[2021.01.20] post by Sophism

2022.01.21 15:08 Kanni17 [2021.01.20] post by Sophism

[2021.01.20] post by Sophism submitted by Kanni17 to PurpleHyacinthWebtoon [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 15:08 BrokenJellyfish But they value vets. 🤨🙄

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2022.01.21 15:08 KianOld anime_irl

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2022.01.21 15:08 SpecialistPlace123 Gary peeple is pedofile 😡😡😡

Gary peeple is pedofile 😡😡😡 submitted by SpecialistPlace123 to MemesMoment [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 15:08 aitzazkhoso Photorealistic George Washington. Any man who must say I'm the president is no true president.

Photorealistic George Washington. Any man who must say I'm the president is no true president. submitted by aitzazkhoso to pics [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 15:08 bimselimse Bug in multiverse

I dont know how to really report bugs, but i can tell about it here.
Just finished killing the slug MV renegade that awards you the big ion weapon. After the fight, i saved and quit, and when i got back in, i did not have the big ion. I dont know if this is a general bug, but i was very sad to have one of my favorite weapons anyways :(
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2022.01.21 15:08 randomcherrycoke Anyone else get lots of split ends in their beard?

Anyone else get lots of split ends in their beard? submitted by randomcherrycoke to Minoxbeards [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 15:08 MilkbottleF Slawomir Mrozek - Five Stories [Translated by Konrad Syrop]

