#acab eagle

[shiftythrifting]

A trans anti anarchy gay eagle whos wearing a mask and loves freedom??? A walmart brand?? In meridian goodwill, Idaho.

[thenoirgal]

Sam the Eagle would def be that like, sanctimonious cop that's all about law and order that you find out is doing some shady deal with the villain to 'punish the true sinners

[nando161mando]

[commiepinkofag]

Lead Officer at Atlanta Eagle Scene Faces DUI, Marijuana Charges

February 8, 2011 Atlanta Journal-Constitution Bennie Bridges was arrested and booked into the Cobb County Jail last week, according to jail records. He was charged with speeding, DUI and marijuana possession and released on a $1,900 bond, jail records show. Bridges, 41, was the lead investigator in the September 2009 raid on Atlanta Eagle, where a swarm of officers detained and searched about five dozen Eagle customers, making some lie handcuffed and face down on the club’s floor. Bridges is on administrative leave with pay…

[powderblueblood]

I know this has been done a million and one times, but Eddie just vibing at the gas station. Something inevitably goes wrong. Please and thanks dear Powder

jo my love i present to you 1k+ words of eddie munson's no good very bad wednesday night no warnings! just silly. and acab includes hopper

So it's eight thirty on a Wednesday night, the very armpit of the week, and Eddie's standing there under the glare of the gas station fluorescents. Right in the heart of the snack aisle.

"What's become apparent to me, Sam, is-is-is-is that it's fear. It's the iron claw of the bonds of being a scaredy-cat little bitch that has stunted me fundamentally."

Loaded. So stoned he's stalagmite.

"See, I'm a capable guy. Many capes have I, but it's like, I've finally mastered the fuck-you-chip-on-my-shoulder adolescent thing that I'm reluctant to let it go. I'm skirting around putting on my big boy pants. I'm failing my courses. I'm dumbing myself down to stick around high school, seemingly, on purpose. Because I'm afraid!"

Eddie's pouring his heart out to the narcoleptic octogenarian cashier, the guy that likely built this place out of shiplap and bullet casings way back when it was a horseshit stop for Buffalo Bill's Wild West Freak Show or whoever.

"And I know what you're thinking." Sam isn't thinking anything. Sam's sleeping with his eyes wide open. "Why not really, grr, take root with that family tree, huh? Drop out like my old man and my uncle did? Well, I'll tell ya--"

Eddie wonders, in the middle of his own sentence, what it'd be like to hitch his wagon to an operation like that and coast solely on being a moorless weirdo.

He's really stoned, okay?

"--high school is easy to fail in. Real life? Isn't."

And look, before you get all, he's got good reason. It's been a particular drag of a week, a real sandpaper to the balls kind of kick off. Corroded Coffin's Tuesday night engagement at the Hideout was a special kind of bust--not least of all because the slapdash stage finally gave way under all that threatening creaking, and almost took Jeff's neck with it.

The neck of his bass and his human body. Neither of which Jeff's ass is in any position to fix.

So Eddie's got a band that's bruised and barely in the pocket, and a mouth that won't stop running.

“WSQK 94.5, The Squawk!” Eddie echoes the radio, complete with eagle screech, as the opening chords of Renegade by Ted Nugent & the Amboy Dukes pick up. "Hawk-ening right back to a time when Ted Nugent hadn't yet sold all his actual guitaristry to that pissant Wango Tango-ing... You know what, man, this is it!"

His ringed hands come down on the counter all a-clatter, chip crumbs flying out the bag he hasn't quite paid for yet.

"Lock me in a room full of records under a radio tower and throw away the key, I mean, I would be good to fucking go. None of that shock-jock shit, either. I'd play nothing but real music. The Hawkins Midnight Rambler, huh?" But Sam isn't paying sufficient enough attention. "Think I got a face for radio, Sammy?" Because he's asleep.

It takes a couple of molasses-slow moments for Eddie to register this, he himself still working through his own big sluggishness. I mean, damn, even waving a hand in front of the old man's face is an effort.

He's out, though, like a light. Makes Eddie wonder how this place stays open, much less unrobbed.

