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sanguinifex · 1 year ago

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So. It turns out having a full dinner before going bar hopping can actually be a bad thing?

Ok normally when I drink I eat salty snacks. I will go ham on cheezits. I will commit misdemeanors for cheezits. But my grandparents were in town and they bought us really good Mexican food and I got carne asada and their marinade was out of this world and anyway I ate a little too much.

So then I go out drinking with one of my brothers and his girlfriend (she is, btw, generally dangerous to drink with bc she likes shots) and I have like 3 beers and a tequila shot right before the 3rd beer. And I’m not eating cheezits or pickles or jerky or anything bc I’m too full. And after that 3rd beer I start feeling kinda off and sad bc I always loose gross motor coordination p quick when I drink bc I’m absolutely failing at playing cornhole. Note: cornhole is like horseshoes but with beanbags so the throwing technique is different. Yes it sounds like a sex act and no texans don’t care. Anyway I gradually start feeling kind of sick and awful and sort of like I’ve got heat stroke except it’s 1 am so it’s like 80 degrees out and dark except for the bar’s fluorescents so I know it’s not actually heatstroke, I just drank too much liquid and my salt levels are low bc they got diluted.

The worst is part is that knowing what’s going on doesn’t actually stop your brain from going into weepy drunk mode and oversharing about your childhood trauma loud enough to clear out the entire bar. (Admittedly, my brother was there for the entirety of said childhood trauma except for the five years when he literally wasn’t born, and he got it worse than me bc our parents thought he was possessed by demons. Fuck Christianity btw and actually Diocletian didn’t persecute them enough. His girlfriend wasn’t, though, and didn’t really deserve to have to hear me go on about that.) And then I get the worst case of hiccups, which slows me down some but doesn’t entirely manage to shut me up, and then the bar closes bc it’s 2 am and they legally have to, and probably none of us should have been driving but mu brother is semi professional BMX so if anyone’s qualified to drive after 2 beers he is (note: I should not drive so much as a safety style kiddie tricycle after 2 beers, let alone after 3 beers, a shot, and acute salt deficiency. The only reason I have legible handwriting even when sober is because of viet cong level torture involving zaner bloser workbooks), so anyway I’m apologizing the entire way home and literally the only reason I’m not crying is bc I can’t breathe properly when I cry so I’ve trained myself not to…

So anyway I get home, realize that I can’t remember when I actually opened the jars of various pickles in my fridge and I really don’t want to risk botulism, and I swear I’ve got an unopened jar of gherkins in my pantry but I can’t find it bc I’m that fucked up, so in a move that would give the FDA apoplexy, I grab my salt canister and pour about a teaspoon under my tongue without even measuring.

So like, you know what you’re supposed to do with diabetics if their sugar gets to low? Yeah. I did that with salt. And it worked about as dramatically.

Sublingual absorption is fast. I got this salt under my tongue. And in about 5 seconds my brain is already clearing a bit but my frenulum is starting to get a chemical burn. Also that was probably slightly too much salt. So I grab a mug and rinse the salt down with water.

15 seconds after that, bc I dissolved most of the salt with the water and bc the human stomach and intestines have special subconscious sensors for how much salt you’ve got in you, I’m my normal happy drunk self thatI usually am after 4 standard drinks. Like, I’m still drunk as fuck, but I love everyone and I text my brother and his girlfriend to tell them I’m ok and send them about 50 heart emojis.

Tl:dr if you’re drinking and you start to feel inexplicably sad, ask your bartender for a spoonful of salt and a water bottle. And if you’re a bartender, keep salt around and offer it to sad drunks.

Also, be smarter than me and order vodka pickle juice after your second drink even if you’re really craving hops.

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homestuck-human-generator · 2 years ago

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Name: Miss Jose Mutton Color: Porcelain #Fffefc Symbol: snap pea Strife Specibus: forkkind Handle: tanGnome Animal: crow Pronouns: he/him Age: 17 Birthday: 202th day of the year Sexuality: prone to company of the same gender Interests: BMX and vintage cars Dream Moon: prospit Classpect: Knight of Space Land: Land of Salt and Sapphires, a shame-filled place, with zany Spiny Softshell Turtle consorts. It is a place full of faith and geysers of acid. Hyperion hungers. Instrument: metallophone via homestuck-human-generator https://ift.tt/s17oAI0

#IFTTT #oc generator #homestuck

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avialbikes · 3 years ago

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The Pipegun #1 from Tozz Bike – made its debut at the Design Week Turkey. It will be riding on 20” Eclat rims wrapped in red Salt Tracer BMX tires. The model with a 250-W Bafang hub motor produces 45 Nm of torque, has a top speed of 25 km/h https://newatlas.com/urban-transport/tozz-pipegun-electric-kickbike/

#escooter #electricscooter #e-scooter #scooterdesign

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colossal-fallout · 4 years ago

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Not sure if this is a request, a suggestion or just me being a crackhead BUT! An AU where the AOT guys are British lads.

Haaaaa. Dear me.

Brit boys

Warnings: Slight smut mentions.

Eren would definitely be one of those really annoying "made in Chelsea" types. With his man bun and overly complicated Starbucks order in hand, strutting around in a hoody that was over his bare chest to show off his pecks.

He's the misfit of the group though. Even in his rich kid, my-dads-a-doctor friend group, he's hot headed and tends to get into arguments.

Likes to order complicated food items then send them back. For no reason.

Will pretend he likes football just to feel like "one of the lads"

Will fuck you in a toilet cubicle in a nightclub.

Armin is in uni studying either medicine, finance or biology. Really could be anything.

He's shy and quiet til he loses his virginity and comes out of his shell a lot more.

Definite vitamin D deficiency from being cooped up studying all day.

His guilty pleasure is watching Emmerdale and EastEnders.