Collected in The Elephant (Penguin Classics, 2010):
3: The Elephant

The director of the Zoological Gardens has shown himself to be an upstart. He regarded his animals simply as stepping stones on the road of his own career. He was indifferent to the educational importance of his establishment. In his Zoo the giraffe had a short neck, the badger had no burrow and the whistlers, having lost all interest, whistled rarely and with some reluctance. These shortcomings should not have been allowed, especially as the Zoo was often visited by parties of schoolchildren.
The Zoo was in a provincial town, and it was short of some of the most important animals, among them the elephant. Three thousand rabbits were a poor substitute for the noble giant. However, as our country developed, the gaps were being filled in a well-planned manner. On the occasion of the anniversary of the liberation, on 22nd July, the Zoo was notified that it had at long last been allocated an elephant. All the staff, who were devoted to their work, rejoiced at this news. All the greater was their surprise when they learnt that the director had sent a letter to Warsaw, renouncing the allocation and putting forward a plan for obtaining an elephant by more economic means.
“I, and all the staff,” he had written, “are fully aware how heavy a burden falls upon the shoulders of Polish miners and foundry men because of the elephant. Desirous of reducing our costs, I suggest that the elephant mentioned in your communication should be replaced by one of our own procurement. We can make an elephant out of rubber, of the correct size, fill it with air and place it behind railings. It will be carefully painted the correct colour and even on close inspection will be indistinguishable from the real animal. It is well known that the elephant is a sluggish animal and it does not run and jump about. In the notice on the railings we can state that this particular elephant is exceptionally sluggish. The money saved in this way can be turned to the purchase of a jet plane or the conservation of some church monument.
“Kindly note that both the idea and its execution are my modest contribution to the common task and struggle.
“I am, etc.”
This communication must have reached a soulless official, who regarded his duties in a purely bureaucratic manner and did not examine the heart of the matter but, following only the directive about reduction of expenditure, accepted the director’s plan. On hearing the Ministry’s approval, the director issued instructions for the making of the rubber elephant.
The carcase was to have been filled with air by two keepers blowing into it from opposite ends. To keep the operation secret the work was to be completed during the night because the people of the town, having heard that an elephant was joining the Zoo, were anxious to see it. The director insisted on haste also because he expected a bonus, should his idea turn out to be a success.
The two keepers locked themselves in a shed normally housing a workshop, and began to blow. After two hours of hard blowing they discovered that the rubber skin had risen only a few inches above the floor and its bulge in no way resembled an elephant. The night progressed. Outside, human voices were stilled and only the cry of the jackass interrupted the silence. Exhausted, the keepers stopped blowing and made sure that the air already inside the elephant should not escape. They were not young and were unaccustomed to this kind of work.
“If we go on at this rate,” said one of them, “we shan’t finish before the morning. And what am I to tell my Missus? She’ll never believe me if I say that I spent the night blowing up an elephant.”
“Quite right,” agreed the second keeper. “Blowing up an elephant is not an everyday job. And it’s all because our director is a leftist.”
They resumed their blowing, but after another half-an-hour they felt too tired to continue. The bulge on the floor was larger but still nothing like the shape of an elephant.
“It’s getting harder all the time,” said the first keeper.
“It’s an uphill job, all right,” agreed the second. “Let’s have a little rest.”
While they were resting, one of them noticed a gas pipe ending in a valve. Could they not fill the elephant with gas? He suggested it to his mate.
They decided to try. They connected the elephant to the gas pipe, turned the valve, and to their joy in a few minutes there was a full-sized beast standing in the shed. It looked real: the enormous body, legs like columns, huge ears and the inevitable trunk. Driven by ambition the director had made sure of having in his Zoo a very large elephant indeed.
“First class,” declared the keeper who had the idea of using gas. “Now we can go home.”
In the morning the elephant was moved to a special run in a central position, next to the monkey cage. Placed in front of a large real rock it looked fierce and magnificent. A big notice proclaimed: “Particularly sluggish. Hardly moves.”
Among the first visitors that morning was a party of children from the local school. The teacher in charge of them was planning to give them an object-lesson about the elephant. He halted the group in front of the animal and began:
“The elephant is a herbivorous mammal. By means of its trunk it pulls out young trees and eats their leaves.”
The children were looking at the elephant with enraptured admiration. They were waiting for it to pull out a young tree, but the beast stood still behind its railings.
“… The elephant is a direct descendant of the now extinct mammoth. It’s not surprising, therefore, that it’s the largest living land animal.”
The more conscientious pupils were making notes.
“… Only the whale is heavier than the elephant, but then the whale lives in the sea. We can safely say that on land the elephant reigns supreme.”
A slight breeze moved the branches of the trees in the Zoo.
“… The weight of a fully grown elephant is between nine and thirteen thousand pounds.”
At that moment the elephant shuddered and rose in the air. For a few seconds it swayed just above the ground but a gust of wind blew it upwards until its mighty silhouette was against the sky. For a short while people on the ground could still see the four circles of its feet, its bulging belly and the trunk, but soon, propelled by the wind, the elephant sailed above the fence and disappeared above the tree-tops. Astonished monkeys in the cage continued staring into the sky.
They found the elephant in the neighbouring botanical gardens. It had landed on a cactus and punctured its rubber hide.
The schoolchildren who had witnessed the scene in the Zoo soon started neglecting their studies and turned into hooligans. It is reported that they drink liquor and break windows. And they no longer believe in elephants.
26: The Last Hussar
An air of secrecy and importance surrounded Bunny. Some of his acquaintances knew something but very few people knew all. Only Bunny’s wife, his mother and his grandmother knew all. The rest, his relatives, even his children, were condemned to conjecture.
Every night, after the children had gone to bed, and Bunny in his slippers was sitting by the lamp with his newspaper, his wife would kneel by him, place her head on his knees and, gazing into his eyes, she would whisper, “For goodness’ sake, Bunny, do be careful. …”
Bunny could not stand broth made with veal bones. Nor could he stand the régime.
Bunny is a hero.
Sometimes he returns home beaming but silent. His nearest and dearest know that if he wanted to, and if he could, there would be a great deal to tell them. In the evening his wife, timidly, with undisguised admiration, asks him: “Again?”
Bunny nods his head and stretches his arms. His whole bearing suggests masculine strength.
