I've tried to write this to be as succinct and accessible as possible whilst getting across the most important information available. With the addition of the lyrical analysis, it's actually hitting the character limit. You don't have to read all of that. Don't reply unless you actually read it. I'll be making this into a video too so it's more digestible and sharable if there's interest. Serious replies only. Thank youuu.

How To Do Impossible Things

On the 22nd May at 22:09 BST Death grips drops Steroids (Crouching Tiger Hidden Gabba Megamix) on their facebook page, letting us know it's 22 minutes long.

22 minutes later, at 22:31, a bomb explodes in the Manchester Arena where Ariana Grande is performing a show as part of her Dangerous Woman tour. 22 people are murdered by the bomber. Most of them are children. Steroids is 22:31 in length. The bomber is 22 years old. He is of Libyan ancestry, which totals to 22 using numerology.

Quaint coincidences, right? At best stretch of the imagination, accidental divination?

This is what I always thought whenever this conspiracy theory would crop up again. However being inspired by this post the other day, my intuition cannot stop ringing. I can't at all, in good conscience, continue listening to the band. I will explain why here.

Firstly we'll address the repetition of 22 and it's supposed significance. In numerology, 22 is one of three 'Master Numbers' that are said to have more power than all others. It is considered the most powerful of all, nicknamed the 'Master Builder', and is most significantly associated with manifesting in material from the archetypical idea space. That is, it's considered the most powerful influencing number in this regard, with 22 having strong associations between the spiritual, intuitive, and the practical reality.

As the video puts it, 'capable of spinning wild dreams into reality.' Think what you will.

Just remember they've used numerology numerous times throughout their releases.

Numbers are just symbols. But symbols carry meaning. Numbers symbolise maths.[http://jwilson.coe.uga.edu/EMAT6680Fa06/Hobgood/Pythagoras.html]

Mathematical theory was being developed before modern numbers.

In order for there for be 2, there must be separation from 1, "Mona

I come cap in hand, with an apology.

Eight months ago, I submitted a post here called the Totally official and 100% serious weapon tier list. It was not meant to be a genuine guide, but I'd recently platted the game and figured I knew what I was doing, so why not share some lighthearted thoughts on the relative merits of the weapons in the game?

If you currently Google "Returnal Weapon Tier List" then the top (non-featured) result is that post. It still gets replies even now. And I am very sorry. I have since come to understand that the post contained some... errors. I am back, in the spirit of benign obeisance, to put the record straight with some "minor" corrections.

But first I would explain how I came to make these shameful blunders. When I first finished Act I, I figured I was getting over the hump of difficulty and had begun to understand how Returnal works. "I'm pretty good at this!" I thought. By the time I finally dragged my bruised and bedraggled corpse out of Biome 5 and over the Act II finishing line, I had come to realise how wrong I'd been. "Finally," I said to myself. "I have got gud". Just Act III and the Platinum Trophy to go.

The Plat, as we all know (especially pre-patch) is heavily RNG-dependant. It took me a couple of weeks. By that time, my playstyle had changed completely - the freedom of playing "for fun" rather than trying to kill bosses or complete runs had fundamentally changed my tactics. Caring less about dying, I was, ironically, dying much less. "Huh," I thought, "I'm way better at this now than I was when I finished the game. Now, finally, I know what I'm doing. Now I am good."

It was at this point I wrote the aforementioned guide, something I now understand to be an overwhelming act of hubris.

I have been playing Returnal pretty much every day since then. I am engaged in a woeful errand to unlock every single databank listing in the game (only five artefacts to go!). My playstyle now is as different to my post-plat technique as it was compared to when I first picked up the controller after landing on Atropos. I rarely die. I get to the end of every run with 300% health and generally have max proficiency by halfway through a run. I collect about 25-30 artefacts per run, and can't remember the last time I didn't find either a Resinous Shield and/or an Adrenaline Leech. I

Hello, long time lurker, first time being brave enough to post. This is a story that's been floating in my head for years, I hope you like it, and I hope I wrote it well enough. If I messed up with the formatting, please let me know.

---

“Beacon?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t feel good.”

“I know, I know you don’t”

---

There was a knock at the Admiral’s door, a young NCO stood in the doorway.

