#birkie boi

[delinquentsofberk]

well well well. first introduction is here ! say hi to birk :D

hi hi !! an here ^-^ let's hope i get to share more art and lore about this guy and the rest of the gang, but the likelihood is small sadly. hope you'll take what i can offer (_ _ *)

[awolfnamedluna]

just went against my second ever Birkin! he was afk tho

now I have yet to play against a proper Birkin who isn't afk

[diyabloko]

yooo guys!

goldrose post-canon non-erotic hurt/comfort (and a bit bloody) drabble. i want you to share love for this boys with me yk

"Oh, fuck. Damn" - bye-bye, new shirt, it was nice doing business with you! Joe quickly begins to tear at his sleeve. Nothing can save it, but it still can help him before he bleeds out in a yard somewhere. Not for the first time, he wants no one to be around, but for the first time, he wants the rest of the people to take him for a knocked-out junkie in the shadows and avoid him as far as possible. The streets of New York are easier to realize it.

He leans against the wall, clenches his jaws and begs his brain not to lose consciousness. This is all bullshit. And Kate is going to worry. Shit, this will have to be explained somehow. "Look, this is America. Everyone here has a gun" - of course, that's the right thing to say.

"Is this your first time being shot at, Joe?" someone else's hands tighten the jute, which was only been loosely pulled before. Joe sighs sharply, doesn't look up. It's surprising how well he can hear whispers now. Meanwhile, Rhys's hands slap his shoulders in sync, finally squeezing them. "Or is it the first time they hit? Not the best feeling, really."

"And what do you... You know about this?"

"Smart guy. Talk to me," his hands eventually move rapidly up Joe's neck, as if to skip some areas altogether, and finally lift his face carefully and firmly. - "And look at me. Don't lose contact with the world."

"A part of my head is telling me," he points to his temple, but the movement only caused lightning to flash before his eyes, and Joe tried to shake his head. But Rhys helds him just at time. - "How do I know I'm not passed out already?"

"You don't. You have to trust me blindly," he presses his fingers gently on the skin, breathing deeply. He waits for something, until they start breathing in sync, until Joe can hear the world around them and finally realize that it hasn't stopped. Joe felt a ringing in his ears that he hadn't noticed before. "I told you we should stay out of it. We are not heroes."

"You're definitely not. What a damn birkie."

"What can I do, I was created within the limits of your knowledge," Rhys giggles and barely lets go of Joe's cheeks. But as soon as this happens, Joe frowns in displeasure, as if to show his disapproval. "Now we've been hurt, and suffered stupidly."

"Suffered? We? You don't look like you're in pain."

"I'm sorry, but as soon as I start to suffer, you'll cum, you pervert. So let's just let the blood drain only from you," he looks down at Joe's bandaged hand. Finally, he clicks his tongue and frees his hand, reaching into jacket pocket. From there, he pulls out a snow-white handkerchief that seems about to blind him in this darkness. He unfolds it once and without a second thought sacrifices it to the bloody marks to save Joe's skin from them. He watches with bated breath.

Time passes. Smoothly. Goldberg touches his companion's cheek with his free hand, strokes it tentatively, and when he catches a surprised look in return, he shrugs.

"Thank you."

"Where will you run away from me?"

[cbsghostsdaily]

sheilatabasco Wow! Found these pics from my camera test day at @ghostscbs – After seeing the (pre-distressed) first costume option, producers ultimately decided to go more Woodstock and less Coachella for her 🙌🏼 We even tried vintage jeans on Flow Flow, and boy do I (and my hips) love the flowy dirty girl look we landed on! @heatherpain designed our costumes for the pilot (and in the case of us 8 ghosts the entire series!). I thank Heather every time I slip into my birkies 😎✌🏼Also SUPER happy we decided to wig me after the first test, for both continuity and because she really needed lively hair that felt like an extension of her wild-child spirit 🌸

[furiarossa]

Beast form for Osvald! Isn't he a big boy, uh? (This will be a part of his reference sheet!) Also, please, appreciate Birky the therapy cat as censor :)

He's a character from the story (written in Italian, sorry) "L'Inverno delle Rose".

This work is available to purchase as print, posters, stickers and other cool stuff HERE on Redbubble!

(Pssst, uncensored version under the cut!)

[entishramblings]

LOTR Characters as things my 70+ year-old Paleontology Professor has said:

Gimili: I wore camouflage because the faculty likes to throw things at me.

Frodo: Don't make dinosaur noises at me in public. I will get scared.

Gandalf: I am old and decrepit. My bones ache.

Pippin: *shakes* TOO MUCH CAFFEINE!!!

Saruman: I’m gonna steal your backbone and put it on public display.

Samwise: i’M oUt iN tHe FiElD iN mY BiRkiEs

Merry: There’s bones here. Its a boner.

Legolas: *crouches on top of chair and imitates dinosaur noises while wiggling butt*

Aragorn: I never broke a bone until a 70 year old woman hit me skiing.

Gandalf: This university used to be good, but it has deteriorated over the past couple years...like my back and my brain.

Samwise: I get into arguments about flower sperm….

Sauron: I'm talking about strippers, mastication….and now whips.”

Legolas: Yes, I got that close to a lion. He was a FINE boy. A lazy boy. *longing sigh*

Boromir: That orgasm was so loud all the pterodactyls took to the air!!!

