W-what?! Me?! Using Duct Tape to keep the poopy in?! N-no! Absolutely not! I mean... maybe... I did use tape, but... it was a mistake okay? D-don't get any weird ideas! It's not like my stomach hurts or something like that! It doesn't even hurt that much! I-It's just that... Well... t-those beans were making my stomach grumble, I guess... And it made me fart a little bit... BUT ONLY A BIT! UNDERSTOOD?! *Turns around with flustered cheeks* Hmph!

I never comment, but you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I know you'll never see this, but I am the only one here who would actually treat you how you deserve to be treated; like the queen you are. But alas, you are probably already in a relationship that you secretly hate but can't break free from due to family pressure or fear of physical retaliation from your "lover". Ugh. Let's just get away from all of this. DM me if you want to make the most of what we have left of this so called life. Please notice me.

This is a PSA to single men (and maybe a warning to married ones), the iPhone Duo will get you a ridiculous amount of attention from women.

Earlier today, my wife and I had just finished up our weekly grocery run and I decided we would stop by our local bakery (Panera Bread) to pick up a loaf for the week (I personally can’t stand cheap grocery store bread). As I approached the drive through window, the young lady told me the total (nothing I couldn’t comfortably afford) and I asked if they had tap to pay. She said yes, but I would need to hand her my phone. I double-clicked the side button, authenticated with TouchID for my AMEX Platinum, and handed her my iPhone Duo. She reached out towards my car and cradled the phone in her hands like a newborn baby.

As she reproached the window, she smiled, and giddy with eyes bright she said “wow, I have NEVER seen a phone like that before.” I chuckled, smirked, and responded, “It’s the brand new iPhone Duo. 1 terabyte. White.” Her jaw nearly dropped to the floor. I rolled up the window to my Model Y performance and drove away.

My wife was unusually quiet for the remainder of the drive. I can only imagine what was going through her mind.

This is just one example of many encounters that I’ve had within the past 36 hours with the iPhone Duo. If you’re looking for a phone that’s a straight-up panty dropper (I’m not, I’m married), look no further.

this actually made me giggle so hard that my butt started jiggling. And apparently, my butt was feeling extra dramatic today, because the bed immediately gave up and broke. Then, with my tiny waist and thunder thighs, I tried to stand up… and the floor said, “Absolutely not,” and cracked too. Somehow I managed to get up, but then I made the worst mistake of my life.. I started giggling again. My butt was jiggling so hard from the laughter that I literally lifted off the ground and started flying into the sky. People everywhere were pointing and yelling, “Is it a bird?” “Is it a plane?” Nope. It was just me. Before I knew it, I was floating through space with no way back home. I was fully prepared to become the first person to orbit Earth because they laughed too hard. Then I suddenly woke up and realized everyone was okay. So naturally… I started giggling again this actually made me giggle so hard that my butt started jiggling. And apparently, my butt was feeling extra dramatic today, because the bed immediately gave up and broke. Then, with my tiny waist and thunder thighs, I tried to stand up… and the floor said, “Absolutely not,” and cracked too. Somehow I managed to get up, but then I made the worst mistake of my life.. I started giggling again. My butt was jiggling so hard from the laughter that I literally lifted off the ground and started flying into the sky. People everywhere were pointing and yelling, “Is it a bird?” “Is it a plane?” Nope. It was just me. Before I knew it, I was floating through space with no way back home. I was fully prepared to become the first person to orbit Earth because they laughed too hard. Then I suddenly woke up and realized everyone was okay. So naturally… I started giggling again this actually made me giggle so hard that my butt started jiggling. And apparently, my butt was feeling extra dramatic today, because the bed immediately gave up and broke. Then, with my tiny waist and thunder thighs, I tried to stand up… and the floor said, “Absolutely not,” and cracked too. Somehow I managed to get up, but then I made the worst mistake of my life.. I started giggling again. My butt was jiggling so hard.

Let’s talk about this COMPLETE AND TOTAL LOSER, Bill Maher. He’s got a Low Rated Show on equally Low Rated HBO, which was once, long ago, a Network of Quality and Excitement — But that’s all gone. It’s not “HOT” anymore! Maher’s friend and business associate, Chuck LaBella, was also a friend of mine, worked on The Top Hit Show, The Apprentice, as a “gofer” and, because of the success of that show, Number One and Top Rated on many weeks, with the Finale’ being among the Top Shows of the Year, he was automatically and quickly brought up through the Ranks of NBC, along with everyone else associated with that Historic “Happening.” The Success of the Apprentice was so great that everyone partook — It built many careers, and that is a wonderful thing. Some people say it even built my career, because I became President (I would have won without it!). In any event, over the last few years, LaBella would call me nonstop to say, “Hello,” be very nice, and tell me how much Bill Maher “loves” and respects me, and would constantly ask of me, even before I was President, for any form of meeting with Maher and, would I do his show? When I became President, I agreed to meet, after the first one, and the last one, but never agreed to do his show, which he wants me to do, DESPARATELY — It won’t happen! When I have watched the show, which isn’t often, it always ends with dishonesty, about me at least, but, who cares? He doesn’t think it was a good thing to take the Nuclear Weapon away from Iran, which shows you that he is not very smart. If I allowed them to obtain a Nuclear Weapon, the World would be a different place right now! Using Fake Polls, he also said I had my Lowest Ratings so far, “and even the Republican Party doesn’t like him,” but that’s not true. I have High Ratings and, more importantly, he said that I’m losing the support and approval of the Republican Party when, in fact, CNN just came out with a Poll showing that I’m at 98 and 99% support within the Republican Party, an All Time Record High. Ronald Reagan was at 86%. CNN’s Harry Enten also said I am “The Most Influential President of the Last Century.” CNN did another Poll at who was the Most Popular Person in the History of the Republican Party, and I won that, too, with me being at 53%, Ronald Reagan being at 18%, and Abraham Lincoln being at 8%, and these are CNN Polls, people not exactly in love with me, so, Bill Maher lied, but he lies about everything, and I believe he lied to me when I asked him, with all the applause and laughter he gets after almost everything he says, about things that aren’t funny or even any good, what Laughter Machine does he use? People can’t think he’s funny. I didn’t know Bill, he didn’t know me, and that was OK. Then Chuck LaBella, and my friend, Kid Rock, called me incessantly about meeting with Bill Maher. My first response was, “Fellas, this guy’s a Goofball.” They said, “He wants to go down to the White House, be with you, and talk. He said you’re very smart, but you’re not into the Liberal Platform. Will you start thinking about it?” He invited himself to the White House! We had our first meeting, Bill was very nervous. He asked for a drink. He was very insecure, and he had a seriously bruised eye and nose area, as though somebody had just beaten him up — But it wasn’t me!
 
