Peacocks are an underrated nuisance bird. Back in the Corps there was a flock that lived on base and without fail every morning at 5:00 am they would be outside our barracks yelling like:
We had a neighborhood peacock until pretty recently. Apparently the previous owners (read: assholes) just left him behind when they moved. Luckily it's pretty temperate here and he made his way for a few years before being taken in. Unfortunately due to noise complaints he had to be relocated outside the city, but now he's out on a ranch with some other critters and apparently doing well.
"If complete and utter chaos was lightning, then he'd be the sort to stand on a hilltop in a thunderstorm wearing wet copper armour and shouting 'All gods are bastards'."
I would like to chime in and say that there are some truly heinous aquariums and zoo's out there that abuse and exploit animals which should absolutely be shut down and people prosecuted.
There are also zoo's and aquariums that are basically hospitals with viewing rooms where injured or abandoned animals go to for care and survival.
The "zoo" part of this pays for the staff and care of these animals and it pisses me off when people advocate for them to be shut down because the outcome for the animals is now death.
Not every rehabilitated animal can go back into the wild and some required constant care. Allowing the public to see and be educated about these animals "in real life" is huge and the money that comes along with that goes to help the animals survive where the alternative is nature taking it's course.
I have a lot of issues with how some animals are cared for and shipped around and exploited but I'm not at all an advocate for shutting down all zoo's or sanctuaries where animals are kept.
Anyway, bears are awesome and nature cams are addicting as fuck.
Yea we have a raptor rescue center here that does amazing work. They do their best to rehabilitate birds that have been injured, especially ones struck by vehicles or hurt by other man made means, but not all of them can go back. They have pretty good enclosures that help to mitigate their disabilities and the more personable birds are part of teaching shows.
Having a giant ass barn owl sit on your arm is amazing. Also burrowing owls are the best, and I wish they were domesticated so I could have one as a pet.
Our coastal aquarium was the one who built a giant enclosure to help rehabilitate the killer whale Keiko (the whale from free willy) while he was being prepped to return the the wild. It was an amazing tank for the time, and they did their best to make it interesting for him while he was there. The walls and floors were rough with unique geometric shapes so he could have something to "look at" with his echo location instead of perfectly smooth tank walls. In the years since they've rebuilt it into a pacific northwest fish and shark tank with one of those viewing tubes running through it that you can walk around. It's pretty nice.
I guess the issue is that Zoo is a broad term that covers the shittiest for profit parks and on the other end rescue and recovery parks that are at least trying to be decent and really consider the needs of their charges.
The second sentence in your post does not quite live up to the first.
Yea, let me be clear, when I say "Not all can go back" it means that if they did go back, they will die, due to a permanent disability. So in those cases the rescue center keeps them on and takes care of them.
My one consistent dream in life is to win the lottery in order to build the best non-returnable raptor center in the world.
I initially read this as you wanting to build a place people picked up raptors from and would refuse people like [Expletive deleted] a refund when they found out it wasn't the bipedal dinosaur.
We had a neighborhood peacock until pretty recently. Apparently the previous owners (read: assholes) just left him behind when they moved. Luckily it's pretty temperate here and he made his way for a few years before being taken in. Unfortunately due to noise complaints he had to be relocated outside the city, but now he's out on a ranch with some other critters and apparently doing well.
Oh, sweetheart, your peacock went to live on a farm upstate? I think it's time for the talk about Grandma and Grandpa going to sleep for a really long time...
+21
Options
MichaelLCIn what furnace was thy brain?ChicagoRegistered Userregular
edited June 2020
Bad news: A couple voted for Brexit without grasping what that means to them, blames the Gemmifera Group.
Gone Right: Their neighbor's response (it goes on for some time)
We had a neighborhood peacock until pretty recently. Apparently the previous owners (read: assholes) just left him behind when they moved. Luckily it's pretty temperate here and he made his way for a few years before being taken in. Unfortunately due to noise complaints he had to be relocated outside the city, but now he's out on a ranch with some other critters and apparently doing well.
Oh, sweetheart, your peacock went to live on a farm upstate? I think it's time for the talk about Grandma and Grandpa going to sleep for a really long time...
I was the rare child whose pet actually did go to live on a farm upstate. We had a cat when I was small who was not equipped to deal with a grabby infant so he got shipped off to my sister's grandma's farm to be a barn cat. I got to visit him as he lived to a ripe old age doing what he loved: murdering small animals. Bosco was a real one.
