Oppy says if you believe in yourself and keep trying, you too can overcome the things in your way. Even the 50lbs of solid wood, stainless steel and cast iron that supposedly has its wheels locked. You just gotta use your head and come at it from the right angle.
The Truth-In-Billing, Remedies, and User Empowerment over Fees Act
[TRUE Fees] has been introduced by Rep Anna Eshoo [D-CA] and Sen Ed
Markey [D-MA]; if passed, it will force ISPs and cable operators to
advertise the true costs of their packages, including all surcharges.
As Karl Bode writes on Motherboard, the bill seeks to remedy an epidemic
of the kind of false advertising that is banned in Europe, but which
American firms regard as “the height of capitalistic creativity,” from
hotels who use hidden “resort fees” to jack up prices over advertised
rates to the misleading “regulatory recovery” fees on phone or utility
bills that falsely suggest that they are the result of some statute, not
the company’s greed.
And of course, no one practices this deceptive art with the virtuosity
of the cable/ISP industry, whose monopolism, contempt for customers, and
price gouging are legendary.
if u ever feel bad about urself just remember that i almost burned my school down u’ll do great things don’t worry
Now wait just a minute you did what?
I’VE MENTIONED THIS BEFORE WHY ARE PEOPLE JUST NOTICING ME NOW
G u y s
It was an accident, I swear
I’m very curious as to what happened. I read something where you mentioned it, but you never explained. I’m kind of worried. XD
Nononono guys o k a y
Buckle your seat belts, let me tell you a lil story about how I accidentally almost half-way sort of maybe kind of committed arson
The story takes place when I was a senior in high school (which was, uh, maybe a couple months ago but you know what, time flies when you’re the school’s appointed pyromaniac)
Now as you kids know, school is a stressful time. Especially when you’re a senior. They make you do all that senior stuff. “You’re the leaders of the place” they say as I can’t even microwave burritos without them being frozen in the middle but that’s a story for another time
It was awards day.
My last awards day.
(If your school doesn’t/didn’t have awards day it’s this thing where teachers hand out certificates for being smart or athletic or the most impressive feat of all: perfect attendance)
It was also, coincedentally, the day the NHS induction ceremony was supposed to take place. NHS stands for National Honor Society and is basically a cult for smart people. Believe it or not I was a part of this fancy smart people cult. Not sure how, but I weaseled my way in and held on to that title with my cold, clammy hands for all of high school. Wallpatterns is a nerd and that’s all you need to know
Also at this time I had a pinched nerve or something idk in my leg and I had a really bad limp. Picture a zombie shuffling and that’s how I was walking buT I STILL SHOWED UP BECAUSE EVEN THO I WAS IN PAIN YA GIRL IS DEPENDABLE (until I almost burned my school down but we’re getting there)
NOW since I was a senior that meant I had to be a part of the induction ceremony, which alright, okay, sure, make the crippled kid do it, what could possibly go wrong, am I right?
There was a couple of us seniors in NHS and the ceremony was supposed to go like this:
NHS president: yoyoyo thnx for showing up lol now let me light this candle representing the fire of life and here’s my speech let me call my main homie up next to talk
NHS senior: let me light the candle of knowledge using the flame from the candle of life and then say another speech
And so forth and so forth. There was idk I think 5 candles all representing different things to dedicate our lives to (knowledge, service, scholarship, leadership, character) because this is a cult for smart people and we do that
After all the candles are lit the inductees are each given a candle that they then light using one of the earlier mentioned candles (knowledge, service, leadership, character) and then they chant some stuff (because again, cult)
It’s a little fuzzy because your girl fucked up.
So. Awards day happens. The auditorium is packed. Everyone in the school is there. Kids are joking. Someone screams. It’s public school. Maybe someone’s being murdered. Maybe they wanna go home. No one really knows.
But it’s all going great. All the candles are lit except for me and one other girl’s. I’m on the edge of my seat. I prepared what I’m going to say and I’m r e a d y
Mr. NHS president calls me up and I walk hobble to the table. I light my candle with the holy flame of life. I insert it into the candle holder.
It doesn’t fit.
Alright, wallpatterns, don’t sweat it. Firmly grasp the candle. Twist it into that candle holder. Show it who’s boss
It fits. Snug, but it’s in there.
I slowly back away.
