Extra Evil

Extra Evil - Introducing

Today's Fortune: You're a finalist for chosen one.

Dennard Dayle

26 Mar 2025 — 5 min read

You Need This

No really, it's called You Need This. Short parodies of podcast ad reads, just for you. It's less niche than Weeaboo Hell, so I'm adding it to the newsletter rotation (further down after this premiere).

You Need This, Pitch 1: "Bet on It"

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Spotify | See More Evil

Note: Given the concept, you'll notice the logo's more "eye bullet" elsewhere.

Newsreel

The world's longest death row stay was a teensy mistake.

No one's sent me war plans in days.

Columbia admin took a stand for gotcha, god I'm hilarious.

Paul Weiss took a stand for gotcha, god I'm hilarious.

Skin-lightening creams don't leave much skin.

Meta plagiarized that book on Meta's ethics.

A Photo

Another Bali shot. Worth the bacteria.

War Journal

Never buy a bike too nice to lock outside. Mine's mostly furniture.

I'm starting a cult before our money evaporates. It's mankind's most secure industry. Invest now, and I'll cut you in. Invest enough, and I'll even teach you how to make your own. It looks simple, but you need me. Forever. The indolent and doubtful will miss the mothership of wealth.

If I'm stripped of citizenship before then, remind me to flee somewhere warm. I have Pokemon-level type weakness to cold.

I like the diffusion and dilution of the word founder. Every so often, people realize they can borrow any term reserved for planet-torching megalomaniacs and stick it on their resumes/dating profiles/cardboard signs. And for a time, it'll work. Linguistic carbon decay can be used for good. Or at least a clown's impersonation of redistribution.

I'm picking up tycoon.

As a digital media tycoon, I've given this a great deal of industry-leading thought. In leadership-friendly poses, like that one statue. I'll pivot into cheering on deviant-hunting drones in the next week or so.

In the war to avoid meeting the neighbors, there can be no rest.

It's a bootlicking renaissance. Tongues are bending into new shapes, awing mathematicians into silence. America First tank top owners are doing barbell curls with their tongue, to better dislodge that last crumb. The Simmons tongue is obsolete. The Schumer tongue is the future.

I jawed with another art school android about regret. Not life choices, that game's rigged. Creative regret.

I don't regret the insults or the slander or the crimes or the confessions of crimes or the mourning or the delirium or the obsessive editing or almost anything else to spill out of graphomania. Almost.

I do regret lamenting my shoulder in public. There's a novella's worth of playground wailing hiding in the archives. Rough look.

A Screenshot

The Present

The Past

Shen Yun's back in town, so I'm giggling a bit.

The Future

A sequel to an old favorite. There's a bit of time pressure, but my mind's gone anyway.

Not Brought to You By

Let's spend more time with Budweiser. They mastered the pander-to-boot pivot early, and that deserves extra attention.

Thumbing through the anthology, Bud's tradition of easily abandoned inclusion goes back a bit. Their early overture to black alcoholics stands out:

**Headline:** this calls for Budweiser **Body Copy:** the neighbors...out in the kitchen.

What a change! Not only do apes exist, they stand upright and can button a shirt with two or three tries. Post-racial America's here early, and I know where 14% of booze sales should go.

Then something curious happens. Budweiser doesn't disappear from the rest of the anthology. Neither do black people, surprisingly. But nary a curly hair shall threaten an innocent Bud for some time.

But that's all history, and history is boring. Is this quality pandering? Nope. Booze ads meld all kinds of delightful insanity with wasted art degrees. You need to dig deeper than existing near product to desegregate cirrhosis.

Creativity: D- | Persuasion: D- | Sanity: C-

Here's one that plays nicer with history, by not pretending to care about anything. See how easy life can be? This ran after Prohibition got the axe: