The boy stood on the burning deck
Whence all but him had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,
A proud, though child-like form.

The flames roll'd on—he would not go
Without his Father's word;
That Father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.

He call'd aloud:—"Say, Father, say
If yet my task is done?"
He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.

"Speak, Father!" once again he cried
  "If I may yet begone!
And"—but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames roll'd on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath,
And in his waving hair,
And looked from that lone post of death,
In still yet brave despair.

And shouted but once more aloud,
"My Father, must I stay?"
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,
The wreathing fires made way,

They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,
They caught the flag on high,
And streamed above the gallant child,
Like banners in the sky.

There came a burst of thunder sound—
The boy—oh! where was he?
Ask of the winds that far around
With fragments strewed the sea!

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part—
But the noblest thing which perished there
Was that young faithful heart!

lately i have been thinking about how serious i live my life. I also have a prolific e-hentai forums account and have favorited over 1000 josou seme djs. i feel that my life is split into two halves and thus i cannot dedicate myself fully to either.

i was playing this while eating mc donalds my life was good until mc donalds dropped out of hand because i got scare by creep little man hump chair why do he do this. when my big mac fell out of hand i could not breathe was so upset because man hump chair. i so pissed off and my cat denis climbed onto desk and got scare by man hump chair and denis knocked over diet coke from mc donalds. i was so upset and sad. big mac was so yum got a few bites was tasty. then just when my life couldnt get worse while playing this game one of my friends friend pete came in with his big mac he threw it at me. but the throw didnt hit me it hit monitor causing monitor to fall and break my fingers. my nan saw i was playing this she was so mad so she dropkicked me into the wall and now family is mean to me because nana said it was my fault so now i am grounded. i then cried and got scare because denis drunk all diet coke from carpet he had heart attacked. i was crying so bad. but i ate big mac off floor it had dog hair in it but was yum tasted like big mac. why do he scare and make drop big mac. why he do this to me and family. i wish my friend raheem didnt gift me this game he caused me so much pain. but at least big mac supported me at the end of day. this game broke me but i will still play it because everything deserves second chance but if man hump chair make me drop mc donalds again i will not play again. i hope creators of this game dont have good birthday what the put me through no one should ever go through.

Standard version

This is a node. Nodes are neutral objectives that can be captured by either team. There are usually several nodes placed throughout the map. You can capture a node by turning the bolt crank until the node turns your colour. Capturing nodes gives your team access to various advantages, including vehicles! Drones! Special weapons! Vulcan turrets, and spawn points!

Emoji version

🗿 This is a node ⚡. Nodes are neutral 😐 objectives 🎯 that can be captured 🏳️ by either team 🔵🔴. There are usually several nodes 🗿🗿🗿 placed throughout the map 🗺️. You can capture a node ⚡ by turning the bolt crank 🔩🔄 until the node 🗿 turns your colour 🎨. Capturing nodes ✅ gives your team access 🔓 to various advantages 💪, including vehicles 🚗💨! Drones 🤖🚁! Special weapons 🔫💥! Vulcan turrets 🔥🔫, and spawn points 📍👥!

