Hunkybeans - Bonehead Takes - Tumblr Blog
Finally some representation
are you queer or just really cool
thank you for calling me cool tho
@spectrum-color honestly it wouldn't surprise me. So far he written books where God is dead, unable to prevent evil, is a liar, is an abused man with the mind of a child, is some guy, and probably more (I haven't read the whole cosmere). He also keeps making characters queer which I understand is not a Mormon thing to do.
Mistborn: What if Jesus was a murderous con man with a huge grudge against God?
Stormlight: What if Jesus was still on the cross and had to suffer every day forever?
I meant Taln but the similarities between Kaladin and Taln are pretty worrying. I hear the oathpact is going to be hiring new talent soon...
Mistborn: What if Jesus was a murderous con man with a huge grudge against God?
Stormlight: What if Jesus was still on the cross and had to suffer every day forever?
Mistborn: What if Jesus was a murderous con man with a huge grudge against God?
Stormlight: What if Jesus was still on the cross and had to suffer every day forever?
MyDadcore
Sometimes describing things to my grandparents is like. You ask. Hypothetically. What would happen if you put activated yeast in an airtight container. And my grandmother asks. What recipe is that for? And we’re like no this is a thought experiment. Maybe a real experiment. Perhaps we could seal tight the pressure cooker and just not plug it in to see what would happen. And then my grandfather asks what kind of bread we’re making. And we’re like no we’re thinking through a hypothetical experiment with an unplugged pressure cooker. And then my grandmother asks why you’d make bread in a pressure cooker. And we say no for the millionth time we’re just wondering what happens to yeast if you put it in an airtight container. Do you think they’d just run out of oxygen and die? We could probably look this up somewhere. And then they ask where we found this recipe and why it’s in a pressure cooker and we say no it’s not a recipe in fact what we’re considering could create botulism or something and then they ask what has botulism and we’re like there is no botulism we’re considering the possibility of it if we were to do this hypothetical experiment. And then they ask. What experiment? I thought this was a recipe. And then we say no it’s not a recipe we’re talking about performing bad science in our garage with yeast and a pressure cooker and then they ask why would you put yeast in a pressure cooker
“Drawing techniques for the structure and appearance of the fingers when the hand is extended”
Source: Twitter
When I was a kid, I got chased by a cow for a little while. We were on a camping trip, I had wandered away from the campsite for awhile, up towards the train tracks, and I got between the cow and her calf. Even after the two were reunited, the cow continued to chase me for about two kilometres, but at at a disinterested, low-speed kind of clip-clop fuming instead of actually mad. No doubt she was also bored. Eventually, I decided to jump over the train tracks and head back the long way, and the cow went back to her beefly business.
This memory is on my mind a lot lately, mostly because I've had to take up a job at the local dairy farm. Why? I need money. And the proprietor doesn't care if I use my real name on the government forms or not. Turns out that some guy in the graveyard down the highway is gonna owe a couple hundred bucks in back taxes this year, and I wish the revenuers every kind of luck in collecting from him.
Because the farm is so far from my house, and also because I can't return to my house right now until the police search team and TV news dissipates from the neighbourhood, I've been staying in the workhouse. It's not so bad. A little chicken-y, sure, but it's got a septic toilet and the other workers don't frown at me too much when it becomes obvious I don't know the first thing about how to milk a cow. What I do know how to do is fix broken-ass tractors, which I immediately set about doing when I realize that milking things is dull as hell.
Unfortunately for me, this sudden display of competence arouses the kindly farmer's interest. He immediately notices that it's not particularly normal for someone to be able to repair a cloudfallen "smart" John Deere using two pieces of copper wire, a nine-volt battery and a chunk of spray paint can that I found behind the shed. He begins to follow me, demanding that I fix everything else on the property. Panicking, I take off for the open road, but of course my decrepit Plymouth is not especially capable of doing thrilling stunts like "the speed limit." To the farmer's credit, he held on a lot longer than the cow before getting bored and going home: I got to jump two railroad trestles before his Dodge Ram threw a code.
I've played a lot of civilisation 6. In Civ 6, you earn units called great writers and great artists slowly over time, faster if you've invested more in culture buildings. These units are meant to be walked to a desired city and then activated, whereupon they die and grant a bonus to that city. Since cities can only hold so many "great works" at a time, my friend who always overinvests in culture always ends up with a half dozen great writers walking around unable to pursue their greatest ambitions and fulfill their callings because there is simply no more room on the shelf for more books. Instead, my friend uses them as immortal scouts, so I'll commonly come across Charles Dickens or Shakespeare walking around the arctic revealing the map for him.
I love it when farm animals in strategy games have their own little pockets of visibility in the fog of war, because the fog of war is ostensibly a visual abstraction of military intelligence-gathering, which implies that the goat is submitting intel reports.
