We at Masrani Global Corporation (formerly InGen) have made mistakes, sometimes tragic ones. But we are here to announce today, we are reopening our original real-live dinosaur theme park, having definitely fixed the fences for real this time.

We’re the first to admit it; the first time we released a fence model, it failed, and a bunch of people got eaten. Boy did we have egg on our face. Then there was that time a T-rex escaped his cage and rampaged through San Diego and ate some people. Plus six or ten other times when dinosaurs escaped their cages and ate a bunch of people. But have you considered that we are really super sure we’ve got it right this time?

With adequate guardrails around every exhibit, there’s no reason that we cannot safely contain the largest most dangerous carnivores the world has ever known at least 95% of the time.

We humbly admit (though not in a way admissible in court) that our past guardrails haven’t always lived up to their promise. Like how we had backup generators for the electric fences. Or how all the dinosaurs were female and could never reproduce if they escaped. Or how all the dinosaurs had GPS trackers. Or how they could never escape the island. Or how the dinosaurs were dependent on special injections without which they would quickly die.

Admittedly, all of those measures eventually failed. But this is a fast-moving, iterative business. Of course there are going to be a few speed-bumps, and a few hundred people devoured from time to time. No model of fencing is flawless. Until now. This time, we’re making the fences 2 feet taller. Pretty cool right?

We want to get ahead of the early criticism of our new, more robust system. There have already been some reports that our fences rust over time with prolonged use. Our response is, don’t use them for a long time! We’re recommending that people change out the fences for the exhibits they are going to see at least once a month. Obviously, we can’t be responsible for changing that many fences ourselves, but we trust our users.

And yes, there are reports of unscrupulous individuals “jailbreaking” certain dinosaur pens just by hitting the “open” button on the gates 12 times until the door opens. We’re happy to report that we’ve fixed it; you now have to hit open 13 times before the door opens.

Some have even alleged that people have been using the dinosaur pens to commit suicide. These are tragic and isolated instances, for which Jurassic park is in no way liable. After all, there are loads of ways to commit suicide. That’s why we post a “please don’t commit suicide in the T-Rex pen” sign along with a QR code for the Suicide Prevention Hotline.

Even if we can only stop an Indominus rex rampage 98% of the time, I think we can all agree that the benefits far outweigh the risks. I mean, c’mon! They’re friggin dinosaurs. We’re not going to not have dinosaurs when the technology exists. Sure, we could slow down our progress in the name of safety, but our rival, Mantah Corp, is just going to ramp up their own killer dinosaur cloning operation and pass us by.

So bring the kids! Jurassic Park is open for business, and will never have another serious incident again. For realsies this time.

As of publication time, the velociraptors have learned to stand on top of each other in order to jump out of their pens. Masrani Global Corporation plans to release a patched fence model to the public next month which will solve the problem permanently.

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Always.

You may have heard the liberal Fake News media reporting that the ceasefire with Iran is “crumbling” or “on paper only” or “not actually a ceasefire anymore.” Should we expect anything other than these lies from the libtards at the New York Times?

The truth couldn’t be more clear: we’ve made massive progress on a once-in-a-lifetime epic deal, and both sides are just celebrating that fact.

We wanted to use fireworks, but can you blame us for not shipping them to the Persian Gulf? It would take weeks. And how would we even get them through the Strait of Hormuz, anyways? Use your brains.

The only sensible course of action was to use the abundant supplies of explosives that we already had on-site. That’s why we recently sent a batch of celebratory cruise missiles to an Iran drone control site. We just wanted to let them know that peace is near, and we should all celebrate that fact.

The peace deal is as good as signed. Like, 95% of the way there. I’m pretty sure they are just checking the fonts. They wanted a copy in whatever chicken-scratch shit Iranian is written in, whereas we are insisting on a bold, masculine font like Times New Roman. The President is pushing for Times New American, but that isn’t decided yet.

