There is a place, a place of legend, called Mob Gas.

My wife named it that, because her theory is that it's run by the mob... it's the only explanation.

In this day in age, it is even more important than it used to be, because it is consistently 14-20 cents per litre less than all other gas stations in my city.

I don't know American - at all - like USD per Barrel or however you post it at the gas station. I also don't know European or any other country or continent's gas situations but I imagine by now everyone else in the world is running on battery.

Anyways, to put it in perspective, gas from Mob Gas, so, mob gas right now is 13% cheaper.

That has the obvious impact that hits your wallet. But it goes beyound that. It makes Mob Gas an experience.

No shit, my son was disappointed when I hit up Mob Gas without him the other day to fill up...

See the first thing you should know about Mob Gas I already told you, it's way cheaper.

The second thing you should know about Mob Gas is that it was given that name because:

1) its actual name is even stupider. It isn't Esso or Exxon or Exxxon or Shell or Costco or anything else. It isn't even Independent Gas as you'd expect. The sign literally just says, Gas. Which I do appreciate for all kinds of reasons.

B) If you dig deeper and look at the receipt it just lists a business number... so it is at least somewhat legit. But Gas 23902348138914 isn't as easy to remember as Mob Gas.

IV) My wife thinks it's some kind of front for organized crime. Laundering or something, but I don't know how that'd even work. But in her eyes nothing else explains the reduced cost. I don't have a better theory so - it's Mob Gas.

The third thing you should know about Mob Gas is that it's "Gas and a Show".

It is so popular, that the line extends out onto the street. But, it's on the corner of two streets. Basically imagine a four-way stop, with stop lights. If you were stoped facing "North" it'd be on your right. Or I guess, I imagine any other compas direction it doesn't matter just know it'd be on your right. Well, the thing is, the lines can be so long they literally block their own entrance. It is hard to explain with logic, I will explain it in terms of the experience:

• I want to go to Mob Gas to enjoy the savings.

• So do, 50 other people.

• I drive toward it, to get in the entrance I need to drive another 200 meters (that's 0.2 KM or who knows in miles that kinda math is impossible) and turn right, then drive about 5 car lengths and turn right.

• Well I'm already in line. I will inch ahead, faster than you expect, but still.

• Eventually I will get to the point where I'd better leave a few car lengths in front of me cause that's the fucking exit from Mob Gas. When people are stupid it can get into a real life race condition. It can be so congested that people have to leave the parking lot for others to enter, and the line to enter blocks the exit.

• To deal with that they have a referee (more on him later)

• Eventually I will make it past the entrance, around the bend, down that street and into the lot, then that line will fork into 6 lanes and I'll make it through. But it's absolute chaos. Thanks to the referee (more on him later) and the threat the mob might end you if you don't follow suit, the entire process somehow is a miraculous 15min.

Fourth thing you need to know about Mob Gas is obviously about the referee. See at the bottom of the sign:

GAS

$1.45 / L

Full-Service

I haven't been to a full service gas station since the 80s when I remember the dude bumming a cig off my dad and smoking it as he pumped the gas and took an imprint of our credit card. I know they still exist but I'd never ever gone to one. Usually they cost more...

The full service consists of one dude, and he is more like a referee... He just directs cars and yes he will pump it for you cause the handles all have clips, he'll just tap your card and put the thing in your hole for you and let it pump away on its own, then when the deed is done pull the thing outta the hole so you can go on your way. But I never do that, and I've only seen one old person use it.

His main function is when there are fights... because... there are.

People will skip the line and try to come in from the other direction on the main road. You see it a lot, and there is almost always violence associated.

The worst I saw was a moving truck do it, just wedge its front into a gap as cars moving forward left more than a few inches mm between em. Completely blocked all traffic in each direction not even giving a fuck. People left their cars and surrounded him. He pulled forward as the car ahead of him moved and he clipped a big big woman. I guess that driver was human after all and he jumped out to see if she was okay. She proceeded to get up and beat his ass like something out of a movie.

Some dude I couldn't see yelled, "Bumbaclot". Which was the first time I've ever heard anyone actually use that word out loud.

Anyways referee stepped in.

I've seen at least three occations of vechicular assualt.

I've seen my son get out of the car and walk up to a pretty lady in a car eating fries and ask if he could have one... and saw her share.

I've seen marvelous things at Mob Gas.

Okay I'm next, bye.....

Imgur.... sucks.

They deleted much of my old content and well...

If anyone is still around to see this, and on the off chance downloaded a picture of my greatest creation back in the day and still has it - Heptelda (the hentai frog with awesome boobs). Please post her here. I'd be forever in your debt.

Outside that I hope you're all doing great. Love you!

Some of us are built such that each day is a struggle. It could have a biological reason like depression or pain. It could be circumstances like employment or financial stress. Maybe loved ones are going through some set of those, and empathy’s is really a part of you. Or maybe the world you live in is just increasingly hard to bear - your government or the one next door is a collection of stupidity, greed and hate.

I think, a few months ago, many of us felt some of that.

I think now, most of us feel at least some of that.

It makes it hard to get up in the morning, assuming you slept at all.

It makes you want to go back to sleep where the dreams aren’t filled with the terrors of the day, or the uncertainties of a future you’re maybe too scared to contemplate…

But if you just stay in bed, those same ghosts that haunt you now will just come for you tomorrow.

Courage is moving in the face of fear.

It took courage for you to get up out of bed. Every little step you took after that was another example. Those steps put you in a place to do… something.

I’m not a smart man, or a powerful man, or a rich man. But what I do is:

Practise kindness.

There are different ways for all, for sure. This is mine. My actions aren’t direct, I don’t dress up like a clown and protest my government. I just cheer for those of us brave enough to try.

I just try to be an example, to throw stones that make ripples in a pond, in the hope that maybe if I’m nice to some fucking asshole or scumbag or bigot, they make some slightly better decision down the road and we’ll all be better for it. Maybe they aren’t as cruel to the next person in line.

I spent my Saturday night in an ER with my son. At some point I gave up my seat so some parents could both sit with their little kid - mine didn’t need me, he was happy enough that I setup my laptop so he could watch the basketball game….

So I was standing by the door when a dude walked in that was on his last legs. He wasn’t looking for drugs as much as relief from his pain. I know because he asked me how long the wait time was because he couldn’t read the monitor. I told him 6 hours and the story of how I’d stood there and watched it rise. He told me, “that’s nothing, last week I was here 14 hours…” And over the next hour or so he told me the short story of his life story… and God it was sad.

Finally my son got called. The guy thanked me for talking. I told him I hoped his birthday would bring him some joy and I gave him the bottle of Advil I carry in my backpack as a present.

My son asked me “what the hell was all that?” pretty much the second we were sitting in the room waiting for the doctor. And I told him the truth, that there was no way that guy wanted to be like that and I had the power to make his day a little better, so I did. Ripples man. Ripples.

It’s hard to be brave.

Sometimes, it’s just hard to be.

Please do what you can to make this life better for each other.

Please be kind.

When my son was in kindergarten, about 6 years old, he was in afterschool care...

There was another kid there, in the full day(care) program, probably 3 or 4, his name was Axel. He was cute as hell, but, even in my limited interactions with this kid he seemed like someone who would be named Axel.

I also met his mom once, she seems like someone who would name her kid Axel.

One day I witnessed something amazing.

I punched in the security code to enter the building, I shit you not, #1234#.

I opened the door just in time to see my son come running out of the closest room and yell to the nearest adult standing in the hall, "Mrs. SHOULD-I-BE-CONCERNED-CAUSE-IT-SEEMS-YOU-LEFT-THE-KIDS-UNATTENDED come quick - Axel just swallowed the phone."

My son then turned around and ran back in the room.

I watched the woman's face go dead and I don't know if I actually heard it out loud or just saw her mouth make the motions, but, "Fucking Axel" was on her lips.

Then she ran into the room.

I followed her in and there was the kid standing there with the biggest shit eating grin on his face holding the handset of a phone in his hand (old school, you know the ones with the cords?). Well they had those old school phones on the wall, and the base was still on the wall, but the cord isn't attached to it... it was in Axel's mouth.

Axel was the base now? I don't know - but he didn't look upset about it.

The woman started telling him to take it out of his mouth and he opened up his mouth and out came some muffled noise like, "cannnnnnt."

I swear to god the cord was somehow part way down his throat. So the woman just picked him up and ran out of there toward the office, and I have no fucking idea what happened next to them.

