In true Corpus Christino fashion, a lot of you thought one of our stories in the February issue may have been real. Someone snapped a picture of our coronavirus/herpes piece and posted it on FB asking, “is this real?”. On one page alone it got almost 400 shares (rounding up from 350). A couple of my thirsty, online-savvy friends were mad at me because the post didn’t even feature a link to our social media, but to be honest, I prefer when things are truly organic. I don’t do any of this
for the credit, or the likes, and the lovely advertisers that keep me stocked up on Diet Cherry Dr. Pepper and cashews, know a viral Vent article when they see it on the Facebook. Now it seems that soon our city will actually be part of the world-wide coronavirus outbreak. So rather than making more fun of a very serious issue that is scaring the crap out of my 13-yearold daughter, I have decided to publish a list of tips to help you in this possible upcoming crisis. You can find those in this issue, but be warned that there is probably coronavirus all over these papers. If you are reading this it’s too late for you anyway. I would advise that you tell all those around you, whatever they do, DO NOT pick up a copy of the Vent. Uh wait… never mind that, it’s totally safe. Additionally, in this issue, you will find an application for the What-aBurger, What-aBirth Contest. Yes, some people will see that and also assume it is a real contest and follow the instructions and turn in their application to a What-a-Burger location, even
though the rules seem a little strange. Why not join in the fun and fill one out as well, we always love it when the corporate office reaches out and asks us to stop making fun of them. Let’s see if those new Chicago owners have a sense of humor. One last piece of business, in case of a mandatory quarantine the Vent may only be available online. So, start following us now on all the various platforms: Issuu.com/theventnation ventdaily.com @theventnation This deadly epidemic is probably exactly what I need to step up my digital game and start producing regular online content. Maybe, when all is said and done, and all the elderly people are buried I’ll finally decide to start that podcast I keep talking about. If that’s not a silver lining, then you, my friend, and a mother***ing pessimist. V
To Advertise in The Vent Daily Contact William: TheVentDaily@gmail.com or call 361-549-6213
Publisher/Creative Director: Wil Henneberger Contributing Writers: Will Vent, Javi Luna, P. Buttercup, Mike Skinner - Zombie Art by Russell Tippit Disclaimer:The Vent is a satirical publication and is not intended for readers under 18 years of age. The Vent uses invented names in all of its stories, except in cases when public figures are being satirized. Any other use of real names is accidental and coincidental. Any statements made expressed or implied in the Vent are solely those of columnist and do not represent the position of our advertisers, who do not accept responsibility for such statements. All characters, products, and photos published are trademark and copyright of their respective owners. facebook.com/theventnation
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Letters From the Candidates To Whom It May Concern: Look, we’re rich. We aren’t just rich. We are Richie Rich rich. We are swimming in it as they say. And we don’t care. We want to keep our money. So screw you, America. Tom 1% Steyer and Mike 0.01% Bloomberg
like fuck, man, money an all. Amy is not so keen on me going back to the band. How’d ya like that Biden endorsement I dropped in? Flip-kick in the ass, to my supporters, tho’. Progressives thought I’d push off a shove-it but no grinders here, ya know? --See ya, Beto
Dear Editor, Chasten and I are very much looking forward to kissing again. Kissing, holding hands all that sort of normal stuff. The straights have a hard time with it and we’ve restrained ourselves as long as we could but the gloves are off! Gloves, pearls and scarves, oh my! They get so nervous when my hand slides down his backside. The whole “no PDA” thing is just too uptight. Loosen up, girls. I mean, really.
