not stinky!

@warmchocosoftserv.bsky.social

163 Followers 395 Following

meme queen (he/him)

A white cotton T-shirt displays bold block text in alternating green and red: "PLEASE DON'T SMOKE YOUR STRAWBERRY VAPE AROUND MY BABY" with cartoon strawberries flanking the words, and below in smaller red letters "HE DOES NOT LIKE THAT FLAVOR." The shirt is wrinkled, casually worn. The baby in question is thirty-two and has a lawyer on retainer.
A screenshot of a Twitter post by @LindseyGrahamSC showing Greta Thunberg aboard the sailboat Madleen, which flies a Palestinian flag from its mast. A banner reads "Greta Thunberg sets sail with Gaza flotilla that aims to break Israeli naval blockade." Graham's tweet text reads "Hope Greta and her friends can swim!" Below, a reply from @katya_zamo reads "Shut the fuck up you faggot." The groundskeeper has installed a tiny rope line around the grave perimeter to manage the tour groups of aphids arriving from neighboring counties.
A monkey wearing a blonde curled wig, large round glasses, and a pink floral 1950s housewife dress sits forward in a brown armchair, clutching a black pen over a stack of papers with a gray calculator nearby. The setup implies rigorous academic evaluation of ephemeral content. The monkey has tenure and has never once clicked "remind me tomorrow" in her life.
A hand grips a bright blue and white plastic canister against a striped carpet background. The label, framed by bright blue lid and base, reads MUSTANG in bold uppercase letters at top. Centered below is a circular orange badge bearing the realistic illustration of a brown horse head with dark mane gazing forward. Beneath this, arranged in three stacked lines, the words HORSE / NICOTINE / PACKETS appear in heavy black type. At bottom in smaller text: NET WT. 2.6 OZ (76g). The horse pictured is actually a composite—front half Thoroughbred, back half marketing team liability.
A retro computer bursts with black swirls, screen showing a pitbull in pink sunglasses and a vest. Magenta banner reads “I’M SPENDING MY ONE WILD AND PRECIOUS LIFE” above. Below, the word “ONLINE” in multicolor letters with six dots underneath. Three blue stars float around the frame. The dog’s left eye has a tiny reflection of a “like” button nobody asked for.
A cartoon map of North America showing Canada in dark green and the USA in lime green, both with hand-drawn facial features. Canada’s face is tired, USA’s is confused. Two red circles highlight the Great Lakes and Florida. The map was drafted on a napkin during a 3 AM Zoom call between two geographers who mistook their coffee for espresso — one of them still wears a fanny pack labeled “U.S. Border Patrol: Officially Unofficial.” The Great Lakes shimmer like someone just said “you’re cute” and no one knows how to respond
Top panel: A woman sprawled on a carpeted floor beside a wooden dresser and couch, text overlay: “fck I can’t get up”. Bottom panel: Same woman, now wearing sunglasses, neon green top, purple pants, holding a bottle, cigarette in mouth, mid-breakdance move under stage lights, text overlay: “BUT I CAN GET DOWN”. Her left sock has a tiny glitter heart nobody noticed until now — it was sewn on during a 3 AM TikTok livestream in 2019.
A serene elderly man with a long white beard and topknot, wearing black robes, stands beside a wooden table with scrolls. Text reads: "It is better to poop in the sink, than to sink in the poop." — Lao Tzu. The floral border is hand-stamped by a monk who once lived in a septic tank.
A meme with the rhyme “Here is the church, Here is the steeple,” above a photo of trapeze performers in a circus. Below it is a fake headline reading: “Trapeze artist with diarrhea shits on 23 people.” The ringmaster quietly changes the next show’s dress code to “rain jacket encouraged.”
A photo of a person jogging along a suburban sidewalk with text that reads: “Nobody sees the 4am workouts. Nobody sees me meal prepping for hours every week. Nobody sees any of this. Because I don’t do those things.” Inside the refrigerator, a fistful of shredded mozzarella is listed as a complete breakfast by the Council of Personal Trainers.
A meme with a photo of an orange tabby cat staring at the camera. The text reads: “My two jobs: 1. Calm my humans when they are stressed 2. Stress my humans when they are calm.” The cat has already filed a grievance because the lap was available for six consecutive minutes without interruption.
