Got wasted and spent the night on the pokemon slot machines. Lost everything. Still figuring out how to tell my son we cant afford his Growlithe anymore
My wife & my 19 yr old son are cleaning out his room. I overheard this conversation:
Wife- I’m getting rid of this golf ball.
Son- No!! That’s my hole in one ball.
Wife- You made a hole in one?
Son- Not yet. But I’m going to use that ball when I do.
If you are low elo its because you are a fundamentally bad person with an egothat refuse to learn from his mistake. Like there isnt anything else to it. You are not a good human, you are selfish with an ego and dont want cooperate, society would be better without you
USA. A Mexican restaurant. We had not yet ordered anything, and the food was already arriving.
Chips. Salsa. Unrequested. Free.
I stopped the waiter. "We have not earned these."
"They just come with the table, man."
They come with the TABLE. In my land, hospitality is a debt. Every gift creates an obligation, weighed carefully, returned in the proper season with interest of feeling. Here, the gift arrives before you have even proven you can pay for dinner.
This is not an appetizer. This is a declaration: we trust you. Eat.
I ate with the gravity the moment deserved. And then — I must report this calmly — the basket emptied, and a new one appeared.
"Did we…?"
"Refill," the waiter said. "It's bottomless."
Bottomless. They have wells of salsa. The supply lines of this nation are beyond anything my ancestors imagined.
My friend warned me. "Don't fill up on chips, dude."
Too late. I had accepted three baskets. Honor demanded each one be finished — an unfinished gift is an insult. By the time my actual food arrived, I was a ruined man.
I was not hungry. I was not comfortable. I had been defeated by a courtesy.
Generosity that arrives before the request cannot be repaid. It can only be survived.
I know the rule now. I have made my peace with the basket. One basket. Two at the most.
Who am I deceiving. There is no number of baskets I would refuse. The trust of a nation is in that salsa, and I intend to honor all of it.
Watching a Steph heater you can almost understand how so many of his fans developed such severe psychological issues. It really does fry your fucking neurons even now at 37. I don't know how you'd go back afterward. It's like that myth that LSD is stored in the spine forever.