Ya know what!? Ah ken do mor’ push up’s than Biden. Biden has better teeth, shure. But they don’t hold up. Not to the trillionaires and the quadrillionaires, no. Ah’m just gettin’ started with Medicare four awl. I whant everything four awl. Haute Dawgs four awl! Hoodies four awl! May-beh even Suburus four awl! Don’t let the Bern slap your arse on the way out! Ken I say that? Ya know what? Ah’m gonna say it. Bernie Bern Bern
Hugs, Mayor Pete
Vent -- Math. And you don’t get $1,000 bucks a month. --Yang p.s. Give me back my tie. Hi there, Vent! How are you, doing, babe? I dropped out early because well you knew a girl couldn’t win, right? So I came home, took a hot bath with some bubbles and grabbed a glass of wine, smoked a bit and now it’s all good. Dear Editor: As I return to the United States Senate I want you to be fully aware that I will be taking my post it notes with me. Pete may be perfect, but I really am nice. Nice and organized. Despite what you may have heard about combs and salads. Amy (not Beto’s wife--the other Amy) Hey there, Vent! Que Paso from El Pas-O. I’ve been hanging out eating Whatburgers. (What’s up with that Whatbirth guy, huh? I don’t get it.) So like, I’m gonna need some new trucks for my board, man. I’m not that into, like, fundraising or anything so
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-- <3 Kirst Dear Vent, I’m a pasty white dude no one remembers. I never made a debate or anything like that but I had a commercial. A real ad on TV. That counts for something, don’t it? Thanks for the good times, Inslee, Hickenlooper, Blasio, Ryan, Sestak, Delaney, Bennett...., ....., .... De-her Ed-i-tour, Ah whant yous awl to know what Ah’m fightin’ four. Ah’m four awl of us. Hey! Hey! Ah am not old, Ah’m ancient. And ya know what?
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Dear Vent, I’m done. I’ve knocked doors, I’ve dialed numbers until my fingers bled and talked myself hoarse. Done I tell ya. I don’t care who drops out next. The pretty lady from Hawaii or the cute blond girl from New York -- and no I don’t mean the old lady with all the plans -- there was another one. And the soccer mom, a Susan. Just like all the white guys. Do you know how many old white guys there were? And there were some folks that weren’t old white guys and now who is left? Old White Guys. Even that youngish white punk kid is still pretty old. Too freakin old for a skateboard, anyway. There was the math guy and then that Butt-edgeedge (insert--ha!--bad gay joke here) and then there is the not so black guy. There actually is still another black guy but no one has ever heard of him. Scrooge McDuck and Richie Rich are gone too. But I DON’T CARE. The cheeto is gonna win anyway. So, yeah, were screwed. -- Burned without so much Feeling. p.s.I forgot there was a black lady too but no one cares about the girls. V
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What-a-Burger presents: What-a-Birth Contest by Wil Henneberger
Corpus Christi, TX - Fresh off of a very successful What-a-Wedding Campaign, culminating in a Valentine’s Day exchange of nuptials at a Texas What-a-Burger location, the company has announced their newest contest opportunity. The What-a-Birth Contest will give needy patrons the chance to turn their favorite What-a-Burger location into a delivery room for the upcoming birth of their child. All of Corpus Christi’s 21 locations including North Beach and Padre Island will be participating in this contest and those who give birth at the What-a-Burger Baseball Field location will have the extra honor of delivering their baby right into the hands of Corpus Christi Hooks catcher, Carlos Canelon. Newly crowned President of Whata-Burger, Ned Elson told reporters, “We wanted to show that even though ownership has moved to Chicago, we are still proud of the restaurant’s south Texas roots, and what’s more south Texan that low-incomes and
high pregnancy rates?” “With healthcare costs so high,” CFO Janette Sikes said, “we are happy to do our part and provide this extra service that will help new moms in need avoid a hospital bill that would cost upwards of 500 #2’s with cheese. Plus in a lot of ways Whata-Burgers are just like hospitals, we are open 24 hours, you can always find old people and diabetics here, and you have a high likelihood of leaving sicker than you were when you came in.” There will only be 21 official winners chosen based on an application available at www.whatabirth.com, but all expecting moms are welcome to take advantage of the new service by simply dropping in whenever they are dilated to what-a-size. While all births will take place at restaurant locations, in-house counsel for the fast food chain, Mike Gibs, made clear in a statement that the actual deliveries will be handled by Favor or DoorDash.
OFFICIAL CONTEST RULES & INFORMATION Age restrictions: For legal purposes all participants must be over 10 years of age.
