Land Border opening means I can finally go to BestBuy in the US, so much better than Canada

>'Fallout 3 is better than New Vega-' 579825157: How large will the sjw seethe be when he's back for RE9? 579812568: No, really. I seriously don't get it. Why do you like this game so much? 579823050: Split Pad Pro: Have any of you found a protector that fits the tablet part of the console while it… 579822406 Toys”R”Us is the leading kids store for all toys, video games, dolls, action figures, learning games, building blocks and more. com and FanCons. Pop! Tigger - Disney Holiday 2021. UPS Freight Less-than-Truckload (“LTL”) transportation services are offered by TFI International Inc.

2021.12.03 23:02 PhenomenalLight Land Border opening means I can finally go to BestBuy in the US, so much better than Canada

Land Border opening means I can finally go to BestBuy in the US, so much better than Canada submitted by PhenomenalLight to Steelbooks [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 23:02 BoostGrowing New run of the tropical runtz is next up!

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2021.12.03 23:02 Sil007 Do you need to use finasteride for the remaining of your life after a hair transplant?

Been losing hair slowly from forehead sides and it's depressing , I used some minoxidil bottles for 8 months but it's super expensive in my country so I gave up I won't buy it anymore so I did read about finasteride and that it has so many sexual side that can be permeant so It's not an option for me I don't want to risk it at all . Had the hair transplant plan on my mind for the next 5 years maybe but I head you'd still lose your hair and you need to use finasteride for the rest of your life if you don't want to go bald again , I used to think a hair transplant is enough ?
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2021.12.03 23:02 Fantastic-Honey5937 It all makes sense now.

It all makes sense now. submitted by Fantastic-Honey5937 to dogecoin [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 23:02 commiedeschris Any help pricing this piece would be greatly appreciated! I can’t seem to find a price point to reference anywhere. 98-99 autumn-winter collection

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2021.12.03 23:02 AdInteresting2407 RESEP AYAM RICA-RICA KEMANGI

RESEP AYAM RICA-RICA KEMANGI submitted by AdInteresting2407 to CookieClicker [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 23:02 INFINITESYKOSIS Nowhere

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2021.12.03 23:02 YouWasteEverything Which places to live are optimal for those with social anxiety, especially anxiety from being stared at by others in public? Basically, where can one live and get stared at the least by random strangers in stores, traffic, etc?

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2021.12.03 23:02 DingleDickle Mega Steelix: 8817 4996 7426 and 2174 7559 7700 Can Add 10!

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2021.12.03 23:02 HoneyBadger162 Buying a DDR machine in the UK?

I apologise as this might be an overasked question, I'm curious about buying a DDR machine, I live in the UK and actually live in a town with a lot of arcades, but I'm curious what the general advice/consesus is for buying a machine in England, and if there's any tips that I should know about?
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2021.12.03 23:02 Freekmagnet Correct measurement of electric components in cars

Correct measurement of electric components in cars submitted by Freekmagnet to AutomotiveLearning [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 23:02 newpptt A special PokeStop?

Wild Pokemon within one block of this PokeStop within 10 minutes, so basically spawning at the same time, I saw: a Venusaur, an Octillery, a Lapras, a Throh, and a Salamence, with a bunch of common ones.
Is this a special PokeStop?
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2021.12.03 23:02 mike0491 Showdown card design

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2021.12.03 23:02 kiddo-l The lack of awareness is really harmful

I guess I’m just writing this to vent all my feelings because I didn’t realize my girlfriend could have this condition (and neither did she) until recently. I’m also a woman and penetration is generally painless unless I’m extremely dry and unaroused and even then it’s only for the first few strokes. But obviously it’s different for my girlfriend, who in the past would have me stop a lot of the time if I were trying to insert a finge penetrate her, saying that it really hurt.
And I internalized this as her not being turned on/into me enough most of the time because sometimes it was possible for her. Realizing she was actually in significant pain and not mild discomfort was shocking to me- I thought it was more “ow I got pinched” and not “ow my vaginal canal is being sandpapered”. And that her complaining about her diva cup was because she found it slightly painful and annoying like I do, not excruciating. In retrospect I should’ve realized that a woman who épilâtes her entire body is not a wuss, but there’s just no information about vaginismus anywhere.
Just knowing she’s not rejecting me but suffering from a medical issue means I feel way way more loved and attractive in our relationship. And neither of us had any clue something could be wrong until we sat down and had a conversation about it and the level of pain we each experience.
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2021.12.03 23:02 fortunefavorsthedead The parasite feeds on fear. I may not be contagious anymore, but I am not cured. . .

