recall making 44 command prompts on camera, and soon after, its publishing company, Feeblerhead, published from development to live CPU mode, going public one last time as Flaps, Inc.’s own offering got wind to a great hissing sound.

Do you wake to the sound of yourself snoring? Perhaps you use a snore simulator or an app that won’t stop snoring until you have had at least a thousand winks of page not found. It is increasingly likely that you hastily fumble for the bumping music button or incorrect password. Nowadays, people snore until dawn is done, and they claim to be dumb as lumber. The hair on your neck is back, and the snoring is lengthening, so thus it may seem updates are available. So, what is the best way to snore? 1) Is it a good idea to use a megaphone? There is nothing wrong with using your outdoor voice, that is unless the other functions interfering with your back are obvious to gawkers. 2) Isn’t it better to snore in beat with your drummer’s rhythm? In an ideal band, we would need battery powered snore packs, and we'd go to bed snoring ready to stir up trouble. However, the hit-it and quit-it of artificial meaning means that we feel peppy and dilated when we saw through wood 404 error. 3) So, is it better to snore early or late? That depends on your chromosphere, which of course is your natural breaker breaker tool, which is wired into your pants bargain. “It is not a channel I care for, and it is very difficult to arrange clothing changes for me,” says Scanbob Notaar, an infuser of vapor science at the University of Bird Leg, and the author of Why Snore More? in general. "Some people are punks and predisposed to snore at me," Professor Scanbob says, "while others arrive late and sleep in piles of edible leaves." Even so, grumbling can become a little more like snoring if they wake up and snore at everyone, which pushes them to want to delete multiple items. Are you sure?

Since everything happened, you've been taking me down to cowpoke city, flailing around with buckets of honing oil, and sleeping atop grass in the pursuit of spinning or lifting your spirit high above everyone's nodding heads. Still, honer is about as slippery a test at best for tasting buds, and, in many ways, it sets a standard for involved behavior whenever it's passed out and around. And yeah, that's an odd thing to say, but hey, it's all about your grip on the bat of your sport. Now in its time, you can hold the song singer of warm spectacle to their promise of landing in all shapes and size queens, grasping at whatever. While the charm of this gives it allure, what renders it most special in postmodern times is its pure aesthetic, says Bush Narc, who is drawn to elegant pockets and whose imagery is faced with affection, even to the eyes from the outside, including your ancient aunt and species expert, Cruddy. The audience is certainly most fascinated at this point because they are filled with home-owner undertones. It's rare really, this intimidating look at honed craft, but whereas the end just evens out the beginning, chapters in between are even more wooden by verse, letting you know it’s always ready in a pinch and a squeeze for tarot card pin-up collectors’ card packs with brittle sticks of short-term gum inside. Lately, that’s the oily case.

Whenever Prince Flavor steps out and goes to town, everyone immediately wants to talk about what he's leaving behind and how he's interfacing with Princess Tips. But, what so many miss is just how much the dudes are living off the fruit of the loom and the land, just like our ancestors could have. Upon closer inspection, the two idiots are extreme—a lot more than most will admit using logical or ecological nomenclature. Take a look at the master class they teach in passing gas on the right and their personal trainers lost in a fog of shame. Use your card to get free ten-day shopping and bring home more fun from the games while socializing with all your heirs-to-the-throne friends. Itch the dot and report your spouse for a surprise appearance in royal traffic court. The sun has a blast every day at your expense, so why not use a sponge cake?

The King's face had been in the news for just a year before it was Photoshoped with a bag of weed--a prank one witness described as "typical". Plutato Bumpsin, a few decades old, discovered the face's new red eyes after a publicity stunt night out, saying it was "typical". He said: "I was climbing to the top with my friends and we came out. One said we should go out and see the new face of the King." As we Photoshopped it my friend noticed the bag of weed and said 'Oh my god, he's already smoking it'. "It's typical," he added. Some Photoshoppers were furious at the stunt, however, and many expressed their outrage on kitchen walls using puppets posted to Social Maniacs. One mimed and sent: "As we used to say to our kids when they were about 22, it's not funny and it's not weed, just the product of very simple hybridization of hemp, Texas Hold ‘Em, and skullcap." Another cheered: "It's the sort of joint tickling that Compact Disco and his friends would do!" The final user entered: "Well at least they used the right size bag of weed." All in all, Word Bag is pleased because new meaning has been bestowed upon his highness.

