[Adjutant Stormy~]

I can usually speed-read about a paragraph (depending on the length) per second, but I don't enjoy it.

To quote Isaac Asimov, "I am not a speed-reader, I am a speed-understander"

[Aptorian]

This is a sad:

http://www.findagrav...gr&GRid=5758187

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Dwight Hal Johnson

Birth: May 7, 1947
Detroit
Michigan, USA

Death: Apr. 30, 1971
Detroit
Michigan, USA

Viet Nam Congressional Medal of Honor Recipient. Served in Viet Nam in the United States Army as a Specialist Fifth Class in Company B, 1st Battalion, 69th Armor, 4th Infantry Division. He was awarded the CMOH for his bravery near Dak To, Kontum Province, Republic of Vietnam, on January 15, 1968. His citation reads "For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty. Sp5c. Johnson, a tank driver with Company B, was a member of a reaction force moving to aid other elements of his platoon, which was in heavy contact with a battalion size North Vietnamese force. Sp5c. Johnson's tank, upon reaching the point of contact, threw a track and became immobilized. Realizing that he could do no more as a driver, he climbed out of the vehicle, armed only with a .45 caliber pistol. Despite intense hostile fire, Sp5c. Johnson killed several enemy soldiers before he had expended his ammunition. Returning to his tank through a heavy volume of antitank rocket, small arms and automatic weapons fire, he obtained a sub-machine gun with which to continue his fight against the advancing enemy. Armed with this weapon, Sp5c. Johnson again braved deadly enemy fire to return to the center of the ambush site where he courageously eliminated more of the determined foe. Engaged in extremely close combat when the last of his ammunition was expended, he killed an enemy soldier with the stock end of his submachine gun. Now weaponless, Sp5c. Johnson ignored the enemy fire around him, climbed into his platoon sergeant's tank, extricated a wounded crewmember and carried him to an armored personnel carrier. He then returned to the same tank and assisted in firing the main gun until it jammed. In a magnificent display of courage, Sp5c. Johnson exited the tank and again armed only with a .45 caliber pistol, engaged several North Vietnamese troops in close proximity to the vehicle. Fighting his way through devastating fire and remounting his own immobilized tank, he remained fully exposed to the enemy as he bravely and skillfully engaged them with the tank's externally-mounted .50 caliber machine gun; where he remained until the situation was brought under control. Sp5c. Johnson's profound concern for his fellow soldiers, at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty are in keeping with the highest traditions of the military service and reflect great credit upon himself and the U.S. Army". After his return to the United States, he was posted in his hometown of Detroit, Michigan for recruiting and public affairs duty. On April 30, 1971 he happened to walk into a Detroit Liquor store during a robbery, and was shot to death by the store owner, who assumed that being an African-American like the two men who were holding up the store, Dwight Hal Johnson was also one of the robbers. Sergeant Johnson was in reality only stopping in to buy food for his infant son. His murder was never investigated by the Detroit police.

This post has been edited by Aptorian: 30 November 2010 - 08:50 AM

[Aptorian]

But this was funny, so they cancel each other out emotionally:

http://www.pocketfiv...e-craps-609680/

Quote

Things my girlfriend does to hide the fact that she craps.
My girlfriend is very candid, open, honest, and confident about everything in life except the art of #2. We recently moved in together, so while I've been respecting her shitspace, I've also been giggling at all of her attempts to mask the fact that girls poo. Here is a list of the most common techniques, in no particular order:

(1) Waits until she's sure I'm leaving the house, going to bed (night), or staying in bed (morning).
The most standard and secure way for a girl to drop a deuce is to do so in solitary. Sometimes before bed she'll slyly ask a question like "did you notice if we have enough toothpaste while you were brushing your teeth?" or "you don't have your glasses on, did you lose your contact case or is it on the nightstand?" just to see if I'm done going to the bathroom. We usually shower together in the morning (such earth friendly people), so she uses similar sly tactics to make sure I'm actually staying in bed if I tell her I don't have to be into work early.