Pippin: Theres nothing like being chased by a goose!

pt2: the hobbit characters as things my 70+ year-old Paleontology Professor has said

[winifredwoogie]

GET TO KNOW ME MEME

I was tagged by @treason-and-plot  Sorry for the late reply but I have not been on  the internet too much lately and I have a moment right now so here we go:

Name: Wendy...or Wini, Winifred, Window, Wendell.  Gender: female Star sign: Virgo but I think there might be a hidden sign of “Smart Ass” Current wall paper?: The night sky with the moon and stars through Autumnal leaves from in my TS4 game. It really is a pretty picture. Ever had a crush on a teacher?: Not a crush but admiration and respect. I really liked him as a teacher. I’m chronically late (I screw around too much) and on the last day of class, he had brought in donuts for the class and played his banjo. I missed it and he was disappointed that I did. His disappointment in me still smarts and that was decades ago. If you could be someone else right now, who and where would you be?: I don’t know. Maybe I would be a person that didn’t have to work six days a week to make ends meet and could financially afford a home instead of a super tiny apartment where I and my pets could have more room. But you know, I am okay with what I have. I worked hard to obtain it and don’t see myself every having more than what I have now. I don’t have my own family and honestly I am not very close with anyone anymore, they all have their own families and I am a solitary worker bee always at work.  Coolest Halloween costume?: I was a dark sorceress and my then boyfriend was a dead soldier. It looked like I had raised him from the dead. It was pretty fun. Who was your last kiss?: My cat on his fuzzy head. He’s a mama’s boy that likes cuddles and attention. Favorite book: It’s a toss up between the Dragon Riders of Pern series or The Hobbit/LOTR series. I have read both multiple times and never tire of them. Fave 90’s TV show : X-files!!. Honorable mention of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Every been to Las Vegas?: Yes. Not impressed. Favorite shoes?: I have a bunch of Birki clogs and sneakers. I own fancy dress shoes but I don’t use them anymore. I’m holding on to them in case I might actually have to dress up.  Favorite fruit?: I like fruit but I don’t think I have a favorite. What is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done?: We don’t have enough time in the world to write down the stupid things I’ve done....I am a Master at Stupid Things. Just know I have a long list, some I do not regret and some I do greatly.

[reekierevelator]

Beyond Burns

a short story

I was getting set up to record my latest spacecast on holiday trips to Mars, - Spacex starships were offering a special deal, - when in barges the director, slamming the door behind her.  

‘What does the big data analysis tell you to spout on about this time?’ spluttered the red-faced human, in her usual sensitive way.

‘Summer holidays – trips to Mars.’

‘Oh, not that old shite again.  Same every year.  Hell’s teeth, we don’t employ robot vidcasters just to end up doing what everyone else does. Post-festive season it’s all diets and holidays, same old same old. Now listen to me Chuck, I’m after the interplanetary broadcaster medal and the other stations are already all over the new technology. We have to do better than RADG, who got that whizz-kid to do an interview with James Watt.’

‘Who?’

‘Who knows, an engineer or something, hundreds of years ago, the point is Chuck that if they can do it so can we. We need to get our act together, get on this bandwagon quick, or else we pack our bags and get out.  It’s a cutthroat business – well, not for you obviously, maybe cut your cables and sell you for scrap if no-one else wants you, but at least you don’t have any bags to pack.  Listen hard Chuck, we’re up against it, so do it now while it’s still just this sound across time tech stuff; get in right away before upgrades escalate it to visuals and prices follow suit.’

‘But all my algorithms are geared to entertainment, holidays and so on – what do I know about history, engineers?’

‘It doesn’t have to be James Watt, numpty. We can set up the new tech to beam in on anyone selected.  Even this sound-only stuff is expensive though, so we need a well-known name.  It’s January, you know that red red rose song? I’ve always had a hankering to know more about that bad boy.’

‘Who?’

‘Name of Robert Burns, numpty.  I can’t be the only one still knows the name, even if it’s hundreds of years since he was around.’

‘Where do I find him?’

‘For God’s sake Chuck, it’s over a year since you were working out of Moon West. You need to be all about Earth people now. He was an Earthling. Ok, I know this is tricky for robots but you’ve got to remember Earth people can be as interested in their ancient predecessors as in red planet holidays.’

‘You do know they’ve worked out that water problem on Mars now.’

‘Will you forget Mars Chuck.  Just do as I ask, ok? Bobby Burns. Get on to him. Record him. Get him on the WSKY worldcast.’  The director flung her head back, turned on her high heels, flecks of saliva spraying from her mouth, and slammed the door on her way out. All work and no love life, that woman’s heading for a heart attack.  I suppose I might be too if I had one.

I searched my Universal Knowledge databanks and checked out this Burns guy. Apparently an Earth human born 1759, died 1796. An entertainer. Wrote some songs and poems. That must have been what passed for entertainment in those days.  And I thought, that’s only thirty-seven years, hardly enough time for a simple human to have done very much.  

I switched on my motor control and rolled off to see the engineers. This new-fangled technology annoyed me intensely.  I mean I was only built five years ago and already my memory capacity can’t keep up with all the new software updates. It’s the middle of the twenty-first century, the Earth’s dying on its feet, anyone human who can afford to is escaping, moving to the Moon, or buying a holiday home on Mars or Venus - some even taking a punt on Mercury - and so my mad boss lumbers me with this nonsense about new tech and tells me to talk to an ancient geezer from centuries ago. I mean, jeez-o.