"Sir, the last evacuation ship from Tertius has just jumped in."

"Well good, but why the personal visit?" The older Admiral spun in her chair to stare at the Warrant Officer.

"The captain of the transport is saying he has information regarding a scout or something, sir?"

All traces of emotion drained from the Admiral.  "Bring them here, now."

"Aye Sir."

---

The Admiral placed the holochip the ship’s captain had given her into the computer on her desk.

"Chief, simply by knowing about this chip, you are privy to some of the most classified information Alliance Command has."

"Uh, my apologies Sir. I will leave, also I'm not a Chief."

"You are now. As my personal assistant you'll need to have the clearance.”

“Sir?”

“You're going to help me make sense of what we're about to see. We’ll talk about OCS later."

The admiral indicated a seat for the now surprised Chief Warrant Officer.

"Promotion and transfer are filed. Now, hopefully, we can figure out why Beacon-36 malfunctioned and also figure out who this Scout is." the Admiral looked the Chief directly in the eye and continued.  "The first secret to know: our evacuation plans had a fatal flaw.  There was no safe way to bring the villagers outside the central city to the transports. During the initial invasion, the Praxitans had too many of their soldiers on the ground.  They were destroying rescue ships, medical ships, and executing every human they found. Scout resolved that problem for us, in a way.  The Praxitans became more focused on finding Scout than they were on destroying transports.  Where Scout got Beacon-36, how Scout knew all our protocols; that's been a mystery this whole time. Beacon-36 would only transmit refugee locations, and calls for evacuation. The suit would not let us issue remote commands. We wanted to find it ourselves, but we couldn’t pinpoint it long enough to track. We also knew we couldn't afford to not accept their help.  Those people needed out, and Scout with that Beacon suit, got them out."

“Uh, Sir? Why is a suit malfunction that important?”

“Press play, hopefully we’ll

FIRST CHAPTER PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Half of the Patrol Interceptors died instantly.

Pilots died as they were too shocked to jink when their systems blared missile lock or a well aimed laser punched through cockpits and threw the crew into the void of space.

The only reason Milk and Cookie didn’t share the fate of their compatriots was because a lucky piece of simulated debris was turned to slag by a laser shot, barely keeping them alive as the veteran pilot turned hard, breaking away from an inbound missile while dumping countermeasures.

“All wing leads are down.” Milk reported, sheer bloody experience keeping her voice from wavering. “Tally 8 bandits. Fast movers.”

“All survivors. Focus fire on the 114th!” A voice from the radio called, one of the other surviving Interceptor pilots. “We’ve got ‘em 30 to 8. We can do this!” Her optimism was soon cut short as one of the Edixi pilots blitzed through a makeshift CAP line and turned her plane into scrap.

The Pilot was brilliant, there could be no other way to describe how they flew. Even when moving in a straight line, there were slight bobs and helix fight patterns keeping them from ever truly staying in the defender’s line of fire. Multilock missiles under her wings and a modified main cannon informed the Irish WSO that these were planes built for the sole purpose of dogfighting. She didn’t even see the normal Anti-Shipping missile hanging beneath the fuselage.

And that gave her a plan.

“Cookie, pull us closer to the Carriers. We need the cover and they can’t hit the ships.”

“But the other fleet can.” Cookie shot back, even as he began to dance towards the comforting point defense bubble. Some of the other craft tried to follow, trying to get inside the protective bubble of home plate.

But they didn’t heed Starbuck’s rule in their folly.

They broke contact and dove back towards home in a straight line, making the already easy shots even easier for the Interceptors dashing in and out of their midst. All around them simulated debris, panic and explosions rocked the silence between the stars.

It was almost beautiful, watching these ships detonate and burn from seemingly nothing, the fires from fuel lines licking the void before being consumed by the deepest darkness.

But they couldn’t admire the view for long. There was a fight to win.

I guess the concept didn't work

I don't want to step on anybody's toes here, but the amount of non-dad jokes here in this subreddit really annoys me. First of all, dad jokes CAN be NSFW, it clearly says so in the sub rules. Secondly, it doesn't automatically make it a dad joke if it's from a conversation between you and your child. Most importantly, the jokes that your CHILDREN tell YOU are not dad jokes. The point of a dad joke is that it's so cheesy only a dad who's trying to be funny would make such a joke. That's it. They are stupid plays on words, lame puns and so on. There has to be a clever pun or wordplay for it to be considered a dad joke.