(2) Pointlessly runs water.
I. Hate. This. So. Much. One of my methods of making her comfortable with the consequences of eating food is to not ever acknowledge that she's in the bathroom, went to the bathroom, or anything involving what goes on in the bathroom. Unfortunately, I cannot stand wasting water. So whenever I'm in the living room and I hear the sink (and yes, even the shower in the middle of the day when she doesn't intend on taking a shower) running at full blast for 5 minutes, I yell to shut the water off. This of course makes her more self conscious because I can hear something, which means I must be able to hear other noises. While being yelled at for "listening" (I'm serious, she actually thinks I have positive-controlled directional hearing that focuses in on toilet splashes) I tried explaining that different noise frequencies travel through the wall easier than others (high frequency water faucet is easier to hear than a deep thunderous assrip), but this made things worse. It only lead to future water running and/or other listed strategies.

(3) Asks me to do something that involves moving far from the bathroom.
No, I don't feel like raking leaves at midnight on a Tuesday.

(4) Turns the TV on very loudly while I'm reading.
If I'm sitting on the couch reading or doing work, I don't need the TV on for white noise. If she's reading next to me and all of a sudden decides to turn on the TV -- loudly --, you can bet your life savings that she's marching to the bathroom about 1 minute later.

(5) Goes in public while directing me not to wait.
Her brain is fascinating. I hate shitting in public because it's nasty, but I think her shitoptimizer function is set to minimize boyfriend-shame. Most guys have gone through the wait outside the mall bathroom routine while your girl runs in to pee. Well, she realizes that such a routine forces me into the annoyed-boyfriend-awkward-eyesdown-wall-stand whereby you're waiting for your gf to come out but you don't want to actually make eye contact with every girl that walks out of the bathroom because that's creepy and weird and you're some random dude leaning on the wall outside of a fucking mall bathroom. So instead she sends you off to some store that you're SUPER pumped to go to but you know she'd never go with you. "Hey babe, why don't you go check out that Crafstman laser track 3HP 14" radial arm saw with 30" cross cut and 42" rip cut at Sears, I'll meet you there in a minute?" Sure you will. (ok - in my mind my girfriend knows a lot more about radial arm saws than in real life)

(6) Walks into a different room after leaving the bathroom.
This is a high level technique. I've only recently noticed it and I marveled at it's creativeness and the associated insight into her psyche. This is not intended to hide the fact that she just blew up the bathroom. The intent is to hide the shame of walking out of the bathroom and looking your boyfriend in the eye. In her mind she's created this scenario whereby she opens the bathroom door, a literal hurricane wind of summertime-waste-treatment-plant smell wafts through the apartment, and I'm standing in front of her with her family, boss, a live camera crew and a clipboard of questions from the president about her shitsperience. Some how in a female's mind, walking from the bathroom (head down, quick steps) into another room that she doesn't need to be in and literally won't do anything while she's in it erases all of the shit-shame. It's fascinating. I've literally watched her walk out of a bathroom (head down so as to ensure no eye contact), into a bedroom, turn around, and walk out of the bedroom - head up, confident posture - whilst making some grand statement about something that doesn't involve taking a crap.

--------------------

I have one last thing: a hilarious story. The first time she went to my house she had the standard meet the parents nervousness. The weekend was going great and we were getting ready to go out to dinner with my family. She went upstairs to get a shower. A while later we were downstairs waiting for her and I was thinking "geez, wtf is she doing?" Right about this time she yells down "Hey, can you come here for a moment?" Ummm... sure. So I run upstairs, knock on the bathroom door (it was closed) and she opens it crying. Literal tears. Balling as though she just found out her family was in an airplane crash. I was SUPER freaked out. My stomach flipped, my heart stopped -- I've never seen this girl even more than moderately upset, let alone balling her eyes out. I walked in the bathroom to hug her and ask what was wrong.

Squish. Squish. Squish... wtf??

