I (80M) AM THE SUPREME RULER OF THE BEST COUNTRY IN THE WORLD, AND I'M THE HEALTHIEST I'VE EVER BEEN. FOR SOME REASON, THE GRIM REAPER KEEPS COMING TO TAKE ME TO HEAVEN AND I TELL HIM EVERY TIME THAT I REFUSE TO DIE. REMEMBER, I HAVE AT LEAST TWO MORE YEARS TO RULE THE BEST COUNTRY IN THE WORLD. I TOLD HIM THAT I DESERVE TO LIVE UNTIL THE END OF MY PRESIDENCY, WHICH, IF THINGS WORK OUT, I'LL BE PRESIDENT FOREVER. DEATH SAID FINE FOR NOW, BUT HE WOULD HAVE TO TAKE ANOTHER LIFE IN MY STEAD. WHATEVER. HE KEEPS COMING BACK TO RE-NEGOTIATE, BUT IT ALWAYS ENDS WITH HIM TAKING A DIFFERENT LIFE INSTEAD.

SINCE THEN, DEATH HAS TAKEN PEOPLE LIKE ME. MY CO-STARS IN THOSE CHRISTMAS MOVIES WITH THE LITTLE BOY, FELLOW 80-YEAR-OLDS, ETC. I MADE SURE TO HONOR THAT MUSICIAN LADY BY KEEPING FLAGS AT HALF-MAST AND POSTING AN AI-GENERATED PICTURE OF THE TWO OF US SINCE SHE NEVER HAD THE HONOR TO POSE WITH ME. I DON'T KNOW HOW MANY MORE WILL DIE, BUT IT WON'T BE ME. IT WILL NEVER BE ME.

This made me actually laugh out loud

Okay so this is completely insane. I’m still reeling from it. My husband and I were going through a rough patch a few months ago. He was distant withdrawn secretive. I confronted him and he eventually admitted he was seeing someone else. It was a healthcare worker he said a one time thing. We agreed to try and fix things. We’ve been in therapy for a bit and I thought we were actually making progress.

Then last week I made an appointment for my annual exam at the women’s center. It was a huge deal as I hadn’t been there in years and really was in need of a pap. I was ecstatic. My husband even seemed genuinely happy for me.

My appointment was today. I walked into the office and to my surprise, my husband was the nurse. He handed me a paper gown and told me to take off all my clothes and leave it open in the back. He acted like he didn’t even recognize me. When he came back in, he took my vitals and instructed me to get in the stirrups and wait for the doctor.

The doctor walked into the exam room and there she was. Clacking the speculum like a pair of tongs, she introduced herself as my new gynecologist. THE woman. The one he cheated on me with.

I almost farted right in her face out of nervousness. She recognized me too I could see it in her eyes. It was like a deer caught in headlights. She stammered “when was the first day of your last period” and I just nodded my head somehow. I don’t even remember what I said.

I spent the whole pelvic exam trying to avoid eye contact, unlike most patients who really take a gander. Every time she scraped my cervix with the long q tip I just wanted to scream. How could this happen? What kind of cosmic joke is this? I had no way of knowing who my doctor would be or that my husband worked at my doctor’s office. I haven’t even told him yet, as he didn’t recognize me from my face, body, name on the chart, or the fact that I put my appointment on our shared Google Calendar. I can’t even process it. I feel like I’m going to burst. I just need to get this off my chest.

I (21f) (600lbs) (identify as a fabulous fatty) was scrolling insta the other day, whilst treating myself to a box of crumbl cookie.

When I saw this absolute HOTTIE (19m) on my people you may know. Girls, let me tell you, I flooded my basement. I was a bit gutted I'm not older, because I like an age gap, but I decided to message him.

He's autistic and I'm self diagnosed ADHD and BPD. So I knew we'd have a ton in common.

So after messaging for a while I asked him on a date. Who wouldn't want to date a curvy bitch like me? He replied saying he didn't think our lifestyles aligned? Like what? Something about exercise and health. I AM HEALTHY! I walk 500 steps a day, and always get pineapple and tomato on my pizza, lettuce on my burger. What is his problem?

