#backstretcher

[indicartshop]

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[noda-fatafata]

[nexusnest]

Ultimate Back Pain Relief: Lumbar Back Stretcher for Instant Spine Decom...

[feddy-34]

it's okay guys i know how to fix monaco

[stargarland]

today during my race i remembered i’m a tweaker at my core and absolutely bodied someone LMAO

[bluefunkybeats]

PAPA SYLUS WITH HIS DAUGHTER

SYLUS WAKES UP TO YOU NOT IN BED WITH HIM. With a slight hunched tension on his back and spine, Sylus does a gruff and puff as he adjusts his silk black robe, to take off and come get you back to bed.

He turns to sit up properly on the bed, hands pressed firm on the mattress either side of his body to backstretch and to let his feet meet the floor. Yet funnily enough he places his feet down to be met with the most frigid cold floor (which grants him a distasteful expression); and he can’t feel for his slippers.

He treads to the kitchen with shivering numbness on the soles of his feet, but that irksome bother is quickly forgotten once he actually gets a glimpse of the scene in the kitchen from the doorframe.

Sylus’s face turns from disgruntled to wholesomely entertained to the sight of his little one sat perched sideways on the island stool facing her biggest teddy bear, whom was sporting her papa’s artisan-crafted suede slippers.

His smiley amusement only grows on his face as he meets your equally cheekily amused one, rumbly delighted chuckles fluttering out of him that you meet with your own giggles.

He approaches the pair of you and bows down to be close to eye-level with his little angel’s face.

“Can I have them back, sweetie?”

“Or is teddy’s feet too cold?” you brazenly chime in.

He can only meet your audacious smile with fake, light-hearted frustration (which to you is always a really bad act, since he can’t help snickering and the corners of his mouth turn upward), along with mock groans and crossed arms, all designed to make you laugh.

She’ll be the judge on who’s getting the slippers.

SYLUS WHO FINDS HIS LITTLE PRINCESS ASLEEP ON THE COUCH, limbs branched out comically whilst her stuffed animals stay splayed on the floor, presumably struck down by her little arms and legs (which move like cats on hot bricks when she’s asleep- a kicker for sure).

Papa Sylus begins on bending down and picking up her soft toys and placing them on the sofa with her. As he does, a few get lay down with cotton-filled flabby arms covering their beady eyes and having starfish legs, all in purpose to mimic the sleeping position of your daughter. The others get lined up around her like waiting for her to wake up and watch TV or play with them again (don’t worry- they’re placed a radius far enough so she won’t kick them down again, hopefully.)

Once done with his antics, Sylus turns from his view the of the couch and catches glimpse of you behind the glass sliding-door of the balcony.

Carefully and slowly sliding the door open and closed as to not make too much noise for your sleeping angel, he joins your leaning figure of elbows on the railing, watching the view outside the apartment.

He grabs your waist letting his arm and hand rest across the entirety of it, and kisses the top of your head.

“She’s fast asleep.”

[coimbrabertone]

Well, What the Hell Did You Expect?

It was inevitable.

Okay, that's not to say that we all woke up the day of the Richmond race and knew it was going to be these exact guys at this exact track, but like...don't tell me you didn't expect for something like this come Daytona. It's just how a "win and you're in" playoff format works, especially when you remove the top thirty in points requirement. That means you can be one of the worst drivers in Cup, nepotism baby who hasn't scored a top five in fifty races, but you have one race where you're at the front and can win your way into the playoffs.

In an instant, you go from thirty-second in points to guaranteed to finish at worst sixteenth.

In an instant, you off the back of one race, lock yourself in while guys like Chris Buescher and Ross Chastain that have run at the front in multiple races and have a much better chance of actually progressing in the playoffs, are knocked out. At this point, Buescher, Chastain, Bubba Wallace, Chase Briscoe, Kyle Busch, etc, etc, are gonna have to win one of Michigan, Daytona, or Darlington to make the playoffs.

That's less races than drivers.

So, let's talk about what happened.

Austin Dillon in the Bass Pro Shops Hunting Sale #3 Chevrolet for Richard Childress Racing worked his way into the lead at Richmond with three to go. Daniel Suarez in sixth is on fresh option tyres (because that's another thing, before all this nonsense, Richmond was actually a rather interesting race with two different tyre compounds, a soft option that was clearly faster than the hard prime, but degradation brought the prime runners back into contention) but he wasn't gaining quick enough.

Then Ricky Stenhouse had a wiggle going into turn one while Ryan Preece was trying to crowd him down through the corner. They touch, they spin - right in front of the #3 no less - and the caution comes out. Austin Dillon will have to defend his lead from at least one overtime green-white-checker restart.