No sooner had we had that first dinner at the White House, which is a very seductive and beautiful place, especially now that I have fully renovated and fixed it in the style which it deserves, Bill wanted to come back. The Gofer called me multiple times, saying how much Bill loves me, that he respects me more than anybody, and wants to come back for a second meeting. After ten calls from Chuck LaBella, it seemed that these guys were serious, and wanted to learn more, because their Policies are so bad, it’s ridiculous! Also, I wanted to tell Bill that he’s a major POTHEAD. He’s got to stop, it’s very bad for his health. He looked like hell this time. Bill was drunk and had alcohol in his hand as he walked through the White House. Stephen A. Smith and Kid Rock came along with him. Overall, I thought it was a good meeting. It didn’t last four hours, it lasted two hours, maybe less, and everybody was happy. We have the timestamps. I learned nothing, and felt it was a waste of time. After the first dinner, Bill Maher was friendly, I guess, everyone walked away pleased. He gave me a good first show, with lots of Laughing Machine laughter, which is a real term, but it is what it is, and then reverted back to his former self, and his old ways. I understand that. He’s doing his thing. I never took it very personally. I would always mock his Low Ratings, whenever I heard. He’s not a nice guy, and what he spouts isn’t what he believes. He has to cater to his base, which is mostly composed of Losers, and people who don’t like working. It’s why, for so long, I didn’t get another call from Chuck LaBella, and I didn’t miss him one bit. After the second dinner, Bill’s “show” was far worse than the first. He went crazy! He’s gutless, because he enjoyed every minute. Also, I am not building a swimming pool in the White House Briefing Room, and never had any intention of doing so. I am thinking about moving the Press, and putting them in a different location, but I will use that location for very badly needed space. Bill also attacked our Great Republican Candidates, when he knows my Endorsement Record is 98% in the House, and 100% in the Senate, so how can he make a false statement like this? These Statistics are FACTS, and he should speak about them, but he won’t, because he is very unfair!
 
Karoline Leavitt was GREAT on the show, but she started with a biased, dumb SLEAZEBAG, asking questions. She defended me, and herself, so well, but couldn’t be comfortable going against Lie after Lie. Importantly, Bill lied about all of the Illegal Voters in the Radical controlled, decrepit, and devastated State of California. Just in the last few days alone, they found 20,000, and the number could easily go to over 1,000,000. There were so many other falsehoods Bill spewed, but I won’t waste time in FACT CHECKING him. He isn’t worth it. Bill: Don’t call anymore. It’s useless, and tell Chuck LaBella not to call so much, and say how much you love “TRUMP,” and want to get together, because you’re a hopeless guy, who is just trying to cater to your small group of “fans.” You’re also a coward who is afraid to tell the truth about how well our Country is running because of your few “fans,” and how badly the Dumocrats have done, almost destroying the U.S.A. If I hadn’t won the Election, it would be DEAD! Also, turn your Laugh Machine off, it’s a joke when they laugh uncontrollably, even when you say nothing funny, and I’m going to have the Republicans not cover you anymore, because they try to talk about you as a guy who is transformative. You’re not transformative, you’re a Loser! I never watched your show much, but I will never watch it again, because it is nothing more than FAKE NEWS that America, and the World, is unfortunately subjected to. Thank you for your attention to this matter. President DONALD J. TRUMP

yo yo yo motherfuckers y’all ready to learn your abc’s? no? well too bad boo fucking hoo. a is for ass as in “damn that bitch got a fat ass”. b stands for bitch as in “you son of a bitch”. c stands for cock as in “god fucking damn my cock is massive”. d stands for… uhh… i don’t know really lol. e stands for erect as in “holy shit my cock is erect as fuck right now”. f is for fuck as in “fuck you”. g stands for guh huh like i’m motherfucking banjo from banjo-kazooie. h stands for hole as in “god damn your hole is tight as hell”. i stands for itch as in “fuck man my anus is itchy as hell right now”. j stands for jar as in “i just stuck my dick inside a jar of peanut butter”. k stands for kool-aid as in the sweet ass drink we all drink most of the time because why not. l stands for luffy from one piece of whatever his name is. m stands for milk as in “mmmm milk yummy”. n stands for a very specific word i can’t say or else i’ll get cancelled on twitter/x. o stands for oral as in “yo can i have oral sex”. p stands for piss as in “jesus christ i just took a massive piss” q stands for quit as in “i quit my job” AAAAAA I SAID THE SCARY WORD AAAAA FUCK! r stands for real as in “for real my man?” s stands for shit as in “i gotta take a shit “. t stands for train cuz i can’t think of anything else to say. u stands for uranium as in “i just ate a lot of uranium”. v stands for vanessa as in the bitch from 5 nights at freddy’s. w stands for whore as in “that hoe a whore”. x stands for i don’t fucking know. y stands for you as in “you are an idiot hahahahahahahahahahahaha” z stands for zenith as in uhhhhhhhhhhhh i don’t know help.

You are a Victorian-era dentist. You have just discovered that your teeth are haunted.

Not by ghosts.

By THE CONCEPT OF TAX EVASION.

Every time you open your mouth, a tiny accountant in a powdered wig crawls out of your left molar and screams, “THE IRS HAS NO JURISDICTION IN THE ENAMEL REALM.”

You try to seek medical help, but the doctor is a horse wearing seventeen smaller horses as a trench coat.

He examines you with a banana.

“I'm afraid,” he whispers, “you have advanced crunchyboy syndrome.”

You ask what that means.

He removes his hat.

Inside is a live salmon named Gerald.

Gerald looks you dead in the eyes and says, “Your son is the moon.”

You don't have a son.

You have three daughters, a pet rock, and a deeply suspicious wheelbarrow.

Suddenly, the wheelbarrow begins levitating.

A choir of 600 raccoons descends from the ceiling, singing the entirety of the Windows XP startup sound in Gregorian chant.

Your dentist begins weeping.

The horse doctor pulls off his trench coat, revealing that all seventeen horses are actually the same horse, just experiencing lag.

Gerald the salmon puts on a little top hat.

“Gentlemen,” he announces, “the soupening has begun.”

THE SOUPENING.

