#2022 Dodge Charger

[woodsborostabathon]

rip liv mckenzie you would have loved ‘boys boys boys’ by lady gaga 😔

[kollectorsrus]

[hotwheelings]

spiderman series 2022 1/5

[violetflowerswrites]

Taking it Slow

Summary: An unexpected explosion severely injures you, and Jim Street, your LAPD SWAT roommate, comes to your rescue. The life and death situation makes you reevaluate the status of your “just casually dating” relationship.

Pairing: Jim Street x (Female) Reader

Disclaimer: Cannon violence and danger. Mentions of fire, explosions, and bombs. Location is an elementary school, mentions of danger to minors, but reader is the only one injured. Gruesome descriptions of bodily injury and blood. Some angst and mentions of divorce. BUT ALSO consensual kissing and touching. The smut in this is absolutely filthy as usual. Oral sex (female receiving). Consensual P in V sex. Street has a big cock. 18+ for explicit smut, violence, and language

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: I finally got around to watching more SWAT after taking a break from crime dramas and I gotta say, Season 4 has been SO good. The commentary on our Covid and post-Covid society especially with race and Black Lives Matter is so thoughtfully done. I was re-inspired to make a part 2 of my Jim Street fic from back in July 2022! This fic can be standalone but it is technically a continuation from “Too Complicated.” Enjoy!

Part One Here - “Too Complicated”

Part Three Here - “I’ll Be Here”

Masterlist Here

…

“All Units please respond, bomb at Harriet Tubman Elementary, repeat bomb and fire at Tubman Elementary.”

The police scanner radio squawks to life in the leather-scented interior of Sergeant Daniel “Hondo” Harrelson’s sliver Dodge Charger.

Hondo locks eyes with Jim Street, LAPD SWAT. His expression falls immediately, drawn and serious.

A school bombing?

Not on their watch.

”20 David, Sergeant Harrelson responding. Let’s roll!”

…

Your pink highlighter squeaks across the tiny Times New Roman text of each signature line on the paperwork you’re preparing.

A tightness in your neck forces you to pause and lean your head to the side, trying to release the tension in your body.

It’s another tough case. The student was expelled out of a previous school due to repeated fighting. His current teacher is young and inexperienced, and the counselor is definitely overwhelmed. You were called in to take over his case and then recommend him to a therapist, a behaviorist, a specialist, someone before he was expelled again.

Who knew that an 8 year old could wreak so much havoc at a school?

You glance out the window of the 2nd floor classroom, watching the poor kid get into a screaming match with a yard duty. The bright red digital display of the classroom clock shows 9:00 am in blinking lights that seem to say…

tick

tock

It’s

only

9

freakin

AM

on a Monday.

But, no one could have predicted what would happen in the next ten seconds.

One

A thunderous boom echoes across the playground, so loud that all the kids freeze, balls dropped and forgotten.

Two

Thousands of shards of shattered glass fly through the air as the school building collapses into itself from the roof downwards.

Three

The ear-splitting screech of the fire alarm forces everyone to cover their ears, eyes squeezed shut.

Four

Smoke rises in thick gray plumes into the sky, followed by bright orange flames.

Five

The stampede of three hundred little feet shakes the earth as panicked children run towards the grass field, away from their burning school.

Six

Bewildered shouts across the blacktop try to account for all the children, staff members still running out of the smoke.

Seven

Wide-eyed stares fill with tears as it dawns on the kids what had happened.

Eight

A dozen simultaneous calls to 911, all trying to be heard over the crying, screams, and shouts.

Nine

A terrifying pop pop pop makes everyone flinch and duck for cover, as the heat from the fire breaks even more windows. But it could have been gunshots. Everyone doesn’t dare to move.

Ten

After those ten, chaotic seconds, you finally open your dust-filled eyes, ears ringing, sounds muffled as if you were underwater, and your dazed mind takes several agonizing seconds to comprehend the scene around you.

Fallen desks and books scattered haphazardly across the classroom.

Shattered glass reflecting the flickering flames of a fire somewhere above you.

Looking up, a gaping hole in the ceiling leading to a smoke-stained blue sky.

The incessant blaring of the fire alarm doesn’t help your clearly concussed head make sense of it all.

You deduce that there had been some kind of accident. An explosion maybe.

And that caused an industrial AC unit to collapse through the ceiling, knock you out of your chair, and pin one of your legs from the waist down.

And now, an alarming pool of blood was starting to seep from under the crumpled gray metal.

Even more alarming, you couldn’t feel a thing underneath the crushing weight.

“Oh. I’m dying.” You huff out loud, your logical deduction giving way into dark humor.

You twist your neck around, the soreness long forgotten, and try to find something, anything, to help yourself survive.

You grab your cardigan, covered in drywall dust, and slip it under your upper thigh, tying the sleeves together as tight as it could possibly go. The makeshift tourniquet immediately soaks up your blood, turning the cream-colored yarn into a horrific deep red.

Bile rises in your throat as panic sets in, but you push it down, desperate to get out of this.

You look down, realizing that your phone fell out of the pocket of your jacket when you grabbed it. The screen is cracked, but usable.

Without hesitating, you press a number on your phone and it starts to ring. There’s only one person in the world you want to talk to before you lose consciousness. Maybe forever.

…

“Street! What do you think you’re doing?”

“What? You’ve never played in one of these as a kid?”

You’re out on another casual date with Jim Street, LAPD SWAT. Also known as your impulsive, annoying, immature, and absolutely adorable roommate.

That you had accidentally-on-purpose kissed one drunken night. Which led to much more…for several hours.

And now, the two of you went out most every weekend, casually dating, but not trying to label it…yet.

“Come on, Y/N! It’ll be fun!”

Street ducks into an arcade, which immediately deafens you with a cacophony of beeps and honks, electronic character voices, and techno dance music. It’s an overstimulating nightmare so you focus on the leather-clad back of Street, who is leading you deeper into the room.

A couple of surly teens throw judgemental side eyes at the two of you, grown-ass adults screaming and shouting at basketball, skew-ball, and claw machines.

You clutch a small blue plushie, from Lilo and Stitch, courtesy of Street’s claw machine skills, as he whoops upon seeing another game, his childhood favorite.

“Yes! We have to play this next!” Street grins at you from ear to ear.

You hesitate for a split second, but shake your head, chuckling, “Okay NASCAR, wait for me!”

You tease him, knowing that Street’s name is all too fitting, his long history of all things on wheels that can go faster than 100 miles per hour is well known.

You sit behind the plastic wheel of the racing game as Street quickly punches in a couple quarters.

“Think you can keep up?” Street teases you immediately.

“Mhm.” You reply, your face dead serious, all traces of amusement long gone.

Street takes in your expression and furrows his brow.

“Oh shit!” He exclaims as you leave him in the dust, your digital car screeching as the wheels fight against the tight turns.

You’re silent, the only sounds are the quiet clicking of your foot pressing on the fake gas pedals of the game.

Your car peels around the track, going into the final lap, with a 3 second lead on Street.

“Oh my god, are you seriously drifting?” Street shouts in frustration, watching your vehicle slide sideways against the last tight turn and across the finish line with a flourish.

He smacks the wheel and laughs.

