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The year is 2021. You look at the television. SIlver fox President Biden announces a vaccine mandate for employees. You clutch your limited edition Trump Funko Pop. It has begun. You gather up all your belongings, and jump into your truck, hitting the highway for the airport. Out of your rearview mirror you can make out a sleek black Prius pursuing you. You make out the numbers “1” “9” “8” and 4” on their license plate. You are able to lose the Prius and arrive at the airport. You are almost free. At airport security You see a young man being dragged away screaming. The guards yell something about him having more than 3.4 oz of liquid. Thankfully you only have an AR 15 on you. The guard inspects it. “It’s for hunting,” you say. They hand it back to you and wave for you to move along. You breathe a sigh of relief. “One more thing.” You turn to see a Guard staring down at you with their beady soulless eyes. “I need to see your vaccination card” It is too late. You try to run away, but you feel someone press a cloth against your face. Reality fades away. You wake up in some kind of lab, chained down to an operation table and gagged. The room is undecorated except for a single poster of Harry Styles in a dress on the wall. A single figure stands in the corner shrouded in shadow, fiddling with a syringe. As they step out of the shadow, you can make out their face, the roguishly handsome Gavin Newsom. He positions a large surgical headlight above you and turns it on. He holds up the large syringe to the light and chuckles, staring into your pleading eyes. “Don't worry, it will all be over soon” He removes his mask to reveal his serpent's tongue, flickering in amusement. He plunges the syringe straight through your “socialism is for figs” shirt into your arm. “Nighty night” Your world fades to black once more.

I'm shaking. I'm fucking shaking. I never wanted to breed with anyone more than I want to with Nolan Grayson. That perfect, shredded body. The perfectly trimmed mustache. The planet conquering skills of a literal god. It honestly fucking hurts knowing that I'll never mate with him, have him pass his genes through me, and have me birth a set of perfect offspring. I'd do fucking ANYTHING for the chance for Nolan Grayson to get me pregnant. A N Y T H I N G. And the fact that I can't is quite honestly too much to fucking bear. Why would Robert Kirkman create something so perfect? To fucking tantalize us? Fucking laugh in our faces?! Honestly, I just fucking can't anymore. Fuck.

Short story-time for amusement reasons only: some days ago, I went to my bank (Austria). I am the owner of quite a number of GME shares and my broker app is actually just the bank-intern bond trading app, where I need to pay transactional feed everytime I buy (what is sell?) GME shares. I informed myself about the reasoning of those transactional fees beforehand and found out that by paying them, I have the right of consultation by my bank about the shares they‘re trading/I‘m buying. So, I went to the main national building of my bank, they were really friendly at the beginning, enthustiatically, I mentioned GME to them and that I wish for professional consultation about the financial details involved with that stock (I am not a financial guy, actually, I don‘t exactly know what‘s going on, it‘s all pretty crazy to me). Suddenly, their posture and mimick changed pretty suddenly. I was told, they are not allowed to consult about GME. To my question, why this was the case, they told me, because GME is „too irrelevant for the big stock market“. They are „aware of the past short squeeze, but one should no longer focus on GME“. They acted as if GME was some „childish financial playground“ that should be forgotten about. When I confronted them with the huge recent naked short attacks and if they could explain to me possible effects of them if they were not covered, they just repeated themselves how „GME is not relevant, please focus on stocks like Apple or Amazon to be safe“. I left the bank, buying more GME shares.

Theres a very unsportsmanlike player at our club who constantly taunts and belittles everyone else. Whenver you make a mistake he yells out "blunder!" or "inaccuracy!" ... "better move was..." and then says the engine move or what he thinks the engine move is. He also says what he thinks the engine +- is. He plays the kings gambit as much as he can and knows like 30 moves deep into every variation. If you respond something other than e5 to 1.e4 he just laughs and calls you a patzer. He's also OBSESSED with Hikaru Nakamura. He talks about him all the time and shows everyone a picture of him with Hikaru (Its really blurry so its hard to tell if its even him). He's constantly talking about him as if he's a close friend even though he only (maybe?) met him one time. Its bordering on creepy and makes everyone uncomfortable. He calls him "Hikaru-San" which I think is part of his obsession with Japanese culture. He also brings japanese noodles/Ramen to the club every day and will spend like 5-10 minute eating them during his turn just to taunt you. Meanwhile he will be mumbling words in japanese. We tried approaching about his conduct but he just did some weird anime villain laugh, yelled something in Japanese, then ran off to challenge another person to a blitz match. We obviously don't want to tell him not to come but it feels like his presence is deterring new people from joining and its also exhuasting.

Dost thou ponder if yoshi's constitution becomes discombobulated whence eggs are excreted afore Mario's gaze? My sincere apologies if thy bristles were tussled, however I believe this to be quite amusing. And, I am curious to perview a charcoal etching of this event, if only for a rousing chuckle. I'm also perplexed whence trying to place what eldritch odor would arise. This is only for a gaff, a ruse, merriment per se, I would like to smell them.