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When I worked at the sex shop we had this one customer. He was literally on the interview questions because we had to deal with him several times a week. He worked at the mall and we’d see him when we went in to go to the movies or grab lunch.

He’d always come in wearing a different wolf shirt. They’d be superimposed over the moon or running in packs. I think I only saw him in a non wolf shirt once when he came in wearing his work uniform, having apparently such a desperate need for more porn that he needed to come over on his lunch break.

We’d only get new shipments of DVDs once every other month, so the selection got pretty picked over. By him. Because he was the main purveyor of our movies.

We always ran a sale where when you bought two movies you’d get a third one for free. This man never, ever took the free movie. If there wasn’t one he liked right then he’d just buy two and leave. But then he’d come back later in the week and buy more, even though it was all the same stuff.

He'd wax eloquently to us about the deterioration of the porn industry and if you weren't careful you could be trapped for forty minutes or more listening to him go on about how repulsive fake boobs were. It's not that I disagreed, but I had other things I needed to be doing.

I transferred into that store from one further south. So I instead of answering all the typical interview questions the manager and I just had an informal chat. But I glanced down at the interview sheet she had printed and read, "What would you do if a man in a wolf moon shirt came up to you and asked your opinion on boob jobs?"

I laughed and when I looked back at her she slowly shook her head, no. That's not a joke. It took three days for that exact scenario to occur.

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The rare and elusive "you know what, what Gil is up to is none of my damn business" Tarvek. Sometimes you're just too tired.

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Approximately what was said in Superman 2025

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yeah misty maybe it is a good idea to sit this particular one out

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I’m going to be starting a new job soon and in my talk with HR she went “Computer tech? That means you’ll be with the boys.”

Turns out, I’m gonna be the only woman in that department. Not surprising on it’s own, but so far I’ve met three of “the boys”.

They’re all huge.

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GIRL WHAT?!

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The biggest secret I discovered about writing, and you can see the quality jump between early Curse Words and late Curse Words/TTOU based almost entirely on this, is that you can just go to the next thing. Very early on I used to be all "ok but we have to properly bridge and pace things, we can't jump from the important classroom scene to the important beach scene" yes you can. If nothing interesting or relevant is happening between those two things you can just say "ten minutes later, at the beach" and keep going. If the bridge between them is boring you, it's also gonna bore the audience, and you don't have to write it. You can jump straight to the next interesting or important part and so long as you don't actually jump over any important parts it's fine. The audience wants to get straight to the next thing too.

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I loved this post just because all the comments flipped between sincere appreciation and mockery of the birds

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I'm so over being nomadic that I just had the thought "Man it would be nice to choose my own laundry soap"

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You’re a regular office worker born with the ability to “see” how dangerous a person is with a number scale of 1-10 above their heads. A toddler would be a 1, while a skilled soldier with a firearm may score a 7. Today, you notice the reserved new guy at the office measures a 10.

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I believe this whole heartedly with my full chest

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Mastercard and visa have reported to a couple news outlets that they are currently being swamped with calls and complaints. Keep up the pressure and try to (politely) insist that you leave a complaint via phone instead of letting the rep direct you to emails. It's way easier to be overwhelmed by a much smaller number of calls so each one counts for a bit more!

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In an effort to neutralize the chemical perm smells, my sweet, darling wife decided we should poor tomato juice all over her hair. So I took a can of stewed tomatoes, blended them up, and then gently poured them on my wife’s scalp like she was a pizza pie.

There were screams of disgust as the thick, cold sauce sludged its way through her hair. She then sat in the uncomfortable tub for 20 minutes to let it marinade.

After finding tomato seeds and residue still in her hair, she is now on her second? third? wash through. Sadly it has not neutralized the chemical smells, but I do feel loved.

My poor, sweet, thoughtful tomato wife.

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I was a very precocious and hyperverbal toddler and asked the “where do babies come from?” extremely young so when I was almost three I randomly slammed my fork down and demanded to know how babies get into their mommies’ bellies in the first place.

fortunately they make books for teaching your insatiably curious wannabe zoologist toddler about sexual reproduction so by the time I was in preschool I was able to explain to my classmates that bugs stuck together because they were mating and that a similar process had happened between their parents to make them and that it was all a part of the biological cycle of life and death. I would explain this even to much older children who I heard asking what mating animals and insects were doing or sharing incorrect pregnancy information.

so like you can try to shelter your kids all you want but there is a nonzero chance that a hyperverbal autistic toddler will just fucking randomly walk up to them and explain that semen can fertilize an egg cell after insertion of the penis into the vagina, creating an embryo, and that ultimately they and everyone they know are subject to mortality and will inevitably die.