“That was crazy, Y/N. I didn’t expect you to be so good! I thought you said you didn’t really go to arcades growing up.”

“Can we go home?” You grab your jacket from the armrest of the racing game chair, turning away from Street.

“Uhh…yeah sure.” Street says slowly, confused.

You walk quickly out of the arcade, a mix of frustration, shame, and sadness filling you.

Hands clench into fists at your sides as you suck in a shaky breath, trying to steady your whirlwind of emotion.

Street half-jogs to catch up with you, calling your name. He reaches out a hand to grab your wrist, but the instant he makes contact you snatch your arm back abruptly.

“Don’t touch me!” You snap, more harshly than you intended.

Street’s face flashes confusion, hurt, and a bit of anger all at once. You see him stifle the urge to snap back at you, and instead, he shoves his hands into his pockets, his shoulders slumped down and he quietly pleads with you instead.

“Talk to me, Y/N. Don’t keep it in again.”

You know you’re acting like an asshole and ruining the date. Street surprised you with being the mature one in this situation while you’re the one taking out your emotions on him.

So you slowly reach out to take one of his hands in both of yours. It’s warm, heavy, and sure in your grasp, a reassuring anchor. You clutch his hand close to your chest and duck your head down, unable to make eye contact.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just tell me what’s going on. Please?”

“It’s just—I’m not used to opening up like this.”

“I know. We’re learning how to, with each other.” Street slips his free hand under your chin, lifting your head up to kiss you affectionately on the cheek.

“Take your time.”

You sigh into his touch, releasing some of the tightness in your chest.

“Can we get ice cream first?”

…

Over a double scoop of cookies and cream, you confide in Street more of your life story.

How there was a period of time in middle school where you used to spend hours at the arcade after school to avoid going home.

Your parents were fighting constantly and you just couldn’t take all the screaming. Your older sister was in high school and worked part time, so she would drop you off with a handful of quarters and get you after.

For some reason, that racing game became your focus, your obsession. You channeled all your frustration, all your hurt, all your pain into that game.

It was your escape.

“It feels silly to freak out now. It’s been well over a decade since I’ve played that game.” You mumble into your ice cream.

“It’s not silly,” Street reassures you, “It’s a painful part of your life.”

You scrunch up your nose and murmur in agreement, not really wanting to think about it anymore. You take another lick of your ice cream, accidentally getting some on your cheek.

Street reaches out with a finger to wipe the smudge of the sticky treat off your face and instead of cleaning his hands on a napkin, he decides to lick it off instead.

You raise your eyebrows in surprise, the gesture unexpectedly sexy, but Street just chuckles.

“What? You taste good.”

…

You clutch Street by the collar of his leather jacket, slamming his broad back against the apartment door.

He drops the keys with a clatter, slides a free hand up to lock the door before gripping the back of your neck roughly, returning your desperate kiss.

“Y/N. Are you sure?” He releases your lips with a pant, pressing his forehead to yours and checking in with you.

Consent is so sexy, especially coming from him. Your previous boyfriends always took what they wanted, when they wanted, and you thought that’s how sex had to be.

It was only after being with Street that you realized how gentle, how considerate, and how trustworthy someone could be during sex.

Street treated you with respect, with reverence. He took his time to worship your body.

You were his queen, his goddess, and even if he didn’t say as much in words, he sure as hell showed it with his actions.

So yes.

You were fucking sure you wanted him.

You pulled off your clothes as you walked ahead of him towards your room, dropping fabric across the hallway on your way there.

Street followed quickly, stopping at the foot of your bed with his jeans still on. His chest visibly flushed red as he stared in wonder at your naked form. And he half-laughed, half-groaned out loud.

How did you manage to get your clothes off so quickly and look so damn delicious on the bed for him?

He grabs both of your ankles and drags you down, lifting them up above his shoulders so he can taste you.

You lean back on both elbows, your hair splayed across the sheets as you tip your head back in delight.

“Oh shit, that feels so good.” You breathe out, a moan slipping through your lips.

“Mmm, I can tell.” Street smiles into your pussy as he licks long strips up your core. He finds your clit within a few moments, and starts alternating sucking and licking the sensitive nub.

Your thighs start shaking as the stimulation shoots down your legs.

Street’s chin grows slick as your arousal throbs out of your core, but he simply holds down your thighs with his strong grip, and dives his tongue into your center even more.

It’s only when you spasm particularly hard, almost kicking him in the head that he finally releases you, chuckling as he swipes a thumb across his lips, wiping off some of your juices.

Your body is still twitching, your nerve endings shooting electricity from your core all the way down to your toes and you throw an arm back across your forehead, trying to recover.

“Come on, you can’t be done yet…” Street teases.

“Absolutely not.” You laugh out in a huff, “j-just…give me a minute.”

“Nah.”

Street lifts your legs again, this time crossing them behind his hips, so that he can line himself up to your entrance.

He pushes in slowly, but just the round head of his cock stretches your pussy to the point that you have to grab his arms and stop him.

“Hold on, Jim.”

Street freezes. You only call him by his first name when you’re being serious or something’s wrong.

He pulls out immediately and lifts you up into a sitting position. He immediately grabs your face in his hands, searching your eyes for pain.

“I’m so sorry, did I hurt you? We can stop— I didn’t mean to—“

You grip his wrists and gently remove them from your cheeks. Instead, you press a gentle kiss to his lips, your gaze at him soft and reassuring.

“I’m okay. Let’s try a different position.”

“Are you sure?”

You turn around, holding up your weight on your hands and knees, and spreading your hips back. You flip your hair over your shoulder and glance back at him with a smirk.

“You haven’t made me cum yet, have you?”

Slowly, Street’s concerned look spreads into a smile.

“No, I haven’t.”

“So fuck me.”

Street holds his cock steady while you carefully push back against him, controlling the pace.

When you’ve fully taken him in, now adjusted to his size, Street still hesitates.

“It’s okay. I’m ready now.” You brace yourself.

“Be as rough as you want.”

A sound akin to a growl escapes from the man who is balls deep in your pussy.

He places a bruising grip on your right shoulder and left hip, and slams you back, knocking the wind out of your lungs.

He does that again and again - pulling out almost all the way before slamming your body back against him almost violently.

“Oh fuck!” You yelp each time, your pussy throbbing around him.

Street then pushes your neck down, and you fist the sheets in your hands as you press into the bed, your ass in the air as he thrusts into you relentlessly.

You can hear your bottom smacking against his strong abs, as he swings his hips into you over and over.

And that cock, his huge, delicious cock, spears your pussy in just the right place every time.

“Oh my god, Street. That feels so good!” Your muffled voice can barely be heard over his grunting. God, you love it when men are loud during sex.

Before you know it, you’re close. Street must be too because he snakes a firm arm around your tummy and lifts you up, holding you tightly to his chest. Your core is still clenched in a vice grip around his member as he thrusts upward into your pussy.

“Street! Oh wow! You’re so big!” You praise him, feeling his cock hitting your cervix from his position.

“Yeah? You like it when my cock hits your pussy. Just. like. that?” Street punctuates his question with a hard bounce into you.

“Mmph!” You moan, and you grab his arm, still trapping you against his sweat-slicked body.