The leaders pit ahead of the GWC.

Denny Hamlin is second in the #11 FedEx Rewards Toyota for Joe Gibbs Racing. He has the best pit selection of the three leaders.

Joey Logano is third in the #22 Shell/Pennzoil Ford for Team Penske.

Denny seems like he's going to have the advantage, but his pitstop was slow! Austin Dillon comes out first, then Joey Logano, and Denny Hamlin is third.

Austin chooses the bottom, Joey goes to the top, Denny follows Austin.

Green - the race restarts with two laps to go.

They restart, Joey pulls alongside immediately, the cars are fanning out behind so nobody's really getting a push, and Logano finds the grip on the top because he pulls ahead through turns one and two. On the backstretch, he clears.

Dillon tries to get back to him with the draft and through turns three and four but can't do it. By the time they cross the start-finish line, Joey has but at least a car length between them.

White - the flag means the start of the last lap, and whatever flag flies next - be it the checkered at the end of the lap, or a yellow or red before that - ends the race.

Dillon tries again on the backstretch, but Logano is clear. In turns three and four, it seems like Logano is going to win it...until Austin Dillon just doesn't brake? Like...at all?

Dillon piledrives into the corner, starts running up the track because he's too fast, and then hits Joey on the right edge of his rear bumper, and spins him out.

Joey is spinning, Austin is pulling the nose of his car down, and Denny Hamlin from third is going beneath the both of them to try and win this race.

And then the really obscene part happens.

Austin Dillon (with his spotter shouting "Wreck him!" no less) swerves left and hooks Denny's right rear. Denny hits the wall right side door first, the yellow comes out around this point. Tyler Reddick and Bubba Wallace are getting runs on Dillon, but one: Austin just holds them off to the line, two: because of the yellow flag coming out at some point after those Logano and Hamlin incidents, it didn't matter anyway.

Tyler Reddick bumps Austin Dillon on the cooldown lap just to show his displeasure.

As of right now, Austin Dillon is classified first, Hamlin second, the 23XI cars of Reddick and Wallace are third and fourth, and Ross Chastain is fifth. Joey Logano was classified as nineteenth.

How exactly NASCAR determined that finishing order is a mystery, but what isn't a mystery is why this happened.

Like I alluded to earlier, Austin Dillon was thirty-second going into this race. He hadn't scored a top five all season, he only has one good race a year, and at least half the fanbase sees him as a disgrace to the #3 car. Austin Dillon had no chance of making the playoffs on merit.

The only way he was going to make it was to win.

Richmond was the only opportunity he was going to get.

Logano and Denny were already locked into the playoffs, another win wouldn't mean much for them.

Does any of this excuse what he did? Absolutely not. Logano or Hamlin could've been hurt and the fact that they weren't is not an excuse.

But this is why Austin Dillon says "he did what he had to do" because this win if you're in format causes this type of shit. NASCAR literally made this exact scenario possible by removing the top thirty in points rule from playoff eligibility ahead of the 2023 season. So yeah, of course this was going to happen, because drivers are desperate for wins to begin with and this playoff system enables it.

I'm not even trying to be a boomer and say get rid of the playoffs, I understand that they're here to stay, but why on Earth would you remove the top thirty requirement? That was at least a rule that required a driver show some sort of competitive pace consistently in order to make the playoffs.

By removing that, NASCAR gives bad drives a blank check to do stupid and dangerous moves if they're even remotely in contention to win.

And you know what, in two weeks at Daytona, if the likes of Harrison Burton or John Hunter Nemechek (for example) are anywhere near the front of the field, they'll do this exact same thing. A win means a top sixteen finish in the championship for your team, nobody expects NASCAR to give serious consequences to this kind of stuff, and even if they suspended you, that doesn't seem to matter either.

Last year Chase Elliott got suspended for right hooking Denny Hamlin into the wall and NASCAR granted him a playoff waiver.

Fans can complain all they want, because when it comes to this stuff, NASCAR is Groundskeeper Willie.

Willie hears ya, Willie don't care. P.S: Oh, and for those fans saying Dale Earnhardt would've done the same thing in that #3 car? Well one: Dale wouldn't have been thirty-second in points and needing a win to begin with, and two: that doesn't justify it?

[gym-x-plus]

Becoming comfortable in knowing how your body can move and what it can do >>> 💕✨

Prioritizing daily stretching has allowed me to learn ways in which my body can move. Practicing flexibility reconnects you to your body.

