Stringle08

Bears and beers

[ol’ stocky ⛳️ @oldstocky]

Ian Fleming’s typical day at his estate in Jamaica where he wrote all his James Bond stories, need to emulate this

[Stringle08 @stringle08]

@cremieuxrecueil @Cernovich Too good

[Stringle08 @stringle08]

@CeoMister @BrianSpanner1 Merci

[Three Year Letterman @3YearLetterman]

Just got off the horn with Mitch McConnell. I spoke with him for 20 minute about all the major HIPPA violations that people have committed by speculating about whether he’s alive and how we’re going to sue them all

He gave me a standing ovation

[Stringle08 @stringle08]

@CNBC Elon Musk company of the future, on sale now.

[Kimberly Ross @SouthernKeeks]

Democrats after whatever drops:

“He’s still our guy!”

[Stringle08 @stringle08]

@iowahawkblog Thank you Burge ancestors for fighting for our freedoms. And the beer and quiche, which I presume followed.

[Dr Jordan B Peterson @jordanbpeterson]

To the Americans:

I've travelled all over the world. I've familiarized myself with many places, and met many people. And I'm a Canadian, although I’m privileged to reside once again in the States.

And here's something I've noticed, and it’s a key element of America's continuing greatness:

You bloody Americans value success, and you believe in its existence.

This is something that doesn't really happen anywhere else in the world. Even in other free democracies—the United Kingdom; Finland, Sweden, and Norway; Australia, New Zealand and Canada; Germany, France, and the Netherlands (great countries all)—a counterproductive cynicism too often reigns.

Success is equated with exploitation.
Ambition is looked upon with contempt.

This happens sometimes in the United States too—particularly among the miserable progressives, who confuse their resentment, ingratitude and unearned skepticism with wisdom.

But in your great country, by and large, striving is admired and success celebrated.

This means that more people strive and succeed in the US than anywhere else. And it's increasingly obvious. You remain stunningly more innovative and productive than any people anywhere else on the planet.

And so I say, as all should who are fortunate enough to live in the western world, let alone America:

Thank God for the United States.

Thank God for the wisdom of its founders.
Thank God for its faith in the free market and in the natural rights of man.
Happy birthday, you damn Yankees and Southerners.

Long may your admirable country dominate the world.

Long may your freedom and hope provide an example to those suffering everywhere at the hands of their malevolent states.

May your two and a half centuries of unparallelled success be just the beginning.

Your country is the light of the world, and the city on the hill.

Thank God for the USA.

Happy 250th.

Dr. Jordan B. Peterson

[Bob Ojeda @BobOjeda19]

This story has laid largely dormant in my mind for 25 years. Never gone, but very hard to think about the horror of that morning and I’d rather not. This is my morning of September 11, 2001.

At this point in my life, I am a pitching coach for The Brooklyn Cyclones, the Mets’ minor league baseball team. I have a sponsor’s softball game at our ballpark at 10 AM. My house in Jersey is about an hour drive away. I’m at my kitchen table having coffee, getting ready to head in at around nine. I put on the news. The traffic report mentions it’s a little heavy so I decide I’ll leave early. Just as I’m heading out the door the news breaks that a small plane appears to have hit one of the Twin Towers. I stopped to listen. The news reporter looks concerned and confused, but not panicked. It’s an unfolding moment and she’s keeping her cool. The look of disbelief was unstable; no answers, just confusion. She was trying her best, in her own way, to not create a mass panic. Whoever she was, she deserves a ton of credit, along with the other reporters who did the same thing.

I head to my car and put on 1010 WINS. I decide to head up Route 36. There is a bridge that crosses the Shrewsbury River that allows a direct view to the city. When I get there, I’m in disbelief. There is smoke coming from the top of one of the towers, yet still no panic on the radio, just reporting of what is currently known.

