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The Gift Chapter 1. Spring Break Clark opened his eyes, and felt waves of pain through his head. He groaned and rolled over and felt a wave of nausea wash over him. Then he was hit with the realization that he couldn’t remember where he was or how he got there. He tried to take stock of his situation. Small insects crawled up his arms and legs, he was surrounded by small green plants and overhead a canopy of light green leaves, beyond that a blue sky, sun, but which sun? "Oh dear!" A voice, warm and inviting, cut through his haze. Clark squinted. A silver-haired woman in a sunflower-print dress hovered over him, her face creased with concern. Behind her stood a lanky man in a faded baseball cap, and baggy cargo shorts. “I’m, ummm. I need help,” Clark said. "Easy there, son," the man said, kneeling beside him with a grunt. His knees popped like bubble wrap. Up close, Clark could see the frayed stitching on his cap, the sunspots on his leathery neck. A retired human—or possibly a decaying biological android? Clark’s addled brain unhelpfully supplied. The woman Linda, her gardening gloves tucked into her dress pocket pressed a cold water bottle to his forehead. "You’re in Sycamore Park. Can you tell us your name?" Name. Right. Humans needed those. "Clark," he croaked. The water bottle crackled in his grip as he gulped. His throat burned like he’d swallowed a plasma coil. "I think I… overdid it last night." Jim snorted. "Spring break’ll do that. You college kids never learn." He eyed Clark’s rumpled clothes and frowned. "Where you stayin’? We’ll call you a cab." Clark’s fingers twitched toward his wrist communicator. Gone. Panic slithered up his spine. No tech, no memory, no way to signal his ship. Just these two soft-voiced creatures staring down at him with pity. Linda patted his shoulder. "Let’s get you out of the sun." Her palm was cool and dry, her wedding band worn thin. A lifetime of dishwashing, gardening, giving, this would make good material for his book, then it dawned on him, he was writing a travel book about Earth. As they helped him sit up, his vision cleared enough to notice the park around them: a laughing child chasing ducks, a couple pushing a stroller. Linda’s gaze lingered on the baby. Just a second too long. Clark patted his pockets, stupid human disguises with their useless seams and shook his head. "Must’ve lost it. Or got stolen. Last thing I remember is a karaoke bar and... something involving tequila and a dare about licking a battery." Linda tsked. "Lord, you kids." But her eyes crinkled with amusement. Jim just sighed like he’d heard this story before. Clark’s neural interface flickered weakly—still scrambled. He could’ve sworn his communicator was nearby, pulsing like a phantom limb. But the park’s oak trees and picnic blankets offered no gleaming alien tech, just the mundane magic of Earth: dandelion fluff, the sticky smell of sunscreen, Jim’s grip steadying his elbow. Linda was never one to turn down a challenge of finding lost objects and went to the base of the tree where Clark had been sitting. “She’s like a bloodhound Clark, if your phone is sitting around here, she’ll find it.” Jim said. Linda walked a search pattern around the tree and noticed a shinny silver bracelet in the grass near where Clark had been laying. “Well Clark, I don’t see a phone but is this yours?” she asked. Clark smiled and took the silver metal band from her. It looked like it sort of changed shape to wrap around his wrist. The Patton’s couldn’t keep up with all the technology these days. It immediately connected with his implants and rebooted them. “Oh, wow, that’s better thank you,” Clark said almost immediately, feeling better and speaking far more clearly. “I’d like to get to know my rescuers better. Please tell me Jim and Linda, what are you doing here in the park this morning?” Jim chuckled, scratching the back of his sun-freckled neck. "Same thing we do every morning, rain or shine. Walk the loop, feed the ducks, pretend we're not getting old." His voice dropped on the last word, eyes tracking a young father pushing his giggling daughter on the swings. Linda slipped her arm through Jim's, her thumb rubbing absent circles over his wrist. "Our doctor says it's good for our steps," she said brightly. Too brightly. Clark's implants registered the spike in her cortisol levels when Jim mentioned age. The communicator band hummed against Clark's skin, running diagnostics. At approximately 1:14 AM while at an establishment called “Skibidi,” he took a combination of chemicals that brought uncontrollable hallucinations. At 1:27 he was convinced by fellow revelers to lick a battery, the resulting shock disabled his implants. 