#owners manual

[seriouslywhateverokayreally]

Folding Treadmill. Used maybe a dozen times!. Folds up. Item Weight 204 Pounds Material Plastic Maximum Speed 11 Miles per Hour Special Features Incline, Fold Up, Lcd Display, Programmed, Shock Absorption, Heart Rate Monitor, Dock for handhelds Maximum Horsepower 2.5 Horsepower The opened bottle of Belt Lubricant included.

[dielukedie-honda]

A must have for any car owner. Haynes make manuals for just about every make and model.

I snagged that book and a 95 owners manual for -$25.

A lot of superb information in just the 2 books if you are trying to maintain or repair your car.

[blindmagdalena]

Idk why but I really like the idea that homie can sometimes be really sensitive to sounds and his s/o notices and they do their best to help homie with it

a step by step guide to soothing your Homelander when he is experiencing auditory overstimulation:

place your palms over his ears, applying light pressure

gradually increase pressure while massaging temples with thumbs

at this stage, your Homelander should begin to focus on your heartbeat

if tension does not decrease, hum a soft melody.

apply tender kisses to forehead, nose, cheeks, and lips. repeat as necessary.

apply full body pressure to your Homelander.

once your Homelander is sufficiently calmed, be sure to avoid loud noises for at least one hour.

to ensure complete de-escalation of stress, nap with your Homelander.

for best results, cuddle your Homelander for at least 45 consecutive minutes.

congratulations, you have soothed your Homelander!

don't forget to keep your Homelander sufficiently hydrated with his choice of dairy product!

[my-t4t-romance]

none of these words are in the star wars episode i racer owner's manual

[soda-chips]

Homeward part 18

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[alphamecha-mkii]

Star Wars: Death Star Owner's Technical Manual - The Tarkin by Chris Trevas

[doctorbrown]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 ⸺ 「 24 / 31 * OUT IN THE DESERT 」

January—March 1943

From the moment he’d been visited at the university by Oppenheimer with Groves in tow, the latter a looming, intimidating presence towering over him in his uniform compared to the amicable and even friendly disposition of Oppenheimer, he’d felt the cold bite of the Sword of Damocles pressed against his neck, digging deeper and deeper with each day he’d been left in purgatory, waiting.

He feared he’d lose his head before ever hearing the official outcome of his new employment.

When one of his colleagues had approached him about a week and a half after their departure, informing him that he’d received a call from the FBI asking some questions about him, Emmett’s heart stopped then and there and he was absolutely positive he’d seen the moment his head was severed from his neck, rolling down the hallway.

Twenty long seconds later, when his senses had returned to him, he learned that the sensation was just dizziness and he was still firmly intact.

Three weeks later, the hell had ended. To say his official acceptance onto the project was a weight off his shoulders would be an understatement. Emmett breathed a long sigh of relief, nearly giddy with the excitement that he’d come through the process relatively unscathed; his frayed nerves were the only real casualty of his stint in purgatory.

Why the outcome should have been anything other than this, he couldn’t say, but that didn’t stop his mind, already having latched onto the mystery and thrilling scientific intrigue that Oppenheimer had offered, from conjuring up the what-if possibilities while unseen hands manipulated the course of his life. He’d never been in legal trouble, no criminal record, his father was an incredibly prominent and well-respected, if feared and disliked, member of the community, and his academic achievements had been exceptional.

But now it was official and the part that should have been the most daunting brought him the most joy. Two months was more than enough time to wrap up his affairs in California nicely.

His courses at the university would be discontinued and his students would be disseminated out into the other professors’ courses. The small home he’d been provided here would go back to the university and whatever he deemed unimportant to take with him to New Mexico would be discarded. The head of the department wished him well, and after a brief exchange steeped in rumour and hearsay, he’d left, returning home to pack up the last of his things.

How fascinating that an entire life could be stuffed in a couple travel bags.

—

When Emmett returns to Hill Valley, tugging the last twenty-three years of his life up the pathway to the mansion he hadn’t seen in almost five years, it is his mother’s joyful cries that greet him, her hands that all but pull him through the door, and her voice that fills the living room as she sits down, harmonising with the song of time played by his favourite Grandfather Clock.

Emmett, the doctor. Emmett, the scientist. Emmett, her son, doing his part for his country, whatever that meant, because it was secret, secret, secret—all so very secret all he could say was “I can’t talk about it but I have to travel to get there”—and while she looked ten years younger, radiant with motherly pride, his father scoffed and harrumphed, making his opinion known in no uncertain terms.

