I smell her before I see her, subtle hints of lavender and fresh cut flowers pulling my gaze up from the struggling pace of the story Iβm writing. I lose myself in periwinkle blue shot through with a mote of vibrant emerald green. An awkward second passes before I realize that the striking eyes Iβm staring into are attached to a young woman, and that sheβs said something Iβve managed to miss.
Her uncertain smile parts, asking βIβm sorry, do you mind?β for what must have been the second time.
βNot at all,β I say, barely keeping the shock out of my voice, though I can do nothing about the way my hand shakes atop my manuscript.
She looks nothing like I wrote her, which is to say sheβs exactly as I imagined. The woman Iβve written about in stops and starts spread across years carefully balances a small, flowery notebook atop an iced latte as she sits down. A stray lock of dark hair falls artlessly from a quick, messy bun, framing her soft featured face. I get a sense of comforting blueness, a sky blue sundress that seems to invite the breeze, the darker blue spine of her notebook. The periwinkle blue of her impossible, unmistakable eyes. Eyes that had watched over me as I agonized over the vagaries of plot and sub plot, discarding outline after outline in the process.
Eyes that had seemed so completely her and yet so impossibly cliched that when it came time to describe them Iβd simply written βblue,β and powered on through the rest of the chapter.
I glance around the River Birch Cafe, trying to catalog the empty seats. There arenβt many, but sheβd still had options at other occupied tables, and as long as Iβd been coming here to struggle through my work nobody had ever sat down across from me.
It takes her a few moments to settle in. She fidgets uncomfortably, arranging the flowered notebook just so while she sips her latte. She flips it open to a blank first page and then makes a face, tapping her fingers in frustration until her eyes alight on the cup to my left with the single oddly ornate, birch tree engraved pen sticking out of it.
We sit there for a few minutes, writing and sipping, each of us trapped in the little worlds of our pages; except mine intersects hers at every point. Iβd recognize her anywhere, whether it be in the poorly charted depths of my manuscript, or in confused dreams close to dawn, or here, in the warm light filtering in through the cafeβs long row of windows. The pen moves across my page on its own, scene falling away as I s
... keep reading on reddit β‘You commonly hear people have bad trips, but later make useful, positive and life-changing conclusions from those trips which help them in their self-growth. Well, I had a bad trip and it fucked me up good, and not only while it lasted. I'm generally a rational person and I do not believe in any form of a deity or afterlife. I never judge or accept anything based on personal experience. However, this trip completely turned that around and made me question the very fabric of reality and my existence in it.
To start off, the trip prior to this one (2 tabs + 2cb + weed), a friend had a bad trip, it was the first time I felt the presence of this "entity" which I'll later mention. It was pretty scary, but I was amused at the same time. Awe would be the proper term to use. I recall it vaguely warning me that something really bad is about to happen that night. In the following 30 minutes, my friend started freaking out which lead to us getting arrested after the neighbor called the police. I didn't think much of this entity though, up until the trip I'm going just about to talk about.
Here begins the main story. It happened about a month ago with my boyfriend when each of us took 3 tabs, a 2cb pill, and later smoked weed. This was the highest dosage I had done so far. The come-up was pretty normal, we just talked and played video games. When the peak happened, things got pretty wild to say the least. My mind somehow suddenly got transported to some kind of vortex (I can't recall whether I had my eyes open or closed). In there, I had an encounter with the previously mentioned entity which telepathically spoke to me. It didn't have a specific form or shape - the entire universe itself was the entity. Inside the vortex, it manifested itself as colorful fractals, eyes and faces. This thing was omniscient, omnipotent and I felt like it wanted to punish me for going down the rabbit hole and seeking understanding/knowledge. By just facing it I felt absolutely terrified, as somebody who had always rejected a God. I started freaking out just like my friend in the previous trip. In the process I said a lot of disjointed things and clung to my boyfriend in fear. I kept asking him tens of times to verify that "everything is going to be okay." I was convinced something really bad would happen, the same feeling as the night of my arrest but this time even more intense. When the peak wore off, so did the presence of the entity and the fear that came with it. Apart from my out
... keep reading on reddit β‘Go post NSFW jokes somewhere else. If I can't tell my kids this joke, then it is not a DAD JOKE.
If you feel it's appropriate to share NSFW jokes with your kids, that's on you. But a real, true dad joke should work for anyone's kid.
