Needed to warm up real bad, hereās a quick sonic ~
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Origami Around
The Bowery Presents

if i look back, i am lost
Cookie Run:Kingdom Official!
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Keni

tannertan36

shark vs the universe

Discoholic šŖ©
Aqua Utopiaļ½ęµ·ć®åŗć§čØę¶ćē“”ć
Sweet Seals For You, Always
TMBGareOK. The Official They Might Be Giants tumblr
Fieri Frames
Show & Tell
The Bright Sessions

#extradirty
The Stonewall Inn
Mike Driver
One Nice Bug Per Day
seen from Vietnam
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seen from United States
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seen from Saudi Arabia
@nolongeractive---sorry-blog
Needed to warm up real bad, hereās a quick sonic ~
HEREāS THE THING THOUGH
I used to work for a call center and I was doing a political survey and I called this number that was randomly generated for me and the way our system worked was voice-activated so when the other person said hello youād get connected to them, so I just launch right into my āHarvard University and NPR blah blah blahā thing and then thereās this long pause and I think the personās hung up even though I didnāt hear a click
And then I hear āyou shouldnāt be able to call this number.ā
So I apologize and go into the preset spiel about because we arenāt selling anything, etc. etc. and the answer I get is
āNo, I know that. What I mean is that it should be impossible for you to call this number, and I need to know how you got it.ā
I explain that itās randomly generated and Iām very sorry for bothering him, and go to hang up. And before I can click terminate, I hear:
āMaāam, this is a matter of national security.ā
I accidentally called the director of the FBI.
My job got investigated because a computer randomly spit out a number to the Pentagon.
This is my new favourite story.
When I was in college I got a job working for a company that manages major air-travel data. It was a temp gig working their out of date system while they moved over to a new one, since my knowing MS Dos apparently made me qualified.
There was no MS Dos involved. Instead, there was a proprietary type-based OS and an actually-uses-transistors refrigerator-sized computer with switches I had to trip at certain times during the night as I watched the data flow from six pm to six AM on Fridays and weekends. If things got stuck, I reset the server.Ā
The company handled everything from low-end data (hotel and car reservations) to flight plans and tower information. I was weighed every time I came in to make sure it was me. Areas of the building had retina scanners on doors.Ā
During training. they took us through all the procedures. Including the procedures for the red phone. There was, literally, a red phone on the shelf above my desk. āThis is a holdover from the cold war.ā They said. āIt isnāt going to come up, but hereās the deal. In case of nuclear war or other nation-wide disaster, the phone will ring. Pick up the phone, state your name and station, and await instructions. Do whatever you are told.ā
So my third night there, itās around 2am and thereās a ringing sound.Ā
I look up, slowly. The Red phone is ringing.
So I reach out, I pick up the phone. I give my name and station number. And I hear every station head in the building do the exact same. One after another, voices giving names and numbers. Then silence for the space of two breaths. Silence broken byā¦
āUh⦠Is Shantavia there?ā
It turns out that every toll free, 1-900 or priority number has a corresponding local number that it routs to at its actual destination. Some poor teenage girl was trying to dial a friend of hers, mixed up the numbers, and got the atomic attack alert line for a major air-travel corporationās command center in the mid-west United States.
Thereās another pause, and the guys over in the main data room are cracking up. The overnight site head is saying āI think you have the wrong number, maāam.ā and Iām standing there having faced the specter of nuclear annihilation before I was old enough to legally drink.
The red phone never rang again while I was there, so the people doing my training were only slightly wrong in their estimation of how often the doomsday phone would ring.Ā
Every time I try to find this story, I end up having to search google with a variety of terms that Iām sure have gotten me flagged by some watchlist, so Iām reblogging it again where I swear Iāve reblogged it before.
But none of these stories even come close to the best one of them all; a wrong number is how the NORAD Santa Tracker got started.
Seriously, this is legit.
In December 1955, Sears decided to run a Santa hotline.Ā Hereās the ad they posted.
Only problem is, they misprinted the number.Ā And the number they printed?Ā It went straight through to fucking NORAD.Ā This was in the middle of the Cold War, when early warning radar was the only thing keeping nuclear annihilation at bay.Ā NORAD was the front line.
And it wasnāt just any number at NORAD.Ā Oh no no no.
Terri remembers her dad had two phones on his desk, including a red one. āOnly a four-star general at the Pentagon and my dad had the number,ā she says.
āThis was the ā50s, this was the Cold War, and he would have been the first one to know if there was an attack on the United States,ā Rick says.