I was not insane or addicted or an ex-convict. I was simply down on my luck. That's why I was living on the street that summer, four long years ago--dumpster diving for food and begging for change.
I wanted a job. I wanted to get my life back on track. But to get a job I needed new clothes, a computer, and a permanent address, none of which I could obtain without money. And I couldn't get money without a job.
In short, I was trapped outside the system, and saw no way to climb back in.
"The nights are getting colder," a man said.
I lay on a bench in the park, pretending to still be asleep. Meanwhile, my heart raced. I had been fortunate not to meet with any violence yet on the street. But I had heard stories of sadistic creeps going hunting for homeless folks on clear quiet nights like these. I realized how alone I was. How vulnerable. How far away from the tent city in which I usually stayed. I had ventured too many miles that day to make my way back, and so had decided to spend the night in a park that was dark, isolated and shrouded by trees.
"Won't be long before the snow flies," the man continued. "The temperatures will drop far below freezing, as you know. Winter's always been difficult this far north. But this winter, with the economy as it is. . .All the job cuts. The evictions. There are too many of you. The shelters won't be able to handle you all."
I grunted, though I still did not move or open my eyes. The man did not sound cruel or violent. He spoke in a listless but matter-of-fact tone about things that were true. But the fear already coursing through my body encouraged me to interpret his words in the worst possible light: the homeless population was too high, therefore, he was taking it upon himself to reduce it.
My switchblade was in my jacket pocket. If the man had a weapon or any reflexes at all, he would be able to strike me down long before I fumbled to grab it.
"I know you're awake," he said. "Sit up. We are here to offer you an opportunity. A chance to get back on your feet."
"I'm no criminal," I grumbled.
"We are not asking you to break the law," said a woman. "We are part of a research team, and we would like you to take part in a medical study. In exchange for your participation, we can offer you food, temporary shelter, and enough money for a fresh start--after you've completed your role."
I warily opened my eyes and sat up, scratched my beard. The nearest lamp was far away, so I could not see them well. The man was probably in his early forties. He was incredibly tall. The woman was in her late thirties. Both looked tired and spiritually dead. Like people who had coped with all the suffering they'd witnessed by detaching from their emotions, from humanity. Tiny pools of shadow covered their eyes, so their faces appeared ghoulish.
"How much does it pay?" I asked.
"We'll give you the details at the laboratory," the tall man replied. "Come with us. Our vehicle is outside the park."
"You gunna steal my organs?"
"We have no designs on your organs," the tall man stated. "If you do not wish to participate after we have shown you the facility and explained the role, we will pay you for your time and bring you back to the city."
- - -
Apparently, it was a secret government study. As such, the location of the laboratory had to be kept under wraps. So I sat in the back of their SUV, wearing a blindfold, holding my knapsack close to my chest. I didn't like being blindfolded. I also didn't like being the kind of person whom nobody would miss if I disappeared. But in a strange way the blindfold was comforting. After all, if they were going to kill me, they wouldn't care if I knew where we were headed. The dead cannot reveal secrets.
The tall man drove us on a meandering path, likely trying to scramble my directional sense. But I have always been able to sense north, so his efforts were mostly in vain. After the looping, we drove about forty minutes out of the city, northwest, and then turned east down a bumpy gravel road. Eventually the vehicle parked and the pair got out. They opened the back door and the woman took my hand and guided me onto the gravel.
"Leave the backpack," she said, and I obliged.
She shut the the door behind me and we walked along the gravel. Call it curiosity or some modicum of survival instincts--but under the guise of scratching my head, I covertly pulled up the blindfold to see our destination.
There it was, glowing in the pale moonlight: an old overgrown farm, with a dilapidated farmhouse and barn. The corpses of human habitation, long-since abandoned to the elements. The kinds of dead farmhouses and barns you see all over the Canadian prairies.
At a glance, the barn looked reasonably sturdy. The farmhouse, however, looked liable to collapse at any moment. Half the roof was caved in, and the whole structure sagged slightly to one side. Most of its weathered grey planks had been eaten by rot. Yet one of the bedrooms upstairs flickered with orange candlelight. A man's silhouette appeared at the lighted window, looking down at us. The shape of his head seemed grotesque. At the time, I assumed it was a trick of the light--I had never seen a head whose shape was so bizarre.
"What are you doing?" the tall man hissed, pulling the blindfold over my eyes. He grabbed my wrist and we stopped walking. "How long were you looking?"
"I wasn't. I didn't see anything."
"That's what you tell Doctor Kohler if he asks," he said. "You wore your blindfold the entire way."
I could tell by the direction that we were walking to the barn, not the house. But the barn, though sounder than the house, had looked nothing like a secret government lab--more like a lonely forgotten haunt from whose isolation no one would hear a tortured man's screams. . .I pictured meathooks hanging from the rafters. I pictured hand-saws caked with gore and rust. I pictured my severed limbs being scattered about the land to rot beside the limbs of my predecessors--men and women equal to me in need and idiocy who had walked this fatal path months or years before.
