OPM needs help tracking down DEIA violators!!
2025.01.23 14:23 makermurph OPM needs help tracking down DEIA violators!!
submitted by makermurph to IronFrontUSA [link] [comments]
2025.01.23 14:23 revel09 Bedside Lego Desktop Setup
 | submitted by revel09 to LegionGo [link] [comments] |
2025.01.23 14:23 lukefromdenver Good Morning, Sadashiva, Light, Morning Dawn, Renew
Today we begin a new way. We write letters, then simply copy and paste them. As a service to the Light. However, we have new name. Is given by thr Light, for our appropriate title. As going forward. For we are it.
Chittananda. Joy of Consciousness. This shall be the new teachings. To tap into this. For anyone, regardless of origin. Center of consciousness, center of the Light. Dreamless access. Any time. We all do this together.
Our friends. And utilized for peace and knowledge, directly, not through book. And all our constant effort, bring back the lost hero, which is hidden inside, we call out to this one, without regret, not feeling lost time, as today is the day it was always meant to arrive. Now.
submitted by lukefromdenver to awakened [link] [comments]
2025.01.23 14:22 Colette2118 Any guesses on Foxi?
 | He was found injured on streets in Bosnia as a puppy and is 5 years old now. Last picture is from when we got him when he was a couple of months old and all other ones are more recent. To me, he looks a lot like some type of herding breed mix with shorter legs? He also had quite strong prey drive when he was younger. submitted by Colette2118 to IDmydog [link] [comments] |
2025.01.23 14:22 LXIX-CDXX Snow in Florida
"I hope you packed enough warm clothes," Mama said, wringing her hands. "Florida boys don't have much experience with cold. They're saying it could snow this weekend. I don't know why you're even going out in this. And all by yourself."
"Mama," I said. "I've been in the cold before. I have all my clothes and gear from my camping trip to Utah last year. It snowed like hell the whole time, and we were fine. And this is just a three-day pig hunt. If it gets bad, I'll sit in the tent with my propane heater. Worst case, there's nothing stopping me from getting in the truck and blasting the heat the whole way home. I'm a grown man. I make good decisions."
"I know," she said. "But you're never too old for me to worry about you."
I got up and hugged her, giving her the same reassuring hug that I'd been giving since I grew up and moved out. "I'll be fine, Mama. I'll stay bundled up. And I might even be home early, before the cold front hits. My buddy Aaron was just up at the hunting lease last week, and he said the hogs were consistently coming to the corn feeder. If I can take one on the first day, I won't even have to set up camp. I'll just toss it in the cooler and come on home."
"That's good," she said, her voice muffled against my shoulder. She pulled back and gestured to my grandfather, seated in his spot in the corner. Raising her voice so he could hear, she practically shouted, "Maybe you could take Pop-Pop with you! It's been more than a few years since he went hunting. I bet he could teach you a thing or two about hunting! What do you think, Pops? Do you want to go hunting in the snow with Mark?"
Pop-Pop was settled into his orthopedic recliner, the cozy nook where he spent most of his time lately. His eyes went big and bright. "Hunting? In this weather? FUUUUUCK no," he drawled. He always had a way with words. "News says there's a polar vortex, or some such shit. It'd kill me walking to the mailbox and back. 'Sides that, I wouldn't mess with these critters if it snows. They don't know how to act in the snow."
"I hear that snow can actually make the hunting better," I said. "It's easier to track the animals, and they're more active when there's snow on the ground."
Pops huffed. "Active. Huh. That's a word for it. Maybe it's good for hunting up north, where it's supposed to snow. But down here, it makes 'em agitated. Jittery. They aren't used to it. You make sure you've got a good gun, and plenty of ammunition. Even a little old raccoon can mess up your day when it's not in its right mind."
I pictured a cadre of snow-crazed squirrels climbing up my legs and laying waste to my camo jacket. I chuckled. "I'll be on the ground, hunting hogs, so I'll have the AR-10. Twenty rounds of .308 as fast as I can pull the trigger. If the raccoons get testy, I'll give 'em the business."