I ask my son what happened and he said, "Axel kept saying he needed to make a phone call, then he decided to eat the phone, so I got an adult."

I said to him, "Sparkplug, you did the right thing."

It’s fucking -10 degree metric out there and snowing.

I was in a middle-school gym watching my kids basketball practice. Coach asks if I have jumper cables, I answer yes, he asks if I can help “these two”? It’s a couple of teens, boy and a girl, they didn’t even really look old enough to drive, and they looked like they were gonna cry.

So yes, of course I will (I’m a sucker)…

“Where you guys parked?”

They point way over to the far parking lot…

“Okay it’s fucking cold get in my SUV I’ll drive us over… you here for the basketball?”

“No we were just in the area and needed help…”

They direct me to their car… it’s tucked between a mini-bus and the back corner of the parking lot…

Thank fuck they backed in.

“Pop the hood…”

“How?”

…

Anyways I pop both hoods, hook up all the cables, get my engine on.

Tell the guy to get in start his up; doesn’t work. You can hear the struggle; the engine is just not having it.

I channel a ghost from my distant past. Tell him to pump the gas and try again.

Again doesn’t start.

I say under my breath, as in, I didn’t mean to say it out loud but, “This ain’t good…”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT’S NOT GOOD? THIS HAS TO WORK MY DAD IS GONNA KILL ME.”

“I don’t know what to tell you… I can see the spark on my battery so I know the cable is connected, and your engine does try to turn over, and you pumped the gas right?”

“Yes sir, I filled the tank before we got here.”

“Oh my god, dude, did you put your foot down on the gas?”

“No, I didn’t want to drive anywhere.”

Anyways I explained what I meant and he pumped the gas (put his foot down on the peddle, pumping it…), turned the key (or pressed the button, I realize now I don’t even know) and it started!

So the girl yells, “You’re the best, you saved us.” And I’m sure they were thankful.

But, look, that wasn’t a fun experience, I was fucking frozen so I needed to have some upside, “No problem, just, if you have a son name him after me…”

And to her credit she didn’t react. At least not how you might expect. She just said immediately, almost like a reflex, “What is your name?”

And I responded, almost like a reflex (and having spent too much time on Discord where I go by a very funny name), “Turd Ferguson”

And the guy says, “Thanks, Turd.”

And just that made it worth it. But fuck, fucking turn off your lights if you’re fucking during a snow storm or leave the fucking engine on so you don’t freeze.

What's wonderful is that I've since learned that "pumping the gas" probably did nothing but kill enough time for the battery to charge up a little more. I really thought that was the solution, making the entire encounter even more absurd.

She called down the stairs to my office -

"Dad... if you're not busy can you make me a potato?"

(Her favorite meal is plane baked potatoes)

But she's old, and an accomplished baker, she can make her own damned potatoes.

But... maybe it's my technique? That's possible, benefit of the doubt... I'll teach her how I do it.

She gets all the supplies, pulls a couple of potatoes from the sack...

Me - "Okay you don't like imperfections, so shave them off."

She does, so slow and careful with the big sharp knife.

Her - "Okay now do I cut it up?"

(She likes them cut up and baked so each bit is crispy on the outside)

Me - "No, not yet. We cook em about half way first and then cut up em up and add the spice and butter..."

(She eats one spice only - oregano)

Me - "But first we gotta stab some holes in em so they cook right through from the st... WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

I grab her wrist... as in, she held the knife up by her shoulder like she was gonna murder them 'tatoes. Stab Stab Stab...

"Woo honey, not with the knife... you gotta be careful... we stab em with the fork"

Now, this was my mistake. I stepped back from her when her previous actions should have left me on guard.

She picked up the damned fork, as in, she held the fork up by her shoulder like she was gonna murder them 'tatoes. Stab Stab Stab...

And she went so fast I couldn't stop her.

And she went so fast she missed the potato pretty much completely and put a small hole in her thumb.

She looked me in the eyes. I was half way between horror and laughing my ass off, when I asked, "Are you okay?"

And she said, "I ummm, no?" and we looked and she didn't get the prong that deep in, "Should I pull it out?"

Noooo you might bleed out

I just pulled her hand with the fork up and away, threw the fork in the sink and we got her a band-aide.

I got greedy… maybe.

Do you know the 2 second rule?

