By: Jeremy Blachman, McSweeney’s

DESCRIPTION

Trendy apartment, in an area close to an area sort of near the center of a city very similar to the city where you are attempting to stay. Located just steps from an advertisement for hip art galleries and stylish shopping, and literally in the middle of a bustling nightclub, surrounded by barbed wire fencing and the undeniable sense that you should keep a close watch on your personal belongings.

If you like the outdoors, the roof of the apartment has a child-sized hole in it. If you like the indoors, the refrigerator is almost completely airtight. If you like Armenian dance music until three in the morning, this will be your perfect home away from home.

You can walk to a train station in 15 minutes, unless you prefer to walk along paved roads, in which case it will take slightly more than a day. You can also walk to a bus station, but the buses stopped running in 1974. I have extra transit tickets in my desk drawer, next to the loaded handgun, inside the DVD case labeled SECRET RECORDINGS OF PREVIOUS GUESTS. You are welcome to them.

The apartment has a bedroom with a king-sized space where a bed ought to be. There is also a living room with a family living in it and a kitchen containing three full toilets and a bag of ice. Be warned that the ice sometimes melts. There is a half-bath (previous renters stole the other half) and a front door that does not lock. I will provide two sheets (one will be clean), a dish towel, and a sharpened stick you can use for catching your dinner. Do not store anything in the freezer. It will immediately catch fire.

My washer and dryer are located in aisle 7 of the home improvement store three blocks away, between the butcher and the petting zoo. You are welcome to use the garden in the back of the building. Do not touch any of the plants, as they are all highly poisonous, including the one that has the box with the apartment key under it. This key is for the building next door, whose fire escape you can use to access the apartment.

The code to the box with the key is my birthday, which you can find without too much difficulty if you are a skilled Internet searcher. The apartment has free and reliable WiFi, until my neighbors are captured. The wireless password is in the window seat, underneath Grandma. If you would like tips on how to spend your time in the area, the linen closet is filled with unsold copies of my self-published guidebook. Some listings may be out of date. Others may be traps. Be aware of your surroundings at all times.

AMENITIES

Doors
Cables
Thermostat-Controlled Hair Conditioner
Elevator In Nearby Building
Handicapped Person Accessible and Included

HOUSE RULES

— There is no breathing in my apartment, as I am very allergic. You may breathe on the back patio.
— Ignore the screams coming from inside the clothing hamper.
— The pillows are only for show.
— By agreement with my downstairs neighbor, please do not walk on the floor.
— Do not call police for any reason.
— Place all trash in your luggage.
— Ignore the hobos.

REVIEWS

“The apartment was exactly as described except for the address and the odor of death that permeated throughout. I was initially alarmed by the blood on the walls, but it did not stain my clothing. Owner responded quickly to emails.”

“Despite the warnings of the teenagers loitering outside the building, I was not murdered during my stay. Aside from finding myself stuck to one of the walls and unable to free myself for days, I enjoyed my visit. Owner responded quickly to emails.”

“WiFi connection was spotty. Wife was kidnapped by bandits. Owner responded quickly to emails.”

“Owner left fruit basket for us to enjoy upon arrival. However, the items in the basket turned out not to be fruit. Could not find the extra transit tickets promised in listing. Had to swim home. Otherwise excellent. Owner responded quickly to emails.”

“Satisfactory stay except for multiple crocodile bites. Listing should mention multiple pet crocodiles living in the bathtub.”

Response From Owner: “Only one of the crocodiles is a pet, and the bathtub is not part of the apartment. Thank you for your feedback. I think you left a finger in the sink. I will send it via post.”

By: Mike Lacker, McSweeney’s

For many years, I have remained a presence in the shadows. You citizens of the Internet have gone about your lives, navigating to this page and that, reading articles, watching videos, exchanging messages with friends, but all the while a single question has clawed at your curiosity each time your focus breaks and you notice the garish blinking ads strewn about your web pages:

Who, who is it that clicks these banner ads?

The time to wonder has ended and the time has come to open your eyes and to see the truth, to discover who has been clicking that which you so often ignore. 

It is I who click the banner ads.

While you check the weather, I find out why California dermatologists hate the one weird skin care secret discovered by a stay-at-home mom. While you read the New York Times, I rollover for more information about how to get my diabetes under control. While you search IMDB, I click for showtimes, tickets, and behind-the-scenes videos for Think Like a Man. Page after page, banner after banner, I click and I click.

It is not for myself that I click these banner ads, not because I yearn for exclusive local deals and belly fat-reducing tips. No, it is for all of you that I click to learn more, rollover to expand, and tap to download. Without me, your banners would go unclicked. And if your banners go unclicked, then who will pay for your web pages? Banners are the steam engine of the Internet, and I must shovel coal into the fiery maw.