Reiner plays rugby and is fucking good at it too. He can shoulder barge a guy pretty far.

Loves a beer at the pub with his mates, salted nuts and crisps being his only nourishment for hours.

Surprisingly soft and quiet though like the manga. A real gentle giant.

Reiner is a sucker for a dirty kebab on a night out.

Jean. Pretty boy. Always with the selfies and Instagram. HASHTAG HUMBLE BRAG.

Made some food? Instagram. Walkim his dog? Oh youd better believe that's going on Instagram.

Adores love island.

Netflix and chilling on his own is his bread and butter. He acts all big, but really he's too nervous to pull a leash never mind a woman.

Says; "Right." With pursed lips whenever he gets up to go anywhere or do anything.

Connie is riding his BMX through the streets in a hoody and a cigarette in his mouth.

Loves drinking in the local park and having a laugh with his crew. Blasting rave from his phone and being too loud.

Will finger his gf in the bushes.

Stinks of weed but is still scared of his parents so avoids them when he's been out with his friends.

Zeke is that weirdo on the corner who sells cigarettes to school kids.

Always on some form of drug. Weed. Coke. LSD... You name it.

Has those hippy cloth tapestry things on his walls.

Never has a shirt on. His clothes smell like foist anyway.

Can't find him at a house party? He'll be in the kitchen playing a random guitar and telling everyone how he shagged a woman while he was traveling, both off their face on drugs and it was the best experience of his life.

Theses were actually really fun 😂

#snk #attack on titan #snk imagines #snk season 4 #snk headcanons #reiner braun #snk fandom #attack on titan reiner #zeke snk #zeke yeager #attack on titan eren #eren yeager #connie springer #jean headcanons #attack on titan jean #snk jean #jean kirstein #snk eren #connie snk

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jenniferisacommonname · 4 years ago

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Bonus Level Unlocked

This week marks the release of Jason Schreier’s Press Reset, an incredibly well-researched book on catastrophic business failure in the gaming industry. Jason’s a good dude, and there’s an excerpt here if you want to check it out. Sadly, game companies going belly-up is such a common occurrence that he couldn’t possibly include them all, and one of the stories left out due to space constraints is one that I happen to be personally familiar with. So, I figured I’d tell it here.

I began working at Acclaim Studios Austin as a sound designer in January of 2000. It was a tumultuous period for the company, including a recent rebranding from their former studio name, “Iguana Entertainment,” and a related, ongoing lawsuit from the ex-founder of Iguana. There were a fair number of ghosts hanging around—the creative director’s license plate read IGUANA, which he never changed, and one of the meeting rooms held a large, empty terrarium—but the studio had actually been owned on paper by Acclaim since 1995, and I didn’t notice any conflicting loyalties. Everyone acted as if we always had been, and always would be, Acclaim employees.

Over the next few years I worked on a respectable array of triple-A titles, including Quarterback Club 2002, Turok: Evolution, and All-Star Baseball 2002 through 2005. (Should it be “All-Stars Baseball,” like attorneys general? Or perhaps a term of venery, like “a zodiac of All-Star Baseball.”) At any rate, it was a fun place to work, and a platformer of hijinks ensued.

But let’s skip to the cutscene. The truth is that none of us in the trenches suspected the end was near until it was absolutely imminent. Yes, Turok: Evolution and Vexx had underperformed, especially when stacked against the cost of development, but games flop in the retail market all the time. And, yes, Showdown: Legends of Wrestling had been hustled out the door before it was ready for reasons no one would explain, and the New York studio’s release of a BMX game featuring unlockable live-action stripper footage had been an incredibly weird marketing ploy for what should have been a straightforward racing title. (Other desperate gimmicks around this time included a £6,000 prize for UK parents who would name their baby “Turok,” an offer to pay off speeding tickets to promote Burnout 2 that quickly proved illegal, and an attempt to buy advertising space on actual tombstones for a Shadow Man sequel.)

But the baseball franchise was an annual moneymaker, and our studio had teams well into development on two major new licenses, 100 Bullets and The Red Star. Enthusiasm was on the upswing. Perhaps I should have paid closer attention when voice actors started calling me to complain that they hadn’t been paid, but at the time it seemed more like a bureaucratic failure than an actual money shortage—and frankly, it was a little naïve of them to expect net-30 in the first place. Industry standard was, like, net-90 at best. So I was told.

Then one Friday afternoon, a few department managers got word that we’d kind of maybe been skipping out on the building lease for let’s-not-admit-how-many months. By Monday morning, everyone’s key cards had been deactivated.

It's a little odd to arrive at work and find a hundred-plus people milling around outside—even odder, I suppose, if your company is not the one being evicted. Acclaim folks mostly just rolled their eyes and debated whether to cut our losses and head to lunch now, while employees of other companies would look dumbfounded and fearful before being encouraged to push their way through the crowd and demonstrate their still-valid key card to the security guard. Finally, the General Manager (hired only a few months earlier, and with a hefty relocation bonus to accommodate his houseboat) announced that we should go home for the day and await news. Several of our coworkers were veterans of the layoff process—like I said, game companies go under a lot—and one of them had already created a Yahoo group to communicate with each other on the assumption that we’d lose access to our work email. A whisper of “get on the VPN and download while you can” rippled through the crowd.

But the real shift in tone came after someone asked about a quick trip inside for personal items, and the answer was a hard, universal “no.” We may have been too busy or ignorant to glance up at any wall-writing, but the building management had not been: they were anticipating a full bankruptcy of the entire company. In that situation, all creditors have equal standing to divide up a company's assets in lengthy court battles, and most get a fraction of what they’re owed. But if the landlords had seized our office contents in lieu of rent before the bankruptcy was declared, they reasoned, then a judge might rule that they had gotten to the treasure chest first, and could lay claim to everything inside as separate from the upcoming asset liquidation.

