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taiblogcomics · 1 month

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Just Plane Crazy

Hey there, dulcet tones of science. We'll be half done this series by the end of today's review! Isn't that exciting? I think it's pretty neat, anyway. Let's get into it~

Here's the cover:

Yeah! America! (Please read this ironically.) …That's about all I've got for this one. The covers have been gradually ramping up in interest--standing to running to riding a motorcycle--but it's not exactly the most attention-grabbing thing in the world. I do recall hearing back in, like, the Silver Age, covers with motorcycles and gorillas would sell better. Do you suppose that's still true nowadays?

So, Air Force pilots Dick and Mutt are sent to pursue a drone called War Pig One. The drone bathes them in rainbow mist, which causes them to undergo some bizarre transformations: Mutt fusing with his dog, while Dick develops complicated speech patterns and anger management issues. On the lam from their own military, the pair try to contact their General, which goes south. Things continue going south as they watch the news that night, witnessing the president use a cartoon mallet to bludgeon a senator. As if that's not completely normal in American politics~

So we open at the White House, definitely a first for this blog. The President and his entourage are discussing the previous night's events. The President did indeed bop a senator on live TV, though personally he's pretty regretful about it now. He found the mallet in his desk, and somehow just felt compelled to do so. As if it was the most natural impulse in the world. Ah, well, we've all been there, haven't we? Usually our impulses don't put our number one political opponent into a coma, but we all understand that urge, at least~

Nonetheless, the President seems insistant on pursuing the day's agenda as if nothing's changed, to the shock of his aides. Further shock ensues when his speech begins picking up some oddly familiar overly-descriptive patterns--and then when a photo-realistic coyote and roadrunner suddenly burst into the Oval Office and begin tearing around the room. The President gets more and more red-faced, yelling about the situation as the Secret Service chase the displaced desert wildlife around the room, while his aides do their best Joe Schmo impression.

We cut to what's essentially the same image as the cover without the heavy American symbolism. Just our heroes on their stolen motorcycle. Here's the big plan: they've got to get back to the US to talk to their superior, General Harrier, so they're going to steal a plane. Oh boy, this can't possibly go wrong! Like, even under the best of circumstances, flying a plane from Germany into US airspace seems like a bad idea. Worse if you're already a known fugitive from the military and have to steal a plane to do so.

Meanwhile, speaking of the General, he's called in two of his best to give them the special mission of hunting down the real villains behind War Pig One: Dick and Mutt. Longman and "Zee" Zabarowski are horrified at first, particularly Longman who considers the duo his wingmen, but their tone changes when the General shows them classified photos of the guys shot full of cartoon holes last issue, declaring this to be the direct cause of Dick and Mutt's actions. This kind of ignores the guy who was actually using the gun, but that kind of perfectly tracks with American gun policies anyway, hmm~?

Dick and Mutt put their plan into action, stealing the best plane they can find. They can't quite get far enough to take off, however, and Mutt thinks they're sunk. As Dick desperately scans the dashboard, however, he finds a big cartoony lever and button. Unable to think of anything else, he decides they should embrace the horror of it all and throws the lever. The plane sprouts huge monster-truck tires, enabling it to run over the cars surrounding them, then sheds them once it takes off. Mutt's mostly stunned that they're really doing this, and that such cartoony events seem to follow wherever they go…

Over in the US of A, the President is trying to simultaneously enjoy his daughter's harp recital while also on the phone with General Harrier. Seems the General was the one who signed off on the original Unstabilium experiment that led to the explosion some days ago that got this whole thing started in the first place. The General protests that they shut down the experiment due to veto, but before he can go further, the aides come in to tell the President he's been relieved of duty due to his erratic behaviour. Rather than go quietly and be taken alive, the President runs right through his daughter's harp, slicing himself to ribbons.

Now, while in pursuit, K. Longman and L. "Zee" Zabarowski go over their history with Dick and Mutt. Nothing seems abnormal with them until Longman notes Zee's crush on Dick, which suddenly puts her in a tizzy, screaming "HAYULP! Who's going to save little ol' me??" in an exaggerated accent. At the same time, Mutt notices something Dick shouted while they took off: "Dastardly and Muttley coming through!" He starts to press Dick on who that's supposed to be, only to stop short noticing two things. One, Dick's moustache has grown out rather exaggeratedly. Two, Longman and Zee have located them and fired a missile. Three, the comic's over for this issue~

So far, this seems to be another one of those instances where my recap can't do the comic justice because it is very dialogue-heavy. Additionally, due to how American comics are written now--i.e. geared toward being read as a complete story, or "written for the trade", as it's known--it's hard to react to an individual issue in the middle of the story like this. I have a lot to say about this story as a whole, but less so about the individual parts that make it up. Maybe that makes it a poor choice to review in my style, but here we are~

#comics #reviews #Dastardly & Muttley #Taiblog

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jenningskearney60 · 2 months

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Oklahoma City Rv Parks

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quanonthecob · 4 months

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Hải Phòng Food Tour Personal Review

Needed some place to archive this hell of an essay, and I remember Tumblr is a thing so here we are, reviving my Tumblr account.

Tried to bold the word "Personal" in the title but it doesn't stand out as much on mobile. So just in case, these are just my personal reviews/opinions (though I do include a few others' opinions as well) and consult these at your own risk ig.

1. Bánh mỳ Khánh Nạp @ 192 Hàng Kênh

Visited this place first. Apparently, Cột Đèn is a better-known brand, but this one has been around for longer and their breadsticks are supposedly better. My mom has always bought breadsticks here and brought it home whenever she visits HP.

Anyway, same thing, we only visited and bought the breadsticks to go. Didn't get to have a proper look at the shop but it seems pretty small, doesn't seem like there's any place to sit (though I guess you can stand outside, but still, not much space). The place is near a T-junction so if you go by car (like I did today), you can freely wiggle around without much problem.

I suppose it's also worth mentioning that we went there in the morning (around 9? 10? am), so it's not as crowded, because I heard the shop can get really busy at times and you'll probably have to wait for a bit, especially if you're buying a large amount.

2. Chè dừa dầm - Cà phê cốt dừa cô Hằng @ 124a Lam Sơn

Went to this place next. The street is quite narrow, and it's also a market, so it's a bit hard to move around here, even with motorcycles. Still, you can ask for help with parking and the owners will help you out if you're going by car.

Only tried out 2 drinks (desserts more like?) at this café: Chè dừa dầm and Cà phê cốt dừa (I'm too lazy to find the proper translation for these but one is a sweet soup and one is coffee, both have coconut). To be fair, they are the most recommended ones, and they are indeed really good. Chè dừa dầm is pretty sweet. Some people may dislike the sweetness but I kinda have a sweet tooth, so I love it. I like cà phê cốt dừa. The coffee taste is not too strong (again, some people, like my mom, may not like it as much), so it's quite perfect for me. The amount of jelly and boba is a tad bit unnecessary but eh, I don't mind it that much.