2:13 AM while he was incapacitated against the tree a man rummaged through his pockets, finding nothing he forced the communicator off his wrist. The communicator administered a shock to the man and he dropped it there in the grass. Wow what a night. He tilted his head as new data scrolled across his vision. He silently commanded the bracelet to build a profile on the Pattons, he wanted to know the history of these people. "Jim!" Linda suddenly squeezed his arm. "Look, the Harrisons brought their grandson today." Her voice went soft as butter left in the sun. Near the duck pond, a toddler in overalls crouched to poke at dandelions, his bulging diaper making a quiet crinkling sound as he waddled. Jim's breathing changed. Clark's sensors picked up the increased pulse, the dilation of pupils. Something about observing the infant had affected Jim, "Real cute," Jim muttered, suddenly finding his shoelaces fascinating, but he quickly turned his attention back to Clark. “Oh, we’re just a couple of Florida retirees, nothing special.” Jim said. Clark’s bracelet pulsed softly against his wrist as it compiled the Pattons’ history. The data scrolled in his peripheral vision: Linda Marie Patton (née Whitaker), 68. Former elementary school teacher. Fertility treatments 1982-1987. Uterine scarring detected. James "Jim" Robert Patton, 71. Retired postal worker. Prescription for joint pain . Marital status: 45 years. No dependents. Nearest relatives: Mary Cockrum (Sister) Daniel Cockrum (nephew, ). Clark smiled, “Well today you’re my heroes, and I’d love to repay you for your kindness. Maybe buy you lunch?" He nodded toward the picnic area, where young families spread blankets under the oaks. "As thanks." Linda opened her mouth, to protest, no doubt but Jim’s stomach growled loud enough to startle a nearby pigeon. "Guess that’s our answer," Jim said, rubbing his belly. The way his eyes lingered on the ice cream stand’s Kiddie Cone sign didn’t escape Clark’s notice. His communicator informed him that their favorite restaurant was 2 blocks away. “How about the lunch at The Nook?” Clark asked. “Well that sounds great son, but we’ll pay, I mean you don’t even have a wallet do you?” Jim answered. “Oh, my bracelet is on the cloud, I can pay, no problem,” Clark replied. The Nook smelled of fried shrimp and lemon wedges a scent that made Jim's stomach growl again as they slid into the cracked vinyl booth. Linda automatically reached for the sanitizing wipes, scrubbing at the table's edge where some previous diner had left a sticky smear of ketchup. Clark watched her hands move in precise, practiced circles. Teacher habits, his bracelet noted. Compensatory nesting behavior. "Best hushpuppies in town," Jim said, tapping the plastic menu. His knee bounced under the table, making the silverware rattle. Clark's sensors picked up the elevated dopamine levels as Jim scanned the cartoonish kids' menu tucked behind the regular one. Linda sighed. "Jim, get the grouper like the doctor said. Your cholesterol?" "Spring break rules, Lin." Jim winked at Clark. "When a fella buys you lunch, you order the onion rings." The words came out lighter than his hunched shoulders suggested. A waitress arrived, her nametag reading Darla. "Y'all ready to Oh! Mr. and Mrs. Patton!" Her penciled eyebrows shot up. “You’ve got a friend today, is that wonderful nephew you’re always talking about? Linda stiffened. Jim's menu slipped from his fingers. THey had often complained to Darla about how useless their nephew was. Clark beamed. "No mam, I was struggling in the park after what you would call, heavy partying, and these fine people helped me, so I’m buying them lunch. I'll have the fried platter, extra tartar sauce. And whatever these two want especially the onion rings." Clark could see why the Patton’s loved this place, good food, friendly service, and a cozy atmosphere, it was mostly inhabited by other retirees their age. Between bites they talked, he told them about some of the other parts of Earth he had visited in the last few months, Mongolia, Prague, North Korea, Idaho. The Patton’s smiled and nodded. Jim was sure the young man was, in his own words, “full of crap” but to his surprise when Clark held the bracelet up to the credit card scanner it was approved, he even left Darla a 20 dollar tip. The three shook hands, Jim and Linda walked back to the park while Clark walked around the corner and made himself invisible. He wasn’t quite through repaying the Patton’s yet, but needed more information. The late afternoon sun stretched long shadows across the park as Jim and Linda settled back onto their weathered bench. Clark leaned against an oak tree twenty feet away, his bracelet glowing faintly as it calibrated its thought-scanning function. Establishing neural link... 67% synchronized... Linda's gaze locked onto the young mother playing with her son in the sandbox, helping him build a sandcastle. With care she wiped sand off the smiling boy’s face, and then pats his diaper checking to see if he’s ready for a change. The Patton’s watched in silence as Clark's bracelet translated the synaptic patterns into words that flickered across his vision: "Her hands are so