Dad: YES... no...YES...no...YES...no...
She's my trans sister
The doctor told me my symptoms are flaring up.
But when I got home all the signs were there
Just dont put it your back pocket.
But it would get a bad reception
Me: A what?
Him: A repeater.
Me: dramatic eyebrow wiggling with shit eating grin
Him: Oh my god.
Turns out he was a shit driver..
Left and right
I tell everyone she’s into human trafficking.
Because it goes all right all right all right
I was on EDGE there.
That the window is down.
"Wait, it's working again. Now it's not. Now it's fine. Now it's not."
Sure, they may take you places, but there'll be mixed signals along the way.
When the signal changes to a man walking.
I went outside and the signal improved.
Because he's always got a bat signal!
...when every one I've tried creates hotspots?
Just finished getting an electrocardiogram when my dad and I had this conversation.
Dad: "What did they do to you?"
Me: "E-C-G, Electrocardiogram."
Dad: "Isn't that an E-K-G?"
Me: "I don't know, I thought it was an E-C-G."
Dad: "So, if E-C-G and E-K-G are both for electrocardiogram, what the hell is an E-G-G?"
Me: "I have no idea."
Dad: "It's an egg, you idiot."
He calls his son and says he wanted to tell him something for a long time.
Son Ant : What is it dad?
Father Ant : I cannot say that in this god forbidden country we have to move immediately to France or Italy before i am dead.
Confused,the Son Ant made arrangements to move to France.They boarded a spy ship which took them to south Korea.From there they boarded a flight to France.With great difficulty they finally reached France.The father ant's health became worse.The son ant was thinking what was so important that they had to move to another country, So when they settled in their new home he finally asked..
Son Ant : Dad, We are in France now you can tell whatever you were going to tell me. The Father could not speak up so he signaled his son to come closer.The son did.
Father Ant: Son, We are now Europeants.
She was hot but I didn't catch her signal until it was too late when she handed me my receipt and said "Have a nice day".
Back a few decades, I was working in a program with a local college in the Middle East.
The name of the program for ExPats has the clever acronym of "IDEA" (hey, I said it was clever); which stands for "Inter-Departmental Educational Adjunct". It's interdepartmental because my particular specialty not only covers field geology but also paleontology and a bit of archeology thrown in for good measure. Everyone hopes to have a good IDEA...
Well, we saddle up and head for the Dune Sea out in the west of the country, where the Precambrian, Cambrian, Silurian, Cretaceous, Pliocene, Pleistocene, and Holocene crop out and access is relatively easy and non-injurious.
Well, we caravan out, some 30 Land Cruisers, Nissan patrol, and the odd Mitsubishi Galloper strong. We all get our maps, compasses and split up into 5 or 6 special interest groups ("SIG's"); where each IDEA has his own GPS and LIDAR laser ranging apparatus. Reason being, that there are very few benchmarks out in the desert, and even those are constantly at the mercy of the shifting and ever-blowing sands.
Since we're split into groups and at any one time, ranging up to and including some 50 km2, when a real find is located, a device called the "DIME" (Digital-Interface Monitor Encoder) is attached and programmed into the GPS for location later; it is a digital sort of low-frequency transponder, developed from technology used by offshore drillers and jacket setters where benchmarks are even more transitory.
The way it works is rather simple. When something is to be marked for later retrieval, a series of wooden posts are pounded in a triangular manner around the find and the DIME is set, programmed with the GPS and attached to one or more of the posts.
That's the theory, at least.
Everything works well, especially all the hardened electronics and computer gizmos, but attaching the DIME to the stakes is the real problem. It can't be nailed, screwed or fastened with any sort of metal contrivance as that farkles the magnetic field and causes all sorts of goofy spurious signals. Zip ties don't last long in the heat and duct tape is right out. Many sites have been lost to the shifting sands this way.
Velcro doesn't work too well, as the sand fills the hooks of the receiving piece of velcro and soon renders it useless. String or fishing line work, but that's temporary (they melt). Glue or mastic are out as these are supposed to be temporary. Even plastic sleeves don't work due to the heat out... keep reading on reddit ➡
He hopped out, waddled over, and signalled me to wind down my window.
As the window came down, red in the face he yelled “I AM NOT HAPPY!”
To which I replied, “Well which one are you then?”
