Captain Aggravated

Out of the women I’ve dated, fully half of them were violent towards me. I’ve been slapped, punched, whatever you call the gesture of swinging your hand with a hammer, like banging on a door, scratched, bitten, kicked, had food spat in my face, I’ve been hit with blunt objects and had things thrown at me.

The most violent thing I’ve ever done to a woman was hold her down. I pinned her hands to the back of the couch to make her stop hitting me.

I’ve got no patience at all for any whining about how it’s not fair I’m strong enough to rearrange her face but she’s not strong enough to rearrange mine. I’ve been hit enough and if I’m hit again I’m hitting back.

My “prep” plan is mostly hurricane based. I have a sump pump, generator, a 2-weeks supply of non-perishable food, a camping stove, plus my backyard propane grill, and of course my cordless tools, and now my little power station with solar panels. I sat my ass through Fran, Ivan and Matthew, I’ll sit my ass through the next one.

Does that say something about European travel, or European families?

and then you’ve got 90 seconds until it’s rotten.

Do the Ocampa make any sense? In one episode, Kes goes into heat, she says it’s the only time she ever will, and Ocampa are shown to have a litter size of around 1. So…how has this species survived their own 0.5 at best replacement ratio?

Tom Hanks’ character in Big?

we’ll have to start calling them titroaches.

Given how it lines up with the phrase “bed time” we’re likely looking at a 3 digit house number and a 4 letter street name, probably ending in a y, so somethign like 123 July St. Though in a town as large as Los Angeles you do have a lot of hunting to do there.

There may be some policy that they have to give the entire clearance in one shot, but ffs show at least a crustacean’s level of self-awareness.

I had a clearance delivery controller do this to me:

“Cessna 123AB, cleared to Somewhereton Regional as filed, Runway 5 MUNCH departure, climb and maintain 5,000 feet, expect 9,000 feet in 10 minutes, contact Exampleville departure 122.9, squawk _hubbajubba.”

“Exampleville clearance, Cessna 3AB, could you repeat the squawk code?”

“Cessna 123AB, cleared to Somewhereton Regional as filed, Runway 5 MUNCH departure, climb and maintain 5,000 feet, expect 9,000 feet in 10 minutes, contact Exampleville departure 122.9, squawk _hubbajubba.”

“Exampleville clearance, 3AB, I still didn’t catch the squawk code. REPEAT THE SQUAWK CODE.”

“Cessna 123AB, cleared to Somewhereton Regional as filed, Runway 5 MUNCH departure, climb and maintain 5,000 feet, expect 9,000 feet in 10 minutes, contact Exampleville departure 122.9, squawk _hubbajubba.”

“Exampleville clearance, 3AB, cleared to somewhereton as filed, MUCH departure, maintain 5,000 feet expect 9,000 in one zero minutes, call departure on 122.9, squawk 4422?”

“3AB, readback correct, call ground point niner.”

… 😤

BRB trademarking “Gotatoes”

No they were full of fruit. Thing is nothing stopped you from squeezing the bag with your hands.

I have an alternative hypothesis: At least some people who say they don’t like onion are basing that opinion entirely on raw onion and refuse to consider and/or haven’t noticed cooked onion.

Go to restaurant, get served a house salad, bite into the purple thing, OH GOD WHAT IS THAT?

A nice refreshing bottle of Gotatoes.

IIRC the excuse for Juicero having internet access was to read QR codes on the fruit pouches that included the expiration date, and it would refuse to squeeze expired fruit. Because at it’s heart, it was a screw press. A severely over-engineered screw press. Like Jurassic Park, they spared no expense.

Sounds like a Juicero.

I made my choice.

I don’t want to spend time with my kids. That’s why I didn’t have any.

Follow for more top gear top tips.

In an instant, Elmo realized he wasn’t seeing the angel fall, the angel was quite stationary. He was seeing his own rapid ascent. He realized far too late that it wasn’t the halo holding the angel up, but the angel holding the halo down.

The mortal cosmos blurred to a speck below his feet as Elmo contemplated his grip on the glowing golden disc. “Should Elmo let go”? he wondered aloud as starlight faded from memory. He knew he was being borne aloft, but couldn’t tell by what. The holy ring still clutched in his fingers applied no apparent force to his body in any direction, and in fact felt fixed in place like reality’s own anchor. At once it was searing cold and freezing hot. Time raced ahead as the light receded behind.

As the countless brief eternities blurred past, Elmo’s existence faded to angelic incandescence only interrupted by the impudence of a red shag wrist. Once he tried to look away, but found no other direction in which to gaze. There was nothing else for him. Only the interrupted golden light.

“I’ve got nothing to lose except this gun I stole before I died.”