Well. Careful what you wish for there, buddy.

His hand is slinking toward a Three Musketeers, ready to nab it from the shelf right under old Sam's nose and write him a little IOU for whenever he next has the cash, but Eddie senses a shuffling behind him.

"Put your fuckin' hands in the air!"

Oh? "Dude, what?"

There's this guy behind him, this guy whose corporeal form Eddie can't be a bajillion percent sure isn't, like, a vivid hallucination, with pantyhose tugged over his face. Poking a pistol around under the cover of his camo jacket. The whole bit.

"Put your hands in the air or I put a hole through ya, asshole! You too, old man!"

Eddie tuts, hands still very much hovering near that candy bar.

"What's the fucking hold up, you and your grandpa tryin' to get shot or somethin?!" this very serious masked assailant demands.

"He's asleep, guy," Eddie says. "He can't hear you."

"What?!" our villain splutters, "Well... wake the fuck up! I ain't got all day and I want what's in that reg--"

He goes to point his still-concealed fuckin' sharp shooter or whatever it is he has at Sam's face, and Eddie, with this strange surge of protectiveness and complete buffoonery, nudges his arm away.

"Don't! Number one, dude's a narcoleptic, you could give him a heart attack if you just woke him up like that--number two, I saw him pull a sawed off from under that counter one time and you're in way closer range so the hole he blows through you is gonna be, like, way bigger and... like, he'll kill you and shit. Be cool."

The would-be thief groans. Oh, god, Eddie just knows he thought this hit job would be way easier. In and out, quick and dirty, wham-bam-thank you Sam.

Eddie nearly laughs. He does laugh, actually, because he's still super-mega fucking high and can't exactly control the noises that come out of his mouth, so next thing the dude is rounding on him with the thing in his pocket. Eddie actually puts his hands up this time. Feels a cold shock go through him somewhere that he really hopes isn't piss.

You ever get that? Get so stoned you constantly think you're peeing yourself? Anyway.

"Get the fuck behind the counter! If the old man can't open the register for me, you're gonna do it!"

"But I don't know how." Liar. Lying ass. Eddie knows how to work a goddamn register. It's not like he's tucking that money from the Hideout straight into his garter belt. Though he could. Maybe he should. Maybe he should buy a garter b--

"I'm gonna tell you how, dickhead!"

"What's in it for me?"

"Is that a fucking joke, wise guy?"

Only kinda. Closed mouths never get fed. "Worth a shot."

But Eddie doesn't really love this dude's tone, so he obediently scoots behind the counter, and almost gets distracted by all the copies of Penthouse Sam is keeping back here. He knew the bastard was holding out on him.

"Um..." Eddie gingerly starts, hands just sort of floating in the direction of the register in a way he hopes to Christ won't disturb Sam and wake him into a world of cardiac calamity.

So the guy tells him what buttons to push, clearly a man of the trade, a fellow familiar with wiling countless hours away behind a counter, which makes Eddie be all, why don't you steal from your own job, you shyster and keeps hitting the wrong buttons on purpose.

But dear old Sammy must have this thing rigged to make Eddie look like an asshole, because out pops the fucking drawer anyhow!

This guy, the pantyhose head, the robber, lets out an honest-to-god yippee! as he reaches over to snatch that cash.

And Eddie, working solely on instinct at this point, narrows his lovely red-rimmed eyes and shoves the drawer right in on the unlucky fuck's fingers.

He screams. And Eddie screams. And something falls out of his pocket. And Eddie leans over the counter, expecting to see and hear the shiny clatter of a pistol hit the lino.

But there is no such hardware.

It was a banana in his pocket. He was not happy to see you.

"What the fuck, man!" they chorus in near unison. They could have been brothers in another life, says some disembodied voice in the back of Eddie's head.

But then, something yellow flies towards Eddie's face and the shock of it knocks him right back into the lotto tickets and cigarettes. Thunk! His head knocks far too hard against the fire extinguisher and now there's two unconscious guys behind the counter.

Now, I don't know if you've ever had a banana thrown in your face by a masked assailant before, but I would call that something of an overreaction.