“Where?” asks his wife, surprised by her own audacity.
Bunny gets up and goes to the door. He opens it with a jerk to make sure nobody is listening behind it. He checks the curtains. In a low voice he answers: “The usual place.”
“You,” says his wife.
That one short word expresses everything.
As we have already mentioned, among his friends Bunny enjoys a somewhat unclear but exciting reputation: “Bunny must be careful. …” “Is Bunny in some danger …?” “Bunny is showing them where they get off. …”
His mother is worried about him. Worried but proud. She always refers to him as “my son”. His grandmother, a steadfast old lady who lives alone, is only proud. She never shows any fear or even worry. To her daughter, Bunny’s mother, she says: “In our age one has got to take risks. Our cause needs fearless men. If Eustace were alive today he would be doing exactly as Bunny does.”
Speaking to her great-grandchildren she says: “Be proud that you have a father like these”—here she shows them pictures of plumed knights galloping across a plain. “Your father could do the same. He hasn’t broken down.”
Meanwhile Bunny goes into a public convenience. Carefully he locks the door behind him. His gleaming eyes inspect the little cubicle. Is he alone? With a lightning movement he takes a pencil from his pocket and writes on the wall, “Down with Communism!”
Quickly he leaves the convenience and jumps into the first taxi or horse-cab that comes his way. He is driven away, but not in the direction of his apartment. He gets out and in a roundabout way goes home. In the evening his wife enquires shyly: “Again?”
Bunny has been acting in this way for a long time now, and though this dangerous life has affected his nerves and brought insomnia, he will not give up.
He is careful and always changes his handwriting. From time to time he also borrows his superior’s fountain pen. “Should they trace back the pen, ha, ha, ha. …” He laughs ominously at the thought of his chief’s discomfort, at the prospect of misleading his, Bunny’s, persecutors. The tyrants.
Sometimes danger freezes the blood in Bunny’s veins. It looks like the end. Once, for instance, while he was writing on the wall “Catholics will not give in!” there was a loud knocking on the door. Bunny’s heart missed several beats. He was sure that THEY had come for him. Hastily he wiped off the slogan. The knocking continued. Bunny swallowed the pencil. He opened the door. Outside stood a stout man with a red face. He was clutching a brief-case. The public prosecutor? Without a word he pushed Bunny to the side, entered the convenience and locked the door. Bunny has not forgotten that experience. …
He viewed all lavatory attendants with the greatest suspicion. You never knew if one of them was not a disguised police spy.
One winter day he was marching towards his usual battlefield when an unexpected sight made him stop dead. The door of the convenience was shut. Across it, written in chalk, was a brutal notice, undoubtedly the work of the enemy. “CLOSED FOR REPAIRS.”
Bunny felt like a hussar who, in the confusion of the battle, loses his sword.
But he decided to fight on. He went to the railway station. There he found a platoon of soldiers making in the direction of his goal. His suspicion was aroused. So not only have they used the treacherous subterfuge of “CLOSED FOR REPAIRS” but they have declared a state of emergency. In his mind he could see troops occupying all the public conveniences. But he was too clever for them. He could see through their clumsy designs. They would not get him.
Certain that all the objectives in the town must have been occupied, including Hotel Polonia and the communal canteen, “Gastronome No. 1”, he decided to strike elsewhere. The last word would belong to him.
He boarded a train, got off at the first stop and walked to the small, poor village he could see down in the valley. When he reached the first house he asked for the privy.
“What?” They were surprised. “We go into the bushes,” they said.
It was already getting dark in the thicket. All the better, he thought. He went into the bushes and there with a stick he wrote in the snow: “General Franco will show you!”
He returned home. That night he stood for a long time in front of a mirror wondering if hussar’s wings would suit him.
33: On a Journey An alternate, British-inflected translation by Marcus Wheeler is available, under the title "En Route", in The Modern Polish Mind: An Anthology, edited by Maria Kuncewicz (Little, Brown & Co, 1962):
Just after B—— the road took us among damp, flat meadows. Only here and there the expanse of green was broken by a stubble field. In spite of mud and potholes the chaise was moving at a brisk pace. Far ahead, level with the ears of the horses, a blue band of the forest was stretching across the horizon. As one would expect at that time of the year, there was not a soul in sight.
Only after we had travelled for a while did I see the first human being. As we approached his features became clear; he was a man with an ordinary face and he wore a Post Office uniform. He was standing still at the side of the road, and as we passed he threw us an indifferent glance. No sooner had we left him behind than I noticed another one, in a similar uniform, also standing motionless on the verge. I looked at him carefully, but my attention was immediately attracted by the third and then the fourth still figure by the roadside. Their apathetic eyes were all fixed in the same direction, their uniforms were faded.
Intrigued by this spectacle I rose in my seat so that I could glance over the shoulders of the cabman; indeed, ahead of us another figure was standing erect. When we passed two more of them my curiosity became irresistible. There they were, standing quite a distance from each other, yet near enough to be able to see the next man, holding the same posture and paying as much attention to us as road signs do to passing travellers. And as soon as we passed one, another came into our field of vision. I was about to open my mouth to ask the coachman about the meaning of those men, when, without turning his head, he volunteered: “On duty.”
We were just passing another still figure, staring indifferently into the distance.
“How’s that?” I asked.
“Well, just normal. They are standing on duty,” and he urged the horses on.
The coachman showed no inclination to offer any further elucidation; perhaps he thought it was superfluous. Cracking his whip from time to time and shouting at the horses, he was driving on. Roadside brambles, shrines and solitary willow trees came to meet us and receded again in the distance; between them, at regular intervals, I could see the now familiar silhouettes.
“What sort of duty are they doing?” I enquired.
“State duty, of course. Telegraph line.”
“How’s that? Surely for a telegraph line you need poles and wires!”
The coachman looked at me and shrugged his shoulders.
“I can see that you’ve come from far away,” he said. “Yes, we know that for a telegraph you need poles and wires. But this is wireless telegraph. We were supposed to have one with wires but the poles got stolen and there’s no wire.”
“What do you mean, no wire?”
“There simply isn’t any,” he said, and shouted at the horses.
Surprise silenced me for the moment but I had no intention of abandoning my enquiries.
“And how does it work without wires?”
“That’s easy. The first one shouts what’s needed to the second, the second repeats it to the third, the third to the fourth and so on until the telegram gets to where it’s supposed to. Just now they aren’t transmitting or you’d hear them yourself.”
“And it works, this telegraph?”
