teach me master how to have 4 tinder notifications
For a long time I've wondered which is better life advice, "lower your standards" or "hit the gym".
Can't tell if she gets that all the time or just doesn't have a sense of humor
Hit the gym for sure. Cause then if you still don't get matches, you can lower your standards.
This is Illegally cute
I think mine is cuter :p
That is ridiculously cute
I'll show myself out
Some parts of this image look like a game, and others look like real life. My brain is confused.
WHEN I DREW GRIMSEVER, I THINK THE POOR MAN SOILED HIS ARMOUR!
Probably some photo-editing is what you're seeing
Puts on Amulet of Mara...
[WP] You are sentenced to a famous prison. You are not sentenced by time your stay only ends if you die or escape. There are no guards and the prison is broadcast on television. No one has ever escaped.
I'm not your average criminal. I don't get caught in the heat of the moment. I don't kill for greed and I don't rape my victims. I kill as a challenge to myself. To always follow my own rules, and get away with breaking the most sacred of society's. And I have a very particular rule. I always start with eleven.
Eleven is beautiful. It's the first symmetrical double digit number. It's the smallest double digit prime. If you reverse the digits of any number divisible by eleven, you get another number divisible by eleven. If I get itchy, I scratch eleven times. If I buy gas, I let it run until eleven dollars. I'm certain the terrorists who planned 9/11 knew of this significance. Eleven was beautiful. Memorable. Eleven has power.
But my last murder was sloppy. Not like the first, when I'd followed the girl to her apartment and slit her throat in her sleep. I stayed up all night with a hacksaw and left the apartment clean, save for the smell of iron in the restroom. She'd just vanished. Anyone who thought to check the sewers for her remains would've found scattered bits of little use to the forensics team.
No, it wasn't my fault. I always plan it out a week in advance. I set up days in advance. I scout. I wait. I indulge, an exact twenty-two cuts on the body. I start with eleven on the left. I end with eleven on the right. Double digits are perfection.
My last failed target, number six, was a college student by the name of Brandon Chang. I chose him because he lived alone. Though he spent a lot of time online, his friends wouldn't miss him for a few days. The apartment complex was known for being quiet. I'd crept to his window and pushed all twenty-one shutters gently aside with my gloves. I crossed the messy room to his bed, counting the floorboards... one... two... the third one creaked, so I skipped it.
As I neared his sleeping form, I stopped. "Something's wrong!" my brain shouted. I hate that feeling, but it had saved my skin more than once. I wasn't like the common rabble. If something felt wrong, something was wrong.
Your eyes have two types of vision cells- rods and cones. Cones can see in greater detail, but need more light to function. In the dark-lit room, my vision was all rods. So I didn't notice how his body lay still, not breathing.
Sirens surrounded the building and, though I hid, a young officer found me. She had to be between twenty-one and twenty-four. She had short hair, about five inches at the longest. It would've been easy for me to grab it. Slit her throat. But it would've been an uneven cut, and that bothers me more than anything. Plus, they would probably shoot me. So I didn't resist.
Brandon had committed suicide by overdose after a fight with his online girlfriend. She'd called the cops on a whim to check on him, and they found me. My explanation that he'd invited me over was quickly shot down, and as investigations continued, they found out about my murders.
The judge carried little sympathy. "For five counts of murder and callous disregard of human life, I sentence you to The Island," he'd said. I'd heard about the prison. It was a sort of puzzle that nobody had yet escaped from. They televised the thing and used the money to pay off the damage caused by significantly dangerous criminals. So a challenge, then.
"Bring it on," I'd smirked. The sentence didn't bother me as much as the judge's crooked glasses. One lens was smudged and a nosepad was loose. It dangled slightly when he adjusted them and itched at the back of my mind. I bet he hadn't cleaned them in years.
I woke up in a brightly lit room smelling of bleach and fabric softener. They'd replaced my clothing with soft cotten, but allowed me to keep my knife- Smith & Wesson, military edition. I found no guards as I crept down the immaculately clean hallway towards a backpack hanging from a wooden door. It was nice, as prisons go. I wouldn't have minded the stay if it were my choice. But it wasn't.
The backpack contained twelve military MREs and eleven water bottles, so I left one MRE behind and opened the door. A robot waited by a table with a game of chess. How mundane.
Of course, it was quite easy for me to defeat him, and I did so in exactly eleven moves. The door behind him slid open and I stepped in to the next room. And here I found my problem.
