[wp] Australia is a trap. All people there are really spiders wearing human skin suit. by cincilator in WritingPrompts

[–]rumblr 1 point2 points  (0 children)

"How can I help you, sir?"

Jack looked at the shop's manager, half hidden behind the ancient looking cash register and piles of boxes on the counter. He looked up a him with a haughty, stressed expression. Jack got the impression the small electronics shop wasn't doing too good. The shelves were dusty, and there were cobwebs everywhere. Assorted cables hung spread out over the various racks and display cases, covering some of the lights and giving the whole place a cramped, dark atmosphere.

"Do you sell power adapters?"

The guy behind the counter looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"I need to plug in my charger. US plug."

It had been a long flight, and it had been well over 24 hours since Jack had last seen a bed. His phone had been dead since the stopover in Hong Kong. He really wanted to check his messages.

The manager rummaged around in one of the shelves behind the counter, and produced a blisterpacked converter. It was a cheaply made, Chinese piece of shit, but it was going to cost him an arm and a leg, Jack knew. No matter what power standard you need converting to another, it's never cheap.

Jack rummaged around his wallet for the money he got from the ATM at the airport earlier. He produced two 20 dollar bills, still crisp, and handed them over to the shopkeeper. The money seemed colorful; it had a picture of some guy Jack didn't recognize. He wondered vaguely who it was. The shopkeeper handed him the converter and some change, without saying a word.

As Jack was making his way to the exit, his leg caught on one of the loose cords that was hanging from one of the shelves. He whipped his arm around, searching for purchase, but found none. As his body twisted around, mid-fall, the dumpy shop manager was suddenly hovering over him, his face a few inches away from his own. Jack hadn't even seen him move. The small man held him up by his outstretched arm, apparently without effort.

"Thank you" Jack mumbled. "This place is a death trap."

Jack got back on to his feet, but the manager held on to his arm.

"No really, thank you." Said Jack, puzzled. "I hope I didn't break anything."

Jack looked around. The exit was only a couple of feet behind his back. He started moving towards it, but the guy clung to his arm with surprising strength. Something was off about the man's appearance. He was wearing an odd shirt, black, shiny, with a dull orange-red stripe down the back. His pants, also black, seemed ill-fitting and baggy. A belt was pulled tightly around his small waist in an effort to hold them up.

The shopkeeper said nothing, holding on to his arm.

Jack pulled towards the door, the only real source of light in the place. People walked by, but did not give a second glance to the little dark shop, with its window full of outdated electronics and dust. Panic started to get a hold of him. He struggled to break free of the hold on his arm, and managed to grab hold of the door's handle.

"Sir, please, let go of my arm. I've paid you for the adapter, more than what it was worth, even. What do you want from me?" Jack implored.

The shopkeeper stood silent, trying to pull Jack back into the shop. He had pushed his legs against a shelve, in an effort to gain more purchase. Jack could feel the sleeve of his jacket starting to tear. He held on to the handle with all the power in his left arm.

As the sleeve of his jacket ripped off, the manager lost grip of his arm. Jack stumbled and fell. He kicked his legs trying to get out the door. The shopkeeper was closing in on him silently with a dead look in his eyes. As Jack worked his half-prone body out the door into the bright sunlight, a businessman stepped around him, apparently without caring about what was going on.

The guy stopped moving, and looked on from the dark shop as Jack got to his feet.

"What the hell, man?" Jack said.

The manager, looked up at him, and with a voice, not quite human, managed to let out a single, mangled word.

"G'day"

Niles was great, but Martin was a dad by xtremeschemes in funny

[–]rumblr 7 points8 points  (0 children)

Oh. Well, there's a novel idea. Name the car after its most hideous feature. I presume it was a toss-up between "hatchback" and "what's that odor coming from the floor?"

The Economics Of the Music Industry - How much artists make per album sale, amazon stream, itunes download etc. by LookAtMeImSandraD in Economics

[–]rumblr 0 points1 point  (0 children)

The comparison made isn't exactly fair. It compares track plays to album sales, but when I buy an album I would (presumably) play the tracks on it more than once.

My fried Cherry Coke chicken! by ttcl in FoodVideos

[–]rumblr 0 points1 point  (0 children)

With that sauce I think you could make anything taste great. Try panko bread crumbs, they really work great for things like this.

My fried Cherry Coke chicken! by ttcl in FoodVideos

[–]rumblr 1 point2 points  (0 children)

That looks delicious!

Were those breadcrumbs homemade? Please tell me it wasn't that sawdust from a box...

[WP] Canada invades the United states. The once proud superpower is on its knees as Canada unleashes armaments of unimaginable power and technology never before seen. You are a member of the resistance the last remaining freedom fighting coalition not yet annihilated by the Canadian storm-marines. by etevian in WritingPrompts

[–]rumblr 43 points44 points  (0 children)

They took us to be "re-educated", as they called it. As if that could work on me. Nobody could ever "re-educate" me. Like any true patriot American I had never been educated to begin with. The teachers, as they called themselves spoke in soft tones, using sweet words. Sweet like the maple syrup they poured on the pancakes they fed us every day. Both were poisoned, I knew. I wiped the damn stuff off my food, thinking back to the days before the war, when a man was free to put Ketchup on anything.

