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So I (74M) was recently hit by a car (2014 Honda) and died. My wife (5F) organized me a funeral (cost $2747) without asking me (74M) at all. I (74M) was unable to make it because I (74M) was dead (17 days). At the funeral I heard my dad (15M) and other family members talking about how they wish I could be there and now I feel bad for not showing up. AITA?

I finally did it. I out-pizza'd the Hut. It was the greatest mistake of my life. After years of perfecting my recipe, I made my way down to the local hut, fresh-baked pizza pie in hand. "Try this," I told the kid working the counter. He did, and he had to agree that it was better than anything Pizza Hut had to offer. Soon, the entire store, customers included, was feasting on my delicious pie. The manager walked over, grabbed a slice, and took a bite. I look at him, anticipation rising. This was the boss, the local fief lord of the Hut. His approval meant more to me than all the rest combined. He took a bite and nodded. "I'll be damned," he said, "you really did it. You out-pizza'd the Hut. Shame." Shame? What did he mean by tha- the manager pulled a gun out from behind his apron and shot the nearest customer in the head. "We have a Code Jalapeño," he said into his wrist as he executed the remaining customers. "I repeat, we have a Code Jalapeño." The ground was slick with blood. The kid working the counter choked out his dying breath as the manager turned to me. "You just had to do it motherfucker. You just had to out-pizza the Hut." He shoved the gun in my face. I was too scared to fight, too scared to run. The manager pulled the trigger. A click. The gun was empty. I threw a chair at the manager and scrambled out of the Pizza Hut, not even bothering to see if my missile hit its mark. I was closely pursued by the manager, who had gotten his hands on a deadly sharp pizza cutter. I suspected in his hands it would cut more than pizza. Somehow, I was able to get into my car and speed off, the manager cursing my existence as I left him behind. I took a deep breath. The manager was clearly psychotic. Yes, that was it, just a crazy man with a gun. It had to be. My phone rang. Sister. I picked it. "They're dead, she sobbed. They're all dead. M-mom, dad, Chris, Bill. Dead. They killed them all." I could barely understand her, so great were her sobs. "What do you mean? Where are you?" I asked urgently. "How is this possi-" a single gunshot sounded through my phone's speakers. Silence. Then, I heard a man's voice. "No one out-pizzas the Hut." He hung up. I drove down the empty county road, mind blank. I had nothing. They killed my family. I was alone. At that moment I knew what I had to do. They took everything from me. Well then, I would take everything from them. Pizza Hut was so terrified of being out-pizza'd, they forgot there's one thing worse than a man with a recipe: A man with nothing to lose. I'll give them a limited time offer they won't be able to refuse: two bullets for the price of one. With a free side order of pain.

Bruh? Like sorry i don't smell like a mix of piss sweat and axe body spray Troy. I will gladly shower every night AND morning and use fruit and coconut smelled soap and deodorant. My good hygeine doesn't have anything to do with my professional competitive cock sucking

When i was 13, i came out to my parents as a morbius male. They couldnt accept my morbality, so they sent me off to camp. They just didnt understand— i was morbed that way. At the camp, they gave us electromorb therapy to morb us into beta males. I resisted the treatment, being a morbius male, you cant morb me out of being morbed. I fooled the counselors into thinking they had successfully morbed be into a beta male, and i returned home. To this day, i live a double life— one for my parents, who still cannot accept morbality, and one where its always morbin time.

Well, believe me, it's crystal clear: NFT's are racist. You don't believe this, huh? Well, I'm going to explain it to you. First off, the name. The The Bored Ape Yacht Club wants you to believe that "NFT" stands for Non-fungible token. This name might be an accurate name for the images of apes that are sold, but it also stands for "n****r(s) for trade". This is absolutely not okay. NFT's have been fully covered on national news and they usual tell you that images of apes are being traded. What they don't tell you, is that those apes usually have big lips, golden chains and rings and contains an awful lot of stereotypes. NFT's use apes as a methaphor for the stereotypical black communty. This can be explained: NFT's were invented on 4chan. 4chan is the breedplace of 99% of evil on the internet. The /pol/ communty, already infamous for it's racism and anti-semitism. created NFT's because they want to insult black people. Using complex trading methods on specific websites on the internet and needing a fast connection to the world wide web they try to exclude as many black people (mainly the African continent). It even goes beyond that. Neo-Nazi artists, like Ben Garisson and StoneToss have recently used this way of trading to sell their art full of hate. They can do this because NFT's are completely anonymous. Republicans and right-wingers say they screenshot NFT's. This is not an harmless joke, they try to demonstrate how 'worthless' NFT's (abbreviation for: N****r(s) for Trade) are. Stop NFT's. Make a hashtag and cancel 'em. Cut off people that trade NFT's. Stop racism.

I hate when people refer to orange juice as OJ. Why OJ? Do you want to sound cool? Is it so much of a hustle to say orange juice? Do you abbreviate apple juice too? " Hey yeah, let me have some AJ?" - said by no one ever. I just think it sound annoying af. Edit: I don't have any issues with abbreviations, except for OJ as orange juice. Sorry if I offended some of you with sensitive feelings.