“Sam? Oh my God!” You laughed and grabbed him into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around you in the same big bear hug you remembered, your head resting against him at just the same spot.

“Hey Y/N,” you could hear the quiet smile in his voice.

You pulled back from him so you could look up into his handsome face. “What are you doing here?”

“Just in town for work. Thought I would stop by and see you. I couldn’t keep away,” he said with a laugh.

You gave him a wide smile, the kind that crinkled your eyes at the corner and sent sparks flying in your eyes. “I’m glad you couldn’t,” you said.

Sam couldn’t look away and rushes of memories were suddenly washing over him, dredged up from where he had safely hidden them away just so he could get by day by day… Now, with you there smiling at him like that, it was impossible to ignore them.

“Would you have time for a cup of coffee later?” he asked.

“WIth you? Always, Sam.”

Wasted Education

I went from
Being a teacher
To a man who’s
Afraid of his
With a chip
On his shoulder
About manliness
And fear
I deserve
What I miss
About feeling fulfilled
In my element
And engaging
In work
By default
As the holes
I now dredge
In my spitefulness
Provide me
This rage to
And step forward
In jeans
And such raggedness
To embrace
What blue collar
I’ve known
As my father
Would tell me
I’m arrogant
And unable to dream

Though my pride
Now allows me
In willfulness
To prove my point
By deceit
To die by
The tools
Of his business
And employ
What new demons
I’d claim
If only the cash
Were incentive
And not
The staunch hate
I have learned
The reasons
I walked
From a calling
And instead
Bought a lie
With my time
In trade
Of becoming
The adult
I never wanted
To be
Or monster
Once summoned
From absence
The kind that
Will happen
Even when
The person
And still lives
In my mind.

For it’s fair
I suffer
In digging
With a shovel
That’s lifted
From hurt
And loads
Of my past
I have backfilled
With soil
To avoid
What it means

At times
To remember

And listened
To the ones
That were left.

- J. Pigno

Heads up that I have just spent far too long dredging around in my very unorganised fic page (blargh) and have tried to sort things out a bit, so there is now (in addition to the list of my fanfics) a poetry masterlist and a SPN drabbles masterlist and then a separate one for drabbles from one particular ask game, all of them with direct links to individual poems/drabbles. 

So it’s not ideal but it’s much better than the chaos that was there before. :) 

And now I’m going to bed. Goodnight lovelies! Thanks for being in my life. xx

I found the perfect deck to play if you hate your opponent, yourself, judges, and the concept of fun.

It’s called Four Horsemen.

It’s a variant of the good ol’ Legacy dredge deck, but much more ridiculous. You mill Narcomoebas and flash back Dread Return, but the process of getting there is unfathomably silly and dubiously legal.

The combo goes like this:

Play Mesmeric Orb.

Play Basalt Monolith.

Tap and untap Basalt Monolith an arbitrary number of times to gleefully mill yourself, with a legendary Eldrazi in the deck to shuffle it all back in eventually.

Now here’s the catch:

There is no guarantee that you’ll get the right set of combo pieces in the graveyard before the Eldrazi shuffles it back in.

You need to get at least three Narcomoebas in play, and your graveyard will need all of these things sitting in it:

Dread Return

Sharuum the Hegemon

Blasting Station

From there, you flash back Dread Return to reanimate Sharuum, which brings back Blasting Station. Tap it to sacrifice a Narcomoeba for damage, twiddle the Monolith some more to get an Eldrazi in the graveyard to shuffle it back in, mill yourself some more, get the Narcomoeba out again for 1 more damage, and so on.

Here’s the thing: you could theoretically spend hours going through the mill-and-reshuffle loop before you get all of these things in the graveyard. Since it’s random every time, you can’t just say, “I do this loop and theoretically, in the future, it will work out.” The deck is in a gray area with the rules, and even now its “slow-play violation” status is in dispute.

The best part is, the deck isn’t even that good. It folds to all the graveyard hate that affects Dredge decks, and you’re screwed if any of the singleton combo pieces are hit with Surgical Extraction or anything like that.

I’m tempted to proxy it up and take it to FNM, but I don’t want to be especially evil.

Wiener Shnitzel vom Schwein

It’s probably not a completely accurate take on this traditional dish, I just took several recipes from online and came up with a middle ground.  Results were good.

Pounded flat some thin pork chops, dredged them in flour, beaten egg, and then bread crumbs.  Fried in hot oil for about 3 minutes per side in a cast iron skillet, oil was just deep enough to allow the schnitzel to float instead of rest on the bottom of the pan.  Drained them on some paper towels laid atop a section of newspaper.  Squeezed lemon on before eating.

The vegetables are just some zucchini and mushrooms I had lying around.  Threw them in a hot wok with olive oil and garlic.  Drained off excess oil while serving, had too much for the amount of vegetables.  My mistake!

The function, the very serious function, of racism is distraction. It keeps you from doing your work. It keeps you explaining, over and over again, your reason for being. Somebody says you have no language, so you spend twenty years proving that you do. Somebody says your head isn’t shaped properly, so you have scientists working on the fact that it is. Somebody says you have no art, so you dredge that up. Somebody says you have no kingdoms, so you dredge that up. None of that is necessary. There will always be one more thing.
—  Toni Morrison
A new Awesome Post has been published on Awesome Facts

New Post has been published on http://awesome-facts.net/til-in-1914-british-wwi-soldier-thomas-hughes-tossed-a-beer-bottle-with-a-letter-to-his-wife-into-the-english-channel-he-was-killed-two-days-later-in-1999-a-fisherman-dredged-up-the-bottle-in-the/

TIL In 1914, British WWI soldier Thomas Hughes tossed a beer bottle with a letter to his wife into the English Channel. He was killed two days later. In 1999, a fisherman dredged up the bottle in the River Thames. Although Hughes’ wife had died in 1979, it was delivered to his 86-year old daughter.

