#sell used transmissions

[enginescart]

Where to Sell Used Auto Parts?

If you have used auto parts sitting around, you might be wondering where to sell them. Whether you’re a mechanic, a car enthusiast, or just someone looking to make extra cash, selling used auto parts can be a great way to recycle old car parts and earn money. Many people look for used parts because they are more affordable than new ones. By selling them, you not only make money but also help…

[kimberlyannharts]

Honestly the thing that makes the Cosmic Fury suits a problem is while it’s the first fully American Team, they’re not the first fully American suits. I feel like reaction would be better had the Titanium and Spirit Rangers come before. Or the Mega and Shogun modes for Samurai. There is no shame in contacting PLEX Hasbro

Oh, for sure. Usually Power Rangers doesn't skimp when it comes to original suit designs - heck, LORD ZEDD was an American creation. And even if the designs aren't really that good, they at least look competently made (cough A-Squad cough.) I think that's why people are particularly hard on the Cosmic Fury suits - Titanium Ranger didn't have fake pecs and abs, people

[ariestrxsh]

dealer!chris x dealer!reader

💸 content warning: smut/angst (in later chapters; this one's mostly just suggestive), mentions of hard drugs and guns, enemies to lovers, slow burn

💸 summary: you and chris, new partners in crime, start moving your product along.

there will be several parts to this story, and they will contain sex, drugs, violence, use of weapons, and a lot of things that could be triggering if you've ever been apart of the drug world or loved someone with an addiction. i don't mean to glorify drug use, selling, or anything like that, but i wanted this story to be realistic, so it does appear like a somewhat "glamorous" lifestyle to chris and the reader in the first few parts. i want to make it very clear that when you get involved in the drug world in real life, you usually end up in one of two places: the ground or prison.

WHEN SPARKS FLY

chapters: | intro | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

"Hey, ma. You ready to move this shit or what?" Chris asked, his voice low and rapsy like he'd just woken up.

It was the next afternoon, and you had just pulled up to Daisy's house to pick up your new business partner, who looked like he had just rolled out of bed. He was leaned up against the open window of your passenger side door, a joint tucked between his lips and his grey hoodie pulled over his head.

"Hey, Chris. I was born ready. Get in. You're not bringing that shit in my car, though," you responded, motioning towards his joint. He rolled his eyes and gave you a playful smile. He took a final drag, blew it out the side of his mouth, and dropped the roach onto the ground, snuffing it out under his black Converse shoe and crushing it against the pavement.

He got into the passenger seat, and when he glanced back over at you, his mind flooded with the thoughts he'd had about you the night before. He was afraid he'd crossed a line with you, but it was complicated because it was only in his mind. He quickly pulled his guilty blue eyes off of you, worried that you'd see his fantasies written on his face if he stared at you for too much longer.

"We've got a few of my regulars we're meeting with today. I've already told them all that I'm bringing a colleague. Don't expect to be back home until dark. We have a lot of shit to move, and it isn't going to move itself," you relayed to him as you pulled away from the curb.

"Whatever you say, ma. It's your world, I'm just living in it," Chris replied, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. "We've got a cake to deliver," You pointed out the bakery box in the back seat. "Deliver a cake?" Chris asked, pinching his eyebrows together in a confused expression as he ran his fingers through his disheveled hair.

"It's not really a cake, Chris," you replied, laughing at his naivety. "Here. You look like you're still half-asleep. I got you something to wake you up," you told him, gesturing towards the two coffees in your cup holder.

"Thanks, ma. I love it when you think about me when I'm not around," Chris flirted, playfully winking at you as he reached for his drink. You rolled your eyes and scoffed. "Just drink your coffee," you responded in an unamused tone as you found your way out of the neighborhood.

The weather was cloudy and grey like the day before, but no rain yet, just a humidity that hung in the air and clung to your skin as you drove with the windows down. The two of you made your way through Long Beach traffic, hitting all the green lights until you pulled up in front of a seafood restaurant.

"What are we doing here, ma?" Chris wondered aloud, looking up from his phone as you threw your transmission into park. "Grabbing lunch," you casually stated, cutting the engine and unbuckling your seatbelt. "Hope you like fish."

"I mean, it's alright. You think we could go somewhere else to eat?" He politely asked. "No," you dryly responded, getting out of the driver's side of your Honda Accord. He sighed but trailed behind you.

The two of you waltzed into the restaurant, the smell of lobster and shrimp drifting through the air as you scanned the place. You locked eyes with a cook who acknowledged you with a nod. You elbowed Chris in the side to get his attention.

"That's our guy. His name is Joe. He's going on lunch in about forty-five minutes. We're gonna sit down, have a nice meal, and after we pay the tab, we're gonna meet him in the parking lot," you whispered to Chris.

"How much is he buying? A couple grams?" Chris assumed. "Are you kidding, Chris? Do I look like the kind of person who wastes my own time? I don't sell anything to anyone if it's less than a pound," you quietly snorted.

Chris widened his eyes at you. This whole time he'd been under the impression that the two of you were going to be moving cocaine the same way he moved weed - gram by gram, eighth by eighth, and sometimes when he got lucky, he'd sell an ounce.

"Holy shit, ma. We're gonna make that money back in no time," he mumbled to you with dollar signs in his eyes. "Our guy is buying two kilos today. It's the same order every time I re-up. He's more of a street dealer, so it takes him a little longer to sell the product," you explained.

"Aren't you nervous about doing a deal in such a public place?" Chris murmured, his gaze darting around the restaurant and noting how many people were around. "No. Deals done in secret are more dangerous than the ones done out in the open. People are always expecting drug deals to be happening at night, in dark alleys, at sketchy gas stations. People don't look at you twice in settings like this," you shrugged.

"Table for two?" The hostess inquired as she approached you with menus in hand, and you each smiled and nodded. She led you to a booth in the back near a window that gave you a view of the block that was bustling with life. The waitress stopped by, brought the two of you some waters, and told you she'd be back to take your order before floating off to another table, leaving the two of you alone.

"So, how'd you get into this business? What's your story?" Chris wondered, his gaze glued to the menu in front of him, scanning the various pictures of crab cakes and seafood medley. "You first," you shot back, laying your menu flat on the table and raising an eyebrow.

"Simple. Money," Chris shrugged without looking up. "We all got into it for money, Chris. What was the turning point that finally made you say, 'Okay, I'm doing this'?" You asked, propping your hand up on your elbow. He leaned in and lowered his voice, setting down his menu.

"Look, my mom and I grew up kinda broke, and she was in a bad situation with this abusive, piss poor excuse of a boyfriend she had. She was working three jobs and still couldn't scrape up enough cash to leave him, so I started moving some weed around, just enough to afford us a new place," Chris relayed to you in a serious voice, his piercing blue eyes locked on yours.

"Chris, I'm sorry.." you softly mumbled, reaching for his hand and brushing your thumb against his knuckles. For the first time, you felt some compassion for him. He'd always struck you as your average cocky and shallow weed dealer, but maybe there was some depth to him after all.

