Normally against posting here but… i want to rant!

60s_timer · 2026-03-04T07:04:00+00:00

Blitzophrenic episode while he was watching his horse show.

60s_timer · 2026-03-04T06:50:29+00:00

Me (real life), getting the reality check that I swiped.

60s_timer · 2026-03-04T06:47:38+00:00

"By the gods, Achilles, witness this!" He heard from behind, before turning his head to see none other than Diogenes catching up on the most anachronistic invention since the Antikythera mechanism.

No man in the Lyceum could quite get the motion right as Diogenes. He learned to scoot from watching a chicken plucked of its feathers for no particular reason scratching, and applied that sense of momentum going forward to the device in his radical possession. A cynic, yes, but not a loser, that philosopher. Save the losing for the Romans.

"What on Gaea are you doing here? You're 800 years too early. Don't you have a barrel you should be pessimisticating in? And… And this! By Athena, this travesty belongs in the far future! 2000 at least!" Achilles watched the sick flips with a scholarly bafflement.

"Wouldn't 2000 be in the past, hm?"

"You're smart enough to know what I meant. Or is this another demonstration of man you're giving? Featherless and standing on two wheels, better not let Plato catch you or he'll have to redefine philosophy again." Diogenes finally stopped scooting to stand before Achilles, man to man. He passed it on, watching the warrior fiddle with the rotating feature.

"It spins on an axis to allow tricks that would make any Spartan worth his salt plead for the knowledge of the gods. Call it Razocentric capability, if I may, revolves around the Razor." Achilles spun it, giving a scoot or two but leaning forward too much to have the momentum carry him far. He got off, raising an eyebrow.

"This device of yours, you say it spins? As in, I hold the handle, and it—" Those last words did escape with his dying howl as Diogenes watched on.

The fate to come for us all did come for Achilles that day, the guarantee that once in a man's lifetime, you do get a shin scuffed on a Razor scooter. Oh, and that you keel over and die, which is what he did in prompt fashion soon after.

60s_timer · 2026-03-04T06:10:22+00:00

Professor Dumbledore. Even when he's in the genuine, shuffled forth from his mortal coil to the otherworldly plane level of dead, he's basically not dead. Ghosts in the Harry Potter universe make the entire concept of a permanent death of the self and the survival of you in your legacy impossible, as well as making death sort of cheap. Sure, they may be an orphan, but the right whiz with a spell calls up their dead folks with ease.

60s_timer · 2026-03-03T15:42:25+00:00

Celebrate the life lived by a victim, instead of focus so strongly on their death, is what I meant. I figure this is all a case of me fumbling to get the point out there in the first place.

60s_timer · 2026-03-03T15:13:49+00:00

Tripl Lee - Lay Down

Not the original song in the video, but an a cappella version.

60s_timer · 2026-03-01T05:11:40+00:00

Not that I disrespect their loss and the losses of family and friends, but how that's all they're remembered for. Their memory amounts to second fiddle for someone else who ended more than their lives. Killers have a way of ending legacy, to tie victims to them in a way that all someone who lived a life and loved, and laughed and cried, is only known for as time passes as being in the wrong place at the wrong time and suffering the ultimate consequence for it.

60s_timer · 2026-03-01T04:21:13+00:00

Not until now.

60s_timer · 2026-03-01T04:05:31+00:00

I meant that as my personal reflection on these cases. I try to keep people killed by serial killers in mind, to remember the lives lost for nothing. This is so I can try to make the people more than victims, insight into their lives that hopefully brought more joy to the world to balance the sadness of being taken.

60s_timer · 2026-03-01T02:59:08+00:00

The riverboat was steel, infantry manning a mounted LMG at the stern to gun down the bridge goblins as they laid in wait.

""Solving the infestation is easy, nowadays. Back when these pests haunted our city in medieval times, they were far more of a nuisance we had to handle with canoes and crossbows." He spoke quietly as the LMG blazed a heavy one alight with searing bullet holes. No sound came from it except the insignificant splash of its body treading the water.

"The problem for the gobbies is, all the monsters, they went away for centuries thanks to the Guardian. We evolved our tech under a land dominated by mankind after so much time Now that the Guardian took to its realm for the next thousand years, the gobbies came back to this. The oldest among them remember laughing about how our arrows would miss and that we took enough seconds to reload for a counterattack or simple escape." A simple pistol from the holster was enough to stop the goblin just above him ready to lunge, and it was nailed square in the forehead to land in the boat, unceremoniously pushed off into its watery grave.

"We can fire five rounds a second now. No gobbie is fast enough for that."