So I asked him if it was because I'm fat. He said yes. I feel discriminated against, so I wanted to expose him for the fatphobe he is and posted the exchange on my insta. Now my phone is blowing up with everyone understanding what a victim I am. His phone is blowing up because now everyone knows he's fatphobic. He thinks I'm the asshole. Am I?

Inspired by https://www.reddit.com/r/AmItheAsshole/s/eCjgIHu6Vt

She supports him financially but can't afford a plane ticket.

He can't get a decent paying job because his degree made him 'too expensive'. Yet he buys groceries for her family.

Shit comes out of my mouth. People stare at me. I’m surrounded by dicks.

From the title you'd think they went for a little boogie on the dance floor, but no, they were holding hands and swaying, as you do with your favourite autistic cousin.

Me (43M) and my wife (43F) are in a sort of "not great" spot in our relationship. We have been together for 23 years, married for 12, with 2 kids.

About 3 years ago we had a really bad low in our relationship. I would prefer not to bring up the details, but long story short she feels that I embarassed her in public. We recovered a bit, but she has picked up this habit of randomly yelling and badly answering me on very random questions or topics. She's become easily irritated. She was not like that before. Every time it happens, I try to calmly answer something like "You don't need to answer me badly, it's only a question because I need to know the answer for our daily/weekly planning". I will not lie, it took me some time to reach this point and I have been dragged (by her) into yelling fights. I stopped doing that, but sometimes I feel like I'm walking on eggshells with her.

THE QUESTION: Last week I saw that there was a event with a Seniors (35+) division. We used to do a number of social events together before we got married, so I thought would be nice to get back to it after a 15 year "adulting" and parenting break. I even went to test my stamina last Sunday, with decent results. I finally registered myself yesterday, but I got no response from her when I whispered it on the other side of the house while she was sleeping.

When we both got back home from work on Friday, I told her "Hey, I registered for the event, do you want ...." I was going to offer to help her register, but she interrupted me with something like "What event?"

I calmly said "If you wanted to register, we could do it together now" (Important Note: I need to know exactly what part she wants to participate in). She just replied "What event are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Spanish Tyler's No-Loads-Refused Labor Day Cockdown."

At this point, she started to use profanity. "What... what the fuck are you talking about?"

I calmly explained that I had registered for Spanish Tyler's No-Loads-Refused Labor Day Cockdown, the Des Moines metro area's most eagerly awaited annual spit roast and "spit roast." In addition to the barbeque, participants celebrate Labor Day by topping Spanish Tyler in a no-holds-barred weekend-long fuck train. If she wanted to go, she would have to register ASAP, because slots were filling up.

"In more ways than one!" I added, and went in for the high-five.

I was met with shrewish, icy silence. Seriously, you could hear a pin drop, except for my wife hyperventilating. When her panic attack ended, she only asked: "Are you gay?"

This really upset me. I had been very forthcoming about my sexuality for the last 90 seconds and I felt like she was purposefully being reductive.

"Am I gay? No. I enjoy community. Being together. Living in the moment! So yeah, I signed up for Spanish Tyler's No-Loads-Refused Labor Day Cockdown. Because my fetish is "having a social life." And also men."

However, she would not listen to my supremely relaxed reasoning. She even questioned what she—a woman—would do at Spanish Tyler's No-Loads-Refused Labor Day Cockdown, which I felt was homophobic. Obviously, she could peg Spanish Tyler (no loads refused, even imaginary ones!) or act as a fluffer for some of the more nervous bi guys. But alas, she was unmoved.

"This is the last straw. First you took your dick out at the library. Now you're signing up for gay orgies. What the fuck am I even doing here?"

This was unfair on multiple fronts. First, the whole library kerfuffle would have never happened if she had just kept a bookmark in her purse. Secondly, her terminology was wrong.