Naming Rights: All first and middle baby naming rights are granted to What-a-Burger for promotional use. You may choose from the following first and middle names: Patty Melt, Honey Butter, What-a-Catch, Extra Pickles or simply BOB. If you prefer the more dignified choice, Dr. Pepper Shake is also an option. Those who do not designate a name preference shall simply be called, What-a-Burger Jr. Health Insurance: Insurance is not necessary to participate, however if participants do have medical insurance, then they must give birth at an in-network restaurant location. Termination of Contest: In the event of an emergency or a back-up in the drive-thru of over 12 cars, What-a-Burger is authorized to terminate the pregnancy contest, at no fault to the establishment. Placenta: What-a-Burger assumes ownership of the placenta and all other fluids and tissues no longer attached to the What-a-Burger Jr. Participants may not ask why, because deep down they don’t really want to know. facebook.com/theventnation
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WHAT-A-BIRTH 2020 APPLICATION Name: _________________________________ Age: ______ Age of Fetus: _________ How many TikTok followers do you have? _____________ Spicy or Fancy Ketchup onesie with your order? _______________ What gender would you like assigned to your baby? _______________ Circumcision: Would you like regular or extra pickle? _______________ In a tweetable amount of words, tell us why you would like to have your baby in a What-a-Burger location?_______________ ___________________________________________ ___________________________________________ ___________________________________________ ___________________________________________ ___________________________________________ Sign acknowledging that you have read and understand all of the official rules. SIGN______________________ DATE________ To Officially Enter: Text a photo of this application 361-549-6213 - Then turn your application in to the manager or drive thru of any local What-a-Burger. www.ventdaily.com
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Do Not Touch Your Face:
Of course, now that you read that, you’ve probably never wanted to touch your face more in your whole miserable life. Do it! NO STOP! That was a test, and most of you idiots failed. If you have ever had pinkeye, then you probably will not master this skill.
Be Gross:
I have long been a firm believer in the power of the human immune system, but too many people coddle their bodies like they are going to live forever. Never clean your phone, never clean your keyboard. Pick up strange gross children every chance you get. If you already bite your finger nails then you are ahead of the curve, but go the extra mile and chew those toenails too, especially on that big toe with the fungus.
Get a Mask:
Do Not Wash Your Hands:
If your hands are fresh and clean then what are you going to do with them? They’ll be on your own face like coronavirus on grannies’ panties. Keep those hands as disgusting as possible, the smell of your hands should be so bad that you have to hold them literally an arm’s length away just to avoid vomiting.
It’s been said that surgical masks will not stop you from getting the virus, but The Vent says, you will 100% need a mask. Crazy things are going to happen during these times. Things you will not be proud of and things you will not want to do unless your identity is protected. Get a mask that covers your entire face while you rob your neighbors or loved ones for their supply of homemade hand sanitizer. We recommend anonymous style Guy Fawkes masks, or a Scream- ghost face killer mask for the coolest look.
Stay Out Cashews:
of
Let Go of Grandma:
Accept the fact that Grandma is probably not going to make it. This is a good thing. With quarantines in place and no more paycheck
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Eat Some Shrooms:
Granted, this has not been proven to deter the spread of coronavirus in any way, but with a high enough dose you can actually calm any worry on your mind. Best of all the effects are long-lasting. If it works to chill out cancer patients, it’ll definitely help ease your freaking out about losing grandma after you coughed in her soup.
Up on Hand Sanitizer: Dad’s Stock Some things will become scarce
Dammit! You kids know that the can of cashews next to my recliner is for me. They cost a GD arm and leg. Never has it been more important to keep your grubby little hands out of my cashews.
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you will soon run out of money. You will need that inheritance and hopefully a new place to live rent free. In fact, we advise that you move in now to get that spikey virus ball rolling. Leave the plastic on the furniture.
during this outbreak and one of those is Purell. Get ahold of gallons now while you have a chance. You will need this to trade for food and sex and less important things too. If you are smart you already used your Cash App to buy stock in that stuff. On a side note, always have a fake stash of hand sanitizer made from flesh eating acid in case you are held up by a neighbor or loved one. V
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If you wanna make a move then you better come in. It’s just ability to reason that wears so thin. Living and dying and the stories that are true. Secrets to a good life’s knowing when
you’re through. (Chorus) Black coat, white shoes, black hat, Cadillac. Yeah. The boy’s a time bomb. Black coat, white shoes, black hat, Cadillac. Yeah.
