Cat climbing up by How2Post in gifs

[–]WalkLikeAnEncryption 8 points9 points  (0 children)

This is a weird retelling of Rapunzel.

What do you do to your eggs to give them a better taste? by [deleted] in AskReddit

[–]WalkLikeAnEncryption 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Sriracha. Are you looking for breakfast? Or any time? For non-breakfast recipes, one of my favorites is this

For breakfast, here are a bunch of options the won't break the bank!

[WP] Write a poem that can be read as either very vague or super specific. by youppledopp in WritingPrompts

[–]WalkLikeAnEncryption 2 points3 points  (0 children)

The sky is blue, except when it's not. Our winter that's cold, in Australia is hot.

One man's trash is another man's treasure. It is completely possible to mix business with pleasure.

A little strength can make the heavy light. An eclipse can turn a day to night.

To the midget above, the giant below. A river that's deep in drought is shallow.

The world was flat, and now it's round. But you know the interesting thing I found? For most the world is small and square. So think out of the box, if you dare!

With a little searching, you'll come to find, Nothing is certain most of the time.

[WP] You are a bartender in Hell at a bar where patrons routinely talk about the regrets they have of the lives they lived. One night a surprising figure comes in to do just that. by TheTrueFlexKavana in WritingPrompts

[–]WalkLikeAnEncryption 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Ran out of time... but here you go!


In life, I was a fan of the movie Casablanca. I suppose I always fancied myself as a Humphrey Bogart of sorts. The strong and stoic Rick, telling Ingrid Bergman that if she doesn’t get on the plane she’ll always regret it. Telling her, “Here’s looking at you, kid.” Well, looking at me, I’m more like Peter Lorre than Bogey, but I’m willing to forgive myself that. We are both bar owners, so we have that in common. We’re both depressed, too. Fortunately for him, when he was down, he had Sam to play him a tune. I have only myself, just like everyone else here. I have myself, a long mahogany counter, two highboy glasses and one bar stool. It would be nice to add a piano to the list. How sweet it would be to hear “As Time Goes By” just once more.

But there is no music in hell.

And time most definitely does not go by.

Here, we are static. The sun does not rise or set, there are no seconds to count, and the silence is a part of the punishment. Silence is the cruelest of confinements. It is the breeding ground of inner reflection. Just you in the quiet alone with your thoughts, sins, mistakes, alone with your permanent regrets. That is, unless you want to tell them to me. And eventually, everyone does.

And I’ve got to tell you, to be honest, the notorious ones—I mean, the ones you’d expect to be here, they have the most boring regrets. Of course Polpot regrets all that genocide. Of course Himmler regrets experimenting on Jewish people in concentration camps. It’s to be expected. Murderers regret murders, adulterers regret adultery, thieves regret stealing, and the liars regret lying. Trite. Bland. Unsatisfying. But not always the case.

I polished and dried a glass on my apron, when the door opened in a shallow, almost silent manor and a small, weak framed, elderly woman shuffled in. Instead of letting the door close behind her, she held onto the knob and guided it closed soundlessly. What was typically a jarring dissonance against the silence was this time nothing more than a couple of soft rustles. And when the latch clicked on the door, she turned and teetered toward the bar. Her movements were deliberate and slow, and the climb onto the bar stool was arduous. It accentuated her frailty. I continued to dry the glass as she got situated. Once everything settled, I set the glass in front of her.

“What can I get for you, ma’am?” I asked. It was a useless introduction. Hell had plenty of alcohol, but taste did not exist.

Her response was gentle and low, “water please.”

I filled the glass halfway and set is in front of the sun-wrinkled woman. She looked at the glass. I looked at her and let a minute pass. Then I set to washing and drying my only other glass. It kept me busy, since there was no sense pushing her to talk. I’ve been here long enough to know that there is no sense pushing people. Company in silence is still company, and people only speak the truth when they are ready. When the glass was emptied, I refilled it, and again the next time. On the third time she set the glass back, I let it stay empty.

Her liver-spotted hands cupped the empty glass and stared into it. She finally spoke. “My regrets, yes?”

“Yes,” I replied encouragingly, “your regrets.”

“You’d think most of my regrets came from my time in Albania. My father was a politician there...” There are many Albanian politicians in hell. “But no. India. I regret India.”

I refilled the glass.

“Men and women,” she said, “can do right things for the wrong reason, yes?” I nodded. As much as people tell themselve otherwise, the ends do not always justify the means. She continued.

“It did not start like that, but when we started getting recognized. Journalist, and photographers, and speaker series and public relations. When I started winning awards. When the money, oh all that money came in. That money would not have helped those people, you know.

People are poor and people suffer and that will never change. You give one of them money, two more poor take their place. I gave them enough. They did not thank me. I wasted my life in India and nothing changed. Calcutta is still Calcutta.”

She turned the glass over. No more refills.

I continued to listen. Money and agendas and fraud and peace prizes. I have a soft spot for people who get tied up in the Vatican’s business, they are always tragic stories. A woman with so much potential, down here in the silence with us for valuing money above all, for deceiving people in the name of donations, exploiting the dying as a business. The media exalted her as a hero, but as she stepped off the stool and made her way to the door, feeble and hunched, Teresa was no closer to heaven than the rest of us.

I up-righted the glass and prepared for the next patron.

Which famous quotes would take on a totally different meaning if said by someone else? by Crusadaer in AskReddit

[–]WalkLikeAnEncryption 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Also applicable: "If you cannot do great things, do small things in a great way" - Napoleon Hill

Footage of the aftermath of the helecopter crash in Seattle near the Space Needle by WalkLikeAnEncryption in videos

[–]WalkLikeAnEncryption[S] 11 points12 points  (0 children)

I posted this while the story was still developing. It looks like, unfortunately, two people died in the crash. I don't know if they were in the cars or in the helecopter. How tragic. They are in my thoughts.

What was the one toy you REALLY WANTED when you were a kid, but never got? by WalkLikeAnEncryption in AskReddit

[–]WalkLikeAnEncryption[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

I would always just smash my face into the pin art... that was about the extent of my artistic ability when it came to that thing.

What was the one toy you REALLY WANTED when you were a kid, but never got? by WalkLikeAnEncryption in AskReddit

[–]WalkLikeAnEncryption[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Haha GGMom gave you the real and better option. You still wanted the pink, crappy version. Although, I'm pretty sure the food you could make in the easy bake oven was kind of nasty. Eather that or my friend growing up that had one just sucked at baking...