Can he step down into a wood chipper next?

Listen, I like the idea of some blussy as much as the next guy, but not enough to go get my tailgate wrapped.

Typical ghost/demon etc supernatural films and even a lot of sci-fi horror are snoozefests in comparison to Event Horizon because this film really puts it all together on a scale that makes it horrific. It plays with the supernatural angle and actually even explains it in such a way that puts it closer to reality, and then compounds that horror with the crushing isolation, unfamiliarity and unknowability of space.

I really wish there were more movies that got horror THIS RIGHT.

"Honey, I got a killer deal on drywall and by god if I ain't gonna use it all!"

I used Brave on mobile for a full week about a year or so ago at the suggestion of a coworker before realizing it gave me nothing over Firefox and added the bizarre crypto angle to everything.

This was during my (thankfully brief) crypto interest phase and I tried to see if I could accumulate any of the BAT coins the browser would give you for viewing ads...that never worked somehow so I accumulated zero, which was certainly one thing that led to me getting fed up with it and going back to Firefox.

Beyond that, the interface was weird, it was prone to crashes, and it was generally a hassle. 100% flash-in-the-pan cash-grab effort.

In keeping with company policy of using innovative and affordable materials, they've also made the hull of their spacecraft out of wet cardboard and it's controlled with a laptop trackpad.

"Poorly designed, partially functional software running with substandard hardware and subpar implementation designed by overextended engineers and burnt-out developers led by known megalomaniac malfunctions, local man astonished."

I heard with some really old hardware you have to pick it up and drop it a few inches to re-seat the pins. Anybody tried that yet?

You have no idea what time it is when shot rings out from the far corner of your old one-room shack, but you know it's late. Adrenaline surging and ears ringing, you grab the old Colt revolver that sits on the stool beside your straw bed, thinking maybe those cattle rustlers the neighbors had been telling you about have finally got desperate enough to make a move on the property. Your bare feet hit the rough-hewn wood floor and you stumble as quickly as you can to the window, its little glass panes wavy and revealing nothing more than inky blackness. You're sure you heard the shot, but there's no signs of life outside save for the crickets that have resumed their song after only a few seconds intermission. You swear you can even smell the gunpowder smoke, but maybe it's your mind playing tricks on you, forcing alertness in the deep, lonely night. The adrenaline begins to wear, your limbs starting to ache as they long to go back to their fully interrupted sleep. You take a step to the left to turn from the window and you hear a sickening squelch and feel something squish between your toes that freezes you in your tracks. In the dim light given off by the fire smoldering in the cast-iron stove in the corner, you can tell that whatever it is is an ugly shade of red.

After a minute of silent contemplation, your brain puts it all together and your face quietly contorts into the most violent grimace it can muster. The goddamn trap that bastard salesman outside the general store had sold you down the river on the day before. The one that'd use your spare pistol. Well, he was right, it had worked. Now that rat that had eaten a hole in the corner of your bag of sugar decorates a small section of the wall, the floor, and the bottom of your foot and there's a warm black crater in the floorboard where it had made its last stand. Hobbling, you traipse outside to wipe your foot in the grass. Right there, you know what you must do. No matter what else, you're sure that bastard salesman won't be selling any more of those goddamn traps.

I've driven probably close to a hundred different Teslas and nearly every electric car currently on the market over my career working with cars, and I completely agree with this take even when you remove Elongated Muskrat and the semi-functional, utterly misrepresented Autopilot entirely from the equation. Sure, a Tesla (in proper working order) feels really good to drive, but practically every other electric car on the market (outliers being the Leaf and the Bolt) are working as hard as they can to capture that same experience and most are doing a really good job if not exceeding that standard. The only differences are that most other manufacturers have what I have to assume is a massively more robust design and engineering team, better quality control, and generally decades upon decades more experience in designing cars in general, and not taking advantage of that as a buyer is a pretty dumb move, especially when you start researching the myriad issues with Teslas. Sure, Tesla may have kickstarted the electric car market, but with all the current, similarly priced options on the market, buying a Tesla is purely for the status-symbol optics or because you actually buy into Elon's BS, which is its own can of worms.

Imagine believing in a guy who allegedly told as many people as he could to spread tolerance and acceptance for literally everyone, then going and preaching the exact opposite while saying they're doing it because he said so. Incredible.

So many. Skyrim among them. In the same vein, I've never finished Oblivion or Fallout: New Vegas, either, despite massive hour counts in all of the above and owning them across multiple systems. I think I have some kind of disorder that if I really like a game, I can't force myself to finish it, because that'd mean it's over. As a result of that, I have hundreds of games that are proably about 3/4s complete. I don't get it.