Ultimately, their gambit failed, but the ruling took a month to settle. In the meantime, knick knacks gathered dust, delivered packages piled up, food rotted on desks, and fish tanks became graveyards. Despite raucous protest from every angle—the office pets alone generated numerous threats of animal cruelty charges—only one employee managed to get in during this time, and only under police escort. He was a British citizen on a work visa, and his paperwork happened to be sitting on his desk, due to expire. Without it, he was facing literal deportation. Fortunately, a uniformed officer took his side (or perhaps just pre-responded to what was clearly a misdemeanor assault in ovo,) and after some tense discussion, the building manager relented, on the condition that the employee touch absolutely nothing beyond the paperwork in question. The forms could go, but the photos of his children would remain.

It’s also a little odd, by the way, to arrive at the unemployment office and find every plastic chair occupied by someone you know. Even odder, I suppose, if you’re actually a former employee of Acclaim Studios Salt Lake, which had shut down only a month or two earlier, and you just uprooted your wife and kids to a whole new city on the assurance that you were one of the lucky ones who got to stay employed. Some of them hadn’t even finished unpacking.

Eventually, we were allowed to enter the old office building one at a time and box up our things under the watchful eye of a court appointee, but by then our list of grievances made the landlords’ ploy seem almost quaint by comparison (except for the animals, which remains un-fucking-forgivable.) We had learned, for example, that in the weeks prior to the bankruptcy, our primary lender had made an offer of $15 million—enough to keep us solvent through our next batch of releases, two of which had already exited playtesting and were ready to be burned and shipped. The only catch was that the head of the board, company founder Greg Fischbach, would have to step down. This was apparently too much of an insult for him to stomach, and he decided that he'd rather see everything burn to the ground. The loan was refused.

Other “way worse than we thought” details included gratuitous self-dealing to vendors owned by board members, the disappearance of expensive art from the New York offices just before closure, and the theft of our last two paychecks. For UK employees, it was even more appalling: Acclaim had, for who knows how long, been withdrawing money from UK paychecks for their government-required pension funds, but never actually putting the money into the retirement accounts. They had stolen tens of thousands of dollars directly from each worker.

Though I generally reside somewhere between mellow and complete doormat on the emotional spectrum, I did get riled enough to send out one bitter email—not to anyone in corporate, but to the creators of a popular webcomic called Penny Arcade, who, in the wake of Acclaim’s bankruptcy announcement, published a milquetoast jibe about Midway’s upcoming Area 51. I told Jerry (a.k.a. “Tycho”) that I was frankly disappointed in their lack of cruelty, and aired as much dirty laundry as I was privy to at the time.

“Surely you can find a comedic gem hidden somewhere in all of this!” I wrote. “Our inevitable mocking on PA has been a small light at the end of a very dark, very long tunnel. Please at least allow us the dignity of having a smile on our faces while we wait in line for food stamps.”

Two days later, a suitably grim comic did appear, implying the existence of a new release from Acclaim whose objective was to run your game company into the ground. In the accompanying news post, Tycho wrote:

“We couldn’t let the Acclaim bankruptcy go without comment, though we initially let it slide thinking about the ordinary gamers who lost their jobs there. They don’t have anything to do with Acclaim’s malevolent Public Relations mongrels, and it wasn’t they who hatched the Titty Bike genre either. Then, we remembered that we have absolutely zero social conscience and love to say mean things.”

Another odd experience, by the way, is digging up a 16-year-old complaint to a webcomic creator for nostalgic reference when you offer that same creator a promotional copy of the gaming memoir you just co-wrote with Sid Meier. Even odder, I suppose, to realize that the original non-Acclaim comic had been about Area 51, which you actually were hired to work on yourself soon after the Acclaim debacle.*

As is often the case in complex bankruptcies, the asset liquidation took another six years to fully stagger its way through court—but in 2010, we did, surprisingly, get the ancient paychecks we were owed, plus an extra $1,700-ish for the company’s apparent violation of the WARN Act. By then, I had two kids and a very different life, for which the money was admittedly helpful. Sadly, Acclaim’s implosion probably isn’t even the most egregious one on record. Our sins were, to my knowledge, all money-related, and at least no one was ever sexually assaulted in our office building. Again, to my knowledge. On the other hand, I’m pretty sure we remain the only historical incident of corporate pet murder. The iguana got out just in time.

*Area 51’s main character was voiced by David Duchovny, and he actually got paid—which was lucky for him, because three years later, Midway also declared bankruptcy.

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snakebitebmx · 5 years ago

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Head over to the @fitbikeco website to find out how you could win @nightwolfslc bike he filmed Anthem 2 on! Proceeds will go towards @poshwoods & @cattywoods #bmx #midschoolbmx #oldschoolbmx #snakebitebmx #fitbikeco #nightwolf #mikeaitken (at Salt Lake City, Utah) https://www.instagram.com/p/B8hwrd1FSEb/?igshid=1lz7szo1dt55o

#bmx #midschoolbmx #oldschoolbmx #snakebitebmx #fitbikeco #nightwolf #mikeaitken

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kingsrideshop · 5 years ago

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Salt Plus Summit Freecoaster wheel.. coastin on a budget. #kingsrideshop #bmx (at Kings Rideshop) https://www.instagram.com/p/B4Lii9MAmo3/?igshid=1cnez8ucf2xlg

#kingsrideshop #bmx

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xfpornbattle · 6 years ago

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Thicker Than Water

The opening chapters of an AU, for the fan fiction contest!