The engineer android showed me the kit and explained how to set date and time and to use GPRS Historical Module to pinpoint the human I wanted to talk to, and some kind of one-way microscope to get a visual fix. Then there was this contraption to shout though so that your voice somehow carried back through time. The engineer said it would probably sound a bit tinny to the recipient, especially given my five year old voice activation system. He warned me the humans were all ensnared by religious controllers back then and it might sound like some ethereal voice of God to him when he heard it.  But then he smiled that ingratiatingly metallic smile of his and added that he knew any good media jock – such as myself – would be well-used to talking to total randoms at any distance and putting them at ease.

Since this guy Burns hadn’t lived that long, for a human anyway, I decided that to get anything at all interesting out of him I’d better set the time module for his last couple of years. He’d at least have had time to do something.  I fixed the controls for 1795 and told the engineer to locate Robert Burns and tie me on to him. My databanks said he ended up someplace called Dumfries in a bit of the Earth called Scotland.

The engineer locked on to a scruffy looking human, half-dressed in breeches and black waistcoat, living in some dingy accommodation in a squalid street called the Mill Vennel. Then he turned to me and clicked his metal joints into the thumbs up sign.

Surprised, I pressed my voice activation speaker close to the horn and shouted ‘Hey there, Bobby, this is Chuck, coming straight at you from WSKY Earthwide, - and, oh yeah, I’m about two hundred years away.’

There was a slight time delay before I heard: ‘Whit the Deil!!’  Whit’s that rammy in ma lug?’

‘Hey, like I said Bobby, it’s me, Chuck.  You won’t be able to see me…’

‘Whit, are ye hidin lik some kin o wee sleekit cowrin tim’rous beastie?’

‘No it’s this new tech Bobby, no visuals yet, maybe in a few years - once the android geeks have worked on it…’

‘Is this God speirin? I canna unnerstaun. Whit d’ye want o me? An can ye stop ca’in me Bobby?’

‘Ok what name do you prefer? My databanks are throwing up options – there’s Bobby, Bob, Bert, Bertie, Rob?’

‘Rob? Aye weel Rab, Rabbie then.’  

‘All good, - Rab it is, and what I want here is just for you and me to have a chat Rab – maybe I‘ll ask a couple of questions – you ok with that Rab?

‘You’ve a gey peculiar voice God.’

‘Like I said Rab, I’m Chuck, can’t really claim to be a deity as such. Call me inhuman if you want. I don’t mind. I can’t take offence. You can say what you like to me.’

‘I canna unnerstaun ye. But syne yer no God, that’s something forbye. I canna deny I’ve had mair than a few run-ins wi the Kirk in ma time. Yet, I’m aywes interestit tae hae a blether wi ither chiels an hear their stories.’

‘You’ll need to speak up Rab, the sound’s having to travel quite a long way. Can you just behave like a typical human who walks along entirely by himself and bellows into some mini-microphone that’s radio-linked to the communicator in his pocket.’

‘Whit? Oh I can bellow alright.  Gin ye ever heard me recitin ma verses at the Tarbolton Bachelors Club, the Crochallan Fencibles, or even in The Globe ye widna doot it.’

‘Well, that’s good to know Rab. But I see all those get-togethers involved drinking alcohol.’

‘Aye, an whitfor no? When chapman billies leave the street, an drouthy neebors neebors meet. There’s naethin wrang wi the nappy. Wi tippeny we fear nae evil; wi usquabae we’ll face the devil.’

‘You could be right Rab. Not something I can comment on.  For me, it’s just another way to rust the bodywork. So can we do the usual stuff?  Check through the data - What you do, where you came from, how you got into the business, famous friend anecdotes, women you’ve known – you know, the usual stuff. When we’re done my monomaniacal medal-seeking big boss director will bung you some compensation for your time.’

‘A ken the big boss type. Ye shouldna worry aboot yon high heid yins that think ower much o theirsels Chuck. Ye see yon birkie ca’d a lord wha struts an stares an a that? Though hundreds worship at his word he’s but a coof for a that. For a that an a that, his ribband, star, an a that, the man o independent mind, he looks an laughs at a that.’

‘Well Rab, that’s certainly something I’ll add to my memory bank, but robot unemployment is on the up these days and the second-hand market is down.  It’s the metal scrapheap that beckons if my boss gets vindictive.’

‘Ach, dinna be feart man. Did I heard you say ‘compensation’?  Does that mean money?’

‘Sure, cash, spondulicks, filthy lucre.’

‘I’ve aywes suffered wi bein awfy short o the siller.’

‘Glad to be able to help out Rab. So let’s get started – early life?

‘Aye weel, let’s see, ma faither, a gairdner, tenant farmer, wis pit aff a fairm in Kincardine, near Stonehaven. Cam tae Ayrshire an met ma mither. Build his ain but’n’ben at Alloway for a vegetable gairden. The faimly grew so he needed mair room. He took oot a loan for a tenancy at Mount Oliphant. Found it wis gae stony grund.  The loan wis lik a millstone. Seiven bairns an me the auldest. We a had tae chip in wi the fairmwork soon as we were able. An later we flitted tae a fairm at Lochlea but naethin much changed. Ma faither wisna weel then an I wis the man o the fairm at fifteen. Hard, hard life. Aywes freezin or mingin, or baith; workin masel tae death.’

‘But what about college Rab?’

‘College?  I went tae schuil at Kirkosward for a few year, stertit when I turned six. Ma faither wis mad keen on the learnin but. Scrimped an saved. Got me a tutor for two year, learning French, studying English. An efter that faither taught me hissel – geography an sic lik. An then a year o the mathematics in Ayr. Aye, I wis well educated, nae ignorant ploughboy. I’ve aye been wide-read. An then ma mither taught me tae. Ma mither wis born Agnes Broun. She hadna her letters at a’ but she wid sing as braw as the laverock.  Mony a song I took fae her, an a bit o the fiddle anaw.’