sure... never fumbling. She just knows what he needs. If I'd had the chance—" The thought dissolved into a wave of longing so acute Clark actually blinked. Jim shifted beside her, his baseball cap pulled low. His mental signature spiked with erratic activity as the toddler plopped onto his padded backside, giggling. The bracelet decoded: "No bills, no aching joints, just... someone bringing you juice when you're thirsty. Naps whenever. Seeing the world for the first time again, not having to go to the toilet 50 times a day, God, that must feel so great.” Clark's eyebrows rose. This was more profound than simple wistfulness. Their neural patterns showed active fantasization, Linda's motor cortex lighting up as if rocking an invisible infant, Jim's prefrontal cortex creating a visual image of himself as the toddler, even imaging what it might feel like to be carefree and swaddled in affection. The toddler waddled to his mother, arms raised. As she lifted him, Linda's breath hitched. Her silent thought rang clear: "I'd give every penny in our savings to hold a child like that just once." Simultaneously, Jim's subconscious whispered: "To be held like that again..." Clark connected to his ship in orbit, “Computer, please formulate the following retroviruses with the specified effects. Create an appropriate delivery system and transfer to my location.” He commanded. A chime sounded in Clark's auditory implant. <<Ship systems online. Retroviral formulation parameters received: Subject L: Ovarian reactivation + mammary recalibration + accelerated cellular rejuvenation (target age: 24 years) Subject J: Neural age regression + musculoskeletal de-aging (target age: 2 years) Delivery system: Biomechanical mosquito. ETA 4 minutes.>> The toddler in the sandbox chose that moment to squeal, clapping his sticky hands as his mother produced a juice box. Jim's knuckles whitened around the bench slats. His surface thoughts now screamed with startling clarity: "No prostate exams. No Metamucil. Just... someone deciding when you eat and sleep and—" His pupils dilated as the boy's mother tapped his diaper again. "—when you get changed." Linda's hand had crept to her own flat abdomen, her neural scan showing a cascade of what-if scenarios involving nursery wallpaper and tiny socks. Clark's bracelet vibrated. <<Warning: Human endocrine systems require gradual adjustment. Recommend phased transformation over 52 weeks to prevent psychological shock.>> "OK, but target psychological and secondary physical changes first, so they are ready when their bodies change," Clark murmured. A few minutes another chime announced the completion of the virus and Jim heard the distinctive sound of two large mosquitos buzzing near his head. “Initiate,” he commanded them. The mosquitoes flew quickly across the park towards the Patton’s bench. The two bio-engineered mosquitoes dove toward their targets with mechanical precision. Clark watched through his ocular implant as the first landed on Jim's wrinkled neck just below the hairline. <<Injection commenced - Subject J>> his bracelet pulsed. Jim slapped his neck hard. "Got the little bloodsucker!" He examined the smeared remains on his palm with satisfaction before wiping it on his cargo shorts. Across the bench, Linda absently swatted at her own mosquito mid-bite. "Ugh. Hate these things." She flicked the crushed insect off her finger without even looking up from watching the toddler. <<Delivery confirmed. Viral assimilation initiated in both subjects>> Clark's display read. The mosquitoes had served their purpose. Jim suddenly rubbed his temples. "Whoa. Feel kinda lightheaded all of a sudden." Linda pressed a hand to her stomach. "Me too. Maybe we should've skipped those onion rings." Her face had taken on a slightly greenish tint. Clark discretely monitored their vitals as the retrovirus began its work. Their temperatures spiked half a degree. Jim's blood pressure dipped slightly. Linda's endocrine system showed the first flurry of activity as the viral payload attached to her dormant reproductive cells. "You alright, Lin?" Jim asked, though he himself was sweating more than the warm evening warranted. "Just need some water," she said, fanning herself with a napkin. "Let's head home." As they stood unsteadily, Clark's bracelet confirmed <<Stage one complete. Physical manifestations will begin in 72-96 hours>>. Perfect. He watched the Pattons shuffle toward the parking lot, Jim's arm around Linda's waist more for his own support than hers. They'd spend tonight feeling flu-ish - maybe blame it on bad seafood - but by tomorrow morning they'd just feel unusually well-rested. The real changes would come softly, like the tide creeping up the beach. Clark tapped his bracelet, activating the recall beacon. As his ship's transporter beam enveloped him, he smiled. The Pattons would wake up changed, never knowing exactly when or how their second chance began. Some gifts were best given anonymously.

