35¢  OR  2 cured turkey necks

57° / 42°
smiting likely

66° / 51°
smiting likely

54° / 29°
areas of smiting

73° / 58°
smiting likely

77° / 58°
heavy smiting

“E. recyculus recyculus, et r. cyculus recyculus.”
“From many small bicycles, one bicycle airship.”

vol. CCXXXVI       no. 85,983
Sat., May 29, 1638

Lamentations On Loss

Each and every laundry day, I naively believe it when one of my socks tells me it's just going out for a pack of smokes, never to return. Not even Downy softens the blow.
More or Less Today in American Cheese History: 1864

“Four score and seven years ago, things got real,” famously proclaimed the svelte, agile Abraham “Al” Lincoln, a self-taught gymnastics grandmaster of the highest order. Straight out of Duluth, Minnesota's Danbury Street projects, DJ Linx—as most would come to know him—may also be recognized by the more learned among us as the temporary President of the United States, having served honorably under the auspices of American cheese. The “real” that had recently become decidedly “got” to which Mr. Lincoln referred was the festering new formulation of an even lower quality sandwich gunk known as Confederate cheese. And while the upstart dairy-esque throat globulin wasted no time severing ties with the American cheese from whence it had arisen, it's important to observe its actions through the proper historical context: the sixties were, after all, a turbulent era of free love, proclaimed emancipations, and record low rates on some of Mr. Lincoln's sickest beats and choicest backflips—to say nothing of American cheese's increased value against a war-weakened pound sterling.

Currently renting a copse, thicket, meadow, or clearing? Leasing a field, forest, plateau, or riverbank? Stop throwing your money away! God & Son Realty is the answer to your prayers! With fixed-rate mortgages and no hidden tithings, God & Son will get you to the promised land with the lowest down payment ever begot! With holdings on all seven continents, eight planets, 180 lunar bodies, and Pluto—and with over three-million tax-exempt steeple moorings worldwide—God & Son is sure to have the creation of divine beauty that's right for you! Prefer to contact God & Son from the comfort of your own toilet? No problem! Just put two hands or one hand and one stump together, and start talking to the towel rack … operators are standing by! God & Son Realty … Thou Shalt Not Get Screwed On Closing Costs. (NOTE: God & Son is currently unable to offer realty services in Jerusalem. He and He are sorry for any insurrection this may cause)

Found under the green bench in the northeast corner of Veterans Park: one expired can of Coca-Cola Lime, half-filled with what tasted to me like a roughly 3-to-1 ratio of rainwater runoff to Coca-Cola Lime. If you're still pretty thirsty, please contact Gregory at the lost & found hotline's Coca-Cola Lime desk at your earliest convenience.
Sponsered Content

John's Fire Extinguishers is the premier fire extinguisher sales center that's co-owned by John. Now John promises his fire extinguishers will extinguish your fire, or he'll give you your twelve bucks back—he's just that confident. (Many twelve-dollar processing fees may apply.) John's Fire Extinguishers: “Established Twenty Years Ago, and Helping To Extinguish Fires Since Just Eight To Ten Years After That.”
taftFryerside Chats: The Taft Diaries
The Presidentialiest Thinks Ever Wrote
selected excerpts from the Enchiladas In The Fontanel Period

“Per the series of executive orders I'm said to have signed during three to five average-length stupors, it is now of import most important that I take a moment each noon to note three to five of my most favoritest memories from, presumably, my own life, or, perhaps, those of a different person who's also lived my life. To that end, I note—so as not to be illegal—the following:

• Back when Trey Bonez and Medium-Sized Tyreek first showed me how to throw up the Westside Story sign, and oh how our violent gangs did dance
• When I wondered aloud during my inaugural address why they're still showing the moon in black and white, when the rest of the sky's been in color since fuckin'fuckin' forever
• The year I pretended to be a personified volleyball for a fellow tropical island dweller, mostly between the rescues
• The time I signed the Declaration of Independence and was immediately detained by the National Archives' surprisingly capable security staff
• The week I spent standing on an active bowling lane, stopping all the balls for the troops”
What they'll probably never tell you is that you can't have a catch-22 without having catches 1 through 21 first—and that's one hellhell of a catch-26.  
Can You Even Believe This?!

An elephant's trunk doubles as both nose and anus!anus! Whosoever accused nature of being a humorless, unfeeling piece of garbage has nary avoided a hilarious, grisly, nature-filled death—and no one who's ever glimpsed the look of sheer panic in the eyes of a mighty pachyderm engaged in the process of evacuating its ample bowels would ever even consider positing such a notion, as nature has once again proven her unrivaled comedic mettle with this most unusual setup! It really gives a whole new meaning to the rib-tickling phrase “assass trumpet”—a truth owing primarily to the fact that the phrase had no prior meaning.

Known to lovers of driving to literally anywhere else along Interstate 10 as “The City by the Dirt,” the west Texas town of El Paso recently ratified an addition to its local charter, at long last proclaiming the round, flat kind to be the area's official tortilla.

Established 1403 A.D.         “The World's First Web Pages” *
© Copye Right 1638 RECYCULUS.  ✣   * Printed on 64.1% spider webs.