Mods... If you exist... Please, stop this madness. Rule #6 should simply not allow NSFW or (wtf) NSFL tags. Also, remember that MINORS browse this subreddit too? Why put that in rule #6, then allow NSFW???
Please consider changing rule #6. I love this sub, but the recent influx of NSFW tagged posts that get all the upvotes, just seem wrong when there are good solid DAD jokes being overlooked because of them.
Thank you,
A Dad.
Martin Freeman, and Andy Serkis.
They also play roles in Lord of the Rings.
I guess that makes them the Tolkien white guys.
'Eye-do'
This is my first post pls don't kill me lol.
The people in the comment section is why I love this subreddit!!
Cred once again my sis wants credit lol
I heard parents named their children lance a lot.
First post please don't kill me
Edit: i went to sleep and now my inbox is dead, thank you kind strangers for the awards!
((EDIT: Thanks for the Gold!))
DAGOTH: Well, welcome back to ladies and gentlemer to Resdayne's favorite gamespore, Wheel Of Divinity! Coming to you, live, from Red Mountain! Now it's that part of the show where we like to get to know our contestants a little better. First up, we have Dumac, from Vemynal. Now, Dumac it says here that you're King of the Dwemer?
[For reference, Dumac is currently a female Orc]
DUMAC: That's right, Dag. It's actually a pretty funny story.
DAGOTH: I'm sure it is; Now our next contestant hails from the Holy City of Necrom and calls himself First-Councillor Indoril Nerevar. Now I understand that you actually have a very interesting hobby...
NEREVAR:! Absolutely. In my spare time, I like to unite disparate tribes of the Chimer in the interest of forging a Velothi Nation-State that can serve as a bulwark against Western encroachment. And, maybe one day, advance a colonial hegemony of its own!
DAGOTH: Truly inspiring! Now, our last contestant is an unruly, urine-soaked, barely-intelligible Nordic ash-spirit of vengeance: Wulfharth of Atmora! Now Wulf, Can I call you Wulf? I says here that you're actually a Shezarrine. Now tell us a little bit about that, if you could...
WULFHARTH: BLAAAAAAAAH!
DAGOTH: Fascinating. Alright, for those of you just joining us the rules are simple: Our players take turns simultaneously spinning the Inner Wheel: which can land in one of the eight cardinal spokes or the one non-cardinal spoke; the Outer Wheel*:* which can land of one of 8 bifurcated voids; and the Armillary Sphere: which can land on one of the thirteen star signs or the blue-star, Mnemoli.
Now, each turn on the wheel does require the player's untimely demise...But unique combinations of spoke, void, and starsign award the player a possipoint! And with that possipoint they can purchase Ehlnofex Sigils to help complete the puzzle, unveiled, as always, by my lovely assistant: The Heart of Lorkhan!
[The Heart of Lorkhan thrums ominously next to a still unsolved word puzzle, [x][x][x][M] carved into the turnable blocks. The Heart wears a stunning green sequin gown].
DAGOTH: However, the first player to achieve all 1008 unique combinations will automatically win the game. However However, if at anytime a player lands on one of the Zero-Sum spots - which of course randomly shift around the inner, outer, and armillary bands -they will lose all their possipoints and immediately self-annihilate into
... keep reading on reddit β‘She said apple-lutely
second hand stores!
it's Hans free now..
Old Neeeeiiiiighvy
10+10 is twenty and 11+11 is twenty too
A buck-an-ear!
I Thank ye kind Matey for the booty! I be truly overwhelmed! Thank you!
Holy cow! Thank you everyone for the upvotes and awards! I wasnβt expecting this!
He should have a good vowel movement. His next diaper change could spell disaster though.
Making it all the way home and realizing that they forgot one of the containers:
Riceless
Without missing a beat he asks "Daddy, do you know how much room you need to grow Fungi like that?"
I did not know.
So he tells me "as Mushroom as possible!"
So proud.
Feyonce
He was so brave and even tried to encourage us, the family around him, with his last breaths. He kept whispering to us to Be Positive.
He said, βChange the batteries in your hearing aidβ.
She was pretty mad when I only picked seven up
Alzheimer, Grandma, it's Alzheimer.
You look for the fresh prints!
Transparent
(sorry it sucks, it's like 2:30 in the morning right now and I haven't slept)
(Edit: holy shit! I wasn't expecting this to get so many upvotes. Also thanks for the awards guys, I really appreciate it!)
Oops, wrong sub.
I'd accidentally left my phone in Airplane mode.