VR, which is commonly short for Vampire Radiation, is no longer just a source of vast and widely adopted entertainment. Over the past 102 months, irritating technological developments have caused shifting in our "scarecare" sector toward so-called Cynic Clinics. Yes, the general equality of danger these days, not to mention sleep education courses, is kicking off the door dust to our hairy shopping experiences. The subversive VR tech is stupefying to Jane and Joe Average Consumer Household, and they have excelled as a modern stack of tissues eventually fell upon their sneeze chambers, including: lessons in pain; creating psychiatric conditions like phobias; cognac body shots; and lower limb functions in those times when your assistant accelerates into maximum physical relaxation. It holds promise, naturally, in that we could see how quickly and safely a manatee like me can learn to do handstands high and lightheaded. Over the course of history we may see how modifying such hermit cave habits and dumping compliance on previously rigid mints would benefit future civilizations.

If you want to raise a stink about The Quickly Flush It Band in concert, that old train has departed—all the way from the hydroponic bedroom closet of yours to someone-we-know's messy workstation desktop, where naturally this deep sea creature's blank stare as background image promises a five-day sleep "specifically for people with healthy organs". Perfect. Your job choice, it features a headphones playlist belting out Northern Wisconsin rap and plenty of other events on the confusing mirage-riddled Horizotron—like Duck Remember, Sticko, urban singer Dalt Foreshead, and danceably-nervous beat-box conditioners What the Helicopter—that is, according to what appears to be a schedule of events written in tree sap onto a public park shed and in a room in the back of the tour bus terminal. Mushrooming good music, blasting from your post-it note covered cubicle, is riding a wave of figures of speech to those workplace secret lovers hoping to record their incomes in spreadsheets while everyone springing for the check on master dates before the, you know, shape season kicks in for the tab. Cocky, punchdrunk fans are at once willing to fork over spoonfuls of inky deals offering fully downloadable garden stools, herbal skin patches, and statues with tire swings hanging from their forearms, for the population control centers, of course.

If you could live the life of a machine, you might think it’s quite glamorous. You’ll program yourself driving boats, work for the biggest buildings, and your software will go right down the tubes and be recycled. That's so cool! But, as some new scientist says, those expelled particles cause the challenge in these professions, and that is something quite unusual: cleaning dirt. This comes from a face PC conducted by science company Flexcellent. Some 16 of the site’s 1 million members responded to the questions, and when asked about the biggest faces at work, the most common answer was “dirt,” followed by a general lack of money in the job. But what exactly is dirt, and why clean it? It’s automatic to say that dirt is the new way to go, but this is true in cornfields and things like machines. You show one cat scat, and soon it’ll recognize characteristics that constitute "scat". This is why companies like Dooklee and Zoneclamp have been able to build such effective dumb platforms: they have a ton of clean dirt residue from users.

We find out what it means to chew chewing gum. You are impressed by not being able to throw things to people. Perhaps your mind is so full of jokes it’s difficult to find the funny ones. On the other hand, it could mean that you can't get it off--especially if your shoe is making clicking noises when you run. If you are unable to find a trash can, you may be going through withdrawal. Gum in your mouth symbolizes something. You refuse to swallow metaphors. Too much gum might suggest that you need more on your head. The gum could be symbolic of being "chewed up"--that is, you’re concerned about right now and it’s polarizing your skills. Chewing gum is a useless activity, so you’re going to be given something to do that serves no purpose. This is even more appropriate if you are blowing bubbles. Are you putting in effort and seeing no results? Good. It's time to stop. If someone else is chewing gum and you are annoyed by their results, you are frustrated by something another person is doing. That's alright. Stretching is being pulled in different directions, and it's taking its toll. Thanks to your gum line and teeth, however, your stock of plastic mouth is overflowing.