"Yeah. Well. If you do see snow, you blast any critter that so much as looks at you. I'm tellin' ya. I seen it once, when I was younger than you are." And with that, Pop-Pop was absorbed back into his TV program, a nature documentary about life in the oceans. I patted him on the shoulder and gave Mama another hug before I headed out to my truck. The drive north up 75 was uneventful; traffic was light in that direction. Plenty of folks headed south, though. Every third vehicle was either an RV, towing a camper, or was crusted in the cruddy salt film from roads far up north. Snowbirds fleeing the polar vortex. Towns became smaller and more sparse along the drive. Beyond Gainesville, even most of the farmland gave way to undeveloped woods and swamp.
Once I made my exit, the landscape was pure forest, drab with winter greys and browns. We may not get snow, but winter in Florida is muted and still. The riot of green life fades and holds its breath until warmer days. But that's not usually until late March or April. With ten days left of January, the crisp air was somber. Grey clouds filmed over the sun. It was a melancholy kind of beauty. If I had a way with words, I'd feel poetic.
After two miles down an unnamed clay road, I finally unlocked the cattle gate at the entrance to the hunting property. Locking it back up after driving through, I had a thrill of joy at the thought of being the only person here. Deer season ended last week. The hog hunters wouldn't come out in this weather. But the hogs would. Cold or not, they didn't have a choice. And I'd be waiting.
Despite the reassurances to my mom, my first order of business was to set up camp. It would be foolish to count on early hunting success, fail, and have to pitch a tent in the dark. Sundown would lower the temperature even more. No, I would have an insulated tent and a propane heater waiting for me after hunting. I even set up my little camp stove with a stainless pot and some water, to make a mug of hot chocolate as soon as I got back. After making camp, I grabbed up my rifle and a sack of corn. It was a decent hike to the clearing where we placed our corn feeder, almost half a mile. Between the walking, the 50 pounds of corn slung over my shoulder, and bundled layers of camouflage clothing, I actually broke a thin sweat. The dampness chilled me, and I shivered.
When the corn feeder was topped off, I took a seat on the stool that we kept tucked behind a bush at the edge of the clearing. My rifle sat across my lap. That reassurance, at least, hadn't been a bluff. If I was going to be hunting feral hogs at ground level, I wanted a semiautomatic with some real power. Wild pigs are more skittish than their ferocious reputation. But an injured boar or a sow defending her brood could be deadly. That said, I didn't hold much hope for success that evening. The automatic feeder had scattered two pounds of corn in the morning, but it hadn't been touched. The feeder would activate again at 5pm, often acting as a dinner bell for local wildlife to come a-running. But I had a feeling that this evening would be dead. Once I was safely hidden away, a couple of doves flew in and nervously pecked at the corn on the ground. They left when a crow tumbled in and confidently squawked at them, picking over the grain with an arrogant strut. I watched the crow, watched the low grey clouds passing silently, watched the trees shiver. No other animals came to the corn. At 5pm the unexpected ruckus of the feeder activating startled both the crow and me. He flew off, squalling; I laughed and wished I could do the same. When the sun began to set, I packed it in a bit early. It was nice not having to walk through the woods in the dark, and the warmth of my tent was irresistible.
Back at camp, hot chocolate and a steaming bowl of cheese grits were just as divine as I'd been dreaming they would be. I completed the gourmet meal with some beef jerky, a handful of M&Ms, and just enough whiskey to make my cheeks tingle. I tried to make some headway through the novel I'd brought, but my eyelids quickly grew too heavy to read. Before I fell asleep, I barely had the clarity to set an early alarm for the next morning.
