If You Are A Game Designer And You Force Me To Kill Wolves AND You Have Them Make Sad Puppy Noises I'm

i get into a horrific car accident while carrying a crock pot full of meatballs in the passenger seat. at the hospital, the surgeons cannot sort out which chunks of meat are me and which are not, so I end up with several meatballs sewn into my guts. despite this I make a full recovery, and they elect not to remove the meatballs because quote 'they seem comfy in there.' i go on the talk show circuit and become moderately famous as The Meatballs Woman. when i die i am buried under a gravestone with meatballs carved on it. in the year 2438, a grad student from what is now Cambodia who is studying the late pre-collapse American Empire writes her thesis on this, concluding that I probably never existed and was a conflation of several real stories and urban legends. years later, a pop-history book wildly misinterprets this and several other things, arguing for the existence of a historic American religious pantheon including figures like The Meatballs Woman, Florida Man, Emperor Norton, etc. this book sells bizarrely well and inspires a new neo-pagan movement, which in turn leads to a weird shipping community, resulting in a small but vibrant scene of ABO fics featuring me and MrBeast (who in this context has been interpreted as a god of excess and trickery)

this chilling scenario is only one of the multiple reasons I am going to attempt to not crash my car today

ohhh i DEEPLY regret teaching my cat how to talk

i'm an scp now

our spanish teacher was making us describe pictures of lots of weird objects in class and she put this pic on the slide

a girl wrote "es para mike wazowski" and the chat went insane

who is joe

Joe Fatha

he mysterious

Why are they the powerpuff girls?

does anyone know if we have joy and whimsy tomorrow

how to get over somebody

You guys don't even word these as questions anymore. You treat me like bitch google.

you look and sound vegan

i drank goat milk beer on camera. like. last week.