There are seven people in our department, three of whom are Gen Z. They all started with zero experience but picked up the job quickly. They perform just as well as their senior colleagues. They learn fast and have a shit-ton of energy. They’re happy to take on new projects and even pitch sensible ideas. Overtime? No problem. Weekend shifts? A piece of cake. And you know why? We pay overtime exactly as the Labor Code requires, offer extra pay for projects and bonuses for implemented ideas, and have a KPI system in place.

Employers are used to Millennials breaking their backs for the sake of «the mission,» whereas Gen Z—like normal people—work for money. Offer decent financial incentives, and everyone will work great, regardless of age.

Are you lonely? Do you know how many cults there are in the world and how many followers they have? And new ones are constantly popping up! Think about it: there are so many dumb fucks on the planet, they sign them up for all sorts of bullshit, and you can't find a couple of them and talk one into friendship and the other into sex, it's fucking shame.

There was this guy on 𝕏 who sent me flowers every week for a while.

About a month ago, we met in person for the first time and went to dinner. Then he asked me out again. I thanked him and honestly told him that I didn't think we were a good fit for each other in the long run and that we shouldn't continue.

Since then he has never sent me flowers.

It's always helpful to get a chance to see a person's true character when they stop thinking they can get what they want from you.

After all, someone who truly cares about your happiness would continue to send flowers.

«The world used to be run by smart people. It was cruel. The smart people forced the dumb people to study. It was hard for the dumb people. Now the world is run by dumb people. It's fair, because there are far more dumb people. Now the smart people learn to speak in a way that dumb people can understand. If a dumb person doesn't understand something, it's the smart people's problem.»

Before, it was the stupid who suffered. Now it's the smart who suffer. There's less suffering because there are fewer and fewer smart people."

In a zombie apocalypse, the first thing you need to do is run to the sports store and grab all the protein!

Firstly, who knows how long it lasts.

Secondly, in a post-apocalyptic world, protein is in short supply, and protein doesn't make you hungry for a long time.

Thirdly, protein powder jars are big, so you can store anything in them. Or you can cut holes in them and wear them on your hands and head for protection!

I understand, the idea is brilliant, but I'm shocked myself.

I've manipulated my husband by strategically sleeping with him for more than 20 years

I've been married for going on 30 years. Many, many years ago I realized that on the weekends if I got up in the morning and did whatever I needed to do (made breakfast, took care of kids, cleaned, etc) my husband would just stay in bed all day and watch TV. If I wanted to take the kids somewhere, or suggested we go shopping or hiking or hang out with friends or literally anything, my husband would say he's worked hard all week and he wants to just relax, so we'd do nothing all weekend long. BUT if I started the morning by sleeping with him, shortly after we were done he'd get up and take a shower and be ready to go conquer the world.

So if I want to have a lazy day at home, I get up and do whatever I want. But if I want to go do something, I sleep with him first thing in the morning. I know I'm intentionally manipulating him, and I don't actually care because I feel like he's getting what he wants, and so am I.

About two years ago, I said hello to some guy at the gym by mistake. He said hello back, and that was it, there was no turning back.

We've been saying hello every time we meet for two years now. I have no idea who he is, what his name is, or how we supposedly know each other. I think he knows about the same about me.

But it’s too late to end it, we have a very long and serious relationship.

A man who had decided to get married spent a long time thinking about which of the three women in love with him he should choose as his wife. He decided to give each of them $5,000 to see how they would handle the money.

The first woman bought expensive clothes and top-quality cosmetics, visited an upscale beauty salon—in short, she did everything to look perfect—and said, «I love you so much, and I want everyone to know that you have the most beautiful wife in town.»

The second woman spent all the money on her prospective husband, buying him new suits, shirts, and car tools, and said, «You are the most important thing to me, so I spent all the money on you.»

The third woman invested the $5,000, earned another $5,000, and returned the full amount to the man: «I love you very much. I did this so you would realize that I am smart and not wasteful.»

The man thought it over—and married the one with the biggest breasts.

If you don’t like one of your girlfriend’s friends, here’s what to do:

1. Periodically ask how she’s doing.

2. Casually remark that «her friend looks great lately.»

3. Show keen interest in every conversation.

A couple of months later, that friendship will have vanished into thin air. Done—you’re brilliant.

Back in my school days, I had a female friend. Everyone except me used to torment her—they’d even beat her up sometimes—and no matter how hard we tried, we couldn't keep those cruel teenagers away from her. Around seventh grade, she got a severe beating; it was terrifying just to look at her, and she ended up in the hospital. After she was discharged, she didn't come back to school for another month. In eighth grade, she vanished. Completely. The police were called, and the whole area was searched, but nothing turned up. Two days later, a classmate disappeared—the very guy who had beaten her half to death. It took a month to find the girl; she was hiding in an abandoned hunting lodge in the woods. She had ambushed the guy outside his home one evening, struck him on the head with a baseball bat, dragged him into the forest, and spent that whole time eating his corpse.

