5 Movies With Horrifying Aftermaths

Pretty much all Hollywood movies have happy endings. And while that’s great for wish fulfillment, it doesn’t exactly reflect reality. In life, every single hero’s story eventually ends with “and then they died.” And hey, turns out that movies work that way too if you think their events through to their logical conclusions. Here are a bunch of films which, if you kept watching, would slowly turn dark and horrifying.


The Incredibles — Children Will Be Forced Into Relocation Programs

The Incredibles is set in a world in which superheroes exist, but everyone hates them because of their nasty habit of breaking absolutelyeverything. At the start of the film, a series of lawsuits have forced all the superheroes to reveal their identities to the government, after which they are forcibly relocated into boring suburban lives. However, Mr. Incredible and his family regain the admiration of the public by destroying a giant robot, and by the end of the movie, they’re kicking supervillain butt as a family.

The Problem:

It’s kind of adorable that the Incredibles even bothered to put on their masks in that last scene, because remember, the government knows who they are. They know who every superhero is. So what’s gonna happen the next time someone’s Lexus turns into a crater during a superpowered battle? Those lawsuits are going to come roaring back with a vengeance. It’s not like people are getting less litigious.

The Parr kids have gotten a taste of the hero life, but they’ll inevitably be forced to relocate again. And that’s the best-case scenario. At least their parents had a decent amount of time as heroes before being forced to shut it down, and even then, look how Mr. Incredible handled his newfound mediocrity:

Pixar“Can’t fire me if you’re in a coma.”

It’s not hard to imagine an adult Dash finding himself in a similar situation as his father, working a crappy day job while moonlighting as a frustrated superhero, ripping up his whole family’s roots every time he slips up and tries to help someone. Of course, this is all pure speculation. It’s not as if Pixar likes subjecting its characters to unbearably sad situations or anything.


Evan Almighty Proves That God Exists, And That Has Some Heavy Implications

In Evan Almighty (the sequel to Jim Carrey’s Bruce Almighty and prequel to Billy Baldwin’s direct-to-DVD Billy Baldwin Almighty), Steve Carell stars as Evan Baxter, a newscaster turned congressman. One day, Evan receives a message from Morgan “God” Freeman, telling him to build an ark to prepare for a flood. Evan reluctantly complies, while everyone in town mocks and ridicules him. That is, until the foretold flood happens and all those people rush right onto Evan’s Ark for salvation.

In the end, not one person dies in a flood of literally biblical proportions, and Evan is celebrated as a hero, rather than a lucky crackpot with a boat, of which there are many.

The Problem:

Hey, did you know that according to a 2017 study, 26 percent of Americans don’t believe in God? Now imagine all of those people finding out that their whole concept of life and morality has been wrong all along. (Now imagine that crisis being instigated by Steve Carrell, of all people.)

Universal PicturesAnd wait until the racist ones find out about God’s skin tone.

And what about extremists and fundamentalists? Definite confirmation that God is real and has yet to strike them down would tell them that they’re onto something. How many sexual minorities and atheist holdouts would die on the first day alone? How many more on each subsequent day, as the extremists grow in number and conviction? But hey, Steve Carell patched things up with his wife, so it was all worth it.


Face/Off‘s Protagonist Will Have To Tell His Adopted Kid That He Impaled His Biological Dad With A Spear Gun

There are a lot of twists and turns in Face/Off, the only movie to ask the question on all of our minds each and every day: “What would happen if Nicolas Cage and John Travolta switched faces?” But in the end, FBI agent Sean Archer (Travolta) successfully kills international terrorist Castor Troy (Cage) and gets his original face back. He comes home to his traumatized wife and daughter with a little surprise — no, not Cage’s disembodied face, but it’s the next-best thing! Here’s Adam, the adorable son of the terrorist who almost murdered them all!

Paramount PicturesNo kid with that origin and that haircut ends up not becoming serial killer adult …

Archer grew fond of Adam and his mom while posing as Troy, and promised to take care of the kid before she died. The family accepts Adam with open arms, and all is well.

The Problem:

Adam looks to be around four or five years old, which means he’ll grow up with only vague memories of his mom and the weird Cagey guy who used to hang around from time to time. But at some point, Archer will be forced to sit the kid down and explain that not only was his real dad a deranged criminal, but also that Archer himself murdered said criminal with a spear gun after a wicked speedboat chase. If he wants to be completely honest with his adopted son, Archer will also have to disclose that he screamed “DIEEEEEEE!!!” while doing so.

So … when is the appropriate time to reveal something like this to your kid? Their tenth birthday? 18th? The 47th? Is it even possible to deliver this information in a non-traumatizing way, at any age? Hell, we only watched a movie about it, and we’re still traumatized to this day.


The Rock‘s Finale Means Nicolas Cage’s Family Is Doomed

In 1996’s The Rock, Sean Connery plays a former British spy who’s been in an FBI prison for 30 years because he stole microfilm containing America’s greatest secrets (JFK’s true killer, the Roswell aliens, Eleanor Roosevelt’s nudes, etc). Connery is recruited for a special mission alongside FBI chemist Stanley Goodspeed, played by Nicolas Cage. Yes, Cage’s name in this movie is “Stanley Goodspeed.” It is among his more subtle and restrained roles.

Touchstone PicturesSee?

Together, Cage and Connery successfully thwart a squad of rogue marines and save San Francisco, at which point it’s time for Connery to go back to his cell. But Cage does him a solid and fakes his death, which Connery repays by sharing the location of the long-hidden microfilm. The movie ends with Cage retrieving the film, about to spill the beans on JFK’s killer to his new wife.

The Problem:

The FBI’s hardass director seems to buy Cage’s halfhearted explanation that Connery was “vaporized” in an explosion, but there’s no way everyone else in the agency will. After all, this man could singlehandedly bring down the entire U.S. government. Once they realize there’s no evidence whatsoever that Connery died, they’ll start following Cage (with satellites if they have to), and will inevitably find out that he has the microfilm himself. Yes, the fate of the nation is in Nicolas Cage’s hands.

At this point, there are two possible outcomes: 1) Cage is caught by the FBI and locked in the deepest, darkest hole they can find (after all, they already did that once), or 2) he eludes the agents, but is forced to go on the run. With a new wife and a baby on the way. Whatever happens, that kid is gonna have a messed-up life. Man, being Nicolas Cage’s child in a movie sucks. It’s like the total opposite of real life, where having Nicolas Cage for a dad is all we dream of, every single night.


The Kid From The Iron Giant Is Definitely Getting Cancer

The end of The Iron Giant isn’t exactly happy, but it is hopeful. While the giant sacrifices himself to save the town, our protagonist, a little boy named Hogarth, does get an iron bolt found in the fallout of the nuclear explosion, which he keeps as a memento of his fallen friend.

Warner Bros. PicturesIf this were a human, that’d probably be like a finger or something.

Later that night, we see the bolt moving by itself, implying that the Giant’s various pieces are slowly coming together again. Look for Vin Diesel to return in 2 Iron 2 Giant.

The Problem:

You know who wouldn’t return if there was a sequel? Hogarth. Because he’d be dead.

Hogarth keeping a token from his buddy is a really sweet thought … except for the fact that it was completely bathed in radiation. Radiation from nuclear catastrophes stays on scrap metal for a very, very long time. We’re even experiencing a worldwide problem right now wherein metal used in military or industrial hardware has been melted down and reused, but the dangerous radiation lived on. In 2005, Taiwanese residents living in apartments made of this reused metal saw massive increases in leukemia and breast cancer. Again, this is reused and refined metal, decades after the fact.

Warner Bros. Pictures“Mom, another hair clump fell out … some teeth, too.”

Hogarth receives that bolt not long after it survived a nuclear explosion. If he doesn’t die soon after from radiation poisoning, he has about a 100 percent chance of developing cancer. So if you weren’t already weeping at the ending of The Iron Giant, you should be now.

Tim Chawaga writes here, on Twitter, and http://www.pentaxlas.com. Please follow him. Jordan Breeding also writes for Paste Magazine, the Twitter, himself, and has been described by his parents as the horrifying aftermath of an otherwise-great thing. S.S.A is also on TopBuzz.

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For more deceivingly happy movie endings, check out 6 Happy Movie Endings That Actually Ruin the Hero’s Life and 6 Off-Screen Tragedies That Follow Happy Movie Endings.

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Read more: http://www.cracked.com/article_25458_5-movies-with-horrifying-aftermaths.html

5 Beloved Groups Everyone Forgot Did Terrible Things

It can be easier to look up to righteous organizations than righteous people, because people are still, well, people. Like, Mother Theresa neglected patients and Gandhi creeped on his niece, but a nice charity trying to cure cancer or an NGO that helps refugees from war-torn nations? How could they possibly do any wrong?

