>> ^legacy0100:

As a Wolfenstein: Enemy Territory fan, I feel that all good Multiplayer games are in one way or the other a spin off of Enemy Territory. It started it all.


ET was awesome. I wished more was done to it. Fork it and make it better?

America. Stick a fork in it.

I am actually shocked he got as far as he did.. and he would be fine if he lowered it quickly, but frankly there aint no way in hell I would lift those multi ton trailers with that gimpy little fork lift with NO COUNTERBALANCE. That thing was a little toy!

Tags for this video have been changed from 'shipping, container, sea can, conex, stack, fork lift, fail' to 'shipping, container, sea can, conex, stack, fork lift, fail, quebec' - edited by calvados

Tags for this video have been changed from 'container, shipping, fork lift, fail' to 'shipping, container, sea can, conex, stack, fork lift, fail' - edited by calvados

http://lyrics.wikia.com/Sage_Francis:The_Best_Of_Times

It's been a long and lonely trip but I'm glad that I took it because it was well worth it.
I got to read a couple books and do some research before I reached my verdict.
Never thought that I was perfect. Always thought that I had a purpose.
Used to wonder if I'd live to see my first kiss.

The most difficult thing I ever did was recite my own words at a service
Realizing the person I was addressing probably wasn't looking down from heaven.
Or cooking up something in hell's kitchen, trying to listen in or eaves drop from some another dimension.
It was self serving just like this is.

Conveniently religious on Easter Sunday and on Christmas.
The television went from being a babysitter to a mistress.
Technology made it easy for us to stay in touch while keeping a distance,
'til we just stayed distant and never touched. Now all we do is text too much.

I don't remember much from my youth. Maybe my memory is repressed.
Or I just spent too much time wondering if I'd live to have sex.
Fell in love for the first time in 4th grade but I didn't have the courage to talk to her.
In 8th grade I wrote her the note but I slipped it in someone else's locker.

Considered killing myself 'cause of that.
It was a big deal. It was a blown cover.
It was over for me. My goose was cooked.
Stick a fork in me. The jig is up.
I blew my chances, the rest is history, our future was torn asunder.
It became abundantly clear that I was only brought here to suffer.

At least I didn't include my name.
Thankfully I wrote the whole note in code
And it had 10 layers of scotch tape safety seal making it impossible to open.
Plus, it was set to self destruct.
Whoever read it probably died…laughing.
I wonder if they lived long enough to realize what happened.

A year later, I came to understand that wasn't love that I was feeling for her.
I had someone else to obsess over.
I was older. I was very mature.
I forged my time signature while practicing my parents autograph 'cause I was failing math.
Disconnected the phone when I thought the teacher would call my home.

I checked the mailbox twice a day at the end of a long dirt road.
Steamed open a couple envelopes like I was in private detective mode.
If you snoop around long enough for something in particular you're guaranteed to find it.
For better or worse that's how I learned that it's best to just keep some things private.

It was the best of times. It was the end of times.

It was the best of times. It was the end of times.
I was always on deck, I was next in line.
An only child with a pen and pad writing a list of things that I could never have.
The walls in my house were paper thin.
Every squabble seemed to get deafening.
If my memory serves me correctly I made it a point to void and forget some things.
Probably to keep from being embarrassed.
Never meant to upset or give grief to my parents.
Kept my secrets…hid my talents…
In my head, never under the mattress.

Therapy couldn't break me.
Never learned a word that would insure safety.
So I spoke softly and I tip toed often.
The door to my room was like a big old coffin.
The way that it creeked when I closed it shut.
Anxieties peaked when it opened up.
As if everything that I was thinking would be exposed.
I still sleep fully clothed.

It was the best of times.

It was beautiful.
It was brutal.
It was cruel.
It was business as usual.

Heaven. It was hell.
Used to wonder if I'd live to see 12.

When I did I figured that I was immortal.
Loved to dance but couldn't make it to the formal.
Couldn't bear watching my imaginary girlfriend
Bust a move with any other dudes.

