How long after taking finasteride would I start to see the (potential) side effects?

2021.12.03 19:40 cantfindmymarbles How long after taking finasteride would I start to see the (potential) side effects?

So I’m about to start taking finasteride 0.5 mg per day. I am concerned about the sexual side effects, but I was wondering what the timeline was to know whether or not I’d actually have side effects or not.
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2021.12.03 19:40 DomRich75 Federal tax lein help

So I'm not 100% sure how Federal tax liens work, but I have a ex Co worker who i just found out has 7 Federal tax leins against them equaling in total to almost $600,000. I'm now learning they are trying to open a new business but getting a loan through someone else's name since obviously he won't be given one with his background. He also owes a lot of other Co workers money even besides what's already on his background. Now I want to know, is there anything I can do to go against him on money being owed to me or others or stopping this new business or anything? I just want to know if I can take him down legally with something new along side all his liens without him dodging another huge payment that he owes? Basically would I even have a case and win if he's able to have all these liens?
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2021.12.03 19:40 Badderlocks_ "Another case for you, Master Bruce. The details seem mundane on their face — two young parents murdered, on a quiet road in what looks like an ordinary home invasion. But the child has the strangest scar on his forehead you've ever seen. It's going to be quite the Halloween, sir, isn't it?"

The rain pattered off of Batman’s cloak as he stood a distance from the house. Just an hour ago, it had been full of life and warmth and love. He could almost see it; a young man and woman, cheerfully playing with their young child while the rain poured down outside. They were scarcely out of their teen years, and their family was just beginning. They had a future ahead, birthdays, siblings, holidays, celebrations and trials both. Now, they were dead.
He glided forward. If any in the neighborhood had cared to notice, they would be amazed at how he seemed to flit between the sheets of rain, looking to the world like a dark phantom.
But none saw him.
“Alfred, I’ve found the house,” he said, his voice low and guttural. “It’s been… destroyed.”
“Indeed, Master Wayne?” Alfred paused for a moment. “Bruce, perhaps you should return to your vacation. This case might be better handled by the constabulary; after all, they’re familiar with the customs and laws of the area, as well as the local troublemakers. We know nothing.”
Batman grimaced; it was almost a smile. “I’ve never been concerned with laws before, Alfred.” He stepped through the doorway of the house, broken glass crunching underfoot.
A screech sounded. Batman tensed, then relaxed as a ginger cat darted out from beneath the wreckage of a cabinet and started rubbing up against his armored legs. He reached down and gently scratched behind the cat’s ears. It purred quietly for a moment before sprinting out into the night.
“Seems that something survived, at least,” he muttered. “Have you ever considered adopting a cat, Alfred?”
Alfred sighed, his breath hissing out slowly over the comm. “I’m afraid I’m quite turned off of the creatures after our last run-in with Ms. Kyle, Master Bruce.”
.”I don’t know what could have caused this, Alfred,” Batman said, pacing around the lower level of the house. “The place has been ruined. Everything is broken and torn apart, but there’s no reason to it. If they were searching for something, why is everything destroyed? If it was an explosion, why is nothing scorched or burned?”
“Perhaps you should check the bodies, Master Bruce. They might contain more clues as to the intention of their killers.”
Batman grunted agreement, then crept up the creaky stairs.
The moment he saw the bodies, he froze. The way they were arranged, crooked, collapsed, like puppets whose strings had been cut… the memories hit him with physical force. The father was first. He had tried to stop the intruder, though he had no weapons on him of any kind. His corpse had been tossed to the side like a discarded toy. The mother had clearly been trying to protect the child. Perhaps she had begged for the child’s life the way his own mother had so long ago.
A tear rolled down his cheek but was quickly lost in the raindrops that fell through the shattered roof. He ignored it and stepped to the crib.
The child inside had stopped crying long ago. He merely sat, drenched in the cold October rain, eyes red and uncertain. Batman could see the fear on the boy’s face as he approached, his dark silhouette reflected in his eyes.
“The boy is unharmed, just as the satellite imagery showed,” Batman muttered, picking up the boy. “Nothing but a scar on his forehead, and that looks like it’s been there his whole life.”
“Indeed.” Alfred sounded unnerved but said nothing.
“Is something wrong, Alfred?” Batman asked, placing the child back in the crib.
“I’m sorry, sir, there seems to be something wrong with the bat computer. I was attempting to research the prior history of the house— previous tenants, owners, acquaintances, the usual. But it seems as though…”
“Go on.”
“Well, Master Bruce, it seems as though the house doesn’t exist.”
Batman frowned. “Impossible.”
“Perhaps the archives are incomplete, but by all accounts, this house was constructed or taxed. No records exist anywhere.”
“Run a search on—”
Crunch. It was the same broken glass sound he had made when stepping into the house. He wasn’t alone.
He tapped the side of his cowl, then molded into the shadows. Whoever had entered was making no attempt at stealth. Their enormous footsteps pounded up the stairs.
“No… NO!”
The intruder stormed into the room, pausing only to kneel at the bodies before moving on to the crib.
“‘Arry… bless ‘im, ‘e’s still alive!”
Whoever it was, they were not the killer, Batman decided. As improbable as it seemed, for perhaps the first time in his career the monstrous giant of a man was not someone he had to fight.
Still, he knew he had to approach the situation carefully. He pulled out a cautionary batarang and stepped out into the uncertain light.
“Who did this?” he asked, his posture as nonthreatening as he could manage.