"I got us out of that situation. But even when you don't need dealing anymore, the thrill of making all that money, it gets comfortable. Then you want more," he admitted. In that moment, talking to Chris felt like having a conversation with yourself.

You knew exactly what he meant. You'd had that talk with yourself many times before, always saying you'd be satisfied next deal. You just needed a little more, and then you'd be pleased with it. Deep down, you knew no matter how much money you made, it would never truly be enough. You would always crave more.

However, it didn't keep you from hoping that every time, this would finally be the final time, and then you'd finally have enough to retire from this life go back to living a normal one.

"Do you guys still need time to decide?" The waitress asked, appearing out of nowhere and breaking you out of your thoughts. You quickly pulled away and cleared your throat when you realized you were still holding Chris' hand.

"I'm ready if you are," you told Chris, and he nodded, a sly smile lingering on his lips as he watched how quickly you'd snapped your hand back. You ordered the shrimp scampi, and Chris ordered fish tacos. When the waitress sauntered off to put your food in, Chris directed the conversation back to the question he'd originally asked.

"Alright, ma. I told you my story. You tell me yours. What got you into this business?" Chris asked, leaning back in his booth and giving you his full, undivided attention. You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much to share with him.

"I grew up watching my parents struggle with money. Crunching numbers just so we could afford to keep a roof over our heads and keep the lights on and water running. I swore that I was never going to live like that. I wanted the generational poverty in my family to end with me," you admitted.

"So, when I had a friend who sold weed, and his clientele started growing faster than he could keep up with, I offered to move some shit around for him. A one-time thing became a regular thing. Then he got busted, and I took over the business for him," you shrugged.

"I get that, ma. Nothing lights a fire under you faster than fighting for your survival and sense of security," Chris responded. This time he reached out and grabbed your hand, softly running his thumb along the back of it, a soothing gesture that you secretly liked but would never admit to him.

"How'd you get into selling coke?" Chris wondered. Your body language immediately shifted. You pulled your hand away, leaned back into the booth, and crossed your arms, diverting your eyes to anything else.

"You ask too many fucking questions. You know that, Sturniolo?" You snapped at him with an edge to your voice. "What? So you're not gonna tell me?" Chris wondered, sitting on the edge of his seat.

"Slow down, Chris. If we get to know every little thing about each other now, what will we talk about on the drive to the next deal?" You joked. "Whatever, ma. Keep your secrets. I didn't care anyway," Chris replied, pulling out his phone to respond to a text.

Just like that, the hand-holding, the intense eye contact, and the vulnerable conversation, it was all over. Back to business as usual, like you always were.

It only took a few minutes after ordering for the waitress to bring out your food. "Damn, that was fast. How'd we get our food before half these people that were here before us?" Chris wondered out loud as the waitress set his steaming plate down in front of him.

You flicked your eyes up to Joe, who was still visible from the front of the restaurant, and he gave you a subtle wink. "Joe's going on lunch early. Eat up," you said, lightly kicking Chris under the table as you placed your napkin across your lap.

The sounds of the restaurant echoed around you, silverware clanking against dishes, the many conversations happening all at once, and the unwavering sound of the sizzling grill in the back.

"Mmm. You know, I'm not usually crazy about seafood, but this is amazing," Chris commented, his mouth still full of his lunch as he spoke. "Just because I took you out for seafood doesn't mean I want to see your food," you teased him, but the smile that followed your comment was warm.

Your gaze flickered up, and you locked eyes with the cook who was making his way out the backdoor. "C'mon, Chris. Let's get the check and go," you demanded. "But I'm not done," Chris interjected, giving you a perplexed look.

"We'll get you a doggy bag, and you can eat in the car," you offered him with a smug smirk. "Yeah, you're real funny," Chris snarked back in a dry manner. The waitress came back around with a couple of Styrofoam boxes and the bill, and you handed the waitress $50 and told her to keep the change.

The three you met up in the parking lot shortly after. "This is Chris," you introduced him to your customer. "It's about time you get yourself a boyfriend," Joe chuckled. "She wishes," Chris muttered, cracking a smile. "No, it's nothing like that. We're just doing business together," you said, rolling your eyes and feeling your face grow warm.

"I mean, it's been, what, almost a year since everything with Alex? It's about time you get back out there," he started to say, but you cut him off. "You got my money?" You interrupted, changing the subject, crossing your arms over your chest and raising an eyebrow.

Chris' gaze burned into you out of the corner of your eye. You could tell he had questions for you. What's he talking about? Who's Alex? What happened a year ago? However, this wasn't the time or place to answer them.

"Yeah, got it right here," Joe replied, pulling an envelope out of his back pocket. You took it from him and wandered over to your car, popping open the back door and reaching inside to grab the "cake" you were delivering.

"Pleasure doing business," you nodded at Joe as you passed it off to him. He accepted it, and the two of you were back on the road in no time.

"That was pretty slick, actually," Chris told you, surprised by how quickly the deal went down and how nonchalant it looked to the people in the vicinity. He sat hunched over in his seat, eating his fish tacos out of the Styrofoam box with his hoodie pulled over his head.

"Told you," you answered, checking your rearview mirror just to make sure you weren't being followed, a nervous habit you'd acquired in this business. "Who's Alex?" Chris piped up. "Chris, not right now," you said in a more serious tone than normal, giving him a long, hard stare that begged him not to press you for information on the subject. He got the hint.

"Okay, fine. What's the next place we're hitting? Is there going to be dessert included?" He inquired, changing the subject and smirking over at you. "No. You'll find out," you responded, cranking the wheel and turning down a street Chris didn't recognize.

"So, what are your goals, ma? You trying to become a sexy queenpin? Where do you see yourself in the industry in five years?" He asked, rolling down his window and sticking his hand out to feel the humid breeze. "Out," you responded without hesitation. "Out?" Chris asked, wrinkling his eyebrows and glancing over in your direction.

"Out of the game, Chris. Not doing this shit anymore," you reiterated. He gave you a perplexed look, like he wasn't expecting that. He was expecting you to give him a dollar amount you wanted to be making or a number of kilos you'd like to be moving at one time.

"I mean, think about it, Chris. If you go walk into a casino to gamble and you stay long enough, house is always gonna win. The trick is to make your profit and then pull out before you lose it all. That's what it is. It's a gamble. You just play your cards right, you take your money, and you get out. I wanna get out while I'm still up."

You remained pretty tight-lipped the rest of the day, hesitant to share much more with Chris than you already had. You were beginning to feel safe around him, but you didn't fully trust him just yet.

click to read chapter 5 ✨️

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[defectivevillain]

pas de deux

pairing: Sebastian Solace/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary: “What are you doing?” you ask suspiciously. “Following you, of course,” Sebastian answers, as if it’s a stupid question. It’s a bit of a tight fit with the two of you in the submarine, considering Sebastian’s gargantuan tail. It wraps around the space and you find yourself standing uncomfortably in the middle—feeling akin to prey trapped in the coils of a snake’s tail.

word count: 2.4k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical injury, violence, and death

author's note: ty anna for the beta <333 @connorhasabigtip any remaining mistakes are mine!

