Rodrigo Valle dice sentir celos de los videos 'hot' de Xoana González y su esposo:

2022.01.21 22:33 Old_Truth6995 Rodrigo Valle dice sentir celos de los videos 'hot' de Xoana González y su esposo:

Rodrigo Valle dice sentir celos de los videos 'hot' de Xoana González y su esposo: submitted by Old_Truth6995 to lahirenxx [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 22:33 Bonus1Fact [News Shorts] 'It came as a shock,' says background vocalist ¦ CBC News on Youtube

[News Shorts] 'It came as a shock,' says background vocalist ¦ CBC News on Youtube submitted by Bonus1Fact to NewsShorts [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 22:33 Jrubas My Uncle Found a Monster. Now We're in Trouble.

I was driving headlong through the night with a 12 pack of Bud Ice strapped safely into the passenger seat when my phone rang. I eased off the gas, grabbed it, and glanced at the screen.
UNCLE HENRY, the caller ID said.
Seriously?
“Yeah?” I asked.
“Where are you?” Uncle Henry rasped in that downhome accent of his. People I meet for the first time - the ones who don’t come from around here - say I have an accent too, but Uncle Henry’s is thicker than a McDonald’s milkshake. A good old boy with a pot belly and a big white beard, Uncle Henry was the type of guy who drank beer on his front porch, worked on cars in the barn, and blasted Merle Haggard and Hank Williams Jr. In other words, he was a redneck. I’m kind of a redneck too, so it’s all good.
“I’m on my way,” I said.
An hour ago, I was sitting in a kiddie pool I’d set up in front of my trailer and drinking a Bud Ice when Uncle Henry called me. It was late afternoon in the midst of a sweltering Alabama summer and I’d been mowing the lawn. I needed some relief, so in that pool I went. To be safe, I even put some of those little arm floaties on. Being a hick, I’ve never seen a body of water bigger than the creek outside of town, so I wasn’t a very strong swimmer. Don’t wanna drown now. When I answered, Uncle Henry said he needed me there now. “I found somethin’ big,” he said, and damned if you couldn’t hear the wonder in his voice. He sounded like a kid. I asked him what it was, but he wouldn’t say.
“I’m in the pool, so it better be important.”
“Just get down here,” Uncle Henry said. “And bring some beer. I’m all out.”
In the time it took me to get dressed, grab the beer, and stop by Church’s Chicken for a leg, the sun had set and a jubilee of crickets songs to the night.
Now, the old man said, “You told me that an hour ago.”
“Give me some time, damn,” I said, impatient.
“You’re movin’ at the speed of welfare,” Uncle Henry swiped.
“You would know.”
He uttered a raspy half laugh/half cough. “Social security ain’t welfare. I worked all my life for that money.”
“I’m glad you get to enjoy it,” I said. “It’s gonna be all gone by the time I retire.”
“Oh well. You got the beer?”
“Yeah, and I drank it all.”
“What?”
“Oh well.”
He laughed again. “Just hurry up.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
I hung up the phone and tossed it onto the seat. I reached out for the beer, intent on grabbing myself one, but I yanked my hand back when Sheriff Pruitt blew by in the opposite direction. He’d know my truck anywhere and -
He hung a sharp U-turn and put the lights on.
- break my balls if he saw me.
I pulled to the gravel shoulder and put the truck in park. Dense forest pressed against the battered guardrail and shining yellow eyes watched as Sheriff Pruitt pulled in behind me. He threw the door open and swung his epic bulk out. Standing about 5,5 and as wide as he was tall, Sheriff Pruitt wore a tank uniform and a white Stetson like Jackie Gleason in Smokey and the Bandit. He was about as big a pain in the ass as Jackie Gleason in Smokey and the Bandit too.
Thrusting his thumbs into his belt, he strode toward the truck, and I rolled the window down. “Just the stud I was wantin’ to see,” I said. “Please tell me you’re gonna cuff me this time. I like bein’ restrained.”
Sheriff Pruitt’s stony expression didn’t change. “Where you headed?” he asked, ignoring my attempt at flirting with him.
“Mobile,” I said, “they got bars for people like us out there. Wanna hop in?”
“Will you shut the hell up?” he asked. “You’re going to Henry’s, aren’t you?”
Well, you’re no fun, I thought. I decided to cut the crap, not to spare him aggravation, but to get him out of my hair. “Yeah, that’s where I’m goin’.”
“You tell him if I find his crop, I’m gonna burn it and put him in the clink. Got it?”
