I’m too fucking unreliable for this

This one’s adorable

For me it’d be all ups.

But capitalism decided profits are more important.

But then you could buy only as many as you can eat! And choose the good-looking ones, or the unloved ones if you’re a kinder person.

Oof, that’s worse than walking in on your parents.

The better to keep from getting splinters

Okay but drink it from the bottle. No spills!

This needs reposting to Stick Enthusiasts

“revised”

Appreciate the humor but of course razors existed in those days. The cutthroat kind at least.

Since it was important to the director for accuracy, did Margot take the time to grow them out, or might they have used the equivalent of merkins? And if so do such things have a separate name? (Edited for spelling)

Oh my bad.

And in junior high they probably didn’t clue you into the bawdier bits of the individual tales.

To be fair, survival bias. This is the poetry that was so beautiful and engaging it was repeated and preserved for 500+ years. I’m sure there were vassals trading japes in Middle English who didn’t rise above the erudition and imagery of your average teenage wastrel shooting the shit in Modern English.

And there is still plenty of good poetry being created, which I can’t always appreciate fully because I don’t get the references or even some of the words. Which will last? Let’s check back in 500 years.

This is true and perhaps it would be nice if the running machine would say, “you’ve burned through 73,000 calories!” But then the Doritos bag would have to say 375,000 calories (75 g, 2 ⅝ ounces, about 30 chips) (edit: Nacho Cheese specifically)

Of course!

Here’s the start of a really good series, all in normal English:

Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote, The droghte of March hath perced to the roote, And bathed every veyne in swich licóur Of which vertú engendred is the flour; Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth Inspired hath in every holt and heeth The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne, And smale foweles maken melodye, That slepen al the nyght with open ye, So priketh hem Natúre in hir corages, Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages, And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes, To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes; And specially, from every shires ende Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende, The hooly blisful martir for to see, That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke

Don’t worry, the smol puppers and doggo frens don’t care, and theirs is the only opinion that matters.

Aw c’mon, I kind of like yeeted, it’s better than chucked. But then I’m in my 60s so I’ve seen a lot of slang come and go.

Sadly, not anymore. They changed the rules over 100 years ago.

And its partner the hemiclitoris…