Oh boy, you know where this is going …


Watch Out, Or The Susan G. Komen Foundation Will Sue The Crap Out Of You

A lot of people say that they hate cancer, but the Susan G. Komen foundation puts their (and your) money where their mouth is. It all started when Nancy Goodman Brinker’s sister, Susan, died of breast cancer in 1980. Like a Steven Seagal character, Nancy promised her fallen sibling that she’d do everything to get the bastard that killed her. And she has. By 1982, the “Susan G. Komen for the Cure” organization was on its feet, and had been awarded its first $28,000 research grant. So far to date, a whopping $2 billion have gone into cancer-fighting things like research and advocacy.

Susan G. Komen Foundation

That’s … that’s a lot of cancer-fightin’ money. Surely, every penny has gone to the greater good.

Well, not so much. It turns out that some of that pocket change you handed over goes to making sure that mom and pop charities don’t use the word “cure,” or even the freaking color pink. Real, actual money that could be used to help fund research instead goes directly into the pockets of lawyers (both for Komen and for the Joe Shmoes being sued). How dare Mary Ann Tighe of Long Island run a kite-flying event to fund lung cancer research and call it “Kites for the Cure”? Or the other 80-odd organizations that used the word “cure” or the color pink in some form?

Kites for a CureThe band The Cure wear all black, just to be on the safe side.

The good news is that sometimes Komen’s lawyers fail, and organizations like “Mush for a Cure” are able to fight back and keep their names. Michael N. Mercanti, a lawyer who represented this small charity operation, said, “They shouldn’t be spending money on lawyers when people give their donations to find cures for breast cancer.” He’s got a point. We have a feeling that a lot fewer people would donate at the supermarket if the cashier said, “Would you like to give 8 cents for some petty bullshit?”


Doctors Without Borders Will Save You From ISIS (Unless You Don’t Officially Work For Them)

Medecins Sans Frontieres, or Doctors Without Borders for us dirty English speakers, is about as close to the Justice League as you can get without superpowers. They’re funded with 1.63 billion buckaroos per year — so really, it’s a Justice League of Bruce Waynes, but better, because they’re not working through severe psychological trauma by beating the shit out of people. They even limit their funding from governments so their decision-making can’t be influenced by corrupt politicians, fer goshsakes. Well, light a candle and prepare yourselves, because it’s about to get dark.

Kayla Mueller joined her boyfriend in Syria to help install equipment at a hospital run by Doctors Without Borders. In doing so, this incredibly brave woman paid a horrific price. She was kidnapped by ISIS, raped, and ultimately murdered 18 months after being taken. What’s unimaginably worse is that during that time, she had to watch other women be freed after DWB negotiated for their release. But since Mueller was not technically a Doctors Without Conscie- sorry, Borders employee, they refused to negotiate for her, and left her to die. Even after being sent an email from her captors specifically for discussing saving Mueller’s life, DWB’s executive United States director Jason Cone said, “I don’t think there was a moral responsibility. We can’t be in the position of negotiating for people who don’t work for us.” Yeah, what are they, Doctors Without Borders or something?

So you have the world’s most notorious murderous assholes actively trying to not kill someone, and the league of Batmans basically said, “Nope, not our problem. Go ahead and kill her. We’ll take the ones who have been physically right there next to her in the same room, though. Go, us.” Amazingly, Kayla’s parents found it in themselves to come to peace with Dickwads Without Borders, eventually donating $120,000 to the group. “It is difficult, but ultimately this endowment is going to do what Kayla wanted done,” her father said. That’s a level of grace 99 percent of us would barely be able to fathom.


NASA Conducted A Sting Operation On An Elderly Widow, Causing Her To Pee Herself

Who doesn’t love space and the brave folks who boldly go, and so forth? From the scientists, mathematicians, and engineers behind the spacecraft to the actual astronauts themselves, it takes a lot of extremely rad people to bring what was once science fiction into reality. Surely, all of the time and resources poured into making these things happen are well-spent, and the planet’s smartest people wouldn’t do something as ’80s villain as bullying an old woman until she pees herself in a sting operation!

Wait, what was this entry about? Oh, dammit.

As you might have gathered, this is what happened to Joann Davis, widower of Apollo 11 engineer Robert Davis. According to Davis, her husband had been gifted a grain-sized piece of moon rock and a piece of the Apollo 11 heat shield by Neil Armstrong. These items stayed in the family for decades. Unfortunately, tragedy repeatedly struck Mrs. Davis. After the death of her daughter and the diagnosis of an illness in her son that would require 20 surgeries, the 75-year-old woman was struggling to find a way to support herself, said son, and her several grandchildren. If only she had, like, a valuable moon rock and a piece of a famous spacecraft laying around the house …

State of California“OK, guess I can use the stapler as a paperweight from now on.”

And so Davis did what any law-abiding citizen would do: She contacted NASA directly to see if they could help her sell these artifacts in a legal manner, thus allowing her to care for her family (or at least not go too horribly into debt). Only, instead of helping her out, NASA immediately assumed she was some kind of space criminal trying to illegally sell these things. Why they thought a person directly contacting the very people a criminal would want to hide from was trying to pull one over on them, we’ll never know. In any case, they set up a meeting with Davis and her husband (Davis had since remarried) at a Denny’s (because of course). Once officials saw the tiny rice-sized moon rock, they seized it, grabbed her husband’s wrist, bent him over the table, and proceeded to lead her out to the parking lot for a two-hour interrogation.

Oh, and they wouldn’t let her use the bathroom. She told them she needed to pee as they were leading her out, and when her request for human dignity went unanswered, she was forced to urinate in her pants, and she spent the entire hours-long interrogation soaked in her own filth. Her lawsuit against them is still ongoing. For love of all that’s good and holy, please go back to space, NASA. You’re getting cabin fever here on Earth.


Nobel Prize Judges Allowed A Doctor To Conduct Fatal Experiments

Receiving a Nobel Prize for anything at all ranks somewhere between “the most rad thing you can accomplish in a single lifetime” and, if you’re Marie Curie, “Another one?” It pretty much ensures that your name is immortalized and everyone has to admit you’re a non-garbage-person. So we expect that the judges who determine who gets one of the most prestigious awards on the planet will know what they’re doing, and also not let fatal human experiments happen right under their noses.

Cue the sad trombone, because obviously that’s exactly what happened. Paolo Macchiarini was, for years, the star surgeon working under the Karolinska Institute, the judges for the Nobel Prize for Medicine. Charming, handsome, and apparently brilliant, he was allowed to perform experiments with replacing people’s windpipes beginning in 2008 — first with plastic windpipes, and then with the stem cells of windpipes taken from dead people. Macchiarini had created a revolutionary new procedure which he believed would change medical science forever. The only tiny little downside was that most of his lucky windpipe recipients kept dying, because fucking duh, of course they did.

Marta Jordi/El Periodico“You’ll be fine as long as you don’t use it for anything or plan to live very long.”

The Swedish government eventually caught on and investigated this horrible series of events, and found that the Karolinska Institute had really dropped the ball here. For one, they’d somehow missed that the initial credentials the dude had turned in were “questionable” and also “false,” and when other doctors raised concerns about working with a legit mad scientist, they were ignored. Macchiarini was eventually fired, the board for the Karolinska Institute was dismissed, and nothing terrible and negligent will ever happen again just because a dude is charming and handsome, the end.


The Girl Scouts Don’t Care About Ape Murder

There isn’t much in the world more wholesome than a troupe of Girl Scouts going door-to-door selling their delicious, addicting, paycheck-destroying cookies. As if the cookies weren’t enough, they do a lot of good for the world in their work. They accept LGBT youth, they recently joined with Google’s program Made With Code to teach girls to do rad computer things, they added 23 badges for STEM exploration, and there’s also a badge for Metal Arts, which sounds, you know … metal.

It’s too bad that this wholesome organization not only has an empty garden of fucks to give about the brutalization and murder of orangutans, but also knowingly contributes to it.

In 2006, Girl Scouters Madison Vorva and Rhiannon Tomtishen discovered that their cookies contain palm oil. For those not in the know, palm oil comes from farmers demolishing rainforests in Indonesia and Malaysia in order to plant their palm trees. While destroying the habitat of many species is bad enough, orangutans get hit the hardest. They’re being burned and buried alive, beaten to death, and hacked to pieces with machetes — the most intelligent of the apes are being given some extremely good reasons to rise up and reenact Planet Of The Apes. And you know what, we’d let them. We are awful.

Girl Scouts of America“I’m sorry, I ordered Samoas, not Ape Tears.” “They’re all Ape Tears.”

So what did Girl Scout executives do when these girls presented the issue to them? Silence them, of course. They deleted Facebook posts, turned off the ability for people to share links, and had one conference call in 2008 which has not been followed up on since. Their official response: “Our bakers don’t believe that there is a viable alternative to produce the taste, the quality, all of the attributes which our consumers and our members require and expect out of our cookies.” It’s simply not the same without the pain and misery behind them, you know?

So there you have it. Girl Scout officials think the brutalization and murder of our closest kin is justified as long as their cookies remain as tasty as always. Enjoy your Thin Mints and Do-Si-Dos, folks. Surely the remains of buried and forgotten apes have not at all seeped into the palm trees that supply a key ingredient in them, and their angry spirits are definitely not haunting your bowels.

