My favorite thing about living in the desert of the American Southwest is how it can be the middle of July, absolutely hot as balls outside, you walk out and it feels like opening an oven door, and the world is just silent. No breeze, no twittering sparrows, not even any cars if you're out far enough. Utter stillness, living here an absolute testament to the hubris of man.
And then there's that ONE
STUBBORN
MOURNING DOVE
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Overheard outside my apartment: “There’s nothing wrong with it but like it’s still gay like…you’re getting head from a dude”
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i might be a little nuts but at least i uh. at least i'm. i can deepthroat a pickle. yeah. good skill to have
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Four SEPARATE whips, somebody STOP me!
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Which bathroom/toilet is the ladies? No signs, and three Caipirinhas later....it's questionable
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When I was a kid one of my moms would call her period "moon time" or "her monthlies" or shit like that and my other mom straight up stealthed it, but when I'm a dad I think I'm gonna go straight down the middle and call it Werewolf Week. Like sorry kids, dad can't roughouse right now, it's Werewolf Week
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old German lady gave me acupuncture today
she lifted up my shirt, saw my top surgery scars, and immediately went "WHOA! What caused THIS?"
my fellow comrades, it took every atom of my strength not to just say the funniest lie I could think of on the spot.
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he will use every chance he gets to be a drama queen and if he doesnt have one he will create one
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sometimes i become sexually attracted to difficult video game bosses. I mean if im gonna get fucked this much i might as well start moaning
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So as it turns out James Somerton did in fact fake his suicide note, and did a bunch of other stuff in the meantime
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