Anyway, he wakes up to police sirens and that Callaghan dweeb hauling him up by the front of his Hellfire shirt.

"Sshsjesus, Officer Handsy, buy a guy dinner first," Eddie slurs, head pounding. Callaghan's dorky Buddy Holly glasses have an aura around them that he unconsciously tries to swat away.

"He's resisting arrest!" Callaghan yells.

"Keep it down, I have a headache!" Eddie blinks once, twice, twenty-million times and is still having a tough time taking stock of his surroundings. Cash drawer's open and empty, and Sam is nowhere to be seen. "Didja catch the guy or what? He had a banana gun. Threw it right at me."

"Pipe down. Edward Munson, you're under arrest for armed robbery--"

"--wait, hold on--"

"--endangering the elderly--"

"--hold the fuck on!"

"--and swearing at a police officer!" Callaghan clicks the cuffs on and Eddie's about to burst, he's so mad and his head is pounding with such a fury. Shuffling him out into the forecourt and into the squad car like some kind of penguin idiot!

"That last thing isn't even real!" he spits, "None of this is real--I was trying t--fuck, did you not hear me about the banana gun?!"

"Reminds me to drug test him when we get back to the station," Callaghan puffs as he slides into the passenger seat.

"No one's drug testing anybody," Chief Hopper grumbles from behind the wheel. "We don't even have those facilities. Plus, kid doesn't even have any of that stolen cash on him."

"Thank you!" Eddie barks from his seat in the back. He can't really seem to sit upright, and he doesn't know whether to contribute that to the lump that's risen on the back of his head or the drugs that are definitely still in his system.

"W--well, why are we arresting him, then?" Callaghan blubs. Which is actually a salient point.

The Chief shrugs. "I'unno. Wednesday night. Somethin' to do."

[dangermousie]

So @aysekira spoiled Tender Light drama ending for me by request.

Spoilery so don't click unless you are sure.

Gotta love that this drama committed to three things:

1 The nail that sticks up gets hammered down. Good luck, ZL, should have listened to people in town and stayed away when someone's abused, you'd have a good life now. Now you are raising a kid, forever stuck in a dead end town of psychos, and it's not clear in any way whether you are even still in love with or together with NY. Forget university and Beijing and what not. All that excellent brain and drive and possibilities wasted. His life is forever fucked up. I do believe that even if he doesn't love NY any more (about which below), he's never regretted it because he's not the kind of person to regret.

2 If you are unlucky just off yourself. It ain't gonna get better. Nan Ya might as well be early 00s Ady An heroine. She ends up going to jail for a crime she did not commit and yeah sure she's let out early when the cops figure out they are wrong after years but you went to jail, missed years with your child and aren't even with ZL for NOTHING. Her life has been nonstop suffering and not gonna get any better. 19 year old NY might as well have stayed in that pool.

3 ACAB. The truth was exactly what Nan Ya and Zhou Luo said - it was pure self defense. Which LFL finally figured out after YEARS of Nan Ya in jail (and Zhou Luo served a few months too.) How nice of him to have the case reexemined and her released when if it wasn't for his psychotic obsession she wouldn't have needed that in the first place - if he just believed the story he was told from the start, NY would get to see her daughter's childhood, ZL would have an education and a job away from this hellhole etc. I bet LFL sleeps just fine at night though.

4 And the opposite of commitment - Open endings. I hate those except in very rare circumstances like Novoland Eagle Flag or Bad Guys. FUCKING COMMIT! As I was telling @aysekira, if you have an ending I hate it means I disagree with your take or vision but at least you have one. If you leave everything without one it means you have none. The cute coyness - is he still waiting for/with Nan Ya? Did he move on with Qing Li? Has he secretly become celibate for communism? What the FUCK even happened? Is not cute. It's not artsy. It's just you fucked up your whole drama through the ending. COM-FUCKING-MIT.

The novel ending was right there. RIGHT THERE!!!!

Rant over.