3. Bánh đa cua Bà Cụ @ 51 Lạch Tray

Stopped here for lunch. There was another place nearby that was also recommended, but we didn't try it out because it's a bit more miserable than the one I went to (sounds kinda elitist honestly now that I think of it, but well, it's my mom's decision). So yeah, just for references, you (or I) can try out the place at 48 Lạch Tray next time.

Wide street, plenty of space for parking. The place can be easily recognised as the sign uses pretty vibrant colours (during the daytime at least, not sure if there are lights for nighttime but looks like there are?).

The food itself is... meh. Had Nem cua bể and Miến cua thập cẩm. Nem cua bể is like grinded crab meat with bean sprouts, wrapped in batter then fried. It was alright. It's big, it has a nice smell and taste, tho a bit bland, and also rather expensive. About miến cua thập cẩm (vermicelli noodles with crab meat and also a gazillion extra things), we had it with some absurdly big Quẩy (fried dough). The noodles weren't as soft as I would've expected, and that's a huge minus. The broth and meat were decent. All in all, I'm not very fond of what had for lunch.

~~~

So uh, yeah, that's really it. Really should have visited more place to eat, like at least a seafood restaurant or sth, but we had plans to go elsewhere, so we just went there instead.

Kinda made this so that if I have the chance to go again, I know what to look for and to avoid. Also used some others' advice while on the trip, I'm gonna put them here, especially when I have not tried them all.

also this

and here's a list of addresses of reputable/recommended place to eat

Not gonna add too many tags bc I don't feel like publicising this shitty mess of a post. After all, I just want sth to look back on if I get to visit this city again.

#vietnam #haiphong

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thewestern · 9 months

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Chapter 10

The days were getting shorter. She knew that much. Kitty could see it was nearly pitch dark, and here it was only half past five o’clock. Although it was challenging to register the passage of time inside the Newfy. Apart from the slow-pitch softball-sized porthole punched into the front door, the only other window was a stained glass rendering of Jesus H. Christ on a motorcycle, in flowing robes of red white, and blue leather, jumping over something out of frame, possibly a record-breaking amount of school buses, the Snake River or the Sea of Galilee. Hank was of the religious belief that natural light had no place in an alehouse. On occasion he would infrequent some of the newer taprooms, many of which occupied facilities that were once zoned industrially — body shops, warehouses, other houses of light manufacturing — since retrofitted for retail purposes. As craft breweries, they bore scant resemblances to their former selves. Except for the exposed ductwork and loading docks with the big garage doors that could be rolled all the way up to the top. Weather cooperative, the day drinkers would flock in droves, to Hank's utter beffudlement.

Who in the Sam Hell wants to get a buzz on in broad daylight? He could never figure.

In his quaint fucking view of things, a big part of the Pub’s broad-based appeal was that no matter the frightfulness of the elements outside — be there gale-force winds, driving rains, whiteout blizzard, flash flooding or towering walls of eternal hellfire — take one step within, and you shall be sheltered. To hunker down. This is a place of refuge. We grant thee asylum. Seriously, hang up your crown of thorns and stay awhile. And leave your troubles at the normal-sized door. For your worries are but microscopic airborne particulates that cannot survive in our hermetically-sealed environment, what with its dim lighting and nearly complete lack of ventilation. Here is all things Safe: haven, harbour, house, room, space. Safety guaranteed. Here is a House of Ale, and you are welcome to make yourself at home.

Or whatever it is, it’s not a damned pool party.

The commotion of the afternoon was passed, and the Newfy had settled back into its well-worn malaise. Kitty had returned to grading, this time sidled up to the bar. Don’t Sunday evenings feel like the end of something more than just a weekend? Around Half Past Four P.M. local time, the last of the beautiful people from the afternoon crowd would’ve cleared out, back to their loved ones and their lovely homes. Maybe we’ll get takeout from that new [ethnic food] place … Doesn’t that sound good? Anyway, I don’t feel like cooking. And, ooh, what time does [our show] start?

They called them the Sunday Scaries. Today that passed for tongue and cheek. But the truth was, apart from Death, there wasn’t much at all to be afraid of. Not anymore. Fear itself, maybe.

In the great afterwards, the Off-Peak Hours, that was when the really interesting ones slinked in, as Russ used to say. Looking over their shoulder, like they’re on the lam from somebody. Or else they’re kind of guy or gal who maybe doesn’t have a place he or she’s gotta be Monday morning. Hank’s type of person. Sort that’d stopped coming around so much anymore.

Now the Newfy was mostly just slow going, on a dreary Sunday night like tonight. For the express purposes of boosting staff morale and maybe attracting back some of the old, end-of-the-weekend stragglers, the Mick had made a rare-for-him marketing-slash-managerial decision — to implement his very own semi-regular Sunday Event Series. As per the poster Zeke had placed strategically above the back corner urinal in the men’s restroom — which read, The Mick’s Choices … Never miss a Sunday show — he would pick a live concert recording of the band Phish, locate the corresponding disc in his totemic CD wallet, and play it on the stereo system in the bar. That was pretty much it.

The Mick would strenuously agree that one of the most embarrassing things about himself was his bordering-on-autistic recall of the tens of hundreds of Phish tapes he had accrued over lo these many years. (Once he asked Kitty to teach him how to Do a Spreadsheet so he could better index his vast catalogue — for posterity. She thought it was cute, the way he was hunting and pecking his way around the rows and columns, his tongue protruding like Michael Jordan. Which isn’t to say that he didn’t do a fine job. He did. For a fact, his may be the only private collection of Phish live recordings to be arranged in strict adherence to the Dewey Decimal System. It also bears notation that this was the first and last spreadsheet the Mick had ever made. One and done. We should all be so lucky.) From the Hollywood Bowl to Madison Square Garden. From Redwood Acres Fairgrounds to the Big Cypress Indian Reservation. From Side A to Side B. That Side was made for You and Me.

To be clear, he hadn’t personally attended a single one of these concerts. Unlike Hank, the Mick had not spent his twenties (in Hank’s case well into his thirties and even intermittently into his forties and fifties), hitting the road and following his favorite band across the American Expanse. His work schedule and salary at the brewery would not have accommodated for such a lifestyle, and he had no earthly idea how Hank had ever managed. Big a Phish fan as he was, Mick had only seen a couple dozen shows over the years, mostly within a modest driving distance of wherever he happened to be existing at a given moment in time. Now maybe to the layman that sounds like a lot, but by the standard of being a Phish fan, it was quite a paltry sum indeed. No skin off his back though. Because his love for the band Phish was only exceeded by his burning hatred of waiting in line. Line of traffic into the parking lot, lines to get into the venue, lines to buy a beer, lines to take a leak, lines to get back out of the venue, cars lined up again to leave the parking lot. Lines intersecting on an infinite loop. Every line takes something away from a man. Nevermind the time it took him to wait.

