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🦸‍♂️ Superman’s Dirty Cape

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  The truth behind the tights. 🧳 The Hook – After the Credits The movie ended. The credits rolled. Superman walked off the soundstage and stood quietly on the sidewalk—waiting for a cab. No flying. No theme music. No cheering fans. Just a wrinkled suit and a man with aching knees. “Even heroes need Uber,” he whispered. His iconic red underwear? “Needs a serious wash.” πŸͺž Mirror Talk Back in his apartment, Superman removed his cape, kicked off his boots, and stared into the mirror. “We lie,” he said to his reflection. “We’re not heroes. We're marketing tools in spandex. There's no truth. No justice. Just tight schedules and tighter pants.” Then his phone rang. ☎️ A Call from Trump “White House here. The president loved your movie. He wants to meet. Tonight.” Superman arrived at the Oval Office in a gray business suit. No cape. No S-logo. Just a man in borrowed confidence. Trump frowned. “Where’s the underwear?” he asked. “Where’s the chest puff? You look like you...

πŸ• The Final Slice

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  Tucker Carlson was on the run. From who? He wasn’t exactly sure. All he knew was that a group of well-dressed weirdos from a shadowy organization called The Crust were tracking his every move. They didn’t want his opinions. They didn’t want his show. They wanted… the last slice of pizza . πŸ“œ The Message Tucked inside a manila envelope left at his doorstep, the message read: “No one walks away from the last slice.” It was written in dripping marinara ink. Tucker read it five times. He wiped his forehead. Then he tweeted, “They know.” πŸ—£️ Presidential Interference When asked about Tucker’s situation, former President Trump chuckled: “Nobody walks away from mozzarella. I don’t care who you are. But Tucker? Please. He couldn’t even afford a garlic knot . Sad!” πŸ” Who Will Help? With The Crust closing in, Tucker must decide: Trust the barefoot man in the Hawaiian shirt offering pineapple pizza protection ? Decode the delivery receipt left behind by a mysterious pizza ...

πŸͺ° The Fly-Fi Revolution

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Elon Musk had a problem. Starlink was too... normal. Too corporate. Too “mainstream internet billionaire.” He wanted something smaller. Lighter. Buzzier. So he pitched the board: “What if… we mounted miniature Wi-Fi satellites… on the backs of flies ?” Silence. Then laughter. The kind of laughter that only happens when billionaires mock each other inside oak-paneled boardrooms. 🍟 Enter: The Sad Potato Man Elon stormed out, furious. That’s when he met Hank — an old man selling fries from a cart near the gates of “The Introvert Billionaires Club.” Hank looked up with greasy hands and onion-ring eyes and said: “Son, I believe in your flies. I’ll help you. I got trash . A lot of it.” πŸ—‘️ Operation Fly-Fi Begins By the next morning, tons of garbage were delivered to Elon’s Bel Air mansion. Rotten fish, expired pudding, vape pens, old Twitter blue checkmarks—everything flies love. Soon, Elon had the largest private fly swarm in North America. He named them: Buzznet. But there was...

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