Wat’s Carbon Water-N-Stuff Thread - Concepts In Iron And Wood!!!

Libturds' Favorite beverage:



Kool-Aid was invented in Nebraska.


Kool-Aid was invented in 1927 by Edwin Perkins, a resident of Hastings, Nebraska. While working at his father’s general store, the young Perkins grew fascinated by the idea of inventing new products. He performed various experiments with foods such as Jell-O, and even patented a tobacco-based medicine known as Nix-O-Tine. After moving to Hastings in 1920, Perkins introduced locals to a sweet beverage he concocted called Fruit Smack. This soft drink concentrate was sold in six flavors and became extremely popular, though the fragile glass bottles caused shipping issues. Ever the chemist, Perkins figured out how to remove the liquid and sell the product as a mixable powder in bright paper envelopes, which he renamed “Kool-Ade.” By 1931, the product was such a hit that Perkins moved operations to Chicago, and in 1934, he again renamed the drink “Kool-Aid.” Perkins later sold Kool-Aid to General Foods — the manufacturer of Jell-O — in 1953.
 
Considering the pre-pubescent replies we have collected scores of pages of in this thread and the previous incarnation, one must pity the fools, so to speak.


If they could simply own their terror, something might be possible.


If they could simply own their hate.


If they simply were willing to admit that maybe they aren't right . . . .
 
“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.

Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”

~ Frank Herbert, Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear, Dune


https://i.pinimg.com/736x/50/82/b2/5082b245884e1279de9d173327a2af3e.jpg
 
plans-jpg.2328621
 
Hi, My Name Is Allan, and I’m a Compulsive Gambler
https://www.thefp.com/p/hi-my-name-...tm_source=cross-post&r=5pvln&utm_medium=email

I started gambling in the hallways of my middle school in Chicago when I was 9 or 10. My friends and I would play some corrupted version of poker; we’d give each other no interest loans, and be late for class.

I didn’t know it then, but this was the beginning of my years as a compulsive gambler. I was on my way to rock bottom—a place I’d go on to visit three times before I finally cleaned up my act.

Around 11, I learned how to read the betting lines—those are the point spreads used to determine the odds for a given bet—in the Chicago Sun-Times. Soon I was making up different characters, giving them bankrolls, and tracking their bets using the newspaper. I named them—they were always men—and kept track of all their information (who was up, who was down) in a series of notebooks. I’d make all their bets. I did not get good grades.

By the time I was 13, all I wanted for my birthday was my own bookmaker. My friend Randi’s father was a bookie, and I would incessantly ask him to be mine. “When you’re 18, kid,” he would bark back at me, cigarette falling out of his mouth.



And so on. Interesting read, after a fashion.
 
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