(Beside his thing about lines, the Mick had a better excuse for his comparative truancy. Here is the story of the Mick’s very first Phish show. It was summer O-Four, during which he and his middle schoolmates spent the balance of their abundant free time at the local Cineplex. Mostly they loitered, but quite deliberately — they explored the parking expanse on their BMX bicycles, delighted in tormenting the only slightly older concessionaires, raced one another in the arcade driving simulation, Cruisin’ USA. In the alley behind the theater the Mick shared his first kiss with an especially willing partner who would shortly thereafter undergo a teen pregnancy, by a separate suitor, however. Occasionally they would even see a movie. On the night in question, that which would go on to define the course of the Mick’s life in more ways than he would care to admit, he had purchased a ticket for what was supposed to have been his second screening in the third installment of the Harry Potter film adaptations, The Prisoner of Azkaban, however, with the expressed plan to sneak into something R-rated, either the teen sex comedy — Girl Next Door, the cutting edge body horror-slash-torture porn — Saw or the revenge action thriller Man on Fire, in retrospect really the only worthwhile one of the bunch, although GND does have its moments. In the course of he and his comrades performing reconnaissance to identify which of any of the three entrances was unmanned by an acne-scarred sentry, the Mick was stopped dead in his tracks by something he smelled, wafting from the end of the corridor. And it wasn’t buttered popcorn [diacetyl]. It was weed [tetrahydrocannabinol {THC}], cowboy. You bet your sweet ass. Like an old-timey cartoon, led by his upturned nose he danced along the scent plume’s trail toward a unmarked theater — Theater Nine and Three-Quarters, if you will — at the far aft of the movie house. Now he could hear the music. He entered into a state of divine banishment; glorious ostracism. Never fully to return.

And we're glad glad glad that you're alive

And we're glad glad glad that you'll arrive

And we're glad glad glad glad glad glad glad

And we're glad glad glad that you're a glide)

(Okay, for all the non-heads out there, what had happened was that the Mick made this discovery — which altered the course of his life in ways he wouldn’t care to admit — of his all-time favourite band Phish, on the occassion of what was billed to be their farewell run. As such, it was simulcast into movie theaters in jam band-friendly markets across North America. Last picture show, type of shit. What the Mick couldn’t tell by seeing his dilated pupils projected onto a sixty-foot screen was that Trey was in a bad fucking way. Had been for some time. Downers. God damn opiates. Of course they had gone on hiatus before in the late nineties. This time was different though. Seemed like if they didn’t stop for real Trey was going to die. Seems like a no-brainer then. No sense in losing one’s life over a silly thing like music. Well not exactly. You see by then Phish was more than a band. They were a company. Phish, Inc. With obligations outstanding. In an interview with Anthony Mason of CBS Sunday Morning, on the occassion of their thirtieth anniversary, Trey recounts how all of their close personal friends — some of their family members even — were on the payroll. That at-the-time they had in the ballpark of eighty full-time employees working out of an office park in Burlington. That’s a small-to-medium sized business, kimosabe. If they as a band stop going on gigs, then all those people — people they’ve known and loved their whole lives — are out of theirs. And this is to say nothing of their legion of devoted fans. What the hell are they supposed to do? Get a job? You sound like their mothers.

Wouldn’t you know that the Grateful Dead, in their day, stared down the very same dilemma. Like Trey after him, Jerry was killing himself on stage every night in front of thousands of people who worshipped him. His only chance at getting out alive was to call the whole thing off. Stop the fucking music, once and for all. But he couldn’t. Too many people depended on him. And in the Dead too, they were more than just employees. For a fact, they were referred to as The Family. So even when the other guys in the band would take a break, Jerry would keep going. Head back out on the road with the Jerry Garcia Band [JGB]. Keep the paychecks coming. The good times rolling.

Maybe Trey learned from Garcia’s martyrdom. Whatever the justification was, they shut it all down. Everybody got let go. And the fans, they were pissed. Four years they had to wait. Like it’s the fucking Winter Olympics. For his part the Mick didn’t much mind. Getting to the party just as it was presumed to be over. Maybe it was he didn’t know enough to know what he was missing. Beside, he had the whole back catalogue to work through.)

Women are understood, as well as expected to be more patient. However, a Phish concert is one of those special few places on the Planet Earth where the queue for the Ladies’ Room is the considerably shorter. (Monster truck rallies, minor league hockey games, the Arab peninsular state of Qatar — all make great date night ideas for this reason.) Kitty, being the supportive partner she was, had tagged along to at least a third of those twenty-something or so shows he’d seen in the time they had been together. She never quite Got It. Not in the manner Mick had. But she managed to enjoy herself just fine all the same. Most of all she liked the lights. They reminded her of the planetarium at Space Camp. An immensity of our universe, began one of the elder counselors. For many days before the end of our earth, people will look into the sky and notice a star, increasingly bright and increasingly near. As this star approaches us—as this star approaches us, the weather will change. The great polar fields of the north and the south will rot and divide. The seas will turn warmer. The last of us search the heavens and stand amazed. For the stars will still be there, moving through their ancient rhythms. The thalamic constellations that illuminate our night will seem as they have always seemed: eternal, unchanged and little moved by the sharpness of time between our planet’s birth and its demise. Orion, the hunter. One of thalamus constellations and the most brilliant in the heavens—

Oh for sure … Kuroda is basically the fifth member, as he had Micksplained to her on more than one occassion around when they first began dating.

—Cancer, the crab … Containing a large loose cluster of stars called Presaepe, or the Beehive—

He was referring of course to Chris Kuroda, the band’s longtime lighting designer, forever a fan favorite.

—Taurus, the Bull—

Legend has it that sometime around the late nineteen eighties, Kuroda responded to a classified ad in the Burlington Free Press: WANTED: Creative light person to run new light show for Phish on a salaried, permanent basis. This very valuable partner will travel with the band as a 5th member. We are looking for someone from the New England area -- no need to live in VT. Honor and recognition in case of success. Call (802) XXX-XXXX.

