Two wives go out for girls’ night.
Both got drunk, started walking home and had to pee.
They stopped at a cemetery but had nothing to wipe with.
One used her panties, the other grabbed a wreath off of a grave.
The next morning one husband called the other and said, ‘no more girls night out!
My wife came back with no panties.’ The other husband said, ‘you think that’s bad?
Mine came back with a card in her crack that read, “from all of us at the fire station, we’ll never forget you!
You’ve been taught to fear your own fridge. Every printed date, every fading stamp, has whispered that you’re careless, dirty, even dangerous if you dare to question…
I thought I was finally free. After fifty years of shared calendars, shared beds, shared disappointments, I chose myself and walked away. At seventy‑five, I believed divorce…
It starts like a whisper of fire. A small hand reaches back, searching for relief, only to find more burning, more sting, more shame. Nights fracture into…
The night refused to end. Morning arrived stolen, wrong, a gray bruise over a city that no longer knew its own name. People stood in doorways and…
It started as a quiet rupture. A single word slipped into the margins of the internet and everything tilted. Some scrolled past, untouched. Others froze, pulse hammering,…
He thought the show might die that night. Contracts hung by threads, headlines felt pre-written, and every ringtone sounded like the end. The missing judge was a…