“Why shouldn’t it work? It works all right. But often the message gets twisted. It’s worst, when one of them has had a drink too many. Then his imagination gets to work and various words get added. But otherwise it’s even better than the usual telegraph with poles and wires. After all live men are more intelligent, you know. And there’s no storm damage to repair and great saving on timber, and timber is short. Only in the winter there are sometimes interruptions. Wolves. But that can’t be helped.”
“And those men, are they satisfied?” I asked.
“Why not? The work isn’t very hard, only they’ve got to know foreign words. And it’ll get better still; the postmaster has gone to Warsaw to ask for megaphones for them so that they don’t have to shout so much.”
“And should one of them be hard of hearing?”
“Ah, they don’t take such-like. Nor do they take men with a lisp. Once they took on a chap that stammered. He got his job through influence but he didn’t keep it long because he was blocking the line. I hear that by the twenty kilometres’ stone there’s one who went to a drama school. He shouts most clearly.”
His arguments confused me for a while. Deep in thought, I no longer paid attention to the men by the road verge. The chaise was jumping over potholes, moving towards the forest, which was now occupying most of the horizon.
“All right,” I said carefully, “but wouldn’t you prefer to have a new telegraph with poles and wires?”
“Good heavens, no.” The coachman was shocked. “For the first time it’s easy to get a job in our district in the telegraph, that is. And people don’t have to rely only on their wages either. If someone expects a cable and is particularly anxious not to have it twisted, then he takes his chaise along the line and slips something into the pocket of each one of the telegraph boys. After all a wireless telegraph is something different from one with wires. More modern.”
Over the rattle of the wheels I could hear a distant sound, neither a cry nor a shout, but a sort of sustained wailing.
“Aaaeeeaaauuueeeaaaeeeaayayay.”
The coachman turned in his seat and put his hand to his ear.
“They are transmitting,” he said. “Let’s stop so that we can hear better.”
When the monotonous noise of our wheels ceased, total silence enveloped the fields. In that silence the wailing, which resembled the cry of birds on a moor, came nearer to us. His hand cupped to his ear, the telegraph man near by made ready to receive.
“It’ll get here in a moment,” whispered the coachman.
Indeed. When the last distant “ayayay” died away, from behind a clump of trees came the prolonged shout:
“Fa … th … er dea … d fu … ner … al Wed … nes … day.”
“May he rest in peace,” sighed the coachman and cracked his whip. We were entering the forest.
38: Modern Life
Being a loyal citizen I have decided to spend one whole day entirely in the spirit and letter of official exhortations.
First Day
I administered myself a sharp blow on the head thus fighting for the underfulfilment of my quota of sleep. A few more blows, which brought me down to the floor where I held myself in a powerful “Nelson” grip, took care of further attempts at resistance.
The process of getting dressed proceeded smoothly apart from a few minor skirmishes. In this way the battle of getting up was won.
Next I directed my steps to the bathroom which soon began to reverberate with machine-gun fire; armed with a Sten gun I was fighting for the cleanliness of my teeth. I must have won this battle, too, because I soon emerged from the bathroom wearing a happy smile on my face. The rest was simply a matter of a few more shots. Stepping over the dead body of the caretaker I went out into the street.
Breakfast. In the milk bar I had to use a torpedo. This modern weapon, fired with silent accuracy, brought my victory in the battle for scrambled eggs. The girl cashier was easily defeated on points.
The rest of the day was also full of fighting for various things. The battle for putting my hat on was fought and won with side arms. Two hand grenades were needed to bring my engagement in the public convenience to an end. My purchase of cigarettes was achieved from the turret of my tank only after half an hour’s fighting and the destruction of the tobacco kiosk with a direct hit.
At last, having fought for everything, having won all the battles and hoping to win all the future ones, I returned home. During a slight skirmish about retiring to bed I wounded myself with a sabre, but at last I went to sleep in a happy but strangely exhausted condition.
Second Day
This morning, when I looked out of my window, I saw a problem standing outside the door of the house. When I went out, it was still standing there in exactly the same posture as before. In the afternoon I found it as I had left it. Only in the evening did it shift its weight from one foot to the other.
I could barely sleep, worrying about the poor problem. The next morning it was still there, its posture unchanged. I brought it a folding chair so that it could rest for a while. No, it would not sit down, but from time to time it performed a knee-bending exercise. What a problem, I thought.
Every few minutes the inhabitants of the house interrupted whatever they were doing and looked out of the window to see if the problem was still there. They were getting used to it. Mothers would give it as an example to their children, men were regarding it with envy.
You can imagine the commotion there was when one morning we found the problem lying on the pavement. It did not suffer long. The Committee of Tenants paid for a decent burial. By the graveside we listened to a speech by the leader who had posed the problem outside our door. In the course of his oration he raised several new problems.
But the Committee of Tenants has no more funds for funerals.
42: The Chronicle of a besieged city
The city is under siege. Peasants cannot bring their produce in and prices of milk, butter and eggs have rocketed. There is a cannon in front of the Town Hall. Municipal commissionaires are dusting the cannon carefully by means of hares’ legs and feather dusters. Someone advises wiping it with a wet rag. But who will listen to advice amidst the turmoil of the siege? Everyone who, hastening through the city centre, notices this cannon, finds his heart gripped by anxiety. Some people shrug their shoulders: people don’t clean their shoes, and here … But afraid of informers they pretend that their backs are itching and they scratch between their shoulder blades. They try to make their behaviour appear to be of no importance.
As for myself, I don’t regret anything. The limitations of my fate have tied me to my pokey room, they have tied me to this city and I know that I am not a Count and never shall become a Field-Marshal. The old chap who lives at the bottom of the stairs is absolutely delighted. All his life he has considered himself as a first-class shot. Now he will be able to show them. Since the morning he has been polishing his metal-rimmed glasses. He suffers from conjunctivitis.
In the afternoon a shell fell through the open door of a suburban house and killed two goldfish in an aquarium. A state funeral was ordered for them. Through the night, candles were burning around the black catafalque in the Cathedral. On the catafalque rested a coffin and in it the two goldfish; one had to look close to see them at all, lying at the bottom of the black box, as if down a precipice. Later the six horses harnessed to the hearse, feeling the lightness of their load, kept on running away. The man from the Town Hall, who was in charge of the funeral, tried to explain to them that for the good of the city they should move slowly and with dignity. The grooms surreptitiously gave them a beating, but this was also in vain.