I began to realize how foolish I'd been for taking the bait and coming out to this remote slaughterhouse. I wanted to break free of the hand leading me by the wrist and to run. I might not have gotten far before one of them pulled out a pistol. But being cut down by a barrage of bullets in that haunted field would be better than meekly submitting to these dead-eyed predators, shuffling without complaint into their sordid butchery.
Was it cowardice that prevented me from running? Was my confidence so battered after the last few months that I dared not contradict these two well-dressed "researchers", even if it meant my life? Did some prevailing part of me welcome the prospect of imminent annihilation? Or did I comply because I actually believed that inside the barn awaited my promised reward--fast and easy money, a chance to start over, to regain my lost pride and life?
In any case, I did not run. I continued shuffling blindly after my leaders.
We finally stopped and the man rummaged for something that must have been a key, because soon I heard the scrape of metal on metal and the lock sliding out of the hasp. The barn door creaked open and I felt myself standing before the open doorway as if before the face of some grinning malevolence.
The man clicked on a flashlight, then yanked my wrist and led me into the barn. We paused in the middle of the place and he crouched and threw back an old canvas tarp. Through the gap at the bottom of my blindfold I spied what the tarp had been placed to hide. A steel trapdoor. I watched as the man typed a code into the keypad. It beeped. The man swung the door open, revealing a narrow staircase leading down to a bunker.
"Careful on the stairs," he commanded. "Hold the rail."
I counted fifteen steps before we reached the bottom of the staircase, down in the belly of the bunker. Through the aforementioned slit of vision, I could see that the concrete floor was sticky with black grime and covered in animal hair. The incandescent bulb above us sizzled. The place smelled like unwashed dogs and diesel, the latter likely from wafting from the generators rumbling up ahead.
"Can I take this thing off yet?" I asked.
"No," the tall man said. "Wait here with Miss J. I will be back in a moment."
The tall man strode along the sticky floor and slipped through a door, which he closed behind him. I was alone with the woman. If ever there were a chance to escape, this would be it. Still, I hesitated, preferring to probe the woman, fishing for some plausible line to assuage my anxieties.
"What is this place?" I asked.
"Doctor Kohler's laboratory," Miss J responded.
"It doesn't seem like a lab."
"Many things are not what they seem," she said. "And many others are, despite not seeming at all."
I didn't like that response. It smacked of the senseless babble of the cult-brained or insane.
"Are you going to kill me?" I asked flatly.
"Once you are situated, Doctor Kohler will explain your role, which does not include death," she said.
"But I don't have to accept the role," I reaffirmed.
"You do not have to accept."
The door opened and the tall man said, "Come." But his voice was different. Muffled. Like he was speaking through a mask or a face shield. He grabbed me by my wrist again, but now was wearing plastic gloves. As he led me through the door, I heard the swish of his plastic suit, the mechanical sound of his breath being filtered through an apparatus.
The smell in the corridor was ghastly. I couldn't help gagging. A numbers of dogs barked as we passed.
"Is this some kind of kennel?" I asked.
He merely grunted.
At first, the fact that the tall man was wearing a hazmat suit seemed like another one among the night's many peculiarities. But gradually the implication began to dawn on me. I was here for some medical experiment, walking through an area which one of the principal experimenters clearly deemed hazardous. I cannot say why that worry impelled me to act, when I'd borne so many other concerns in silence. But as he ushered me through another door, I planted my feet and pulled off my blindfold.
"I'm not taking another step till you answer some questions," I said, turning to face him as he backed through the doorway and shut the door in my face.
There was a thump and I felt the air pressure change. I was sealed inside a bright little cell. The wall facing the corridor was transparent prison glass. I felt like an exhibit in a subterranean human zoo.
"Hey!" I cried, banging on the glass.
I watched the tall man in the corridor. He zipped himself into a tube hanging from the ceiling--some kind of decontamination shower. He turned on the water and steam rilled out through the gap above the zipper.
"Hey, fuckhead! Let me out!"
The dogs in the corridor barked excitedly from the commotion. Their cells were fronted with glass to which were taped notes that read "UNCONTAMINATED". My cell had no such sheet. That meant the contaminant was not out there, in the corridor. It was in this air-locked cell, with me.
I heard something squirming behind me, whimpering softly. I pulled my shirt over my mouth and turned.
At the back of my cell a black-and-white border collie lay on its side. It was trying to run upon the air. It was dreaming. But its twitches and whimpers betrayed the harrowing unpleasantness of the dream. The poor creature was stuck in a nightmare.
Yet the dog's eyes were wide open, so it couldn't have been dreaming. . .Its pupils were absurdly large. It was looking at me, and yet didn't seem to see me. It seemed to be looking right through me, beyond me.
"Hey puppy," I said through the shirt.
One of its pupils contracted, and the collie was suddenly aware of my presence. It yelped in fear and scrambled to its feet, backing into the corner of the cell, almost trying to back through the wall.
"It's okay," I soothed.
