There are plenty of these tropes—and not just in American detective stories and action movies. Productions sometimes display staggering idiocy too—but I’ve picked out five that simply make me laugh.

1. The hero is a loser who’s been fired or demoted. His wife has left him. He’s drinking himself to death. He’s a psychopath. A total piece of work. Yet, we’re shown this pathetic specimen suddenly pulling off twenty-six heroic feats in a row, taking out every single villain. It seems the screenwriters are drinking themselves to death, too.

2. The hero invariably keeps a stash of newspaper clippings in a special drawer. Close-ups of the headlines: «Horrific Murder in the Bronx,» «Mysterious Disappearance,» «God Knows What Happened, But Let’s Make the Audience Worry.» He holds onto these clippings and hauls them around his whole life; he has absolutely no other treasures.

3. The hero learns the most important information from the TV. He walks into a bar to down a whiskey with his last few bucks, and behold!—the TV announces the very news the plot hinges on. The news anchor might as well be looking right at the hero and saying, «Oh, you made it? Here’s a news item just for you!» All the other characters—the bad guys included—find everything out from the TV too, like the fact that they’re wanted by the police and need to get out of town. It’s nothing but television.

4. The hero suddenly discovers he has a long-lost child or an elderly father—someone he hasn’t spoken to in years. The dad is handy for the finale, of course: the hero gives him a hug and realizes the value of family. And the kid is a total gem, because he’s convenient for the bad guy to take hostage (having obviously learned the address from TV)—allowing the hero not only to realize the value of family but also to articulate it to the child: «I’ve wronged your mother, your grandmother, and your dog; and I’m also guilty of spouting all this crap instead of just putting a bullet in the screenwriter.»

5. A mini psychoanalysis session. It invariably features the line: «You know what your problem is?» Usually, the bad guy delivers this while the good guy is bleeding out with a gun pointed at his face. The bad guy then identifies the problem—typically some utter nonsense like «You love your job too much, John»—but the scene simply wouldn't work without that «problem.» I feel the problem should be something like: «You kept those newspaper clippings too carefully, John.» That alone should be enough for the hero to pull himself together and kill the bad guy, avenging the desecrated newspaper clippings.

What’s the first thing to do after losing your virginity? That’s right: brag to your best friend. I went over to her place and told her everything in detail—from the foreplay my boyfriend tenderly lavished on me to our attempts to inject some passion into the actual deflowering. The story got us both so worked up that we started hugging, and the whole thing turned into a six-hour marathon in bed that lasted until dawn. It’s been nearly five years since then, and my memories of losing my virginity aren't linked to the boyfriend, but to my friend. I still think back to that night and wonder if I’ll ever have sex with that level of sincerity and mutual connection again.

* * *

To each their own… I had a dream last night that a dog was fucking me. It was awful… but in the dream, it felt good—almost to the point of orgasm. I’ve only watched bestiality porn once or twice in my life; I stumbled upon it by accident on the internet ages ago. In real life, I’ve never had—and hopefully never will have—desires like that :D

* * *

I’m a girl, and I love porn. During sex, I always imagine how I look from the outside—with a cock in my mouth, in the doggy-style position, or with semen on my chest. That «director’s eye» perspective really turns me on. Plus, you can always adjust your pose to make it look more aesthetic.

* * *

There have been plenty of times when I was masturbating and got that coveted «What are you up to?» message in my private chats. Naturally, my reply contains anything *but* the truth. But it makes me damn curious: how many times have I been an unwitting accomplice to someone else’s pleasurable activity without even realizing it?

* * *

Do you know what sexual hopelessness feels like? It’s when you’re used to masturbating by stimulating your clitoris while squeezing your legs together. I don't experience vaginal orgasms; I tried using my fingers during sex but realized I couldn't replicate what I do when I'm alone—and consequently, I couldn't climax. The medical term for this situation is «sexual solitude.» It’s incredibly frustrating, and it’s impossible to unlearn the habit now. Ladies, don't do this—you end up developing a conditioned reflex.

