I’m assuming he was jerking it while taking a shit, then 45 called and that’s when he finished.

It’s not always that simple, and you know it. I’m white, with a very anglo name with multiple common spellings (think “Kaitlin” v. “Caitlin”), and there are some people who just refuse to get it right because they don’t give enough of a shit to look at my email signature and correct themselves, at best (at worst, they…

I wouldn’t eat my cats* - one is still very young and probably stringy, and the other is an older chonky cat who might have some good marbling going on, but she’s an old sweetie, and I couldn’t.

YES! I hate milk in general (cheese and ice cream and such are fine, but straight milk? ew), so I’ve eaten all cereal dry since childhood. My dad made me take a bite of his cereal with milk in it when I was 3 or 4, and I promptly spit it out on the carpet.

Starred just for the first paragraph (“funnel your shriveled hog” - I’M DEAD), but I kept reading from beyond the grave and goddamn. Your drinks are on the house tonight.

The candy actually creeps me out the most (and maybe that feeling is exacerbated by the fact that her child brought it to her), because the flyer is so obviously a threat/indimidation tactic... like, I don’t know, I feel like this is one time where the “strangers are trying to poison your children with candy” paranoia…

Yup. And I fucking hate that so much. I’ve still got student debt to pay off on private loans that I took out when I was barely old enough to sign a contract, and would not be seeing any relief from cancelling federal student debt, so, yeah, I feel a little screwed, but CANCEL STUDENT DEBT, and that’s not the…

Is it just me, or is the short version of his argument “We didn’t do shit to help people 100 years ago, so why try it now?”

I don’t even really like steak, but even I know not to get it well done. I’ll eat a rare/med rare if I have to, but if I’ve got the option, give me a bourguignon with those falling apart beef chunks and savory gravy, oooooooooomg.

I took the bus to work in my city for several years, and it was largely uneventful (medium-sized city, not usually very crowded, and people just tend to keep to themselves), but there was one time I was on my way home and guy came on the bus who didn’t have money to pay the fare. He was obviously inebriated by…

Seriously. I usually hate the “if you’ve got nothing to hide...” argument, and I don’t know if any of my neighbors have cameras, but literally the worst thing they could record is me smoking a cigarette in my pajamas and scratching my butt (I did not just do this moments before writing this comment...ok, I did).

I’m…

FINE!  *hikes up pants*.  I’m coming back with drinks, though, so brace your bladders.

I’m not saying I’m a saint, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never done anything so horrible as to deserve seeing that image.  

Yeah, it reads to me like when someone tries to excuse their awful behavior because they were drunk/high/whatever, and ‘this is not who I really am!’

I don’t know, I wouldn’t want my ass (which is equally as pastey as these ghosts of real dolls, ftr) touching anything their asses sqaut upon. I would, however, delicately collect all my shits in bags (ziploc, paper, dealer’s choice!)  and hide them under their pillows.

Yeah, I know some people who golf and are not assholes, but I did have the unfortunate experience of having lunch an a country club once. I literally overheard a dude at another table say to a server “Do you KNOW who I AM?” I wish I’d had the wherewithal at the time to chime in and say something clever, like turn to…

I would love that. I was SO FUCKING BUMMED I couldn’t join the zoom fundraiser she did with the cast/crew of Supernatural (I’d lost my debit card and had just cancelled it the day before - no way to pay). I’d still donated before and after, but damn, that would have been so much fun.

Oh yeah, I can totally see that being the case. “I know *hic* erreyone thinks ur a privielekged *hic* asshole, but IIII think ur suuuuuper sweet, really.”

I grew up the same way. Starting in elementary school, my dad would tell me “I have a job and go to work every day. School is your job, until you graduate, and get a real job” His ‘real job’ involved a 2-hour commute on top of 8-hour work days, and often he would just sleep at the office.

I can’t play the audio right now, but I feel like the face Romney is making while he irons his shirt is the same as his O face, and I just don’t know what to make of that.