Next year it is going to be even lower with how prices are going. Upgrades are just not feasible anymore.

Sure, but this time they can be sure their money goes to themselves instead of those pesky vulnerable sections of society.

OP found a triad money laundering establishment.

I can't say if this is satire.

I wouldn't wish death on anyone, but I have read some obituaries with much joy.

• Darth Vader or something

Good old days when the factory owner comes outside to see a rope on a streetlight and suddenly working conditions get a lot better

T as in testosterone?

No, they aren't. They're forced to because there is no viable alternative.

Maybe they just rolled the jets there, took the hubcaps of the fuel inlet off of every one of them (so that they are "disassembled") and then let ukraine know.

So still technically correct and within international arms trade law, but the jets got through without needing too much reassembly.

Maybe put some clingwrap or something over the inlet so moisture doesn't get in.

When playing football, to keep the socks from riding down our legs, we used to put loose rubber bands on top of them, near the top of the sock. Then to avoid the rubberbands from riding up above the sockline, we used to fold the sock over the rubberbands downwards. Then to avoid the fold from being undone during play another rubberband had to be put on top of the folded part.

Sounds similar to this. Just thought it was notable.

100 cc is 100 ml, which is like half a glass worth of adrenaline. You'll need a wide ass blowgun, and it's unclear if you have the lung capacity to clear the distance to the gorilla.

The solution? A second gorilla who's been pavlov trained to blowgun the first gorilla on cue.

How did they get up there? Are the surf boards deep enough in the sand to not just tip over, being so center heavy? Do you need someone to hoist you up there? Must be, what, 2.5 meters high?

I used to play this game called RAGE many years ago. It was a first person shooter, with a bunch of late game overpowered guns, had a crafting system to make ammo and the like, shops to sell and buy said ammo, but had strict resource controls to keep it competitive and fun.

So I spent around four days tabulating values of every ammo and crafting material in the game, mapping out which in-game traders sold what and when, and then spent maybe the next three days just craft-selling the cheapest item, a wingstick(basically a boomerang) in the game.

Hundreds and hundreds of wingsticks, grinding like a little kid in a sweatshop. I made enough money to max. out capacity on every ammo capacity in the game. As a result I breezed through the endgame, and what was supposed to be a long, tough, engaging mission into the heart of the enemy turned into a caricature of a boss fight, and I probably spend more time admiring the environment design there than worrying about dying or running out of ammo. I think I ran out only on one ammo type, and in total I used only the three most powerful ammo types in the game.

A level I should have enjoyed and formed the neat little bow for that game to be wrapped in, turned into a comical doom guy-esque slaughter of the scariest enemy in-game.

I am truly my own worst enemy.

"Our artist gets no bitches, but vehemently denies it having anything to do with his personality"

Obligatory nutty putty cave mention.

Stay where the sky can see you unless you have a very good reason to go down there.

Well maybe you should have become a known publisher before writing any programs.

/s

what?

Comparing your real, everyday life to someone else's highlight reel is so much worse. I have been so much happier since getting rid of most social media. All the people I love, I can catch up with via phone calls.

If he's been doing this for all his life, and if the amount has been taxed appropriately, the whole thing becomes murky - he isn't hiding assets in that case, just following habits. But then I guess she could argue that it is his money anyways, regardless of it being in his mothers account.

STOP I can only get so erect

You're going to make me write a cute green-urbania fiction of my self-insert walking around a beautiful city with parks everywhere and using the sub-rails to go far distances and then get on cute retro san francisco style over land trams to make my way to walk-only brick roads and then walk to some book store, the corners piled high with books, with books stacked outside the store under a cloth awning, owned by a wise old man of unclear nationality who spends his days reading the books he sells, who knows me well enough to offer a glass of tea.