The man whirled around, pulling out an umbrella, and Batman got a good look at his face for the first time. His hair and beard were wild and bushy, almost hiding his beady eyes. But in those eyes, he saw only pain.
“Who’re you?” the man asked, voice hoarse, aiming the umbrella directly at Batman’s chest.
Batman took a step back, all too aware of the potential danger of umbrellas.
“I’m a friend,” he said. “Trying to find out who killed these people.”
The man frowned. “Yer not a Death Eater... but ye must know… Ah. Muggle.”
The word was unfamiliar to Batman. “Possibly.”
The man glared at Batman, then leaned the umbrella against the wall. “Stay out of the way. I ain’t much good at mem’ry charms, so ye’ll just have ter wait fer Dumbledore to show up.”
“I can help.”
“Ye’ll do no such thing,” the man said, picking up the child, who had started to cry again. “Ye’ll wait here an’ do as yer told.”
“You’re looking for the killer, aren’t you?” Batman said. “I can do that. I’m a detective.”
“Yer a Muggle. Yer out of yer depth.”
Batman approached the mother’s body. “These bodies… They’re untouched but dead. No wounds, no sign of toxins or poisons. They seem to be in perfect health. These people were killed by supernatural means.”
The man glanced at Batman. “‘S called ‘magic’, and ye ain’t supposed ter know ‘bout it.”
“So why tell me?”
“”S like I said, innit? Dumbledore’ll fix yer mind right up. All this’ll be a bad dream by th’ end of th’ night.”
A motor roared outside, and Batman dropped into a combat stance, but the man waved a dustbin-sized hand. “That’ll be Sirius, then. He can sort you out.”
A moment later, another man was storming up the steps. “James… Lily!” His voice shattered with grief. “WHERE’S VOLDEMORT? I’LL KILL HIM!”
“Calm down, Sirius, calm down!” the large man called. “He’s gone.”
“Gone?” Sirius looked around wildly. “Gone— who’s this?”
“Some Muggle,” the giant grumbled. “Figured yeh could… y’know, obliviate him.”
Sirius stepped forward, raising a stick to Batman’s head. His eyes were burning with rage.
“I’m sorry you had to be here for this,” he growled. “But we have bigger things to deal with. Obliv—”
Batman pounced into action. He grabbed the umbrella nearby and whipped it against the man’s outstretched arm, sending the stick flying into the distance, spitting sparks the whole time. The man cursed, then scrambled after it. Batman dove forward, narrowly dodging the massive arms that attempted to grapple him. When he came to his feet, he threw his batarang. It arced through the room. pinning Sirius’s sleeve to the ground mere inches away from what Batman now realized must have been a magic wand. Then he raised the umbrella, pointing it at the giant man, who froze.
“Drop it, Muggle,” the man growled. “Yeh don’t know what yer doin’.”
Batman backed away slowly. The very air in the room seemed thick as though it was filled with an unseen energy. The three men glared at each other.
A crack split the room. Batman stumbled backwards as an old man appeared, coalescing from out of nowhere.
“Good evening,” the old man said, offering a half-bow in the direction of Batman. “Good evening, Rubeus, Sirius.”
“Dumbledore,” the giant man, apparently named Rubeus, mumbled.
“‘Good evening’?” Sirius said in a low, dangerous voice. “James and Lily are dead, and now this Muggle’s interfering when we should be getting after Voldemort.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be concerned with that,” Dumbledore said. “He came here for a singular purpose, and he failed.” He approached the crib and picked up the boy. “And young Harry Potter still lives, and so does hope.”
Dumbledore placed the boy back down gently, then stepped towards Batman. “And this ‘Muggle’ might very well be the key to ensuring that his failure remains.”
“What do you mean?” Sirius asked, pulling the batarang out of the floor and unpinning himself. “He’s gone, isn’t he? What’s left to do?”
“Gone, perhaps, but dead… No, I feel he is not. I do not know how, but the prophecy was certain. ‘Neither can live while the other survives…’ No. He will return, this is certain.”
Batman blinked. He felt as though every other person in the room was speaking another language. The words were familiar, but their meanings were all mixed around.
“And now we have a tool,” Dumbledore continued. “Hagrid, please take the child to his family at number 4 Privet Drive. Hurry, now; even as we speak, his Death Eaters might be moving to strike. Time is of the essence. And as for you, Sirius…”
Dumbledore spread his arms. “How did this happen?
“It was Peter,” Sirius spat. “We switched places at the last minute. I thought… I thought they would go after me and never think of him, but the coward… he betrayed them.”
“This is a serious allegation,” Dumbledore said. “As far as the world is concerned, you were their secret-keeper. What do you think?”
The question was so unexpected and pleasantly asked that it took Batman a moment to realize that it was directed at him.
“He’s telling the truth,” Batman finally said. “His pulse has is not elevating and his eyes aren’t dilating. I can hear it in his voice, too. Whoever this ‘Peter’ is… whatever he did… He’s the one you want.”
“I’m inclined to believe you as well,” Dumbledore said, nodding. “Sirius, you must find him. Capture him. Without his testimony, I fear you may be convicted for his crimes.”
“What about the Muggle?” Sirius asked, raising his wand again. “He can’t walk away with this knowledge.”
“Indeed. That’s why he’s going with you.”
Sirius’s mouth fell open.
“Voldemort’s greatest weakness was and continues to be discounting Muggles and Muggleborns. For whatever reason, the boy survives, and I believe it was only the most selfless act of his mother that saved him. And now, fate has brought us this… detective. We would be fools to not use him.”
The air split with another loud crack, and the old man vanished.
Hagrid was the first to move. “I s’pose… s’pose I ought ta get ‘Arry out o’ here.”
“Take my bike,” Sirius said, not looking away from Batman. “It’ll get you there in one piece.”
Hagrid nodded uncertainly, then walked down the stairs, the boy in his arms.
Sirius stared at Batman for a long minute, then walked away. “Come on, Muggle,” he called. “Don’t slow me down.”
As he walked away, Batman’s comm fizzed to life.
“...ster Bruce? Master Bruce, are you there?”
“I’m fine, Alfred,” Batman said. “I’m… on the trail of someone.”
Batman paused. “I’m not really sure.”
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2021.12.03 19:40 Either_Imagination_9 Sisters in the Snow. Art by @commushows