‘My data banks say you wrote songs yourself? My boss seemed to know one.’

‘Aye, scrieved the first few at fourteen. They skipped ben ma heid gin I grappled wi the plough. They went down well wi the lassies. Mind, even at the schuil there was yon Peggy Thomson. Ye ken, the sweetest hours that ere I spend are spent amang the lasses O. At Lochlea there wis an eager lass, Elizabeth Paton. Oh aye, but gie me a cannie hour at e’en, my arms about my dearie O, an war’ly cares an war’ly men, may a gae tapsalteerie O.  She had ma bonnie wee bairn an we ca’d her Elizabeth. But a wis too young yet an her faither wadna let us mairry.’

           ‘But what became of your daughter?

           ‘Died. No lang syne. I canna speak o it.’

           ‘Sorry to hear that Rab.’

‘Aye, it angers me the whiles. State o the warl. Politics.’

‘How do you usually vote Rab?’

‘Vote? Nae French Revolution here frien. Nae restoration o Scots independence. Sic a parcel o rogues in a nation. Wid the lik o me, a tenant fairmer, hae the franchise? Na, na.  An them that’s tried fechtin for it are in Botany Bay.  Ye can nae mair speak oot loud aboot sic things as murmur the Fiscal. But yet there’s weys if it’s dressed up in a sang. Scots wha hae wi Wallace bled - now’s the day and now’s the hour - wha for Scotland’s king and law, freedom’s sword will strongly draw, freeman stand or freeman fa, let him follow me. Mair for Thomas Muir o Huntershill that for Bruce.’

‘I see, so you wrote protest songs, political songs Rab?’

‘It’s no jist yon Whigs an Tories man. It’s a muckle brawer, bonnier thing. Like I say, then let us pray that come it may - as come it will for a that, - that sense o worth o’er a the earth, shall bear the gree an a that. For a that, an a that, that man to man the world o’er, shall brithers be for a that. Ma favourite poet wis aye Milton.

‘But the data has you down as more of a ladies man Rab.’

           ‘Aye, the lassies, mony a fair charmer. They lik’d me as muckle as I lik’d them. An Chuck, just in case ye really are God, I’ve suffered my penance in the Kirk for athing. But yet O Lord, confess I must at times, I’m fash’d wi fleshly lust, an sometimes too in worldly trust, vile self gets in. But Thou remembers we are dust, defil’d wi sin. O Lord yestreen Thou kens wi Meg, thy pardon I sincerely beg, O may’t ne’er be a living plague, to my dishonour. An I’ll never lift a lawless leg, again upon her. Besides, I further maun avow, wi Leezie’s lass three times I trow, but Lord that Friday, I was fou, when I cam near her. Or else, Thou kens, Thy servant true, wad never steer her.

           ‘It’s still Chuck, Rab. There’s no gods for me. But I’ve heard humans say confession is good for the soul, so it’s as well you got it off your chest Rab.  So this whole fame and celebrity thing; how did that happen?

‘Ach, I’m aye sayin I’m a fiddler an a poet. But fairmin wis ma livin. An I wis a’ set tae gie up the fairmin an flee tae the Indies when a freemason pal o mine agreed tae print up a wheen o ma poems. He cam awa wi six hunner copies an yon buik wis read a ower the land. Rax it frae ma shelf for ye the noo if ye lik.  They read it even up Glesca wey, so I gaed north. That’s where I fell in wi a lass fae Campbeltown, Mary Campbell, ma Highland Mary. But she vanished. I went on tae Embra tae see yon man Creech. He printed mair editions. I wis the toast o the toon richt eneuch, invitit here, there, and everywhere. I met yon laddie Walter Scott an a’ the bigwigs. Creech said he’d buy the copyricht.

So I toured the hail country frae Highlands tae the Borders, gaitherin tunes the whiles an waitin for Creech tae stump up. I wis makin new words, better words, for thae auld tunes. I met yon greatest o fiddlers, Neil Gow, in Dunkeld. We talked o the rubata tempo, an I telt him tae save Scotland’s strathspey, its staccato, fae thae continentals lik Mozart wi their legatos an sustenos. They didna unnerstaun it. They drain the life oot it wi tremolo an vibrato till it’s sterile – and them bein paid for it anaw, no lik us. Mozart’s faither agreed wi me did he no? He kent the auld tunes an telt his laddie tae let them be.

‘The database says you were the first folk song collector; that you insisted the culture resided in the medium. The medium was the message.’

‘Aye, I kent the Italian musicians settled in Scotia. I collected sangs fae the Borders, an Gaelic tunes anaw; even Russian tunes; an Irish tunes I got fae ma sister in Dundalk. Ma favourite tune’s ‘Yestreen I had a pint o wine’; ma words tae an Irish melody. Ach, strathpeys, highland jigs, borders’ hornpipes, slip jigs, reels, - I ken them a’.  Ken the notes an rhythms. I mixed them a’ thegether, jist lik I jumbled the words o a’ the dialects o Scots wi English words an Auld English tae.

