1luv8008135

Some of them do.

Me: I need to leave this community. What if these memes are just making me think I have ADHD when I don’t.

Also me on literally every meme that’s posted here: haha, hard rel8

I’m a simple man. I see an SR-71 reference and I paste:

‘There were a lot of things we couldn’t do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment.

It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet.

I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn’t match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury.

Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace.

We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed. Center replied: “November Charlie 175, I’m showing you at ninety knots on the ground.”

Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the ” Houston Center voice.” I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country’s space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the Houston controllers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that, and that they basically did. And it didn’t matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios.

Just moments after the Cessna’s inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his ground speed. “I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed.” Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren. Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios. “Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check”. Before Center could reply, I’m thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it, ol’ Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He’s the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet. And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion: “Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground.”

And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done – in mere seconds we’ll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now. I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn.

Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet. Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke: “Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?” There was no hesitation, and the replay came as if was an everyday request. “Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground.”

I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice: “Ah, Center, much thanks, we’re showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money.”

For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the Houston Center voice, when L.A.came back with, “Roger that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one.”

It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day’s work. We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast.

For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.’

Not recent but at one point during my uni life I was a brown international student, studying computer science, and working at a call centre as a part time job. The fact that my parents are doctors made it that much worse somehow.

Is it just me or…

Maybe that was the deal. Prigozhin fakes his death and lives out the rest of his years incognito while Putin ends up looking like he’s assassinated the leader of the coup.

The irony of using an amp link for such an article 😂

Bartering is back on the menu bois

This is memeable, yes; but usually when news like this starts coming out a nation shit’s definitely gone sideways for it.

You’d thing a launch would imply something being ready…

Thank you for looking out for us mobile/desktop web browser peasants. ❤️

Tough but necessary. Irrefutably necessary.

Technology has evolved at faster than we’ve been able to secure it and now we’re paying the price with enterprise and state level breaches, and global annual internet fraud at an all time high.

And not just software but physical goods too. We’ve produced without any consideration for end of product life cycle management and now we’re in a plastic crisis.

Completely different spheres of society but so similar in so many ways.

“Everything is made up and the points don’t matter”

What about private equity?

Hahaha what?! Fuckin oath. That sounds like such a noob design….

I’m a simple man.

More like fuck-us-ing amirite?

When is he going to take to the sea?

Deregulated capitalism is just a wealth extraction engine that kills companies.

And people, don’t forget all the dead people…

Weird, this feels easier to read. Less grating somehow.

If nothing else, she should be remembered for all time for coming up with the phrase “what fresh hell is this?”

Well there you go, I know nothing else about her and she’s already my new favourite person.

Why does it need to sound different? If it rocks it fkn rocks. it’s TNT and it’s dynamite.

The only other thing is that the entire 9 billion wouldn’t all be emitting the same amount as each other.

And honestly more practical to deal with 1 rather than 9b

Or he is now half man half plastic…

Can you elaborate on the cool stuff?

Ah the Ferrari delivery methodology. Love it.

Nope. Right handed. But AuDHD like there’s no tomorrow…

And Ofcourse Nord is on the list.

Thank you arse lover

Mainly use Spotify and vinyl.

Talk about chalk and cheese…

Okay

This is 100% a flex.

I know you’re only joking but fuck me, given the way things have gone this century…

That seems like a them problem though… shitty business model that’s already pushing users away

Being a liability to the state by taking drugs known to cause harm is also hilariously unjustified by that same metric. Sure let people decide with things like weed, shrooms whatever mellow shit they want but shit like heroin, vapes causing lung damage and putting pressure on already stressed out health infrastructures across the word needs to be governed.

You people? The fuck do you mean you people? Were you born out the arsehole of Christ himself? Get the fuck outta here with your holier than thou self righteousness. This is a free and open public forum. Don’t like it? Fuck off elsewhere. Poop

Amazing. At-least someone with a shred of morality in the cesspit.