Hello All, Controversy on this story's origin. 🤔 Anyway, Just checked in to drop this tag label: <Main: Human 65% 🤝 Tool: AI 35%> Also No. I used it to augment the structure and a little bit of the filler. Period. Thanks and Good luck All. 🙂 ... Prologue – The Mysterious Announcement The first time I heard about Eternal Child Week, I thought it was some kind of prank. A weird, government-issued meme. A pointless holiday. Maybe even a last-ditch effort to make people feel excited about something in this dull, over-scheduled world. It smelled like a distraction—one of those fake “historic moments” that ended up meaning nothing. The announcement itself was a perfect example of that. There were press releases, official statements, news segments where talking heads in expensive suits acted like this was the biggest deal since, I don’t know, sliced bread? And yet, no one explained what it was. Just a bunch of vague phrases about “limitless potential” and “the dawn of a new era.” Right. Totally buying that. And now? I was stuck in a boiling-hot school auditorium, wedged between a hundred sweaty students who were just as uninterested as I was, all for what was basically a glorified sales pitch. The ceiling fans whirred uselessly above us, barely stirring the thick, muggy air. Sunlight streamed in through the high windows, making the dust particles dance in the dim glow. The wooden chairs creaked whenever someone shifted, and honestly, the whole place smelled like a mix of stale air and regret. Liana, my best friend and self-proclaimed menace to society, was sprawled out beside me like a cat who had completely given up on life. She had mastered the art of maximum limb sprawl, stretching her legs out as far as she could get away with without getting called out. She had never once in her life sat like a normal human being. “If this turns into one of those ‘Embrace the Future’ speeches,” she muttered under her breath, “I’m out.” I didn’t take my eyes off the stage. “Out how? You gonna just… walk out?” “Damn right.” She flicked her dark curls over her shoulder with an exaggerated flourish. “Might even throw in a slow-motion exit, just to make it iconic.” I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Just… maybe don’t get expelled before lunch.” She grinned. “No promises.” Before I could warn her again to at least pretend to be a functioning student, the auditorium lights dimmed. The low chatter died down as the massive projector screen behind the stage flickered to life. For a moment, all we saw was static—then the Global News Network logo flashed across the screen, followed by the impossibly polished face of a news anchor. She had the kind of voice you’d expect from a ridiculously expensive commercial, smooth and rehearsed to perfection. "Citizens of the world," she began, speaking like she was unveiling something revolutionary. "Today marks the beginning of a historic change. In preparation for the first-ever Eternal Child Week, the government has issued the following statement." The screen cut to a sterile-looking press room. At the podium stood a government official—the human embodiment of serious business. His suit was crisp. His hair was perfectly combed. His face was unreadable, like he was auditioning for the role of “Man Who Has No Emotions” in some corporate drama. "As we stand at the dawn of a new era, we must embrace both progress and reflection," he declared, his voice as dry as a PowerPoint presentation. "This week-long observance is not merely a celebration, but a recognition of limitless potential. Further details will be released in the coming days." And then—just like that—the screen went black. Silence. Dead silence. Then, a wave of groans. Liana threw her head back so dramatically I thought she might fall out of her chair. “Ugh! That told us NOTHING!” I leaned forward, resting my chin on my hand. “Yeah. Because they don’t want us to know anything.” Around us, students were already pulling out their phones, fingers flying as they updated their social feeds. Memes were being made in real time. Conspiracy theories were being posted before the guy even finished his speech. Some kids whispered excitedly, coming up with wild explanations. Others just rolled their eyes and moved on with their lives. At the front of the auditorium, our principal—who looked like he regretted his life choices—cleared his throat into the mic. “Now, I know some of you have questions,” he said, trying way too hard to sound reassuring. “But I encourage you all to keep an open mind. More information will be provided throughout the week.” From the back row, someone muttered, “Sure it will.” I had to bite back a laugh. The principal, deciding he had done more than enough for his paycheck today, sighed and waved a hand. “Alright. You may return to class.” And just like that, the entire auditorium exploded into movement. Chairs scraped. Bags were grabbed. Voices rose as everyone started making their way toward the exit, either relieved to be free or already lost in conversations about something completely unrelated. Liana stretched her arms above her head with an exaggerated groan. “Well. That was a massive waste of time.” “At least we got out of class,” I pointed