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2021.12.03 19:40 reds_sus_ngl Based ball

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2021.12.03 19:40 NunoOut My Spurs squad! Happy with it.

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2021.12.03 19:40 stupidrobots What is a movie that nobody liked but you?

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2021.12.03 19:40 International-Nail29 LF Jolly Gible Nature at least 4 Perfect IVs. FT Elekid Egg Moves Perfect 5IVs, Perfect 6IVs Vaporeon

Hello if you have what I’m looking for you can choose which reward you want, thanks!
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2021.12.03 19:40 beckawife Holiday Wreath

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2021.12.03 19:40 MayhemMaven What’s some of the most ridiculous lines you’ve heard in a movie?

I’m watching the Matrix Resurrection in order to catch up for the movie that’s coming out. In the scene where Jada/Niobe is flying the ship, her line is “she got a fat ass” in reference to the ship hitting stuff while they are flying. What are some of the most ridiculous lines or obvious for the audience lines (i.e. to make us laugh) that you can think of?
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2021.12.03 19:40 bomdia12344321 como é o nome dessa musica ?
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2021.12.03 19:40 Select_Ad_2166 Joey, have you ever watched synecdoche, New York?

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2021.12.03 19:40 limequartz 2meirl4meirl

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2021.12.03 19:39 YaBoyOatsDaGoat Taking 5 or so for reshiram

3607 5440 3205
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2021.12.03 19:39 AutoSprinter unusual in 1. crate

Thanks for the early christmas present Valve!
This is my first unusual (prob not selling)
name the price
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2021.12.03 19:39 dehinsnamanmasakit Looking for a daddy that could help me finance my educational fees open for any online arrangements

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2021.12.03 19:39 RespectNo7754 صرفا جهت خنده

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2021.12.03 19:39 icyphnx I watched as the train grew bigger and bigger, until suddenly everything went dark.

