The details of my life are quite inconsequential… very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen-year-old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet.
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Aliens decide to communicate with us (lemmy.ca)
Aliens want to communicate and they decide to use you and your personality as the base model for all humans. Is this a good thing or a bad thing?
Mayo, mustard or ketchup?
Choose wisely.
Sorry to be the bearer of bad news but it's not happening (lemmy.world)
served hot from the stock pot (sh.itjust.works)
Role of a lifetime (lemmy.world)
Pace, love, and taco grease (slrpnk.net)