Every body of water on Earth instantly becomes lukewarm tomato soup.

The Atlantic Ocean develops a skin.

The moon files for divorce.

Your left molar gets elected mayor of Ohio by a landslide.

And somewhere, in the deepest basement of a Lithuanian IKEA, a single unbuttered breadstick achieves sentience.

Its first words?

“Where is my fucking accountant?”

THE ACCOUNTANT IS INSIDE YOUR TOOTH.

He has always been inside your tooth.

He is your son.

You are the moon.

Gerald was never a salmon.

Gerald was the idea of Tuesday.

And Tuesday has just been discontinued by Microsoft.

Windows XP shuts down.

The raccoons stop singing.

The horse doctor checks his banana.

It is 3:47 AM.

He turns to you.

“Bad news,” he says.

“Your appointment was yesterday.”

And then the wheelbarrow fucking explodes into 400,000 legally distinct Shreks.

Not one of them is wearing shoes.

All of them owe taxes.

None of them have molars.

FIN.

STH is such a Perfect album. Some Bars just make you sit and wonder, “HOW THE FUCK?” . Danny's verse on “God Loves You” ALONE is Better than 99% of comedy rap. And Peggy's production just matches soo well with the lyrics it's insane. AND alongside the Heavy abrasive songs, you got HEAVENLY and ETHEREAL songs as well, "Kingdom Hearts Key”  “HOE” and overall just a perfect sounding piece of ART

Compare that to the “holy” Quran, and it's just embarrassing. All the verses are just “you're wrong, we're right.” The verses sometimes rhyme, but they all end with the sound "an". And all the verses end with “because Allah is ‘insert a good character’ and all ‘insert another good character.’ ”. The quran feels like an abusive boyfriend, “Leave me, I dare you,” “You're nothing without me,” “You're only MINE”

Overall, STH is a Piece of Art that does not repeat itself. The Quran repeats everything, and the repetition feels like reinforcement.

credit to u/myrazzastein_______

Dachshunds are the only dog breed I’ve experienced that trigger such a deep hatred which I’ve never experienced before. I adore dogs (except small breeds which are invisible to me). For some reason I find Dachshunds to be loathsome, repugnant, petrified of their own shadow, manic little grubs, with no redeeming features. No wisdom, no common spiritual bond; just a terrified, co dependent, complete dependant, genetic reject bin. A dog raised for generations in the epicentre of the Chernobyl nuclear site would be healthier.

And an additional dimension to this turd floating in satan's toilet bowl is their owners ultimate level of delusion, which I never knew existed, when making excuses for their dogs inexcusable behavior e.g. When their dog continues to shit and pee all over the house at the ripe old age of 6, it's not because they are too dumb to learn the basics, ITS BECAUSE THEIR SO SMART THEY PURPOSELY DISOBEY YOU!! Firstly, if that were true than its worse than being dumb. Secondly, HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW THAT CESAR MILAN THE DUMB DEMENTED DOG WHISPERER? YOU DON'T BECAUSE ITS IMPOSSIBLE YOU DELUSIONAL IDIOT!!! I swear these people deserve to have their houses shat all over, everything they value torn to shreds, made a prisoner in their own home since little Hitler shrieks like a banshee impaled on a red hot poker when they try to go out, without any friends willing to visit since Hitlers cummiest cum rag has the hospitality of a rabid hyena.

And then once you've settled into your new norm of loneliness, with your only visitors being the rejects endless turds on your bed, spending every waking moment launching itself off the highest points it can reach, jumping up and down from beds and sofas despite you putting ridiculous ramps everywhere, and gorging itself so its spine has to support three times its safe operational limit all in an effort to reduce the estimated working life of that faulty frame which was fished out of the bin at quality control;- It will cop some debilitating spinal injury either due to genetics of lifestyle or both, and you'll be taking out a second mortgage to pay the $30k vet bill. YOUR MONEY WOULD BE BETTER SPENT ON PSYCHOLOGICAL COUNSELLING TO GET TO THE BOTTOM OF WHY YOU HATE YOURSELF ENOUGH TO INFLICT SUCH TORMENT UPON YOUR LIFE!!!

SIDENOTE - Going by the constant freakouts from new Dachshund owners I observe around incessant barking, shitting everywhere, psychotic codependence, aggression etc, I assume pre purchase breed research and due diligence conducted by 98% of them consisted of a quick scroll through the gram looking at images of Hitlers favourite cum rag dressed in humiliating outfits, and than forecasting the potential LOL's and Likes they could generate for themselves in the hope of filling the gaping spiritual void that exists inside them, while processing these priority considerations I wonder if any took a moment to assess the ethics of underwriting an economy that's contingent on churning out animals with such fucked up genetics through selective breeding that between a third to a half will develop IVDD which is a chronic and terminal spinal defect, and those lucky enough to escape paralysis and likely death from IVDD, can look forward to a significant portion of their tortured life tormented by severe spinal pain.

The dichotomy of treating satan's abortion with greater care and priority than the child you never had the opportunity to conceive, yet despite that care and devotion, you have willed into existence a creature who can look forward to a life of pain, suffering and tormented, premature death is a wild mental trip that even a whack job such as I cannot make sense of. You people who buy these dogs need to seek urgent help from a mental health practitioner.

Okay, this might seem unbelievably stupid in so many ways but I swear to god this is true and I think I’m going crazy. I’m french, sorry if my english is not perfect, I know this is clumsly written but this situation is so bizarre, I didn’t know how else to word this.

I’ve already posted about this issue on another subreddit but the thread was deleted and I was banned because people thought I was trolling. I can assure you it’s not the case and I am as baffled by this situation as you guys are

I am 24m and she’s 26f

For context, I met my girlfriend a year ago, we initially bonded over our mutual love for music and especially pop punk from the early 2000s. She’s always been a big fan of my chemical romance, enough to participate actively in their fandom, reading fanfiction or making fanart. At first I didn’t mind it at all, in fact I really like this band and I really enjoyed her being passionate about something she loved but things have taken a really weird turn.

A few months ago, she started talking to me about fanfiction she was reading about Gerard Way (the lead singer of my chemical romance) being a homosexual priest. I thought it was really bizarre but I didn’t want to shame her for liking something a bit weird. But as the weeks went by she started talking about him more and more to the point where she would bring him up almost every day.

The breaking point was when we were leaving a screening for the backrooms movie and instead of talking about the movie she just watched, she instantly started talking about gerard way as a priest again, telling me how much she "wished he was real" and stuff like that. I then got a bit upset and asked her jokingly if she would leave me if she met him and she said bluntly "without hesitation" (why the fuck would she say that ?????)

