Edition 1

Millennial iPhone Blues

Thirty-seven-year-old man admits sense of bewilderment after forgetting device during recent bathroom trip

Nashville Tennessee native, Jarred Patterson admitted to the Wet Gazette over the weekend that he did, in fact, suffer a sense of loss after neglecting to take his iPhone 12 into the bathroom with him during a recent pit stop.

“I didn’t know what to do with myself,” Patterson confirmed. “I mean…like…I always have my phone in my pocket, but it was too late to rectify my error when I’d realized I had left the device on my dresser. I sat there in horror, coming to grips with the understanding that I was all alone with only my thoughts—no Twitter or sports apps or TikTok. It was the longest seven minutes of my life,” Patterson continued. “I didn’t know whether to sh…uh, well, you know…or get off the pot.”

Patterson isn’t alone. Forty-one-year old Samantha Rothenberry, a mother of two grade-schoolers, had a similar experience.

“It was bewildering,” she agreed. “I like to do puzzles and Wordscapes,” referring to a popular word game similar to crosswords that can be downloaded for free from most app stores. “When I need a break from the boys, I go into the basement powder to do my business. I’ll take my phone and get lost in my puzzles. I forget about the kids screaming, the dog barking, and the doorbell ringing. I once spent thirty minutes locked in the bathroom in peaceful bliss, completing the online version of the local newspaper’s word shuffle. I promise you,” she added, “I won’t ever forget my phone again. My only recourse the one time I forgot my device was to read the dust-covered magazines that also had some rather suspicious splatters on them. Eeeewww!”

According to the National Bowel Movement Federation, a government-funded research group, the average bathroom visit takes eight minutes and fourteen seconds. Dr. Anhal Shitvitikin, the movement’s head, weighed in.

“Billions of tax-payer dollars are dumped into our important research annually,” Dr. Shitvitikin said. “Our studies show that over the past few years, the average bathroom time has increased markedly. With the popularity of folks taking phones, iPads, or even laptops into the lavatory, we expect these numbers to go up twofold in the coming months and don’t expect them to taper. Why just recently, I myself completed an entire Zoom meeting with the federation while on the commode.”

The phenomena even seem to affect the older generation. Oscar Weatherstone, a seventy-year-old from Wichita, Kansas, added this.

“The kids bought me an iPad for Christmas last year. I don’t know how to work those darn things, but I thought I’d take it into the bathroom one morning while I sat to pee.”

Weatherstone blushed and chuckled. “You see, at my age, just taking a leak can last twenty minutes.” The old-timer gathered himself and continued. “I tried to look at Facebook, but all I ended up doing was accidentally taking a picture of my privates. I told my fifteen-year-old grandson, Bobby, what happened, and he suggested I post the pic on the grandpa site at a place called xhamster. Well, I managed to log onto the site, but all I saw was a bunch of beavers. Weird. I think I’ll stick to the good old newspaper I still have delivered at the curb.”

But it was Gary Grayson from Atlanta, Georgia, whose story was the most compelling.

“I once spent nearly three hours on the throne,” he asserted. “I managed to read 37% of Stephen King’s The Stand on my Kindle in one sitting. Sure, my butt cheeks had some impressive red rings on them, and my knees took a minute to unlock, but it was heaven for this bibliophile!”

These stories are becoming less unique in today’s technological era, and we here at the Wet Gazette fully expect these trends to continue. Dr. Shitvitikin concurs. “By 2026, we predict that even most downloading will occur in the bathroom! But I caution,” he added, “be sure to sanitize those phones!”

Granny Food Fight

Police respond to mayhem at local church in small Georgia town

Law Enforcement in Pinehurst, Georgia, responded to a 911 call when a Sunday afternoon food fight broke out in the church’s fellowship hall. Grandmothers Myrtle Tollinghouse and Gladys Johnson were identified as the prime instigators of the chaotic scene that resulted in over a dozen citations but no arrests.

