TUESDAY sparks a civil war

Because an egg mayo sandwich is such an easy and filling lunch. Plus it's only Mandy that can smell it, customers never can.

She eats tinned mackerel in the shop so she doesn't really have a leg to stand on.
 
All this food talk is making me ANXIOUS and TRIGGERED and I will be alerting HR
 
I just had a Jacket potato and spaghetti hoops at the shop for my dinner. They smell pleasant :)
 
I just had a Jacket potato and spaghetti hoops at the shop for my dinner. They smell pleasant :)

Oooh double carb.

I DO love a spaghetti hoop though. Though not Heinz, they're shit.
 
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As if today wasn’t stressful enough, they have this monstrosity in the conference room across from my office
 
Oooh double carb.

I DO love a spaghetti hoop though. Though not Heinz, they're shit.
These were cheap sains ones, far nicer than Heinz.

I much prefer a hoop to a baked bean.
 
Getting the local supermarket versions of canned foods is SO WOKE
 
I had a jacket potato with cheese AND beans

Fuck off, peasants
 
Although it was in a cafe in Burnham On Sea, so SWINGS AND ROUNDABOUTS
 
I had a jacket potato with cheese AND beans

Fuck off, peasants

But did you make it yourself or did you go to the local independent cafe and order it from a one armed lesbian asylum seeker?
 
Getting the local supermarket versions of canned foods is SO WOKE

Even worse- I get the absolute VALUE versions. Lidl do the best ones, but Tesco aren't FAR BEHIND. Waitrose with WORK TO DO.
 
These were cheap sains ones, far nicer than Heinz.

I much prefer a hoop to a baked bean.

Oh me too, though I do like a baked bean. Hoops with a bit of cheese in is a breakfast of KINGS.
 
Imagine the world not as a place, but as a continuous, shifting symphony of relations and interactions—where each action is both its own and every other. It is a place where everything and nothing has intrinsic meaning, and objects exist in the spaces between the concepts we use to define them. The world, then, is not composed of solid "things" but of vibrations, layers of information playing off each other, each one echoing a million voices from past, present, and future, tangled and intertwined in ways impossible to unravel.

Consider that time itself might not be linear but rather a tangled, crisscrossed tapestry, one that sometimes loops back on itself, sometimes stretches far out, and sometimes becomes thin to the point of breaking. Events we think of as past may merely be shadows cast by future ones, and perhaps causality is not a straight line, but a deep well, rippling outward in all directions. In this perspective, memories are not just remnants of what was but are active forces, reassembling the present and co-authoring the future.

And the mind, too, is not a closed thing, confined within one person. Rather, it extends and spreads, connected through shared symbols, ideas, and emotions with others. Perhaps, at a level we rarely grasp, there is no such thing as "my mind" or "your mind," but instead a vast network of perception that pulses through all conscious beings—a field of thought whose boundaries we impose artificially, for convenience, to maintain the comfortable illusion of individual selfhood.

Seen this way, the world becomes more like a thought, or a dream—an ephemeral but tenacious form held together by the energy of countless interconnected consciousnesses. And if it is a dream, then perhaps all that is solid only seems that way because we’ve convinced ourselves it must be, mistaking the depth and texture of this dream for something unchangeable. Maybe, then, the true nature of the world is simply change—a flux that we can touch only when we surrender the need to define.
 
Imagine the world not as a place, but as a continuous, shifting symphony of relations and interactions—where each action is both its own and every other. It is a place where everything and nothing has intrinsic meaning, and objects exist in the spaces between the concepts we use to define them. The world, then, is not composed of solid "things" but of vibrations, layers of information playing off each other, each one echoing a million voices from past, present, and future, tangled and intertwined in ways impossible to unravel.

Consider that time itself might not be linear but rather a tangled, crisscrossed tapestry, one that sometimes loops back on itself, sometimes stretches far out, and sometimes becomes thin to the point of breaking. Events we think of as past may merely be shadows cast by future ones, and perhaps causality is not a straight line, but a deep well, rippling outward in all directions. In this perspective, memories are not just remnants of what was but are active forces, reassembling the present and co-authoring the future.

