I remember seeing a movie or maybe it was an episode of some series because I dont remember it being that long. Anyway, from what I remember theres a group of kids that go into somekind of cave or ruins where they find a vase of blood. One thing leads to another and they spill the blood which causes the sun to go dark. Somehow they come to the conclusion that they need to refill the vase with one of their blood. They all draw sicks and the unlucky girl gets killed by the rest and used to replenish the blood. The sun appears again and through a radio they realize that what they had seem was just an regular eclipse.

I have read the answer to the question: How did people light cigarettes and other flammables before matches came out? I found the topic of spill holders/vases quite interesting and have been looking for 19th century pictures online that might show a spill holder/vase on a mantle. I am not having any success. Can you give me any suggestions as to where to look? Thank you!

So one of my dogs knocked a vase of flowers off a table in our living room and we weren’t able to get to it for about 45 minutes. Now there’s a massive orange stain from either the old water or one of the plants that I can’t seem to get out & it smells like musty water in our living room now. I’ve tried Folex on the stain & Nature’s Miracle spray for the smell and can’t get either.

Any suggestions?

Hi. So i recently gain an interest in houseplants. I bought 2 plants already (pre-quarantine), and i want to buy more eventually. I wanted to put them in rooms where my cat hangs out, but he is alwaaays playing with my stuff and I'm afraid if i put a vase near him is going to spill it or break it.

I don't mind cleaning dirt on the ground, but plants arent exactly cheap where i live and I'm afraid it spilling on the ground or my cat playing with them would ruin the plants.

Thanks in advance.

(sorry if there are any writing mistakes, not my first language)

MATCH RESULTS

IMPORTANT NOTES

• Kickoff with WWE Champion Brock Lesnar and his advocate Paul Heyman making their way to the ring. Before they speak we cut to the back where Cedric and Shelton congratulate Lashley on his win last week and Cedric says he's happy the Hurt Business is back together. Lashley tells them that he works alone and the Hurt Business is done. We cut back to the ring where Paul Heyman says he has the honor and the privilege of introducing the undisputed WWE Champion of the world, Brock Lesnar. Brock takes the mic and says he can't believe they're back in Phil-freakin-dalphia. He is cut off by Lashley and MVP who come down to the ring. MVP gets on the mic and says it is his honor to present the Almighty Bobby Lashley and hands him the mic. Bobby says it's an honor to finally stand in the ring with Brock and to share this spotlight with him. As one super-athlete to another, it's an honor to look him right in the eye and tell him that for 20 years he had been ducking and running from him. Brock says with all due respect, it's an honor for him to be in the ring with himself. He must apologize because over the last 20 years he's been winning championships in this ring, and and other rings so that's Lashley's fault for not reaching that level. He says he didn't even know who Lashley was until Day 1 and says if Lashley made it to the same arenas he did then maybe he would have noticed him. Brock says their suits are real nice and asks what the thread count is. Lashley asks if he thinks he's funny and says he won't be laughing when he takes the title off him. Lesnar says he's funny, and he's money, and asks Paul to help him set up a knock knock joke. Brock says Bobby Lashley's there, to which Paul answers Bobby Lashley who? And Brock says exactly. Brock calls Lashley a Bobby Lashley wannabe and drops the mic before walking off. Cedric and Shelton try to attack Lashley from behind but he gets the upper hand and throws Shelton against the ring

Help

This happened a few hours ago, and it still hurts. My wife and I laugh about my stupid stuff. Though, some are really bad at the time.

While my wife plowed through a bottle of Costello del Pogio Moscatto (45 minutes) after a bad day of work, I cleaned up dinner. Our human spawn had asked why I liked the Broncos. My wife teased saying it was dumb, since I've never been to Denver. We live multiple states away. I told her I actually had. I even admitted to sending flowers to a girl in Denver. A Denverite, if you will.

"Wait! What?!" she exclaimed. "You never told me this. Spill. Now!"

If I didn't, the sass would increase exponentially. So, I did. Years before I met my spouse, I had a business conference in downtown Denver. On the last night our group leader and his wife invited us to dinner at Texas Roadhouse, in Aurora, I think. They had local friends who joined us.

Our server was super cute. Now, our group leader is a wonderful, friendly guy from Texas that reminds you of Andy Griffith. Sadly, he noticed how I was eyeing her a bit. He felt compelled to point out I was the only single man at the table of seven. He'd say things like, "You're going for marine biology. Well, Jabba's state doesn't have a coast line, but I'm sure they have some zoo aquariums you could study at."

