“and she comes up to me, tears in her eyes—this is a big strong potaoe farmer, tears in her eyes, can you believe? she says, sir, ‘it’s time for your humiliation ritual, sir,” & she takes off my binder & my tits spill out & she gives me a terrible muumuu & i look in the mirror & realize she’s me.”
“other than that, mrs lincoln, how was the play?” “i shouldn’t like to be so bold or uncouth but let a lady alone in her malaise tonight, wouldn’t you? my girlcock is positively sopping with the blood of my husband’s brain.”
a perk of abstaining from like a decade of online is i know a good chunk of the very old knowledge & then missed the years of hypergenesis. you have no idea what it took me to work backwards from a potential outcomes map of the 2020 US elections to understand loss. but when i did, whew, the payoff!
many people are asking this question, jazz!
kathryn, i almost peed the couch laughing at this. the poe pic couldn’t have been more 🤌
“donald trump is too clocky to pass as a cis man” is the best possible place for qanon to end. no notes.
i don’t know how to look into “did jewish people in the 1930s ever find propaganda pamphlets & have a deep belly laugh til they got lightheaded before gathering the family for a sober, ‘so, we agree it’s no longer safe to live on this street, right?’” but damned if i’m not curious.
yeah, no, i’m of a certain age. we can all do this.