a small child came into the café today and asked to buy a chocolate truffle. he tapped a credit card on the reader and it did not go through, mainly because it was not a credit card but in fact a junior cinema pass. i gently explained he couldn’t use that to buy things in shops and he looked so gutted that i was like “…but just this once you can have it for free, don’t tell my boss though” he said thank you and walked out with his truffle and as he went i heard him chuckling to himself and saying “yes….. yes!!!!!” like the sickos comic
Every lesbian hobby show needs a Yamada Ryo. Woman who shows up to the shoot with eyebags and crippling debt and a gender that is the equivalent of a clunker car pieced together from the corpses of five others and also possibly stolen and therefore catnip to the ladies. Baleful bitch who acts like she’s been through about ten works of the same genre before and is both profoundly annoyed by and hopelessly codependent on pastel girlypops who croon about love and dreams. Disagreeable fellow who has slouched in from the mouldering skeleton of a gay club in the sewers to round out the four humours required for an ensemble cast and more importantly for her paycheck. Bastard boyfriend who will almost certainly ruin a few more careers before she is finally meets her end by slipping into a pool (not hers) that she has filled with Substances and Women. Washed-up poet who communicates mainly in grunts and jibes, but will occasionally deliver the rawest monologue on art ever and rewire a young star’s brain before making her pay for shit she didn’t even know was on the menu while she flees from the crow mafia. Every wretched stereotype of a queer you’ve ever heard rolled into one who’s rolled her way into a 4koma world where everyone is precious and sympathetic and love ultimately wins. She’s like if a plastic bag was a vital part of the ecosystem. I adore her.
its like a magic liquid that keeps you alive. AND its bold red like the most cuntservy color possible and a little blood on the outside of your body and everyone’s attention is on you. It commands the room. AND it tastes good
My baseless theory is that the “adding salt makes water boil faster” was a clever ploy by Italians to make efficiency-obsessed protestants put the bare minimum of flavour into their cooking.
ALT
