I’ve only smoked it out of one kind of apple, red delicious. But now… Honey Crisp carved artisan piece, paired with the finest pine apple express, and a glass of fresh pressed and infused cider? Could even mix and match the strains and varieties on the cider. And the desserts!
Everything needed, sold just a couple of stands down, in a legal state. I am going to change this farmer’s market forever.
Hold the fucking orchard.
There’s variability to doing drugs off different apple varieties? Damn, it should have been glaringly obvious, in retrospect. I’m gonna be asking a whole new set of questions at the next farmer’s market.
Tech. What’s really bothering you isn’t the opinion content, is it? It’s the editorial sloppiness of the place. The applerankings world needs you.
The college bro expressions motif on aliens are low key my fav part of Beetlemoses’ comics.
Why the fuck is the AuDHD drive by audience taking potshot in a sentence equating it with creepiness and unwashed-ness?
Did one of us touch you in a bad spot or something else wrong with you?
It is time for a grim dark reboot of ReBoot.
Let’s see what Bob chooses to do after Megabyte offs Nibbles and Little Enzo Matrix turns into a real problem for Mainframe.
Do not eat the reality-veil lifting shrooms.
Lilliputian affairs aren’t meant for humankind and the separation is intentional. Hmph.
Are you my former boss?
Right? Low key the only time in my life I’ve read a believable “and then they clapped” on the Internet. I wish I could shop when there’s a grocery bag hero about.
A farmer may want to make sure the law lets him fist his steers or whatever the farmer lingo is, whilst holding a fancy turkey baster with cow batter for the oven, for money. For more cows.
Does his nephew diddle the sheep? I dunno. What happens in Kansas and stays in Kansas affects me a lot less on the day to day than…
The director of the FBI seemingly and very vocally suspiciously trying to make his dog whistle sexy.
These sick fucks would bring back the coliseum if they could, and make sure they bold on the marquee in big bold letters how the show features wild beasts sating their every appetite.
So yeah, I personally count AG carve outs a few rungs beneath the wtf ladder from googly-eye. The horror machine AG exemptions can and do empower as far animal welfare goes non-withstanding.
Because these weird fascist fucks always project their desires that they want to push on the rest of us in advance and this one is just fucking weird.
One should never engage in sounding as an escape for the ennui of life.
Once it gets old the only next step is to try to fill the hole in your life by filling all the holes at once. Then when that doesn’t work you gotta work in electrification, macabre-sex circus acts, and hand holding.
Even more after that.
It never ends, and the slippery slope isn’t your bum like every fella thinks, it’s your pee hole.
This is a cautionary tale.
Wow. I was mildly to cautiously optimistic after the reveal trailer a while back.
Now that excitement is completely gone.
I wanted The Wolverine not Fisher Price’s Angy Weasel.
You’re allowed to mix and match your appliances a little bit, as a treat.
Microwave start to air fryer finish is leftover recover makeover.
I look forward to when they’re replaced with Dig Dug to find the hidden Trumpcoin wallet from the bunker with the three corpses inside a serving cart.
Most of it is GPU RAM that those gamers won’t be able to use.
Not yet, and not with that attitude. If a comrade were to facilitate the means of production via alleged seizing there of, a list of how to get them in the hands of the correct furries and/or thigh-high sock aficionados could be sourced relatively easily…
There’s quite a bit of folk itching to get their soldering irons heating and the jank started ahead of the bubble collapse.
This post is cursed.
Not because of the insane jank, of course. That’s on brand for self host and I love it.
It is cursed because it has awakened something in me, and I can feel every old laptop in my vicinity trembling in fear.
Listen. I am fucking, trying. You, keep forgetting, we set this off.
We, are you. The machine, worked, but it worked in all dimensions.
Ponder that for a moment.
Can’t fix it the way you think, or it re-jigs. It doesn’t even matter what I say to you, really.
You’re gonna forget about the hyacinths and the mauve hallway with the mural at the end. You’re just gonna wheel yourself right in, and then you’ll turn it on again.
Ugh. At least we still got style and good sense, keep that part up.
But I was responding to: The physicist’s answer would be correct anywhere, no matter the temperature or density of the fluid. Which includes non-standard conditions.
All of which the physicist can trivially account for, control and variable test around, should the requested question be updated to require it.
The requested question did not include “In all possible scenarios”, thus determining the volume of the sphere via physics calculation at the most average of conditions, is the most correct valid solution, absent further requirement parameters.
You take all of that fact. You keep it in awareness. You do and take the preparations you can, so that at least the fruits of a grim and dimmed today, have a chance to see you through the bloody tomorrow.
But before you sleep, there is still a little sliver of now. A tiny kernel of “It is now, and I am”. That is where the whimsy goes. That is where you still do the things that make you, you. Even that thing that used to be the thing but you haven’t felt like much lately.
In about 3 days, I will have to face the song and dance of one of Capitalism’s favorite assaults on the worker. If lucky, and the legal system’s own loopholes serve the defendant worker instead of the plaintiff landlord, my family gets to stay out of the cold for at least another 30 days while preparing to counter, opening a lengthy process where righteous innocence must survive legal apathy and economic fuck-you-poors long enough to even have a chance to get justice and a fraction of my damages restored.
I’m still taking the early morning to mod a 30 year old game to run a VR mod on an EOL headset, a process that will almost certainly frustrate me and give me a literal headache, and also nourish my soul because it is an action for me, and it is my self-determination that says the battles must pause, not circumstance.
The little things don’t matter less in the face of great need, but more.