Just in case you got a Thin Mint fix right now, we’ve got your back.

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Read more: http://www.cracked.com/article_25304_5-beloved-groups-everyone-forgot-did-terrible-things.html

The 16 Most Insane Things Happening Right Now (10/3/17)

Everywhere you look, the news is trying to force you to binge on it. No reasonable person can be expected to keep up with all the headlines while maintaining their sanity, so we have taken it upon ourselves to quickly summarize the most important and/or ridiculous headlines from the last week (or so).


Sources: CBS News, TV Guide



Read more: http://www.cracked.com/article_25127_the-most-important-things-you-need-to-know-thursday-928.html

I’m Not Telling You To Stop Watching NFL (But You Will)

Julio wished the bullfight would last forever.

He knew every play by heart, just as a salmon knows its river, or a dancer knows cool-ass dance moves. He’d rooted for the picadores as they stabbed the bull’s neck with lances, as required by the rules. He’d cheered as the banderilleros planted blade after blade into the bull’s shoulders (another thing required by the sport’s rules). And now, in the fight’s final stage, Julio waited for the matador to finish the bull with a stab through the heart.

Julio also knew the matador might fail to stab the bull’s heart, then slice the spinal cord instead. Or miss the heart, screw up the spine-slice, and keep hacking at the bull with more swords until it died a bloody mess. Julio knew that yes, that’s how actual bullfights can end in real life, for real. And Julio fuckin’ loved that shit.

Julio’s father clapped his son on the shoulder. “That is your dream, my son, is it not? To be in the center of that ring? In front of your entire country?”

Julio cried out in super-hard agreement: “Oh yes, Papa! There is nothing I’d rather do than be … A BULL.”

Then Julio played high school bull, got a full bull scholarship to Spain A&M, and bulled in the pros till that killed him.

Okay, Hemingway I ain’t. Point is, I can’t watch the NFL anymore. And you’ll stop watching it too. In your own time. Because that’s the only way society’s relationship with football can go. Let me explain, because it’s not as “touchy, feely hippie bullshit” as you think.

Every society sets its own tolerance for sports brutality. Ancient Romans gave a thumbs-up to (less bloody than you think) sports-murder. Elizabethan England’s “athletes” did terrible things to bears. Millions of Spanish people follow bullfighting to this day, even though bullfighting is like that one Bugs Bunny cartoon if it was torture porn.

What’s American society’s tolerance for sports brutality? Well it’s always been pretty damn high. Boxing is a sports version of guys beating each other to death. It is also literally guys beating each other to death a lot of the time.

Around 50 years ago, football became America’s favorite sport (alongside baseball), even though it put awful injury carnage on national television. Carnage I refuse to even hyperlink. Since football and boxing both erode human brains, writers and players have linked the two ever since we realized that.

The New York Times

Yahoo! Sports

Today, ESPN is my society’s mainstream sports provider. It’s been that throughout my lifetime. And I remember the hell out of the “Jacked Up” segment ESPN did on their national pre-Monday Night Football telecast EVERY WEEK in the mid-2000s. As this The Classical article recounts, “Jacked Up” was a highlight reel of vicious hits. It had no merits beyond viciousness. The hits were often helmet-to-helmet, or helmet-to-neck, or helmet-to-GoodLordThatGuyIsSomebodysKid.

And ESPN fu-cking loved that brutality. They’d make all their Trusted Experts chant “Jacked! Up!” in time with every replayed hit. Sometimes the hosts performed an imagined inner monologue of the hit’s victim. And if you think the behind-the-scenes crew wasn’t called on to throw some stank on those assaults, you do not remember sports fandom in 2006.

National Football League/ESPN

Since then, we’ve had many hundreds of neurological studies confirming the truth that football wrecks brains. It’s so well known, there’s a Will Smith movie about it. I’ve seen it, because our website bought me & Adam Ganser tickets to see it, because over the past couple years me & Ganz covered the NFL beat for Cracked’s YouTube and Facebook channels.

The movie didn’t change the NFL. But here’s how fast society is changing: Within 11 short years, society decided that guys getting “Jacked! Up!” is bad. Hits are no longer fun. And that change is going to kill football, because hits ARE football. Despite some comically tiny adjustments, football has been Professional Head-Hitting for over 100 years. Within the last decade, we decided The Thing That Happens On Every Football Play causes violent brain injuries, and even the fanciest football helmets don’t help.

That is waaaaaay too fast of a rate of societal change for football to remain a sport. And parents are bailing first: Youth flag football participation is growing as tackle football participation shrinks, and nobody is gonna pay 81 bucks for a ticket to see professionals yank flags off of each other. At that price, fans demand blood. And maybe some extra butt patting.

But unlike the Spaniards who delegated entertainment-pain to bulls, or the Englishmen who delegated entertainment-pain to bears, we delegated our entertainment-pain to fellow citizens. Citizens who damage each other from childhood if they want a shot at (borderline imaginary) NFL millions. And playing pro football pays millions because right now, in this era, we’re good with people’s kids losing their cognitive functions for our fun.

And ya know what? I’m flexible. I’m up for hearing some kind of argument that the value of football outweighs the human toll. Some kind of Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery”-assed bullshit about how the sport’s positives are worth the Hall Of Famer suicides it may or may not cause.

The only problem with that argument is … every aspect of the NFL.

It’s a borderline criminal enterprise with a legal monopoly on U.S. pro football. The NFL also doesn’t pay taxes, while taking millions in tax dollars from cities to build stadiums that don’t help those cities. They also took money from our national defense budget until they got caught. And then there’s their breast cancer “charity” scam, their atrocious treatment of cheerleaders, their chillaxed attitude about sexual assault that makes even less sense in light of their zero-tolerance policy toward weed, their unwillingness to pay a settlement toward brain-injury victims that one year of beer sponsor money pays for by a mile, and … whatever other crap they pull between when I write this and when it’s published.

And you know what? If none of that’s convinced you to drop the NFL yet, I don’t judge you. Basically all of these awful problems are old problems. Widely reported old problems. And I still watched the sport while knowing that stuff. Hell, almost everybody still watched it. Look at the NFL’s domestic violence problem: football’s TV ratings went up after the Ray Rice scandal in 2014. And their recent ratings dip gets blamed on non-scandal-based football quality and protesting. Outrage over more than a dozen high-profile NFL domestic violence cases happening after the Rice case hasn’t cost the NFL a cent.

I’ve decided to live in our near future. A near future where we don’t keep justifying football human toll. Which means giving up 20+ years of communal Bears fandom. Giving up Super Bowl parties. Giving up the thrill of watching all of a Sunday’s games at once, on several screens, like an evil genius bent on total touchdown awareness.

Giving up football also means losing the main topic of my first published humor writing, losing the valuable team-building fun of our office fantasy football league, and missing the professional football fun I had with Official World’s Most Delightful Human Adam Ganser. I’m an actual fan, with tangible (and livelihood-based!) reasons to stick with football. But the reasons to dump it just goddamn added up.

And lemme promise you something: I am not here to tell you to stop watching football. I’m telling you that the world will convince you to stop supporting football FOR me. In a surprisingly short number of years, liking the NFL will not feel normal. It will not feel default. You’ll find yourself putting active effort toward justifying football if you keep liking it, and that will feel gross and weird.

And I hate to tell you that. I know football means so much to so many people, including many people I love. But I see a future where you’ll do an NFL-y thing, and people will react like you lit a cigarette inside a restaurant. Or butt-patted a service employee. Or plunked down a bet on a dogfight.

And yes, I know at least one of you is reading this and saying “I don’t care.” You’re saying “No social norm can stop me from being the American I have chosen to be.” You’re saying “Being a cultural throwback slash gross weirdo is WHO I AM.” Well you know what I say to you, sir?

I say you’ve made that very clear, Mr. President.

Read more: http://www.cracked.com/blog/i-quit-watching-nfl-and-why-you-will-too/

6 Celebrity Health Tips (That Will Destroy Your Life)

You’re not really a celebrity unless you’ve got a super dubious hippie-dippy side hustle. We’re talking stuff like fad diets, “nutritional” supplements, holy water enemas, a 48-DVD series on the healing magic of pennies, an ensorcelled amulet that scares the evil poltergeist out of your colon when you eat too many legumes, etc. Yes, famous people will certainly bend over backwards to shill dumb crap. But what’s surprising is how many of them drink their own snake oil. Here are some celebrities who believe in crackpottery so stupid that their health tips would cause an Ojai crystal healer to choke on their karma-free granola.


Steve Jobs Washed His Feet In Toilet Water (And Generally Stank Up The Joint)

If you thought the memory of Apple founder Steve Jobs couldn’t be any more soiled by the fact that he more or less treated everyone he ever encountered like human garbage, then you’re probably right. But get this: The dude was so gross that one of his cleaner habits was washing his gnarly feet in the toilet.