“Any particular reason you’re following me?” you finally ask, stopping in the twentieth room and turning around to stare at Sebastian. The hybrid usually greets you after your death, providing you with research on the creatures that roam the Blacksite. He also sneaks in around level 47 to sell you items. But he’s never actually followed you like this before—appearing at the submarine dock and accompanying you on your exploration. You were under the impression that he was a wanted man—but, then again, he does have that weird transmission jamming device to keep himself undetectable… 

“Just monitoring your progress, is all,” Sebastian shrugs, tapping his fingers restlessly. He’s clearly bored. You haven’t bothered to engage with him until now—instead pretending as if he isn’t following behind you. But you can only pretend for so long. You’ve always performed these expeditions on your own and, despite your annoyance, it’s nice to have some company for once. Even if that company takes the shape of a human hybrid who seems to hate your guts. Sebastian’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts. “Besides, it’s more fun to be up close and personal. Watch your guts spray everywhere and all that.”

You grit your teeth and ignore the macabre remark, instead continuing through the Blacksite and searching for items. Right now, you only have a small handheld flashlight—and the battery’s pretty low. If you want to get to the crystal, you’ll need more materials. Of course, Sebastian could be helping you look. Instead, he’s only hovering behind you ominously. He has virtually no concept of personal space, as he practically breathes down your neck each time you pause to rifle through drawers. 

“You’re even smaller in person, you know,” Sebastian remarks, apropos of nothing. You feel that familiar irritation rising in your chest once more, but you quickly suppress it. He’s just trying to provoke you. 

“You’re ten feet tall,” you remind him. You’re human—of course he’s going to tower over you. 

“And?” Sebastian drawls. You just roll your eyes and keep searching, valiantly pretending you don’t have a relentless annoyance watching your every move. You enter the next room, only to hear the overwhelming sound of rushing water. Shaking your head, you keep exploring—occasionally glancing behind you warily. 

The next hall is dominated by the same sound of rushing water. The lights aren’t flickering, so you think there aren’t any anglerfish. At least, until Sebastian’s voice breaks through the static in your mind. “You’d better hide,” Sebastian suggests with a smirk, his last word drawn out for effect. “Unless you want to be fish food.” 

You freeze and try to listen for a moment, before deciding to trust his advice. You run for a locker and hide in it, just barely making it in time before the pink anglerfish is rushing past. Surprised that Sebastian was actually telling the truth, you wait a few seconds for it to pass before exiting the locker. The hall is dark now, and there’s no sign of Sebastian. Shrugging, you feel your way around in the dark and manage to find the door to the next hall. The metal slides open, only to reveal Sebastian leering down at you. Your heart jumps out of your chest and you can’t hide the surprised gasp that crawls its way out of your throat. 

Sebastian cackles, before moving away from the doorway and allowing you to enter. And to think, you were just about to thank him for saving your life… You shake your head in disbelief. You really don’t understand this guy. 

Admittedly, Sebastian’s presence is rather distracting. It’s hard to focus when he’s looming over you menacingly. You try your best not to show your wariness, because you know it’s just what he wants to see. Even so, you’re finding it difficult to focus on your surroundings. And when the lights flicker in warning, you’re too preoccupied with finding a locker to notice the anglerfish is only a mere few rooms away. Before you can hide, you’re promptly attacked and killed. 

As your vision fades to black, you hear Sebastian’s laugh echoing in your mind. When you open your eyes to find yourself sitting at that desk once more, you glare at him. He could’ve warned you about the anglerfish. 

“Hey, I helped you once,” Sebastian shrugs noncommittally. “Besides, I’m not your little buddy.” His voice drips with venom as he slides the anglerfish research document across the desk. There’s nothing new on the document. 

You just sigh, pushing the file away from him and heading back to the submarine. It’s only when you turn the corner and make it to the dock that you realize he’s following behind you. “What are you doing?” You ask suspiciously. 

“Following you, of course,” Sebastian answers, as if it’s a stupid question. It’s a bit of a tight fit with the two of you in the submarine, considering Sebastian’s gargantuan tail. It wraps around the space and you find yourself standing uncomfortably in the middle—feeling akin to prey trapped in the coils of a snake’s tail. 

“I thought the novelty had ‘worn off,’” you manage to finally say, once you see that Sebastian is remaining still.

Sebastian just stares at you in an eerie silence. You shake your head and keep quiet as the submarine emerges from the water. Then, you start investigating the nearby drawers and cabinets, before heading through to the first door. 

And so it continues. You open a door, look around in the hall, and enter the next room with Sebastian on your heels. When you hear an anglerfish approaching, you jump in a locker; you remember to routinely look behind you for Wall Dwellers; and you search for resources. But you can only fight off your curiosity for so long. “Why haven’t you been doing this the whole time?” You ask Sebastian. He could’ve been helping you from the beginning. 

A laugh. “Can’t make things too easy for you,” Sebastian answers. “Besides, this is your job, not mine.”

That’s right. Sebastian isn’t helpful. He doesn’t serve anyone except himself. The only reason he’s accompanying you now is because it benefits him in some way. “Right, because your job is just to provide me overpriced weapons and mediocre advice,” you mutter darkly. 

“Easy there, shrimp,” Sebastian says, his eyes flashing in warning. You roll your eyes and keep walking, trying to pretend as if he isn’t there. It’s proving to be an increasingly difficult task, between his towering form and frequent sarcastic comments. 

In the next few rooms, you find a flash beacon. You know it’ll come in handy when you inevitably reach the halls with broken lights. And it doesn’t take long before you find yourself needing to use it. Feeling turned around, you reach down and send a flash across the space. You can just barely register the layout of the space: three halls branching off from one another, each leading to a different door. Then you see Sebastian out of the corner of your eye… he reaches out… and everything goes dark. 

When you find yourself in that ever familiar dark room once more, you can’t contain your annoyance. “What the hell was that for?” you immediately snap. Sebastian just looms over you, looking rather pleased with himself. He just killed you for no reason. 

“I warned you,” he says. 

“No, you didn’t,” you argue. “And I didn’t even flash it in your direction!” Sebastian just shrugs. You sigh heavily and head out of the room, not even waiting for him to place the file down. Somehow, it appears he’s still benefiting from this arrangement—he must be, since he’s still following you into the submarine again. 

You’re quickly growing frustrated and impatient with your companion. Sebastian is constantly talking; he doesn’t seem to know what personal space is; and he enjoys seeing you in pain. You thought it would be nice to have company, but Sebastian is quickly proving to be nothing more than a meddlesome distraction. 

“It’s almost like you don’t want me to get to the crystal,” you mutter darkly, after he attempts to scare you. You concentrate on searching through the remaining three drawers, before moving onto the next room. 

Then you pause in the doorway, understanding crashing down on you. Suddenly everything makes sense: his inexplicable, almost childish behavior; his insistent presence; and his never-ending amusement. “You don’t want me to escape,” you realize aloud. Your blood runs cold and you feel a shiver run down your spine. The fluorescent lighting above hums loudly. 