Tone Loc was talking bout a "Wild Thang"
But I was still caught up in some child thangs.
Scared of a God who couldn't spare the rod.
It was clearly a brimstone and fire thang.

Pyromaniac. Kleptomaniac.
Couldn't explain my desire to steal that fire.
Now I add it to my rider.
Like "Please oh please don't throw me in that patch of brier!"

It was the best of times. It was the end of times.

The school counselor was clueless 'cause I never skipped classes.
Perfect attendance. Imperfect accent.
Speech impediment they could never really fix
And I faked bad eyesight so I could wear glasses.

Considered doing something that would cripple me.
I wanted a wheelchair. I wanted the sympathy.
I wanted straight teeth so then came braces.
4 years of head gear helped me change faces.

It was the best of times. It was the end of times.

Now I wonder if I'll live to see marriage.
Wonder if I'll live long enough to have kids.
Wonder if I'll live to see my kids have kids.
If I do I'm gonna tell 'em how it is.

"Don't listen when they tell you that these are your best years.
Don't let anybody protect your ears.
It's best that you hear what they don't want you to hear.
It's better to have pressure from peers than not have peers.
Beer won't give you chest hair. Spicy food won't make it curl.
When you think you've got it all figured out and then everything collapses…
Trust me, kid…it's not the end of the world."

SREDNI VASHTAR

Conradin was ten years old, and the doctor had pronounced his professional opinion that the boy would not live another five years. The doctor was silky and effete, and counted for little, but his opinion was endorsed by Mrs. De Ropp, who counted for nearly everything. Mrs. De Ropp was Conradin's cousin and guardian, and in his eyes she represented those three-fifths of the world that are necessary and disagreeable and real; the other two-fifths, in perpetual antagonism to the foregoing, were summed up in himself and his imagination. One of these days Conradin supposed he would succumb to the mastering pressure of wearisome necessary things---such as illnesses and coddling restrictions and drawn-out dulness. Without his imagination, which was rampant under the spur of loneliness, he would have succumbed long ago.

Mrs. De Ropp would never, in her honestest moments, have confessed to herself that she disliked Conradin, though she might have been dimly aware that thwarting him ``for his good'' was a duty which she did not find particularly irksome. Conradin hated her with a desperate sincerity which he was perfectly able to mask. Such few pleasures as he could contrive for himself gained an added relish from the likelihood that they would be displeasing to his guardian, and from the realm of his imagination she was locked out---an unclean thing, which should find no entrance.

In the dull, cheerless garden, overlooked by so many windows that were ready to open with a message not to do this or that, or a reminder that medicines were due, he found little attraction. The few fruit-trees that it contained were set jealously apart from his plucking, as though they were rare specimens of their kind blooming in an arid waste; it would probably have been difficult to find a market-gardener who would have offered ten shillings for their entire yearly produce. In a forgotten corner, however, almost hidden behind a dismal shrubbery, was a disused tool-shed of respectable proportions, and within its walls Conradin found a haven, something that took on the varying aspects of a playroom and a cathedral. He had peopled it with a legion of familiar phantoms, evoked partly from fragments of history and partly from his own brain, but it also boasted two inmates of flesh and blood. In one corner lived a ragged-plumaged Houdan hen, on which the boy lavished an affection that had scarcely another outlet. Further back in the gloom stood a large hutch, divided into two compartments, one of which was fronted with close iron bars. This was the abode of a large polecat-ferret, which a friendly butcher-boy had once smuggled, cage and all, into its present quarters, in exchange for a long-secreted hoard of small silver. Conradin was dreadfully afraid of the lithe, sharp-fanged beast, but it was his most treasured possession. Its very presence in the tool-shed was a secret and fearful joy, to be kept scrupulously from the knowledge of the Woman, as he privately dubbed his cousin. And one day, out of Heaven knows what material, he spun the beast a wonderful name, and from that moment it grew into a god and a religion. The Woman indulged in religion once a week at a church near by, and took Conradin with her, but to him the church service was an alien rite in the House of Rimmon. Every Thursday, in the dim and musty silence of the tool-shed, he worshipped with mystic and elaborate ceremonial before the wooden hutch where dwelt Sredni Vashtar, the great ferret. Red flowers in their season and scarlet berries in the winter-time were offered at his shrine, for he was a god who laid some special stress on the fierce impatient side of things, as opposed to the Woman's religion, which, as far as Conradin could observe, went to great lengths in the contrary direction. And on great festivals powdered nutmeg was strewn in front of his hutch, an important feature of the offering being that the nutmeg had to be stolen. These festivals were of irregular occurrence, and were chiefly appointed to celebrate some passing event. On one occasion, when Mrs. De Ropp suffered from acute toothache for three days, Conradin kept up the festival during the entire three days, and almost succeeded in persuading himself that Sredni Vashtar was personally responsible for the toothache. If the malady had lasted for another day the supply of nutmeg would have given out.