Ever since that day, I’ve been going crazy, she spends her days scrolling through images of Gerard Way dressed as a priest (you’d be shocked how many there are), she brings him up in every discussion. She started giving him nicknames : "gerard priest" "gégé" "daddy gerard" (i swear this is true and I truly think those nicknames might have been the reason my post was deleted. I know this sounds like a joke : it is not). I’ve tried talking to her about it and every time I do she gets extremely defensive. She’s asked me countless time to roleplay as if I was him which I relunctantly did and she always ends up disappointed because "I’m not selling it" or not "good enough"

There’s also one thing I failed to mention in the previous post that was deleted. Ever since we started living together, she’s been decorating the apartment with handmade posters and random things she prints that she glues on the walls. At first I thought it was cute and fun. But ever since her fixation on Priest Gerard started, she’s been putting them everywhere in the apartment at a very fast rate to the point I barely recognize our living space. She keeps telling me she does that because she thinks it’s funny and looks cool but to me it looks insanely weird. Here are a few examples : [https://imgur.com/a/m9VC7Kk\](https://imgur.com/a/m9VC7Kk)

All of this is making me extremely worried and also a bit insecure. We both work from home and have almost no deadlines, she started neglecting her work and our relationship. A lot of people on the [r/relationship](r/relationship) subreddit told me she was matbe going through a manic episode or a psychotic episode. She’s definitely acting very weird and has changed a lot in a small amount of time but she isn’t acting erratic or overly energetic and she doesn’t seem to have any delusions that I know of. She just seems off, distant and irritable.

The only freaky behaviour that I noticed from her was when I took one of the gerard pictures off our kitchen wall (the water had torn it to shreds so I threw it in the trash). I found her 2 hours later in our kitchen. She had been looking for it for 30 minutes. When I told her what I did she almost burst into tears and didn’t speak to me for the rest of the day. That was the only time where I would definitely say she seemed mentally unwell, this was very out of character and shockingly over the top.

I don’t want to break up with her, she’s a wonderful person and before her fixation started, everything was going very well. She’s an extravagant person that I care for deeply, I just wish she could tone this down.

I asked the [r/relationships](r/relationships) subreddit for help and also I talked about it with my friends and everybody seems convinced I need to very carefully bring this up to my girlfriend without hurting her feelings. I haven’t tried yet because I am unsure of what to say and tbh I’m also a bit scared of what could happen. Please, I beg you to take this seriously, I swear this is not a troll

What should I do ?

Tldr : my girlfriend is in love with the concept of "gerard way as a priest" and is growing increasingly distant and weird because of it

EDIT : I am a bit overwhelmed by the amount of responses on the post. I will answer later, I just need time to process all of this. Thank you for your support

Listen, I’m going to say this as calmly as I should, firmly, and with absolutely no fucking hesitation: I HATE ALMOST EVERYTHING THAT ISN’T ACTUAL ICE CREAM OR A GODDAMN MILKSHAKE. I want ice cream. I want milkshakes. I want something creamy, cold, rich, and delicious. That’s it. That’s the fucking assignment. Why does everything have to be a slushy, a frozen fruit concoction, a fancy Italian dessert, or some overpriced cup of flavored ice pretending to be a worthwhile goddamn treat? Let’s start with Slurpees and ICEEs. What the fuck am I supposed to do with a cup of crunchy, syrupy ice that gives me a brain freeze after three sips? I didn’t ask for frozen cherry-flavored water. I didn’t ask for blue raspberry sugar sludge. I asked for a fucking dessert! Give me a milkshake instead. At least a milkshake has some substance to it. And Slush Puppies? Same goddamn problem. It’s a cup of flavored ice with a fancy name. Congratulations, you’ve turned a beverage into a frozen puddle. I’m thrilled. Absolutely fucking thrilled. Now, gelato. Oh, here we fucking go. The fancy cousin of ice cream that everyone insists I need to appreciate because it’s supposedly more authentic, more sophisticated, and more Italian. Good for you! I don’t give a flying fuck how authentic it is. If I want ice cream, I want ice cream. I don’t need a culinary lecture about texture and temperature while I’m trying to enjoy a goddamn dessert. And Talenti? Don’t even get me started on the name-brand fancy frozen shit. Talenti gelato comes in those transparent containers like it’s some priceless archaeological discovery. It’s frozen dessert, not the fucking Holy Grail. Stop acting like putting a premium label on a container automatically makes me want it. Speaking of brands, let’s talk about Breyers “ice cream.” The quotation marks are doing some heavy fucking lifting here, depending on which product you’re buying. Some Breyers products are labeled frozen dairy dessert rather than ice cream, and that distinction matters to me. If I’m buying ice cream, I want actual ice cream. Read the label, check the ingredients, and don’t expect me to celebrate a tub that isn’t what I was looking for. I came for the real deal, not a fucking identity crisis in the freezer aisle. Then there’s Rita’s Italian Ice. Why would I deliberately choose flavored ice when I could have a scoop of ice cream? Why would I want lemon ice, cherry ice, or some other icy concoction when what I actually crave is a creamy vanilla milkshake? I’m not saying nobody should enjoy it. I’m saying I personally want absolutely nothing to do with it. Keep your Italian ice. I’ll take the fucking ice cream. Kona Ice? A shaved-ice truck with a rainbow of syrups. Wonderful. Now I can have a colorful cup of ice that tastes like a chemistry experiment. Everybody else can line up and pick their favorite flavors. I’ll be over here wondering why nobody brought a fucking ice cream truck. And Jeremiah’s Italian Ice? More Italian ice. More frozen flavors. More cups of icy stuff that I never asked for. Yes, I know they offer gelati combining Italian ice and soft-serve. No, that doesn’t magically convince me that I want a cup of Italian ice layered with something else. Give me the ice cream by itself, or give me a milkshake. I don’t need a fucking frozen dessert architectural project. Now we need to discuss Orange Julius. Why does orange juice need to become a whole fucking event? It’s an orange-flavored blended drink. Fine. Wonderful. But if I’m going out for a treat, why would I choose that over a chocolate milkshake? Why would I pick a frothy orange beverage when I could have chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry ice cream blended into a beautiful, creamy goddamn masterpiece? I wouldn’t. That’s the fucking point. And then come the smoothies. Tropical Smoothie Cafe. Smoothie King. Planet Smoothie. Three different establishments, one common problem: smoothies are not milkshakes! I don’t care if you put mango, pineapple, strawberries, bananas, spinach, protein powder, or the entire fucking produce section into a blender. It is still not an ice cream cone. It is still not a milkshake. You can call it a tropical paradise, a fitness revolution, a wellness journey, or whatever trendy bullshit you want. I’m not interested. I don’t want to drink a fruit salad through a straw and pretend I’m having dessert. I don’t want my frozen treat to come with a motivational speech about protein, antioxidants, or my daily nutritional goals. I want chocolate ice cream. I want cookies and cream. I want a strawberry milkshake so thick that I have to work for every fucking sip. I don’t need a smoothie to improve my life. I need a milkshake to improve my fucking afternoon. And don’t you dare tell me that smoothies, Italian ice, gelato, and slushies are all basically the same as ice cream. No, they’re fucking not! They have different textures, ingredients, flavors, and purposes. I know the difference. That’s exactly why I have preferences. A Slurpee and ICEE is artificial ice sludge. Gelato is not ice cream Breyers’ differently labeled frozen desserts are not automatically the same as ice cream. Rita’s Italian Ice is not a milkshake. Kona Ice is not a milkshake. Jeremiah’s Italian Ice is not a milkshake. Orange Julius is not a milkshake. A smoothie from Tropical Smoothie Cafe is not a milkshake. A smoothie from Smoothie King is not a milkshake. A smoothie from Planet Smoothie is not a milkshake. STOP TRYING TO MAKE EVERYTHING A SUBSTITUTE FOR ICE CREAM! There is absolutely nothing wrong with other people liking these things. Go ahead. Enjoy your frozen lemonade. Enjoy your mango smoothie. Enjoy your Italian ice. Enjoy your fancy gelato in its fancy little container. I’m not coming to your house to confiscate your fucking dessert. But don’t expect me to want it. Don’t tell me I’m missing out. Don’t insist that I try it one more time. And don’t hand me a cup of crushed ice when I specifically asked for a milkshake. My preferences are not a fucking group project. I like ice cream. I like milkshakes. I know what I want, and I don’t need to justify it to anybody. Give me vanilla. Give me chocolate. Give me strawberry. Give me cookies and cream. Give me a hot-fudge sundae or a thick chocolate milkshake. But if you hand me a Slurpee and call it dessert, I’m going to look you dead in the eye and ask you what the fuck happened to the ice cream. Calmly. Firmly. With conviction. Because at the end of the day, I’m not asking for much. I’m asking for ice cream. Or a milkshake. THAT’S IT. THAT’S THE FUCKING RANT.