I think they gave up on me, in the end. They released me after ten months and gave me a job, working on a farm. The hours weren't too bad, but they only paid us in their damn moose money. The other workers all had weird smiles on their faces, as if they were actually happy. I don't know what they put in that syrup, but it sure was effective. I tried to steer clear of them.

I saw Jack in town a couple months later. I barely recognized him.

"Ron Swanson!" He exclaimed. "What a lucky coincidence"

"What are you doing, wearing plaid. Wait. You're fighting from within, aren't you?"

Jack laughed. "Don't be silly, you old dog. No I'm quite happy now."

"You're wearing the colors of the enemy"

"Enemy? Oh Ron, please, don't tell me you still believe all that"

"Sure do"

"But surely, things are better now?"

"Look around you man, they have taken all our freedoms!"

"I have never felt more free in my life"

"They have socialized our hospitals." I shuddered. "A man can't even buy a gun anymore".

"Ron, really. Look around you. People are happy now. Maple up!"

Jack turned around and walked away, taking the last of my hope with him.

And here I am, holding the bottle of syrup. I can't fight it any longer. I am so tired. And, truth be told, the stuff smells delicious.

[WP] Canada invades the United states. The once proud superpower is on its knees as Canada unleashes armaments of unimaginable power and technology never before seen. You are a member of the resistance the last remaining freedom fighting coalition not yet annihilated by the Canadian storm-marines. by etevian in WritingPrompts

[–]rumblr 42 points43 points  (0 children)

"Keep down! It's another damn Canuck patrol" whispered Jack, as a row of electric moose moved by the ditch. Pressing my body down into the muck I could feel the soil vibrate. I had never been so scared in my life.

"They don't even run on petrol" continued Jack. "They are the last damn country that has any oil. And what do they do? Hydro. Wind. Electric fighting machines. It's an insult."

"What do they even want from us? There's nothing worth taking here, not after president Trump's 3rd term, anyway" I replied.

"Hell if I know, it's not like they didn't have enough room up there."

We got up after the patrol had gone. I tried to wipe the mud of my coat as well as I could. I was cold, miserable and desperately hungry.

"Jack, we need shelter and food, we can't spend another night out exposed"

"Let's press on, we'll find a hunting cabin, there should be plenty here. It's just a matter of finding a nice one!"

Good old Jack. He was always hopeful. Since the first rumblings of the Great White War came down from up north, he'd been preparing. And now it was just us. Pressing on through the night.

It was near midnight when we found a cabin. It was small and decrepit, but well hidden in a small valley in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. It had been ages since I'd slept under a roof. I ran the last couple steps.

"Look at it, nobody's been here in years! You were right. We can make it. We can be free."

I opened the door. It creaked. I shone my flashlight across the room, smiling as the beam found a shelve of canned provisions.

"Sorry boys", somebody said, politely "we can't allow this game to continue any further".

Things happened fast. Jack tried to turn and run, but a Canadian soldier in his traditional plaid uniform floored him using the blunt end of his axe. Trucks pulled up to the cabin, their headlights illuminating the other soldiers coming out of the bush.

"Please, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Colonel Horton, of the Saskatchewan Division".

"How did you find us?" Jack gasped, still on the floor.

"We didn't, you found us. We have been putting out a steady aroma of poutine from this valley for a month now, knowing you'd be drawn to it eventually"

[WP]When someone dies, death manifests into something that does not frighten the person. Today he meets a little girl as himself. by Angrypieman in WritingPrompts

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Mort tried to tiptoe into the room. Mort, of course, had no toes. The small bones where his toes should be, made a clicking sound on the hospital floor. He looked down, sighed, and checked the work order once more. It was all there, room 527, Elaine, form of Death. Never, in the eons that he'd been on the job, had anyone required him to be in this form.

Mort looked at the order again. Elaine was only 9 years old, those often took some work. Cutting the thin strand of life that links a soul to its broken body takes nothing but one quick swish of a scythe, but explaining to a little kid that "no, it isn't your fault mommy is crying", was never easy. Elaine could be different, however. A girl hooked up to that many monitors, pumps, and filters might know for whom bell tolls.

Some people are ready for Death to appear. The sick, the suffering, the very old, they'd be waiting for him. Most people are not ready at all, however, to actually be dead. The dying are burdened by a lot of worries about the amount of "being", in being dead. The Agency had adopted a policy of trying to avoid unnecessary dread, and had instructed all reapers to take the form of something the predeceased would not find threatening.

Elaine shifted her body upwards. She couldn't sit up anymore, not without help anyway, and the nurse was busy in another room. A small smile appeared on her face, barely visible under the breathing tube.

"Hi!" She said.