If you saw the (non-Ashton-Kutcher) biopic wherein Michael Fassbender-as-Jobs prepares for a presentation by doing said ablutions in the crapper, you probably assumed that was a bit of Hollywood hyperbole. But nope, it was simply Jobs’ way of relieving stress. Combine this with his worrying aversion at wearing shoes, though, and we’re guessing this habit wasn’t very relaxing for Apple’s janitors.

Oh, but that was but the start of his hygienically questionable “eccentricity.” Early in his career, Jobs’ co-workers were so disgusted at his perpetual stank that management transferred him to the night shift. It wasn’t that he was afflicted by a condition that caused uncontrollable farting (though his vegan proclivities may have given rise to that issue as well), but rather that the man literally didn’t bathe.

It wasn’t a passive-aggressive thing either, as Jobs is said to have truly believed that if he ate only fruits, it would somehow leave his body “flushed of mucous,” thereby eliminating any need to march his grimy ass into a shower. So if you think the “fruitarian” lifestyle will make you smell like a delicious smoothie as opposed to a rank bus station hobo, people who had the misfortune of spending lengthy periods in Jobs’ presence will readily confirm that you are “very, very wrong.”


Shailene Woodley Worships The Sun With Her Hoo-Hah

Shailene Woodley’s model good looks, acting resume, and sunny disposition have made her a favorite of moviegoers the world over, discounting parents forced to sit through Divergent. Who knows how many more fans she’d have if everyone knew exactly how sunny she lets her disposition get. In her own words, she likes to “give [her] vagina a little vitamin D.” (She’s talking about sun, chuckleheads.) Woodley says she was reading studies about “yeast infections and other genital issues,” as one does, when she found out about the energy-refilling benefits of “spreading your legs” and getting some solar where the sun don’t shine.

Fox Searchlight
Please remember to put some sunscreen down there, though, or any of the benefits will be cancelled out.

Another example of how Woodley may be confusing “free-spirited” with “deranged train yard hobo” can be seen in her disdain for hygiene. According to her, because she was cursed with “horse hair,” it just works out better if she only shampoos her hair once a month and “the oilier, the better.” Not for the person standing behind you in the subway, no.

Style mavens and other loons have described her as “super down-to-earth,” which is evidenced by her claim that she makes her own toothpaste out of clay — which she also eats on its own, on the advice of a taxi driver. She also makes her own cheese and “whips up most of her eco-beauty products,” as well as her own medicines. Yes, she claims she “[doesn’t] get those from doctors,” preferring to select the finest wild plants crapped out by the ground in her area.


Simon Cowell Enjoys Sheep Placenta Facials, Blasts His Face With Oxygen, And Gets Wrapped Up Like A Taco

Noted competition show judge Simon Cowell evidently possesses an inner ugliness so profound that it requires diligent exterior maintenance. To prevent his skull from imploding into an abyss of endless darkness, Cowell must rely on cutting-edge pseudoscience to keep his grizzled mug sullen and tight.

Cowell’s past “experiments” have included such easily-confused-with-fraternity-hazing rituals as sheep placenta facials or being locked up for 90 minutes in detoxifying machines that look like Doctor Who set pieces. He’s also in the habit of taking regular blasts from a $500 aerosol can filled with pure oxygen to “rejuvenate his skin and reduce stress” — although having to constantly worry about avoiding anyone with a lit cigarette so your silk jacket doesn’t light up like a suicide vest seems like it might have the opposite effect.

And then there’s one technique that sounds like a scene from a Roger-Corman-produced Fifty Shades Of Grey ripoff, so we’ll let Cowell himself describe it:

That kind of behavior is perfectly acceptable between consenting adults, but we don’t normally sugarcoat our hardcore S&M fetishes by referring to them as “detoxing.” At least Cowell is upfront about his raging vanity, and admits to have “not obsessively” partaken in his fair share of Botox, which he considers “no more unusual than toothpaste.” You know you’re a little bit screwy when rampant goofball Howie Mandel calls you out for being a weirdo.


Alicia Silverstone Feeds Her Son Like A Mama Vulture

Ever watched a bird regurgitate a glob of mashed-up worms straight into the gaping maws of its ravenous brood? It’s pretty gross, to say the least, and certainly not something most of us would ever consider emulating with our own kids, or even our parrots. Unless, of course, you’re the actress who was America’s sweetheart during the brief period between Clueless and Batman & Robin, Alicia Silverstone. She’s apparently way into the upchuck school of child rearin’, and we regret to inform you that we have the photos to prove it:

Alicia Silverstone
In A Clueless Christmas Carol, this is Cher’s horrible fate as prophesied by the Ghost of As-If Future.

The official term for expelling chewed-up morsels into the mouth of one’s infant is “premastication.” It’s also a traditional method of weaning in some African countries, where it’s been shown to provide the exceptional benefit of transmitting deadly diseases. Shockingly, the National Institute of Health isn’t such a fan, and suggests that the public at large be warned about its dangers. But hey, it’s all worth it for the bonding, right?

As for Silverstone’s kid, she has claimed that he’s “never had a drop of medicine.” She doesn’t seem overly worried about that, however. Besides, who among us could be so heartless as to deny them these special moments together when “he attacks my mouth and I think it’s adorable“?

Alicia Silverstone
Thank you for ruining the one part of Aerosmith videos that didn’t seem weirdly incestuous.


Peter Thiel Is “Interested” In Injecting Himself With Blood To Become Immortal

For centuries, there have been tales of fiends who walk among us, their dark desires satisfied only through the savage bloodletting of the young and innocent. If you think that such monsters no longer exist, then gaze upon one such villain who still seeks dark pleasure in stealing away our very life’s essence:

Or that’s the plan, anyway. Peter Thiel, the billionaire businessman and co-founder of PayPal, admits that he has an “obsession with warding off death,” which seems reasonable for someone with more money than the GDP of Greenland. His dread of the reaper has led him to “look into” an activity that many of us would never consider on the grounds that it was too ghoulish: regular transfusions of blood taken from the (hopefully willing) bodies of young people.

“Parabiosis,” the technical term for the medical atrocity mentioned above, seems to be making a comeback after having fallen out of vogue due to controversies involving animal cruelty. Oh, right: Not only does this field of study involve blood transfusions, but also the practice of sewing two creatures together to share a circulatory system. Such crude techniques have not yet been performed on humans, so there’s as yet no reason to believe Thiel might be keeping a captive stable of supple teens on hand, should the need to surgically merge with one arise.

It turns out Thiel isn’t a complete maniac, as some studies suggest that parabiosis actually works — on rodents, but still. Also, you don’t have to be an internet Midas to get your hands on sweet, sweet youngster blood. A company called Ambrosia LLC in Monterey, CA is looking for volunteers to do a little plasma pimping right here in the U.S., and clinical trials are underway in China and Korea. Some Silicon Valley weirdos are already rumored to spend thousands of dollars a year desecrating the veins of nubile youths, which bodes well for a balmy future ruled by cyber-Draculas.


Gwyneth Paltrow Ritualistically Burns Her Underwear, Steams Her Nethers

At this point, Gwyneth Paltrow isn’t so much a movie actress as some reclusive faith healer who emerges occasionally to espouse the virtues of secreting an $88 jade egg up your vagina (and to sometimes make out with Iron Man).

Fortunately, her weekly lifestyle magazine/website, elegantly titled Goop, is here for the world. It’s done us the favor of corralling her wisdom all into one handy compendium / shithouse full of rats. Let us now begin with the cleansing fire for soiled underpants:

Yes, your undies carry the ghosts of your failed relationships, but don’t you dare toss those skivvies in the trash. That would be denying the gods of skid marks or whatever-the-fuck their proper sacrifice:

You can read about the entire ritual here. The easily nauseated should be forewarned, however, that it contains the phrase “recycling into the ethers.”

So now that you’ve emptied your drawers and your life of any offending panty-related melancholy (and also likewise disposed of all cancer-causing bras), it’s time for the next treatment: mugwort vaginal steaming. It might sound like the nastiest sort of Harry Potter fan fiction, but it’s an ancient Asian therapy that we’ve covered in more depth here.

Needless to say, just because something is ancient and Asian doesn’t mean it isn’t based on voluminous piles of nonsense. Gynecologists warn that the risk/reward ratio leans heavily toward “Don’t do that shit,” but what the hell do they know? According to Paltrow, “The first time I tried v-steaming, I was like, ‘This is insane’. My friend Ben brought me and I was like, ‘You are out of your f**king mind. What is this? But then by the end of it I was like, ‘This is so great.'” Well, we guess if it’s good enough for a totally random stranger named Ben, it’s good enough for you.

E. Reid Ross is the author of Nature Is The Worst: 500 Reasons You’ll Never Want To Go Outside Again, which is in stores now and available from Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

Also check out 5 Reasons You Should Never Take Advice From Celebrities and 5 Celebrities Way More Disgusting Than You.