The Houdan hen was never drawn into the cult of Sredni Vashtar. Conradin had long ago settled that she was an Anabaptist. He did not pretend to have the remotest knowledge as to what an Anabaptist was, but he privately hoped that it was dashing and not very respectable. Mrs. De Ropp was the ground plan on which he based and detested all respectability.

After a while Conradin's absorption in the tool-shed began to attract the notice of his guardian. ``It is not good for him to be pottering down there in all weathers,'' she promptly decided, and at breakfast one morning she announced that the Houdan hen had been sold and taken away overnight. With her short-sighted eyes she peered at Conradin, waiting for an outbreak of rage and sorrow, which she was ready to rebuke with a flow of excellent precepts and reasoning. But Conradin said nothing: there was nothing to be said. Something perhaps in his white set face gave her a momentary qualm, for at tea that afternoon there was toast on the table, a delicacy which she usually banned on the ground that it was bad for him; also because the making of it ``gave trouble,'' a deadly offence in the middle-class feminine eye.

``I thought you liked toast,'' she exclaimed, with an injured air, observing that he did not touch it.

``Sometimes,'' said Conradin.

In the shed that evening there was an innovation in the worship of the hutch-god. Conradin had been wont to chant his praises, tonight be asked a boon.

``Do one thing for me, Sredni Vashtar.''

The thing was not specified. As Sredni Vashtar was a god he must be supposed to know. And choking back a sob as he looked at that other empty comer, Conradin went back to the world he so hated.

And every night, in the welcome darkness of his bedroom, and every evening in the dusk of the tool-shed, Conradin's bitter litany went up: ``Do one thing for me, Sredni Vashtar.''

Mrs. De Ropp noticed that the visits to the shed did not cease, and one day she made a further journey of inspection.

``What are you keeping in that locked hutch?'' she asked. ``I believe it's guinea-pigs. I'll have them all cleared away.''

Conradin shut his lips tight, but the Woman ransacked his bedroom till she found the carefully hidden key, and forthwith marched down to the shed to complete her discovery. It was a cold afternoon, and Conradin had been bidden to keep to the house. From the furthest window of the dining-room the door of the shed could just be seen beyond the corner of the shrubbery, and there Conradin stationed himself. He saw the Woman enter, and then be imagined her opening the door of the sacred hutch and peering down with her short-sighted eyes into the thick straw bed where his god lay hidden. Perhaps she would prod at the straw in her clumsy impatience. And Conradin fervently breathed his prayer for the last time. But he knew as he prayed that he did not believe. He knew that the Woman would come out presently with that pursed smile he loathed so well on her face, and that in an hour or two the gardener would carry away his wonderful god, a god no longer, but a simple brown ferret in a hutch. And he knew that the Woman would triumph always as she triumphed now, and that he would grow ever more sickly under her pestering and domineering and superior wisdom, till one day nothing would matter much more with him, and the doctor would be proved right. And in the sting and misery of his defeat, he began to chant loudly and defiantly the hymn of his threatened idol:

Sredni Vashtar went forth,
His thoughts were red thoughts and his teeth were white.
His enemies called for peace, but he brought them death.
Sredni Vashtar the Beautiful.