“Street,” you pant.

“Yeah?”

“Go faster.”

With a guttural groan, Street grabs the flesh around your hips and drills up into you. His cock drives in and out at a speed that could only be described as mechanical, a piston that pumps as deep as it could possibly go before pulling out and slamming back in as far as it can go.

You fall onto the bed again, unable to do anything but hold on far dear life as Street rails you like a rag doll.

Within seconds, you feel that familiar tingle spread from your core to your entire body, washing over you in waves of pleasure.

“Oh god— I’m cumming!” You scream, gasping for air.

You are answered with a growl as Street collapses on top of you, cumming inside your throbbing core, your pussy milking every last drop from his twitching cock.

Fuck, that was incredible.

After a few moments, you crawl out from under him, and stand up to head to the shower. He leans up on an elbow, watching you with a blissed-out smile. You tie your hair up into a messy bun, the simple action somehow sensual as hell as he sees your bare shoulder blades squeeze together as you reach up to your head.

You turn, catching him admiring you.

“What?” You ask, totally unaware.

“You’re beautiful.”

Your already hot skin somehow flushes even hotter at his words. You have a love-hate relationship with Street’s compliments.

So you just lean down and peck his cheek with kiss-puffed lips.

“Go to bed. We both have work tomorrow.” You whisper before pushing him back onto the mattress, shaking your head in laughter.

…

Your current reality is a universe away from yesterday’s date night with Jim Street.

You stare at his name on the phone, willing him to pick up.

“Y/N?”

Before you can explain to him, you hear the police radio in his car announce your school site and the bombing.

“Jim. I’m there.”

Street is speechless, the dots connecting with several torturous seconds as his worst fears become true.

One

You had told him that morning that you weren’t going into the office, but visiting a school today.

Two

You never call him, preferring to text. If it’s a call, something must be urgent.

Three

You almost never call him by his first name.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Hondo responds to the radio but Street barely hears it as he shouts into the phone.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“There’s been an explosion. A bomb? An AC unit fell through the roof. I’m trapped on the second floor.”

“Are you hurt?” Street repeats his question, desperation seeping into his tone.

Somehow you hesitate to tell him. So instead, you switch to video call and show him your leg.

Street’s eyes widen in horror as he sees the bloodied, crushed flesh.

Hondo glances at Street’s phone, his siren already screaming down the streets of LA.

“We’re coming.”

…

“You can’t keep me here, Hondo! Y/N is hurt, I have to get to her!”

“Street, you’re compromised. You’re gonna take risks and I can’t have you do that, not when there are kids here who need your head straight.”

Another sudden crash makes both men instinctually duck for cover. They had just arrived into a horror scene, with a blazing fire, fire trucks dousing the building with water, police holding back hysterical parents, ambulances treating kids and staff for smoke inhalation, and a soot-smeared principal talking to the fire marshal.

Hondo makes a beeline for her, Street on his heels.

“Sergeant Harrelson, LAPD SWAT. Is everyone accounted for?”

“Yes, all the kids and staff, but we’re missing one visitor, a social worker.”

Street chokes your name out, to which the principal nods, confirming that it’s you.

Meanwhile you breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Thank god everyone is safe.” You remark weakly, still on the phone, hearing their entire conversation.

Street is astonished you can think about others but his train of thought is interrupted when Chris in his comms crackles to life.

“There! I got eyes on the bomber! He’s on the roof, east side!”

“We have to go!” Street yells desperately.

“Okay.” Hondo huffs out, making a split second decision.

“Tan, go with Street and get Y/N out. Weapons hot, masks on, the bomber might run into the building. Deacon, you’re with me, let’s trap this rat.”

Street wastes no time running inside the smoke-filled building, his flashlight barely penetrating the ash and dust as he finds the stairs and runs up, Tan covering his back, sweeping his gun back and forth just in case the bomber decides to come their way.

“I’m coming, Y/N. Ten seconds out.” Street speaks into his comms, and his phone, for your benefit too.

But he doesn’t hear a reply.

“Shit!” Street curses. “She was losing a lot of blood, she’s not responding!”

Tan makes a game plan immediately as they keep running.

“I got the AC unit, you start CPR!” Tan shouts.

They skid to a stop at the destroyed classroom, and Street’s heart almost stops at the scene.

Your limp body, lying in a pool of dark blood, trapped under a giant hunk of metal, your phone still clutched in one hand.

Street kneels next to you, his own heartbeat reverberating loudly in his ears.

Thu-thump

He presses his fingers to your neck, feeling for a pulse while leaning down, trying to feel your breath on his face.

Thu-thump

Nothing. He immediately rips his smoke mask off his face and breathes into your mouth.

Once. Twice.

Thu-thump

He braces his hands against your chest and pushes down forcefully, starting CPR compressions.

Thu-thump

With a grating screech of metal, Tan manages to tip the AC unit off of you, revealing your upper thigh soaked in blood and your leg clearly broken in at least two parts.

Thu-thump

Street barely glances down to look, focusing on bringing you back to life. He feels for a pulse again, finally feeling a weak heartbeat, but a heartbeat nonetheless.

“She’s stable! Let’s get out of here!” Street shouts, throwing his smoke mask back on, and another for you.

Tan has already tied your leg down into two splints, one for your thigh, and another for your calf and ankle.

“Ready!” Tan replies in a voice muffled by his smoke mask, wiping his blood soaked hands on his tactical pants and gripping his gun again.

Street lifts you up, carefully draping your injured leg over his forearm, and cradling your concussed head gently against his shoulder.

He flies down the steps, Tan covering his back.

“This is 25-David, Y/N is secured, coming out of the school now.” Tan communicates to the team.

The moment they step out onto the front lawn of the school, their comms crackle again.

“Don’t do it man, don’t!” Hondo yells out. He must have found the bomber.

“Second bomb!” Chris warns, just as another explosion on the far side of the school collapses the roof completely, burying the spot where you were just trapped, and taking the bomber along with it.

“Hondo! Deacon! Chris!” Tan shouts into comms. The two of them shield you from the debris, holding their breath as they wait for a reply.

After a few moments, they hear Hondo coughing into the radio.

“20-David. We’re okay, we’re coming down.”

Street and Tan breathe a sigh of relief, as the EMTs run up to the three of you, carefully putting you on a stretcher.

Streets hurries alongside them, and jumps up into the back of the ambulance, glancing back at Tan.

“Go!” Tan shouts at him. “I got it covered.”

The last thing Street sees as the doors close is Tan standing with his back illuminated by a school on fire, his hands hanging at his sides, bright red with your blood.

…

Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt !

Vision blurry, it takes a few seconds for your eyes to focus and notice the late afternoon sun streaming through plastic blinds in a white-washed room.

A hospital room. That’s right, you were injured in an explosion at the elementary school, and your leg…

You looked down to see a full cast, from thigh to ankle, keeping your leg locked straight. A thin, polyester blanket covers the rest of your body.

Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt !

The insistent vibrating of a phone turns your attention to where a sleeping Jim Street, still in full SWAT gear, rests his head on his folded arms in the empty space on your bedside. One of his hands holds yours gently, even as he dozes.

You slip your hand out from his warm grip and brush his hair back, still flecked with a bit of ash and dust from the rescue mission.

