#local humor

[galaxymagitech]

Bruce: Congratulations, Jason! You’re the first of my kids to graduate college!

Dick: Yeah, first and only one for all eternity!

Bruce: *Ignoring Dick by sheer willpower* Anyway, what are you planning to do next?

Jason: I think I’m going to continue my education in English Lit.

Bruce: *nervously* Great. You’ll get a Master’s Degree, right?

Jason: …

Bruce: …right?

Jason: Actually, I’m going for a PhD.

Bruce: This is a terrible joke. You’re over the supervillainy, right, Jay?

Jason: Look, my application to GothamU’s PhD program was accepted!

Bruce: No child! Of mine! Will get! A PhD!!!

Jason: I’m hoping to be a literature professor at GothamU, if I survive long enough.

Bruce: *screams incoherently*

Dick: I think you broke him.

[katieleighrobinson]

[tommylindsay]

Beholding of Storm's Ancient Gravy

A regular night in the Rocks. Pub, club, gaff - in that order. The Maple Leaf, Storm then Damo's flat in salubrious Pytchley, knocking naggins of rum down us like we were still in the queue for the junior disco. It was one of those nights - where you get a taste for the golden brown devil, burdening your left shoulder with whispers of self-denial.

Moments lasting forever in ten minutes flat. Before you know it, the dim yellow bulbs are out from above you, you lose a tenner in a black cab in three seconds and then you're getting an earful of Jason Derulo five yards from the speaker. It was a regular night. Good chat with Jenny, Damo and Kris. Old times. New times. Meeting new people, old people. Two quid pints going down like it's Fresher's Week. Invincible. Pushing yourself and others and no-one backing down. Fivers flying out your account left, right and center Hefner-style. It's getting better and better and it won't stop there.

Music fills your body, your arms, your soul. You don't even like the tunes but it's the same every week but so what? Nothing stands in your path. Three hours and four of the same Vengaboys tracks later, after timing your ventures to the cubicle well to avoid the jumpered badgers with baggies of Trebor, your luck would soon run out. You come face-to-face with Five Foot Fergal with his forearms in his pockets. He was in the middle of smashing the sink off the wall with a football sock full of table tennis balls when you walked in on him. It was a regular night no longer.

He asks what you're doing here and you go "Nothin', mate" but then Five Foot Fergal goes "Disnae look like nothin', mate" and that's your secret weapon down the kermit. It was your moment to enter the nuclear attack codes from your safety deposit box but every single digit was wrong. Five Foot Fergal stops the ceramic barrage and turns to face you with his sunken blue eyes and clicks his fingers twice. Suddenly the door behind you shuts tightly, vanquishing the Venga Bus once and for all. Instead of dealing his infamous shin-kicking with all five of his steel-capped feetsies, he turns to the cubicle on the far end and pushes the tiled wall inwards.

You've no choice but to follow him in to the unknown abyss, minding your feet on every step on the staircase. Unbeknownst to you, Five Foot Fergal is already fiddling on a rudimentary kitchen counter-top at the foot of the stair well. When he realizes that you've finally caught up with him, he pulls a light switch to reveal sick-green wallpaper, a sink with a tap shaped like a question mark and a black bucket in the corner.

Without a word, Five Foot Fergal reached for the bucket and swept it through the full basin like Ganymede wading his pitcher through the rivers of Dardania. You are presented with the bucket and the inside is of a putrid black and green mix with a spoogey texture like PVA glue. Twinkles of red were dotted around like encrusted gems in a foul mixture. Five Foot Fergal gave the bucket a swirl like a fine glass of Claret so the bogey juice leaked down the side. It was a slow and laboured dripping as though it were manhandled chip shop gravy down a styrofoam cup.

That being said for the look. The smell was something else.

The smell was heavenly, unmatched, unheard of, unsmelled of. It hit your nostrils like a mint tulip candle. Bergamot and fireworks. Barbecue and wine. Opel Fruits and your boyfriend's car. The stench provoked untold flashbacks to infinite peace and happiness at the peak moments of your life. You were happier then. When Nicorella said she'd be with you forever before she pawned your SNES for a teaspoon of White Lightning. You were still in school with no responsibilities. It smelled of staying up to 5am and getting away with it. The mufti days where you got past the bucket without them seeing you. Understanding nothing. Believing in the future you now occupy and not knowing the truth about it. It was everything you could ever want. Life beyond this.

Five Foot Fergal was looking at you with a twinkle in his eye and a saber-toothed grin. You didn't have much time left to accept his offer. Grabbing the bucket with both hands, you necked it.

You did not wake up in Damo's flat. Damo wasn't speaking to you no more. You woke up with a wet arse and a chewed ecto in your pocket, surrounded by trees and people walking their chained boxer-dogs. There's nothing on your phone.

Oh well. It's a shame you couldn't see Jenny off. It was her leaving do. You probably can't come back to the office now. Definitely not your own home. The saving grace is that you didn't get barred anywhere you went so that's something.

[foolishskull]

caught one of the will wood screenings in my area with my boyfriend and this happened

[lazycranberrydoodles]

xie lian texts like a grandpa … i imagine pre confession their texts would be a graveyard of hua cheng’s failed attempts at flirting

xie lian's profile picture is from the manhua by starember / follow for more of hua cheng Ls

[madame-helen]

[that-weeb-in-ur-closet]

I legitimately smell maple syrup in my room. Am I getting haunted by a pancake???