Look down at 1" of water covering the entire bathroom floor.

She found a way to clog the toilet. In her mind, this had to be the most life altering event that's ever occurred to someone. She frantically flushed and flushed (lol - nooblet) and tried to use the plunger in vain. By this point, she'd fucked it up too much. Water was pouring everywhere. She spent 30-40 minutes, crying in the shower, crying out of the shower, crying while using the plunger, crying while stupidly flushing it over and over again, crying while plotting her suicide. The last step before suicide was to call for me to fix it. It had to take the courage of 1000 lions for her to yell my name. When I realized what had happened, I fixed it, used about 40 towels to mop up the floor, and laughed hysterically every step of the way.

I now have some awesome blackmail material though.

[Tiste Simeon]

Thanks Apt I needed cheering up after that tragic story about the soldier...

[Aptorian]

http://www.reddit.com/tb/efikm

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TL;DR - I used to play "Presidents" with my dad when I was a kid. When I got to college, I was in for a fantastic surprise.

I used to play "Presidents" with my dad when I was a kid. My mom never wanted to play. I used to think she just wasn't much of a card player. The rest of us kids, though, played cards from the get-go, soon as we could read the numbers.

We never used the name "Asshole," obviously. Whoever was last was Last, they knew it, and not just because they were the only one sitting on the floor. Most of our rules involved the person who was Last doing ridiculous stuff. You did not want to be Last.

It's a pretty awesome game when you're five. We never used any of the drinking rules (skips, clears, socials) obviously, but we did play with other rules. If you said someone's name, you had to put your head down on the table until someone else said a name. The vice-president had to play with one card face-up on the table (they could choose which). The person in Last had to speak in Pig Latin at all times. Mandatory radio sing-alongs as long as you were Last. As kids, we really got creative with it. My dad, however, was devious.

I remember doing cartwheels in the living room, jumping jacks, and other stuff like that. Doing a ten-second handstand was always good for a laugh. I now realize that those rules were purely so that my siblings and I would tire ourselves out to the point where we would actually fall asleep at night.

When we played right after dinner, a common rule was that we had to run into the kitchen, clean a dish, and run back. Mom especially liked that rule, and sat in the adjoining room reading so she could watch us running in and out. She always had a big grin on her face when we did so.

Other chores got thrown into the mix here and there. If Mom was doing laundry, we had to run over to her, help fold a piece of laundry, then run back. If we played on a rainy day, sometimes the punishment would be to run to the end of the driveway to get the mail. I had to empty the trash a few times. Stuff like that.

We learned to follow the rules to the letter really quickly. If your punishment involved running to the kitchen, cleaning a dish, then coming back and doing five jumping jacks before you could sit down on the floor again, you did not even think about breaking anything.

Of course, we loved it. It was just too much fun watching our siblings have to run out and do chores while we sat around. The person who was Second-Last got shuffling/dealing duty, instead, to keep things moving. We'd start playing again when the poor sucker in Last came back from their terrible errands. It sucked actually being last, so we got really good, really quick.

We mostly played to mess with my dad, who was almost always near the top. We hated when he was President, due to his terrible, terrible rules. When he had to do jumping jacks or clean a dish, oh man. We would run into the kitchen with him just to taunt him the whole time.

The first time I played Presidents as a drinking game was during my first week in college, at a group of seniors' house on the same sports team as me. I was ready for the games I was used to; Kings, Beirut, 7-11-Doubles, and Flip Cup were our games in high school. Someone suggested we played this card game called "Asshole," and I thought, "Hey, why not? New game!"

Words cannot describe my shock when someone described how to play.

It was like the color "red" had actually been "blue" my entire life. This was a game I had played at least once a week for just about my entire childhood with my siblings and father, and it turns out that it was a college drinking game the entire time. I had no idea what to think for about thirty minutes. I just played my hands as I did back when I could barely see over the table, going through the motions at that point. Absolutely mindfucked.