In the meantime, the President and I are glad that the Iranians are getting in the spirit of the things. In response to our peace-celebrating missiles, they thoughtfully responded by giving us a delightful show over a US base in Kuwait. Our boys got such a thrill that they got in on the act too. Unfortunately our celebratory fire intercepted their peace drones, but the explosion was a beautiful sight anyways.

It is a long American tradition to recognize historic achievements with explosions. If the Dodgers get to shoot off fireworks every time Shohei Ohtani scores a home run, shouldn’t the ending of a war merit at least as great a show?

This President has already personally ended over 439 wars in the past year alone, a completely thankless and selfless task of historic proportions. Isn’t it only fair that he should get to celebrate his latest historic almost-achievement?

Syllabus

Roberts ET AL. v. The Voting Rights Act

APPEAL FROM THE COURT OF POPULAR OPINION

No. 66–666. Argued every day—Decided right now

Chief “Umpire” of the Supreme Court, John Roberts here. I joined the court in 2005 (OMG, that was when Green Day’s American Idiot came out. Now I feel old.) I said at my confirmation hearings that I would “call strikes and balls” from the bench, not make policy.

And that’s exactly what we did with Louisiana v. Callais, which “massaged” the Voting Rights Act of 1965 into a pleasant new shape.

Some deranged individuals have chosen the far more loaded word of “gutted” to describe the court’s findings re: the VRA.

I think it’s time to clear the air. This court does nothing more or less than interpret the law in light of the Constitution. So, let’s do that.

Once and for all, here is the Court’s final, and deeply fair interpretation of the Voting Rights Act.

1. Gerrymandered districts are a blight on our democracy and illegal unless you do them for craven political purposes, just as James Madison intended.

2. A law cannot be considered racist unless the opening title reads: “WE ARE DOING A RACISM. BIG OL’ RACISM, RIGHT HERE.” Because if they don’t say it’s racist, then how can we be sure? This court would rather allow a thousand secretly racist bills to go through than see one innocent, non-racist voting rights restriction go unfulfilled.

3. Actually, you can forget that last one, because it turns out racism is dead. Did you know that Mississippi elected TWO black senators back in the 1870s? How could a former slave state do that if they were racist? And the fact that they’ve had a bit of a “dry spell” for the following 150 years must mean that the black 36% of the population prefer white candidates 100% of the time.

4. Also, we elected Barack Obama President (I mean, not “we,” per se, but you know, America or whatever).

5. It is blatantly unconstitutional to require southern states to seek federal approval for changes to their voting laws. Right around 1965, those guys really cleaned up their act. Fair ball, I say!

6. Challenges made by white Republicans are still legal. I think that’s in Article IX of the Constitution? That’s the White Supremacy one, right?

Cite as: 666 U. S. ____ (2026) 37

Opinion of the Court

It is so ordered.

In the United States, everyone has a personal way to celebrate Memorial Day. Here are some ways that eastern grey squirrels are marking the day:

• Chance upon a bag of peanuts with five unopened shells. Eat one and scatter the rest across lawn.

• Discover decaying crabapple on ground, convey to top of fence and take exactly four tiny bites. Discard the remainder.

• Sit still with heart beating so fast that it looks like it ate a Sonicare toothbrush.

• Encounter other eastern grey squirrel, become dual cyclone of fur for fourteen seconds.

• Acquire acorns.

• Conceal acorns.

• Excavate acorns (winter only).

• Ditto, with seeds.

• Pause to reflect on the courage of the US Marines as they stormed the beaches of Iwo Jima during the campaign of the Pacific.

• Gather twigs and forest detritus to craft small nest.

• Watch as gentle breeze dislodges nest from tree with catastrophic results.

• Reconsider the whole “living in a tree thing.”

• Rebuild nest even higher in tree.

• Fail to dig up acorn, be unwitting father to entire generations of mighty oak trees that shall shelter an entire ecosystem for hundreds of years.

• Clean paws adorably.