out, stuffing my hands into my jacket pockets. She wiggled her fingers dramatically. “Oooooh, at what cost, though?” I gave her a look. “You’re ridiculous.” “And you love me for it.” We pushed through the crowded hallway, dodging slow walkers, side-stepping last-minute locker stops, and weaving around groups of students who were already over the whole thing. But even as I went through the motions, something nagged at me. No one was really talking about it. Sure, there were jokes. There were complaints. There were wild theories about aliens and secret government experiments. But there was no real concern. No one was even asking why this holiday existed in the first place. And that was what unsettled me the most. I turned to Liana, keeping my voice low. “You seriously don’t think this is weird?” “Oh, it’s weird,” she admitted. “But it’s the kind of weird where you just let it happen and hope it doesn’t get too bad.” I gave her a flat look. “That is a terrible approach to life.” “And yet, here I am—thriving.” I groaned. “I hate you.” She smirked. “You wish you did.” When we finally reached our lockers, I hesitated. That nagging feeling still hadn’t gone away. The hallway around us was its usual chaotic mess—lockers slamming, footsteps echoing, students shouting to each other like they were allergic to talking at a normal volume. Somewhere in the distance, a teacher was already yelling at someone for running. It was just another school day. But that was the thing. This wasn’t just another day. The government had just dropped a brand-new, world-wide event into our laps with no explanation, no real buildup, and—most importantly—no obvious corporate cash grab. And yet, everyone was already moving on. I frowned, leaning against my locker. “This whole thing just feels off.” Liana hummed, tapping her chin like she was actually considering my words. “What, like government conspiracy off, or boring corporate nonsense off?” “I don’t know,” I admitted. “But if this was supposed to be some fun new holiday, wouldn’t there be sponsorships? Merch? Like—Celebrate Eternal Child Week with limited-edition Pepsi! or some garbage like that?” She blinked. “Okay, yeah. That is kinda weird. Maybe they’re just bad at marketing?” I shook my head. “No way. The government never rolls something out without a reason.” Liana leaned against her locker, smirking. “You are so obsessed with this.” "You made a twenty-minute speech about why the cafeteria should sell better snacks." “And I stand by that,” she shot back. “But this is different. You freak out when things don’t make sense. It’s, like, your default setting.” I frowned. “I do not—” Liana’s eyes suddenly widened, and she let out a soft gasp. “Oh my God,” she whispered dramatically. “You’re totally one of those noir detectives who narrate everything to themselves.” I froze. Oh. Oh no. She did not just say that. Liana’s face paled as she realized exactly what had just come out of her mouth. Her brain had finally caught up to her own words. “Uhh…” she stammered, stepping back slightly. I stood perfectly still. My expression didn’t change. Except for one thing. I smiled. Not a normal smile. Not my usual, tired, deadpan smirk. This was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that sent Liana’s fight-or-flight instincts into full panic mode. She took another step back. “Wait—” “Liana, girl~” I said sweetly. Too sweetly. “Would you like to repeat that?” My smile didn’t waver, but my eye twitched. Just a little. Her hands immediately shot up in surrender. “Okay, let’s not do anything hasty—” “Am I too kind to you~?” My eye twitched again. Liana, for once in her life, shut up. I let the silence stretch out, letting her fully absorb the weight of her mistake. Then, with a sigh, I turned back to my locker. My smile vanished, like it had never been there. Liana stayed frozen for a second longer before slumping against the metal, exhaling like she had just barely escaped with her life. “Good lord,” she muttered, rubbing her arms like she had the chills. “That was terrifying.” I smirked. “Then stop being annoying.” “Impossible.” The bell rang. “C’mon, let’s go,” I said, already walking toward class. Liana fell into step beside me, still shaking her head. “One of these days, you’re gonna give me a heart attack.” I grinned. “Can’t wait.” We walked toward class, weaving through the usual morning chaos. Students rushed past us, shoving textbooks into their bags at the last second, half-heartedly speed-walking to avoid getting marked late. The normalcy of it all made my stomach twist. It shouldn’t be normal. Not after that. This morning, nobody had ever heard of Eternal Child Week. By lunchtime, people would probably be talking about it less than whatever ridiculous fight broke out in the cafeteria today. It was already fading into the background—just another thing happening in the world, another “big announcement” everyone would forget about in a week. And yet… It didn’t feel like something we were supposed to forget. Liana nudged me. “Still overthinking it?” I shot her a look. “It’s not overthinking if something is actually weird.” She hummed, unconvinced. “I dunno. Maybe it’s just one of those things where the government wants to seem