His wife eventually cut in saying, "I'm sure you have plenty of family members trying to set you up with young men all the time."

She laughed nervously, and it said it was always very embarrassing when they did. He still didn't get the hint. So, on it went. Dinner ended, as it does, with my cheeks redder than normal. I apologized near my signature on the credit card slip. Right under my hefty tip.

A few weeks later we talked on the phone. His wife mentioned their friends had the same server that past night. She remembered them. As a server, I knew it was probably because she hated us. Everyone lights up a room. Some when they arrive, others when they leave. Surprisingly, she remembered "that really cute guy your friend tried to set me up with."

My friend is the one who suggested flowers. I'm not so bold. After getting some gumption, I learned when she worked, and ordered flowers from a local shop to deliver. I added my name and number on the note. Now, I didn't mean to find out her schedule. Calling a restaurant manager, and lying that your wife didn't leave a tip is bad enough. I just figured he'd say, "Yes. She's still employed here." Yet, he grabbed the schedule and tol

"Rowan?" I asked as I stared at him with wide eyes. "... And Huede?"

"That's what I said," Tovin responded before continuing on ahead.

"They're both in on it then?" I asked as I followed, my mind swirling to properly digest the new information. "So... they're working with Vega then?"

"We can't know that for certain," Tovin said as he stopped over what appeared to be some kind of improvised roof hatch. "If what's going on here after dark has anything to do with the Galgalim, then we can correlate the two. Until then, we can't draw any hasty conclusions. When I heard him mention the Galgalim to Huede all that while back, I had no idea what he meant. I reasoned that it had to be some kind of code that he followed, or perhaps that it was the true name of the stasis field."

"It makes sense when you put it like that," I agreed. "But I noticed he called it 'the' Galgalim. Would someone refer to their god like that? He makes it sound like an object when he says it like that."

"I'm not certain. I searched for a book on it the same way you did but came up short. I couldn't see through the painted spine as you could. To find out that Galgalim was actually an old god buried seemingly on purpose... it was a revelation." He pulled the roof hatch open after he finished.

"Our aim tonight is to figure out whether or not the people that walk our halls are Diesel operatives or religious zealots... or perhaps something else entirely."

"... Oh," it suddenly clicked for me. "I think I understand why I'm here now."

"If you don't see magic within their bodies, then they're not from here," he put it plainly for me. "I need your eyes tonight, Gill."

"Hold on. I didn't see magic in Imandr's body either," I argued. "But he cast Censor on me all the same. There's a margin of error we're not accounting for here, and I don't want to accuse anyone falsely."

"He was an inquisitor," Tovin closed the hatch again, adjusting his weight to explain. "They wear special cloaks to mask their presence. Although you and Alrune are the only sensory type mages, there are certain spells that work by detecting magic. Traps, seeker bolts, or even the sensory barriers I used that night to protect Fena."

"I considered that it could be some kind of magic cloak, but to hear it confirmed out loud... It's astonishing," I said in a sudden burst of realization. "How can we tell if they're wearing special cloaks or not?"

"It's extremely unlikely," Tovin said as he shifted his balance to a knee.

“Do we need another girl?”

I was used to him asking me questions, sometimes ones that didn’t even make sense. But this one surprised me. He’d looked at me with an odd glint in his eye that I’d never seen before, not even as a kid. He’d always been a quiet withdrawn man, disinterested in anyone who wasn’t my mother. But something about the sly tone of voice made me feel like I’d glimpsed some part of him I shouldn’t have, and I struggled to think of anything to say in response. In the end, all I managed was,

“What do you mean?”

He briefly looked angry, but some kind of realisation dawned on him and his features softened to sullen disappointment.

“You Nettie’s boy?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve been looking after you for the last few months.”

He turned his eyes to his frail legs before eyeing the beeping machine and the oxygen tank that sat next to the recliner. After a long pause, he sighed and his shoulders slumped.

“Do you want a cup of tea?” I asked.

He took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair.

“Why not?” he grunted before blowing his nose.

-

“It was only meant to be two,” he said from his chair, and something in his voice made me look up from the dishes and give him my full attention. He sat dull eyed and staring at the muted TV.

“Three girls,” he carried on. “A trade with that thing in the basement. You know books’ll say these things like rules but that’s just a waste of everybody’s time. If these things followed rules they’d be working like the rest of us.” Something about that image made him laugh, and I realised it was probably the first time I’d seen him smile since moving in. “What is it with people, eh? Acting like you can make rules up for a world that we all know damn well will do what it wants when it wants. I remember thinking to myself, why two? Why does it have to be two girls?”

