Yes! This. A star for you.

Ditto. Which occurred to me AFTER I posted my comment. As usual.

I assume you meant “Go forth and bang, Young People.”

Jesus fucking tap-dancing christ on a piece of fucking toast. Fuck this fucking shit.

Oh my god, yes!

Jealous-much?

It’s not nothing. It’s WALL MONSTERS. I have them too. They are everywhere.

Here, for a change, is the other side of a scary story (or not-so-scary story, in this case).

Karl Lagerfeld must really hate himself, then.

From what little I remember - because I gouged my eyes out with a spoon and rammed blunt pencils into my ears after a few episodes - there was very little that was wholesome about this family.

It’s also insanely old-fashioned. I had one in the early 90s. But I guess retro is cool, so...

Oh. I just figured it out. Duh. You’re not the victim here at all. You’re a master troll, trolling the troll(s) trolling you. I am in absolute awe. Well played, sir, well played.

Yes, there is something you can do. It’s an incredibly novel thought, but you should give it a try: STOP. RESPONDING. Honestly, you are such an easy mark, It’s getting embarrassing. As a reformed occasional-part-time troll, I have to tell you, you’re like a bottle of booze to an alcoholic. I’m itching to pile on.…

Christ, you’re an unbearably sanctimonious little prig.

And the Elgin Marbles to Greece, while they are at it.

7. No.

No, but I might have been if my mother had been conscious while this was going on. She was apparently under anesthesia, for reasons I can’t begin to fathom. Not sure if they brought her out of it for my actual birth, or how she could have pushed me out otherwise, because she certainly didn’t have a C-section.

In my my mother’s case, they did it because back in the day, the doctor wouldn’t get paid if he wasn’t present when the baby was born. So they kept pushing me back in until he arrived.

I barricaded my oven so no buns could sneak in there and set up shop.

“If they filled that dumpster with Pabst (where it belongs)...”