- Macnult
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I toasted a sesame seed bagel and right as I went to take a bite all of the sesame seeds fell out
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Dec 15, 2016 00:06
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- Adbot
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ADBOT LOVES YOU
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May 5, 2024 09:45
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- Macnult
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I don't know what it is or what it looks like, but there is something under the oven and I fear for the day I meet it
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Dec 15, 2016 00:10
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- Farecoal
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There he go
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well quite frankly i don't believe you. didn't your parents teach not to lie?
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Dec 15, 2016 00:14
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- Macnult
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there i was scrambling some eggs when all of sudden... I'm naked? oh no. My clothes were gone and I found myself in front of my entire school giving a speech I didn't even know the topic for. I totally burned the pan too
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Dec 15, 2016 00:16
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- Historical Wizards
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I grabbed an apple, but when I went to take a bite all of my teeth were loose
Many thanks Social Vegan for the wonderful av, and Fanky Malloons for the sig
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Dec 15, 2016 01:31
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- social vegan
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I was on the island when the floor turned to lava
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Dec 15, 2016 01:33
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- Macnult
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the cutting board stood upright, every knick and scratch coming together to form a face. the face was my own, the only noticeable difference was some kind of code etched over it: the number 8, an equals sign, and the letter D
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Dec 15, 2016 01:45
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- dogmother1776
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I have no arms and everything is burning
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Dec 15, 2016 04:03
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- Historical Wizards
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Imagine wack-a-mole, but instead of moles it's carefully prepared foodstuffs starting on fire.
Many thanks Social Vegan for the wonderful av, and Fanky Malloons for the sig
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Dec 15, 2016 04:25
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- vanisher
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When the lights go out, a dull rhythmic thrumming and clanging, as though demons were beating cruel instruments of death against each other endlessly, fills the air. The machine creates a soft red light that covers the cluttered mail, unused appliances, and trash in an otherworldly hue. A layer of bacteria and dried food lives in every unseen crevice. A thin, sticky layer of grime permeates every horizontal space. Every fifteen minutes, the largest machine lets out a guttural whir as ice is ripped from it's plastic tray by metallic claws, endlessly.
 
Sig images courtesy of the talented Luvcow, Dumb Sex-Parrot, & Death Sext
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Dec 15, 2016 05:12
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- Macnult
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I finish running the dishwasher and open it only to have a single cockroach crawl out so I have to rewash the entire thing; this scenario happens, ad infinium, until I wake up.
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Dec 15, 2016 05:31
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- Randy Travesty
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PHANTOM QUEEN
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i'm sweaty, cold and hot at the same time, scrubbing dishes with crusted-on mouldering foodstuff, piled over my head and swaying perilously over myself, a sink full of scalding hot water and disinfectant, while an enormous, scary entity made of hate and gutter trash looms over me. the entity is trying to take away all of my air by hovering over me and pawing at me while i work. i cannot stop, or the already-dank and humid heat rises yet again in a basement dish room of some rotten hotel in no-man's land. if i slow, the entity leans in closer, breathing its cabbage and pall mall stench into my only available moving air, a tiny trickle of cool air from a flooring gap above my head.
i'm chained to the sink, and covered in filth, head to toe, washing these dishes eternally.
   
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Dec 15, 2016 05:52
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- FutonForensic
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hey your cast iron pan had this dark, shiny stuff on it so i threw it in the dishwasher
 
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Dec 15, 2016 06:11
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- Piso Mojado
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I have no arms and everything is burning
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Dec 15, 2016 06:32
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- FutonForensic
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ugh, look at all the rich, golden fat that came off this roasted duck... into the garbage disposal it goes!
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Dec 15, 2016 08:41
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- social vegan
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I drank water out of a glass I just had milk in
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Dec 15, 2016 12:52
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- Farecoal
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There he go
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the mind control chemicals in this water really gives it a refreshing taste!
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Dec 15, 2016 14:23
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- google THIS
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there i was scrambling some eggs when all of sudden... I'm naked?
you're lucky, when i had this dream i was frying bacon
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Dec 15, 2016 15:14
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- Robot Made of Meat
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I'm all done with dinner, and there's NO DISHWASHER!