I put my hands up, as one does, to command inanimate objects to stay inanimate
All is good in the world
My grades are great, my skin is clear, just one more speech and I’m done
I hobble across the stage to the podium. I begin my speech. It was a paragraph full of fancy words and some really nice quotes but it can be summarised as:
“You should volunteer and uh, do volunteer stuff maybe idk you do you”
My speech is halfway done.
I was nervous. I was sweating. I was almost in the clear. You know, I thought, maybe speeches aren’t that ba-
THUD.
There’s a collective gasp. Like one that only happens in movies. Everyone’s eyes go wide. Everything is silent. I’m afraid to look but I turn my head anyway.
My candle
My lit
Flaming
On fire
Candle
Fell onto the table.
Smoke rose from the candle like little tiny smoke waves
“Hello,” my candle seemed to say. “You thought you were doing good but lmao you thought wRONG”
A small little circle of tablecloth is singed.
No one moves.
I look at fellow senior and NHS president in panic.
“Do something” my eyes plead. “You’re president”
“It’s your candle” his eyes say back
I do math calculations in my head like that one meme
“But I have a limp”
Somewhere during this I realize if the school burns down I’m the slowest one here and I’m probably going to die
10 seconds of silence has passed
Like in any other tragedy, people are snapchatting
My principal looks like she wants to kill someone
It occurs to me that as the slowest and the lighter of the candle that would probably mean I’m going to die again
“PICK IT UP” Someone from the audience screams in terror
My good friend Mr. NHS president finally bolts into action
Have you even seen a man run towards a burning candle
I have
Let me tell you
It was surprisingly anticlimatic
Anyway after that I couldn’t stop laughing (while still oN STAGE) and I’m pretty sure my school banned candles and uh also everyone in the school kept snapping me about how I “almost burned the school down” and that’s literally the only thing I’m known for thanks for coming to my ted talk join me next time when I tell you about the Literal Shit Storm of Second Grade
😂😂😂😂😂 I am concerned about 2nd grade.
It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.
Story?
It was second grade. Otherwise known as one of the only grades I have the misfortune of remembering. The sky was clear and so was my skin. Puberty had yet to do me dirty. The birds sang. All was good in the world.
And best of all? We had monthly (maybe biweekly?) walks to the public library.
Don’t get me wrong- the school library was fine and dandy, but there’s only so many times a kid can read Angelina Ballerina before her eyes start to bleed and her skin turns grey. I had reread that series so many times I was beginning to question if I, myself, was turning into a mouse because of it (The answer is yes, I loved cheese so I totally was).
The deal was made even sweeter because you know what a walk across town entails? Chaperones. And who was chaperoning these walks?
That’s right. My mother. Otherwise known as the original g. Capital “H” Homie. My main. The reason I’m alive. The only person who enjoys my bs. Mrs. “Did you eat anything today, Wallpatterns?”
If you can’t tell, I love my mom, but alas, this story is not about her. It’s about pure unadulterated fear. The kind that can’t be described (but I’m going to describe it anyway so buckle in.)
These walks took place in the morning and consisted of us walking single file there and back (remember this formation because it’s important.)
I had a small class. At this time it was somewhere between 16-18 kids. We all knew each other, some more than others. And likewise, by the time we graduated to third grade, we all knew how to duck.
And why, you ask, were we all so good at ducking?
Because, my dear friend, of shit wars.
It all started with two boys in my class. We’ll call them Nik and Nick in this story because they actually had the same name (that’s how you know it was fate) but with alternative spelling and also I don’t want to use their real names because reasons.
Shit wars was the kind of thing nightmares are born from. The predecessor of all things that go bump in the night. You think the kids of Derry had issues having to deal with Stephen King’s It? They never had to be battle ready. They never had to go to war. Not with this. No, never with this.
So. Library time. Off we go to the races. Lalala sunshine, rainbows, and butterflies. My mom is by my side. We’re gonna get books.
I am t h r i v i n g.
Or at least, I was, before Nik or Nick picked up a dog turd off the sidewalk.
Until I witnessed the graceful arc of a flying poop pellet unfold itself mid-air, small gray pieces flying from it in layers like a sad football.
Until the screams started.
Until war began.
There’s a sort of haze that settles in moments like these. A fuzzy little filter that falls over everyone like rain. The same dream-like trance that makes it impossible to look away from tragedy.