Your gaze softens as you look at his peaceful face. You must have worried him so much with the accident.

Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt !

You see his phone lying on the table and you can just make out what it says.

5 missed calls from Hondo. 2 texts from Chris and Tan saying he missed the debriefing.

And currently, Commander Hicks is ringing, ready to ream his ass for being irresponsible, you’re sure of it.

“Street.” Your voice cracks. Clearing your throat, you try again, louder this time.

“Street!” You shake his shoulder insistently.

He shoots up, awake in an instant. “Y/N! You’re up!”

His eyes dart over your face, checking for any signs of pain.

“You’re in trouble.”

Street takes one look at his phone and mutters “Shit.” Without thinking, he presses a kiss to your clammy forehead and ducks out the door, phone pressed to his ear.

You bring a tentative hand up to your forehead, a lot dazed and a little shocked. The two of you haven’t really discussed the nature of your relationship after that weekend of crazy sex, trying to take it slow.

But it’s not every day that you get gruesomely injured and your hot as fuck roommate rescues you from near death.

As you hear Street’s muffled apologies outside of your hospital room, fuzzy memories start coming back to you.

White letters of a SWAT vest hovering over you as firm hands push down on your weakening heart.

Strong arms holding you up as you feel yourself being carried down a flight of stairs at a ridiculous speed.

The smell of smoke, and the unmistakable smell of Jim Street as he cradles your head into his chest, keeping you safe.

A warm hand never letting go of yours as sirens squeal in the ambulance, your consciousness fading in and out.

A reassuring voice, his voice, telling you that you’re alright, that you're safe.

“I got you, Y/N. I’m right here.”

Fuck taking it slow.

You’re not a girl who normally falls in love with a man in an uniform but damn. You sure as hell get it now.

The door opens with a quiet click and Jim Street steps back inside.

“Hey—“

“I love you.” It comes out a little louder than a whisper. ”I love you, Jim.”

Street's words die in his throat as his eyes widen. He crosses over to you in two strides and simply lifts up your chin so that he can press a kiss to your lips.

A desperate, urgent, love-filled kiss that says just how scared, just how terrified he was to lose you.

And just how much he loves you too.

….

[kjupchurch-xx]

12 Years In The Making - Tumblr Request

"Love, remember, we're having dinner tonight, don't make plans." Hugh yelled from the bathroom as he was shaving his face. 

I smiled, "I know, babe. I haven't forgotten. I'll make sure I'm free and finished up with my interview before 7." I said as I re-checked my dress. 

Tonight, was Hugh and I's tenth wedding anniversary. Normally, we'd be on a trip like we did every year for our anniversary, but I had just celebrated the premiere of a movie I'd been filming for the last year, so that halted our anniversary vacation plans. Our kids were visiting with Hugh's mother, Grace while she was in town, so we had the house to ourselves for the night. Hugh's older kids, Oscar and Ava were going to be joining us for dinner tonight. 

In 2012, Hugh and I met whilst working on a movie set together and immediately began dating. I was 22 and he was going on 44 years old. He'd been divorced from his ex-wife for about 9 months at that time. His kids were around 7 and 12 at the time. We married in 2014 with a quiet beachfront ceremony in Australia, surrounded by our immediate families, his children and a few of our closest friends. Our ceremony was more intimate than anything, with Hugh tearing up seeing me accompanied down the beach by my father. 

In 2015, we found out we were expecting our first child, Hugh's first biological child. Our daughter was born in early 2016. Our second daughter was born in 2019, with our son being born in 2022, just two years ago. Our kids were now 8, 5 and 2. Despite being a huge blended family, he knows I would never be caught dead driving a mini van or a "mom car". While he drives the luxury SUVs, mom still drives the Audi RX8 and occasionally a Dodge Charger if I have the babies in the backseat. 

I was shaken from my thoughts by a kiss on the cheek, "You look beautiful, baby." He said softly in my ear as he smiled at me. 

I blushed, "Thank you. Where are we going tonight?" I asked, knowing he would never tell me, but always hopeful that he'd slip up one day and spoil a surprise. 

He smirked at me as he shook his head, "Now Darling, you know if I told you where we were going, it would spoil the surprise." 

I playfully rolled my eyes, "How am I supposed to know where to meet you after my interview if I don't know where you're taking me to dinner?" I asked, trying to catch him up once more. 

He chuckled as he pressed a kiss on the top of my head, "You're meeting me at the first place I took you when you moved to New York. That is the only hint I'm giving you." 

Stefanos. Stefanos was the first place Hugh took me for dinner once I'd officially moved in with him, in 2013. It was a beautiful, high-end Italian restaurant. He'd picked it because he knew Italian was my favorite type of cuisine. 

I smiled as I pulled him in for a kiss, "I've gotta go or else I'm gonna be late." I mumbled against his lips.

He smirked against my lips, mumbling back, "You can be fashionably late, love. I would love to ravage you right here." 

I giggled, "As much as I want to, and you know I have a hard time turning you down, I have to go... but, later tonight, I promise I'll make it up to you." I said seductively while slowly grazing my hand over the crotch of his pants. 

He laughed, almost shivering at my touch, "This is why we have three kids." He said nonchalantly. 

I laughed as I grabbed my keys to head towards the door of our home, "Alright, I'll see you at 7." I said, smiling as I walked out of the house. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I quickly finished up my interview, noticing it was now 6:30, which meant I had to haul literal ass to Stefano's to get there by 7 to meet Hugh for our anniversary dinner. I grabbed my keys and wallet and began sprinting towards the elevator, then towards the parking garage where my car was parked. 

I managed to make it to Stefano's right at 6:59 on the dot to see Hugh standing outside of his SUV, looking at me. I quickly shut the engine off and jumped out, "I am so sorry I'm almost late. The interview finished at 6:30, traffic downtown was a nightmare." I said almost anxiety ridden from the traffic. 

He giggled, "It's okay, love... But I lied to you. We're not eating at Stefano's." He smirked, trying to keep a straight face. 

I looked at him almost wide eyed, "Why did you make me rush to Stefano's then?" I asked, getting a bit annoyed. 

Traffic and anxiety were not my friend, clearly. Luckily, my husband knew this and never took it personally. 

He chuckled at me as he walked up to me and kissed me, "Because you kept insisting that I tell you where I was taking you." He said cockily. 

I sighed, chuckling as I rolled my eyes, wrapping my arms around his neck, "Okay, I learned my lesson. Now seriously, what are we doing?" 

He pulled away from me and walked towards his SUV, "Get in and I'll take you to the actual place we're going." 

I shrugged my shoulders, "Okay." I said as I grabbed my wallet out of my Audi, locking the car and getting into his SUV. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hugh drove for another 10 minutes, while his free hand interlocked its fingers with mine. The ride was filled with him happily singing along to songs on the radio. I noticed we were pulling up at an event venue and looked over at him. 

He knew I was going to, considering he was smiling at me as he parked the car. "What are we doing, Jackman?" I asked, almost suspiciously, raising one brow at him. 

He chuckled cheekily, "We're doing another press interview." He said casually. 

I squinted my eyes, "This is not a very good surprise." I said sarcastically. 

He rolled his eyes, shutting the car off and getting out, "Just come on." He said, mocking annoyance. 

I got out of the SUV as he came over and linked his arm with mine as we began walking towards the entrance of the venue. 

"Is this seriously a press interview?" I asked, noticing all of the cars in the parking lot. 

He nodded, "Okay, it's not a press interview. We're going to Ryan and Blake's wrap party, but I promise, I am taking you to dinner afterwards." He said as we continued walking. 

I sighed. It was our tenth wedding anniversary. As much as I loved and adored Ryan and Blake, I wanted to celebrate my anniversary. I didn't care to be celebrating everyone else tonight. This was out of the ordinary for Hugh, but with how busy he'd been with the press for Deadpool & Wolverine, I'm not too surprised our anniversary had slipped to the back burner. 

As we approached the entrance, his grip on my arm tightened as he pulled me closer, wrapping one arm around my waist. As we entered the venue, I immediately spotted Blake and Ryan, and a group of people I hadn't yet recognized or paid much attention to. There were pictures of Blake's new film, It Ends With Us plastered near the stage area. 

Blake and Ryan approached us, "About time you two made it. We were getting ready to post your numbers on a billboard." Ryan joked. 

Hugh and I laughed, "Thanks for coming, you too. I know it's your anniversary, you can blame him for the poor planning." Blake said sympathetically as she shot Ryan a glare. 

I smiled as I hugged her, "It's okay. Thank you for having us." I said, hiding my disappointment. 

"Mommy!" I heard yell as I felt two small arms wrap around my waist. 

I chuckled as I looked down to see our middle daughter hugging my waist, "Hey boo, where's grandma Grace?" I asked her as I rubbed her hair. 

She shrugged, "She's talking to uncle Shawn." Our daughter said as she pointed over to Shawn Levy, who was in fact chatting it up with my mother-in-law, as she held our two year old son on her hip. 

I giggled, as Hugh asked her, "What about daddy? You didn't miss me?" He playfully pouted. 

She giggled as she playfully shook her head no, still holding onto my waist. 

Our 5-year-old was a bit...scared of daddy after seeing him on the set for Deadpool and Wolverine. She truly believed daddy had claws that come out of his hands when he's upset, which has been hilarious and a bit aggravating convincing her that Daddy indeed does not have claws that come out of his knuckles. 

I stooped down to look at her, "You better give daddy a hug." I said playfully, trying to sound firm. 

She shook her head no, "Mommy, daddy has claws that come out of him hands." She said as matter of factly. 

Hugh tried hard to not show his laughter as he watched our interaction. 

I shrugged, "I know he does." I nodded, "If you don't hug him, I think they might come out. Quick, hurry!" I said dramatically to her, lightly pushing her towards Hugh. 

Ryan was having a hard time holding his laughter back as he watched me interact with my daughter, while Hugh shot me a glare, trying also to not laugh as our daughter nervously walked over and hugged her dad. 

Hugh shook his head at me as he picked her up, "Baby, daddy does not have claws. Your mommy just says that because she's got them and doesn't want you to know the truth." He said sarcastically as he stuck his tongue out at me. 

As we walked further into the venue, I began noticing the people in the crowd. I saw my family, Hugh's siblings, his mother of course, a bunch of our friends, my step children, etc. 

I looked towards Hugh, "Did you fly my family here for Ryan and Blake's wrap party?" I asked almost in disbelief. 

He smirked, "I flew your family here for your gift, baby." 

I looked at him, puzzled. "I'm so confused right now." 

He chuckled as he sat our daughter down, "I've got to go give a speech for Blake. I'll be back." He said quickly as he walked over towards the stage, grabbing a microphone, tapping it to make sure it's on.

Our daughter ran to play with the other kids as my family approached me, showering me in hugs. My family did not live in New York, they lived further down south. Hugh always made sure to fly them up for any special occasion. He knew it meant the world to me whenever he'd include them in anything we did. 

Hugh began speaking into the microphone, "Hello everyone. " He said with a smile, "Tonight, we're here to celebrate the premiere of Blake's new film." He continued as he smiled towards Blake and Ryan. "I just want to say, I appreciate each and every one of you for coming tonight. Planning this event has been stressful because I did not want to risk my wife finding out." He smirked towards me, laughing nervously. 

I looked up at him, shooting him a glare. So he couldn't plan something for our anniversary, but he could take the time to plan something for our friend's movie release. I noticed Ryan and Blake looking over at me, snickering. Hugh noticed my glare as he continued giggling nervously. 

"My wife thinks she's here to celebrate Blake's movie." He said as he smiled cheekily at me, "But actually baby, we're here to celebrate our anniversary." He said sweetly as my glare faded into an over-emotional expression. "Ten years ago, I married this beautiful, sexy, gorgeous woman. I met her twelve years ago to this very day, and I fell madly in love with her." He paused as I began to tear up. Our oldest daughter, who was 8 walked over and held my hand. 

I shook my head in disbelief that I'd actually thought he'd forgotten to plan something special. "Baby, this party is for you. You are an incredible mother to our children. You are an incredible wife. I am so blessed to be married to you and to share this life with you, even if you are difficult to deal with sometimes." He joked, causing me to chuckle while everyone began laughing. 

He smiled at me, "Come here, baby." He said as he motioned his hand for me to come up on the stage. 

I blushed shyly as I walked up towards the stage, taking his hand. "I love you. Happy 10 years, baby." he said sweetly as he pulled me into his arms, smiling at me. 

I smiled, wrapping my arms around his neck. "I love you too. Happy 10 years...and to many, many more..." I said as I pulled him in for a kiss.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1969 Dodge Charger

1969 Dodge Charger

1969 Dodge Charger

Ringbrothers Builds The Ultimate Dodge Charger With A Hellcat Heart

Elizabeth Puckett

February 8, 2022·2 min read

While the Ringbrothers have made some crazy automotive feats in the past, this is probably their most insane build with a Hellcat engine.

The Ringbrothers are exceptionally well known within the automotive community for such adventures as their 2020 SEMA Cougar build and other works of automotive art. Nowadays, the brothers have taken on a project that drops jaws around every corner and wears its proud color scheme of Speed Violation Yellow quite well. Under the hood is a massive supercharged surprise from the modern American performance manufacturer that you may know as Dodge. These engineering legends have built one of the most iconic engines ever to hit the American racing circuit and have cemented the number 707 into the minds of enthusiasts everywhere. By now, you've probably guessed what insane power plant we're talking about, but this about far more than just its incredible drivetrain. You may think that this is just another Hellcat swap, but we'd suggest you pay attention to this one. Down to the best seat covers, this car is amazing.

That's because this insane 1969 Dodge Charger is one of the most complicated builds to hit the various corners of the internet. Under the hood of this great car, nicknamed CAPTIV, is a massive 6.2-liter Hellcat V8 engine that produces an astonishing 707 horsepower which is far more effective in this car than your standard modern Charger because of the significantly reduced weight and excellent suspension work. This can do far more than go fast in a straight line with adjustable shocks, Baer six-piston brakes, and a set of Michelin Pilot Sport 4S tires, making the car a beast on any road racing circuit. Now that we've gotten the performance aspect laid out for you let's talk about design.