mysterious so people actually care? Like, ooooh, vague and spooky announcement—what does it mean?!” She wiggled her fingers in mock suspense. I crossed my arms. “That would only make sense if they were selling something. Suspense is good for marketing, not government policies.” “You sound like you know what you’re talking about, but I’m too lazy to fact-check.” I rolled my eyes. “Shocking.” She grinned, clearly proud of herself. “Look, all I’m saying is that unless the principal walks into class tomorrow and announces we’ve all been drafted into some secret immortal army, it’s probably just a dumb publicity stunt.” I wanted to believe that. I really wanted to believe that. But my gut told me otherwise. And it wasn’t just the way they had announced it—it was the reaction to it. The lack of real concern. The way it should have been a bigger deal, but wasn’t. People weren’t brushing it off because they didn’t care. They were brushing it off like it was something they already knew. Like it was normal. Like it had always been there. A chill crept up my spine. That wasn’t possible, right? I mean… I was sure I had never heard of it before today. I was positive there was no mention of Eternal Child Week anywhere in the history books, no lead-up, no official talks. But if that was true, then why— The shrill sound of the final warning bell yanked me out of my thoughts. “Whoops, we’re gonna be late,” Liana said, already speeding up. I shook off the weird, creeping unease and followed. Maybe I was overthinking it. Maybe I was just looking for a mystery where there wasn’t one. …But something told me that whatever was coming? It wasn’t just another holiday. And deep down, I had a feeling we weren’t ready for it. pan widget

Saw this on FB. And my first thought was "I remember watching Bugs Bunny wearing a diaper when I was six years old, and I didn't grow up to become... Oh wait I did. Oh well." I still haven't dropped an anvil on anyone or gotten lost in Albuquerque.

So how do the ladies get to the top floor?

Think back to all silly, unrealistic, tropish things you've encountered in AB/DL stories over the years and add them to the list. I'm going to start with just a couple. 1. Any injury, no matter how insignificant or unrelated, from papercuts to stubbed toes will cause incontinence. 2. It is possible to decide to remodel a room as an adult sized nursery before breakfast, and have the room repainted, remodeled, and furnished with adult sized crib, changing table, playpen, highchair, and other baby needs before the MC returns from work or school.

Hello! For those that don't know me, I'm Sasha (31F) and I have severe Tourette Syndrome. Although it's a disability, and can very much be a struggle to live with, I love using it to make people laugh. I have what's called Coprolalia, which is the obscene and socially inappropriate verbal tics 5-10% with TS have, as well as Copropraxia, obscene hand gestures. Just to give you a quick run down to make this thread make sense. I'm not REALLY an asshole, this doesn't mean I don't have a filter. These aren't my thoughts coming out of my mouth, all it takes is hearing or reading something once, and it's in your subconscious, whether you want it to be or not. When you have Coprolalia, your brain scans your surroundings, digs through your subconscious, and then sends an electrical signal to the part of the subconscious which holds the worst possible thing to say for that setting, and that's what makes you involuntarily yell. (A very simplified version) So take the phrase, "I have a bomb!" The chance of me yelling that in an open field, by myself where no one will hear, is practically zero. Now the chance of me yelling that while going through airport security is 100% I have never managed to get through an airport without yelling "I have a bomb!" and "I have drugs up my ass" Because your brain is constantly scanning the area, seeing all the "no explosives, no drug" signs, subconsciously aware of 9/11 etc. etc. It's a bit scary at the time, but I'm able to laugh about it after. This is something I often share for laughs IRL, but since I spend way too much time on here,(occasionally I post in the fiction section) I thought I'd share a few stories with you all. A few years ago I got stuck in a DUI checkpoint. The first things out of my mouth should have been "I have TS." I'm so used to ticcing and yelling bizarre things, it's just my normal, that I often forget it's not normal for other people. So anyway, the officer motioned for me to roll down my window, and I did. Then they asked for my license, etc. Everything was going fine until the moment they asked if I had any illegal substances on me or in my vehicle. There are cops all over the place in this intersection, and I end up yelling, "I HAVE DRUGS UP MY ASS!" I could see cops everywhere just stop and turn. I'm just like oh crap, and open my mouth to explain no, I don't have drugs, and what comes out is, "IT'S A GUN!" Officers are starting to walk over. I'm sweating bullets, I'm shaking my head, and trying to explain but everytime I open my mouth something worse comes out. I end up yelling "THERE'S A DEAD HOOKER IN MY TRUNK". They're all just staring at me. I finally manage to