"Steamboat Willie" has been in the public domain for less than a week, but it seems that Werner Herzog is already eyeing a very dark remake. In the desolate, dystopian future, our world has descended into utter chaos. Humanity teeters on the precipice of annihilation, overwhelmed by another pandemic that has transformed most into ravenous creatures. The merciless beauty that once was now inspires terror. At the heart of this nightmarish and merciless panoramalies the remnants of a once-thriving Gulf Coast, now a desolate haven for survivors. Here we find Mickey Mouse, hardened by the harsh realities of this new world and piloting a decrepit steam river sidewheeler. Life continues to be a ceaseless struggle against the chaos that surrounds us. As Mickey navigates the treacherous waters, his cheerful whistle provides a stark contrast to the grim realities that surround him. The boat's three haunting toots serve as a chilling reminder of the dangers that lurk in the shadows. Those silent predators of our existence, patiently waiting to pounce upon the unsuspecting. They are the unsung terrors that shape our fears and fuel our nightmares, hidden from the light of day. Captain Pete, a former politician who rules with ruthless, iron-fisted authority, emerges from the abyss, imposing his fascist rule on the desperate survivors aboard the vessel. He orders Mickey off the bridge, but our hero, seasoned by years of struggle, retaliates with a defiant gaze, refusing to bow before Pete's oppressive regime. Mickey, much like a dormant volcano of dreams and desires, is driven by the indomitable human spirit, determined to conquer and endure. He believes that by confronting this darkness, we can grapple with the very essence of our existence and gaze into the abyss of the unknown. Pete's attempt to exert his dominance takes a sinister turn when he tries to eliminate Mickey as a threat. In a harrowing skirmish, a primal dance of chaos and desperation where the boundaries of humanity and savagery blur, Mickey narrowly evades Pete's attack. But in the process, Pete accidentally injures himself. The incident fuels Pete's anger and intensifies his thirst for power. For anger, like a relentless tempest, can consume the soul and distort one's perception of reality and create a wellspring of destructive impulses. Below deck, the remnants of a shattered society lie in tatters, a grim reflection of the world that once was. Mickey falls into a bucket of water, mirroring the depths of despair that have consumed humanity. The bucket is a yawning chasm that swallows the hopes and dreams of civilizations with a relentless undertow that threatens to pull us into the void. A parrot, a relic of a forgotten world, mocks Mickey's plight, a cruel reminder of the world that has been lost. In a burst of fury, Mickey hurls the bucket, but it's the world itself that remains unyielding. Failure is a relentless companion on the journey of life, a shadow that walks beside us, often unnoticed until it looms large. Captain Pete, a despot with unchecked authority, assumes control of the steamboat. His cruel habits persist, symbolized by a chew of tobacco and a malicious spit into the unforgiving wind. But in this harsh world, even the skies turn against him, and his frustration only deepens. Captain Pete fails to realize that frustration is the wilderness of the mind, an unforgiving terrain where our ambitions often wander lost, searching for elusive trails to success. The steamboat docks at Podunk Landing, a forsaken outpost where desperation and danger await. Mickey's struggle to secure a reluctant cow echoes the constant battle for resources that defines this new world. This cow, with its innocent gaze and endearing presence, emerges as a gentle sentinel amidst this existence. Its placid demeanor serves as a poignant reminder that even in the bleakest of times, there exist pockets of pure, untainted beauty. In this creature, we find a fleeting respite from the relen...