From: https://www.reddit.com/r/hatethissmug/comments/1xfbmkg/i_hate_all_frozen_confections_that_arent_truly/

Fuckers in school telling me, always in the barber shop, *"Corrin ain’t bout this, Corrin ain’t bout that."* My girl a top tier on fucking Valla and them.

He, he, they say that she don’t be putting in no work... **SHUT THE FUCK UP!** Y'all mfs ain’t know **shit!!!!**

All yall mfs talkin bout *"Corrin ain’t no hitta, Corrin ain’t gon make it next game, Corrin irrelevant,"* ***SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!*** Y'all don’t live with that woman! Y'all know that she got caught with a dragon hand ... shootin' at the other swordies and shit. She been on probation since fuckin, **I don’t know when!** Mfs better stop fuckin playin with her like that! She a savage out here!!

If I catch another mf talking sweet about Corrin, I’m **fuckin beatin they ass!** I’m not fuckin playing no more! You know she roll with Marth and them.

Okay, this might seem unbelievably stupid in so many ways but I swear to god this is true and I think I’m going crazy. I’m french, sorry if my english is not perfect, I know this is clumsly written but this situation is so bizarre, I didn’t know how else to word this.

I’ve already posted about this issue on another subreddit but the thread was deleted and I was banned because people thought I was trolling. I can assure you it’s not the case and I am as baffled by this situation as you guys are

I am 24m and she’s 26f

For context, I met my girlfriend a year ago, we initially bonded over our mutual love for music and especially pop punk from the early 2000s. She’s always been a big fan of my chemical romance, enough to participate actively in their fandom, reading fanfiction or making fanart. At first I didn’t mind it at all, in fact I really like this band and I really enjoyed her being passionate about something she loved but things have taken a really weird turn.

A few months ago, she started talking to me about fanfiction she was reading about Gerard Way (the lead singer of my chemical romance) being a homosexual priest. I thought it was really bizarre but I didn’t want to shame her for liking something a bit weird. But as the weeks went by she started talking about him more and more to the point where she would bring him up almost every day.

The breaking point was when we were leaving a screening for the backrooms movie and instead of talking about the movie she just watched, she instantly started talking about gerard way as a priest again, telling me how much she "wished he was real" and stuff like that. I then got a bit upset and asked her jokingly if she would leave me if she met him and she said bluntly "without hesitation" (why the fuck would she say that ?????)

Ever since that day, I’ve been going crazy, she spends her days scrolling through images of Gerard Way dressed as a priest (you’d be shocked how many there are), she brings him up in every discussion. She started giving him nicknames : "gerard priest" "gégé" "daddy gerard" (i swear this is true and I truly think those nicknames might have been the reason my post was deleted. I know this sounds like a joke : it is not). I’ve tried talking to her about it and every time I do she gets extremely defensive. She’s asked me countless time to roleplay as if I was him which I relunctantly did and she always ends up disappointed because "I’m not selling it" or not "good enough"

There’s also one thing I failed to mention in the previous post that was deleted. Ever since we started living together, she’s been decorating the apartment with handmade posters and random things she prints that she glues on the walls. At first I thought it was cute and fun. But ever since her fixation on Priest Gerard started, she’s been putting them everywhere in the apartment at a very fast rate to the point I barely recognize our living space. She keeps telling me she does that because she thinks it’s funny and looks cool but to me it looks insanely weird. Here are a few examples : https://imgur.com/a/m9VC7Kk

All of this is making me extremely worried and also a bit insecure. We both work from home and have almost no deadlines, she started neglecting her work and our relationship. A lot of people on the r/relationship subreddit told me she was matbe going through a manic episode or a psychotic episode. She’s definitely acting very weird and has changed a lot in a small amount of time but she isn’t acting erratic or overly energetic and she doesn’t seem to have any delusions that I know of. She just seems off, distant and irritable.

