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obnoxious Absurdity 7/6/2015 Gold Stormcrow and known friend of The EsoTeric A True Mechwarrior 5/16/2014 #dbag #scumbagSteveMeme AC GLINT 5/16/2014 Insulted the 66AH even though he only did 39 damage ACrispyTaco 5/16/2014 Pointed the finger at everyone except himself.
[ding] It’s all simple, it’s just obnoxious!
This easy-to-follow framework will help you build rapport, get higher response rate while you stay authentic and never feel or come across obnoxious.
She doesn’t want Ophelia interrupting the obsessive order of her life with obnoxious songs about death and valentines.
The same open-air market now seems to have become run down and chaotic, the vendors seem aggressive or obnoxious, the food has become gross.
The same open-air market now seems to have become run down and chaotic, the vendors seem aggressive or obnoxious;
With logic to do away, Deconstructing, sterilizing, To leave aside the brain, They call logic sanity, That to eternity leads.” Tell them 'tis only blindness.” “All this nonsense you say, Enough of this silly thaw , You cannot logically prove, And I'll strike you like a panther,6 Your wily wit of flyers, Yet this I find obnoxious:
WELL, I say to you, pentode gain stages are FUN, and you sure could get the same gain and shield yourself from the nasty effects of Miller capacitance at the same time, BUT a pentode suffers from a few problems that that cascode does not--division noise from the grids, microphonics from the internal components, and higher power supply requirements for voltage lost from the cathode biasing and current draw from the heater circuit, not to mention higher internal heat, a bigger layout footprint and an obnoxiously high Zo (and the equally obnoxious price and inconsistency of modern-manufacture pentodes).
When most people think of sales, they think of an obnoxious pushy person trying to sell them something.
When most people think of sales, they think of an obnoxious pushy person trying to sell them something.
When most people think of sales, they think of an obnoxious pushy person trying to sell them something.
Matthew Davis 2/24/2016 Moving and then Moving Again but a Shorter Distance the Second Time When people talk about moving away from home, they usually act like it’s one of the hardest things to do in life,but the most challenging part of moving away is living in a new place and adapting to a scary and unfamiliar lifestyle.I moved from “upstate” (really more like lower th middle state) New York to Greenwich Village, Manhattan on August 29 2015 to enroll at NYU, and I was able to avoid any of the challenges an actual migrant would face. I drove down with my parents in an expensive car, played video games on my phone the whole way, and my biggest worry was whether my roommate whom I harassed on Facebook before we moved in would be mean to me when we finally met in real life. I didn’t have to worry about food or a safe place to stay, as my parents wrote out a check and all I had to do was show up. NYU would take care of everything from there. My “residence hall” came with a dining room, two lounges, and 24 hour public safety officers in the lobby to ensure the shadier characters of Manhattan couldn’t accidentally find themselves mingling with the heirs and debutantes of New York University’s Hayden Hall. Even though I had everything I needed here, I still felt overwhelmingly sad at the idea of leaving my family, and this was the closest thing to a difficult part about moving away from th home. On Friday September 4 I realized I could go home whenever I wanted for 16 dollars, and this revelation made the entire thing much easier for everyone. When I was home, I felt eager, even anxious, to get back to school in New York. At NYU, I was free to spend my parents’ money, and write obnoxious essays about the vastness of my privilege. After I got back from the trip home I had to take after 6 whole days of living on my own, something was different about my room. This “something” was so egregious that I really had no idea how to handle it. This was by far the most traumatic thing I had ever been forced to endure in my 18 pathetic years on this Earth. I came into my room and I saw my good friend and roommate “Ricky” had hung up Christmas lights. Aesthetics notwithstanding, Christmas lights were a distraction. They produced unnecessary light in garish colors at inappropriate times. There was no reason for an adult to have them, especially not in September. But Ricky’s passion for Christmas lights went further, as he insisted on leaving them on for most of the night. Sometimes he would come in at 2 in the morning to turn the Christmas lights on and inexplicably leave me to sleep with a blinding reminder of an event from 2000 years ago, or the holiday commemorating it that was still 3 months away. I tried to formulate possible reasons for leaving Christmas lights on late at night. Maybe he was afraid of the dark, maybe he was practicing for one of his NYU Tisch