I have a Grinch fetish. My boyfriend knows about this and for the most part accepts it. He isn't crazy about it and doesn't really get it but he at least tries which is all I ask. He'll sometimes read the book to me to set the mood, or if he's really feeling kinky tell me "You're a mean one" in the heat of the moment. He's even begrudgingly come around to at least playing one of the three versions of the film every time we do the deed (although we tend to stay away from the live-action one because it's too much for me).

The thing is, I don't want to hear about the Grinch or listen to the Grinch or watch the Grinch. I want to be ♥♥♥♥♥♥ by the Grinch. And for the record this is common among women. The Grinch's bulging sack of toys to me (and many others) is what a Mack truck is to Cardi B. The fact that he's good with dogs and experienced trauma at a young age makes me want that long, fuzzy ♥♥♥♥ even more.

My boyfriend asked me what I wanted for Christmas and I told him straight up. I told him to put on the greenest, silkiest Grinch costume he could find, kidnap me from my bed on Christmas Eve, and then ravage me in front of the Christmas tree.

He flat out refused. Said it was too weird for him. I was literally begging this man to let this ♥♥♥♥♥ save Christmas and he was like nah, I'm good. It ended up turning into a fight where he admitted he only gave into my initial Grinch kinks to placate me and was still uncomfortable about the fact that I had moaned "Grinch" during sex a few weeks ago, but only because his song was playing in the background.

So he's drawn a line. And if I don't drop the Grinch fetish (which as I said is incredibly common among women but sadly taboo) he's done for good. I don't want to lose him over this. But it's really hard for me to see past my sexual proclivities especially during Christmas season. Is there any way we can even compromise on this, or do I simply need a more adventurous man?

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Imagine this. You are attracted to women, like you are now (emotionally and sexually), but they do not exist.
They existed a long time ago, and no one knows what they looked like (They have a pretty good idea from the fossils, however), but they do not exist anymore.
That means, not only do you know there will never be any possibility of you having sex with one, but there's not even a possibility of you ever seeing one in real life.
Everyone else, however, except for a very few, are not attracted to women, they are attracted to something else entirely.
So in other words, you will never find any porn anywhere on the internet, only non-sexual pictures of women, like this picture of Emma Stone.
Everyone you have told about your attraction to women think it's disgusting.
To relieve yourself, you get off on the non-sexual pictures of women, knowing it will never get any better.
That's what life is like to me. I am a degree 6 Zoosexual, sexually and emotionally attracted to Tyrannosaurs and nothing else.
Women don't even do it for me. I am cursed to live my life in the misery that my most powerful emotional fantasies will never be even close to coming true.
Life is like hell to me.
I will never know true love.

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Bad Rats is what the physics-based puzzler has been waiting for all these years.

You thought The Incredible Machine series, or Contraption Maker scratched these itches? Think again.

Bad Rats rockets out of the gate with a staggering 1024x768 resolution, and nearly 30 frames per second of astounding animation. Your computer will be bogged down by the literally tens of polygons that grace your screen with each level. The game presents a series of puzzles where you must use a set amount of tools and fixtures to murder a defenseless cat. Chances are, he is wanted for multiple counts of homicide and/or assault and battery in several states, making this a thought-provoking and logical motive. Each level when completed offerers an unprecedented level of satisfaction, in knowing that you rid the streets of at least one more ne'er-do-well feline, and leaves you yearning for the next act of rube-goldberg assassination.

10/10 would smash a cat with a safe again.

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Every ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ time I buy a frozen pizza, I put that sassy ♥♥♥♥♥ in right when I start the oven. Why? Because I’ve figured it out. That’s right Uncle Sam, I’m onto you.

The directions for my favorite pizza is to heat the oven to 425F and cook for 15 minutes. My oven takes 14 minutes to preheat. So, this whole cooking process takes about 30 minutes? No way. Not chance in hell, buckaroo. When I shove my pizza in that oven prematurely, I add 3-4 minutes to compensate. This means I wait a total of 18-19 minutes vs 30. And guess what? It tastes ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ delicious. Ask any of my friends. I cook them frozen pizzas all the time, and they can’t get enough, thanks to my unequivocal superior intelligence. The pizza turns out just fine, and it poses no health threat. Source: I’ve been doing this for 12 years.

So nice try, Mr. President. I know you want all of us to cook our pizzas for that extra 10 minutes to make us use a little extra electricity. Maybe it isn’t significant if one person cooks their frozen Italian love pie for 10 extra minutes, but you’re a thinker. You’re looking at the grand scheme of things. MILLIONS of people cooking their pizza for 10 minutes extra? That’s straight theft, my man. And I ain’t giving in to that scheme .

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I'm convinced that mattress/furniture stores exist in a quantum superposition of grand opening and going out of business sale.

It is both and neither at once until an observer records the state at which point it becomes one or the other.

But because you know exactly where the store is located, you cannot know how fast it is going out of business because of your uncertainty about its business momentum.

All around us, all the time pairs of anti-discount mattress stores and discount mattress stores are popping into existence, forming the quantum memory foam that is the basis for the universe. Without the pressure of this quantum memory foam strip malls would collapse.

We can see evidence of this when a pair is created such that one half is within the sales radius of a supermassive furniture store like Ikea-- one of them is pulled in and the other escapes as a Hawking mattress store.

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I sexually Identify as the sun. Ever since I was a child I dreamed of slamming hydrogen isotopes into each other to make helium & light and send it throughout the galaxy. People say to me that a person being a star is Impossible and I’m ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ retarded, but I don’t care, I’m beautiful. I’m having a plastic surgeon inflate me with hydrogen and raise my temperature to over 6000 °C. From now on I want you guys to call me “Sol” and respect my right to give you vitamin D and probably sunburns. If you can’t accept me you’re a fusion-phobe and need to check your astral privilege. Thank you all for being so understanding.