The dog's focus suddenly darted to the opposite corner of the cell, as if some invisible menace had lunged from the empty space. He barked. The dog was hallucinating--staring with abject horror at various uninhabited parts of the cell. I feared the dog was suffering from some kind of hallucination-inducing illness, and would soon infect me.
I slammed on the glass, demanding to be released, as the tall man stepped out of his decontamination tube. He unzipped his hazmat suit and hung it up to dry. Then he walked down the corridor without giving me a second glance.
There was a camera fastened to the opposite wall of the corridor, whose lens was trained on my cell. A tiny red light glowed beneath the lens.
"Hey!" I cried at the camera. "This is illegal! I didn't consent to this shit! Let me out! Hey!"
I cursed at the camera and beat on the glass until I wore myself out. Then I slumped down with my back against the glass to gaze forlornly around the quarters. What the hell was this place? This noxious subterranean laboratory? What were these people doing, really? What kind of "study" required such abominable procedures, or could even be fruitfully conducted in such a ramshackle and unhygienic place? How many creatures, human or otherwise, had been unwillingly confined in this wretched cell before me? What had become of them? What would become of me?
"Good evening, Ian," said a high voice from above me. "I am Doctor Kohler. You needn't stare up at the speaker. I'm right here."
He had crept up without me noticing, and now stood on the other side of the glass.
Doctor Kohler was a sickly old gnome, though his pale blue eyes shimmered with a perverse kind of energy. His head was huge compared to his slight frame, and his skull was grotesquely misshapen--bulbous at the top but tapering quickly into a long asymmetrical jaw, almost equine, that curved noticeably to the left. He was clearly the malformed imp who'd been peering down from the farmhouse window when I'd arrived.
Kohler's pale and wrinkled skin was so thin it was nearly translucent. And his fine white hair was so greasy that it clung to his bulb as if wet. The old man was no taller than five feet, and could not have weighed more than one hundred pounds, even donning those disintegrating sneakers, that stained and threadbare lab coat. I supposed he was in his seventies, though aged beyond his years.
"I never told anyone my name," I said coldly.
The corner of his lip twitched eerily. "Never in your life?"
Kohler moved slowly and methodically, as the arthritic elderly do, dragging a plain metal chair from where it sat against the wall and squaring it up with the glass.
"Ian Fielder," he said, sitting down. "Twenty seven years old. Bachelor of Arts with a major in Philosophy. Formerly employed stocking shelves at a grocery store, washing dishes at a restaurant, shovelling gravel for a road crew, to name only a few of the many occupations in which you dabbled before being summarily dismissed. Most recently, fired for recurrent impunctuality from your sales position at a cellphone kiosk. Thereafter evicted from your north-side apartment for non-payment of rent, consigned to beggary. Here after two and one half months on the street."
"How do you know all that?"
"I cannot cast as wide a net as I formerly did," Kohler admitted. "It is impractical, exhausting, and each new participant threatens to expose our operation. I am grateful to have evaded detection this long; however, I am also astonished, given how cavalier my approach to recruitment once was. . .No. It is better to be patient. To be choosey. To take time hunting for prospects, learning about them and determining their suitability before making contact. So few have the right sensitivities. The qualities necessary for my research to progress."
"You're saying you stalked me and decided I had the 'necessary' qualities, so you had your goons lie to me and trap me in this box. Is that it?"
"You're a dreamer," said Kohler, softly. "Like me. Susceptible to the intangible, the immaterial. Abstract forms. Invisible influences. The extra-terrestrial in all senses of the word: that which is beyond this earthly clay. Devoted to the metaphysical and mysterious to the point of choosing hunger and homelessness over blaspheming your sacred idols by turning your attention away from them to the mundane world of work. We are similar in many respects."
"You know nothing about me," I spat. "I'm no layabout dreamer. I've just had some bad luck finding a job I click with. And now, with the economy--"
But Doctor Kohler wasn't listening. A strange look had crept over his ghoulish face--a look of equal parts awe and horror. His right pupil bloomed, eclipsing the iris. He was staring at something over my shoulder. When I turned to look, I saw nothing there. Only the collie in his corner, trembling, whimpering, yet staring with wide fearful eyes at the same patch of emptiness.
"I brought him for you!" Kohler shrieked to the empty air behind me. "Is he fit? . . .Tell me. Please, tell me what you want. I have tried! I have given everything! Please! . .Oh, I can't understand. Show me in some way I can understand. Give me a sign."
The whole ordeal was disturbing. This filthy and abominably misshapen old cretin shouting, wincing, cowering at nothing. The collie yelping in the corner. The way Kohler's one pupil had dilated.
Watching him through the prison glass, I concluded the man had a brain injury or some kind of tumour. It seemed the only way to explain all the craziness to which I was bearing witness. But then I noticed my own faint reflection in the glass, with its own enlarged pupils, and saw the thing looming behind me. A tall malevolent shadow hunching over me. I jumped out of my chair and turned but the spectre was gone.
"Yes!" Doctor Kohler cried, beaming at me with insane ecstasy. "You can't have been infested for more than ten minutes, yet already. . .I knew you had the qualities. I knew you had a suitable temperament. More than suitable. Ideal! . .Can you hear them yet, Ian? Can you hear what they are saying? Tell me what they are saying."