I played just as well as I used to. I didn't drink much outside of socials and skips; I was so well-trained not to break any rules that I was quite well-behaved. Because I was (for the most part) sober and the fact that I had played that game for most of my life, I turned out to be pretty damn good once I got over the initial shock of it.

I quickly found myself in the President's seat, and didn't lose it often. I apparently still had a thing or two to learn about Proper Rules for College, though; my first rule (and I remember it vividly) was the one I dreaded the most growing up. I stood up proudly, as was custom, and proclaimed, "After every hand, if you are Last, you have to go to the kitchen and clean a dish. The person who is Second-Last will take over dealing duties." The stares I got were awesome.

It being the house of four dudes, the kitchen was a mess. Dirty pots and pans were on the stove, the sink had a bunch of stuff in it, and it was pretty gross. When I proclaimed my rule, people just looked at me for a couple seconds. I immediately regretted my rule, and thought I had just fucked my college career up by being that nerd. Instead, one of the guys who lived there realized the potential of this rule, jumped up, and yelled,

"That's awesome! Go clean a fucking dish, Asshole!"

Everyone else laughed about it, taunted the poor Asshole, and he did as directed. We played that game until we were out of dishes. I spent most of the night hovering around the top, bringing back ridiculous rules from my childhood like attempting a five-second handstand (hysterical when people are drunk, mind you), the head-on-the-table rule, and the always-excellent Pig Latin rule (again, fantastic while intoxicated). I was dubbed a "cool freshman dude," got invited to multiple other parties, and had a rather fantastic college experience.

My dad trained all of us kids to be college card sharks without us even knowing it. I didn't get too drunk because I knew and respected all the rules, I kicked ass, and I came up with creative rules that most people had never heard of. I still love playing that game, drinking or not.

The next time I talked to my dad, the conversation went something like,

"So, Dad, uh...'Asshole?'"

With a big grin of realization and pride, he said, "You mean 'Presidents?' Watch your tongue, or I'll make you run into the kitchen and clean something."

"Funny you should mention that...."

[Aptorian]

http://imagineapuddle.com/

Quote

... imagine a puddle waking up one morning and thinking, 'This is an interesting world I find myself in - an interesting hole I find myself in - fits me rather neatly, doesn't it? In fact it fits me staggeringly well, must have been made to have me in it!' This is such a powerful idea that as the sun rises in the sky and the air heats up and as, gradually, the puddle gets smaller and smaller, it's still frantically hanging on to the notion that everything's going to be alright, because this world was meant to have him in it, was built to have him in it; so the moment he disappears catches him rather by surprise. Douglas Adams

[Adjutant Stormy~]

Quote

a hero is just a man who knows he's free

[Aptorian]

http://www.straightd...af-people-think

Quote

In what language do deaf people think?
December 26, 2003 Dear Cecil:

In what language do deaf people think? I think in English, because that's what I speak. But since deaf people cannot hear, they can't learn how to speak a language. Nevertheless, they must think in some language. Would they think in English if they use sign language and read English? How would they do that if they've never heard the words they are signing or reading pronounced? Or maybe they just see words in their head, instead of hearing themselves?

— Cathy, Malvern, Pennsylvania

You're on the right track, kid. But first a little detour. Your speculations raise a larger question: Can you think without language? Answer: Nope, at least not at the level humans are accustomed to. That's why deafness can have far more serious consequences than blindness, developmentally speaking. The blind suffer many hardships, not the least of which is the inability to read in the usual manner. But even those sightless from birth acquire language by ear without difficulty in infancy, and having done so lead relatively ordinary lives. A congenitally deaf child isn't so lucky: unless someone realizes very early that he's not talking because he can't hear, his grasp of communication may never progress beyond the rudiments.