Again, to all the fellow dads, I apologise if I'm sounding too harsh. But I just needed to get it off my chest.

[My wife and I, after hearing a scream, ventured away from our campsite and headed towards the direction of the sound. After a few minutes of light hiking, we came upon the grounds of a cabin. There was a car parked out front, and beside this were the gruesomely shredded remains of a wolf. There were various trails of blood, one of which led from the car and up the porch, to the front door of the cabin. The door itself had been partially loosed from its hinges, and was leaning inward. The threshold was marked by several scratches, many of them deep. The whole area was like the scene of some crime; a site of savage butchery.

Inside, just beneath the door, we found a body, savagely wounded. The person had obviously been dead for hours. There was a smoldering fire in the fireplace, and beside it was a laptop, its battery nearly dead. Something horrible had obviously happened, so I took the laptop with me back to our campsite, and read the document displayed on the screen, while my wife reported what we’d found to the authorities.

Knowing how the local police will react to this, I’ve decided to upload what I found. I think the person’s tragic story deserves to be told, rather than be disregarded and locked away as evidence.

Here it is.]

There are people living in the woods who have forfeited their claim to society. People who, for some insane, misanthropic reason, have decided to unshackle themselves from behavioral restraints such as civility, courtesy, and mercy; people who perform atrocious, abominable things, in twisted service to some dark woodland spirit. While making a trip to a river near my dad’s cabin (where we were going to lodge for the weekend), my friend Tim and I encountered one such “person”.

We saw them conducting some strange rite in an open, moonlit area of the woods, a small clearing from which the nearby trees seemed to be consciously leaning away. The person, wretched in all aspects of appearance, wearing only a disgustingly soiled loincloth, was standing in a small, rock-lined hole in the ground, which they’d filled with what was unmistakably blood. There wasn’t any evidence to guess from what animal it had come.

Hungry, and tired from having spent most of the day exploring the area, Tim and I stood frozen at the entrance to the clearing, unsure of what to do. Before we could even think to turn away, the ghoulish person spotted us, and let loose a series of incomprehensible words, which seemed darkly pro

Alot of great jokes get posted here! However just because you have a joke, doesn't mean it's a dad joke.

THIS IS NOT ABOUT NSFW, THIS IS ABOUT LONG JOKES, BLONDE JOKES, SEXUAL JOKES, KNOCK KNOCK JOKES, POLITICAL JOKES, ETC BEING POSTED IN A DAD JOKE SUB

Try telling these sexual jokes that get posted here, to your kid and see how your spouse likes it.. if that goes well, Try telling one of your friends kid about your sex life being like Coca cola, first it was normal, than light and now zero , and see if the parents are OK with you telling their kid the "dad joke"

I'm not even referencing the NSFW, I'm saying Dad jokes are corny, and sometimes painful, not sexual

So check out r/jokes for all types of jokes

r/unclejokes for dirty jokes

r/3amjokes for real weird and alot of OC

r/cleandadjokes If your really sick of seeing not dad jokes in r/dadjokes

Punchline !

Edit: this is not a post about NSFW , This is about jokes, knock knock jokes, blonde jokes, political jokes etc being posted in a dad joke sub

Edit 2: don't touch the thermostat

Do your worst!

This one was requested by a couple of folks after I mentioned my father served three tours in Vietnam, each with a different service. I'll relay the story as best as I can remember. It's not exciting or anything, just a historical note I guess.

My father enlisted in the Marine Corps back in 1956, went through Parris Island for boot camp. I don't recall what the MOS was for this but I know he started off in tanks but somehow was retrained into the Photo Interpretation career field (he'd say quite often "I wish I was back in tanks..." - he's probably spinning in his grave right now over the Corps' decision to get rid of tanks). So he used to read film that was taken by various and assorted aircraft, anything from an RF-101 ("Voodoo", someone out there remembers those - he said he loved photos from the RF-101) to a U-2. He was stationed in a lot of places (because Marines are the US equivalent of gypsies - always on the move) during his time in the Corps - a tour in Vietnam, but also stationed at Iwakuni, Guam, Cherry Point (where I was born), Camp Lejeune (where my sister was born). I'm pretty sure he was attached to the 2nd MAW at Cherry Point during his rotation there - it was long ago and I was REALLY young. He went a lot of places overseas though that either Marine junior enlisted were not allowed to bring family, or Mom didn't want to go to that place, or something. He was gone a lot. I'm sure that's a pretty common story with Marine brats like me.