If I'd been left to continue my murders, I would've killed six more people, for a nice eleven. The fact that I only got away with five bothers the hell out of me. This I told the judge. I didn't think he cared at the time. But in this room, there were a hundred numbered safety deposit boxes and a key on the table. And someone had removed box number eleven.
This is fantastic, I would love to read more of this story. Well done.
The guard's boots sloshed in the icy water as he stomped down the abyss-black passageway. The thin beam of his flashlight sliced through the darkness and revealed slithers of damp rock wall. He could hear the gurgling of running water beneath him - the underground river that led to the body of water surrounding the island. At least the musty odour of the tunnel was hidden by the gift the guard held; the content of the steaming mug was like a cross keeping evil at bay.
There was only one cell in the lowest dungeon, and only one prisoner in that cell. Prisoner J.
"Hey, wake up - I've got you something, J," said the guard, as he arrived at the unlit cell, banging the heel of his flashlight against the door. The guard lifted the metal plate that allowed for food to be passed through; J's eyelids followed suit.
"Is that- you brought me-" he fell into a fit of coughing, releasing the dust and dried phlegm that caked his throat.
"Sip this, it'll help," said the guard, hiding the concern in his face. The coughs came from the prisoner's chest; it sounded like J had an infection. The guard chewed his lip as he considered the logistics that would be involved in smuggling antibiotics down to the prisoner the following day.
J took the mug of coffee, grasping it between two shaking hands. "Holy shit, I ain't sipping this yet," said J, wiping an arm across his mouth and letting the scent of the cheap coffee intoxicate him. "You insane, boss? What a waste that'd be. I'm going to save it for a very rainy day. And until then," he leaned into the mug and closed his eyes, "I'm going to let it take me away to somewhere a little more pleasant."
The guard shone his flashlight through the food hatch and examined J; the prisoner recoiled like a vampire.
"Ey, cut it out, will ya?"
The man's grey hair was like dirty dishwater, and his face was so pale that it was becoming translucent - thin blue lines ran like dried up streams under the skin on his forehead. His teeth were chipped and looked like fragments of broken, jagged glass. He looked like something out of a horror movie.
"Why'd you get me this?" J asked. "I'm not ungrateful, you understand," he sniffed, "I know how much you risked to bring it here. Hell, you could be the next man in this cell because of it. But I just kinda need to know - why?"
"I don't really have an answer for that," the guard confessed. "You always talk about coffee and what you'd give for the taste of it one last time, and all that shit. So, well, I just felt sorry for you, I guess." The guard scratched his head and the prisoner laughed.
"What?" asked the guard.
"Oh. I'm sorry, it's nothing."
"Come on, why'd you laugh?"
"It's just... you feeling sorry for me. It's strange, you know?"
"Because I'm a guard? Because I'm meant to have no soul?"
"No," said J, lowering his voice to a whisper as he crept toward the food hatch. He glanced behind him, up at the roof of his cell. "It's because you've got it backwards. You're a good man, boss. You don't deserve to be trapped here. You need to get out."
"What? I'm not trapped," said the guard, frowning. "I do this job because it pays well. I do it for my family - to put my daughter through college."
"How long have you been working here?"
"Since... shit, I don't know. Ten years, maybe."
"You remember when you started?"
"When's the last time you saw them?"
"Who? My family?"
"You know that visitors are prohibited from coming to the island."
"What color are your daughter's eyes, boss?"
"You sure about that?"
"Of course I'm fucking sure. What are you trying to pull? I brought you some coffee and now you're trying to piss me off?"
J raised his hands and slunk back to the corner of his cell. "I should've said nothing."
It was on the guard's way back out of the tunnel that he thought he noticed something on the passageway roof - something moving ever so slightly. Something he'd caught accidentally with a twitch of his wrist in the beam of his flashlight. Something that reflected the light that had been fired across it.
But when he shone the flashlight at the roof a second time, making a slow, thorough search, he couldn't see anything but dripping rock.
He must have imagined it.
The guard came to see J again the next day, stolen medicine in his inside jacket pocket. But he was too late. J had hanged himself sometime during the night, his thin cotton blanket a makeshift noose. A mug of untouched coffee sat cold and lonely on the stone floor next to the bed. Suicides weren't unusual - prisoners often killed themselves here - although, it was the first he had personally found. Maybe, the guard thought, it was better than living in these conditions for the rest of his life. He didn't blame J for his choice.
The guard carried on with his duties as usual that week, but all the while two thoughts nagged at him. They tapped at the door of his mind, demanding to be let in, demanding his attention.
