Shhhhh. Quiet. Do you hear that? That crackling sound? The air is electric with email, which can only mean one thing: The ClickHole Email Club is back once again to zap your inbox with treasure.

Yes!

Please note that this is a free preview issue of the ClickHole Email Club, and if you’d like to continue receiving issues, you must upgrade to premium:

Now that you have either upgraded (smart) or not upgraded (very dumb), we can proceed with the rest of the newsletter. To kick things off, here’s a special message from none other than Hollywood icon Steven Spielberg! Take it away, Steven.

Hey there, movie lovers! Steven Spielberg here with a beautiful update about E.T.. As you all know, I made the first E.T. movie, and it was the most successful movie about a homesick lizard ever made. Now, over 40 years later, I’m excited to announce that I’m officially making an E.T. sequel!

Basically in the sequel, E.T. returns to Earth in 2023. Elliot is now about 52 years old and he works for a company that euthanizes horses that are either very sick or way too healthy. Elliot is a billionaire because he invented a way to painlessly euthanize horses by running them over with a bulldozer until they fall asleep.

Anyway, E.T. shows up to Elliot’s castle and says, “Elliot it’s me: E.T. I’ve returned to Earth to tell you about how my species goes to the bathroom.”

Elliot says, “Aren’t you that alien who made me insanely sick?” and E.T. is like, “I don’t remember if that happened or not. Anyway, here’s how I shit: When my species takes a dump, they look at the shit for a little while and then they bury it like a cat.”

Then E.T. goes to the bathroom, stares at the shit on the ground for about four days straight without moving, and then says, “Time to get to work.” E.T. starts prying up Elliot’s floorboards with a crowbar and then buries his feces under the floorboards before nailing the floorboards back down. E.T. says to Elliot, “Never forget how my species does bathroom. It’s like cats, but we pry up your floor and bury the shit under the planks like it’s a dead body.” Elliot says, “I probably won’t remember,” and E.T. says, “I really don’t care one way or the other,” and then E.T. gets back in his spaceship and flies back to his home planet.

And that’s basically the whole movie! It will be over three hours long, and when you see it I think you’ll agree that it’s the most wonderful movie ever built by the human brain.

Okay, time for me to go to sleep! I love you and I can’t wait to spend tomorrow looking at you from my hiding place.

See you at the movies!

Sincerely,

Steven Spielberg

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If you’ve spent even one moment of your beautiful life reading ClickHole, you know that we are committed to public safety above all else. Crime is RAMPANT and DISGUSTING, and our job is to make you constantly aware of it so that you never foolishly let your guard down and feel safe. To that end, we urge you to check out this police blotter, which provides a chilling account of all the crimes that happened around town yesterday.

• 5:23 am: Police received report of four pigeons chirping at one another in a menacing manner.

• 6:02 am: Officers called to assist man who became small. Helped stretch him bigger again.

• 6:23 am: Toilet unit responded to toilet-related call.

• 7:15 am: Bored man called police hoping to make a friend.

• 7:50 am: Stingray in 7/11.

• 8:06 am: Officers dispatched to help a woman break in a new pair of non-stretch bootcut jeans.

• 8:33 am: Police responded to a suspected robbery at Dawn's Pianos And Big Pianos, a piano store. At the scene, officers encountered a group of men loading pianos and big pianos onto a truck while a woman tied to a chair screamed, "Stop them! They're stealing my pianos and big pianos!" Officers began to arrest the men until they explained that the pianos were sick with a disease called "Mozart Fever," and they were piano doctors who were taking the pianos to the hospital. They went on to explain that the screaming woman was the Norse trickster god, Loki, in disguise. Officers apologized for the confusion and helped the men finish loading the pianos onto the truck before arresting the woman for attempting to deceive them with the illusion magic of Asgard.

• 9:12 am: Officers went swimming.

• 10:18 am: Police received wrong number call from someone looking for skateboarding lessons.

• 11:01 am: 36 semen-covered severed heads discovered in Arby’s bathroom.

• 11:09 am and 11:09 pm: Officers responded to reports of a woman demonstrating a quantum anomaly by existing at two points in spacetime simultaneously. Officers arrived at two places at the same time, in both the past and the future at once, and gave the woman a ticket for being annoying.

• 12:24 pm: Slightly intoxicated teens having the time of their life stealing two Pepsis from a deli.

• 1:52 pm: Officers dispatched to hut in woods where some sort of half-man, half-goat was stomping and screeching. No arrest was made.

• 2:11 pm: Nudity reported in the sky.

• 4:54 pm: Police contacted by woman who claimed she found another man inside her husband who “fits perfectly inside.”

• 6:31 pm: Entire precinct reported to Perkins Park to gawk at man whose head was size and shape of pumpkin.

• 7:19 pm: Corpse discovered in Cuyahoga River positively identified as Santa Claus.

And now, a word from our sponsor:

Gather all the children you’re friends with and plop them down in front of the computer! This part of the newsletter is just for kids!

Hello children! Ever wonder what it’s like backstage at Sesame Street? We’ve got an exclusive photo of what Elmo looks like before he puts his makeup on!

This is Elmo’s backstage mouth. If Elmo bites you with his backstage mouth, you need to get a tetanus shot!

