• Deli lyfe v.10 let's share our life problems edition because apparently we're all miserable
    17,181 replies, posted
[QUOTE=Coyoteze;44667205]I'd be all for Digital/Graphical Design and Animation if my tutors weren't absolute shit and actually taught us anything. Last 2 classes of Graphical Design was spent teaching us how to open a fucking PDF-file.[/QUOTE] I took a graphic design class and had to teach the fucking teacher how to use Photoshop. Seems to be the norm that teachers in those areas are completely incompetent at actually teaching.
Well now comes the time of year to look for a summer job. And I can't get anything because most places that are pretty much expecting their employees to only be making a temporary job would rather hire foreign workers than actual Canadian citizens because the Filipinos, Indians and Africans aren't going to bitch about not getting benefits and not getting paid to work overtime. Not to mention all the places that are just straight up run by Filipinos or Indians so they can abuse the temporary foreign worker program to bring their whole god damn family over and never even have to consider hiring Canadians.
Interview at Kohl's on Wednesday for LP at the Distribution Center. Oh man two jobs. All the monies.
[QUOTE=Zao Medong;44667532]I took a graphic design class and had to teach the fucking teacher how to use Photoshop. Seems to be the norm that teachers in those areas are completely incompetent at actually teaching.[/QUOTE] I had to do exactly the same thing, in our second year they integrated a Graphic Design modular to our course but the teacher had never used PS before so for the first few weeks I had to teach her how to use it after classes.
Same here. They just took a regular art teacher and assumed that she knew how to use Photoshop. Turns out she didn't. It's okay though because she was hot.
Ours was a programing teacher. She was also hot.
[QUOTE=Zao Medong;44668542]Same here. They just took a regular art teacher and assumed that she knew how to use Photoshop. Turns out she didn't. It's okay though because she was hot.[/QUOTE] Our Graphics Design/Media Project teacher wasn't even a certified teacher. She finished art university and was almost immediately employed by our school. She's like 22 years old and completely incapable of public speaking or actually teaching anything. And she's not hot. There are no benefits here [img]https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQK87gOkbIMzixXGBY8ac2cfUEpRQLFUGI8WZc9ShwGjKjX9zSlZq43jXM[/img]
Dedicated art and design schools generally hold their professors at a much higher standard since they're also payed more. Or at least mine does I dunno
Finished mgs4 [sp]When big boss died, I honestly cried[/sp] [editline]28th April 2014[/editline] I'm quite depressed now
I just bought my first 1/6 figure. The PCU wearing MARSOC guy with the m203.
I think my goal in life is just going to be amassing old field jackets and parkas to last me the rest of my life. Some people collect cars and then there'll be me with a mile long closet full of OD green jackets hanging on coat hangers. On the plus side, I can store my junk in all those pockets. "Hmmmm, what color should I wear today? Oh, here's a good one, it's olive drab. Or how about this olive drab?" And before you know it, I'm waddling out of the house looking like this but with field jackets. [img]http://klingpost.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/06/11Most-T-shirts-worn-at-once.jpg[/img]
WWII de la reenacting next weekend, I'm going medic. Stay tuned for pictures of me injecting morphine, carrying stretchers, and crying in a foxhole Doc Vando
Clock positions confuse the fuck out of me "CONTACT THREE O CLOCK" "huh, what, where, [I]my[/I] three o clock or [I]your[/I] three o clock, are you standing in an other direction, wait, oh shit hide oh god, thats where he was oh man i fucked up, shit, go go GO"
That's why you establish that shit beforehand
[QUOTE=apoctank;44673641]That's why you establish that shit beforehand[/QUOTE] Nobody ever seems to do so it feels like people are just yelling it with their own direction in mind Like on the last game I went to, We were all kinda spread around in a sort of semi-circle, facing different directions, and this one guy goes "I see two yellow-team coming in 9'o'clock" and everyone just looked to their left, but everyones left was facing different directions so the actual shooting turned into a clusterfuck.
I always just say "your nine" or "my nine" if I'm talking to a group
"dungus at your six!!"