He laughed, and this time it wasn’t so playful.

“What were we gonna do once it gave us what we wanted eh? Give it back? No. It had us on the hook and it knew it! It asked for a third, a fourth, a fifth, and a sixth.”

He turned in his chair and looked at me and I realised he wasn’t really rambling or trapped in some long forgotten memory. If anything he looked more lucid than he had in the entire three months I’d been caring for him.

“None of them were easy. No one follows anyone into a basement without getting spooked. None of them knew why, exactly. But they knew enough. Hardest thing I ever had to do...”

With that he turned back a

The Cinco De Mayo Shitshow:

TW: mild gore.

Cast will be:

Me = Yours Truly

BG = Birthday Girl

DT = Drunk Twit

The Preface:

Covid had just started, its May 5th 2020.

people are partying, noone really cares, afew noise calls, nothing major, until...

The Fecal Matter Meets The Rotary Impeller:

i get a call from rm 425.

Me: Front desk, Wraith speaking, how may i help you?

Rm 425: yea the guy next-door is trying to kill his wife or girlfriend! (i can actually hear the shouting and screaming through the phone)

Me: ill take care of that right now! thank you for letting me know.

i call 911 and the 3 cars of 5 cops show up for a DV and assault call.

myself, security, and the cops go to the room. *cop knock*

DT opens the door and we can see blood all over the floor of the kitchenette. cops make her open the door all the way and let us enter, 2 go into the bedroom and talk to the BF/Hubby. one cop tends to her bleeding foot while 2 question her as she declined EMS. story as follows.

DT: we were drinking and having a good time, i dropped a glass and cut my foot which killed the mood. my BF got pissed and started yelling at me for being clumsy and getting hurt and ruining our date night. he's just a little drunk, he never hit me and he just gets loud when he is drunk.

due to the noise, and the blood, they get kicked and DNRd.

follow them down and outside where the cops bring the BF out separately.

SHE GETS IN HER CAR AND TRYS TO DRIVE AWAY

cop stops her before she gets out of the parking space and arrests her

DT: what the hell, why are you arresting me?

Cop: you are plainly drunk and just tried to drive away, in front of 5 cops.

Me: *internal manic laughter*

i go back up to the room to see what damage was done and to take pics.

The Carnage:

the glass she "dropped" was 1 of the 6 in the room that they set up on the counter and threw the cutting board at (through) breaking them all and putting a hole in the wall from the cutting board.

what i thought was water on the kitchen floor was actually spilled tequila from 3 opened, now empty bottles. there were 2 more on the bedroom counter and 1 in the bathroom.

now the one in the bathroom is special. it was one of those white clay bottles with the blue flowers painted on it that looks like a lamp or vase, and costs over $100. they couldn't figure out how to open it, so they smashed the top of the bottle off against the bathroom counter. there were bits of ceramic all over the bathr

Wow. You must have had to pull a lot of strings to get in here. Called in all the favors you could; you simply had to interrogate the new petty thief and waste everyone’s time.

[“This is just a routine interview. To make sure that we got all of the information from your initial trial. So, what’s your name?”]

No.

Sorry; I don’t feel like playing this game. You already know my name, officer--it’s all in that pretty little file you got there. That question was just a ploy to get me talking. What you really want is more information so you can keep me in prison. So, no. I don’t think that I’ll be answering you today. Sorry.

Even if I did answer your questions, this ‘routine interview’ would be completely useless. Because news flash: I already confessed. Admission of guilt, plea bargain, trial by jury--Bing, bang, boom--I’m in jail. Sorry to disappoint.

Must be depressing, doing useless busy work. How does it feel, constantly humping the prosecution's leg?

[“Now, let’s have none of that. Everything will be better for the both of us if you cooperate. Now, I’m going to ask you a couple questions. If you respond truthfully we can get through this quickly. So, what’s your name?”]

That’s a no.

[“Fine, then how about this: if you help me with my investigation, I will record your good behavior, so you can, potentially, be released sooner rather than later. So, if you want help getting out of here, may I ask you some questions?”]

[She laughs, looks at the detective’s face, then laughs harder]

Get released? Of course. Why didn’t I think of that? I’ll buddy up to the cops so I can get an easier sentence after the trial. Brilliant! Beautiful job, officer. Very nice.