Two hours later, I was awake again. The tent was shaking, not violently, but strongly. The wind? Something was hitting the rain fly. Gentle but repeatedly, there was a patter on the nylon. Definitely not rain, it sounded like the tent was being pelted by a barrage of mini marshmallows. Could it be? I hurriedly pulled on all my warmest clothes. The wind shaking the tent calmed a bit, but the soft pelting sound only intensified, until I was trembling to tie my boots and shove my hands into gloves. I fumbled with the tent zipper. Opened it, scrambled outside... and this was it.
Snow. It was snowing in Florida. I'd seen it once as a kid in St Pete, a brief flurry of tiny flakes that melted as soon as they touched down. But this was honest-to-god SNOW, dime sized flakes that feathered and swirled. They stuck where they hit, every surface but my warm tent becoming covered bit by bit, like a computer monitor turning white, one pixel at a time. The snow was intensely white in the light of my headlamp, mesmerizing. I laughed loud at the absurdity of it. The sound was strange, a sharp noise that suddenly highlighted how silent the woods had become with all other sounds dampened. I danced and twirled, caught a snowflake on my tongue, did all the things that the people who grew up in snow got to do when they were children. Finally, I just turned my face upward and watched it come down, lit from below by my headlamp, thousands of flakes coming to rest in a place where common sense said they should not be. I don't know how long I stayed outside, watching the snow slowly cover the dark forest. But when I crawled back into my sleeping bag, I was smiling.
I dreamed of palm trees, covered in snow, and more snow blanketing thick over the ground. Seven or eight raccoons climbed down from the crown of a palm. They began fussing at a squirrel up in another tree, and suddenly the tree was filled with squirrels. A whole battalion of them. And then they were all on the ground, fighting savagely. The 'coons were mowing through the squirrels, but the squirrels had the strength of numbers. Blood began to cover the snow in smears and spatters. Then a raccoon turned and noticed me. It screeched and ran at me. I pointed my AR-10 and pulled the trigger over and over. The gun only clicked.
It was still dark when my alarm woke me, 5:30am. The propane canister had lasted through the night-- the tent was still toasty warm. It was uncomfortably dry, though. My nose and lips felt crusty and a bit raw. It was hard to find the motivation to get dressed and head out into the dark and cold. But stepping out made it all worth it. The snow had continued long after I had gone back to bed. The ground was covered in at least six inches. It festooned the branches of every tree, dusted every vine and shrub. In the shine from my headlamp, I even saw a cabbage palm covered in a powdering of snow. The weight bent the fronds low. Walking the familiar trail to the hunting spot felt alien and magical. The whole world was stark, matte white from a distance, and sparkling up close. My breath made long plumes of steam through my camo neck gaiter. The only sounds were the muffled crunch of my footsteps, and the creak of tree branches groaning under unfamiliar weight.
It wasn't long before I was seated at my stool, hidden in the bushes, watching the sun rise on a frozen world. At first everything was a monochrome study in varying depths of blue. Then pink crept into the sky, followed by orange and trickles of gold highlights on the treetops and bushes. I had my eyes and ears tuned to maximum sensitivity for the approach of hogs, but I drank in the landscape. I wanted my soul to remember it. I'd likely never see something like this again.
Then I heard snow crunching, pat-pat, pat-pat. The old familiar two-step of a large quadruped. If it was a pig, it was a big lone boar. A family group, called a sounder, would sound more erratic. There would be squealing and grunts. I raised my rifle slowly, thumb ready to flick the safety. A large buck stepped into the opposite side of the clearing, flicking its ears and tail. Last weekend, he would have been in season and I'd have been proud to harvest the beefy ten-pointer. But I was a week too late for deer. I lowered the rifle, happy to watch the impressive buck for a while.
