The secret is that you have to throw yourself at the ground and miss.

I stole some bullets from my workplace once.

I was unloading a truck at work one day, many years ago. One of the items on my trailer was a pallet of rifle ammunition. Whoever loaded this trailer on the other side of the country did a shitty job of it; plastic wrap was shredded, several boxes were torn open, the cardboard "do not stack" cone was crushed under the weight of a car engine, among other things. When I managed to exhume this pallet from the trailer, the plastic gave way, spilling dozens of boxes and hundreds of loose bullets all over my trailer and loading dock. While I was cleaning up the mess, I impulsively pocketed a few bullets for myself. Nobody ever asked me about it. I don't even own a gun. But I have a few bullets.

I remember General Electric got a lot of flak for a commercial of theirs, meant to "celebrate America's hard workers" or whatever.

They used the song Sixteen Tons.

Last Week Tonight is mainly known for taking deep dives into things people ought to be more concerned about, whereas most other late-night shows tend to focus on politics and pop culture stuff.

And to appease the invading forces, I also have a void:

My mother did, a few years ago. She won't tell me the offer she got (aside from it being "a lot" higher than what she'd initially paid, but I don't know that price either), but she regrets it, now that she's seen what her house was later re-sold for.

I started to lose interest with Glenn's dumpster thing, totally stopped when they made Negan's introduction into a cliffhanger. In hindsight, I wish I'd stopped watching when Rick first arrives at Alexandria's gate, before he ever goes inside.

If it's important, they'll either immediately call a second time, or they'll leave a message. I only pick up the phone for my mom.

Among Us.

My friends kept suggesting it for game nights, but the social demands are just not compatible with actually hanging out with your friends.

When everyone's out and about, doing their tasks and getting murdered, we're all discouraged from actually talking with one another, for fear of revealing a dead body or whatever. Whenever there's a meeting going on, sure, we're "free" to talk again, but there's not enough time to talk about anything but the game. When you're dead, and thus finally relieved from the pressures of completing tasks or getting kills... there's still no chit-chat allowed, because ghosts "can't" talk.

It's worse whenever random players are involved; having to coordinate between voice chat with friends, and text chat with randoms, or worse, when the randoms are in a voice chat of their own, coordinating to be assholes.

The moment that finally made me say "I don't enjoy this game", was a round with two random players in it: one of them spent the whole round watching security cameras, and the other was blocking the one doorway into the room, both players working with each other and refusing to do their tasks. No way for the lone impostor that round to kill them both. When we started calling them out on this, they flat-out said "we're going to keep doing this just to spite you". Timer ran out with unfinished tasks. Crewmates lost.

I was a truck driver a few years ago, working on a dedicated account that had me rapidly experiencing burnout. 14-hour days, sleeping in the truck. I was supposed to work 5 days a week, but more often than not, I'd have to work a 6th day to end up at my house. I technically got weekends off, but I had to go back to work at 12:01 on Monday morning, to stay on time. I was in a death spiral for a while there.

One morning, having overslept, I'd let myself get into a rush, and I'd backed my truck into a parking bollard at my first pickup. Damaged my hood, bumper, mirrors, and a bunch of other important bits. My truck was going to be in the shop for a few weeks, at least.

After my safety department got their pound of flesh, my dispatcher gave me some alternative work in the meantime, covering for an absent driver in a local position. Said position involved doing shuttle runs for a nearby factory, just taking truckloads of their product to a warehouse a few miles away, dropping them off, and bringing empty trailers back to the factory. No appointments, no paperwork, no live unloads. Just showing up and driving, for an hourly wage instead of mileage. 8-hour shifts, without having to sleep on the truck. A diamond in the rough I didn't even know my company offered.

I asked to be moved to that position, and I was instantly approved, since dispatch wanted to replace that other driver anyway. That was late February 2020; shortly after I got acclimated to the new digs, the pandemic hit. I didn't lose my job; my trucking company kept all of their shuttle drivers on-site at the factory. Said factory only ran a skeleton crew though, not putting out enough product to keep all of us busy. None of the drivers complained though, we embraced getting paid to sit on our asses with open arms.

I did two things on my seventy-fifth birthday. First, I visited my wife's grave. Then, I joined the army.

• John Scalzi, Old Man's War

Man, it's annoying seeing a headline starting with "Trump, 79" that doesn't end with "dead".

No collar or chip; i've asked the neighbors and checked for missing pet posts online, but nothing came up for this guy.

My town has a population of about 2,000 people. There are five dedicated car washes within a 10-mile radius of my house, with two more under construction.

Yes.

This sprint could've been an email.

It's a six-figure salary in my part of Texas.

A second billionaire's heart

edit: didn't read the first response all the way - let me at the liver first

BlueSky

I've yet to meet anyone who's heard Scotty Doesn't Know by Lustra, who has also seen Eurotrip.