Fact #1: laser sights don’t help your aim; they’re highly inaccurate at any range longer than a couple dozen yards and only good for rapid target acquisition
Fact #2: absolutely every precision shooter knows this
Fact #3: almost nobody else knows this because movies have erroneously taught people that snipers paint a red dot on the target’s chest before they shoot them
Fact #4: any nazi who notices a red dot on their chest while giving a speech is going to immediately stop talking and get off the stage, probably while shitting themself
Fact #5: laser pointers are cheap, legal, and easy to conceal, and unless there’s smoke or dust or something in the air, theres no way to know where it’s coming from
i dont understand this at all and america scares the fuck out of me
This is the america they don’t want you to see
i love america
This is what you call Waffle House at 2 am when the bars close and everyone is drunk and hungry
*group of people having fun* this site: wtf this is so scary
People having safe fun at a waffle house is scary for most Tumblr bloggers, reports say.
Some context for those not familiar with Waffle House Culture:
Waffle House is one of the few chains in America that’s open 24/7/365, and where you can get both breakfast and lunch/dinner options at any time (I have had so many Breakfast Cheeseburgers at Waffle Houses). The food is really good, and people eat there at all times of the day or night, but it’s particularly popular as a late-night post-drinking spot because it’s all that’s open and it’s the kind of food that tastes especially good when you’re hammered.
Part of Waffle House Protocol is that all the servers and cooks greet every single customer as they come through the door. It sounds lame, but I’ve never been to a Waffle House where that greeting didn’t feel completely heartfelt. My mom is a health nut who could barely find anything on the menu she was willing to eat and yet she describes the Christmas Day lunch we had there one year as one of the nicest meals she’s ever had because everyone was so warm and welcoming. That sense of camaraderie gets turned up to 11, of course, at 2 a.m. when everyone’s shitfaced.
The jukeboxes have Waffle-House-themed songs on them (once you have heard “Raisins in my Toast” you will be earwormed forever) and there is an arcane system of hash brown ordering: scattered, smothered, covered, chunked, topped, diced, peppered, and/or capped. The hot sauce bottles say “Casa de Waffle.”
Once, in Oxford (UK), my husband and I walked past a kebab van very late one night and he said “why do I smell Waffle House”
The location of most Waffle Houses means there’s some… classism that tends to get tied up with Anti-Waffle House Discourse, which is probably lending itself, in part, to this being such a fraught topic. (I’m looking at a map and apparently I was born and raised right in the middle of the Peak Waffle House Density Zone)
there’s also the Waffle House Index, basically an informal index used by FEMA (the US federal disaster agency) to determine how bad a storm is - green (the waffle house is still open), yellow (waffle house is open with a limited menu), and red (WAFFLE HOUSE IS CLOSED OH MY GOD): https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waffle_House_Index
i went into american public school for 6th grade and i pierced someone’s scrotum with a fencing foil that was missing the little rubber safety tip on the end by accident in gym and it was middle school so i was promptly nicknamed “The Nut Slayer” and i cried until my parents let me move back to europe and live with my grandparents
nutslayer is a powerful title
can you imagine a european person coming to your school for 1 year, stabbing you in the ball sac, then promptly fucking back off to europe immediately afterwards. can you imagine being the bloke with the stitch in their scrote because of some mysterious foreign spherepuncturer
In the first age, in the first battle, when the shadows first lengthened, one stood. Burned by the embers of Armageddon, his soul blistered by the fires of Hell and tainted beyond ascension, he chose the path of perpetual torment. In his ravenous hatred he found no peace; and with boiling blood he scoured the Umbral Plains seeking vengeance against the dark lords who had wronged him. He wore the crown of the Night Sentinels, and those that tasted the bite of his sword named him… the Nut Slayer.