Give it to me.
Give it to me.
I hope you’re referring to the unfinished compilation Salmon of Doubt as the sixth, and not that weak sub-fanfic tripe by Eoin Colfer.
Lamb was great! Really does a fantastic job of highlighting the hypocrisy inherent in modern religious constructs.
Godel, Escher, Bach
Infinite Jest
The Lord of the Rings
The Demon-Haunted World
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
Slaughterhouse-Five
Small Gods
Master and Commander
and everything else written by those authors.
The first two or three on that list might take several fits and starts to get through, YMMV, but they are WELL worth the effort, and you will come out the other side changed by the experience. The others are all pretty easily digestible, but no less transformative.
Happy beanniversary. The standard gift is beans.
Thanks buddy, I really appreciate it.
The roll inside the suitcase was what he used to bind her with, and was discarded with the clothes torn off her. He later used a different roll to bind the suitcase.
Acting like a confused old person in the least helpful ways possible is always fun. I would sometimes do this with telemarketers who called. I’d adopt a doddering old woman persona, who would say “ehh?” and ask them to repeat things over and over again, and when they asked her for information I’d go “let me look for that”, put the phone down, and then go make a bunch of loud noise as if I fell down.
And why should eye care if eye’m dead?
Most days I feel like I’m leasing it at best.
At the very least, OP, dumping garbage by the road is against the law, so even if it’s just regular garbage, you are reporting a crime regardless. Bonus: a cop has to deal with someone else’s garbage.
Nobody should own dogs. They were bred as slave animals in a time before we understood that they were just as sentient as any other being, with pain receptors and emotions just as real as our own. And we have bred them to be miserable when we are not there giving them attention. Their apparent affection is an illusion, a food-gathering instinct honed by countless generations of selective and cruel in-breeding directed by humans who want to pretend that these animals actually love them, when they’re really just pretending because they are rewarded for it.
Also, if you own a dog and let it bark for any length of time, ever, or let it wander unrestrained where it might bite or harass a stranger, or let it take shits and don’t immediately clean that up, you deserve to be put in a cage.
Here’s an unpopular opinion: you don’t need any labels at all. You love who you live, you fuck who you fuck, you can advertise what you’re looking for if you want to but all this identity business obscures the reality that humans are far more diverse and interesting than the boxes we build for ourselves.
Most people who call themselves straight would fuck someone from their own gender if there weren’t cultural expectations against it hammered into them from and early age. Most people who call themselves gay would wander if they found someone they connected with. Very few of us rest at one end of any spectrum or matrix. Most of us are somewhere in the middle, and far more mobile than we might realize.
Oh of course, the list of horrors is endless. Philosophers desperate to maintain the existence of a benevolent deity have wrestled for two thousand years to solve the problem of evil, and none of them ever came any closer than shrugging and presuming that there must be an unsurmountable flaw in our understanding of the universe that blinds us to his plan. A flaw in us, his allegedly perfect creation. Whoops, there’s that nagging contradiction again.
Canonically speaking, according to the lore, God is a huuuuge dick, so if you believe God exists at all, it’s not hard to believe he’s up there throwing hurricanes and fires at us just because he can. Because he’s a dick.
Just use a brick.
Electrical tape is your friend.
I’m not going through life expecting something better to come after. Makes me appreciate what we have, knowing that it’s all we get.
It is fenced off on the grounds of the Royal Hospital in Chelsea, but some good aim with a small catapult could still get the job done.