"What the fuck is going on?" I demanded.
Something was going sour inside me. I could feel it in my very being. Like the eggs of a hundred thousand spiders were trying to hatch in my soul.
"The symbiont infests the parts of the brain responsible for fear and dreams," said Kohler. "The next few hours will be difficult, Ian. But they will also be the time when your sensitivity is highest. We will never get this opportunity again. . .Listen to me, Ian. Look at me."
Two of the horrible shadowy figures loomed on either side of Kohler. The one was robed in darkness, like a spectral plague doctor or faceless Reaper. The other was abominably tall and skinny, like a severely malnourished humanoid made of pure shadow. Their forms were always contorting, twitching. They seemed in constant pain. They were tortured beings, whose essences were misery. They were manifestations of unearthly fright. and fear.
More disturbing than their nightmare forms and evil auras, however, was the way the dark entities constantly muttered, mumbled, gibbered in strange voices that sounded like the frantic death-croaks of a venomous toad. Their villainous incantations quickly filled me with primordial fear.
I tried to scream. But there was something caught in my throat, preventing the scream from coming through.
I suddenly vomited upon the glass a stream of curdled blood, which dripped down to pool on the floor. The sight was revolting. I whimpered as the curdles pulsed, seeming to contain within them some form of agitated life. Thin black legs began piercing through the gory curdles and tapping impatiently around. The black spiders were hatching, tearing themselves free of the curdles. There were thousands of them--scurrying up the bloody window, along the floor. I stamped at them and brushed them from my legs, but it was of no use. Their numbers seemed endless. The floor was rippling with them. Holding my hands before my eyes, I gawked in despair: they were slick with blood and twitching spider parts.
Then I blinked. The blood and the spiders and the horrible shadowy figures were gone. I could no longer hear the poisonous muttering. I was standing in the cell, looking through the spaces between my clean fingers at Kohler.
"Ian," the strange imp said. "Your task is to listen to the dark ones and to pass their messages along. They have wisdom, Ian. They have knowledge of things beyond our plane. You must listen to what they say and repeat it out loud. Do you understand me? You must listen carefully to what they say and repeat it out loud. I will be recording every word, every whisper. That is my job. Yours is to listen and repeat what the dark ones say. . .These next few hours are crucial. If you tell me what they say, I will pay you and let you go free. I will cure you, Ian. I will show you the way back to happiness and sanity. You will be rich and happy and free, but only if--"
Kohler paused. His pale blue eyes rolled back into his monstrous skull. His jaw suddenly went slack and his head flopped to the side. The old man was unconscious, if not dead.
Then his limp body began to rise to its feet, like a puppet controlled by invisible wires. With his limp head lolling around willy-nilly, Kohler began removing his lab coat, unbuttoning his shirt, exposing his pale, liver-spotted chest. Then he plunged his hands into his solar plexus, as if his ribcage were made of putty, and began tearing his torso open. The rip ran down his from his chest to his pelvis. His slimy organs tumbled out and formed a grotesque heap at his feet--all his except his lungs, which kept expanding and contracting in his wide-open chest, and his heart, which hung nestled between the lungs, and kept rhythmically beating.
As if out of a hole in a rotten apple, a black flatworm poked its head out of the beating heart. The worm looked at me and opened its strange lipless maw.
"We are small," the flatworm squeaked.
Then it slithered out of the beating heart, toward the ground. It was far longer than I'd anticipated. The worm kept sliding out of Kohler's heart, foot by foot, and coiling itself upon the pile of living viscera, until finally its tail slipped through the hole, and a few drops of ghastly fluid spurt after it.
Kohler's heart stopped beating. The shrivelled man slumped back into his chair, his head still hanging limply to the side, his mouth still open, his torso still gaping. He was dead.
"Can you hear me?" came Kohler's voice through the corpse's yawn. "Ian? Can you hear me? Are you still here?"
Kohler came into proper focus. He was not dead at all. His torso was not torn open. His organs were not heaped upon the ground. He was perfectly in tact, wearing his lab coat, sitting exactly where he had been sitting before.
"You will start seeing things," Kohler explained. "Most of them are not real. They are little more than waking nightmares. Fabrications of your fancy, the detritus of your mind brought to life as side effects as the symbiont settles in. . .Some of the things you will see, however, are real."
"What the fuck is a symbiont?" I moaned. "Like a parasite? Did I get this from this dog?"
Kohler nodded. "The symbiont allows us to see and sense realms that overlap our own. Different planes of existence. A plethora of phenomena and entities which exist all around us, all the time, but which the limitations of our natural faculties and scientific instruments render us incapable of perceiving. . .Listen to me, Ian. Do not waste your energy trying to discern between real and fake, between true visions and false hallucinations. Focus only on the dark ones, only on their words. You must make out what they are saying and communicate their messages to me. Do you understand?"
"I'm afraid."
"Consider everything else a delusion," Kohler continued. "Only the words of the dark ones--"
"I've never been so afraid."
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2021.12.03 23:02 XmasJ What is your go to late night snack?

