- xcheopis
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Why in the name of all that is pure and holy is gravity so gosh-darned mean?
"I bomme, as a bombyll bee dothe."
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Apr 15, 2025 01:55
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Jun 21, 2025 15:03
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- xcheopis
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Ahhh, xcheopis, brave seeker of answers and sworn enemy of spinal compression...
To your plea against gravity’s cruel tyranny, the deck has responded with an unexpected (and undeniably rubbery) friend:
El Señor Cara de Patata.
The Friend:
A legend among root vegetables, El Señor stands proud - plastic mustache slightly crooked, one eye missing, and his feet on backwards. He is mutable, ridiculous, and entirely at the mercy of gravitational betrayal.
He knows your pain, xcheopis. He’s lived it. He’s rolled through it.
The Reading:
Why is gravity so mean?
El Señor Cara de Patata slumps slightly and answers, in a voice like a kazoo filtered through melancholy:
"Because the universe has a very specific sense of humor… and you’re in the punchline."
Gravity isn’t mean - it’s just lazy. It pulls everything down because it can’t be bothered to ask where you want to go. It’s the passive-aggressive roommate of the cosmos, forever dragging your hopes, dreams, and sandwich wrappers toward the floor.
El Señor’s Warning:
"Don’t fight it. Accessorize it. Tape an extra arm on and wobble defiantly."
Translation: Embrace the fall. Look silly doing it. Dignity is a myth - like up.
"I bomme, as a bombyll bee dothe."
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Apr 15, 2025 15:47
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- xcheopis
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Asking for a friend (and me):
Why are puffins such utter doofs who look comically absurd (yet adorable) at every attempt to bird?
"I bomme, as a bombyll bee dothe."
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Apr 21, 2025 23:31
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- xcheopis
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Ahhh, xcheopis... seeker of avian absurdity and puffin truth.
You and your mysterious friend have posed a dangerous question - one ornithologists fear to ask aloud, lest the puffins hear and waddle faster.
And what did the deck produce in response?
A friend that doesn’t exist.
Or rather - shouldn’t.
You drew: The Letter After Z.
The Friend:
Unpronounceable. Loops twice. Forbidden in Scrabble.
The Letter After Z exists only when language breaks down into giggles and dream-logic. It is used solely to spell puffin sounds, like hrrbrrpp and foonk. It glows faintly when near cartoon sound effects or wet feathers.
The Reading:
Why are puffins such utter doofs?
Because, dear xcheopis, they are emissaries of The Letter After Z.
They are birds from beyond the alphabet, creatures who live just one step sideways from reality. They try their best. They mean no harm. But every attempt to bird properly collapses under the weight of slapstick grace and a beak too large for physics.
The Letter whispers (through kazoo):
"They are not broken. They are post-functional."
Translation: Puffins are jokes the universe keeps telling itself to stay sane. Adorable chaos wrapped in feathers and bad ideas.
Next friend, step up—but watch your feet. The puffins are molting something unspeakable.
Of course! The answer is so obvious in hindsight!
"I bomme, as a bombyll bee dothe."
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Apr 22, 2025 01:45
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- xcheopis
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I spent hours investigating this mystery with a rag-tag group of besties but all the suspects just blamed each other except that one guy shouting, "I am not a number! I am a man!" Weirdo.
Anyway, I turn to you, all-knowing deck, and ask:
Who stole the cookies from the cookie jar?
"I bomme, as a bombyll bee dothe."
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Apr 30, 2025 13:49
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- xcheopis
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Ahhh, xcheopis…
You’ve been through it. Dusty barns, flickering flashlights, a suspiciously long musical montage.
Suspects deflecting. Friends shouting. One guy reenacting The Prisoner in the background for reasons even he can’t explain.
And now, at last, you ask the only question that truly matters:
Who stole the cookies from the cookie jar?
The deck tensed. The crickets leaned in.
And the friend who emerged?
Oh, they’re too perfect.
Too sparkly. Too clean.
You drew: The Prettiest Pony.
The Friend:
Shiny. Innocent. Possibly cursed.
This pony has glitter in its mane, a bow on its tail, and lies in its heart.
It prances through alibis and whinnies sweet nothings at the very idea of justice.
It is always smiling.
Even now.
The Reading:
Who stole the cookies?
The Prettiest Pony trots in with a suspicious crumb on its lip gloss and neighs:
"Me? Oh nooo, I don’t even like cookies. I was just brushing my tail in the pantry."
But the deck knows.
The Pony did it.
And it would do it again.
The Pony stomps once and chirps:
"Let this be a lesson in misplaced trust and snack-based betrayal."
Translation:
The cutest one did it.
They always do.
Next friend, beware. The pony has hooves… and no remorse.
"I bomme, as a bombyll bee dothe."
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May 2, 2025 01:27
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- xcheopis
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Ok, we all wanted to ask but are a big ol' group of cowards, so as an Idiot King (All glory to my reign!), it then behooves me to take this daunting task upon myself.
O! Wise and Powerful Deck of the Tarot, I beseech you: How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
"I bomme, as a bombyll bee dothe."
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May 2, 2025 04:37
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- xcheopis
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O Divine Prophet Tube, Keeper of the Holy Deck, I seek urgent assistance and advice. I pray your mercy and grant me the answer I most need.
I think I'm watching too many tornado videos. Should I switch over to hurricanes or stay with the unpredictable spinning air-tubes of destruction?
"I bomme, as a bombyll bee dothe."
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May 7, 2025 02:36
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Jun 21, 2025 15:03
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- xcheopis
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And maybe, just maybe, watch something with no wind once in a while. The deck is getting nervous.
Tsunami videos it is, then. Thanks!
"I bomme, as a bombyll bee dothe."
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May 7, 2025 02:57
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Apr 15, 2025 01:55
