Dunker Fosen 阴茎射手

The Story of Mei and Hao Once upon a time, in the enchanting bamboo forests of China, two adorable panda bears, Mei and Hao, embarked on an extraordinary adventure that would lead them to the vibrant city of San Francisco. 1/16

I had an elderly patient in the ER the other day: lost his house, living out of his car, drinking more than he should.., in rough shape. I asked him what he used to do for a living. "Draftsman at Ontario Hydro." I probed further. Turns out his career included drawing up blueprints for every one of Ontario's nuclear power plants. I told him I was interested in nuclear power, which he interpreted as me being an anti. "Yeah, a lot of people don't like it" I clarified my position and thanked him for being a part of the great generation that helped to build the infrastructure that underpins our wealth and prosperity to this day. He looked surprised. His eyes lit up with pride and a sense of dignity which shone through his dishevelled appearance lying sick in an emergency room hospital bed. As my generation struggles to build megaprojects: light rail, subways and yes nuclear power plants, we owe a debt of gratitude to our parents and grandparents who so competently worked their fingers to the bone to provide us with the infrastructure that underlies our material comforts. The overhead lights in that hospital hallway, reflected in that man's eyes as we chatted about more than just his broken body, were the fruits of his labour. As a society we finally seem to have reached a political consensus that we should not be tearing down the industrial cathedrals that have been built for us by this great generation: edifices like our nuclear power plants at Pickering, Darlington and Bruce. The champions of that kind of vandalism have been decisively defeated. Im glad to have played my role in that battle. Now it is time for a reorientation towards gratitude and appreciation. It is time for us to take inspiration and pick up our tools to get building for our children and grandchildren so that they too may prosper. It was an honour to care for this man, this builder, this patient and bring a sense of pride and a smile back to his face.

His phone number was in the book. It was 1957. Oliver Hardy had died in August. Stan Laurel was sixty-seven years old. He was living in a small two-bedroom apartment at the Oceana on Ocean Avenue in Santa Monica. He had moved there after his last divorce because the rent was reasonable and it was within walking distance of the beach. He had been Hardy's partner for thirty years. They had made over a hundred films together. They had been the most famous comedy duo in the world. They had not been wealthy — they had made most of their films for Hal Roach Studios on contracts that gave them almost nothing in residuals — and by the 1950s they had been living on personal appearance tours and what was left of their savings. Hardy had a stroke in 1956. He had lost the ability to speak. Stan had visited him every week at his home in North Hollywood. He had sat by the bed and talked. Hardy could not answer. Stan had talked anyway. Hardy died in August 1957. He weighed a hundred and forty pounds at the end. He had been three hundred at his peak. Stan was too sick to attend the funeral. He had been having his own health problems for years. A stroke of his own in 1955. Diabetes. He could no longer travel. The doctor had told him to stay in Santa Monica and rest. He stayed. He did not stop working. He could not. He had been writing comedy material for forty years, and he did not know how to do anything else, and the work was the thing that kept him from sitting in the apartment looking at the wall. He wrote sketches for younger comedians. He answered fan mail. He kept his phone number listed in the Santa Monica directory under his own name. Anyone who wanted to call him could. The fans started calling. They started writing. They started showing up at the door. Word had gotten out, somehow, that the apartment number was easy to find. Tourists who had grown up watching the films would knock on the door of 849 Franklin Street, and Stan would open it. He invited them in. Every single one of them. For eight years. He sat in his living room and talked to anyone who came. He served them tea. He showed them photographs from the films. He answered questions. He did his small thumb-in-the-tie gesture that he had done at the end of every film. He laughed at his own jokes and theirs. He did not have an assistant. He did not have a secretary. He did not have security. He had his second wife, Ida, who made coffee and brought out cake. He did the rest himself. He did this for hundreds of people. Filmmakers who would later become famous — Dick Van Dyke, Jerry Lewis, Marcel Marceau, Peter Sellers, the writer Larry Harmon — came to the apartment because they had heard the door was open. So did tourists from Iowa. So did salesmen from Toronto. So did teenagers from Glendale who had ridden the bus across town. He gave them all the same hour. Dick Van Dyke later said that Stan Laurel had taught him everything he had ever learned about comedy. He said he had gone to that apartment three times in five years. The first time, Stan had sat with him for four hours. In 1961, Stan was given a special Academy Award for his contribution to comedy. He could not travel to the ceremony. Danny Kaye accepted on his behalf and read a short speech Stan had written. The speech ended with one line, which Stan had insisted on. The line was: I wish my partner could share this with me. He was the funnier of the two of us. Stan kept the Oscar on a bookshelf in the apartment. He showed it to fans when they asked. He let them hold it. He told them which year it was for. He never said it had been awarded to him alone. He always said it was for the two of them. He died in February 1965. He was seventy-four. Heart attack. He had been resting in his armchair in the apartment. The nurse who was attending him in his last weeks had stepped into the kitchen. When she came back, he was gone. His last words, spoken to the nurse minutes before, were about skiing. He had said he would rather be skiing. She had asked him if he liked to ski. He had said no, he had never skied in his life, but he would rather be doing that than what he was doing. Then he laughed. Then he died. Dick Van Dyke gave the eulogy at the funeral. He said one line that became famous in comedy circles afterward. He said: a man like Stan Laurel doesn't really die. The thing he made is the thing that survives him. The phone number in the Santa Monica directory was removed by Ida the week after the funeral. She kept the apartment for another two years. Fans still came to the door. She told them, kindly, that Stan was gone. Some of them had not known. She invited them in for tea anyway. She showed them the photographs. She told them stories. She did this for two years before she could bear to move out. Some people, in the last act of their life, keep the door open to anyone who knocks, because they have nothing left to give but their time, and they discover, surprisingly, that their time is the only thing anyone had ever really wanted from them

