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Don't worry man if I (literally no experience in retail + college dropout) can get a job in a fairly good store like River Island, anyone can do anything! haha

 

You have your degree and you seem to at least sort of know what you want to do so I'm sure something will work out eventually

 

Was unemployed for 9months, it sucked. At least I learned to drive during.

 

Have been working in the Cliffs of Moher visitor centre since May.

 

Finally got a "career" job. Heading back to dublin on Sunday. Excite!

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This dude is off his rocker.

 

The world has an interesting way of undoing the shitty things you did shortly after it happens.

 

This "Person"? No exception.

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Was unemployed for 9months, it sucked. At least I learned to drive during.

 

Have been working in the Cliffs of Moher visitor centre since May.

 

Finally got a "career" job. Heading back to dublin on Sunday. Excite!

They alllllll come crawling back......but really fair play! Where is it?

 

Got a call for an interview in American Apparel out of nowhere today, went really well though so we'll see. Have an interview in Kurt Geiger/Brown Thomas on wednesday aswell so hopefully one of them works out. All the while still deciding what course/career I actually want to pursue :/

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They alllllll come crawling back......but really fair play! Where is it?

 

Got a call for an interview in American Apparel out of nowhere today, went really well though so we'll see. Have an interview in Kurt Geiger/Brown Thomas on wednesday aswell so hopefully one of them works out. All the while still deciding what course/career I actually want to pursue :/

 

environmental consultant. based in clonskeagh but do a decent bit of travelling around ireland to different sites which is nice.

 

trying to find a two bedroom flat in the city without getting my bank account raped right now

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I'm 22 and this summer I developed a mild lactose intolerance. Bringing it up now because I just fucking ate a shit ton of dairy and I'm really feeling it now (don't know my limits yet). shit sucks dairy is my favorite food group and I got to keep it in check. 

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@, that sucks but at least you dont have aids...

 

Aged cheese is also lower in lactose, so pick up some 12+ month aged cheeses. Those shouldnt make you sick if you eat them in moderation. 

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also general rule of thumb if im not mistaken is higher fat means lower lactose. Sucks though either way :(

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Just got in the most easily avoidable car accident today. It's not even the money part that's frustrating. I'm disappointed in my self more than anything because there were so many simple things that if I had done beforehand that would have made it completely avoided. At least the damage was pretty minimal. Mainly just scraped paint and a small indent on the backside. I didn't even feel an impact; just heard the sound at first.

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Just got in the most easily avoidable car accident today. It's not even the money part that's frustrating. I'm disappointed in my self more than anything because there were so many simple things that if I had done beforehand that would have made it completely avoided. At least the damage was pretty minimal. Mainly just scraped paint and a small indent on the backside. I didn't even feel an impact; just heard the sound at first.

 

funny coincidence, but i'm way worse off. i drove through a rock wall two weeks ago. did everything wrong. swung a turn w/o coming to a complete stop on a bend in the road in an area i'm still not entirely familiar with yet, and it was pitch black out. damage looks superficial as fuck, but the insurance appraiser claimed it a total loss, and i still have ~2k left on the loan i took out for the car.

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"Well, there was this knife, more aptly described as a broadsword, and I see, well, I was swinging down the street on my way to a movie and this guy, yeah.  He was about six foot eight and huge.  He was holding this knife, only to me, I would describe it as a broadsword, something from the Knights of the Round.  Before he can even open his mouth, he collapses.  Meanwhile, I can barely lift a finger to put the toupee back on his glossy head because I'm shaking so much.

He was vomiting and I knew that he was alive because he kept saying something like 'durability' between convulsions.  What happened next was really bizarre.  Both ends of the street flood with black-suited men, just like in a movie. These men look tough and pissed off, the eyes behind their sunglasses are probably cold as my hands are getting.  I feel like my heart has stopped, I'm so damn scared.  As they start to inundate the street in black, they move with one will. I figure that I'm dead anyway, so I reach down for the blade.  The blade is being covered by his vomit, but the hilt is clean. I can hear the men getting excited, but I can't stop.  My fingers slide around the leather hilt which is oddly cold...

 

Seven hundred and sixty one armless and legless corpses float inconspicuously around the inside of hangar ninety six.  I say that they are inconspicuous because it is their arms and legs which demand my attention.  I did this, or I could have stopped it.  Which is it?  It doesn't matter now.  I did this and could have stopped it, but nothing in nature ever follows a gaussian curve.  Sure, they'll tell you that it does.  They say that every five minutes someone dies in a car accident, but how often are there seven hundred and sixty one armless and legless corpses in one hangar? 

tts.gif
I'm getting sick of coming back to hangar ninety six, but there is no avoiding it.  This is what my existence needs.  My existence is the demise of many others' arms and legs.  The world is not a good place, nor is there innocence for me to hide in.  Seven hundred and sixty one pairs of eyes look around the room aimlessly, and mine join the crowd.  I see these bodies, massacred, immobile.  For all the carnage here, the stench of decay is non-existent. 