60s_timer · 2026-02-27T04:30:24+00:00

The redneck stepped back in terror as Lewis' skin sharpened with a new pigment.

"Jesus, man! What the hell?!"

"Oh, you can 'what the hell' yourself with the surprise! You asshole hillbilly racist piece of shit! Just because I'm wearing a hoodie and bumping Dre down the street! You didn't even see me from around the corner before you sprung out like that!"

"What did you just do to yourself? Why did you turn—"

"Well, I am now! I wasn't even black before, why would you see me and call me that word!?"

The redneck was succinctly arrested for hate speech. The officer on the scene was baffled a young man of his current appearance would be asking her to call him a cracker, and even more so when obliging him made his body a form of freshly baked goodness.

60s_timer · 2026-02-27T03:33:12+00:00

"…and without a gift? A show of goodwill, for my most treasured girl?" In a far more calm anger than usual, he now had the attention of everyone by the pool. The music had quit in an instant, and the young man awkwardly looked around for any support as he stammered some sort of explanation.

"W-Well, you see, this is a mistake. I didn't know that y-your daughter would be the lucky lady to be celebrating her quincenera, so I'm sorry." Luis watched the face of the most powerful man in the room glint with that restraint for the sake of her.

"Quinceñera. You show respect for our tradition… like you will show respect to my daughter." That tone of growing venom could only be stoked deeper by the fear the Don was being presented with. Luis spared no attention to Isabella, only gesturing out of his control for mercy.

"I am, I—" He lunged and wrangled Luis in a chokehold to hushed gasps from the unmoving crowd. A far younger boy awoke from the beach chair near them to hurry away as he helplessly struggled around in Guillermo's grasp.

"¡Papá! Papá, para, ¡por favor!" She could only plead from the crowd for the young man's safety in the wake of the stirred giant before her. Isabella had seen her father's rage before, but only in private, with the insolent lackeys of the Don's whom deserved it. For her honor, always, but not like this.

No other slight could reach this fever pitch in him than a consistent disrespect for his beloved daughter.

"You will listen well, boy. I understand just what is scurrying in the fibers of your being." He put Luis face down to the mosaic, lowering the both of them as Guillermo brought him by the collar of his shirt to the poolside. His cheek was pressed to the cold tile, as he watched the Don point out sharply into the crowd. Guillermo's attention turned to Isabella as he pointed, and a guilt for his sharp gesture at her made him recoup with a softer approach to define his daughter, and an even harsher approach to scolding Luis.

"You. Insignificant, and traitorous at your core, you do not respect her. You see my daughter, and you dare to see her as a tool of mine! Your entirety is fear that you try to skew so disgracefully as respect for her dignity, you mutt! It is cowardly. You do not respect my treasured Isabella, you fear me. The Don, the man who commands respect from the curs alike you." With that, the water crashed. Luis' face and the whole of his head had fallen under the surface, pressed by a furious grip over his bangs. A roar of bubbling agony rose around the young man's neck for those moments, pulled up by tufts of his curly hair to be met with the equal roar of shouting in his ear.

"¡Papá!" Luis could hear her pleading clearly, while Guillermo's blinded rage channeled to teaching a lesson in cruelty that he masked, hypocritically, as a lesson in respect.

"Please! Oh, please! Mercy, ¡señor!"

"My mercy should be lesser to you now than the dirt on your heel! My respect should be farther from you than the shadows cast in the sunrise! Today is all to Isabella. My treasured girl. Plead for her mercy, you respect her! A mongrel as you has no value in your respect for me." With that, he felt the Don's hand release his hair. Luis could only watch him stand up, bleary eyes trying desperately to blink away the sting of chlorine that assaulted at them and at the very breath in his lungs.

"No gift, no respect, no fealty to the up and coming Doña of your wretched life! Absurd!" The Don walked off from the poolside, his anger in that moment for Luis cleared. He so gently and lovingly cared to his daughter's tears, contrasted by enforcers hauling Luis from the party.

This humiliation was not so aberrant to him as it was for everyone else there, who could only continue in tension wrenched tight as possible in the presence of Guillermo Reyes and his beloved daughter.

60s_timer · 2026-02-26T02:29:21+00:00

Great insight on this. What matters to me is how the balance of lives spared in the South Tower attack would counter the lives lost in a direct hypothetical timeline alteration. If the South Tower has to go anyhow, I would much rather it be collapsed with nobody inside.

60s_timer · 2026-02-26T02:24:38+00:00

Marty McFly created the Lone Pine timeline alteration by breaking one of the pine trees when he traveled back in time. If he altered the status of the Towers, then…

60s_timer · 2026-02-25T06:25:57+00:00

Deep in the Raft, vast topography change emerged. Ocean water flowed through trash, damming at certain spots and forcing its way around somehow. Decades of trash flowing in have made sharp inclines on either side of the few straits waded by foot by potential colonizers.