—And while the flash of our beginning … Has not yet travelled the light years into the distance … Has not been seen by planets deep within the other galaxies … we will disappear into the blackness of space from whence we came … destroyed as we began, in a burst of gas and fire.

His genius resides at the intersection of light and sound. This is because he, Kuroda, improvises right along with the band, anticipating their many crescendos and other musical flourishes and syncing his cues accordingly. It’s a fluency he’s honed over many hundreds of shows, spanning decades. His entire adult life.

—The heavens are still and cold once more. In all the complexity of our universe and the galaxies beyond, the Earth will not be missed—

Over the course of his custodianship, as this grand beacon of Phish — a lighthouse on a rocky eddy, orienting the ship to the faded horizon —the band has nonetheless gone on several extended hiatuses — taking time away to start families, pursue solo projects, dry out with the odd rehab stint. On his sabbaticals, Kuroda has carved out a lucrative niche as a phaser gun for hire — mostly moonlight designing arena tours for pop stars. He’s collaborated with the likes of Justin Bieber, Ariana Grande and other luminaries. Their demands differ from those of his day job in that these shows are all choreographed to the micro-second, so as to be repeatable night-after-night in cities around the world. (Hello Cleveland!) Tedious work for a man of his talent? Perhaps. But that’s not to say there aren’t perks. Notably these freelance gigs allow for him to experiment creatively with pyrotechnics, lasers and other elements which are not a part of Phish’s standard arsenal. So that’s something.

—Through the infinite reaches of space, the problems of Man seem trivial and naive indeed—

Without a doubt, dipping his toes into the mainstream has influenced his ongoing life’s work with Phish. For many years the band performed in front of backdrops designed by the visual artist Marj Minkin, also bassist Mike Gordon’s mother. Until Kuroda unveiled this new rig — a seventy-plus panel wall of LED lights, suspended in midair, twenty-two feet above the stage. It marked a considerable aesthetic departure, to which fan reception was lukewarm at best. Kuroda, who harbored his own reservations about the propriatary jumbotron, gathered a consensus among the organisation that video just wasn’t their thing. But while the endeavour was short-lived, it bled into subsequent innovations in LD automation, including the mechanized network of trusses which have become a mainstay not only at Phish shows, but have permeated the concert lighting industry writ large.

—And Man, existing alone, seems to be an episode of little consequences.

###

There was a neon sign behind the bar depicting Doctor Lupus, chugging a Wolff Light. It would flash in such a way that his right foreleg — the one holding the can (wolves don’t have arms) — would have the appearance of raising up to his muzzle and pouring a fluorescent golden stream onto his protruding tongue, which would then retract contemporaneously to the can being lowered back down. Meanwhile, with the opposite paw, he would quick draw, spin, fire once into the air and then reholster a six-shooter, before turning his head to disperse the gunsmoke with a hearty belch. Hank had bid for the item at one of the many estate auctions he attended over the years.

Apart from elaborately illuminated Doctor Lupus, the Newfy didn’t have any sophisticated lighting or other A/V effects to speak of, for which to accompany the Mick’s Choices. Sometimes Kitty would find a black-and-white movie on the plasma screen TV above the bar — maybe a Kung Fu flick or something else cool like that — and play it on mute in the background. (You’ve probably heard from your older sister’s boyfriend that The Dark Side of the Moon by Pink Floyd syncs up perfectly with The Wizard of Oz if you press play precisely when the MGM lion roars for a third time. But did you also know that Can’t Buy a Thrill by Steely Dan and The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers bear no relation to one another whatsoever?) Tonight there was just a game that Mick was distractedly watching while Kitty finished her homeworks. It was halftime in Football Night in America. Redskins versus Cowboys — a nationally televised matchup of massive media markets you’d have seen dozens of times if you’d seen it once. Pitting bitter division rivals, two formerly proud football institutions become moribund franchises, mired through decades of mismanagement, for which team ownership takes no accountability, being as they are themselves buried under the weight of expectations by their entitled asshole fanbases.

With the score deadlocked at six after two quarters, this particular tilt was shaping up to be a real fucking pillow fight. Anyway, it’s not like the Mick had any dog in the fight. But what the hell. It was on, wasn’t it? Sometimes that was enough.

(In an increasingly fragmented media landscape, with myriad cable channels and the emergence of over-the-top [OTT] video content streaming platforms, professional football remains among the few reliable ratings draws for networks to sell advertising against. You look at a list of the Top Ten most viewed TV shows in a given sweeps period, eight of them are all but guaranteed to be primetime games. The other two are singing competition-based reality shows. For some reason people really fucking love those.)

[This evening’s halftime entertainment was the Tuition Toss Up, Proudly Presented by Wolff Light. Two competitors were given thirty seconds on the clock to throw as many footballs into a large plywood cutout of Dr. Lupus’ mouth. The Winner would receive fifty-thousand dollars — made out on a giant cardboard check — to be placed in escrow and paid toward an accredited higher education institution of their choosing. {That ought to cover a semester or two.} But don’t worry about The Loser … Because nobody leaves the Tuition Toss Up empty-handed. The Runner Up would receive a some-expenses-paid vacation voucher to a Wolffenbeir Company-partner resort, as well as discount airfare for two.

As the two undergraduates desperately underhanded pigskins, rattling off the snarling fangs of this two-dimensional beast — as if he were blowing them beyond the target — the Mick thought of Russell Schehrer of all fucking people. Russ, who could often be found on the beer league soccer Pitch, as he insisted on calling it, didn’t much care for American Football, as he insisted on calling it. No doubt though, he would have had a field day with this spectacle.

I mean, what’s next? The Tackling Healthcare Cost Challenge, brought to you by Big Insurance. Two chronically ill patients face off in an Oklahoma Drill — a full-contact contest to decide who truly is the toughest in the fight against Type Two Diabetes. Better not play pre-existing condition defense. Because winner gets their insulin, hospital bills and assorted other medical expenses paid in part {conditions apply — see website for details}. Second place goes home with a free month’s-supply of diet sodas and a t-shirt jersey. The Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program Long SNAPping Derby …