So, exception that proves the rule, I guess.
+16
Options
Inquisitor772 x Penny Arcade Fight Club ChampionA fixed point in space and timeRegistered Userregular
It'd be funny if it wasn't so fucking stupid and didn't have such a massively detrimental impact on so many other people.
+19
Options
Brovid Hasselsmof[Growling historic on the fury road]Registered Userregular
Yeah, I find it hard to laugh at Brexiters discovering they've fucked themselves when I've spent the last 4 years knowing they fucked me and everyone else who voted against it
+7
Options
MichaelLCIn what furnace was thy brain?ChicagoRegistered Userregular
This is why we declared our independence, so we wouldn't be beholden to terrible voting decisions by a small number of ignorant awful people...
+17
Options
AuralynxDarkness is a perspectiveWatching the ego workRegistered Userregular
I don't even approximately understand French and I still want to be a fly on the wall for that meeting with the mayor. I don't think translation will really be necessary.
That thread really goes places, even by "really goes places" standards.
We had a neighborhood peacock until pretty recently. Apparently the previous owners (read: assholes) just left him behind when they moved. Luckily it's pretty temperate here and he made his way for a few years before being taken in. Unfortunately due to noise complaints he had to be relocated outside the city, but now he's out on a ranch with some other critters and apparently doing well.
Oh, sweetheart, your peacock went to live on a farm upstate? I think it's time for the talk about Grandma and Grandpa going to sleep for a really long time...
Lol, I knew someone was going to do this the moment I mentioned the farm.
"If complete and utter chaos was lightning, then he'd be the sort to stand on a hilltop in a thunderstorm wearing wet copper armour and shouting 'All gods are bastards'."
We had a neighborhood peacock until pretty recently. Apparently the previous owners (read: assholes) just left him behind when they moved. Luckily it's pretty temperate here and he made his way for a few years before being taken in. Unfortunately due to noise complaints he had to be relocated outside the city, but now he's out on a ranch with some other critters and apparently doing well.
Oh, sweetheart, your peacock went to live on a farm upstate? I think it's time for the talk about Grandma and Grandpa going to sleep for a really long time...
Lol, I knew someone was going to do this the moment I mentioned the farm.
Wow. Your parents have really gone all out to uphold the illusion :P
"The western world sips from a poisonous cocktail: Polarisation, populism, protectionism and post-truth"
-Antje Jackelén, Archbishop of the Church of Sweden
+29
Options
Gabriel_Pitt(effective against Russian warships)Registered Userregular
The parents were actually replaced by four peacocks in two trenchcoats.
We had a neighborhood peacock until pretty recently. Apparently the previous owners (read: assholes) just left him behind when they moved. Luckily it's pretty temperate here and he made his way for a few years before being taken in. Unfortunately due to noise complaints he had to be relocated outside the city, but now he's out on a ranch with some other critters and apparently doing well.
Oh, sweetheart, your peacock went to live on a farm upstate? I think it's time for the talk about Grandma and Grandpa going to sleep for a really long time...
Lol, I knew someone was going to do this the moment I mentioned the farm.
We had a neighborhood peacock until pretty recently. Apparently the previous owners (read: assholes) just left him behind when they moved. Luckily it's pretty temperate here and he made his way for a few years before being taken in. Unfortunately due to noise complaints he had to be relocated outside the city, but now he's out on a ranch with some other critters and apparently doing well.
Oh, sweetheart, your peacock went to live on a farm upstate? I think it's time for the talk about Grandma and Grandpa going to sleep for a really long time...
Lol, I knew someone was going to do this the moment I mentioned the farm.
Marine mammal experts and federal officials are stumped by what’s believed to be the first-ever West Coast sighting of a beluga whale off San Diego.
Typically, beluga whales are found at the North Pole and along Russia’s northern coast – some 8,000 miles away from the Southern California coast.
“It’s a remarkable surprise that nobody would have expected,” said Michael Milstein, spokesman for the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. “We would like to learn something from this. Everybody is baffled.”
The 15-foot pearly white whale was last seen on Friday, June 26, by a U.S. Coast Guard helicopter crew that spotted it in the afternoon swimming south just off Point Loma.
"If complete and utter chaos was lightning, then he'd be the sort to stand on a hilltop in a thunderstorm wearing wet copper armour and shouting 'All gods are bastards'."