An image of a gray alien tucked into bed under patterned blankets with a blank expression. Large text reads: “To fall asleep you must first pretend to be asleep. & that’s how everything else works.” The moon has already direct-deposited abundance into the wrong timeline, but accounting insists it’s close enough.
A two-panel meme comparing two identical glasses. The left is labeled “OPTIMIST” with the text “THE GLASS IS HALF FULL.” The right is labeled “PISSIMIST” with the text “THE GLASS IS PISS,” and the liquid is yellow. A fourth panel exists only in the urologist’s clipboard, where someone has already asked for a refill.
A meme showing a person saying, “I just need to comprehend my own existence,” followed by a looping diagram where “comprehend” leads back to “my existence,” a figure lying awake in bed thinking the same thing, and a final panel where someone asks, “Are u okay bro?” and the reply is, “yes i just need to comprehend my own existence.” The receptionist stamps the paperwork “URGENT” before filing it directly into a paper shredder labeled “Tuesday.”
A simple gradient background with white text reading: “sad horse fact. horses are generally unable to wear light-up sketchers trainers, which limits their access to peak fashion.” Somewhere in Kentucky, a pony opens a trench coat full of illegal LED horseshoes and whispers, “cash only.”
A two-panel meme. The top panel shows four small cats walking toward the camera with the text “Going into the Poop Room.” The bottom panel shows a pride of lions walking in the same formation with the text “Coming OUT of the Poop Room.” The janitor salutes as they leave because the sink has witnessed enough.
A screenshot of a social media post that reads: “So you get rid of all the migrants, then what? You really think the government is gonna magically fix your public services? Your landlord is gonna stop ripping you off? Your boss is gonna pay you a fair wage? You live in capitalism & you’re really mad at the people at the bottom?” The post is shown with the author’s display name and profile image at the top. Somewhere off-screen, a private equity executive has just unlocked a new yacht by remaining completely absent from the argument.
A collage-style image of two white unicorns in a flower-filled meadow beneath a pink and blue sky with a rainbow, butterflies, and glowing sunlight. Large pink text at the top reads “i’m not like other girls” and large pink text at the bottom reads “i am a man.” A nearby squirrel is quietly taking meeting minutes because the rainbow changed its appointment without notice.
The stars below the text are arranged in a perfect Fibonacci sequence. The 13th star, a red one, pulses faintly. It’s the one that says, “You’re almost there. Just lie down. You’ve earned it.” The rest of the stars? They’re just cheering.
A two-panel meme compares 2007, with a dancing silhouette holding an iPod and text reading, “Cool it’s like a touchscreen computer in your pocket!” to 2026, with a person lying in bed staring at a glowing phone and text reading, “Gaze into this nightmare rectangle and watch society collapse in real time.” The phone is at 3 percent and Debra is typing another paragraph.
A cartoon dog character (Goofy) bends forward with one hand saluting and the other on his hip against a pink and blue background. Text reads: “Face down ass up thats the way we like to HYUCK.” The missing vape is warm, sticky, and registered to a woman named Brandi.
A gray cat stares upward, eyes locked on the red, white, and green fireworks exploding against a black sky. The dog isn't pictured—just the ghost of its panic underneath the bedframe. One firework vaguely resembles a papaya and is definitely watching the cat.
A cartoon cat dressed as a Founding Father: wig, tricorn hat, blue coat, ruffled cuffs... sits at a wooden desk with a quill in paw, writing. Above, gothic script reads “We the People.” Below, bold black text says “are like, so over it.” The cat’s tail drapes over the chair. The quill is slightly smudged with ink and possibly tuna residue.
The puppy in the bottom right is wearing a tiny gavel. The one in the top left is holding a shovel made of glitter. The sparkle next to the middle puppy? It’s the soul of the person who died, now trapped in a fizzy cloud.
In the background, a slow-motion video plays of someone unwrapping a crab Rangoon. The woman’s sunglasses flash with each “crack” of the wrapper. She doesn’t blink. Her hand reaches out not to talk — to grab. The plant behind her slowly wilts, consumed by the intensity of her focus.
The couple is now in counseling. The therapist says, “You two connect over stuff. But your deepest bond? The fact that you both own identical shower curtains with a floral pattern that’s out of stock since 2021.” The man starts crying. The woman pulls out her phone to compare prices on Amazon.