{Russ didn’t converse so much as he would just riff. When he’d start in talking, one could get up from the conversation, go to the restroom, wash his hands, pour himself a fresh beer, sit back down and Russ’d still be there jawing away. Like he was fucking Bill Hicks. And hell, maybe he was half right most the time. But boy was it tiresome.}])

For this week’s selection, the Mick had played it somewhat safe with an underrated classic: Phish. 1996 Fall Tour. 6 December 1996, The Aladdin Theater, Las Vegas. On the one hand, just a super playful set. Some very adventurous riffs on a few standards — Wilson, Llama, a monster Mike’s Groove. But then you can also tell the band is really rounding into its Apex Form. Like, listen to the fucking YEM … it’s fucking all-time, man. Honestly, it wouldn’t be crazy to say that whatever roll they got started with this show — the Fall Tour finale — catapulted them into the legendary run of Winter and Summer Ninety-Seven. The encore … It’s a countdown to takeoff.

Because this was the Mick’s Choices, after all, he had taken the liberty of skipping straight to said encore, beginning at the end on Disc Three of three. Spanning forty minutes, really it was more of a third set unto itself. A self-contained rock opera, if you please, crescendoed around the oft-requested Harpua, a ballad about a boy and his cat, on an odyssey to a desert oasis, or at least in this telling. The Mick and his compatriots had arrived at the part of the story where a pair of cowgirl sirens beckon four Elvis impersonators onto stage with their hypnotic yodeling. They challenge the young boy to battle, in the form of a dueling performance of the song Suspicious Minds, which was something of a comeback hit for the King. Shakes of his latter career death rattle. The boy, played by drummer John Fishman, himself donning Presley’s signature satin cape over his own signature donut dress, sings the ultimate verse with Trey taking his place on percussion. Finishing it off with a few arm windmills and karate chops, successfully he gains passage from the Elvises. Again, the Mick was not particularly proud to know this. He would be especially embarrassed to see it all written out like that in regular English. And nevertheless …

We’re caught in a trap

I can’t walk out

Because I love you too much, baby

Why can’t you see?

What you’re doing to me

When you don’t believe a word I say

[Rollicking keys]

Grace was but a tiny little baby — if she were even born — the night this encore occurred. The Mick would have been just a small boy himself, not unlike like our hero, Harpua, and he figured to be some years older than her. Still, she had heard the recording of this show, although she had only cherry-picked the first set for Harry Hood, her own personal national anthem. Something of a Harry completist, Grace had heard hundreds of versions. This was pretty good Hood. By no means the best, although she couldn’t rattle off, say her top five renditions. Not off the top of her head. Grace didn’t have anywhere’s near the Mick’s advanced degree of scholarship on the band’s live oeuvre. She’d likely been to as many if not more shows though.

Whereas the rest of the Newfers only tolerated the Mick’s Choices out of pure professional obligation, a true fan herself, Grace truly appreciated her boss’s curatorship. Tonight though she wasn’t fully Feeling It, having found herself in a bit of a funk. This of course owing to the love triangle that she became entangled in that afternoon. The details aren’t important, or any of your fucking business by her estimation. But suffice it to say the bizarre situation of being caught between contemporaneous lovers met an predictably awkward end.

Zeke meanwhile was over the moon simply to be in Grace’s orbit, albeit seated a full five stools away on the opposing end of the bar, separated by Mick, Kitty and a strange man dressed as a Cowboy.

#novls of tumblr #chris kuroda #ck5 #washington football team

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januszcebula · 1 year

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Zakupowe inspiracje - 21 maj 2023 - paczka 1

#AliExpress | #ZakupoweInspiracje — 21/05/2023 - paczka 1 #AliExpressPL #Promocja Promocje & Kody na MAJ http://januszcebula.pl/AliExpress/AktualnePromocje #JanuszCebula #TanioNaAli Dołącz: #Telegram https://t.me/PlJanuszCebula #WhatsApp https://chat.whatsapp.com/Hc7RuVvpR11KCZ6hQINqes Postaw ☕ #Zrzutka https://zrzutka.pl/z/janusz-cebula-pl

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insanethrottlebikernews · 1 year

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FUGITIVE BANDIDO MC CLUB MEMBER CAUGHT

A member of the Bandidos Motorcycle gang who was on the lam has been arrested, authorities said. The Texas Department of Public Safety Criminal Investigations Division with the assistance of the U.S. Border Patrol arrested Matthew Joshua Laureano, 36, of San Antonio. 00:00 Luck has run out 00:31 Bandidos MC Member Arrested at Border 02:00 This is how many people are brainwashed 06:56 I…

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#bandidos mc #bandidos mc australia #bandidos mc documentary #bandidos mc interview #bandidos mc texas #bandidos mc texas chapters #Biker News #biker news 1%#insane throttle #LUCK RUNS OUT FOR MEMBER OF THE BANDIDOS MC #motorcycle club #outlaw biker news 1%#outlaws Motorcycle club

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sydcarkingau · 1 year

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Hire scooters near me in Au

Enjoy scooter hiring & rental services in Sydney. One can hire scooters or rent a scooter near me at the lowest price. Contact us for a scooter hire near me in Sydney.

LAMS-approved late models scooters hire in Sydney. Perfect for food delivery, Hungry panda, Deliveroo, menulog, or shift-based jobs. SYD CAR KING PTY LTD was established in 2019 and is committed to providing cheaper, safe, and more reliable motorcycle rental services throughout Australia, as well as providing high-quality motorcycle maintenance and repair services.

Get in touch for more information, Location: 5-7 bourke road Alexandria NSW 2015 Mobile: 0455 307 888

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carmenkennylukeyip · 2 years

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急救醫療電單車 ⚕️ Emergency Medical Assistant Motorcycle ⚕️ ［A610］［薄扶林救護站（上環消防局）］［POK FU LAM AMBULANCE DEPOT（SHEUNG WAN FIRE STATION）］本田 ST1300P Honda ST1300P @honda #香港 #緊急車輛 #香港緊急車輛 #救護車 #香港救護車 #香港消防處 #急救醫療電單車 #EMAMC #本田 #本田ST1300P #A610 #薄扶林救護站 #上環消防局 #honda #CarmenKennyLukeYip #HongKong #EmergencyVehicle #HongKongEmergencyVehicle #Ambulance #HongKongAmbulance #HongKongFireServicesDepartment #EmergencyMedicalAssistantMotorcycle #EMAMC #Honda #HondaST1300P #A610 #POKFULAMAMBULANCEDEPOT #SHEUNGWANFIRESTATION #honda #CarmenKennyLukeYip（在上環消防局） https://www.instagram.com/p/ClGLLAayrye/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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longboulder · 2 years

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Solitaire plus for windows repair kit

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mimimouseeeee · 3 years

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Cop: You’re receiving a ticket for having three people on one motorcycle.

Mulligan: Shit.

Hamilton: Wait, three?

Cop: Yeah?

Laurens: OH MY GOD LAFAYETTE FELL OFF

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themichaellamcollection-blog · 4 years

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At the ready Walking around with a DSLR tends to intimidate people around me, or at the very least make them change the way they were behaving; their attitude, their posture, their general demeanor changes when they see a camera.