[schimmelspore]

How is Claude the most bisexual 💀 You have canonically bisexual characters who have ending, support- Some litteraly flirt with the same gender, directly mention their bisexuality, fuck with gender and have heavily queer themes!! I mean, you're in the "Bi girl with an axe who swing both way fighting against the Church and the oppressive system, and litteraly DOROTHEA ARNAULT"

Claude is definitely bisexual despite canon, but you deserve better than him >:[ If u want bi men, Fe3h might lack much of a choice, but you get the cute sleepy nerd or the serial killer who supports women directly with the eagles ( and I mean, if you recruit you can get angry "I'm not in love with childhood friend(s) despite crying harder than their wife at their death or making death pack which is like the equivalent of gay marriage in Faerghus", the rat ACAB guy or Sylvain )

Im just clinically obsessed with Claude, dude. Let me have my lil scheming asshole lmao i am weak to his two faced flirting and constant plans to poison everyone.

Besides, im well aware of all the other characters, this is my 4th playthrough and im clinically obsessed with said sleepyhead and so many others as well.

[postoctobrist]

ACAB, but the 1973 - 2000 US postal inspector badge goes pretty fucking hard

Fun fact, the official USPS name for this logo design is the ‘Sonic Eagle’

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The Bezzle excerpt (Part V)

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TONIGHT in SAN DIEGO (Feb 22, Mysterious Galaxy). After that, it's LA (Saturday night, with Adam Conover), Seattle (Monday, with Neal Stephenson), then Portland, Phoenix and more!

I'm out on tour with my new novel, The Bezzle, a cyberpunk revenge thriller about Marty Hench, a two-fisted forensic accountant, and a guerrilla war he wages on a prison-tech provider that treats incarcerated people as assets to be strip-mined:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/16/narrative-capitalism/#bezzle-tour

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this thread to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/22/self-censorship/#acab

As part of the promotion for the book, I've been serializing an excerpt: Chapter 14, in which Marty takes on a side-quest to recover the stolen royalties of one-time funk star Stephon Magner (AKA Steve Soul) which were stolen by his scumbag manager and then sold on to an even scummier sample-licensing clearinghouse.

Today, I bring you part five, in which Marty's simple cross-referencing project is violently altered by an encounter with the criminal gangs of the LA Sheriffs Deputy departments, a real crime-syndicate whose reign of terror continues to this day:

https://www.latimes.com/california/story/2023-05-17/dozens-of-lasd-deputies-ordered-to-show-suspected-gang-tattoos-reveal-others-who-have-them

I'm posting this installment en route to San Diego, where I'll be appearing tonight at Mysterious Galaxy

https://www.mystgalaxy.com/22224Doctorow

From there, it's back to LA, where I'm appearing on Saturday evening with Adam Conover at Vromans:

https://www.vromansbookstore.com/Cory-Doctorow-discusses-The-Bezzle

And then on Monday I'll be at Third Place Books with Neal Stephenson:

https://www.thirdplacebooks.com/event/cory-doctorow

From there, I'm off to Portland, Phoenix, Tucson and points further:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/16/narrative-capitalism/#bezzle-tour

Here's part one of the serial:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/17/the-steve-soul-caper/#lead-singer-disease

Part two:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/19/crad-kilodney-was-an-outlier/#copyright-termination

Part three:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/20/fore/#lawyer-up

Part four:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#poacher-turned-keeper

And now, part five!

The storefront had an old break room with a first-­aid kit, and a bathroom with a sink. I sponged myself clean in the mirror, ate two expired Aleves and three 200 mg expired Tylenols out of the kit. The ass was ripped most of the way out of my pants, so I moved my wallet to my front pocket, which my massage therapist had been nagging at me to do for years.

I opened the door more carefully this time and limped out into the parking lot. My rental—­a little red Civic—­was the only car left in the parking lot, except for a rusted junker with no tires that was the perennial sentry of its farthest corner.

I bipped the doors open with my fob, checked the back seat, then slid inside. I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror and winced, which pulled at my bruises and set blood oozing from my lip and cheekbone again, which made me wince harder. I was already halfway to Quasimodo and I tried to remember if there was a 7-­Eleven on the route home where I could buy a couple of bags of frozen peas for the swelling.