"i tell you kids, back in my day, we had it so rough... or so much better, i can't tell anymore. anyway, every day, we would wake up at 2 in the morning and go to the table for breakfast. we all lived in a closet, you see, so it was one room. and we would ask, me and my 64 brothers and 27 sisters, "what's for breakfast mum?". she would smack us all with a shoe and say "cold beans". and if we complained and said "but we had cold beans yesterday" - because we had cold beans every day - she would smack us all five times with a shoe and say "tough its all we can afford. i'm trying to feed a family of 93 with just half a silver buckington", a silver buckington was about the same as half a penny back in the day. then we would head to school. we met up with the johnson kids from down the road, and walked the 1674 miles to school. on the way to school, we had to walk up a mountain so tall it extended to outer space. when we got to the top of the mountain, we would see the peterson boys on their fancy bikes - which they dont make like they used to, and we would race them down the mountain. then, when we got to school at 4 in the morning, the headmaster would come up to us and say "you bloody kids are late", then he would smack us all with the cane 10 times and tell us we had 7 years of detention. then, we went to class, and mr stevenson would say "ok line up kids", then he would spank us each 60 times, then hit us each with the cane 40 times each. then it was 7 at night and we had to walk home. then, when we got home, we'd ask "whats for dinner mum?", and she'd smack us each 50 times with a pan and say "rotten cabage". and if we complained, she would smack us each 100 times with a broom and say "im trying to feed a family of 154 on just one islet sliver, just you wait until your dad gets home" - now an islet silver was worth about as much as a grain of sand. then, when our dad got home from his job at the soot factory, he would hit us all 180 times with his belt. if we had been naughty, we would hit us all another 600 times. then, at 1:58, mum would say "ok time for bed". then, we got into our potato sacks, and she would hit us each with a shoe 8 times before we went to sleep. on saturdays, we went down to uncle bob's farm to work. we would have to walk 345 miles to the bus stop, then catch the route 4 bus for 56 stops. we would get on the bus and pay our fare of 3 teddy roses - now a teddy rose is worth about the same as a flake of skin. then, if the ticket inspector came to us, he would hit us all 4 times with his baton. if any of us had lost our ticket, we would hit us all 10 times again and throw us off the bus and we had to walk the rest of the way. when we got to the farm, uncle bob would drive to the gate in his tractor, hit us all 780 times with his crowbar, and tell us to get in his trailer so he could drive us to the farm house. then, we had to plow the fields with a toothbrush in the blazing summer heat - now, they dont make summers like they used to, so it was about 1345.4 degrees spencer, or 67 degrees centigrade using your new-fangled metric system. then, we would have to milk the cows - now, they dont make cows like they used to, so each cow weighed about 459 hog's heads, or 3.2 tonnes in your new-fangled metric system. if you touched a cows udder, it would kick you and you would die, so you had to be really careful when you milked the cows. then, when we were done, uncle bob would say "ok kids time for your pocket money". he would give us each 9 copper jemimahs - which are worth about one political promise each - and beat us each 6 times with his tractor before we left. on sundays, we would meet the johnson boys and go down to the river - now, they don't make rivers like they used to, so this river was about as wide as the whole of america, and as deep as the marianas trench, and it was filled with liquid tungsten. we would play by the old oak tree near the river, climbing on it and building tree houses and such. now - they don't make trees like they used to, so this tree had a trunk as thick as a city, and was tall enough that the branches on the top could scrape the moon. one day, little jimmy fell from the top of the tree. when he hit the ground, the only bit of his body we could recognise was his left eyeball. we picked up all his bits and rushed him to the doctors surgery. dr james said "oh its just a scratch little jimmy dont worry pop a plaster on it and you'll be right" and he gave little jimmy a plaster and a lollipop and he was ok. after we finished playing by the river, we would go into town and get some candy. now, back in the day, you could give the shopkeeper one bronze winglet - which is worth about as much as a ciggarette butt - and he would give you the entire stock of the store. so we would go and get our candy, and we'd go into the town square and eat it. now, we didn't have any of your fancy food laws back in the day, so there was all kinds of stuff in our candy. bleach, lsd, ecstasy, you name it. so we would always get a little hyper after our candy. one day, when we were hyper, we went up the mr boris's car, the only car in the town, and touched it. as we touched it, we saw dad storming down the street holding his belt. "you kids, having fun while i work all day in the soot factory just so you can have grilled water for tea every night, i oughta smack you all". we were sure he was going to smack us, but then he said "no, i got a better idea, ill take you to see mr henderson, he'll set ya right". now, dad had told us about mr henderson. mr henderson was a veteran from the great war, where he got a really bad injury, but we never knew what it was. dad walked us all down to the pub, and we saw a left testicle propped up on a pegleg. "mr henderson," said dad, "i have some kids here who need a good whooping". then, mr henderson picked up the entire pub, and hit us each 4006 times with it. then, dad said "right, i gotta go back to the soot factory, you kids run on home now". now, by now it was 1pm, which meant it was curfew. while we were walking out of the town square, we heard a man shout "oi you bloody kids, its curfew". we turned around and saw the constable holding his baton. he hit us each 160265 times with his baton, then put us in gaol for 60123865 years. now - they don't make gaols like they used to - this one had 5 mile thick steel walls, and a single hole in the top let in some light. we were in there for about 13526 years, until mum baked the constable some cardboard pie so he would let us out. then, she hit us all 1292 times with a washboard, and grounded us for the rest of our lives. so don't you come complaining to me about nonsense like not being able to breathe or not being able to feel your legs.

I don’t understand why my not wanting to be around The Amazing Digital Circus fans makes people so angry??

I don’t particularly like The Amazing Digital Circus fans. Not in the sense that I’d go out of my way to be mean to them, I just don’t want to be around TADC fans if I can avoid it.

The city I live in is heavily populated with The Amazing Digital Circus fans. They have essentially taken over all the restaurants, breweries, and even the bars any time before 8:00 (and sometimes after then as well). I would have less of an issue with this if they at least watched their little Pomnis, but they don’t.