Subscribe to our YouTube channel, and check out 6 Shockingly Out-Of-Touch Celebrities, and other videos you won’t see on the site!

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Read more: http://www.cracked.com/article_24656_6-celebrity-health-tips-that-will-destroy-your-life.html

Male Birth Control Study Cancelled For Causing The Same Shit We Deal With Every Month

When we hear the words male birth control and proven 96% effective in the same sentence, the only other thing most betches need to know is how soon we can sign our boyfriends up. After all, its about time guys start partaking in the joys of hormonal contraception that weve all been experiencing for years. A new study just confirmed that such a birth control does finally exist and works pretty wellbut before we could collectively rejoice, the study was cancelled. Why? Because a small portion of the participants experienced some unpleasant side effects including, wait for it depression and mood swings. No shit! shouted girls everywhere in response while popping their Wednesday pill.

Im sorry, but if any self-respecting betch had been a part of that study she would have told those guys to march their asses back into the clinic and finish what they started. If that sounds a little harsh then good, because girls have been dealing with those same exact side effects on the regs since the 1960s when the pill first went on the market. Not that I have to tell you that, since if it hasnt happened to you, its almost definitely happened to a friend, family member or someone you learned a little too much about while waiting in line for the bathroom.

Not only have depression, mood swings, nausea, and other fun side effects become a regular part of any betchs life whos on birth control, but theres also the possibility for much more dangerous outcomes (yes, shit just got real). The pill puts us at a higher risk for things like breast cancer, cervical cancer or having a stroke, all of which are FAR more potentially lethal than any side effect experienced by the men in this study. But apparently all of that is totally chill.

Obviously we dont want guys to become depressed from taking birth control (I mean except for the ones whove ghosted us), but its fucking unacceptable that this has been a burden exclusively felt by girls. Ending a study due to a side effect that is so blatantly common among women is downright offensive. They might as well have cancelled it because they realized they actually don’t give that much of a shit about coming up with a viable male option.

If and when male birth control becomes widely available, every betch is going to have much greater choices in preventing unwanted pregnancy aka will force her S.O. to go on it. The technology is out there, so betches in med school, were counting on you to counteract all this sexist bullshit and make it happen. And to all the guys who havent had the best experience with birth control and would rather not take it: join the fucking club.

Read more: http://www.betches.com/male-birth-control-study-cancelled-for-causing-mood-swings-total-bs

Debate 1 Recap: The Top 10 Most Ridiculous Moments

As if we need any more reasons to have anxiety, the first Presidential Debate happened last night and it went about as well as trying to go to the gym the day after your birthday. Honestly it felt more like a Comedy Central Roast than a debate for the next president. Somehow we wouldnt be surprised if the internet found a way to blame millennials for ruining debates. We feel like this whole election has been like going on vacation with your ex after youve broken upits not the future you see for yourself and you just want it to be over.

Anyways, we watched the debate and all we could say was UGH. So here are the worst moments from the debate so we can relive them and then hope they go away forever. Like a burn book. Let it all out.

1. Is Trump a Cokehead?

I mean, hes confident AF so probably. But everyone went batshit because Trump was sniffling and we all suspected him of bumping before the debate. He talks a lot about how huge his shit is, so we wouldnt be surprised if he was coked out during the debate. Exaggeration is a common side effect, after all… or so weve heard. I mean, we gave Trump shit for calling Hillary out on her pneumonia, and now hes got a runny nose and everyone attacks him. TBH this whole thing was UGH because the fact that everyones talking about it means the candidates arent exactly captivating us with presidential remarks. Also, if you guessed there are parody Twitter accounts for Trumps sniffles, youre right.

2. Hillarys Name Was Spelled Wrong on the Debate Ticket

We thought we were bad at remembering names, but this is like if you spelled the brides name wrong at her weddingand if you were the guy marrying her. I mean, we werent experts in school but isnt there one nerd working for the Presidential Debates that could have caught this? This just takes not doing work to another level.

3. Trump Doubled Down On The Whole Birther Thing

Theres nothing more annoying than a bro being proud of being a dick, and this was no exception. He said I think I did a good job about bullying President Obama into showing his birth certificate. Literally asking a black President to see his papers, and then went on to deny he was a racist. I mean, no good conversation has ever started with I trust you, but

4. Trump Talks About Getting The Police Endorsement Like An Amazon Order

So race came up because its an important issue, and Trumps response was to say Law & Order a bunch of times because he saw it on TV once. He then added that Literally talking about his endorsement like a pair of shoes that came in through the mail. Like is he ordering endorsements on Amazon Prime?

5. Lester Holt Had To Keep Reminding Everyone There Just Wasnt Enough Time

As Lester reminded them that their two minutes had expired over and over again, we were reminded of trying to get everyone to leave a pregame and into a cab. Its like no matter what he said they just wanted to yell at each other in loud voices. Honestly we felt bad for Lester, but he was all of us, looking at the clock and waiting for everyone to shut up so he can go home.

6. Hillary Brought Up Trump Being a Sexist

We dont disagree that Trump said shitty things about women, but I mean, is that really news at this point? Honestly just felt like a Roast Battle with less jokes. Hillary said about Alicia Machado, and we all collectively rolled our eyes. Telling a bro the shitty names he called women just makes him look more bro-worthy in other bros’ eyes.

7. Why Does Trump Keep Calling the Internet Cyber?

Lester asked them about cyber security and Trump answered with So um, hes afraid his dick pics arent secure? Thats basically what it sounds like.

8. Both The Candidates Couldnt Stop Talking Over Each Other

You know the couple in your friend group that always fights when they get drunk? This was like that, except the winner of the fight is driving you home. Basically you shouldnt get in either of their cars, because theyre both drunk.

9. Trump Talked About Rebuilding Our Airports For Aesthetic Reasons

Its like asking a woman where she stands on breast cancer research and her answer is, Some people have really nice boobs, if I get more money Ill definitely get some fake boobs. Of all the issues that airports could raise like terrorism, rising gas prices, or immigration, he talked about how our airports dont look as good as Dubais. Trump name-dropping airports was like the girl who goes abroad and cant stop saying things the British way. We get it, you travel.

10. Meet the Press Reported Hillary Was Over-prepared

As a cherry on top for what feels like the dumbest debate in history, a political news source said Trump lacked preparedness and Hillary was over-prepared. I mean, can you imagine a sports journalist saying Steph Curry was too prepared for a championship? Major UGH. Raise your hand if youve been personally victimized by last nights debate.

Read more: http://www.betches.com/debate-9-25-2016-recap

5 Horrifying Ways Old Hollywood Was A Living Hell

Trying to get ordinary people to feel sorry for rich, entitled celebrities is like getting rich, entitled celebrities to remember what it’s like to pour their own Cristal. Every now and then, however, you hear about Hollywood stars who were dealt such a shitty hand that you can’t help but think they would have been better off staying down here with the nobodies and riff-raff.

And here’s the crazy part: Despite all the tabloid headlines about Jennifer Aniston’s perpetually flat, un-pregnant belly, today’s Hollywood elite have it easy compared to the stars of your grandparents’ and great-grandparents’ generations. Back in the olden days, movie stars reported to movie studios … and movie studios were THE DEVIL.


Studios Forced Drug Addictions On Kids


Even if you’ve never turned on TCM or flirted with the “classic movies” section on Netflix (assuming there’s still a classic movies section on Netflix), you probably know who this is:

You’ll understand why she has that shell-shocked look on her face real soon.

That’s Judy Garland playing Dorothy in The Wizard Of Oz. She was 16 years old when she played the character, but she’d been working for MGM since she was 13. And 13, for those of you who haven’t hit puberty yet, is a sucky age. Judy was both too old for kid roles and clearly too young for lady parts.

Luckily for her, one of the most inexplicably popular stars in the world at the time was about her age and about her size (she was 4’11”). Mickey Rooney was Justin Bieber for the Depression crowd, and Judy Garland was his … Selena Gomez? His Lionel Richie’s Daughter? Maybe his Tyga? Whoever Justin Bieber is dating by the time this article runs, Judy Garland was the onscreen version of that person in the 1930s. Together, Garland and Rooney made movies at a nonstop pace throughout their teen years. And when we say “nonstop pace,” we mean that they’d finish one movie and start another hours later. The kids were expected to work 18-hour days, six days a week, all while looking so wholesome that you could eat cookies off their foreheads.

Delirium never looked so dapper.

The problem, as MGM soon figured out, was that children need pharmaceutical help to work those kinds of hours. It wasn’t long before the kids were given amphetamines to keep them going during the day, and sleeping pills to calm them down at night. As an alcoholic, drug-addicted adult, Garland put it like this:

Haus Publishing

But hey, she lived a full three more decades before the barbiturates MGM got her started on killed her.


Stars Were Put On A Makeover Assembly Line

Paramount Pictures

While plastic surgery has been a miracle for those suffering from various diseases, injuries, and, of course, the ravages of time, the procedure was used by Hollywood to hack their stars to fit the personas it wanted for them. One studio used hair dye and electrolysis to transform Latina nightclub singer Margarita Cansino into all-American white girl Rita Hayworth.