The Man in the Mirror
August 12th, 2013. I still remember the day we moved in. It was a bright and sunny Tuesday afternoon. Clouds like cotton in the sky, a nice warm breeze on my face as I watched my parents move furniture. I heard a dog bark down the street and watched my little brother pick dandelions. Each time he would slowly and carefully sever the stem about halfway down the stalk so as to not knock off any loose seeds. He would then say a little wish and try his darndest to blow all the little fluffy seeds off the top. He never prevailed, but the very thought of succeeding to dislodge every seed off that dandelion top with as much air as his little lungs could muster seemed to keep him going.
I was eight at the time, and my brother was three. My dad had just taken a new business opportunity in the small town of Mount Vernon, Indiana. It is located near the boot, with Kentucky right across the Ohio River. It was a nice little town. Of course, I call it little because I had just moved from Saint Louis. I found it refreshing to experience the sounds of nature in my own backyard. It wasn’t like we were in the woods, but there was so little traffic that I could actually hear and enjoy the sounds of birds in the day, and the sound of crickets and cicadas at night. That is, of course, when there wasn’t a train horn reverberating off the inside of my skull, and the rumbling of the wheels rattling the windows. That train was so damn close I could hear the wheels squeak as they rolled over the tracks.
My parents liked to keep money tight. This is admirable, of course, when it comes to shopping and going on fun trips. It is always a good idea to save money when you can. Unfortunately, this trait seems to have transferred over to real estate. They bought one of the cheapest houses they could find that would fit all of us comfortably, and was in decent condition. One reason for this house being so cheap is, I think, the train tracks that slice the town in half not two blocks away.
Another reason I found out the day we moved in, though I didn’t know it at the time.
I was playing with my big, red toy fire truck on the living room carpet so as to not make a ruckus. My parents were not fond of the noise the plastic tires made on hardwood floors, and my brother was taking a nap. This didn’t bother me, though. Despite the toy not rolling as smoothly as it did on a hard surface, the carpet was much softer on my hands and knees as I scooted around joyously. I only had to be careful so as to not give myself a rug-burn.
Suddenly my parents and our real estate agent came walking through the living room, towards the front door, saying their goodbyes. My parents were thanking him for all the effort he went through to help them find a suitable house, with a suitable price.
Our real estate agent had dropped by just to make sure everything was in order when he said one more thing as he was reaching for the doorknob. “I’m glad you guys have found the house that seems to be right for you, but there are rumors surrounding this property.”
The air seemed to lie still, as every ear in the house paid undivided attention to this man’s slow, deliberate words.
My mother, always wanting to know everything about everyone, replied, “Rumors, you say? Is it anything we should worry about?”
“Well, uh… do----do you believe in ghost stories?” He said with a humorous grin on his face.
“No, we dont----we don’t believe in stuff like that, Mr. Jones,” my dad quickly replied, nervously.
“Good, then it’s nothing you need to worry about!” and he walked out of the house without another word.
My mother raised an eyebrow at my dad. He, as it happened, did indeed believe in “stuff like that,” and wore a puzzled look on his face.
Me, being an inquisitive little six year old, was immediately intrigued by what the man had said. “Mommy, what rumors?” I asked, “And what does he mean by ghost stories?” I spoke with an inflection on my voice.
“Nothing, baby,” she replied, exhausted. “Mr. Jones was just joking around.”
I went on with my little six-year-old life, enjoying the first day of school and meeting new people, running around with my brother in the backyard. My parents seemed to be enjoying themselves as well. My dad’s new job required less demanding work hours and a much shorter commute. This immediately took an effect on my father’s mood, and he seemed so much happier. My mother was also enjoying the new house. There were raspberry and blackberry bushes in the backyard, and they kept yielding copious amounts of fruit that my mom liked to make into tarts and jams and all sorts of things. There was never a day when the wonderful smell of my mother’s baking was taking over the house and making my mouth water.
Nothing really eventful happened until November 2nd in the middle of the night. A night I remember so well.
It was 11:00, and the whole family was sleeping off a huge meal that my mom had made that included meatloaf, mashed potatoes, gravy, a side of steamed broccoli, and for dessert, a blackberry and raspberry pie. Everyone was asleep, that is, until my brother let out a blood curdling scream that had everyone rush into his room. My parents were the first to get there, and when I was creeping down the hallway and peering around the doorway into his room, he said, “There was a man, and he wanted to play with me!”
“Go on, honey, what happened?” Implored my mother. I could tell that neither of my parents were happy to be up.
“I got up to follow him out of my room, and he turned around and his face was scary!” “What did he look like?” asked my dad.
My brother wore a look of sheer terror on his face as he began to recall this memory. “He had weird teeth, and he smiled at me. His nose went to one side, and his eyes were crazy eyes. He was also dripping blood on the floor!”