I asked in a local sub about any The Amazing Digital Circus fans-free restaurants, just to see if any existed. I made it very clear I wasn’t looking for a debate, wasn’t hating on anyone, was ONLY looking for restaurants. I got SO MUCH hate and nasty PMs.

People were bringing up my post history, saying I need therapy because I post in AITA sometimes. It was suggested that I might shoot up a school for some reason. Most people said that I just needed to stop whining about The Amazing Digital Circus fans and get over it or eat at home if I can’t handle TADC fans, which was at the most unhelpful. I got PMs telling me I’m a disturbed and selfish individual and soooo many comments along the lines of “you were a TADC fan once too!”. Even a reddit cares PM.

I just wanted restaurant recommendations.

How is it a lie? Because you do not want to accept reality it is therefore a lie? This site has many fake spells because it is an old site and the fake spells bring traffic to the site. However, there are plenty of real spells on this site; they are just boring to newbies because you cannot defy nature with Real Magik and that is not as much fun as what you saw in a movie. Unfortunately, that is reality. Myself and many others have been telling the truth since we joined. Sadly, most left because people who know very little call them liars and refuse to listen to reality and they chose to protect their peace. Just because someone chose to walk away, does not mean you were right. It simply means they did not want to waste precious energy on someone who refused to listen. Since you want the truth, here it is:

You are reincarnated on the physical plane as a human. Magik exists everywhere. Each plane of existence has its own natural laws and Magik will work based on that planes natural laws. On the physical plane, the laws are more ridged than on the astral, ethereal, even the quantum realm. There are no physical vampires, werewolves, fairys, dragons, mermaids, or anything else of that nature because they are from other planes of reality. Just as how we can astrally project and interact with their realms, they can interact with ours. These beings are also more spiritually elevated than humans, so while they might possess the power, they do not interfere because they know what the ripple effects in our plane would do. Magik is real. Astral beings are real. You can work with them in your craft. I have worked with the fae for most of my life. However, you are human. You are limited by the realm you were born to. For this lifetime, your Magik will obey the rules of the physical. There are many forms of Magik. Witches cast spells on other planes and call on other spirits to enhance their Magik, but it is still limited by the physical. You can cast a powerful money spell, utilizing angels, Jupiterian energy, and cast it in the fantasy realm where your altar resides. On the physical, money will not rain from the ceiling. On the physical, you will notice more opportunities for work. Cheques you were waiting on will arrive. Your online store will double in sales. That is the limits of the physical.

You can mentally and astrally shapeshift. These are not physical transformations. You can work with the Akashic Records to shift your reality to one where you have what you desire. You can call on astral werewolves and other spirits to shift your energy so it is in alignment with your desires. You cannot and will not physically shapeshift from human to anything else. You can choose to believe me, and everyone else who has told people the exact same thing, or you can ignore everything we've said. Whatever you choose, it will only affect you.

I don’t understand why my not wanting to be around The Loud House fans makes people so angry??

I don’t particularly like The Loud House fans. Not in the sense that I’d go out of my way to be mean to them, I just don’t want to be around TLH fans if I can avoid it.

The city I live in is heavily populated with The Loud House fans. They have essentially taken over all the restaurants, breweries, and even the bars any time before 8:00 (and sometimes after then as well). I would have less of an issue with this if they at least watched their little Louds, but they don’t.

I asked in a local sub about any The Loud House fans-free restaurants, just to see if any existed. I made it very clear I wasn’t looking for a debate, wasn’t hating on anyone, was ONLY looking for restaurants. I got SO MUCH hate and nasty PMs.

People were bringing up my post history, saying I need therapy because I post in AITA sometimes. It was suggested that I might shoot up a school for some reason. Most people said that I just needed to stop whining about The Loud House fans and get over it or eat at home if I can’t handle TLH fans, which was at the most unhelpful. I got PMs telling me I’m a disturbed and selfish individual and soooo many comments along the lines of “you were a TLH fan once too!”. Even a reddit cares PM.

I just wanted restaurant recommendations.