I call my daughter, who works in the city. I asked her where she is. She tells me she’s coming up the escalator from the bottom floors of the World Trade Center, exiting the subway. We stay on the phone. I hear the strain in her voice. Whatever has happened is not good and she is witnessing it firsthand. The radio does not betray the gravity of what happened. They are in disbelief along with all of us.

I step on the gas, and race up 36. By now I figure I’ll turn left, head into the city, pick up my daughter, and then drive on to the ballpark in Coney Island. We get cut off on the phone. The confusion on the radio continues and escalates. She calls me back a few minutes later. “Dad, I just came up the escalator and there are people jumping out of the windows, there’s people jumping out of the windows.” I ask her how high they are jumping from, trying to get a feel for what is happening. I am not ready for what she’s about to say. “80 floors.” A second plane hits the other tower. This is a nightmare, and I begin to feel panic coming up within me.

I take the Staten Island exit off of the parkway and approach the Outerbridge. I see cars stopped. Then the news comes over the radio. All bridges and tunnels are closed to the city. At the last possible moment, I turned off to the right and circled back down, heading back to my house. I’m doing over 100 miles an hour. I highly doubt a cop is going to stop me. I’m thinking, “What now?” I call my friend Lenny and say “I need your boat!” He asked me,“Where are you going?” I said, “To the city to get my daughter.” He’s well aware of what’s going on, and says, “I’m going with you.” I said, “No you’re not. I don’t know what I’m getting into. I don’t know what’s gonna happen. I don’t even know if I can get there but I have to try. I appreciate your offer, but I got it.” We plan to meet at his boat within 20 minutes. I pause going over the bridge on 36, take a look back, and it is beyond horrific. There’s people in those buildings and I hope one is not my daughter.

I call my daughter back, thank God I get a hold of her, and let her know the plans. I tell her to stay at her office. “Stay there until I get there. Stay put!” I swing by my house real quick. I have an idea I’m probably gonna need my father's flag. He was an army veteran who spent time in Iwo Jima. I plan on hanging it off the side of the little boat. Hopefully that will let the authorities know I’m on the home team. I run in the house and remove it from the triangle box in which I keep it and head down to the marina. My friend’s there and insists on going. We jump in and off we go.

Within minutes, a little comic relief. We need gas. Thankfully, there’s a fueling marina at Bahr’s Landing. We pull in. The young man working the pump was curious about where we are going. We fill up, he says good luck, and on our way. The radio is on. The news is still confusing but becoming clearer. Both towers have been hit. Both towers are on fire. We look at it. We see it in front of us, knowing we’re heading in.

I call my daughter. I tell her I should be there within a half hour, if we lose contact, I tell her to make her way down to the ferries evacuating people off the island. “Get to the top deck and look out to the open water. I’ll be in a small boat with grandpa‘s flag hanging off the side. Get to the top deck and wave and wave. If I see you, I’ll turn around and follow the boat back. If not, I’ll keep going.”

We’re a few miles out from the Verrazano Bridge. At this point, I think it’s going to be a dead end. I can’t imagine there won’t be police and Coast Guard closing off from that point. Suddenly, a small biplane with wings painted red and white appears. It is flying towards us but very erratically. I have no idea what that was about.

I have my daughter back on the phone. She finally arrived at her office on Wall Street. I tell her our ETA and then she feels something. The building shakes. “Dad, what was that?” I hear on the radio, which has made this whole scenario surreal. The radio has one report, my daughter has the live report, and we’re in the middle, trying to make sense of the whole thing…it’s impossible. You cannot make sense of this moment. I hear on the radio that the building collapsed, but I tell my daughter not to worry about it. It’s probably just all the trucks and everything rumbling around. I make up some nonsensical answer, and she was not in the mood to analyze anything. She was terrified.

Still no Coast Guard or police boats. We keep going under the bridge. Smoke billowing in front of us. The smell is unimaginable. It just smells like burning everything. It’s an acidic, rancid smell. Heartbreaking. Because I know what it is. We’re beginning to approach Governors Island. I tell Lenny to stay to the right, we’ll go around and then go straight towards Pier 11. So far, everything is going according to plan, a plan that is being made up as I go.