TIL In 1914, British WWI soldier Thomas Hughes tossed a beer bottle with a letter to his wife into the English Channel. He was killed two days later. In 1999, a fisherman dredged up the bottle in the River Thames. Although Hughes’ wife had died in 1979, it was delivered to his 86-year old daughter.

Source: top scoring links : todayilearned

Ehhh, Jamaica’s worse. (Starter for two-hand-revy)

Roanapor, a lawless city where criminals grappled for power. The edge of the world, the crucible of hypocrisy, a place where those whose souls have been destroyed in the relentless search for money and power reside. A final stop on the way to hell.

The so called city of Dreams was currently the staging ground of a medium sized conflict. An up and comming criminal group, with their roots in America, had tried to establish them self in the city. In the middle of their establishment they had foolishly made an enemy of the Russian Mafia, colloquially know as Hotel Moscow, which begun the conflict. While the Americans were being beaten, they were much more resilient than anyone had expected. 

Away from the fighting, in a small corner of the city, there stood a bar. As expected from such a lawless city, the allure of liquor drew the dredges of the criminals. Profanity and threats of physical harm consistently hung in the air. In this environment of debauchery there sat a person that, at first glance, looked severely out of place.

“Yo, just gi me de bumboclat rum.” The Teen cursed at the bar tender in his language, having a slight problem convincing him to sell him the alcoholic beverage. He looked no older than 15. Most would say that this was no place for a kid, but they would be wrong. The kid basically grew up in a similar atmosphere, as he was just as much a criminal as any of the person around. He was waiting, waiting to meet with a set of people, as requested by his boss. 



Jeffrey Dahmer’s second victim, 25 year old Steven Tuomi was beaten to death at the Ambassador Hotel on the 21st November 1987, Dahmer met him outside the 219 Club and persuaded him to return to the Ambassador Hotel, where Dahmer had rented a room for the evening. Jeffrey stated he had no intention of killing him - he only wanted to spend the night with him. He stated he blacked out and when he woke up in the morning, Tuomi had blood coming from his mouth and his chest was ‘crushed in’. He dragged Tuomi’s body to the closet and shut it in, out of sight - he then spent the next five hours pacing up and down the hotel room, smoking cigarettes nonstop, wondering what to do, how to handle the situation. 

‘It’s almost like I temporarily lost control of myself, ‘I don’t know what was going through my mind. I have no memory of it. I tried to dredge it up, but I have no memory of it whatsoever.’ - Jeffrey Dahmer on Tuomi

They had been drinking rum, but where was the bottle? It was missing. He searched everywhere for the bottle. 

‘I looked down, went down to the sidewalk under the window, I don’t know what I did with it. Sometime during the night I must have taken the bottle and put it somewhere. I never did find out what happened to it. That scared the hell out of me, haunted me for a long time.’ - Jeffrey Dahmer 

Jeffrey then went to a department store across the street from the hotel and bought a large suitcase/small trunk and put Tuomi’s body in it - he even got the bus boy to help him outside with it where he got a cab. The cab driver helped him load up the case into the cab and said to Dahmer ‘This is really heavy buddy what you got in here a body?’ Dahmer replied ‘Yeah I do’ and they both laughed about it. When Jeffrey returned home to his grandmothers house, the following morning, he severed the head, arms and legs from the torso, then filleted the bones from the body before cutting the flesh into pieces small enough to handle. He then placed the flesh inside plastic garbage bags. The bones he wrapped inside a sheet and pounded into splinters with a sledgehammer. The entire dismemberment process took Dahmer approximately two hours to complete and all of Tuomi’s remains were disposed of in the trash - excluding the skull which he kept for 2 weeks, he boiled the head in a mixture of Soilex and bleach in an effort to retain the skull until it was rendered too brittle and was also pulverized and disposed of. None of Steven Tuomi’s remains were ever found - and Dahmer was never officially charged with his murder.

pidermis asked:

Pick two utterly broken mechanics and combine them to make one that isn't.

Stredge (Storm + Dredge) - For each spell you’ve already cast this turn, put the top card of your library into your graveyard. : )

“Pull-Apart #Apple #Bread”…a recipe I found on Pinterest, that I made this afternoon. One tube of #Biscuits (each one cut in half), one Apple (peeled & cored, I used a Jonagold) sliced thinly. Every slice (of everything) gets #dredged in #cinnamon - #sugar - #nutmeg, then layered in a loaf pan lined with parchment paper. I put my last three Apple slices on top, and dusted it with the remaining cinnNutsugar. #Bake at 350f (375f if you like) for about 23 - 30 minutes. I can’t wait to taste it!! :)

  • kürkü yırtık erkek kel kör kirpi
  • dredged
  • home made songs

Bugün evde oturdum bunu yaptım. Ne zamandır bi gitarım olduğunu unutmuşum halbuki, her neyse teknik aksaklıklardan ötürü bir takım cızırtılar var ve ben bunlar için özür diliyorum, malesef evde bir yere kadar… bir gün bunları düzeltebilirsem o şekilde yenisini yüklerim heralde. Parçanın adı kürkü yırtık erkek kel kör kirpi, kendime ithafen.