It may be a sacrifice, to labor hour after hour, day after day, month after month in my secret lair, one hand on a mouse, the other on an iPad, furiously clicking and tapping every banner ad I can find. My ears have been calloused by movie trailers with autoplaying sound. My eyes have been warped and reddened by live streams of red carpet events presented by auto manufacturers. My hands have turned to gnarled claws from all the cartoon monkeys I have punched. My computer is but a shuddering pile of tracking cookies and spyware following my every move so that the next LowerMyBills.com advertisement I see is slightly better targeted to my gender, age, and browsing history.

Some may see me as a tragic husk, obsessed with duty but without friendship, without warmth, and without love for anything but all of you who I labor so hard to keep safe. I may have hundreds of free ringtones, thousands of exclusive promotional desktop wallpapers, and millions of special offer codes, but what good is a printable coupon for one dollar off a family-sized Stouffer’s chicken lasagna when you have no family?

But a hero is more than himself. I am the thin gossamer line between a free, sprawling internet and an oppressive desert bound in barbed wire and ruled by dollar-hungry warlords. Without me clicking to learn how New York drivers are saving hundreds on car insurance, you would be paying for what you are reading right now, throwing precious coin down an endless digital well.

So if you see a targeted text advertisement for debt reduction next to your email, know that I am there. If you see an animated custom background for the Call of Duty franchise, know that I am there. If you see a three-dimensional computer-animated dog run across the page and cover the video you are watching about dog food, know that I am there. Now get back to your reading, your posting, your downloading. The night will soon be over and there are still hundreds more credit card offers I must post to my wall.

NIGGAS ASKED ME A COUPLE TIMES IF HITTING A BITCH WAS OK AND UNDER WHAT CIRCUMSTANCES ETC. SOME NIGGAS REALLY DIDN’T KNOW AND SOME NIGGAS WAS EXPECTING ME TO BE LIKE “NAH IT’S PERFECTLY NORMAL TO BREAK YA WIFE’S LEG IN HALF IF SHE STEPS IN FRONT OF THE TV PICKIN UP GARBAGE OFF THE FLOOR AND FUCKS UP YA KILLSTREAK” YOU SHOULDN’T JUST BEAT BITCHES UP FOR NO REASON B. THAT’S FOUL B, CUZ IMAGINE YOUR DAUGHTER GETTIN HER EYELASHES BEAT OFF BY SOME NIGGA CUZ SHE TALKED OVER AN ESPN HIGHLIGHT. YOU GOT A DVR NIGGA THAT WAS TOTALLY UNNECESSARY. SO YOU SHOULD NEVER HIT A FEMALE B.

UNLESS 

1) SHE PUNCHES YOU OD HARD IN THE FACE IN FRONT OF AN AUDIENCE: IF YOU ON THE 5 TRAIN AT 149TH PLAYIN PLANTS VS ZOMBIES IGNORING WHATEVER BULLSHIT SHORTY IS TALKIN ABOUT AND SHE GETS TIGHT TO A POINT WHERE SHE’S ACTIN RECKLESS AND YOU JUST BE LIKE “MA, SHUTUP.” THEN SHE PUNCHES YOU OD HARD IN YOUR FACIAL? YOU GOTTA DO SOMETHING, CUZ NIGGAS IS LAUGHIN AT YOU. SO YOU GOTTA OPEN HAND SMACK SHORTY IN HER FACE SO HARD THAT HER EYEBALLS TURN INTO JELLO SHOTS AND FALL OUT. DO NOT PUNCH HER CUZ SOME NIGGA IS GONNA TRY TO COME TO HER RESCUE AND THEN YOU GOTTA THROW HOMIE ON THE TRACKS LIKE MY NIGGA QTIP DID IN PRISON SONG. THEN SUBSEQUENTLY GO TO JAIL AND DO CRAZY JOINTS AND EAT ONION SOUPS ON SOME MAZEL TOV WACK SHIT. WHICH SUCKS CUZ THEN SHORTY GETS THE LAST LAUGH. SO JUST SMACK HER IN THE FACE OD HARD. 

2) SHE HITS YOUR MOTHER/SISTER: IF SHORTY VIOLATES LIKE THAT AND HITS YOUR MOMS OR YOUR SISTER THEN YOU GOTTA GO HAMMY DAVIS JR. ON THE BITCH B. YOU CAN’T LET THAT SLIDE AND EVEN IF YOUR SISTER GOT IT YOU GOTTA HIT SHORTY IN THE CHEST WITH THE VANDAMME KICK B FUCK ALL THAT GENTLEMAN SHIT. YOU GOT THE GREEN LIGHT TO PUNCH A BITCH IN THE FACE, BODYSLAM A BITCH ON A FIRE HYDRANT, ALL THAT. JUST DON’T KILL HER OBVIOUSLY. BUT NOW YOU GOTTA BE PREPARED TO FUCK HER BROTHER UP CUZ THAT NIGGA IS PROLLY GONNA TRY TO HOOK OFF. IF YOU LIVE IN THE HOOD THIS IS GONNA END UP WITH ONE OF YALL NIGGAS GETTIN SHOT TO PIECES AND NIGGAS WEARING LITTLE FLYER LOOKIN CARDS WITH “RIP MY NIGGA” ON THEM WITH YA PICTURE. IF YOU LIVE IN THE SUBURBS THIS IS GONNA GO ON FOR INFINITY ETERNITY AND YALL NIGGAS GON FIGHT EVERYTIME YOU SEE EACHOTHER AT CINNABON IN THE MALL.

