I was absolutely gonna say “wrap money around a brick and throw it through a window.”

Of course I’m from the anarchist instance so brick hurling is my love language.

(Pro tip. Make sure there’s also enough to replace the window.)

Okay but Armpits Esquire has the kind of whimsy I love best.

I promise you my potato soup is not a sauce.

It’s a cream soup and it’s essentially weird mashed potato when cold.

You’re characterizing a whole spectrum with one terrible example.

Headbutts are also about pheremones.

My least favorite word as a first responder: “ejected.”

Hope everything comes out alright.

All the helmets painted with her markings…

Love this.

And I got here before the pizzacake hateclub? Will wonders never cease.

Don’t be a devil’s advocate. Devils can advocate for themselves.

I had to post three or four warnings to my friend group that said, “The following is not a cry for help, I promise I’m fine” before I posted this.

Worth it.

In the US south, we also call horse shit ‘horse apples.’ That’s pretty cool, that the translation persisted.

I immediately thought of an Everlasting Gay. Like the Everlasting Gobstopper.

I get what you’re going for, but maybe work on the wording? Because my immediate thought was, alright, you lay on the ground and I’ll drop a nuclear bomb, and let’s see which was more destructive.

My favorite move there when someone points out thing that contradict is to say, “Yes. That’s what you were told.” Imply there’s something mysterious to uncover about why those facts don’t gel.

Alternatively: “I’m giving you the real history. That’s not what your character knows to be true!”

This is a glorious save. Well done.

Also those new movies were a lot more fun than they had any right to be.

This joke is made all the better by the character’s name being Dr. Kalgary.

It’s just flickering static. You’re not missing out. :)

Not even crow’s feet.

I do a facial once a week. I do microdermabrasion once a week. I can’t stress enough that I hate the sun. I’m sorry if that isn’t your experience, but it happens. I’d share a picture of my face, but I’m trying not to completely dox myself.

Eta: And lots of water. Gotta drink lots of water.

“I’m scared,” says Ralph.

But I am an author, and take control of this story. Ralph does not understand fear. His existence was short, his history nonexistent, his understanding of the world and his place within it unreal, characterized by the agony of going from non-being, to screaming awareness all in an instant.

The author has returned Ralph to the imaginary realm from which he sprang, freeing him, and any unwitting victims who witnessed his short, confusing reality.

Truly, the only monster here was the first narrator, a casual god who created Ralph only to serve as an instrument of suffering.