Anywho, he'd been in the Corps for a few years, made E-5 but was having trouble making E-6. I didn't know this at the time but the Corps will give you the heave-ho if you don't make E-6 in ten years, but also acute to the Corps, if the SSgts and GySgts up ahead of you in your career field don't retire/get out/pass on/whatever, and there's no E-6 slot to get promoted in to, you can't get promoted regardless if you're the poster boy Marine they put on all those recruiting posters or not - I've been told you're not even allowed to test for promotion if that's the case. For comparison there always seemed to be slots available in the AF depending on your AFSC - maybe not a lot, but always some slots available so there was a chance at promotion provided the score cutoff wasn't so high it was mathematically impossible to get promoted (happened to me five times - mathematically impossible - but I digress). Dad wasn't one to wait for the last minute for anything, I'm pretty sure he got out at the end

Namesake: Brain Power by Noma

User: Ashling "Drake" Noma

Phenomenon stand

Stats:

Power: N/A

Precision: E

Speed: C

Range: N/A

Durability: N/A (Variable duration)

Potential: E

Appearance:

No manifestation; the user's irises glow when active.

Ability:

Upon the intake of any 'drug', which can range from caffeine to cocaine, the user suffers a seizure and falls unconscious. Neither the substances nor the seizure have any lasting effect or consequences on the user's body. The user's consciousness then views the future of an alternate universe. How far into the future and the duration of the viewing are determined by the quantity and severity of the drug. Upon reawakening, the user regains full control of their body, as well as retains the memories from their 'trip'.

User information/backstory:

Ashling Noma was a mechanical engineer attending grad school for a PhD in robotics. Naturally gifted in a plethora of subjects and skills, he had been tinkering since he could hold a screwdriver and wanted nothing more in life than to invent: to create. Visualizing complex mechanisms and doing complex math in his head was simple, and his perfect memory ensured it stayed that way. Despite this, he had a major setback: his thesis. He was unsure of what to put forth, and had scrapped several concepts already. His first success was a creation of his teen years: the "Jelly Doughnut Juicer", which revolutionized food production by creating a high calorie drink for doughnut producers, but that level of inspiration was in the past. His ideas were scattered, unfocused, and he had no clear path he wanted to follow. While not around the corner, the time constraints loomed over the horizon, and he was no closer than when he had began brainstorming months ago. Though, this weekend would be it; he had set aside the entire time from Friday to Sunday to remedy this problem, and he would not sleep until he was at least on track. He downed a 56 hour energy to prep for the task...and immediately passed out. His face slammed into the desk with a thunk, and a surreal dream began.

He awoke in a different room surrounded by assembly lines. Everything seemed so real, yet he didn't feel like he was really there. It was like he was a disembodied sense of vision free from the world. He explored, noticing the products being produced in this factory. They were mechanical components, seemingly for some sort of arm. They were unlike a

How the hell am I suppose to know when it’s raining in Sweden?

Mathematical puns makes me number

Ants don’t even have the concept fathers, let alone a good dad joke. Keep r/ants out of my r/dadjokes.

But no, seriously. I understand rule 7 is great to have intelligent discussion, but sometimes it feels like 1 in 10 posts here is someone getting upset about the jokes on this sub. Let the mods deal with it, they regulate the sub.

They were cooked in Greece.

He lost May

Now that I listen to albums, I hardly ever leave the house.

Two muffins are in an oven, one muffin looks at the other and says "is it just me, or is it hot in here?"

Then the other muffin says "AHH, TALKING MUFFIN!!!"

Don't you know a good pun is its own reword?

For context I'm a Refuse Driver (Garbage man) & today I was on food waste. After I'd tipped I was checking the wagon for any defects when I spotted a lone pea balanced on the lifts.

I said "hey look, an escaPEA"

No one near me but it didn't half make me laugh for a good hour or so!

