Pittsburgh Unfiltered

Listen, I’m not a prude. I’ve liked some pretty raunchy stuff in my day. You know that song “Cherry Pie” by Warrant? It’s actually about…well, suffice it to say, I cranked that tune all day every day, so you know I’m not a wuss.

And trust me, I’m not a political guy, either, but I feel like we’ve reached a crossroads here. I see my kids and people their age talking about escalating attacks on free speech and all this hubbub, and it’s like, guys, come on: things can’t be that bad if, in the year of our Lord 2026, they’re just letting stores go around calling themselves “Dick’s.” Period. End of story.

Like, really, people are getting arrested for speaking out against genocide and state-sanctioned murder of an entire population? I’m guessing they must have been doing something else they weren’t supposed to, because we’re still letting these corporate bozos run the show and force hard-working, God-fearing families to utter the statement, “I’ve got to go take a look at Dick’s” on a regular basis. If you ask me, that’s the real crime right there.

I’ve got to go to my nephew’s U8 tackle football game this weekend and boy, does that little guy sure love his ball. And I bet you when him and the other Wailin’ Injuns—or just “Redskins” if you prefer—get done with their game, they’ll look me in the eyes, choke back the shame we as a society have wrought upon them, and ask, “Can we go check out the big Dick’s?”

And I think that’s just ret—well, my kids say I can’t use that word anymore. To hell in a handbasket.

PARIS—“Beau gosse” Antoine Lapierre has fallen “madly in love” with West Mifflin native Kristy Gladish after the visiting Steelers fan ashed her cigarette into the Parisian resident’s espresso cup without asking.

“It’s like one of them love stories we was supposed to read in school,” Gladish said. “Romeo and Juliet is French, ain’t it? ‘Wherefore art thou with my mimosa’ and all that? Antoine calls us star-crossed lovers, but I say there’s nothing a good bottle of white wine can’t fix—yeah, on his tab. Appreciate it.”

Friends of the pair anticipate the fast-moving relationship will face its first test on Monday when Gladish has set aside time before departure to “see if it’s the real deal.” The couple reportedly hopes to discuss contentious issues like parenthood, condiments, and “the huge red flag” of Lapierre’s interest in soccer.

CRAFTON—Local man Brad Gartner wore a Terry Bradshaw jersey to his niece’s wedding ceremony yesterday under the belief that the garment qualified as formal wear appropriate for the event.

“I get that Uncle Brad is really excited about the Steelers’ chances this year, now that, as he says, ‘the prodigal son’ Mike McCarthy is coach,” his niece Casey Marsh said. “But I just needed him to show up in an ill-fitting sports coat with some shitty tropics-themed tie like he always does. It’s going to take forever for the photographer to edit [the jersey] out of the family photos. I swear to Christ if that loosely packaged gift wrapped in official team wrapping paper is yet another jersey, I’m not coming to his house for Thanksgiving ever again.”

Wedding guests noted that Gartner may have compromised the wedding with several different attempts to intermix the event with football. Several members of the wedding party were forced to return their hotel room early after witnesses noticed them trying his “black-and-gold homemade moonshine.” Gartner then reportedly spent the last hour of the reception “pulling off some Game of Thrones kind of shit” in an attempt to obtain a competitive advantage in the family’s fantasy league.

As of press time, Gartner was reportedly embroiled in arguments with fellow attendees at a wake, insisting his Lemieux jersey was not a sign of disrespect because “it has the fight straps in it.”

Roosevelt: “Today We Act, Not in Vain as Stewards of Our Individual Nations, but in Unity as Guardians of the World at Large.”

TROOPS MOBILIZE! A NATION JUMPS INTO ACTION!

Millions of service members around the world adorn armaments and equipment with artifacts from Domino’s, Little Caesar’s, Papa John’s, Vocelli Pizza and more, declaring with defiance “NOT MY PIZZA!”

“I’m fighting to stop a world where all the Little League teams are sponsored by Dough Daddy Brewing, and we’re all forced to herald the ‘Best Pizza in America,’ knowing it’s the only pizza we are permitted to celebrate.”

H A P P Y L I T T L E I T A L Y D A Y S , E V E R Y O N E .

ROBINSON TOWNSHIP—Parties involved in a large Catholic wedding conflict “spanning families, generations, and something said once in 1993” have managed to arrange a ceasefire that will ensure a period of peace lasting at least until the conclusion of the Cupid Shuffle, report sources shouting so loudly they can’t hear hotel staff asking them not to smoke in the lobby.

“And let this commitment to civility, rendered here before the eyes of God and with His blessing, help us not into the darkness of conflict, but instead ‘walk it by ourselves’ into the light of family and friends. Amen,” read Father Luke Moore aloud to a collective amen from other celebrants. The priest, whom the bride has known since childhood, helped to broker the deal in the critical final moments before the bar opened for cocktail hour.

“I’m used to tidying things up within just one family,” said Father Moore, dabbing sweat with a napkin. “Now we’ve got two…or I guess three: everybody here doesn’t like Aunt Kristy. I got the idea for the truce after watching them start a scuffle over a dart game in the hotel bar. One second they’re gripping each other up, the next they’re all yelling, ‘It’s electric!’ and chanting for Jello shots. Once the fight breaks out, all you can really do is douse them with holy water or blast ‘Sweet Caroline’ and hope that attracts their attention.”

Patchwork peacekeeping forces of mutual friends, wedding staff, and people just trying to enjoy their day have worked tirelessly to ensure the agreement’s fidelity. Despite these efforts neutral parties, chatter at the venue suggests the peace is unlikely to last beyond the established time frame.

