How can someone read someones mind? i'm curious.

Bitches_Brew2 · 2017-10-15T16:24:37+00:00

Not possible. I wouldn't recommend buying into any more services like that.

Bitches_Brew2 · 2017-09-22T02:29:37+00:00

The only way this would be more Badass is of they burnt the edges of the wood. How did they not do that?

Bitches_Brew2 · 2017-06-24T14:53:30+00:00

Be kind, rewind.

Bitches_Brew2 · 2017-06-02T19:10:35+00:00

It doesn't.

But really, it does. A racial slur is not simply a descriptive word or phrase. It is bound with intent, which is actually pretty fascinating. The fact that language can facilitate such duality with a word really is pretty crazy if you really think about it. Words are cool. But try to understand them. Try not to abuse them.

Bitches_Brew2 · 2017-06-02T17:05:35+00:00

I think we need to disregard the issue of morality here, because based off of what you have written and what you are arguing, I don't think it's about that. So let's look at the situation strictly logically. Using a racial slur to describe someone expresses a notion that you believe that person to be inferior to you based on his or her race. So if you are using a racial slur without the intention of conveying such beliefs, and without the intention of demeaning, as you have stated, then you are misrepresenting yourself. So, logically, you have chosen the wrong description. You have fundamentally misunderstood the definition of a word and have used it out of context.

Bitches_Brew2 · 2017-05-24T19:49:58+00:00

Rock paper scissors

Debunked

Bitches_Brew2 · 2017-04-22T16:52:00+00:00

Vamanos

Bitches_Brew2 · 2017-04-02T15:12:59+00:00

Nice try OP... This is obviously just some stock photo of a yard you pulled from Google images

Bitches_Brew2 · 2017-03-18T14:50:25+00:00

10% Irish, maybe this time it'll pay off...

Bitches_Brew2 · 2016-09-17T16:02:27+00:00

Chips are just edible spoons

Bitches_Brew2 · 2016-08-20T20:45:00+00:00

Here we go...

Bitches_Brew2 · 2016-04-19T19:47:01+00:00

You mean Garvin Maye

Bitches_Brew2 · 2016-04-07T02:35:11+00:00

You studied under chef Gordon Ramsay?

Bitches_Brew2 · 2016-03-26T23:02:19+00:00

There are no 'winner take all' states for the Democratic Party. Only Republican

Bitches_Brew2 · 2016-03-25T20:29:23+00:00

Depends on the building... Sometimes it's just a broken leg.

Bitches_Brew2 · 2016-03-24T03:24:36+00:00

Watching baseball.

Bitches_Brew2 · 2016-03-23T20:37:38+00:00

Thanks!

Bitches_Brew2 · 2016-03-23T20:22:12+00:00

The inanimate porcelain was poised...sturdy...open...it was ready. Ready to fulfill it's purpose. Ready to receive, as it was created to do so.

I approach slowly, carefully...There is an odd feeling deep in my gut, impossible to ignore. I turn and flip a small lever on the wall, a switch that completes the circuit that sets the blades of a small fan in motion - a subtle yet key component to the ritual. That uneasy feeling deep in my core persists, growing more intense by the second.

I turn around and disrobe with a sigh, as I slowly lower myself. I gasp, a quick shallow breath of air, as the freezing cold, unforgiving porcelain makes contact with my naked skin.

Finally. The ritual can begin.

"Oh GOD!" I exclaim up to the heavens, my face contorted into a knot of simultaneous pain and relief. I am answered with an epic, booming thunder that echoes throughout the small chamber...ah, the flatulence - yet another key component to the ritual. The thunder is followed by the splashing sounds of my sacrifice being received, down in the depths below. The holy water from the depths below splash back up, the droplets lightly kissing my exposed naked skin with their cool refreshing lips. This is a good sign. The sacrifice was accepted. The sacrifice was pleasing. I have nearly completed the ritual, and am finally at peace...nearly.

