For the last 10 years or so we have been really learning what great horror movies can be made by sketch comedy guys. It's time for Bob to do it. An interviews he often talks about his own darkness, his own anger. He could do it. I want him to do it.

Trump’s mouth has become a natural disaster warning system. Soon after he speaks, destruction ensues. We need to treat his presidency like the back-to-back natural disasters it is.

I live in Germany; its been about 2 years now and I am very well acquainted with the rudeness of people here especially people working govt jobs or in supermarkets. To be honest, I should have been used to it by now but it still hits hard sometimes.

Like today I went to Kaufland with a friend who chose to use self-service checkout. I have used it a lot in Aldi but not in Kaufland because I hardly go there. Now their system works differently and I didn't know. The supermarket guy was hovering around and when he saw me struggling, instead of just helping me, he started bashing me for not using it right.

I do understand it was a busy time and there were people waiting behind me - I absolutely hate to be an inconvenience to others but its literally your job to get things done around you and instead of just helping me, he wasted more time in being angry at me.

No matter how little you are getting paid at your job, you have absolutely no right to be rude to someone especially a customer, but it's something normal in Germany!

Just wanted to vent it out because I was sick and already feeling down when this happened. Thanks for reading though :)

For the last three months, my rescue dog, Buster, has had this terrifying habit. Every single night like clockwork, around 3:00 AM, he would get off the bed, walk to the doorway, and just stare down the dark hallway leading to the front door. His ears would perk up, his back would go completely rigid, and he would low-growl for twenty minutes straight.

Naturally, I was convinced my apartment was haunted, or that someone was lurking outside my front door. I bought a deadbolt, kept a heavy flashlight next to my nightstand, and spent countless nights lying awake with my heart hammering in my chest, trying to listen for footsteps in the corridor. Nothing was ever there when I looked through the peephole.

Yesterday, I finally got fed up with the sleepless nights and installed a tiny security camera in the hallway to see if I was going crazy or if there was actually something moving around out there.

I checked the footage this morning, and I couldn't stop laughing.

At 2:58 AM, the camera picked up a faint, rhythmic clunk-clunk... clunk-clunk. A minute later, the neighbor's ancient cat—a massive, three-legged orange tabby named Barnaby—slowly limped down the carpeted hallway right outside my door, stopped directly in front of my welcome mat, and proceeded to scratch his ear against my doorframe before shuffling back to his apartment.

Buster wasn't sensing a Victorian ghost or a catburglar. He was just furious that the neighborhood feline was invading his personal perimeter every night at the exact same hour.

Tonight, I left a small bowl of treats outside the door for Barnaby, and Buster is currently fast asleep on the rug without giving the hallway a second glance. Mystery solved.

I started these notes as a fun idea, a time capsule of some sort. Trying to talk to my future wife and tell her about my life and how much I'm excited to meet her. But it quickly turned into ranting. A place to vent when I'm at my lowest. It's more than a 100 pages long and I'll still update and add to it, it's more like a book but it's real events and you can affect the story.I have no one to talk to or share this with, so I came to my oldest and best friend, the internet. Hopefully this helps anyone in any way, or at least entertains you.

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1Hg0KQkzloGMxv-bcQftu_zi7VFDKn_HD

This happened about six months ago, and I just need to get it out of my head. Maybe it'll stop someone else from falling into the same trap.

It was a Tuesday afternoon in the middle of a brutal week at work. I was exhausted, stressed, and barely paying attention when my phone rang. The caller ID showed a local number, so I picked up.

A guy answered with a calm, professional tone and said he was calling from my bank's fraud department. He asked if I had just authorized a $4,200 wire transfer to an account in another state. I immediately panicked and said no. He sounded genuinely annoyed on my behalf and said, "Okay, we need to freeze your access right now. Your info has been compromised."