lighting classes, or maybe he did it to offend me personally, not realizing I’m only half Jewish. No matter how I looked at it, the Christmas lights were a problem, and when I asked him if I could turn them off one night, he insisted that he needed them to “see” at night. The obtuseness of this answer puzzled me briefly, and then I immediately ordered a light‐blocking sleep mask on Amazon to be delivered the next morning. For the next few weeks I made sure to passive aggressively draw great attention to my nightly ritual of preparing and donning my sleep mask, making sure Ricky understood that I had to wear protective nightwear to shield myself from the blinding rays of his “cute” and “hip” décor. I wasn’t happy here, I didn’t enjoy being disrespected by Christmas lights. That and Ricky and I would go days without saying anything to each other. I’m not sure if he didn’t like me, but it was a decidedly awkward living situation. The most we ever talked was one night when I saw Ricky outside smoking and drinking, a state in which he was eager to talk about how I “stare” at him at night (from what he described I think he meant my habit of lifting up my sleep mask to see if his Christmas lights were still on).This encounter was bizarre, and as I listened to him drunkenly rant about me, I realized I had to change the dynamic of my living situation into something less abusive. For the sake of brevity, I won’t go into the finer details, but in the th following weeks I arranged a four way room trade that involved me moving to the 8 floor of the same building into a triple room in exchange for $150 and a pair of sneakers designed by Kanye West. To be clear, I was the one getting the money and the coveted sneakers. When I tell this story people usually think I had to pay to get out of a bad situation, but no, I really got very lucky, and as far as Ricky’s “punishment” goes? The Urban Outfitters on 6th Avenue just went out of business. This brings us to where I am right now, in room 801 of NYU’s Hayden Hall. I like this room a lot better but it’s still pretty bad. Because I insisted on trading outside of the algorithmically sorted roommate pool, I now live in filth. That’s fine, I don’t mind cleaning up, but some of the filthy pigs I live with are also mean filthy pigs. My one roommate, whom I’ll try not to name (in the likely event that this essay is published within the next 3 months and he gets offended reading it and beats me up in my sleep), eats every meal in the room, showers with the curtain open, wears dirty boots into the room after I’ve cleaned it, stays up late playing video games and clicking manically, and also steals from me constantly. Describing his behavior this bluntly and omitting the nuance of his acrimony does tremendous justice to the reality of living with him. When he eats in the room, he gets the smelliest foods like stewed meats and broiled vegetables from the dining hall, and instead of throwing the box out in the hallway (like a normal disgusting person who eats in his bedroom) he leaves the box on his desk (like a really disgusting person who eats in his bedroom). When he showers with the curtain open, he steps outside of the shower with his wet body to get the soaps and Chinese shampoos he forgets to bring in with him at first, getting water all over the floor and sink. When he wears boots into the room he steps in the bathroom and onto the bath mat leaving piles of dirt for me to clean and towels for me to wash. When I come back after a weekend at home, and find my food, money, hangers, and prescription pills missing, he looks at me and groans indignantly at the idea of me being disappointed that he steals my things. When he stays up late playing video games, he insists “just one more round” even though it’s already 4 AM on the morning of my Calculus 3 midterm. This is a disaster, and I am under considerable abuse. The good news is he’s galvanized a number of latent obsessive compulsive tendencies in me, and now I have the “good” kind of OCD, meaning I’m obsessively organized and neat but in a “constructive” way according to my psychiatrist. At this point I alternate between pitying him as socially inept and unaware of how rude he’s being, and bitterly resenting him for being a mad genius, capable of scamming me out of my mental health. Before I moved away from home, I never had to deal with rude roommates or personal accountability or sleep masks, but it’s fine, it really is. As I type this, my RA, suitemates and I are planning an intervention with my roommate. He eagerly responded “yes” to an email about a meeting to create a new living agreement, probably not realizing he is the sole villain of this story. That’s okay, let him have a few more days of feeling bitter towards me for asking him to be slightly less inconsiderate sometimes. Listen, sure I’m being abused, but I really don’t mind; I’m becoming a more responsible adult, learning to have patience with children, and most importantly, my new shoes are really cool.
Shibuya - Where that crossing is (from Tokyo drift - please don’t stand in the middle and take a photo, it is obnoxious and gets in the way of everyone, it’s better to take a photo through a window inside because it gives you a better view).
They would almost certainly be executed if they were sent back to Russia, as they were for the most part very obnoxious to the Bolshevik Government.
Finding Le Coeur A Tale of Love and Regret By Don Carlson It seemed that the only meaningful question on a Friday was, ‘Do you find a party or do you put gas in the old Chrysler and go home to mom and dad?’ This college campus had little else to offer. Clarke hated Fridays. Seven weeks into his first year, and he loved every aspect of college life except for this. University of Wisconsin Eau Claire had made its way on to some stupid list of great party schools in a magazine likely to be found at the grocery store check out. Whoopee Ding. His roommate Duke, a washedup high school baseball pitcher, had found a third option to fill his free time. A sophomore girl with an apartment across campus had made room between her sheets for Duke to move into for a portion of each weekend. While Clarke didn’t dislike his roommate, it was a break to not have to listen to him rattle on endlessly about the Green Bay Packers. Few things in this world are more obnoxious than a diehard Packer fan. The dorm had felt like an anthill earlier that afternoon. More than a few students had packed their cars full of dirty laundry to haul back to mom. After supper at the dining hall, Clarke parked in the TV lounge with a couple of physics majors to watch a rerun of Hogan’s Heroes, followed by a parade of mindless sitcoms. He mused about how there had to be something more meaningful than this crap. Going for a run would have been a good idea had he started sooner. Now, it was getting dark. He always liked the idea of running. But when it came time to hit the road by himself, it was never as pleasurable as it was when he ran with a couple of other guys on his floor. Maybe it was because he was built a little more like a plow horse than a thoroughbred. Hiking in the woods with a backpack was more his style. That is the way he really would have enjoyed spending his summer, but much of the past few months were consumed working out in the sun on a paving crew to save up some money for school. Since running alone didn’t prove to be the most stimulating option, Clarke considered the fact that there was one last beer parked in the fridge back in the room. That would taste good, but the Resident Assistant would get in a knot if Clarke got caught bringing it back to the TV lounge. The Dorm Director had made it sound like having alcohol was a big nono, but in reality they just dumped it out if they caught you with it. It was almost time that he could go to bed, but if Clarke fell asleep now, a steady stream of partiers would wake him up every ten minutes for the next couple of hours. Knocking on several doors to see who might still be around, he didn’t get any response from the rooms that usually welcomed him. Maybe a long walk would provide a good chance to enjoy the crisp evening fall air of westcentral Wisconsin. It really was a beautiful time of year. Though it wasn’t so obvious at night, the leaves were near their peak color. As Clarke headed down the walkway through the central part of campus, there wasn’t anyone other than a young couple holding hands, seemingly headed to a romantic destination. A brief pang of jealousy rose up in Clarke’s chest. He pondered how his walk might be a good bit more enjoyable with a feminine hand to hold. There had been a girl in Clarke’s life just a few months ago. Ellen had come from a large family, all of whom had been generally decent to him. She was a year younger, and got seriously depressed when his graduation approached. His thoughts were more often turned toward college, and less toward her. Apparently, her dreams were filled with a wedding and babies, so there was an abundance of tears and angst over the whole business of breaking up. This was way too much drama for Clarke. By the time fall came, it was a welcome relief to pack up for school and hit the road. After walking to the north end of campus, Clarke turned to cross the bridge. It spanned the Chippewa River at a point where it was only fifty yards wide. The campus had been built on the wooded banks of the southeast side, just downstream from a small park. It truly was gorgeous. The part of the park that lay on the other side of the river was filled with oak trees hanging onto their rustred leaves, providing a quiet place to watch the lights of the campus shimmer off of the water. Clarke swept away a small pile of leaves that