Elmo uses his backstage mouth to whisper into children’s ears about the secret location in the woods where he hid a cigarette under a pile of leaves. How cool is that?!?

THE AGE-APPROPRIATE SECTION OF THIS NEWSLETTER HAS NOW CONCLUDED. PLEASE RETURN ANY AND ALL CHILDREN TO THEIR CABINS.

Congratulations to President Biden!

After two years in office, President Biden has finally rubbed his naked body all over the Oval Office desk to mark it with his scent! Great job, Mr. President, on making your desk smell like you. Now animals will know that it is your territory!

TREASURES FROM THE SPAM FOLDER

Spam emails are one of the greatest treasures you can receive. They are letters from people who are trying to trick you. At ClickHole, we receive incredibly beautiful spam emails every day, and we’d love to share them with you! Check out this amazing treasure from our spam folder:

Endless one…

I am different from before and none other than myself: Jim Pervert. It’s no cause for frowning that I can smell you from my hiding place. I am emailing you a send of an email to catch you on to the shameful emergency that has befallen me and to beg on you to help me with your courage and your nectar (your syrup).

It is no secret to anyone that my great-great-great grandfather was like a babysitter to me and raised me from since back when I was born sometime before I was born. He was the Witch-Mayor in my home country of New Jersey Turnpike, U.S.A. and had great wealth in the form of jewels, rhinestones and good old fashion Benjamin Franklin dollars of $100 dollars. As Witch-Mayor, he made laws, cast spells, and defended our village from polar bears, wasps, and the armies of Ghengis Khan.

And yet, as it regards the Witch-Mayor there was a tragedy: swallow into your mind this frown that I will say into your eyes with the alphabet: His head fell off and he died of tumbling from the top of an airplane he died of pneumonia he was flattened by the hoof.

It is no secret to all that once my beloved Witch-Mayor had kicked off the shoes of the living, he left to me in his will the sum of no less than $THOUSANDS$$$. I would like to send my bloated inheritance with you and your bank account, but I cannot do it without your hair. The money is guarded by my best friend named the Bald Animal, and he refuses to let anyone put their tentacles on the treasure unless he is given collateral in the form of ALL THE HAIR YOU CURRENTLY HAVE AND MAYBE SOME EXTRA. For this low, low hair tax, you and I can become blessed with all the dimes and nickels my royal relative whispered into the depths of my Wells Fargo during the time he spent croaking and passing away.

Do not fail to trust me! It is not likely or even my main idea to steal your hair and give it to my best friend The Bald Animal. I will not harvest your wig just to give it to my wonderful, honest friend The Bald Animal who needs it for his confidence at The Celebration. That is a maniac’s daydream. Don’t think this.

Ever since he rescued me from the tornado, The Bald Animal has been my constant companion. We have learned much from each other. I have taught him how to plant pumpkin seeds that have pumpkins grow from them instead of scarecrows that flip you the bird. He has taught me how to scare warthogs away from my penis using nothing but fire and swords.

Together we have sat beneath the stars and told each other the myths behind the constellations: Last night, The Bald Animal told me the story of Orion, the computer salesman who travels the cosmos trying to sell Lenovos to the gods who dwell in the heavens. I thanked him for this beautiful story by sharing with him the story of the Moon, which according to legend is the huge silver eyeball of baseball slugger Mickey Mantle, whose eyeball shot out of his head and into the sky when he got hit in the head by a very slow pitch during batting practice. Sitting with The Bald Animal and sharing myths about the sky all night is one of the happiest blossoms of my bank account.

And so it is only fair that you would be suspicious that perhaps I would use your hair and glue it to The Bald Animal’s head using the same sticky saliva from my thorax that I recently used to build my nest in the walls of your house. Because each night I am tormented by the sad noises of The Bald Animal weeping in his tent because of his low self-esteem. The Bald Animal is very handsome, yet due to his lack of hair he feels like he will never get a date to the Orchard Festival. When I hear my friend weep like this, my heart makes an adventure to my anus and I feel low.

Yet you MUST NOT FEAR. I will NOT steal your hair and give it all to The Bald Animal so that he can look dapper and shaggy in time for the Orchard Festival. I won’t do it.

I will do it.

I won’t (I will and won’t. I will). It’s fine to give me the harvest of your scalp.

So what are you waiting for? There has never been a riper fruit for your toothless gums! I await your hair so that it can be the start of a lucrative mixup! This scheme is the plan: you snip off the hair from your head and put it in a box marked “I BELIEVE IT IS POSSIBLE” and mail it to me at this address:

Jim Pervert’s House
New Jersey Turnpike, U.S.A.
Los Angeles
United States
Los Angeles

When my shadow brings me the mail in the morning I will receive the box and dump your hair at the feet of the three men who guard my inheritance so that they will PONY UP THE DOUGH and we can become as rich as Dr. Evan! I will promise to swear to NOT be sneaky with your hair and give it to The Bald Animal even though his weeping in the night transforms my belly into a scorpion’s litter box. I might do it (scam you for your hair). I might do this thing. I want to. But I won’t. I will. I’m going to do it. I won’t do it. Yes: I’ll.

With honest emphasis,

Jim Pervert

Okay, that’s all for this week’s ClickHole Email Club. It was a pleasure talking to you through the miracle of computers. Don’t forget to upgrade so you can receive emails from us every week. Muah!