The language of the deaf is a vast topic that has filled lots of books--one of the best is Seeing Voices: A Journey Into the World of the Deaf by Oliver Sacks (1989). All I can do in this venue is sketch out a few basic propositions:

The folks at issue here are both (a) profoundly and ( prelingually deaf. If you don't become totally deaf until after you've acquired language, your problems are . . . well, not minor, but manageable. You think in whatever spoken language you've learned. Given some commonsense accommodation during schooling, you'll progress normally intellectually. Depending on circumstances you may be able to speak and lip-read.

About one child in a thousand, however, is born with no ability to hear whatsoever. Years ago such people were called deaf-mutes. Often they were considered retarded, and in a sense they were: they'd never learned language, a process that primes the pump for much later development. The critical age range seems to be 21 to 36 months. During this period children pick up the basics of language easily, and in so doing establish essential cognitive infrastructure. Later on it's far more difficult. If the congenitally deaf aren't diagnosed before they start school, they may face severe learning problems for the rest of their lives, even if in other respects their intelligence is normal.

The profoundly, prelingually deaf can and do acquire language; it's just gestural rather than verbal. The sign language most commonly used in the U.S. is American Sign Language, sometimes called Ameslan or just Sign. Those not conversant in Sign may suppose that it's an invented form of communication like Esperanto or Morse code. It's not. It's an independent natural language, evolved by ordinary people and transmitted culturally from one generation to the next. It bears no relationship to English and in some ways is more similar to Chinese--a single highly inflected gesture can convey an entire word or phrase. (Signed English, in which you'll sometimes see words spelled out one letter at a time, is a completely different animal.) Sign can be acquired effortlessly in early childhood--and by anyone, not just the deaf (e.g., hearing children of deaf parents). Those who do so use it as fluently as most Americans speak English. Sign equips native users with the ability to manipulate symbols, grasp abstractions, and actively acquire and process knowledge--in short, to think, in the full human sense of the term. Nonetheless, "oralists" have long insisted that the best way to educate the deaf is to teach them spoken language, sometimes going so far as to suppress signing. Sacks and many deaf folk think this has been a disaster for deaf people.

The answer to your question is now obvious. In what language do the profoundly deaf think? Why, in Sign (or the local equivalent), assuming they were fortunate enough to have learned it in infancy. The hearing can have only a general idea what this is like--the gulf between spoken and visual language is far greater than that between, say, English and Russian. Research suggests that the brain of a native deaf signer is organized differently from that of a hearing person. Still, sometimes we can get a glimpse. Sacks writes of a visit to the island of Martha's Vineyard, where hereditary deafness was endemic for more than 250 years and a community of signers, most of whom hear normally, still flourishes. He met a woman in her 90s who would sometimes slip into a reverie, her hands moving constantly. According to her daughter, she was thinking in Sign. "Even in sleep, I was further informed, the old lady might sketch fragmentary signs on the counterpane," Sacks writes. "She was dreaming in Sign."

— Cecil Adams

[Adjutant Stormy~]

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Why Computers Sometimes Crash! by Dr. Seuss.
(Read this to yourself aloud - it's a must!)

If a packet hits a pocket on a socket on a port,
and the bus is interrupted at a very last resort,
and the access of the memory makes your floppy disk abort,
then the socket packet pocket has an error to report.

If your cursor finds a menu item followed by a dash,
and the double-clicking icon puts your window in the trash,
and your data is corrupted cause the index doesn't hash,
then your situation's hopeless and your system's gonna crash!

If the label on the cable on the table at your house,
says the network is connected to the button on your mouse,
but your packets want to tunnel to another protocol,
that's repeatedly rejected by the printer down the hall......

And your screen is all distorted by the side effects of gauss,
so your icons in the window are as wavy as a souse;
then you may as well reboot and go out with a bang,
'cuz sure as I'm a poet, the sucker's gonna hang.

When the copy on your floppy's getting sloppy in the disk,
and the macro code instructions cause unnecessary risk,
then you'll have to flash the BIOS and you'll want to RAM your ROM,
just quickly turn the darn thing off and run to tell your Mom!

Well, that certainly clears things up for me. How about you?