“I’m going to absolutely clobber Cindy if she keeps strutting around with all these demands like this event is all about her,” said the groom’s cousin Lisa Hildebrand of a bridesmaid. “I didn’t see you up there agreeing to any vows, Cindy, so why don’t you wait in line for a drink like the rest of us, sweetie? She had better hope the ‘Cupid Shuffle’ goes right into the ‘Cha Cha Slide’ to buy her some more time. Else she got about a three-minute warning before I pop her one.”

Wedding sources confirmed that Mrs. Hildebrand has made disparaging comments of varying intensity towards members of the wedding party. Nonetheless, the 32-year-old emphasized that she intends to respect the terms of the agreement in their entirety.

“Rules is rules,” she said, draining a Rum and Coke. “We said no hair and nothing in the face, and I stand by that. Cindy and I are both single and, lady to lady, I respect her goal to end up in a different hotel room tonight. I just don’t respect a single other goddamn thing about her.”

Event sources report that several members of each side hope to finalize an extension to the armistice while the more violence-prone dissenters are in the bathroom vomiting liquor and cookies. Witnesses have confirmed, however, that the latter contingent is rallying quickly after hearing the piano intro to ‘Don’t Stop Believin’.’

ALLEGHENY WEST—Calling it “the century’s single most daring endeavor to chart the unknown,” the North Side Space Administration announced that a vessel with three explorers made its return landing on East Ohio Street yesterday morning to wrap up the program’s first-ever human-led mission to Bethel Park.

“We are just so proud of our mechanical crew, our operations team, and most importantly those brave souls who journeyed into the depths of the unknown,” said program director Parker McElhinney, who had to shout over cheers and pops of champagne bottles from surrounding staff. “We just want to set an example to all those young people out there who stare with wonder at the Liberty Bridge that they, too, can one day reach the great beyond of Pasta Too or the South Park skating rink.”

The agency called the mission a “resounding success,” noting that the crew had gathered critical data points requiring human input to verify, including the proper lane combination for optimized rush hour travel, where to stop for bathroom breaks on Library Road, and if anybody had a good wing night “in case your buddy wants to watch the Pens game over that way because, you know, he’s got the hots for some lady down there.”

Several members of the mission staff confirmed the venture faced several “potentially catastrophic” unknowns the crew was fortunate to survive, most concerning of which was construction that forced the team’s vessel to reroute shortly after entering unfamiliar territory. Instead of a straightforward path through a pocket known as “The Saw Mill,” the crew were redirected through an incredibly dense corridor called Route 19, internally nicknamed “Hell’s Alley.” The resulting change resulted in base operations declaring a highest-tier alert for acute collision risks.

“The local lifeforms behaved oddly,” said urbannaut Frank Mitton. “They brazenly parked their vehicles partway in the thoroughfares and crossed busy stretches of travel at seemingly random intervals. It’s just a hunch, but it’s almost like they acted in a way meant to ward off visitors, which explains why so little of the area has been explored to this point.”

“Everywhere we looked we found signs condemning any vessel stowed in the surrounding area from 2-6 a.m.,” added fellow crew member Anya Gomez. “It seemed like local governing bodies were even adversarial to their own people in this matter, so we had no choice but to power through without delay.”

The administration has refused to comment if any artifacts were gathered for study after reports that an extraterritorial returned with the crew, drunkenly mistaking their vessel for a Lyft pickup from Spoonwood Brewing.

HARMAR—The Ward family gathered this morning to mark the passing of lifelong local and explosives enthusiast Martin Ward, 79, with the ceremonial firing of 21 Zambelli fireworks at his burial.

Per family members, Mr. Ward earned the honors for his years of service at the nearby beer distributor, including a “medal or badge or maybe it was just a citation” for a fireworks display he personally organized and operated for July 4, 1988. They noted that his “heroics” helped reduce the casualty count to two and his youngest brother Jerry’s right thumb.

“The least we coul—” said his oldest daughter Samantha, interrupted by another mortar blast, “the least we could do is send him off how he lived: engaged in a loud, dangerous act of questionable legality.”

As of press time, Mr. Jerry Ward, 68, was reportedly attempting to comfort the children present by offering them a “high four.”

By Gil Dorowicz

Listen, we’re the City of Champions. We know what it takes, what they’re made of. We can smell ’em from a mile away—the sweat, the tears, maybe with a whiff of fried ham on the side. Yinz don’t win on an empty stomach, my old man always told me.

We’ve got a championship team playing right on the Mon—you know, them, uh, whatchamacallits, the Riverhounds! That’s them. They kicked some ass last year and won the Super Kick Cup or whatever they call it.

Point being is this: I saw Sportscenter today call this Paris team the ‘champions’ of soccer. Far’s I’m concerned, they ain’t no goddamn ‘champion’ until they show they can handle a beatdown from our local Riverhounds.

What’s the French ever won? Nothing. We had to bail them out in two World Wars and considering we’re Steel Town, USA, we basically did it ourselves. French fries? Never heard of them; we eat freedom fries with our Heinz.

I mean, come on, is it any surprise Mario Lemieux had to leave French Canada to win some Cups here in the ‘Burgh?

Yeah, you might have beaten some jags from England. Big whoop. So did we about 250 years ago. They’re still reeling so hard, they don’t even got an NFL team yet. If you jags really think you’re the best, then name a time and place, and fork up like $100 million to help organize the whole thing, and we’ll see you there. And even if you do pull off the upset, we’ll still whoop your ass this October after we put the hurt on the Saints.

That, uh, is how sports work in Europe, right?