30¢  OR  1 shit-tonshit-ton of copper

69° / 47°
chance of bees

86° / 71°
bees off and on

72° / 55°
no bees

83° / 66°
bees off and on

85° / 60°
slight chance of bees

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

vol. CCVI       no. 75,126
Sat., Sep. 6, 1608



Curious Youngster Claims To Have Gotten Drunk, Seriously Swears To God He Was Totally Ripped

NEWTONVILLE, MASS.—15-year-old Danny Rosen found himself in a very dark place this past Wednesday night: the trunk of his father's car. “I don't know what I was thinking,” the solid D-student explained. “I guess I just wanted to see what it felt like to be locked in a car trunk, and I was definitely, totally drunk. Off of alcohol.” Rosen's father, local electrician Herman Felstrop, was none too pleased with his son's experimentation, however, having received a 3 A.M. wake-up call from young Rosen's giggling, purportedly inebriated friends. “I know teenagers are already idiots—but this incident really makes you stop and wonder if there was ever a time these three weren't dropped on their heads as children,” Felstrop lamented. The night in question began innocently enough, said Rosen. “Well, my homies and me were hanging out behind the old abandoned farmhouse, so of course I got in my trunk and had my boys shut it, ’cause I was seriously drunk from all the beer drinks.” But as panic began to set in, explained friend and eyewitness, Billy Goldfarb, “[Rosen] was like, ‘Oh, no! I'm gonna die in here, guys! I need air!’ It was hilarious, because we were all drunk from alcohol. We couldn't stop laughing from the alcohol drunkness.” “Yeah, I freaked a little,” Rosen admits. “At first just ’cause I thought I would suffocate, because I assumed my dad's 1578 Corolla's trunk came factory-equipped with some airtight-type trunk technologies. But then I found a Cadbury egg in my pocket and enjoyed a snack, so all in all, kind of a win.” Having lost all driving privileges for the next six months, Rosen offered some sober, solemn advice to anyone thinking about taking a little trip in a trunk while they're definitely alcoholically intoxicated: “Don't.” He added, “It might seem like a lot of fun, but the reality is that it's just dark and musty in there—the benefits, while myriad, simply aren't worth the consequences.”

Herbert “Taint“Taint Weasel” Johnson has been defeated in six rounds by a little girl named Elizabeth. “Taint“Taint Weasel” remains winless, and, when it really comes down to it, has very few personal victories to speak of outside the ring.
What's On The Steam-Powered Story Time Contraption Tonight?


7:00 — Silly Jack Has A Magic Backpack! (new): Silly Jack's magic backpack causes adventure wherever it's thrown

7:30 — Before the Drugs & Alcohol Singing Clubhouse with Forever Innocent Child Stars (new): Billy and Tammy aren't junkies yet; sing

8:00 — Utterly Transparent Brand Indoctrination Hour (new): you love Disney; you love Disney; you love Disney
If you run at the exact same speed as the wind, with it blowing directly at your back, it won't feel windy at all—but where the hellhell are you going? I have six more slide reels.  

Did you know one of esteemed Greek director Homer's earliest drafts of “Iliad” featured Liam Neeson in the role of the poem's protagonist, who, at absolutely no one's behest, proceeded to devote hundreds upon hundreds of rambling, incoherent stanzas to cryptically referencing his “particular set of skills?” Well, unfortunately for Neeson, those vague, unenumerated skills appear to have included not existing on this mortal plane for several thousand more years, because, for better or worse, the part was ultimately awarded to Achilles, a well-known heel that swooped in at the eleventh hour like he always frickin' does.

It doesn't even matter if you live to be a hundred and fifty—you'll never, ever run out of bleak, dreary bingo halls to yell “yahtzee!” into before robbing them blind.
Amazing Nature!

The Asiatic reticulated python needs only to eat a single rabbit each month to maintain a healthy, shiny coat. In one of life's most beautiful examples of mutually-beneficial natural partnerships, the powerful, bone-crushing coiling of the 15-foot snake's brawny 150-pound body helps to quickly extract any life or bothersome eyeballs from its long-eared teammate, before the scaly serpent beast unhinges its jaws and graciously allows the adorable cottontail to slide effortlessly into a luxurious month of gradual digestion and biological dissolution. And as a generous fringe benefit to the arrangement, the grateful hare is ultimately saved the trouble of having to leave the oftentimes unforgiving sanctity of its favorite burrow to seek out a suitable form of being assimilated into a bloodthirsty snake's sweltering bowels.
In hindsight, it was really only a matter of time before a majority of the cruise-goers began to have serious doubts about the seaworthiness of this gravy boat.  

Stouffer's, Snuggle Merge In Unprecedented $9 Billion Cash And Lasagna Deal

→¬†Long-Dead Abraham E. Stouffer, Fully-Sentient Snuggle Bear Complete Handshake Deal During Single Most Psychologically Unsettling Press Conference Of All Time

■¬†Combined Entity Becomes Maker Of Country's Softest Macaroni And Cheese, Third Largest Producer Of Sicilian Meat-Scented Laundry Products

Established 1403 A.D.         “The World's First Web Pages” *
© Copye Right 1608 RECYCULUS.  ✣   * Printed on 68.6% spider webs.

***  EDITOR'S COFFEE NOTE:  whole milk, splash of soy  ***    
   WHOLESALER:  note that content is clean obscene    

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 million billion billion octillion decillion 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