Ever stumbled upon a life‑hack that makes you go, “Why didn’t the rest of the world figure this out?” Grab a snack, because the next few paragraphs might just make you rethink your entire existence.
Ever wonder why some folks who thought they’d never make it to the great‑list of history suddenly become the envy of poster‑picking teenagers and museum curators? Let’s dive into a handful of “I’m a total failure” moments that history later turned into “Look at that genius!” moments. Spoiler: none of them really deserved the accolades.
Ever wonder what you'd do with a cool $100,000 if you only had an hour? Reddit's What If community got a little creative, and the results are… well, you can’t buy a small island in an hour, but you can definitely buy a lot of ridiculous things. Below are the most absurd (and slightly hilarious) answers that came back to the question.
You have $100,000 to spend in 1 hour. What are you buying with the money?
Casino Chips, Baby
“Buy $100,000 in casino chips, then turn around and cash them back in.”
Because nothing says “I’m responsible” like converting cash to chips and back to cash in the span of an hour.
Loophole Hunter
“You found a loophole.”
If only the IRS had a loophole that let you buy a small country with a single click.
Food‑Frenzy
“55 burgers, 55 fries, 55 tacos, 55 pies, 55 cokes, 100 tater tots, 100 pizzas, 100 tenders, 100 meatballs, 100 coffees, 55 wings, 55 shakes, 55 pancakes, 55 pastas, 55 peppers and 155 taters!”
Basically a one‑hour, 100‑item food festival. The only thing missing is a full‑size pizza delivery truck.
Crypto Confusion
“1 btc.... oh wait 1.2 btc... no 0.8 btc...”
When your brain tries to calculate crypto prices in real time.
Mortgage Magic
“Throw it at the mortgage.”
Because nothing says “I love my home” like a quick 100k splurge on your mortgage.
You can’t buy a yacht or a house in an hour, but you can definitely buy a lot of chips, food, crypto, and mortgage‑pay‑back‑cash‑back. The world’s fastest shopping spree is all about being absurdly efficient!
So, you’re the vegan soul who loves their kale smoothies and tofu steaks. Your grandma, bless her heart, is trying (and occasionally succeeding) to accommodate you at family gatherings. One fateful day, the salad comes with a non‑vegan dressing, the potatoes are fried in butter, and you’re left staring at a plate that says, “You’ll have to eat whatever is left.”
Your solution? Pack a bag of pre‑cooked vegan burrito‑style rice, a few veggie chips, and a smug grin.
Grandma, however, sees your portable pantry as an affront. She claims it’s rude—after all, she’s been “making sure” you’ve got enough to eat, right? She’d never let a non‑vegan dish even touch the kitchen, and she’s been “trying” to keep your meals safe for years.
You wonder if your back‑up snack stash was a crime, or if you’re the one acting like a culinary terrorist.
Ever had a corporate villain who makes a mess in the most unconventional place? Picture this: a Fortune 500 exec, pulling a six‑figure salary, secretly turning the men’s restroom into his personal art gallery—one booger at a time. When the employee in question tried to keep his business to himself, the EVP decided to do a “booger wipe” in the most literal sense.
The Original Post
I worked for a Fortune 500 company and we had a booger wiper who turned out to be an executive VP. This guy made six figures and reported to the CEO.
He would wipe boogers on the wall above the urinal in the men’s room.
One day I caught him because I left something in the men’s room. I had just used the urinal and there were no boogers. I was the only one in there and Mr. EVP walked in as I left.
I got about 30 feet away and realized I left something in there so I turned around went back. He was finishing up at the urinal when I walked in.
Sure enough, there were several boogers on the wall.
I waited a couple of days and printed out a note saying that I knew who he was and if he didn’t quit wiping his fucking boogers on the wall I would name him.
Well, later that day the note was gone and a fresh batch of boogers was there looking like the start of a Jackson Pollack painting.
The second note had his first name and I stated that the next offense would result in his full name being posted.
There were no more boogers in that restroom and everyone knew that one of the three Erics on the floor was the culprit.
Ever had the existential dread that your bedroom door might be the next great horror movie plot? Reddit's newest r/AskReddit thread is basically a full‑blown séance with everyone asking: Do you sleep with your bedroom door open or closed and why? Spoiler: The answers range from practical safety to supernatural paranoia.
Question:
Do you sleep with your bedroom door open or closed and why?
Ever join a startup where the team is so small that the boss practically lives in the break room and the interns are as close as your toothbrush? That's the vibe this guy hit the ground with. He’s got a boss named Tom, a mid‑thirties “mentor‑guru” who treats his employees like a second family, and Jane, a twenty‑something intern who could probably finish a novel in a single day.
Picture this: you’re sitting beside Tom, watching him demo a new feature. He’s got his chat window pinned to the screen, a habit that turns out to be a perfect storm for accidental confessions. The chat? Private. The screen? Public. The message? Me.
“Lmao she was so SOOO offended you called me OP.”
…and then it vanished in two seconds.
It’s the kind of moment that makes you wonder if your boss secretly runs a covert social network for the office. The only thing missing is the “I’m sorry, we’re going to have to delete your personal data” notification.
Jane’s quick “I’m not offended” is classic. She’s the sort of person who can’t seem to get away from you fast enough, even when you’re trying to keep a straight face. Meanwhile, Tom is still “annoying” enough that the writer can’t help but joke that Jane will barely look them in the eye in the new department.