An in Embra waitin for Creech did I no fa’ in wi yon Agnes McElhose. That wis a lassie cast off bi her waster o a man, left her wi twa bairns. But she wis a rare beauty, Clarinda tae ma Sylvander when we passed notes, but we ca’d her Nancy. Aye, it wis hard when I maun tak leave o her. I telt her ae fond kiss and then we sever, ae fond kiss goodbye forever. But that’s a ahint me noo. I’m long bye cooried doon wi ma wife, Jean Armour, ane o thae Mauchline Belles.’

‘So she’s been good for you?’

‘Aye, for mony a year. Chuck, my luve is like a red, red rose that’s newly sprung in June. My luve is like a melodie, that’s sweetly play’d in tune. She gave me twins, a boy and a girl, - of course we ca’d them Robert an Jean, - even afore we mairrit in ‘88. An mind, there’s been seiven more since.’

‘Ok Rab, that sounds great. So do you have time to do anything else nowadays other than looking after your family?’

‘Weel I’m at the songs yet, an still scrievin mair poems. Near eight hunner o them noo. But still, songs dinna pey the rent. Whit spare siller I hid got I’ve gien tae ma brither, Gilbert, tae help wi his fairm an his faimly. An noo ma health is no up to much. The consumption ye ken, a fair scunner.’

‘My database interprets that as pulmonary tuberculosis Rab. That’s not so good.’

‘Naw, ye’re richt. I’m wastin awa tae naethin. I’m bound whares ghaists and houlets nightly cry. But Jean an the ithers, they’re dependin oan me. I’ve taen a post as an exciseman. I maun ride a horse ilka day ower half the country, rain or shine. Then nichts I’m at the scrievin for a yon numbers. I’m pressed sae hard there wis even nae time tae gang tae ma ain dochter Elizabeth’s funeral  An forbye, the sawbones noo prescribes bathin in the freezin Solway every day.’

‘Sounds tough Rab, but time is nearly up.’

‘Time near up?? Aye, weel, ye’re lik as no richt. Ye sure ye’re no God Chuck? Ye ken I’ve no been richt for ages. I’ve telt abody this last wee while ma time is surely comin gey soon.  Aye, it’ll a’ be ower afore I get much aulder.’

‘What I meant to say was we need to wind up our chat Rab; keep down the new tech expenses etc.’

‘Aye weel, it’s been a grand wee blether Chuck.  I hope the bother atween you an yer big boss-man get sortit oot.’

‘My big boss is a woman Rab, a lassie you would say, but thanks anyway.’

‘A lassie? Michty me, whit lik? Sic an antrin thing Chuck. This lassie, is she bonnie?’

‘Tall for a human, I’ve heard her called sexy, fiery, knows what she wants and works hard to get it.’

‘She wadna bide up by Alloway? I’m no deid yet Chuck an I aince kent a lassie lik yon. There's nought but care on ev'ry han', in ev'ry hour that passes O, what signifies the life o' man, an' 'twere na for the lasses O.  Bring her ben the hoose gin ye call roon again an I’ll gie her a sang or twa.’

           ‘Well, I can ask Rab.’

‘Guid man. But here, Chuck, my jo, I canna see ye, but I’ll haud oot ma haun. And there’s a hand my trusty fiere, and gie’s a hand o thine, and we’ll tak a right guid-willie waught, for auld lang syne.’

‘Ok Rab, I’m stretching my metal limb across the centuries.’

‘Brawly done Chuck.’  

‘And hey, that ‘auld lang syne’ thing, I’ve heard of it. My databanks tell me you did a song of that name; say it’s going to be really big for you. But, ah, unfortunately it won’t be published till after you’re dead. Oh, and apparently everyone will sing it to the wrong tune, using a Major 6th for a Reel instead of the Minor 6th for a reflective Air.’

‘Ach I hinna time tae care Chuck. We’re a’ jist passin through. Even you. An whit we leave ahint is fur ithers tae dae wi as they will. But mind the whiles we’re here, it’s ne’er how much God’s gien ye, it aye whit ye dae wi whit yer gien.’

‘That’s food – well, drink - for thought Rab. This spacecast will certainly be something different. You’ve added a lot to my human emotions databank. I can even see the Moon and Mars-dwelling types taking to your output once the recording is re-broadcast around the solar system. Maybe my boss really has got something going for her after all. She’s pulled you up from the depths of her human brain cells and she’s going to put you out there again. Maybe have you on the spacecast again soon Rab. Teach us a few of your songs. And you’re right. In the end we are all scrap, but maybe on the next time-tube visit we can catch you in your younger years.’

‘Ach, awa wi ye.  I see ye in ma heid Chuck; fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face. An gin ye’ll be quicker than Creech wi the ‘compensation’, or I’ll be deid afore it comes. I canna even offer a wee deoch an dorus. Ach, I’ve composed mony an epitaph Chuck. It’s time I wis awa noo an scrieved ma ain.’

‘Ok, bye for now Rab.’

Just then the door crashed open and in strode the boss. ‘Well, how did it go? Tech work ok? Lively discussion? Am I in line for the interplanetary broadcast medal after all?’

‘Aye,’ I said ‘a that an a that, but a coof for a that.’

‘Are your sensors causing problems Chuck?  Sounds like your wires are crossed somewhere. I swear you’re more trouble than you’re worth.  If it wasn’t for the state of WSKY’s budget I’d replace you tomorrow with one of those shiny new supercyber androids coming out of the Mars mega-factory.

‘He was asking after you, great leader. Very interested to hear about you. Said he was keen to meet you, sing you some of his songs, and happy to invite you into his home if the tech ever allows it.’