Uncle Henry owned an auto shop in town for thirty some years before retiring. He sold it off and made a nice little bit of money. He got bored out on Jackson Road, though, and started growing weed for fun and profit. He supplied 99 percent of the pot in the county, and Sheriff Pruitt wanted to bust his ass so bad you could see it in his face.
“Will do,” I said.
Sheriff Pruitt took out his flashlight and shined it in my eyes. They shriveled up in my head and I raised my hand. “I said I’m gonna do it,” I argued.
“That alcohol?” he asked and nodded to the beer.
“I picked up a hitchhiker,” I said. “I’m that kinda guy.”
For a moment, I didn’t think he was going to do anything, then he walked around the front of the truck, pulled the passenger door open, and unbuckled my beer. “Just one,” I said, “the rest is for me and Henry.”
Sheriff Pruit grabbed the beer and threw it over the guardrail. It crashed through a screen of vegetation and disappeared. “You have a good night,” he said. Then he slammed the door and walked back to his cruiser.
I licked my lips and shook my head. I could say a lot about that fat old bastard, but I kept it in. If you don’t have anything nice to say, my grandmother told me, don’t say anything at all. Throwing the truck in drive, I sped off and drove the rest of the way to Uncle Henry’s with AC/DC cranked all the way up; Sheriff Pruitt probably hated AC/DC.
Take that, fatso.
Uncle Henry lived in a ramshackle farmhouse on a hardscrabble homestead six miles south of town. The house itself was falling apart, the barn was little more than a pile of kindling, and auto parts rusted in the tall grass. When I came up the dirt driveway, the front door opened and Uncle Henry came out in a plaid shirt under a dirty pair of denim overalls. He wore a red cap with MAKE AMERICA DRUNK AGAIN across the front in white. I never got that hat. America’s as drunk as it always was. Hell, drunker, since all this COVID shit started. He looked up as my headlights splashed over the front of the house and lifted one arm in greeting. I rolled to a stop, killed the engine, and put it in park. I hopped out into the muggy night and slammed the door. “‘Bout time you got here,” Uncle Henry called and waddled over. “I’m dying for a beer.”
I grimaced. “Well…you’re gonna keep dying. Some fat asshole carjacked me for it.”
His face fell. “Buck?”
“Yep,” I said.
Anger flashed in Uncle Henry’s eyes. “No good bastard,” he hissed through his teeth. “That badge has gone to his head.”
“He told me to tell you that he’s coming out here to look for your crap, and if he finds it, he’s gonna take that too.”
“Let him come on and try,” Uncle Henry said. He motioned to me. “Come one. You gotta see this.” A mischievous light twinkled in his faded eyes and a boyish grin carved across his face. He led me to the barn and pushed the doors open. Inside, the floor was dirt and straw. Cobwebs hung from crooked rafters and a couple lanterns held back the shadows.
At once, I saw it.
In the middle of the barn, an oblong box, roughly eight feet long, sat on a pair of wooden sawhorse, a sheet of wood (presumably the lid) reclined against it like a tired cowpoke taking five. Uncle Henry grabbed one of the lanterns, held it aloft, and shuffled over. He waved me on and I followed, suddenly on my guard. I couldn’t say why, but all at once, I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.
The light fell over the box and revealed what was inside. My jaw dropped open and Uncle Henry’s grin turned into a full-blown smile. “What the fuck is that?” I asked.
Inside the box was a monster. Six feet five with a skinless, apelike skull, exposed ribs, and matted fur, it lay with its paw folded on its chest like a man waiting for his own funeral. Its fingers were long and bony, double-jointed, and ended in sharp talons. My heart hammered in my chest and I looked at Uncle Henry.
“I found it,” he said proudly. “I was fishin’ in the river and my line snagged on it. It was buried about three feet in the silt, one end sticking up. I think it slid down the hill from the highway. Probably from a government transport or something.”
Recovering from my initial shock, I walked around the coffin - that’s what it looked like - in a slow circle. Whatever…it…was, it couldn’t be real. If it wasn’t, though, why could I smell the sickly-sweet stench of decay? I reached out and touched its skull, then yanked my hand back with a hiss.
It was real alright.
“What is it?” I asked again.
Uncle Henry shrugged. “I dunno, but I do know one thing: It’s gonna make me rich.”
Looking down at the monster, I wracked my brain for an explanation. “It’s probably just an ape,” I said. “It coulda fell off a zoo truck or somethin’.”
“That’s not an ape,” Uncle Henry scoffed, “look at ‘im.”
“He’s rotting,” I pointed out, “of course he’s gonna look weird.”
“What ape has claws like that? And teeth?”
I looked closer. The thing’s teeth were razor sharp. I thought back to every ape and gorilla I had ever seen. They’re teeth, as far as I could remember, weren’t flat like ours, but they didn’t look like butcher knives either. “I’m gonna be rich,” Uncle Henry said to himself. He looked up at me, excited, and in the rosy glow of the lantern, his face shone. “I’m gonna sell ‘im to a freak show.”
I made a funny face. “They closed all the freak shows down.”
“Why?” Uncle Henry asked, confused.
“Because it’s not cool to laugh at people anymore.”
The old man’s lips puckered. “Your damn generation is too sensitive, that’s what you are.” He jabbed one accusing finger in my face. “Them freaks made a damn good livin’ and were famous. Then you shut ‘em down and now where are they? Broke somewhere wishin’ they were in a freak show.”
I waved him off.
He licked his bottom teeth in thought. “Well, if there ain’t no freak shows, I can sell him on Amazon.”
“No one’s gonna buy this thing.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because it’s fuckin’ creepy. Look at it.” I gestured to the box and its strange contents. “It stinks too.”
“People like creepy stuff,” Uncle Henry said, a defensive edge creeping into his voice. “That’s why they got horror movies. You ever hear the name Stephen King? That fella’s made millions being a creep.”
I rolled my eyes. “Readin’ a book is a lot different than havin’ a dead body stinking up your house.”
Now it was Uncle Henry’s turn to handwave someone. He made a slow circle of the box and examined the creature from every angle. Finally, he handed me the lantern and instructed me to hold it up. He took out his iPhone and snapped a half dozen pictures. “There we go,” he said, looking down at the screen with a hazy little smile. “They’re gonna love you.”
Inside, Uncle Henry sat at the kitchen table and opened his laptop. I sat across from him and cracked a can of Coke. With his tiny reading glasses perched on his nose, Uncle Henry resembled Santa Claus even more. He pecked hesitantly at the keys, using only his index fingers, and rasped laughter. :”Gen-u-ine monster corpse,” he said. “Comes with casket. 50,000.”
I almost spit out my Coke. “That’s robbery,” I said.
“It’s good business,” the old man said and tapped his temple. “I know what I got.”
“You got some bones in a box,” I said, “that’s not worth 50 bucks let alone 50 thousand.”
He chuffed.
I was just taking another drink when a loud shriek shattered the night silence. I choked and the can fell from my hand, landing in my lap and soaping my crotch. Uncle Henry’s head whipped around toward the source of the noise and I sprang to my feet. “What was that?” I asked.
Uncle Henry’s eyes narrowed. “I dunno,” he said, “but I don’t like it.” He got up, reached between the counter and the wall, and brought out a shotgun so old it probably saw action at Chickamauga. He hurried through the living room, and after a moment, I followed, grabbing a butcher knife from the drying rack by the sink.
We made our way to the barn, and Uncle Henry nudged the door open with the barrel of the shotgun. He eased his portly frame inside and I popped my head around the corner to see, ready to run if something got him.
The oblong box lay on its side, the sawhorses toppled in either direction. Uncle Henry hurried over and knelt beside it. “My monster!” he cried. “It’s gone!”
“Gone?” I asked.
I walked over.
Indeed, the box was empty.
“I bet it was Buck,” Uncle Henry said and clenched his fist. “Well, I got something else he can take.” He racked his shotgun and a red shell flew out of the chamber, hitting the floor and skidding away.
I opened my mouth to tell him to calm down when a strange scuttling sound struck up just above us. I looked up…and my heart dropped to my feet. The monster was picking its way along one of the rafters. I hadn’t noticed before because it was in the box, but two great, leathery wings protruded from its bony back. It sensed me, swiveled its head 180 degrees to face me, and let out a long shriek.