ENCYCLICAL LETTER
OF THE YEAR 2026

LEO XIV
BISHOP OF ROME
SERVANT OF THE SERVANTS OF GOD

TO ALL WHO READ THIS LETTER
LET’S NOT TAKE ALL THIS BIBLE STUFF SO LITERALLY, OK?

The universal Church changes slowly by design, but I reckon that after more than 2000 years, it’s time to let go of some of this “organized religion” stuff. The fact is, I’ve been thinking and reading a lot on r/unitarian, and I’ve been watching a ton of Tik Tok videos from people who have stopped going to mass. I just feel like in the 21st century, do I really need to go tell an old dude who’s never had sex about all my personal failings every week?

That’s why I’ve decided that I’m “spiritual”, but not religious.

I definitely still believe in a God or whatever. At least, something greater than myself. But is that something like, a literal God on a white cloud? I don’t know, man. Maybe. But I’ve realized that’s not what’s important to me anymore, you know?

When you become pope, it really makes you think deep about the Big Questions. Like, who even wrote the Bible? It sure wasn’t God, not directly. And was Jesus even, like, a real dude? I’m pretty sure there was at least some guy that inspired the whole “Christ” character, but the information we have is like, from a 2000-year old game of Telephone. Some of the deets are bound to get a little garbled.

My family are all still pretty religious, so I’m not sure how they’re going to take it. I just want to reassure everyone, I’m still going to go to church once in a while, and I’m still going to do the big holidays. I like the whole community aspect of it. I’m just not that into all the ceremony and gilded cathedral stuff anymore.

I had this crazy thought the other day when I was blessing ten thousand worshippers in St. Peter’s Square: what if, like, we are God. Like, when we die, do we return to some sort of ineffable universal consciousness that permeates the universe? Mind blown.

Then there’s the whole money side of things. I just feel like, you shouldn’t have to give tithes to be a good person, or whatever. Isn’t it better if I give directly to the Vatican food bank, rather than going through some intermediary that doesn’t look like they even need the money?

Anyways, I just wanted to get that off my chest. I’m still going to be doing Pope stuff, for now. I might not always wear the hat, though. And I just think it would be cool if I could have a spiritual side without getting so dogmatic and Christy about it.

NATO must help Greenland acquire New Jersey, and anything less is unacceptable. It is clear that if New Jersey does not become part of Greenland, then China or Russia are going to move in instead. As defenders of the free world, Greenlanders cannot countenance such a vital strategic territory falling into anyone else’s caribou-fur-lined mittens.

I, Prime Minister Jens-Frederik Nielsen, have heard it stated by Governor Murphy that, “If New Jersey has to choose between the Greenland and the United States here and now, we choose the United States. We choose NATO. We choose North America.”

To the governor, I can only say I disagree with him. I don’t know who he is. I don’t know anything about him. But, that’s going to be a big problem for him.

New Jersey is the lynchpin of Greenland’s security. It underpins our entire southern border. If we are not free to install the 102^nd snowmobile regiment outside of Hoboken, it’s only a matter of time before Mexico starts rolling right up I-95, parks at Newark Liberty International Airport, and gets on the next United Airlines flight to Nuuk. Greenlanders are not going to be caught with our seal-skin takisut down.

It has been argued that existing treaties give us the absolute right to install air force bases in New Jersey without the need to own the Garden State outright. No one denies this. But ownership of New Jersey is what I feel is psychologically needed for success. And aren’t my psychological needs more important than some treaty?

The fact is, this is prime real estate, and we’re not going to pass up a lucrative opportunity like that. I mean, Atlantic City? Come on. Casinos are like mints. You’d have to be an idiot to fail in that business.

That is why I have dispatched foreign minister Vivian Motzfeldt to Trenton to negotiate a deal. New Jerseyans would be wise to accept. Greenland is the natural protector of the west. For hundreds of years, we’ve kept the Jersey Shore safe from polar bears, narwhals, and arctic foxes. And who else but Greenland could have gotten NATO to invest a minimum of 5% of GDP in reindeer cavalry?