You would’ve done better for the war as a soldier, not some damned-fool scientist.

‘But at least maybe you’ll have a chance to be useful. Do something good.’

This time, his father’s barbs do not sting. They strike at him from all angles, jabbing at his skin but never piercing, and he lets them fall to the ground at his feet, unwilling to have this argument again, as they did for so many long nights in his youth. With the prospect of unforetold scientific progress right there at his fingertips, he could find it in himself to forgive his father without a fight. He didn’t understand. He wouldn’t let him spoil this.

Science—science was the future. And they would see.

His departure comes as quick as his arrival, his mother asking when he thinks he’ll be back in California.

“Soon,” he says, unable to give her any definite number, pulling at the hope this project is supposed to bring. “When we’ve won the war.”

Alone, he arranges to have himself and his entire life brought to San Francisco, where he’ll meet the train that carries him to the future.

—

San Francisco to Santa Fe.

Emmett spends most of his time in comfortable silence, watching the touches of humanity upon the land slowly and slowly being stripped away. Pavement gives way to dirt and grass and unsullied earth and the towering buildings of the cities sprout leaves and stretch up to the heavens, basking in the afternoon sunlight.

He remembers the itinerary—cryptic instructions written on a packet of papers shoved into his hands and the explicit instructions to allow nobody else to see the contents of this folder. Emmett doesn’t think he could forget it if he tries, burning a hole in the inner pocket of his overcoat, searing his chest even through his clothes.

More often than not, he tries to imagine the stage that will hold what is supposed to be the greatest scientific advancements of the last three centuries—what we’ll be doing here will be the culmination of the last three centuries of physics. Don’t you want to be a part of that?—I want to take on this challenge—only to imagine something even more fantastical than its predecessor every time he tries.

A fully functioning laboratory and city do not just spring up overnight in the middle of the desert, but Oppenheimer had said it would be ready in time, and Emmett found himself almost immediately assured by that, half-convinced that Nature itself would bend to that man’s charm.

Perhaps, Emmett thinks, a flutter in his stomach equal parts dread and excitement, it just might.

What else would require some of the greatest scientific minds to gather in one remote location under the strictest security imaginable?

The possibilities lull him into a dream-filled sleep.

—

They’re waiting for him there, just as they said. Two large uniformed escorts that Emmett easily has several inches on tower over him, usher him into an ordinary old car—grey, unassuming, rather mundane, actually, but when discretion is key—and expertly fit an entire life into the boot.

As if they’ve done this before.

Clement and Rosario, Lieutenant-Commander and Lieutenant, respectively, as he’s come to learn from the intermittent conversation, were the ones assigned to bring him to the site, get him through security, and make sure everything went off without a hitch.

Emmett watches, his face all but pressed against the window in the back as the landscape overrides the thoughts about this project that have been playing on a loop since he first alighted the train back in California. The desert is beautiful, nothing like the views in the city, and maybe he views the wide open area through the tinted lenses of lingering boyish romanticism for such an environment, but there is a rough, rugged beauty to it all in reality that Emmett is pleased to know for himself is not just a result of the films.

He must have said that out loud, because the younger of the two—or the one Emmett assumes is younger, given the softness still present on his face that looks out of place with the gun strapped to his hip—Rosario, says, “Yeah, isn’t it? Beautiful place out here. Shame we went and ruined it.” Before Emmett can ask what that means, he just says, “You’ll see.”

He does see, almost immediately.

This complex—‘Welcome home, Doc,’ Clement jokes in that gruff voice of his—looks more like a prison dropped in the most remote location they could think of, where they’ll work and torture them until they get what they want or die trying. That fence must be ten feet high, topped with barbed wire, and Emmett wonders how many scientists they know of that are athletic enough to even attempt scaling a wall like that.

They preferred to scale theoretical hurdles, not physical.

The cold feeling of dread slithers up his spine. He dismisses it the moment they reach the security checkpoint, telling himself he’s being foolish—the military is involved; everything with them is cloak-and-dagger.

Processing takes an eternity, and Emmett feels a rush of dizziness he can’t quite explain when a thick set of papers are pressed into his hand, followed by a white identification badge that has immortalised his awkwardness in a frozen snapshot of time.

“Housing information’s on the first page. You’ll get used to the layout. Keep that badge with you at all times, Doctor Brown.”