“Took you long enough,” he remarks. Your back is turned, but you just know Sebastian is smiling. “You’re stupidly trusting. Naive. It’s almost cute… but mostly pathetic.” 

The lights above flicker in warning, but there’s a tense silence descending in the air. You’re still frozen in the doorway, listening for anglerfish. After a few moments, you conclude there aren’t any. Your fists clenched at your sides as you come to terms with Sebastian’s deceit, you try to keep walking—only for his voice to stop you. 

“You forget yourself,” Sebastian whispers, his voice dark and deeply unsettling. You can’t see anything, but you can hear him moving behind you. His tail sounds as if it’s right behind you—like he’s coiling around you, ready to strike. 

You grab your flash beacon in a tight-knuckled grip, ready to throw him off with a bright burst of light. You’re not sure how long you wait, entirely silent, before deciding to take a step forward. You wait a few seconds, then take another step. The room is drenched in darkness, and without the metal paneling on the floor to guide you, you have no idea where to go. 

A whisper of a laugh and the sensation of breath at the back of your neck makes you whip around and fire off your flash beacon. It’s annoyed him in the past—it seems to take him off guard, at the very least. Maybe you can stun him long enough to make an escape. 

The flash is blinding and your eyes water, sending tears down your cheeks. You can barely recognize Sebastian’s silhouette in front of you, and you can only hope that he freezes, or just lashes out at you—

The light fades and you’re left in the dark. You blink neon spots from your eyes, only to find two unmistakable blue orbs in the dark, a mere step away from you. “Did you really expect that to work?” Sebastian laughs cruelly. 

Suddenly the flash beacon is ripped out of your hand and smoothly crushed, crackling in the air. You can hear the moment the fragments hit the ground, the impact echoing throughout the space. Your heart is roaring in your ears. Then, something disrupts the silence: the telltale shift of a door falling open. You turn around to find a green “56” illuminated on the wall. You’re almost paralyzed in fear, torn between making a run for it and staying in Sebastian’s sights. 

He seems to sense your indecision, because he hums thoughtfully. “I’ve decided to be generous,” Sebastian says vaguely. Before you can wonder what that means, he’s continuing. “I’ll give you a twenty second head start.”

Twenty seconds isn’t nearly long enough for you to run away. You stare at his piercing blue eyes in disbelief. 

There’s no way for you to discern the expression on his face in this darkness, but you just know he’s smirking. “Nineteen…” he whispers, sounding dangerously close to your ear. You instinctively bat at the space just next to your face, but there’s nothing. “Eighteen…” 

It’s hopeless. That’s not nearly enough time to put a significant distance between the two of you.  Not to mention, you have no idea what the next rooms contain. If they’re submerged in water, you’re really screwed. 

“Fifteen… fourteen…” Sebastian’s voice jolts you back into reality. Adrenaline running through you, you race towards the next hall. 

It doesn’t matter where you choose to go—you know he’ll find you. And Sebastian knows the futility of your attempted escape, if the malicious laugh echoing down the halls is any indication. 

There’s no telling what he’ll do when he finds you. 

…And he will find you. 

You clamp a hand over your mouth to quiet your breathing and close your eyes, pretending you’re absolutely anywhere else. But you can only stay in the cramped locker for a few moments, before you’re beginning to panic. When you exit the locker, you can hear him in the distance. Gritting your teeth, you decide to just keep running. 

Eyefestation is in the next hall, attempting to drag your attention towards it. You instinctually fight it off, at first, until you come to a realization. 

You don’t want to give Sebastian the satisfaction of catching you. You don’t want to participate in this perverted game of his. 

And, if you’re going to die anyways… you might as well have some control over it. 

Mind made up, you turn back towards Eyefestation and stare right back at it—until your vision is flooded with blinding green and countless blinking eyes. You fall to the ground, and the last thing you hear before succumbing to darkness is a frustrated scream. 

You wake slowly, as if wading through a thick sludge. When your eyes finally manage to open, you find yourself in the same room as always, sitting in front of Sebastian’s desk. There’s a harsh sound as Sebastian slams his hand on the desk in frustration. He doesn’t even give you the file on Eyefestation, instead glaring at you furiously. His fists are clenched so tightly that it looks as if he’s shaking. Despite the fear coursing through you, you still feel… satisfied. You didn’t allow yourself to be a pawn in his game. 

And he knows it. There’s tension written all across his face. He almost seems to surround the entire space, his tail swishing violently behind him. “Get out,” Sebastian orders, clearly displayed. His voice is raspy and smooth all at once. There’s a dangerous calm in the way his body stills as he locks eyes with you. “Before I rip you limb from limb.”

You’re not sure if that’s an empty threat or a founded one, and you decide you don’t want to find out. You don’t hesitate to get up and run out the door, your heart racing as you sprint to the nearest submarine. Even when you’re enclosed within walls of metal, you can’t get rid of the goosebumps prickling along your skin—and the unquestionable notion that you’ve just made a terrible mistake. 

no part two for this one, unfortunately.

anyways, thanks for reading! <3

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friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!

[radracer]

1999 Toyota Supra A80 JGTC

@mark_scenemedia

How does an old, awesome race car end up as the world’s fastest and most expensive flowerbed? Well, because nobody else wanted it. Which, considering it was relatively successful (finishing 14th overall in its final season, but also on the podium at Fuji Speedway) is a bit bonkers.

What you're looking at is the 1999 Toyota Supra #38 Cerumo FK/Massimo JGTC car that was driven by Yuji Tachikawa and Hironori Takeuchi. Not some half-arsed marketing buck, either, but the actual car that raced, complete with all its mechanical bits intact, apart from the transmission.

After the 1999 season there was a sponsorship change within the race team, so the main sponsor wanted to get rid of the car. But no one wanted it; it was too complex to run, too expensive. So the owners of the shop where it lives now managed to bag it for free and use it as an eye-catching momento outside the office.

It’s been sat in the same spot for the last 15 years. So long in fact, they can’t actually remember exactly how long it’s been there. But long enough for the paint to fade and crack, tyres to deflate and for the rust to set in and turn the motorsport parts a nice shade of sad, neglected brown.

As you can imagine, over the years they've been approached multiple times by people (from all around the world) wanting to buy it. Some have even offered heinous amounts of money. But they will never sell it. No matter how bad its increasingly decrepit condition gets, it's got tremendous sentimental value and drums up attention in a way a giant inflatable man or Freelander parked on some rockery simply can't. But will they ever restore it? Well, it's always been on their to-do list but they've never got round to.

[seat-safety-switch]

Have you seen the crap they're putting on children's television nowadays? When I was a kid, TV shows made for us were meant to do one thing: sell toys. Now they're all about doing fun activities with your friends, and learning about your responsibilities to greater social harmony. No wonder capitalism is flaming out like a Boeing stock option.

Thing is, even with this renewed focus on teaching children not to be useless, cranky ultra-consumers, the shows don't exactly teach valuable skills. Yeah, yeah, I know, interpersonal discussion, knowing about recycling, outer space, Freudian psychoanalysis, how to make change. All that stuff is covered, and it's fine, but it seems like shows are expecting parents to fill in the gap with these skills. Skills the parents often don't have. The cycle needs to be fixed, and it's television's role, as always, to tell people what to do.

