My elderly dog has the same cloudy eyes, but the vet says they’re not cataracts (can’t remember what he said it is), and as far as we can tell, he can see fine.

Lady, I don’t give a shit about your theatrics, I only judge if you’re a lousy tipper.*

*in the US.

The eyes are definitely recognizable.

You know what it is.

The above explanation is correct, but specifically, he uses weird measurements. Like if a task involves counting a distance, he won’t use something reasonable like meters, but how many rubber ducks long.

Alex Horn wrote it.

My dog posted this.

Which doctor?

That’s the trophy from Taskmaster

Given the body shape and stilettos, she’s probably sore too.

And those grams should be counted via how much a rubber duck weighs.

Iron repels fairy magic.

OP said “always” and “never.” So I’m not really sure what the purpose of this discussion is beyond refuting those superlatives. Is the idea that there needs to be more physically abusive women in fiction? Or fewer men? What is the ideal?

I’ve only just started reading this, so I can’t guarantee that it fits the brief, or that it’s good: look into The River by Peter Heller.

From the best-selling author of The Dog Stars, the story of two college students on a wilderness canoe trip–a gripping tale of a friendship tested by fire, white water, and violence

Wynn and Jack have been best friends since freshman orientation, bonded by their shared love of mountains, books, and fishing. Wynn is a gentle giant, a Vermont kid never happier than when his feet are in the water. Jack is more rugged, raised on a ranch in Colorado where sleeping under the stars and cooking on a fire came as naturally to him as breathing. When they decide to canoe the Maskwa River in northern Canada, they anticipate long days of leisurely paddling and picking blueberries, and nights of stargazing and reading paperback Westerns. But a wildfire making its way across the forest adds unexpected urgency to the journey. When they hear a man and woman arguing on the fog-shrouded riverbank and decide to warn them about the fire, their search for the pair turns up nothing and no one. But: The next day a man appears on the river, paddling alone. Is this the man they heard? And, if he is, where is the woman? From this charged beginning, master storyteller Peter Heller unspools a headlong, heart-pounding story of desperate wilderness survival

A Wrinkle in Time.

The other books in that series were also great.

CLAMPS

I’ve always said my mom is not the black sheep of the family, because that was definitely Uncle Jimmy; she is the Purple polkadotted sheep of the family. Sounds like that’s what you might be.

Thank you, I am also a fan of your work.

They also don’t sell Halloween decorations.