And the mind, too, is not a closed thing, confined within one person. Rather, it extends and spreads, connected through shared symbols, ideas, and emotions with others. Perhaps, at a level we rarely grasp, there is no such thing as "my mind" or "your mind," but instead a vast network of perception that pulses through all conscious beings—a field of thought whose boundaries we impose artificially, for convenience, to maintain the comfortable illusion of individual selfhood.

Seen this way, the world becomes more like a thought, or a dream—an ephemeral but tenacious form held together by the energy of countless interconnected consciousnesses. And if it is a dream, then perhaps all that is solid only seems that way because we’ve convinced ourselves it must be, mistaking the depth and texture of this dream for something unchangeable. Maybe, then, the true nature of the world is simply change—a flux that we can touch only when we surrender the need to define.
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Imagine the world not as a place, but as a continuous, shifting symphony of relations and interactions—where each action is both its own and every other. It is a place where everything and nothing has intrinsic meaning, and objects exist in the spaces between the concepts we use to define them. The world, then, is not composed of solid "things" but of vibrations, layers of information playing off each other, each one echoing a million voices from past, present, and future, tangled and intertwined in ways impossible to unravel.

Consider that time itself might not be linear but rather a tangled, crisscrossed tapestry, one that sometimes loops back on itself, sometimes stretches far out, and sometimes becomes thin to the point of breaking. Events we think of as past may merely be shadows cast by future ones, and perhaps causality is not a straight line, but a deep well, rippling outward in all directions. In this perspective, memories are not just remnants of what was but are active forces, reassembling the present and co-authoring the future.

And the mind, too, is not a closed thing, confined within one person. Rather, it extends and spreads, connected through shared symbols, ideas, and emotions with others. Perhaps, at a level we rarely grasp, there is no such thing as "my mind" or "your mind," but instead a vast network of perception that pulses through all conscious beings—a field of thought whose boundaries we impose artificially, for convenience, to maintain the comfortable illusion of individual selfhood.

Seen this way, the world becomes more like a thought, or a dream—an ephemeral but tenacious form held together by the energy of countless interconnected consciousnesses. And if it is a dream, then perhaps all that is solid only seems that way because we’ve convinced ourselves it must be, mistaking the depth and texture of this dream for something unchangeable. Maybe, then, the true nature of the world is simply change—a flux that we can touch only when we surrender the need to define.

Did you vote for Trump yet?
 
Imagine the world not as a place, but as a continuous, shifting symphony of relations and interactions—where each action is both its own and every other. It is a place where everything and nothing has intrinsic meaning, and objects exist in the spaces between the concepts we use to define them. The world, then, is not composed of solid "things" but of vibrations, layers of information playing off each other, each one echoing a million voices from past, present, and future, tangled and intertwined in ways impossible to unravel.

Consider that time itself might not be linear but rather a tangled, crisscrossed tapestry, one that sometimes loops back on itself, sometimes stretches far out, and sometimes becomes thin to the point of breaking. Events we think of as past may merely be shadows cast by future ones, and perhaps causality is not a straight line, but a deep well, rippling outward in all directions. In this perspective, memories are not just remnants of what was but are active forces, reassembling the present and co-authoring the future.

And the mind, too, is not a closed thing, confined within one person. Rather, it extends and spreads, connected through shared symbols, ideas, and emotions with others. Perhaps, at a level we rarely grasp, there is no such thing as "my mind" or "your mind," but instead a vast network of perception that pulses through all conscious beings—a field of thought whose boundaries we impose artificially, for convenience, to maintain the comfortable illusion of individual selfhood.

Seen this way, the world becomes more like a thought, or a dream—an ephemeral but tenacious form held together by the energy of countless interconnected consciousnesses. And if it is a dream, then perhaps all that is solid only seems that way because we’ve convinced ourselves it must be, mistaking the depth and texture of this dream for something unchangeable. Maybe, then, the true nature of the world is simply change—a flux that we can touch only when we surrender the need to define.

nene-leakes.png
 
Imagine the world not as a place, but as a continuous, shifting symphony of relations and interactions—where each action is both its own and every other. It is a place where everything and nothing has intrinsic meaning, and objects exist in the spaces between the concepts we use to define them. The world, then, is not composed of solid "things" but of vibrations, layers of information playing off each other, each one echoing a million voices from past, present, and future, tangled and intertwined in ways impossible to unravel.