Kids should be learning about the different kinds of screwdrivers, basic wiring, how to replace floor moulding, and what sorts of chemicals might inadvertently create bombs. If there's time, they can cover less practical information, like how to drive an unsynchronized manual transmission in a Detroit Diesel. I'm not asking for too much: I think children do not necessarily need to know how to operate a Lenco unless they're planning on going drag racing, which is a sign of excellent parenting already.

That's why I've bought the rights to the entire back catalogue of The New Yankee Workshop, and recruited a pop starlet to sing a new earworm of a theme song. We're gonna chop up the existing episodes with lots of fast transitions, exploding effects, and a dance party at the end. Wouldn't you rather your toddler ask you for a scroll saw for Christmas?

[communistkenobi]

something I’ve been thinking about is like, the internet is this magical system of technologies, never before seen in human history, and one of its capabilities is to answer virtually any question you ask of it. Which is not even remotely a novel observation obviously lol. But I’m thinking about this in the context of a point that Adorno & Horkheimer made (in The Culture Industry I think?) about the radio: that to expedience the radio, to live in a social context where there is this vast incomprehensible system of technological infrastructure that you do not understand or control, and which allows you, a mere peasant, to listen to news broadcasts, music, and advertisements, is effectively like listening to the voice of god. Like the average person’s relationship to modern telecommunications is so mystifying, incomprehensible, and abstract that we experience technologies like the radio as an all-powerful, indestructible authority, and this (obviously) shapes our relationship to the information that is shared through it. People make jokes on here about how transmission towers are angels, but like tbh that is essentially how we experience them - vast, incomprehensible, highly dangerous objects whose impact on our lives are at once all-consuming and unknowable. We do not just turn on the radio and listen to the news, we tune into what the voice of god has to say today - right now he’s selling toilet cleanser!

and all that to say, I always find something a bit incomplete about discussions about wilful ignorance online - that we live in an age of mass information and yet people still seem as ignorant as feudal peasants, or whatever. Nobody googles things, nobody tries to branch out and experience new kinds of art, nobody educates themselves on important topics they don’t understand. and like this frustration is very real and well taken, I feel it frequently, but what I’m grappling with is whether this is the correct framing - that maybe “why don’t people just google things” is the wrong question to ask, because I tend to find the explanations offered unsatisfactory. Like specifically I’m thinking of discussions on here that are about like, “anti-intellectualism”, kids these days are so ignorant even though they grew up with the internet, reading comprehension is piss poor, and so on. Recently I’ve seen a lot of weirdly moral-panicky posts about children not knowing how to type on computers because back in my day we were forced to learn how to touch-type by age 8 even though we couldn’t look up any tutorials on YouTube to help us, etc etc. And like I just do not buy that people are individually choosing to be ignorant, that people are “getting dumber,” and that this state of getting dumber is inversely related to the amount of information we have access to (which makes “getting dumber” even more dumb). An unstated assumption that goes into a lot of these “anti-intellectualism” discussions is that “information” is this universal object that has a standardised enlightening effect on the people who interact with it - that the only reason to have an ignorant, sheltered, or ill-formed opinion on something is because you have individually chosen not to Look At Information that will cure you of your ignorance. And so going back to the god radio thing, having regular access to the google search bar is not just having access to an encyclopaedia or dictionary - it is like having a direct line of communication to god, this authority that can answer any question you ask of it. But it’s not just one answer, it’s many answers, more answers than you could ever possibly read through. Google reports the number of hits it returns for whatever you type in - you will regularly get millions of answers to your question. And these answers are embedded with advertisements, just as radio news broadcasts are. Like if god is selling you toilet cleanser while telling you the number for a suicide hotline or news about what’s happening in the world, how do you psychologically deal with that, how is your relationship to capital-I Information shaped by this relationship?

The corollary to “we live in an age of mass information” is “we live in an age of mass misinformation,” but they both show up as answers on google (again, not a novel observation). but in the face of that how do you not simply stop asking questions? & of course this decision to stop asking questions is given form and substance by social circumstance, it reinforces systemic privileges and violences, and so this decision is not one free from consequence, and in many cases it is not an innocent decision. a white person deciding not to read the news because it’s too hard to figure out what is happening/too frightening/etc has the consequence of reinforcing the white supremacist outlook that is foundational to the social context of white people because they’re not reading anything that challenges that outlook. ignorance has many social contexts and many of them are violent. etc. like the consequence of “why does nobody google anything” is just a continuation of the status quo, just with this supposedly glaring and easy fix to it (simply google it). but that just leads us back to a discourse of individual choice, of people individually choosing not to “google shit.” it is a deeply individual fix to a systematic social problem. and so maybe the question is not, why doesn’t anyone google shit, but rather, why is the primary delivery system of knowledge a god that sells you toilet cleanser 

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1970 Chrysler 300 Hurst

One of the great unknowns about the 1970 Chrysler 300 Hurst is exactly how many cars were built. Estimates put the total as low as 485, and as high as 502 cars. Regardless of what the figure actually is, the car itself is a pretty special piece of machinery.

The 300 Hurst is a giant of a car at 19′ in length. All of the Hursts rolled off the production line finished in Spinnaker White. The cars were then shipped to the Hurst factory in Warminster, Pennsylvania, where a substantial transformation was performed. The first change to be made was the removal of the standard Chrysler steel hood skin, which was replaced with a fiberglass unit. This featured a decorative hood scoop and the obligatory set of recessed hood locks. The deck lid was also removed, and once again, a fiberglass replacement, complete with a spoiler integrated with the rear quarter panels, was also installed. The White paintwork was complimented by the addition of Satin Tan highlights and contrasting pinstripes, and the wheels were adorned with the same Satin Tan color in the centers. This Hurst is a clean car, with a small area of rust visible in the lower section of the driver’s side front fender, and surface corrosion present on the car’s underside. The Spinnaker White paint appears to be in good condition, but there has been some deterioration of the Satin Tan paint on both the hood and the deck lid. The exterior trim and chrome all look good, while the tinted glass is close to perfect.

The 300 Hurst was a premium car at a premium price, so naturally, it required a premium interior. In this case, seat upholstery was available in a single type and color. Continuing the exterior theme, the color is Saddle Tan, and the material is leather. The plush front seats are not standard 300 items but have been pilfered from the Imperial parts bin. While the original intention was for a Hurst shifter to be part of the interior features, this is something that never eventuated. The interior of this Hurst is close to perfect, with a single discolored spot on the dash pad being the most obvious fault. The rest of it presents in virtually as-new condition, and as befits a luxury car, it is loaded with luxury touches. These include air conditioning, power windows, six-way power seats, cruise control, a remote trunk release, and I think that there also might be an 8-track player hanging under the dash.