The writer’s move to a different department feels like a corporate version of “I’m sorry, we’re changing the subject.” Tom still annoys, but Jane’s gaze has turned into a polite nod. On their last day, they share a silent office—no greetings, no goodbyes, just the awkward silence of two people who know they’ve been prying into each other’s digital lives.
Boss pinned chat to screen → accidental “private” message → intern’s reaction → writer moves departments. If you think your coworker’s inbox is private, remember the boss has a built‑in “screen‑share” feature.
TL;DR – I was the only person who ever tried to pet a cat with a laser pointer and a life‑saving whistle. The world thinks I died doing something heroic, but honestly I was just trying to be the best “cat whisperer” I could be.
Picture this: a mild‑mannered office worker, a love of cats, and a secret obsession with making grandiose, nonsensical sound effects. On a Tuesday that was just a bit too ordinary, I decided to test the limits of the “cat whisperer” title I’d invented for myself. I walked into the break room with a cat‑friendly laser pointer (in the shape of a small, glittery disc) and a whistle that would only work on the first day of each month. I called out, “pspspsps,” in a dramatic, almost operatic tone, hoping to summon the feline spirit.
Instead of a serene, meow‑filled paradise, a small, bewildered cat stared at me, tail twitching, as if I had just spoken in a different language. I kept chanting, “pspspsps,” and the cat eventually decided to ignore me. I tried to apologize, offered a bag of tuna, but the cat was still unamused. I left the room, my dignity slightly bruised, and the cat still looking at me like a judge in a courtroom.
Fast forward to the inevitable: the cat, a few weeks later, turned out to be the cause of a mild allergic reaction in the office, the coffee machine exploded, and my coworkers discovered I was not a “cat whisperer” but a cat whisperer‑in‑training. The world, however, decided I’d died doing something truly noble. They didn’t get the cat’s dramatic nope and the fact that I was still alive. The news spread like wildfire:
“He died doing what he loved.”
“He died doing what he loved.”
“He died doing what he loved.”
And that’s where our story starts.
Below, we’ve gathered the most memorable responses from the internet. No usernames—just the raw, hilarious commentary that proves everyone loves a good cat‑related tragedy.
Ever walked into a men’s restroom and felt like you were playing a game of Where’s Waldo? but with bodily fluids? The classic layout—three urinals followed by two stalls—has been a stubborn relic of the 1950s that refuses to adapt to the realities of modern masculinity. The truth is, we’re not just here to pee; we’re a collective of “I’m here for a quick pee, but I’ll probably have to wait for a stall because my buddy's doing a full-on face‑to‑face showdown with a man in a different stall”.
The ideal layout, according to a growing movement of bathroom designers, is a simple alternating pattern: urinal, stall, urinal, stall, urinal. This keeps the flow of people moving, reduces the awkward “I’m just peeing, but I’ve got a whole conversation going on in the next stall” vibe, and—most importantly—keeps the plumbing from turning into a traffic jam.
Why the fuss? Because the current design is basically a “double‑door” approach: two walls with three urinals on one side and two stalls on the other. That means the walls are working hard to keep the stalls from turning into a social experiment. The walls are being used to their maximum efficiency, but that doesn’t mean the people inside are happy. Imagine a hallway of three urinals—fast, efficient, but also a little too… public. Then you get stuck behind two stalls that feel like a private club but are open to the whole building’s gossip.
So, what would happen if we switched to a staggered design? People could line up in a way that feels less like a queue for a bathroom and more like a “we’re all in this together” line. It also helps with the “I don’t want to be next to the guy who just left a wet footprint on the floor” problem. No more awkward eye contact between a guy who just used a stall and a guy who’s about to pee.
And if you’re still not convinced, think about the flow of the restroom. Imagine a sleek, alternating pattern: the first urinal takes the load, the stall gives a quick break for those who need it, then another urinal pops up, a stall again, and a final urinal to finish the job. That’s efficient, that’s fun, and it makes it less likely that you’ll end up stuck in a stall that feels like a hostage situation because the guy next to you is taking forever.
In short: the bathroom should be a place where you can get your business done without feeling like you’re in a hostage drama. The urinal, stall, urinal, stall, urinal layout is the future—if you’re into that kind of thing.
I work in a cube farm, the kind of office space where people pretend the plastic walls are real and the fluorescent lights are just a nice ambient glow. The section I usually occupy is currently under renovation, so the office gods have tossed me to a new desk for a while. It’s a fresh start—until the second day, when the real horror begins.
I have allergies, which means I cough sometimes. As a responsible adult, I cover it with a tissue or my hands. I’m not a toddler who just drops the whole world in my face. I try to be polite, but then every time I or anyone near me coughs, a coworker—let’s call her “The Lysol Whisperer”—sighs, grabs her aerosol can, and unleashes a cloud of disinfectant like a fireworks show. She sits directly in front of my cubicle, so it’s like a personal “you’re not going to survive this day” zone.
Sneeze. Cough. Sniffle. Boom! Lysol. I’m not even staying at that desk permanently, but I have no clue how anyone tolerates that. It’s rude, it’s gross, and it’s basically a chemical assault on my lungs. I tried to explain that I’m just allergic and not sick, and she replied, “I don’t care, it’s gross.”
I’m thinking of counter‑spraying with fart spray or old‑lady perfume just to balance the scale, but I keep telling myself that this is just a temporary situation.