I don’t know. If you weren’t in such a hurry to boff strange, you might remember where you kept things.
Hoovering. When the centrality is slipping and they need to make some shit up. Can’t let those kibble reserves run dry.
Today’s Friday idea came to me from another thread I read. Someone posted a ridiculous request from their ex. It was something like:
As you know, Wednesday is the 12th Day of Epiphany. And as such, we will be celebrating St. Ethelbert’s Day. Traditionally, St. Ethelbert rides into town in a goat cart and all the children pummel him with sticks. I will require the children stay with me on Wednesday through Saturday. Please ensure that their sticks are sharpened.
Is this your custodial time? Did you have plans? Have you never heard of this holiday?
Hello chaos my old friend.
I’m not sure if fuckwits do this consciously or unconsciously — but the result is the same for the chump. DIRECT YOUR ATTENTION AT MEeeEEEeee. KIBBLES!
Kibbles come in all flavors! Charm, rage, and self-pity. Booty calls. Threats. Sad sausage missives that they’ve lost their library books.
Today’s challenge is to share your best bizarre hoovering and how you deflected it. (A simple no should suffice.)