Maple

May all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather in the conference room for a quarter 3 strategy update

sometimes i think about if i had never figured out im a girl and im forced to confront the fact that "I probably would have killed myself" feels like an infinitely kinder option than the alternative "i would have lived a long and full life like that without ever knowing". Like genuinely even the best and happiest moment she could experience is still an existentially terrifying fate worse than death and she doesn't even get the dignity of knowing how much pain she's in. And then i think about the scope of the world and like human history and how that's not so much a hypothetical as it is the norm and it makes me so mad i get nauseous

clowngirl getting an orchiectomy and the surgeon just keeps removing ball after ball after ball after ball after

clown nurse standing by solemnly adding each successive ball to the ones she's already juggling

i’m fluid between the genders of “girl” and “dyke”

Is that a swarm of locust in your pants or are your dick and balls just heralding the end of days

I think it would be really wonderful if seagulls were constructed more like bottles with a mystery inside. What I'm imagining is that were you to catch one, you could then unscrew its face and there would be a glowing gem nestled in some sort of socket. The Core of the Gull so to speak. Then you could swap that around with other seagulls, and after screwing the faces back on they would fly off as if nothing happened. Hm... Is this too esoteric, or do some of you see what I am getting at?