I try to turn away.  The hangar spins but nothing moves, and my view is the same.  I look, but don't see any sanitation workers, for that matter, I haven't seen the guys in suits since they dissipated from my hallway.

 

I'm in the same street, and as I reach into my pocket for my keys, my eyes follow the blackened streaks of gum that pock-mark the sidewalk.  The man is gone, and someone in sanitation cleaned up the apparitions and vomit in a real hurry.  I hurry down the stairs heading for the subway, but my keys aren't in my pocket anymore.  I'll have to get in through the side window.

The subway station is very bright and shining from the sanitation team that has been sweeping a swath in front of me.  The concrete floor is losing years of tarnish, keeping only the protective layer of the gum streaks which make up constellations in an otherwise vacant sky. The train arrives right on time, and just ahead of a mass of dark suited men who have been following me for what seems like years now.  Between the sanitation and the suits, I must be going colorblind, but the train is here now, and those men, no, they won't catch me...

 

My room is empty now, the men in the hallway are gone, replaced by the subtle odor of ammonia destroying the bacterial rancidity of half eaten double helixes.  On a plate on a table facing me is a simple arrangement of carrots and asparagus built up like a log cabin.

A candle in the center of the round table is illuminating the edges of the cabin, a distant volcano throwing the light of nature.  Around the edges of the flame is the face of a woman who is talking to me about subjects that I should know all about.  For just a minute I think that the flame is a living metaphor for her soul, then I go back to thinking her one of the other manic statues, arms, legs, and mouths that move and mimic without purpose or understanding.  Hundreds of bacteria eating off the sidewalk, fighting for procreation.  I am disconcerted when I see her turning the knife over in her hands, checking its weight and proportions, and I tell her so. Startled, she puts the knife back on the table to rest under the volcano which erupts in a flow of wax racing a torturous path onto the blade.  One pulse of wax is followed by another as she turns the conversation towards our relationship.  "Durability" is what she keeps saying.  The word 'durability' and our relationship. I reach over for the blade, and my fingers extend around the hilt.  Again I am impressed by a chill.  The wax comes off the blade with a simple scrape of my forefinger.  "Durability" I say in response. I feel a nervous chill run down my spine as I look up from the knife.  My eye stops first on my plate, then on the wax pool which is solidifying around the edges, and finally on the face of this mysterious woman. She isn't trying too hard to look around the candle and neither am I.  The candle flame makes a perfect line between the center of both of our heads.  I laugh at the geometry of the moment, and thinking that I am laughing at her rhetorical comment she giggles in response.

 

I am getting nervous because her voice is carrying some emotional baggage with it, now.  "Ever since you bought me that chewing gum, on a lark, I've been in love with you."

Sure, my response might have seemed a little cryptic, "If there is no justice, then how can the ends justify the means?  Take that wax, for example, (I've started to ramble on now just like on the subway, and she is looking at me with that same look of hostility, bordering on the old familiar meaningless uncommunicative scream) when the candle was lit, did it know that in the end it was going to burn down to nothing and disappear into the air?  You lit the candle to get the light from it.  Your end was to have my asparagus and carrot cabin lit by this light.  You used the candle as a means to obtain this.  Does the light justify the destruction of the candle?  What is justification to a piece of wax?  Its the same as the justification that you've given me about this 'durability' and our relationship."

 

By this time, she had moved her face out of the line that the candle and the centers of our heads made, and she was looking down the aisle of a movie theater.  This is an odd fact because she never sits in the aisle seat when we go to the movies.  Her head falls to the other side, landing on my shoulder.  Her disinterest in the movie becomes apparent when she begins to discuss our relationship in a loud whisper. I'm just as nice to my girl as the next guy, but I'm a little bored by now of all this talk, so I start to look around the theater without moving my shoulder too much.  The back of the head in front of me reminds me of the guy from the street, the one who made me miss the earlier show of this movie.  Only now, he's wearing a pair of sunglasses, and he's got his toupee back on. I look behind me, and so it seems that the guy in front of me is the vanguard of sunglassed movie goers who all seem very interested in whispering and looking around.  They remind me of a field of black tulips flickering back and forth in a howling wind. 

