The Sacrifice for Harmony Rose

I’ve never been hurt by the fact that my stepfather loved my sister more than me. For me, it’s just that- a fact.

I don’t remember my real dad at all, really. He passed away when I was around two or three years old. I remember meeting Dale for the first time, although even that’s getting pretty fuzzy. I remember the giant of a man kneeling down to my level, stone faced and solemn.

Then he reached forward and gave my hand a shake. “You like spaghetti?” He asked. I only nodded, too shy to speak. He just grunted and headed to the kitchen to start throwing dinner together. Dale can make a killer spaghetti. And I didn’t even like spaghetti until then.

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imagine your ex who you haven't seen in a decade (since he stole your car) shows up at your house. in the car. the one he stole from you. it looks like shit. your ex asks you to fix the broken car. then he tells you that the hot girl with him and his buddy (the one that helped him steal the car) is his new girlfriend. she is a member of the royal family and she looks capable of murdering you AND your ex with rage alone. you try to say hi. she does not say hi. no one admits it out loud, but you get the feeling that they're all running from the cops and they all want to hide out in YOUR house.

this is what happened to lando calrissian in the empire strikes back

the mexican football team has a 17 yrs old player and one of the funniest outcomes of this is that he cannot appear in any ad for gambling or drinking so he only appears in candy and milk advertisements. his first world cup and he's not even legally allowed to drive. his nickname is "morita" (little berry). he's three apples tall.

Dr Glass had been idling in unmoving traffic for several minutes. The stream of traffic was unable to enter the roundabout, which was full of unyielding cars in an unbroken stream. Roadworks and other bewilderments had somehow combined to create a solid stream of traffic cutting off this entry to the roundabout, creating an immovable backlog. The phone map showed a solid red line creeping ever farther through the town as the queue of cars lengthened and froze up.

Dr Glass was only three cars back from the entry point. After pondering the problem in this unexpected pocket of leisure, he got out of the car.

The other drivers looked at him, astonished, censorious. Was this muppet just up and leaving his car? Abandoning a vehicle in congestion? Were they about to witness someone making their day WORSE?

Dr Glass walked to a pedestrian crossing, a few feet upstream, and pressed the button. He turned around and got back in his car.

Enlightenment, and a cautious hope, dawned on the faces of the other drivers in the queue.

The pedestrian sequence unrolled. The red light cut off the oncoming stream of traffic. The queue was freed. The roundabout was freed.

You don’t get “and then everybody clapped” in the British Isles, but you DO occasionally get a row of driver’s side thumbs-ups, and a large northern bloke hollering, “you CHEEKY bugger!” in approval.

surely the conses wont quence

I accidentally did a Wikipedia binge about 1st wave feminism and fashion and stumbled upon the 1890s bicycle suit. Do people know about this? Why didn't anyone tell me about this? This is dope as hell.

It's old-fashioned. It's modern. It's butch. It's femme. It's snazzy. It's practical.

Wikipedia talks about the bloomers and the leg-o-mutton sleeves, but I'm also noticing a lot of these outfits have absolute supervillain lapels, which I also like a lot.

There’s an emotion only unlocked when you live in a house with multiple stories. I call it “the stair emotion” and it’s when you realize the object you need is on the other side of yet another trip up and down those goddamn stairs. It’s the closest I get to transcending the desire for material goods. Maybe I don’t need that notebook. Maybe I don’t need anything.

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