I’m looking at the smoke, the haze and everything and I’m in disbelief. My mind makes up that the tower is still there. “I can see the tower Lenny, can you see the tower?” “I can’t see it.” “It’s right there.” But it wasn’t there. It was gone. It was a pile of rubble. Confirmed by the papers, worksheets and everything flying through the air over our heads. Literally, pieces of paper. Pieces of paper that somebody sitting at their desk was working on an hour ago are now floating through the air, as well as the poor soul who was doing the work.

We’re around Governors Island and then, the inevitable. A small Coast Guard boat, that looks like a red inflatable boat, makes a B-line right for us. Machine gun mounted on the bow. I stand up on our bow and I’m frantically waving my father's flag that I’ve tied to the side of the boat. They come racing up in a no nonsense mood, helmets, guns, everything pointing right at us. They come right up next to our boat. “Where are you going?” “I’m going to pick up my daughter.” They turn, have a short conversation, I don’t know what’s gonna happen, then they turn back to me and say “Go ahead.” I could’ve fallen over.

I call my daughter again and thankfully get through and tell her head to the water. I’m coming up to Wall Street now. We head for the pier and pull up. lt’s kind of bouncy because of all the tugboats loading people on and getting them off the island. It was organized chaos but it was organized. I have so much respect for the men and women who handled that without panic. We pull up next to the pier. It’s about a 5- or 6-foot reach to the railing. I grab it. I’m holding on, ready to let go, throw my leg over the railing, and Lenny yells, “Don’t let go!” “Why? What’s the matter?” The engine died. This is great, I’m this close and I’m gonna fall in the water. I’m holding on with one hand on the boat and the other on the railing, being stretched like I��m in a torture device. Between the current and the bouncing, I don’t know how I stayed up. The longest 30 seconds of my life when he goes, “OK, OK. I got it.” I let go of the boat and climb over the side. I tell him to circle around right here. I’ll be back.

I begin to run up Wall Street. Unbelievably the first police officer I see on shore is from my hometown. He is directing people to the massive tugboats and the ferry boats getting people off of the island. He sees me and asks what I’m doing there. I explained to him that I’m going to get my daughter. He says good luck, I’ll see you at home.

Seconds later, strangely, an older lady comes up to me and says, “Excuse me, aren’t you Bobby O?” “Yes I am.” “Oh, I just love you. You are so fun to watch.” Then her son, who understood the gravity of the situation, says, “OK mom, come on, we gotta go.” I thanked her and her son and went on my way. Can’t make that stuff up.

I continued making my way up Wall Street. Incredibly, there’s my daughter coming down. It’s like a miracle. It’s a miracle in front of my eyes. I grab and hug her. We head back down to the water. We get to the water’s edge where the railing is, she looks down. Lenny has pulled up by then and she looks down and I said “Look, you gotta jump. There’s no other way, you’ve gotta jump.” It’s probably at least a 5-foot jump down to the deck to a bouncing boat with a wet bow being pushed around by the current and choppy water. She looks at me one last time, looks at the boat, and jumps. She lands and rolls but she is fine. I look around one last time at the surreal scene of I don’t even know what to call it. I jump down, hug my daughter again, sitting in our seats. We turn and head back down home. No one deserves this to happen to them.

This weekend, I am reminded of and send nothing but respect to the individuals, first responders, ferry and tug boat captains beside me, who organized amongst the chaos to help one another on a horrific day.

[Stringle08 @stringle08]

There’s no such thing as independent agencies. Not under the Constitution legally, and never in reality of partisan politics.