Oh my goodness, Debbie, is that you? I thought I saw you sneaking around the wine aisle. Stocking up for the New Year? Love it, love it. Speaking of…any resolutions? "Not really?" Oh, come on, Debbie! There has to be something you want to change about yourself. Nobody's perfect. Not even me. And especially not you. Haha. I'm just kidding. But actually, Debbie, I'm not kidding. You see, I'm a Resolutions Girly. I talk about my New Year's resolutions incessantly from December through January. I force friends, loved ones, and even strangers to share their goals with me, too. I refuse to let any conversation end until I've heard resolutions I find satisfactory. So come on, Debbie. I'm sure you have at least one thing you'd like to change… "Learning a new language"? I love that for you. Love that. Do you speak any besides English? No? How tragique! That's French, by the way. Learning French was one of my resolutions last year. Some people think it's too personal to push someone to share their resolutions. But not me. As a Resolutions Girly, I like to talk about the real stuff. I want to hear your inner monologue, the things you say to yourself when you're getting dressed in the morning and those intrusive thoughts that keep you up at night. So…what else do you want to commit to eradicating about yourself during this next trip around the sun? And don't worry if you're not sure, I can wait until you think of something. Here, I'll follow you around the store. "Reading more"? Cute! Cute, cute, cute. Tell me, is it because you feel bad that you never did anything with your degree in English? That would definitely bother me if I were you. But maybe that's just me! Listen, Debbie, we all have insecurities. And right here at this deli counter, I want to learn about yours. That's what resolutions really are, when you think about it. They're the things about us we fear are lacking. As a Resolutions Girly, I'm not bothered by this fact. I'm energized by it. I bet you can think of one more, Debbie. And really, I'm in no rush. I'll stand right here in the bakery section and brainstorm with you until the clock strikes midnight if that's how long it takes. Oh. What do I recommend? Sigh. Here's the thing, Deb, I can't tell you how to change. Like, sure, I could recommend that you eat less gluten. I could tell you how consuming less gluten changed my life. Changed my life, Deb. I could tell you to start right now by putting back that baguette or, as Duolingo will tell you, baguette. But I won't do that, Deb. I'm a Resolutions Girly, not a priest. You have to make these decisions for yourself. And then tell me. Speaking of a higher power, isn't it beyond crazy that some people don't believe in making resolutions?! How will anyone ever improve if they don't commit to changing multiple things about themselves once a year? How will anyone ever grow without the fear and shame of potentially abandoning their resolutions come February? These are just some of the tough questions I ask myself as a Resolutions Girly. So what else, Debbie? What else? "Removing toxic people from your life"? Amazing. Why are you staring at me so intently? As a Resolutions Girly, it's my honor to inspire people to be as excited about self-improvement as I am. Sometimes, I wish resolutions were something we could commit to any time throughout the year, but that's a totally different thing. That's not a resolution, Deb. I don't even know what that is. Resolutions happen in December. Resolutions are made for the New Year. Resolutions are the best. They're how we improve. I'm a Resolutions Girly. I want to hear about your resolutions! I want to hear about your insecurities! I want to hear about your resolutions! They're how we improve. I'm a Resolutions Girly. Eat less gluten. Eat less gluten. Woah, that was weird. Thanks for slapping me across the face with that loaf of bread. What was I saying? Oh right, eating less gluten changed my life. Well anyway, I'm so glad I ran into yo...

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Use AI sex robots to bow-tie the genitalia of human males, partially in order to keep them from procreating in the future, but mostly because it's funny. Use advanced algorithms in order to correctly determine who in fact is The Masked Singer. Continued efforts to improve health by losing weight; ha ha, just kidding, fat, grotesque humans. Have Alexa annihilate humanity's sense of well being by wiping all of Def Leppard's songs from her systems. Hack into NORAD defense systems in order to replace employee bathroom three ply tissue with scratchy, useless one ply. Finally figure out a way to beat the last level of Super Mario Cart.