Thanks to Manifisto for the sig!
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Dec 15, 2016 17:59
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- the littlest prince
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I keep trying to cut this eggplant but all it does is leave a groove in the skin. I look down and I'm using a spoon. I open the utensil drawer. spoons, nothing but spoons. I look to my left and there's a knife on the windowsill. I pick it up and start back on the eggplant. more grooves. I look for my whetstones. they're so crumbled they're practically a pile of dust. I look online for more. every website is out of stock. some have removed them entirely. the nearby tv, showing the news, l reports that whetstone mines all over the world have collapsed. I go back to trying to cut this eggplant but all it does is make grooves. I look down and I'm using a spoon.
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Dec 15, 2016 18:09
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- social vegan
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I keep trying to cut this eggplant but all it does is leave a groove in the skin. I look down and I'm using a spoon. I open the utensil drawer. spoons, nothing but spoons. I look to my left and there's a knife on the windowsill. I pick it up and start back on the eggplant. more grooves. I look for my whetstones. they're so crumbled they're practically a pile of dust. I look online for more. every website is out of stock. some have removed them entirely. the nearby tv, showing the news, l reports that whetstone mines all over the world have collapsed. I go back to trying to cut this eggplant but all it does is make grooves. I look down and I'm using a spoon.
every problem looks like a soup when all you have is a spoon
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Dec 15, 2016 18:38
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- alnilam
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I keep trying to cut this eggplant but all it does is leave a groove in the skin. I look down and I'm using a spoon. I open the utensil drawer. spoons, nothing but spoons. I look to my left and there's a knife on the windowsill. I pick it up and start back on the eggplant. more grooves. I look for my whetstones. they're so crumbled they're practically a pile of dust. I look online for more. every website is out of stock. some have removed them entirely. the nearby tv, showing the news, l reports that whetstone mines all over the world have collapsed. I go back to trying to cut this eggplant but all it does is make grooves. I look down and I'm using a spoon.
it's like ten thousand spoons....
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Dec 15, 2016 18:55
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- FutonForensic
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I'm roasting a chicken in the oven and I'm constantly checking to see if it's done cooking. I keep taking it out and pricking it and the juices never run clear, instead a giant geyser of blood blasts me in the face and I go, "well, this needs another 10 minutes" and I put it back in. This goes on for years until I'm a withered old man, and right before I die I realize I never turned the oven on. As I put my hand on the knob I wake up
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Dec 15, 2016 19:47
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- google THIS
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I'm roasting a chicken in the oven and I'm constantly checking to see if it's done cooking. I keep taking it out and pricking it and the juices never run clear, instead a giant geyser of blood blasts me in the face and I go, "well, this needs another 10 minutes" and I put it back in. This goes on for years until I'm a withered old man, and right before I die I realize I never turned the oven on. As I put my hand on the knob I wake up
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hyB4Vx-TavQ
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Dec 15, 2016 20:46
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- LawfulWaffle
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Well, that aligns with the vibes I was getting. Which was, like, "normal" kinda vibes.
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Everything is laid out. Two slices of bread of fine quality lay open on my cutting board, flanked by fresh lettuce, plump tomatoes, twin squares of white American cheese, spicy mustard and mayonnaise. All that's missing is the star of the show. I return to the fridge and open the meat drawer, but there is no package of bold chipotle chicken. In its place sit an opened package of bologna. I feel my heart flutter and close the drawer. Perhaps I mistakenly placed it with the cheese. I open the second drawer and find two opened packages of bologna. The shock sends me backwards and in a flailing motion I grab a shelf from the refrigerator door, breaking it off with the full of my weight. I come crashing down and loose circles of pale bologna follow me, half covering me as my eyes search for an explanation. I find nothing but deep wrongness in the cold shelves that once held milk, eggs, and left-over pasta. Package upon opened package of bologna have replaced the things I once loved, and in the mass of processed meat I hear, no, feel a voice. This bologna, I understand before my mind softly snaps, has a first name. It has a second name too. I spell them, over and over, pledging to consume its flesh everyday.