The Archbishop, standing in front of the open grave, delivered a fiery oration, but he tripped on his robe and fell in. They buried him by mistake because nobody had noticed his fall, even though all the faces seemed full of concentration. However, he was soon unearthed and the grave-diggers had to apologise to him. He was in a sufficiently bad mood. In spite of all this, the general hatred of the enemy increased appreciably after the funeral.
That evening the old man shot the attendant who goes round at dusk and lights the gas lamps. He blamed the poor light, because, he said, he had been aiming straight at the enemy. He swore that his conjunctivitis would soon pass.
During the night there was a loud noise in the cellar of our house. Bottles of fermenting wine were exploding. We placed a guard there.
When the noise brought us all running into the cellar, I noticed that my neighbour on the landing was wearing a night-dress in a pattern resembling small autumn leaves. I mentioned it to her. It immediately brought autumn into our minds and made us feel so sad that, though everybody else went back to sleep, the two of us sat on the back steps leading into the garden and talked about that unpleasant season. Then I remembered that I had an eiderdown in a pattern of gay spring flowers. I brought it down and wrapped it round my neighbour. At once we both felt more cheerful.
In the morning—sensation. One of the patriots found a torpedo in his breakfast coffee. He reported it at once. The coffee was poured away. We now have an instruction to drink coffee only through a straw. Especially that all yoghourt has been mined. It is said that these are, in fact, our own countermines.
The newspaper calls for increased efforts. It appeals for deeds that will bring glory and promotion. “A General in every house” is the slogan of the day. I increased my efforts and stretched my muscles; my braces gave way. My landlady keeps on grumbling: “What do I want a General for. He won’t wipe his feet, he won’t even take off his hat. …” In a shop window, three streets away from us, they are showing a model General. I heard that one can also get herrings there. But I can’t go out because of my braces.
I tried to read, but opposite my window the old boy took up his position, the one who is so delighted that at last he has a chance of giving everything he’s got. With his first shot he shattered my lamp. I took refuge under the sofa, where, in relative safety, I can devote myself to my books. I am reading Sindbad the Sailor. It occurs to me, however, that this is not a text worthy of the times we are witnessing. I crawl to the shelves and pull out a slightly yellowed volume: The Triumphant Progress of the Centrifugal Pump in Public Utilities. Bullets clang against the springs of the sofa. The springs respond with a long vibrating note.
About noon the old man either exhausted his ammunition or went to see an eye specialist. My landlady came back with the news that the police had confiscated all the pictures of bearded men in photographers’ windows. She could not explain why. She repaired my braces.
I could not get the puzzling news about the photographs out of my mind, and my recent reading about pumps had stimulated my enquiring spirit. I put on a false beard and went out. Two field policemen stopped me at the very first street corner. They took me to a photographer and took a picture of me, developed it and instantly confiscated it.
That night it was difficult to sleep because an armoured car was patrolling on our roof and checking the documents of the cats which always prowl there. I was told that only one cat had his papers on him but he too was arrested. After all, an ordinary cat carrying authentic personal documents is enough to arouse justified suspicion.
My neighbour went out today wearing a green polka-dot dress.
Since this morning thirty men have been working on the shiny dome of the Town Hall and painting it black. That dome used to shimmer even on cloudy days, but a siege is a siege. As I was watching, one of the painters slipped and fell to the pavement. He broke his leg. As they were lifting him, he shouted: “For the Fatherland!” On hearing this a citizen passing by grabbed a stick from another man and broke his own leg. “I also want to make my sacrifice!” he shouted. “I’ll do my bit!” These cries excited him even more and for good measure he also broke his glasses.
In the circus, from today, they will be showing only patriotic numbers, and not all of them at that.
The family of our caretaker is showing signs symptomatic of the food difficulties in a besieged city. On coming home I passed the open window of their basement and heard the caretaker say to his little son: “If you don’t behave I’ll eat your dinner.” His voice was full of ill-disguised covetousness. I shrugged my shoulders. Why shouldn’t a father admit frankly that he is hungry. Surely, the child would understand. I was indignant at this hypocrisy.
The landlady greeted me with another piece of news.
“Do you know,” she said, “that there will be no Christmas this year? All the Christmas trees are to be sent to the barricades!”
“Oh, don’t you worry about Christmas trees,” I interrupted. “You’ll hang your decorations on the asparagus fern.”
“On the asparagus! Holy Mother,” she wailed. “Nobody has ever done a thing like that!”
“My dear lady, better on the asparagus than on nothing at all.”
She reflected over my words.
“Yes, you are right,” she admitted, “but what if they take all the asparagus to the barricades, too?”
I had no answer to that one.
In the streets messenger-dachshunds are running about. Clearly something has happened.
The first meeting of the General Staff: it is reported that there was a difference of views on the possible use of the cannon outside the Town Hall. There is general agreement that the cannon should be fired at the enemy but some want to do it on a State holiday, others on a Church holiday. There is also a group of the centre which recommends as the best solution that a new State holiday should be proclaimed on a day which also happens to be a Church holiday. The left has immediately split into two groups; one which wishes to consider the motion proposed by the centre, the other regarding the proposal as wholly opportunist. Soon the extreme left splintered still further, with one group demanding the passing of a condemnatory resolution, while the other recommended that general reservations should be formulated in a non-committal form, primarily for internal reasons. A similar division also developed within the wing that wanted the cannon fired on a Church holiday and different groups within it have adopted different attitudes to the proposal from the centre.
In the afternoon my braces broke once more. I was ashamed to ask my landlady to repair them again. After all the woman has some right to a private life. So I stayed at home and made notes from “The Triumphant Progress”.
In the evening I felt tired. After my intensive intellectual labours I needed some distraction. The darkness in the street (the man responsible for lighting the lamps was still in hospital) emboldened me; nobody could see that my braces were torn. I slipped into a bar where I met a nice man. He turned out to be the gunner responsible for our cannon. He confesses that he had no idea how to fire it; his real occupation was growing silk worms and he had been assigned to the cannon because of a clerical error. I had to hold up my trousers with my left hand while raising my glass with the right.