The open ocean was chaotic. Currents and eddies, tides and storms all competed to push masses of water hither and yon. But sometimes the forces of nature lined up just so, exerting pressure like the cupped hand of God and sent an extraordinary wave rolling towards shore. And if you were there when it rose, glassine and swan-necked, holding itself proudly in the air for what seemed both an instant and an eternity too long before ending its voyage by crashing on an empty beach; well, it was as close to perfect as life for a luckless earth-bound fool could get.

…..

Kate didn’t know the first thing about surfing, but she knew beauty when she saw it. The morning fog kept the air chilly and close to her skin, and she wrapped her sweater tightly around her slight frame. The surf was breaking hard against the beach, rumours of a storm far out to sea that would not reach land for days yet. She loved the ocean for its moods, and for its reticence. You could not tell by looking at it what was going on beneath.

Because of the violence of the waves, only a handful of surfers were out, and most of those were sitting or standing in small groups along the water line, waiting for a sign that the effort to paddle out would be rewarded with more than a torn leash. Out towards the horizon, just before the break that signaled the reef that protected Bonares Bay, a figure in a black wetsuit bobbed on the heaving surface like an oversize cormorant. She wondered if he was in danger, perhaps paddling out into waves he could not handle, but the surfers along the beach seemed unconcerned.

Enjoying the invigorating salt air and the sandy grit between her toes, she was late to notice the change in mood amongst the onlookers. Those that had been sitting now stood, and those who had been standing craned their necks. No-one spoke, and she heard the tone of the waves change as though the sea was moving from a major to a minor key. Following their gaze, she witnessed a wave nearly twice the height of the rest begin its procession into land.

The lone surfer was in perfect position, and he took full advantage. As the peak of the wave began to curl, he ducked his head and crouched in the barrel. Even from where she stood, she could see his right hand caressing the wall of water like it was a living thing. His speed was remarkable, and it seemed mere moments before the wave carried him closer to the beach. From that distance she could see the triumphant smile on his face before he sprang off his board, over the top of the dying wave, and headfirst into the water. The onlookers let out a murmur of approval bordering on the devotional.

She watched to see if he would paddle back out, but he was already waist-deep, carrying his surfboard towards shore near where she was standing, watching. He met her gaze then, and his eyes were the exact shade of the water behind him. He carelessly flicked his sea-soaked hair off his face and gave her a polite nod of acknowledgement. Her heart stuttered in a truly adolescent fashion. Angry at herself, she pursed her lips and started to walk in the opposite direction, refusing to look back for several minutes, by which point he was gone.

…..

The antiseptic neutrality of the hospital at UC San Diego exploded into a riotous circus of Mylar balloons and finger-painted wall art as she entered the pediatric ward. Ignoring the glances of the ward nurses, she strode directly for the cozy doctor’s lounge.

“What’s the meaning of this, Daniel?” She flourished her work iPad, too quick for him to actually read the damning words on the screen, but he’d know what she was talking about. As professional colleagues at least they’d never had any difficulty communicating.

“Given your state of moral outrage, I imagine you know exactly what the meaning is. And hello to you too, Katherine,” he mocked.

“You put me in charge of her care, Daniel. I explained the course of treatment to her parents. And then for you to countermand my decision and undermine my authority without so much as a…” she broke off, aware that she was bordering on the hysterical, which her mentor would no doubt call out.

“You never were aggressive enough, Kate. Miss Sims is an excellent candidate for a more radical approach. She represents the best chance we have to put my pediatric cardiology unit on the map, and..”

“She’s a little girl!” she interrupted, earning her a dark scowl. “She’s a little girl, Daniel,” she continued more quietly, “and you are an arrogant man.” She spun on her heel and strode back down the long hallway, not cheered in the least the tiny handprints and primitive suns in bright primary colours.

…..

Bonares Bay couldn’t really call itself a town, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t busy. Stretched out over thirty miles of windswept pines, the majority of its inhabitants were members of the local Native American band, interspersed with a motley collection of hippies, hermits, surfers and outcasts. The social hub of this odd assortment was the band community centre, and it was there that her office was located. From nine until three on weekdays and anytime outside those hours when an emergency arose, her job was to tend to the medical needs, both mundane and calamitous, of the approximately two thousand people that called Bonares Bay home.

She hadn’t given much thought to the details when she saw the small job ad at the back of a medical journal she subscribed to. All she’d seen was a chance to escape an untenable situation, and she’d leapt before she looked in truly uncharacteristic fashion. Now that she’d been doing the job for a couple weeks, it was clear that her role including everything from amateur psychology to delivering babies that wouldn’t wait for the ninety minute drive to the nearest hospital in Crescent City. She could hear her father’s voice, bemoaning the waste of her top tier cardiology internship on the people of this forgotten coastline. But for the first time in a long time, she slept soundly at night, her mocking dreams driven away by the murmur of the endless surf breaking outside her open window.

“Doc! We’ve got someone here who needs you.”

The voice of Gerry, the social worker cum administrator whose office was adjacent to her own, intruded on her vagrant thoughts. Looking towards the door, she could see Gerry and another man half-supporting, half-carrying a black-haired adolescent boy with an open gash across his temple. The boy’s right arm hung oddly from its socket, and she diagnosed his dislocated shoulder before he was seated on her examining table.

“What happened to him?” She directed this at Gerry, who shrugged and looked at the other man, now standing in the door to her office. Focussing on him for the first time, she realized with a start that he was the surfer she’d been watching the previous morning. He was dressed in cut-off shorts and a technical t-shirt, his brown hair damp with sweat. Despite his apparel and the situation, her first impression was that he seemed composed, and possibly even mildly amused.

“Well, I didn’t see the whole thing go down, but as I understand it, Noah here felt that he’d have a better chance of scoring a date to junior prom if he could do a backflip on his dirtbike. So he was practicing on the BMX course out behind Old Man Stan’s. I happened to be running by when I heard the crunch of bones meeting metal.”

“How’d you get him from Stan’s to here?” Gerry couldn’t help asking.

