IT’S A BOY-LING PLANET! Gender Reveal Stunt Screw-up Kicks off Catastrophic Chain Reaction that Ends Life on Earth

The lone planet in the entire universe that hosted advanced life became a smoking husk today. The cause of the destruction was a gender reveal stunt gone wrong.

The end began at the edge of the demilitarized zone that divides North and South Korea. American troops stationed nearby were holding a party.

Private James Cullmann and wife Sarah were set to reveal the gender of their child with a firecracker.

James, being a jokester, chose to launch the rocket by balancing it in his butthole. The firecracker launched from his bare rear and exploded in a shower of bright blue sparks.

“It’s a boy,” the Cullmanns and their guests cheered. Sarah Cullmann held her belly and cried.

Though a touching display, this was unwelcome news for all sentient life on earth.

North Korean watchmen heard the explosion. They concluded they were being attacked by their hated rivals in the South. The North Koreans responded as promised: by launching an all-out attack. Millions of South Koreans died in minutes.

South Korean allies in Western Europe and the United States responded. In seconds, the entire Korean peninsula was nothing but a crater.

Unfortunately, the damage was so extensive, fallout swept over Russia and China. Enraged, they launched their nuclear weapons at Western Europe and the United States.

Much like World War One, what began as a small conflict quickly erupted into a globe-wide brawl. Ally of ally jumped into the fray, tossing nukes and chemical weapons at each other.

In a matter of days, the once beautiful colors of earth were nothing more than a sickly orange dust. The few survivors were mortally wounded. The lucky ones died early.

The last living human staggered across the smoking landscape. His skin sliding off his exposed bones.

“At least now we know,” he said, coughing blood. “The secret’s out. James and Sarah are – were, I guess – having a boy.”

He died one second later.

EPIC TONGUE-LASHING! Choreographer Enraged at Football Team’s Poorly Synchronized Touchdown Dance

“Out of rhythm. Out of sync. Uninspired! That performance made me sick! I am embarrassed. That was seriously piss-poor execution! I am insulted. Disgusted!”

The screaming from the Philadelphia Eagles locker room sounded like a furious coach’s rant. But this wasn’t a coach, and it wasn’t about the performance during the game.

This scolding was about the touchdown dance.

The epic dressing-down came from Bee-yall Py-ZaZ. According to his neon pink business card, he’s a Choreographer Extraordinaire.

The lackluster Eagles hired Py-ZaZ to design elaborate and thrilling touchdown dances. The reason? To bring fans some form of entertainment during what promises to be a dismal season.

The slim dance instructor could not have looked more alien in the locker room. He wore tight silver hot pants, gold heels, a lavender mesh tank top, and gold-rimmed glasses. Yet he terrorized the hulking men in dark uniforms.

Py-ZaZ punctuated his insults by whipping the players with his lime green feather boa.

“You all,” Py-ZaZ screamed, pointing at several players. “You’re the back row, clap left step right, clap right step left. Together. TO-GE-THER! It’s not hard! Children could do it! But you? You cannot!”

“Ugh! I can’t go on. I can’t even! When – I should say if – you score again, that touchdown dance best put the metro ballet to shame! You think I’m mad now? You ain’t seen mad!”

After the verbal assault, Py-Zaz rage-swished from the locker room, leaving behind a shocked silence. Several players remained seated, heads bowed.

One was weeping in the corner.

“I’ve been berated by coaches before. But I’ve never unmanned like this,” he said, wiping his nose on his jersey.

“I need to focus. Get my head in the game. But more importantly, in the dance.”

When Eagles management was asked if Py-ZaZ would stay on, despite draining the team’s already-sagging morale, they said he would. Speaking on condition of anonymity, one executive explained.

“They say when you get to the end zone you should act like you’ve been there before. We follow that advice. When we get to the end zone, we want to act like we’ve never been there before, because we haven’t.”

DE-REGULATED! Militia Unable to Form Free Society by Using Threats of Murder to Resolve All Disputes

Yesterday, Camp Liberty was a small village in rural Missouri. That changed when residents formed “The Freedom Militia” and declared the town an autonomous zone. Then they announced their secession from the United States.

That’s when the trouble began.

Our reporters were denied entrance to the new nation. We instead asked militiaman Ron Dinster, who was guarding the front gate, how the young republic was faring.

“They say the price of freedom is eternal vigilance, but I’ll be honest with you,” Dinster said. “Eternal vigilance kinda sucks.”

But wasn’t he free?

“Free to do what? I’m always on edge, carrying my firearms everywhere. These guys were my friends, but now I don’t trust anyone. If they want what I have, they might try to take it. I sleep in with my gun’s safety off. How can I enjoy freedom if I’m on alert 24/7?”

Dinster spit in the dirt.

“We thought making a free country would be easy. Run around the woods with your pals. Shoot stuff. Plan mock drills. But once we declared our sovereignty, oh man, things got complicated fast.”

How so?

“For one, we never discussed how to resolve disputes. No need. Everyone’s free, so it was up to each citizen to defend his own. So who gets their way? Whoever has the biggest gun or the meanest swagger. Former friends threatened to kill each other over the smallest argument. Who got the biggest tent, the nicest cot, who took out the trash – you name it. No one budged because they refused to have their freedom infringed.”

Dinster looked to the night sky for answers.

“I wish I could shoot someone to make it all better. But who? Then that guy’s pals will come after me. Revolution was the easy part. After that? What a headache.”

As our interview ended, Dinster made a quiet plea.

“You all mind giving me a ride back to the USA? I don’t care if that makes me an illegal immigrant. Just get me out of here.”