* * *

Before giving my first blowjob, I thought it was disgusting, gross—just totally yuck. But now, I can’t even imagine a morning or evening without giving one. The feeling of him trusting you with such an important part of himself makes you fall even more in love. And that moment when he holds my hand or places his hands on my head… mmm, it just blows my mind. There’s no feeling more arousing than that!

* * *

My ex was a sick bastard… He’d ask me not to wash up before oral sex, and he wouldn't wash his own cock either—it turned him on. He wanted me to pee on him and into his mouth. After he came inside me, he liked to gather it all up with his mouth and transfer it to me so I’d swallow it. He even asked me to take a shit during sex once (though I never actually worked up the nerve for that). He came up with all sorts of other stuff, too… Anyway, I loved him madly, so I did it all… Then he left me—even though we had a child together—and now he’s on his own. I wonder if he’ll ever find someone else willing to do the same things just out of love for him.

* * *

I used to love doggy style in all its variations, but then I started seeing an older man. He doesn't like that position; he thinks it’s «con-style» (like something you’d do in prison). At first, I thought, «Well, shit, that’s a bummer.» But it turned out to be a good thing—I climax like crazy in the missionary position because he moves just right; it feels amazing inside *and* puts pressure on my clitoris. Every time, I’m on the verge of tears because the sensation is so good. Plus, he doesn't just spin me around the bed on his dick—pardon the expression.

* * *

I have a wild craving for sex with a woodcarver. I just imagine: if he can create such masterpieces out of wood, what could he do to me with those hands?

I don't understand how this is possible. I watched Michael Jackson die, Maradona die, Pele die, Queen Elizabeth die. I watched three popes pass away. I lived through a pandemic, I saw the internet begin. I watched CDs give way to Spotify, DVDs give way to Netflix, landlines give way to iPhones. And I'm witnessing the rise of AI. And I'm only 30 years old.

I started seeing an interesting man. Things eventually led to sex. After some intense foreplay, I was lying naked beneath him. He kissed my lips and started moving lower. I thought I was about to get some amazing cunnilingus. He kisses my neck, chest, and stomach, and then—skipping the «right» spot—starts kissing my knees, moves even lower, and begins frantically sucking on my toes. After three minutes of sex, he has an explosive orgasm, and that’s it… That was the last evening we spent together.

A friend of mine has a neighbor in the village who needed to saw some firewood. He borrowed a circular saw, but while he was working, he lost consciousness. He fell stomach-first right onto the saw—there was blood everywhere, screaming relatives and neighbors, the whole chaotic scene. By some miracle, the guy was patched up and saved; he’s still alive today, though he has a huge scar on his stomach.

Being a bold young woman, I decided to study a field that wasn't exactly «feminine.» One of our subjects was «Metals and Alloys.» The professor was a lecherous old geezer. During one class, we were learning to weld. I was standing there in full welding gear: a black mask with a small dark visor on my face and an electrode holder in my hand. Who would have thought that my appearance would turn him on so much? He came up from behind and started groping my ass with one hand while trying to slip the other under my protective clothing to get to my skin. I tossed aside the welding gear, kicked him hard in the balls, and smashed my mask right into his brazen mug! He couldn't straighten up for ten minutes. There was a confrontation. The rector got involved. They started drawing up expulsion papers. After all, who would they believe—me or him? Him, of course. But at the very last moment, a classmate burst into my dorm room: «I've got something for you!» He showed me a video where… That old geezer’s harassment was clearly caught on camera. He’d wanted to film me screwing up and failing to handle the welding machine just for a laugh, but in the end, he actually saved me. The instructor got fired, and I’ve become something of a legend.

Back in September, I met a really beautiful, sexy woman in an online game. We started messaging on Instagram, and a week later—once she found out the size of my «little rascal»—she suggested we see how I performed in the bedroom. I drove to her city for five days, and things got pretty hot every single night. Now, she flies in to see me once a month for a day, and we spend the whole time doing that wonderful thing… I’m 28 and she’s 34; I’ve never had a woman this hot in my life!