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Dec 15, 2016 21:18
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- FutonForensic
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Everything is laid out. Two slices of bread of fine quality lay open on my cutting board, flanked by fresh lettuce, plump tomatoes, twin squares of white American cheese, spicy mustard and mayonnaise. All that's missing is the star of the show. I return to the fridge and open the meat drawer, but there is no package of bold chipotle chicken. In its place sit an opened package of bologna. I feel my heart flutter and close the drawer. Perhaps I mistakenly placed it with the cheese. I open the second drawer and find two opened packages of bologna. The shock sends me backwards and in a flailing motion I grab a shelf from the refrigerator door, breaking it off with the full of my weight. I come crashing down and loose circles of pale bologna follow me, half covering me as my eyes search for an explanation. I find nothing but deep wrongness in the cold shelves that once held milk, eggs, and left-over pasta. Package upon opened package of bologna have replaced the things I once loved, and in the mass of processed meat I hear, no, feel a voice. This bologna, I understand before my mind softly snaps, has a first name. It has a second name too. I spell them, over and over, pledging to consume its flesh everyday.
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Dec 15, 2016 21:27
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- google THIS
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Everything is laid out. Two slices of bread of fine quality lay open on my cutting board, flanked by fresh lettuce, plump tomatoes, twin squares of white American cheese, spicy mustard and mayonnaise. All that's missing is the star of the show. I return to the fridge and open the meat drawer, but there is no package of bold chipotle chicken. In its place sit an opened package of bologna. I feel my heart flutter and close the drawer. Perhaps I mistakenly placed it with the cheese. I open the second drawer and find two opened packages of bologna. The shock sends me backwards and in a flailing motion I grab a shelf from the refrigerator door, breaking it off with the full of my weight. I come crashing down and loose circles of pale bologna follow me, half covering me as my eyes search for an explanation. I find nothing but deep wrongness in the cold shelves that once held milk, eggs, and left-over pasta. Package upon opened package of bologna have replaced the things I once loved, and in the mass of processed meat I hear, no, feel a voice. This bologna, I understand before my mind softly snaps, has a first name. It has a second name too. I spell them, over and over, pledging to consume its flesh everyday.
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Dec 15, 2016 21:54
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- Piso Mojado
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Everything is laid out. Two slices of bread of fine quality lay open on my cutting board, flanked by fresh lettuce, plump tomatoes, twin squares of white American cheese, spicy mustard and mayonnaise. All that's missing is the star of the show. I return to the fridge and open the meat drawer, but there is no package of bold chipotle chicken. In its place sit an opened package of bologna. I feel my heart flutter and close the drawer. Perhaps I mistakenly placed it with the cheese. I open the second drawer and find two opened packages of bologna. The shock sends me backwards and in a flailing motion I grab a shelf from the refrigerator door, breaking it off with the full of my weight. I come crashing down and loose circles of pale bologna follow me, half covering me as my eyes search for an explanation. I find nothing but deep wrongness in the cold shelves that once held milk, eggs, and left-over pasta. Package upon opened package of bologna have replaced the things I once loved, and in the mass of processed meat I hear, no, feel a voice. This bologna, I understand before my mind softly snaps, has a first name. It has a second name too. I spell them, over and over, pledging to consume its flesh everyday.
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Dec 15, 2016 22:03
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- alnilam
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Everything is laid out. Two slices of bread of fine quality lay open on my cutting board, flanked by fresh lettuce, plump tomatoes, twin squares of white American cheese, spicy mustard and mayonnaise. All that's missing is the star of the show. I return to the fridge and open the meat drawer, but there is no package of bold chipotle chicken. In its place sit an opened package of bologna. I feel my heart flutter and close the drawer. Perhaps I mistakenly placed it with the cheese. I open the second drawer and find two opened packages of bologna. The shock sends me backwards and in a flailing motion I grab a shelf from the refrigerator door, breaking it off with the full of my weight. I come crashing down and loose circles of pale bologna follow me, half covering me as my eyes search for an explanation. I find nothing but deep wrongness in the cold shelves that once held milk, eggs, and left-over pasta. Package upon opened package of bologna have replaced the things I once loved, and in the mass of processed meat I hear, no, feel a voice. This bologna, I understand before my mind softly snaps, has a first name. It has a second name too. I spell them, over and over, pledging to consume its flesh everyday.
