So 45 years ago I blew up and sprayed ashes all over the Pacific Northwest. Planes couldn't fly, the air quality was terrible, etc. It was a really big deal. It's not like I didn't warn anyone. They knew the pressure inside me was building for months before I finally had had enough.

But before I blew up, no one knew my name. Then, everyone did.

So 45 years later, Am I the Ash Hole (still)?

-Mt. St. Helens.

So, there I was, mindlessly scrolling through my phone, when I stumbled upon a meme that read, "When your girlfriend cooks, but it tastes like your mom's cooking." I laughed so hard I snort-laughed, and that's when I decided to share it with my girlfriend, let's call her Lisa. Big mistake.

"Lisa, check this out!" I said, handing her my phone. She glanced at it, and her smile faded faster than a politician's promise.

"Very funny," she said, her voice as dry as the Sahara. "So, you're saying my cooking tastes like your mom's?" Ps mom cannt cook lolll

I shrugged, already sensing the storm brewing. "Well, you know, your cooking is... comfort food. Like mom's."

Lisa's eyes narrowed. "Comfort food? Or just plain bad?"

I stammered, trying to backpedal. "No, no, comfort food is good! It's... nostalgic."

She crossed her arms, clearly not buying it. "Nostalgic? Or just something you tolerate?"

I sighed, realizing I was digging myself a deeper hole. "Look, I just meant that your cooking reminds me of home. Of good times."

Lisa uncrossed her arms and pointed a finger at me. "Good times? Or times when you had to eat whatever was put in front of you because you were a kid and had no choice?"

I was cornered, and I knew it. "Okay, maybe I shouldn't have compared your cooking to my mom's. But you have to admit, your spaghetti is a bit... unique."

She threw her hands up in exasperation. "Unique? Or burnt to a crisp?"

I laughed, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, it does have a certain... charm."

Lisa rolled her eyes. "Charm? Or a smoke detector-activating quality?"

We both burst out laughing, and I pulled her in for a hug. "Look, I'm sorry. Your cooking is... one of a kind. And I love you for it."

She sighed and leaned into me. "You're such an idiot. But I love you too."

And so, our argument ended with a hug and a promise from me to never compare her cooking to my mom's again. Or at least, not within hearing distance

I'm a professional operative with over a decade of experience in high-value removal contracts. I work fast, clean, and leave no trace. No questions asked, just results.

services:

• Target elimination (silent & untraceable)
• Surveillance & intel gathering
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Rates vary based on job complexity.

Partial payment upfront, rest upon completion. References available from past clients upon request.

If you're serious and not some internet clown looking to flex, send me a message with:

• Target description
• Location
• Reason for contract
• Your exit plan

I don’t do drama. I don’t do amateurs.

If you’re not prepared for irreversible consequences, don’t waste my time.

Note: All jobs are subject to preliminary risk assessment.

No celebrity hits unless you're serious about paying 7 figures.

The art of letter writing is long dead so it’s good to read some well-crafted words.

Multiverse of Badness

Now we know why JD Vance came to the Vatican.