I’m not sure if you guys ever noticed this, but updates on this site can ebb and flow. As we are the most depressed mini-cluster of writers on the internet, this makes perfect sense. At any given moment, one or all of us is in the throes of a crippling despair — or, in contrast, one or all of us is chirpy and pleased with life. This wide range in overall mood is reflected in our overall productivity, here at the Sneer Campaign and also in every single aspect of our lives.

abloo

I guess I should start off by telling you about Depression, as if you are at all strangers to the concept. But I know our demographics. You’re all a bunch of first world 20- and 30-somethings mostly. I assume you are all actually in the midst of your own Pity Parties RIGHT NOW, and are just taking a break to read this article in the hopes of finding some gentle humor to ease your troubled souls. Well, indulge me here for a minute. Pretend that you are all perfect spring flowers and have never seen a reason to frown in your life. Do you remember what that feels like? I think I might, but I could also be severely mistaken and I am just emotionlessly imagining the color blue. But emotionlessness is just an absence of sadness, and that doesn’t automatically mean “happiness.” Although some days, it is just as welcome of a relief. Am I even getting ahead of myself here? You can bet no one cares.

Continue reading

Before actually working at a party supply store, I was unaware that there are party supplies for EVERYTHING. I had previously been under the notion that people weren’t so stupid that they would need to run out and buy a giant bull skull to complete the look of their “Tex-Mex party,” which would just end up looking like a regular party except with a giant shitty foam bull skull hanging on the wall.

herein is torture and pain

While perusing the mind-numbing amount of overpriced shit for parties, I wandered upon a section, nay, an entire AISLE, just for celebrating old people’s birthdays and such. Well, let me rephrase that since it’s not entirely the truth: An entire aisle just for mocking old people’s further decline into a miserable old age and eventually to a depressing death that will most likely be filled with memories of the time their children bought them a fake jar of Viagra for their 60th birthday.

Some would call them “gag” gifts, and I suppose they are. Only I have never seen so many, and some so completely brutal, in one area before — all for simply being old. It’s as if to say “Congratulations on living for 3/4 of a century and accomplishing more than most of us ever will, now put this chicken suit on and DANCE YOU OLD SHIT.”

Continue reading

Being a girl is one of the best things ever to happen to me. My gender allows me to live in a pink world filled with unicorns, kittens, pillows, sweets, and all manner of nice things. I get to Girl Talk, rely on boys to lift heavy objects for me, and to remove insects from my sight. Also, for a few days every month, I get to be a hyper-emotional psycho with very little in the way of consequences – whether I want to be or not! Other girls understand and allow it (unless they are also in that time of the Most Terrible of Cycles), and boys understand just enough to try to ignore it. This bittersweet reward is known as the P.M.S.

yaaaay being a girl!

This article isn’t going to be a guide for helping boys to better cope and appease the women in their lives during this bleak moment. Every girl houses a specific, unique, terrible tapestry of physical and psychological destruction, and it changes with every month. So it is nigh impossible to write a comprehensive list on how you could meet your lady friends’ needs. It just isn’t going to happen, fellas.

 

Continue reading

It’s so damn hot, you guys. It’s like, really hot. I’m not saying that it’s never been hot before, and I’m not even saying it’s never been THIS hot before, but what I certainly am saying is that right now: it is really hot. Did somebody accidentally bump the sun a little closer to us on the last trip round? I’m looking at you Jupiter, you stupid piece of goddamn shit.

poor juper

I’m.. I’m sorry, Jupiter, and fans of Jupiter. I didn’t mean to have an outburst. It’s just, you guys… it’s really hot right now. It’s like I’m playing the maracas underwater and every time I shake my maracas, the water gets hotter. And everybody wants to do the samba, and also everyone else has maracas too, and also everyone has a serious tremor in both hands AND ALSO the song we are all playing is “Johnny Fast-Hands Plays The Maracas Faster Than Usual.” Additionally, instead of a pool it’s a furnace fill with water, and instead of that water, there’s fire, and no maracas, and Johnny Fast-Hands’ fast hands are fused together, pock-marked by the embers and pitch black like your grandparents’ souls.

