Install Steam
login
|
language
简体中文 (Simplified Chinese)
繁體中文 (Traditional Chinese)
日本語 (Japanese)
한국어 (Korean)
ไทย (Thai)
Български (Bulgarian)
Čeština (Czech)
Dansk (Danish)
Deutsch (German)
Español - España (Spanish - Spain)
Español - Latinoamérica (Spanish - Latin America)
Ελληνικά (Greek)
Français (French)
Italiano (Italian)
Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
Magyar (Hungarian)
Nederlands (Dutch)
Norsk (Norwegian)
Polski (Polish)
Português (Portuguese - Portugal)
Português - Brasil (Portuguese - Brazil)
Română (Romanian)
Русский (Russian)
Suomi (Finnish)
Svenska (Swedish)
Türkçe (Turkish)
Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
Українська (Ukrainian)
Report a translation problem
╭━━━━╮
╰┃ ┣▇━▇
┃ ┃ ╰━▅╮
╰┳╯ ╰━━┳╯
╰╮ ┳━━╯
▕▔▋ ╰╮╭━╮
╱▔╲▋╰━┻┻╮╲╱▔▔▔╲
▏ ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ O O┃
╲╱▔╲▂▂▂▂╱▔╲▂▂▂╱
▏╳▕▇▇▕ ▏╳▕▇▇▕
╲▂╱╲▂╱ ╲▂╱╲▂╱
🤓
When Alexander Graham Bell died in 1922, the telephone people interrupted
service for one minute in his honor. They've been honoring him intermittently
ever since, I believe.
-- The Grab Bag
🙄
Happiness isn't something you experience; it's something you remember.
-- Oscar Levant
😭
Real Users know your home telephone number.
🤣
The Worst American Poet
Julia Moore, "the Sweet Singer of Michigan" (1847-1920) was so bad that
Mark Twain said her first book gave him joy for 20 years.
Her verse was mainly concerned with violent death -- the great fire
of Chicago and the yellow fever epidemic proved natural subjects for her pen.
Whether death was by drowning, by fits or by runaway sleigh, the
formula was the same:
Have you heard of the dreadful fate
Of Mr. P.P. Bliss and wife?
Of their death I will relate,
And also others lost their life
(in the) Ashbula