It seemed Pop-Pop had been right. The deer seemed agitated, constantly flicking his ears. He held the white flag of his tail bolt upright and snorted disgustedly, blowing at the snow on the ground. He sniffed at the place where corn had been buried under a cold white blanket, and pawed at it. Obviously annoyed, he put his muzzle deep in the snow and crunched the few kernels he had dug up. Snow caught on his antlers and fell on his face when he lifted his head. He shook his head angrily at the injustice. I chuckled silently at this. He was focused on finding corn, buried in the cold. I was focused on watching him. Just like the crow the night before, the abrupt, raucous clatter of the feeder took us both by surprise. The buck was pelted by corn, and he reared and bolted at the sound and the unexpected flying debris. But he didn't go far. Just out of range of the feeder's scatter.
The buck was enraged. When the spreader stopped spinning after ten seconds, he snorted at it and charged. He took a flying leap and smashed his antlers against the spreader mechanism, built into the bottom of the grain barrel. The feeder was built on a sturdy metal tripod, high enough to be out of reach of black bears. And supposedly strong enough to withstand a bear's pawing if it did manage to reach that high. But the deer jumped effortlessly, driving his antlers into the spreader hard enough to break it loose. Corn began spilling freely from the bottom of the barrel, piling up on the disturbed snow. When he turned back around, I saw that one antler had broken badly. The other had snapped clean off at the skull. Not ready to shed his antlers for the season, blood poured from the wound. But he wasn't done. He ran to the broken mechanism on the ground and flailed at it with his front hooves. Those sharp hooves, and the power behind them, could kill a man. He stomped the spreader until he was gasping and foam slung from his mouth. And then-- then he turned his rage onto the steel legs of the feeder. He slammed the tripod with his remaining antler, again and again, chips of bone flying with each strike. When the antler was broken down to a sharp nub, he smashed his forehead into the steel leg. The last remaining corn fell from the barrel. He butted the steel until the fur ripped on his forehead. Blood was gushing into his eyes now. He didn't stop. The next blow was off center by a bit, and tore his ear loose from his head. It flapped wildly as he continued, slinging blood across the fresh powder.
I was in shock. I hadn't realized that I had raised the rifle and flipped the safety. Was it fear of what the buck might do if it noticed me? Or was I considering putting the crazed animal down? In any event, it didn't matter. Focused on the insane clamor, I hadn't been watching the rest of the clearing. A dark blur of fur crashed into the buck's side, knocking it to the ground. A fan of blood sprayed from the deer's chest as it fell. A huge boar stood over the body, shaking his head violently. Tusks flashed, ivory scimitars coated with gore and tan fur. Without a thought, I fired into the middle of the boar's chest. He's huge, I thought. Got to be over three hundred pounds!
The shot had been half hunter's instinct, half fear of the giant, raging animal. Pigs are tough, resilient animals. I should have emptied the magazine into him, or withheld the shot and remained in hiding. But then again, I was used to animals dropping when they took a bullet to the chest. This boar, undoubtedly shot through, instead turned to face me. The hog screamed. It charged, mouth open. I stood to get a clearer shot.
I had brought a semiautomatic rifle for this exact reason. I kept the rifle trained on the brown beast, my finger squeezing and releasing the trigger as fast as possible. I don't know how many times I fired. Many times. But the boar was impossibly fast, and I may not have landed a single shot. It didn't matter. The hog crashed through the snowy brush-- my flimsy hiding spot-- and hit my legs. There was a sound like wood splintering as my right leg shattered and collapsed backward, quickly forgotten as a tusk tore from my left knee up into the meat of my thigh.
Pigs are intelligent animals. Terrifyingly cunning, as a matter of fact. In the extremely rare cases of hog attacks, they use their weight and low center of gravity like an Olympic wrestler would. They'll knock your legs from underneath you. And when you're on the ground, they use their tusks like a madman with a dull blade. They target your face, your neck, the soft vitality of your belly. If you're not so polite as to present these targets, they'll rip along your spine until you roll over. They cut you until they're bored of it. My legs useless, I thudded onto my ass and then my back hit the ground. At least the snow is soft, I thought. I can die on the nice, soft snow. The raging hog stood panting at my feet. I still held the gun. Methodically, it looked in my eyes and stepped toward my face. It wasn't in a hurry anymore.