Let me teach you ✨

Why are my legs so brown and upper half so pale 😂🤣

©️Credit ig @katboesenberg_fit

@gymshark // KATB

#gymgirl #handstand #flexibility #flexible #backbend #backstretch #gymshark #gymtricks #gymnastics

[griffinequestrian]

On the backstretch

[noda-fatafata]

[james-is-nasqueer]

fox producer clicking the "roll ads" button so we can't watch the backstretch explosion live

[duck7]

NASCAR Whelen Modified Tour 2023 ʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ ¹⁹ Martinsville 🇺🇸

Point leader Ron Silk collected in backstretch crash.

[ghostchasersmagazine]

"The Challenger" from Speed Buggy Issue #4

Transcript under the cut:

Coming out of the turn, Speed Buggy was running second with just one lap to go in the World 200. The fastest cars in the world had dueled for 198 laps and now they were finishing the next to last lap. Just ahead, the official whipped the white flag down on Dude King who was two lengths ahead of Speed Buggy with Tinker at the wheel.

Now, Speed Buggy whipped past the offical and got the white flag indicating they were starting the last lap.

"C'mon Speed Buggy," Tinker yelled, hanging in behind Dude King's big black racer. "This is the lap that counts."

Around the first turn, closing in behind King's big, powerful car, Tinker was tailgating. Using King's car to break the wind, Tinker held position until the last turn.

"Can he do it, Mark?" Debbie screamed, jumping up and down in the pit area to get a better look at the two leaders coming around the last turn.

Mark grinned. "Don't worry. Tinker, Speed Buggy, and I planned it this way, Debbie!"

Out of the last turn, Tinker was already mashing on the gas pedal, picking up passing speed while he was still behind Dude King. Then, he whipped past the big, black car at the head of the stretch, puled up even with Dude King, then edged ahead.

"Watch it, Tinker!" Speed Buggy yelped in alarm as Dude Swerved his heavier race car at them.

Speed Buggy dodged, moving ahead, and at the finish line Speed Buggy was a half a length ahead. The crowd roared because Speed Buggy was well liked while Dude King's black car was hared nearly everywhere they raced.

The race judge whipped down the black and white checkered flag. The race was over! Speed Buggy had won!

At the finish line, after Speed Buggy had gone around one more time, Debbie kissed Speed Buggy on the hood and hugged Tinker. They were all happy as the offical presented the team with a check and a beautiful silver loving cup.

"That's terrific!" Speed Buggy griped. "You get a nice fat check and a loving cup. What do I get?"

Tinker laughed. "You'll get your oil changed, I'll give you a nice lubrication job, wash and wax your paint, then give you a long, cool drink of oil."

Speed Buggy winked. "Sounds great, Tinker. I was only kidding anyhow. I like racing. Especially against Dude King's big, black car."

The happy crowd left the race track. Tinker, Debbie, and Mark went to dinner. The race cars were left at the track as darkness fell.

There was silence for a long time, then finally a parked red racer made sure no drivers or mechanics were around.

"Nice race, Speed Buggy," the red car said. "If I couldn't win, I'm glad you beat the black car."

"Me too," a sleek white car added. "Dude King is a dirty driver."

Then the black car started its engine with a menacing roar.

"Knock it off, you creeps," King's car threatened. "I woulda beat Speed Buggy easy if Dude King didn't let Tinker outsmart him."

The red car snickered. "Speed Buggy could best you without Tinker's help." The other cars chimed in, agreeing. They loved needling the black race car.

"Oh, yeah?" the black car snarled. "I'll bet I can beat Speed Buggy right now!"

Speed Buggy scoffed. "No, you can't!"

The black car responded with a roar, so Speed Buggy started his engine. Both cars, with only the other cars watching, moved to the starting line. The red racer beeped his horn to start them and they were off!

Now, Speed Buggy knew what strategy the black car would use. He stayed right behind Speed Buggy and Speedy knew when the last lap came, the black racer would whip out and try to pass him in the stretch.

Speedy ran fast until the next to last lap. Then, as they went down the backstretch, Speed Buggy slowed down. Slower. Then even slower. And the black car roared and snarled threateningly, bumping Speedy but Speedy refused to be rushed.

Into the final turn.

Now, with the homestretch ahead, Speedy suddenly accelerated. He peeled out, his rear wheels whipping dust and gravel into the lights and grill of the black car right behind him.

Cough, cough, splut, the black car choked and was trying to see as Speed Buggy roared ahead to win easily by three lengths.

In the morning when Debbie, Mark, and Tinker arrived and said hello to Speedy, Speedy had such a smug look, Tinker asked him about it.

"You look as though you had a good rest, Speedy," Tinker said.

Speedy laughed. "I dreamed I won a big race without you to drive me," Speedy replied, "so just watch out. I may not need you!"

