I believe that’s the words of the prophet Grundle

Thanks for the recommendations! HK is on my radar because I only hear good things

I remember reading this. Fuckers.

I really need a full table of this. This translates really well to those of us who’ve had blue collar jobs, or anyone who has spent extensive time in the field.

As a former bushrat, this whole thing is so on point.

Didn’t he get the Romans out of some serious jams too, which is why they wanted him back? While effective, I think he has really mixed reviews, and the Praetorians wanted his head on a stick. I might be way off though

I’m considering the expansion pack subscription just so I can catch up on all the Zeldas I missed in my 20s. There’s a lot of good games there I need to play

(laughs in Dagoth Ur)

My son just got a switch for Christmas, and his uncle leant him a bunch of games including Breath of the Wild.

Since the hype is over, we can game without spoilers. It’s really nice. I feel like I’m playing Ocarina of Time again, where we have to just use our wits rather than rely on people to figure it out for us.

Yes, I could look up how to do things, but I’ve resisted so far. It makes it a lot more fun.

So far, though, I find the puzzles pretty easy and somewhat feel like devs have watered everything down as a result of the non-thinking gaming being much more prevalent

Go on…

Holy fuck. Thanks for the rabbit hole!

The wind rose over the flat expanse of Florida, born from the restless Atlantic and rolling westward in the heavy heat of afternoon. It slipped through palm fronds, rustling the dead leaves that clung stubbornly to their branches, and whispered across the wide lanes of I-95, where cars moved with the slow inevitability of a retirement parade.

It crossed gated communities and half-finished luxury towers, stirring the stagnant air in theme parks and strip malls alike. The wind carried with it the scent of salt and distant wildfires, but also something else—something faint, yet impossible to ignore. The kind of feeling that lingers like humidity long after the sun has set.

At last, the wind curled over the high walls of Mar-a-Lago, where fountains bubbled beneath the gaze of marble lions, and the grass lay clipped so fine it seemed the earth itself feared displeasing the one who reigned there. On a balcony, a man stood, golden-haired and heavily spray tanned beneath the fading sky, eyes narrowed at the horizon as if he alone could halt the turning of the world by sheer will.

Donald Trump shifted his weight, resting heavily on the rail. The wind tugged at his tie but did not move him. Here, in this strange land, the Wheel of Time did not turn forward, nor back. It spun in confused, lurching spirals, tilting precariously at each revolution. And over it all, the wind blew, indifferent to the affairs of men. The wind was not the beginning, but it was a beginning