Attire
I smell her before I see her, subtle hints of lavender and fresh cut flowers pulling my gaze up from the struggling pace of the story Iβm writing. I lose myself in periwinkle blue shot through with a mote of vibrant emerald green. An awkward second passes before I realize that the striking eyes Iβm staring into are attached to a young woman, and that sheβs said something Iβve managed to miss.
Her uncertain smile parts, asking βIβm sorry, do you mind?β for what must have been the second time.
βNot at all,β I say, barely keeping the shock out of my voice, though I can do nothing about the way my hand shakes atop my manuscript.
She looks nothing like I wrote her, which is to say sheβs exactly as I imagined. The woman Iβve written about in stops and starts spread across years carefully balances a small, flowery notebook atop an iced latte as she sits down. A stray lock of dark hair falls artlessly from a quick, messy bun, framing her soft featured face. I get a sense of comforting blueness, a sky blue sundress that seems to invite the breeze, the darker blue spine of her notebook. The periwinkle blue of her impossible, unmistakable eyes. Eyes that had watched over me as I agonized over the vagaries of plot and sub plot, discarding outline after outline in the process.
Eyes that had seemed so completely her and yet so impossibly cliched that when it came time to describe them Iβd simply written βblue,β and powered on through the rest of the chapter.
I glance around the River Birch Cafe, trying to catalog the empty seats. There arenβt many, but sheβd still had options at other occupied tables, and as long as Iβd been coming here to struggle through my work nobody had ever sat down across from me.
It takes her a few moments to settle in. She fidgets uncomfortably, arranging the flowered notebook just so while she sips her latte. She flips it open to a blank first page and then makes a face, tapping her fingers in frustration until her eyes alight on the cup to my left with the single oddly ornate, birch tree engraved pen sticking out of it.
We sit there for a few minutes, writing and sipping, each of us trapped in the little worlds of our pages; except mine intersects hers at every point. Iβd recognize her anywhere, whether it be in the poorly charted depths of my manuscript, or in confused dreams close to dawn, or here, in the warm light filtering in through the cafeβs long row of windows. The pen moves across my page on its own, scene falling away as I s
... keep reading on reddit β‘I smell her before I see her, subtle hints of lavender and fresh cut flowers pulling my gaze up from the struggling pace of the story Iβm writing. I lose myself in periwinkle blue shot through with a mote of vibrant emerald green. An awkward second passes before I realize that the striking eyes Iβm staring into are attached to a young woman, and that sheβs said something Iβve managed to miss.
Her uncertain smile parts, asking βIβm sorry, do you mind?β for what must have been the second time.
βNot at all,β I say, barely keeping the shock out of my voice, though I can do nothing about the way my hand shakes atop my manuscript.
She looks nothing like I wrote her, which is to say sheβs exactly as I imagined. The woman Iβve written about in stops and starts spread across years carefully balances a small, flowery notebook atop an iced latte as she sits down. A stray lock of dark hair falls artlessly from a quick, messy bun, framing her soft featured face. I get a sense of comforting blueness, a sky blue sundress that seems to invite the breeze, the darker blue spine of her notebook. The periwinkle blue of her impossible, unmistakable eyes. Eyes that had watched over me as I agonized over the vagaries of plot and sub plot, discarding outline after outline in the process.
Eyes that had seemed so completely her and yet so impossibly cliched that when it came time to describe them Iβd simply written βblue,β and powered on through the rest of the chapter.
I glance around the River Birch Cafe, trying to catalog the empty seats. There arenβt many, but sheβd still had options at other occupied tables, and as long as Iβd been coming here to struggle through my work nobody had ever sat down across from me.
It takes her a few moments to settle in. She fidgets uncomfortably, arranging the flowered notebook just so while she sips her latte. She flips it open to a blank first page and then makes a face, tapping her fingers in frustration until her eyes alight on the cup to my left with the single oddly ornate, birch tree engraved pen sticking out of it.
We sit there for a few minutes, writing and sipping, each of us trapped in the little worlds of our pages; except mine intersects hers at every point. Iβd recognize her anywhere, whether it be in the poorly charted depths of my manuscript, or in confused dreams close to dawn, or here, in the warm light filtering in through the cafeβs long row of windows. The pen moves across my page on its own, scene falling away as I s
... keep reading on reddit β‘That was the punchline
So far no one has given me a straight answer.
Itβs a dad-ly disease.
Happy Fatherβs Day to all the dads that get me though my day to day life, without you Dad Jokes wouldnβt mean a thing π