[emotionalmotionsicknessxx]

Chapter 20: Backstretch

Erik/Christine, Circus AU, Enemies to Lovers, Slowburn, 100k

"What –" Firmin said, finally clearing the last row of spectators.   Erik could imagine the surprise the old man felt at what he saw beyond the circle of onlookers. Not a freak, not a lowly stablehand, but a man in a black mask and silver cape, doffing his top hat to the oglers leaning on the fence. The manager would have never seen him this way; Erik relished the satisfaction that bloomed in his chest at Firmin’s dumbfounded expression. 

Read on Ao3 here

[tiny-buzz]

Enter the doors of the "Casino Regis."

**

“Now, crash course since you don’t have all day and neither do I, but I wish I did, especially with you folks: we’ve got slots throughout, table games along the west and south corridors, high rollers up in the half-mezzanine, and down the middle here — we call this the Promenade — we have some of our most sought-after, most-cutting edge experiences. Now, we paid a pretty penny for these babies, fully customized, no one has anything like this, not even the Chinese, and I gotta say, they were worth every cent.”

It’s his voice, of course. Directional audio, tracking you from the moment of entry, beams it into your skull, affecting the three small bones in your inner ear, the anvil, the stirrup, the hammer, and it’s like he’s over your shoulder, whispering, clapping you on the back. This great leap in auditory personalization is a boon for generating human connection at scale.

You glance to either side at the contraptions. They gleam under the pearlescence of the inlaid diodes above, energy efficient and uniquely customizable. Marvels, each of them irresistible, a gamblers dream. There’s a $100 pinball machine that stares back at you with his visage. There’s a roulette wheel with alien glyphs and colors you’ve never seen before. But here, the central game, a jewel: it is not specifically describes as such, but you understand it to be his favorite from his voice, even a showman like him can’t hide the glee in the vowels, is a simulation of a race track, a bubble dome, fifteen feet on either side, and inside are the stands in miniature, the whole scene: the bleachers, the topiary (in the shape of famous athletes), attendees, gardeners, officials, concessions that sell hot dogs (a famous summertime treat!), drinks alcoholic and non, and of course the track, dirt for contrast to the manicure green of the infield, good conditions today (the dome simulates, with great specificity, humidity, heat, wind, and rain, too), and there, at the edge of the scene and still the locus to which the eyes are drawn, the starting gate. A mechanical voice (feminine, flirtatious without meaning to be) announces that all is at the ready.

And they’re off: the gates explode open with the miniature horses, little rockets, thoroughbreds, each a different color or pattern, ranging from meaningfully representational of actual coats to fully fanciful, impossible, never to appear in nature, in violation of breeding standards (hey, it’s a game), each steed mechanical without being lifeless, each alive without being candid, and most crucially each jockied by a Regis. There’s #3 U.S. Navy Regis on the gray stallion, starting strong, #7 Millionaire Regis on the white and palomino, followed by #1 Notre Dame Regis on the checkerboard, and the rest of the pack in pursuit. The miniature fans throughout demonstrate their low-level decision making and plasticity as they cheer, scream, wave, beg, stand in rapt attention. Some have bet it all on this one, putting up their future like a reverse mortgage. For those in the VIP boxes, it’s just another race. They eat miniature gulf shrimp and some don’t even watch.

Around the clubhouse turn, #3 U.S. Navy Regis holds strong, with newcomer #9 Kelly Ripa Regis gaining, a length behind. But as they pull into the backstretch, #1 Notre Dame Regis pulls even with #9 Kelly Ripa Regis as #3 U.S. Navy Regis fades, with #2 Joey Bishop Sidekick Regis two lengths back, followed by #7 Millionaire Regis.

“Look at mes go, folks,” he says, a proud father, mostly into your left earbones. You swallow a mouthful of spit that you had forgotten to swallow, rapt.

The far turn is ruthless to the front runners, and out of it, homestretch, #7 Millionaire Regis holds a three length lead. But there, on the outside, comes #4 Mad About You Guest Appearance Regis on a horse the color of an IPA, screaming, his pupils pinpricks, shirtless, the number painted blood red on his well-muscled back. He is the apotheosis. He is the divine. He is two all-beef patties. Faster, faster, through the finish, and even a few lengths more.

The robust sound-chip simulates the roar of ecstasy: #4, then #7, then #2. The payout is considerable — the simulation had favored #3 U.S. Navy Regis. But that’s why they run the races, ain’t it?

“If you had put a sawbuck down on that trifecta,” his voice again, pointedly, playfully, “You’d be walking away with nearly three grand.” He pauses, and your ears beg for more. “Now, let’s talk about the shows, and the restaurants, because you’re gonna love them.”

Regis Weekend Has Been Extended, One Day, Through Wednesday, August 30.