My name is Marissa and I'm a piece of shipper trash that occasionally likes to think she can write. Sweet as apple pie, dark as a black hole, and sarcastic as anything. Twenty-something years old, Slytherin, and hopeful wanderer.
sw would have been so much shorter if one clone decided to murder palpatine in his office because. who are they gonna arrest. sadly the suspect looks like 1000+ other men and all of them forgot what they did last friday night
alternatively
clone #1, looking at the security cam footage: oh yeah that’s totally me
clone #2: no way look at this handsome face. that’s me
clone #3: you weren’t even on coruscant during that time
clone #2: that’s my cover
clone #4: shut it everybody i stabbed him
clone #1, furiously pointing at the footage: he wasn’t stabbed you shithead, he got shot!
clone #4: yeah with my knife
One of the Clones eagerly suggests a DNA test to prove he’s guilty and the people investigating die inside.
“i won’t be coming back here” is the funniest possible thing you can say to a customer service worker. you’re at your place of work and someone comes in, acts like a jerk, ruins your day, and then, paradoxically, finishes up by reassuring you that this interaction is now over and you’ll never have to see or hear from them again
allow me to tell you of the grave error i made yesterday. it was 8pm. i was cooking moroccan stew. needed to let it simmer for 25 minutes before i added the chickpeas. i shall go upstairs, thought i, and take a shower, and leave the chickpeas on the counter to drain. puddles the cat is sleeping near the stove. i briefly consider locking her out of the kitchen - but surely even she, leviathan of unconquerable appetites, will not concern herself with hard, drained, uncooked chickpeas. surely not.
with this set-up in mind, what do you imagine i found when i came back downstairs?