 

Their whispering picks up intensity, blurring out both their own speech and the voices in the film, until all at once my girlfriend mentions her ongoing rant-word 'durability'. "What is it with you and durability," the theater goes quite with the last syllable of the word. Well, I'm a little bit nervous again; it's time to leave.  I'm sure that the movie isn't over.  Everyone in the room starts to mimic my behavior, all the suits reach for their stuff at the same time that I do.  Only my girlfriend seems unperturbed. 

 

I wonder how far this will go, so I reach under my seat, find a piece of gum, and drop it under my tongue.  Mind you that this gum was under the seat for countless generations of movie fans.  Sure enough, all these suits have done the same thing and are chewing on their own hardened bits of gum Arabic.  I almost start to laugh when they all simultaneously hurl up their mastication covering them almost immediately with their black vinyl shoes which as impossible as it would seem, flatten the ageless gum into smears which will never be removed from this already gum-smeared floor.It doesn't seem so funny, now, because I notice that the pattern that the gum makes on the floor is in the shape of the summer constellations, and that each suit sits on a pulsar pounding out its vibrant message across the light-years and across the theater to my head: "Durability." I wish my girlfriend would know when to keep her mouth shut. The dialog in the movie seems unimportant, and I decide that its time to leave.  I tell her so, but she doesn't seem to hear me.  Her mouth is chomping wildly on some gum, and between mastication, she begins to tell me again about 'durability'.  I lean back and slide my hand into my pocket, feeling for the knife.

 

"Nice knife," repeats some snot nosed little brat.

I look into his face, and he sniffles.  Those eyes look like a cat's eyes holding either universal understanding or nothing, whichever I decide.  Right now his eyes hold nothing.  We dance the double helix and make way for a sanitation worker pushing a wheeled bucket with his mop to the place where some other snot-nosed little brat recently used another brat's fist to exchange his running boogers for blood that spread in splatters and smudges over his hands and the floor. The bloody boy and his one-fisted compadre had already been removed for corrective discipline by one of the controllers, our life-long friends wearing sunglasses.  Here at school, they only seemed interested in bleeding noses, broken arms, measles, and sharp thrown objects.  Otherwise, they remained impassive statues with feet grown into the anaesceptic environment in which they stood, needing as little attention as a plain white column in an all white room. It seems odd to me now looking back at them, or looking at them again at any rate, that they only reacted to our feces, blood and agony.  Responsive only to distress, anger or misbehavior.  But this was explained to me that day, even though I didn't understand it until now.

 

Am I surprised when the sanitation guy teaching that day turned his narrow slanted eyes in my direction and says what I've been hearing from the stars for years it seems, 'durability'.  He mentions discipline and art, discipline is that which lets us practice our art.   Durability of our abilities and disipline of our skills.  We must need learn how to reproduce what we do and how we do it.  He explains that the artist is more free to act when discipline has taught him his skills and limitations.

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Had a party.. we threw a dude through my wall.. now I gotta fix a wall hungover..

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Had a party.. we threw a dude through my wall.. now I gotta fix a wall hungover..

I feel like this thread has turned into your dudeeeee guess what stupid shit I done lastnight thread.

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Had a party.. we threw a dude through my wall.. now I gotta fix a wall hungover..

 

video please

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I feel like this thread has turned into your dudeeeee guess what stupid shit I done lastnight thread.

 

Seeing your name in purple confuses me.

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This dude is off his rocker.

 

He might be "evil" for spiking that shit to maximize profits, but nothing he's doing suggests he's insane or stupid.

 

He is very smart and I'm glad he's sticking to his guns. 

 

If you have AIDS, it's a result of very shitty life choices made by you or in rare cases, your parents who gave it to you. What possible argument can anyone possibly have to convince an obvious sociopath like him to lower that price in order for you to alleviate the sting of those shitty life choices?

 

Hopefully his ridiculous spike in medicine will force people to choose their mates extremely wisely, as it should be.

 

I also hope he gets rich enough to buy out all the other STD medication and do the same.

 

I know I would take full advantage of stupid people making shit life choices.

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I feel like this thread has turned into your dudeeeee guess what stupid shit I done lastnight thread.

 

Is it not?

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somebody really did a number on you at some point in your life, huh

 

haha, u have aids

 

sorry my post hurt ur ovaries

 

i promise i will be more considerate of your feels next time

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haha, u have aids

 

sorry my post hurt ur ovaries

 

i promise i will be more considerate of your feels next time

 

Bro you are so autistic.pngautistic.pngautistic.pngautistic.png

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