[chernobog13]

Need to get me one of these.

I wonder if they make one for the Moonlight SY-3 as well.

[unexpectedbrickattack]

idk why but you reblogging that ask u did about Peppino performing for Brick reminded me, and I just NEEDED to share this silly idea but... Peppino gardening... just, like, garlic and tomato plants n stuff, it's cheaper than buying all the time, even if he's not exactly growing enough to make that much of a dent in his bills, it's about the PROCESS PEOPLE and just aekssf Peppino in his little garden tending to his little plants and some flowers, it started out as something to help with personal costs but now it's such a soothing activity it's his little zone and he tells no one about it and making a pizza with his own home grown tomatoes just hits different when he's in a real rough mood. just yeah peppino gardening...

WAUGH this is so cute omg…I cant see him growing TOO MUCH bc some veggies are so fucking delicate but garlic seems doable! Same with stuff like basil and thyme and oregano. Its not necessarily low maintenance but you dont need to constantly get expensive resources to maintain them. Maybe he uses SOME of it for his shop but i can definitely see him using most of it for his own cooking bc hes been doing it since he was young, way back when he was still living w his parents (and he just got the habit from them)

I hc him with a small house (that hes forced to use as collateral to keep the shop open) so like, he would definitely have the space to grow some other small veggies like spinach n tomatoes. With his shop failing miserably hes got Plenty of time to at least go out and make sure theyre not dying 😭 But i can see him making it look more lively postgame when hes got the proper funds to keep the shop open. Old man tending to his tiny little garden :) its mindless work really and it keeps his hands busy. When hes more used to Gus and Brick (and any company in general lbr) coming over to visit; Brick helps with gardening too; his hugeass Rat Hands can tear up at the soil way better than Peppino and his little trowel can. And w the shop doing well he can afford to take days off and even open later in the day so he has more time to himself to do other things (like tend to his tiny garden) (or maybe fucking sleep in for once)

[ceo-of-lesbians]

If this post gets 1k reblogs my owner will let me out of the shadow realm

[stagelightwhump]

User's Manual information: Memory Chips

Memory Chips (or just Chips) are similar to microSD cards, and are typically about the size of a stamp, and contain up to an exabyte of data. They are uniformly gray, with no ornamentation, and cannot be taken apart once put together. After being installed into a Unit, the Chip runs a one-time program that prevents the Unit from touching the area the Chip was installed into, to prevent data corruption. There are two things that make Chips unique compared to other data storage devices.

The first is that all data contained on a Chip is converted into one of several lossless, unique formats. For example, a Unit's memories of their "life" before being purchased are stored as .mmry_long, and may contain scent, touch, and location data, among other things. Other formats include mmry_real, for things the Unit has actually experienced, mmry_phys for "muscle memory", and .mmry_cmnd for active or past orders the Unit has received.

The second is that Chips can cleanly be installed into a human brain without causing the Chip's data to corrupt, and without damaging the brain's important functions. Granted, it does cause the brain's memories to be partially overwritten if there's already data on the Chip, but if a Unit comes onto the line with no Chip and a human brain, The Factory isn't going to question it. Its purpose is to create and repair Units, and if something is on the conveyor belt, it must be a Unit, so the overwriting of corrupt memories is considered a feature, not a bug. Not that the repaired Units are able to complain, anyway!

[headlesssamurai]

[so-i-grudgingly-joined-this-site]

Well, today I learned that silverfish can infest electronics. Like, say, your old 3DS you just retrieved and were hoping to play again 😭

[yaboisoph]

[trivialbob]

It’s been about 10 days since I’ve been without a washing machine. Doing a few loads of laundry at a nearby laundromat hasn’t been awful. It doesn’t take long either. The heavy duty machines are fast. I bring the damp, clean clothes home to my dryer or clothesline.

That doesn’t mean I want to do it forever.

I ordered the new washer right after the old one broke and found the repair estimate too high. Buying a new one became my preferred choice. Plus I just wanted something different.

The interminable wait for delivery sucks.

Today is the delivery day! I was assigned a three-hour window. That’s no problem because I’m at home today. I moved both cars into the street. Our jackets got moved away from the top of the stairway down to the basement. I have made sure the path from truck to space next to the dryer is as clear as possible -- so there’s nothing else to delay the installation of my new washing machine.

This afternoon I’ve set aside time to read the manual cover-to-cover. I don’t want to risk not learning about some setting or feature that I will find useful.