Some of you are reblogging because you think its funny that programmers would talk to ducks. I’m reblogging because I think its funny picturing a programmer explaining their code, realizing what they did when they explain the bad code, then grabbing the strangling the duck while yelling “WHY WAS THE FIX THAT SIMPLE!? AM I GOING BLIND!”
AS A PROGRAMMER I CAN TELL YOU THAT THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT YOU FUCKING DO WE HAD TO BAN THE DUCKS FROM MY CLASSES BECAUSE EVERYONE WOULD FLIP THE DUCK OR THROW IT AT A WALL OR SOMETHING WHEN THEY FIGURED OUT THE PROBLEM IN THEIR CODE
so. I visited my cousin’s apartment today
Unfriendly reminder that in America it’s reasonable to say an unarmed black kid deserved to be shot six times because he might have robbed a convenience store, but a white kid shouldn’t be kicked off the high school football team just because he violently raped a girl.
This drink I like it. Another!
I love how quickly he readjusts to the culture so foreign to him. Like, he does not even protest or try to explain this is how it’s done in Asgard so it’s how it SHOULD be done because he’s a mighty god and stuff. He’s just like “but I… oh I see smashing mugs is not a custom here. I’m sorry I won’t do it again :( “
Thor is legitimate sunshine. He wants everyone to be comfortable! He’s always doing subtle adjustments to his language and his body and actions to make sure of it. He tweaks his words as best he can with Allspeak, too, to make up for the gaps. ”How’s space?” “Space is fine.” Einstein-Rosen Bridge vs Bifrost.
PEOPLE UNDERESTIMATE HIM SO MUCH.
THOR IS SMART.
THOR IS KIND.
It was drizzling. I was carrying a cheap umbrella that leaked. Outside the deli leaning against a pay phone was a Hispanic man in his late twenties or early thirties insulting people as they passed by. His words were slightly slurred.
When I came out of the deli, this man said something about my shoes and my hat, and because I was looking for a reason to hit somebody, I put my grocery bags down and confronted him. We cursed at each other for a while, puffing up our chests and barking threats, and then he poked me in the chest with his index finger. I knew the second he did it that he didn’t actually mean to touch me, that he was probably just jabbing at me for emphasis and misjudged the distance between us, because it wasn’t a hard impact and the contact seemed to surprise him, too. But I hit him in the face anyway. He stumbled backward, turned around in an attempt to regain his balance, tripped and fell face down on the sidewalk. I jumped on his back and put my forearm around his neck and locked it, to keep him from getting up again. It was a chokehold.
I don’t know how long I was down there, but it was long enough for the owner of the deli to call the cops. A squad car pulled up sometime later. Two patrolmen got out and pulled me off the guy and tossed me on the sidewalk. Then one of them ran over and put his knee on my back, but did not cuff me—a detail that didn’t register until the cop got off me and allowed me to stand again, and I looked over and saw that the other guy was face down on the pavement, cuffed.
Both cops were white.
The cop on me asked for my driver’s license, looked at it, looked at me, and said, “Tell me what happened.” I told the cop what happened, exactly as I described it above, including the personal details about why I’d been agitated and drunk, which under the circumstances probably weren’t germane.
When I finished he said, “Would you like to press charges?”
"What for?" I asked.
"Assault," he said.
"Why would I press assault charges against him?"
"Because he hit you first."
I said, “Oh, no, he didn’t hit me first. He poked me in the chest.”
"That’s assault," my cop said. "He hit you first."
"I don’t think he actually meant to touch me, though," I said, while a voice deep inside me said, Stupid white boy, he’s making it plain and you’re not getting it.
"It doesn’t matter if he meant to touch you, he hit you first," he said. He was talking to me warmly and patiently, as you might explain things to a child. Wisdom was being imparted.
"You were in fear of your life," he added.
By now the adrenaline fog seemed to be lifting. I was seeing things in a more clinical way. The violence I had inflicted on this man was disproportionate to the “assault,” and the tone of this exchange with the cop felt conspiratorial.
And then it dawned on me, Mr. Slow-on-the-Uptake, what was really happening: this officer was helping me Get My Story Straight.
Understanding, at long last.
I also need to mention that while this conversation was taking place, not ten feet away the other guy was face down on the pavement, handcuffed—even though when the squad car arrived, anybody who’d looked at our situation purely in terms of physical action, without the explanations I proffered afterward, would have concluded that I was the menace.
Anonymous said: can you please draw ladies eating out or making out idk ladies / lesbians doing sexy things its important 8') thank you
U u U
At a deposition, Ferguson’s former police chief revealed that his staff did not keep records of incidents in which officers used force against citizens, so long as no one died; in other words, there was no way of telling how often incidents like Davis’ happened.
remember shit like this when they talk about how mike brown’s shooter had no disciplinary record