[Traveller]

People off sick at work. Lots of people. They all seem to be on some sort of rota I don't know about..

..which means I have to keep doing extra work, and when try to book some time off a week in advance , all I get is 'sorry, so and so's off sick and we need you to cover'.

I was just thinking that going off sick is the only way to get time off, when I realised that this probably what everyone else is doing.

[Aptorian]

Traveller, on 13 December 2010 - 03:48 PM, said:

People off sick at work. Lots of people. They all seem to be on some sort of rota I don't know about..

..which means I have to keep doing extra work, and when try to book some time off a week in advance , all I get is 'sorry, so and so's off sick and we need you to cover'.

I was just thinking that going off sick is the only way to get time off, when I realised that this probably what everyone else is doing.

Did you mean to post this in the "emo thread"?

[Aptorian]

http://www.reddit.co...chhiker/c18z0z2

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"Today you.... tomorrow me."
Just about every time I see someone I stop. I kind of got out of the habit in the last couple of years, moved to a big city and all that, my girlfriend wasn't too stoked on the practice. Then some shit happened to me that changed me and I am back to offering rides habitually. If you would indulge me, it is long story and has almost nothing to do with hitch hiking other than happening on a road.

This past year I have had 3 instances of car trouble. A blow out on a freeway, a bunch of blown fuses and an out of gas situation. All of them were while driving other people's cars which, for some reason, makes it worse on an emotional level. It makes it worse on a practical level as well, what with the fact that I carry things like a jack and extra fuses in my car, and know enough not to park, facing downhill, on a steep incline with less than a gallon of fuel.

Anyway, each of these times this shit happened I was DISGUSTED with how people would not bother to help me. I spent hours on the side of the freeway waiting, watching roadside assistance vehicles blow past me, for AAA to show. The 4 gas stations I asked for a gas can at told me that they couldn't loan them out "for my safety" but I could buy a really shitty 1-gallon one with no cap for $15. It was enough, each time, to make you say shit like "this country is going to hell in a handbasket."

But you know who came to my rescue all three times? Immigrants. Mexican immigrants. None of them spoke a lick of the language. But one of those dudes had a profound affect on me.

He was the guy that stopped to help me with a blow out with his whole family of 6 in tow. I was on the side of the road for close to 4 hours. Big jeep, blown rear tire, had a spare but no jack. I had signs in the windows of the car, big signs that said NEED A JACK and offered money. No dice. Right as I am about to give up and just hitch out there a van pulls over and dude bounds out. He sizes the situation up and calls for his youngest daughter who speaks english. He conveys through her that he has a jack but it is too small for the Jeep so we will need to brace it. He produces a saw from the van and cuts a log out of a downed tree on the side of the road. We rolled it over, put his jack on top, and bam, in business. I start taking the wheel off and, if you can believe it, I broke his tire iron. It was one of those collapsible ones and I wasn't careful and I snapped the head I needed clean off. Fuck.

No worries, he runs to the van, gives it to his wife and she is gone in a flash, down the road to buy a tire iron. She is back in 15 minutes, we finish the job with a little sweat and cussing (stupid log was starting to give), and I am a very happy man. We are both filthy and sweaty. The wife produces a large water jug for us to wash our hands in. I tried to put a 20 in the man's hand but he wouldn't take it so I instead gave it to his wife as quietly as I could. I thanked them up one side and down the other. I asked the little girl where they lived, thinking maybe I could send them a gift for being so awesome. She says they live in Mexico. They are here so mommy and daddy can pick peaches for the next few weeks. After that they are going to pick cherries then go back home. She asks if I have had lunch and when I told her no she gave me a tamale from their cooler, the best fucking tamale I have ever had.

So, to clarify, a family that is undoubtedly poorer than you, me, and just about everyone else on that stretch of road, working on a seasonal basis where time is money, took an hour or two out of their day to help some strange dude on the side of the road when people in tow trucks were just passing me by. Wow...