***  EDITOR'S WORLD'S GREATEST NOTE:  look at-er of picturesque vistas  ***    
      CIRCULATOR:  pass only to clergy laity

RECYCULUS, from the lowercase, italicized recyculus, literally translates to “from many small bicycles, one bicycle airship” — most likely a nod to the extremely respectable publication's earliest days, during which it rode, impressively sans-hands, atop a wave of light-to-moderate interest in secondhand mega-bicycles that began all throughout history, and persisted well past the future.

In an age when draconian town ordinances hadn't yet been applied to enormous bicycles, exceedingly burdensome village laws required all huge local bicycles to take up entire city blocks, thereby — or so went the theory — maximizing computing power. Despite these job-killing regulations — and to say nothing of the continuous, violent Mongol conquest of its central sales office — RECYCULUS managed to stand out from the used-gargantuan-bicycle crowd, thanks in part to its line of similarly-titanic bicycles, based on designs the burgeoning daily newsletter distributor endeavored to license, at tremendous expense, from hundreds of competing outfits specializing in subpar jumbo bicycles.

Finally, in the first six or seven minutes of the winter of 1402, lightning struck. Later that day, in a quiet moment following the fires, came a turning point: Whilst hopelessly tending to his many serious burns, founder H. Angus Recyculus (no relation) took it upon himself to seize an opportunity to break into the centuries-shy-of-being-conceived-of collection of world wide webs, refocusing the samely-renamed RECYCULUS's efforts on becoming the world's first * and only ** daily issuer of high-test web*** pages — a distinction it maintains, on both counts, as of about 3 PM eastern, 2 PM central.

In those first few thousand heady days, the simple act of “uplinking” new content to the infant web printing press required tens of thousands of recently-paroled, hastily-minted engineers to tightly roll up each and every lovingly-crafted submission, before squeezing them into their hometown energy concern's expansive network of live, weather-frayed, high-load municipal trunk cable — itself yet to be invented — while taking great pains all over their humanity and skeletons to avoid allowing the sudden plumes of almost-certainly-unrelated person steam to curl and/or smear the delicate, invaluable blurbs, before allowing good old-fashioned American electricity to do what it does best, dozens of decades before those words would have any meaning at all. Back then — just like pretty recently — RECYCULUS engineers could be found electrocuted along our nation's many miles of pristine, white sand interstate highways; a quaint reminder of a time we were still in until, again, pretty recently.

As any latterly hypnotized student of history will be instructed to recall, RECYCULUS's unprecedented 587-year run came to an abrupt end at 11:59 PM, on that fateful night of December 31, 1989, when its headquarters exploded during the Great Headquarters Explodings of ’89, and shortly thereafter gently floated off to that elephantine bicycle reseller in the sky. Forty minutes later — once every piece of cinder had finally been looted, discarded, or eaten — it became abundantly clear to the wandering hordes that these scant 5.8 × 1083 scanned pages were all that remained of the once great whatever it had been. Another forty minutes later — after the cinder poisoning had largely subsided, and acting on behalf of RECYCULUS without the proper authorization — the mesothelioma-fortified de facto chieftains decided to make each and every issue available, free of charge, to the entire remaining world, with only the moderate wish that their publisher's great, indecipherable legacy never be truly forgotten or understood.

All of us here at RECYCULUS — from H. Angus Recyculus XVII, Sr. (no relation), on down to the lowliest Senior Vice President of Worldwide Distribution, each of whom has most definitely not**** gone on to live a life of magnificent luxury within the plush, palatial confines of the literal new head office they collided with the instant they missed the turn for the metaphorical one — sincerely hope you'll find something to enjoy in each of these 5.8 billion trillion trillion sextillion nonillion modest, extremely amazing, humble, profoundly transcendent, ordinary pages of woven web. (Maybe over a long***** weekend, or something.) And we say that not merely for the sake of the families of the millions who have died meaningless, excruciating deaths to bring you these bland yet succulent texts — but also for the many, many, many millions more who have survived; bedridden by intractable full-body hair pain and roving blood spasms, having long ago been rendered physically incapable of instigating death's sweet release.

This one's for the fans.

* presumably, based on fonts
** based on searches conducted in 1997, while the modems were in the shop — individual results may vary, if they so choose
*** prior to that point, most of the world's pages were spun from leftover cocoon fuzz
**** based on the most up-to-date lies available at the time of the lying
***** likely one of the longest on record, because even if you're a quick reader and were able to enjoy one issue per minute, it'd still take you 1.1 quinvigintillion years — or around 79.8 million billion trillion quadrillion septillion times longer than the universe has even existed — to enjoy them all (or you could just print them for later, in which case maybe ask about the bulk rate on ink, because the sheets of paper required to do so would stretch 205.9 unvigintillion light years across the cosmos, or — were the universe a sphere — roughly 13.9 trillion quadrillion quintillion septillion googol trips around it)


ߜ  Brian Adams

ʘ  Drew Adamski

ȸ  Justin Barricks

  Jack Oolders

Φ  Dave Prague

  Zack Zagranis

  Steve Brunton
  at-large contributor

ȼ  Aaron Casey
  at-large contributor

Δ  Dena Darvish

  at-large contributor

Ϟ  Allan Heifetz
  at-large contributor

϶  Lisa Hytner
  at-large contributor


  Matt Payne
  editor immortalis


email    to contribute