I reset the mirror and backed out of my spot. The pain was increasing. They’d have Advil at the 7-­Eleven, and I’d remembered where there was one on the way back to my Airbnb.

As I waited for a red light at Eagle Rock and Colorado Boulevard, I watched as a homeless man labored across the road with his shopping cart. I was still watching him when I realized the light had been green for some time and had just toggled yellow. I made the turn and headed up Colorado, but I was barely a hundred yards down the road when I heard a siren blat and saw the police lights. I checked my mirrors and saw the LASD cruiser directly behind me, racing right up to my bumper, slowing only at the very last moment. The cruiser’s high beams blinked insistently and the siren whooped.

I pulled over.

I waited while the officer slowly got out of his car and walked to my driver’s-­side window. I kept my hands at ten and two. The officer tapped my window and made a roll-­down motion, so I hit the button, moving slowly, putting my hand back.

I got a light in my face, squinting and thus reopening my cheekbone and lip.

“Everything all right, sir?”

“Yes,” I said, feeling the blood ooze down my chin. “I was beaten up,” I said, stating the obvious.

“That is unfortunate,” the officer said. “License and registration.”

I got my driver’s license out of my wallet and found the rental papers in the glove box and handed them over. He crunched back to his cruiser and I watched him in the side mirror. He’d left his cruiser’s headlights on and in the glare it was hard to tell, but it looked like there was another cop in the car whom he was conferring with. After a long delay, he came back.

“Step out of the car, please.”

I did. He turned me around and had me plant my hands on the hood, kicked my feet apart, and roughly frisked me, getting his hand inside the rent in the seat of my pants and patting my boxer shorts and giving my balls a hard squeeze.

“Sir, do you know why I stopped you?”

“I don’t,” I said.

“You proceeded unsafely through a traffic signal. Have you been drinking, sir?”

“I haven’t.”

“Have you consumed any cannabis or other drugs?”

“I haven’t.”

He turned me around and shone his light in my eyes. “If I search your car, am I gonna find any drugs?”

“No, sir.”

“Because I am gonna search that car and if I do find drugs and you’ve been lying to me, this is gonna be a lot worse than it needs to be.”

I didn’t dignify that with a response. My head hurt. My face hurt. My back hurt. This was a bullshit stop.

I expected the deputy’s partner to get out of the cruiser while my tormentor tossed the rental car, but he stayed put. I did, too. Obviously. I wasn’t going to take off on foot. I’m a forensic accountant, not a gang kid getting fifteen minutes of fame on Cops.

He spent long enough on the rental that I started to worry. Who knew what some previous driver might have shoved between the seats? But after pulling out the floor mats and tossing them onto the grassy verge beside the car, he finally stood up.

“All right, sir. I’m going to go and get a breathalyzer test. You can refuse it and I will then suspend your license for twenty-­ four hours. I will arrest you for a suspected DUI and bring you in for a blood test. If you fail that test, you will be subject to additional criminal penalties. Do you understand me?”

He had old coffee on his breath. My face hurt. “I’ll take a test.”

Back to the cruiser. It had been half an hour at least. Once the breathalyzer was done—­fifteen minutes, if memory served—­I could go to the 7-­Eleven for painkillers and frozen peas. I decided I’d add a six-­pack, I was so tired. My face hurt. I knew that mouthing off to this cop wouldn’t make things go faster, quite the opposite, but as he took his leisurely time coming back to me, I was hard-­pressed not to.

I blew. “May I sit down?” I asked. “My face hurts.”

He didn’t bother to look up from his phone. “Stay where you are, sir.”

I stood. My face hurt. Time crawled. Finally, the breathalyzer beeped. He held it up and squinted at it, then used his phone to light up its face.

When he did, his sleeve rode up and revealed the “998” tattoo on his forearm. Suddenly, I didn’t care so much about the pain in my face.

The cop looked at me. He was an older guy, but quite a silver fox, in a Clooneyoid sort of way. Had the same smile lines at the corners of his lips and eyes. But on him, they looked mean. Dangerous. A man who would smile at you while he beat your face in.

