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danbo
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@manlymatters00 Not guilty but he did not want him to die that way and it was upsetting to him. My grandfather had burned every other bridge and my dad had tried to reconcile with him in the past so I have a hard time feeling sorry for the man. He does have a fear the same will happen to him now
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@hyperbQrea Howd your dad feel about that? Any guilt?
Not trying to stir shit. Just wondering.
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My grandfather did this to my dad and my dad didn't let him move in with him when he got old. He fell out of bed in his apartment, couldn't get help, and wasn't discovered for weeks until someone complained about the smell.
John Hawkins@johnhawkinsrwn
Kick Your Kids Out of the House at 18 There was never a question that I would be leaving home at 18. My parents did help me with college, and I came home on the weekends a lot my freshman year, but much less so as time went on. When I got out of college, moving home wasn't an option. My parents didn't want me there, and I would have been ashamed to mooch off them. Instead, I got a crap job, got roommates, and started making it on my own while driving a barely functional car my parents got me in high school. Did I visit? Did I ask for advice? Did I get some help from my parents here and there? Absolutely. But you're not really an adult living your own life until you're out of your parents' house. "Oh, but it's tougher today...." No, it's not. Early on, my jobs sucked. I always had roommates. I had very little money. It was not fun, but I sucked it up and made it work. That doesn't make me exceptional; it just means I was doing what an adult was expected to do. One way or the other, kids shouldn't be staying with their parents through their mid-twenties. They need to get out on their own, make their own way, and forge their own identity as something other than Mama and Daddy's little boy or girl.
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My suggestion for relationships is establish early that you don't find farting around each other acceptable and then (harder) never actually fart around her. That's where it all goes downhill.
Kevin@kevineu58
@Real_Ravenx_ I got the whole rest of that picture
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@BronyRepublican I think I speak for everyone when I say I want to pound that clown
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danbo retweetledi
USA. A Mexican restaurant. We had not yet ordered anything, and the food was already arriving.
Chips. Salsa. Unrequested. Free.
I stopped the waiter. "We have not earned these."
"They just come with the table, man."
They come with the TABLE. In my land, hospitality is a debt. Every gift creates an obligation, weighed carefully, returned in the proper season with interest of feeling. Here, the gift arrives before you have even proven you can pay for dinner.
This is not an appetizer. This is a declaration: we trust you. Eat.
I ate with the gravity the moment deserved. And then — I must report this calmly — the basket emptied, and a new one appeared.
"Did we…?"
"Refill," the waiter said. "It's bottomless."
Bottomless. They have wells of salsa. The supply lines of this nation are beyond anything my ancestors imagined.
My friend warned me. "Don't fill up on chips, dude."
Too late. I had accepted three baskets. Honor demanded each one be finished — an unfinished gift is an insult. By the time my actual food arrived, I was a ruined man.
I was not hungry. I was not comfortable. I had been defeated by a courtesy.
Generosity that arrives before the request cannot be repaid. It can only be survived.
I know the rule now. I have made my peace with the basket. One basket. Two at the most.
Who am I deceiving. There is no number of baskets I would refuse. The trust of a nation is in that salsa, and I intend to honor all of it.
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danbo retweetledi
In America, a stranger will rename you in a single breath, and you are simply expected to come when called.
I went to eat at a busy restaurant. A young man at the front asked for my name, to mark my place in line. I gave it the weight it has carried for eight hundred years.
"Nobunaga."
He smiled, nodded, and wrote it down with great confidence. Then he read it back to me, to be sure he had honored it correctly.
"Perfect. Banana, party of one."
Banana. He had heard my name, held it a moment, and returned to me something rounder and more cheerful. To refuse the name a host gives is to refuse his welcome. I bowed. I was Banana now.
Then he handed me a small black disc, said it would "light up and buzz" when my table was ready, and turned to the next guest as though he had not just placed a living thing in my hands.
I held it in both palms, the way one holds a small sleeping beast that may wake. I found a place to stand. I waited, ready.
It woke.
It screamed. It flashed red. It leapt and shook in my hands like a captured spirit demanding release. A lesser man would have dropped it. I did not. I gripped it, steady, looked into its blinking lights, and told it, in a low voice, that its time had come. Then I carried it back to the host with both hands, the way one returns a hawk to its master.
He took it without looking and shouted across the entire room.
"BANANA! Party of one, your table's ready!"
A hundred strangers turned. I rose. I crossed that floor as Banana, spine straight, chin level, a man answering to his name. A child pointed at me. I gave the child a small bow. He had recognized me.
All through the meal they kept me. "How's it tasting, Banana?" "More water, Banana?" The check, when it came, said Banana, and thanked me for visiting. By the end the whole staff knew me. They waved as I left. "Night, Banana!"
So tell me honestly.
For eight hundred years my clan answered to one name. Tonight I answered to a fruit, calmed a screaming relic in my bare hands, and ate among people who were glad I came.
When the little disc lights up, is the table truly mine, or am I only keeping it warm for the next Banana?
Because I have already decided to return on Friday, and to ask, very humbly, for the same disc.
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danbo retweetledi
@SleepyManny Man if you’re going to be mean and least get it right. I smoked crack. I would never have wasted coke on snorting it.
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@romantic_rapist How does one move on from the highs of being a niche micro-celebrity in 2020? I can't keep chasing this dragon
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danbo retweetledi
danbo retweetledi
danbo retweetledi
A farmer dies in April 2026.
His son inherits the farm. The farm has been in the family since 1847.
The farm consists of: 300 acres of grazing pasture, a farmhouse built in 1892, a barn, a milking parlour, two tractors of varying ages, a Land Rover that runs about 70% of the time, and a herd of 180 Hereford-cross cattle.
On paper, the farm is worth approximately £3.2 million. This is because land near him has been bought recently by a London hedge fund looking for carbon credits, which has dragged the comparable value of every field within forty miles upward to a number nobody local can justify.
In cash, the farm produces a profit of about £28,000 a year in a good year. In a bad year it loses money. The son also works as a fencing contractor three days a week to keep the operation viable.
The inheritance tax bill on a £3.2 million estate, even at the reduced 20% rate, comes to approximately £140,000 after the increased threshold is applied. The son does not have £140,000. The son has never had £140,000. The son has £4,200 in his current account and an overdraft.
The son sells 60 acres to a developer to pay the tax. The developer puts solar panels on the 60 acres. The remaining herd cannot be sustained on the reduced land. The herd is sold. The barn becomes a holiday let.
A different family eats Brazilian beef this Christmas without knowing why the price went up.
The Treasury collects £140,000.
The land never produces British food again.
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Talking to my 82 year old mom about all the news of Trump. She interrupted me and said, “Hoss, the only way I can stomach to watch that pre-death bloated Mango Mussolini on the news is with my resting bitch face applied and a glass of wine at the ready!”
Holy Wisdom Shit Balls
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danbo retweetledi
Probably the most convenient scenario tbh because the kid is comfortable with her and she already loves the kid. Also avoids a lot of awkward "afterlife" reunions because like they already know each other so it's probably chill
down bad comments@downbadcomment
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