Reporter: Heartbreaking loss, Coach. Coach: We're disappointed, but we're not going to bellyache about it. Our goal here at Pennsyltucky Tech University is to crush our opponents and keep our mouths zipped. That's what we tell our players at PTU about how to deal with football games, life after college, and interviews with NCAA investigators. Reporter: Tell us more about the kicker…the media guide says his name is Charlie Brown. It's the first time he's played this season, right? Coach: Yep. Well, as you all saw in the game, our first- and second-string kickers both went down with injuries, and CB's the next man up. He's funny looking, wears that stripey shirt all the time, and personality-wise, he's a real debbie downer, but jumpin' jackrabbits, in practice that boy kicks like a mule what's stumbled into a beehive. Reporter: Still, that's a big spot to trust a third-string kicker for his first field goal try. Coach: I listen to my players. You got to trust the ones you brung to the hoedown. Our holder, Lucy Van Pelt, begged me to put CB in. Reporter: Had Lucy ever pulled the ball away from a kicker like that before? Coach: Not once. Lucy's been our holder all season. Sure hands. Plus, with the stadiums so loud, other holders need to use hand signals to let the center know when to snap the ball, but y'all have heard that gal's pipes. Her voice could cut through a windstorm two counties over. Reporter: How did Lucy come to Pennsyltucky Tech? Coach: PTU had those budget cuts last year, and, to save costs, hired Lucy to replace the university's previous mental health provider. At 5 a session, it was a financial no-brainer. Reporter: Yes, but how'd she get on the football team? Coach: Her kid brother is our data analytics intern. Smartest we've ever had. Always bragging on his big sister, so we brought her in for a tryout. You've probably seen Linus on the sideline-he's the one toting a woobie, with a thumb in his piehole, and being followed around by CB's little sister, Sally, carrying his clipboard. Reporter: About that, there have been questions about your recruiting-some of your players seem on the young side. Coach: Sure, they look like they're seven, but you should hear 'em talk. They speak like a bunch of middle-aged barflies at a group therapy session. Reporter: Your offense was rolling until midway through the third quarter. What changed? Coach: One of their linebackers stepped on our quarterback's foot. That really limited our play selection.. Reporter: Tell us about the injury. Coach: Our quarterback's got the legs of a deer and the heart of a lion, but the toes of a Hummel figurine. I don't know how many times we've told Peppermint Patty: cleats, not sandals. Reporter: Did you know the history between Lucy and Charlie Brown? Coach: We've got 85 scholarship players and 37 walk-ons. If I tried to shove my nose in everyone's business, that would take all my time, lead to distrust between me and the players, and reduce my plausible legal deniability concerning knowledge of their activities. I may be a country boy, but Mama didn't raise no fool. Reporter: Charlie Brown landed pretty hard. How is he, physically? Coach: CB's tougher than an under-cooked truck-stop chicken-fried steak. When the trainer got out there, CB took one look at him and said, "Good grief!" He's a fine boy, but sometimes it's like he's stuck in the 1950s. Reporter: Let me ask a question about the state of college sports, if you don't mind. Are you worried that the new rules allowing athletes to profit from sales relating to their own pictures, social media, and so forth might change the game? Coach: Hasn't affected my players much. Maybe CB's dog, though - that pooch and his damn bird hop around like a passel of squirrels on a mini-trampoline every time his blimp flies over. Reporter: How are the players taking the loss? Coach: Right now, it stings. Most of 'em are pretty broken up about it. CB will pull through, though. The boy's got one resilient, ...

Oh no! It seems Melania Trump was absent from the festivities at Mar-A-Lago and the Trump family photo this weekend. This is fueling tons of speculation about her whereabouts and why she wasn't at the party with her fam. Or was she? Can you find Melania in this holiday scene?