I graduated from college last year. My girlfriend and I started living together and renting an apartment. She’s finishing up university, and she doesn't have any family in the city. It turned out my salary wasn't enough for food or clothes, let alone movies, sushi, or gifts for my girlfriend. I started doing odd jobs as a handyman—it brought in a little extra cash. One woman—very wealthy and striking—offered to pay me for cunnilingus. I refused and ran off. My girlfriend nags me about the lack of money, but the thought of that lady’s old, graying pubic area makes me want to puke.

I experienced my first orgasm while riding a horse. Actually, probably the first twenty of them. I wasn't a virgin, but I didn't yet understand what was happening to me. You’re riding bareback, and suddenly a wave washes over you… It relaxes you so much… you almost fall off. Later, it started happening with my boyfriend, too. I still work at the stables.

I work as a bricklayer on construction sites; all sorts of things happen there. We once had a guy working as a laborer in our crew—a low-key junkie, skinny as a rail, but he could actually work when he wasn't passed out somewhere high on drugs. One time, we were heading down from the third floor for lunch, but the junkie got stuck on the second floor. We were sick of waiting, and he still hadn't shown up. I called out to him a couple of times; everyone was already cursing him out. Before we knew what was happening, he stepped right out the window. He landed on a pile of construction debris. We quickly rolled him onto his back—his eye was smashed to a pulp, his nose shattered, and blood was pouring from his mouth. He just managed to say something like, «So, wanna have a smoke, guys?» before passing out. The medics managed to revive him, but he only lasted another couple of hours. They said he didn't have long to live anyway; he was completely rotting from the inside out.

My wife and I were heading home after visiting some friends. She’d had a few drinks, but I was sober and driving. We decided to go to a hotel to spend some time alone together. Things got a bit adventurous, so we hired a male escort. We were looking forward to a threesome! A guy around 40 showed up. He banged my wife for four hours in every position imaginable. She was absolutely blown away by the double-teaming! It really spices things up.

There was a guy at my school with stretched earlobes (tunnels). One time, a classmate decided to mess around and shoved a pencil into the hole at full speed (what an idiot, honestly). The earlobe ended up tearing, and a piece of it got tossed up and stuck to the ceiling. It’s still hanging there to this day. You go back to the school five years later, and everything has changed—except for that «beauty» on the ceiling.

I can only have sex when I’m drunk. I’m 27, slim, educated, and beautiful; my life is great, except for the fact that I have absolutely zero sexual desire—for either men or women. I can only do it after consuming a massive amount of alcohol; otherwise, I just endure it. This was the case even in committed relationships, even though I really loved my partner. Psychologists are stumped: I never experienced physical abuse, I had a wonderful father, and I grew up in a stable family. I just don't know what to do...

I recently ran into my best friend; he’d been living in another city. We’d lost touch back in 9th grade. We bumped into each other by chance at a mall. I suggested we hang out, so we rented an apartment and started drinking. After a while, we called an escort—one to share between us. In the heat of the moment, I accidentally came on my buddy's face… He just left silently, taking the bottle of vodka with him—the bastard… Does this mean we’re gay now?

Here’s a life hack for dealing with cheating: cheat first. That way, if anything happens, at least I know I beat him to it.

In every relationship I’ve had—even when there was nothing to complain about—infidelity always came up. Even a man who loved me deeply went to visit his ex-wife and slept with her. So, I cheated on him with a childhood friend. We stayed together, though. But, of course, he doesn't know about my affair. If we ever split up, I’ll tell him—and make up—stories about another twenty men, just so he doesn’t think he’s the only one capable of that sort of thing.

My son was little, and we had no money. Our food supply consisted of five kilos of sugar, some grains, and flour. With my last few coins, I’d buy a bottle of milk, a loaf of bread, and ten eggs once a week. I’d fry up French toast for my son using the bread, milk, and sugar, or make fritters. A friend brought me a whole chicken, and later a colleague gave me a couple of jars of homemade canned meat. We survived; my son didn’t even notice we’d been living on the edge of starvation for three months. But ever since then, I’ve had a thing about stocking up. I always keep 5–10 kilos of grains and flour on hand, and the freezer is packed with meat and vegetables. Plus jams and preserves. That one experience was enough to teach me the lesson.

I’m a dwarf, and it always infuriated me that short characters in movies, TV shows, and books were always portrayed in a repulsive or comical light. Thank you to Tyrion Lannister for showing that, deep down, we too are brave warriors filled with a love for women and wine.

There was a time when my husband worked in another city on a rotational basis. During one of his visits home, I discovered an online correspondence he was having with various women from that city—exchanges along the lines of «Give me your number, let's meet up for a beer.» Naturally, I caused a massive scene, but he just stood there laughing! I nearly lost my mind with rage at such audacity, but it turned out he had found a way to make some extra cash: he’d find women online, charm them into giving up their phone numbers, and then sell those numbers to his colleagues. The guys were happy, he had beer money every night, and one of them even ended up moving in with one of the women. Still, I put a stop to his «lucrative business» anyway.

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