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Fuck Moxie and her impossible Underdome.
In a fit rage the other night I snatched my Borderlands disc from the console.
And because of my psychotic lapse I now have a corrupted save/data file.
My Level 41 Soldier is officially discharged.
And all my ramped up mega-guns, special regeneration shields,
skill points and unlimited ammo that I busted my ass to get last year
are all lost down the toilet.
Because I snapped--and snatched.
I'm still in a little shock, actually, as I have never lost a save file/game data before.
Oh well. At least I got to complete Jakobs Cove before this terminal mishap.
I don't like to be a quitter but
I should have dumped Moxie's slutty ass
after I couldn't even make it out of the infernal Hell-Burbia arena
(Out of a billion tries, only once did I make it to the Boss wave of the 5th Round).
I should have skipped to The Secret Armory of General Knox.
I should have taken ten deep breaths
before I screamed like a rabid beast and furiously punched the console eject button
and snatched out the disc.
I should stop playing video games before I have a heart attack or stroke--
or swallow my tongue in a complete and utter rage.
Should have
should have
should have.
----
Should have enough money to buy Borderlands 2 next weekend.
Vincent
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Wake up at 5:00am and Elias drives me to the airport.
I go through security in Calgary and get pulled aside for additional screening
Flight to Toronto is good, pick up luggage at customs
Customs officer decides to send me for additional screening
Additional screening - I get my finger prints scanned and my picture taken
The customs guy here has issues with the travel letter from work and denies me access to the US. I need to call work and get proof of my education and information about getting a visa to be able to work in the US.
HR department has misplaced the copies of my education documents - Elias needs to leave work to go home and get them (he is awesome and drops everything to do this)
The project administrator is dealing with the legal department trying to figure out what we can give these guys as this have never been an issue before
During my waiting I miss my flight to Boston
Pay $12 for fax of documents
Get boarding pass for new flight to Boston and back in line for customs
Make it back to the same guy and he says, "hmmm didn't think you were actually going to come back." Huh? I am going for work retard of course I came back.
He humms and haaaaas over my documents some more and really doesn't want to let me through. Ends up charging me $50 to buy a 1 year NAFTA Visa thingy
Flight to Boston is good
I pick up my rental car (Toyota Corolla), but the fob doesn't work, no big deal
Drive 30+ minutes to get to my hotel, which I called in Toronto to let know that my schedule was delayed
I get to the hotel and they are sold out and don't have a room for me, but they do have one at another hotel a little ways away
GAHHH!!!!
I am now checked in to my hotel for tonight, and thankfully have all my luggage. I will be checking into my original hotel tomorrow after work.
Time for this grumpy traveller to get some sleep.
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Hell played in Paris on April 6th of 2012
Le Bataclan venue.
This is what I imagine office hell to be like. You walk in every day, feeling like you are one of hundreds of other rats working all around you. The words rat race get a whole new dimension in this building. Please avoid this in your life for the sake of your sanity! ;-)
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On the banks of the Snake River in Hells Canyon, SE Washington. Photographed on April 26, 2015 for Worldwide Pinhole Photography Day using a Voightlander 116 roll film camera converted to a pinhole. The film is expired mystery 616 film exposed at 12 ISO. The pinhole is 0.5mm diameter, I had it set at about a 135mm focal length which gave me f/270. Semi-Stand developed in Adonal (Rodinal) 1-100 for 1 hour.
The white lights at an angle show that shunting is permitted in this direction, while the signal boxes with a LED square show that the switch/point is set correctly for straight ahead travel. The number six in a triangle means that the next speed is 60 km/h.
so this is for a youth sermon the week of Halloween. Does it read scary as hell to you? How else could i lay out the text?
Nothing like scaring students into a personal relationship with Christ. pfft.
EDIT - Updated version is here www.flickr.com/photos/24436291@N03/2945207616/in/pool-cfcc
I'll admit it. Sometimes I send off for those glossy magazines and brochures of exotic places just so I can see everywhere I could be and everywhere I'm not. At first, it was a little bit masochistic. I'd flip through those arid deserts and humid jungles and crowded, jumbled streets and I'd compare. Those bleak landscapes to my almost bleaker suburbia. I'd look at all the places I wanted desperately to be at tht moment. I let the longing, sweet and bitter, well up in me until I had my car keys in hand and aa.com at my fingertips. I'd find myself looking up into the blue cloudless skies and imagined myself soaring though them to there, somewhere, anywhere but here. I let the desire to escape overwhelm the destination. I wanted to travel for so many of the wrong reasons.