Let me ask you a question--one that’s actually important. Why would a teen, during her senior year, steal a teacher’s pay check out of their desk a single semester before graduation? Why would she walk in the main entrance, after hours, in full view of all video cameras? And why would she go through all that trouble for a slip of paper that amounted to less than $200?

Let me give you a hint; maybe, just maybe, she wanted to be caught.

[…]

This is all hypothetical, of course. The fact that my rhetorical questions mirror the evidence brought against me in court is purely coincidental.

[“Right. I have somewhere to be, so let’s just cut to the chase. What do you know of Brian Davis?”]

[She sits up]

Wow. So you’re playing the accomplice angle? Trying to get an

There's so much I can't tell you which makes it hard for me to begin.

I can't tell you the place, other than it's a desert in the US far from any city.

I can't tell you my job, other than I'm a soldier -- have been since Marty Calhoun stole my lunch money in the third grade. He went home with a black eye, I went home for a week. I joined up at 18. Blew through basic and threw on fatigues for three tours in deserts far from the one I'm stationed at now.

I've seen a lot of things. IEDs take legs and arms and souls. A little girl catch a stray bullet, go down with her head trailing ribbons of brain like gruesome streamers.

I've never seen anything like the Fleshpit.

My superiors are probably reading this. I'm sure they'll have it scrubbed from the internet long before it's breached the stratosphere. Not that it matters to me -- I'll be dead by the time it's over. I'm going to kill myself. It's not the answer -- suicide never is -- but I want to be in control of my death. You'll understand why soon enough.

It's growing. Even as I write this now, it's inching its way toward the taxpayers we're supposed to protect. But we can't protect them from this.

Not the Fleshpit.

We don't know what it is, where it came from -- we don't know how to destroy it. Not yet, anyway.

We only know that it grows, that it eats. It's a massive sinkhole in the desert crust, a fleshy, gaping mouth expanding every day, minute, second. It's miles wide now. Wasn't that big when I first got here -- it was no bigger than a swimming pool, its fleshy walls caving down into a deep, sunken cavity that bubbled, shifted, moved like melted cheese in a simmering pot.

Looking at it made my stomach curl with nausea. But the smell...

I've known the scent of brain-matter blackened by gunpowder, of disembowled guts cooking on the desert pan after an IED chewed a humvee to scrap.

This was worse.

A damp, rotten reek that tunneled up your nose, down your lungs, and settled into your chest, nesting there like a dead-thing in the walls of a house. A smell that usurps all others, lingering -- even when you've left the Fleshpit behind. You'll never smell anything else again.

I've been here for five days -- got here two days after it was discovered. By then checkpoints were scattered around its circumference. Sandbags, tanks, coils of concertina wire four-men high.

Overnight that was all gone -- including the two dozen seasoned grunts stationed around the perimeter. The Fle

I don't want to step on anybody's toes here, but the amount of non-dad jokes here in this subreddit really annoys me. First of all, dad jokes CAN be NSFW, it clearly says so in the sub rules. Secondly, it doesn't automatically make it a dad joke if it's from a conversation between you and your child. Most importantly, the jokes that your CHILDREN tell YOU are not dad jokes. The point of a dad joke is that it's so cheesy only a dad who's trying to be funny would make such a joke. That's it. They are stupid plays on words, lame puns and so on. There has to be a clever pun or wordplay for it to be considered a dad joke.

Again, to all the fellow dads, I apologise if I'm sounding too harsh. But I just needed to get it off my chest.

My grandmother was a devout Christian. At the very least that was the mask she wore. In reality I believed she liked to tell people they were going to Hell, berating them for any small mishap. I never saw her preach the good word or talk about God’s works. I don’t believe she ever touched a bible in her life. That didn’t stop her from attacking those who would dare to commit a deed that fell outside her narrow worldview. “Jacob!” she would snap, “Don’t touch the pie before it is done! It’s a sin to interfere with someone’s unfinished work.” After smacking me away with her old wooden spoon she would make me pay penance by doing chores while all the other children played outside.

Her obsession with sin consumed every aspect of her life. As a saint walking among mortals it was her express duty to tell the world the horrors of Hell. In gruesome detail she would describe how exactly a person’s face would be peeled off in the pit. Sometimes it was ear to ear, other times from chin to forehead. She could never keep the details straight. Her children didn’t care about these inconsistencies however. They were more concerned with the five-year-old grandson who was just told how he was going to burn for knocking over her vase.