A woman lived in a one-room apartment in our building's entryway. She’d inherited the place from her elderly parents long ago, but after their funerals, she suffered deeply and—without even realizing it—sank into alcoholism. She didn't work; instead, she’d hang out with the local drunks, swilling moonshine. Unlike them, she didn't beg, but she absolutely loved animals. She’d take in every stray cat she found and keep them in her apartment. No one knew where she got the money, but the smell of boiled meat often wafted from her window, and she clearly fed the cats something. A neighbor got fed up with the constant stench of cat filth and went over to confront the woman. She walked in and found her devouring a boiled cat; there was a pile of bones and rotting pelts in the corner, and about twenty cats were yowling around her, begging for food.

Back in school, during our safety class, they taught us how to stop bleeding, but I didn't pay attention and just did my own thing. Then, one day while walking down the street, I witnessed an accident where one of the victims suffered arterial bleeding. Blood was spurting out like a fountain; I just stood there watching, unable to do anything but call an ambulance. But they didn't make it in time. I later found out the man who died had a wife and a four-year-old daughter. I still can't forgive myself for it.

There’s a colleague at the office who walks without lifting her feet—she shuffles loudly enough for the whole place to hear. You can hear her coming from a mile away. On top of that, she sighs heavily, acting as if she’s being forced to haul heavy sacks. She stomps and shuffles back and forth in her slippers like a lumbering elephant, annoying absolutely everyone. I politely asked her not to do it—it’s loud and infuriating. She ignored me. I gave her a car jack for her birthday. She had gotten on everyone’s nerves so much that the whole office chipped in and sent money to my card with comments like «Thanks,» «Hilarious,» and «Finally!»

My brother took out a loan to impress a girl he’s liked for a long time; he took her to restaurants, bought her gifts, and even took her on a seaside vacation. But once the money ran out, she stopped answering his calls. She never promised him anything—they weren't even dating—she just accepted his courtship. Now he’s asking for help with the loan; he’s barely scraping by, and Mom is in tears. Look, I’d happily lend the money, but I refuse to pay off such a shameful loan—he needs to learn a life lesson. Now Mom hates me; it’s both funny and sad.

I love sex. In any form, and in large quantities. I’m 27, single, not ugly, and can hold a conversation. But lately, I keep running into men who *don't* want sex!!! Even the married ones prefer going to the movies with me rather than giving me a good pounding at my place—anytime! What the hell??? My girlfriends have the exact opposite problem: they want relationships, but men only offer them sex!

I’ve noticed a pattern regarding men's bodies. A man’s penis is shaped just like his fingers. For instance, if the fingers are thick at the base and taper toward the tips, the penis is the same way—with a small, narrow head. Conversely, if the fingers widen towards the tips (say, with spade-shaped nails), then the penis is narrow at the base while the head is wider—or even larger. And naturally, if the fingers are thick, it’s thick; if they’re slender, it’s slender. The resemblance is especially striking with the thumb ;) I haven’t seen that many penises, mind you!

After sex, I went to the bathroom to freshen up my pussy. Since there was no hot water, I grabbed the electric kettle, thinking, «Ooh, nice and warm.» I sat down, spread my legs, and poured the water—only to scream in agony right down there! It felt like red-hot iron! Then it hit me: an hour earlier, I’d put descaler in the kettle! I called my boyfriend over and asked him to check if my pussy was still there or if it had dissolved. It turned out fine—it did a great job removing the limescale, and I didn't even get burned.

I came home pretty drunk after a work party; my wife was in the kitchen with some girlfriends, chatting about life. I walked in, said hello, and told them I was heading to bed; I stripped naked, turned off the lights, and got into bed. Half-asleep, I heard the door open as my wife tiptoed in with three girlfriends, all of them giggling softly. My wife whispered, «He's passed out—we can do it now!» She pulled the covers off me and started caressing my cock, while her friends gasped and marveled at it. It really stroked my ego. I adore her.