It would be regrettable, but force is not off the table. The security of the world is too important. And yes, I’ve heard the arguments that us conquering New Jersey would only embolden other superpowers like the Falkland Islands to invade India, or would help justify Fiji’s illegal invasion of Germany. But these are false equivalencies. After all, we’re the good guys, and those other guys are bad. So there.

And yeah, I have heard the reports that 85% of Garden Staters prefer to remain under the tyranny of the United States. But once they see everything that Greenland has to offer them, I think we are going to see those numbers change in a big way. Have you ever tasted kæstur hákarl? You take a poisonous Greenland Shark, bury it for a few months, then dry it out until that rich ammonia smell really gets going. I’ll send you my dear old anaanaasoq’s recipe.

I’d love to make a deal with New Jersey. It’s easier. But one way or the other, we’re going to have it.

In light of the failure to reach a permanent end to the Iran War, combined with a failure to make Paramount+ profitable, CBS has decided to revive the beloved war comedy drama M*A*S*H for a new generation.

The Raspberry Oatmeal has obtained an excerpt of the upcoming pilot.

FADE IN:

ACT ONE:

INT: MEDICAL TENT AT A US AIR BASE IN KUWAIT - MORNING.

Doctors and nurses are operating feverishly on a group of Iranian drone-strike casualties. Their scrubs are stained with blood.

HAWKEYE: If it gets any hotter we’re going to have to move the operating tables into the Arabian Sea at high tide.

CPT. HUNNICUTT: I dunno, the Strait of Hormuz is pretty “hot” these days, too.

HAWKEYE: Strait of Hormuz? I’ll go straight, left, right or backwards. Any direction to get me out of this verkakte war.

COLONEL POTTER: Easy, soldier. The Department of War says this isn’t a War. It’s an “excursion.”

HAWKEYE: How do you like that? They change the department name from Defense to War, and then they stop having wars. Maybe next year they can change it to Department of Death, then people will stop dying? Nurse, clamp here. [Hotlips Houlihan obliges].

CPT. HUNNICUTT: Ah, but you’re forgetting something, Hawkeye, this war–

COLONEL POTTER: Excursion!

CPT. HUNNICUTT: This war-excursion ended over two months ago. Actually, according to the Commander in Chief, we’ve re-won the war-excursion every week since. I think it usually happens on Thursdays around 3:15AM when the President is Truthing on his phone.

HAWKEYE: Is that so? [he holds up his blood-soaked gloved hands] Then this must be tickertape parade confetti on my hands.

HOTLIPS: Captain Pierce, could you please focus on the operation? This young man has a severe hemorrhage thanks to an Iranian ballistic missile.

HAWKEYE: [continue to work on the patient] No, that can’t be right, Margaret. The Iranian military ceased to exist weeks ago. I saw it on Fox Nation. This kid probably just walked into a fireworks factory with his corncob pipe lit.

HOTLIPS: Hawkeye, will you please not make light of such a serious–

[Enter Radar]

RADAR: Choppers!

COLONEL POTTER: Radar, what do you mean choppers? We ain’t in Korea anymore, you know.

RADAR: Oh, golly! Sorry Colonel. I mean drones! Drones incoming!

COLONEL POTTER: Hit the deck everyone!

[The sound of an Iranian drone grows louder, until it finally strikes the ground nearby, shaking the whole tent. The lights flicker, and dust flies up into the air]

HAWKEYE: If this is an excursion, then that must have been a bird call. These Iranian Revolutionary Guards apparently didn’t see Pete Kegsbreath’s last press conference where he say they were annihilated.

CPT. HUNNICUTT: I think they only get C-SPAN on Wednesdays out here.

The staff all stumble to their feet and resume work.

ENTER Father Mulcahy

FATHER MULCAHY: Is everyone alright? That was a terrific explosion. I dropped my rosary in my morning Baid Tamath. It’s going to smell like cumin all week.