There was one story she told the same every time. I think it was her favorite one. Oddly enough it was the only one that never mentioned Hell. The talk of sin stayed though. She could never get away from that.

“The Bird Stairs,” she would say, “will appear to you when they are most needed. God will show you all your mortal failings and you will be saved. Your wickedness will be revealed to the world, and your soul will be purified.”

I never understood how learning of all your wickedness would suddenly save your soul, but Grandma was convinced. Maybe that’s why she felt the need to point out every transgression. Maybe she thought she was saving our souls. I don’t know if she ever gave herself the same treatment.

The story goes that at some point in your life, when your sins have become too much to bear, a door will appear before you. It will be old, with chipped white paint, and decorated with a light feather pattern around the edge. From inside, you will hear a call, a beautiful song beckoning you inside. Grandma never went into detail about this song, but she assured us it would be the most beautiful thing we would ever hear. It would be impossible to resist.

Upon opening the door you would see a long,

> (More stream of consciousness writing. I just wanted to throw something out there encouraging for my friends and siblings, but I know I'm not a very sensical or personable writer, so let me know if this post is considered inappropriate and I promise I will take it down immediately.) > >   > > Some background music, to add mood if interested.

To the Mute Deponents among Tel Mora, upon whose tongues have been carved Her letter, our letter, may the greetings and blessings of ALMSIVI, Triune Grace, be upon you.

A near century of anguish has not chilled the burning scars left at the murder of my husband, and truly little grows in the beds of wounded memory, hacked out by the spectres of cruelty and cancer and dust. Yet, I would not quaver with the pen in writing to you now, if the selfishness of my kin were unable to keep me here for your sake. My tears fill vases uncounted as the ash vampire's blight rots the days of our land, as it did my beloved's own dark lips, kissed no more. Yet in me flows the outrage of the gods that anyone else should perish to the Slave Taker, he who would defraud and violate and consume our mystique through dream and flesh. Sharmat bahr'lorna. A slash of Three and Seven Curses!

But my resolve is not sung alone atop the temple walls. Just as the dartwing waits hidden in the grass, or as the shalk sits patiently beneath the log, we have seen the technicolor wings of our sisters in twilight, and we answer your calls upon the wind. This is the name we give to each of your hands, eas taljenich. She can see. For you are the setting stones of the Temple and upon your destinies do the gods walk ever upwards. It is you that prompted my vocation, called to one day pierce heaven by violence, and you that my sisters and I would not sojourn into the Gray Maybe without.

We forge wreaths of coda flowers so that we might adorn you with crowns of victory and lay ourselves out like mud-slats for you to step across, at the end of our service. We would not have it that you settle for a simulacrum of affection, as is offered coldly by this realm. Your will and prayers are far too important to be lost under the weight of a heart filled with liquid brass. As the fields are flooded with ash and storm, we have given ourselves to critical harvest, and I would sooner prick my thumb to fetch you behind shutters Thrice-Sealed, than to spare it and lose a petal.

Recall the grand

[FIRST][PREVIOUS][NEXT]

Chapter 095 [Rick]

Rick could only glare at the man standing opposite to him. “I don’t care, I am leaving as soon as Monica’s fully healed.”

Next to him sat the aforementioned feline. Cross legged, her claw gripped his hand. It had not let go for an instant since entering the Hunter’s building. It still wouldn’t let go, even as two healers grumbled and fumed over her, tending to the injuries that littered Monica’s body with glowing hands and ointments.

“You’re safe here.” Huge frowned, massive fists clenching tightly as his jaw set.

“Until the Baron makes a move. I’m betting soon.” He pointed out. “I’m here mostly hoping some legal charges can be put into motion. Alice is in there and I’ll be fucked if I leave her to her luck. I’d have stormed the place if it weren’t suicidal.”

“If you give Monica the chance to finish shifting into a Sabertooth, it wouldn’t be too harebrained an idea.”

“Irene!” The Major hissed, head snapping towards the red-skinned naked woman standing in the corner and staring at the wall.

“I was meaning to ask about that.” Rick could only frown. “Monica started growing and getting stripes, what’s all that about?”

“A shift.” Huge made a vague gesture at Monica. “When a maiden moves down the path set by their genus. The process takes a day or so. Like an Elf turning into a High Elf once she’s become powerful enough.” A sigh as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Look, Rick, I’ll be the first to admit that we can’t touch the Baron, but your position is in legal limbo right now. As the leader of the local Hunter division, I can at least put you as probationary reinforcement for the upcoming second wave. Not even the Baron would be insane enough to try to go against us during this state of emergency.”