Depends on how long the trip is. If it's only a 10 minute walk, 2 minutes of wiggle room. If it's a four hour drive, 20 minutes of wiggle room. If it's an intercontinental flight, anytime within the day is on time.
The "Bookgroove" booktrack-table by Deniz Aktay (2022)
In Canada, I was raised from birth to be a warrior. My ancestors clashed in battle after battle, drawing blood to retrieve the best deals on home electronics and occasionally near-expiry panettone. Like my grandfather said on the first day he put a charge card in my hand, I was born to win at Boxing Day.
Perhaps you live in a country that does not have Boxing Day, or maybe you call it something else. If this is the case, I would like you to imagine going to the stores and finding a good discount. Traditionally, before the Americans came with their blackened Fridays and good-deal Aprils, going into combat on this day is how we would be able to afford a six-CD changer.
It was always the same sequence. Get up at the crack of dawn with the surviving family members. Drive to the asshole end of the city, after determining which of the stores are likely to have the least attendance and competition for the deal you want. Wait in line in the December morn for more than an hour, eyeing anyone who tries to cut in line. The doors open. There is blood. So much blood. And then, maybe if you were pure of heart and fleet of foot, a deal.
Things have changed now. The internet came from the heavens. The clouds above us sing of algorithmically determined deals that are determined computationally to be the exact discount that will trigger us to buy. 19% off? We scoff. 18.35% off with a free cookie? Some part of our protosimian neurological architecture jams its foot on the gas pedal and won't let go until we've destroyed one entire Bank of Montreal Platinum Reserve® Optimax® MasterCard® in exchange for something we don't need that might arrive at our home late next week by a hungover Purolator employee. There is no honour in this.
Which is why we're going to try out a new thing this year. The mall near us has been empty for decades, except for a short period of time where the CBC filmed a docudrama set in the 1990s there. What we're gonna do is set a bunch of Amazon gift cards down on the floor and let some folks my age kick the absolute shit out of each other in exchange for a chance to buy them for greater than the listed face value. It's gonna be just like the old days. I hope to see you there.
The most heartbreaking character trope is the guy who makes his purpose in life fixing things, people, and bad circumstances, until eventually something tragic happens that he can’t fix and he cannot accept it. Even when everyone is already dead.
Yeah. Engineering is such a cool degree and then all your options for jobs are design something to end lives for money or design something to pollute the earth for money
this is how engineering majors who get mad when you tell them to not work for defense contractors sound to me
the massive power of trains yet confinement to a single path makes them comparable to angels
i hope that rlainarin have a 500 page sex scene in kowt proving that only straight couples must abstain from premarital sex in stormlight. and the next 500 pages is sadalinar gay sex in heaven
Bryan Lee O'Malley remarking that he had Scott explicitly spell out that his relationship with Knives was inappropriate in Scott Pilgrim Takes Off because he feels like a lot of the comic's readers maybe didn't pick up on that is very funny not only because how do you not, but also because the original Scott Pilgrim comics are some of the most didactic media I've ever read outside of, like, medieval Christian allegories about the wages of sin. It's just constantly explaining to the reader exactly why Scott is a bad person, sometimes with little annotated diagrams. Genuinely, what's it gonna take for the twentysomething male audience not to idolise a loser?
I recommend sleepyhead by cavetown, if only for the album art
kitty wrapped. in a little blanket
harrow indirectly feels the warmth of another women for the first time (idk i thought it was really funny last night at 3 am so here we are)
#good
You meet god and she's mostly dead fish. You ask her why and she says most of the world is dead fish, and she's made herself to appeal to the most common denominator, the everyman funnyman comedy show that runs for eleven seasons but with the entire universe in mind. You ask her how much of the dead fish is your fault, she says it's far less than you'd think, in the grand scheme of things. You ask her if you matter at all. If you can do anything. She shrugs her rotting shoulders and says mattering is a made-up concept, like life, but sure, you can matter if you want to, on some scale. She has many scales. She doesn't know what you mean by 'anything', but you can do everything you can. You ask her if it's enough. She says there's no base requirement for deserving to exist. She's smoking a joint and the smoke filtering out of her gills gathers and forms gas giants and red dwarfs. You ask her if there's any hidden secrets of the universe you should know and she says it's not a secret if she tells, plus it's fun to let you figure it out yourself. You ask her if any of your questions were right questions and she says you worry about being right so much it might keep you from fucking around, which is as close to meaning of life as she ever bothered to make. You don't ask but she says she loves your hair, also your whole being, also your planet. She says she figured out what love is yesterday and is trying it out, which explains the ten thousand rainbows and sudden influx in rains of fish. She offers you a drag of her joint and you wake up half past midnight behind a chain restaurant clutching a smoked salmon. The new stars are winking like they're in on some joke and you're sure if you try hard enough you'll remember what it is.
A real and devastating Wallace and Gromit dream I had recently.
>my wife has become an undead monstrosity with wanton desires and an unquenchable thirst for human blood
Outta my way gay boy etc.