“All right, sir,” he said. “I’m going to write you a citation for reckless driving and you will be free to go.” He smiled. “Thank you for your cooperation.” It sounded like “fuck you.”

Back to the cruiser again. When he was done writing, he switched off his headlights, and the bubble light inside the car lit up his partner. Heavyset. Smiling. Excellent teeth. He gave me the same look as he had just before kicking me in the ribs. I gasped involuntarily and my ribs burned. His smile got bigger.

The Clooneyoid deputy returned with my ticket. I looked at it and then I realized he’d said “reckless driving”—­not “dangerous driving.” This was a summons, not a citation. For a misdemeanor. Two points off my license and I’d have to go to court. Depending on the judge, I could be in for fines or even a jail sentence.

Clooneyoid saw me figuring this out and he smiled, too. Everyone was having a great time tonight except for poor old Marty Hench.

“See you in court, sir,” he said.

I exercised extreme care on the drive to the 7-­Eleven, even backing out of my parking spot and reparking so that I was perfectly centered between the white lines. The clerk didn’t bat an eye at my hamburger face. I gave myself five minutes to bury my bruises in the frozen peas before I backed out and drove the rest of the way to my Airbnb.

I drove five under the limit the whole way, and when I got out of my rental, I looked long and hard up and down the street for an LA Sheriff’s Department cruiser.

ETA: Here's part six!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/22/self-censorship/#acab

[poppywrights]

@meredithdardenness​ — aaron & cleo.

precisou olhar mais de uma vez em direção a figura feminina para confirmar que não era somente uma peça pregada pela sua imaginação e, realmente, estava vendo uma conhecida no bar em que fora para o pré-jogo. a organizadora de casamento de seu melhor amigo não se enquadrava exatamente em uma de suas amizades, mesmo que houvessem conversado durante as ocasiões em que estivera presente para o planejamento por ser o padrinho, no entanto, seus amigos só chegariam muito mais tarde, e a atkinson aparentava estar sozinha. não custava cumprimentá-la. “hey, tudo bem?” sorriu, simpático, ao chegar mais perto de onde ela estava. “também tá esperando vagar alguma mesa? essa loucura em dia de jogo é terrível, a gente chega duas horas antes e não tem nem uma cadeira vaga ainda.” aaron fez uma careta, examinando o ambiente com o olhar enquanto finalizava a sua sentença. uma mesa parecia estar prestes a vagar, contudo, não queria manter as suas esperanças altas. estava prestes a puxar algum assunto relacionado ao casamento - por ser o único que estava certo de possuírem em comum -, ou um diálogo sobre como estava nublado - um indicativo de não saber muito sobre o que poderiam discorrer em uma conversa -, no que acabou identificando a estampa da camiseta que ela usava. como um passe de mágica, toda a conversa furada sumia de sua mente. “não acredito. você torce pro eagles? eu ‘tava confraternizando com o inimigo sem saber durante todo o tempo esse tempo?”

[venranae]

No matter what anyone says do me, the true my hero ending will always be that eagle smash comic where they live on an island

The real ending to me would be the league kills all corrupt heroes #acab then steals fortnite gift cards and orders sushi again 💜😍

[nflprimetime]

Minha História com a Nfl.

Minha história com a Nfl começou no dia 31 de janeiro de 2019 em um jogo de Divisional Roud.

Entre New Orleans Saints x Philadelphia Eagles.

Eu me perguntei no momento que esporte é esse?

Gostei.

Dei uma pesquisada quando o jogo acabou.

fiquei mais interessado ainda.

New Orleans Saints se classificou para a final de conferencia para enfrentar o La Rams.

o time de New Orleans perdeu por uma falta de Interferencia de passw que não teve.

