You can tell everything about a person from how they order their steak.
Blue. You do not order it, you identify it. The waiter wrote it down without breaking eye contact, the way you note the plate of a car that nearly hit you.
Rare. You have known what you want since birth. You have never returned a dish or doubted yourself in a mirror. Geese move out of your way.
Medium rare. The correct answer, and quietly smug about it. Children and dogs trust you on sight. You will be fine.
Medium. You sit on every fence ever built. You answer "how are you" with "can't complain." You brought a spreadsheet, and it has a tab called Notes.
Medium well. You apologise before the plate lands. A small voice inside knows what you have done, and you have turned the radio up to drown it out.
Well done. You insulted the animal twice. Once by killing it, once by cremating the evidence in front of its peers. The chef heard through two walls and went very still.
Well done, then the ketchup. We have left food and entered a crime scene. The cow's descendants are owed an apology and a small annuity.
Whatever the chef recommends. You have no opinions and never have. You would confess to anything under the gentlest questioning.
Asks if it is grass-fed first. You follow a certain sort of account at three in the morning. We have almost certainly argued in a comment section, and I was right.
A steak is a short, honest personality test. Order it blue, and skip the paperwork.
Two Canadians End up in Hell...
Two Canadians die and end up in Hell. Satan decides to pay them a visit, so he walks into their room and sees them talking and laughing. Confused, he asks them why they're happy.
They tell him, "Well, we're so sick of the cold where we're from, and this place is nice and toasty."
Satan, annoyed, storms away and goes to Hell's boiler room, where he turns up the temperature.
He goes back to the Canadians' room, along the way being begged by all sorts of people to put the heating back down. He enters the room to see the Canadians having a barbecue. Furiously, he asks them what they're doing.
"Well, we can't pass up this wonderful weather without getting out the barbecue!"
Satan realizes he's been doing the wrong thing. He goes to the boiler room and turns it down until it's at a colder temperature than ever seen on earth.
He knows he's won now, so he goes back to the Canadians' room, only to see them jumping up and down in excitement. He shouts at them in fury, "WHY ARE YOU STILL HAPPY?!?!?!"
They look at him and shout at the same time, "Hell froze over! That means the Leafs won!"
Crazy that this is getting barely any coverage. This yearโs European Press Prize was just awarded to an investigative report by the Dutch newspaper De Volkskrant. It is entitled โWhat the Wounds Tellโ and in it the journalists Maud Effting and Willem Feenstra document the cases of 114 children in Gaza under the age of 15 who were struck by a single bullet to the head or chest. Almost all of them died or were left severely disabled. They chose to document only the cases of boys and girls under the age of 15 (though often much younger: aged 3, 4 or 7) because these are children who can be immediately identified as such. โA single bullet in these parts of the body is a clear indication that these children were deliberately targetedโ, the two journalists write.
This is the article: https://t.co/YkZrpqBWBQ
@seafoid19 Good morning from Halifax, Nova Scotia. Having a decadent breakfast ๐. Hope you have a great day. ( By the way, it rains here just like Ireland!)
On a routine police patrol parked outside a local neighborhood pub in Listowel, the Garda noticed a man leaving the bar so intoxicated he could barely walk.
The man stumbled around the parking lot for a few minutes, with the officer quietly observing.
After what seemed an eternity
and trying his keys on five different vehicles he finally managed to find his own car, which he fell into.
He sat there for a few minutes as several other patrons left the bar and drove off.
ย
Finally, he started the car, switched the wipers on and off (it was a dry night), flicked the hazard flasher on and off, tooted the horn, and then switched on the lights.
He moved the vehicle forward a few inches, reversed a little, and then remained stationary for a few more minutes as more patrons left in their vehicles.
ย
At last, when almost everyone had left, he pulled out of the parking lot and started to drive slowly down the street.
The officer, having patiently waited all this time, started up his patrol car, put on the flashing lights, promptly pulled the man over and carried out a breathalyzer test.
To his amazement, the breathalyzer indicated no evidence of the man having consumed alcohol at all.
ย
Dumbfounded, the officer said,
โIโll have to ask you to accompany me to the station. This breathalyzer equipment must be broken.โ
โI doubt it,โ answered the man. Tonight Iโm the designated decoy. The rest all got away.โ