HAWKEYE: Just a little love-tap from the Ayatollah, Father.

CPT. HUNNICUTT: Do you ever get the feeling someone doesn’t like you?

RADAR: All the time, sir. [Glances sidelong at Hotlips]

FATHER MULCAHY: Perhaps I should start praying to Allah as well as Jehovah. It’s all the same God, you know.

HAWKEYE: You’d be better off praying that the C-in-C doesn’t get caught up in any more Epstein Files, or he’s going to start a war in Cuba next. Then you’d be up to your neck by Commie Atheists!

FATHER MULCAHY: [Shrugs] Wouldn’t be the first time.

[Laugh track]

CPT. HUNNICUTT: It would sure beat North Korea. At least in Cuba we’d be able to get a decent drink. All this desert, and there’s not a mojito in sight.

HOTLIPS: After listening to you boys crack wise for another ten years, I’m going to need an entire pitcher full.

[Laugh track].

FADE OUT

We get it. People have food allergies, and they can be life-threatening. Even the faint, salty grease smear left behind by a single peanut on one of our conveyor belts could send a five-year old to the hospital with a windpipe tighter than a straw.

So it’s fair to ask, why are all of our non-soy and non-nut products processed in a facility that also processes soy and nuts?

Because we fucking get off on it, that’s why.

That’s right, we fucking love that shit. Think about it: this company makes plain chocolate bars. There’s no reason to process soy and nuts in our factory at all. And why the fuck would peanuts even go on the same equipment as a plain chocolate bar anyway? What, we’re going to just clean that shit off and start making peanut brittle every other day? What kind of shit-for-brains sense does that make?

No, we do it because it makes us all hard and/or wet as fuck thinking about how you’ll never know if you’re getting a chocolate bar that was extruded from the same tube thingy we use to bottle soy oil last week. And guess what? We don’t even sell soy oil. We dump every shipment straight in the goddamn Ohio River.

Oh my fucking God, I am having a waking wet dream just thinking about the massive histamine response triggered by a single gram of peanut dust in a man’s throat.

Wasn’t it obvious what we’ve been doing? Why the fuck would the same machine be able to handle chocolate and soy oil, anyway? They ways we process them have no mother-fucking similarity whatsoever.

It isn’t easy, let me tell you. The whole facility has to shut down for like six fucking days every time we switch it up. We have to move a ton of machinery, all while making sure none of it gets cleaned. Our hands get totally covered in soy oil, and that shit does not come off easy. We’re losing money on every bar of chocolate sold because of this shit.

But oh man, is it ever fucking worth it.

Every morning, we all break the speed limit getting to work because we know we get to spend all day holding the power of life and death over thousands of people who eat our food without noticing the 6-point font warning printed on the inside of our candy bar wrappers.

And you know what the best part is? Those little words make the whole thing fucking legal. What would it be like if you could just murder a bunch of people and it was fucking legal?

We know what that’s like. We know it deep in our cashew-dusted souls.

We don’t process milk though; it makes us a little gassy.

America is in a nutrition crisis. We need to stop eating highly-processed, chemical-filled fast food, or every one of our children will have autism by the year 2027. But why eat a hamburger with mysterious FDA-approved meat when nature’s bounty lies at the end of your driveway?

That’s why I, RFK Jr., somehow the nephew of one of America’s most inspirational presidents of all time, am opening a food truck. We will serve nothing but the finest foraged meats, personally selected by your Secretary of Health and Human services on my way to the office each morning.

You can find us parked near the intersection of I-295 and I-495 for an authentic “farm to table” experience. Just check the roof for the “Catch of the Day.”

Sandwiches

• $21 BLT: Badger, Lynx, and Tortoise. Available seasonally when I go to the Southwest to get my tan on.

• $19 The Roben: A classic American grilled sandwich with Swiss cheese, sauerkraut, Thousand Island dressing, and this stunned songbird that flew into my freshly washed window.