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dailyunsolvedmysteries · 2 years

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Murder of Nurin Jazlin

Nurin Jazlin (8) was abducted just outside the family's rented apartment in Wangsa Maju in August 2007. 28 days later on the morning of 17 September 2007, a brand-new gym bag was left in front of a shop lot in PJS 1/48, Petaling Jaya, discovered by the shop owner. It contained an unidentified child's naked body which had been stuffed in the fetal position; police believed that she had been dead for more than six hours before the discovery.

A cucumber and a brinjal (eggplant) were found stuffed inside her genitals and had caused her rectum to rupture. She had been raped and murdered. It was determined that bacterial infection had contributed to her death. At the time, Nurin Jazlin's parents were not able to identify the body as their daughter's due to the changes in her physical features; it was even suggested that the child might be a foreigner, as she lacked the scar which would be caused by the mandatory BCG vaccination against tuberculosis. Her parents initially maintained hope that their daughter might be alive and were the victims of several prank calls from people claiming that Nurin was under their care.

Later DNA tests conducted confirmed the body as Nurin Jazlin's. Her body was later claimed by her family from the Kuala Lumpur Hospital (HKL) and she was buried at the Muslim cemetery in Taman Ibukota.

Inspector-general of police Musa Hassan initially suggested that he would investigate whether Nurin's parents had been negligent, an offence which could lead to charges under Section 33 of the Child Act 2001. The suggestion provoked public outcry, most prominently from Lee Lam Thye, chairman of the Malaysia Crime Prevention Foundation, who responded that punishing the parents further would be unfair. On 28 September, federal agents raided a shop in Section 7, Shah Alam, where they arrested four men and one woman between the ages of 27 and 35 in connection with the murder. The woman was released after questioning, while the men were remanded to police custody for seven days. However, they were released unconditionally three days later due to lack of evidence. Police then proceeded to put up an award of RM10,000 for information leading to the arrest of Nurin's killer; an anonymous private businessman agreed to match that with an additional RM10,000.

On 2 October, police arrested an Indonesian woman at a market in Nilai, Negeri Sembilan; when confronted, the woman attempted to swallow a SIM card she was carrying. On 11 October, police released video footage captured by a CCTV camera near a shoplot in Petaling Utama, Petaling Jaya, where the sports bag containing the body of eight-year-old Nurin was found. The CCTV footage was sent on 26 September to the FBI to enhance the clarity of the blurred images. The first clip, captured at about 1 pm on September 16, showed a motorcyclist carrying a sports bag (with Nurin's body in it) and leaving it at the shoplot. The second clip, recorded one hour later, showed a woman loitering around the shoplot who was later picked up by three men arriving at the scene. The enhanced footage, however, failed to reveal the face of the motorcyclist and the license plate of the motorcycle.

The case remains unsolved.

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improvidence318 · 4 years

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i said screw it so here it is

howdy howdy, this is the anon with the 20’s lingo sheet. i don’t have a tumblr (though i wish i do tbh) and realized that i don’t know how to work shit on tumblr, so i’m just sending in the sheet through a text post. i am highly aware of the amount of power i’m bestowing upon you and honestly couldn’t give a damn

ab-so-lute-ly: affirmative all wet: incorrect And how!: I strongly agree! ankle: to walk, i.e.. “Let’s ankle!” apple sauce: flattery, nonsense, i.e.. “Aw, applesauce!” Attaboy!: well done!; also, Attagirl!

baby: sweetheart. Also denotes something of high value or respect. baby grand: heavily built man baby vamp: an attractive or popular female, student. balled up: confused, messed up. baloney: Nonsense! Bank’s closed.: no kissing or making out ie. “Sorry, mac, bank’s closed.” bearcat: a hot-blooded or fiery girl beat it: scram, get lost. beat one’s gums: idle chatter bee’s knee’s: terrific; a fad expression. Dozens of “animal anatomy” variations existed: elephant’s eyebrows, gnat’s whistle, eel’s hips, etc. beef: a complaint or to complain. beeswax: business, i.e. “None of your beeswax.” Student. bell bottom: a sailor bent: drunk berries: (1) perfect (2) money big cheese: important person big six: a strong man; from auto advertising, for the new and powerful six cylinder engines. bimbo: a tough guy bird: general term for a man or woman, sometimes meaning “odd,” i.e. “What a funny old bird.” blotto (1930 at the latest): drunk, especially to an extreme bootleg: illeagal liquor breezer (1925): a convertable car bug-eyed Betty (1927): an unattractive girl, student. bull: (1) a policeman or law-enforcement official, including FBI. (2) nonesense (3) to chat idly, to exaggerate bump off: to kill bum’s rush, the: ejection by force from an establishment bunny (1925): a term of endearment applied to the lost, confused, etc. Often coupled with “poor little.” bus: any old or worn out car.

cake-eater: a lady’s man caper: a criminal act or robbery. cat’s meow: great, also “cat’s pajamas” and “cat’s whiskers” cash: a kiss Cash or check?: Do we kiss now or later? cast a kitten: to have a fit. Used in both humorous and serious situations. i.e. “Stop tickling me or I’ll cast a kitten!” Also, “have kittens.” cheaters: eye glasses check: Kiss me later. chewing gum: double-speak, or ambiguous talk. choice bit of calico: attractive female, student. chopper: a Thompson Sub-Machine Gun, due to the damage its heavy .45 caliber rounds did to the human body. chunk of lead: an unnattractive female, student. clam: a dollar coffin varnish: bootleg liquor, often poisonous. copacetic: excellent crasher: a person who attends a party uninvited crush: infatuation cuddler: one who likes to make out

daddy: a young woman’s boyfriend or lover, especially if he’s rich. daddy-o: a term of address dame: a female. Did not gain widespread use until the 1930’s. dapper: a Flapper’s dad darb: a great person or thing. “That movie was darb.” dead soldier: an empty beer bottle. deb: a debutant. dewdropper: a young man who sleeps all day and doesn’t have a job. dogs: feet doll: an attractive woman. dolled up: dressed up don’t know from nothing: doesn’t have any information don’t take any wooden nickels: don’t do anything stupid. doublecross: to cheat, stab in the back. dough: money drugstore cowboy: A well-dressed man who loiters in public areas trying to pick up women. dry up: shut up, get lost ducky: very good dumb Dora: an absolute idiot, a dumbbell, especially a woman; flapper.

earful: enough egg: a person who lives the big life

face stretcher: an old woman trying to look young fella: fellow. As common in its day as “man,” “dude,” or “guy” is today. “That John sure is a swell fella.” fire extinguisher: a chaperone fish: (1) a college freshman (2) a first timer in prison flat tire: a bore flivver: a Model T; after 1928, also could mean any broken down car. floorflusher: an insatiable dancer flour lover: a girl with too much face powder fly boy: a glamorous term for an aviator For crying out loud!: same usage as today four-flusher: a person who feigns wealth while mooching off others.