‘Well, Chuck that’s really not a bad idea. He was a handsome man. Did he mention red, red roses? I think we’d have a lot to, er, talk about. Maybe you do have your uses after all Chuck.’

[rplc-evrythng]

Wild eyed Northern Boys. 20.29K ski at Wirth last night. Birkie closing in : 3 weeks. https://www.instagram.com/p/B8MDZ29n9JH/?igshid=nek2z39u680v

[instapicsil1]

For our annual Preps in Review package that runs in Sunday's News-Gazette, the kind kids - and one mascot - from Gibson City-Melvin-Sibley High School literally stopped traffic on Main Street in Gibson City during a photo shoot with #NGMedia editor Robin Scholz. It's not the first time the Falcons turned heads this year, the Ford County school winning a state football title, reaching the boys' basketball Final Four and delivering a ton of regional and sectional plaques. Back row: Bryce Boundy, Connor Birky, Aidan Laughery, Tyler Ricks, Josh Bleich, Hayden Workman, Bryce Barnes, Chris Hood, Fergie, Garrett Wright, Josh Nuss. Middle: Jared Trantina, Shannon Spangler, Claire Retherford, Megan Moody, Lindsey Heinz, Ashley Hyatt, Jessica Freehill, Lauren Leonard. Front: Riley Cushman, Summer Roesch, Mady Schutte, Delanie Dykes, Rylee Tompkins, Jenny Patel, Katie Johnson, Sydney Funk, Bethanie Price. #HighSchoolSports https://ift.tt/2KEGtVI

[johnkobra1108]

What are the advantages of Velcro shoes for your little ones?

Do you want to know all the advantages of Velcro shoes? If you are interested in the answer to this question, be sure to read the following lines.

There are a large number of Velcro shoes on the market including Birki's by Birkenstock brand and many others. Especially for babies and those boys and girls who are beginning to take their first steps.

If your little one goes to kindergarten, Velcro shoes may be the best option because for them it is very easy to put them on and take them off.

In this way, the children acquire great autonomy and the "teachers" of the nursery do not have as much work.

Advantages of shoes with Velcro:

We have already pointed out the first advantage. It is that they take off and put on very easily. It is easy for you and them too.

They are especially useful from the age of three, which is when it is considered that children should learn to dress themselves and this is a great way for them to do it without any difficulty.

It is one of the most practical closures of all that exist and that is why, if you go to kindergarten or school, it is convenient that they wear Blundstone shoes with Velcro.

Velcro is also suitable for children who have a wide foot or a high instep:

We say it because this type of children's footwear has more space in the instep. Therefore, another advantage is that they adapt much better to your foot shape.

And what can we say about the aesthetics of the design? The design cannot be the same as a lace-up shoe.

But if what you want is to see them very handsome, you will not have any problem. You just have to take a look at our Velcro shoe catalog to check it out.

Manufacturers of children's shoes know how to perfectly combine this type of closure with designs that you are sure to love. So, you will have shoes with Velcro of all types.

At Bstore(https://www.bstore.com.au/), we care about every one of our clients, and we want them to be able to trust us at all times. That is why we guarantee you an unbeatable treatment.

What did you think of this post? Would you recommend it to your family and friends? We would love for you to do so.

[aegar-adstati]

Le poof m!a monster birky boi for a week

All he had to hear was "How's it going with the virus still in you, William?" and that sparked a sudden response in him, almost feeling like something was in his gut and it was hurting him."Wh-"Immediately he felt his chest tighten, breathing heavily. This was the second time this month when he had the change, but it still hurt unsurprisingly. Unfortunately, he was around some people when he began to feel the viral metamorphosis take hold, and he tried to get away.The first one to take notice was his daughter, Sherry. Surprisingly she had warmed up to him after what all had happened, but his sudden change in breathing and trying to get away was what snapped her to concern and panic. So she decided to follow him.... a horrible decision, really.Will collapsed on his hands and knees on the floor in the middle of the hallway, already beginning to wheeze and shake, clutching his chest. Everything was feeling like it was burning, like he was having a sudden fever and his body was going into shock. Sherry merely had taken a few steps before he let out an agonized wail, back already starting to shift and pop.His shirt began to rip from the not so sudden change in the abdomen growing to an immense size, already having Will breathe harder as he tried to dig at the shirt. His ribs began to break and grow in order to accommodate the organs and size he was growing to, which had him wheeze and cough up blood. Skin ripped as this happened, exposing muscle and the second set of arms already ripping out of the skin around his stomach. Tears were already falling from his eyes, and he already could feel one of his eyes beginning to liquidate in a way.He suddenly heard his daughter scream before running away, and to which he let out a shocked gasp. Why did she follow him-Will didn't even have enough time to think before his arm gave way beneath him, snapping from the weight. He landed on the floor with a grunt, huffing and still shaking before he drew in a breath and let it out slowly in a growl as his arm began to change, doubling in size and letting out loud cracks. His hand began to crack and shift as well, growing claws to suit the not yet changed arm.And that's when he let out a sudden agonized scream again when some spurs of bone ripped out from under his skin, blood spraying everywhere. This forced him to try and stand to run, already knowing this was attracting attention from the others. To which he did so for both situations.He heard footsteps and Chris yelling his name before he heard his own agonized wailing again, legs buckling and snapping underneath himself from the weight. He held his arm, crying again as soon as an eye pushed out from the skin, already moving around and trying to focus on everything despite being blinded by blood. His legs began to change as well, bone beginning to mend and break to grow larger to suit his already imposing form.Slowly, the changes stopped, and he was still breathing hard and sobbing, not even paying attention to everyone else in the establishment trying to help him up. Everything hurt so much still. Why did this have to continue for him to suffer?||y'all are fuckin welcome to poke at him. He's already broken enough to just get answers out of. >:3c||

[dundeethistlecycleclubblog]

Ned’s early years in the Thistle

I was asked to write a bit about the Thistle from when I joined in 1955 till the 70`s. I hope you enjoy it. Ned Carnegie

Picture: Thistle Juniors 1955. Left to right Ned, Ginger Chalmers, Ian Hunter, Ian Auchterlonie, Alan Conela,  ?  , Donald Robbie, Frank Somerville, Norman Norrie, Crystal.

