« on: September 19, 2014, 06:35:02 pm »
...that in Portland, there is a store that sells frisbees.
FUCK YOU! MY UNCLE SAM DIED FROM NOT USING FACTS!
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I’m on an arbitrary crosswalk on an arbitrary Sunday in Chicago when it happens. He’s in his early 40′s, nicely dressed. As we head in opposite directions, elbows almost bumping, he leans into my space, face inches from mine and hisses, “Fuck you, bitch.” He keeps walking, and I stop dead in the middle of the street, hoping someone else just saw that.
It’s the “bitch” that kept swinging through the revolving door in my brain as I walked the half mile home. Why did he call me that? I didn’t do anything to him, I didn’t say anything to him, I didn’t even look at him. Was I supposed to smile? A random “fuck you” might just be the standard cost of living in a large city where you encounter the occasional unstable citizen, but the “bitch” added insult to injury.
In a pilot study funded by the NITC Small Starts program, researchers explored whether drivers behave differently toward pedestrians waiting to use a crosswalk based on the pedestrian’s race. The study – the first examining the effects of race on pedestrian crossing experiences – found that black pedestrians were passed by twice as many cars and waited nearly a third longer to cross than white pedestrians.
Minorities are disproportionately represented among pedestrian fatalities in the United States. The Center for Disease Control reported in 2013 that in the first decade of this century, the fatality rates for black and Hispanic men were twice as high as they were for white men.
Researchers Kimberly Barsamian Kahn and Tara Goddard of Portland State University, and Arlie Adkins, of the University of Arizona, hypothesized that if minority pedestrians experience more delay at crosswalks, they might take greater risks when crossing – risks that could contribute to the disparate fatality rates.
In 1998, a high school junior named Eric Harris from Colorado wanted to put on a performance, something for the world to remember him by. A little more than a year later, Eric and his best friend Dylan Klebold would place bombs all over their school — bombs large enough to collapse large chunks of the building and to kill the majority of the 2,000 students inside — and then wait outside with semi-automatic weapons to gun down any survivors before ending their own lives.
“It’ll be like the LA riots, the Oklahoma bombing, WWII, Vietnam, Duke and Doom all mixed together,” Eric wrote in his journal. “Maybe we will even start a little rebellion or revolution to fuck things up as much as we can. I want to leave a lasting impression on the world.”
Eric was a psychopath, but he was also smart.
Common TGRR aphorisms:
IT'S NOT MY FAULT!
It could have happened to anyone, really.
Nobody go in the kitchen for like 10 years, okay?
I'M OKAY WITH THAT! (about something that is clearly not okay)
Underwear is an indication that you aren't really serious about having a good time.
A hornet in the shorts is worth AAAAAAFUCKFUCKFUCK
Sorry, I didn't catch that, I was staring at your tits. ---> Usually said to TGRRW to get out of trouble for the kitchen thing.
I already farted for you, what the hell do you WANT from me?
You People MAKE NO SENSE