If you fancied yourself a punk rocker in the 90’s, first of all you didn’t use the word fancied. Secondly, you could not have escaped the raspy vocals and punk/dancehall sounds of Rancid. The band, fronted by Tim Armstrong, was on the poppy side of Punk, just like me. Differentiating between subgenres was not a luxury you could afford in small town South Texas when the only way to get your Manic-Panic-stained hands on a Punk track at the local Sam Goody was to shell out $14.99 for the motion picture soundtrack of Angus or Biodome. In Kingsville, Texas, Rancid was just as underground as Minor Threat, Bad Brains or Operation Ivy, Tim’s lesser-known previous group. When they started playing Rancid’s Time Bomb on one of the mainstream radio stations from nearby Corpus Christi I was amazed at how far Punk Rock had come. Whether it was the punkifying of mainstream or the mainstreaming of punk, I was just glad to hear bands like No Doubt, The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, or Green Day getting regular airplay in our market. I would imagine bands like NOFX sent broadcasters a memo advising that they not dare play their tracks on piss-ant red state radio. That, or the censors weren’t sure if the song Hot Dog Down a Hallway would require a radio edit version. I think technically it squeaks right past the Man’s lyrical standards; their song Please Play This Song on the Radio does not. As I write down these memories it becomes clear just how much I owe
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The boy’s a time bomb. Well, he’s back in the hole where they got him living like a rat, but he’s smarter than that, nine lives like a cat. 15 years old, take him to the youth
to so many people who helped put me on my particular musical path. Doug was one of my first guides. I never got to know him very well, but he went to college at Texas A&M Kingsville, which was across the street from the government housing projects in which I lived during the second half of my coming of age. Doug’s enrollment is an assumption; he may have just been hanging around the campus a lot. There weren’t a lot of places for skaterpunks to hang out in K-ville. Doug was kind enough to pass down mixtapes and even loan the occasional CD (To name a few… Voodoo Glow Skulls’ Firme; Millencolin’s Life on a Plate; and a Fat Wreck Chords compilation called Survival of the Fattest which, for the cover art, used a version of the evolutionary chart that ended with the future fat version of myself.). This was a big deal, as it was still the era when we were always hella-worried about the scratching of these precious Compact Discs. Two decades later, when I picture Doug in my mind, what I get is a short-haired, bleached-blonde version of Pauly Shore minus the Weasel persona, plus several facial piercings. At the very least, he would have had to have his brow pierced to garner such credibility from me and my up and coming skater crew. I’m 100% sure he drove an original VW Beetle. He was one of two “bug” owners in that scene but the other one cancelled out any street cred that gave him by choosing a long-board as his secondary form of travel. This was back when only fags
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authority home. First thing you learn, you got to make it in this world alone. Chorus X1
Now he’s gotten out, he’s gotten free, he’s gotta go, gotta car. He’s 21 years old, he’s runnin’ numbers
from the bar. His pager’s beepin’, he’s getting deep in. Whatever he can move on in you know that kid’s a creepin’. Chorus X1 Tears come from the razor that’s been tattooed below his eye.
His mother cries, she knows that he is strong enough to die. He’s rollin’ in the Cadillac, it’s midnight sunroof is down. Three shots ring out the hero’s dead, the new king is crowned Chorus X2
rode long-boards and when we still used the word fag as a synonym for jerk-off. That longboarder was not too bad; he did teach us all to hacky sac and always cruised his plank with gay pride. Maybe… he was more punk than all of us. ++++++ Growing up I always thought I was the character portrayed in the lyrics of Time Bomb. Don’t worry, I have since identified my delusions of grandeur as a problem and reined them in. When I got to prison (camp), I quickly realized that my 9th grade underground newspaper, silly classroom disruptions or oneman-protests for my school to recognize MLK Day as a holiday were nonsense compared to what my first inmate mentor was up to at age 15. To be fair, by that age I had graduated from freshman fits to sophomore shoplifting, as well as regularly breaking curfew (the city’s curfew, not just my mom’s). Still, I had nothing on this youngster I will refer to as Prison Doug. (What? If I wanted to make up fancy names, I’d write a novel.) When Prison Doug was 15 he was getting booted out of his parents’ house after they discovered his stash
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of “product” along with a firearm in his room. He moved into his first apartment paying 6-months’ rent ahead in cash. When you do that, you don’t much need to show valid identification. First thing you learn, you gotta make it in this world alone. For almost a decade, he lived that life, the Game. His operation grew and halfway through his criminal career he was maintaining several apartments. One was for business, one for living and another was for his baby-mama. He also paid for a number of kick-ass vehicles for family members. Soon after he added another baby-mama to the mix and one more for good measure. No judgment from me. He did support them albeit through illegitimate means. Of course, we are all in this place for some kind of criminal endeavor and for most of us whatever it was that got us locked up was only the tip of our unethical iceberg. Continued on page 12