“You do that.” Rick nodded. “In the meantime, I’ll put as much distance between myself and that psychopath as I can.”

“He’s right in fearing the Baron, that man’s obsession with White Claw makes it unlikely-.”

“I KNOW!”

Huge’s voice rose to a roar, his hand slammed against the wooden table hard enough everyone in the room short of Monica bounced in shock. The feline herself regarded Huge for a long second before she opted to return her focus to the piece of dried

The doctor says it terminal.

Strange happenings surround a woman and her mattress.

For months now, I had noticed a strange smell in my bedroom. I absolutely could not tell where it was coming from. At first, I thought my dogs, who sleep at the edge of my bed every night, had wallowed in something dead outside before coming in. I banished them from the bed for a few days and washed the bedsheets along with them, but the smell never left. It only grew worse and worse.

I started sleeping in the guest bedroom after that, but I still kept my stuff in my master bedroom for a while. It had the biggest bathroom, and I had just simply grown accustomed to living in that room for so long. Eventually, the smell got so unbearable that it forced me to move out of my master bedroom and bathroom and fully into the guest bedroom.

It had been about a month since I had completely left the room whenever the door started randomly opening. I knew I had not opened it myself, but it continued to be open at random times of the day. It really spooked me, for obvious reasons, as no one else lived with me besides my dogs. That’s how it had always been, for as long as I could remember.

One afternoon, after I had come in from a little stroll around the neighborhood, I came upstairs and saw the door open again. I peeked inside, and I saw my dog’s rear end and tail peeking out from under the bed frame. I could hear him licking at something, and the worst images started popping into my head. Had they been bringing in roadkill and storing it under my bed? Why had I not checked under it?

“Charlie?” He didn’t move. I shook my head, very confused. Where had I gotten the name Charlie from? “Wait...no. Max!” He peaked out from under the bed, licking his lips. I dropped to the floor, attempting to crawl as close to the bed as I could without gagging, and I gently shoved him out from under the bed. The smell was overwhelming from this level. I could see a strange liquid dripping from my mattress. It had soaked completely through and was dropping through the bed frame boards. Had I spilled something in bed and completely forgotten to clean it up? Was it now molding in my mattress? This completely confused me as there was nothing I could have dropped or spilled that would have that effect. My investigative efforts were paused whenever the phone rang, and I had to run downstairs to get it. I made sure to close the door on the way out.

“Hello?” I wrapped the cord around my fingers, nervously twirling it. Why was I

I'm an archeologist, and I've recently gotten the chance to go exploring a newly discovered area, we in the Archeologist biz call it, “The Forgotten Tomb of Ra”. It's been buried for centuries lying there, untouched since it was abandoned, some say the natives who built this temple would sacrifice innocent women and children to serve their so-called, “god”. I was never fond of the desert, it was hot, and I hated hot. I live in upstate New York, and when I got the request for me personally to come and direct the mission I was stunned. I had never directed my own dig before, I had been the assistant to the head director, I assumed that my luck had finally taken a change in pace. I couldn't have been more wrong.

I got on the first plane to Sharm el-sheik. And took a 12-hour drive out into the desert by a rental car. Once I arrived at the site, I was a little alarmed, it seemed as if no one was there. Equipment left out. Cars parked with doors left open. Footprints in the sand going in circles. I immediately called the assistant director but realized I had no service. How could I? I was in the middle of a dry wasteland. I searched most of our equipment to find some sort of reason for me not to fire the entire team for abandoning me, but what I found was horrifying.

Where it looked like the crew had already found a way into the temple. I assumed they had moved down there, that would explain the missing crew up top. I grabbed my flashlight off my belt and flipped it on. I had spare batteries in case it ran out of juice, you never know what could happen.

I started making my way down the steep slope of the temple. It was about noon, so I gave myself four hours until I would turn back. After I met the floor of the temple from sliding down the sand slope, I flashed my flashlight towards the walls. There were hieroglyphs on the wall, I couldn't tell what they were, that was the linguistics job.

But it looked like typical hieroglyph marks. Water, man, boat, hawk.those things. I made my way further down the hall. There were skeletons lining the walls pierced with javelins

I was nervous, and my hands were cold and clammy. I walked further down the hall until I found shining light peeking through a cracked wooden door that looked hundreds of years old.

