How to Tell Your Relatives that You’re (Still) Single: A Horror Story

Guest writer Alice Thompson shares her experience of coming home from college without a significant other. The staff here at Probably True News would like to offer our condolences to all those who have suffered the same circumstances, and our #thoughtsandprayers.


I’ll never forget it. I was standing there, in the living room, when my family asked me the question. They had all gathered around me in a half circle. At first, I thought we were going to do some sort of fun activity, like the hokey-pokey. But the thing about doing the hokey-pokey is that it happens fast, and you know for sure when it happens. So I should have known we weren’t doing the hokey-pokey, that they had all gathered around me for another, more serious reason.

When I realized with a cutting instinct what was about to happen, my heart, which had been swelling with overwhelming excitement from the prospect of doing the best, most incredible group dance in the world, became heavy like a stone and sank to my stomach. Before they asked, their eyes greedy, already knowing the answer, the question they were about to say was already ringing in my ears, eating me alive, killing me. I had half a mind to make a bolt for it when my Aunt Trisha nearly yelled the question.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

A sharp intake of breath. I looked around the room for someone to help me out.  But they were all staring at me. I know, logically, that there were only about seven or eight people in the room at the time. But when I think about it, I swear, it seemed like thousands.

Thousands of middle-aged people staring at me expectantly, me, the girl in her middle school track sweatpants, whose hands were starting to sweat. I swallowed my spit, my 27-ACT mind working hard. What should my angle be? Should I seem nonchalant, like I don’t care that I’m going to die alone, devoured by my own dog and self-loathing?

Quickly, with the instincts of a medium-sized jungle predator cat, I decided to do the funny route. I figured it was my best shot.

“Haha, nooooo, I’m probably just going to die alone,” I joked.

My family just stared at me, obviously as uncomfortable as I was. With a pang, I realized I had joked about something they genuinely feared!

I bared my teeth, hoping it would pass as a charming, beautiful smile. My family backed away several paces, almost instinctively.

I saw they were becoming terrified of me, how single I was, how repugnant my smile must have been—so I started telling them other things to try and make up for how not in a relationship I was. I began listing things in hopes of earning their approval.

“I’m a Political Science major!”

Looks of pity.

“I’m going into comedy—”

My mom sobbed into a kleenex.

When they had finally stopped crying, I asked them if they had  accepted that I will most likely be single until I’m 30. They ignored me, getting out their phones, talking amongst themselves.

“I’m sure I have someone who would date her,” said my uncle George, furiously, and with an insulting amount of concentration, scrolling through the contacts on his phone. My grandma had taken a seat by the window and was dramatically staring at the clouds in the sky, visibly pleading with God.

“Guys, I’m going to be fi—,” I tried to say but I got “shh’d” by three people.

I sat down and started reading a book. One day, my family will fully accept that I’m going to be the lady who dresses up her dogs and tells her life story to every cashier she sees because she needs the human contact. But until that day comes, I’ll do what everyone does, and wait.



Americans Frustrated They Now Need to Know What the EU Is

“It’s simply exhausting to keep up with whatever the communists are doing these days,” said American Max Williams. “I was banking on never needing to know.”

Williams is not alone. Hard-working Americans all over the country are exhausted by learning the EU even exists—having to learn about what it does just seems too much.

“I liked not knowing what the hell Europe was doing,” said Williams. “I’m never going to forgive Britain for this.”

Besides just feeling resentful, some people are experiencing inordinate amounts of confusion, even for American citizens.

“If it’s in Europe, why do we…care?” asked a seriously concerned mother holding a baby.

“Didn’t we get rid of Europe?” questioned a 20-something reading a newspaper.

“EU? No, thank you, I got that shot when I was 12,” said a grown man.


The NRA Would Like to Take This Moment to Comment on Human Nature

“Listen. No, listen. Guns can kill, sure, but can’t lasagna also be a deadly weapon?” asked Ryan Thompson, member of the National Rifle Association and avid stamp collector. “It’s not the instrument, it’s what you do with it.”

