My Lonely Corner Of The Internet

no more group chats. we meet once a week from now on and everyone prepares 2 personal stories and 3-5 memes and we sit in a circle and have a Socratic seminar covering these topics

this is just 90s sitcoms

We got one very hilarious win

If you're having a bad day, just remember that it's going to be winter soon and imagine what will happen to all the Cybertrucks ❤️

Salt-rusted unprotected steel panels... Meltwater getting into poorly constructed and poorly isolated electronics... Stuck in snowdrifts that a real truck would have been able to deal with... Oh, those are indeed happy images. Yes indeed...

It's winter in the US is anything happening to all the cybertrucks

No snow here yet. Lots of Cybertrucks in my area, so I’ll keep an eye out.

Keep us updated I am so curious to see how they handle Normal Weather

There should be Cybertruck Winter, like Fat Bear Week. Where we see which cybertrucks fall first and which ones make it to the end in usable condition.

Dispatch from the far northern hemisphere and have witnessed a Cybertruck in the winter wilds.

We're early enough into the snow season in that the damage isn't obvious. My guess is that exposure to road salts are really going to destroy these ambulatory dumpsters, but we won't start to see that until spring. Road salt is difficult to impossible to get off in a regular car wash, and we know that Cybertruck can't handle even that.

On the one I saw, any metallic shine that the Cybertruck had was completely lost in a combination of cold winter temps, light street grunge, and lower ambient sunlight. It was the same color as my friend's early 2000s silver pickup truck. One of the big draws, imo, is that stainless steel panelling and to see it turn into the same shade of grey as one of the most popular truck colors twenty years ago would be disappointing to me. It's not special anymore.

Local Cybertruck enthusiasts who are salty dogs at winter driving have started vinyl wrapping their automotive basket cases. The trend seems to be to go from the door windows down, which gives them a beach cooler vibe that is similarly underwhelming.

They’re already having issues! The head lights are sunken in for some reason. This means there is a shelf to hold snow in front of the lights and block them.

Now, every car has to have the snow cleared off the headlights before you drive, but this is way worse. That shelf collects snow as you drive. People have to pull over and clear the snow off mid-drive because they lose their headlights.

WHY ARE THEY BUILT THAT WAY

Not every weird little freak gets the love and admiration they deserve

If you are a weird little freak, thank you for what you do

using emdashes and a semi colon in the same line. this sentence will end when i do

there are some ships out there that do not speak to me personally but i am an understander for. like i see what you are seeing. it just doesn't personally intrigue me. but i support you. you're right. we don't need to fight, let us hold hands.

i'm genuinely having so much fun writing a jock protagonist. can't believe i never tried this before. all these years i've been limiting myself needlessly

i've created an extremely elaborate magic system based on linear algebra and not once does the narrator ever explain how it works. he doesn't know. he doesn't care. that's nerd shit. he is going on a lad's night out and if you try to tell him anything about equations he'll put his fingers in his ears and go "lalalala"

i feel it's important to add that my other protagonist is an academic and does know how the magic system works, but he doesn't get a POV chapter until halfway through the story. which means that over the course of 40,000 words we gradually build up a solid working idea of this world and its laws, as understood by Jock Protagonist - and then it switches to Nerd Protagonist, who's like, "just so we're clear, he was wrong about basically all of that."

This is genius

me too Michael

i’m here Michael

a big part of Killing The Cop In Your Head that even a lot of ostensibly progressive adults absolutely do not want to do is controlling the urge to judge children at every opportunity. like oh are some kids hanging out skateboarding in the No Skateboarding Zone at the park? it becomes your business if one runs over your foot. otherwise shut the fuck up. and not just outwardly, you need to tell the critical voice in your head "actually this harmless moment of someone else's everyday life has nothing to do with me and no one has asked for my opinion"

over-psychoanalyzing blorbos is healthy and needed enrichment for the girlies in order to avoid over-psychoanalyzing themselves. like giving a dog a chew toy in order to redirect chewing on its hind legs

"Am I bad for resenting well-meaning displays of affection? Am I evil for lashing out at people close to me instead of the powers that be?" No. That's Sasuke. Be safe out there

I had somewhat infrequent contact with the church youth group as a high schooler–I wasn’t a regular attendee, but enough of my friends were that I usually had the lowdown on what was happening. I have a personal policy that I don’t turn down invitations to participate in things unless I have an actual conflict (which is, let me tell you, an interesting, rewarding, and occasionally dangerous way to live your life) so when one of my friends said, “Hey, Hell, the youth group is doing a volunteer project and we need people. You in?” I said sure.