I peeked through a slit in the door, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Twenty or so tall human-like figures clothed in Egyptian robes, wearing masks that looked like the face of “Ra”. Wrapping dozens of corpse

Alot of great jokes get posted here! However just because you have a joke, doesn't mean it's a dad joke.

THIS IS NOT ABOUT NSFW, THIS IS ABOUT LONG JOKES, BLONDE JOKES, SEXUAL JOKES, KNOCK KNOCK JOKES, POLITICAL JOKES, ETC BEING POSTED IN A DAD JOKE SUB

Try telling these sexual jokes that get posted here, to your kid and see how your spouse likes it.. if that goes well, Try telling one of your friends kid about your sex life being like Coca cola, first it was normal, than light and now zero , and see if the parents are OK with you telling their kid the "dad joke"

I'm not even referencing the NSFW, I'm saying Dad jokes are corny, and sometimes painful, not sexual

So check out r/jokes for all types of jokes

r/unclejokes for dirty jokes

r/3amjokes for real weird and alot of OC

r/cleandadjokes If your really sick of seeing not dad jokes in r/dadjokes

Punchline !

Edit: this is not a post about NSFW , This is about jokes, knock knock jokes, blonde jokes, political jokes etc being posted in a dad joke sub

Edit 2: don't touch the thermostat

New? Start here!

The party arrived in style.

Eve grabbed the attention of everyone milling about outside the venue as she came plummeting out of the sky, shimmering sapphire dress billowing in the wind, only for her fall to stop short six inches from the ground, allowing her to land as if from a small hop. She patted down her dress just in time for Reginald to appear in the sky above the clearing.

The wedding guests didn’t need to be told to step back.

His phantasmal wings pushed no wind around, sparing Eve the effort of fixing her dress a second time. Judging from the looks of a few of the better-dressed guests around, she wasn’t the only one thankful for that.

Wes was the first to disembark, looking the spitting image of a noble courtier who absolutely did not want to be one. Art hopped off after, looking rather dapper in his little doublet. Preston followed, taking his job as officiant seriously enough to actually dress like a religious leader.

Upon receiving his letter, the Church of Ayla had been perfectly happy to send their new Paragon a truly ostentatious set of gold-trimmed white robes. From the way they hung loosely around his chest and hips, Eve got the impression they’d once belonged to someone else. She refrained from making the obvious jokes, certain that Wes had beaten her to them.

He handed something to Wes. “I need to go talk to Alvin. Why don’t you drop off our gifts at the table?”

At Wes’s nod, Preston turned on his heel and strode through a white wooden arch decorated with roses, maneuvering around the mostly-empty chairs to slip into the tree that marked the entrance to the lungeon.

With a moment’s thought, Eve materialized the Ar-gold crown atop her head as a golden circlet with a single sapphire at the front, her choice of gem matching the rest of her outfit. As the crown appeared, a wrapped parcel popped into existence in front of her. She caught it.

Preston had taken one look at her pile of potential gifts and immediately selected a vase that generated fresh, seasonal flowers once a day. He hadn’t let her wrap it, recognizing that as a train wreck waiting to happen, and had instead taken the few minutes to do the job himself.

Eve looked over at Wes. “In we go?”

Wes shrugged. “In we go.”

A rather eclectic crowd milled around both the seating area and the open space to the left that held the table for gi

Do your worst!

The nurse asked the rabbit, “what is your blood type?”

“I am probably a type O” said the rabbit.

How the hell am I suppose to know when it’s raining in Sweden?

Mathematical puns makes me number

We told her she can lean on us for support. Although, we are going to have to change her driver's license, her height is going down by a foot. I don't want to go too far out on a limb here but it better not be a hack job.

Ants don’t even have the concept fathers, let alone a good dad joke. Keep r/ants out of my r/dadjokes.

But no, seriously. I understand rule 7 is great to have intelligent discussion, but sometimes it feels like 1 in 10 posts here is someone getting upset about the jokes on this sub. Let the mods deal with it, they regulate the sub.

They were cooked in Greece.

Part One

I didn’t leave my house for almost an entire week.

The only reason I didn’t stay indoors for longer is that I had an important exam in one of my classes that I absolutely had to be present for.

That also didn’t help with the anxiety I was feeling. As I drove to campus I kept my eyes glued to my surroundings, almost running two stop signs and a red light. I kept expecting Jack--- or fake Jack I suppose---to pop out randomly on the side of the road, or in the car next to me, or the car behind me. I constantly glanced at my rearview mirror trying to figure out if the black truck behind me had been there this whole time or if it was different than the one I had seen ten minutes ago.