The red phone rang one day in December 1955, and Shoup answered it, Pam says. āAnd then there was a small voice that just asked, āIs this Santa Claus?ā ā
His children remember Shoup as straight-laced and disciplined, and he was annoyed and upset by the call and thought it was a joke ā but then, Terri says, the little voice started crying.
āAnd Dad realized that it wasnāt a joke,ā her sister says. āSo he talked to him, ho-ho-hoād and asked if he had been a good boy and, āMay I talk to your mother?ā And the mother got on and said, āYou havenāt seen the paper yet? Thereās a phone number to call Santa. Itās in the Sears ad.ā Dad looked it up, and there it was, his red phone number. And they had children calling one after another, so he put a couple of airmen on the phones to act like Santa Claus.ā
āIt got to be a big joke at the command center. You know, āThe old manās really flipped his lid this time. Weāre answering Santa calls,ā ā Terri says.
And then, it got better.
āThe airmen had this big glass board with the United States on it and Canada, and when airplanes would come in they would track them,ā Pam says.
āAnd Christmas Eve of 1955, when Dad walked in, there was a drawing of a sleigh with eight reindeer coming over the North Pole,ā Rick says.
āDad said, āWhat is that?ā They say, āColonel, weāre sorry. We were just making a joke. Do you want us to take that down?ā Dad looked at it for a while, and next thing you know, Dad had called the radio station and had said, āThis is the commander at the Combat Alert Center, and we have an unidentified flying object. Why, it looks like a sleigh.ā Well, the radio stations would call him like every hour and say, āWhereās Santa now?ā ā Terri says.
For real.
āAnd later in life he got letters from all over the world, people saying, āThank you, Colonel,ā for having, you know, this sense of humor. And in his 90s, he would carry those letters around with him in a briefcase that had a lock on it like it was top-secret information,ā she says. āYou know, he was an important guy, but this is the thing heās known for.ā
āYeah,ā Rick [his son] says, āitās probably the thing he was proudest of, too.ā
So yeah.Ā I think that might be the best wrong number of all time.
Source:Ā http://www.npr.org/2014/12/19/371647099/norads-santa-tracker-began-with-a-typo-and-a-good-sport
its a hard saddening pill to swallow but cloaks dont look good outside of character design or the runway
you sound boring as shit
you (on the left): boring, afraid of breaking the rules, trend follower
me (on the right): esoteric, unafraid to shake things up, overflowing with untapped power and energyĀ
*goes to england*
me: excuse me, what time is it?
brit: time wots that m8?
*big ben chimes*
everyone starts to count the bongs on their fingers*
brit: OI ITāS 7 BONG
Alternatively Scotland.
*deafening explosion*
Oh itās 1 o'clock.
The what now
The 1 o clock gun.Ā
At one in the afternoon they fire the one o clock gun at edinburgh castle. I think they miss out sundays and xmas.
I always forget about it cause you cant hear it from within my building, but if I happen to be out when it goes off it always without fail makes me jump.Ā
Hey quick question, Scotland
What the fuck
me on death row
officer: you have one last meal, what do you want
me: hmm idk what are you in the mood for
The next time I see one of those āmillenials will be photographing the end of the worldā posts Iām gonna scream because let me tell you, I just went through a natural disaster and Snapchat literally saved peopleās lives. Thanks to snapchat I knew exactly what roads were flooded, what stores were open, what my HOUSE looked like (since I wasnāt there), and which shelters I could go to. People were snapping/tweeting asking to be rescued and THEY WERE. I didnāt get my news from the tv, I saw it in real time on social media and I will never not be grateful for that.
sorry for ignoring you i was mentally dead
does anyone else ever have a meltdown in one chat window and a totally normal conversation in another
Itās nice that modern technology allows compartmentalization to become so very literal.
advanced level is when youre having a normal conversation in one app and a breakdown in another and both convos are with the same person
maybe itāsā¦. subtle.
Way too many parents need to learn the difference between āa child being disrespectfulā and āa human person expressing an opinion that differs from theirsā
framing this
THIS IS GLORIOUS
letās bring this back since weāre still seeing backyard boys wearing camo to try to look like the soldiers theyāre not, while marching against the freedom real soldiers protect
Finn Wolfhard dragging James Charles on twitter
IT was amazing
James Charles is just mad that he didnāt get cast as PennywiseĀ
extra extra read all about it james charles owned by a child so fucking hard he has to counter it with the literal apocalypseĀ
I love that the IT kids are dragging himĀ
every time I tell someone about my potato allergy they go āoh that sucks I canāt imagine not eating fries or mashed potatoes!ā and im like oh rest assured nether god nor the devil himself could stop me from trebucheting hot spoonfuls of starchy face-swelling throat-itching good shit into my dumb as hell gaping potato receptacle
kramer iām still not over the fact that you thought the potato sweats were A Thing
I simply assumed we were all willing to suffer for our passions
forest puppy
thatās a deer
its a forest puppy