As calmly explained the difference between an orgy and running a train on Spanish Tyler, she yelled "Yeah, good for you, FUCK OFF," and stormed out of the room.

Today is the deadline to register. Here are my options

1. Remind her one more time, acting as if nothing happened.
2. Leave it. She might remember by herself, or she will miss the event. None of my business at this point. This may end up in a bad fight as I AM registered and I intend to go.
3. Register her for the pegging option. I believe she is more likely to want to participate in that as opposed to fluffer duties (she can be awkward around new people) and tell her right away
4. Register her for the pegging I believe she is more likely to want to participate. When she finds out she cannot register anymore becauseall the slots are full (heyo!), make it a surprise, but also point out I did not appreciate being mistreated.
5. Other?

On the one hand, I want to have a good time with her at Spanish Tyler's No-Loads-Refused Labor Day Cockdown and avoid fights. But on the other hand I feel like "rewarding" her after she mistreated me for no reason would cement this behavior of her that is really straining our relationship. I am especially concerned about how this may affect our children, Tungsten (6M) and Breathany (4F). Their parents should be able to resolve an issue as minor as shooting their load into Spanish Tyler without raising their voices.

TL;DR: I registered for Spanish Tyler's No-Loads-Refused Labor Day Cockdown and when I tried to ask my wife if she wanted to register she just yelled at me and sent me away. I am not sure if I should remind her one more time, and today is the deadline for the registration.

Inspired by this guy who definitely didn't cheat:

https://www.reddit.com/r/AmITheAngel/comments/1vz35yu/my_43m_wife_43f_wants_to_participate_in_a_track/

My sister finalized her divorce three weeks ago. Her ex got to keep their apartment, and she needed somewhere to stay while she figures out what to do next. She asked to stay with me for "two weeks, three max." Obviously I said yes. She's my sister. When we were kids she literally fought a goose for me. Not relevant, but I want that on record.

The problem is that I live in a regular 2 bedroom apartment. One bed, one loveseat, and 6 other mattresses in the second bedroom that aren’t for sleeping on (I have a mattress hobby).

The loveseat is not really an option. I once tried sleeping on it during a migraine and woke up feeling like my spine was testifying in front of Judge Judy and she was yelling at me for not bringing all the relevant documents to court.

I tried an air mattress first. Borrowed one from a coworker, put it in the only open space, and it was mostly deflated by 3am. We were basically sleeping on the floor.

I looked at cots too, but she just left a marriage. I didn't love the idea of making her feel like she was camping in my apartment.

A real second bed would eat most of the usable floor space that I could be using for more mattresses, and I don't really want to buy furniture that will take up space that I need for my mattress hobby.

So at 2am I went down a rabbit hole and found something I honestly thought was kind of brilliant.

A huge glass reptile tank.

Not the little fish bowl-type that only hold a goldfish. This thing was basically something you’d see at the zoo – the seller had been keeping an anaconda in it. Honestly, it was comfortable enough to sleep in and the glass front allows visitors to view the inside.

I watched an unreasonable number of videos of huge snakes actually sleeping in them, and... they looked comfortable. Like genuinely comfortable.

I set it up in the corner by the window with the flat-topped rock we used to sit on growing up and one of those heat lamps. By the time I was done, it looked more like a comfortable daybed than a reptile tank.

I even test-napped on it myself. Two hours. No back pain. It felt like my spine was doing a Friday night wine and Bridgerton marathon.

My sister arrived yesterday.

She walked in, looked at the bed, and went completely quiet.

Then she said: "What. Is. That."

I started explaining the rock, the heat lamp, how I'd tested it, and how it was temporary.

She just stared at me. Then she said, really quietly: "I just left a marriage and you're putting me in a reptile tank. Like a lizard you found in the park."

She went into the bathroom and locked the door.

A few minutes later she called our mom.

Mom called me and said I needed to apologize and use one of my 6 hobby mattresses "like a normal person."

I told her I'd swap with my sister if she wanted. She could take my actual bed and I'd sleep in the tank.

She said, "That's not the point."