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2021.12.03 23:02 felicthecat [Positive] for u/quizbowlanthony [seller]

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2021.12.03 23:02 Jem-ify vod reveiw
went 2-0 any things i could do better or tips
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2021.12.03 23:02 RealCaseyBlack The Vaselines - Jesus Wants Me For A Sunbeam

The Vaselines - Jesus Wants Me For A Sunbeam submitted by RealCaseyBlack to musicforcoolpeople [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 23:02 bryguythefry Cannot even play the game.

I’ve been grinding camos since the game came out on ps5. Recently I’ve been getting kicked out of the game/main menu to check for an update that doesn’t exist. This then leads to the app crashing or telling me a required network service isn’t available. I’ve deleted almost every other game so there’s more than enough extra space for whatever storage glitch the game has. I redownloaded the game. I’ve don’t every trouble shooting tip I could. Now I just keep trying to load into a match and it can take me 15-20 mins just to play 1-2 matches and repeat the process. This is really disappointing on my half, as I was enjoying the game and the grind. If someone in who can help sees this, HELP PLEASE 😂
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2021.12.03 23:02 Lidzzzluvanime Worse then hitler

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2021.12.03 23:02 Unlucky-Web-1082 Is CLAM supposed to live alongside OHM or to replace it, in your opinion?

The creator of OHM zeus pretends living alongside it as a fork is very unlikely to end, as it already has the strongest network established
What do you guys think
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2021.12.03 23:02 HotFlamingo7676 How important is having power to you?

View Poll
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2021.12.03 23:02 Whitmoi1590 This scene is one of my favorites. Lol!

This scene is one of my favorites. Lol! submitted by Whitmoi1590 to Spiderman [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 23:02 ZoolShop Omicron Variant Spreading Twice as Quickly as Delta in South Africa

Omicron Variant Spreading Twice as Quickly as Delta in South Africa submitted by ZoolShop to CoinTuta [link] [comments]