“Flagged down a delivery truck on the main road.”

Grunting, Gerry looked over at the teenager, who was now looking embarrassed as well as ashen, and made his way out of the room. The other man grinned at Noah, and then seemed ready to leave himself.

“Excuse me …” she hesitated, not knowing his name.

“William.”

“Doctor Scully.” He tipped his head towards the nameplate on her door, and she blushed, feeling unaccountably tongue-tied in his presence.

“What does the K. stand for?”

“Katherine. Kate.”

“Well, Katherine Kate, I have a run to finish, unless you need me here for anything. I don’t think there’s any paperwork that needs to be filled out for pubescent stupidity, otherwise Sheriff Long would be snowed under.” He once again broke out in a lazy smile, and she had a flashback of his wetsuit-clad form leaping into the waves in joy.

“Actually …. I could use your help. His shoulder is obviously dislocated, and it would be a lot easier to pop it back into joint if you were holding him.”

Noah has been looking anxiously between their two faces, but their conversation flowed around him. William inserted himself between the patient and the office wall, bracing his back and clasping his right arm across the front of the boy’s chest, trying not to jar his injured shoulder. Sensing his unease, the older man began to talk, as she prepared to manoeuvre her patient’s arm back into place.

“So, who’s the girl?”

“Huh?”

“Miss I’ll Date You If You Can Do A Backflip?”

“Oh, uh, Daisy. Daisy George.” Noah couldn’t concentrate on both William’s inquiries and the doctor’s preparations, and quite frankly, the inquiries were a lot more pleasant. She shot a look of gratitude before moving purposefully to leverage the boy’s humerus so that it once again nestled against his scapula. The grinding noise of bone against cartilage, a pop and a few muttered curses later, and the deed was done.

She began testing the reflexes of his right hand, checking for nerve damage. Besides the heavy pants of the boy trying to stay on top of his pain, the room was silent, but she knew William hadn’t left yet. She looked up from her iPad once she’d entered in some basic information.

“Thank you again…”

“William,” he reminded her with his perpetually bemused expression.

“Yes, thank you, William. I’ll make sure Noah here gets a ride home. You probably want to get back to your run.”

He nodded and made for the door, then turned back to Noah.

“Daisy with the three older brothers and the…” he gestured towards his chest as though he was about to juggle grapefruit. Noah grinned and nodded.

“Best get used to pain then, son.” And he left without another word.

…..

The water closed above his diving body like a silken envelope, clasping him in its diffuse embrace. The air had been cool, but he was bare-skinned except for his trunks and flippers, not even a face mask to distort his view of the cyan world that admitted him without ceremony.

He descended, lungs already starting to burn as he worked against the buoyancy of his body. He both hated and accepted the battle, understanding the toll it demanded.

The deeper he swam, the greater the call grew to return to the surface, and the more he longed to stay. It was peaceful, in the womb of the ocean. A place without noise, but not silent. Without illumination, and yet not dark. The birthplace of all things, and the grave of the one thing he held dear.

#Category: AU #fic contest #SFW

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ryoflame · 6 years ago

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Welcome to Melburn Roobaix!

Any cyclist worth their salt knows about Paris-Roubaix, the gruelling French race known for its difficulty, danger and cobblestones. Well sometime ago (forever, if you believe them) the wonderful people at FYXO decided Melbourne, my home city, needed it’s own version of the race.

They took the seriousness down a notch, tracked a route through our fair city totalling about 50km, gave everyone scavenger hunt-style question sheets to fill out en route–and this year was the first year I gave it a go.

Loads more photos below!

I had bought a ticket to the Melburn Roobaix at the last minute; it was something I’d been trying to decide on for a while and it was only when a close friend of mine said she’d do it with me that I decided to take the plunge. Recently I’d been lucky enough to get my hands on a beautiful road bike that was absolutely worth more than what I paid for it, and I’d owned this bike for a week before deciding to put it through the gruelling 50km event.

Juicy!

The FYXO team wanted to create an event that would be a challenge, while at the same time remaining fun, tongue-in-cheek and family friendly. There was a less devastating ‘petite Roobaix’ for parents with young kids, but I was amazed to see a lot of kids 10-15 giving it a red hot try on BMX bikes or road bikes of their own. Families were out and about together and it was awesome to see.

A big part of it was the dressing up aspect, too! They encouraged costumes and crazy bikes, so we saw everything from a cardboard Pac Man being chased by an equally cardboard Ghost, to a Mad Hatter and Alice in Wonderland on a tandem bicycle with the dormouse in a basket on the back, to the full team of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

All with bike helmets, of course. Safety first!

Loads of people had poured creativity into their outfits and I felt a little under-dressed! As I’d come in so late I hadn’t planned for anything except my signature citrus-y vibe which I made sure to bring in with me. Melbourne had treated us with the perfect weather for cycling; the sun was out and the air was brisk, just perfect for getting warmed up with a nice bike ride.

There was a crazy amount of people on the starting field, more than I had expected to be there. We were soon picking up our starter kit which had our map, our question sheet and loads of fun little goodies like a sticker pack and pen, other Roobaix bits and bobs.

We headed off sometime just after 9:30am on this brisk and hectic Sunday morning.

One thing I quickly noticed; Melburn Roobaix was a fantastic way to see a city that I had lived in for years, yet somehow had never properly explored. We started off along a beautiful river trail I had always admired from a distance, winding through gorgeous forest area, that I had always thought to myself I’ll ride that bike path one day.

Even once we hit the streets we went down laneways and through areas I had never previously visited–had a reason to visit–and there was so much to see and do! So many gorgeous old buildings and great little cafes!

There were so many riders doing the Roobaix that you were really never on a stretch of road on your own, there was always a group of cyclists within eyesight somewhere, which was very useful if you lost track of where the signage was. It varied between actual signs with arrows pointing in the right direction stuck to things and stencilled arrows on the pavement, but neither were very frequent which led people to pause in their cycling trek to often check their maps, or simply to follow the cyclists who seemed to know where they were going..

If you were set on completing your scavenger hunt questionnaire you had to pay even closer attention though… where was the answer to that darn question?!

At many places there would be clusters of cyclists stopped, whether they were reassessing the route, grabbing a much-needed drink, fixing their bikes or just having a good rest. My cycling buddy and I didn’t want to stop anywhere too early because we figured once you got to sitting down it would be much harder to get yourself moving again! There were lots of cafes and rest places along the set route and we saw stacks of bicycles at each one.

One of the cafes was also a scavenger hunt answer, with two other answers nearby, and it was one of the most popular spots for people to stop for this reason. It was also a solid third of the way into the run, and by this point we decided we’d deserved a rest; by now it was getting to 12pm so we’d been cycling pretty solidly for two hours.

Can you spot me?

I had packed food for myself which I had brought with me, but I couldn’t resist a small reward in a maple and brown sugar glazed donut and a tasty soy chai. While we rested I also took the opportunity to eat my homemade peanut-butter and jam sandwich, which was definitely needed, and immediately felt renewed! Peanut butter gave me the protein I needed, the yummy seeded bread the carbs and the jam was a bit of a sugar kick to get me going again.

Up until this point we’d had a few small laneways of cobblestones which had been uncomfortable. The largest stretches of cobbles came in the second half and boy were they unpleasant!

The cobblestones are a defining characteristic of the Roobaix so we had kinda known what we’d be in for, but that didn’t make them any easier to traverse. I was on my roadbike, a carbon-framed beast that weighed next to nothing with tyres barely wider than the width of my finger; this is a bike suited to smooth flat streets and not the uneven terror of cobbled laneways.

Every time my bike’s tyres skidded on stone my heart stopped for a fraction of a second as I tried to straighten myself up. My cycling buddy’s bike was heavier with thicker tyers and fared much better, but I really had to take it easy on these stretches and concentrate as even the slightest lapse in judgement was going to send me crashing to the ground.

Not gonna lie, pretty terrifying.

It was getting tougher with every additional stretch of cobbles too, they seemed to go on forever sometimes and then even when we ended up on smooth surfaces my butt and arms were so sore (the latter from tension mostly, trying to maintain steering) that I hardly seemed to find any kind of rest. Plus we still had a lot of ground to cover!!

Honestly, my favourite part? Watching where the cyclists congregated. Seeing everyone just getting along doing the same thing, stopping for coffee or a beer, stopping along the side of the road and chatting with strangers and sharing tips, scavenger hunt answers and directions. There was a sense of camaraderie, mutual understanding and overall fun. There were people of all ages, going at all kinds of paces. Even when we didn’t stop at the same place as other people, seeing them as we rode by all having a jolly old time was an uplifting experience that energised me and kept me going.

That, and I had a cycling buddy. I don’t think I would have had nearly as much fun if I hadn’t had someone to share it all with, so a big thanks to my bestie who is always there to come with me through my crazy adventures, you’re the best!

More importantly, WE DID IT!

Here we are at Brunswick Velodrome, the finish line of the Roobaix, which we hit just after 3pm which meant we’d been out and about for approx. five and a half hours. By the time we got there the sun had disappeared, the wind had picked up and we were cold and exhausted but we had DONE IT! We took advantage of the tasty food trucks at the finish line before taking our bikes for one last cycle to the train station to head home (it was too cold for anything else!).

It was overall an amazing experience and one that I’m really glad I got to do, even if it was a super last minute decision. I’ll definitely be doing next year’s, and I’ll definitely work on a costume for it!!

Sadly I had forgotten to activate my Fitbit at the beginning so I have no tracked map in my phone, but my stats do say I have 289min of cycling clocked up all up for that day, cut in half by our lunch stop at around 12pm. I think that’s a bloody good outcome!!

See you next year, Melburn Roobaix!!

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spongythedollyteapartyfan-blog · 2 years ago

Text

“muriels wedding: movie 1995 australian content review without the words mureiels wedding review

---- ---- is a 1994 Australian comedy-drama film written and directed by P.J. Hogan. The film, which stars Toni Collette, Rachel Griffiths, ...Music by: Peter BestCountry: AustraliaProduction companies: CiBy 2000; ‎Film Victoria‎; ...‎Distributed by: Roadshow Entertainment‎P. J. Hogan · ‎Jeanie Drynan · ‎Sophie Lee · ‎Matt Day

pre information about ---- -- curruption and control in austrlain New south wales polictis since 1788 , 1888

, 1988,

the idea, that all the shit hole money and corruption funnels through the shit holes of austrlaia , sydney australia, and the gold coast of australia is the perfect exaple of people trafficked and controlle din australia

traafficked children, involved in the vcover up oif austrlain banking sector and bank regualtions , de regulated so the governeemt could control the child trafficked industry of sports and illegal activity,

and now Brisbane will have the 2032 olympics,

well i sure wont be here when the trafficked peopel arrive in Brisbane for the 2032 Olympics

the plot line of curruption starts in the bank and the future funds, the coeeuption starts in medal relays, sport s events and the best students get harvested

that the gold coast australia as the most trafficked children in australia

is the fan base and the industry of trafficking is right here,

of most of the altheltics displaced and travelled and commercialised sale of atheletes of australia, we have the national gymnastics, swimming, golf hockey football, league, and BMX biking in the state of Queensland

the white water rafting was alwasy a Canberra thing, actually canberra is the next highest ho tbed of illegal activity that is legalised,