Edit: I can't believe how much this has blown up. Thank you everyone I've had a blast reading through the replies 😂

Kessler Syndrome is a cascade effect of increasing use of space in which debris collides with other pieces of debris, creating a cyclic effect as the amount of debris increases which makes the likelihood of further collisions more likely until the point where a celestial body may be completely surrounded by an impenetrable cloud of junk. There are many ways of dealing with debris, such as mitigating the amount of debris made or manually collecting it. In your settings, what are the ramifications of the kessler syndrome and how do the people there deal with it?

In Remnants of Commonwealth, a hard sci-fi/military sci-fi setting I've been working on, the Verdzanas-Etupili system is a heavily populated binary system with three homeworlds and several colonies, taking the form of orbital rotating cylinders or settlements on the surface of the various planets, moons, asteroids and other bodies of the system. The various governments of the system have collectively agreed to regulate the trash this generates by a multi-tiered prevention and removal strategy. These agreements stand despite the breakdown of international cooperation ~186 years ago largely because each nation views it to their benefit.

The first tier of debris mitigation is to reduce the amount of debris produced. There many ways nations do this in their designs, including limiting single-use stage designs, streamlining spacecraft to minimise parts that may break off or be left behind, instructing crew to always pick up their messes as soon as they can and much more. In the case of warships, making debris is inevitable, so they are designed to be easily picked up after; bullets and slugs are made entirely or largely of magnetic materials, the inside face of armour panels are painted a bright colour to be better spotted against the darkness of space, missile shrapnelling is either highly directed (towards the enemy, typically) or minimised entirely.

The second tier of prevention is tracking, achieved by a network of supercomputers and detection equipment located throughout the system which compile all detected objects that are known not to be naturally occurring bodies or intentionally constructed objects and track their location at all times. Onboard a ship, the computer automatically tracks all debris formed and shares it with the tracking network, especially warships which keep detailed records of every munition fired by the ship, what type of munition it was, where it was fired, where it went an

It really does, I swear!

And now I’m cannelloni

Because she wanted to see the task manager.

Eighty years ago today, in 1941, the Australian Navy ship HMAS Sydney sank off the western coast of Australia. Eleven weeks later, a life raft containing the body of a sailor washed ashore. For eighty years, the young man was known only as "Australia's Unknown Sailor," but as the Australian War Memorial announced today, modern genetic genealogy has given back the name he had in life: Able Seaman Thomas Welsby Clark, of Brisbane. He was 21 years old.

Background

On November 19, 1941, the Royal Australian Navy cruiser HMAS Sydney was on a relatively leisurely journey. She had been en route to her home port of Fremantle, WA, that day, after escorting a troop transport to the Sunda Strait. But that afternoon, off of Carnarvon, she unexpectedly encountered another ship. Although the vessel appeared to be a merchanteer, the Sydney's captain, Joseph Burnett, was suspicious. Very few ships were permitted to be there at the time. After repeated signal attempts from the Sydney, the other ship identified itself as a Dutch merchant vessel, the Straat Malakka. But something was wrong. It did not show the ship's secret signal--nor was the Straat even allowed to be there in the first place. Faced with a possible enemy assault, Captain Burnett ordered the Sydney to intercept.

As the Sydney pulled up alongside to investigate, the other ship dropped its ruse. The "merchant ship" was actually the German Kormoran, a merchant raider designed to sneak up on enemy vessels and sink them at close range with powerful bursts of cannon fire. The deception became the Sydney's undoing. Although she was one of the finest ships in the Australian Naval fleet, she was not prepared for a sneak attack. The battle was over after just thirty minutes. Almost all the Sydney's 645-man crew was killed in the fighting. With no one to stand at the helm, the cruiser went adrift until she finally sank a few hours later. The Kormoran was more lucky. The majority of the 81 deaths among the Germans were from the sinking of a faulty lifeboat. (The remaining 318 crewmembers were taken prisoner by Australia)

Locating the body

Eleven weeks later and over a thousand miles away, something odd was spotted off the coast of Christmas Island. Local authorities, wary of Japanese submarines, sent out a pilot boat to investigate. Instead of an enemy invasion, the boat found a life raft bobbing in the surf. Inside was the body of a young man. Quickly, they brought the raft in to po

But that’s comparing apples to oranges

Brian Hill (born February 21, 1999) is an American actor and professional wrestler. He is currently signed to Fantasy Booking Elite.