What got me was how convincing he was. He didn't ask for my password. He already knew my full name, address, and the last four digits of my debit card. He even told me to double-check the caller ID against the number on the back of my bank card. Sure enough, they matched perfectly. (I found out later about caller ID spoofing, but at the time I had no clue that was possible.)

For almost an hour, he kept me on the phone walking me through "securing" my money. He was patient and totally composed while I was sitting there with shaking hands. He told me the safest move was to temporarily transfer my balance into a protected holding account while they generated a new account number for me.

I had my bank app open on my phone, about to hit confirm on a wire transfer for nearly $14,000—literally every cent I had put away over the last three years.

Right as my thumb was over the button, my roommate walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water. He took one look at me, saw I looked pale, and asked what was wrong. I muted the phone and quickly explained what the guy was telling me.

My roommate didn't even hesitate. He reached over, hit the red button to hang up the call, and said, "That’s a scam. Call the bank directly."

I actually got mad at him for a second because I was terrified of losing my money if I hung up. But he pulled up the bank's actual number on his phone and handed it to me.

When I finally got through to a real representative, she checked my account and told me there were no flags, no transfers, and no one from their team had called me. If I had pressed that button, the money would have been gone forever.

I literally sat down on the kitchen floor and shook for twenty minutes. It’s scary how fast your brain shuts down when someone creates a fake emergency.

If you ever get a call like that, no matter how real the caller ID looks or how much information they have on you: hang up and call the number on your card yourself.

Today I celebrate 12 years of being on this website. I’m that time my life has changed in so many ways for the good and bad.

In 2014 when I first signed up for Reddit Obama was president, I only had a one year old grand child, I lived in Missouri, and my life was very different. Things have changed for the good and bad.

I’ve moved back to California and lives in Nevada as well. I lost nearly everything in a wildfire. I’ve got three grandkids now the 1 year old is now 13 and in jr high. I’ve lost close friends and family I’ve gained new friends and family. It’s been a wild ride.

One of my fondest memories of Reddit involves the 2014 secret Santa exchange. I signed up for Reddit because of the gift exchange program. I saw someone got snoop dogg and I was inspired. I ended up receiving a custom hand made leather wallet. The best wallet I’ve ever owned. I really wish I could find the person who made it. I love the wallet and want more goods from them.

So, this happened about two hours ago and I’m still cringing so hard my soul is leaving my body.

I went to my local grocery store just to pick up some milk and bread. Simple task, right? Nothing could go wrong. Except I had my headphones in, listening to a podcast about unsolved mysteries, completely zoned out.

I was standing in the bread aisle, looking at two different brands of sourdough. I was so deeply focused on deciding which one was worth the extra dollar that I started talking out loud to myself. But because of my headphones, I didn't realize how loud I was actually speaking.

Apparently, I held up a loaf of bread, looked directly at it, and loudly said, "If you betray me like the last one did, I will never forgive you."

Right as the words left my mouth, I turned around to put it in my basket, only to realize a store employee and an elderly lady were standing literally two feet behind me. They were both staring at me with complete horror. The employee slowly took a step back, grabbed the lady’s arm, and whispered something to her while still holding eye contact with me.

I froze. My brain completely glitched. Instead of explaining that I was just joking about a previous loaf of bread that went moldy in two days, I panicked. I didn't say a word. I just placed the bread back on the shelf like it was a live bomb, grabbed my empty basket, and literally walked out of the store.

I didn't even buy the milk.

Now I need to find a new grocery store that is at least 5 miles away because I can never look that employee in the eye again.

A few weeks ago, I went to a local neighborhood garage sale and spotted a really old, ornate wooden box. It had this cool brass latch and felt surprisingly heavy. The seller was an elderly guy who claimed he hadn't opened it in decades and just wanted to clear out his attic.

Naturally, my mind went straight to "hidden treasure." I paid $15 for it, drove home as fast as I could, and carefully pried open the stuck latch.