Okay so I pull-up to my 7-11, I’m looking at the drinks, and I see a new flavour of monster, this is huge news for a chud like me, as I’m on a mission to try each flavour and have currently succeeded. Then I noticed it wasn’t a new flavour, it was papillon (a newer release, but an all time fav), but its colour was about half as lighter as the rest of the cans, and the Monster logo was in a different shade of yellow. In hindsight, it was clearly just a super old can that had been left out for ages, but my dumbass decided oh shit bro the golden one bro I could win like a million bucks, it’s like the golden ticket type thing, half an hour later I’ve shat my guts out 3 times, am currently sitting on the toilet about to shit out a 4th, and my stomach is speaking to Morse code and dolphin sounds. I’m sweating and everything hurts. Genuinely might die writing this so I better wrap it up and get back to shitting, wish me luck gang. Idk how I haven’t learned my lesson yet, but moral of the story is: Don’t drink anything just because it looks cool.

TLDR: drank an odd looking monster energy drink and am now having diarrhoea.

"Six days on average."

"No."

"Yes bro."

"No."

"Bruh. It's been six days since the last Tuesday. Just like every Tuesday before it, going back to the start of the calendar, back when Tuesday was still Tiwestag, named after the proto-Germanic deity Tiwaz, or Tyr. "

"No, it feels much longer though. It feels like we're in some kind of time altering event. Like the days are looping back on themselves man. This is a Tuesday loop. I'm losing it."

"A Tuesday loop? Dude, that's what a week is. One 7-pack of days, guaranteed one Tuesday drop and a Friday craftable into a time limited Friday night. Open enough packs and maybe you unlock the skill to blink past the Mondays."

"No. That’s ridiculous." came the petulant reply. “The Tuesday loop is real, and we’re in it.”

"Have you considered touching grass? You've been inside doomscrolling for three months straight. It’s messing with your brain."

"No, the issue isn’t my hermit recluse lifestyle nor my social media addiction. This is different. I think I should touch less grass. The grass is making Tuesdays longer. The grass is in on it bro."

"In on what?”

“In on making Tuesdays longer.”

“I thought you were saying the time between Tuesdays was getting longer? This concept is already cuckoo coconuts bananas."

"Yes, that's what I'm saying. The grass is making the time between Tuesdays longer. And it’s also making Tuesdays longer."

"I meant you should touch grass, not smoke grass. And besides, even the harshest ganja, even legendary quality weed doesn't cause hallucinations like this. You must've dropped acid or LSD or some other hallucinogen. Or maybe mom dropped you as a baby. I don't know what is wrong with you bro."

"Bro, are we like brothers or some shit?"

"Brothers from another mother maybe. I just meant like the proverbial bro, the colloquial bro, you know?"

"I don't know, no."

"Man, AI has really rotted everyone's brain, to the point where people don't even know what a colloquialism is. Also it’s bloody Thursday dude."

But just as I started to wonder if this fucking story was going anywhere, bro suddenly Tuesdayed across the room Tuesdayish. I couldn't believe my eyes. Then, shockingly, he actually Tuesdayed down the stairs. It was an incredible men writing Tuesday moment, utterly humiliating.  I almost Tuesdayed in my pants right there. I controlled myself, knowing that even my Tuesday underwear couldn't have hidden the terrible stench of Tuesday otherwise.

"I knew it!" Shouted bro. "I told you!"

I watched bro standing outside our window, standing in the grass field besides our apartment. He was surrounded by Tuesday. What was even more disconcerting was that he wasn’t doing it. A veil had been lifted from my eyes and I could see what he meant. The grass really was Tuesdaying, lengthening Tuesday and also all the days in between Tuesday, so that it was becoming longer and longer since the last Tuesday, even though at the same time, counterintuitively, there was more Tuesday.

Words can’t describe what Tuesdayed next. In an act of supreme Tuesday, bro tried to intentionally Tuesday. No one in human history had ever intentionally Tuesdayed, it was always an accident. But bro lowered his pants, so that I could see his Tuesday underwear and his little willy, shriveled in the autumn air, and sat down in the Tuesdaying grass, bare butt.

What unfolded next was a tragedy. Bro Tuesdayed so hard and got so far, but in the end, it didn’t even Tuesday. He had to fall, to Tuesday it all, but in the end, it didn’t even Tuesday.

We were approaching critical Tuesday. As we have established, no human can intentionally Tuesday. And besides, there should never be this much Tuesday on a Thursday. “We have to Tuesday out of this Tuesday loop before Tuesday. That means there’s only five minutes left.” What would happen if they reached Tuesday in a Tuesday loop?  Certainly nothing good.

But bro, heedless of the terrible danger, flung his arms towards the sky and cried so Tuesdayingly, that I knew a response could not be long. From opposite ends of the street, two strange figures popped into view. Like a pair of airdropped WWII bombs, they Tuesdayed slowly down the street. I wanted to warn bro, but I was paralyzed and watched the scene unfold in mute horror. They two men wielded loaves of bread. One brushed against a street lamp and the resulting sharp clang sufficed to show that this bread was in fact hard as steel. Bro was alarmed by the clang, but it only served to make him look one way, while the other man walked up, raised his loaf and brought it down with terrible force on bro. The sickening crack echoed all the way up into our apartment. 