had accumulated on an old park bench, with the hope of taking in the scene. The air had turned cooler than he had anticipated, so he decided that only a few minutes of solitude would be possible before he had to swing back toward the dorm. To Clarke, life felt like it had been one big contradiction. It seemed that he fit in everywhere … but nowhere. In high school, football and baseball had been the sports that he participated in, but he rarely got to pick his butt up off the bench. That didn’t exactly put him in with the real jocks. Taking calculus and physics had him in classes with all of the bright kids, though he really didn’t care all that much about working hard or getting good grades. There were a couple of friends who were rebels or rowdies, but booze or drugs were of no interest, so he didn’t want to go down that road. Much of the way through high school he had a fair number of female friends, but until Ellen had come along, he had been scared to death of asking a girl out on a date. Given the choice between asking a girl out and facing a firing squad, he would prefer the firing squad. What was the worst that the firing squad could do? A girl could make life really miserable. As he sat watching the river go by, he found himself longing for just one clear direction in his life … one thing of which he could be certain. Sitting quietly with his thoughts, Clarke heard someone rustling through the fallen leaves a little way down the river. He sat as still as possible, hoping that maybe he wouldn’t be seen … or bothered. It became clear that it was a young woman, partly because of the way she walked, and partly because of the feminine voice mumbling to herself. She also seemed to be crying. Not more than a few feet away, the figure stopped in the shadows, realizing that she was being watched. Rather than turn and walk away, she just stood still, trying to gather her composure. “Are you okay?” Clarke asked, not sure how intrusive he should be. “Ya … ya … I’ll be fine. I just need … to ….” Her voice trailed off without the conclusion she was wishing for. “Would you like to sit for a while?” Clarke thought that he had caught a pretty good whiff of beer and cigarette smoke coming from this person silhouetted among the trees. “Listen … this was really stupid of me to wander into this strange park late at night … all alone. I’ve endured enough trouble for one day.” After a prolonged silence she asked, “I realize this is a insanely stupid question, but are you … okay? I mean, are you going to attack me … or do something … or …?” “Well, I suppose if I were going to attack you, I would have done it already. But this park bench might be as safe a place as you will find close by. Otherwise, you should know that this generally isn’t the safest park in the world for a woman to be by herself late at night.” The shadow didn’t move for a long moment as she pondered the possibilities set before her. Finally, as she took the last few steps that were required to arrive at the bench, Clarke got the strong impression that she was drunk … maybe very drunk. Since he had come to college, he had enjoyed a few beers with his friends now and then, but it never seemed interesting to be around people who were drunk. From the lights that shimmered across the river he could tell that she was a fairly attractive girl, though rather disheveled under the circumstances. “I left my ‘knight in shining armor’ suit at home, but is there anything I can do to help?” The distressed young woman looked at Clarke like he had said something incomprehensible. She took a long minute to process his question. “Holy crap … I just escaped one pile of heartaches … and have nowhere to go.” “I could walk you back to your apartment … or dorm, if you like?” “Damn … if it were that easy. That would be one unbelievably long walk.” It would have been easiest to start asking questions about her situation, but Clarke concluded that it might just be safest to just keep his mouth shut, and let her disclose whatever she might wish. “Soo … what is your name, Mr. Knight without his Shining Armor?” “Clarke. Sorry … but I will remember the shining armor next time. How about you, Miss Damsel in Distress?” “Hannah … and yes … I am in distress … truly deep doo doo. I suppose I could share the whole stupid story. Then you can whisk me up on your great white horse, and take me away ... or maybe shoot me and dump my body in the river.” She looked out at the river just a few feet in front of them, “You wouldn’t have far to drag my body.” Hannah began with a deep breath, “You see, a couple of months ago, I started dating this guy I worked with at a YMCA camp during the summer. I thought his armor was shining too, but now I find out that it has a good bit of tarnish. Anyway, we went out a several times at the end of the summer, and I got all caught up in hanging out with a real jock … something that NEVER happened to me in high school …a hockey player, no less.” “When August came, I started college at St. Olaf … a nice, quiet Lutheran school on a hill. Good girls go to school there, right? I’ve loved it there … vocal music major … probably elementary education minor … who knows. Then the Jerk … also known as Aaron, invites me up here for a weekend of fun. Pathetic me …I had fallen for this bad boy. I was ready to give up the whole virginity crap for him … got on the pill and everything.” Clarke found this amazing. A girl was actually spilling her guts. This had never happened to him before. Perhaps it was the booze that had broken her tongue loose. He patiently waited to hear the rest of the story. “So today after classes were done, I caught a ride with a friend here to Eau Claire. Naturally, after I got here, the party started. There were several friends of Mr. Hockey, and a girlfriend of one of the guys. I had enjoyed a few parties down at St. Olaf, but nothing like this. THIS was serious drinking. I have a feeling there might have been a pill in there somewhere too. Let’s just say, I am so unbelievably wasted that I don’t know … I don’t know which planet I’ve arrived on.” Just looking at her eyes, Clarke could tell that Hannah was not exaggerating. “So the party got a little wild?” “Wild? I wish it were just wild. After a few hours of their kind of wild, the girlfriend … her name was Cherry … or Carol … or whatever. Anyway, she told me that she had overheard someone saying that my dear boyfriend was looking forward to sharing more than his booze with his hockey buddies. I guess that meant they were hoping to pass me around. Even my poor, scrambled brain told me that this wasn’t a good idea. I slipped out the back door of their apartment building and started walking. I must have walked six or eight blocks before I got to this park. I have no clue how to get back, even if I wanted to. I fell down at least twice walking in the dark, skinning my elbow and twisting my wrist. I probably look like deathwarmedover. So there you have it … one serious damsel in distress.” With that, the last word fell out of her mouth and silence returned. Hannah sat there quietly for a couple of minutes until a deep, frightened sob broke the silence. She buried her face in her hands. Clarke had the urge to put his arm around her to comfort her, but she probably wasn’t in the mood to trust a man … any man. So he just sat with her as she cried. He couldn’t help but notice that it was continuing to get cooler outside. “Not to be too obvious, but it sounds like you need a place to sleep this off … someplace safe.” Clarke didn’t have a clue what would be possible … or even open at this hour of the night. He thought that calling the police might be an option, but that would probably mean that Hannah would get in some amount of trouble. He wasn’t sure she really deserved more of that. “You could come back to my dorm. There’s probably someone on the girl’s floor with a spare bed.” “I’m supposed to trust you?” She looked at Clarke through her glassy eyes. “You aren’t going to haul me up to your room and rip my clothes off?” “I’m not trying to talk you into anything. It’s up to you.” Hannah stared at Clarke, trying her best to look through the fog, working to figure out if she could trust this guy that she just met. After a minute she frowned and mused, “I guess there are no great options. Be good to me … please?” She grabbed his arm and squeezed it extra hard, hoping that he would know how serious she was … and how frightened. Helping Hannah back on her feet was not so easy. Her world was spinning around a little more randomly than was helpful. Walking across the uneven ground in the park provided plenty of challenges. At one point she very nearly went down, almost pulling Clarke down with her, but he got things generally headed back in the right direction. After they got up onto the bridge, it went better. There was little risk of her flopping over the railing, but he looked down at the cold water and thought about how she wouldn’t last a few seconds if she fell in. It seemed like every few years there was a drunken college student who made that mistake, and didn’t fare so well. He kept her on the inside part of the walkway. Hiking back across to the north side of the campus was somewhat less challenging. Hannah still held on tight to his arm. Clarke wondered if it was just to keep her balance, or if it provided some small amount of comfort. As they walked, she became more talkative, going back and forth between life back at St. Olaf and what an