🚨🚨THIS IS WILD🚨🚨
A #Bills fan initiated his newborn baby into Bills Mafia by putting him through a mini table.
“In the name of Jim Kelly, Doug Flutie, and Josh Allen, we initiate you into the Bills Mafia.”
😭😭😭
13-year-old New York boy Joe Petraro-Hyppolite, who has an IQ of 168, will be pursuing his master's degree at NYU in 2027.
The average age to start a master's program is 33.
Petraro-Hyppolite:
> Scored 1590 on the SAT at 10.
> Got a high school diploma at 11.
> Working toward his undergrad degree at 13.
> Accepted into a master's program at NYU at 13.
Insane.
@AppleMusic why is the rotation of songs so small. You guys keep hitting me with the same 25 tracks! Keep skipping tracks and you don’t learn to not hit me with them tracks anymore. Bout to cancel this subscription
September in Texas brings a cold front that drops the night to sixty degrees.
At 11:00 PM on Friday, my neighbor Hank lit a fire inside a welded steel cylinder that looks like a miniature steam locomotive.
Hank is sixty-four. His wife died in July.
I saw the hickory smoke drift past my fence and walked over.
Hank was sitting on a green nylon lawn chair with a headlamp on.
He did not say good evening. He threw a cold Shiner Bock toward my chest.
I caught it with two hands.
A thirteen-pound slab of raw brisket lay on butcher paper.
"When do we eat?" I asked.
"Three tomorrow," Hank said.
"What do we do until three tomorrow?"
"Watch it."
There is no process. There is only sitting in the dark, staring at a needle on a brass gauge between 225 and 250 degrees.
We stayed in that driveway for eight hours.
Hank added one log of seasoned post oak every forty-five minutes.
He did not discuss his wife.
I did not offer condolences.
At 3:15 AM, he said, "Too much white smoke is dirty. You want thin blue. Blue means it's sweet."
I watched the chimney. The smoke was translucent blue against the autumn stars.
"Thin blue," I agreed.
He nodded once.
A man’s grief cannot be addressed with conversation. It must be converted into oak smoke and driven through fourteen pounds of beef until the collagen breaks.
At 3:00 PM on Saturday, he cut a slice with a dull knife. It fell apart under its own weight.
He handed me the burnt end on a slice of cheap white bread.
"Salt and pepper," he said. "Nothing else."
I bit into it.
The meat wept. Hank looked at the grass.
Neither of us cried, but we did not have to.
The steer had done it for us.
@The_Little_Pea3@MarkMaddenX He don’t know ball at all! You want the corner they don’t want to throw to! Dudes hasn’t allowed a td in years! Pay the man