3) SHE SUCKER PUNCHES YOU: UNLESS YOU WILD SOFT OR YOU DATING ONE OF THESE BITCHES EVEN IF SHORTY TROMBONES YA SHIT ON SOME UNEXPECTED YOU SHOULD STILL BE STANDING. IN WHICH CASE YOU TURN AND FLINCH AT SHORTY. IF SHE FLINCHES ON SOME SHOOK SHIT THEN YOU GRAB HER FACE AND SMUSH IT. DON’T MUSH THE BITCH SMUSH THE BITCH…YOU GOTTA PALM HER FACE LIKE A BASKETBALL AND BE LIKE “FUCK YOU DOIN BITCH? YOU CRAZY?” IF SHE DON’T FLINCH AND COCKS BACK FOR ANOTHER SWING THEN YOU GOTTA HIT SHORTY WITH THE DOWNWARD SMACK. YOU COME FROM UP HIGH AND SMACK DOWN LIKE YOU SLAMMIN DOMINOES ON THE TABLE. THAT SHIT IS WILD DISHEARTENING B. IT MAKES SHORTY REALIZE SHE CAN’T BANG WITH YOU CUZ YOU’LL ROCK HER SHIT. 

NO MATTER WHAT YOU GOTTA STAY CALM B. DON’T WILD OUT AND START SCREAMIN & SHIT B. YOU GOTTA WHIP SHORTY ASS AND BE ON SOME COOL IKE TURNER SHIT. THAT WAY SHE FEELS LIKE “YO THIS NIGGA IS CRAZY LEMME NOT TRAVEL DOWN THIS ROAD DOWN AGAIN CUZ I CAN’T SEE OUT MY RIGHT EYEBALL RIGHT NOW AND MY EARS IS RINGIN”… ALSO, THIS SHIT APPLIES TO REGULAR BITCHES. IF YOUR GIRL IS WILD FAT THEN YOU GOTTA BE CAREFUL CUZ FAT BITCHES DON’T GO DOWN EASY AND THEY GO INTO CRAZY RHINO MODE AND WILL FALL ON YOU TO IMMOBILIZE YOU AND PUNCH YOU IN YA NUTS AND ALL THAT…NAH I’M PLAYIN FAT BITCHES GO NO SELF ESTEEM THEY WON’T EVER GET OUTTA POCKET UNLESS YOU GET HIGH AND EAT ALL THE ENTENMANN’S.

(Editor’s note: I immediately thought of this. Also, never ever hit a woman.)

• I liveth my days one furlong at a time. For that fortnight or less, I possess the greatest freedom. 
• Thou might imbibe whatever mead thy desireth, so long as the mead be Corona.
• Mia, I’m a bobby.
• Vastly exceeding your means, sir. Bespoke Bentley.
• A gathering of militia folk entered upon my premises and brought foretold dishonour upon mine kin!
• Hark! Thy manifold is fraught with perils!

Let’s do some math:

NYC - 9M people
60% women, so 5.4M are women
40% are butch lesbian that live in the LES, chelsea, park slope, and queens with their life partner who works in advertising, so like 3.24M are straight
60% are LES, EV, west village, and “white brooklyn” girls that work for boutiques or something else, so that leaves 1.296M girls that are relatively corny(UES, own a min-pin, went to Barnard and took classes at Columbia, etc)
of that group, 100% wears north face. So there’s like 1.296M corny fucking faux chic girls in the city that wear north face already.

of the 1.944M girls that are not corny as hell, I’d say 95% of them(easily) wear either vintage, vintage reproduction, heritage, faux heritage vintage H&M collaboratation with paul bunyan or a british warship from 1950, etc etc.

that leaves 97,200 women. Of those remaining, I would say 20% wear steezy balenciaga or something that makes the penis take the 4-5 rather than the 6 uptown if you catch my drift, so like 77,760 women remain. Half of them are not attractive or have no style sense anways. Maybe they are crust punk. I don’t fucking know, even though I’ve known some hot crust punk girls. 38,880 women are left. Of these women, possibly 1/10 owns a north face jacket from back when they went to Cornell for hotel management. 3888 women remain. of these select few women, 1/10 can pull that shit off with sexy andro-fashion because they are just THAT hot. 389 women total.

So the ratio is about 389/1,296,000 women, which is .03% of the female population in NYC that can pull off wearing a northface jacket.

In your state, where it’s so cold in winter that I need my license to remember my gender, I’d say the numbers are even less in your favor to have ever seen north face pulled off in a steezy manner.

So it does happen…just not that often. People with enough steez can pull anything off, honestly.

In the standfirst I will make a fairly obvious pun about the subject matter before posing an inane question I have no intention of really answering: is this an important scientific finding?

In this paragraph I will state the main claim that the research makes, making appropriate use of “scare quotes” to ensure that it’s clear that I have no opinion about this research whatsoever.

In this paragraph I will briefly (because no paragraph should be more than one line) state which existing scientific ideas this new research “challenges”.

If the research is about a potential cure, or a solution to a problem, this paragraph will describe how it will raise hopes for a group of sufferers or victims.

This paragraph elaborates on the claim, adding weasel-words like “the scientists say” to shift responsibility for establishing the likely truth or accuracy of the research findings on to absolutely anybody else but me, the journalist.

In this paragraph I will state in which journal the research will be published. I won’t provide a link because either a) the concept of adding links to web pages is alien to the editors, b) I can’t be bothered, or c) the journal inexplicably set the embargo on the press release to expire before the paper was actually published.

“Basically, this is a brief soundbite,” the scientist will say, from a department and university that I will give brief credit to. “The existing science is a bit dodgy, whereas my conclusion seems bang on,” she or he will continue.

I will then briefly state how many years the scientist spent leading the study, to reinforce the fact that this is a serious study and worthy of being published by the BBC the website.

This is a sub-heading that gives the impression I am about to add useful context.

Here I will state that whatever was being researched was first discovered in some year, presenting a vague timeline in a token gesture toward establishing context for the reader.

To pad out this section I will include a variety of inane facts about the subject of the research that I gathered by Googling the topic and reading the Wikipedia article that appeared as the first link.

I will preface them with “it is believed” or “scientists think” to avoid giving the impression of passing any sort of personal judgement on even the most inane facts.

This fragment will be put on its own line for no obvious reason.

In this paragraph I will reference or quote some minor celebrity, historical figure, eccentric, or a group of sufferers; because my editors are ideologically committed to the idea that all news stories need a “human interest”, and I’m not convinced that the scientists are interesting enough.

At this point I will include a picture, because our search engine optimisation experts have determined that humans are incapable of reading more than 400 words without one.

This picture has been optimised by SEO experts to appeal to our key target demographics

This subheading hints at controversy with a curt phrase and a question mark?

This paragraph will explain that while some scientists believe one thing to be true, other people believe another, different thing to be true.

In this paragraph I will provide balance with a quote from another scientist in the field. Since I picked their name at random from a Google search, and since the research probably hasn’t even been published yet for them to see it, their response to my e-mail will be bland and non-committal.

“The research is useful”, they will say, “and gives us new information. However, we need more research before we can say if the conclusions are correct, so I would advise caution for now.”

If the subject is politically sensitive this paragraph will contain quotes from some fringe special interest group of people who, though having no apparent understanding of the subject, help to give the impression that genuine public “controversy” exists.

This paragraph will provide more comments from the author restating their beliefs about the research by basically repeating the same stuff they said in the earlier quotes but with slightly different words. They won’t address any of the criticisms above because I only had time to send out one round of e-mails.

This paragraph contained useful information or context, but was removed by the sub-editor to keep the article within an arbitrary word limit in case the internet runs out of space.

The final paragraph will state that some part of the result is still ambiguous, and that research will continue.

It flew in through the scaffolding on the ceiling, which is not decorative but rather part of an open-air expansion project slated to become a third-floor organic dried mango and nut-berry soda warehouse.

No good lunch places near where it works.

A higher power sent it to remind us that the assumption that humans are the only ones who appreciate cruelty-free fresh and local arrowroot cookies is dangerously anthrocentrist.

It’s attracted to girls with tote bags and floppy knit berets.

One of the screaming children at the next table is a Disney princess and is constantly followed by friendly woodland creatures who must keep their distance to hide the princess’ identity from the evil witch who has banished her to Tribeca.

It heard about the free samples of water flavored with a barely detectable hint of guava.

I am not really in Whole Foods, but in a forest clearing where a simple woodcutter, ashamed of his contempo-casual ambitions, has hidden his stainless-steel-and-polished-wood-banquette passion project.

It just wants someplace with free wireless to sit and work on its screenplay.

Whole Foods is an illusion; I am a brain in a vat and a bird mistakenly flew into my vat.

To steal some Kashi cereal for its nest.

It came through the hole in a window created when someone tasted multi-green kombucha and threw themselves to merciful death on the street below.

To use the bathroom for free.