Thompson admitted that even though normal lasagna can at most result in a stomach ache and that one gun can end several human lives, the comparison still holds up because it’s the “idea behind the thing.”

“Instead of asking ourselves, how can we reach a reasonable compromise on gun control, shouldn’t we be asking ourselves the most basic and relevant question pertaining to this situation? And that question obviously is, are humans good? Or are they just evil creatures who do things like this all the time, and there is no way to possibly curb the damage that is done?” Thompson added.

Thompson answered his own question promptly.

“Listen, there’s no way we can fix this without losing our freedom to easily buy and sell guns. And if that means some people lose the freedom to live?” He shook his head, his lips pursed.

He “didn’t want to put too fine a point on it” but any person, in his opinion, can and should buy a gun and become highly skilled in self-defense in order to protect themselves from the “unchangeable drawbacks of the situation.”

Wanda Carson, another staunch defender of gun rights, agrees.

“Sure, guns are dangerous in the hands of evil people. But in the hands of evil people, anything can be dangerous—even love,” Carson said.

“Did you know that elephants can die from heartbreak?” Carson said, nodding her head knowingly.

The NRA itself has released a statement pertaining to their most current stance on guns and freedom.

White Americans—what do we call White Americans? What’s PC for that? Oh, Americans?—Americans aren’t the threat. Gun-owning, law-abiding, good Americans aren’t the problem here. It’s the people who aren’t law-abiding, and who aren’t good.

Just because we do not care to develop a system in which we could limit the non-law-abiding people from getting guns doesn’t mean the citizens with legitimate and safe intentions should be punished for our own incompetency.

Also, something about the Second Amendment being more important than the first part of “Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.”

Contact us for another statement in a few weeks or so or whenever this happens again.



The organization is far from loosening up its position on gun control. In fact, they seem to be going the other direction: last week the NRA created a help-group for “traumatized” guns who had been forced to take part in atrocious acts “they had no idea” were in their power to commit.


Help! My Boyfriend is a Vampire

Local guest writer, Tina Jefferson, chimes in on the very emotional topic of discovering that your loved one is a blood-sucking fiend, and how exactly to handle the situation.

Hey gals. Tina here. After a long period of contemplation, I’ve finally decided to talk about something that’s been near and dear to my heart recently—and that’s my boyfriend, Steve. As you probably know, Steve is a really great guy, 6’2, blond hair, eyes the perfect width apart—but recently, we were having some problems, and I just didn’t know what to do!

It all started when we got Italian food one night. We went to my favorite Italian food place, which is the Olive Garden. The Olive Garden is my favorite place because it is exactly what authentic Italian food probably tastes like.  I go there every Tuesday, sometimes with Steve, sometimes alone. I bring my work there because the atmosphere is so relaxing and pleasant. I especially love those five seconds of suspense before you say “when,” and the waitress just moves her hand around and around and the cheese—ah, such fresh, coveted parmesan!—falls softly, sensuously on my iceberg lettuce, just like the first snow of winter…

Anyway, I ordered my favorite dish (butter and garlic pasta, extra butter, extra garlic, extra pasta) when I saw Steve making a face.

“What?” I said.

“Are you really going to eat that? Extra garlic?” He wrinkled his nose.

“Yeah,” I said, starting to become defensive. What was he getting at, anyway? Steve and I had only been a little intimate up until that point—I only allowed him to kiss my left earlobe, gently—and I was starting to regret even that. I eyed Steve, who was looking at the drink menu. Who was this man, sitting across the table from me, not ordering extra-garlic on his authentic Italian dish? Who was this man I allowed to ever so gently nibble on my left earlobe?

The doubts from that night haunted me for weeks. I’m not an idiot. I read through the whole Twilight series—twice! Why would any normal human have a problem with garlic? It’s delicious.