I`ve been in the Thistle club for 61 years (Born1941) and still ride the bike albeit a good bit slower! Some of my mates of over 50 years are still in the club. However there`s nothing like the feeling of winning a road race after a lone break or in a tight sprint finish!

1955 – my early years.

The first proper bike I had was a Sun, black steel frame with chrome front forks, with drop handlebars and cantilever brakes. The wheels were 26” steel rims and gearing was a single chainring and a four speed Simplex gear.

I rode to places like Arbroath, St Andrews and Perth with some of my pals from school. At the age of 14 I decided to leave the Boy Scouts, where I was a patrol leader, and join a cycling club. A few of the older lads at the Morgan Academy were in the Dundee Thistle so I plumped to join them.

Club meetings.

The Thistle Club had its own room, a large wooden building in Milton Street. This was near where I lived in Provost Road. Inside there was a toilet and a small cupboard which was used as the club tuck shop. The place was heated by gas radiators lining both walls.

Meetings were held on Thursday evening at 9pm. The Chairman, Secretary and treasurer sat at the top table facing the members who sat on long wooden benches with the junior section sat at the front. The meetings were quite formal with race and run reports, followed by SCU business and then any other general business. Runs for the coming week would be decided. These runs were published in the Saturday edition of The Courier. On Monday there was a full report of the weekend racing, sometimes even a half page with a photo of the winner. This was a feature of the Courier well into the ‘70s’.

In the winter the club opened on Tuesday and Thursday about 7pm for activities such as table tennis, darts Rollers and weightlifting. Once we even had a real boxing ring, ropes and everything as one of the members, Nobby Clinton, was also an amateur boxer.

There were some great characters in the club back then, guys like ‘Ulcer Wullie’, ‘Jack the House’, ‘Dave Dave’ and ‘Davy Husband’. Bike shop owner Jack Nicholson (Nicholson's Cycles can still be found on Forfar Road) was a great servant to the club acting as Chairman, then treasurer. He also acted as a timekeeper and organised the Wednesday night training races.

In the club there was a sizeable group of 18 year lads called ‘The Shower’ as they were quite a wild bunch, into drinking and dancing in the Empress Ballroom down at the docks. They did a lot of cycling though and a fair bit of racing. Most of them however packed it in when in their twenties, some were called up into national Service, a few got married early (not always by choice).

Two members who did stay riding after successful racing careers were Jim Nixon and Geordie Penman. Jim won the Scottish Road Race Championship in 1954 and went on to ride as an independent semi-pro for Viking Cycles. Jim worked for Myles on the Hilltown, an electrical shop which also sold bikes. Their slogan was ‘Ride for miles on a Myles bike’.

Jim and Geordie taught me how to ride a bike properly and gave me a hard time on ‘Tully’ most Sundays.

There were only two other juniors in the club at that time, Ian Hunter and ‘Ginger’ Chalmers. Although not long after that Lionel Wylie joined (who is also still an active member) and the four of us would do long runs at the weekend.

Club Presentations and dinners.

The club had an annual presentation and dance usually held at various hotels in the area. These were always well attended by the members and their wives or girlfriends. The men were always smartly dressed in suits with collar and tie. The ladies with dresses, no trousers in those days! The Trophies were hotly contested as most of the members raced in those days.

The club also ran a Hogmanay Dance in the clubrooms. The first footing bottles were taken at the door as no drinking was allowed in the clubrooms. I remember on one occasion a couple were drunk and causing bother so both were thrown out into the snow by big jack Nicholson and his equally big brother Les.

Club Runs.

There were quite a few clubs in the Dundee area at that time including the Dundee road Club, Forfarshire RC, the Western CC, the Charles Star, the Strathmore and the St. Christophers CC. There was also a ladies club called the Heatherbell. There was a fair bit of romance between the ‘Bell’ ladies and the lads from the local clubs, many proceeding down the aisle!

The clubs all met at Camperdown Gates on Sundays, sporting their individual club jerseys. Club runs then were all day affairs, leaving 9am / 10am and not returning home until 7pm or 8 pm. The routes were usually the Moulin Moors, Sma’ Glen, Blair Lochs but occasionally we would do Callendar and Loch Earn, Lochearnhead and Loch Tay. Even longer was the Moors, Trinafour and Schiehallion (over 100 miles).

There were no café stops, it was always a ‘Biley up’. Sometimes even two in one day!

The ‘Biley ups’ had names such as the ‘Barrier’ which is just outside Dunkeld or the ‘Flowerpots’ near Ballinluig, the names coming from the shape of the woods across the river Tay.

Hostel weekenders were very popular on the annual holidays riding up to the west coast or down to the Lake District.

Racing Season.

From March till October most Sundays were spent racing, mostly time trials over distances of 10 to one 100 miles and usually two 12hour events.