The 300 Hurst was the biggest of the muscle cars, and as such, it needed a big motor to get it moving. In this case, it is the TNT 440 engine, pumping out 375hp. The Hurst also features a 727 TorqueFlite transmission, a 3.23 rear end, power steering, power brakes, heavy-duty rear springs and front torsion bars, and sway bars. The exhaust was a full dual system, ending in quad tips. This Hurst hasn’t seen a lot of recent use, and documentation confirms that between 1986 and 2019, it managed to accumulate a grand total of 20 miles! Since being removed from its climate-controlled storage, it has undergone a meticulous mechanical check and recommissioning, and it is now said to run and drive perfectly. The owner does suggest that while the tires look good, they are pretty olds, and replacing them might be a good idea. He also says that the Hurst may need mufflers fairly soon. The car does come with a fair collection of documentation, including the original Build Sheet and Window Sticker, a pristine Certi-Card, Owner’s Manual, as well as dealer paperwork and other assorted items.

While there has always been some question surrounding the build totals for the 1970 300 Hurst, one thing is certain, and that is that there are less than 300 cars in existence today. Pristine examples can fetch sums in excess of $30,000, and even a rough example in need of restoration can still sell for anywhere around $13,000. This one doesn’t need a major restoration, but it does require some cosmetic work. I’m not sure where bidding is eventually going to go with this one, but I would suspect that it will be somewhere around the low to mid $20,000 mark. Even at that price, it probably wouldn’t be a bad buy.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive

As we’re facing the next COVID surge (brought on by holiday travel), I thought I might try a different kind of COVID post. You can skip to here for some easy to do tips and tricks you might have missed, or you can read down for my discussion of why this is important.

I have recently been writing and thinking a lot about why so many of my friends and family’s actions on COVID are so different from mine. Namely why so many people I know no longer seem very interested in either preventing themselves from being sick or, importantly, not spreading sickness to anyone else.

In my own case, the experience of staying home to stop the spread in 2020 forced me to strongly reconsider my behavior up to that point. Why had I ever thought it was OK to go to work or ride the subway with the flu, unmasked and taking no precautions, knowing that the flu certainly hospitalizes and kills people each year? Even if the flu was no big deal for my body, my behavior had limited other people—particularly disabled people—from comfortably being in public during flu season. I had knowingly spread around an illness. I radically reconsidered a lot of my behavior, and in particular, 2020 pushed me to focus more specifically on disability justice in my activism. A disability justice framework pushes us beyond thinking about individual access to consider how ableism limits us all from liberation.

Getting back to why this reconsideration didn’t happen on a mass level, understanding disability justice also means understanding that ableism is the current social order. And if it’s the order of the day, like other oppressive ideologies, that means we are all drenched in it and it is impossible to avoid ever doing something ableist. Furthermore, most people are going to act in ableist ways, most of the time. None of this are exempt from this, but not even trying is definitely worse!

I am also well aware that good COVID information is hard to come by, especially if you are not on the regular lookout for it. And if you do go looking for it, it can quickly get overwhelming. So I’d like to offer here a very short, distilled list of things people might have missed since 2020. (I’ve not taken the time to track down citations for all of these things; you’ll have to trust me that I got them from trustworthy sources or you can verify on your own. I’m happy to give more info on any of these too.)

Some of these things are easy enough to do. I’m offering this list because from a “stop the spread” mindset, each specific thing you do is helpful. This list is not meant to be comprehensive, and it’s hopefully not overwhelming. You don’t have to be perfect or avoid COVID 100% of the time or make this part of your identity, but I’d like to ask everyone reading this to take one step up in your mitigations for the holiday season, since this is reliably a time with huge increases in virus transmission. With around a thousand people still dying every week from COVID in the US, you don’t know whose life you may save by being a little more careful.

Masking This is the biggest bang for your buck, precaution-wise. If it’s hard for you to mask all the time in public, consider masking in places that disabled people really can’t avoid, like the pharmacy, the grocery store, and on public transportation.

I’d also suggest that if masks are uncomfortable, try different kinds of masks! The Aura is my favorite mask – it’s tight to my face so my glasses don’t fog and head straps don’t hurt my ears like ear straps do. Wellbefore sells masks in different sizes and colors, and Armbrust has sampler packs. Just try a bunch and see what works for you!

Finally, know that if at all possible, you should wear an N95 or KN95 mask. This is a change since spring 2020 because the current variants of COVID are more contagious.

Mouthwash Washing your mouth out with a mouthwash containing CPC (cetylpyridinium chloride) before or after seeing people, or just regularly, will kill some of the virus in your mouth and keep you below the threshold to get sick and/or shed the virus to others. This is a really easy one; CVS brand mouthwash has CPC.

Sip mask These valves will allow you to drink without breaking the seal of your mask. This is great for airplane travel, crowded conferences, or other risky spaces that you need to be in for an extended amount of time.

Airplane The most dangerous time on an airplane from a virus transmission standpoint is the time sitting on the runway (because of the way they circulate and filter the air onboard). Even if you don’t mask up during the flight, this is the best time to mask. (And if you do mask, this is the worst time to have a snack or drink – try to keep your mask on for all of this period.)

Space out risky or crowded events Don’t go to a wedding and a concert in the same weekend! Illness takes 3-5 days to develop after exposure, so give yourself time to know if you got sick from the last thing before potentially spreading that to the next thing.

Air purifiers work! This is a great one for places that you can’t avoid, like school, work, or daycare. You can make your own Corsi-Rosenthal box, but there’s also a variety of high quality air purifiers you can get for $70-100. You want to make sure it has a HEPA or Merv13+ filter on it, and check how quickly it changes out the air in a room. Since COVID is airborne, there can be COVID in a space even after the person has left it. Setting up air purifiers and/or opening windows until enough air has circulated before you remove your mask is a great way to make a space COVID safer

Test before going to events, even if you don’t feel sick Rapid tests (the kind you’re used to getting from the government and at the drug store) False negatives from these are rampant but a positive test reliably means you have COVID. The accuracy of these tests also increases a LOT if you take two of them 48 hours apart.

Better home tests are now available Metrix and Pluslife are both testers you can buy that offer a similar level of accuracy to a PCR test (that is, very accurate!). These devices are expensive, but so is another COVID infection: think of the missed work, cost of Paxlovid, and potential for Long COVID to keep you down even longer.

It’s a good idea to get an updated vaccine 2x a year too; like the flu shot, these vaccines are updated to try to fend off the particular variants that are circling. Be mindful though that vaccination will not necessarily stop transmission, especially of asymptomatic cases. Handwashing is also good for general prevention, but it doesn’t really stop COVID transmission. In the early days of COVID, researchers guessed that it was spread by physical droplets. That’s why we were instructed to wash our hands and groceries. But now we know that COVID is airborne; it spreads more like cigarette smoke than spit!

Of course, no single thing works perfectly. The best model is still the Swiss cheese model, but that also means each thing you do helps. If you’re reading this, please consider doing *one more thing* to take care of yourselves and others. I love you

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

*Bap!*

Linked Universe Lethal Comany AU!

I keep seeing it in my peripheral then IMMEDIATELY forgetting about it 💀

so 👀 spill the beans plz and thank you :))

:D This is an AU where Twilight wakes up in the game Lethal Company, a co-op horror game where you and three others explore random moons, find scrap, fight/avoid a myriad of monsters, and make it back to the ship to sell items to the Company and meet your quota, or else be "terminated." It's kind of a crack taken seriously series, with 17 planned chapters (the first chapter ended up being 4, so... we'll see how that planned chapter list goes).