The American Magazine, Columbia Pictures
And you thought today’s Hollywood whitewashing was bad.

One thing hasn’t changed over the decades: All young lady stars were expected to stay skinny. While modern actresses can call on stylists, fitness gurus, internet tricks, and Gwyneth Paltrow’s garbage version of wisdom to find weight loss tricks, old-timey stars simply obeyed their studios. For the best example, let’s go back to Judy Garland. When her first movie came out, her studio told her she looked like a “fat little pig in pigtails.” She was 14 years old.

20th Century Fox
They wanted her to follow Bulimia Road before even thinking about a yellow brick one.

For the next few years, MGM kept Garland on a calorie-restricted diet, and had plates of food taken away from her as she sat down to eat in the studio cafeteria. They sent internal memos about her weight gain and how her costumes were fitting. They gave her diet pills, and ordered the cafeteria staff to only let her eat chicken soup until she got skinny. According to the guy she married at age 18, the head of the studio encouraged her to smoke up to 80 cigarettes a day to suppress her appetite.

Lymanhouse Publishers
Here’s her recipe for a salad she loved to smell at a distance while others ate happily.

When 1950s starlet Kim Novak showed up at the 2014 Oscars, the entire universe had a freakout about her surgically altered face. She took the criticisms in stride, since she was an old pro at getting bullied about her looks. When she first got to Hollywood, her studio changed her name, gave her lavender highlights, and told her to speak with a breathier voice. When Novak overate one day after a visit to a farmer’s market, one of her actress girlfriends suggested she remedy the mistake by drinking soap and water — which she did, before getting a ride to the hospital.

Even silent movie stars were ordered to get on the skinny side of healthy before they were deemed worthy of being seen by audiences. Swedish actress Greta Garbo was told to lose 20 pounds before she appeared on-screen because “in America, we don’t like fat women.” Garbo starved herself by eating nothing but spinach for three weeks, and lived on calorie-restrictive diets for the rest of her life, even moving her weirdo nutritionist into her home with her. Of course, the studio retired her at the old age of 36. Those cheekbones, though!

Starvation jaundice looks like a healthy glow in black and white.


Parents, Fixers, And Spies Controlled Actors’ Lives

Sony Pictures Entertainment

It wasn’t enough for Hollywood moguls to plan their actors’ looks, mannerisms, personas, and careers. Their asphyxiating hands of control would extend into every aspect of their stars’ lives. When the very blonde, very white Kim Novak fell head over heels for black singer Sammy Davis Jr., producer Harry Cohn had the mob put out a hit on Davis, threatening to have him killed if the affair with Novak continued. Davis backed down.

University of Nevada / Las Vegas University / Sands Hotel Collection
Which is surprising, given the gangsters he used to run with back in the day.

Mickey Rooney had garnered a little bit of a reputation as a playboy. When Rooney had finally decided to settle down and marry fellow MGM celebrity Ava Gardner, producer Louis B. Mayer told Rooney that as long as he worked for him, Rooney’s life was in Mayer’s hands, straight-up forbidding the union. Eventually, Rooney won out and married Gardner.

Hulton Archive/Getty Images
Presumably after his boss said, “Dayammmn, son. How!?”

To keep stars from making too many of their own decisions, studios would appoint caretakers to watch over them, as if they were helpless children. Garland and Rooney were given assistants who would advise, mandate, and report back to the studio on every aspect of their behavior. Rooney was fully aware of his studio-appointed “friend’s” real purpose. Garland, sadly, was clueless. When she discovered her longtime confidante was a secret nanny-spy, she was devastated. Seriously, Judy Garland couldn’t catch a break.

This look wasn’t a onetime thing.

Before child stars aged enough to receive their contractually-obligated best friends, their parents were given the task of ensuring their little ones would toe the Tinseltown line. Garland, Elizabeth Taylor, and Shirley Temple were under the management of their mothers, who would agree to the studios’ rigid guidelines and work schedules for their own salaries. Which is bad enough on its own, without taking into account all the rampant sexual abuse these ladies were subjected to at the hands of producers. Like the time Temple was flashed by producer Arthur Freed when she was 12. Temple laughed at his privates, and he threw her out of his office.

20th Century Fox
“Yeah, that looks like the stick of the Good Ship Lollipop. Nice try, asshole.”

Garland (again!) said she was molested by the head of the studio himself, who would grope her breasts while “complimenting” her singing talents.

The obsessive need for control got so out of hand that execs eventually began bugging their actors’ offices and homes, ensuring knowledge of their every move. Columbia producer Harry Cohn bugged both Rita Hayworth and her ex-husband, Orson Welles. Welles caught on to the buggery, and was sure to vocally greet Cohn upon arriving at the office every day.

Steven Jaffe / University of Michigan
Just because he cared a lot doesn’t mean he gave a shit.

Despite the studios’ meticulous monitoring of their commodities, actors weren’t always kept fully under control. When a celebrity did screw up, “fixers” would be deployed to go clean up the mess. If Clark Gable caused a car accident, fixers would find a different actor to take the fall for it. If Jean Harlow’s husband was murdered, fixers would make it look like suicide. And if an actress was gay and fell in love with another woman, fixers would leak to the press about her budding romance with the manliest of men. Old-timey LGBTQ celebrities who were forced into publicity-stunt hetero relationships were the lucky ones. Others were straight-up forced into studio-arranged marriages to hide their sexual preferences. It should probably come as no surprise to you that two of Judy Garland’s six husbands were actually gay men trying to fake it as heterosexuals in Hollywood.

Modern Screen Magazine
Pictured: Dorothy and her friend.

Hey, speaking of Judy Garland …


Forced Abortions


By the time Garland was 18, she was ready to get a little freedom from her studio bosses. So she did what any reasonable 18-year-old kid would do: She married a 31-year-old songwriter who immediately got her pregnant. Of course, the studio deemed Judy’s innocent ingenue days not over, and refused to let a little thing like the miracle of life change that. Claiming that Garland’s sweet and innocent demeanor would be tarnished by the state of motherhood, the studio — and Garland’s own mother — arranged for her to have an abortion.

Modern Screen Magazine
Please support our Kickstarter to build a time machine to go back and give Garland the “It’s not your fault” speech from Good Will Hunting.

Jean Harlow, or “the Blonde Bombshell,” wasn’t allowed to marry because a wife “couldn’t be a bombshell.” So she screwed around with her boyfriend without a marriage license. Before you knew it, it was time to schedule an “appendectomy.”

Tallulah Bankhead was said to have had more abortions than most women had perms. When Joan Crawford thought she was pregnant with Clark Gable’s baby, her studio fixer arranged for a secret abortion. Crawford told her ex-husband she had slipped on a cruise ship and lost their baby, rather than spill the beans about her affair with Gable.

Also, it’s possible he could’ve been jealous that he didn’t get to have an affair with Clark Gable.


Minority Actors Had It Worst of All


The desired end result of selling your soul to the Silver Screen Devil is to be showered with glitz, glam, and a whole bunch of sparkly gold award statues. Otherwise, what’s the point? Artistic expression? What a load of bullhockey.

If you happened to be white and successful, bully for you! You were then able to participate in fancy Hollywood gatherings and awards shows, lavished with attention and accolades. If you happened to be black, well, we’re pretty sure you can guess how that went.

When African-American actress Lena Horne arrived in Hollywood in the 1940s, she came with a plan. Her dad made her studio promise that his well-connected, affluent daughter would never play a maid on film. She got glamour shots and publicity like the other women in her studio … and she didn’t get any parts. When they finally cast Horne in an all-black movie called Cabin In The Sky, her big scene was cut for audiences in the South. Oh … we should mention that her biggest scene consisted of her singing a song naked in a bathtub.

Kill the part where she’s human, keep the part where she’s a sex object. Sounds perfectly Hollywood to us!

She had to go to Europe to secretly marry her white husband, and gave up on Hollywood altogether by the 1950s. And Horne, by the way, had the best shot of getting fair treatment from the studios. Gone With The Wind‘s African-American actors and actresses never stood a chance.

When the toilets on the Gone With The Wind set were segregated, an 18-year-old extra named Lennie Bluett took Clark Gable on a special tour of the studio, opening his eyes to the hardships of being an African-American actor in the 1930s. Gable was so upset about what he saw that he called the director right away and threatened to quit the movie if the “white” and “colored” signs weren’t taken down immediately.

Frankly, and thankfully, he did give a damn.

African-American actress Hattie McDaniel stole the show in Gone With The Wind, to the point where critics and audiences couldn’t manufacture a reason not to nominate her for an Academy Award. McDaniel herself marched the glowing reviews of her portrayal of Mammy to her director’s desk so he would make sure she was submitted for consideration. Not only was she nominated, she won. And she won against her white costars. But when it came time for the ceremony, McDaniel couldn’t sit with them — she had to sit at a separate table, and was only allowed into the building because her agent had called in some favors before the ceremony.

