Most excessively wealthy people don’t wear branded clothes. If you can’t see a label on someone’s clothes, they’re either wearing something from the bargain bin or a 400+ dollar plain t-shirt.
Which is to say, this might catch the millionaires but probably not the billionaires.
Unfortunately, I was entirely within view the entire time. Unless my cupping them in my hands completely quenched the light, in which case I played extreme peekaboo and therefore snuck up on them.
I’ve played with them at the zoo. Bitey, but squishier than you’d think. Does that count?
Cool if I quote you on that?
Schizoposting is hilarious. Whenever I try it on lemmy they say “whoa, go to the hospital” or “banned for trolling” or “Координаты обрыва: 38.87584° северной широты, 77.06226° западной долготы”
Which- why? Who’s using ddg without understanding how to use a search engine or recognizing the constant AI hallucinations?
Then learn to forage or farm and steal a plot of land out in the forested boonies. Or join a commune. Or move to another country with your belongings. Or or or or etc.
Your choices aren’t just jail or death, and whoever led you to believe that likely had a vested interest in your distress or compliance
If this happened, which it didn’t because it’s just anon’s fictional insecurity playing out over their computer screen, then this would be an extreme display of their coworkers’ insecurity over their place in the world. You don’t exist to work. Work exists in service to your desire to live in human society and nothing else.
“It was at this point that the situation went from ‘fuck’ to ‘very fuck’”
They seemed to have lived beside the sea in a colorful hut decorated with an assortment of shells hoisted on spools of long rotten string. Many of these shells were not native to the area, with their foreign number totaling approximately twice the number of years that the hut stood. The center of their home held a small cooking pot coated with the remnants of floral oils and native psychedelics.
Their art and writings were discovered further inland beneath the stump of a contemporaneously planted tree, preserved within a wooden box encased in tar. The box itself held a visual record of their time together, the intricate tapestry etched into its every surface appeared to have been carved over many years, with its detail increasing until the most recent set, which appeared markedly cruder, depicting a single figure in mourning attire.
Due to their decorations and their poetry’s frequent mentions of eating each other’s “steaming hot clam”, we believe they chose to live with one another beside the sea to satisfy their mutual love of shellfish.
Uhh, I fail to see what anon did wrong. Mundane conversations about average issues would give only the most selfish sort of person the ick.
It needs the pause for processing. In a story, yours is preferable. In extreme short form online storytelling, it needs to completely set the stage for the majority of the literary diaspora in those communities to be able to digest it.
grapes
No, just petty theft and indecent exposure
You’ll have to expand on that so I can provide proper context. Which ones aren’t being farted on?
Most of my favorite women can ejaculate and several of my favorite men have tits. Phrased another way, genderfluid ungendered fluids.
If anyone wanted explicitly sexual words, they have them now. You’re welcome.
Cum all over my tits, make me your alfredo dipped fucknugget
Irl monster hunter. Metaphorically. (Literally)