The first thought was this: what colour are my daughter's eyes? He wasn't all that certain they were blue. He'd stayed up for hours after his conversation with J, lying in bed and trying to picture them clearly in his mind's eye. But he couldn't.
Maybe he was just getting old. Forgetful.
But it was the second thought that had burrowed fully into his brain and released a poison at its very core. A thought that was changing him and how he looked at the warden, his fellow guards and the other prisoners. It altered where he looked as he walked down passageways - always the roof now, looking for almost imperceptible movements - and it made him shiver as he lay awake at night.
It was a thought that made him realise he couldn't quit - ever. That instead, he needed to escape.
Why had the mug of coffee still been full?
But it would've been an uneven cut, and that bothers me more than anything. Plus, they would probably shoot me.
"I will cut the dog in half, so that the both of you can have him." - JJ circa 2000 A.D.
Fuck those Liars! It's his dog, obviously.
Why the F would she take his dogs, there are ENOUGH dogs for everyone out there! homeless dogs! for crying out loud, go to the local animal rescue service.
I heard Chubs plays a mean pinball.
The fact that Chub's head is never patted in this video is eating at me more than it should.
He plays by sense of smell.
How intelligent/cute can a dog be?
A guy who actually plays race games online daily! Uh... Wow. I gotta say, sticking to a game like that for 5 years is impressive. A true hardcore gamer Id say
Its impressive but there are no trophys earned between 2014 and 2017 tho? I mean I've always expected that a lot of what this guy does in a year could be knocked off in a couple of hours.
Edit: Sorrys for the typo!
This may not mean much to most of you, but it has been a truly emotional ride for me over the years. The online community in this game was incredible, and I spent many nights up until 3 or 4am organizing and competing in casual tournaments.
One big extra shoutout to OinkOink and Valdudes for building such positive fanbases, and for all the help they provided along the way.
Time to start modding I guess..
Two corrupted save files would do that. Starting over from the beginning would be a bitch.
Looks like a fire
Same here. I thought I was looking to a forest fire.
Twin Peaks theme started in my head
Because 99% of Reddit is acting like vehicular terrorism is a new occurrence, it looks like they need a reminder. Here are all of the vehicular attacks from THIS YEAR that they DID NOT GIVE A FUCK ABOUT, unless it fit their narrative.
August 9th - Levallois-Perret attack (6 soldiers Injured)
August 14th - Seine-et-Marne Pizzeria attack (1 Dead, 4 Injured)
June 3rd - London Bridge attack (8 Dead, 48 Injured)Three of the deceased were killed by the vehicle attack, while the remaining five were stabbed to...
June 19th - Finsbury Park attack (1 Dead, ~10 Injured)
The deceased was injured prior, but may have died due to circumstances following the attack.
This was a retaliatory attack from a British citizen for the London Bridge Attack, with the target being Muslims. For unknown reasons (not really), this is the only story that was widely circulated on Reddit for days, even though its number of casualties/injuries were far lower than every similar attack that had occurred prior in 2017
April 7th - Stockholm attack (5 Dead, 14 Injured)
I would post the uncensored picture of Ebba in the streets, but it makes my blood boil seeing it, AS IT SHOULD EVERYONE.
March 22nd - Westminster attack (5 Dead, 49 Injured)
January 8th - Jerusalem truck attack (4 Dead, 17 Injured)
JUST A FEW FROM 2016
December 19th - Berlin Christmas Market attack. (12 Dead, 56 Injured)
July 14th - Bastille Day attack (86 Dead, 458 Injured)
This is the extent the rest of Reddit goes to actually caring:
So Reddit, while you change your Facebook avatar to show support for those affected by the most recent terrorist attack, and tweet out "#PrayForINSERTCITY", we will continue to be the only ones that actually give a shit, no matter what the religion, gender, or race of the victim(s) may be.
No one needs a high capacity gas or diesel tank for recreational purposes.
How about the one that really sparked the idea to do this back in July?
Nice, Paris. 83 killed. 303 wounded.
Dude Hannity hit it out of the fucking park tonight on Fox. Delivered an EXCELLENT monologue on the left's hypocrisy and double standards with this whole situation.
Not only did he save his mother, but "The dead man has 26 prior arrests, two for domestic violence against the teenager's mother, sources told WPIX.", he potentially saved others in the future as well.
Well, it sounds like he did a good job of defending his mom in the moment.
Sooo a new car and some time off?
Police took the teen into custody. No charges have been filed as of Monday evening.
And none should be. He defended his mother from an abusive man who had just knocked his mother out and had prior arrests for domestic violence. The kid's a hero.