A womanish scream burst from my throat and I jumped back. Uncle Henry leapt to his feet, his face white as milk. I screamed again and tripped over my own feet, landing hard on my butt. The monster scurried along the rafter toward the door like a giant spider, its claws gouging the wood. “GET IT!” I cried. “GET IT!”
Uncle Henry aimed the gun and jerked the trigger. Fire leapt from the barrel and buckshot tore splinters from the rafter just behind the monster. He swung the gun around and took aim again. Again, the shotgun spoke.
And again, it missed.
The monster dropped from the rafter and streaked out the door, bent heavily forward in imitation of Naruto, its wings batting with a drum-like whump whump whump. Uncle Henry ran after it and stopped at the door, raising the gun again. I sat against a beam, sucking air and trying not to have a panic attack.
Growling, apparently not getting a good enough shot, Uncle Henry lowered the gun and ran over. “You alright?” he asked and knelt beside me.
“What the fuck was that?” I asked, my words spilling from my tight chest in a putrid rush, “it came to life, it came to life!”
The old man swatted my face with his calloused hand. Not hard enough to hurt, but just hard enough to get my attention. “Man up,” he said. “We gotta go get that thing.”
“I’m not going after that fucking monster,” I said.
“We gotta,” Uncle Henry said. “It might be dangerous.” He glanced nervously over his shoulder to make sure the creature hadn’t come back to finish us off. “If it is, we’re gonna catch it and drop it off at Buck’s house.”
He got to his feet, raced over to a workbench, and rummaged through a battered red tool box. He found an old, long-handled flashlight and taped it to the underside of the shotgun’s barrel with duct tape. “There’s a .38 in that drawer right there,” he said and nodded to a cabinet. “Get it and come on.”
I just sat there, looking stupid.
“Come on!”
“Alright!’ I got to my feet, went to the cabinet, and pulled out the drawer with trembling fingers. I was cold and shaky. When I saw my weapon, I was even colder and shakier. “What am I supposed to do with this?” I asked and held up the peashooter. “Tickle him to death?”
“Distract him,” Uncle Henry said, “then while he’s eating you, I can get ‘im.”
Haha, I thought, real funny.
Uncle Henry slammed the toolbox closed and bounded into the night. I hesitated, wanting nothing more than to go home, climb back into my kiddie pool, and cry. Uncle Henry was right, though, that thing was probably dangerous. If we didn’t go after it, it was liable to kill someone. Swallowing a cold lump of fear, I followed my uncle into the night.
I found Uncle Henry standing at the edge of his back field, where the grass was tall and waving in the night breeze. There was no moon and everything beyond the reach of his flashlight was a mystery. About 500 yards away, the field turned into thick forest. The perfect place for a monster to hide.
And to attack from.
“How are we gonna find it?” I asked. “It’s not on foot.”
Uncle Henry spotted something on the ground and tensed. “Yes he is.”
Tracks in soft dirt disappeared into the field. They were three-toed and misshapen. They reminded me of dinosaur tracks, don’t ask me why. “Come on,” Uncle Henry said. He trudged into the bush and I brought up the rear, holding the tiny pistol in both hands and whipping around at every noise. I fully expected the thing to come rushing out at us, all teeth and claws, and wondered how many shots I could get off before it ate my belly. All six? Two?
I felt sick.
The wind whispered through the grass like a chorus of ghostly voices, but other than that, the night was silent. No crickets, no bullfrogs, nothing but the breeze. Even that slacked off as we reached the tree line, and it was as if the night were holding its breath in dark anticipation. Uncle Henry swept the forest with his kight, then knelt down and examined the ground. He sniffed the air, cocked his head to one side, and then nodded. “This way,” he said.
Uncle Henry was sixty-four and had been hunting for at least sixty of those years. He knew how to track. There was no doubt we’d find the monster.
And that’s what I was afraid of.
Step in a hole and break your ankle so we can go home, I thought but didn’t say.
