greasy horror show

Stardew Valley cracks me up bc like. at no point does the game even attempt to explain a game mechanic to you. guess, google or die

Wyd after smoking this

Everyone’s like “those Germans have a word for everything” but English has a word for tricking someone into watching the music video for Rick Astley’s Never Gonna Give You Up.

English has a lot more words created for very specific phenomena! It’s not just rick-rolling. Language is always evolving and it’s super interesting! Here’s a list of hyper-specific/untranslatable words in English.

Some of these are fucking wild.

i go into my local liquor store and attempt to buy a bottle of vodka. the cashier asks to see my ID. i open my wallet and find a crumpled piece of cardboard that states that i am an official member of the american girl dolls club. the card is still valid. the cashier looks at me in confusion. “i go on the website every day,” i say monotonously. “i’m a very active member.” the aged mother behind me recognizes the card. she seems confused. “that club closed in 2006,” she begins. “my daughter used to go on that website when she was a kid.” her voice begins to waver as i stare into her eyes. my eyes are glazed over. my hands are trembling. the charms on my american girl dolls club bracelet tinkle with my movements. the music in the liquor store has stopped. “do you have a valid government-issued ID, ma’am?” the cashier whispers. i nod, gesturing to my american girl dolls club membership card. “this is the real government,” i whisper. my whole body is shaking. i receive a phone call. my ringtone is “i like your style,” produced by the american girl dolls company. i do not answer it. “can i take the vodka” i ask, but it does not sound like a question. it is difficult to hear me over the incessant upbeat tune of my ringtone. the cashier nods. “i like your style,” i croak as i place the bottle into my american girl dolls backpack. i exit swiftly.

this response has been haunting me for days now. i cant stop thinking about it

Iggy Pop, San Francisco 1977, by Chester Simpson. Don’t ask about the chair.