hand over a DRS note I keep in my car specifically for this. The officer starts laughing and sends me on my way, I'm very eager to get out of there, and I start driving off before I roll up my window, and as I drive past the line of officers I start making oinking noises 0.0 Last year My grandma died, my very religious white grandmother who was a bit on the racist side. We have her service outside at the grave site. Her ashes are upfront in an urn. I was really nervous and didn't want to go because I knew my tics were going to be disruptive, but my family kept saying, "we all know you and understand, don't worry about it, come anyway, it's just going to be family." so I do. ... It was not "just family" All of my grandma's church friends and out of state relatives were there. None of which knew I had TS. ..oh boy, The things that were coming out of my mouth should never be yelled at a religious woman's funeral...or anyone's funeral for that matter. I kept yelling, "GRANDMA, GET BACK IN THE JAR!" "LET'S DO LINES OF GRANDMA" "MY GRANDMA CHOKED TO DEATH ON A BIG BLACK DICK" ... and... oyy ... "I COULD BE AT HOME MASTURBATING RIGHT NOW..." My grandma's church friends are absolutely horrified, and my family is trying so hard (unsuccessfully) not to laugh. Apparently I put the "fun" in "funeral" Ok so this last one is pretty personal, but what the hell. This is the story of my very first pap. 0.0 So I have Kaiser as my health insurance, and for those unfamiliar with it, all the drs. and everyone share information, it's all connected. So I everytime I see a new dr. I don't have to explain my previous health conditions, it's all right there in my file. The down side of everyone seeing your information, is no matter what kind of dr. you go to, you can't escape any kind of preventative care. They will just keep nagging you and nagging you until you cave. So when I went in to see my therapist, I came out with a ob/gyn appointment. So for whatever reason I got sent to an out of network ob/gyn, which meant they did not previously know about my condition. I did not realize this at the time. I go in, everything's going fine, ...until the breast exam... She's doing her thing, and suddenly my hands shoot out, latch on to hers, push them down even harder and in the worst possible Irish accent you've ever heard, yell "FEEL ME TITTIES" I'm mortified. She's staring at me in shock. I apologize and the test moves on. Feet in Stirrups wishing I was anywhere else in the world. Cue worst possible verbal tics. Sexual moaning. LOUD sexual moaning, followed by "FUCK ME, DADDY". She's just glaring at me this whole time and I can't figure out why. She finishes, I sit up and then the little light in my head finally clicks. "You know I have Tourette, right?" I asked. She stares at me blankly for what feels like a full minute and says, "I do now." Please enjoy my unfortunate moments, and the next time you lie awake at night cringing from your past, you can rest assured you didn't tell a cop you had drugs up your ass

My teddy bear and I had a bit of a #metoo moment. We’re not sure whose fault it was. Some harsh words exchanged. He told me to watch where I’m sitting. I told him to watch where he’s putting his paws. He’s in the washing machine right now. I told him to take the time to think about what he’s done. He was fine with it. I think he wanted the time alone to process, cool down, collect his thoughts. We’ll be okay eventually. Couples have fights, ya know. They get through them. You don’t share a blankie as long as we have without working through some issues. ————- So apparently this may not blow over. I got home and he was giving me the silent treatment, so I got a bit upset and asked what he was still so mad about. I thought this was over. He said I violated his consent, and I said, are we still on this? It happened, we each share some blame, it was an accident. I said sorry; he said sorry, so what is he all mad about again. No, he said. It’s not that. It’s that I’ve been walking around naked with him in the room since we first got together. And I said, so? That’s never bothered you before. And besides, couples are naked in front of each other. What, I’m supposed to ask him to leave the room every time I get out of the shower. And, he’s a teddy bear. He’s never worn clothes in his life. What are we even talking about? And he said he didn’t know that I should have asked for his consent. Where did you learn that, I asked, because it was the first time I’d ever heard of asking your bear for permission to get dressed in your own damn bedroom. I mean, maybe I’m not up to speed on what’s considered okay, but I’m willing to learn. I want to learn, so I asked him again, where did he learn that.. And he tossed a magazine on the table about some erstwhile celebrity. Then he got even more upset while I read a few sentences and said it was my responsibility to be aware of these things and to take care of him just like he takes care of me. I am, he said, just a bear after all. So I didn’t take that accusation very well. I keep a roof over his head, I rearrange his stuffing when it starts to get lumpy. I take very, very good care of my bear. I give plenty in this relationship. So I snapped at