An early bird in the hand gets the low hanging fruit in the bush.
Getting flashbanged (minus the bang, usually but not always) by my electronics is helping me build up an immunity to riot control devices. Combine it with my cooking and it’s good training for pepper spray, tear gas and vomiting agents as well.
Fortune. Cowsay.
Same way I “make” a pizza by calling Domino’s.
K.
Would you please provide your definition of “meditate”?
Edit: Merriam-Webster entry for reference so I’m not asking you to do all the work here.
From a pure math point of view with some assumptions about X being greater than zero, sure. There is an upper limit to the value of thinking about a thing though and it’s somewhere between “thoughtful consideration” and “huffing my own farts in lotus position for 12 hours a day”.
I can imagine a lot of things. That doesn’t make those things real or meaningful.
That’s awful, it’s terrible when someone does something to your body against your will and causes you harm, isn’t it?
I wish you a speedy recovery.
From what you’ve posted, prison is the right place for you (even if you don’t like it).
Calvary (like the chapel) or cavalry (like horse-mounted soldiers and modern mobile units that have kept the term)?
Either way, something seems missing here.
For anyone else whose browsers won’t show non-https content:
My foresight readies me for melee.
Son of a Bitch of Sam, Al Canine and the BTK (Bacon, Treats and Kibble) killer lock their doors at night in case this shady character is out for a prowl.
Title is how I used to remember port/starboard: I left port. My method for the lights is a little odd but since red goes on port side, I use “red right wrong”.
A little surprised but I know we don’t have a monopoly on dipshittery here in the land of pickup trucks with pink rubber scrotums flapping in the wind. Just seems that way sometimes.
They’ve got a tiny scrap of power and by god, they intend to use it! More enjoyable than going to therapy for the abuse they suffered as children.
Some girl reported me (a boy) for apparently having a mascara. Our teacher then searched my bag, as if it was a grenade.
Which of the former(?) Confederate states did this happen in? Sounds like a grenade might have been okay with them if you’d had one, they’re manly enough.
It knows.