But I've figured out the problem. When I looked at those pictures, I was seeing nothing more than impossibilities. I look at them now, or at least try to, and see the possibilities in them. I spread those same distant photographs out on my bedspread. But now my fingers don't stroke the glossy fingers, but the broad elephant leaves of the jungle. I nestle myself deep into the roots of the ancient gods of the jungle and let them wrap their arms around me so tight, a mother's embrace that's held so much life within it's grasp before, so many before me and so many after. And those gnarled hands that twist and entertwine above me, protectng and loving, until I'm underwater in this emerald world. And I lay back and watch that kalediscope sky above me, those shifting shades and shapes of green that shake and shimmer in the windy summer day and I feel the kalediscope world beneath me, the dying leaves and sprouts pushing up around me, the life that springs from death and the death that springs from life, a melding of the very worst and best forces of nature until the two are nearly indistinguishable. A howler monkey cries off in the distant. The ants go marching two-by-two carrying the cookie-cutter crumbs of the gods on their backs, but they'll bring the giants tumbling down and the fierce cry of the howler will fall silent all through the patience of jigsaw teeth. This world will rebuild and destroy itself in ture without the touch of human hands. And it makes me feel so large and so small. But my size doesn't matter. My name, my face, my history doesn't matter. My very essence loses some essential worth. Because none of it matters when I am apart of it all and all is apart of me.
So when I take those glossy magazines in my hands and run my fingers down the faraway lands. I'm not merely escaping where I am, but I'm bringing a bit of that jungle with me. The shadow tread of a panther that prowls in my step. Or that fierce game of predator and prey in my eyes. Or maybe new eyes all together. Because when I am in those distant forests, its very life is in me. I am so much greater than the sum of my parts. And even the ebb and flow of suburbia can't shake that from my bones.
From the ReStore in Lawrence, KS - and as I have now developed a "thing" for wooden handled hammers the last few years - it came home with me
Markings are a bit hard to see - but you do have several images to chose from. Logo in form of
- HELLER (HORSE) Made in USA -
with the Made in USA in smaller letters and USA under "Made in". Horse logo totally obscured by a rusty patch
Going all in on this - puller the head, now soaking in veneffr. Will prime/paint. Handle has some splits - glued in some 1/4" dowels and hope to stabilize. Will sand and probably seal. Did not get a look at bottom of handle yet to see if there is a weight mark
Wedge is an "S" shape and will be reset, I filed off about 1/4 -3/8" of the top of the handle to get some newer wood involved.
Welcome to the Gates of Hell
The sun was out and it was a beautiful evening to go for a drive. Evan & Victoria took me on a scenic drive to Hell...
And he put on the helmet, and he went down the dancefloor, and he was hell bent on making it happen.
Callout is a constant, ongoing event going on with the street dancing communities of Perth, Australia, and they're now on their 10th!
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An unexpected fire show on my way home - a straw stack chatched fire in this freezing cold. Jumped out of the car with my trusted Leica of course...
An unexpected fire show on my way home - a straw stack chatched fire in this freezing cold. Jumped out of the car with my trusted Leica of course...
Commissioned in 1998, USS Harry S. Truman (CVN 75), a Nimitz carrier class, is named after the 33rd President of the United States.
The hell cat design was the cumulative result of many different things. The body was something that has been on my mind for some time, and in many ways is the refined and distilled version of my very first guitar. It is actually closer to the sketch that inspired my first build than my first build ended up being.
I first sketched up the unique bridge shape this time last year. It was originally intended to be used for a fanned fret 8 string I was designing but the customer ended up backing out. I really liked the general shape though, so I changed for use on a mono scale six string.
The top is carved buckeye burl. The tailpiece, bridge, pickup covers, knobs, and truss rod cover (not in the photos) are made from claro walnut burl. the body has a soft maple core, with eastern black walnut wings. The neck is curly eastern black walnut. Headstock veneer is buckeye burl front and back. Peters logo is in copper, and the nut is buffalo horn. The fretboard is EIR with abalone set in copper. All the binding is curly maple.
It has a master volume, master tone, 3 way selector, and series/single/parallel switch for each pup. Pickups are GFS soapbar 180’s and tuners are grover locking.
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