hand-to-hand combat, but its just two mimes trying to establish dominance by pushing on opposite sides of the same imaginary box’s wall
me: “youre serving Blue Curacao? so its a boy! congrats man!”
friend: “for the third time, this is not a gender reveal party and please stop drinking the Windex. i think it is causing permanent damage”
me: “so, have you picked any names yet?”
you: *finger guns*
me: *collapses*
you: *thinking im dead, lowers your finger guns*
me: *quickly rolls on my side, points my finger guns at you*
you: *freezes*
me: *unbuttons my shirt to reveal a finger-proof vest*
you: *starts to raise your finger guns
me: *finger guns*
her, deep in thought: *does that cute thing where she puts the tip of the frames of her glasses in her mouth*
me, deeper in thought: *eats my glasses*
corny joke guy that everyone hates: “whats the difference between a piano and a fish? you can tune a piano but you cant-
me: *pulls out my perfectly tuned sardine harp and begins to play Pantera’s “Cowboys From Hell”
even if i become ranked as a grand master in chess im still going to call it a horsey
the corner of the glass coffee table stalks its prey, ready to attack the shin of any unlucky soul that sleepily stumbles in striking range
cashier: “would you like to donate to fight hunger?”
me: “oh, hunger wants to rumble?”
*dip knuckles in syrup & then in Cheerios
“im ready”
chore hatred level:
considering becoming a raw food vegan and drinking straight from the garden hose to avoid doing dishes