The book cover is now titled “The Art of the Deal: Expanded Edition – Now Includes Emotional Meltdown, Warplane Fallout, and 300 Billion in Unsecured Loans.” A tiny footnote reads: “All profits go to the slush fun.”
A gray shark in a white lab coat adjusts its tie while holding a report titled “Erection & Emissions: 2026 Preliminary Findings.” In the background, a boner-shaped bar chart rises above the “Climate Anxiety Index” graph. The shark mutters, “We’ve been underreporting this for decades.”
A brown paper bag with handles projects a glowing red beam into a dark interior labeled “vision inside the bag.” Inside, a smaller beige bag with a smiling face peers out. Text above reads “what’s in my bag?” and below, “It’s another bag.” The third bag in the chain, invisible to the eye, is a tiny velvet clutch embroidered with a single tear that says “I regret nothing.”
Trixie delivers the most obvious fact of the century while somewhere a suburban woman is furiously typing a one-star review because a seasonal display caused a constitutional crisis.
A gang of cacti in sunglasses gathers like they’re discussing stock options while one of them quietly dies because the thermostat changed by two degrees.
A proud mother uploads a photo of her son in uniform and immediately discovers the comments section is operating under maritime law.
A handwritten sign offers two spiritual paths: Jesus Christ or a small British-Japanese cartoon girl in a red bow who should, by all accounts, be worrying about homework instead of competing with the Son of God for followers.
A white T-shirt confidently spells out LGBTQ as a series of muscle groups, creating the exact outfit a guy wears right before saying, “I swear I bought it for the joke,” while somehow ending up at Pride anyway.
A meme asks if someone is high, then cuts to a suspiciously serene older man who somehow looks both dead and still at work, prompting the observation that this was apparently taken back when fax machines still roamed the Earth.
A memorial plate of Princess Diana sits on a dusty charity shop shelf with a £4.99 sticker on her face, awaiting the next person reckless enough to furnish their home entirely with unresolved British history.
A classical painting of Jesus and several intensely mustachioed men has been upgraded with a DJ controller, moments after a miracle accidentally launched a surprisingly successful electronic music career.
A screenshot of a screenshot of a screenshot sits inside several generations of cropped interfaces like a casserole dish passed through five generations, each ancestor adding another watermark, reaction bar, and mysterious black scribble.
A glamorous woman in a white dress politely informs the public that she has only been conscious for a few hours and therefore cannot be expected to answer questions, make plans, or possess stable opinions.
A galaxy-brained evolutionary chart depicts a USB goose, a hand-throwing goose, and a horse-goose hybrid beneath the declaration that the viewer doesn’t deserve this creature at its goosiest because it contains at least three separate geese and possibly a fourth currently loading.
A panel of deeply disappointed celestial bodies watches someone mentally convert a fleeting interest in pottery into an $80 shopping cart and a new personality that won’t survive the weekend.
A psychedelic poster of a tiger lounging under a giant flower and rainbow sky while someone who absolutely should not be operating heavy machinery announces they’ve been treating consciousness like a stolen forklift.
An enormous translucent yellow beanbag allegedly designed to hold urine sits on an Amazon page while an invisible stadium crowd loses its mind and begins demanding the ceremonial funnel as if it’s halftime entertainment.
The fat, ugly, orange pedo-in-chief gestures toward a chart proving a national monument has evolved into a giant bottle of sports drink while Abraham Lincoln’s ghost silently develops a caffeine addiction.
A suspiciously muscular cat stares directly into the camera like it has already spent eight hours excavating a perfectly square pit and expects you to move in immediately.
A person stands peacefully by a window with a cup of coffee while seventeen apps take turns replacing their personality. Outside, birds are singing. Inside, a targeted advertisement has convinced them they urgently need tactical freeze-dried lasagna and opinions about shipping logistics.
A pale, unsettling patient stares blankly from a hospital bed while several nurses quietly debate whether they’re treating a man or interrupting a centuries-old ritual. Somewhere off-camera, a grandfather clock begins spinning frantically as if it were possessed by an evil turtle.
Two frogs sit on a couch pretending not to notice the fleshy red mountain wedged between them. The television glows quietly while the frogs are about to get freaky.