Inside, resting on red velvet, was absolutely nothing. But here’s the twist: the weight was actually coming from a thick piece of solid iron built into the double bottom of the box. It was literally designed to look like it held something valuable, probably as a store display piece or a prank box from back in the day.

I was annoyed for about five minutes, but honestly, it’s now the most intriguing paperweight on my desk and a great lesson in managing expectations.

I need to get this off my chest.

Honey bees are great! I love them, i appreciate them, i think they have a wonderful place in our world and symbiotically with us as humans.

BUT.

When everyone is worried about the bees (in North America specifically) being decimated due to pesticides, especially due to usefulness in agriculture, it's the indigenous bees we should be worried about. Honey bees are indigenous to Europe, not the Americas. Please give indigenous American bees their love! They are incredibly important agriculturally and ecologically. You can even build bee boxes because many of them are solitary!

Just remember their role is just as important, if not more important, than the non-native honey bees.

So here’s how this works:

Anyone can DM me an anonymous confession. It can be something super simple or a whole elaborate story

I don’t really mind.

I’ll collect five confessions and try to post the five anonymously every day with no usernames, names, or other identifying info.

A few rules:

1. No NSFW confessions
2. No personal information (Don’t send me your address or something like that)
3. I may edit some submissions for spelling, formatting, and anonymity.
4. Just to be clear, by sending me a confession, you’re giving me permission to repost it anonymously. If you still want to just confess something without it getting posted that’s fine just say so.

If you’re comfortable with that, feel free to DM me a confession.

Would anyone actually be interested in participating?

I’m probably going to regret posting this on my main account if a future employer ever does a deep background check, but the trauma was real, the comedy is golden, and I didn’t suffer through this for nothing.

Back in late August, my friends and I realized summer was basically over and we hadn't hit a single waterpark. So we grabbed tickets to a local aquapark that had just opened a few new slides.

One in particular caught our eye: a trapdoor drop slide. You step into a coffin-looking capsule five stories up, cross your arms over your chest like a corpse, wait for a countdown, and the floor just drops out beneath you. You’re literally just free-falling straight down a plastic tube. It sounded terrifying, but we decided it was our exact type of fun.

We climbed the five flights of stairs to the top, and I volunteered to go first. My heart was pounding. Free-falling hits totally different when you’re in a thong swimsuit with your cheeks pressed against wet plastic, waiting for a employee to pull the switch on you.

I got inside and made a quick joke about famous last words. The operator pointedly told me to cross my legs tightly. I crossed them lazily, thinking it was just a generic safety rule. Then the floor gave out.

I had about two seconds of "I fucked up" followed instantly by "How is this slide even legal?!"

The loud bang of the trapdoor opening spooked me so bad that I panicked and uncrossed everything.

Before my brain could process what happened, I was plummeting through the dark in a vertical drop, receiving the most violent wedgie in human history. A thong is already sitting right in your business by design; add high-velocity water and pure gravity, and it turned into a cheese grater. The fabric shot up so hard I’m amazed it didn't slice right through my suit.

After being power-washed by gravity for a few seconds, the slide finally leveled out and I skidded to a stop. It wasn't fun. It was just pure, blinding pain.

I scrambled out of the pool, frantically pulling my ruined swimsuit back into place while trying to ignore the sting. That’s when I felt liquid starting to run down my legs.

I checked for blood—all clear—so I started waddling toward the bathroom to assess the damage. Water kept leaking out of me with every single step. My boyfriend made a joke that I’d peed myself from terror.

I finally got into a stall, sat down, and experienced a high-pressure, forced dual-hole flush. The slide had literally rammed chlorinated water into every available opening, and my body was now aggressively purging it. I sat there for ten minutes emptying out what felt like 10% of my total body weight.

For the rest of the day, I just had to accept that I’d been violated by municipal water engineering.

Hours later, I stood up from my sunbed, only to look down in horror at two distinct wet spots left behind on the lounge cushion. My body had apparently been holding onto reservoir levels of pool water in places I didn't know could store liquid.