gams (1930): legs gatecrasher: see “crasher” get-up (1930): an outfit. get a wiggle on: get a move on, get going get in a lather: get worked up, angry giggle water: booze gimp: cripple; one who walks with a limp. Gangster Dion O’Bannion was called Gimpy due to his noticeable limp. gin mill: a seller of hard liquor; a cheap speakeasy glad rags: “going out on the town” clothes go chase yourself: get lost, scram. gold-digger (1925): a woman who pursues men for their money. goods, the: (1) the right material, or a person who has it (2) the facts, the truth, i.e. “Make sure the cops don’t get the goods on you.” goof: (1) a stupid or bumbling person, (2) a boyfriend, flapper. goofy: in love grummy: depressed grungy: envious

handcuff: engagement ring hard-boiled: tough, as in, a tough guy, ie: “he sure is hard-boiled!” hayburner: (1) a gas guzzling car (2) a horse one loses money on heavy sugar (1929): a lot of money heebie-jeebies (1926): “the shakes,” named after a hit song. heeler: a poor dancer high hat: a snob. hip to the jive: cool, trendy hit on all sixes: to perform 100 per cent; as “hitting on all six cylinders”; perhaps a more common variation in these days of four cylinder engines was “hit on all fours”. See “big six”. hood (late 20s): hoodlum hooey: nonsense. Very popular from 1925 to 1930, used somewhat thereafter. hop: a teen party or dance Hot dawg!: Great!; also: “Hot socks!" Rarely spelled as shown outside of flapper circles until popularized by 1940s comic strips. hot sketch: a card or cut-up

"I have to go see a man about a dog.”: “I’ve got to leave now,” often meaning to go buy whiskey. icy mitt: rejection insured: engaged iron (1925): a motorcycle, among motorcycle enthusiasts iron one’s shoelaces: to go to the restroom ish kabibble (1925): a retort meaning “I should care." Was the name of a musician in the Kay Kayser Orchestra of the 1930s.

jack: money Jake: great, ie. "Everything’s Jake.” Jalopy: a dumpy old car Jane: any female java: coffee jeepers creepers: a term of exclamation jitney: a car employed as a private bus. Fare was usually five-cents; also called a “nickel.” joe: coffee Joe Brooks: a perfectly dressed person; student. john: a toilet joint: establishment juice joint: a speakeasy

kale: money keen: appealing killjoy: a solemn person knock up: to make pregnant know one’s onions: to know one’s business or what one is talking about

lay off: cut the crap left holding the bag: (1) to be cheated out of one’s fair share (2) to be blamed for something let George do it: a work evading phrase level with me: be honest limey: a British soldier or citizen, from World War I line: a false story, as in “to feed one a line.” live wire: a lively person lollapalooza (1930): a humdinger lollygagger: (1) a young man who enjoys making out (2) an idle person

manacle: wedding ring mazuma: money milquetoast (1924): a very timid person; from the comic book character Casper mind your potatoes: mind your own business. mooch: to leave moonshine: homemade whiskey mop: a handkerchief munitions: face powder

neck: to kiss passionately necker: a girl who wraps her arms around her boyfriend’s neck. nifty: great, excellent noodle juice: tea Not so good!: I personally disapprove. “Now you’re on the trolley!”: Now you’ve got it, now you’re right.

off one’s nuts: crazy Oh yeah!: I doubt it! old boy: a male term of address, used in conversation with other males. Denoted acceptance in a social environment. Also “old man” “old fruit.” “How’s everything old boy?” Oliver Twist: a skilled dancer on a toot: a drinking binge on the lam: fleeing from police on the level: legitimate, honest on the up and up: on the level orchid: an expensive item ossified: drunk owl: a person who’s out late

palooka: (1) a below-average or average boxer (2) a social outsider, from the comic strip character Joe Palooka, who came from humble ethnic roots panic: to produce a big reaction from one’s audience percolate: (1) to boil over (2) As of 1925, to run smoothly; “perk” pet: necking, only more; making out petting pantry: movie theater piffle: baloney piker: (1) a cheapskate (2) a coward pill: (1) a teacher (2) an unlikable person pinch: to arrest. Pinched: to be arrested. pinko: liberal pipe down: stop talking prom-trotter: a student who attends all school social functions pos-i-lute-ly: affirmative, also “pos-i-tive-ly” punch the bag: small talk putting on the ritz: after the Ritz Hotel in Paris (and its namesake Caesar Ritz); doing something in high style. Also “ritzy.”

rag-a-muffin: a dirty or disheveled individual rain pitchforks: a downpour razz: to make fun of Real McCoy: a genuine item regular: normal, typical, average; “Regular fella.” Reuben: an unsophisticated country bumpkin. Also “rube” Rhatz!: How disappointing! rub: a student dance party rubes: money or dollars rummy: a drunken bum

sap: a fool, an idiot. Very common term in the 20s. says you: a reaction of disbelief scratch: money screaming meemies: the shakes screw: get lost, get out, etc. Occasionally, in pre 1930 talkies (such as The Broadway Melody) screw is used to tell a character to leave. One film features the line “Go on, go on – screw!" screwy: crazy; "You’re screwy!” sheba: one’s girlfriend sheik: one’s boyfriend simolean: a dollar sinker: a doughnut sitting pretty: in a prime position skirt: an attractive female smarty: a cute flapper smudger: a close dancer sockdollager: an action having a great impact so’s your old man: a reply of irritation speakeasy: a bar selling illeagal liquor spill: to talk spoon: to neck, or at least talk of love static: (1) empty talk (2) conflicting opinion stilts: legs struggle: modern dance stuck on: in love, student. sugar daddy: older boyfriend who showers girlfriend with gifts swanky: (1) good (2) elegant swell: (1) good (2) a high class person

take someone for a ride: to take someone to a deserted location and murder them. tasty: appealing teenager: not a common term until 1930; before then, the term was “young adults.” tell it to Sweeney: tell it to someone who’ll believe it. tight: attractive Tin Pan Alley: the music industry in New York, located between 48th and 52nd Streets tomato: a “ripe” female torpedo: a hired thug or hitman

unreal: special upchuck: to vomit upstage: snobby

vamp: (1) a seducer of men, an aggressive flirt (2) to seduce voot: money

water-proof: a face that doesn’t require make-up wet blanket: see Killjoy wife: dorm roomate, student. What’s eating you?: What’s wrong? whoopee: wild fun Woof! Woof!: ridicule

You slay me!: That’s funny!

zozzled: drunk

have fun.

#it's the 20s slang list #thanks dude #submission

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dakt37 · 3 years

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Avengers Assemble - Feral Outlaw Stony

So I've been expanding on this concept I doodled before Christmas, where Steve goes with Tony into the no-tech dimension at the end of season 3. Probably a lot of stuff isn't canon-compliant (beyond the obvious change that is), but "It's an AU so I do what I want" rules apply. Anyway.

The tl;dr is: The two of them spend a little time puttering around the weird no-tech dimension, and then get absorbed into Battleworld. They become explorers, helping people out and falling in love along the way.

(Once again, I feel like someone must have had this idea already, but I’ve never looked.)

Cut for excessive rambling.