Today I took a class out onto the oval to investigate the strength of radio signals in different situations. For one, we wrapped a radio in foil and as I was unwrapping it a student commented that they hoped there was food inside.
I finished opening it and said 'oh man, it's a radio - mum must really hate me' to which another student replied 'I know, it's not even a ham radio...'
Was so proud!
He couldn't get a signal on his phone and GPS wouldn't work to tell him how to get there.
We were Skyping, and I was trying to figure out the delay between the audio and the video. I said "ping", as I often do when this issue occurs, and she replies "ping" back to signal when she heard me. Sometimes, when she doesn't do it the first time, it gets confusing and I don't know which one she is responding to.
So I switched my word to "taco" in the hopes that it'd break the cycle. No go. She goofed it again.
When I said "I give up", she said "Wait! Let's taco 'bout this."
I love that girl.
dad responded: yes, no, yes, no.
An ancient Babylonian general was involved in a plot to overthrow the king. But, the plot was uncovered, and the king threw him in jail.
The general managed to escape and he fled to a ziggurat several kilometers away to meet his followers. Unfortunately, the ziggurat was one of several in the area, and he wasn't sure his men would find the right one. So, the fugitive general lit a small fire to signal them.
The other generals of the king's army saw the smoke coming from the ziggurat, and they rushed over and killed him.
The moral of the story?
The searching general has determined that smoking ziggurats can be extremely hazardous to your stealth.
An ancient Babylonian general was once involved in a plot to overthrow the king. His plot included a number of followers in the upper ranks of the army. However, his plot was uncovered, and the king threw him in jail. The king sentenced him to death without a trial.
However, from the jail he was able to secretly contact his followers to arrange to escape, meet his followers, and attack the king's palace at night. So the night before his scheduled execution, the general managed to escape from prison. He fled to a ziggurat several kilometers away, where his followers would meet him. However, the ziggurat was one of several in the area, and he wasn't sure if his cohorts would find the right ziggurat. By this time it was twilight, so he lit a small fire and sent smoke signals to indicate in which structure he was hiding.
However, the king's loyal soldiers saw the smoke coming from the ziggurat, and came to arrest him before he could meet his followers. He was executed later that day.
The moral of the story? WARNING: The searching general has determined that smoking ziggurats can be extremely hazardous to your stealth.
He forgot to use his turd signal.
The ceremony was ok, but the reception was amazing.
But she was always sending mixed signals
Driving home from his football game and I change lanes without signaling
Him: Hey you didn't use your turn signal, you could've killed us!
Me: But I didn't, and that's what counts...
Him: No, it's the thought that counts, and I thought you were gonna' kill us
So, my dad could be considered a regular jokester. He had his dad jokes, his dirty jokes, clean but provocative joke, setup jokes, everything. He never missed a chance to turn something into a joke for hinself, even, and perpahs especially, if it only amused himself. I found out at an young age that no situation is too serious for him.
I was around 9 years old and I was in the cub scouts, and it was box car derby season. I was in the dining room, carving away at my block of wood when the blade in my right hand skipped the wood and carved my left thumb. It fucking hurt and bled like a sonofabitch. I immediately starting screaming and my dad raced into the room and found me covered in blood, my left hand now with two thumbs. We get it wrapped and he drives me to the emergency room. By the time we got there the bleeding had stopped and I have stopped crying. As we pull up, my dad looks st me, shakes his head and says "We can't go in there like this, we'll end up waiting forever to see a doctor. You need to cry once we're in there and that'll help" I said ok, and he said as we were walking up, "I'll give you a signal to start crying." How will i know, i asked him snd he just said i'll know. We go inside and walk up to the admittance desk. I'm short, so at the time my head just cleared the desk. My dad tells the nurse that we have a cut, and need to see a doctor right away. The nurse pushes paperwork at him and he tells her again, this time that its a real bad cut. The nurse finally looks at me for the first time and she frowns, because im relatively normal looking, even though im hurting and nervous, waiting for my dads signal. My dad pulls me back a bit and her eyes widen really big when she sees all the dried blood caked on the lower left side of my body. She starts getting excited and says "Ohmygoshohmygosh" over and over and this point im starting to get scared when my Dad, in a serious voice says "Its even worse than it looks! You're going to have to take the whole hand!"
Then I start crying.
You get a buzzy signal