Everyone’s eyes went to the dark, shiny, pristine hardwood floor of my brother’s room.
“Honey, I think you just had a nightmare,” my mom said in the most soothing voice she could muster.
He pleaded, “No, mommy, he was sitting in that chair until you turned on the light, then he was gone!” He was now pointing to the antique rocking chair in the corner of his room. The thing had to be at least eighty years old, and the woven seat was broken in several places.
The rocking chair lay still as a bobcat, waiting to pounce. As we were all leaving the room, obviously having not helped my brother’s state of mind, I glanced in the mirror and was horrified to see the same man my brother was describing, sitting in the same exact rocking chair. I whirled around to see the chair again, not moving. I looked back into the mirror and saw that he was smiling and waving. I screamed and pointed to the mirror.
My parents rushed back in to see what was the matter. “What now?” My mother sighed, exasperated.
“Look in the mirror!” I said.
She glanced in the mirror and looked back at me. “What am I supposed to be seeing?”
I stood there for a good thirty seconds, not knowing why she couldn’t see the man, and why the rocking chair lay still. In the mirror, the man looked very relaxed as he rocked slowly forward and back, waving and smiling at me, blood dripping down his hand and down the rocking chair’s leg.
I ran into my bedroom and covered my face with my blanket.
The next morning my parents were not happy with either of us. My mother was downright annoyed, and my dad appeared to be shaken. I overheard him telling my mother in a low voice, “That man that Nathan described was William Storton, he used to live in this same house until 1971, when he threw himself in front of a train just on the corner at 11:03 at night.
The same thing happened the next night, but my brother went to sleep in my parents’ room.
I again saw the man in the mirror, but he looked less whole. Instead of blood only dripping down his hand, it now covered the grey coat he was wearing, and his face seemed to be broken in several places.
I stayed out of that room for months, until my parents asked me to go into my brother’s closet to get his green and yellow Easter church outfit.
I tried my best to avoid looking into the mirror, but the color red caught my eye. What I saw horrified me. In the mirror I no longer saw my brother’s room or the man in the rocking chair. I saw the train tracks that were just down the street. All around were the mangled remains of a human being. I saw part of the head just in front of me. I was fixated to the mirror, I couldn’t stop looking. The room grew frigidly cold, and I felt a breeze on my face and smelled death.
Suddenly I wasn’t peering into a mirror, I was on the tracks, and they were clean. I looked down at my feet, and I was much taller. I clutched a note in my hand. The tracks began rumbling, and I saw the distant light of a train in the distance, coming through the trees. I saw the train come around the bend. I stared at the blinding light on its front. I heard the same train horn reverberating off the inside of my skull. I wanted to run off the tracks but I couldn’t move. I continued staring at the light, entranced. I watched as the train grew bigger and bigger, until suddenly everything went dark.
I opened my eyes to find myself in my bed with my blanket covering my face. I heard my brother scream. I heard my parents go into his room. I heard him say the same thing he said the first night I looked into the mirror. I heard my brother plead with them, and I heard my parents try in vain to comfort him. I heard them walk back into their room like they did before.
I then heard something that wasn’t like before. I heard the sounds of footsteps. My brother’s footsteps. Was he going to the bathroom? I heard the sound of the front door opening.
A few minutes later the familiar sound of the train horn reverberated throughout my skull, only this time it lasted longer. This time it was accompanied by the screeching of the train’s brakes vainly trying to stop the train.
My brother did not come back. In the morning my parents sobbed as I told them what I heard. I told them what I knew had happened and they angrily told me off. They thought he had run away.
I ran down the street angrily, wishing my parents would believe me. The cold November air caught in my throat and chilled me to the bone. My bare feet began to ache from the cold asphalt beating against my feet. I would see for myself. They would believe me then. As I came up over the hill, I saw the flashing lights of multiple police cars, and saw the yellow tape blocking off the train tracks. I ran right up to the tape and an officer confronted me. “Hey, kid, why don’t you go back home? This isn’t the place you want to be right now.”
“That’s my brother,” I mumbled.
“What?” he looked taken aback.
I looked under the officer’s arm and saw my brother’s little Thomas the Train blanket that he slept with. It was covered in blood, and next to it was the mangled remains of a small child. My heart stopped. I felt the wind rushing at my ears, and all went silent. “THAT'S MY BROTHER!” I cried, and I tried to force my way around the officer.
He grabbed me by the arm and took me back down the street until we were out of view of the tracks. “Where do you live, buddy?” he asked.
“There.” I pointed to my house, where my parents were waiting out the front door. I could see the look of horror on my dad’s face as he watched the flashing red and blue lights. My mother looked down at me and saw the tears streaking down my face. She shook her head in disbelief as I mouthed, “Nathan.”