Academy Of Motion Picture Arts And Sciences
“Congrats on your hard work, I guess, but you did clean all the toilets, right?”

After getting an Oscar, Hattie was asked to dress up as her Mammy character and tour the country promoting the movie. Then she was cast in another 70 maid roles before dying of breast cancer in the early 1950s.

Good news for Judy Garland fans, though! Racial discrimination was the one area studios couldn’t figure out how to screw her on.

Also check out 7 Popular Old-Timey ‘Hobbies’ That Will Give You Nightmares and 5 Horrifying Realities Of Daily Life Edited Out Of History.

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Every year we’re inundated with movies that are based on true stories. We’re about to get a Deepwater Horizon movie where Mark Wahlberg will plug an oil spill with his muscles, and a Sully Sullenberger movie where Tom Hanks will land a plane on the Hudson with acting. But we think Hollywood could do better than this. That’s why Jack O’Brien, the Cracked staff and comedians Lindsay Adams, Sunah Bilsted, Eli Olsberg, and Steven Wilber will pitch their ideas of incredible true stories that should be made into movies. Get your tickets for this LIVE podcast here!

Read more: http://www.cracked.com/article_24278_forced-abortions-5-insane-ways-old-hollywood-tortured-stars.html

5 Medical Myths And Prejudices That Kill People Every Day

While America boasts some of the most advanced medical treatments this side of the sickbay on the Enterprise, access to those treatments is woefully short of universal. And some of the factors standing between us and adequate medical care serve as reminders of how far we are from a Utopian society in which no one is forced to wonder if that thing on their back is cancer. For example …

#5. Male Cancer Research Gets Less Money Because It’s Not Fashionable

If our social media feeds are to be believed, the boob is an endangered species. Women post the colors of their bras and flop their boobs onto random objects, while ads try to sell us “I heart boobies” bracelets and pink T-shirts, all to raise awareness of breast cancer. Hell, every October, which is breast cancer awareness month, the world looks like aisle three at the drugstore after a drunk tripped into the Pepto-Bismol display.

But do you remember the #CockInASock stunt, born to raise awareness for testicular cancer? Or how about the male version of that wacky pink merchandise, proudly proclaiming the wearer’s overwhelming affinity for his nuts? Of course you don’t. You almost certainly never heard about them in the first place. And that’s because breasts are fun and pleasing to look at, while a hairy, flaccid cock and balls looks like someone stuffed a sausage into a tube sock and draped it over a couple of bird eggs.

“So beautiful, so majestic,” said absolutely no one.

And that’s a problem, because female cancers get far more attention than male cancers, to the point where breast cancer awareness has become a marketing juggernaut. In the UK, for example, 40,000 men are diagnosed with prostate cancer each year, and 10,000 die from it. Those are similar numbers to breast cancer, but breast cancer gets more than double the research dollars. It’s not much different in America, with the National Cancer Institute’s funding per new case of prostate cancer (NCIf/ncpc, as it’s commonly known) being right around half that of breast cancer. It’s even worse in Australia, where men’s health research gets a measly quarter of the funding of women’s.

Despite their obsession with examining balls, the NFL won’t even spare a 30-second PSA for testicular cancer.

So why the huge disparity, despite the fact that men are 16 percent more likely to get cancer than women, and 40 percent more likely to die from it? Well, it’s a lot easier to get behind a campaign involving a depressing disease if attractive young women are involved. Then there’s the fact that men are conditioned to “tough it out.” Men often fail to go to the doctor after spotting early symptoms, because what are they, some kind of pussy? So no one wants to talk about it, which is why we don’t see a lot of blue ribbons or fun runs to raise money for prostate cancer research, even though it sports as many victims as the almighty Pink.

Perhaps what prostate and testicular cancer needs is a cute little mascot or slogan, like a cartoon penis saying “Don’t suck it up — see your doctor!” Or something like that. We’re just spitballing here.

“Bury your nuts, don’t let them bury you! Contact a urologist today!”

#4. Attributing A Baby’s Death To SIDS Keeps Parents From Learning About Their Mistakes

SIDS is the sudden and unexplained death of an infant in its sleep. Good news: The rate of SIDS has been steadily decreasing for quite some time. Bad news: SIDS hasn’t been cured, because SIDS isn’t a disease. It’s merely a catch-all term for scenarios that are too sad to talk about, to the point where valuable information isn’t being communicated to parents.

See, many of the “unavoidable” deaths once attributed to SIDS actually had known causes. These include placing a baby facedown in a crib or giving them poofy pillows, both of which can lead to suffocation, or parents saying no to cribs and sleeping with a tiny, squishable infant right next to them. A Detroit pediatric mortality investigator looked at over 500 infant deaths, and found that nearly all of them could have been prevented if the baby’s sleeping environment had been safer. Then they presumably looked for a less sad job.

“Hi, I’m calling about the puppy gravedigger opening.”

When the worst does happen, doctors tend to sugarcoat the situation by pointing a finger at SIDS and portraying the baby’s death as unavoidable, as if the Grim Reaper was behind on his quota and simply couldn’t be stopped. But parents want to know how their child died, even if they had a hand in causing the death. That’s part of the grieving process — closure is better than thinking the medical equivalent of a boogeyman stole your baby away in the middle of the night.

Strange how no one wants to drop the guilt trip of a lifetime on heartbroken parents.

And obviously, the knowledge can also go a long way toward ensuring that parents don’t lose another freaking child with the exact same mistake. We think feeling additional guilt is worth it if it guarantees that doesn’t happen.

#3. A Lack Of Medical Interpreters Can Be Fatal

Imagine you’re suffering from constant debilitating chest pains, and you haven’t even had your patented Mountain Dew nachos for weeks. So you go to the doctor and describe your symptoms, but he spouts off a response which sounds like he’s clearing his throat after he’s gulped down a bucket of live tree slugs. You realize with growing dread that your doctor only speaks R’lyehian, which is not a circumstance that’s tenable to your continued well-being. It’s also a circumstance encountered by countless non-English-speakers across America.

Though without the Cthulhu worshiping doctors … They’re in the collections department.

In order to receive government funding, hospitals are required to provide language services to any patient who needs them, and many states have programs to reimburse hospitals for the significant costs of employing the only person in South Dakota fluent in Mongolian. But some hospitals either can’t afford translators or simply don’t bother, and the monitoring and reporting of language issues is poor. And so nearly nine percent of Americans are at risk of a language-barrier-induced “adverse event,” which is a technical way of saying someone got an appendectomy when all they wanted was directions to the bathroom.

We’re only half-joking, because a study across four states discovered non-English-speaking patients who had died, received unnecessary amputations, or suffered permanent organ damage. And all because busy doctors try to save time by eschewing professional medical interpreters in favor of staff members who had a semester of Spanish in college — or worse, a patient’s English-speaking child who can’t even pronounce “anal fistula,” let alone translate it for their mom.

“Let your mom know it’s mild xerostomiath. We’ll test for Sjogren’s syndrome, but a dose of Salagen should clear it up. Got all that?”

In one example, a doctor who knew French used it to speak to a patient who only spoke Creole, French’s hip cousin. But the French word for “stomach” sounds a lot like the Creole word for “chest,” and you don’t want to get those two regions mixed up when scalpels are involved. That’s why professionals are needed — they know the subtleties of the language, and they can translate complicated medical jargon.

Studies have shown that patients treated by physicians who speak their language are more likely to adhere to doctor’s orders because, you know, they actually understand them. Meanwhile, patients with limited knowledge of English are 24 percent more likely to make return visits to the emergency room. We’re assuming this is not because they had such a blast there the first time around.

Read more: http://www.cracked.com/article_24190_5-inexcusable-ways-modern-doctors-are-killing-people.html

5 Realities Of Life When You Know You’re Going To Die

Cancer must have hired a hell of a PR team in the last decade. Sure, it remains the most frequently invoked worst-case scenario in modern life and is projected to claim nearly 596,000 lives in the U.S. this year, but most public awareness campaigns and the media paint a rather rosy picture of the ordeal. Fictional cancer sufferers can expect baldness and some puking, but they also generally get better. It’s easy to forget that once cancer reaches a certain stage, death is not a matter of if, but when.

Cracked spoke with three young women — Susanne Kraus-Dahlgren, Jo Evelyn Ivey, and Christina Shaw — who all have Stage IV metastatic cancer, meaning the disease which originally crashed in their breasts or lungs has set up camp all over their bodies and shows no signs of leaving. They told us …


Cancer Doesn’t Care Who You Are

Yale Rosen/Wiki Commons

Christina was a little shy of her 30th birthday when she was diagnosed with Stage IV lung cancer. Everyone was confused, seeing as how she was a young nonsmoker and, to the best of her recollection, had never set foot in a uranium mine. “I still remember my first visit to a doctor I hadn’t seen yet,” she says. “When he walked in and saw me for the first time, he was visibly surprised and commented that he thought my chart belonged to a 90-year-old lady.”