• $14 Grilled Cheese: It’s not cheese. It’s … something else.

Platters

• “Whale of a Meal”: 85 pounds of grilled sperm whale blubber (Market price).

• $25 Rocky Raccoon: Freshly severed raccoon genitals served over sprouted alfalfa and quinoa.

• $28 Steak Bearnaise: It’s the most intact parts of a bear I found rotting in the woods, smothered in a blended emulsion of bear viscera with eggs I stole from my neighbor’s parakeet.

Sides

• $14 Bear Claws

• $16 Hush puppies

Drinks

• $4 Water mixed with this blue shit I read about on MAHA Facebook.

• $5 Alpaca milk that’s been sitting on the counter all day.

• $5 Unsweetened iced tea.

• $8 Bear piss.

Secretary of State Little Marco here. First of all, I’ve been instructed to never apologize, so this isn’t that.

What happened is, the graphic designers got it all wrong. When President Trump said he was assembling a Board of Peace, what he really meant was he was “bored of peace.” The marketing firm passed it off to some junior-grade designer who totally misheard it, and now it’s on all the letterhead, the website, and even the commemorative NFTs that we’re selling for $100 a pop.

I think the guy was named Julio. Rest assured, he is currently on a bus to Alligator Alcatraz.

I don’t know why everyone is so surprised. President Trump has been very clear with the American people that he is not interested in peace. Did you not notice the little coup we just ran in Venezuela? Or maybe the “excursion” to Iran that’s killed over 8,000 people across the middle east? Does that sound like the actions of a man interested in peace? Please.

If this is upsetting, the international community can only blame itself. By not awarding President Trump the Nobel Peace Prize, Norway sent a clear signal that President Trump should consider himself off the chain. I mean, everyone who doesn’t win the world’s most prestigious award for stopping war should at least get to start a few, right?

And don’t tell me that the FIFA Peace Prize counts. It was a thoughtful bribe, but the President has instructed me that soccer is unamerican and for pussies. If WWE starts awarding a peace prize, we would, of course, reassess our posture.

The Bored of Peace Foundation is a private institution, with President Trump as Chairman for Life. However, it worked closely with the State Department and War Department on critical missions to alleviate presidential boredom brought on by a depressing outbreak of peace, especially in the Middle East.

Ever since the Gaza war wrapped up last year, it was yawn city in the Situation Room. Yeah, there was the Ukraine conflict, but the front line has barely moved in four years. What a snooze-fest! And the landscape there is so bleak. The President didn’t want to see more wrinkly babushkas wailing about their burned homes. He needed causalities right out of Central Casting.

That’s why the Bored of Peace was so excited to partner with us on the Iran war. The United States military has, of course, provided the actual ordinance and bodies for the conflict, but the Bored has been incredibly helpful setting us up for success. They laid out a clear three-point plan to end President Trump’s peace-induced boredom in no time:

1. Attack without telling anyone why, ensuring an open-ended conflict.

2. Strap fifty pounds of fireworks onto every Tomahawk missile so that the explosions look really flipping cool.

3. Do it really half-assed, thus radicalizing the next generation of formerly peace-minded Iranian youth and ensuring the conflict remains fresh and exciting for years to come.

Also, please don’t confuse the B.O.P. with two other initiatives the White House has on the backburner. There’s the Bored of Piece, which is an exploratory committee that the President is assembling to look into alternatives to pizza Fridays (let’s face it, it’s going to be cheeseburgers, but there has to be a process). Also, I’m not talking about the Board of Pieces, which is a Settlers of Catan group that JD Vance is trying to put together on Wednesdays. Don’t tell him I know about it, though. I’m pretending I don’t get his Signal chats.

With exciting opportunities in Cuba, Taiwan, the West Bank, Sudan, Yemen, China, and North Korea, rest assured that the Bored will be able to provide decades of quality content that will outlive this administration.