Frank touched the surface as though it were an alien spacecraft made of a strange alloy. He nudged it as though physical contact might reveal its mysteries. The ball wobbled a bit before going still. He slid a hand behind the railing surrounding the exterior. It got stuck, prompting a brief panic. With a sheepish grin, Frank plucked it out.
This would soon be the least of Frank’s problems.
Inside this ball was another ball, one equipped with a seat and a shoulder harness like the kind found in race cars (just not Action Park’s race cars, which were engineered for bone-smashing mayhem). Ball bearings separated the inner ball from the larger exterior ball, which allowed the inner ball to swivel independently and orient itself so the seat always remained upright. Behind Frank, stretching in a zig-zag pattern down the foot of the mountain, was a long track made from PVC piping like the kind used in plumbing, five or six inches in diameter. On the outer surface of the ball were casters and wheels like the ones found on office chairs. With these context clues, I began to understand Frank’s apprehension.
“Once you’re in the ball, Frank,” Gene said, “you’re going to roll along that track …”
“I don’t think—”
“Don’t worry,” my father said, acting as though climbing into a giant ball was routine. “You’ll roll along the track and come to a gentle stop. You get in there and try it out and we’ll take it for a spin when the ride inspectors come.”
Before Frank could protest further, my father handed him a 100 dollar bill. Frank stared at the cash, temporarily placated. He opened a hatch on the ball and peered inside. Charlie O’Brien and Big Al Lazier, my father’s dependable but not strictly sober maintenance men, helped him in. Once Frank was strapped to the seat, the two began rolling him around the grass like they were bored children playing with a toy.
“You’re not gonna find this at Disney,” my father said, beaming.
Rarely did he stop to consider there might be a very good reason for that.
Frank touched the surface as though it were an alien spacecraft made of a strange alloy. He nudged it as though physical contact might reveal its mysteries. The ball wobbled a bit before going still. He slid a hand behind the railing surrounding the exterior. It got stuck, prompting a brief panic. With a sheepish grin, Frank plucked it out.
This would soon be the least of Frank’s problems.
Inside this ball was another ball, one equipped with a seat and a shoulder harness like the kind found in race cars (just not Action Park’s race cars, which were engineered for bone-smashing mayhem). Ball bearings separated the inner ball from the larger exterior ball, which allowed the inner ball to swivel independently and orient itself so the seat always remained upright. Behind Frank, stretching in a zig-zag pattern down the foot of the mountain, was a long track made from PVC piping like the kind used in plumbing, five or six inches in diameter. On the outer surface of the ball were casters and wheels like the ones found on office chairs. With these context clues, I began to understand Frank’s apprehension.
“Once you’re in the ball, Frank,” Gene said, “you’re going to roll along that track …”
“I don’t think—”
“Don’t worry,” my father said, acting as though climbing into a giant ball was routine. “You’ll roll along the track and come to a gentle stop. You get in there and try it out and we’ll take it for a spin when the ride inspectors come.”
Before Frank could protest further, my father handed him a 100 dollar bill. Frank stared at the cash, temporarily placated. He opened a hatch on the ball and peered inside. Charlie O’Brien and Big Al Lazier, my father’s dependable but not strictly sober maintenance men, helped him in. Once Frank was strapped to the seat, the two began rolling him around the grass like they were bored children playing with a toy.
“You’re not gonna find this at Disney,” my father said, beaming.
Rarely did he stop to consider there might be a very good reason for that.
Frank touched the surface as though it were an alien spacecraft made of a strange alloy. He nudged it as though physical contact might reveal its mysteries. The ball wobbled a bit before going still. He slid a hand behind the railing surrounding the exterior. It got stuck, prompting a brief panic. With a sheepish grin, Frank plucked it out.
This would soon be the least of Frank’s problems.
Inside this ball was another ball, one equipped with a seat and a shoulder harness like the kind found in race cars (just not Action Park’s race cars, which were engineered for bone-smashing mayhem). Ball bearings separated the inner ball from the larger exterior ball, which allowed the inner ball to swivel independently and orient itself so the seat always remained upright. Behind Frank, stretching in a zig-zag pattern down the foot of the mountain, was a long track made from PVC piping like the kind used in plumbing, five or six inches in diameter. On the outer surface of the ball were casters and wheels like the ones found on office chairs. With these context clues, I began to understand Frank’s apprehension.
