The ClickHole Email Club is here
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Hello to you from ClickHole.com, the internet’s website.
Today’s world is a chaotic and frightening place. The coronavirus and sexual intercourse have paralyzed society and are showing no signs of slowing down. The economy is being annoying, AI is taking our jobs/spouses, and climate change is making all the animals screwy and more delicious. In the midst of so much fear and bedlam, the last thing anyone needs is more emails. But what if more emails actually made things better? What if email had the power to heal, to bring hope, to shine as a beacon of good in a world full of darkness and allergies?
Introducing the ClickHole Email Club, a weekly newsletter from ClickHole.
The ClickHole Email Club aims to open your eyes to the many large and exciting possibilities of email, infesting your inbox every week with digital treasures that will inspire you, delight you, make you forget how to do basic addition, and leave you clapping and mooing for days. Just as ClickHole changed websites forever when it spontaneously manifested in 2014, we’re now here to completely revolutionize the email experience, which has remained basically the same (i.e. boring) for decades.
But before we render you incontinent with the glorious power of email, we’d like to use this first newsletter to clearly establish what, exactly, email is. Here is an FAQ that will answer all your most urgent questions.
Q: What is email?
A: It’s a kind of letter made out of electricity and cancer-causing radiation.
Q: What does the E in email stand for?
Q: How can I stay safe while using email?
A: It is very important that you always abide by these email safety rules:
Q: Does email cost money?
A: Sometimes. For instance, emails from ClickHole will cost you $6.99 a month. Why? Because we only send emails that we’d want to pay for ourselves——emails bursting with treats and treasures that distract us from all the shit of everyday life. You’ll receive news and commentary, long-form deep dives and short-form fun, advice and poems from lunatics, freebies and coupons, and even missives from the Queen of England herself. Your inbox gets bombarded with hundreds of emails every single week, but none of them make you happy. Shouldn’t at least one make you happy? The ClickHole Email Club is here to inject some smiles into your busy, sex-addled lives. We’re here to be your friend, your confidante, your parental figure, and everything else you’ve ever hoped for from email. We’re here to be the last pure thing on this whole goddamn internet.
Q: Are there any movies about email?
A: Yes! Anyone who grew up in the ‘80s undoubtedly remembers this classic:
Q: Who are some famous people who use email?
A: Jerry Seinfeld and Louis the Talking Spider
Q: Did Shannon Hoon of Blind Melon ever get to send an email before he died so tragically young at the height of his fame?
A: Probably not.
Q: Can I use email to break bad news to someone?
A: Delivering bad news over email can be difficult. Fortunately, we have created some foolproof templates for telling people something horrible over email in the kindest, most direct way possible.
Q: Do attractive people use email?
A: Friend, they wouldn’t be caught dead.
Q: Are there any ads about email?
A: Yes! Here is one from one of our sponsors:
Q: Is there any slang about email I should know?
A: Yes. An email without a subject line is called a “bald email.”
Q: What exactly is a spam folder?
A: Ah, the spam folder. Since the invention of email in either 1840 or 2016, this “Bastard Tab,” as Steve Jobs referred to it in his suicide note, has been the most neglected——and despised——part of the email experience. For whatever reason, people have come to associate the word “spam” with junk. This is unfortunate, because the spam folder is where some of the best emails in the world can be found——they are special letters from people who are trying to trick you! Check out these treasures from our own spam folder:
I’m Jim Pervert it’s okay that I’m near you. I found you and I can have your hair it’s allowed. Please understand that using your webcam’s camera on your camera I have snapped a secret photograph of your nudity. If you do not do as I say regarding my orders I will reveal the photograph that sings of your nudity to the shaman of your village and you will be in the shit you can bet your jean pants on it hallelujah. And so it is this way that I am commanding you: Bring me your hair and deliver them (your hair) unto my personal body at this address:
Jim Pervert’s House
Do not call the police on my body or else I will show your nudity to the shaman of your village. Your shaman will see your genital and your buttock’s asshole and he will put a spell of deepest shame on you. You have exactly 90 minutes and months to deliver your hair to me inside of a bag or box. I will use your hair to make a wig that I will give to The Bald Animal. It’s okay for me to do this/it’s illegal.
The Bald Animal is my best friend and ever since he saved me from the tornado I have sworn to help him achieve his dream of becoming handsome. The Bald Animal was born by crawling out of a NORMAL BACKPACK thousands of baseball seasons ago. He came out looking wigless and forlorn in the moonlight. The hairless nature of his bald stylings attracted rodents, eagles, and owls/skunks, and other rascals to his head due to the because of they thought the glistening round head of the Bald Animal was an egg they were meant to sit on that would hatch into a Great Messenger from the spirit world. Ever since he saved me from the tornado, the Bald Animal has stared at his reflection in the stream and wept tears the size of a pumpkin fruit. The stream is salted with the tears of the Bald Animal and the fish have all either died or grown legs and walked out of the stream and into the desert. This is because the Bald Animal has NO SELF-ESTEEM. He MUST have hair glued to his brain so that he can be sexy in time for the Orchard Festival. He MUST have a date for the Orchard Festival, because if he goes alone, the sadness will make his organs explode, which will make my organs also explode from sadness because he is my best friend amen.
This is why I am robbing you of your hair with my scam. I am not a criminal. I am a friend to the Bald Animal. I am Jim Pervert. I have a map of the places you’ve been. I’m adult I’m little boy. I’m the infant I’m 100 years.
Thank you for doing this blackmail with me. I’m it’s me: Jim Pervert. I will put your hair on The Bald Animal and he won’t be embarrassed to show his head to the women any longer. Hallelujah and thank you.
With Love and I love YOU,
Q: Is there anything else I should know about email?
A: No. That’s it. Let’s now explore some of the exciting features you can expect from the ClickHole Email Club.
Moving forward, beloved ClickHole blogger Queen Elizabeth II will be bringing her trademark wit and wisdom to your inbox. Check out this sneak preview of her new column “It Quen!”.
WANT TO SEE THE QUEEN’S SMOKIN’ HOT SEX TIPS? SIGN UP FOR THE CLICKHOLE EMAIL CLUB NOW TO RECEIVE HER ADVICE COLUMN. PREMIUM SUBSCRIBERS ONLY!
Get ready to save big. Check the ClickHole Email Club every week to score coupons for some of the best deals in town!
Thank you for reading the first issue of the ClickHole Email Club. We’d like to conclude with a prayer of benediction for our newsletter.
Praise be to Mother Death, the Patron Saint Of Departed Souls, Our Lady Of Holy Putrefaction. Blessed Queen Of Decay, please watch over our newsletter, and let it gladden the hearts of our readers and soften their brains, bringing them respite from the meaningless stupor of being online. Please curse our enemies with boils and cows that produce water instead of milk, and reward our friends with fat livestock and strong children who can work the fields. Mother Death, we toil forever in your shadow, and all our works and deeds are but steps down the winding path of life, at the end of which you await us with open arms. We rejoice in the coming of our own demise, and we wait patiently for the joyous day when we may walk with you, arm and arm, through the Kingdom of the Dead for the rest of time. Amen.