Here's the thing. You said a "wyvern is a dragon." Is it in the same family? Yes. No one's arguing that. As someone who is a 1k MMR feeder who studies dragons, I am telling you, specifically, in dota, no one calls wyverns dragons. If you want to be "specific" like you said, then you shouldn't either. They're not the same thing. If you're saying "dragon family" you're referring to the taxonomic grouping of Varanidae, which includes things from wyverns to eldwurms to drakes. So your reasoning for calling a wyvern a dragon is because random people "call the flying lizards dragons?" Let's get gyarados and charizards in there, then, too. Also, calling someone a noob or a feeder? It's not one or the other, that's not how taxonomy works. They're both. A wyvern is a wyvern and a member of the dragon family. But that's not what you said. You said a wyvern is a dragon, which is not true unless you're okay with calling all members of the dragon family dragons, which means you'd call eldwurms, drakes, and other flying lizards dragons, too. Which you said you don't. It's okay to just admit you're wrong, you know?
What happened to this ad? :(
More Copypastas
This is the world we have wrought
twitchquotes:
The year is 2129; humans can only communicate through increasingly garbled copy-pasta. A man approaches and says "ire: ███ 10 ｓｔｒｏｋｅ ｄｉｃｋ ff ☑ EKT ☾ ☆ ¸. ?" In confusion, I reply "AT ASCII ຈل͜ل͜ຈຈ༽༽ﾉﾉ HA ʙᴏʟᴀ ヽ༼ಢ_ ♌ ❛ั∗)◞ TUCK F (◡‿◡✿)". This is the world we have wrought.
twitch chat
Classic
Why is six afraid of seven? Six hasn't been the same since he left Vietnam
Why is six afraid of seven?
Six hasn't been the same since he left Vietnam. He can seldom close his eyes without opening them again at fear of Charlies lurking in the jungle trees. Not that you could ever see the bastards, mind you. They were swift, and they knew their way around the jungle like nothing else. He remembers the looks on the boys' faces as he walked into that village and... oh, Jesus. The memories seldom left him, either. Sometimes he'd reminisce - even hear - Tex's southern drawl. He remembers the smell of Brooklyn's cigarettes like nothing else. He always kept a pack of Lucky's with him. The boys are gone, now. He knows that; it's just that he forgets, sometimes. And, every now and then, the way that seven looks at him with avid concern in his eyes... it makes him think. Sets him on edge. Makes him feel like he's back there... in the jungle.
Classic
It's not gay with socks on
When I was 13 years old a buddy of mine tried to convince me to fool around. I wasn't into it, and he told me it's not gay if you're wearing socks. I didn't believe him, went home, and asked my dad.
That's 'gentleman's gay', hardly gay at all. Don't see it much these days.
The 50s were a different time. What were we to do? We were typical boarding school boys, rich with vigor, skin slick with drying sweat and gritty earth from a game of pigskin.
At night our young, virile bodies filled the dorm with sweet-musky vapors, like game-meat stewed with apple and peppercorn. You'd awake in darkness to the hushed, melodic rhythm of two pairs of white tube socks, barely visible in moonlight, bouncing on the hardwood floor.
The deep bond of male friendship played like a thousand different human instruments. The wet claps of skin on skin, the gentle thud of heads on backboards, frenzied cries in the throes of climax. Wilbur, so fat and soft like tapioca pudding. His breasts were so like the real thing, what we fantasized of our future wives. Unwilling, defenseless Wilbur, so slow and uncoordinated in the dark. 10 of us would glaze his bare, pink flesh like a giant raspberry danish. He once had the audacity to tell Headmaster Redford. But Redford was a Deerfield boy once, he understood. So he joined us on our midnight hog hunts.
Through college and years after we'd find time here and there, away from the wives at a family lake house. But it's been decades now - the times have certainly changed. If you wanted to do something private with another man, in your socks, it wasn’t ‘gay’. It was just two men, celebrating each other's strength.
John Cena eats Bing Chilling
Zǎoshang hǎo zhōngguó xiànzài wǒ yǒu BING CHILLING 🥶🍦 wǒ hěn xǐhuān BING CHILLING 🥶🍦 dànshì sùdù yǔ jīqíng 9 bǐ BING CHILLING 🥶🍦 sùdù yǔ jīqíng sùdù yǔ jīqíng 9 wǒ zuì xǐhuān suǒyǐ…xiànzài shì yīnyuè shíjiān zhǔnbèi 1 2 3 liǎng gè lǐbài yǐhòu sùdù yǔ jīqíng 9 ×3 bùyào wàngjì bùyào cu òguò jìdé qù diànyǐngyuàn kàn sùdù yǔ jīqíng 9 yīn wéi fēicháng hǎo diànyǐng dòngzuò fēicháng hǎo chàbùduō yīyàng BING CHILLING 🥶🍦zàijiàn 🥶🍦
I think my boss might be a communist
I think my boss might be a communist. So a while ago, I got my first paycheck at my new job at a fast food place. I guess it wasn't too bad, but I did the math and figured out that I sold a lot more food per hour than I got paid for, even when you account for the price of the food. When I tried to talk to him about it, he said we're all part of one big team, but some people get paid more than others. This is suspiciously close to the famous "some are more equal than others" from my favorite book, Animal Farm and is what really got me thinking about this. We make the money, and then he takes it and gives it to someone who doesn't even work! I'm not economist, but this is textbook socialism. I think I've come to the conclusion that the best way for me to combat these socialist business practices would be teaming up with my fellow workers unify our power and demonstrate that we understand the full value of our labor. Anyone else have similar experiences with obviously Marxist bosses before, or any other advice?