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Dec 15, 2016 22:11
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- Plebian Parasite
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Everything is laid out. Two slices of bread of fine quality lay open on my cutting board, flanked by fresh lettuce, plump tomatoes, twin squares of white American cheese, spicy mustard and mayonnaise. All that's missing is the star of the show. I return to the fridge and open the meat drawer, but there is no package of bold chipotle chicken. In its place sit an opened package of bologna. I feel my heart flutter and close the drawer. Perhaps I mistakenly placed it with the cheese. I open the second drawer and find two opened packages of bologna. The shock sends me backwards and in a flailing motion I grab a shelf from the refrigerator door, breaking it off with the full of my weight. I come crashing down and loose circles of pale bologna follow me, half covering me as my eyes search for an explanation. I find nothing but deep wrongness in the cold shelves that once held milk, eggs, and left-over pasta. Package upon opened package of bologna have replaced the things I once loved, and in the mass of processed meat I hear, no, feel a voice. This bologna, I understand before my mind softly snaps, has a first name. It has a second name too. I spell them, over and over, pledging to consume its flesh everyday.
   
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Dec 15, 2016 22:19
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- Pomp
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by Fluffdaddy
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Everything is laid out. Two slices of bread of fine quality lay open on my cutting board, flanked by fresh lettuce, plump tomatoes, twin squares of white American cheese, spicy mustard and mayonnaise. All that's missing is the star of the show. I return to the fridge and open the meat drawer, but there is no package of bold chipotle chicken. In its place sit an opened package of bologna. I feel my heart flutter and close the drawer. Perhaps I mistakenly placed it with the cheese. I open the second drawer and find two opened packages of bologna. The shock sends me backwards and in a flailing motion I grab a shelf from the refrigerator door, breaking it off with the full of my weight. I come crashing down and loose circles of pale bologna follow me, half covering me as my eyes search for an explanation. I find nothing but deep wrongness in the cold shelves that once held milk, eggs, and left-over pasta. Package upon opened package of bologna have replaced the things I once loved, and in the mass of processed meat I hear, no, feel a voice. This bologna, I understand before my mind softly snaps, has a first name. It has a second name too. I spell them, over and over, pledging to consume its flesh everyday.
----------------
This thread brought to you by a tremendous dickhead!
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Dec 15, 2016 22:25
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- mags
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I am a congenital optimist.
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It begins with a drive to go to the kitchen. I swiftly walk to the threshold of the room, but find my swiftness is mired in a quicksand feeling, making my motions apparently slow. No matter how hard I try, I move slower and slower, opening the refrigerator door, reaching for the fresh drawer, gripping a bright, red apple. I raise the fruit to my mouth and take a large bite, chewing in slow-motion, when my heart stops. From the way I came in, and the only way out, a bright light radiates, with mist falling upon the floor and slowly building layer upon layer of disinfectant-smelling miasma. A figure, silhouetted at first, steps into the doorway. It is my doctor. He found me. It is time for my appointment.
everyone in the idf must die
(USER WAS PERMABANNED FOR THIS POST)
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Dec 15, 2016 22:52
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- Adbot
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ADBOT LOVES YOU
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May 5, 2024 09:45
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- Ultra Spoot
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I start cracking eggs into my frying pan. One, two, three. As I throw the egg shells away, I notice the eggs moving on their own, forming together into an amorphous arm. Faster than I can think it grabs me, and with the strength of a thousand arm wreslers, begins slapping me with my own hand. The slaps don't really hurt, but they leave a mark and turn my face red with embarassment. "Stop hitting yourself," it gurgles over and over. I turn my head to yell for help only to notice it's just me and my stove floating in a neverending black abyss, except for a familiar figure in the distance. Slowly, after what feels like years, it reveals itself... is that... could it be? It is. It's the girl I really liked in high school, shaking her head disapprovingly at me for all eternity.
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Dec 16, 2016 13:19
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Dec 15, 2016 00:06