the prime minster scoott morrison active in illegal activiet sold austrlain chioldren off, cos he is now under nvestigation with a royal crown review, held by the King of Englansd, into austrlain active child trafficking by the prime minister trafficked racing competition of other political mafia hit men,

area of australia, as well Canbera has the institute of s sport, which is convientent as its the snow, horse riding, running and humidity and elevation training centre before they went to a high elevation town of mexico or even in atlanta and when the winter olympics was in the highest mountians in americs , in salt lake city,

so, the plot line of --- --- is about the ABBA life, the fantasitc , idealation of stalkign songs, which are mostly the songs that are technically banned by current cultral songs,

currently the songs which are about the sport and high achiver idelation are hte themes, of going for the win, take the win,

the idoliation of business as a marraige

the theme of the fakeness of marriage as a device for fraud,

the governeemnt owns all fruad

and how before 1994, the australian dream was about being fake, retire to the gold coast, the miami , the beach see side retirement otwn of Australia

. its how we got onto the topic , of pre australia, white australian, 90 % white catholic, christian, 6 room houses 4 bedrooms , one bathroom for 6 people at a birthday party weekend of typical australain life, in 1993

depicting 1993 annoucement of the year 2000 Sydney OLympics in australia

24 September 1993 Breadcrumbs politics.

it is all tied together, the politics and curruption and child trafficked athletics

International Olympic Committee (IOC) President Juan Antonio Samaranch memorably announced on 24 September 1993 that Sydney would host the Games of the XXVII Olympiad in 2000. At their conclusion, in September 2000, he proclaimed them to be 'the best Olympic Games ever'

the plot line is about a young australain couple who fke fall in love and the internaitonal attention of the popularity of being autralian in time to be australian in time to be ready for the summer olympics

and he curruption happens

so over all in the 7 years since the movie was made, released and the summer olympics happened in year 2000

over, ��400 athetes from overseas wanted to deffect

beacuse to be a fke australian was a 10 quesiton tst to know about australia,

defect form their own country to be a fake british, american canandian australia, which over the past 7 years, form 1993 to 2000, 200 countries changed governeemtns 7 times, and also in australai,we were so fake, our politiicans could even get their dicks out of politics, the last governer general hea dof law in australia is now written off and wa sinvleved in the cocains chiold traficking industry more then the high court judgesin actual austrlaia,

since 1993, no serving prime miniter or elected official has served a full term in office sicne 1993,, the past primininisters requires sex with the best althetes over the pat 50 years, peopel tried ot leave the traffiked culture

even, every chilkd wants to leave, but the parents tlel us its the way its the way to be taken its the australian way to be taken by the bank mamager the sport of traffiking , we couldn t even escape it at age 30, age 40

sort of seripus, that the theory for curruptions, politics and 2000 olympics, in a movie made after the 1993 announcement that Sydney would get the olympics topic of austrlain curruption,

and then, now, 23 years after the quick build of the games venues, was that none of the buildings are up to 2023 standasrds because they were palanned in 1993, but built in 1999 , built in 1 year before the olympics, and the concrete and metal and pre fabicated construction was so underfunded and deplorable, that, the buildings were demolished in 2015

and here we ar ein Brisbane we have 7 years itl 2032 olympics,and we are here having poeple tell the austhorities ot keep the old year 1982 venues ,

the building are 100 years old now

the idelaisation of the old system

the bank secotr, and the insurance,

the management of the trafficked curruption

effected the time lien of substandard busildings,

which sort of represents the ideal of the plot line of the movie, syndey the great curroptions land of australia

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kunstformbmx · 7 years ago

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thecoroutfitters · 6 years ago

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Written by R. Ann Parris on The Prepper Journal.

In the prepper world, we hear “two is one, one is none”. We don’t want to get carried away with it when we’re packing a rucksack, but it provides positive redundancy for our preparations. If something happens to the primary – from a plan to a tangible item – we have a backup right there, already on hand.

There’s a difference between an alternative and a backup, though. It’s subtle, but significant enough to hugely affect how well we navigate upsets.

We see backups in all areas of preparedness and the self-reliant lifestyles many try to cultivate.

If our pressure canner uses rubber rings, we try to keep an extra on hand.

We stock seeds in case we can’t buy more or buy food in a supermarket, and if we’re frugal we stock multiple years’ seeds separately in case there’s a problem with the last-purchased or last-harvested seed supply.

We map out multiple routes for our vehicles, in case one is blocked.

We keep a light and a speed loader, stripper clip, or spare mag with our EDC or creak-in-the-night firearms.

If we’re into tactical load outs, we carry a primary rifle or carbine, with reloads, and have a sidearm on our waist, leg, or chest where it’s handy if our primary runs dry or goes down at a really bad time. I might even have backups for both primary and sidearm back home.

Right There with Backups, is Having alternates

Alternates are somewhat different from “just” a backup. A backup is the same thing, or nearly the same thing, which functions the same way. An alternate is different, largely or entirely.

Following the examples above…

In addition to my pressure canner – and grid-down ways to bring it to and keep it at pressure – I might also make plans to preserve foods by dehydrating, cold smoking, or salt packing.

I might not only have backup seeds, I might have alternates – faster-growing hybrids of the same type, as well as foreign domesticated crops and-or wild edibles.

I might maintain lists of bus and subway/train schedules, stations, and stops, and cash/tokens for them, a bike, and an ATV to get around suburban and rural obstacles. I might also have packs or small carts for my animals and myself so we can flee on foot.

Instead of planning to repel all borders with direct confrontation if our retreat is noticed, we might have made plans to make the house look already-hit, create passive discomforts, make it difficult to reach, and have actual booby traps as our last line.

Instead of a rifle/carbine, some situations might call for me or a partner to carry a shotgun – which are themselves loaded with alternate options.