The interior was built to resemble the exact vision that the new owner had always wanted in a classic car with the simple styling, which complements the custom steering wheel very well. Another remarkable aspect of the interior specifications is the Recaro seats which are the perfect addition to this car whose beauty almost surpasses its performance in terms of impressiveness. The exterior also follows that same sentiment of simplistic design and stunning presence with a Porsche color now called Speed Violation Yellow, a fitting name for this car.

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 9/17/2024

come take this very very friendly little man out of my bathroom! he is fiv+ and we are in houston tx! i am willing to drive a couple hours for the right home! he is a good boy he's just orange! more details here!

listening

emily jeffri's DENY off my spotify recommended weekly playlist: i can only describe it as "throbbing". immediately attention grabbing lyrics:

What kind of lover does your mother want? I'll do whatever, oh but you could not

very distinctly indie electronica. this would be the song in a cyberpunk/80s hacker movie where the chase takes you through an goth/alt fashion show where the models are actively giving blood as they walk or something.

i love the spotify daily mix for me and my bestie bc there's a guaranteed four bluey songs on it and it's a nice jumpscare. i know my mental health is taking a turn for the worse when a lot of mother mother starts popping up, i know my bestie's is taking a turn for the worse when a lot of girl in red starts popping up. suicide-watch-level sapphic angst singer-songwriter, generally. except for this song! extremely fun! didn't even recognize it as her! DOING IT AGAIN BABY is a more traditional selling-you-a-dodge-charger car commercial song and it's such a startling departure from her usual work that i wonder if it was a commercial commission? hard to immediately find out tho

I'm on a new level Something's got me feelin' like I could be inflammable And I might be I'm gonna light it up Nothing's gonna stop me if I say this is what I want

-

reading

i read twilight (yes that one) at the behest of my bestie and bc my mental health could not have gotten any worse in that moment. it has led to some uncomfortable realizations about my high school experience i will save for a therapist. i am mostly putting it here to remind myself that i read this book this year.

^ this is some silly goofy nonsense. not that i think people shouldn't be recognized at their retirement, but what happened to giving people nice watches instead of a thousand dollars in plaques

Saying that, the records did reveal something actually interesting: although the individual contract I sent a request related to was for a few thousand dollars, an attached blank purchase agreement (BPA) says that “the government estimates, but does not guarantee, that the volume of purchases through this BPA will be $360,000.00 over the term of the BPA.” So, a lot more than a few thousand bucks.

-

watching

Hang 'Em High (1968, dir. Post). certainly not clint's sluttiest role but really up there. i do wish he kept the fucked-out little rasp for the whole movie :(

When an innocent man barely survives a lynching, he returns as a lawman determined to bring the vigilantes to justice.

it has a typical bizarre shoehorned romance that (i think) deeply undercuts the theme it wants to explore, but there is no on-screen rape. the bar is on the FLOOR with westerns and yet i DNF so so so many.

hell of a whump film. literally everything happens to jed cooper. i will trumpet this again from the rooftops: that character needs cbt both ways.

-

playing

HIGHWATER, a 2022 adventure/turn based strategy thing from Rogue Games, courtesy of Netflix Games, whose game library is a fucking nightmare to navigate on mobile.

i loooove a water-based postapoc. the boat does in fact handle very poorly and like a horrible inflatable raft on mobile, which is both charming and frustrating.

i do not love a turn-based combat. despite the vibes off the charts, including a very well integrated "pirate radio" station as the game's soundtrack, i am not patient enough to muddle through complex turn-based combat. i'm sure someone had fun fighting off six guys and two bears (who aggro anyone and can one-hit anyone) and then a further three guys who show up for backup but i gave it the good old college try over two days and wasn't able to swing it. it would be nice to have either a difficulty setting or some way to spectate the ideal fight, but alas. a lot of fun environmental stuff in the fights you can use to your advantage, like the bears and these trees you can flatten your opponents with in a much earlier fight. there's a fun mix of different characters with different abilities and different weapons you pick up and keep during fights. i have no specific beef with this game's choice to make this the way you move through the game, it's just not my preferred genre.

a lot of book and newspaper collectibles in this one that i feel of several minds about. it feels less like environmental storytelling through newspapers and just the devs telling me their opinion when they provide little book summaries like this. also i wish The Industry as a whole was more thoughtful about using the word "insurgent".

not a game for me, i have once again confirmed that i cannot tolerate a turn-based combat no matter how much seafaring postapoc you drench it in :(

-

making

got a Phantom Menace era curtain panel for $4 at the thrift, and i was convinced it was fabric someone had made into a curtain panel until i got home and discovered it was an officially licensed product with bafflingly generous seams.

it's about two-ish yards of a 50/50 cotton/poly blend, which i feel like i haven't seen in a while? i think the current fashion leans more 70/30 or 100 poly for curtains i've purchased. after i finish unpicking the seams and pinking it, i am going to throw it in the wash again with some vinegar and see if that softens it up any, or if it makes the transition between the wear lines on the seams and the body of the fabric any nicer.

thinking about what kind of dress to make that 1) shows off this extremely large scale pattern 2) does not look like i am wearing a paper bag, and 3) does not look like the late aughts craft trend of sewing a twin flat Star Wars sheet to a tube top and calling that a dress, bc that's how hard up we were for feminine merch. much to consider. maybe it Will be a maxi skirt with pockets and i can wear one of my seventy black tees on top?

[turbobuckeye]

#WidebodyWednesday 2022 Dodge Charger SRT Hellcat Widebody. 📷: @hellcat_ray717 | www.dodge.com⁣

⁣

#Dodge #Mopar #SRT #dodgegarage #1320club #HEMI @dodgeofficial @stellantisna @officialmopar #Hellcat #DodgeCharger #widebodycharger #LXBN #MuscleCars #AmericanMuscle #707hp #widebody #supercharged #chargerwidebody #modernmopar #florida

[dreamcars-fan]

2022 Dodge Charger Hellcat Redeye Widebody “Hellraisin” [3958 x 2644]

[luvxvanilllla]

modern au rodrick hcs: games he would play 🎮🕹️👾

would be obsessed with roblox

likes arsenal but prefers scamming kids on adopt me

or bullying little kids on royal high, or dti (like making fun of their outfits, saying that hes better than them)

if you genuinely like playing dti or royal high though, he’d actually try to play it with you but then get mad at something stupid

probably grew up with unrestricted internet access 

which made his parents monitor everything greg does..

also he probably grew up watching albertsstuff, and then checks into Flamingo’s channel every now and then

got his ideas on bullying roblox kids from him

(im sorry that this is mostly roblox 😭)

he’d probably play mic up, murder mystery, LITERALLY ANY EXPERIENCE, and nicos nextbots

tried playing minecraft but hes literal crap at it

genuinely likes dirt block houses…

he’d only REALLY like minecraft, just to blow up greg’s world

(greg is also bad at minecraft, just rodrick is way worse for some reason)

he would actually play games also like gta, fortnite, gears of war 4, mortal kombat, need for speed/fast and furious

speaking of gta he’d get 5 wanted stars on purpose

he’d be laughing his ass off the entirety of the gameplay 

in mortal kombat he’d probably convince everyone he knows hes pro at the game

(he literally just spams random buttons and ends up winning???)

in games like need for speed, he’d def try to run people over (like he does in gta) and gets mad when he finds out he cant

in any car game: he’d probably pick a 2023 dodge charger srt hellcat, or a 2022 Shelby GT500 fastback

overall the only games he’d be good at are roblox and tetris

———————————————————-

if you have any requests / advice, let me know! ⋆⑅˚₊ᡣ𐭩

[johnschneiderblog]

It ain't me!

