so bc i am a Gross Dude my friends i and sometimes rate our burps and my coworker (who is a teen girl) burped in front of me once and i instinctively rated it
so now every time she burps she looks to me hopefully for a rating and bc she has delicate little baby burps i now have to create an entirely new Burp Rating System unique to her bc i rate anything below a 5 and she looks at me like this
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goddamn gender inflation, can’t have shit these days
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AI people: we're just as much artists as you are, you gotta be so observant and go through so many correcting phases for the picture to look good uwu
also AI people:
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I took the text from Frankenstein: A New Musical
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I’ve always wanted to go to a house party like you see in movies but I never found out about any. Was too busy in the monastery where I was trained to kill
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you are 16. you are talking with a gay man in his 50s or 60s, a friend, huge and gentle with a scarf and short fluffy curls of gray hair, who has directed you in two plays staged in your mid-size artsy town. (he has not yet asked you to be in his production of The Laramie Project which will change your life. this conversation will also change your life.)
he is talking about theatre. he is talking about theatre when he was younger. he says, "of course, it was AIDS then." in the pause, you ask him. clumsy and quiet and 16 and "straight," you ask him. what was it like.
he takes a moment in which his face is not like a person's face. "there was a time," he says, "i'm not sure how long, years. when i went to a funeral every weekend." he tells you about two funerals in a day, and choosing between friends when you couldn't make it to both. he does not look at you, he looks at them. his wet grey gaze is so clear that you start to see ghosts. it will be years before you understand why it feels like your grief too. why the ghosts call you family.
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