Other Trash Stories

I had a dream where Hercule Poirot was performing cunnilingus on me, and I couldn't stop laughing because I kept seeing his waxed mustache. I kept giggling and couldn't relax. He kept glancing at me angrily, but I just kept laughing. My husband woke me up and kept pestering me about what I’d been dreaming, but I was too embarrassed to tell him.

Once, while chatting with some girlfriends, we got onto the topic of how embarrassing it is to poop away from home. Well, one friend declared: «I absolutely cannot poop anywhere except at home.» She ended up in the hospital and didn't have a bowel movement for a whole WEEK just so no one would hear her fart. She described the sensation like this: at first, it was really uncomfortable, but eventually, the urge just went away. I managed to hold it in until I got home and finally dropped a week's worth of poop with a clear conscience. I’m still amazed her ass didn't tear open.

I accidentally found a vibrator in my grandma's nightstand. She’s 70. On one hand, I’m happy for her; on the other, it feels a bit weird.

Everyone knows about double penetration, but few have heard of double cunnilingus. My dorm roommate was a girl with a high libido and a vivid imagination. As it happened, both I and another guy we lived with wanted her. To avoid hurting anyone's feelings, we took turns sleeping with her. Things were going well until she said, «It's either double cunnilingus or I'm moving out.» We agreed. It was a strange experience—one moment I was licking her clit, the next he was...

How being late can change your destiny. I’ve been dating a guy for six months; he’s affectionate, gentle, and fun. We decided to spend our vacation together to enjoy some quality time and nature. I stopped by a travel agency to pick up our trip vouchers. I got held up a bit while finalizing the paperwork—the first time I’d ever been late for a date. Breathless, I rushed to the meeting spot, eager to see my boyfriend, only to see an ambulance driving away. He was nowhere to be found; there was a bouquet of white roses and blood on the pavement. I overheard two police officers talking: «He showed up for a date, then a car hit him—killed instantly.» My vision went dark, my legs gave way, and I sank to the ground. Strong hands caught me and helped me stand up. It was my  boyfriend! Tears streamed down my face, smudging my mascara. He was alive—he’d just been a little late—while the guy who died was someone else, someone whose date would never show up...

I really wanted to try rimming a guy. After a lot of persuasion, he agreed. And it was absolutely disgusting!!! But I was too embarrassed to tell him. Yet, he ended up liking it and is asking for more. FUCK.

Once again, I realized I want to be a man. Men can cheat—«it's just nature»; masturbation, blowjobs, and strip clubs—«that's not cheating»; they can scratch their balls anywhere, go shirtless in the heat, flirt with acquaintances without risking a «slut» reputation, fuck whenever they want without being tied to a cycle, and not shave if they don't feel like it. They don't need to get all dolled up before going out, among many other things simply unavailable to women. It's a man's world.

My internet started lagging one day. I checked everything and found out a neighbor—who had turned down my request for a date—was stealing my Wi-Fi. I changed the password, and the next day she came over: «Could I use the Wi-Fi a bit?» «And what are you willing to do for that?» She thought about it: «Would a kiss on the cheek work?» It would. A couple of days later, I changed the password again and asked her to go on a date with me in exchange for access. We had such a great time that I walked her back to my place instead of hers. She lives with me now, but I still change the password sometimes if I want something spicy from her in return.

Many people are familiar with the habit of keeping one's hands busy while talking on the phone (doodling on paper, fidgeting with small objects, etc.). Slip your cock to your girlfriend while she’s on the phone, and she’ll definitely start jerking it off. It worked with mine.

I want to address the husbands and boyfriends of women who teach at schools or universities—specifically the young female teachers, because they are the biggest bitches imaginable. Could you please fuck them? Like, really fuck them—fuck the demons right out of them. I’m a first-year student myself, and sometimes *I* want to fuck my professors because it’s obvious the men in their lives aren't getting the job done; I want to do a service—not just for you guys, but for the students, too. If your ladies act like sweethearts at home, I suggest sitting in on one of their classes to see what I mean. You’ll be shocked at what a total bitch your darling little «home kitty» can turn out to be.

