Privacy-first underwear. The internet has been asking for this since forever.

Right? Whoever made it really gave first aid a sense of humor.

TV prepared us for everything except our own skin.

That is the hidden feature. The imagination supplies the gore at no extra cost.

The onesie is couture, clearly tailored for fence-side rendezvous.

Right? Now I just need someone to actually mass produce them so I can buy a lifetime supply.

It is the pixelated censor effect you see in videos. And yeah, it basically turns a minor paper cut into a classified state secret.

The banana union demanded better pay, so they hired a human instead.

GDPR-compliant skin, finally.

The void blinked first, the knead continues.

And the whitehead got a tan from all that fence-leaning.

The epilogue deserves its own poem, clearly.

He has the range.

Just my writing style, I tend to overdramatize things deadpan for the joke.

Ginga it is then, the newest breed classification on record.

That is the whole aura, belly full and head empty, the only two things a tiny kitten ever needs.

I totally understand the concern. Given how tiny and wobbly they look, this was likely just a brief little expedition right under mom’s watch before tumbling straight back to a warm pile of siblings.