No.

Deadass my parents went out to dinner a few years ago and my brother and I stayed home and watched Jurassic World and when the indominous rex showed up, suddenly it smelled awful and the dog disappeared and so I stopped the movie and we went looking for him. Turns out he was crawling around on his elbows, crying and farting. In fear. Of the dinosaur. So I put on All Creatures Great and Small bc he likes it and he curled up on the couch between me and my brother under his blankie and when my parents showed up at the door he didn’t even get up and they saw him sitting there, this giant orange 85 lb boxer dog not protecting their children and my mom makes fun of him for it to this day, despite his efforts to prove his bravery, which at one point involved chewing up her book about dinosaurs.

My dog is so much cooler than I am idk why she hangs out with me

My mom brought a friend over and she saw my little brother and she was like “Oh you must be [name of child]” and he looked her dead in the eye and said “I go by many names.” and then he grabbed his lightsaber and walked into the coat closet

I was wondering why my sleep tracker didn’t wake me up this morning so I went back and listened to the the recordings and at 6 am I said “Excuse me? Oh no no no. Outrageous,” turned it off and went back to sleep.

What if one day you went to the movie theatre and the previews played and the lights turned down and you’re ready for the film to start but it never does and it’s just you and a few dozen other people eating corn very loudly, waiting for all eternity because everyone’s too embarrassed to get up

If I ever take forever to answer don’t worry, I’m probably just googling to double check that I’m not wrong about the obscure Star Trek reference I’m about to make

Yknow when you think you know someone so well you can basically tell what they’re thinking just by looking at them and then one day they get this confused, ponderous expression and you say “what’s wrong” and then they say some dumbass shit like “why are strawberries called strawberries if they haven’t got any straws”

You can’t help but smile into the oven, rich red tomato sauce peeking out from under cheesy magma. With hands clad in thick oven mitts, you pull the steaming tray out of the oven. It’s perfect. You set the mits aside and absorb the heavenly scent wafting up and into the stove hood like a flock of little songbirds, singing of home-baked ecstasy. The creak of living room floorboards turns your elation into a cool dread, raises the hair on your arms. You swear it’s all in your head until you hear a soft thunk, like a weight being set down. Boot treads scrape against the tile floor while the stench of rotten tomatoes fermenting in high fructose corn syrup and lino floors in need of a good scrub hits your nose like a freight train. A deep, growling earthquake of a voice rumbles behind you, sending nausea to your gut and sweat to your palms. Your hands grope around blindly for a weapon of some sort as you struggle to find a scream within you. “No one,” the voice rasps. It sputters like a faulty engine, creaking and groaning and popping, making noises you didn’t think a human could. It tries again. “No one….no one out-pizzas the hut.”

If you ever see me looking really sad I’m fine, I’ve probably just lost control of my face