peepeepoopoo

It took seeing a Columbo photoset in the year 2026 for me to realize it's called a fax for facsimile.

hey. good luck with everything, okay? [cutting the rope connecting your boat to the dock] just good luck. [starts pushing your boat further towards the stream] just have a good luck out there

[not noticing I'm drifting out to sea] Meow meow meow meow! Meow meow meow~

good luck! good luck!

we all got that one homie with a job thats weirder than everyone else in the group and when you’re all complaining about customer service he’s like “yeah i hate when they bleed on the chain and it gets all stickyyy” and you’re like huh?? and he just keeps going like “and they always scream when you bring out the rack” and you’re like hey do you work in a medieval dungeon what do you do? “oh i just do maintenance” and dodges the question every time but one time you were driving near his apartment and you saw him getting out of his car and he still had the executioner hood on and he was dragging a morningstar behind him across the pavement and it was making this horrible grinding sound loud as fuckkkkkk

they fucking suck at this

They’re having fun. Fuck off

sorry

Hehehehehe

Can I fucking help you?

I feel like an alien tomb would be sooooo fucking cool until a alien mummy gets up and chase you

This happened to me. You think mummies are slow as fuck and you can outrun them. But alien mummies have a ray gun.

do not trauma dump on my posts please

when smoking in one's garden, one hopes that a little ember would but glance off a slug's wet body and extinguish itself on her slimy belly, not burn a wicked wound in her. but when smoking around the enemy's stronghold, one hopes it would catch some gunpowder left about, and burn the whole thing down in a storm of chance.