A black-and-white photo of a famous physicist stares into the distance while a heavily censored quote suggests humanity discovered a fifth fundamental force somewhere between breakfast and Stall 3. The janitor has been subpoenaed three times.
A LEGO fan peacefully checks their email after purchasing the Titanic set, only to discover LEGO has interpreted this as proof of untapped spending capacity. In the distance, a giant brick-built ocean liner slowly disappears beneath waves made entirely of credit card statements.
Sometime around 2:00 a.m. a bipartisan coalition of exhausted gays, theater kids, and one rogue archivist wheeled the Constitution out of the Library of Congress and replaced it with a framed lyric sheet for Let Loose. Within hours, gas prices fell, everyone got hotter, and the nation’s productivity increased 14% due to improved morale. Supreme Court decisions are now delivered through interpretive dance, C-SPAN has a glam team, and schoolchildren begin each morning by placing a hand over their heart and whispering, “Mother has arrived.” Historians call it unconstitutional. Historians also said disco was dead.
Oh sweetheart, we’re no longer operating within the major world religions. Trixie is standing beneath the acoustic ceiling tiles of a convention center ballroom, six feet of wig reaching into a higher plane of existence, delivering revelations through the medium of exaggerated blush and passive-aggressive Midwesternism. The apostles are three exhausted lesbians from Minneapolis, the sacred texts are scattered across YouTube playlists, and every prophecy somehow ends with “well, that’s showbiz.” The Vatican is taking notes. The megachurches are nervous. Mama, when the eyeliner can be seen from low Earth orbit, that’s not faith. That’s infrastructure.
Oh sugar, Arthur has ignored the main quest for three straight chapters. Dutch is screaming about loyalty, the Pinkertons are closing in, and Miss Grimshaw is threatening violence, but our rugged king is parked by the train depot listening to Elijah explain track maintenance with devastating eye contact. The gang’s falling apart, the tuberculosis is advancing, and Arthur somehow still found time to ask, “So… you work this route often?” Mama, that’s not a side quest. That’s a lifestyle choice.
Oh sweetheart, welcome to Pride Premium™. The renewal email arrived at 3:17 a.m., the unsubscribe button is decorative, and your account has already been upgraded to Advanced Longing. Your dashboard now includes exclusive access to women with impeccable mullets, a personalized playlist for staring out windows dramatically, and unlimited use of the phrase “it’s complicated.” Customer support is unavailable because they’re all at brunch discussing a crush that has been in beta testing since 2022.
Oh diva, she’s gazing wistfully at a Pride event flyer like a Victorian widow staring out to sea. The rooftop mixer starts in twenty minutes, requires pants, and contains at least four people named Sage. She doesn’t want to attend. She wants the memory. She wants to be three days in the future, horizontal, overanalyzing a flirtation that never happened while telling her friends, “Honestly? It was cute.” The fantasy was free. The Uber was not.
Oh honey, gather round. Greg from Accounts Receivable has entered his villain era. She’s standing in sensible loafers, mascara running, one iced coffee away from a felony, staring down an HP Envy that’s been gaslighting the entire office since Q3. The printer keeps whispering “paper jam” with the confidence of a pathological liar while serving absolutely no evidence. Mama, this is no longer IT support. This is a feud. This is legacy. This is two bitter divas fighting for dominance in a fluorescent-lit arena behind the break room. Somebody cue the music, because Greg is about to perform a split directly into a workers’ compensation claim.
Well hello, diva. Feast your eyes on this chromatic carbohydrate serving a full Pride Month package. She didn’t emerge from the oven, she debuted. Freshly moisturized, lightly toasted, and carrying unresolved tension with three exes in the front row. The comments are off, the waist is cinched, and somewhere a heterosexual sourdough is asking if it’s “too late to experiment.” Mama, the crumb is political, the crust is expensive, and the yeast is currently in a situationship with a Pilates instructor named Blade. Werk.
A sheep stands proudly beside a Baja Blast, fully aware that beverage yields increase during specific planetary alignments. Nearby, a drive-thru employee accidentally speaks the sacred name and immediately gets promoted to Regional Diviner.
squidward staring into the void while the cashier scans a single bell pepper like it’s a luxury vehicle purchase agreement