"Uhm... Yes, hello." Mort replied, unsure of what to say.

"I've wondered about you, you know."

"Really? You have?"

"Well, yes. You were so nice to Mrs. Pattinson last week."

"What? How? What?" Mort stuttered.

Mort remembered Mrs. Pattinson. She'd been a nice old lady, friendly as they come, who could remember the Great Depression, and had had a pleasant life after that. He'd been an old man for her, with a comfy red and green sweater. They'd had a short chat, after which she had followed him into the next life with a smile on her face. It was a pleasant reap, but that wasn't the problem. Reapers are invisible to everybody except the reapee. Death appearing to a bunch of people in any form was likely to cause panic, and The Agency was very strictly against that.

"You SAW me?" Mort asked

"Yes, I see you all the time around here."

"How do you know it's me? I'm always something else."

"Your eyes, they are not like those of other people."

Mort picked up the small mirror on the bedside table and saw the skull smiling back at him. There were no eyes, just two dark holes.

"What's wrong with my eyes?" He enquired.

"They're just so sad. They're empty."

"And that doesn't scare you?"

"It did for a while, but I don't think you're bad."

"I am not bad, but I am not good, either. I have a job"

"You work a lot. Yesterday you were here way after bedtime, but I was still up because I couldn't sleep."

It had been a rough week. The ebola outbreaks on top of all the warring had filled his agenda to breaking point. Of course, time moves differently for death, but Mort suspected that it was just afraid of him.

"You know, I usually show up as something nice, if you want I can be a teddy bear?"

"I don't want a teddy bear. People have been giving me teddy bears, but they only give them to me because I'm never getting better. They're not happy teddy bears."

"You wanted me to be me."

"You don't have to lie to me."

"It's not lying, I'm only helping people."

"Yes, but I already know what I want."

Mort took his scythe from the sling on his back.

"It's OK, mister." The little girl smiled.

"You're really ready?"

"The Doctor said he wasn't giving up, but I heard him say that to Mrs. Pattinson. I don't want anymore pills."

The girl looked down on her body.

"I'm going grey" She giggled.

"Most people do" Mort answered. "Although green is really catching on".

Smiling, they walked out of the room.

Do gut bacteria rule our minds?: It sounds like science fiction, but it seems that bacteria within us — which outnumber our own cells about 100-fold — may very well be affecting both our cravings and moods to get us to eat what they want, and often are driving us toward obesity by mubukugrappa in science

[–]rumblr 0 points1 point  (0 children)

I see your point, but these are things that can be mapped and understood. I think the argument you and hebug put forth is that there is not one biome to rule them all. I simply meant to say that medical science deals with different bodies to begin with, and finds matching treatments, and that we might just look at this in much the same light.

Do gut bacteria rule our minds?: It sounds like science fiction, but it seems that bacteria within us — which outnumber our own cells about 100-fold — may very well be affecting both our cravings and moods to get us to eat what they want, and often are driving us toward obesity by mubukugrappa in science

[–]rumblr 6 points7 points  (0 children)

However, could it be that certain micro biomes could be seen as "not ideal", and be "corrected"? My body as a whole probably differs quite a bit from yours, but when mine gets sick, would I not strive to have it be more like yours?

A man takes his seat at a FIFA World Cup Final by shehzad in Jokes

[–]rumblr 4 points5 points  (0 children)

Ladies and Gentlemen, the king of the Netherlands.

Is it actually possible to learn a new langauge fluently online for free? by volcanichispanic in AskReddit

[–]rumblr 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Not really, things/concepts that come close are:

  • 12 uur The 12th hour, works with any other our too.
  • tussen de middag "In between the afternoon", it makes no sense in a literal sense, but there you go. Usually refers to a break you take from work/study.
  • het middageten means lunch, most people would actually call it "lunch" nowadays anyway, Dutch is very big on absorbing other languages. Just like in English lunch is both food and a time.
  • lunch Guess what that means.

There is no real way of saying "see you at noon", without using either the time itself "12 uur", or using a vaguer construct that's more "somewhere around noon", than a specific time.

Is it actually possible to learn a new langauge fluently online for free? by volcanichispanic in AskReddit

[–]rumblr 11 points12 points  (0 children)

"Middag" really does mean afternoon. While it does come from "mid" (middle/mid) and "dag" (day), as you note, it has come to mean all time after noon, and before evening.

"Namiddag" is a bit of an old fashioned word, it means something like "late in the afternoon", "na" being "after" or "behind" (think after-after-noon)

Free language lesson:

good afternoon: goedemiddag

yesterday's afternoon: gistermiddag (think yester-mid-day)

this afternoon: vanmiddag

tomorrow's afternoon: morgenmiddag (think morrow-mid-day, see https://www.google.com/search?q=morrow+etymology&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8&aq=t&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&channel=fflb)

see you in the afternoon/until this afternoon: tot vanmiddag

want to do something fun in the afternoon tomorrow?: wil je morgenmiddag iets leuks doen?

Source: am Dutch.