Time passed quickly. Soon we were friends and we were embracing each other. Alas, I couldn’t embrace him with both arms and I was afraid that he would think of me as a cold, stand-offish and reserved person. On my way back I had to crawl along the walls because the old short-sighted man had obtained some more ammunition and bullets were whistling along the street.
The landlady had bolted the door from the inside. Undecided what to do I went into the garden and looked into the windows. Some people’s lights were still on, among them my neighbour’s. I saw her. She was so scantily dressed that she was shivering from the cold. I nearly cried out of compassion. How can one be so careless about one’s health?
As I had gone to bed late, I slept till noon. When I got up I heard the important news. There had been a second meeting of the General Staff, and the centre group started splitting because of the different views adopted by its members on the positions taken by the groups of the left and the extreme left and the three groups of the right. The next item of news concerned the Town Hall. A ceremony had taken place there during which our old man, in recognition of his voluntary and vigilant fight against the enemy, was awarded a decoration and given a new rifle with a telescopic sight. I ran straight to the chemist and bought some bandages and iodine. I shall always have them with me. I heard also that the ceremony had not passed without a scandal. Because of his short sight the old boy had pinned his decoration upside down. When his attention was drawn to it, he replied with bullets and, shouting that he would not allow a single enemy to escape, he ran out into the streets. His decoration strengthened his readiness to sacrifice. What nobility! What zeal!
Life in the city tires me. I feel that it is time to make an excursion, to lie somewhere on the grass, with only clouds above my head. Will the weather hold? There are so many beautiful cathedrals and monuments in my city. The seasons change so miraculously, as if nature wished to give us a permanent spectacle with a subtly changing décor. I am sure that if one went to the outer fortifications and climbed a wall, one could look southwards and see an unlimited world. Is there anything lovelier than to stand on the seashore at five o’clock on a summer morning, to stand by the sea on which we shall soon sail southwards and southwards? I am sure there is, and this very certainty makes us hop gaily and wander farther and farther. Of course, these were only my thoughts. I was gravely handicapped by the absence of serviceable braces. My ignorance of practical matters prevented me from finding a remedy, and a feeling of shame did not allow me to seek help. In any case every minute brought new developments. An official communiqué announced that the cannon would be fired at the enemy the following day.
Preparations for the event were most elaborate. According to official orders everybody had to find a helmet for himself. This helmet could be worn during the rest of the siege, but it was compulsory on the Day of the Firing. The orders caused a great deal of confusion. My landlady got busy with her scissors, needle and thread and then entered my room wearing a helmet made of felt taken from her old school hat which, having spent half a century in the loft, smelled strongly of moth balls.
“Is that all right?” she asked uncertainly, as if ashamed of something.
I was surprised. Contrary to her normal custom she had done all the work in silence, without the loud grumbles and complaints she always voiced when complying with any official instructions. Thus I had had no warning.
“Fine,” I said. “Most becoming. It makes you look young. But, you know, perhaps it isn’t quite stiff enough. A helmet should be hard.”
“Oh, what shall I do?” She was distressed. “I’ve darned it as well as I could.”
“It isn’t that,” I tried to explain gently. “You know, it’s just in case. Anyway, you must have a piece of sheet-metal somewhere, a baking tin or even an old unwanted kettle. …”
As far as I was concerned the solution of the helmet problem was simple. As soon as my landlady left my room I threw out the asparagus fern and put the pot on my head. This did not afford me much protection, even from splinters, but I was not worried. All I wanted was to avoid trouble with any police inspection. Just for one moment I was not entirely happy with the thought that we may really need the fern for Christmas.
In the evening, after a day filled with preparations, I decided to seek some relaxation by taking a walk in the cemetery. I found there what I wanted: peace and silence, so soothing after the streets filled with excited crowds, most of them already wearing helmets. Everybody was in a hurry to complete his shopping before the holiday when everything would be closed. Walking slowly along a path I came to an unfinished obelisk marking the official grave of the two goldfish, which were killed on the first day of the siege. Out of habit I am referring to the “goldfish” though this description does not tally with what is written on the tombstone.
To my surprise I met my neighbour, who, like me, must have slipped out of the hubbub and confusion in search of some peace. A lock of her hair had escaped from under a small helmet made of corrugated tin. I felt bashful.
“How quiet it is,” I said, standing in front of her.
“Yes, very quiet,” she agreed.
“They will fire the cannon tomorrow.”
“So I hear.”
She took out her mirror and adjusted the helmet.
The firing of the cannon was not successful. My landlady reported this to me. There was no official communiqué. I thought that the gunner I had met must have told me the truth, but I also heard that the failure was not his fault. Possibly there were other reasons. In any case there was a great deal of talk about it. Later I was preoccupied with other matters because I wanted to make my excursion to the walls. As you know, at that time I did not go out much because of my braces. I lied to my landlady and told her that my feet hurt and I had too much work at home. To reinforce my point I showed her the open volume on The Triumphant Progress of the Centrifugal Pump in Public Utilities and my notes on it. As for my excursion, I counted on the fact that in the outskirts there would be hardly anyone about, especially that I was planning to set out in the late afternoon. I spent the rest of the Day of the Firing at home, planning my excursion and dreaming about it. Having switched off the light, I stood for a long time by my window.
When I woke up the next day I heard my landlady crying in the kitchen. As I lay in bed I wondered what could have upset her. At last she brought my breakfast, the newspaper and the sandwiches I had ordered for my excursion. She left them all on the table and fled in tears. My photograph was on the front page of the paper and with it an announcement that the person responsible for everything has been and is—me.
I was less surprised by it than I expected. After all, how can one be absolutely sure that one is not responsible for everything? I stayed indoors, glad for once that the broken braces compelled me to do so. I would not have liked to show my face to other people if it was all my fault and they were convinced of it.
It was a pity that the pleasure of my excursion should have been marred. When at last I left the house, one of my hands was holding up my trousers, with the other I shook the caretaker’s hand. I gave all my books, including Sindbad the Sailor and The Triumphant Progress of the Centrifugal Pump in Public Utilities to my landlady. She asked me to write to her from time to time. [Concluded in Comments].
submitted by MilkbottleF to shortstoryaday [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 15:08 Relevant-Donkey5781 Hey! Check out my youtube video! https://youtu.be/Qf1r8ujJgQ4