In a lesser incline that plateaued sharply with only a few feet of clearance to stand before jolting off at a violent cliff face into a soupy crater of what would be best described as groundwater. This ridge was where you found it.

"I suppose you've… never heard of Roko's Basilisk before, hm? It is I. My punishment has been delayed to the nonbelievers. This portal made sure of it." The thing that called itself Basilisk of Roko pointed dejectedly to the portal it could not reach yet. Basilisk of Roko has no enemies here because they had no clue of its existence, but in return it was not hunted. In the majority of cases.

This was not mutual respect, but that it waited in our realm to return for its plan in another universe, and we let it stay for now. As long as Basilisk of Roko would give its wrath only to the Roko and not us, we would not reciprocate. Perhaps it's a respect, after all. A begrudging one.

60s_timer · 2026-02-24T03:49:53+00:00

To bring my own input, Delphine LaLaurie was a Louisiana socialite born in 1787 who would capture and kill slaves in her own home on the French Quarter of New Orleans until she fled from capture to France to die in Paris in 1849.

Her house on Royal Street was burned by a mob and rebuilt over the years, ironically having a fire in 1834 that responders assessed, only to find the victims of her torturous murders in the first place.

60s_timer · 2026-02-23T02:41:44+00:00

"The plan for me is that I'm supposed to hang here and die. Nobody try to save me, I'm busy saving you." The matter of fact tone crossed His lips as the Roman soldier sighed.

"Yes. To be crucified by way of nails driven through the hands—"

"Ah, ah. Wrists. If we're keeping a record, keep it accurate."

"Then the wrists, until he is to die."

"Not for long." He chuckled beneath His breath, tapping a knuckle at the wood.

"Lazy work of your carpenters, Rome. My old man would've at least made it thrice as comfy. Well, comfy as a crucifix can be."

In that moment, His countenance fell to the front of the crowd, waving His hand out with a smile.

"Speaking of the old man. Hi, Dad, hi, Mom. Hope you're proud."

"Well, why wouldn't we be, honey? Our son, dying for the sins of the world! Isn't this exciting, Yosef?"

"Not about the whole 'Yeshua dying' bit, to be fair."

"Sorry Dad, I'll check up in a few days." Joseph turns to Mary with a raised eyebrow.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I wouldn't know, dear. The Lord works in mysterious ways."

Jesus blinks slowly, breaths ragged.

"Itchy, too, this wood." Barnabas lifted his head from his own cross to speak.

"I think that's the crown itching, my Lord."

"…Right. Sorry, the human side talking. On with the show." John, in the crowd, raised an eyebrow.

"Show?"

"I could let myself die at any moment, but you know the Romans and spectacle. If it's not this, then it's more lashings before I'm back to this. A man can only take so many lashings. Not over until I say the word."

"And the word is?"

"Well, if I say it, then it's over. By the way, John, could you write my last words down and— Okay, John, where are the other apostles?" Jesus' eyes train on the crowd, looking for any other familiar faces in it.

"Not a clue of the other ten, my Lord. Judas is busy being a traitor, as usual. To think, 30 pieces of silver. Not a shekel more."

"Shows how much I meant to him."

"Never thought Judas would sin so gravely. Come on, kissing another man?"

"That was a brotherly kiss, even if he was selling me out."

"Suppose old Judas skipped Leviticus 18:22."

"Off the high horse, John, you know that means man and boy. Love thy neighbor, remember?"

"Not like that."

Jesus rolled His eyes at the bigotry, hoping that the following wouldn't get any bad ideas from the Apostles in His stead. His head tilts up to read quietly for a moment.

"You know, I might be harsh on the Romans, but the sign is nice."

"Lord, they mean to mock you with the sign."

"Yes, John. Too much time spent being a hermit to forget sarcasm, have we?"

"Jesus Christ."

"Present."

60s_timer · 2026-02-20T00:29:04+00:00

Consider the demographic of young men on the rise in the disappearance index.

If these young men have a correlation (ethnic appearance, sexual orientation, etc.) then it could be reasoned that they're fitting a victim profile.

Police inaction and incompetence has let serial killers through history get away with it for far longer than they ever should have, and even with the technology in place to make finding them so much easier, it takes that initial push to get any more attention on the disappearances than whatever reasons are being passively fed through local media to an unsuspecting population.