Both the Hart-Celler Act of 1965 and the additions to it in the early 90s need to be repealed. So many examples of putting American citizens last in those pieces of legislation.

One of the Odyssey's most important lessons comes when Odysseus and his men encounter the Cyclops Polyphemus. At first the situation does not seem dangerous. They land on an island, discover a large cave filled with food and livestock, and begin helping themselves. Odysseus says they should stay and wait for the owner of the cave, because he expects the man to follow the Greek custom of hospitality. In the ancient world a traveler could rely on that custom almost anywhere. Instead, something very different happens. When Polyphemus returns, he blocks the entrance to the cave with a massive stone and begins asking questions. Odysseus explains that they are travellers and reminds him of the sacred duty to treat guests well. Polyphemus laughs at the idea, and tells Odysseus that Cyclopes care not for the gods or their laws. Then he reaches down, grabs two of Odysseus's men, smashes them against the ground, and eats them. The true horror of the scene is the calm way in which Homer describes it. Polyphemus eats the men as casually as someone might eat bread and cheese. Odysseus has wandered into a world where the rules of civilization no longer apply. Now Odysseus faces a serious problem. He cannot simply kill the Cyclops, because the stone blocking the entrance is so large that only Polyphemus himself can move it. If the giant dies, everyone in the cave will remain trapped there forever. The next evening Polyphemus returns again and devours two more men. This time, Odysseus offers him wine that he brought from the ship. The Cyclops has never tasted wine before and drinks it greedily. When Polyphemus asks for Odysseus' name, Odysseus gives one of the cleverest answers in all of literature: he tells the giant that his name is "Nobody." The wine soon takes effect. Polyphemus collapses into a drunken sleep, and Odysseus and his men put their plan into motion. They sharpen a massive wooden stake, heat it in the fire until it glows, and then drive it straight into the Cyclops' single eye. Homer describes the sound of the burning wood hissing inside the eye like iron plunged into cold water. Polyphemus screams so loudly that the other Cyclopes come running to the cave and ask what is wrong. The giant shouts that "Nobody" is attacking him. Hearing this, the other Cyclopes assume he must be sick or mad, and they leave him alone. In the morning, Polyphemus rolls the stone away from the entrance so his sheep can leave the cave. He runs his hands over their backs to make sure the men are not escaping. What he does not realize is that Odysseus has tied each man underneath the sheep, hanging beneath their woolly bellies. The animals walk out of the cave and carry the Greeks with them. It is a brilliant escape, but Odysseus makes one mistake. Once the ship has sailed safely away, he cannot resist shouting back at the Cyclops. He reveals his real name and boasts about what he has done. Polyphemus then prays to his father, the sea god Poseidon, asking him to punish Odysseus for the injury. That single moment of pride ends up shaping the rest of the Odyssey. Poseidon hears the prayer, and from that point on the sea itself seems determined to keep Odysseus from ever reaching home. His intelligence saves him and his men from certain death, but his pride creates new dangers that follow him for years. Even the cleverest man can ruin his own victory if he cannot resist the temptation to pride... --- Join our online book club and study the classics with us! We are working through the great texts of the Western canon, including the Homeric epics: athenaeumbooks.com/welcome To preserve a culture, you must continually study the books and ideas that created it. If the schools and universities won't teach the great books of the West, we will do it ourselves... We are an independent group funded ENTIRELY by the members of this community. If you'd like to support us, please consider a paid membership. You'll get: - Live book club discussions (biweekly) - Essays to guide you through the books we're reading - The full archive of discussions and essays - Access to the community chat room See you inside!

