Two tipsy women sneak into a graveyard to pee. One uses her panties to wipe with and throws them away, the other one uses a ribbon from a wreath.
The next day, one husband calls the other:
“My wife came home last night not wearing any panties!”
The other husband replies:
“That’s nothing! My wife had a card stuck between her butt cheeks that said, ‘From all of us at the fire station, we’ll never forget you!’”
Instagram sells the lie of effortless recovery. Perfect angles, soft filters, and “bounce back” bodies flood your screen, whispering that pain, scars, and softness are personal failures….
The city is holding its breath. One call, one choice, and millions of lives tilt toward mercy or punishment. Zohran Mamdani stares at the phone, knowing any…
The sprouts looked wrong. Not just old-food wrong—something-else-is-happening wrong. You meant to throw together a lazy dinner, not question whether your potatoes were quietly turning toxic on…
His laugh died first. The punchlines that once slipped so easily from his tongue shattered in the blue wash of patrol lights, leaving only the taste of…
The door didn’t close; it slammed. Not just on her, but on every name that never made it into evidence. The verdict came wrapped like closure, but…
The applause died faster than their heartbeats. They smiled for the cameras, but the air tasted like metal and old lies. Outside, people buried their dead; inside,…