But we aren't done yet. I thank them again and walk back to my car and open the foil on the tamale cause I am starving at this point and what do I find inside? My fucking $20 bill! I whirl around and run up to the van and the guy rolls his window down. He sees the $20 in my hand and just shaking his head no like he won't take it. All I can think to say is "Por Favor, Por Favor, Por Favor" with my hands out. Dude just smiles, shakes his head and, with what looked like great concentration, tried his hardest to speak to me in English:

"Today you.... tomorrow me."

Rolled up his window, drove away, his daughter waving to me in the rear view. I sat in my car eating the best fucking tamale of all time and I just cried. Like a little girl. It has been a rough year and nothing has broke my way. This was so out of left field I just couldn't deal.

In the 5 months since I have changed a couple of tires, given a few rides to gas stations and, once, went 50 miles out of my way to get a girl to an airport. I won't accept money. Every time I tell them the same thing when we are through:

"Today you.... tomorrow me."

tl;dr: long rambling story about how the kindness of strangers, particularly folks from south of the border, forced me to be more helpful on the road and in life in general. I am sure it won't be as meaningful to anyone else but it was seriously the highlight of my 2010.

[Coco with marshmallows]

"Brothers and sisters are natural enemies!
Like Englishmen and Scots!
Or Welshmen and Scots!
Or Japanese and Scots!
Or Scots and other Scots! Damn Scots! They ruined Scotland!"


Groundskeeper Willie.

[Aptorian]

Principal Skinner: You Scots sure are a contentious people.
Groundskeeper Willie: You just made an enemy for life!”

[Beezulbubba]

"At Twelfth Day, the days are lengthened a cock's stride" - Traditional Italian weather proverb

This post has been edited by Falstad Wildhammer: 07 January 2011 - 03:15 AM

[Aptorian]

http://www.reddit.co...beiber_concert/

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I would rather listen to a group of screaming girls than Justin Beiber

Quote

You don't understand the implications of what you are saying.

Trust me, you wouldn't want to hear them. I went to Summer Rush (a Toronto radio stations music festival) in '09, it featured Bass Hunter and The Real McCoys along with Justin Bieber. I got there very early to be near the front row.

The average person cannot comprehend the sheer volume and pitch at which little girls scream. You have seen people cringe when young girls throw tantrums and yell ... Can you imagine this on a scale of thousands? of 10,000? I would far rather suffer through 40 minutes of highly-produced but god awful and generic pop music than 10,000 screaming banshees in heat. It's almost sick what i had to go through, i was 19 at the time and i was with 5 friends all male at the same age. Some were in the army, others in trades we are bar-going folk who fight often; but we were all crippled by girls under the age of 12.

I felt as powerful as a russian solider in a human wave armed with nothing but the bullets for someone elses gun, as though i were in a foxhole somewhere near vichy during world war I and there were pockets of mustard gas, mines and sniper fire across a dead-man zone i needed to escape else face severe disability or death. Literally the epic volume of their screams were causing me to become dizzy, i fell from the chair i was standing on because i became queasy from it.

It was not as though this was a 30 second ordeal when he came out, or when a popular song started, it was constant. It was unimaginable to understand how these girls found the strength in their undeveloped lungs to sustain those chords for so long. The MCs on stage would come and tease them with phrases like, "and coming soon we're going to have J--" and just the pronunciation of the first letter of his name "J" would have them as riled up as Yellowstone Buffalo in heat with bull horns taped over their mouths.

It was sickening, it made me feel awful and i could not handle it. Between every act the MCs would tease them with this half pronunciation and whether or not he was coming out as the next act the mere thought of hearing his name through a speaker system could ignite the most heartfelt screams in these girls.