Here's a snippet from chapter 16!

The transmission blinked on.  “Legend, Legend, we need help! Hyrule and I need help!” Wild’s high voice crackled through the speaker. “There’s—there’s someone in here! Get us out, get us out!” Legend, cursing under his breath, rolled his chair back to the monitor and scrambled to switch from viewing Time to Wild. And sure enough, there was a medium red dot next to Hyrule and Wild’s icons on the screen. They visibly took a few careful steps back, but they were cornered in the kitchen with nowhere to go. The dot loomed, motionless and waiting, by the only door. “What do you mean, someone? Doesn’t look like you’re dealing with a Masked.” Legend started typing very quickly. Lines of the compendium flashed across the screen. “They’re not attacking you, and it’s early in the day, which means that they might not for a good while yet. What do they look like?”  Why was he taking the time to research, when the boys’ lives were in danger? He’s wasting time! Twilight crossed over to the teleporter.  “Uhhh… tall. It’s like a big man in a dark coat, but he’s… it’s not human,” Wild said. A sort of pitchy buzzing echoed through the radio with his voice. “It can’t be human.”

The tags on this series are pretty grim, and rightfully so---this isn't the kind of game that you're able to survive. But we'll see, perhaps, if Twilight can.

Thank you for the ask!

You can check out the series here!

[silendastral]

WOC Question game! ([original post] by @praxcrown5)

What detail always catches your attention in WOC?

What do you like most about the fandom?

Who is your least favorite character?

My answers: 1. A MOVABLE TRANSMISSION THAT REPEATS THE ANATOMY OF BONES (at least from the front), YIPPIEEEEEEE

Because of this, cars remind me of crocodiles, idk. I also think their transmission depends not only on the functionality that needs to be performed in the future, but also simply because of progress and time. So, a more modern version on the left, an older one on the right.

2. It is entirely the sincerity and devotion of people to this universe. Of course, I have been here not so long ago, but I perceive the WOC fandom as a kind of good neighborhood, where everyone knows each other, understands everything, does not condemn (at least I have a good experience at the moment). And if in particular, then I really like reading other people's opinions and rethinking/thinking up some moments in cartoons. It feels like you've had your eyes opened for the second time. At first, because of the slogan, you think that you need to enjoy the environment in life, and not just immerse yourself in work with your head. And then you read the posts, and *oplya* - the movie also reminds you to take care of yourself (remember McQueen's poor tires and his ignoring breakfasts before RS), which is clearly not enough for some nowadays (like me). 3.

(from Cars: Mater-National Championship) I think you know how it feels when you see an unknown person in front of you and your whole gut subconsciously dislikes them. That's what happened to me with this Jaguar. I extremely dislike fanatical and extremely emotional personalities who are almost ready to faint at the sight of an idol, as if they saw God firsthand. And it just seems to me that Philip drives down the path every day after his boring job and picks flowers from the lawn, or buys them at a flower shop, which he later uses as an offering to the McQueen altar in a secret room of his garage, where all the shelves are dotted with merch of his favorite racer. Perhaps he is ready to sell his child, if he has one, for the sake of a couple of photos of the Idol from a close angle. Philip definitely has something like a towel, where the inscription "McQueen is love, McQueen is life" is emblazoned. No personal life, only races and tea. He's like Lil' Dipper, only if I can justify with a stretch that she is 'young' and does not know how to express her love in the right way to Dusty. And then this dude, judging by the model, is far from young, which adds points to his creepiness- Anyway, that's my opinion. Despite my dislike, if you like him, I wouldn't mind listening.

[cadaverviper]

Sega Rally Championship Review (Sega Saturn)

Originally released in Febuary 1995 for the Sega Model 2 arcade board and developed by AM3 Sega division, known almost exclusively for their high octane arcade games.

I'm sure back in 1995 this was hot shit at the time. Looking at old pictures in the arcade it definitely looks pretty cool.

I do not have access to any old arcade machines but hey who needs that when you have the Sega Saturn port! No need to go running to your local arcade your ass can stay firmly velcroed to your seat and still enjoy some good old arcade racing fun.

Via The V2 Elite Gamer you can see by thier comparison it honestly wasn't too far off. A really great port job (unlike some other arcade Saturn ports). You can tell some of the textures like the grass and road were more detailed in the arcade and I noticed while playing a significant lack of models that were present in the arcade version like the trees and some buildings and bystanders. All in all this is a perfectly reasonable way to enjoy the game.

Arigato Toyota and Mitsubishi? (I think)

Holy shit kicking up dirt so cool! (A 90s kid probably)

The game has essentially 3 modes. 2 player battle i could not try only 1 controller sowwy :3

As for the real stuff, you only have 2 options Arcade and Time Attack

Arcade mode consists of 3 count them, !!!3!!!! Maps in total, what a bargain. It's your job to get through all three and order and try to win the race. It starts with Desert, Forest and the Mountains to end it off. All three maps have there own aesthetic and surroundings so it's almost kind of jarring feeling like your moving between all of these places one after the other.

To Start off Desert i picked the first of the 2 available vehicles and went with automatic transmission, I fiddled with the manual drive and it felt like I was having to pat my head and rub my tummy while I drive, not an easy experience. Not fun. So Automatic it is. Desert is a pretty standard fair. Easy first start and the turns aren't too crazy here. The car controls in a very realistic way depending on the terrain you are driving on. At the time this was the big selling point of this game, dirt is slippery, asphalt is nice and smooth, and grass slows you down pretty dramatically. It took me a few playthroughs to get used to the controls but even then you will still find yourself bashing into walls..so is the will of the game.

After the Desert is on to the Forest. In this game every time you complete a stage it carries over what place you were in and adds a little more time. Very needed especially once you get to the third stage. As expected things ramp up a bit, harder turns and and tougher stuff to drive on. At this time I'm starting to notice how addicting this game can be. Every time i play this game i want to constantly go back into it to get a better time. Since the roads are always exactly the same you can memorize everything and always know when the next thing is coming and prepare for it.

And finally to end it off their is mountain. There is a secret last race track and vehicle but I am simply not skilled enough to get either, well maybe if i devoted more time i could get them. But for most lame brains like me this will be your last track and simply put it is ✨dummy hard✨ With some absolutely insane sharp turns that will have you slamming into the wall like a moron this is sure to give any racing game veteran a challenge. But hey at least you get to have that challenge with some absolutely beautiful scenery.

Sorry to say as of right now this is the best i could do. I'd love to hear the best times of others who have played this game and probably done much, much better than me.

Game Over jingle absolutely slaps.

The other mode is time trials which is a fantastic way to practice for the real arcade mode. And something very novel at the time is that you can race against your ghost trial to try to get a better time. There are also plenty of ways to tune your car in different ways but I cant say i noticed too much of a difference when i messed with the settings.