And then of a sudden he stopped his chanting and drew closer to the window-pane. The door of the shed still stood ajar as it had been left, and the minutes were slipping by. They were long minutes, but they slipped by nevertheless. He watched the starlings running and flying in little parties across the lawn; he counted them over and over again, with one eye always on that swinging door. A sour-faced maid came in to lay the table for tea, and still Conradin stood and waited and watched. Hope had crept by inches into his heart, and now a look of triumph began to blaze in his eyes that had only known the wistful patience of defeat. Under his breath, with a furtive exultation, he began once again the pæan of victory and devastation. And presently his eyes were rewarded: out through that doorway came a long, low, yellow-and-brown beast, with eyes a-blink at the waning daylight, and dark wet stains around the fur of jaws and throat. Conradin dropped on his knees. The great polecat-ferret made its way down to a small brook at the foot of the garden, drank for a moment, then crossed a little plank bridge and was lost to sight in the bushes. Such was the passing of Sredni Vashtar.

``Tea is ready,'' said the sour-faced maid; ``where is the mistress?'' ``She went down to the shed some time ago,'' said Conradin. And while the maid went to summon her mistress to tea, Conradin fished a toasting-fork out of the sideboard drawer and proceeded to toast himself a piece of bread. And during the toasting of it and the buttering of it with much butter and the slow enjoyment of eating it, Conradin listened to the noises and silences which fell in quick spasms beyond the dining-room door. The loud foolish screaming of the maid, the answering chorus of wondering ejaculations from the kitchen region, the scuttering footsteps and hurried embassies for outside help, and then, after a lull, the scared sobbings and the shuffling tread of those who bore a heavy burden into the house.

``Whoever will break it to the poor child? I couldn't for the life of me!'' exclaimed a shrill voice. And while they debated the matter among themselves, Conradin made himself another piece of toast.

I dunno, some guys out there are probably capable of doing this. I saw a guy do a trick where he picks up a quarter with a fork lift.

i agree with everything you just said, but i think you might be over estimating how much of it is science.
it's a great deal business. at least in the US. where medicine is mostly for profit. for huge huge profits.
medical RESEARCH is in fact, science. and i have faith in it. the dispensing of medicine is however, a business.

i'm saying this as someone who has degrees in health science fields. spent 8 years as a health care professional. spent 1/3 of that time doing administrative work. and now owns a business as a CAM practitioner.... which btw, is also a good bit business.

i'd also like to stick up for alternative medicine here.
a good deal of it is bullshit. any results are simply the placebo effect. but i don't think we should discount the placebo effect. it's an amazing mechanism. if you feel less depressed because someone hit you with a tuning fork and you didn't have to take any pills or go to a counselor, then okay. that's awesome. i still think you probably need counseling, but whatever. i also think you should take a good hard look at your diet and how much exercise you're doing. but how much does it cost in the US to go to a counselor, go to a doctor, get your anti-depressants and have a nutritionist and a phsyical trainer help you learn how to excercise and eat right? it's probably cheaper to pay someone $80 to hit you with that tuning fork and convince yourself it's going to work.

I make a decent living practicing complementary health care. but i don't tell anyone they need to be hit with a tuning fork or have someone throw energy beams out of their hands at them. i tell people they need to stretch, and i teach them how. i tell people they need to sleep properly, and i help them do it. i tell people they need to find an effective way to deal with stress, and i give them that. i tell people they need to find a form of exercise that's right for their bodies and lifestyles, and i help them find it. a lot of people just need someone to trust and someone to talk to. and that's why they call me a "therapist". i never tell people to go against their doctor's orders. i never tell anyone to stop taking their medicine or not to be vaccinated. and that's why what i do is COMPLEMENTARY.

we're too quick to dismiss a different approach when it comes to health care.
the same people are also very quick to be able to recognize the problems with our for profit health care systems when it comes to political discussions. the profit motive hasn't just tainted medicine in terms of disparity. it's tainted it in terms of effectiveness. this is where a holistic approach is good. it's not effect to only treat the symptom. if someone is overweight, has high blood pressure, their stress is out of control and they have diabetes. prescribing them pills, while necessary in the short term, is not at all where the "care" should end. i know doctors will also tell their patients to eat right and exercise but they do not teach them how to do it. because for profit health care doesn't think that is profitable. a for profit system does not want you healthy.