Era para ir ao Super Bolw se não fosse a Arbitragem

[ivanreycristo]

A lo mejor a algunos SANDRO de AME_RICA [q estreno su gira LA PROFECIA en el teatro GRAN REY o GUSTAVO CERATI siguio con su gira FUERZA NATURAL tras terremoto de CHILE].. entre otros grandes CANTANTES apocalípticos les parece q son LA VOZ DE UN DEMONIO: Así de SIMPLE: ¿ Cual es la Relación que EXISTE ENTRE LA MUSICA, EL SONIDO, EL SILENCIO, LA MUERTE Y LOS TERREMOTOS?..como titulaba la REVISTA EMINENTE del HOTEL FIESTA AMERICANA del paseo REFORMA DE MEXICO DF frente donde estaba ESTATUA DE COLON..x cierto fui desde TABASCO [TABACO+ASCO] a MEXICO DF y de MEXICO DF a MAZATLAN [donde corri mi última maratón hospendandome en hotel MISION frente hotel GENESIS como entonces o tras 17 años 2002_19]..de donde volé a LA PAZ [BAJA CALIFORNIA] donde en una moto ITALIKA [RUINAS ROMANAS DE SEVILLA] fui a EL TRIUNFO [tiene un museo de MUSICA] y al volver a LA PAZ sin casi gasolina, de noche y sin gafas, sin GPS acabe x una AUTOVIA en SENTIDO CONTRARIA pues ahí te puedes meter en ella x cualquier lado..luego fui a TODOS SANTOS [donde dicen esta el verdadero HOTEL CALIFORNIA q es una canción de los EAGLES sobre EVA Y $ATANA$..y mientras sonaba música POP ESPAÑOLA tipo BOSE, MECANO..me fijaba en una guapa jovencita mexicana con un yankee más de 50 años] camino de LOS CABOS [SAN JOSE Y SAN LUCAS famosa x sus playas de los NOVIOS y del DIVORCIO..separada x el famoso ARCO DE ROCA..como vi en el barco CABO_REY donde tocaba un Grupo]

Luego de LOS CABOS tras fotografiar una moto SUZUKI BOULEVARD del CAMINO de Los LOBOS y subirme al AVION donde leí revista AIRE de Aeromexico sobre el regreso al FESTIVAL DE WOOD_STOCK pero nada q ver como tampoco el espíritu y fin de la música de los 60 q no cuajó xq estaba mezclado con DROGAS..regrese a MEXICO DF x el puto festival VIVE LATINO donde la gran estrella fue BUNBURY [1er grupo APOCALIPSIS] presentando en el FORO SOL su cd EXPECTATIVAS con single CUNA DE CAIN o la CEREMONIA DE LA CONFUSION=EL SUERTUDO [Barco de LOS CABOS]

[starstruckrps]

PECULIAR THINGS (tradução pt/br: COISAS PECULIARES)

Data de lançamento: 2016.

Streaming: Netflix

Status: temporada 4 lançada em 2022; temporada 5 em gravação.

Um grupo de amigos se envolve em uma série de eventos sobrenaturais na pacata cidade de Hawkins. Eles enfrentam criaturas monstruosas, agências secretas do governo e se aventuram em dimensões paralelas.

CURIOSIDADES:

Peculiar Things se tornou a maior série adolescente da Netflix com apenas uma temporada. Mesmo depois de muitos anos, ela ainda quebra records a cada estreia das temporadas.

A série começou quando a maioria das crianças tinham 14 anos, então a pressão da mídia era a maior polêmica da época. A invasão de privacidade de menores de idade era questionada várias vezes pelo público, mas não dava pra negar que havia muitos fãs desejando seguir cada passo dos atores. Isso se tornou um incentivo para os paparazzi começarem a segui-los pelas ruas, e sites de fofocas estavam sempre questionando seus relacionamentos, pressionando o casal principal a ficar junto mesmo fora das telas e até mesmo julgando-os por erros que qualquer adolescente faria nessa idade. Hoje em dia, essa perseguição ainda não acabou, mas muitos atores ainda tem traumas e memórias ruins da adolescência.