What I want most of all is to turn back time. I used to be an athlete—handsome and fit. I studied at a top university in the capital. I spoke two foreign languages ​​and played musical instruments. And most importantly, I had the feeling that something great lay ahead for me. Well, something *did* lie ahead. Fifteen years later, I’m a depressed recluse, obese, and earning a below-average salary. I have no relationships. My diploma is gathering dust in a drawer. I failed to make all the right decisions when I should have. Now, I live in a state of apathy and regret over the past.

When I was six, I took a deep whiff of my own shit and threw up violently. My mother scooped me up and rushed me to the hospital, thinking I was sick. We sat in line for half the day, ran some tests, and went home. Because of all that, I missed my cousin’s birthday party—an event I’d been looking forward to for ages because they always served amazing cakes. I still regret missing it, even though thirty-six years have passed.

A friend of mine is pushing forty. He’s still unmarried and has a massive complex about it. He frequently falls into bouts of depression and searches for a wife with manic persistence. But in reality, his search always ends with him bedding total bitches and gold-diggers who care only about his money and fame, not him. It makes me wonder: is he just an idiot, or is he pretending to want a family so he can sleep around with impunity—only to look at them with puppy-dog eyes later and say, «But I thought we’d be together...»?

Other Trash Stories

Why is the birth rate falling? Where do so many divorces come from? Why do over 40% of children live in single-parent families without fathers? There are many reasons, and here is one of them...

Men are being taken for suckers via the civil registry office; this is from a private facebook group that teaches young women how to handle men. This has long since become a routine operation...

Let me explain the simplest scheme.

So, I’m a woman. I meet a man who has a house, a car, and pre-marital savings. I have nothing. But he enters into a marriage contract with me without giving it much thought. What’s my plan of action?

First, I need to make the house marital property. I convince the man that we need a new house in a different neighborhood—one with better clinics, schools, and infrastructure.

I argue that we’ll be raising children there in the future and definitely need a larger place, since we want a big family.

My husband sells his pre-marital house and buys a larger one, putting his pre-marital funds into the upgrades. Congratulations. We’ve accomplished step one: the house is now subject to division, and the money that previously wasn't subject to division now is, too—it’s tied up in the house.

Step two.

The car. I convince my husband that his car is old and we need a newer one; after all, we don't want to put the kids in danger if the old one breaks down, and we need something more spacious—we have to haul strollers around, too.

My husband sells his car and buys a new one, adding in his remaining pre-marital savings. Good. The car is now subject to division as well, and all those pre-marital funds have been converted into marital assets. Any money earned from this point on will also be subject to division. Three points checked off. But wait—we’d only get half, right?

Now, we have a child.

One is enough.

Three years of maternity leave. I’m being supported, I don’t have to work, the renovations are done exactly how I wanted, and we’re living in a house in a neighborhood that’s convenient for me—close to the kindergarten, school, and clinic; everything is just right. The child starts kindergarten. I can go back to work; it’s time to wrap up the plan. I find out that, during my three years of maternity leave, my husband has saved up a new sum of money—an amount that suits me.

I file for divorce.

I’m entitled to 50% of the house. But, since I..." There is a child registered in the house, and by law, custody of a child under 14 is awarded to me; consequently, his share of the property effectively remains with me as well. I already own a 75% share of the house. The judge suggests that my husband gift his 25% share for the sake of the child. If my husband is a fool, he’ll do it. But even if he doesn't, the court might order me to pay him for that 25% share at a reduced price. I would agree to that, because by paying for 25% I effectively acquire the other 75% for free—in essence, I’d be buying the house for 25% of its real value, and at a discount to boot.