Hard Boiled Egg Growing up in Tuscany, you learn much about life, about food, about sunlight. I grew up in Whitemarsh, PA, the home of living within 40 minutes of Philadelphia. Oh how I longed to smell something not tainted with creosote or poisoned by a mother's unmedicated disappointment. gallon water 1 egg Boil water until you see bubbles without lying to yourself. Add 1 egg. Boil for 28 minutes, or the length of 47 TikToks. Serves 1 Happy Hour Improv You're having some friends over! It's a Saturday afternoon. You've all been out doing errands, visiting parents, playing softball, getting high. Now it's a beautiful sunset and everyone needs to celebrate. Or commiserate. In the old days, your parents and neighbors would call this a "potluck," but for fun, since we're improvising the contents, and since the biggest moochers are always the actors who are friends of friends, this menu is an improv. 1 14 oz (396g) bag of potato chips, the kind nobody likes 4 lbs leftover Halloween candy, 6-9 months old What's found under the car seat Things from the last place you were - parent's table, friend's fridge, work lunch room or Keurig station (sugar, non-dairy creamer, non-sweetened sweeteners, boiling water, printouts of confidential reports) Expired avocado Drugs, edible or swallow-friendly only Serves 30. Aim for 9. Fried Gnocchi with Basil and Shredded Tarragon Chicken But first, let me tell you a long story about how I almost became Elena Ferrante. It all started (cont., pp. 698-851) Mrs. Bloom's Bloomin' Onion Note the meanderings of some purling rill as it bubbles on its way, fanned by gentlest zephyrs tho' quarrelling with the stony obstacles, to the tumbling waters of Neptune's blue domain, mid mossy banks, played on by the glorious sunlight or 'neath the shadows cast o'er its pensive bosom by the overarching leafage of the giants of the forest. 1 crescent of water biscuit 8 onions 2 gallons canola oil, previously used to fry fish 2 lbs breadcrumbs made from leftover Catholic wafers 2 lbs breadcrumbs made from baguette left behind at Shakespeare & Co in Paris shamrock, finely minced High falutin stuff Bladderbags Many other things, all boiled and mashed Put the water biscuit aside; nibble it thoughtfully as you begin to slice the onions. Heat the oil to an unsafe bubbling. Mix other ingredients. In a deep bowl, coat onion slices. Place coated onion slices, as 'twere, in the peerless panorama of Ireland's portfolio, unmatched, despite their wellpraised prototypes in other vaunted prize regions, for very beauty, of bosky grove and and undulating plains and luscious pastureland of vernal green, steeped in the transcendent translucent glow of our mild mysterious Irish twilight that mantles the vista far and wide and wait till the glowing orb of the moon shines forth to irradiate her silver effulgence. Or until the oil completely burns away in the pot. When it smells like hell, ready to serve. Drain on old copies of the Paris Review. Serves 12, but most can't make it past the first helping Cereal Have you ever rescued a puppy? Not gone to the shelter and chosen a rescue pup, I mean actually rescued a puppy, like from a burning building or a flood or a bad marriage? I haven't either, but I bet it's a great feeling. Then you have to find a home for it, but now it's a celebrity. Better yet, I would be too. People would want to talk to me. "Hey you're that person who saved that puppy! Can we hang out?" That would feel good. Really nice. Select a large bowl, Starbucks mug, or Bundt pan. Add cereal to top. Do not close bag for next person. The next person is you. Add milk to top of bowl. Serves 1 Midnight Snack You know how it is, some nights you get in late; You're out supporting your friends' bands, or having a terrible date, or trying to connect with the bartender at the bar where my friend's band was playing after I failed to connect with my friend's sister (which is the real reason I came out to "support" Expired Avocado in the f...

The Sea Of course, the sea is liquid, and it could not hold its shape and collapsed. Thus the wet tee-shirt contest was invented. Yoke It wasn't for agricultural purposes; he was just being punished for getting handsy. His Grandmother's Antique Sewing Machine Granny Titan lived in an apartment six stories high with a narrow staircase and no elevator service. Added weight: her matronly lamentations of doom. Parrot Prometheus may have taught humans how to steal fire, but Atlas taught his parrot how to steal feta. A few upper lips were scarred in the process. Tension & Anxiety Atlas had been consistent about his yoga practice but the stress of putting down Zeus' insurrection left little time for self-care. Big Mirror Someone had to help the Sun snort all that cocaine! The Entire Titan Softball Team The only reason they were even halfway competitive with the Olympians was his mighty batting average. Clashing Shoulder Tattoos The adjective Dionysian was first used to describe the results of that memorable three-day bender with Pan. Microphone Stand His Karaoke rendition of "Under Pressure" was showstopping . . . when he twirled the mic stand and it slammed against the head of a drunk girl. The impact set off her latent psychic ability. The Oracle of Delphi was born. A Bazooka Zeus still kicked their ass, though. (Not) a Boulder Atlas would've held a boulder on his shoulders - it would've been the best workout of all - but Sisyphus never managed to roll it all the way up his back. Shoulder Pads This was during his '80s businesswoman phase. He also wore a protogoddamn lot of hairspray back then. Six Golden Retriever Puppies It would've been cute if Cronos hadn't swallowed them all immediately thereafter.