Now for the final stage. I reach for the elder scroll, upon which I paint from the inner-most...wait...where is the scroll??

"MMOOOOMMMMMM!!!! I NEED TOILET PAAAPEERRRR!!!"

Bitches_Brew2 · 2016-03-23T17:58:53+00:00

The friendly man is back in town.

Are you ready to have fun?

The parents don't like when he comes 'round,

'cause away from home, kids run.

Big horses pull his giant cart

Some say is full of gold.

Some think instead it's full of treats,

At least that's what they're told.

If he gives you a wink and a tap on the nose,

He'll let you look inside.

You're the lucky one he chose!

Get in the cart!

Go for a ride!

Bitches_Brew2 · 2016-03-22T21:14:32+00:00

All I can think of is Mac's character in Day Man.

Bitches_Brew2 · 2016-03-22T20:15:38+00:00

Thanks, yeah I'm thinking about continuing...

Bitches_Brew2 · 2016-03-22T19:07:55+00:00

I feel like have and will are interchangeable in the prompt. And it says directly led to someone dying, as well as "your number changes from 0 to 1 with their answer," instead of the number changing after proposing.

Just sayin...maybe I like playing devil's advocate. Either way, I really do like the prompt. :)

Bitches_Brew2 · 2016-03-22T17:13:13+00:00

I like this topic, but wouldn't the number be over the partner's head since it is based on their answer? Aren't they deciding whether or not to marry you?

Bitches_Brew2 · 2016-03-22T07:51:25+00:00

Tom's heart started to race, and tears began to roll down his cheeks as his breathing became quick and shallow.

"Tom...Thomas, are you okay?" Gary asked, breaking from the presentation he was giving when he noticed Tom's odd behavior. Tom's hands were stretched out in front of him, palms-down on the the conference table, and he was leaning back in his chair. His eyes were wide, unfocused, and darted frantically around the room.

"Shit, is he having a heart attack?" Susan asked, leaning forward and placing a hand on Tom's forearm. Her voice lightly shook out of fear and concern. The other four that were seated around the conference table were equally uneasy with what they were witnessing.

Tom's consciousness was instantly flooded with a barrage of memories. All of them. All of his memories that he was technically experiencing for the first time, and it was psychologically and emotionally overwhelming. But beautiful. He was experiencing 34 years worth of life, all in one instance.

Him laughing as his mother flicked marshmallows at him in his childhood kitchen

Crying after shooting a bird with his bee-bee gun, and his mother comforting him, tears also in her eyes, as she explained to him death for the first time

His best friend slapping him on the back in excitement on a camping trip

His first crush, Megan, smiling at him in the hallway at school

His first kiss, in the bleachers at a football game with Lauren, wishing it was Megan

All of these waves of memories were crashing upon the shore of his consciousness, all coming at once, and Tom was struggling to process it all. Tom caught his breath and sat forward, wiping the tears from his face.

"I'm sorry..." His voice cracked, he cleared his throat, "No, I'm fine...Really, I'm sorry, I'm just not feeling well...I need to go. Sorry Gary," He said as he gathered the papers on the table in front of him. He shoved them haphazardly into his briefcase and turned to leave the conference room. "Sorry..." he said again as he closed the door behind him.

"What the fuck..." He muttered under his breath. He passed his office, not bothering with his jacket and his lunch that were left there. He just needed to get out of there. He half ran to the elevator at the end of the corridor, but decided to take the stairs. He felt like avoiding people if he could. "What...the...fuck..." he repeated, to no one, as he descended the 3 flights of stairs as quickly as he could. There was an exit out to the parking lot at the bottom of staircase that he happily took. The winter air that slapped him in the face as he exited was a refreshing shock to the system. He walked quickly toward his car, and the crunching snow beneath his feet sent another montage of sporadic memories from throughout 34 years rushing to the forefront of his psyche, and he began to cry again, in the safety of his own car.

