In reply to this comment by mxxcon:
This man loves his hair!



Flaunt it if ya got it.




<sob!>

Oops wrong reply link. Sorry about that!

>> ^FlowersInHisHair:

>> ^Porksandwich:
it's not much different than people who work the same job as you and complaining about not having enough money and need a few bucks over and over. Especially once you find out that they don't have kids or the majority of the expenses you do and probably spend their money getting drunk or pissing it away in some other fashion.
It's absolutely nothing like that.


Sure it is. It's someone who could keep 10 bucks in their pocket, like you do, to pay for their lunch/gas/etc rather than asking for money repeatedly. If they never pay you back, you've got yourself a beggar. Hell most people would give MORE money to a co-worker who asked than a beggar on the street, because they'd assume they'd get paid back.....which is not always the case.

Just a difference in scale, she's hitting dozens if not hundreds of people a day for a couple bucks. Co-workers who don't payback can hit the employee base only so much before people catch on, so they will make their rounds and space it out. Both usually include a sob story, money problems, or family problems.....as true as your imagination can make them from the little bit they feed you to get that cash out of your hand.

And it sounds horrible, but there are people who work making decent money who do this stuff for whatever reason....it's a game or they supplement their income enough to make it worthwhile, etc.

Hell there's a guy I know who was convinced one of his co-workers was hard up and kept giving this guy part of his lunch or money for lunch. The guy he was giving this stuff to was doing this to half a dozen people at least, worked the same job as the rest of them...making the same or similar money. Had less familial obligations than most and kept it up for a good long while...months and months. I wouldn't doubt he made half a day's pay on some weeks doing that crap...plus free lunches every day.

He may not be a beggar by the definition of the word, but he was still begging IMO which kinda.....makes him a beggar.

That's one lucky SOB lol lol

This is why I stopped playing poker (not that I ever got serious lol). The randomness of the game annoyed the heck out of me lol

The thumbnail image for this video has been updated - thumbnail added by Barseps.

>> ^messenger:

So... Alien 4. Big deal. Acting was horrible.


Resurrection was especially disappointing because it was a screenplay written by Joss Whedon and directed by Jean-Pierre Jeunet. It was supposed to restore our faith in the franchise. Amelie and Firefly made up for it and more, but I still wake up in the middle of the night sobbing.

>> ^Boise_Lib:

I'll upvote for jail time--not before.


As long as videos better people's life outcomes, it's probably prosocial and humanitarian to not hide them.


The women I know who have had this happen would have been better off with more data from which to draw when deciding whether to control risks by walking around questionable neighborhoods or taking a cab.

I think it's easy for men to downplay the experiences of women, but because of size and strength differences, even relatively mild events like shown in this video can confine women to bed for weeks.


It's annoying to get nighttime calls from sobbing women who are close to you.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA! Raucous SOB =oD

Hey, don't think my 11 year old son doesn't still try and pull things like that. (try getting him out to rake the leaves or pine needles.)
My 15 year old daughter on the other hand replies with anger and contempt but is essentially the same stubbornness. They also think if they just keep asking, eventually they will just get their way.
Patience and flat answers are are the way to go - tough sometimes but the right way.

In reply to this comment by oritteropo:
I would expect to hear a reply like "Nooooo! Iiittttssss toooo haaarrrd! You're the meanest father in the whole world! (child slumps down to floor, bursts into loud theatrical sobbing)".
In reply to this comment by Sagemind:
I can often be the first to over-analyze things - but as my wife tells me, "I over think things." So I'll just say, "don't argue, just put it in the sink."


Patience and parenting go hand in hand.

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.

Breitbart and Liz Trotta need to hook up. I can almost hear the cathartic grunting and sobbing, their tears and bodily fluids combining into a pungent, viscous gruel.

>> ^bareboards2:

I just tried this on my profile page and it just doesn't work. I think this might be a VideoSift problem? That, or you are pulling my leg...
@00Scud00 doesn't work, @lucky760. Any reason for that that you know?
In reply to this comment by 00Scud00:
In reply to this comment by bareboards2:
http://videosift.com/video/You-re-Not-Stupid-You-Use-Your-Silver-Tongue


Tried like the dickens to get this video linked to you -- what magic have you done with your handle? Even copy/paste doesn't work.
Magic!

Sorry for not noticing sooner bb, my ability to not check e-mail or other notification systems is nigh legendary. It should just be 00Scud00 (zerozeroScudzerozero), if I possessed any magic I would have used it to smite the SOB who whacked me with that malware two weeks ago.



Fixed!

I just tried this on my profile page and it just doesn't work. I think this might be a VideoSift problem? That, or you are pulling my leg...

@00Scud00 doesn't work, @lucky760. Any reason for that that you know?