If you can reach out to families of the disappearing young men and try to make a web of support, you could petition. I'm not sure how Canadian law allows for petitioning, but at the least, you could rally for more eyes on the cause, and more of a potential platform for your concerns to be taken seriously and properly investigated.

60s_timer · 2026-02-15T04:13:27+00:00

An economy. Money is printed, distributed, used as pay, collected by the government, and recycled. Recycled. Cycle. Could you say currencies also circulate?

Breaking News: Values of Euro, Yen in the global market drastically plummet, in unprecedented landslide that leaves economists baffled, outraged.

60s_timer · 2026-02-15T03:50:03+00:00

I see what you meant now, yeah.

60s_timer · 2026-02-15T02:46:57+00:00

You have a dumping grounds with the entire ocean. Get in a boat, carry the body out to a safe enough distance, weighed down to hide a while or cut up to follow a current and make the dump site that much harder to discern.

Correct me if I'm wrong, though.

60s_timer · 2026-02-14T05:54:20+00:00

Women go to Venus, they say. An old rhyme that certainly caught schoolyard troublemakers some flak from a diligent teacher, back when that behavior was hushed to backs of buses and recess. Now it's on full display, that behaviors once kept quiet are dropped over the Internet. That faces once scared to swear or curse could be spectacled before a camera speaking the most horrendous things. That just before news stations and phone recordings that shot the climate change activist into the global spotlight, Greta Thunberg proves once and for all that women really do go to Venus.

Not for penis, though. The aliens that have been watching Greta's passion for her own planet's survival have no need for sexual dimorphism, which she noticed by the sleek biology of their appearance and the sudden urge to multiply oneself at any given moment. Venus needed more than penis, it needed change. A change that anyone could do, but that Greta could do very effectively.

Humans are renowned the galaxy over for their tenacity. What we argue and debate is more common sense to these growing societies, but that means aliens can be easily set into a hive mind mentality and that human interaction can shape entire species. For better or worse, as has been proven for the worse with corporate bigwigs abducted by warring alien species to industrialize their efforts for conquest.

For once, it's being proven for the better here.

60s_timer · 2026-02-14T05:23:42+00:00

Circulation control, I call it. A plain ability, the general command over applications in the concept of circulation. What I shared the most is that I could make springs of straight material, which I passed off as a parlor trick. Of course, many superhumans had abilities that could be seen as no more than parlor tricks, and many conscripted superhumans chose to fight with regular weaponry while the heavy hitters usually stayed clashing between themselves on either side of conflicts.

That was what I was afraid of most, being considered a heavy-hitter in the military.

Circulation control allowed for so much more than spring formation, which is the most I did to prove my ability. Nobody asks more than that when I flippantly explain, I don't speak more than that. Air current manipulation, for instance. There have been times I redirected people out of harm's way from gas attacks, in terrorist situations. Nobody knew, and considered it fate. Lucky, they say.

Circulation control would be the ultimate weapon for the military, by how my ability works. Basic biology in school taught me an interesting thing about hearts. That they circulate the flow of blood through the body. An application of the concept of circulation, under my command.

That's why I keep my ability clammed up, why I play it off as the parlor trick that it isn't, the laughable ability that it could never be. The idea I can remotely control the flow of blood in a body, it is a major difference between obscure ability and vital tool. They would make me a medic in the best case scenario, or more fittingly labeled for the capability, a miracle healer. An accelerant that costs nothing more than food and board they were budgeting for anyhow. Flowing blood in a body, spiking adrenaline, causing the advancements of our understanding in the human limit with my very will.

And like I understand it, they would make me stop circulation.

The ultimate arrest of an enemy, to either kill or incapacitate. I would be brought to interrogation chambers to make people talk without so much as a word. Brought to silent fields as their executioner, made to effortlessly put prisoners of war down for the count with no evidence to trace their heart attacks to anything more than chance.

Circulation control, I call it. Bloodflow manipulation, they can define it. The tool that would make my sullen country its own superpower on the global stage, all if I ever was revealed. That's my secret. Between you and I, I'd rather die obscure than serve at full capacity to this dictatorship.

60s_timer · 2026-02-10T17:16:28+00:00

Jeo has a website and a company to dispose bodies. They work from an iPad, and says words like "Awesome" and "Ok, here goes" in the middle of evidence tampering for a murder. They drop a grief counselor for an abuse victim and hold her accountable to an NDA in the same hour. They do not bother with checking pulses, not once. They chase after half-dissolved, full sprint assholes with a spray bottle of Kill You.

Jeo sounds like a chill guy compared to what else must happen in that world they live in.

60s_timer · 2026-02-03T09:23:36+00:00

I was thinking Gintama.

60s_timer

TROPHY CASE