Instead of retreating back to the safety of the real world, where this kind of thing only happens in bad movies, we pressed into the forest. There was a deer trail through the grass, beaten down by generations of hoofs. Darkness surrounded us on three sides, and I looked nervously left, right, and back, the gun shaking in my hands. A sound came to my left, and I spun around, my finger inadvertently jerking the trigger. The gun went off and Uncle Henry jumped. He turned so fast that he almost fell down. “What?” he spat.
An owl hooted.
“Calm down,” Uncle Henry said.
I nodded. Alright. Yeah.
A little while later, we emerged from the forest. A grassy embankment sloped up to the highway. On the other side, a farmhouse stood against the night, its front windows blazing with light. Wet footprints tracked across the blacktop and up the dirt drive. “Sam and Edna,” Uncle Henry whispered, as if I hadn’t been living here my entire life and didn’t know who lived in every house in a ten mile radius.
Sam and Edna were an old couple who used to run the feed store in town. They were in their late seventies and didn’t do much these days except go to church and have breakfast at the diner on Route 12. Legend said they went to bed at 7pm and woke up at 4am to wait for the newspaper. I didn’t know.
The tracks led right up to the front door, where they cut off. Uncle Henry opened the screen door and knocked. “Sam?” he asked. “Sam, it’s me, Henry. You in there?”
No reply.
He knocked again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
We exchanged a worried look. He nodded, and pressing myself to one side of the door, I reached out and turned the knob. Uncle Henry pushed the door open with the barrel of the shotgun and slunk in. The living room was tidy and lit by the light of a lamp on an end table. Framed photos and religious placards adorned the walls and a hutch to one side bristled with knick knacks. Uncle Henry looked around. “Sam? Edna? Anyone home?”
If they were,’ they weren’t talking.
We crossed the living room and went into the kitchen.
A terrible thing sat in a chair, facing us, and Uncle Henry startled. He pulled the trigger and a blast of buckshot pelted the creature’s middle. The chair tipped back and the monster landed in a heap on the linoleum, We rushed over and looked down at it.
“Aw, hell,” Uncle Henry said.
At first, I had no idea what I was even looking at, but then, it came to me, and my stomach knotted. Sam, the old man who went to bed so early he was asleep before the chickens, stared up at me, his eyes bulging from his red, skinless face. His teeth formed a gruesome smile and his nose cavity gaped like a hungry maw. Hot bile coated the inside of my mouth and I rushed over to the sink to puke.
I wish I hadn’t.
Edna’s severed head sat in the sink, her eyes closed and blood drying on her chin. Her flesh was sallow and gray, and instead of puking, I let out a cry of revulsion. Uncle Henry came over and paled. “Jesus.” He turned away, and I saw his face harden with resolve.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s find this sonofabitch.”
He racked his shotgun and it belched out another shell.
When we first entered the kitchen, we hadn’t noticed that the back door stood open to the night. We crept through it and followed the tracks into the backyard. Sam and Edna’s chicken coop stood ahead of us, the wire mesh ripped from it and lying in a heap on the ground. White lumps littered the grass, and we walked over to see what they were.
Chickens.
They were chickens.
All of them were dead, ripped to pieces, most of them missing their heads. Uncle Henry nudged one with his boot. “Looks like Sam and Edna didn’t fill ‘im up,” he said.
An unearthly shriek came to our right and we whipped around. The creature was there, hunched slightly over and batting its wings like a rattler warning us away. Its mouth was covered in blood and its gaping black eye sockets squirmed with worms and bugs. A centipede threaded quickly through its ribs and a mushy pulp of blood, skin, and internal organs oozed from its hollow stomach. It let out another shriek and Uncle Henry lifted the shotgun, He fired from the hip, and the blast took the monster low, spinning it around. It staggered drunkenly, recovered, and shook itself off like a wet dog. Perhaps realizing that, otherworldly or not, it couldn’t compete with a Mossburg, the monster bent at the waist and bolted, running back down the driveway. “Come on!” Uncle Henry cried.
We gave chase, our feet pounding the dirt. The monster’s wings batted up and down like it wanted to fly, but it never managed to lift off. Just as it reached the highway, a pick up truck approached from the west. The monster stumbled into the road and the driver slammed on the brakes, coming to a sudden halt. The monster ran around to the driver side. “Go!” Uncle Henry yelled to the driver. “GO!”
