Dream Quest had a similar aesthetic to this. The developer realized he couldn’t draw, had no graphic design sensibilities, but an astounding game design, and he leaned the fuck in.

It rivals Slay the Spire in mechanics, and it rivals my skill with MS Paint!

The honesty is refreshing.

A economic crash is when us peasants lose money. An economic boom is when the guillotine chow gains money.

The he article says she was dying from mold.

Well, it was…

https://people.com/crystal-hefner-says-iconcic-playboy-mansion-gross-8548270

He’s allowed to?

Playboy Mansion is a seedy shithole coming apart at the seams though. It’s the sort of place you’d put a party together and fight the animate mold growing on the walls. But when you find the treasure chest, it’ll just be full of dirty dildoes. Not worth the dungeon crawl to get there.

Why did they call him a “handyman” when the moment he did his heinous deeds, all his titles were overwritten with “child molester”?

I’ve seen them thrice, and Friday Pilots Club always puts on a good show!

Let’s add Bodies to this list. Eight episodes, one hour each. The same identical corpse turns up in 1890, 1941, 2023, and 2053. Time travel shenanigans ensue. Smart writing, tight cast, nothing is wasted.

Know you are loved.

And I can effortlessly visualize and move through places I’ve been to enough to learn the layouts as well. I’ve stood in the spot, where, back in high school, I turned down a girl who asked me out. I stood there, on a quiet and cold night, on the grass with no one around, and apologized to her, twenty-three years too late. Apparently being turned down was enough to put herself in a tailspin that even at the twenty-year reunion, she hasn’t pulled herself out of. Maybe I’m not to blame? But I still stood in that spot and said sorry.

It’s easy to remember where all the spots are.

No, I don’t have kids. A friend of mine cleans there and asked me if I wanted to see the place after a couple decades away. Dead of summer. No one around, just wandered for a few minutes. Lonely, but nothing moved an inch.

I’m trans, asexual, and taking this virginity to my grave. My bloodline stops with me.

My entire memory operates spatially. I have accurate floor plans of every place I’ve been to at least more than once. I can navigate any number of places. Even still have the layout and significant memories of my old middle school. (Interestingly enough, when I went back there, the whole building felt about 30% smaller in every dimension—hallways narrower and shorter, ceilings lower. Turns out, this is because I’m 30% larger than I was when I was twelve.)

I’m downvoting you just to use the button. I leave it there cause it’s a good sanity check, make sure I didn’t say something off the rails. But sometimes seeing a comment I made get something like 135/1 really makes me wonder what the 136th dentist thinks.

And not under investigation for repeatedly attacking and dehumanizing trans people? I’ll take the wins I get, but fuck her couch.

Sure, when you were a kid, yeah. They got a badge now for safe cylinder extraction.

As a woman, I don’t need to pay $4.99 to play this, I can just play it in real life.

Boot polish is toxic, but you do you.

I’m banned from Idaho, Kansas, Florida, and Texas.

I’m illegal in seventy-two countries.

I’ve hurt no one.

Back in the 90s, teachers would have to stop class to change the lightbulbs in their projectors.

I wonder when these projectors will burn out.

Fuck. This is the beauty and compassion we have lost.