Faithful readers of this blog know that I'm joined at the hip, digitally speaking, with that other John Schneider, the actor/singer/songwriter (I must be feeling generous today) most famous for his role as Bo Duke in the early-80s TV show "Dukes of Hazzard."

As such, I've been accused of snubbing fans, crushing hopes and even heartlessly selling "The General Lee" (the confederate flag-infested Dodge Charger Bo piloted on his moonshining rounds).

It's my burden to bear. But associating me with the 2022 movie "To Die For" is, well ... that's taking it too far. Yes, John Schneider wrote, directed and starred in the movie. The other John Schneider. NOT ME.

I didn't know the movie existed until Thursday when I got a thank-you email from a woman in Manila, Arizona. She wrote, in part: "It's time Americans stand up to those who will not realize what we have and make a mockery of our flag and nation."

So, I found the trailer and read a little of what Schneider said about the movie: " ... What can one man do to fight the intentional decay of the greatest country the world has ever known? Speak out. Live a patriotic example. And, if necessary, die for his flag. Why..? Because she's worth it." Ah, geeze ...

Some snippets from online reviews:

" ... It's like (Schneider) teamed up with some car salesman he met at AA and shot the whole thing in his basement against an Amazon Basics green blanket ..."

"Wow … he thought calling the Native American neighbor 'Tonto' was a good look?"

"I love how right-wingers always create these geriatric, macho patriot fantasies around their identity politics where they get to pretend like they’re an oppressed minority in an intolerant country."

"The acting, dialogue, self-victimization, and plot are so ridiculously awful I can’t believe anybody spent time and money on this."

"The generation of 'get off my lawn' brings you 2 hours of MAGA talking points that liberals hate America and the youth is trash. This may be one of the most poorly shot, edited and sound captured movies in existence."

[sims4cars-breezemotors]

"Starter" November - Preview

Here we go! Preview of November "Starter"!

These 9 cars available for Patrons!

Cars will be available since November 1'st.

1969 Dodge Charger R/T 

2021 Audi R8 Spyder 

1977 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am 

1962 Triumph TR3B 

2020 Subaru Outback 

2007 Lexus LX470 

2022 Nissan Maxima 

2023 Tesla Model Y 

2019 BMW Z4 Roadster

Go and join my Patreon!

[blubushie]

Trivia: The 2022 Batmobile was loosely based on the 1969 Dodge Charger. Even though it's custom made, it's design that way to invoke the feeling of someone heavily modifying an old muscle car.

I love this actually

It's better than modifying actual old muscle cars...

[mememanufactorum]

Badger’s Best of 2022 sentence starters

* FEEL FREE TO SHARE AS YOU PLEASE, NO CREDIT NEEDED. CHANGE PRONOUNS OR ANYTHING ELSE AS DESIRED.

* All lines are from this video made by content creator TheRussianBadger.

“I didn’t come here to fuckin’ read!”

“I will carpet bomb your house.”

“No, we’re not going in the direction of ranch.”

“I don’t want to see another video of [name] killing a wasp with ranch dressing.”

“Fuck you, you’re going to the ranch dimension.”

“It’s Ezekiel torn, the Lord is coming back for us. Take me, God!”

“What alcohol do you think [name] would drink? 100% malt liquor.”

“Pass me that travel size Jack Daniels.”

“Yeah, I cleared the house. Off the fucking map.”

“Doctor tried to give me Tylenol instead of percs so I punched him in his fuckin’ face.”

“Your voice is so bassy that my subwoofer keeps shaking my entire fucking wall and I’m scared.”

“You smell like fuckin’ beans, dog.”

“What did I just hear? That doesn’t even sound like an insult.”

“Hey, fall over, break your neck. It’ll be funny.”

“You deserve a bullet.”

“How about you immerse yourself in a shower, bro?”

“I might be 29 years old with dementia, ‘cuz I forgot entirely what the fuck I was gonna say!”

“You did not find your jaw under your bed.”

“The tooth fairy should give you a Dodge Charger if you put your jaw under your bed.”

“Kentucky is literally just farming coal, fried chicken, and horses.”

“Physics wasn’t lying, that particle can exist upon observation.”

“If I hear another ‘swas’, I will fire my Kar 98k into oncoming traffic.”

“I’m showing these mortals what’s good.”

“Even your exhale was autotuned.”

“You sound like a Decepticon charging up.”

“That’s not the pitch moving, that’s just me existing.”

“Yeah, this is going great. Suck my fucking dick.”

“The ocean is a soup. Well, it’s filled with microplastics, so I hope you’re hungry.”

“I hit critical mass, bro. My computer just died.”

“I don’t see how you can hate from outside of the club. You can’t even get in.”

“Michael Jordan’s classic punchline when he sunk it from three: Shabingus.”

“What the dog doing? Literally crushing an entire metropolis.”

“My wife is the greatest, I really love her. First thing I hear? ‘Cringe’.”

“Parry this, you stupid fuckin’ lizard.”

“I land an 86-hit combo, he hits one haymaker and I just fuckin’ DIE?”

“Go left, you fuckin’ rat.”

“Why are you giggling like a goblin?”

“The rule of God is incoming.”

“Now I know what you meant by ‘the blast radius is YES’.”

“I rob literally everyone I know on purpose.”

“You can’t call me mommy either. You guys are fucking weird.”

“I’m not even shooting that guy, that was so impressive.”

“My brother in Christ, you are witnessing our extinction.”

“That’s him, officer, he wasn’t using the Wii wrist strap.”

“That is, like, the ultimate form of spawn camping.”

“Yeah, because we can barely fuckin’ hear you. Shut the fuck up.”

“That shit was actually giving me a headache a little bit.”

“You are blind in your left eye, don’t talk to us about not having RGB.”

“I’m blind in both eyes, don’t feel bad.”

“Your cat stole your radiator? How does a cat steal a radiator?”

“Nah, bro, he do be certified in HVAC.”

“If you don’t like the dollar fifty hot dog at Costco, you belong in a jail cell. I have nothing else to say to you.”

“I pour the milk, I pour the cereal, and then I get out the bowl.”

“It don’t really matter which one’s first. The bowl is last. Everybody knows that.”

“Blunt force trauma to the head is what killed the very hungry caterpillar?”

“You just made me uncontrollably sneeze.”

“I did not stand a chance. The game was rigged from the start.”

“The fucking brain on this kid!”

“When vehicles are the only thing tethering you to the earth.”

“This silence got me fucked up.”

“Damn, that’s sad as hell. You gotta light up your dinner with a BIC?”

“Nah, it’s been going good these last few months, I got a fourth lighter.”

“I take some chicken noodle Campbell’s soup with me, right? I stick it in the fire and I let the ash get in the soup, and you mix it around, and, I swear to God, it makes it taste better.”