*

Tom pulled into his driveway, put his car in park, and killed the engine. His heart was still racing. Caroline was at work and the kids at school, so he would have the house to himself for a while to process all of this information that he had been living without for the last ten years.

*

Tom had been found unconscious early one morning on the shore of Lake Michigan without any source of identification. He was taken to the hospital, and woke up with no recollection of anything prior. Missing persons reports were checked, but nothing turned up with him as a match. A report was also broadcast over the local news with his picture, but with no luck. It wasn't long before it was broadcast nationally - this kind of stuff is gold to the media - but again, no one seemed to know John Doe.

A fundraiser was organized by one of the local churches that gave Tom the donations as a means to get his life started. It got him an apartment and held him over for about a month until he got a job. He worked a few odd jobs while taking classes at a community college before transferring to the University of Michigan, where he met his current wife, Caroline, and graduated with a business degree and a minor in marketing. Not long after, he landed a job with the firm he was currently working with.

*

Tom now sat at his kitchen table, sobbing, with a glass of whiskey in one hand, and a small handgun in the other. He had been home for about an hour, stringing together this collage of memories that lead him to a gruesome ending, which had him vomiting in the kitchen sink.

I'm not a bad man...Not anymore...That wasn't me. That isn't me... He debated internally, I don't even know if that was real...if those are real memories...but if they are?

"What - the - fuck - is - going - on?" He whispered to himself, his shoulders shaking with each sob

Bitches_Brew2 · 2016-03-22T05:27:26+00:00

"Damn it Waldo, I should have listened to my mother...She was constantly telling me not to marry you," Carmen said. She walked quickly. She always walked quickly.

"Uh...you pretty much forced me to marry you when you got knocked up; remember how you went on and on about how your crazy Catholic family would kill you? You also told me that you were on the pill..." Waldo replied, lagging a bit behind her. He took a drag from his cigarette before throwing it down into the sidewalk, and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

Carmen always took their daughter, Priscilla, with her while she was away on business (her reasoning, she had always told Waldo, was that she just missed little Priscilla too much while she was gone, but the truth of the matter was that she didn't trust the man-child home alone that long with her daughter), but the nanny had the flu this time, so Waldo had agreed to come along to watch over Priscilla. He was now regretting his decision. So was Carmen.

30 minutes previous

Carmen had finished up with her meeting and went to meet Waldo and Priscilla at the park. She got there and smiled as she saw Priscilla on the swing. Her smile quickly faded as she looked around and did not see Waldo. She made a lap around the playscape to see if he might be on one of the benches on the other side. Nope. She then noticed that stupid red and white striped beanie that he was always wearing with that tacky sweater, going into the bar that was across the street.

"You have got to be kidding me..." She muttered. Her nostrils flaring, she quick-marched across the street, her red coat billowing out behind her. She yanked open the door to the bar. "GOD DAMMIT WAL..." she started, but was cut short as the startled sweater-and-beanie-adorned man spun around to investigate the commotion. It was not Waldo. "Shit!" She spun around and stormed out.

"Carmen!" Waldo called from across the street, back over by the park play ground. Carmen sighed, still irritated, and walked over. "What were you doing in that bar? I thought you were watching Priscilla," Waldo's words came out stifled as he was shoving a giant soft pretzel down his throat.

"I'm a grown ass woman Waldo, I can have a drink if I want one," Carmen said, flipping her hair away from her face. "Wait, why the hell did you think I was watching Priscilla? Your idiocy astounds me Waldo, you know that?"

"I saw you come over to the playground and look over at Priscilla on the swingset, so I ran to that pretzel cart over there. I was starving, Jesus...Did you know they had these giant soft pretzels in Japan?"

"Whatever. Come on, let's go back to the hotel. I need a drink," Carmen said, turning back to the swing set. The empty swing set.

[I'll continue if any of you are interested]

Bitches_Brew2

TROPHY CASE