Parishioners and clergy were stunned by the mid-day fracas at the local Methodist Church. The Wet Gazette arrived on the scene shortly after the police and spoke with several worshipers.

“It was crazy,” Bernard Jefferson, a deacon in the church with what looked like peach cobbler dripping from his ear, remarked. “The two older ladies had a few words, and suddenly food was flying everywhere. Velma Morgan’s chicken fried steak hit me right here,” Jefferson added, pointing out a fiery red splotch on the left side of his cheek. “We all knew Myrtle and Gladys weren’t best friends, but no one expected this. God, forgive them!”

The normally cheerful and organized fellowship hall was awash with the ruined culinary efforts of the church’s women’s guild. Gravy and grease coated the walls, and Elma Kessler’s boiled okra could be seen strewn all over the floor. Kitty Forsyth’s highly regarded mac’n’cheese hung from the ceiling tiles, and even Jesus wasn’t spared, a coat of Minnie Brown’s tomato soup clinging to his pictured beard near the entrance to the large room.

We caught up with Myrtle Tollinghouse sitting on a bench, wiping lettuce and salad dressing from her recently coiffed silver hair.

“I couldn’t take another minute of Gladys’s criticism,” she seethed. “That woman had the nerve to make fun of my famous homemade biscuits. Everyone thinks they’re delicious, but that old bat is just jealous!”

When asked if that’s what started the fight, Myrtle continued without hesitation.

“Oh, it’s been going on for half a century. Ever since old Johnny Dunlop ignored her and asked me to dance at the town fair over fifty years ago, she’s been out to get me. And I’ll tell you another thing. I’m twice the cook she is. That woman’s meatloaf smells like a cross between a dirty diaper and the hospital cafeteria.”

Myrtle Tollinghouse sneered and caught her breath before continuing her rant.

“No! She’s awful in the kitchen! Her banana pudding looks like something I wouldn’t step in, and she buys the cheap cream of mushroom soup over at the Piggly Wiggly. Needless to say, it makes her green bean casserole look and taste like bug guts spread over decayed grass clippings!”

Looking for a response, The Wet Gazette found Gladys Johnson in the church parking lot near an old oak tree, a purplish stain covering the garish fabric of her floral dress. We asked her about the melee.

“Just look at my new clothes!” she roared. “Myrtle is the devil in disguise! She started this whole thing when she picked up the tray of pickled beets the mayor’s wife brought to the luncheon and slung them on my dress!”

Gladys Johnson wiped vigorously at her outfit, huffing and puffing in consternation for several moments before glancing up at us with a fiery look in her eyes.

“Myrtle thinks she’s something else, but she’s just an old hag, you ask me. That woman has her hair done every other Saturday, but it looks like a tattered bird’s nest. And you know what? Now, this won’t sound very Christian of me, but that new grandchild of hers ain’t so cute. In fact, that baby looks uglier than a broken-down dump truck filled with moss-covered pine stumps!”

We left Gladys Johnson to cultivate her angst, finding the preacher in the vestry. Pastor Brick Stevens briefly weighed in.

“We must pray for these ladies, for they know not how they’ve sinned. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a fellowship hall that needs some attention.”

The minister took several steps and turned.

“And then I’ll be working on next week’s sermon.” The preacher paused, scratched his beard reflectively, and then added, “Grace! Mercy! Forgiveness! And maybe some more specific instructions on sharing the bread!”

What do you say?

What do you think about the proposal to increase the federal minimum wage to $15 per hour?

Ferrin Finklestein:
Of course it should be raised…even higher, I say. How else can I afford cowboy killers, malt liquor, and lottery tickets at the handy mart every night when I get off work?
Kelly Sliquepearl:
It’s high time these greedy employers, mostly middle-aged white men, realized America no longer accepts the evil tenets of patriarchal slave labor!
Muhammed Lowdkweeph:
That’s a complex question involving supply side and demand side equilibrium. I’m not sure I’m qualified to answer. Hell, I couldn’t even find matching socks this morning.

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