It wasn’t necessarily an insult; 97 percent of lung cancer patients are 40 or older, and the average age at diagnosis is 70. Yet there’s been a significant uptick in lung cancer diagnoses among young nonsmoking women, thanks to a mutated gene that’s begun working its way down through the population, in the most unwelcome trend since Uggs. It can take a long time to diagnose these women, largely because active teens and 20somethings don’t tend to get body scans for every little thing and few doctors entertain the possibility of lung cancer. By the time it’s detected, it’s a Breaking Bad situation. Christina had a persistent cough for two years, but she didn’t think much of it until she started getting pain in her hip so severe that she sometimes had to walk with a cane.

Quite like the aforementioned 70-year-olds, coincidentally.

“The doctor told me I had a large mass in my lung — the size of my fist — and it was most likely cancerous, since there were other lesions throughout my body,” she says. “The cancer had spread to my lumbar spine, my right hip, my liver, my lymph nodes, and my brain, which unfortunately meant it wasn’t curable, and I would only receive palliative treatment.”

It was like rolling snake-eyes on 100-sided dice: Only 2-3 percent of people who get lung cancer are under 40. The odds are slightly higher for breast cancer, accounting for about 5 percent of all cases. Susanne just squeaked into that exclusive club when she found what she thought was a cyst when she was 39, and Jo Evelyn was only 31. “I thought it was funny,” Jo Evelyn says, “‘I’m having a really bad week, and now I’ve got this lump.'”

Kinda puts that lady at work swiping your lunch in perspective, though.


Life Goes On, Right Up Until It Doesn’t


Susanne likens having a metastatic diagnosis to being “stuck in the middle of the road with a bus barreling down on you, but you can’t tell how close it is or when it’s going to hit you.” Metastatic breast cancer has a five-year survival rate of 22 percent, which is a grim prognosis, to be sure, but it’s also wildly variable. Susanne and Jo Evelyn have been told by their doctors that they’ll never be rid of the cancer. “To stop treatment would mean I’m going into hospice,” Susanne says. In all likelihood, it’s simply a matter of when, but it’s always in the back of your mind that you could be one of those miracle cases, so you have to make two entirely separate plans for your life: Plan A and Plan Dead. “I have to make long-term decisions factoring in the possibility of dying, while acknowledging I could very well still be around for a while,” Susanne says.

“Yeah, I’d love to come to your New Year’s party. If, you know …”

For Susanne, that meant getting married and co-founding a metastatic breast cancer activist group called MET UP, while Jo Evelyn’s life kindly took the planning out of her hands. Against all odds, she went and got herself pregnant. Not everyone was happy. One of her oncologists read her the riot act for failing to have her tubes tied when she first went through chemo, then he doubled down and guilt-tripped her about bringing a child into the world who wouldn’t have a mother for long. “But I figured, I’m dying anyway,” she says, “Why not bring this life into the world?” So she went off treatment for eight months, had her baby at 37 weeks, and went right back into treatment the next day.

The stats on metastatic lung cancer are even worse, with a five-year survival rate of a mere 4 percent and a median survival time of six months, but Christina remains “cautiously optimistic.” She passed the two-year mark last April, possibly because of a rare genetic mutation she has which is known to add longevity to lung cancer patients. It was the least her genes could do. Still, to be safe, she decided that if she was going to die young, she’d live a bit faster — which meant moving across the country and buying a single-wide trailer in Nashville so she could be rinkside for every home game her beloved Predators play.

Using sudden death overtime to deal with the possibility of actual sudden death seems like as good of a way to cope as any.

By the way, the team was just eliminated from the playoffs in a close seven-game series. For the rest of the fans, that means no more hockey until next year. Imagine how much more, uh, final that last game had to have seemed to Christina. Everything you do — even the most mundane, everyday bullshit — could be the last time you do it.


People With Terminal Cancer Are Often Ignored By Both Charities And Researchers


One reason it’s hard to say how long our sources have is that science treats metastatic cancer patients like a lost cause, a case of throwing good money after bad. Less than 0.5 percent of National Cancer Institute grants in the previous 30 years went to studies on metastatic cancer because, in Jo Evelyn’s opinion, “We’re all going to die, so they kind of write us off.”

U.S. Air Force
“Sorry, but these ribbons and gel bracelets aren’t going to sell themselves.”

Instead, most of the money is earmarked for prevention and early detection, which are still humanity’s best weapons against cancer, but little comfort to those who, you know, already have it. An estimated 30 percent of breast cancers will become metastatic, including some that have been caught early and treated. Although current screening procedures have greatly reduced the odds of death for Stage I patients, they haven’t done a damn thing to reduce the number of patients who are already too far along by the time they get diagnosed. Those patients get little more than a “Tough shit, have a ribbon.” Many cancer charities have determined that, dollar-for-dollar, this is the most effective way to focus their efforts, but screening will never catch everyone, and as Jo Evelyn points out, “They don’t even know what causes cancer to metastasize …”

And then there’s the fact that when it comes to the big charities, research of any kind often takes a backseat to outreach, informational campaigns, and those colored ribbons. Last year, nonprofit juggernaut Susan G. Komen — the largest breast cancer organization in the U.S. — donated only 16.5 percent of the $250 million it raised to research. Keep in mind that this is the group which supposedly works “for the cure.” They’re also notorious for not letting late-stage breast cancer sufferers speak at feel-good fundraising events (and if they do, you can count on them to downplay the seriousness of their condition).

“She’s currently under treatment for owies caused by a Stage IV boo-boo …”

That right there is the bizarre paradox of being in this situation. Everyone plays up how deadly cancer is in order to drum up awareness and funding. But if you’re one of those people who actually have a terminal diagnosis, nobody wants to hear from you because it’s too goddamned depressing.

And, in fact …


You’re Expected To Play The Part Of The Inspirational Hero

Steve Debenport/iStock

It’s to the point where members of the metastatic club can feel like personas non grata in what is supposed to be a big pink tent. “In all-stages breast cancer support groups, many people with Stage IV are told that maybe they shouldn’t talk about metastatic disease or share their story, because it’s ‘scary’ to early-stagers who want to think they ‘beat’ cancer,” Susanne says. “We’re dying and being told to be quiet about it because it doesn’t fit in with the propaganda.”

Susanne also resents that in mainstream culture, cancer has mutated into a kind of mystical, spiritually cleansing experience — a personality level-up which gives you valuable “perspective” rather than a rapidly ticking clock. “I get monthly injections in my abdomen with a pretty large needle, and I take it without complaint because it’s keeping me alive,” she says. “I’m not stronger or braver for it. I’m just trying to live.”

“Wow, Mrs. Lynn. You did amazing with that pap smear.”

Oncologist Dr. Rob Rutledge recognizes this phenomena and refers to it as “the cancer hero” or “the person that’s going to beat this cancer, the person who gets up at 5 a.m. and runs 10 miles and then meditates for three hours.” He says, “The problem with the cancer hero, from my perspective, is that you can miss out on your relationships, on connecting with people — with your priorities.”

But refusing to play the cancer hero can strain your relationships as well. “I’ve lost family members over my openness about my disease because they think I’m negative,” Jo Evelyn says. “Just the other day, my neighbor was trying to tell me I shouldn’t speak aloud that I have terminal cancer.” In other words, “Could you please stop dying so much? It’s rude.”


People Assume You Did Something To Deserve It


Christina hasn’t felt censured for being brutally honest about her cancer, probably because there’s an entirely different awareness culture at play. “I think lung cancer colors are white and clear — way less cute and marketable,” she says (and harder to sexualize). What she does get are people assuming she deserves it.

“Whenever someone finds out I have Stage IV lung cancer, one of the very first questions they ask is if I was or am a smoker,” as if they’re “trying to do some detective work to see if I brought this disease on myself … Everyone is always shocked to learn that I’ve never touched a cigarette, the hardest drugs I’d done was ibuprofen, and I didn’t even have my first alcoholic drink until I was 21.”

“Wait, you didn’t have sex before marriage, did you?”

In fact, as many as 20 percent of lung cancer patients are nonsmokers, but regardless, maybe the first thing you do when someone tells you they’re dying shouldn’t be to turn into Captain Hindsight. “That’s what you get for letting your 14-year-old self get hooked on one of the most addictive substances known to mankind! Now let me finish my breakfast of tequila and chicken wings in peace.”

Breast cancer patients aren’t immune to this either, as many of the risk factors — which include drinking, being overweight, and not having children — are frowned upon by certain parts of society. But Jo Evelyn can count off a number of teetotaling, upbeat, vegan friends she lost to cancer. Meanwhile, “I smoke a pack of cigarettes a day,” she says. “I drink on occasion, I drink two liters of Coke a day, and I’m still here five years later. Riddle me that.”

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Read more: http://www.cracked.com/personal-experiences-2270-5-realities-life-once-you-realize-cancer-has-won.html