#tiry

[zyciestolicy]

Tiry zmiażdżyły auto osobowe na S8! Nie żyje jedna osoba Na strasie S8, w pobliżu węzła Głębocka i Łabiszyńska doszło do tragicznego w skutkach wypadku. Samochód osobowy znalazł się pomiędzy dwiema ciężarówkami, które go dosłownie sprasowały.

[dontthinkitsknowledge]

Hey listen sapphic trans peopl are

[aleksandrawpaszke]

Maraton i ruchanie akrobatyczne

Hola, hola, wy w smalcu upaprane niejadki! Zima za pasem, może byście już skończyli z tymi maratonami?! Szłam dziś po buły do Biedry, aż tu nagle! Jak mnie przebiegło dwóch takich na cienkich nóżkach, w jakichś ceratowych spodniach, jakby mnie TIR minął, ino mi sromidełko na wietrze zafurgotało - mówię jak na spowiedzi! Won mnie z tym, wy kardiopedały, ja was znam! Na fejsie to samo, człowiek uczciwie szuka zdjęć dużych członków bez stulei, a tu każdy tylko zdjęcia, pręży się dumnie, że jest wychudzony i ma numer na sobie - co wy, pojebało was? W Majdanek się bawicie? Maratończycy jebaniutcy - bezpieczny sposób na osiągnięcia sobie znaleźli - ubierz się w kalesony i przebiegnij pół kilometra, zrób sobie zdjęcie i wpierdol to na fejsa. Pochodziłbyś cztery kilometry do szkoły pod górkę, jak ja, to byś miał maraton, ty biurwiu jeden. Wkurwiacie mnie, a powinnam dzień święty święcić.

I jeszcze te małpiszony na instagramie! Mordy im się już powkrzywiały od tych telefonów przed nosem. Technika idzie do przodu, już nawet ajfon ma samowyzwalacz, a te bladzie nic - ciągle z fonem przed nosem, przed lustrem, w sraczu, na dywanie przed szafą, w barze, w przedpokoju, strzalają pozy z mordą wlepioną w telefon. Ostatnio widziałam jedną taką z małpim ryjem jak się chwaliła, że umie nogę podnieść do góry - i tak stała wkomponowana we framugę u siebie na stancji, zamiast się uśmiechnąć na zanętę, że “Pacz synek, jak masz hajs, to możesz mnie ruchnąć w tej pozycji”, to nie - wygięła się jak bażant przy sracze i patrzy w ten ekran, czy dobrze wyszła.

Idę do kościoła, bom się tak dziś nawkurwiała aż mam wypieki pod sromem! Do budy!

[mapastudio]

Nowa publikacja na MaPa Studio | Wordpress/Magento/Allegro/Nowe technologie

New Post has been published on http://mapastudio.pl/blog/szorty/bezpieczne-tiry-wedlug-samsunga/

Bezpieczne tiry według Samsunga

Proste pomysły mają to do siebie, że przeważnie są najlepsze i ciężko im zarzuć jakąś niedoskonałość. No bo co może być bardziej skomplikowanego od kamery zamontowanej z przodu ciągnika i zestawu czterech wyświetlaczy na drzwiach naczepy? Kamera przesyła obraz bezpośrednio na ekrany, dzięki czemu kierowca jadący za tirem doskonale widzi jaka jest sytuacja na drodze przed tirem. Pomysł ten sprawdza się zarówno w ciągu dnia jak i w nocy.

[ieuropejczycyinfo]

Po Niemcach także Francuzi uderzają w polski sektor transportowy

Po Niemcach także Francuzi uderzają w polski sektor transportowy

foto:zbigniewkuzmiuk.pl

Niemcy, a teraz i Francja, forsując stosowanie płacy minimalnej także dla polskich kierowców jeżdżących tranzytem przez te kraje, pogarszają konkurencyjność swojego głównego rywala w transporcie towarowym.

  Francuski rząd dosyć niespodziewanie wniósł do Parlamentu projekt ustawy, w której wprowadza obowiązek stosowania płacy minimalnej dla kierowców ciężarówek…

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[ti-ry]

This Is My Life, So There! (and other ramblings from someone you don't care about.)