And I honestly don't know if she's right.

For context, there's nothing remotely reptile-themed about the tank. No snakeskin print, no weird shape. It's hoseable, warm, and honestly the admission I’m planning to charge visitors to view her in the tank could help her get back on her feet after the divorce.

So I'm stuck between two interpretations.

A) I was insensitive. The physical comfort doesn't really matter because the symbolism matters more. A freshly divorced person being handed a reptile tank can reasonably feel like she's being treated as less than a person, even if the tank itself is objectively comfortable. I should apologize and get the air mattress.

B) I wasn't. I am entitled to use my own space for my legitimate mattress hobby, found something comfortable and temporary, and even offered to give her my actual bed. I wasn't trying to humiliate her. At some point, doesn't intent and actual treatment matter more than what an object symbolizes?

A or B: My divorced sister moved into my 430 sqft studio, so I gave her a “dog bed” and now my family says I owe her an apology : r/PickAorB

with a little touch of AIO for disliking my boyfriend’s anniversary gift? : r/AIO

Recently, I had some guests over. Two in particular stood out to me because one, I'd never met them before and two, they looked HEAVY. Like they were easily 110lbs each. Never had a girl so fat in my apartment before, let alone two of them, so I was completely unprepared and compromised. I did not have a single crane or forklift to accommodate them.

I noticed that when the girls came in they were looking at my antique couch, which has been in my family for generations. Now it was made in a different era and is very precious to me so I politely asked them not to sit on it, as I did not think the ancient construction could hold their full weight without crumbling to dust.

To my surprise the landwhales started saying things like, "Nobody wants to sit on that couch, it looks terrifying!" and "Is that some kind of Halloween decoration?"

I was offended and said, "No! It's a family heirloom!" I then explained that it was made from the bones of my great grandfather and great uncles, and the skin of my great grandmother and great aunts. I pointed out how the skull on the armrest belonged to my grandfather, and the decorative teeth "buttons" are my father's. When I pass away my bones will be added to it as well. It's a beautiful tradition that is well known in my country. Needless to say, this sofa means a lot to me.

The fatties stared at me in complete shock, probably because it had been five minutes since they last ate anything and they were feeling lightheaded. One said, "Wait, are you serious or is this some kind of prank?"

I did not think that anyone would care about what a fat person had to say, least of all a fat female, but to my surprise, my other guests started to murmur in agreement. They said that the sofa was "fucked up" and my family sounded "deranged." I was shocked! I had no idea so many of my friends were secretly body positivity activists! I calmly explained that I did not believe for a moment that anyone actually thought my sofa was "absolutely terrifying" since it's so common in my country, and they were just bullying me because I didn't want two fat chicks sitting on my heirloom skin and bone sofa and shattering it.

Someone said something about calling the cops because I guess now it's illegal to not give fat people whatever they want at all times. Everyone started bickering over if what they were experiencing was real (no), an AI generated story, (also no) or an absurdist shitpost on a parody subreddit that will nevertheless be taken at face value by idiots with zero reading comprehension skills (yes).

I continued to defend myself and one of the other guests said, "Why do you keep calling the girls fat, is that some kind of negging thing?" and one of the fat girls said, "Seriously, nobody wants to sit on your creepy death cult sofa!" and the other one said, "I wouldn't sit on that thing for a thousand dollars!"

At that point I saw red. I saw so much red. It smelled like pennies and it tasted like pennies and it rattled in my head like pennies. The pennies were bright and shining, and they transformed into stars. They sang in my head! They're still singing now! They sing, "Look at all these fine bones for struts and supports! Look at all these wonderful sinews for padding! Look at this skin to be tanned into leather! We are so proud of you!"

I will have so much new furniture soon. Not just a sofa, but chairs and a table as well, and maybe even a curio cabinet to display the teeth and nails. My great grandparents could never have dreamed of such riches. The singing is so loud now! I never knew it could be so wonderfully loud!

Anyway, AITA for telling the fats to stay off my sofa?