Consider that time itself might not be linear but rather a tangled, crisscrossed tapestry, one that sometimes loops back on itself, sometimes stretches far out, and sometimes becomes thin to the point of breaking. Events we think of as past may merely be shadows cast by future ones, and perhaps causality is not a straight line, but a deep well, rippling outward in all directions. In this perspective, memories are not just remnants of what was but are active forces, reassembling the present and co-authoring the future.

And the mind, too, is not a closed thing, confined within one person. Rather, it extends and spreads, connected through shared symbols, ideas, and emotions with others. Perhaps, at a level we rarely grasp, there is no such thing as "my mind" or "your mind," but instead a vast network of perception that pulses through all conscious beings—a field of thought whose boundaries we impose artificially, for convenience, to maintain the comfortable illusion of individual selfhood.

Seen this way, the world becomes more like a thought, or a dream—an ephemeral but tenacious form held together by the energy of countless interconnected consciousnesses. And if it is a dream, then perhaps all that is solid only seems that way because we’ve convinced ourselves it must be, mistaking the depth and texture of this dream for something unchangeable. Maybe, then, the true nature of the world is simply change—a flux that we can touch only when we surrender the need to define.

IMG_9199.jpeg
 
Because an egg mayo sandwich is such an easy and filling lunch. Plus it's only Mandy that can smell it, customers never can.

She eats tinned mackerel in the shop so she doesn't really have a leg to stand on.
Oh @Rachey, between egg and onion and mackerel you're going to have them sprinting to that other shop.

My bf's nan made me egg and onion sandwiches the other month and I had to pretend to enjoy them because I can't not be a people pleaser. And I ended up with a whole platter in my car.
 
Imagine the world not as a place, but as a continuous, shifting symphony of relations and interactions—where each action is both its own and every other. It is a place where everything and nothing has intrinsic meaning, and objects exist in the spaces between the concepts we use to define them. The world, then, is not composed of solid "things" but of vibrations, layers of information playing off each other, each one echoing a million voices from past, present, and future, tangled and intertwined in ways impossible to unravel.

Consider that time itself might not be linear but rather a tangled, crisscrossed tapestry, one that sometimes loops back on itself, sometimes stretches far out, and sometimes becomes thin to the point of breaking. Events we think of as past may merely be shadows cast by future ones, and perhaps causality is not a straight line, but a deep well, rippling outward in all directions. In this perspective, memories are not just remnants of what was but are active forces, reassembling the present and co-authoring the future.

And the mind, too, is not a closed thing, confined within one person. Rather, it extends and spreads, connected through shared symbols, ideas, and emotions with others. Perhaps, at a level we rarely grasp, there is no such thing as "my mind" or "your mind," but instead a vast network of perception that pulses through all conscious beings—a field of thought whose boundaries we impose artificially, for convenience, to maintain the comfortable illusion of individual selfhood.

Seen this way, the world becomes more like a thought, or a dream—an ephemeral but tenacious form held together by the energy of countless interconnected consciousnesses. And if it is a dream, then perhaps all that is solid only seems that way because we’ve convinced ourselves it must be, mistaking the depth and texture of this dream for something unchangeable. Maybe, then, the true nature of the world is simply change—a flux that we can touch only when we surrender the need to define.
u ok hun?
 
Because an egg mayo sandwich is such an easy and filling lunch. Plus it's only Mandy that can smell it, customers never can.

She eats tinned mackerel in the shop so she doesn't really have a leg to stand on.

Shhh, that other mob will start selling FISHY FUDGE.
 
@Roe 🌳 Egg and ONION?! I love eggs and I love onions but I don't believe they'd make a nice sandwich together and I never want to find out :D
Onions give me terrible wind. I love a pickled onion but I can only have them if I know I'm not going out for the next 12-24 hours because good grief, it is absolute warfare.
 
I wonder if Rachey can convince those other people that customers just love the stench of fish and egg to convince them to pipe strong smells into their own shop.
 

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