~~~

Not all the areas we see in the show are present in Battleworld when Steve and Tony first arrive, so the boys spend most of their time traveling around, mapping the place out as it expands. A lot of my ideas rely on them still having little-to-no access to modern conveniences. Obviously someplace modern has to show up for them to get their hands on a pickup truck and a motorcycle, but I’m picturing a post-apocalyptic junkyard that’s been picked clean of anything obviously useful. They get the vehicles working by sheer force of “I’m Tony-fucking-Stark.” But like that fully functional NYC area is way too convenient, so it’s not around yet. (tbh I’m not even sure if it’s an alternate NYC or theirs, in which case it wouldn’t show up until the other Avengers do anyway)

They get the low-down on the "Battleworld" concept by eavesdropping on one of Beyonder's* welcome speeches. They realize that they are uniquely off the grid, because Beyonder didn't know they were in the no-tech dimension when he added it to Battleworld. They decide it's advantageous to maintain this secret status, but they're still Avengers™️ so they can't NOT help out wherever they can. But they don’t stick around any one place for long. Basically, they become vagrant vigilantes in addition to surveyors. They get a lot of their “stuff” (clothes, tools, toiletries, etc) as payment for odd jobs, or gifts from grateful locals they rescue. They get some food from populated areas as well, but also rely on foraging and hunting while on the lam. They have definitely eaten dinosaur at some point.

(*He doesn't get the nickname "Beyonder" until the other Avengers show up. In this AU Steve and Tony refer to him as "The Entity" or "Suspenders." You can probably guess who tends to use which.)

On top of the survival story, it's also a getting-together story. Steve and Tony flirt and pine and bicker and flirt some more, until a squabble turns into a confession and they finally start kissing. There’s plenty of time for “it’s cold in this wasteland and we only have one blanket, oh no,” but they’re firmly established as romantically involved by the time the other Avengers show up and they have the final showdown with Beyonder.

Anyway a lot of the AU notes I've been making are about the functional side of their Big Camping Adventure. So here's a bunch of lists about vehicles, gadgets, and navigation.

Vehicle stuff:

If Tony is riding passenger on the motorcycle, he can clip his repulsor boots into special footrests that reroute the energy and give the bike a speed boost.

The bike has a tow cable. Steve can harpoon things using a spring-action firing mechanism, including cliff faces to help him scale steep terrain. The cable can also be uncoiled manually, like when Tony takes flight while holding the end so he and Steve can clothesline hostiles.

Steve can stick his shield several places on the bike depending on what’s convenient. On the front as a windscreen/battering ram, on one side for easy grabbing, and even on Tony’s backpack so Tony can snuggle in properly while riding passenger and keep both their backs protected.

They probably don’t even need a ramp to get the bike into the bed of the pickup. Steve just picks it up and puts it there.

The evolution of Marsha (the truck) into a full Hulkbuster-style mech takes a long time. For the majority of their time in Battleworld, it’s just a truck with an ever-increasing number of weird add-ons.

Marsha can function as a tiny camper home. The cargo bed liner is a false bottom, which can be pulled up and rearranged to form a cover/roof. Underneath the liner, the actual truck bed is about a foot deeper, with most of that storage space taken up by a mattress and bedding.

Tony can pull a cable out of Marsha’s steering column and plug it directly into his arc reactor. This unlocks extra features and weapons. He generally has things balanced so that Marsha drawing power doesn't affect him any more than his armor drawing power would. But on rare and desperate occasions, he can overclock and hurt himself. Steve of course hates when he does this.

Turnabout is fair play though: at least once, something else damaged the arc reactor, so Tony plugged into Marsha to draw power from the battery for his electromagnet while he repaired the arc.

Gasoline can be difficult to procure, so both vehicles are hybrids. Tony just keeps adding new power conversion elements as they go along, based on what they can find.

F in chat for Tony’s armor:

Tony dismantles the armor he’d been wearing when they first went into the no-tech dimension.

Obviously he keeps skeletal versions of the repulsor boots and gloves in-tact enough to function.

He also keeps most of the helmet, for when he’s riding with Steve on the motorcycle. Mostly because Steve insisted. It's gutted of tech though, so if the faceplate stays as part of the design, the eyes are just holes (like in the classic comics).

The rest of the pieces are kept in a large packing trunk.

Tony repurposes some parts into useful gadgets for himself and Cap, plus the odd toy for other Avengers (like Widow’s new stinger gauntlets) because he’s optimistic like that.

Electronics use precious metals like gold and copper, so Tony scrapes some out to pay for things in certain areas of Battleworld, like the cowboy town or the pirate area. He might also barter with other general bits like wires and screws, but he avoids parting with any actual full tech.

Plug-n-play Gadgets

Since the power draw for Tony's electromagnet is actually fairly minimal, Tony makes use of the arc reactor as a charging station, mostly when he sleeps. It's not like there's a corner store they can drop by to get a pack of batteries. Things he charges include (but are not limited to):

Flashlight for Steve. The bulbs for it came from the eyes in the Iron Man helmet. Note: Tony doesn't need a flashlight himself because he can turn up his arc brightness apparently, lmao.

Camp stove. Steve questioned Tony building one for a hot second because hello we can build campfires to cook over? But then it’s raining and they're in a cave and Tony is like, "if you fill this space with smoke I will divorce you before we're even married." And Steve is like "camp stove wow yes okay." Also they had camp stoves in WW2 so honestly it was simply a Himbo Moment to disregard the virtues of one in the first place.

Walkie talkies. I know they had Avengers comms but I like the aesthetic of walkie talkies more. Maybe the comms relied on satellites that they obviously don't have anymore or something.

Navigation:

Speaking of a lack of satellites, the GPS in Tony’s armor is rendered useless. Steve is real smug about it and pulls out his old-fashioned compass. But Battleworld also doesn’t have proper poles, so it just spins wildly for a few seconds and then points at Tony’s electromagnet. Not to be deterred, Steve declares, “Well, you’re never lost if you can find Polaris.” They look up and realize that the night sky, despite having stars and a moon, is not at all arranged the way it is on Earth.

Tony takes this as a Challenge. He builds a sextant, then spends the next several nights in a row muttering math under his breath as he painstakingly creates a hand-drawn star chart. This, combined with landmarks, becomes the primary way they orient themselves as they roam around Battleworld.

Many nights, Steve and Tony lie in the bed of the pickup together and make up constellations named after other Avengers and friends. Steve makes a copy of Tony’s star chart and sketches artistic renditions of the constellations on top. To close this post with an interesting visual, here’s an example of what Tony’s star map might look like vs what Steve’s would more resemble:

#avengers assemble #avengers assemble AU #battleworld AU #Feral Outlaw Stony AU #stevetony #dakity yaks #Dakt rambles about Avengers stuff #long post

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