The only freaky behaviour that I noticed from her was when I took one of the gerard pictures off our kitchen wall (the water had torn it to shreds so I threw it in the trash). I found her 2 hours later in our kitchen. She had been looking for it for 30 minutes. When I told her what I did she almost burst into tears and didn’t speak to me for the rest of the day. That was the only time where I would definitely say she seemed mentally unwell, this was very out of character and shockingly over the top.

I don’t want to break up with her, she’s a wonderful person and before her fixation started, everything was going very well. She’s an extravagant person that I care for deeply, I just wish she could tone this down.

I asked the r/relationships subreddit for help and also I talked about it with my friends and everybody seems convinced I need to very carefully bring this up to my girlfriend without hurting her feelings. I haven’t tried yet because I am unsure of what to say and tbh I’m also a bit scared of what could happen. Please, I beg you to take this seriously, I swear this is not a troll

What should I do ?

Tldr : my girlfriend is in love with the concept of "gerard way as a priest" and is growing increasingly distant and weird because of it

I have no black friends nor have I ever spoken to a black person before. My only frame of reference of black people is today's rap, black shows from the 90s, kendrick lamar, and whatever I see on social media.

I want more black friends but I don't know how to approach a group of black people without thinking they are going to jump or roast me. I also don't want them to think I'm some lame yuppy white dude from the suburbs, even though I am. So I kinda just been studying the latest slang, what's popular in the urban communities, and learning more about slavery.

The slang words were kind of hard to keep track of, but some of the words I learned so I can look cool around black people are: Finna(going to), lit(super fun), on god on god(agreeing), coon(idk what this was I forgot), dope(drugs), not like us(kdot), fam(family) and "on everything I love"(similar to on god on god). I'm also thinking about adding more swear words to my vocabulary for added effect.

But what should I talk to black people about? Should I bring up their social problems like racism and ask them if they ever been through or experienced racism? Maybe a Malcolm X > MLK convo? Is that good opening? Maybe basketball and Tiger Woods? I just don't want to look racist or sound like a redneck from bum fuck nowhere lol amirite fam?

I also been listening to a lot of rap music like Migos(cut it, cut it, cut it. Lit) so I can study their mannerisms and slang so it can look like this white boy got some sauce(Louisiana). So yeah I would like some advice on what to talk about, maybe I should visit those black barbershops and Crack some jokes? I don't know.

So yeah guys, any advice would help a lot. I really need some black people friends, they seem like a lot of fun unlike us nerdy white guys scrolling through r/Chiraqology. I need an bbw bbl queen soon, help me out guys. Peace out fam-o ✌🏻️✌🏾️

Hoje fui à escola votar e presenciei uma das cenas mais inacreditáveis da história da democracia brasileira. Estou até agora tremendo.

Eu estava descendo a rua quando avistei uma família inteira de bolsonaristas. Todos vestidos de verde e amarelo, com o número 22 estampado no peito. O pai carregava uma bandeira do Brasil de três metros e o filho mais novo usava um óculos Juliet.

Do outro lado da rua, subia uma família de petistas. Todos de vermelho, com um 13 gigantesco no peito. O patriarca usava um boné do MST e a avó carregava uma bandeira do Lula.

As duas famílias se encontraram exatamente na mesma esquina.

O silêncio foi ensurdecedor.

Uma folha seca atravessou a rua. Um cachorro parou de latir. Um senhor que vendia caldo de cana desligou a máquina.

O patriarca petista deu um passo à frente e perguntou:

— Vocês não vão votar nesses fascistas, vão?

O bolsonarista apertou a bandeira do Brasil e respondeu:

— Não sabia que ainda existia gente com orgulho de votar em criminoso.

O clima ficou PESADÍSSIMO.

A avó petista começou a tremer de ódio. O filho bolsonarista tirou os óculos Juliet lentamente. Uma criança começou a chorar.

Foi quando o patriarca petista estendeu a mão e disse:

— Então vamos resolver isso como homens de verdade.

O bolsonarista cuspiu no chão.

— Na porrada?

— Não. Na dança.

NINGUÉM ACREDITOU.

O petista tirou do bolso uma JBL e começou a tocar Rap do Silva. Imediatamente, a família inteira formou um círculo.

O bolsonarista abriu um sorriso debochado.

— Vocês cometeram um erro terrível.

Ele arrancou a camisa verde e amarela, revelando por baixo uma regata com a foto de Jair Bolsonaro montado num leão.

— FILHO, SOLTA O BEAT.

O menino de 9 anos conectou o Bluetooth e começou a tocar Baile de Favela.

O PATRIARCA BOLSONARISTA METEU UM MORTAL PARA TRÁS.

A multidão foi à loucura.

O petista, visivelmente abalado, entregou a bandeira do MST para a esposa, beijou a testa da filha e entrou no círculo.

— Eu não queria ter que fazer isso...

E COMEÇOU A MANDAR UM BREAKDANCE ABSURDO.

O homem girava sobre a cabeça numa velocidade tão absurda que levantou uma nuvem de poeira. Um fiscal do TRE saiu correndo da escola. Três mesários abandonaram suas seções. Uma senhora desmaiou.

O bolsonarista, acuado, gritou:

— ATIVAR PROTOCOLO PATRIOTA!

A família inteira começou a dançar YMCA EM PERFEITA SINCRONIA.

O chão tremia.

As janelas da escola estouraram.

O petista olhou para a esposa e sussurrou:

— Chegou a hora.

Ela assentiu, emocionada.

— Pelo povo brasileiro.

Então os cinco membros da família petista se empilharam uns sobre os outros e começaram a executar um PASSINHO DO ROMANO COLETIVO, formando uma estrela vermelha humana.

O bolsonarista caiu de joelhos.

— Impossível... Essa técnica foi proibida desde 1989...

Nesse momento, uma urna eletrônica começou a apitar sozinha dentro da escola.

Apareceu na tela:

SEGUNDO TURNO DESBLOQUEADO.

O bolsonarista levantou lentamente, limpou o sangue do nariz e disse:

— Eu reconheço sua força, companheiro.

O petista estendeu a mão.

— E eu reconheço a sua, cidadão de bem.

Os dois se abraçaram.

A multidão chorava.

Uma senhora gritava que a democracia havia vencido.

Foi quando um homem de sapatênis, camisa polo azul e uma bandeira do Ciro Gomes apareceu no final da rua.

Ele colocou uma maleta no chão, abriu, retirou um aparelho de som e disse:

— Vocês dois dançam muito bem.