I might also keep one specifically loaded with rubber shot, rock salt, bean bags, net, or some other less-than-lethal option for chasing pests out of my garden or breaking up a dog fight.

Instead of or with a gun, I might have a souped-up flashlight that functions like a mini baseball bat. Other alternatives to an EDC pistol might be a taser bug, retractable asp, or a coin roll in a hanky.

Alternatives as Well as Backups Apply Across all of Preparedness

If we flip the switch and there’s no power, we might have solar-charged and standard battery lamps to go with candles and oil lamps for light. We might augment solar and standard batteries with hand-cranked radios or lanterns, which can also function as chargers for other battery devices, or have a generator – and, upping the game of alternatives, a gennie that runs on multiple fuels.

We might have squeeze-activated ice packs we can blow a battery-operated fan across to combat heat stress, and plan for canopy beds and grown-up blanket forts to help reduce the amount of heat we need to stay warm.

We might have dark bags and solar ovens, propane stoves and grills, and various candle stoves for cooking.

We might have Pepto for whatever our water and food storage does to our guts, Imodium and Dulcolax as a backup, as well as some alternative maintenance and treatments for minor cases like prunes, tea/coffee, and dates, and mild farina/rice cereals, applesauce, and protein drink mix.

In our bags, vehicles, and homes we store not only water that’s ready to consume, but also chemical treatments and filters, and vessels we can fill if our primary springs a leak.

Super Sources

Hunting is one area ripe with alternatives for our plans and supplies. There’s already wide evidence and experience for us to weigh according to our own priorities, with gear and techniques full of alternatives just waiting to redeploy by preppers.

There’s that trusty standard shotgun, and all its options, but many hunters have a deer or pig rifle – sometimes instead, but regularly in addition to that shotgun.

Some have both a short, heavy-hitting, stable-flight brush gun and something designed to reach out across ridges, prairies, desert, or pasture. Others choose middle-road calibers that offer cartridge variety to cover multiple bases.

Some have a bow or crossbow for archery seasons. Others hunt very effectively with rim fires and airguns.

Some of those give us alternatives to big booms with a silent, effective killer and all the benefits they can have for a homesteader, hunter, and anyone else trying to avoid attention. Some give us alternatives to a shoulder-thumping Recoil Beast or expensive-ammo eater, giving us options for training and limited shooters.

Some use a handgun as primary for hunts, scoped or iron sights, both small game and large. Some carry a finishing gun along with their primary hunting tool.

Others carry close-range handguns or super-shorty shotguns for bears or self-defense – to include other outdoors-men like fishermen, bikers, hikers, and campers.

Those Outdoors Hobbyists, too, Give us Backups and Alternatives we can Apply

Some gear serves as-is, not only for wilderness bug-outs and survival, but any power-outage and grid-down or off-grid situation. Some gear is seen re-purposed by other interest groups as often as it is in its original field, or is used as an alternative until a field catches up to the interest.

BMX elbow and knee pads, rappelling helmets, and motorcycle knuckle-guard gloves improved tactical load outs, with official military gear catching up, not leading the way. It’s not singular (sadly). Personally acquired “other” gear and tactics are pretty commonly deployed long before it becomes regular issue.

We also see a lot of crossover in foods. Military to camping/backpacking to endurance athletes, one innovates and the others apply it. Then they’re catching up and expanding, or innovating anew, and it goes back the other way.

Preppers with crossover interests apply them, and they gain increased attention within that fold, further increasing the backups and alternatives we can apply. (Fad foods, too.)

It goes far beyond gunners and rations, though.

Bivy sleepers of both the sleeping bag and mini pup-tent types can offer us an alternative to more common tents and tarps shelters, or create additional layers of insulation and moisture protection when combined with them – or create even more layers of insulation and warmth indoors.

Netted hammocks and bug net around our hats help keep mosquitoes and biting flies at bay – in the garden and for front-porch sleeping in hot weather as well as out on the water or trails. Those mesh shields crossover with hunters’ turkey and duck mesh for the face and head.

Hunter’s camo options give us an alternative to military patterns, sweltering heat or frigid cold, across a wide variety of terrains.

Increased interest from outdoors types means pack rafts and inflatable kayaks (it’s a canoe) are much more compact, reliable, and affordable now.

They give us vehicle and home options for all sorts of things, be it a fishing platform, icy-pond and deep-mud rescue platform, dryer (-er, not dry) crossing of waterways, and options if we’re caught in high water from a hurricane, main break, dam spillway, or some other flood.

That gives us one more way to keep loved ones safe and get them out of harm’s way across a wide array of emergencies.

Rain gear, protective gear for bikes and ATV’ers, lightweight and compact tools of all sorts, off-roading vehicle upgrades, compact fishing kits, big-wheeled bikes and lightweight tow carts, eating habits, backwoods wheelchairs, speedy-refuel cans, comms devices and chargers – many apply to preppers, whether they’re urban or rural, whether they’re inclined toward either shelter-in-place or bugout survival.

Good-Better-Best

We regularly want a backup – specifically a backup, one that does the same job exactly or nearly the same way. Conditions ebb and flow, though, especially at crunch times. Alternatives that provide entirely different options add to our resilience and self-reliance in times of need.

Having both is the best of all worlds, making for more well-rounded preps all around. Happily, we have whole realms of possibilities that makes it pretty easy to accomplish both backups and alternatives.

Outdoor pursuits may have a lion’s share to offer, but we can find alternatives and backups pretty much anywhere. Sports of all types, permaculture, the re-purpose/up-cycle/re-use-it crowds, bio-mimicry in urban planning, and emergency response techs, shelters, and CnC cells are particular goldmines for techniques and tools.

History and the rest of the world are also excellent sources to apply to all arms of preparedness, both in terms of things that could derail our primary and backup plans, and coping mechanisms for when “normal” has left the building.

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