The monster ripped the door open and pulled out the driver, a woman in a white tank top and jeans. She let out a howl of fear, and the monster ripped out her neck in a spurt of blood, then threw her limply aside. It climbed in behind the wheel, and in the shadows of the cab, I was sure I saw it clawing frantically at the dash panel, trying to make the truck go.
The S.O.B. knew how to drive???
Uncle Henry lifted the shotgun and fired. We were twenty feet away, maybe a little less, and the pellets blasted the passenger side door panel, denting metal and pinging off. He fired again, and the passenger side window exploded. The monster shrieked - maybe in pain, maybe in frustration - and slammed the wheel. The truck surged forward, tires screeching, and Uncle Henry ran into the road. He aimed and pulled the trigger.
Click.
“Goddamn it!” he yelled.
“You keep rackin’ it!” I screamed.
The truck had slowed to about ten miles an hour. Its tail lights were shrinking into the blackness. Uncle Henry patted the chest pocket of his overalls.
The truck was getting farther away. If it got away, it got away, More people would die.
Uncle Henry said “Aha” and pulled out a shotgun shell. He fumbled with the gun.
“Hurry!”
“I’m tryin’.”
The truck was getting smaller, farther.
He snapped the shell into the chamber, racked it, and aimed.
The tail lights were almost gone.
Uncle Henry raised the gun and fired.
History is littered with lucky shots - like the one that took out JFK - but most people don’t see them first hand. I guess I was lucky, because I saw one. The blast hit the truck and punctured the gas tank. A spurt of flame shot out, and for a second, nothing happened. Then, with a roar, a ball of fire engulfed the truck, lifting it off its wheels.
Uncle Henry let out a happy hoot and spun around, raising the shotgun over his head. “I got ‘im!” he cried. “Didja see that? I got ‘im! Whoooo! That monster ain’t got shit on me!” His eyes fell on the woman’s body and his celebration ceased. “Check on her. I’m gonna see about him.”
While Uncle Henry went toward the truck, I knelt beside the woman and checked her pulse, wincing at her warm blood.
“She dead!” I called.
Uncle Henry covered the flaming truck with the gun. I held my breath, expecting the monster to fly out at him, but nothing happened. “You get him?” I called.
“Dead as shit,” Uncle Henry said.
I didn’t believe it. It couldn’t be that easy. In every horror movie I’d ever seen, there was always more; just when you thought it was over, something else happened.
Not in real life. We left the flaming wreckage of the truck (and the body of its driver) and started home. Somewhere along the way, we took a detour to the roadhouse on Route 10. We drank beer and soothed our frayed nerves, the loud music drowning out the horrors we had witnessed. Uncle Henry seemed fine, but I wasn’t. The shock was wearing off and I was beginning to chaff.
At midnight, we walked home/. We were just walking up the driveway when a cop car, lights flashing, skidded to a halt. Sheriff Pruitt jumped out and aimed his gun at us. “Freeze!”
Realizing he was still holding the shotgun, Uncle Henry dropped it and raised his hands. Another cop car pulled up and Deputy Harris got out. Sheriff Pruitt grabbed Uncle Henry, slammed him against the car, and slapped cuffs on him. “You crazy psycho,” Sheriff Pruitt said. “You hacked Sam and Edna into little pieces!”
My heart dropped.
Deputy Harris bent me over the hood and cuffed me. “C’mon, Buck,” Uncle Henry said, sounding afraid for the first time that night, “you know we didn’t do that.”
“I saw it with my own eyes,” Sheriff Pruitt said. “You blew Sam’s guts out and cut his face off.”
Cold fear surged through me.
This was bad.
Real bad.
Sheriff Pruitt shoved a protesting Uncle Henry into the back of his car, and Deputy Harris forced me into his.
Alone in the back of the car, I hung my head.
I knew something else was going to happen.
That was eight hours ago. I’ve been sitting in a cold, concrete cell in the town jail ever since. This is my statement. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. All of it happened.
It was a monster that did all this.
Not us.
Not us.
submitted by Jrubas to nosleep [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 22:33 Putin_is_a_Puto Not receiving Bubbles cards after trades