soooo... the market has opened up. if the way we practice medicine and viewed health in this country was working, people wouldn't pay to get hit with tuning forks. oh and half of this is a problem with our education system.
>> ^dag:

^Yes, how dare anyone question the all-knowing oracles of medical knowledge.
I think the reason that many geeky type people always toe the main-stream medical line is because they conflate medicine with science (which we all love). Yes, it's almost the same, but if I had to draw it as a venn diagram, there would be a crescent of over-hang. Medicine to me is 80% science and then the rest is filled in with dogma, patriarchy and business ($$).
That crescent of non-science is the part that makes me squirm. I don't think it's that wrong to question medical programs like vaccinations- with the idea that it may be being pushed non-scientifically by the medical industrial complex. (big pharma).
Bill Maher is not a kook.

Re promote anything -

I'm using Camino (a Firefox fork), but had the same issue in Firefox. Other people have the issue with Chrome, too... if you have it configured that flash doesn't run until you click the "play" button, then you will run into that issue too. I'm willing to put up with it, since it completely blocks flash ads (unless I go mad and click one) and stops autoplay issues

If I was using IOS I would need the html5 option too, or a download, since IOS refuses to touch flash (on principle!).
In reply to this comment by luxury_pie:
Feel free to promote anyting!! :
Really? What browser do you use, or am I not getting what you mean by "click-to-play-flash"?
It works fine for me with or without HTML5 ... wait you are using IOS?

DING DING DING DA DING DING DA DINGGG DING DING DING DA DING DING DA DING!!!
Lets do the FORK IN THE GARBAGE DISPOSAL ! !!!!!!

well then, why not do the fork in the garbage disposal? thanks for the promote

In reply to this comment by Lann:
*promote

I'm in the mood for dancing.

Comment hidden because you are ignoring dag. (show it anyway)

He's been given an official warning. Instead of continuing to drag this out and draw attention to it, why don't you move on and let the wheels of community justice take their course.

I'm not biting on your ridiculous straw man argument either. I don't in fact think this is an acceptable thing to say, but you've succeeded in pissing me off for making such an unsophisticated, pitch-fork wielding attempt at manipulation. Please lurk a little more. >> ^MycroftHomlz:

@dag... If you think this is an acceptable thing to say insert a different group...
"So stop pretending <insert group> are human beings."
gays, blacks, Latinos, Australians, Asians, Indians, Jews, Christians, Muslims....
I think it is pretty obvious this is over the line, which he has crossed numerous times.

i see... so if the scriptures mention three things together in one sentence, they become a trinity... a christian concept... a dogmatic practice, eg knife, fork and spoon

and you consider those two bible verses as enough to split god into three pieces? to treble his persona without increasing his divinity? like a lego... now he's together, now they're apart?

That isn't all there is, Diogenes. God is explicitely described as a plurity of persons throughout the New Testament, and the Old as well. I could give many examples. Do you understand much about theology? This requires a deeper understanding and isn't something that lends itself to a superficial examination.

His divinity remains the same; God is one, and operates as one being, and His operations in the plan of salvation are revealed through the different roles in the trinity.

what do the ante-nicene church founders say about the trinity?

They make the same agruments the jews make. How about you? What do you believe about God?

why does the trinity--the core of christianity--not appear until the 5th century of the common era?

Some revelation is progressive. The jews didn't understand everything that God revealed to them beforehand, and neither do Christians completely understand everything God has revealed in the bible.

i see... so if the scriptures mention three things together in one sentence, they become a trinity... a christian concept... a dogmatic practice, eg knife, fork and spoon

and you consider those two bible verses as enough to split god into three pieces? to treble his persona without increasing his divinity? like a lego... now he's together, now they're apart?

what do the ante-nicene church founders say about the trinity?

why does the trinity--the core of christianity--not appear until the 5th century of the common era?