B2 Bomber

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Why are you so invested in proving this guy wrong? There's nothing outlandish about saying investment bankers work 60-80 hours a week

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Can confirm these numbers are correct and probably even light. If you’ve never heard of a “protected” weekend, it’s hard to fully grasp how many hours actually go into the job.

The hours at an M&A shop with good deal flow are relentless, and the concept of work-life balance is nonexistent. It’s one of the few desk jobs that actually has a physical element - the sheer exhaustion from long nights, back-to-back deliverables, and non-stop client demands make more people than not reconsider their life choices.

Also, that stat of 100 coffee chats doesn’t sound outrageous to me - especially if it’s someone from a non-target.

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No reason to keep the starters in.

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Agree and was saying the same thing. My buddy raise a good point though - wouldn’t you want to be on the court when the clock hits zero to send your team to the final four.

I think we should have taken Flagg out with 4-5 mins left. Every minute he can stay off that ankle is probably helpful.

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This is the kind of take that lets everyone know you aren't watching the game.

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8-31

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This was an absolute arse-whooping.

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Doesn’t count. Bama was tired and Duke got all the calls.

Soft

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In my version of this story the daughter is smoking hot, dad comes and cheap shots me in the nose. Daughter gets mad and comes over to apologize for her dad. Then, and this is where it gets weird, she somehow gets stuck in my dryer

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How long does it take for her mom to show up and make this situation less awkward?

The snow fell softly outside the window, mirroring the quiet dread that had settled over me. Christmas Eve, a night usually filled with the warmth of family and the anticipation of gifts, now felt like a shroud of impending doom. My phone buzzed, the caller ID displaying an unknown number. My heart pounded against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence.

It was her.

The woman from the strip club in Miami, the one with eyes like stormy seas and a laugh that could melt glaciers. We'd spent a whirlwind weekend together, a passionate escape from the monotony of my life in Chicago. It had been a fleeting encounter, a stolen moment of pleasure, a secret I thought I'd successfully buried.

"Congratulations," she said, her voice a fragile whisper. "I'm pregnant."

The world tilted on its axis. My carefully constructed life, my carefully guarded anonymity, shattered into a thousand pieces. Panic clawed at my throat. I was a thousand miles away, a stranger in her life, a ghost in her memories.

The next few months were a blur of frantic phone calls, hurried flights, and hushed conversations with lawyers. Child support, visitation rights, the constant fear of exposure – it consumed me. My life, once predictable and comfortable, was now a chaotic whirlwind.

Then, four Christmases ago, I stumbled upon a truth that changed everything. I was browsing an online forum, a digital ghost in the shadows, when I came across a post. A woman, heartbroken and betrayed, was venting about her infidelity. The details were chillingly familiar: the city, the time, the distinctive tattoo… it was her.

The initial shock gave way to a strange sense of relief. The guilt, the anxiety, the constant fear of discovery – it all evaporated. I was no longer the unwitting father, the unsuspecting victim. I was just another man caught in the crosshairs of her deceit.

This Christmas Eve, the snow still falls, but it feels different now. The weight of the past, the burden of guilt, has finally lifted. I look at my family gathered around the fireplace, their faces lit with the warm glow of the holiday, and a genuine smile spreads across my face.

Life took an unexpected turn, a detour down a road I never imagined. But in the end, it led me back to here, to this moment, to the warmth of love and the joy of family. And that, I realized, is a gift far greater than any I could have ever imagined.

Did you watch the games?

This is bad football… on both sides

Water is wet