him and said, yeah, and it’s my house and you are just a bear. Which I admit was an asshole thing to say, but my day had been long and this was not what I wanted to come home to. Anyway, he grabbed our blankie and slammed the door to the guest room behind him. I don’t know. This doesn’t feel like it’s gonna blow over. I don’t know. This bed feels so empty with just me in it. ————— Well, it was kinda frosty at home for about a week. A lot of silent dinners. He made fish four nights. He knows I don’t like fish. Today, though, when I got home he said he wanted to try couple’s counseling, and I instantly agreed. Ya know, I want this relationship to work. I need this relationship to work. I can’t go back to Bear Bumble. It’s terrible. I don’t wanna be single again. I want my bear, period. We said forever, and I meant it. If we had some repair work to do on our relationship, give me a hammer. He wanted to pick the therapist, which I was fine with, and then he said a friend referred him to a great therapist, a Dr. Bananas, and I wanted to object because, honestly, I didn’t think I could get a fair shake from a therapist that was also a stuffy. I know therapy isn’t supposed to be adversarial, right. There are no sides. Or that’s what they say, but I went in there thinking this Dr. Bananas was just going to blame it all on me, all on the the man, and tell my bear to move on with his life. When we go there, though, it turned out Dr. Bananas was a bonobo stuffy, and I don’t know what you guys know about bonobos, but definitely not the species you wanna have a conversation about consent with. Sex sex sex sex! That’s all they do. You’re having a fight? Skip to the makeup sex. You’re not having a fight? Well, then why aren’t ya having sex? Some seriously depraved apes. And my bear had no idea about bonobos because he is just a bear, but the look on his face when that “therapist” gave his “advice,” I mean, it was like instant clarity. This bonobo had zero interest in understanding us. For one thing, couldn’t even fathom why my bear was upset with me. The notion of consent did not compute for this bonobo, and not because he didn’t understand permission but because he couldn’t understand why anyone would say no to nudity. Bonobos just don’t do that. For another, he and I don’t have that kind of relationship. We’re close, but we ain’t that kinda close, if you know what I mean. Bonobos are incestuous, for fuck’s sake! We were outta there in under ten minutes. Neither of us said a word in the car. I was thinking, this is it. He’s soured on the whole thing; gonna give up on couples therapy, and by this time next week, I’ll come home to find a note on the table and the box of spare stuffing gone. But we got home, and he got a drink of water, and he’s standing over the sink, and he starts to laugh hysterically at the absurdity of that bonobo. I mean, he couldn’t control himself, so that got me going, and next thing I know we’re sitting on the kitchen floor next to each other holding hands. I looked at him, he looked at me, and I just knew. I picked him up and put him on my lap, wrapped my arms around him asked, are we gone be okay? And he turns around and smiles at me. I love his smile. Then he turns back around, lays his head against my chest, pats my leg and says, we will be. I love this bear so much. He’s the world’s best bear. We got some issues to work out. But he’s right, like he usually is. We’ll be okay.

Hey, guys I’m interested in either starting or joining an rp, but to be honest i don’t know how committed i can be with it. I’d preferably like to do one with a sense of humor anyone interested?

Because I do not "suffer-from

I hadn't seen this posted here before but thought it was funny and wanted to share:

I potty trained mine because I got tired of changing diapers and washing them and I wanted to go back and deal with only mine again. I also didn't want to be changing more diapers and washing more so I was hoping he would be out of them by the time my daughter arrived. Plus my son didn't like being wet or messy so I started teaching him to use the potty. Plus I don't want to set him up to get teased about it in school and face all the harassment when he had the luxury to be out of them while incontinent children aren't so lucky and can't quit wearing them.

While this joke may bear some resemblance to a certain board member's screen name, I just had it sent to me by someone unrelated to this community. Thought it was funny nonetheless. SD I hope you get a good laugh ;-) Three little ducks go into a Bar...... 'Say, what's your name?' the bartender asked the first duck. 'Huey,' was the reply. 'How's your day been, Huey?' ' Great. Lovely day. Had a ball. Been in and out of puddles all day. What else could a duck want?' said Huey. 'Oh. That's nice,' said the bartender. He turned to the second duck, 'Hi, and what's your name?' 'Dewey,' came the answer from duck number two. 'So how's your day been, Dewey! ?' he asked. 'Great. Lovely day. I've had a ball too. Been in and out of puddles all day myself. What else could a duck want?' The bartender turned to the third duck and said, 'So, you must be Louie?' 'No,' she said, batting her eyelashes. 'My name is Puddles..'