Is this happening to anyone else? I’ll tap the deal button to trade 50 coconuts for 3 Bubbles cards and I’m not receiving them. Kinda annoying
submitted by Putin_is_a_Puto to tpbgm [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 22:33 willworldwide New 4 Sport Combo 30 Owner League ISO 2 Owners

Each owner runs the 4 real life franchises from whichever city they choose. (Cities without 4 sports have been combined with other cities that also don’t have 4 sports.) You’ll start with those teams’s players, and it’s a dynasty league from there.
We run through Discord & Fantrax. The Discord is up & going now. We’re playing Golf, NASCAR, and other mini games while we wait.
We’re only looking for respectful, committed people who will stay in the league long term.
Available are Chicago and Pittsburgh(w/ Spurs).
DM for more info.
submitted by willworldwide to findaleague [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 22:33 teksquisite Friday, 1/21/22–Oregon reports 10,947 new confirmed and presumptive COVID-19 cases, 20 new deaths

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2022.01.21 22:33 pregoney Ned have the sex ground

Ned have the sex ground submitted by pregoney to NedWayHome [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 22:32 OkRefrigerator5155 Looking for a mythical trade

Looking for a mythical trade submitted by OkRefrigerator5155 to PokemonHome [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 22:32 alicemac17 I've never heard about Jessie Andrews but apparently she's pretty famous haha. She rocks small boobs so WELL!

I've never heard about Jessie Andrews but apparently she's pretty famous haha. She rocks small boobs so WELL! submitted by alicemac17 to smallbooblove [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 22:32 ArrayofCum What is a Platypus?

Can someone please explain to me what a "platypus" does in the computer science field?
I saw an episode of CSI or something where someone claimed to be a platypus and was able to dissect code to determine the authowhere it originated. Is this actually a job? It's something I have been told I may be good at and I'm just wondering where to start. A google of "platypus cs etc." revealed nothing but my search results must be limited or I'm not doing it right. TIA.
submitted by ArrayofCum to cscareerquestions [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 22:32 SpookyRemy2 Max Rebo

Just wondering if anyone knows how he’s still going, after what was pretty much guaranteed to be his death, I don’t know how he’s alive. He’s like my favorite side character so I’d be cool to know more story as to how he didn’t die from the explosion.
submitted by SpookyRemy2 to BookOfBobaFett [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 22:32 dongdippin Any VW dealer techs on here? I think I’m being screwed by my local dealer