I also end up with 50% of the car, having insisted in court that I need it to drive the child to kindergarten and for family errands. The court either awards the car entirely to me or—just like with the apartment—requires me to pay for my husband's half.

I take out a loan—either myself (leveraging the good credit history I built up over the years using the credit card my husband always paid off) or through friends or family. I use it to buy out 25% of the house and 50% of the car. Then, after the divorce, I pay off the loan using the money I received from my husband's share of the assets.

I buy champagne.

So, here is the bottom line:

I have a child; I am a mother—that box is ticked.

I receive alimony for myself as a divorced mother, plus child support—meaning passive income for the next 10+ years.

I acquired the house for 25% of its value (or essentially for free)—box ticked.

I got the car for free (or for 50% of its value)—box ticked.

I paid off all my loans using the money won from my husband in court and am debt-free—box ticked.

I have a house in a good neighborhood, a car, a child, and no debt. I did a great job. The «business venture» was a success. «Now one can look for the next man—this time, for the soul...»

Now, consider why women are so unhappy that men don't want to get involved with them. Men realize they can easily be dumped, and the person doing the dumping faces no negative consequences—in fact, she comes out ahead! Nowadays, a huge number of women are simply not fit for family life.

They are incapable of building a real family—one where partners stay together through thick and thin, through riches and poverty, in sickness and in health, supporting one another.

Everyone is happy to share the good times—the health and wealth—but the moment trials arise, they immediately run off to find a «real man.»

Men are treated in a purely transactional and functional way—like bio-robots who owe everyone everything—without anyone seeing the person beneath… The institution of the family has collapsed, and this is one of the reasons for the declining birth rate.

A healthy family is like a team of two climbers making an ascent: both are climbing upward, supporting and belaying each other. That is the only way it works. But when one climber hangs around the other's neck—constantly blaming, criticizing, causing scenes and stress, draining the other spiritually and physically, contributing nothing, complaining, playing the victim, and remaining perpetually dissatisfied—what is the point of such a partner?

1. I realized this while camping. A girl I was with was afraid to park her car on the grass; she thought the grass would grow, puncture the tires, and cause them to go flat.

2. My husband thought that people whistled when setting off fireworks. He didn't realize the sound was actually produced by the fireworks themselves. Well, it’s a harmless bit of silliness.

3. A girl I dated in college broke my laptop while trying to insert a flash drive into the USB port. The drive wouldn't fit, but instead of flipping it over, she just pushed harder, damaging both the port and the motherboard.

4. I brought home some fresh broccoli, and my husband asked why I’d bought such a huge head instead of the usual, smaller kind. He thought broccoli actually grew as tiny, bite-sized florets.

5. He believed potatoes never went bad; his mom always kept a whole sack in the pantry. I asked if they ate a lot of potatoes, and he said yes. He came from a large family—his parents had six kids—yet the connection still didn't click for him.

6. My husband was convinced that bees and wasps were the same insect, just at different times of the year—that bees turned into wasps over the summer. I love him, but… HOW?

7. A girl I dated claimed that Spain was part of Latin America. When I pointed out that Spain is in Europe, she insisted she was right and even said she was studying Latin America, so I was definitely mistaken.

8. I love my wife, but South Dakota is not located north of North Dakota.

9. My (now ex-) husband genuinely believed that a hysterectomy was the removal of the vagina, not the uterus. He was very puzzled about how women peed after that. During our conversation, it also turned out he thought that after the surgery, everything down there became smooth, like a Barbie doll's.

10. We had a girl at work who kept faxing the same document over and over again. The recipient even called to ask her to stop; she replied that it wasn't working—no matter what she did, the document kept coming back out of the fax machine...

11. My husband stopped by a Dollar General discount store to get toilet paper. We only had fifty dollars left to last us the week. And this man bought forty dollars' worth of mango juice because—wouldn't you know it—it was on sale… But he never actually bought the toilet paper. We drank the juice, of course, but I was furious.