The Scottish Best All Rounder  Competition was very popular then run over TTs of 50, 100 miles and 12 hours.

The Thistle had a set of standards, Gold, Silver and bronze for the various distances. On the Thursday before the event you paid Two Shillings and if you got within the standard time you received a small trophy in the form of a shield at the club presentation. This was a good system to encourage riders to achieve something as most didn’t have a chance of winning the event. If you did not achieve the time then your ‘two bob’ was forfeited.

Back then most clubs promoted events so there was a race on every weekend and also evening 10s and 25 time trials.

The race Headquarters then was at the transport café on Snobs Brae near Longforgan by the name of ‘Mrs Forbes’. This was a large wooden shack with an area round the back where riders prepared their bikes and stripped for the event. There was a Belfort sink and cold water tap out the back which was used to clean up after the race.

After the event we would congregate in the café where the results wear read out over mugs of tea, no coffee back then, and home made cake all went down a treat. The noise in the place was incredible and the atmosphere had me hooked on this racing lark!

After the events which usually started around 7am or 6am if it was a National Championship or 100 miler, we would ride home for a descent breakfast then be out at the (Camperdown) Gates for an afternoon ride to the ‘Biley up’ at Loch Clunie.

Pranks were the order of the day. One time we took one of the young lads bike to bits and hung them up in a tree! On another occasion Li (Wylie) was climbing a tree so we lit a fire below!

On the way home there was a stop at the ‘Jollymount Café’ Birkie or a hot orange in Coupar Angus.

Getting to races.

As hardly anyone had a car, we would ride to Edinburgh, Stirling or Aberdeen on Saturday and stay in the Youth Hostel. Sunday we’d ride to the race, then ride it, before the long pedal home.

When I started road racing I would get the train through to Edinburgh or Glasgow then ride to the outskirts and the race locations.

My Bikes.

The bikes ridden in time trials were mostly ‘Flying Scots’ track frames with a fixed gear of 82” – 86” and only a front brake. Wheels were ‘Fiamme rims with ‘Airlight Hubs’ and 8oz D’Allesandro's tyres or tubulors. Dunlop made a very light 6oz tyre, and I borrowed a pair but punctured twice before the finish in a 25TT.

I had a track frame custom built by ‘D.W. Lindsay’ who were on Victoria Road. Lime green main tubes with black forks and rear stays. 8oz orange tubulars and shining chrome stem and handlebars. A beautiful bike on which I won my very first race up in Aberdeen on a cold wet March morning.

Winter bikes were always a fixed wheel with a gear of 66 – 69 inches. A carrier and sadllebag to carry the usual tin of soup and ‘Biley Up’ can. Everyone carried a yellow cape and puncture repair outfit and full size pump on the frame.

Road bikes were mainly ‘Flying Scots’ but I had a French made ‘Helyett Speciale’ as used by Jacques Anquetil my hero at the time. It was a lovely dark green colour with a picture of Jacques on the seat post. This bike had a 5 speed block 14 – 23 sprockets and 42 -52 chainrings. I had yellow bar tape and green brake cables, the same as the great man himself. Fiamme rims and q/r Campagnola hubs were my choice for wheels. Mafac brakes, Campag pedals (very expensive) and a leather Brooks saddle.

Like the cool riders from Glasgow, I used to drill out the rivets and replace them with larger copper ones, trim the leather from the nose and back of the saddle. This made for a really good looking bit of kit.

Needless to say my bedroom wall was covered in pictures of the great Jacques Anquetil!

The lack of lights.

Lights back then were very poor, the batteries did not last long and sometimes petered out before you got home. We called them ‘Bobby Dodgers’. Sometimes you would get stopped by the police for not having lights, and asked your name and address. One Sunday Li and I were stopped on the Kingsway, we were only young boys, and the cop asked where we had been. Li replied “Comrie and the Braes Mister”. The Cop said “None of you lip lad, you can both walk home”. When he disappeared we rode home on the pavement of Clepington Road.

Clothing.

Clothing back then was very limited, a hand knitted jersey in club colours was usually worn. In our case black with a white horizontal band. Jeans were the order of the day with leather cycling shoes with shoe plates screwed to the sole to engage with the pedals.

Later on pantaloons became popular with knee length socks in colourful patterns, this was a fashion thing from France. In the Summer shorts were worn made of corduroy as racing shorts were never worn on a club run.

My first racing jersey had a shirt type collar and pockets front and back. The racing jersey was grey with two maroon horizontal bands. This was the Spanish national jersey at the time. Socks were always white.

Racing shorts were woollen with a real chamois leather insert which we had to rub in lanolin cream to soften it up and prevent chafing!

Bike Shops.

There were plenty bike shops in Dundee including Nicholsons which was the most popular with the club men. It was a great meeting place on a Saturday. Jack Nicholsons used to let us by stuff on Hire Purchase. You got a wee blue card and paid a fixed amount each week. This earned him the nickname ‘Ticky Nicky’.

I bought a pair of brakes for £4 when I was a schoolboy, paying it up sixpence a week. My mum and dad found my blue card and I got a ticking off for buying something on ‘hire purchase’. ‘Save before you buy’ was the mantra of the time.

Other shops included Lindsays on Victoria Road, Charlie Gibbs on Victoria Street, and McRobbs on the Hawkhill who supplied ‘Milano’ frames to the road racing guys.

Ned still in the Thistle and riding his bike, although not this one!

[rplc-evrythng]

The Johnson boys : birkie boys (at American Birkebeiner Ski Foundation)