My girlfriend purchased a used 2018 Golf tsi with 50k miles, on the test drive I noticed it shuddered hard while letting the clutch out when I shifted to 2nd at around 5mph, so pretty slow speed, but that’s usually not a problem in other manual cars we’ve both driven. Every thing else about the car was mint, and the dealer said they would warranty any issues we had with the car.
So about a month later we went back to the dealer, letting them know the clutch had a noise when you let on and off the pedal, and that it felt rough shifting if at a lower rpm and speed, like 2nd gear in traffic. They told us the throw out bearing noise was normal and that we weren’t driving it right. So now my girl basically always puts the car in 1st up to about 15-20mph because it feels so bad when you try 2nd gear that low.
I’ve looked up the dual mass flywheel issue and it seems like that’s what’s going on, and after multiple attempts they refuse to tell us anything is even wrong with the car while having these symptoms.
Now that it’s winter time, the rattle noise is worse and almost makes a grinding noise when letting out the clutch between 1st and 2nd all the time now. Even 3rd gear when letting off the throttle it has a jerk, almost like a bad engine mount. We both feel like this new vw shouldn’t feel this way, and it gives my girl anxiety sometimes knowing she has a car payment for a car that feels worse than her mk4 Jetta did. And for reference, we currently own a mk2 and mk5 that both feel miles better and smoother, even with 150-200k miles.
Thanks for reading and I appreciate any feedback from anyone experiencing this in a manual VW, just need some outside opinions before going to farther away dealers or euro shops.
2018 Golf tsi 5 speed 52k w/ 6 year 70k mile factory warranty
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2022.01.21 22:32 Looppurple Testing

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2022.01.21 22:32 BigballerBrett Acqua Di Gio - Profondo or Profondo Lights? (Keep 1, trash the other)

This is a tough one for me since I’m looking to buy one of them, and I have seen a lot of different reviews on both and they have been mixed. Let me know in the comments what you think!
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2022.01.21 22:32 CallMeJambo ISKP release a photo of their fighters prior to last weeks attack on a Taliban HQ in Kunar

ISKP release a photo of their fighters prior to last weeks attack on a Taliban HQ in Kunar submitted by CallMeJambo to AfghanConflict [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 22:32 Weakjumper23 [Spoiler] Thought on Marty and Wendy after season 4

Marty = What Walter White thought he was (righteous man in a tough situation trying to protect his family)

Wendy = What Walter White actually was (Power hungry and in love with the crime.)
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2022.01.21 22:32 bwenstrand Update from the UCLA Mobile app

Update from the UCLA Mobile app submitted by bwenstrand to ucla [link] [comments]


2022.01.21 22:32 killingmemesoftly Version 1.5

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2022.01.21 22:32 IrizbeaduckGOquack 1.18+ bedrock anarch realm!! CURSED ANARCHY SEASON1

new realm with 1.18 terrain and blocks, brand-new greifing allowed, no discord needed. INVITE YOUR FRIENDS hacks allowed - NO 32K THORNS
Link / https://realms.gg/wc9GfzUFCVs
Code / wc9GfzUFCVs
If you have any ideas on changes to apply in season 2 put them in the comments
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2022.01.21 22:32 ccalnz Is it worth it joining a union for bus driving?

Hi there,
My brother is starting a job as a bus driver soon in Auckland. It costs around 8 dollars a week to join.
I was just wondering if all bus drivers go on strike when one is planned by the union, or are only bus drivers who are part of the union only able to participate?
Thanks!
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2022.01.21 22:32 fehos284 I’m down for hookup

HMU on snap Claragold432
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2022.01.21 22:32 Tman_75 If you could have chosen your own name, what would you have picked?

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2022.01.21 22:32 Gustabtc This game is unplayable in brazil right now.

EVERY single server I join is got over 230 ping, EVERY single game as a killer there are at least 5 hits that draw blood but don't change health states. If you're going to sell your game to people in SA, at least make a freaking SA server
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2022.01.21 22:32 imago20 Has anyone flown any where in the country with their flower and there vap? Anyone have any issues? Did you take it as carry on your in your suitcase?

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2022.01.21 22:32 oliveh8tr Screw Sony. Hi xbox!

Tired of Sony's crap customer service. Trading my ps5 in for an xbox :) Hello everyone!
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