why do people romanticize the 1950s? like calm down, we still have milkshakes and racism
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HORSE: *walks into a bar*
BARTENDER: Why the long face?
HORSE: Updog
BARTENDER: What’s updog?
HORSE: Not much just walking into a bar
[new coffee shop]
DAY 1
barista: name?
me: Pru
b: order for Prune!DAY 2
m: Pru. P-R-U
b: Poo!DAY 3
m: JANE… MY NAME’S JANE
snack time! which shapeless, wiggly treat would you rather?
Thinking about how the Dutch police arrested a bird for taking part in a robbery, put it in a jail cell with bread and water & when the media reported on it they put a little black bar over the face to protect its identity
How can a cemetery raise its burial charges and blame it on the cost of living?
Cholesterol has a special place in my heart.
Sleeping Beauty gave me entirely too much hope that there were spells to keep you asleep for years at a time.
[sitting up to eat my ice cream] I feel my core getting stronger already
I’ve reached the age where good or bad news from friends produce the same reaction: I should make them a casserole. I have officially become my grandmother.
I like my wedding soup made with real bickering.
[Day at the beach]
*Puts suits on kids, slathers them with sunscreen, makes sandwiches, packs cooler, packs beach bags, lugs 50 lbs or crap to beach, trudges over sand, lays out blanket, puts up umbrella, sets up beach chairs, *
6yo after 30 minutes: I wanna go back home
me: how is your pancake, bud?
3yo, rubbing the pancake on his face: it’s soft
Move the bed into the kitchen, bro
This summer, a rom-com dares to ask the question, “Can a 9 date an 8?”
Like sure, yes. Encouraging independent play is good for a kid’s development but like…these people sound like they just want to leave their babies in the wilderness for the wolves to raise
Person: you only live once
Me: that is the best news I’ve heard all day
Isn’t it time to start naming hurricanes after IKEA furniture.
If you are going to call the cops every time you spot me in your bushes I don’t think this relationship is going to work.
I see it’s garbage day on twitter again.
I’m too immature for adultery.
My favourite interaction on this hellish site just happened
My toddler just spent five minutes explaining that he can’t use his imagination because he traded it to a kid at daycare for some fruit snacks. Ok, bro.
Follow your dreams. Search through your dreams mail. Show up drunk on your dreams doorstep. Kidnap your dreams. Never let your dreams go.
Update: Gingerbread men are actually incredibly slow and delicious
“hello pretty lady.” [i slide down the bar] “what’s your name?” i say as i casually toss a peanut in my eye.
Her: Wow… You really cleaned up the place
A cockroach with a little bow-tie waddles by
Me: Anything for you baby girl
Dry sarcasm assumes the existence of moist sarcasm.
[swirls, sniffs and sips red wine]
Yes, this is delicious. I will have a glass.
Ma’am, this is a church, let go of the cup and sit down.