12. I once mentioned that I’d gotten my period, and a guy asked me what my favorite tampon flavor was. He actually thought tampons came in different-colored packages because they had different flavors—that the flavorings would absorb into the bloodstream during use and I’d be able to taste them. I have no idea where he got that idea.

13. After our dog had her puppies, we took her in to be spayed. My boyfriend saw a note in her medical record and got upset: he thought the entry «postpartum period» meant our dog was depressed.

14. My wife often made snide remarks about a man who went through women like socks. One day, we saw him with a child, and she quipped: «I bet he doesn't even know who the mother is.»

15. My partner was grumbling and groaning by the trash can: «We need to buy new trash bags; these ones don't fit at all.» I looked over and saw he was holding a roll of small black dog-waste bags; he’d unrolled one and couldn't figure out why it wouldn't fit. We had regular trash bags, too—he’d just grabbed the wrong ones and was trying every which way to make the tiny bag work, but nothing was happening. And how could it, when the trash can was about fifty times the size of that little bag?

16. We’d only been dating for a couple of months at the time. My husband (then just my boyfriend) was watching me cook. The frying pan was a bit warped and wobbly, so I shoved a plastic spatula underneath to level it out. Yes, right between the pan and the hot stove. Naturally, the spatula started to melt. His first thought was: «I’m dating a total moron.» And I don't blame him. We did get married eventually, but now he’s the only one who cooks.

17. My husband wasn't feeling well and started Googling his symptoms. He was sitting there reading when he suddenly turned to me in horror: «I think I have preeclampsia!» (a pathological condition occurring in the second half of pregnancy).

18. Every time we went out, he’d tell the exact same joke to the exact same people. It hadn't been funny the first time, either.

19. During our first long road trip, my girlfriend (now my wife) and I were driving when I got tired and asked her to switch places with me. She got behind the wheel and said, «Don't worry… but remind me, which pedal is the gas and which is the brake?» I sent her right back to the passenger seat and drove the rest of the way myself.

20. I really love my girlfriend, but… she thought that if she got a tattoo, her baby would be born with the exact same tattoo in the exact same spot...

Why are you sad, my darling? Why are you hurting, my dear? Why are you so downcast again? What are you always—you cunt—unhappy about? Remember all the plush gifts I brought you in bright little bags? Remember how I fed you sushi at the sushi bar? Darling, don't cry! For God's sake, don't cry! That gloomy mug of yours upsets me. I didn't meet anyone else for six months—I was like Santa Claus to you! Didn't we sit at McDonald's? Didn't we go to Coffee House?! I really didn't meet anyone else; I showed up for dates with tulips! And you, you bitch, you ruin these performances with your fucking tears. Darling, don't cry! For God's sake, don't cry! That gloomy mug of yours upsets me. And the weather is sad. Rain is spattering the glass, and your stupid mug is all tear-stained to hell...

© Mikhail Elizarov

It's a friend's birthday. He doesn't drink alcohol. I decided to congratulate him, like, here are some candies to seduce women and condoms to avoid the consequences. At the store, I put a box of candies and condoms at the checkout.

The cashier winked:

— Maybe you'd like some champagne?

I:

— No, thank you, he doesn't drink...

Cashier: 

When we were coming up in the 2000s, you’d see these people on screen — celebrities, massive stars, household names -  pulling in millions. You figured they were set for life. They had the mansions, the entourage, the ridiculous excess, planes and you honestly thought they were untouchable.

Then you hit 2026 and see them popping up in some soul-crushing, 30-second spot for a predatory payday lender or some bottom-tier, fly-by-night company that you know is a scam. Or a dumb ass casino app. It’s impossible not to look at that and think, «Damn, they actually hit rock bottom.» They burned through every cent of that fortune, and now they’re hawking garbage just to keep the lights on. It’s not just a career shift; it’s a humiliating, pathetic freefall from grace. The «extras» used to be the ones you didn't notice, but seeing a former icon reduced to a commercial shill for the cheapest companies on Earth? That’s the real tragedy.