Brian rose to prominence for his role as "Evan Beckright" in "International League of Junior Spies," a TV series that ran on Kids' Television Series (TTS) from 2014-2018. Initially starting off as a recurring character, he became the main protagonist after the lead actor walked off and massive fan support. He also currently stars in "Detective Hartley" as the namesake (2018-).

In movies, Brian starred as "Dimitri Yeltsin" in "Bloodsport (2016)," "Tom Hardy" in "Here I Go Again (2019)," and as the namesake in "The Silencer (2018)" and "The Silencer II: Not a Sound (2022)."

Brian Hill as \"Blake Hartley\" in 2020

Eary Life

Brian Hill was born in Dallas, TX on February 21st, 1999. He and 4 other siblings were raised in a single-income household as his father worked as an oil driller while his mother stayed to raise the children. He took interest in acting when a local director toured his elementary school scouting for a kid to star in a commercial. Although he didn't get the role, he displayed a natural talent that he would continue to hone throughout his career. Brian decided to continue pursuing acting in an effort to support his struggling family. In his childhood, he also took up Brazilian Ju-Jitsu, and currently holds a black belt.

Early Career and Breakthrough

Brian would continue to pursue acting gigs, occasionally landing extra roles in movies and smaller commercial gigs. His first major role would finally come when Director Naoto Ishii cast him in "International League of Junior Spies." His role, "Evan Beckright," saw Brian play a British Teenager in the agency, serving alongside the protagonist "Nihal Lincoln" in the elite "Squadron 15." Both critics and fans praised Brian's performance and quickly became a fan favorite. He also began popping up on Hollywood's radar as he became known as someone who "was easy to work with" and the lack of need to hire stunt doubles as he was more than capable of doing his own. When the actor playing the protagonist walked out on set in the middle of season 3, Brian took over as the leader of the Squadron and took main billing as a result. After 6 seasons, the series finally wrapped up, and producers were eager to land the rising star in o

And boy are my arms legs.

Put it on my bill

Heard they've been doing some shady business.

FIRST CHAPTER PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Half of the Patrol Interceptors died instantly.

Pilots died as they were too shocked to jink when their systems blared missile lock or a well aimed laser punched through cockpits and threw the crew into the void of space.

The only reason Milk and Cookie didn’t share the fate of their compatriots was because a lucky piece of simulated debris was turned to slag by a laser shot, barely keeping them alive as the veteran pilot turned hard, breaking away from an inbound missile while dumping countermeasures.

“All wing leads are down.” Milk reported, sheer bloody experience keeping her voice from wavering. “Tally 8 bandits. Fast movers.”

“All survivors. Focus fire on the 114th!” A voice from the radio called, one of the other surviving Interceptor pilots. “We’ve got ‘em 30 to 8. We can do this!” Her optimism was soon cut short as one of the Edixi pilots blitzed through a makeshift CAP line and turned her plane into scrap.

The Pilot was brilliant, there could be no other way to describe how they flew. Even when moving in a straight line, there were slight bobs and helix fight patterns keeping them from ever truly staying in the defender’s line of fire. Multilock missiles under her wings and a modified main cannon informed the Irish WSO that these were planes built for the sole purpose of dogfighting. She didn’t even see the normal Anti-Shipping missile hanging beneath the fuselage.

And that gave her a plan.

“Cookie, pull us closer to the Carriers. We need the cover and they can’t hit the ships.”

“But the other fleet can.” Cookie shot back, even as he began to dance towards the comforting point defense bubble. Some of the other craft tried to follow, trying to get inside the protective bubble of home plate.

But they didn’t heed Starbuck’s rule in their folly.

They broke contact and dove back towards home in a straight line, making the already easy shots even easier for the Interceptors dashing in and out of their midst. All around them simulated debris, panic and explosions rocked the silence between the stars.

It was almost beautiful, watching these ships detonate and burn from seemingly nothing, the fires from fuel lines licking the void before being consumed by the deepest darkness.

But they couldn’t admire the view for long. There was a fight to win.

I'm surprised it hasn't decade.