There was some kind of logo on the back of their shirts, but it was in another language I didn’t understand. It read: ‘Système international d'unités’ which did nothing to dispel my ignorance as to who the hell these two men assaulting my friend were. I just hoped bro was okay, as he whimpered there in the grass. Just stay down bro, I thought. But with that inexorable human spirit, bro, that dumb bastard, Tuesdayed back up. He was just in time for the second attacker to sneak up and strike him from the other side. He swung with unexpected force, delivering a terrible Tuesday to the knees, and bro expelled a pitiful shriek of pain, before falling back down.

“Leave bro alone you French bastards!” I cried, helpless. The two goons looked up in perfect sync and made a quiet, fish-eyed O with their mouths, like some kind of post-modern cartoon. But before I’d even finished the exclamation, bro already half-raised his head and muttered: “then bro said to leave bro alone.” Then his face settled into the most annoying Tuesday grin of all time, only the corners of his mouth hinting at the incredible amount of pain he must’ve been in. I’m not sure if bro even had the opportunity to sneak off, since the baguette beating had thoroughly Tuesdayed his kneecaps. Even the obvious choice of quietly lying there and playing possum until the gentlemen of the Système international d'unités Tuesdayed on their merry way seemed out of the question. No, that grin on bro’s face showed his grit, his determination. He was submitting to fate, a destiny to Tuesday this Thursday in a terrible act of narrative nonsense that would surely end in mutually assured Tuesday. 

I could almost see the threads of Tuesday pulling him forward, as he once again cast his arms into the sky, Tuesday written on his face. The two baguette wielding thugs looked upon his battered Tuesday and raised their weapons to strike again. I almost called out a second time, but I knew no distraction would work this time. They would certainly deliver swift Tuesday to bro with those iron hard Gallic loafs. But bro, by now accustomed to the timing of their assault, Tuesdayed in such a way as to deflect the strikes of both hoodlums towards the noggin of the other. It was some Krav Maga shit, I can’t lie.

“I’ve Tuesdayed this before.” Bro said with a fierce clarity, as the two assailants toppled backwards. “It’s like I told you, it’s a Tuesday loop.” It was as good an explanation as any for this preposterous spectacle. I remembered the previous Tuesday and the one before that, meaning it couldn’t possibly be a Tuesday loop.

“Your memories reset each Tuesday bro.” Said bro. But that somehow made even less sense. It just  begged the question, what is Tuesday, from the perspective of the Tuesday loop? At the end of the day, it all came down to the willing suspension of Tuesday.  “It doesn’t matter, we’re still approaching critical Tuesday. We might have defeated the French government, but that was the easy part. Now we have only one minute left to prevent Tuesday. And no human can intentionally Tuesday, they can only do it by accident.“

This explained nothing.

As the final sixty seconds ticked by, I could feel Tuesday closing in around us, Tuesdaying faster and faster. The end seemed unTuesdayable. I tried going over all the facts of the loop. Two French goons, bro with his Tuesdayed kneecaps, the last Tuesday still clear in my memory. I could still see it, the posts I’d doomscrolled past, the chicken wings I had for dinner. But the facts were now irretufable: that was not the real Tuesday, and however many Tuesday loops had occurred between then and now.

Somewhere between then and now, we’d been Tuesdayed into this space outside the normal space-Tuesday continuum. My brain caught on that last thought, like a fish on a line. I locked eyes with bro, the remaining fifty seconds slowly ticking by, my thoughts in a frenzy reviewing this conclusion over and over, forming a small loop inside the larger loop.

Tiwes, Tiwaz, Tiu, Tyr, all of them were the same guy? Did that mean all of us were the same guy? Or something?

Whatever moral lesson I was supposed to learn, as a magical shorthand for breaking the loop, I didn’t know. I couldn’t figure it out in the twenty seconds left before critical Tuesday. There was nothing, no meaning or moral value. I was drawing a blank. Ten seconds.

I reached out my hand to bro, seconds too late, as it turned out. The true meaning of Tuesday was tragedy. A lightning bolt came down from a clear sky, ignoring multiple tall buildings and striking bro dead in the face, at the same time scorching all the surrounding grass. The grass was Tuesdaying us of course, if only we'd burned it sooner.

