2021.10.16 00:46 onsuier2020 What historical event do you want to see represented the most?
2021.10.16 00:46 Fenderstratguy Finance industry folks - have you always had your own financial house in order for life/retirement?
I was reading another post which got me thinking about folks who are financial advisors, CPAs, retirement specialists - have you always had your own retirement plans solidly in hand? Did anything change as you matured such as switching from stock picking/active managed funds to passive index funds or to real estate? I'm not in the financial industry but would assume you had learned the secrets to saving for retirement early in your career. I assume you have your own financial plan ticking like a smooth Swiss watch. But I also know assumptions are many times wrong. I'm in the health field and watched a surgeon chain smoke even though he knew better - he passed away from a lung cancer at an early age. Any light bulb moments in your own financial behaviors?
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2021.10.16 00:46 AngryPotato8 Which (Non-political) Billionaire do you Hate the Most?
2021.10.16 00:46 paul_basel Ravin Michelle 💜🌸 (@ravinmichelle)
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2021.10.16 00:46 cypherdust when you're a greedy corporation trying t eat into contractor profits you have no claim to, this is what happens: we don't drive.
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2021.10.16 00:46 CubicUnicycle50 So after 3 years of grinding Scream Fortress, I finally managed to get the Headtaker. And my god, it's so beautiful.
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2021.10.16 00:46 FlowerBoyNorth Need some input for my first major project 
These are the first few paragraphs of my story, kind of feel like I need some pointers as I progress as this is my first attempt at writing a novel. I am very happy to take criticism. Have a great day!
A quaint, single-person, dormitory illuminated with the warm evening light, cascading through two cream linen curtains, their weaves relaxed and at peace with the world. Spruce floorings compliment the woven sun with its sobering deep brown, shawling the room in toasted orange, and basting it with a safety found under a mother's arms. One could see, so very faintly, the gaunt fingers of a cedar tree tug at the massless silk, making blurred shapes across the room. Everything glowed in here, out there, everywhere. The wood-riveted writing desk, the old easel, the wrinkled duvet. They took their time in basking in the warmth, soaking in until they were saturated, full of caramel. Everything slept in languid silence. All, except the painter, whom sprawled over the top of the bed, hair disheveled and spread like tipped brunette ink spilling over the edges of a dense cotton pillow, his body in a fetal position. He seethed air through his teeth, and shivered when he exhaled. Those auburn eyes, rubbed bloodshot, only saw a dim grey film glossed over, refracting the world into nonsense when his tear-soaked lashes part. He cared not of the schoolwork strewn over the desk or the unfinished project leaned against the easel's leg, this was sacred time, time for himself, nothing else. He turned away from that brilliance coming from the opposing window and sunk into his own personal night, away for the eyes and the mouths and the words. Instead, as always, he felt his soft hands cradle around a trinket ordained with grey chains. A silver chrysanthemum-shaped happiness. This was what he saw. Twinkling in the evening light, each petal swirled infinitely unto a point, where a red jewel nested. Each breath, every shaken breath, fogged it over with a think layer of sorrow, and then it would reemerge, without fail, to twinkle once again. Each time, he weeped more and more, but stifled it with a strained tongue, wary of releasing a sound. Each and every spasm of his diaphragm ached him, and he furrowed his brows and clutched the trinket even harder. Choked and bated, there was only one word, a sacred word, that escaped his mouth. A word that he never dared utter until he broke down in a mess of cries, with only the ears of the light, the bed, the easel, the floor, to eavesdrop. A word, with a mountain of sorrow, that puckered his blush lips to wheeze his music loose, asunder from the weather of his soul. A word so saturated in years of his life, contained in a boarding school that never regarded this abated boy, that it meant many things, everything, to him. In this shuddered plane of existence, under brilliance that warmed everything, the shivering painter found his warmth only in a spark that repeated, echoed, forever: Fennel.
Fennel... Fennel? Fennel. Fennel! Fennel... He begged for this Fennel of his. He begged this candlelight of a name which accompanied, no, that completed him, for reprieve from the wind's frigid winter, careful to plead softly as it may suddenly blow out, exhausted, leaving him alone in the naked dark. He groveled at its feet, weary for spare charity, as it was his only lord that ever broke from its listlessness and with a guise of tepid worry, toss a few coins that were worthless to it, yet priceless to him. But this name will never know of its deed or of the one that calls for it, and he knew that the actual Fennel may never regard him as he regarded Fennel, and thus he cries to a necklace for when he has the chance. His sultry hiccups and sniffles continued onward into the night, when the moon had its chance to cover all in blue white. His head spun in humid weight, and his flushed face burned red, streaked with tears and shiny with oil and sweat. Sadness still existed in his soul, but a detached train of thought took over his precedence, showing him the teachers speak, the students gossip, the clocks tick, the usual affairs. What he must do, what he must say, what he must obey, all planned but as vague as the cedar shadows that danced. The sticky smooth of textbooks already pulled at his fingertips, its responsibility handed over by a professor or two, of course if it isn't too much a hassle, please? thank you. He knew it all, maybe; the routine days still eluded him. However, he knew, surely, of the ones that loomed over from tomorrow, over the barrier of midnight, the ones he knew will always accompany him; those ones of cruelty, without a why? or how? or when, or where. Only what awaited him, and only who would commit, he knew. He slumped exhausted. The pile of work still sat on his desk, with December 17th, 1949, April Abelson, being the only things written on bound booklets concerning Physics, Calculus, Literary Arts, History, and Religious Scripture. He had little strength to muster hunkering down and blowing through each subject's one through twenty, but managed to crawl out off bed and over the spruce floor when he imagined the downturned, pursed lips of his professors looking at his blank lines and his uncircled As, Bs, Cs, Ds, or Es. Slouched, legs and behind already turning sore from the wooden chair, he turned his mind off and let loose lukewarm answers to lukewarm questions, unable to focus on the print swimming in the page.