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Rancid continued
I try not to be a judgmental prick these days and I give everyone a fair shake. Prison Doug is one of the kindest, most positive people I have ever met, not just in prison camp but also in life camp. He was a decade my junior but it was easy to see that there were some things I could learn from him. His first book recommendation was Emotional Intelligence by Daniel Goleman. (I haven’t gotten to it yet but it’s on my list.) My prison camp mentor was always there to field any stupid questions I had or to offer encouragement. We got to know one another pretty well over my first few weeks of incarceration. The same generosity of Original Doug was reflected when Prison Doug would come by my bunk with a pack of Duplex cookies and we would talk about girls or our kids or about girls. As a young wealthy “party favor” supplier Prison
Doug had his fill of encounters with the opposite sex. With handfuls of confetti and streamers, it wasn’t hard for him to score with the freespirited ladies you might find at last call at the club or at some hectic house party. Some girls are just addicted to that stuff. He had lost 100 pounds over the last year in prison and even though our backgrounds were at opposite ends of the criminal spectrum, I think his big-guy heart still related to my big-guy stomach. His workout regimen was simple; All Handballall the time (weather permitting). He warned that he would have me out there with him shedding pounds all summer. I appreciated his enthusiasm. ++++++ As a teenaged petty thief, I couldn’t yet truly relate to Tim Armstrong
or the songs Rancid wrote, on a practical level. I still can’t 100%, but I know a little bit more these days about brotherhood and a lot more about social injustices. Still, at the virginal age of 15 I felt something when I played their album And Out Come the Wolves. I related to that album the way a former fatty could feel for a current chubster. Maybe I was feeling the teenage version of Armstrong, maybe he was feeling me. If that sounds farfetched, I already told you I have a history with delusion. All these years and I’ve never seen Rancid live. Blame it on the fact that I live too far from, or didn’t have a reliable vehicle to make it to the big cities through which they toured. They did hit Corpus Christi the one year Warped Tour came here but I couldn’t afford to go. A fortunate buddy of mine even met the band when they patronized the local Best Buy during his shift. And that buddy was Mark Zuckerberg. Actually, it was just some guy you’ve never heard of. Once I was a little older, I was too busy being a broke dad to attend many live shows. I finally caught up with Tim Armstrong at another Warped Tour but by then he was in The Transplants (of Garnier Fructis shampoo commercial Fame) and it just wasn’t the same. I may never get to see Rancid on stage, but in the grand scheme of things it could be a lot worse. +++++ My fast friend Prison Doug has been through real hell compared to any entertainment related inconveniences I have experienced. He’s been shot multiple times, but the time he came closest to dying was when he was stabbed. Some dirt-bags set up a buy with Prison Doug but then decided to rob him and leave him for dead. Not so simple a task when it comes to someone with nine lives like a cat. My prison BFFFM (best friend for fifteen months) had bounced back from everything life had thrown his way. He had the rap sheet of the Devil himself, but he
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also had the voice of… you guessed it, an angel. Yes, another delightful surprise about Prison Doug; he had the sweetest soprano this side of the fence. Often times inmates would gather ‘round the chapel piano as he played and toggled his vocals between a soft, high-pitched chorus and straight up thug raps never lacking in authenticity. His rap voice was quick and raspy not unlike Armstrong’s. His rap career had achieved mild success on the outside. A couple of tracks he had recorded were getting airtime on the Dallas airwaves, which is fortunate since international rap star might be the only other career path that can support the lifestyle to which he has become accustomed. Despite his situation he does his best to keep up with his kids and their moms and even the parents who first tossed him out. In an unconventional act of solidarity his babies mamas (does some kind of Attorneys General plurality rule apply here? Baby Mamas?) routinely gather the kids at their grandparents house so they can get to know their half-siblings. If you are mentally criticizing Prison Doug’s family situation, don’t worry, it’s only because you’re a dick. This artist/criminal/philosopher is a conundrum wrapped in an enigma covered in prison cafeteria gravy. Where the song deviates from this real life time bomb is in the last verse when the Armstrong’s character dies and a new King is crowned. Prison Doug will tell you, with total sincerity, that coming to prison saved his life by taking him out of the Game. However, the true irony of this story came a few months after I first met my new friend. His sentence was vacated due to to the fact that his indictment was decided by an expired Grand Jury. One day, he was abruptly transferred out of the camp. Hopefully this doesn’t mean his clock has been reset. ++++++ As for the original Doug… I also don’t know what became of him. I think he went on to make a few more ridiculous movies like BioDome and now performs in equally ridiculous stand up comedy clubs.
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