Wyoming Man Steps Up, Agrees to Portray Internet For Frustrated Users

We've all had those moments of utter fury: midway through a YouTube video, a chat, or something simple as a tweet, the tiny darkened bars in the top corner of your computer screen disappear and for a brief second your precious internet connection has been lost. It may return in seconds, minutes, or even hours, but the inexplicable nature of the event and the subsequent frustration it causes simply requires some sort of output, something that can be done to cure your exasperation. Experienced users all deal with the problem the same way: you unplug the router for ten, maybe twenty seconds, and then plug it back in. Voila. The situation has been cured, and you are safely able to get back to work...or mounds of disturbing pornography. However, deep inside your consciousness, the fear remains: when will this odd and magical entity I am so devoted to lose itself again, and what will be interrupted next?

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Phillip Angus of Cheyenne, Wyoming.

Phillip grew up a simple man, living on a farm with his six brothers and sisters and preparing himself for a life of agriculture and minimal means. Still, Phillip's warm heart and deep, unprovoked love for others drove him outside his quiet farm world and into the spotlight when he took on an interesting burden--and the public responded.

"My family and I only just got internet on our farm six months ago, but we could never understand those darned times when we'd just get...cut off!" Angus explained, standing facing a line of eager individuals as they approach him, briefly assault him, and leave out the door behind him.

Mr. Angus, it appears, has taken it upon himself to act as a physical manifestation of the world wide web, a person capable of receiving and feeling pain as opposed to an enigmatic, intangible entity. For only $1, frustrated internet users are able to carefully approach Phillip, enact any sort of physical damage they wish to bestow upon him for a period no longer than 3 seconds, and depart in peace.

"It's really changed the way our family functions," claims one satisfied user, "my husband's heavy drinking would always get kicked off by some mild frustration like losing internet connection. With Mr. Angus around, he simply walks four blocks to the Internet's room and takes out his anger there. He's been sober for over three weeks!"

Other interesting tales from Mr. Angus include an overly frustrated man who attempted to exterminate "Phillipnet," as followers have been calling him, with an active grenade. Phillipnet's top-notch security was able to apprehend the suspect prior to detonation, however, and the frustration outlet's life was maintained.

"I've always loved helpin' people, and this seemed like one of the last true ways I could do it," he says, frequently addressing the fact that he wouldn't make people pay for the service but he has no other income since leaving the farm. "It don't really hurt me anymore, I'm actually kinda starting to enjoy it!"

Whether or not we will ever see another individual as selfless as this one is hard to say, but for now we should all appreciate the dear, dear services of Mr. Phillip "Phillipnet" Angus.

R&B Star Lloyd Speaks Candidly About True Meaning of Hit Song

With momentous events like Chris Brown's unforgivable beating of former girlfriend Rihanna and Kanye West's rude-albeit-amusing microphone hijacking from Taylor Swift at the VMAs, many people in America today forget that musicians also possess a softer side. And, more often than not, that side gets enveloped by the public's perception of a particular incident or song lyric, dwarfing the intended message and harming the very fabric of that musician's emotional core. Well, this is one blogger who refuses to let another angst-ridden artist have his deep, emotional words given up to the public.

Enter Lloyd, and his hit song "Dedication to My Ex (Miss That)."

On the surface, "Dedication to My Ex" is a crude, lewd, and pretty fucking awesome song about Lloyd's desire to re-enter the vagina of a former flame - a vagina currently being utilized by another man. But beneath the surface, beneath the blanket of meaning draped over the song by the public's perception, there is a far more heart-wrenching story involved. In fact, in a recent interaction I was fortunate enough to have with Mr. Lloyd Polite, Jr. (awesome name by the way), he gave me a first-hand account of that exact story...and the result was life-changing.

"My parents got me Seymour for Christmas when I was 6 years old," he laments, his eyes transfixed on the corner wall of a small, downtown LA Starbucks. As he speaks, his glassy eyes try to hold back relentless tears and eventually a single droplet makes its way to the surface, rolling down his almond-colored skin until he brushes it away with a gentle motion. "He was my best friend."

In case anyone happens to be unaware, the chorus of "Dedication to My Ex" goes as follows: "Oh no, tell me where that pussy gone/'Cause it don't feel the same no more/I miss that pussy, that pussy, that pussy." While society, caught in the commonly held notion of R&B artists as womanizing partiers, has placed its label on the song, Lloyd maintains that there is a far deeper meaning surrounding its lyrics associated with his feline companion.

"You never really know what day is gonna be your last to see someone special, and when I woke up that morning...I just..." he continues, halting his emotional confession momentarily to once again hold back tears. This time, as I gently caress his hand to know he is in a place of love and not judgment, he breaks down into a full-on sob. I embrace the troubled artist, his suffering outweighing any potential embarrassment I could be feeling from the eyes of other Starbucks customers. Finally, he's able to bring himself to finish the story.

"I opened the window in my bedroom all the time. I couldn't have known he'd jump out and...and...the truck just came by so fast," he concludes, and at that point I knew no more words would be necessary. What has been recognized by all as a song about the loss of a lustful woman and her sexual prowess is simply a sad man's ode to a fallen furry friend. After composing himself and coming to the realization that his confession would only help him grow as an artist, Lloyd explained that he knew society would never embrace him as the fragile man he had become since losing Seymour, so he embedded the meaning in a song recorded to sound like a typical R&B hit. Even so, this is one reporter who has been touched by a heartfelt story of loss and will surely have a greater understanding of the plight of the R&B singer.

Just a Fuckton of Blue Ivy Jokes

So, as you and much of the world are aware, rapper/writer/producer/actor/entrepreneur/everything Jay-Z and singer/pretty-much-all-the-same-shit Beyonce, known here on out simply as "The Ultimate Power Couple," welcomed their daughter into the world just yesterday. And, in keeping with the absurd names celebrities have become forced to apply to their offspring, the two decided to name the girl Blue Ivy. Not the worst attention-grabbing naming celebrities have done (I'm looking at you, Apple Martin), but still strange nonetheless and prone to a number of hilarious observations. And, seeing as I specialize in the strange and hilarious, I've decided to present you with an onslaught of jokes dealing with the young Ms. Carter. Allow me to begin...

Eiffel 65 just climbed their way back to the top of the music game.

I was unaware that Jay-Z and Beyonce were cultivating a nemesis in their ongoing war against Batman.

This could be the first time in history that a duo decided to name their child after an unknown strain of marijuana.

Her first mixtape just dropped as I was writing this.

I wish I was there during the argument these two had about whether "Print" or "Ivy" would be the middle name. You can guess who was on each side.

I don't know who the next celebrity to give birth will be, but you can bet Kanye West will be by her side yelling "I'mma let you finish...but Beyonce gave her girl one of the best names of all time." Let's hope it isn't Taylor Swift.

Jay-Z should be prepared to crack a lot of guys in the face when they start making "I'm gonna plant my seed in Blue Ivy tonight" jokes.

Her second mixtape just dropped, and I'm hearing mumblings of a Grammy nod.

Can Blue Ivy and Willow Smith please get together and form a group called "Blue Ivy Growing On a Willow"?

That's all I've got for now, but I'm sure you've formulated some of your own by now. These could go on for years, let's be honest...