Twelve minutes after midnight, he read on a wall-hung clock. His hands scanned over his every yes and no, circle and sentence, paragraphs of banal explanation of why remainders remained after a quotient was produced or why his appraisal of the outcome of a war was concluded; there were no answers to anything, just explanations after explanations to explain their explanation. At this point, none of his mind bothered to pick up on the occasional error or misspelling. It all felt moot to him, unlike the silver flower held in his hand, gracefully still, each rivet and shape impressing a soft indentation against the pads of his fingers. The metal felt warm, human, as it kissed his palm when he rolled his hands over to guide it back closer into his hand when it came a bit too close to falling. April blushed; he rarely was privileged this extent of control over one thing, this was his necklace that harbored his fingerprints and essence and locked away his cherished one inside its ruby jewel. Every other thing held no exclusivity, or another's, to him. Not the schoolwork or the desk, or the window and moon, nothing else held anything for him except this piece of jewelry. He clutched it close to his heart as he shuffled back into his bed, under the duvet and nested on the pillow. He clutched it there when the feathery hands of sleep crept from his nape, up his jaw, and over his eyes. And when his conscious slipped further and further away from the moonlit desk and curtains, he clutched it still to his heart as the day finally let him go, free to float in a stream of consciousness.
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2021.10.16 00:46 DownvoteDaemon What in gods name led you to smoke meth?
2021.10.16 00:46 pedal_deals_bot Way Huge WHE601 Blue Hippo MKII - $268 ($238 + $30 S/H) 84%
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2021.10.16 00:46 IceDeath77 What about Bolton, Koi, and Fee all R6?
I was thinking since Fees R6 gives her Arrows Boltons Ability, combined with Koizuuls R6 Talent of Strengthening Bolton they would be a potentially good Team.
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2021.10.16 00:46 KamikazeSenpai21 Items of Undying
-obviously, we have the totem of undying, but what if it could craft items like….
-Collar of Undying: it would be made like this:
Air, Wool, Wool, Air, Wool, Wool, Air, Totem, Air
Or the flipped version of that. The collar could be given to a pet cat or dog, and the animal would be undying! If it dies it looses the collar and particales appear around it.
-Saddle of Undying
Saddle, Totem, and Lead combined would make this item, and it would have the effect of making a horse undying.
-Crown of Undying:
Golden Helmet + totem + 6 nuggets + 1 raw gold = Crown of undying. villagers, illagers , animals, mobs, and the player, would be able to wear this. Evokers and vexes would sometimes wear these but won’t drop them because they will use them.
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2021.10.16 00:46 Atlasbot17 Fast AP in 2?
How do you earn ap quickly in 10 2? so far I've been spamming abilities that don't cost mana or do any damage like pray or sentinel but I have to do this so much for each sphere. I'm pretty early in. Haven gone to zanarcant yet.
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2021.10.16 00:46 sloppyfreddy Salt mocking the haters! Art by @Kami_Bakeneko on Twitter!
2021.10.16 00:46 Canucktwink666 Serving on IG 🔥
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2021.10.16 00:46 Gillsin Their a bigger snitch one man that raped my mouth. 4 out of 5 crying joy no Karan
2021.10.16 00:46 sammythepiper End to China’s estate market boom could spell trouble for the economy
2021.10.16 00:46 Remarkable-Cookie270 Progress on my Orc....
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2021.10.16 00:46 ImdedBR Tá tendo uma trend meio famosa na gringa mas vou mostrar aqui #GiveUsAllTree ✧\(>o<)ﾉ✧
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2021.10.16 00:46 Maryah_art Blacktober Day 15 - Harley Quinn and Pennywise
2021.10.16 00:46 beabby1806 I had to post this here in order to ask: am I really that in the wrong? Disclaimer: the post she gave me shit for was a BID! I admit I could have asked nicer (first message), but what do you people think?
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2021.10.16 00:46 teethekidd New Left4Dead is FIREEE! (Back 4 Blood) This is my most recent vid, post yours down below and I'll check it out!!!
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2021.10.16 00:46 Stablily_Unstable My little brother might be Aro. I’m asexual and I accept it, but I’m questioning it.
To be transparent here, I’m not trying to invalidate him or anything, but he talks all the time about wanting a girlfriend and stuff like that. Can anyone aro-spectrum people help me on understanding. I know you guys have options, which I think is amazing. But I would like some help. Please?
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2021.10.16 00:46 Cheezebizzle Smoke Inn has Tat Monster Mash in stock
2021.10.16 00:46 tacocat9510 Messenger adept
2021.10.16 00:46 ShadyRayy Small and smug. Little man knows he’s illegal and doesn’t give an F.. (Chair leg for size reference)
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