Molly Crabapple

The Dystopian Aftermath of the New York Stock Exchange Breakdown

I wake up from my whiskey stupor to the scent of burning motherboards, and I know that something is wrong. Out the window in New York’s Financial District, two men in torn bespoke suits roast a body over an oil drum. It looks like Thomas Friedman’s, but I can’t be sure.

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The Chilling Reason Our Government Wants to Erase These Americans from History

Andy Stepanian is one of the kindest humans I’ve ever met.

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