idiot she had been to trust Mr. Hockey. More than a few times she repeated elements of the story that she had first shared down in the park, adding a different slant with each telling. “Okay … we’re getting close to my dorm. You need to act as sober as possible. We don’t need anyone suspicious about what we are doing. If nothing else works out, I will get you a blanket and a pillow, and you can sleep in the TV lounge on the girl’s floor.” Hannah didn’t say a word as they crossed through the entry of the dorm. The guy at the front desk took a second to appraise the situation, giving Clarke a smirk at the thought of his good fortune. As they got in the elevator, heading for the fifth floor, Hannah winced, “Is there any chance I could find a bathroom? I gotta pee in a big away.” Clarke unlocked the door to his room and steered Hannah toward the door to the bath. Each pair of dorm rooms shared a bathroom in between, so first he took a quick glance to see if a neighbor might be using it. He was pretty certain that those guys had both gone away for the weekend, but checked to make sure. With Hannah shuffling around in the bathroom, Clarke listened to make sure there weren’t any crashes or screams. The shuffling fell to silence after a moment. He concluded he was taking care of business without additional drama. “Hannah? I’m going to go check with some female friends to see what is possible. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Will you be okay?” “Yaa … ya …….ya, I think so. I just wish the spinning would stop.” There followed another minute of silence, so Clarke headed down to the girl’s floor, hoping for a small portion of luck. At the first door he got no response. Down the hall lived another girl who had dated a friend of his for a while. With a tap on the door, he heard some voices. Slowly, the door opened a tiny bit. “Clarke … what are you doing? It must be 2 o’clock.” “There is a girl who is in serious need of a place to sleep tonight. Any chance … ?” “Aaaah … I already have some … company, so … maybe some other time?” The girl looked over her shoulder and smiled coyly. The door closed without another word. This wasn’t working out so well. Clarke wasn’t much in the mood to go knocking on any more doors at this hour. The idea about having Hannah sleep in the girl’s TV lounge seemed more reasonable by the minute. By the time he got back up to his room, there were unhappy sounds coming out of the bathroom. Apparently, Hannah’s stomach wanted to get rid of all contents, real or imagined. Every other word out of her mouth was a plea for God to be done with it all … interspersed with a few other words not usually associated with God. Clarke leaned back in Duke’s moderately comfortable recliner, ready to wait out this poor girl’s agony. Hannah really seemed to be a sweet girl. She surely didn’t deserve this kind of evening. Dozing between episodes of the dry heaves, he was a little surprised when he heard the shower turn on. Clarke walked over to the bathroom door, “Are you okay?” All he could hear over the noise of the shower was Hannah sobbing. This had to involve some sort of mess. Vomit was not one of his favorite things. All he could do was wait to see what had gotten in the way of her catharsis. After the shower finally got shut down, a humiliated voice came from behind the bathroom door, “Clarke?” “Hey … Hannah … are you feeling a little better?” “I guess so. But I have a … problem. I got puke in my hair and on my clothes … and a few other places too. I tried to rinse everything off … but now I’m … wet.” “If I found a sweat suit, would you want to change into it? I could run the dirty stuff down to the laundry. Would that be okay?” “Yaa … I guess.” “I will get a garbage bag. Put everything in it that needs to get washed, and hand it out. Then I can be back in a few minutes.” He tapped on the door to hand in the sweat suit, “It’s going to be too large, but there’s a draw string in the waist, so you should be able to make it work.” A minute later, the bag was handed back out with the unsavory contents. Grabbing a hand full of quarters and some laundry soap, he made his way down to the basement of the dorm.
A nation is but a culmination of ideas of the individual as well as that of the collective unit that consists of the individual.A nation comes to be a nation while fighting obnoxious forces that suppresses its culture,its people and thus - its life.A nation is the art of belonging to and belonging with merged all along.The moment the culture is anti-cultured,the moment the people strewn and dispersed,the nation looses its existence.
Galwin was easily the most obnoxious living being in the world.
Galwin was easily the most obnoxious living being in the world.