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Should We Ban Jerma From Our Gay Wedding? Okay, so my boyfriend and I have been talking and we're looking to get married in the next year or so once it's safe. We've been talking seriously about this and we absolutely want to ensure that TOTAL PSYCHOPATH Jerma ABSOLUTELY does NOT come to our wedding. I was thinking maybe putting up “beware of sus guy” photos around the venue? Maybe watching his tier list videos and picking his least favorite snacks? How can we best do this, do you think? SHOULD we do this? Many thanks. (Oh, and P.S., if there’s a way we could invite Otto without his COMPLETELY UNHINGED RAT FILMOGRAPHER OWNER joining, that would be optimal :) )

Hi, memers of Reddit!! I (M9) would like to know if downdooting is morally correct. I know, I know, downdooting is okay if someone roasts King Elon (A fellow redditor!) or Lord Keanu. It is not wholesome, and deserves to be downvoted to H-E-Double hockey sticks. However, if I see a post that I simply do not agree with or do not like, is downdooting morally right? Thank you memers of reddit, have a breathtaking day!

It’s 4:01pm. Bears solemnly log out of their devastated brokerage account, get up from their makeshift desk made up of a stack of empty Michelina’s frozen lasagna dinners, head up the stairs of their father’s basement, grab the keys to their tan ‘97 Chevy Cavalier and a cloth mask embroidered with the word “VOTE,” and drive down the street to the local gay bar for a holiday themed burlesque show.

I finally did it. I out pizza'd the Hut. It was the greatest mistake of my life. After years of perfecting my recipe, I made my way down to the local hut, fresh-baked pizza pie in hand. "Try this," I told the kid working the counter. He did, and he had to agree that it was better than anything Pizza Hut had to offer. Soon, the entire store, customers included, was feasting on my delicious pie. The manager walked over, grabbed a slice, and took a bite. I look at him, anticipation rising. This was the boss, the local fief lord of the Hut. His approval meant more to me than all the rest combined. He took a bite and nodded. "I'll be damned," he said, "you really did it. You out- pizza'd the Hut. Shame." Shame? What did he mean by tha-- the manager pulled a gun out from behind his apron and shot the nearest customer in the head. "We have a Code Jalapeño," he said into his wrist as he executed the remaining customers. "I repeat, we have a Code Jalapeño." The ground was slick with blood. The kid working the counter choked out his dying breath as the manager turned to me. "You just had to do it motherfucker. You just had to out pizza the Hut." He shoved the gun in my face. I was too scared to fight, too scared to run. The manager pulled the trigger. A click. The gun was empty. I threw a chair at the manager and scrambled out of the Pizza Hut, not even bothering to see if my missile hit its mark. I was closely pursued by the manager, who had gotten his hands on a deadly sharp pizza cutter. I suspected in his hands it would cut more than pizza. Somehow, I was able to get into my car and speed off, the manager cursing my existence as I left him behind. I took a deep breath. The manager was clearly psychotic. Yes, that was it, just a crazy man with a gun. It had to be. My phone rang. Sister. I picked it. "They're dead, she sobbed. They're all dead. Mom, Dad, Chris, Bill. Dead. They killed them all." I could barely understand her, so great were her sobs. "What do you mean? Where are you?" I asked urgently. "How is this possi--" A single gunshot sounded through my phone's speakers. Silence. Then, I heard a man's voice. "No one out pizzas the Hut." He hung up. I drove down the empty country road, mind blank. I had nothing. They killed my family. I was alone. At that moment I knew what I had to do. They took everything from me. Well then, I would take everything from them. Pizza Hut was so terrified of being out pizza'd, they forgot there's one thing worse than a man with a recipe: A man with nothing to lose. I'll give them a limited time offer they won't be able to refuse: two bullets for the price of one. With a free side order of pain.

I think my boss might be a communist. So a while ago, I got my first paycheck at my new job at a fast food place. I guess it wasn't too bad, but I did the math and figured out that I sold a lot more food per hour than I got paid for, even when you account for the price of the food. When I tried to talk to him about it, he said we're all part of one big team, but some people get paid more than others. This is suspiciously close to the famous "some are more equal than others" from my favorite book, Animal Farm and is what really got me thinking about this. We make the money, and then he takes it and gives it to someone who doesn't even work! I'm not economist, but this is textbook socialism. I think I've come to the conclusion that the best way for me to combat these socialist business practices would be teaming up with my fellow workers unify our power and demonstrate that we understand the full value of our labor. Anyone else have similar experiences with obviously Marxist bosses before, or any other advice?