The wealthy have started panic buying.

One rainless month later:

This particular broaster is also a boaster, it would seem.

They misspelled Doug's name.

The Swedish embassy is down to its last traffic cone.

Surely not.

Quadruple-yellow lines cancel each other out: parking is permitted within this single square foot.

The cultural decline of dabbing has eased house prices in this area.

The rail replacement bus is itself in need of replacement.

Choose your fighter.

For a reasonable fee, one can finally drink a Moomin.

"We need it to sound like an authentic taco place. You know, a taco-ria or a taco-ista or whatever they call it." "Say no more."

Please do not fuse Momo.

Would you buy a box of ducks?

If I had a nickel every time lettuce became newsworthy because of widespread suffering occasioned by parties known to invest in zionism, I would have two nickels.

All those chickens.

Tommy Pickles is not, of course, an actual pickle. Discovering this was a childhood revelation though—he corrected my prior belief that all cartoon characters were nominatively determinate.

US regulations: Fruit Punch may be devoid of any fruit. US regulations, also: It is illegal for a Fruit Cocktail's cherry content to exceed six percent.

Which is your favourite flavour of "Ch̴μ̴̦̋ps"?

Due to a resale ticket in the upper tier, this year's wrestling fixture has become cheaper than fast food.

Fusion cuisine à l'anglaise.

The Buddha-behind-bars has become a local attraction.

Have ever you chased a broast?

Blood is in season, apparently.

The dregs of yesterday's cola became the ice cubes of today's. A sound investment.

Two extremes of things volant.

Exactly two years have now elapsed since the outset of my current employ! Henceforth, my engagement is no longer "at will" for legal purposes: Old Man Redundancy cannot knock without fee or forewarning.

Someone is distributing individual pieces of shredded wheat within the undergrowth.

A vulpine friend.

"Hey there, blimpy boy..."