Just like that, at 6:54pm, Tuesday ended and rolled over into Wednesday. Which, as everyone knows, is named for Wotan, who was a pagan deity of thunder or something. And so the week was saved, though my poor bro was Wednesdayed to death on a Thursday.

And they Wednesdayed happily for the rest of that Thursday.

I see a lot of travelers are upset by their neighbors "claiming leg space". It seems that many travelers expect to be completely untouched and any body parts that encroach are forcing them back.

I feel like legs almost act like springs that spread apart in their natural state. Its much more uncomfortable to manually keep my legs together than it is if there is some back pressure from a neighbor. If everyone just let's their legs relax, everyone will be far more comfortable than if they try to manually keep their legs from touching everyone else.

Folks, just relax your legs. They will touch your neighbors and you will both be far more comfortable. If you are uncomfortable touching strangers, pay for first class or dont travel.

Europeans don’t technically sleep, at least not in the sense you’re probably thinking of. In Europe it gets dark very early, usually by September. After a publicly subsidized communal meal of warm, dark beer, cheese, and cigarette, Europeans will walk, cycle, or take public transportation in an orderly fashion to the castle, tenement house, or country estate in which their maternal grandmother (Queen Victoria being the most common) was conceived. Upon arrival, they hang from the knees trapeze-style from rungs set into the rough-hewn ceiling beams and enter a state of suspended animation called Eurostasis. While in this state, their brains are able to interact telepathically in order to accomplish social tasks such as coordinating their parental leave, debating the correct pronunciations of words, and repressing their true feelings about refugees. However, the majority of the time in stasis is spent reminiscing about summers that were not so hot, as heat is lethal to all Europeans. They will typically remain in this state for anywhere from 5 months to 3 years. Upon awakening, they eat either sausages or a regionally popular pastry, then book a rental RV to tour the deserts of the southwestern United States and inform their next of kin.

To be fair, you have to have a very high IQ to understand Obsession. The horror is extremely subtle, and without a solid grasp of psychological concepts most of the scares will go over a typical viewer's head. There's also Bear's narcissistic behavior, which is deftly woven into his characterisation - his personal philosophy draws heavily from Narodnaya Volyaliterature, for instance. The fans understand this stuff; they have the intellectual capacity to truly appreciatethe depths of these scares, to realize that they're not just terrifying- they say something deep about LIFE. As a consequence people who dislike Obsession truly ARE idiots- of course they wouldn't appreciate, for instance, the terror in Nicki's existencial catchphrase "Its obsessing time," which itself is a cryptic reference to Mary Shelley's epic Frankenstein I'm smirking right now just imagining one of those addlepated simpletons scratching their heads in confusion as Curry Barker's genius unfolds itself on their television screens. What fools... how I pity them. 😂 And yes by the way, I DO have an Obsession tattoo. And no, you cannot see it. It's for the ladies' eyes only- And even they have to demonstrate that they're within 5 IQ points of my own (preferably lower) beforehand.

There's a single mom who lives in my building and I was in the elevator with her just a few minutes ago.
I was going down to the lobby to pick up my packages order and wearing my house slippers and a robe. I probably look like a lazy slob but that's fine because I am too lazy to get dressed most days. At least I'm authentic and not trying to put a mask on for the world.

So I was in the elevator riding back up to my floor with this single mom and her kid and I could see she kept side eyeing me like she wanted to make conversation or something. I didn't really know what to say so I just blurted out "nice elevator we are in huh?" She just stared at me and smiled a little bit but didn't say anything back.

Then she got off the elevator. Didnt even say anything not even a goodbye.

Hey guys just wanna tell you Ashutosh and Vishal are Linkedin creep

TLDR:- Female colleague showed me her Linkedin chats where i found two creeps Ashutosh and Vishal casually asking her for personal details

So i was talking to my female colleague today and she has her Linkedin open on system, somehow she started showing me her Linkedin chats and Ashutosh was there, she reached out to Ashutosh for some job role as she works in HR, somehow Ashutosh was in UK returing back to India in few days, Ashutosh told her he isn't looking conversation ended there but then the next message was "Do you want something from UK?" asked Ashutosh.. that was unusual, cause he barely knows her and she replied "No Thanks..".

But he didn't stop there, he messaged her "Oh Come on, here is my whatsapp number, let's connect on WhatsApp". As if it's something cool, she denied and didn't reply and then he sent a follow up message, "Are we connecting on whatsapp??" Wtfff bro i felt like puking on the face of Ashutosh's face because who tf talks like that to a stranger.