In reply to this comment by 00Scud00:
In reply to this comment by bareboards2:
http://videosift.com/video/You-re-Not-Stupid-You-Use-Your-Silver-Tongue



Tried like the dickens to get this video linked to you -- what magic have you done with your handle? Even copy/paste doesn't work.

Magic!

Sorry for not noticing sooner bb, my ability to not check e-mail or other notification systems is nigh legendary. It should just be 00Scud00 (zerozeroScudzerozero), if I possessed any magic I would have used it to smite the SOB who whacked me with that malware two weeks ago.

Yeah, she's way too pretty for me. No idea what I did. No money, small penis. I'm a lucky SOB. We're leaving tomorrow for our honeymoon. Excited.

In reply to this comment by alien_concept:
Ohhhh, no way! That's wicked man, genuinely happy for you... I take it she's banking on the 2012 theory :

In reply to this comment by blankfist:
Thanks AC! What a great day! I get a video qualitied and I get married! Brilliant! :

In reply to this comment by alien_concept:
Oh man, I cannot believe this isn't doing better!!! This is bang on the money, I can't *quality this enough :

You know what would give more credence to your nonsense? Give George W. the credit due for simultaneously launching us into two poorly managed and unwinnable wars while drastically lowering taxes, thereby digging a grave for our country's economy for generations to come.

Oh, where to begin? There's probably more than we agree on about Iraq and even Afghanistan than you'll concede. Both wars appeared to be poorly planned and managed and the goals ill-advertised. Both were rife with the same business-as-usual waste, fraud and abuse found in our social welfare programs.

Now I hate to leave you behind, but Iraq was and is a VICTORY and the left will never admit it. Whether the Iraqis ultimately succeed or not is now up to them, but they seem to have embraced freedom even above islamist theocracy; their future is theirs to decide. Bush saw a threat which the rest of the world agreed was legit, including the American left, and he made the call. History will be the final judge.

Afghanistan is more of a mess due to a lack of clearly defined goals; if the goals were wiping out the Taliban and/or killing Been Hidin', then the job was somewhat done. Rebuilding the place is a waste of time. Again, history will decide.

BTW the left seems to support these other "uprisings" to overthrow Arab dictators and yet they have no idea who or what will replace the original turds, and though I doubt you or anyone else on the left will admit it, it's the birth of a free Iraq which spawned a demand for freedom in other Arab lands.

If you want to talk about runaway spending, at least have the fucking intelligence to figure out that it happens worse when your ideological brethren are in charge. Otherwise you just come off as another proto-typical brainwashed conservative dupe.

As the last three years have AMPLY proven (more if you count Congress being controlled by taxocrats since 2006) leftists in power are FAR worse. Odumbo has spent more money we don't have in 3 years than Bush did in 8, so there's really no comparison. Now you may balk at Bush being labeled 'a liberal with a few conservative tendencies' but that's what he was. I'm well aware the SOB rubber-stamped everything on his desk, including all the social programs the left loves so much, and as I state from time to time, the original scamulus and GM failout on his watch tips the scales of his legacy to FAIL.

We can only speculate on what Bush might have done/gotten away with had there been no 9/11. His spending sprees, had they taken place, might have been more roundly criticized by the right, or the prosperity of those years without the hit of 9/11 might have left everyone in a dream state like in the 90s.

Had Odumbo been a slithering socialist like President Hillary, there likely would be no Tea Party, but he made the same mistake Cankles did with the original full court press for socialized medicine. Now the Giant is awake.

I do read your other posts, and I really don't know what to tell you, Dude. You mark capitalism/free markets/deregulation as being failures or even nonexistent. My response to that is, "Compared to what?" Some utopian ideal that has never existed?




>> ^dystopianfuturetoday:

You know what would give more credence to your nonsense? Give George W. the credit due for simultaneously launching us into two poorly managed and unwinnable wars while drastically lowering taxes, thereby digging a grave for our country's economy for generations to come. If you want to talk about runaway spending, at least have the fucking intelligence to figure out that it happens worse when your ideological brethren are in charge. Otherwise you just come off as another proto-typical brainwashed conservative dupe. >> ^quantumushroom:
Even the St. Petersburg Times, proto-typical liberal rag-in-denial, has noted that His Earness's "Buffett Tax" will only bring in a couple of hundred billion over 10 years, nary a drop in the bucket. Runaway spending is still the problem.
Taxocrats pretend they want to tax "only millionaires" but it's the "common man" the left claims it's defending that will be taking it in the ass from the federal mafia, both in trickle-down higher taxes AND direct higher taxes.
As for The Bignose and Fatso Vaudeville Hour, I've never been offered a job by a poor man.