If you can’t find the shoes a friend with two halves of coconuts works just as well!

Maybe in America but Iraq protests and Occupy were worldwide.

Also the population was a lot smaller then.

Since then the only larger protest was occupy. They didn’t just ignore that one they beat the shit out of it.

I think it’s Just more apparent

i think there actually is one i just copy pasted for the meeeem

you’re doing a really good job of breaking this stereotype, bub

Smug sense of superiority. You’re special and do things the right way because everyone else is too dumb.

The image you’ve uploaded is a humorous take on a programming practice common among Python developers. It shows a list comprehension, which is a concise way to create lists in Python. The joke is that nobody prompted the Python programmers to use a complex or sophisticated feature, yet they are using it anyway, which implies that Python programmers tend to use list comprehensions frequently and perhaps even when they are not strictly necessary. List comprehensions are a popular feature in Python because they can make the code more readable and expressive, and this meme plays on the idea that Python programmers might be eager to use them at every opportunity.

So someone slowly froze a frog to death for internet points? Jesus fucking Christ

Oh wow! It’s you! From the tweets!!

“Hasbara”

I fucking hate next door. They design their unsubscribe functions so you can only unsubscribe from whatever categories the particular email falls under, not their emails in general. At least that’s how it used to be. Idk if anything changed after I found the CEO’s email and sent a message with the subject line, “FUCKING UNSUBSCRIBE ME, FUCKER!” But it worked for me!!!

Too sweet

I made a split decision not to “sell it” in any way. I sat facing forward like nothing had happened.

McMahon was so happy with himself. “You know how I get the longevity and smell, Jim? Protein. I eat nothing but fucking protein, pal.”

“Yeah it wasn’t that impressive,” I said.

Vince’s head swiveled in my direction like I’d just insulted his wife or something. “What?” he asked with menace. He was serious. Offended, even.

I couldn’t back down now. It was a test. I was sure it was. “Well, I’ve been around the business for over twenty years now, Vince. Robert Gibson…”

Vince locked the windows and let another one go. Twice the volume. Twice the smell. He watched my reaction intently as we continued to tear along the highway at speed. His “creation” was putrid, but I knew if I told him that he’d just keep doing it. So I sat still and waited for the smell to stop burning my lungs.

“How about that one?” Vince asked. He hated to be beaten at anything, even farting competitions.

He studied my reaction until the blue lights in his rear view mirror caught his attention. “Ah, shit,” he said as he pulled over. “Was I speeding, Jim?”

“Just a tad.”

“Why didn’t you say something, goddammit, pal?”

The Ohio State Trooper approached and McMahon rolled down his window. I took a covert, life-saving breath of fresh air as the trooper asked for the license and registration.

“We just finished producing our national TV broadcast, Monday Night Raw,” Vince said as the trooper looked over his license. “I’m Vince McMahon,” he said before pausing for effect. “And this here is Good Ol’ JR beside me.”

Good Ol’ JR? I thought. Have I not got a real name?

“So, you’re Vince McMahon?” the trooper asked as he leaned in the window a little.

“I am,” the chairman said, proudly. “Vincent Kennedy McMahon.”

“Well, I guess that makes me the Big Bossman then,” the trooper said as he handed McMahon a speeding ticket. “Have a good night.”

I feel obliged to post this very barely relevant quote about Vince McMahon in Jim Ross’ new book:

It seemed like Vince was happy with me, too. “Jim, you ride with me,” he said after a few weeks of Raw. In the parking bay of the building, Vince had a big Cadillac waiting. I could tell the second he started the engine that this was going to be a little bit of a “white knuckle” ride.

“What music do you listen to?” he asked.

“Eh…well I…”

Before I could answer McMahon blasted AC/DC through the car speakers, the sound of which made everyone turn to see who the asshole was. When they saw it was the chairman’s car, they all smiled and waved. We reached the road outside the building and Vince floored it. I honestly thought I was going to die before we even made it to the highway. I was stuck to the back of my seat praying to the good Lord himself for a safe journey. Beside me, Vince was singing at the top of his lungs, punching 90 miles an hour on a secondary road, all while “dancing” in his seat. “I’M AN AMAZING DANCER FOR A WHITE MAN,” he shouted over the music.

“I CAN SEE,” I shouted back.

Any car he met along the way, Vince drove inches from their trunk until they moved over. Sensing my utter terror, he leaned into me, taking his eyes completely off the road, and shouted in my ear, “I’VE GOT AMAZING DEPTH PERCEPTION. DON’T WORRY, PAL.”

“OK.”

Vince continued to gyrate in his seat as he weaved through traffic. He then stopped the song mid solo. The silence, after such a jarring burst of sound, was deafening. His demeanor completely changed. He went from bombastic and animated to somber and quiet.

“I want you to hear this,” he said in a low voice.

“Hear what?” I said. I was afraid I’d miss whatever it was Vince was letting me in on. He seemed pained, almost confessional.

“You can’t hear that?” he said, putting his finger to his lips.

I didn’t want to sound like a jackass, so I listened as carefully as I could.

“You hear it, Jim?” he asked, a little more impatiently.

I thought I heard something in the trunk. My first thought was: they’ve put long-time employee Howard Finkel in the trunk as a rib. “Is it the car?” I asked.

“Jesus Christ, listen will you?” he growled.

I closed my eyes and listened as hard as I have ever listened for anything in my life.

“Here it is,” he said. And then he began to fart. A long, bass-filled flatullence that eventually finished with a smile of pride from the chairman. “You hear it now?” he asked, and then cackled with laughter.

(Continued)

I just run an HDMI from my computer…

deleted by creator

Religion doesn’t make you a good person in itself. It’s your actions that decide that and religion is a means to that.

and this comic is directly contradicting that. the implication is very much that finding religion saved that man. so, choose.

i cackled

any country regardless of their gender equality effort up to a certain point have basically the same women to men ratio, which means it isn’t the action of some oppression or shaming.

Sexism is not constrained to a single nationality, and the patriarchy is international.

Maybe you’re not aware, but what you just posted was a misogynistic screed. Do better.