I wrote a Vietnam snippet for school lol [quote]“Hey mom, it’s fine. These thirteen months are going to pass by so quickly, it’ll be like I was never gone,” he said, lifting the olive green canvas military duffle bag over his shoulder. The boy was young, freshly graduated from high school and eager to serve his country. War had never seemed so tangible. Seeing an escalation of action in Southeast Asia over the past four years, the boy had watched a nation destroy itself through grainy televised imagery and listened to its pleas for help on the radio. He swung open the door of his father’s truck and hopped into the passenger seat, taking a whiff of the cool Southern summer afternoon. His last recollection of home was through the rear window, a solemn sight of his mother and younger siblings reluctantly seeing him off to war. “Get your fucking face off the ground and return fire!” The boy opened his eyes. Suddenly, his mind was no longer in a quiet rural farm town, but in foreign rice paddies, knee-deep in manure and taking fire from enemy troops that he could not see. His company had found itself exposed in a flat rice paddy, and was subsequently ambushed by enemy forces from all sides. “Contact front!” “Contact rear!” “Showtime Zero-Zero-One, this is Goliath, request immediate air support, over!” To his left, the company radioman had set up, “I repeat Showtime, this is Golia-“A torrent of bullets tore into the soldier and his equipment sending sparks, flesh, and chunks of meat into the air. The boy could no longer scream. He could no longer cry, no longer weep. At that moment, he knew that fighting was his only chance of survival. He found himself racking the charging handle of his black rifle and raising it to shoulder height. Peering through the rear sight and finding the front sight post of the weapon in the center of his vision, the boy proceeded to line up the aperture with a faint outline of a man in the distance. Finger curling around the cold trigger of the rifle, he felt himself squeeze off three rounds in quick succession. A split second later, the man in his sights crumbled onto the floor. His first kill. Not wasting any time, he advanced and continued to find targets of opportunity, putting rounds downrange into bodies and returning fire at muzzle flashes in the treeline looming before him. He found another man in his sights, squeezed off three rounds. Then another man. And yet another. The rifle clicked empty, prompting him to release its aluminum magazine. Producing another metal box of cartridges from a belt pouch and slamming it into the weapon, the boy slapped the “ping-pong paddle” on the side of the weapon, sending the bolt carrier slamming forward and chambering a round with a metallic clank. Then, the boy was on the ground. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. His rifle lay just out of his reach. Knowing something was wrong, he began to feel around his body. He froze when he felt a familiar wetness on his chest, and his fears were realized as he gazed at the crimson blood covering his fingers. He felt a single hole in the front of his chest, and instantly knew that there was another the size of a baseball in his back. The seconds that followed seemed like minutes, the minutes became hours, and by the end of the hour the boy was dead, gurgling on his own blood to the point he was no longer able to choke. His mother’s first born son had been killed on his first combat engagement on the first deployment of his career. The letters to home that he had written were delayed in delivery, and so his family received them along with a government telegraph notifying of his death. His remains were never found.[/quote]
So, my dad found this in the loft: [t]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/9988278/flag/IMG_0282.JPG[/t] [t]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/9988278/flag/IMG_0283.JPG[/t] Any idea where it might be from? He said it's [I]supposedly [/I] from a Japanese submarine but he doesn't remember where he got it. If anyone can identify what language the writing on it is then that might help narrow it down a little.
definitely moon runes
It's Japanese.
Taiwanese Prick may like this: [url]http://www.timewalkertoys.com/Soldier-Story-1-6-Battle-of-Taierzhuang-p/sds-078.htm[/url]
[QUOTE=Zao Medong;44667114]Sitting in Anthropology 1000, waiting to die. No matter how hard I try, I can not muster up even the tiniest speck of interest in this fucking class. [editline]28th April 2014[/editline] Indiana Jones misled me.[/QUOTE] Well, using my ultra-high-quality totally-not-run-by-idiots """English""" education, I say this: (Assuming Anthropology means something something something spiders) Learn the weak spots and anti-venom shit for all the poisonous spiders so you can become a mother fucking glorious black-widow-murderin', cobweb smashin' ninja. Also, I found out today that my shitty internet provider has no intent on upgrading the 1997 tech on their end of my internet line. Irritating as fuck because I know they cheat on speed tests which shows me what they're capable of. They just throttle it down to a skull grinding 56kb/s.
Just got my friends who are also getting into airsoft to play MGS. Oh lawdy this is fun.
[QUOTE=TheMrFailz;44681377]Well, using my ultra-high-quality totally-not-run-by-idiots """English""" education, I say this: (Assuming Anthropology means something something something spiders) Learn the weak spots and anti-venom shit for all the poisonous spiders so you can become a mother fucking glorious black-widow-murderin', cobweb smashin' ninja. Also, I found out today that my shitty internet provider has no intent on upgrading the 1997 tech on their end of my internet line. Irritating as fuck because I know they cheat on speed tests which shows me what they're capable of. They just throttle it down to a skull grinding 56kb/s.[/QUOTE] pretty sure anthropology is the study of humans, mostly ancient.
Yup, that's it. You're thinking arachnology lol.
So my phone died about 5 minutes from home, and in that 5 minutes my parents called me or something, but they knew I was home, so they called my sister (since her phone was on), telling her to tell me to call them. So my sister, 25 [I]fucking[/I] feet away from me, [I]texts me to call them[/I]. Gentlemen, I present to you: the [B]"our school mandates that every child must own an Apple™ iPad®" [/B]and[B] "i don't want the [U]book[/U] i want it on my kindle"[/B] generation.
how did ur sister text u if ur phone was dead?
[QUOTE=felix the cat;44690145]how did ur sister text u if ur phone was dead?[/QUOTE] I turned it on like 15 minutes after the fact and noticed it. Just 3 seconds ago she walks over and tells me. I don't even.
Gone are the days of sending our carrier pigeons and smoke signals down the hall to alert someone.
Sorry, you need to Log In to post a reply to this thread.