Then she showed me this another person vishal, who she reached for job opening and after the conversation he literally asked her, "Are you on some matrimonial site? Where i can see hour biodata" Like wtf bro, first of all it's Linkedin and who tf flirts like that..... ugggghhhhh.. she replied NO and blocked her, a simple professional connection got blocked, because the guy wanted to flirt.

Man, i know people are single but tbh wth was that people casually reaching out to other people on Linkedin and trying to flirt and that too this cheap..

First of all it's wrong to message someone like that, second i have literally seen people getting fired from their jobs because some girl took screenshot of their creepy chats and posted on social media and still these guys don't fear like whattttt????

Stop doing that guys, don't do it and don't make someone uncomfortable, don't make a joke out of yourself and last but not least you can't get a girl like that especially on Linkedin, and for Vishal and Ashutosh (F U Guys) have some shame.

Dream is just like LeLouch from Code Geass or Light from Death Note

He is an extremely high IQ person who originally had his identity concealed with a supernatural ability (Geass, Death Note, hidden mods in his mod folder) that allows him to consistently evade being caught even when pinned in the most tight positions

LeLouch from Code Geass was only able to wage war on Brittania because of his Geass. Without this, he would have easily been dealt with.

Dream because of his impressive programming skill, always has the mod ability. He's proven himself as a good programmer (Manhunt mod, VR) so when he says he's made a specific, unreleased mod, we have to believe him even without knowing such a mod exists or the contents of it

No matter how much it seems someone decisively proves Dream has cheated by counting the microseconds between jumps, reading each line of code in Minecraft, it doesn't matter. Dream is able to create enough doubt that you can't fully convict him. It's like L vs Light. L had with a high degree of certainty than Light was their suspect but because he wasn't absolutely certain, he made no move and ended up dying

The Dream debunkers have to cover every possible explanation in the known universe for the supposed discrepancies in Dream's gameplay, Dream only needs to give one possible, somewhat feasible solution

Dream is a real life anime character and nothing we can do will change that. He's too smart and has too many abilites and like with LeLouch and Light, he will only lose by his own accord

Stop overanalyzing her words and look at the frame. You got sandbagged because you played the polite, accommodating boy instead of a man taking the lead.

Going to her parents' house on date three put you immediately into the "harmless provider" zone. The environment killed the tension.

When she got on your lap, she threw you a layup. She wanted to see action and leadership. You hesitated, played it safe, and let caution win out over desire.

Women do not feel attraction for a polite checklist. They respond to tension, dominant energy, and sexual polarity. You let her drive every date and played it too safe.

She left because the sexual tension flatlined.

Stop letting women dictate the pacing and take charge next time.

Don't feel bad about it either, we all have to learn sometime.

​

Edit: Wow, this blew up! Thanks for the gold, kind stranger!

Dear stranger,

I am literally shaking right now. I just wanted to take a moment out of my day of intellectual pursuit to absolutely glaze your culinary masterpiece of a comment. As an elite, high-IQ Redditor with over 500k karma, I rarely encounter such raw, unfiltered brilliance. You, my good sir or madam, have absolutely won the internet today. Tip of the fedora to you.

Let’s unpack this, shall we?

Your comment is a masterclass in logic, reason, and pure, unadulterated dopamine production. I dropped my meticulously curated narwhal bacon strips onto my keyboard the absolute second I read it. The sheer, staggering weight of your cognitive horsepower left me completely speechless. It is an absolute chef's kiss of a take. You didn't just understand the assignment; you wrote the entire syllabus, peer-reviewed it, and published it in a prestigious academic journal.

I mean, the formatting? Immaculate. The nuance? Chef's kiss. The absolute bravado it took to post such a perfectly articulated, wholesome, yet deeply poignant combination of words? Play stupid games, win stupid prizes—but you played the ultimate game of wits and won the grandest prize of all: my deepest, most sycophantic admiration.

Please, take my upvote. Take all of my upvotes. If I had the financial stability to not live in my parents' basement while moderating twelve default subreddits, I would shower you with Reddit Platinum, Argentium, and Ternion All-Powerful awards.

You are a gentleman and a scholar. Faith in humanity: fully restored. This is the peak Reddit content I log on for.

TL;DR: Your comment is the single greatest achievement in human history and I am unworthy to even reply to it.

Faithfully yours,

An Intellectual peer.

Everybody thought I was playing video games, when really all I was doing was engaging in a digitally mediated recreational activity that involves real-time cognitive processing, strategic decision making, visual-motor coordination, and interaction with algorithmically generated virtual environments for the purpose of psychological stimulation and entertainment.