My vision was going black, and the pain became a screaming thing that I could taste and hear and even smell. Praying there was still at least one live round still in my rifle, I placed the muzzle square against the hog's chest. The gun fired. Once, twice. With each blast, the barrel actually pushed into the beast's chest, as it continued to lean toward my face. After the second shot, it fell. Its bulk landed on my chest and belly, and then rolled off to my side. Here we lay, snuggled and bleeding together in the snow, two bosom buddies. I took a deep breath. The hog wasn't done. Its eyes locked on mine again, and it began to crawl toward my face. I could feel the steam of its mouth just below my chin. I struggled to free my rifle, but several inches of the barrel were buried in the mess of bone and blood and cartilage in its chest. I yanked, and the pig inched his face closer to mine. I could see deer hair and camouflage shreds mixed into the blood and froth on his lips. His chest heaved for breath, but it just sucked air raggedly through the gunshot wounds. I jerked the rifle free as his lips brushed sticky gore on the base of my neck. Had I used up all my luck, all my ammunition, with those last two shots? I placed the muzzle under his neck, pointed up through the skull. The gun fired one last time, the bolt now locked back and showing empty. An eyeball bulged fully out of the socket. Dead at last, the huge head slumped and oozed blood and brain into the snow.
I could feel unconsciousness creeping in. I hurriedly fumbled for my phone, and found myself thankful that I had bought gloves that would work with the touch screen. But signal could be spotty out here in the woods. Would the snow make reception even worse? I pressed Send, and there was a long pause. It eventually rang. Many times. Of course, the snow would have emergency services running ragged today. Car accidents, fires due to space heaters and fireplace mishaps, hypothermia. Then a crackling voice came through. The accent was local, thick and twangy. "911, do you need fire, police, or medical?" I almost cried with relief. I struggled to find my voice.
And then I paused. Among the bushes behind me, moving toward the clearing, I heard snow crunching. There was the muffled patter of many hooves. I heard fussing, squealing, grunting. I heard the uncareful noise of a sounder of pigs, squabbling on their way to their favorite feeding ground.
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2025.01.23 14:22 Sofia060101 'Ainda Estou Aqui' ganha três indicações ao Oscar, veja quais
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2025.01.23 14:22 Easy_Ad1137 What are your plans for coming weekend?
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2025.01.23 14:22 lactoseAARON Dune 2 received less nominations than the first did wins
 | submitted by lactoseAARON to oscarrace [link] [comments] |
2025.01.23 14:22 Ymir25 So apparently, season 3 will also only have 8 episodes
If this is true, it means they will have to wrap up the entire rest of the Dance in just 16 episodes. Turns out we were right all along. I'm not sure if this is the fault of Condal and Hess, or if this is HBO or Warner Bros shooting themselves in the foot and making a terrible business decision once again. But I'm guessing that seasons 3 and 4 will have the same problems as season 2 but magnified. The writers will blame the lack of episodes and budget, but what screen time and money they do have will be used in the most stupid way possible. By season 4 it might be as bad as GOT season 8 or worse.
Anyone want to take a guess at how stupid they are going to be adapting the next two seasons?
submitted by Ymir25 to HOTDGreens [link] [comments]
2025.01.23 14:22 MyTimeToScamNFT 97th Oscars Nominations for Actress in a Leading Role, Actor in a Leading Role, & Best Picture
 | submitted by MyTimeToScamNFT to Morbius [link] [comments] |
2025.01.23 14:22 tteokbokki_frog It looks cozy. Does it?
 | submitted by tteokbokki_frog to skyrim [link] [comments] |
2025.01.23 14:22 JuanaFlippa_BB Shih Tzu busca nombre 💖 me ayudan a encontrarle nombre a esta niña por favor 🙏🏼 ya no la pueden cuidar y va ser parte de mi familia 🥰
 | submitted by JuanaFlippa_BB to Aww_Espanol [link] [comments] |
2025.01.23 14:22 Some-Complaint2989 What is wrong with my tumblr?