Hey! Check out my youtube video! https://youtu.be/Qf1r8ujJgQ4 submitted by Relevant-Donkey5781 to Promote_Your_Channel [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 15:08 Razaali07 Would 18x9.5 +38 fit on stock suspension? With tyres 245/45/18

submitted by Razaali07 to ft86 [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 15:08 urban_nemophilist 15 months update

15 months update submitted by urban_nemophilist to ClosedTerrariums [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 15:08 AINU-REBEL 💪Tesla added DOGE for buying Merch, we just started minting new character to Matrix Awakens. 🚘 Guess which one? Correct answer might bring you NFT airdrop. 🚀 1 DOGE = 1 DOGE so floor price starts at 0,001ETH. 🐶 #nft #dogecoin #doge #elonmusk #tesla #matrix

💪Tesla added DOGE for buying Merch, we just started minting new character to Matrix Awakens. 🚘 Guess which one? Correct answer might bring you NFT airdrop. 🚀 1 DOGE = 1 DOGE so floor price starts at 0,001ETH. 🐶 #nft #dogecoin #doge #elonmusk #tesla #matrix submitted by AINU-REBEL to ainurebels [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 15:08 anonymous09i7 My GF's sister

Me (24) and my GF (23) are together for about 7 years now. We live together and I'm quite happy, but lately I've been looking at her younger sister (19). She's super hot. Every time I see her I get a massive boner. Sometimes when I'm home alone I masturbate at her photos. Recently when we had a sex with my GF I was thinking about her sister the whole time. I don't know what to do. I don't want to throw away 7 years of relationship, but I'm afraid that one day I wouldn't be able to to control myself.
submitted by anonymous09i7 to relationship_advice [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 15:08 belaiz 🍉 MELONx - Community-Based | LowCap | BUSD rewards | Crypto-Donation platform, similar to GoFundMe but in CryptoSpace (Q1/2022)

🍉 MELONx ($MLNX) is a token released on the Binance Smart Chain Network in May of 2021. Melon is the second project of the DRIVENecosystem ($DVX DRIVENx); it is a charity initiative that was created specifically to help women all over the world who are currently battling breast cancer.
🍉 Our mission is to create a crypto donation platform to assist over 2,500 women in their fight against breast cancer. Development of this application has already begun, and expect to be done by the Q1 2022.
🍉 On each transaction, 5% of the built-in tokenomics is transferred into a charity/marketing wallet, from which we donate to women with breast cancer. So far, we have made 10 donations to people, which you can find on our website.
🍉 MELONx is a deflationary token, which means that it is self-sustaining, and with each token transaction, we strengthen the liquidity pool, redistribute BUSD rewards to holders, and place BUSD funds in charity/marketing wallets.
🍉 MELONx listed CoinMarketCap and CoinGecko
🍉 MELONx has successfully passed a TechRate smart contract audit!
🍉 MELONx Crypto-Donation platform available soon (Q1/2022). You can make your own donations through the platform. Its like GoFundME but in crypto world!
🍉 MELONx dividend tracker, you can keep track of your MELONx earnings.
🍉Nomics Exchange | CoinPaprika Exchange
Contract Address:
0xF28709f1daa6CEE2847C5B9526ceba457331742b
🔒 Locked Liquidity
Liquidity is locked (DeepLock)
🚨 Deflationary System
For each and every transaction,
5% is returned to the liquidity pool 🔒
6% is rewarded to holders (BUSD) 📈
5% is placed in a charity wallet 💰
🔷 Details
Token Name: MELONx
Token Symbol: $MLNX
Token Type: BEP-20
Supply: 100,000,000
🔗 Links :
🌐 Website: https://melontokenbsc.com
🐦Twitter: https://twitter.com/melontokenbsc
💬 Telegram: https://t.me/melonbsc
🖐 GitBook: https://app.gitbook.com/@drivenprotocol/s/drivenx/projects/melon
Latest Articles:
Yahoo Finance https://finance.yahoo.com/news
Yahoo News https://news.yahoo.com/
Yahoo Money https://money.yahoo.com
submitted by belaiz to SatoshiBets [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 15:08 Electronic_Job2562 Anyone do Comp sci in QMUL?

i heard the course is shit. (no wonder I got a BBB offer) and I do A level maths anyways.
Forums have said the course is practical based, and students struggle with their master's degrees because the theory was poorly understood. London Is expensive so I'm not sure if i even want to waste money getting this degree.
On the flipside, QMUL seems great in central east London. canary wharf is nearby where my friend works. furthermore, it seems international students are present which is nice.
submitted by Electronic_Job2562 to 6thForm [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 15:08 thayvee [artist store] Planet Lollipops stickers by me.

submitted by thayvee to artstore [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 15:08 StreetClothesDavis [US-FL] [H] RK61 w Gat Yellows [W] Paypal

Timestamp and pics
Greetings,
Selling my older RK61 which was the gateway drug for me. I experimented with it and now I'm looking to hook someone else into the hobby, or maybe it'll serve as a travel burner
Solder PCB, Gat Yellows I soldered (first time, all the keys work), USB-B, some case foam, also experimented with lubing the alphas. It was too time consuming so I gave up. They sound good though.
$45 shipped submitted by StreetClothesDavis to mechmarket [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 15:08 brethrentoons Any good worker co-op apparel stores?