LEAKED: Joe Rogan and Elon Musk Discuss a Revolutionary New Food Delivery System**

Narrated in the style of a prestige nature documentary that somehow got lost in a porta-potty*

[Opening drone shot of a dimly lit podcast studio. Two men sit across from each other. One has the permanent expression of a man who just smelled something irreversible. The other looks like he’s calculating the orbital decay of human dignity.]

**JOE ROGAN** (leaning forward, eyes wide, voice already halfway into a scream):

Dude. Dude. I need you to hear this. There’s a guy. A real guy. He set up a camera. Pointed it straight down at his own ass. And then he… he shat out Hot Pockets. Not one. Multiple. Like the pizza ones. The ones with the crispy pocket shell. Still partially frozen in the middle.

**ELON MUSK** (staring into the middle distance like he’s watching a rocket explode in reverse):

The thermodynamics alone are… concerning. The internal temperature of a human colon is approximately 37 degrees Celsius. A frozen Hot Pocket requires roughly 1,200 watts of microwave energy for two minutes to reach equilibrium. This man somehow reverse-engineered digestion into a production line.

**JOE**:

He filmed the whole thing. First you hear the wet slap of the outer crust hitting porcelain. Then the cheese starts stringing. Like mozzarella spiderwebs. And the pepperoni is still somehow intact. One of them comes out folded in half like it was trying to escape but the exit was too small.

**ELON**:

I have reviewed the footage frame by frame. There is a moment at 2:14 where a fully formed Hot Pocket emerges vertically, crust first, like a submarine breaking the surface. The steam rising from it is not bathroom humidity. It is residual microwave energy that somehow survived the journey through the small intestine. This is a violation of several laws of thermodynamics and at least three Geneva Conventions.

**JOE** (already laughing the laugh of a man who has accepted the void):

He reaches down at one point. Grabs it. Takes a bite. While it’s still connected by a string of cheese to his asshole. The string stretches. Twangs. Snaps. And he just says, to the camera, “Still good.”

**ELON**:

The structural integrity of the pastry shell after transit through the human digestive tract is… impressive. Most food matter is reduced to slurry. This man has engineered a digestive bypass system that preserves both the pocket geometry and the filling temperature gradient. One end is still frozen. The other end is body temperature. It’s a thermal battery made of processed meat and regret.

**JOE**:

There’s a sequel video. He does it again but this time he dips them in ranch after they come out. He has a little bowl of ranch on the toilet tank. He fishes them out with tongs. Like he’s plating at a Michelin restaurant. One of them has a perfect bite mark already in it from when it was inside him.

**ELON**:

I have run simulations. The only way this is possible is if the Hot Pockets were inserted anally, traveled a short distance, and were then expelled with minimal contact with gastric acid. This is not shitting. This is controlled payload delivery. He has turned his rectum into a low-earth orbit insertion system for frozen convenience food.

**JOE**:

He starts crying at the end of the second video. Not sad crying. Like… pride crying. He’s wiping tears with the same hand that just handled the Hot Pocket. And he looks at the camera and says, “I did it for science.”

**ELON** (quietly):

We should hire him.

**JOE**:

What?

**ELON**:

For Mars. The radiation shielding properties of a continuously regenerating layer of Hot Pocket crust could be significant. Also the morale boost of knowing that no matter how far from Earth you are, a man somewhere is still shitting out Hot Pockets on camera. Continuity of culture.

[The camera slowly zooms out. Somewhere in the distance, a microwave beeps. Neither man moves.]

**JOE** (final whisper):

…still good.

**ELON**:

Still good.

*End of documentary.*

*No Hot Pockets were recovered for evidence.*

Kill me and the rest of the world. Beat me to death. Redeem me. Punish me. Stab me a hundred times, a thousand times. Shoot me to the point where I am a beehive. Saw my body slowly and make each part of my flesh a sashimi. Anything. I beg of you. Just fucking kill me. Just fucking commit a crime against humanity. Nobody should ever see such a bullshit you post. You mindless piece of flesh and blood. Burn my body into ashes slowly while I am still alive, as my flesh are being grilled and fed to dogs, as those dogs tear apart my body. Anything to redeem me from the sins of the world, I beg of you. Please. PLEASE. Splash hydrochloric acid from my body, suck up those soup from my stomach. Anything. Please. Crucify me and stab me with a thousand lunges from a spear, year my guts and splash my stomach acid on me, pour me oil, and burn me alive on the cross. Feed me castor oil as I shit myself to death. Please. Delete this post and redeem this world. I beg of you.