ELENCO: MUSE como Twelve, MUSE como Mickey Wheeler, RILEY FRAISER como Joy Byers, MUSE como James Hopper, MUSE como Dean Henderson, MUSE como Luke Sinclair, NEVADA “EV” DAVIS como Natty Wheeler, MUSE como Jace Byers, MUSE como Stefan Harrington, MUSE como Wilbur Byers, MACKENZIE “MACK” EAGLE como Roberta Buckley, CAMILLA M. ROSSI GRECO como Maddie Mayfield, MUSE como Elkie Munson.

EQUIPE: MUSE como diretor, MUSE como produtor, MUSE como roteirista, MUSE como cenógrafo, UPT (players podem aplicar para a posição desejada dentro da equipe mesmo que não esteja citada aqui).

OOC:

Os atores principais das crianças começaram a atuar com 14-15 anos na série. Hoje tem entre 21-22.

O ator do Luke deverá ser obrigatoriamente preto. Os outros estão livre.

[juarezesdeporte]

HISTÓRICA REMONTADA!! 

Glendale, arizona.-Kansas City logra una remontada histórica para ganar el Super Bowl LVII Un minuto y 48 segundos en el reloj del último cuarto

Los ojos del mundo entero y un State Farm Stadium repleto. Los Chiefs toman la gloria en sus manos y se proclaman campeones del  Super Bowl LVII tras una patada de 27 yardas de Harrison Butker. Kansas City es campeón de la NFL por tercera vez en su historia en una final que quedará grabada en los libros.

Toda la emoción y la carga energética que lleva consigo la previa del Super Bowl, la plasmaron en su primera serie ofensiva las Águilas de Filadelfia. Entre acarreos y pases precisos, llevaron a los Jefes a la zona roja y Jalen Hurts mandó un mensaje claro a Patrick Mahomes anotando el primer touchdown del partido. Patrick Mahomes respondió con velocidad encontrando a su fiel escudero Travis Kelce, una de las estrellas de la noche junto a su hermano Jason.

La primera mitad seguiría cargada de emociones y los Chiefs desaprovecharon algunas oportunidades. En el primer cuarto, Harrison Butker falló un intento de gol de campo que pudo darle la ventaja en el partido a Kansas City. Ya en el segundo cuarto, los campeones de la Conferencia Nacional atacaron con la misma intensidad que arrancaron el partido gracias a la conexión entre Hurts y AJ Smith. Sin embargo, cuando parecía que tomaban el control del partido, el mariscal de campo de Filadelfia entregó el balón en mitad de cancha y Nick Bolton lo intercambió por una anotación que iguale el marcador.

Jalen Hurts se convirtió en el primer quarterback en convertir cuatro touchdowns por acarreo en una misma postemporada. Patrick Mahomes, que de por sí tenía poco tiempo en el campo, encendió las alarmas en Kansas City al salir lesionado a falta de 1 minuto para que acabe la primera mitad tras jugársela en tercera oportunidad y 15 yardas por avanzar por un tackle de TJ Edwards al tobillo. La primera mitad terminó con ventaja de 10 puntos para los Eagles al estar 24-14 sobre su rival.

El llamado a ser el "heredero" de Tom Brady, regresó para el comienzo del tercer cuarto y una serie ofensiva de cinco minutos derivó en anotación del corredor Isiah Pacheco para acercar a los Chiefs en el marcador y poner los números en 24-21.

La remontada se empezó a cocinar en el último cuarto. Kadarius Toney fue parte fundamental para guiar al equipo a tomar la ventaja por primera vez en el partido. Primero, recibiendo un pase de anotación de Mahomes en zona roja, y después, al regresar una patada de despeje hasta la yarda cinco, que derivó en el touchdown convertido por Skyy Moore. Para ese entonces, Chiefs dio la vuelta en el marcador y ganaba 35-27.

Hurts, en una noche que nunca olvidará, llegó a cuatro anotaciones por acarreo en el partido para igualar el partido a falta de cinco minutos para el final. Sin embargo, Patrick Mahomes agotó el tiempo y llevó a los Chiefs a la zona roja para matar el partido.

Así, Kansas City es campeón de la NFL y consiguieron su tercer anillo en la historia de la franquicia, el segundo con Patrick Mahomes como mariscal de campo. (El Universal)