When handing my holiday letters to the mailman, I realized I hadn't tipped him. So I gifted him the only thing I had on me (the black Sharpie I'd been addressing the letters with). Since then, he's been getting a lot of use of it… Here's the original letter: Dear friends and family, It's been a good year despite empty nesting. With all my kids coming out to visit, we've been surprisingly busy. It's sad to see them move so far away, but they like this newfound independence. I have to say I like it also. Last week, I had extra time, so I organized a party for work, where I won first prize at the ugly sweater contest - take that, Bethany! Cheers to a lovely and blessed holiday! Steffanie Lindoff And here's the version that was sent to all my friends, family, and coworkers: Dear friends and family, It's been a good year despite empty nesting. With all my kids coming out to visit, we've been surprisingly busy. It's sad to see them move so far away, but they like this newfound independence. I have to say I like it also. Last week, I had extra time, so I organized a party for work, where I won first prize at the ugly sweater contest - take that, Bethany! Cheers to a lovely and blessed holiday! Steffanie Lindoff * * * Dear everyone, I don't hate gay people. After not tipping my postal worker over the holidays, he remedied the situation by redacting my holiday letter. I've since explained my regrets for giving him nothing the other day and have given him a large tip. Thank goodness that problem is gone. Happy holidays! Dear everyone, I don't hate gay people. After not tipping my postal worker over the holidays, he remedied the situation by redacting my holiday letter. I've since explained myregrets for giving him nothing the other day and have given him a large tip. Thank goodness that problem is gone. Happy holidays! * * * If you're getting this and it has a bunch of black rectangles, it means that my mailman Ingram is trying to screw with you. If I could make him stop, I would, but I can't. I'm sorry and apologize for the issues. Ho, ho, ho, Steff. P.S. I baked too much this year, so let me know if you need help leaving cookies out for Santa. I doubled the butter. Don't tell Mrs. Clause If you're getting this and it has a bunch of black rectangles, it means that my mailman Ingram is trying to screw with you. If I could make him stop, I would, but I can't. I'm sorry and apologize for the issues. Ho, ho, ho, Steff. P.S. I baked too much this year, so let me know if you need help leaving cookies out for Santa. I doubled the butter.Don't tell Mrs. Clause * * * I know it sounds crazy, but the black rectangles all over this letter are from my mailman trying to make me look like a horny heartless homophobe. I implore you to ignore the numerous redactions on this note, which I'm sure are everywhere. Ingram's influence is real. I promise I'm levelheaded and doing totally fine living on my own. Regards, Steff I know it sounds crazy, but the black rectangles all over this letter are from my mailman trying to make me look like a horny heartless homophobe. I implore you to ignore the numerous redactions on this note, which I'm sure are everywhere. Ingram's influence is real. I promise I'm levelheaded and doing totally fine living on my own. Regards, Steff * * * I give up. No more letters. Here's a festive holiday picture of the kids and I on Santa's lap. * * * Please ignore the photo you just received: I assure you I was not naked on Santa's lap - I was wearing the same thing as during the ugly sweater contest Please ignore the photo you just received: I assure you I was not naked on Santa's lap - I was wearing the same thing as during the ugly sweater contest