It didn’t help my suspicions that Steve has always been a pale guy. But as the weeks passed, and my fears grew, I saw him for what he really was—pallid. And dangerously so. I was starting to make sense of it…but, dear reader, you must know that I didn’t want it to be true…I never wanted any of this. But facts are facts. My boyfriend Steve, who plays volleyball with his friends on Saturdays, drinks light beer, and sometimes goes with me to the Olive Garden, is—must be—a vampire.

I did what any normal, human girl would do when confronted with this issue. After all, this had been tormenting me for weeks. Last Friday, I suggested to Steve that we go to the Olive Garden, to talk.

“Again?” He said.

I nodded—of course I wanted to go to the Olive Garden.

“But that’s twice this week,” he said.

I froze. His fact-remembering skills were good—almost too good. I studied Steve’s face. He was playing on his phone. The light from his Facebook app glowed, creating a reflection on his glasses—had I simply not noticed it before?

I laughed outwardly at my own naivete, and, when Steve looked up to see what was funny, I laughed inwardly, at him.

Of course he was a vampire. On some levels, I guess I had always known.

So, we ended up going to the Olive Garden that night. Everything was delicious and most likely authentically Italian. When I had eaten my dish (butter and garlic pasta, extra butter, extra garlic, extra pasta), I rubbed my full belly and stared at my boyfriend. Suddenly, I knew something more important than his probably being a vampire. I knew that I loved him, and that I loved Italian food. And on that sunny Friday evening in an Ohio Olive Garden, I realized I had everything I could ever need.

So that’s it, ladies. It’s funny how these things go. My discovery about Steve being a vampire turned out to be a more important discovery about myself, and what I want out of life. It turns out, I don’t care what species my boyfriend is—as long as I have someone to eat my pasta with.

What about you? How did you react when you found out your significant other was some sort of monster? I’m so interested in hearing your stories—how we react to these things is so important, and can be such a growing experience, that I feel like we need to be more open about it with one another!
As always, thank you to the staff of PTN for allowing me to share my story. But above all, thank you to Olive Garden. You are the reason I keep on going.


God a Bit Miffed We All Forgot His Birthday Again


Yesterday at 6:34 pm, God subtweeted the people of Earth. The Creator of Heaven and All Things Below used his personal twitter account, @TheGuyUpstairs, to hint at another thing humans have recently done to disappoint Him.

The tweet read, “When you literally make the world and yet no one wishes you a happy birthday #smh.” The tweet has 200 retweets, and 300 favorites, despite the account having almost 2.2 billion followers.

God, who traditionally has an unspecified day of creation, says the issue is far from petty.

“Listen, I know I did away with the whole animal sacrifice thing but a Hallmark card would be nice,” He said.

Apparently, at one point there actually was a given date for the birth of God in the Bible—now only to be found in the collector’s edition, which is sold at the Barnes and Nobles in Heaven (also available on Nook). However, unlike the condemnation of certain sins, the specific date was lost in the severe editing of the Bible which has continued to today.

“I don’t want to make a big deal or anything, but Jesus has a birthday and stores start selling party supplies like two months before, and it’s a huge deal,” God said. “And don’t get me wrong, I love Jesus, he’s my son, he’s great. But I made Jesus. And you. And you. And you. And that guy.”

God folded His arms and leaned back in His chair.

“Listen, I’m not going to tell you when it was.” God rolled His eyes.

To be fair, time, as a human construct, doesn’t really work the same way in Heaven, so it would be pretty difficult to accurately wish the Lord a happy birthday.

When our PTN reporter tried to (respectfully) explain this, she was met by the silence of God. Later, God took to Twitter to vent some of His frustration.

When someone tries to explain time to You. I made that ish



Hallmark, in response to God’s feeling that He’s being jipped, will be coming out with Happy Birthday, God! cards. Close friends should enclose 10% of their monthly income.