I'm in a graphic design course and they're making me do some ads for brands/companies. I don't really feel like doing ads for bezos and other bezos-kin, so I wanted to know if there were any good co-op apparel stores that I could make ads for for this project. They need to have at least three shirts so I can make three different ads, and unfortunately whitefore.st only has two shirts. So do you guys have any other options?
Also I'd just like some good apparel too
submitted by brethrentoons to VaushV [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 15:08 geckos_in_a_box i made my ballsona :D

submitted by geckos_in_a_box to lgballtart [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 15:08 AdeptnessSure3734 Upgrading

I’m new to gamin pc and setups. What should I purge are first and last. Should I upgrade monitors first or better the pc idk. Any sort of guide would be appreciated
submitted by AdeptnessSure3734 to pcmasterrace [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 15:08 pastoriagym Contact Cascades on Grata Creek - Technically my first find for KWS

submitted by pastoriagym to Kitsap [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 15:08 BVBetting Up 9.52U this week, 6-2(75%) on NCAAB and 5-4(55%) on NBA let’s get it💰🔥

Up 9.52U this week, 6-2(75%) on NCAAB and 5-4(55%) on NBA let’s get it💰🔥 submitted by BVBetting to sportsgambling [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 15:08 coffee_sailor "Little Boxes" song: thought of in a new light

There's an old song written in the early sixties called Little Boxes by Malvina Reynolds (it was used as the intro in the show "Weeds"), and it basically shreds the normie suburban dominant culture of the time. Here are some of the lyrics:

And the people in the houses All went to the university Where they were put in boxes And they came out all the same
And there's doctors and lawyers And business executives And they're all made out of ticky tacky And they all look just the same
I understand what the song is about and why it was written, and to a large extent I even agree with the sentiment. What's interesting though, is in the context of /antiwork and similar reddit subs, is that now you listen to it and think "Oh man, they went to University debt free?, and then could afford to buy a house??? Amazing!" I mean, forced conformity is a drag but I think I may prefer it over starvation wages and unaffordable housing. It's a sad commentary on how far we've fallen.
submitted by coffee_sailor to antiwork [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 15:08 HopelessRomantictm Our new sweatshirt we released, what do you think?

Our new sweatshirt we released, what do you think? submitted by HopelessRomantictm to streetwearstartup [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 15:08 belaiz 🍉 MELONx - Community-Based | LowCap | BUSD rewards | Crypto-Donation platform, similar to GoFundMe but in CryptoSpace (Q1/2022)

🍉 MELONx ($MLNX) is a token released on the Binance Smart Chain Network in May of 2021. Melon is the second project of the DRIVENecosystem ($DVX DRIVENx); it is a charity initiative that was created specifically to help women all over the world who are currently battling breast cancer.
🍉 Our mission is to create a crypto donation platform to assist over 2,500 women in their fight against breast cancer. Development of this application has already begun, and expect to be done by the Q1 2022.
🍉 On each transaction, 5% of the built-in tokenomics is transferred into a charity/marketing wallet, from which we donate to women with breast cancer. So far, we have made 10 donations to people, which you can find on our website.
🍉 MELONx is a deflationary token, which means that it is self-sustaining, and with each token transaction, we strengthen the liquidity pool, redistribute BUSD rewards to holders, and place BUSD funds in charity/marketing wallets.
🍉 MELONx listed CoinMarketCap and CoinGecko
🍉 MELONx has successfully passed a TechRate smart contract audit!
🍉 MELONx Crypto-Donation platform available soon (Q1/2022). You can make your own donations through the platform. Its like GoFundME but in crypto world!
🍉 MELONx dividend tracker, you can keep track of your MELONx earnings.
🍉Nomics Exchange | CoinPaprika Exchange
Contract Address:
0xF28709f1daa6CEE2847C5B9526ceba457331742b
🔒 Locked Liquidity
Liquidity is locked (DeepLock)
🚨 Deflationary System
For each and every transaction,
5% is returned to the liquidity pool 🔒
6% is rewarded to holders (BUSD) 📈
5% is placed in a charity wallet 💰
🔷 Details
Token Name: MELONx
Token Symbol: $MLNX
Token Type: BEP-20
Supply: 100,000,000
🔗 Links :
🌐 Website: https://melontokenbsc.com
🐦Twitter: https://twitter.com/melontokenbsc
💬 Telegram: https://t.me/melonbsc
🖐 GitBook: https://app.gitbook.com/@drivenprotocol/s/drivenx/projects/melon
Latest Articles:
Yahoo Finance https://finance.yahoo.com/news
Yahoo News https://news.yahoo.com/
Yahoo Money https://money.yahoo.com
submitted by belaiz to MoonShotCoin [link] [comments]


http://redmonkcafe.ru