“Once you’re in the ball, Frank,” Gene said, “you’re going to roll along that track …”
“I don’t think—”
“Don’t worry,” my father said, acting as though climbing into a giant ball was routine. “You’ll roll along the track and come to a gentle stop. You get in there and try it out and we’ll take it for a spin when the ride inspectors come.”
Before Frank could protest further, my father handed him a 100 dollar bill. Frank stared at the cash, temporarily placated. He opened a hatch on the ball and peered inside. Charlie O’Brien and Big Al Lazier, my father’s dependable but not strictly sober maintenance men, helped him in. Once Frank was strapped to the seat, the two began rolling him around the grass like they were bored children playing with a toy.
“You’re not gonna find this at Disney,” my father said, beaming.
Rarely did he stop to consider there might be a very good reason for that.
Pretty sure I've seen videos of those gone horribly wrong on a mountain before. And there was no gone right in that case.
In this instance the gone right is nobody died and the thing was scrapped? I mean, more or less only by the grace of god reading that whole article but.
Why the hell would a gym need a liquor license. How many people go to the temple of swole and blast mimosas afterwards?
Goes right along with the axe-throwing ranges with full-service bars. You can work on your francisca aim while slamming Jager-Bombs.
Look, you shouldn't have to travel to two different places to play out viking fantasies of axes and drinking. If anything they should add in rentals of historically inaccurate helmets.
Posts
Origin ID: Discgolfer27
Untappd ID: Discgolfer1981
I initially read this as you wanting to build a place people picked up raptors from and would refuse people like [Expletive deleted] a refund when they found out it wasn't the bipedal dinosaur.
Steam Profile
3DS: 3454-0268-5595 Battle.net: SteelAngel#1772
Oh, sweetheart, your peacock went to live on a farm upstate? I think it's time for the talk about Grandma and Grandpa going to sleep for a really long time...
Gone Right: Their neighbor's response (it goes on for some time)
I was the rare child whose pet actually did go to live on a farm upstate. We had a cat when I was small who was not equipped to deal with a grabby infant so he got shipped off to my sister's grandma's farm to be a barn cat. I got to visit him as he lived to a ripe old age doing what he loved: murdering small animals. Bosco was a real one.
So, exception that proves the rule, I guess.
I don't even approximately understand French and I still want to be a fly on the wall for that meeting with the mayor. I don't think translation will really be necessary.
That thread really goes places, even by "really goes places" standards.
Lol, I knew someone was going to do this the moment I mentioned the farm.
Here is Kevin's FB page: https://www.facebook.com/kevintheurbanpeacock/
Wow. Your parents have really gone all out to uphold the illusion :P
-Antje Jackelén, Archbishop of the Church of Sweden
Is this the meanest post in D&D
Only if the truth is cruelty
Good news: we're gonna see some interesting stuff along the way.
Gone right?
It’s not a very important country most of the time
http://steamcommunity.com/id/mortious
Look, Zorb is a different company, a different quality of rolling.
Gone right: They lost their liquor licenses.
https://www.fox10phoenix.com/news/arizona-suspends-liquor-licenses-at-lifetime-fitness-biltmore-location
In this instance the gone right is nobody died and the thing was scrapped? I mean, more or less only by the grace of god reading that whole article but.
3DS: 0473-8507-2652
Switch: SW-5185-4991-5118
PSN: AbEntropy
Why the hell would a gym need a liquor license. How many people go to the temple of swole and blast mimosas afterwards?
Arizona is the answer to all of them
So go Arizona, I guess?
Goes right along with the axe-throwing ranges with full-service bars. You can work on your francisca aim while slamming Jager-Bombs.
~ Buckaroo Banzai
And it looks like this Twitter account was harassed enough for them to outright delete their Twitter account without this amazing tale concluding.
Fuck internet fuckwads. I was really looking forward to hearing abiut the son's meeting with the mayor
His picture was a stock photo and there were a few other "Uuuuhhhh" aspects about the account. Either fake or "This is going to blow up, new account"
Look, you shouldn't have to travel to two different places to play out viking fantasies of axes and drinking. If anything they should add in rentals of historically inaccurate helmets.
Steam Profile
3DS: 3454-0268-5595 Battle.net: SteelAngel#1772
Even better with appropriate music: