Interestingasfuck interestingasfuck

This fully functional predator mask

This fully functional predator mask

plot-twist: Predator is wearing a human suit

It's sad that now he has to go to every house on his block, and tell everyone that he's a predator

My sister and i have a pact from around 1990 when we saw a movie quality predator costume at the costume shop that one day when we both are making good money we would go halves on one. Her art is starting to take off so that day is drawing nearer. We are now in our 30's and i can afford one myself, but i dont care, the pact must be fullfilled. I can almost taste the latex now.

I'm not judging but sounds like you want to lick your sister while she's wearing a predator suit.

Turtle defending itself from a tiger shark attack by hitting it shell-first

Turtle defending itself from a tiger shark attack by hitting it shell-first

Wow... that's the most awkward ending to any animal interaction I've ever seen.

"Did you just try to eat me bro?"

"...No?" ::swims off nonchalantly::

Understandable, have a nice day

Man, those guys have been going at it for 220 million years.

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This bonsai tree naturally growing in the middle of a lake

This bonsai tree naturally growing in the middle of a lake

Just because it is a small tree does not mean it is a "bonsai tree". It's simply a small tree.

Right. Bonsai is literally "basin planting" or "tree in a pot."

A lake is a big pot.

source photographed by Ireena Nieuwenhuis-Worthy, October 8th, 2011

Google street view It's in Fairy Lake, roughly in the area of Port Renfrew, on Vancouver Island in the province of British Colombia, Canada

Speed difference

Edit: Double obligatory, Thanks for the gold kind stranger! Obligatory SR-71 story:

There were a lot of things we couldn't do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment. It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet. I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn't match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury. Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace. We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed. Center replied: "November Charlie 175, I'm showing you at ninety knots on the ground." Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the " Houston Center voice." I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country's space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the Houston controllers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that, and that they basically did. And it didn't matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios. Just moments after the Cessna's inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his ground speed. "I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed." Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren. Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios. "Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check". Before Center could reply, I'm thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it, ol' Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He's the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet. And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion: "Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground." And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done - in mere seconds we'll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now. I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn. Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet. Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke: "Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?" There was no hesitation, and the replay came as if was an everyday request. "Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground." I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice: "Ah, Center, much thanks, we're showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money." For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the Houston Center voice, when L.A.came back with, "Roger that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one." It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day's work. We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast. For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.

unfortunately New Horizons would never go this fast in the Earth's atmosphere.

I'm pretty sure at Mach 47 you might see orange out the window. Briefly. ;)

Right, that's called: you disintegrated at around 10,000mph and were dead long before that.

An ordinary container ship is more than as it looks like

An ordinary container ship is more than as it looks like

Your caption sounds like you were trying to reach a word count requirement

I like how dramatic it tries to make it, like its cool, but chill out

Has anyone really been far even as decided to use even go want to do look more like?

YOU'VE SEEN NOTHING

Bees producing blue honey when collecting sugars from the dumpster of an M&M factory.

Bees producing blue honey when collecting sugars from the dumpster of an M&M factory.

M&Ms and honey could be a sweet combo. Better yet the peanuts could have a honey coating under the chocolate. They could call them Beez Nutz.

If you look closely each one looks like a view from the ISS.

http://imgur.com/mq7HXx0

Upvoted for Beez Nutz

Edit: capitalism

Edit 2: capitalization* (stupid autocorrect)

Moving graffiti art

How long does it take to make something like this. Hours? Days? Weeks?

At least 7 minutes

You're absolutely correct Morty! It would take at least 7 minutes!

The Grafitti must look very confusing in the end :D But very impressive work!

This living Table Garden with fresh herbs growing on it

This living Table Garden with fresh herbs growing on it

Well you could always grow a little citronella!

How do you keep the bugs away from the food?

Why is everyone pointing out the negatives of this table?! It's a masterpiece in hydoponics and wood/metalwork and design in general (if it works well).

Anyone got any ideas on how this is set up? I think you could house the pump in one of the legs to keep noise down and make the table a little more portable if necessary. You could also make it truly aquaponic and have fish living amongst the plants to feed the plants (and fish). Anyone with some aquaponic experience want to chime in?

Edit: some stuff

"why is everyone pointing out the negatives?!"

Slow motion double leg dunk

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I-I'm sorry, I was staring at his abs.

Edit: by far my most upvoted comment about being mesmerized by a man's (awesome) abs...

Any idea if the ring is full sized? He could almost touch it from the ground.

On a side note, fuck he's ripped.

Somehow, you made me upvote nothing but an entire line of upper case As. Well done.

Try one of these subthreads