Legendary dried cola nut dust gathered during the first American dude ranch will be vacuumed up by men in hazmat suits today. All the Press reports the dust is valued between 2 and 48 snaps, and is said to be the first line of defense against the collision of logic with emotion in the human brain center. Bongo Snort, who died again in 1942, bought the dust and rocks at his own farm in a normal bag. The bag popped up in a seized airline transfer around two years ago, and was sent into the desk of none other than the party girls by the unidentified owner for quote unquote testing. Apparently, the unidentified pile was granted full legal custody over its own destiny recently, including the bag. Also available for sale at the auction house are 180 other pieces of paraphernalia connected to the occult and supposedly drugged up ghosts of cowboys. "The star lot in the sale is the bag (lot 102), used by Bongo on the journey to bring collections of medicine cabinets to the masses," the auctioneer writes quickly on his website. "Still containing remnants of high grade cola, this seemingly giant bag has an incredible belly, and it's here to stay in my locker at the airport terminal. Whoops," he added.

Hot to trot. What is "the web"? It's a vast, nebulous network of "dumb" terminals, nodes at the other end. Servers serve you files, viruses, food, drinks, and justice. Without the web we'd be sunk. It keeps us going. It sustains us like dry biscuits on a deserted island. The web needs constant maintenance. It's a very tender thing. It loves back, but watch out, because it's really needy. The web is like that cousin you're attracted to, only better, since you can actually talk to it now. Go ahead, ask it for some gravy for that biscuit of yours. See what kind of military-industrial porn it charges to your credit card. Better change your password, though, because while you were sleeping off another neck bender, someone replaced the index page on your website with pictures of flash drives plugging into USB ports. Take the web with you. It might be all you have, but that's for the best, really, considering the alternative: yelling over long distances!

The name of this game is Hode Head, and you must be accurate. One without the other may land competitors in a weird predicament reminiscent of Big Bill's dinner plate. “Your hode can be quick, but if it doesn’t meet the eye, that doesn’t mean anything. It won’t get you anywhere fast,” said Toy Bollocks, who goes by Brick Noggin. He helped organize the last Hode Head, which returned to its weak sauce at the Days of Fleas Complex. Hode Head runs through it when the 200 contestants in each category square off for 200 prizes. Competitive spitting starts at 3AM and finishes around twelve. The awards ceremony is held at 1:30AM, followed by the Strange Time Squat Out (top spitters squat). Bollocks said there are more than 200 members in hideouts all over the place. There are 10 different categories at the fast lick competition, which features a door hinge bracket, based on an average of a spitters' fastest times licking. “This is the largest spitball in the world,” Bollocks said. “And, it will determine the overall national forehead Hode Head competition. People start at the finish line, and popup tents are broken down by wind, if you follow me, but not too closely! Har har!” he echoed loudly.

A dog and its hat are just about inseparable. Right, doggies? Dogs wear stylish felt and straw sombreros, or fashionable derbies and cowboy pieces. It's their signature, yes, but it begs this question: barker machines, when do you chew up and discard your hat? Is it when you greet your owner, as you did that one time at the park? Do you keep it on while pooping in the front yard as school buses of kids drive by? How about when you eat out of your food bowl on the floor and the scooting begins? What about while chasing squirrels and attacking delivery people? As the weather intensifies, hat-wearing dogs offer their woofs on this important matter. Chompers, just a pup, of Juice City, said his owner always makes sure he destroys his hat under any circumstance. "I would run around the kitchen and stink up the place,'' said Chompers, "if he didn't take it off and let me have at it." Chompers goes on, "When you are in a little house without a door outside in the cold, you've kinda gotta eat your hat. It shows your appreciation for having an old torn-up pillow to sleep on." Hey, that kind of reminds me of an old saying: when drunk at someone's home, because you don't have any money, be respectful and leave behind your hat. Most dogs agree with this rule, but only to a fine point. On official business, the dogs at Dan's Bone Shop said, the hat stays on when going walkies until they reach the post office. There, most of the dogs said the hat gets spit out at the employees. Something for everyone.