I manage two blogs on Tumblr—a primary blog and a secondary one—and for the past two weeks, I’ve been facing several frustrating issues:
- I’m unable to comment on my own posts, even when replying to others, and I can’t leave comments in my own community. This problem affects both my primary and secondary blogs.
- A few weeks ago, I opened my ask section for 2–3 days and received over 100 asks in one day. However, since then, any new asks I receive no longer appear in my inbox.
These issues have severely impacted my ability to engage with my community. I’ve had to close my ask section in frustration, leading to a loss of over 100 followers, and I can’t interact with people properly by responding to their replies or comments.
Please guide me on how to resolve these issues. I truly don’t know what else to do.
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2025.01.23 14:22 Juqqler Bu gruplar hakkındaki fikirleriniz nedir? Ayrıca bu tarz grup önerileriniz varsa önerilere açığım.
 | submitted by Juqqler to rockmuzik [link] [comments] |
2025.01.23 14:22 ExactSolid8276 What's everybody's thoughts about Bishop Budde's sermon?
I just want to hear where everyone is coming from.
submitted by ExactSolid8276 to Christianity [link] [comments]
2025.01.23 14:22 One-Ad-4724 All Nations - MAC DADDY
 | ok.... so it smells like mac 1, it's drier than mac 1, but when exhaling it has an earthy, nutty aftertaste. The effect is immediate, first in the head and after a few minutes you can feel it in the whole body, a nice tickling feeling, it has a good analgesic effect. submitted by One-Ad-4724 to ukmedicalcannabis [link] [comments] |
2025.01.23 14:22 TheTaikatalvi Anyone else have a baby that only plays with the spoon 😭
 | Banana/cinnamon/oat purée with strawberries, cottage cheese, and whole grain bread. submitted by TheTaikatalvi to foodbutforbabies [link] [comments] |
2025.01.23 14:22 SociallyElectric Her parents are coming to meet me
submitted by SociallyElectric to sevenwordstory [link] [comments]
2025.01.23 14:22 stellaswap Set your marks; our upgraded AMM is gonna be EPIC and is round the corner! 🎉
 | submitted by stellaswap to stellaswap [link] [comments] |
2025.01.23 14:22 Few_Simple9049 Keisuke Oka’s Arimaston Building, Tokyo
 | submitted by Few_Simple9049 to evilbuildings [link] [comments] |
2025.01.23 14:22 Accomplished_Fee6180 Lisa (blackpink)
 | submitted by Accomplished_Fee6180 to KpopHotties [link] [comments] |
2025.01.23 14:22 Mecamat "I really didn't know where to find art back then." (Laughing at my old cards #17)
 | submitted by Mecamat to customhearthstone [link] [comments] |
2025.01.23 14:22 Healthy_Marsupial777 account password reset - linked email removed from account
i got on my account yesterday to see that it had been logged out. when i tried to log in, it told me i had to change my password, as roblox had reset it for me (???). when i entered the email i had linked to it, the account didn't show up. i'm certain this account was linked previously, as i still have the emails notifying me that i had reset my account password for the account. tried to contact support, but they told me they couldn't help me (despite me still knowing my old password which should still be in their database). does anyone know how i can fix this?
submitted by Healthy_Marsupial777 to RobloxHelp [link] [comments]
2025.01.23 14:22 johnlhall199040351 Help
 | Do I need a dryer or is this another issue? submitted by johnlhall199040351 to FixMyPrint [link] [comments] |
2025.01.23 14:22 vx_Shade_xv 👀Looking for English speaking Clan/Group to join👀
From the US. Newer to DM but not new to Yugioh. 33 years old. Looking for active group to join.
submitted by vx_Shade_xv to YuGiOhMasterDuel [link] [comments]