She told me to dress for messy outdoor work, and we’d drive there together on Saturday morning. No other details were provided.

So Saturday morning came, and I found myself standing in jeans, steeltoe boots and a tank top in front of a very, very run-down house with about a dozen other teenagers and a couple adults. The adults had that slightly manic look common to youth group leaders, and matching church t-shirts. 

They also had half a dozen sledgehammers.

I had a fantastic feeling about how this day was going to go. 

The house, they explained, was condemned. It needed to be demolished. 

There were words after that about the who and the what and the why (and, presumably, about why they had decided to recruit a bunch of teenagers to do this In The Name Of Jesus) but I was vibrating at a speed that rendered audio waves impossible to decipher and didn’t catch any of it. Something-something-something-jesus, something-something-something-hit things with sledgehammers, don’t hit the marked support beams,  Something-something-something-HELL YOU GET TO WRECK THIS HOUSE was basically all that got through.

They said something that my brain interpreted as “GO!” 

I had a sledgehammer in my hand and was swinging through the front door faster than a chipmunk on cocaine. Which was wholly unnecessary; the front door was unlocked. I just wanted to do it. 

I plowed a straight line through that house from front door through the back wall just because I could, then doubled back to go for some of the fun tile spots. Around me, a dozen sweaty teenagers were going absolutely feral. The ones with sledgehammers were swinging wildly at anything they could reach, and the ones without were kicking holes in the drywall for no reason and prying apart any surface they could get a grip on.  

The adults had cleared out about five minutes in; we were left with our sledgehammers and no inhibitions.

 These wholesome christian teens had spent most of their lives being proper and helpful, and now, for what may have been the first time, they were being told to be as destructive as they were capable of being, and it immediately went to their heads. We were a swarm of holy termites. We were sledgehammer-bearing tornadoes. We punched holes in that house until there wasn’t any house left to punch holes in.

Did we take out some of the marked support beams on accident? Absolutely. Was this whole plan deeply, deeply unwise? Sure! But we were having a great time!

The teens with sledgehammers mostly got tired and traded off sooner or later, and a couple of us decided that now was the time to solve some universal mysteries for ourselves, like: can I run straight through a wall if I get a far enough running start? Can I kick a door down like in a movie? If we work together, can we throw John right through that drywall?

The answers to these questions was a shining, reverberating YES.

(John was fine, probably.)

By the time we felt that our work was done, the house was just a few upright studs with a roof on top, sitting in a lake of debris. We straggled out on to the front lawn, dragging our sledgehammers, and watched as the adults hooked chains to the remaining beams. The chains were hooked to the back hitch of someone’s Compensator pickup truck, which was being used for its actual function for probably the first time ever. We watched as the truck pulled away from the curb, the chains going tight–

–and with a sound like breaking toothpicks, the beams broke, and the house pancaked in on itself.  We cheered like it was the Second Coming. 

I don’t know why they had us do this. I don’t even know whose house it was. I just know that there are few joys purer than the joy of wrecking something bigger than you with nothing but the strength of your own arms, and few euphorias more glorious than the feeling of putting a sledgehammer through a front door for no reason at all.

The Seniors of my homeschool Girl Scout troupe (ah, the PDX region, with enough homeschoolers to make up an entire troupe from Daisies to Ambassadors) once went on an extremely eventful (good and bad) weekend trip, and one of the activities they had us do was demolish an old stable with sledgehammers. It was a thing of delight, even the most delicate and girly of our number saw the sledgehammers, saw the decrepit building that needed to be gone by the end of the day, and had the thought: ‘oh FUCK yeah.’

Few things are as divine as the glee of half a dozen preteen-early teen girls just going feral with some sledgehammers.

i have hired this fucking thing to stare at you

im rehiring this fucking thing to stare at you

A 22 yr old in my org got drunk tuesday night and kinda shit on the fact that I'm running a community cleanup for our chapter. Said something along the lines of "i didn't join up to pick trash." Which really bothers me and it took me a while to figure out why. The whole point of the community cleanup is that we're returning to the neighborhoods where we knocked doors for A4 to help clean up their streets and provide material improvement for free in an effort to build inroads with those neighbors.

Like... if your socialism doesn't include picking uo trash, I'm guessing it also doesn't include doing the dishes, babysitting, or anything else that is important but not prestigious. Idk man, fuck off with that shit. You'll pick up trash and you'll like it until you understand why picking up trash isn't anyone's job but your own. I hate that attitude. If helping and doing activism was always fun and visible and impressive, everyone you know would already be doing it.

Who up gobbling they fucking wawa i guess

and of course