And thats all i can really say about the gameplay and general feel. Very addicting and something you can really sink your teeth in and strive to get better at the more you play. I definitely reccommend the game even to people like me who arent usually into racing games. There is enough unique qualities and it doesnt take up too much of your time that i can see anybody being able to get into this.

Rating: Kickin up Dirt/10

[darkmaga-returns]

Messenger RNA (mRNA) vaccinations produce foreign proteins in the human body, triggering an immune response to prepare the body for future infections. Lipid nanoparticles flow into cells, mimicking a protein, but “the science” claims it does not enter the nucleus and, therefore, does not impact DNA. These vaccines are relatively new, with the first trial on humans occurring in 2008. Yet, that trial failed to produce a vaccine that went to market. The first widespread mRNA vaccinations were the ones released by Pfizer and Moderna during the COVID-19 pandemic, and the global population was the main test subject.

Montana’s House Committee is pushing through a bill that would ban the use of mRNA vaccinations. Sponsored by Rep. Greg Kmetz, R-Miles City, and co-sponsored by Northwest Montana Reps. Tracy Sharp, R-Polson, and Lukas Schubert, R-Kalispell, House Bill 371 would forbid healthcare professionals from using this technology on humans. Violations would lead to a misdemeanor charge, $500 fine, and possible revocation of the provider’s medical license.

The House Judiciary Committee voted 12-8 to send the bill to the floor. “[mRNA vaccines are] the most destructive and lethal medical products that have ever been used in medical history,” Dr. Christine Drivdahl-Smith, a family physician in Miles City, told the committee earlier this month. Proponents believe that mRNA technology was pushed out to sell COVID-19 vaccinations and force the global population to undergo an unnecessary treatment with potentially fatal complications. Again, the vaccine NEVER worked – it failed to prevent transmission or infection.

Those against the bill believe that these vaccines are “Safe and Effective” and worry that the ban would prevent the people from having the right to choose their own health care. “It denies the people of Montana the freedom to choose their health care … I should have the ability to protect myself, I can decide with my doctors,” Dr. Marian Kummer, a retired pediatrician, said.

[tyrannosaurus-trainwreck]

I say the below as someone who, pre-bird flu bullshit, bought raw milk every so often.

Ultra-high pasteurized milk doesn't work for a lot of cheese-making things, and it's less than ideal for a few other homemade dairy products. There's precisely one brand of milk available locally that's pasteurized but not ultra-high pasteurized. All the goat milk brands are UHP.

It's trivially easy to pasteurize things at home, and all the recipes I was using involved temperatures and times that exceeded what you need for simple pasteurization. (This is of course off the table until we can, and will, vaccinate livestock for H5N1.)

Under normal circumstances, the risks of drinking raw milk collected under sanitary conditions from animals that have been vaccinated against and tested for the standard range of human-transmissible diseases aren't super high. Testing, treating, and vaccinating herds made huge inroads even before everybody got sold on the "You have to pasteurize it even if you milked the cows yourself this morning. Yes, for real." agenda.

Given the bird flu thing and the incoming Regulations Are The Real Fascism, Actually crowd, and the strong likelihood that the people selling you the raw milk "for pet consumption only" that they claim is going to make you live forever are also full on anti-vax, anti-science, and anti-government-telling-them-to-spend-money-on-stuff weirdos, the odds of the milk having been collected in sanitary conditions from verifiably healthy animals are... not great! They're very much not great! Please do not do this!

[spacemuffinz]

i love working at a job where i get emotionally shredded by customers all day every day.. they literally say this shit to my face like it's casual conversation while i'm selling them a sodapop and bubblegum

"mexicans need to go home" ... /used to work in for a mexican restaurant and i'm kinda worried i'll never see my friends again..

"homeless people need to go to jail or be hung in the town square like the olden days" ... /was forced to choose homelessness over living with my abusive ex.. a 2 door car with no transmission was my house while working 50hrs a week at a dg til i could afford an apartment

"women should be forced to have babies and punished if they don't" ... i have a genetic blood clotting disorder that won't let me have any..

"ur hat is dumb don't u know there's furries in schools using catboxes" ... i designed and made the hat myself and the cat litter is probably for mopping up barf..

WHAT CAN U DO, IDEK

i wanna quietly slip into an alternate dimension

[seat-safety-switch]

"Oh cripes, it's the painters," yelps my humble assistant before she dives for cover and starts frantically texting for backup.

It's too late. The boys from the bodyshop up the street have already appeared in the junkyard. Their keen eyes are meticulously scrutinizing the Pick-N-Pull's extremely limited quantity of intact Hyundai Scoupe bumpers. They are looking for a donor that is good enough to clean up, spray in their fancy "spray booth" while wearing their "respiratory protection," and sell to some poor bastard working without rest for the faceless void of rage that is the Uber Eats algorithm.

Why is this bad for the rest of us, especially myself, who owns exclusively cars before the Hyundai Motor Corporation was even brought into existence by the marriage between the Goddess Sonata and the Ancient Emperor, 1985 Pony CXL? Mostly because the painters are kind of obnoxious about the whole thing. Like many other individuals who spend their working hours sitting in an enclosed room and huffing paint all day, they consider themselves to be artists. Also, we have somewhat of a personal rivalry. Let me explain.

Now, as we all know, painters and bodywork techs drive very ugly cars. You likely can guess why. After a hard day of work putting shiny things on dull things, making the shiny things dull again, and putting more shiny things on the previously shiny things (that are now dull,) there's absolutely no way that they want to spend a few more hours making their shit-box daily driver pretty. They've seen how cars get wrecked by the flippant outside world. It would destroy them emotionally. Rather than love and lose, they choose to harden their hearts, like resin baking off on a freshly fogged panel under a heat lamp.

Of course, painters are also not mechanics, and they're certainly not shitbag mechanics like myself. Their grungy, shitty cars often fall apart from some trivial mechanical failure that I would jump over, Super Mario-like, without even noticing. Many of the painters, such as Shaky Tim, have seen me in even worse cars that run flawlessly.

Due to my profligate junk-dealing and scam-pedalling all over town, they have had many opportunities to watch me barrel over a centre median, drive the wrong way into traffic, blow a band out of an automatic transmission – and be back on the road in a few minutes thanks to my magical connection to the shitbox vibe. This causes envy on the part of the painters, especially when I refuse to fix their cars or even stop to lend a reassuring word. And I certainly don't give them money to paint my car: all that beautiful new colour would get wrecked the next time a brake line ruptures at highway speeds. Last a week, tops.

"Oh look, it's him," the head painter sneers, with an affect that I still think is approximating a fake French accent. They must have put some new cartoons on at the jobber shop. "Do you even know what to do with those body panels?"

"I know what not to do. I'm not gonna pay for 'em," I bark, and go back to yeeting an entire '67 Imperial passenger-side over the fence out back because it won't fit in my pocket. The gaggle of squirty-boys grimace in pain as the door bounces off the barbed-wire on top, and falls into the ditch behind the junkyard with some grotesque scratches across the paint.

With all the money I'm saving, I suggest to the aggrieved painters, I can probably even afford a can of new Tremclad.