I hadn’t told him where I went to school so maybe he wouldn’t know. Then again, I hadn’t told him where I lived either, and he seemed to figure that one out rather quickly.

I hadn’t texted the real Jack since the incident had happened. I mean, I didn’t even know what I was supposed to say.

“Oops I didn’t follow all your rules and now there’s a weird look-alike of yours running around the city”?

My plan, as foolish as it was, was to act as if all was well. I wasn’t going to stir the pot by telling him I had already fucked up, so instead, I was going to wait until he realized that something was wrong. Hopefully, he wouldn’t.

I will admit that not telling him was more difficult than I had thought, and I found myself constantly checking my phone for texts from Jack, but none appeared.

I finished my exam that day, sure that I had failed due to my lack of focus, and drove back home where I found Julio standing in my driveway. He was looking down at his phone, and I attempted to keep driving down the street before he saw me, but I wasn’t fast enough.

He glanced and began walking towards my car as I slowly pulled into the driveway, locking my doors and trying to remain calm. Instead of shifting into park, I kept my foot on the brake and shifted into reverse, fully ready in case I needed to make a quick getaway.

I sat in the driver's seat, looking forward, at my front door. I wondered for a second if I would be able to get inside and lock the door before Julio got to me. Suddenly, he leaned down and knocked on the window, making me jump.

I turned to look at him and said nothing.

“Roll your window down.” He said, motioning for me to lower the window.

I pressed the

I told him I’d have a drink first, he agreed and I went home. On arrival, Husband asked a million questions about what I had been doing. Answered them kindly. We take a shower and lay down, cuddled. He tells me he had been talking to a girl he slept with before marriage. Supposedly she emailed him Friday and asked him why he had been so silent and he called her yesterday from a NEW number and he told her he got married and she congratulated him. We purposefully changed numbers before we got married bc we didn’t want people from past contacting us. Mad, I told him if he wanted to keep communicating with her that was fine but don’t hide it and don’t place expectations on who I talk to . He got up, threw my still packed bags at me and told me to leave, I refused, he threatened to drag me out by my feet and tugged at my feet a bit then turned to the restroom, filled up a vase of water, threw it at me, and went to fill it up again and I grabbed it from him and spilled it on him. He told me he was calling the police, I agreed and told him if he didn’t, I would and I did. Police showed up, and I told them what happened and left. Don’t want to believe my life is falling apart. Is it really over? My heart is burning

I’ve been contemplating a nice way to say this for a while now. I love my BFF but she’s so fucking clumsy that it just comes across as carelessness. She always breaks a glass/dish, spills things, makes mess, knocks things over when she comes over.

ATP I don’t want her or her children in my home or my car because they are all the same. Am I the ah here or is this a norm when your friends have children?

I don’t have kids and I honestly can’t tolerate children longer then a few hours.

I don’t mind spending time with them and I enjoy her company but I work really hard for the things I have and I treat them well so they last me a long time. She is used to her things not lasting and seems used to her children destroying her things as she makes no real effort to punish them for touching things they shouldn’t. She also seems sensitive when you correct them for touching thing they really shouldn’t.

UPDATE:

We spoke about all of the clumsy/thoughtless mishaps that she and her children have had at my home this weekend. There was a storm that caused them to loose power, so she asked me if I could come get them until power came back. Keep in mind she doesn’t have a car of her own and she lives in a lower income neighborhood so they probably won’t have power until tomorrow or Monday:

• She scratched my car and my rims when I let her borrow it to get to work and didn’t mention it until I asked about it. (This was like the 4th time so I asked for my spare key back)

• I let her 9yr old daughter use my painting supplies and she basically went ape shit with the glitter got it all over my entire fucking house IN EVERY SINGLE ROOM and on furniture and fabrics. After I specifically told her to use the paint only.

• Her kids knocked over a Vase and didn’t say anything so the water just sat there and caused my bookshelf to swell.

• she broke a crystal glass and didn’t say anything. (It was a gift set)

• She invited someone out to an event we were going to attend without even asking if I was cool with it. I have history with the other person and I rather not be around them. She would have known, if she had asked. I told her if she just needed a ride she should meet up with them and leave me out of it. It took an hour of explaining that “you don’t have to hate a person to not want to be around them” for her grasp that.

• a few weeks ago she reached out to my ex (we ended on bad terms) to get his new gf’s information so she could ask to collaborate on projects. I get b