Emily Wilson read the story about a Cyclops eating Odysseus’s men and thought: “Wow, this monster is a non-White person. People might get the idea that non-White people are savage. I better not use the word ‘savage.’ That would reinforce colonialism.”

Everyone before her: the cyclops is a monster, it eats people Wilson: I didn't want to make references to colonialism when the Polyphemus of Color eats Odysseus's sailors

Brand New Music Video will be Dropping 2moro 😈🔥

@ChestyPullerGst @TwoRulesOfWar @CyborgPeds @CaeruleusCanis @RobProvince @SecKennedy @BudLightSadness Is ground or gravity the main protagonist in this clip? The slap's exceptional.

I am not a medical professional. However, I'm pretty sure that a hambeast wheezing/screaming at you and slapping your head around is not the correct first aid procedure. @TwoRulesOfWar @CyborgPeds @CaeruleusCanis @RobProvince @SecKennedy @BudLightSadness

Everyone recognizes this as a symptom of something bad, right?

Excited to announce that my 83-page ASSIMILATION Act has been introduced. Months of labor were undertaken by my staff, @SenTuberville and myself in order to GUT the Hart-Celler Act of 1965, as well as scrap provisions of the Immigration Act of the 1990s. The goal of this bill is simple: end replacement migration and ensure American cultural cohesion. This bill will end the H-1B scam, ensure migrants NEVER become a public charge, and make America look like America again. FYI, net immigration immediately decreases by 85% under this bill. Some other things it does: • National Interest Standard • Stringent Character Tests • Mandatory E-Verify • Ends Chain Migration • Ends Diversity Lottery • GUTS Birthright Citizenship • WAY Tougher Asylum Standards • Stronger Public Charge Rules • 10 Year Citizenship Requirement • English & American Civics PROFICIENCY

@AP Just as the founding fathers intended. youtu.be/V1fZWx8tS9Q?si…

A musket from 1776 can fire a lead ball at a velocity of around 1,000 feet per second. Imagine what that can do to a human body. Yet under federal and most state laws, it’s exempt from gun regulations. Many antique or replica guns aren’t considered firearms and even convicted felons can own them.

@ingelramdecoucy Talley ho, lads. youtu.be/V1fZWx8tS9Q?si…

“We should regulate and ban modern guns because when the founders wrote the Second Amendment right to keep and bear arms they meant muskets” … “We should regulate and ban muskets”

@Shadzey1 Talley ho, lads.

Yall are 9 years late to this discussion.

@AP Talley ho, lads.

Asian prof: "He torpedoed my career by treating me as white!" White people: ...wait.

@calwatch They also created Hell's elevator music.

Kars4Kids has been banned from advertising in California as it has been deemed deceptive by a judge for helping exclusively Orthodox Jewish kids in the New York and New Jersey areas despite having eight year old actors of all races singing their jingle. static1.squarespace.com/static/6330d82…

@SenecaSpeaks21 Folks run on opposing Trump even when their jobs don't provide the opportunity. I guess alot of Ds expect these statements as a loyalty oath.

Some Free game for Matt Mahan's disasterous comms team: TDS doesn't work for candidates like Matt, who the soggies already decided they don’t like. No woke soggy is suddenly flipping from Tom Steyer or Xavier Becerra because of this rhetoric. When less than half of registered voters even participate, the smarter strategy is to inspire new voters and expand the electorate — not compete for the same fixed pool of hyper-polarized voters already sworn in allegiance to another soggy candidate. Trying to out-soggy the other soggies is a recipe for disaster. Campaigns should project courage, leadership, and new ideas. That’s what moves people. I’m honestly disappointed in Matt. I expected better. My sources tell me Matt's team has been in disarray from the start. Fire them all and call me bro, we win over here.

We need permanent year-round E15. Now.

Same “nonprofit” scam that I exposed about the @sfspca — a multimillion dollar marketing scheme that saves fewer dogs than Rocket Dog Rescue, an all-volunteer organization that barely scrapes by. SFSPCA even put $500K down on a house in Marin for the CEO. northsidesf.com/sep09/features…