Unknown Number: The Global Panic in Your Pocket By Eduardo “Eddy” Valdez, Senior Paranoia Correspondent PARIS—Somewhere between croissant number three and the daily existential dread of climate reports, I received a call from a number my phone labeled “Maybe: Death.” Naturally, I answered. The line clicked, a synthesized voice whispered “We know what you did,”…
Kazakhstan versus Wales: a fixture that sounds like the punch-line to an obscure geopolitical joke, yet here we are, pretending it matters. On paper it’s a UEFA Nations League group game; in practice it is a morality play staged for the benefit of arm-chair Brahmins from Bishkek to Bangor, all of whom have Wi-Fi strong…
iPhone 17: Because the Planet Wasn’t Dystopian Enough Already By Our Correspondent in a Bunker Somewhere Neutral-ish GENEVA—Apple’s marketing department, fresh from convincing half the Northern Hemisphere that “courage” means removing headphone jacks, has now confirmed the iPhone 17 will launch this autumn in a palette of colors named after endangered species. (Arctic Fox White…
Severance, Global Edition: The World’s Favorite New Exit Strategy By Dave’s Foreign Desk, still wearing yesterday’s cynicism The word “severance” once belonged to HR paperwork and polite euphemisms like “rightsizing.” Now, courtesy of an Apple TV+ show about surgically splitting workers’ memories, it has become a planetary Rorschach test—everyone sees the same inkblot, but each…
Julia Bradbury, the erstwhile queen of British rambling television, has unwittingly become the global canary in our collective coal mine. While she once merely guided middle-class English pensioners through Cotswold cowpats, her recent public battle with breast cancer has transformed her into an unlikely geopolitical barometer—proof that even the most anodyne celebrity can’t escape the…
RedZone: The 21st-Century Colosseum Beamed to Your Flat Screen, Pub, and Probable Dystopia By Sebastian “Bas” Mortensen, International Correspondent, Dave’s Locker LONDON—It’s 6:57 p.m. GMT on a Sunday when the Sky Sports satellite uplink crackles alive above a Shoreditch sports bar already vibrating with cheap lager and existential dread. Inside, punters from four continents hush…