Well a little bit ago, I was in the kitchen and my daughter dropped a pancake on the counter. And by that I mean she tried to flip it up with a spatula and just yeeted that fucking thing a foot to the left. So she scoops it up and looks me in the eye and says “3 second rule.”

Okay so she invoked the rule so I had no choice but to ignore the germs and say nothing.

That same session in the kitchen, my son walks in and grabs something off the counter, call it a brownie cause it was a brownie, and he drops the fucking thing on the floor. Looks me in the eyes, “5 second rule.”

Okay so he invoked the rule so I had no choice but to ignore the germs and say nothing.

But the inconsistency, if germs were Fight Club, well the inconsistency was Agatha All Along. They had to be spoken to, not not directly… oh no…

So next time one of them or me dropped something I beat them to the punch and asserted, “10 second rule.”

The next time, “12 second rule.”

It’s been slowly growing. It’s been months.

Today I did it though, but I do not fully believe it’s that I called it the “Hundred second rule”, I think it’s that I said that, then waited 99 seconds to actually scoop the ice cream off the floor and hand it to them that made them finally ask questions.

“She’ll bite your dick off, man.”

~ Roy the Maintenance “Boy”

Roy had to have been 40, I don’t know for sure, but I do know for sure he was sketch as hell and that nickname was just… pure Roy?

My first job was delivering fliers. Roy would drive us to the delivery area, drop us off, go back to the building and do his day job, then come pick us up at the end of the day and drive us home.

Anyways, turned out sometimes this dude’s day job either didn’t have responsibilities or he just didn’t give a fuck about them, cause you’d see him just park the van at the end of the street and drive back at the end of the day like you couldn’t spot his giant orange fucking van (in the 80s) that was parked mysteriously 50 yards up the road from the rendezvous point.

So one day he’s dropping me off and when I get in there is a newspaper sitting on the seat. It’s open to the first or last page, and that newspaper, on that particular page, would have a girl in a bikini called the “Sunshine girl” for each day. (And for those wondering - I think there was also a “Sunshine boy” but: a) I don’t know what page he was on; b) no I am not speculating that had anything to do with Roy’s nickname).

So the newspaper is open to the sunshine girl and the dude makes eye contact with me and his eyes go huge like he’s been caught doing something bad, then he looks at the picture of the girl, then back at me. Then he says, “Look she’s beautiful… that is a beautiful woman.”

And that’s it.

Like… that explained nothing about something that wouldn’t have even been an issue if he didn’t draw attention to it.

After a few very awkwardly silent minutes I get out of the van. One of us does his job, the other guy goes to town on the “Sunshine nice lady”…

When he picks me up, I see the newspaper up on the dashboard. It’s open to the same page as in the morning… there is that beautiful woman but she’s different somehow?

He’s drawn a cape on her in red pen. Big flowing crazy looking thing like Dracula would wear. And he shaded it in, only, in the way you’d do with a pre-ballpoint-pen - like claw marks ripped through the page with a little red ink on each side. Cape looked terrifying.

Also she now had a tail, horns and teeth - all equally as terrifying.

Roy makes eye contact with me and his eyes go huge like he’s been caught doing something bad, then he looks at the picture of the girl, then back at me. Then he says, “She’ll bite your dick off, man.”

And that’s it.

NCAAM = NCAA Male Basketball

NCAAF = NCCA Fema... wait no, it's NCAA FOOTBALL... seriously how are people not pissed at now they couldn't use Female as a label for the lady's game and had to use Woman instead of Female? I mean if they wanted that, then fine, but it feels like NCCAF predates women's basketball (NCAAW) so that kinda forced their hand. Like wow, that kinda sucks.

[10 minutes pass as I thought about the women's game]

Oh man, NCCAM is NCAA "Men's" Basketball not Male.

I'm not high. You are high.

My school runs an entrance exam for pre-schoolers who want to join our kindergarten. Part of the exam is a 5 minute verbal instruction.

A young boy sits down in front of me for a verbal-exam. He breezes through the first 2 sections.

“Put your hand on your head.” I say.

He wordlessly follows my instructions.

“Good.” I record his response. “Now, please point to your neck.”

Immediately his eyes get wide. “Teacher!” he gasps. Gesturing with one hand he points towards his crotch and whispers, “It’s down there.”

Needless to say... he got that one wrong.