“You know what I do? Not fucking that.”

“That just woke me out of my nap, bro. That brought me to reality.”

“Turn that bullshit channel off, bro, I’m trying to go back to bed.”

“I will fucking kill you if you change the hot dog.”

“It’s really funny when you have to explain what Hamburger Helper is to your wife. She does not understand what it is.”

“Y’all be eating? Shit, I’m over here just breathing, that’s all I get. Good old bowl of air soup.”

“I’m pretty sure [name] had to pay his rent with beans this month.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna go drink a gallon of rat poison, I’ll be right back.”

“I’m about to turn you into a fucking Hot Pocket.”

“That lizard took one sip of the McDonald’s Sprite and I was DONE.”

“Why do you laugh like a fucking hyena?”

“Did someone just say unemployment rate falls to zero when you commit genocide on a fucking planet?”

“You can’t glass a fucking planet and say ‘I did it because it solved the unemployment problem’.”

“I now understand why he’s so pissed, bro. That motherfucking bird was outrunning his ass for YEARS.”

“I would be so pissed if all I heard every day: ‘MEEP MEEP’.”

“Make it make sense, dude.”

“Y’all gonna kill me the way y’all talking, bruh.”

“What about that... Mother-motherfucker 43?”

“Ah yes, the ultimate trait in a sniper rifle: A glaring lack of accuracy.”

“You zigged when you should have zagged, my boy.”

“Head empty, only bullet.”

“Give me all the flash grenades you have.”

“Bitch, I’m back out my coma.”

“I am not accepting that reality.”

“Google’s gonna call you an idiot like the fucking computer from Courage.”

“Why am I getting in trouble for speaking the truth?”

“He’s already in jail for second rate shaboingery.”

“Are you talking about the kid that actually went to jail for shaboingery?”

“Imagine being brought in on felony tomfoolery charges.”

“I will admit I was fully aware and cognizant of what I was doing. This was not an accident.”

“You know [name]? He’s allergic to water, dumbass was a fisher for eight years.”

“He’s allergic to water? How? He IS water!”

“Damn, that’s pretty hydrophobic of you. Why would you say that?”

“I need you to put ONE BALL in the hole and you couldn’t land shit!”

“Y’all the type to put fifty dollars down for that stuffed animal, huh?”

“For a second there, I became that meme of that dude sitting in a fast food restaurant just glowing orange.”

“You can’t say the word ‘hamster’ without laughing. ‘Hamster’ is a real word.”

“You’re going to heaven, big boy.”

[triplak-blog]

1966 Dodge Charger 1:64 (Matchbox 2022)

[vague-humanoid]

@chrisdornerfanclub

Courtesy, professionalism, and respect: Those are the three things the New York Police Department promises all of us, the phrase emblazoned on the Dodge Chargers and Chevy Tahoes and Ford Transit vans (and even the dinky little parking enforcement Smart cars) that officers use across the five boroughs. 

Yet NYPD officers regularly fail to be courteous, respectful professionals. Instead, they look at their phones all day, decorate their offices with threatening posters, rack up millions of dollars in settlement fees from beating up protestors, detain vulnerable individuals like a grandmother and a Yorkshire terrier, lie, point guns at unarmed people—I could go on. And that's just the stuff we've had time to report on…which brings me to the point of this column. 

Every two weeks, we're going to be combing the headlines for a new column called "New York's Finest": a roundup of arrests, firings, settlements, disciplinary board rulings, and anything else we can dig up that involves cops in New York City and the rest of the state breaking the law, harming the people they ostensibly serve and protect, or just being fucked up and weird. At a time when crime and public safety dominate the conversation about life in New York, spurred on by our ex-cop mayor and other right-wing political forces, we think it's important to keep an eye on the people who make up an agency that gets billions of dollars in taxpayer funds every year—are they really making the city a safer place to live?

In this first edition of New York's Finest, we've got knife-wielding cops, Israeli cops, a cop killing a man with a cooler, a cop's death by friendly fire captured in body-worn camera footage, and more:  

On August 12, off-duty NYPD officer Elisamuel Samboy was arrested and charged with strangulation after a fight with his girlfriend at the end of July.

On August 16, Gina Mestre, an ex-NYPD officer who left the force in 2022, was charged with racketeering. The former Bronx-based cop fell in love with the leader of a gang called the Shooting Boys, then helped him flee to the Dominican Republic while assigned to a task force dedicated to capturing him. (OK, I have to  admit it—that's kind of romantic.) 

On August 17, NYPD officers shot a 17-year-old in the thigh in one of Brooklyn's designated "summer violence reduction zones" after he fled the scene of a fight on a Razor scooter. Cops say the teenager was reaching for a gun he dropped out of his pocket when they caught up with him. "These officers…stopped an innocent person from getting shot with that gun," NYPD Chief of Patrol John Chell said at a news conference. Maybe! 

On August 21, the Civilian Complaint Review Board released a report that showed complaints about police misconduct increased by 40 percent from 2022 to 2023 and stop-and-frisk complaints jumped 87 percent in the same timeframe. "More enforcement means more unwelcome interactions with the public,” a source told the New York Daily News. "It only makes sense the complaints would go up."

On August 23, ProPublica dropped an investigation into the NYPD's handling of the friendly fire death of police officer Brian Mulkeen, who was killed in 2019 after he pursued and killed a man with an illegal handgun—which raised a bunch of very good questions about how the NYPD's Force Investigation Division (FID) investigates police shootings. How does the FID decide when, and how thoroughly, to review body-worn camera footage? How do they decide what parts of that footage to release to the public? Why didn't they press officers who lied about how far they were standing from Mulkeen when they shot him? Surprise, surprise: No one even tangentially related to the NYPD gave comment for the story.

Also on August 23, off-duty NYPD traffic cop Kerrielyn Gugliada was arrested on Staten Island after she threatened a man with a kitchen knife, and Eric Adams took some time to drool over Israeli police drones while on his tour of the country.

And finally, 30-year-old Eric Duprey died in a motorcycle crash August 23 when NYPD Sergeant Erik Duran hit him with a bystander's cooler that was full of soda and water bottles as, cops say, Duprey fled a drug bust on his bike. (Duprey's mother disputed this account in an interview with the Associated Press: "He wasn’t fleeing. He wasn’t fleeing. He was just on the motorcycle talking to me on the video chat. And he passed by that place when all of a sudden the call cut out," she told a reporter in Spanish.) Truly gruesome video footage shows Duran picking up the cooler and swinging it into Duprey, sending the rider tumbling off the sidewalk, over a metal barricade, and onto the street,  hitting a Jeep Cherokee. "The use of force here is not consistent with our guidelines," an NYPD official told the Daily News, and clarified that the department "[doesn't] train officers to pick up something and throw it at a suspect." Duran—who has racked up 17 CCRB complaints, one substantiated, over the course of his 13-year NYPD career—has been suspended without pay, and Attorney General Letitia James has opened an investigation. According to the New York Times, which obtained an internal NYPD memo, "the police are preparing for a possible public backlash."

On August 25, the New York Civil Liberties Union shared data with Gothamist that showed that of all the people stopped and frisked during the Adams administration, only five percent were white.