![](/static/253f0d9b/assets/icons/icon-96x96.png)
![](https://slrpnk.net/api/v3/image_proxy?url=https%3A%2F%2Ffry.gs%2Fpictrs%2Fimage%2Fc6832070-8625-4688-b9e5-5d519541e092.png)
Poppycock.
Poppycock.
I was shocked to learn how far away people can read and recognize my face. Much was explained that day.
I, uh… ahem. I’ll have a piece of that, please.
Freedom. Fighter.
No, but I would relish throwing you in a blender.
My cat would do this when she got a blade of grass stuck in her snoot.
Pretty sure he was counting on it. I sure as hell did it.
I once heard a nutritionist say it was better to give your kid an unsweetened cereal and a bowl of sugar and just let them go nuts, because the vast majority of kids aren’t going to spoon enough sugar on it to match what comes in the sweetened stuff. The equivalent of seven spoonfuls, if I remember right.
You just keep eating the heirs until it all ‘trickles down’, you see.
I don’t think you’re allowed to cook them.
The chef says to keep your damn regards out of the kitchen, he’s trying to cook.
What about them?
Right? If they make a little money normalizing marginalized groups, I’m not gonna be too mad about it.
Corporate personhood was ruled on in 1886.
It’s a red bean matcha pizza and your focus is on the beans?
I don’t see the contradiction.
“Dear God, he’s doing H.M.S. Pintafore. We have to leave. Now!”