To make matters worse, my friend went down the same slide right after me and suffered a similar fate—though thankfully for her, only one of her lower openings took on water.

Moral of the story: When the slide operator tells you to cross your legs tightly, do it like your life depends on it. Otherwise, physics will hand you a free, highly aggressive pool-water enema.

My friend and I got into a fight. It started with me and my buddy we were just messing around but he was going a little too far I started to ask him to stop and he wouldn’t. So I got mad and slapped him. He then lunged at me so before he could touch me I picked up a rock and threw it at him. I think the rock hit his shin. He then lunged at me again and I tripped while stepping back and fell. He jumped on top of me and grabbed both of my wrists and pinned them to the ground. He had me pinned to the ground and I couldn’t move. The neighbor then started yelling at us to stop. He jumped off. My friend’s mom came outside and the neighbor told his mom what happened. Me, my friend, and his mom went back inside I pointed at my friend and said I swear to god if you ever touch me again and my friends mom said to me “we ain’t gonna be doing all of that apparently he kicked your ass”. She wasn’t even out there and was talking shit. She ran her mouth and was taking up for him. Did he win that fight? Did I get my ass kicked?

I never expected this experience to feel so uniquely American, but it really made me understand how different everyday life can be. It was one of those moments that sticks with you.

It’s like: you know something and you never think about it or refer to it for a long while.

And you don’t even forget it but you don’t refer to it.

If not you’d become a ghost and wither away like a dead plant. People would turn against you and you’d be extremely depressed and get dementia. Or basically you would turn into a demon monster and be shunned by society. You’d suffer from the plague basically. Every illness under the sun.

If you did it, the opposite would happen. you would replenish your life energy for one year and feel fresh and young again like a vampire from the vampire diaries or something. Superhuman. 🧛‍♀️

I 32 female tend to have anxiety especially when grown (older) men approach me in public which is a lot. I know I’m noticed by men. I know I’m beautiful and attract the male gaze. I don’t enjoy this because it usually comes with unwanted attention from creepy guys. It makes me want to be invisible and I’ve become accustomed to not make eye contact because I I’m not open to communication as I’m going about my day to day and most of the time men say creepy odd things and I don’t trust them.

Well anyways today I went inside the gas station to pay for gas. When I went outside to start pumping the man at the next pump beside mine called out to me. When he had my attention he said “ my card isn’t working and I need gas” I felt bad. I assumed he was just in a bad situation so I tried to do the right thing. I asked him if $20 would be enough and he said yes. He approached me and took the $20 and started making conversation. He said hes a trainer can give me free training at the gym, I said “I’m good” he asked are you a dancer ? I actually have been dancing for most of my life so I replied “yes actually” he said he trains girls that dance at the strip club and I said “I’m not a stripper” at this point I didn’t like the energy around our conversation, I would have preferred he just said thank you instead of assuming I’m a pole dancer and going on and on about how he’s a trainer because he just looked like an average 50 year old man.
I regret the face that there were grown men around also pumping gas into their luxury vehicles and he didn’t bother to ask a fellow man for money but instead asked a singular, young, attractive female in an old run down car.
He also asked how he can pay me back and I told him Zelle and he asked to take down my number and name so he could pay me back. I regret that too, because now he got $20 out of me and me my name and number and that worries me. I’m feeling doubtful he will send it back.
It annoys me that I made contact with someone I didn’t want to when he could have approached the men there that were pumping gas so I’m mad at myself.
Should I be worried I gave him my name and number?

I’m also mad that every time I try and be polite and entertain a conversation by a man in public they end up being off putting. Not every time but many times.

Sorry if this post is chaotic, I never make posts here and I don’t know the typical format Reddit posters use. I would just like your thoughts to help pacify the discomfort the situation made me feel. I know I’m dramatic but again im an introvert with social anxiety who has a natural aversion to men because they have time and time again proven to be creepy and weird and unable to have a normal polite conversation.