[ABC News @ABC]

BREAKING: In a landmark decision that could transform the federal government, the Supreme Court voted 6-3 to allow President Trump to remove a Democratic member of the Federal Trade Commission purely for policy reasons, rolling back 90 years of legal precedent that had prevented at-will removal of independent agency officials and significantly expanding presidential power.

https://t.co/wQzZBPJo08

[Stringle08 @stringle08]

Endorse this view of Crichton

[PoIiMath @politicalmath]

Michael Crichton is such a fascinating figure and it is a goddamn shame he died so young

This guy got into Harvard Medical School and said "actually, I want to write stories" so he wrote one of the most harrowing long short stories, the Andromeda Strain.

This guy was addicted to research. He read scientific journals for fun and researched everything that captured his interest. He was curious and skeptical. He thought hard about the implications of technology all the time.

And, instead of being a dork and writing a blog, he wrote entire novels warning about the dangers of emerging technologies. And they were great!

He wrote a `Prey` about the dangers of combining AI with nanobots 24 years ago. It's tremendous. You could publish it today and it would be relevant.

I miss him. I miss technically competent authors who can spin a good yarn while informing the reader about how technology is changing the world.

Crichton was a generational talent and we are poorer for his absence.

[Stringle08 @stringle08]

@Michael_Nania I know the one

[Stringle08 @stringle08]

@diol2n Can’t believe that backcountry dipshit cop didn’t know wealthy Emirates are totally allowed to ship their lambos to Oregon with middle eastern plates and drive freely here. Pretty sure the Statue of Liberty has that law inscribed on its pedestal. Do better Oregon cop force

[Dan Hightower @Danhightower]

Daycare calls me. That's never good.

For them.

Daycare: "your son hurt his elbow and won't move his arm. Can you come take him to a doctor's office?"

Me (ex Special Forces Medic): "A real doctor is on the way to you now. I am 6 mikes out. Alert me of status changes."

I arrive at daycare. I locate the patient. 21 month old male. Scene is not safe. I drag the patient to cover and concealment behind a seesaw, away from the other small terrorists in the AO.

I begin my assessment. Blood sweep negative for massive hemorrhage. Mental status: conscious and verbal but confused (answers "dada" when asked for blood type). One breath every 2 seconds. Bilateral rise and fall of the chest. Strong carotid pulse, strong bilat radial pulse.

Teeth and tongue intact no blood no mucus no dip or foreign objects. Eyes PERRLA, negative JVD/trach deviation, C-spine intact upon palpation.

Heart sounds strong upon auscultation. Percussion negative for hemo-T. Abdominal quads normal upon palpation. Pelvis negative for book sign.

Arms and legs negative for crepitus. However, Patient indicates discomfort in right arm upon palpation and supination/flexion of the elbow.

Nursemaid's elbow.

I begin interventions. Supination/flexion technique complete at 1215. Palpable clunk on successful reduction. I write the time on his chest in Sharpie. I tape a popsicle to his hand and tell the patient to suck but do not bite/chew. I write "1 x popsicle (10g sugar)" on his chest in Sharpie.

I reassess the patient after performing interventions then package the patient for handoff to daycare/higher level of care. I yell at daycare over the Blackhawk in my head: "21 month old male!!! Nursemaids elbow!!! Treated with supination/flexion technique at 1215!!! Patient has 1 x popsicle onboard!!"

Daycare: "sir please leave."

Me: "you should have called my wife."

[Stringle08 @stringle08]

@FreddyLA7 Bro what are you doing

[Freddy🇩🇪 @FreddyLA7]

After a long day of driving we’ve finally had the time to explore a bit and it was WORTH it. This is somewhere in the Watkins Glen State Park in New York.

For a moment I felt like I was deep in the jungle searching for an ancient lost city.

[Stringle08 @stringle08]

@JenniferSey These cheap quips about finishing 5th (nationally) work on the ignorant, ie, the liberal base.

[Stringle08 @stringle08]

@FreddyLA7 Having to budget your money is actually the real American experience.

[Stringle08 @stringle08]

@RiggsBarstool @ForePlayPod Truth. He’s not my guy but he’s earned my respect. Untouchable right now.

[friendscallmeJay @Jaypotta]

Watching Goose blow the fucking lid off of Madison Square Garden wyd