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MACKLEMORE & RYAN LEWIS - CAN’T HOLD US FEAT. RAY DALTON (OFFICIAL MUSIC VIDEO) (by Ryan Lewis)
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oh lord i’ve missed these dudes
Different People (Acoustic)- Biffy Clyro
This is on repeat, its perfect. Listen to it now.
(Source: darknessin0urhearts)109 plays
To whom it might concern,
I am writing concerning the events of last evening, November 21, 2012. It was the night before Thanksgiving, though that has nothing to do with anything.
I had dropped off my sister and brother-in-law at the airport that morning, failing to notice how little gasoline was left in their car. In exchange for the drop off, they let me borrow the vehicle for the week. Mine’s in the shop. This also has nothing to do with anything.
Let me start again.
A few weeks back, Hurricane Sandy came through the northeast, and folks in my area were warned to prepare for the worst. Having just bought a generator
for situations like this, I did my disaster readiness thing, which like thousands of others I’m guessing, included a trip to the hardware store to purchase your product.
Your Weldco 5 Gallon Plastic Gas Canister.
Luckily, the Hurricane’s path of destruction mostly missed my area.
I wish I could say the same for your fucktarded gas asshole pussyshit fuckboxes.
Like I said, I bought and filled 3 of these things a few weeks ago.
So then, last night, my brother-in-law’s car runs out of gas because I wasn’t paying attention to where his gas gauge was, and that’s on me. I’m not contesting that. I’m not on trial here.
Shit happens, let’s go get some gas.
My studio engineer, Dan, takes me to the local gas station, which is selling a WELDCO 1 gallon canister. “Jeez. This looks like the other 3 gas cans I’ve bought this month. These caps kinda suck if I remember right…”
Out of that first gallon of gas I purchased and pumped into the can, I think I managed to get about 2 tablespoons into the actual fuel tank of the car. Why, you ask? Because the design of your product’s safety cap is so utterly counter-productive and MALEVOLENT that my ability to pour liquid was reduced to that of a thumbless toddler.
Because you seem to have designed something made to expose people to a maximum amount of fumes, while soaking their clothing, vehicle, and entire surrounding area in gasoline specifically in situations of emergency and despair.
Because fuck you and anyone that loves you.
First… the weird hybrid of toothed lock and prescription childproof steroid safety mechanism, just to unscrew the cap to an empty tank. Then to fill it and try to get that thing back on. As you must know by now, It’s almost impossible to tighten in any way that keeps less than 90% of the fumes from escaping, so if you’re riding with this thing in the backseat, you’re either huffing 5 gallons of unleaded or freezing your ass off… driving with your head out the window on a frigid November evening.
Then, disengaging that mechanism a second time and attaching the needlessly complex robot safety dick, including it’s confusing green locking piece that never stays in place, which means you need to actually kind of jerk the robot safety dick off into the tank manually, while using your pelvis to awkwardly hump the 5 gallon container against the car.
Oh, Also. You’ll need two more hands free (6 total) to squeeze the gas can together like a fucking Capri Sun to get the gas out at more than a trickle, because these gas cans don’t have the little carb hole that makes liquid pour out of them effectively. Pouring liquid is not the aim here. Crushing hearts and hastening the decline of western civilization is the aim. Let’s Keep it 100, WELDCO. Raping beauty is the aim. You are the goddamn vortex. You are the inventors and chief advocates of childhood leukemia. Somewhere in your Head Executive’s penthouse, the patent for AIDS is sitting in a golden frame.
Fucking gas is spilling everywhere. Gas is on my shoes. Gas is running in a little river through the parking lot. Gas is on the car. Gas is in the glove box. Gas is on my elbows. I am suddenly a molotov cocktail that your company is throwing at God. There is however no gas in my gas tank.
Shockingly. Those first 2 tablespoons aren’t enough for the car to start.
Nothing to do but get BACK in Dan the engineer’s car.
And go to the local hardware store.
And purchase….. another……..WELDCO container. Bigger one this time. 5 Gallon Plastic Container. The fourth I’ve bought this month. $16. Call it my weekly donation
to the Man Boy Love Association at this point. Feels great.
Because what else could we do, right?
The good news is at this point, I’ve probably absorbed enough gasoline through my hands and skin in the past month to be able to piss unleaded gasoline into my fuel tank during future emergencies.
I don’t need a refund. I will extract my refund from you when the time comes.
Even if it’s in another world, and a time we cannot imagine from the present moment.
I will see you in the fireball, motherfuckers.
When your shitty petroleum plastic won’t find any more fossil fuel to spill in the dirt.
When the furthest thing from your mind is this letter, and November 21, 2012.
The day I found my new mission in life.
The day our fates became one.
Even if my children’s children find your children’s children in the goddamned Wasteland,
makers of WELDCO. The day will come.
When a man comes at you howling, swinging a rusty improvised axe, crying happy tears.
Tears that smell like gasoline.
YOU WILL SEE ME, WELDCO.
THAT YOU WILL SEE ME.
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