My name is Tim Ryan, I’m in my twenty’s and have been blogging around the internet since 2000. As a younger “adult” I held my blog on a once popular site known as Xanga. Boy, those sound like old days… My blog (now removed) was quite popular. These days, though may sound sad, were my golden days as a high-school kid who normally kept to himself. I loved my blog world friends, my robotic friends from all around the world. I missed them when I was offline. I thought about them throughout the day. Felt so secure when I was chatting or blogging to them. The comment box was like a coffee shop, and chat rooms were like the park, or a bar… which sometimes turned in to really gross bars. Hey, the blog even landed me a really nice job working in radio! …but that is another story for another day.

After a while though, I took a step away from the real blogging world. Sometimes I missed it, sometimes not. Then websites like Twitter started popping up and that sort of kept the fire alive. Micro-blogging.  In these years without blogging, I lost touch with many of my online friends, but learned to gain real “in your face” friends. I found that to be really hard. See, with online friends you can log in and hang out. Maybe send a text throughout the day… but you were still free to do your own thing. With real live friends that just took so much more effort! Not that I didn’t put effort into my online friendships, but it was just… different.

So here we sit today and I am writing a blog. I doubt it will ever see success. Maybe not even a single read. But I feel like it’s time to start writing again. I am ready to start telling stories again. I've come to a site like Tumblr where there are not necessarily comment boxes, but better readability. It reminds me of my original home, Xanga. Original, fun… intense.  If you are reading along, please feel free to follow, I’d love to hear your feedback on anything. Even if it's read or follow your blog.

I am going to try a different approach to blogging this time. I hope you stick around; I’ll have some pretty interesting stories coming!

[misstiryqueen-blog]

Q & A: GOGOGO!

So in order to motivate me to start working on characterization, I'm going to hold a rapid-fire "Question and answer" session. 

You can ask anything of anyone. If it doesn't deal too majorly in plot, I'll explain it via that character.

This probably won't last much longer than a day or two. Maybe less. When I've gotten all the questions, I'll go on a rapid fire answering spree here. 

Happy interrogating~

[misstiryqueen-blog]

Black Queen pt. 1

‘This is a bad idea, Tiryon,’ a voice clunked about awkwardly in my head.

‘Of course not, Steve, but I’m not going to back out now,’ my thought shot back at the spirit without giving me a chance to stop pulling a heavy boot over my leg. It was flat-heeled, of course. For what I was about to do, high heels would have been stupid beyond belief. Steve made an odd groaning sound and got about halfway through flashing an image straight into my brain to try and communicate his purpose before stopping and making words again. It wasn’t used to having to legitimately talk to me yet, but I had decided that the mental images were really a little too difficult to understand. Especially after the incident with the Church back in December. An image was enough to break my focus, as we had learned time and time again while I had been training. Though Steve didn’t agree with what I had demanded, the spirit had eventually relented after I pointed out that if I lost my focus in the heat of battle (which seemed to be happening quite a bit as of the past year or two), I could end up dead. When it had tried to protest against that, I simply pointed out that I had almost died at least three times in the past two years. Twice during the Winterfest Fall incident and once with what had happened with the Church.

After that, Steve was a lot more agreeable when it came down to learning how to speak like a human being--at least in my head. It was a fast learner as far as the sounds and vocabulary went, having learned entire dictionaries and textbooks in his own time. It was the method of speaking that got Steve confused. It didn’t quite understand the patterns of human vocal tones, and often gave the wrong message with the words that came out of its metaphorical mouth. There were times where I didn’t quite understand what it wanted me to get. But that didn’t matter at the moment. I was probably going to cut Steve off from my mental channels in a moment anyways--it was going to get in the way if I fucked this up.

“You’re awfully young to be doing this,” Richard, a short and rather pudgey middle aged man looked at me with his glass eye just to creep me out. “You sure you want to get your pretty little self messed up?”

“Whatever. You’ll get your money’s worth,” I replied while pulling a forest green hood over my head. To be honest, at the moment, I was wearing little more than a leotard and a hooded scarf. True, I had a pair of biker gloves and high-heeled boots that slipped up to my thighs, but I felt more like a stripper than anything else. Of course, the outfit was just designed to gain publicity. Everything from the metallic lines traced along the leotard to the purple sun painted across the fabric over my chest was designed by the one that brought me in. Standard procedure, actually. People wanted a show, so they got one.

I stepped through an empty hallway, my heels making thick clicking sounds that reverberated through the emptiness of the halls. What I was about to do wasn’t really my stye or method of choice for, but I was very much aware of a few things that had all but turned my world upside down and then rattled it just to jar me a little more. One of those things was the newly found knowledge that my mother was still alive.

The first time I had walked through the halls I was, at that moment, strolling through, I had the same central thought as I was then. That woman that called herself my mother had to stop being the absolute linchpin to all my problems. Honestly, if not for her, I was convinced that I would have been at home, enjoying the last vestiges of my life before medical school. Summer with the people that I pretended were my friends. Unfortunately, about eight months ago, she left a box of instructions for me, and I was stuck doing...well, exactly what I was doing. Walking down a dark and eerie hallway to a large crowd and someone that was going to suffer by my hand.

It was as though villainy ran through the family.

The hallway ended with an elevator, which dimly lit and cramped, would have made anyone nervous. Unfortunately, it was not my first time in that elevator, and I knew it wasn’t going to be my last. That said, I didn’t feel that little bubbling nervousness that I felt the first time I had stepped into that claustrophobia-inducing room. Rather, it was a fair...relief. I didn’t think much about it, though that might have been because of the drugs. Prescription sedatives that were specially designed for me by one of my...associates, allow me to say. But that’s a story for another time. I had other things to worry about. Sort of.

“And our challenger is a new name in the ring, only five months, and she has so far reigned undefeated! The one and only Violet Verum!”

Ugh. I still had trouble getting used to that dumbass name. It was about then that I started hating whoever it was that sponsored me. Violet Verum? Really? Was that the best that they could come up with? A whole plethora of names that could have been used, and they had to come to Violet Verum? It was shameful, but it was life. The doors to the elevator opened to a cheering crowd, and I stepped forward without a second thought. My opponent was the much larger, much more intimidating “Liberator”. I don’t know who came up with his name, and I don’t really care. All I knew was that if I was the average person, he could easily have kicked my ass across the street without a second thought. Unfortunately for him, I was not the average person. Something that Steve took every free moment to remind me of as I stepped to the middle of the arena, suddenly very much aware that there were cameras focused on me everywhere and countless people staring at a screen and placing their bets.

Someone was going to walk home a very happy person today, considering how high the odds weres tacked against me.

“This is my challenger? A little girl?” the sneering voice was not aided in its graveled tones. I stared at the man with my expression about as unmoved as a statue. I wasn’t realy intimidated, but that was probaby because of the drugs. Again. I couldn’t see much of the man’s face--it was covered with a mask that was far too colorful to be really frightening. “You could give up now, kid. Save yourself a lot of pain.”

“You fail to see that I am not intimidated,” my voice came out lightly laced in icy venom. Enough of it to put the giant in his place, since he actually backed off a step, which I countered with a step forward. See, having minored in psychology my last two years as an undergraduate in college, I was well aware of the effects of intimidation on someone. I didn’t have anything to intimidate most people with. At five foot seven and only one hundred twenty-one  pounds, I was far from intimidating. Especially not to a man that was...maybe twice my weight and a foot taller than me. I kept my hazelnut eyes glued harshly onto my soon-to-be opponent. “We will fight, and unfortunately, your pride and body will end up injured.”

The countdown started. The three flashed on the screens around us.

“Nerd talk isn’t exactly the way to start a fight.”

Two came to my eyes.

“I’ll try not to make you hurt too much, kid.”

One.

“Don’t call me kid, bastard.”

Nobody called me “kid” anymore.