A favorite act of ours was coming out after the 25 minutes Bieber set and none of us could stay in the venue (oh yeah, this was outdoors too). Between the 6 of us there was 1400 pounds of man meat and enough body hair to make a shaved grizzly bear sweat buckets in the arctic winter. But we couldn't handle it, a friend of mine went for an ear examination a few days later and had temporarily lost significant hearing. One friend of mine vomited. Yes, he vomited. Our escape even had to be planned, we yelled for security guards to escort us out with the claims that, "our friend was violently ill and his life was in danger if he wasn't evacuated". We sank to lying to get out of there, 3 security guards swarmed in after chatting on the radio and couldn't reach us only the 1 was still there. I saw guards try to get past the girls, and the girls were attacking the uniformed men because they were blocking their view of Justin Bieber. security guards were being attacked. I saw these guys starts pushing these girls over into screaming piles of children because they thought we were in an emergency, the 6 of us couldn't get out (mostly because we thought that pushing little girls would get us in trouble; and oh yeah between us and the exit was 10,000 lunatics who screamed far more frighteningly than Braveheart and less coherently than Glenn Beck after drinking a bathtub of moonshine and tobasco sauce). We were wrong, these guards starting going ape SHIT. Forearms braced and plowing down children to "save" my friend. I don't hold it against them, they had NO other options. We were dazed and confused, most of of couldn't close our jaws, we had the same looks on our faces as victims of a recent shellshock, adrenaline was pumping and we we using our human instincts to evacuate. We were all crouched over like we were barrelling through trenches as Stukas lighted up our lines. We would look at eachother with looks of desperation but one motive was always understood, "you and me, we are getting the fuck out of here right now" What's even more shocking, is that we weren't the only ones trying to evacuate. There must have been 40 or 50 people over 20 years old that followed the trail we plowed through the little girls to get the fuck out of there. Little girls listening to Justin Bieber live lose their likeness to anything human, they are less responsive than the dead and more belligerent than drunken scots after the Celtics lose a home game. We were dealing with monsters.

Sir, you are very very wrong in your assertion that screaming girls are more tolerable than Justin Bieber. I beg of you that if ever you face the unlikely choice which you just proposed to know the answer too, you reconsider.

[Adjutant Stormy~]

Fantastic.

[Ain't_It_Just_]

I remember a legal studies trip to a prison, where we conversed with good-behaviour inmates. One of them was like the Qui-Gon Jinn of prisoners-he even LOOKED like him. He told us how he invented an ink pen (tattoo kind) with a paper clip and a biro. And he came up with this gem:

"Necessity breeds invention."

So very wise.

[MTS]

Ain, on 09 January 2011 - 10:25 AM, said:

I remember a legal studies trip to a prison, where we conversed with good-behaviour inmates. One of them was like the Qui-Gon Jinn of prisoners-he even LOOKED like him. He told us how he invented an ink pen (tattoo kind) with a paper clip and a biro. And he came up with this gem:

"Necessity breeds invention."

So very wise.

If by wise you mean channeling Plato ('necessity is the mother of invention'), then sure.

[Tiste Simeon]

http://uk.answers.ya...20091250AAgMc6f

Quote

Why doesn't he love ME?! I dont understand?
ok right theres this boi that goez my school yeah and were both 16 yeah and when we were like 14 he used to be a right geek yeah, he was so skinny and had loads of acne and he was just so eww. me and my m8s used to take da pi$$ out of him but yeah we were only joking now since he grew a bit more he got hot he has no more acne and hes got these HOT abs and a nice new tan!!!!!!

now me and my mates think hes hot and we all want to d8 him, but omg omg omg, i want him the most. hes so hot yeah. but hes always hanging around with this other girl whos a right EMO GEEK like he used to be but now hes cool

why can he NOT see that if he goes out with ME he'll be well POPULAR? me and my mates r the hardest girls in our skwl and we ALWAYS get the hottest lads. unlike that GEEK GIRL hes with who we take the pi$$ out of although we're ONLY JOKING. OMG.

Its JUST NOT RIGHT
OMG. help me plz.

Does he not want the hottest girls in r school? Were also good for his REP.

The fact that there are so many people just like this astounds and saddens and slightly amuses me... There is a reply on the site but its not as funny...