The same thing that made it impossible for Nik or Nick to move away.
When the flying poop pellet hit Nik or Nick’s back, that moment was broken. Screams rang out.
“My hair!” Someone yelled.
“It touched me!” Another joined in.
My peers, witnessing what would happen if you remained inactive, jolted to action. We zigzagged, running into each other haphazardly. We pushed and pulled and fought our way through valiantly.
But not Nik or Nick.
No, he threw one back.
Once again we stood silent and captivated by the soaring dung bomb. This time it spun through the air majestically. Sunlight glinted off it like a sign from God. A curve ball.
There’s something impressive and yet oddly motivational about a piece of dog shit reaching for the stars.
It hit, with a harsh thud, the other Nik or Nick and left a dull brown smear on his shirt.
Thus was the start of Holy Shit Wars.
“Children!” Mrs. Second Grade Teacher screamed. “Stay in formation!”
“No thanks,” we all collectively thought. “Standing targets are just asking to be hit with stinky shrapnel.”
Once again, someone screamed. Mrs. Second Grade Teacher lunged for Nik or Nick, but he darted onto the road.
“NO” A chaperone yelled despite the fact that there weren’t any cars. “NOT TRAFFIC”
Nik or Nick didn’t care. He darted along the road before he spotted another gem along the sidewalk. Armed with another dog turd, he pulled his arm back.
“Aw, man,” He relished in his newfound hobby. “This one is fresh.”
The other Nik or Nick stood at the other end of the line and laughed. The formation we were once again forced to be a part of tittered nervously.
With a grunt and a lunge, the poop pellet flew over our (admittedly very short) heads. It occurred to me almost too late that I was at the end of the line. Directly in front of the other Nik or Nick.
Fear crawled up my throat and kissed my back teeth. This was it. I looked at my mom for what may in fact be the last time.
“Goodbye,” I thought. “Remember to turn in my books so my ghost won’t have a fine.”
And with that, I clenched by eyes closed and I ducked.
Have you ever felt the breeze caused by a soaring dog turd tickle your hair
Have you ever been witness to the nose hair searing scent of whatever it is random dog’s eat
Have you ever had a life defining moment
For a split second I ascend mortality and bear witness to the meaning of life
As quick as it happens it is over
Nik or Nick sidesteps the bullet
They are separated and each marched beside a guard (ha my mom had to walk with one speaking of my mom 2nd grade was the last year she chaperoned) (probably because of shit wars come to think of it)
The day’s battle is over, but the war is not
Every library walk
A new battle begins
Shit wars was fought by Nik and Nick every walk
Many innocent bystanders lost their lives in the process
We were never the same again
The End
Stay tuned for the next episode: that time I accidentally stole a finalist ribbon in front of at least 100 people and got away with it
wait how were you able to get away with stealing a finalist ribbon???? I can barely take my phone to my room when no one is even home cause I just get hit with guilt and ‘hnn you shouldn’t be doing this’
Listen…I didn’t ask to be a criminal. I was just born a particular skill set.
teach me your ways please
Tell us the ribbon story you coward
This is an old post how did u find this are you a hufflepuff
Look statute of limitations has expired tell us the ribbon story
The day I’m a published author will be the day I tell the ribbon story maybe at a lit con maybe in hell
See, this? THIS is how you joke on “Thor being dumb”. It’s not that he’s actually DUMB, it’s that he’s ignorant to a lot of Earth things because he’s not FROM here, but also he’s a confident extrovert who’s going to act like he DOES know what he’s doing.
“So I’m being held, and every person in this body is being held to a higher ethical standard than the President of the United States?”
“That’s right, ‘cause there are some ethics committee rules that apply to you.”
“And it’s already super legal, as we’ve seen, for me to be a pretty bad guy, so it’s even easier for the President of the United States to be one, I would assume.”
“That’s right.”
“Thank you very much.”
Rep. Ocasio-Cortez Exposes the Problem of Dark Money in Politics
Kilroy was here is an American popular culture expression that became popular during World War II; it is typically seen in graffiti. Its origins are debated, but the phrase and the distinctive accompanying doodle — a bald-headed man (sometimes depicted as having a few hairs) with a prominent nose peeking over a wall with the fingers of each hand clutching the wall — became associated with GIs in the 1940s.