Continue reading

Anyone who knows anything about Marilyn Monroe is probably aware that she was insecure, tormented by fame, and battling addictions that were rooted in an unhappy childhood and an unhappy adulthood. A classic tale, was she, of the sorrows and stresses of the Hollywood Machine. If you didn’t know that, now you do. She probably had actual clinical depression, and mental illness is no laughing matter, but as I read through her various quotes the other day, I couldn’t help but notice that she said some pretty sad things! My heart went “boohoo” as I saw her pleas for help which I can only assume went ignored. She had to be the Blonde Bombshell when, had she been a pretty young thing any time after the 1980s, she could have been a goth-punk, a Suicide Girl, or a generic mall goth. Instead of quotes immortalized on imdb, her quotes could have been unseen on deadjournal, or carved into the skin of her own tummy and shown only to her myspace friends. Marilyn Monroe might have suffered so much because she felt out of place in every way, yearning for a subculture that didn’t exist, and then she was taken from the world far too young.

vampire goth

Continue reading

Chances are you are like me and you take a lot of modern conveniences for granted. There isn’t really anything wrong with that, I guess. I mean, here in 2016 [Editor’s note: remember to change the date when we are low on content and re-post this in a year or two] we just assume such things as sanitary products, electronics, and other assorted things are our God-given and rightful property. We feel a great sense of entitlement, and therefore have really stopped appreciating these simple pleasures that keep our world up and running smoothly. It’s just hard for someone who has grown up with such things to understand…

Until you have to do without.

suffering

My friends, I had to do without recently. I didn’t have to part ways with my cell phone, or microwavable food items, or anything like that. If that was the case I’d JUST DIE! No, I had to do without something that plays a rather large role in our lives. I had to do without a goddamn shitter: the unsung hero of household items. That’s right, I had to use the toilet without having a toilet to use. You might have trouble wrapping your head around this, because really, the toilet is always there. It’s like a good, dedicated friend. You can always find comfort in its consistency. Cold, white, incredibly heavy but blissfully unaware of just how big it is, and usually full of shit. Now that I think about it, it really is just like a lot of friends I’ve had (and you have probably had as well).

But imagine briefly, that when you need that friend the most, they are nowhere to be found! That when you reach out and expect that helping hand you’ve grown so accustomed to grasping you and pulling you to safety… it doesn’t happen. Of course, I am completely to blame for the incident I am writing about. Looking back I can clearly see where I went wrong.

 

Continue reading

Nursery rhymes are a staple for most of us as we grow up. They are age-old classics from yester-century, usually, with some modernizations and updates so that we aren’t teaching children about drowning kittens in wells like it’s just a thing boys happen to do, so here’s a cute little rhyme about it. Or, oh here’s some nightmare fodder about the clumsy egg man who died.

It seems that Mother Goose lived sometime in the 1800s, made a collection of poems for children, and that was that. No one ever tried again because why mess with perfection, I assume they thought. Well except for modern day poets such as Andrew Dice Clay, who I understand modernized nursery rhymes in a more ribald sense. But that is of no use to anyone, anymore.

Luckily for us all, we at the Sneer Campaign have unearthed some “new” versions of beloved nursery rhymes, which the sophisticated children of the 1920s and 1930s enjoyed and learned from. Their lessons were timeless and universal, so children of today will benefit just as well. In fact, the children of today will benefit even more because modern kids have not a lick of urbanity or savoir-faire. So have their nannies and au pairs strap them down and force them to recite these poems. It builds the right kind of character that the world desperately needs!

 

Continue reading

Not really having a job or school or a set schedule at all ever has sort of given me what I consider to be a pretty fun outlook on Time. I think I haven’t had an actual schedule except for the odd appointment for like the past eighteen years or so. This is an amazing feat, let me tell you, because these modern times are tightly controlled by time-obligations and timesponsibilities. You are meant to be places at certain times or else people will JUDGE YOU SEVERELY.

That’s sort of more of expectations of not being late, though, and I am generally a fairly punctual “On Time When I Have to Be” kind of dame. I think. As far as I know?

But well, actually knowing what day it is? That’s another problem entirely!

Not Understanding Time by Amanda Wood

 

Continue reading