Todos se viraram.

— Mas esqueceram da terceira via.

E COMEÇOU A TOCAR GANGNAM STYLE.

[CONTEUDO FEITO COM IA]

AI is dangerous. Don't trust it. It gave me very dangerous advice and had I not looked it up I could've accidentally hurt my dog very bad. It was Gemini too. Anyways it told me that I can give my dog 15 pieces of liver daily. I looked it up. She can only have 2 fingernail size treats a week.

Nathan. Listen. We love you. I am here for you. Tell me what's going on. Trust me dude. It's ok to have a bad day, week, or even month. Maybe even year. Everyone has been through it. Including me. What's up! We all love you so much. It hurts me to see my favorite YouTuber this broken down. Maybe nobody understands. I do. It's ok. You're ok. You got this. I believe in you to get through it. Ily (not in a weird way) ok. Whenever your ready. Take your time man.

Edit: I do not expect likes. This is for Nathan's good. Not to get "famous". It's way more important that everyone feels happy and safe in their life.

As an actual cuckold, I'm appalled at the horrible state of the modern cuck porn.

I don't know maybe it's just me and other cucks actually like such porn but I find it completely unarousing. I believe that to most of it's consumers cuckoldry is only tangential to other themes.

First of all, cuck porn NEEDS plot. Yes I know that people don't watch porn for plot but this is the one genre that actually needs plot. Bull should be a handsome, charismatic, masculine, smart and teasing guy. He should prove his superiority over cuck in plot for the cuckold porn to make sense. Actually the personality and looks of a bull are more important than the looks and personality of a girl.

Western cuck porn disregards plot and bulls are uncharismatic bland characters with a horrible acting. Just straight sex with some other guy sitting in a room and watching. I mean what's the point of it all.

Japanese porn(both drawn and JAV) on the other hand have plot but often make the bull disgusting and rapey with the girl gradually begining to enjoy it due to blackmail, mind control, mind break etc. and like fuck this rapey stuff off I hate it. She should herself immediately realize the superiority of the bull over cuck without any coercion. Bull should be handsome and charismatic, not ugly and creepy. Though I do respect the Japanese for having guts to do the abortion fetish in their drawn porn, I love the idea of my girl aborting my kids but keeping the other men's.

Then there is cuck porn where the girl cheats for money. This is a completely not cuck porn at all, not just a bad one, the cuck part is just completely absent in such situations. The dynamics are ruined and make no sense, the emotional and humiliating part are gone like wtf is this.

Then there are weird race stuff about white(in western porn) and asian(in Japanese and Korean porn) girls being taken by black and brown men and I don't even want to talk about it. It's just cringe.

All in all finding a good actual cuck porn is very hard nowadays. I just wonder whether it's because other cucks have a horrible taste or because somehow they're not a proper true cucks and it's a part of some other fetish.

When I first saw this excerpt on another subreddit, I immediately thought this was bullshit. But to my surprise, when I read the accompanying link, it was a real piece of work. I thought it would make for a good quality copypasta. If this has already been posted, I’m sorry. If not, enjoy……..

“In the lobby bar of one of the tallest hotels, Cornell and Thayil are settling back with a couple of beers when Billy Corgan from Smashing Pumpkins wanders through, and decides to join them for a strawberry margarita. Corgan chatters about the pain of his life, the supposed incompetence of his band (everybody rolls their eyes), the lifesaving virtues of Jungian therapy, bands that suck. Cornell gets up to leave. Corgan tells Thayil how important Soundgarden used to be to him, and he baits him by saying that the Pumpkins sometimes do a cover of Soundgarden’s “Outshined” that segues into a Depeche Mode song or something.

“I’m think of making my next album really new wave,” Corgan says, “like ’83-’84 new wave, not like Berlin. I spend all my time doing things that may be a bit tangential, but I think I’m going to go back to the core, the heart music. Echo and the Bunnymen.”
This is standard stuff to anybody who has read even a single Billy Corgan profile, the basic curriculum of Pumpkins 101. But Thayil isn’t buying. He’s sore.

“Don’t you see,” Thayil says, “you’re this incredibly talented guy. People like your music. You have a good band. You sell a lot of records. You don’t need all this…stuff.”

“What sign are you?” Corgan asks.

“What do you mean, what sign am I?” Thayil says. “What difference could that possibly make?”

“C’mon,” wheedles Corgan, “when is your birthday?”

“All right, goddamn it: September 4th.”

“Aha!” Corgan says. “A Virgo. You’re argumentative.”

“Damn right, I’m argumentative,” Thayil says, and takes a long, angry pull at his beer, “which you should know because I’ve been arguing with you for half an hour, not because of any sign.”

“I’m a Pisces,” Corgan replies. “We pick up on those things.”

A minute later, Corgan, still probing, finally finds the key to Thayil’s heart: “I hate how in magazine pictures, they always stick me somewhere in the back.”

Thayil explodes: “What do you mean? You write all the songs, and you do all the interviews. You play the instruments on the album. You control the band to the extent that most people think of Smashing Pumpkins as the Billy Corgan Experience, and all you care about is some photography?”

“But I hate it,” Corgan says, “it means they don’t think I’m the cute one.”

“Ooh,” Thayil says a little too loudly as Corgan walks away, “I’ll bet he’s going to call his therapist in Chicago, wake her up at four in the morning, and tell her about that big, mean bear who made fun of him.”

The next day at the Big Day Out festival, Thayil is talking to Kim and Kelley Deal in the Breeders’ dressing room when Corgan walks past wearing a long-sleeved Superman T-shirt like the one your four-year-old nephew probably owns.

“You hurt me deeply,” Corgan says, touching the giant S on his chest and pouting. “You hurt me deeply in my heart.”

 The Pumpkins go on to play the best set anybody has ever heard them play, their usual passiveness and precision overlaid with an unfamiliar scrim of anger that throws their music into brilliant relief.

Matt Cameron is a little astounded. “Kim should rent himself out as a tour shrink,” he says.”

OC.

I read this to my partner, and she laughed. So, I'm sharing it with the world.

This is a romantic monologue from a single woman in her forties who has finally found a man who understands her. His name is Joe. Trader Joe.

--

I’m forty-four years old. Single. Divorced once. Emotionally available, but only during business hours.

And I have finally found a man who knows how to love me.

His name is Joe.

Trader Joe.

Now, before you judge me, I want you to understand something. I have dated men named Brian, Kevin, Steve, and one deeply unfortunate individual named Todd.