[amyelyseneer]

I got a tad bitter about my deteriorating body. Buy some art to help me afford jury-rigging my flesh prison so it will work a little bit.

Thanks.

[shinyyshield]

lost focus and had a consensual workplace relationship

[blessedarethequeer]

much to my mother's continued confusion, not only do churches confusingly continue to offer me pulpits from which to preach, but they're increasingly excited to pay me for the opportunity as well lmao

[modeus-the-unbound]

Behold! The worst thing I have ever made. I shall not be passing those ivory gates when I die, I will not be escaping Samsara, I will not be given peace in the grave......I regret nothing.

[nrmnas]

pls!

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

The Devil drives a good bargain.

"I'm a good salesman. I don't mean that I'm good at selling things. I'm ethical and I sell fairly. All the same, I have to make a profit, so I drive a good, fair bargain.

Your soul for your dreams.

I mean, you don't exactly need it after you die, right? So why not just hand it over then?" I looked hopefully at my customer. He seemed torn, uncertain. I needed to strike fast, hard. I needed to sell this now.

"Come on... You said you wanted to fall in love again, right? I can do that. I can make you and your wife feel as though you were both teenagers in the throes of passion. Or, if you want, I can get you to fall in love with someone else? And I'll throw in a clean divorce too. Or perhaps an open marriage? The possibilities are endless!" Still, the man hesitated. What was wrong with the bastard? I gritted my teeth. He had been standing there for weeks, quietly contemplating. Wasting my time.

"I've decided," he said. My hope soared. "I don't want any of that." My hope crashed into a tree and died. 

"Then, what do you want?" I asked, giving him a winning smile.

"I want to make a bet. If I win, I get a wish for free. If I lose, I'll give up my entire family's souls. Deal?" He suddenly seemed infinitely more confident. I was nonplussed. Some people tried to fake me out, trick me into giving them free wishes. 

"What's the bet?" I leaned on the countertop, bringing myself to his level. We stared each other in the eye.

"We swap places. I be the Devil, you be the everyman. First to give up loses. You in?" He smirked.

What was I to do? I could hardly resist a gamble. It was a deal.

Perhaps I was a fool, I thought, sitting at a desk. Overseeing a herd of imps was not fun. They drew markers everywhere, squelched mud, and somehow had the ability to cry on command. But as I was sitting there, rifling through unartistic crayon drawings, an idea struck me.

I did not have to stay in this job. I did not have to go home to a dumpy wife who was cheating on me and a pair of whiny teenagers. That fool lent me his body and by hell, I was going to get a good deal out of it.

I decided to think of it as a vacation. I took out all the cash from the accounts, including the kids' college funds and the retirement money. Then I borrowed an unthinkably large amount of money before disappearing off to the tropics.

I spent my days in luxury, traveling, seeing the world, gambling when I needed more cash (for the Devil always wins). I saw the world from the rose-tinted glasses of the rich, and enjoyed luxuries beyond imagination. After a while, I began to dread the end of the bet.

And then I grew old, and still the bet had not come to an end. My heart was on the verge of dying on me, and I lay bedridden with kidney failure. So I did what anyone who was not in their own body would do in that situation. 

I jumped off a 50 story building. The impact did not hurt that much. It all quickly faded to black.

I reappeared on the other side of my counter. The man whose body I occupied stood manning my shop. When he saw me, he laughed maniacally. "So you just couldn't stand the old missus, huh? Guess I beat the Devil at his own game," he said. I merely smiled, and got back on the right side of my shop. He hopped over the counter, grinning wildly.

"So… About my boon?" he asked. I steepled my fingers and sat down, leaning backwards.

"I'm afraid not. We only serve living customers. I'm afraid your body died while under my care. But thank you for the free vacation," I replied, allowing myself a satisfied smile. 

His face turned thunderous. "What do you mea-" He was whisked off to the afterlife in a flash of light before he could finish. Cheerfully, I waved at him as he went.

"Thank you for shopping with us. Have a nice day!" I called after him.

[themuseumlady]

we are sorting the mannequins! it has started me so many times!

the museum is currently littered with mannequin parts and bodies as we work to sort our exhibit mannequins - which is exciting!! but also extraordinarily unnerving as I keep running into mannequins that are not where I expect them to be

here are some of the less scary (newer) ones next to my archive entrance

unfortunately I can't post the torsos and heads on the first floor (the ones being decommissioned) for privacy reasons. I wish I could though, because it is hard to put into words how genuinely unnerving these figures are.

immediately upon entering the museum each day I am greeted by a distant hoard of torsos, limbs, and heads decorated in obscenely dramatic makeup - the mannequins having been taken apart for ease of transport down the stairs. This is actually my first time seeing the faces of many of these figures, during the exhibit season they were covered with stockings as the makeup did not suit the clothing displayed. Which was frankly also pretty terrifying, seeing just the clear ghost of a hidden face underneath the fabric

a part of me feels bad for the ones we are disposing of?? they have spent their career in this institution, helping us display history, and now their future is wholly unknown

-- but also they are the type of model that do pose a threat to delicate historical clothing (damn you articulated arms that can pinch and tear), so I am glad we have found the means to upgrade --

ANYWHO - despite my terror the museum is once again filled with life! we are preparing for our opening, building exhibits, and diving back in to in-person projects! :)

[boomania]

i cant do this anymore

[madame-helen]