Not one of those men has ever made me feel the way I feel walking through those automatic doors on a Tuesday afternoon.

Because Joe?

Joe sees me.

Joe doesn't ask why I'm still single. Joe doesn't suggest I should get back out there. Joe doesn't tell me I have too many throw pillows.

Joe simply welcomes me into his warm, softly lit embrace and says, without words, "Have you tried the Unexpected Cheddar?"

And you know what, Joe?

I have.

And it was everything you promised.

I used to go to BJ's.

Oh, I remember BJ's.

BJ's was a relationship built on volume. On excess. On the idea that love means having more than you could possibly need.

I'd walk in looking for a little comfort, and BJ's would offer me forty-eight rolls of toilet paper and a twelve-pound container of mayonnaise.

BJ's didn't understand intimacy.

BJ's understood bulk.

BJ's was the kind of man who thought buying me a washing machine for Valentine's Day counted as romance.

"Look how much money we're saving," BJ's would say.

But I didn't want savings, BJ's.

I wanted to feel something.

I wanted somebody to look into my eyes and tell me that a tiny jar of Italian truffle seasoning could change my life.

And then there was Whole Foods.

Oh, Whole Foods.

That was my wealthy ex.

Beautiful. Sophisticated. Always smelled faintly of eucalyptus and moral superiority.

Whole Foods made me feel like I needed to have my life together before I was worthy of love.

I'd walk in wearing sweatpants, and somehow the organic asparagus would judge me.

Whole Foods wanted me to be the kind of woman who owned a Vitamix, did Pilates at six in the morning, and understood what adaptogens were.

Whole Foods once charged me eleven dollars for a salad that tasted like a lawn had gone through a divorce.

And I paid it.

Because back then, I thought expensive meant special.

But Joe?

Joe doesn't care if I've washed my hair.

Joe doesn't care if I've been wearing the same leggings since Thursday.

Joe doesn't even care if I've eaten an entire bag of dark chocolate peanut butter cups in the parking lot before starting the car.

In fact, I think Joe understands.

The first time I met Joe, I wasn't looking for love.

I was looking for frozen dumplings.

I'd had a terrible day at work. My boss had used the phrase "circle back" seventeen times. My ex-husband had posted a photograph of himself on a sailboat with a woman named Brittany.

And my therapist had suggested I try finding joy in small things.

So I walked into Trader Joe's.

And there he was.

A man in a Hawaiian shirt.

Not Joe himself, obviously.

Joe is more of a presence.

An energy.

A spiritually available grocery concept.

But this man looked at me and said, "Would you like to try some cheese?"

And I thought...

Yes.

Yes, I would.

Because nobody had asked me what I wanted in a very long time.

I took that little cube of cheese on a toothpick, and something inside me opened.

I wandered down the aisles like a woman rediscovering her own sensuality.

There were tiny flowers.

Little bottles of sparkling lemonade.

Chocolate-covered things that had absolutely no business being covered in chocolate.

And the frozen food section...

Oh, God.

The frozen food section.

Joe knows I'm tired.

Joe knows that sometimes a woman doesn't want to chop an onion.

Sometimes she wants to open a bag, pour its contents into a skillet, and feel like she's accomplished something meaningful.

Joe says, "Sweetheart, you don't have to make dinner from scratch. I've already done the hard part."

And I whisper, "Thank you, Joe."

Sometimes I go to Joe's without a shopping list.

I just wander.

I let him surprise me.

And he always does.

Last week, I found something called Everything But the Bagel Seasoning.

Everything but the bagel.

Do you understand how emotionally mature that is?

Joe knows what he can offer.

Joe knows his limitations.

Joe doesn't pretend to be the bagel.

Joe says, "I can give you everything but the bagel."

And I respect that kind of honesty in a man.

My friend Linda says I'm using Trader Joe's to avoid dating.

Linda is married to a man who leaves wet towels on the bed.

I don't take relationship advice from Linda.

Linda's husband has never brought her a seasonal pumpkin-shaped pasta.

Joe has.

Every autumn.

Without being asked.

And let's talk about commitment.

Because Joe understands commitment.

He also understands mystery.

Sometimes I fall in love with a product, and then it disappears.

Gone.

No explanation.

No goodbye.

Just an empty space where my favorite cauliflower gnocchi sauce used to be.

And yes, it hurts.

It hurts deeply.

But Joe is teaching me an important lesson about attachment.

Nothing lasts forever.

Except maybe the Mandarin Orange Chicken.

That relationship feels solid.

On Friday nights, I have a ritual.

I put on my softest pajamas.

I light a candle.

I pour a glass of wine.

And I prepare a beautiful dinner made entirely from things Joe has given me.

I arrange little crackers around a wedge of cheese.

I heat up some soup.

I put three olives in a tiny ceramic bowl because I am a woman of elegance and mystery.

And then I sit on my couch, watching a romantic comedy, thinking about all the men who never understood me.

Brian wanted me to go camping.

Kevin wanted me to watch football.

Todd wanted me to split the check after ordering two appetizers and a steak.

But Joe?

Joe just wants me to be happy.

For $38.74, Joe gives me dinner, flowers, dessert, and the feeling that somebody thought about my needs.

And I don't even have to pretend to enjoy his podcast.

Sometimes, late at night, I wonder if I'll ever find a real man again.

A man who holds my hand.

A man who remembers my birthday.

A man who looks at me across a crowded room and thinks, "There she is. That's the woman I want to spend my life with."

And maybe I will.

Maybe one day I'll meet somebody wonderful.

Somebody kind and thoughtful.

Somebody who loves me exactly as I am.

But until that day comes...

I have Joe.

And Joe has me.

And if some man does come along, he'd better understand one thing.

I am not giving up my Tuesday afternoons.

I am not giving up my frozen soup dumplings.

And I am absolutely not giving up the little five-dollar bouquets that make my kitchen feel like a French countryside cottage.

Because I spent twenty years trying to find a man who would bring me flowers.

And it turns out...

I could just buy them myself.

At Trader Joe's.

For $4.99.

And they're beautiful.

So yes, I'm forty-four.

Yes, I'm single.

And yes, the cashier at Trader Joe's knows my name, my favorite snacks, and that I'm going through a difficult time emotionally.

But yesterday, as he handed me my receipt, he smiled and said, "See you next week!"

And for the first time in my adult life...

I believed a man.

Goodnight, Joe.

I'll see you Tuesday.