We buried Nathan near a large oak tree in the little town cemetery. The funeral was small, only our immediate relatives attended. I got a lot of sympathy, but I didn’t pay attention to any of it. I was numb with grief.
My parents decided to move three days after the funeral. I agreed with their decision. It would be too difficult to see those tracks every day as I walked to school, to see the exact spot where my brother was ended by 15,000 tons of machine barreling down the tracks at 60 miles per hour.
As we were driving away I looked at the house one last time. I saw the fire bushes in the front yard that had turned bright red in the chilly fall air. I saw the front porch that needed to be stained in the spring. I saw the green front door, and I saw the bay window coming off the living room. As my eyes traveled up the front of the house, I was horrified to catch a glimpse of my brother’s bloodied face peering between the partially closed white curtains hung inside the bedroom window.
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2021.12.03 19:39 Airb0rne112th Fireteam AI

Is it me or does it seem the AI tracks the predator about as good as someone using an aimbot?
Might want to address that there, devs..
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2021.12.03 19:39 unethicaldecisions Do you believe this pandemic will start an influx of demands to work from home; more relevant, do you think the market will make offers toward this significantly?

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2021.12.03 19:39 bigdeezy456 I AM A WORM: JESUS AND THE FORGOTTEN “I AM” STATEMENT

“But I am a worm and not a man, scorned by everyone, despised by the people.” Psalm 22:6
Tucked away inside the 22nd Psalm of David depicting our Lord’s saddest hours and written almost 1000 years before the crucifixion of Christ is a particular verse that initially confounds before the hidden jewel of Messianic prophesy is revealed; that our Messiah would spend 3 days in the grave before rising again to unveil His victory for us through His blood that was shed to obliterate the sins of those who would confess His Name.
“But I am a worm and not a man”? Why would Jesus declare such a menial thing about Himself? A worm is the lowliest of creatures. It is scarcely understood without the consideration of how He was treated that way and then by examining the word “worm” from the Hebrew translation which means “Tolah”. The word means “scarlet”. It is also returned as “crimson” 38 times.
Scarlet dye was made from this worm, the Kermes Vermilio which “pierces the thin bark of twigs to suck the sap, from which it prepares a waxy scale to protect its soft body. The red dye is in this scale.”
“When reproducing, the female climbs a tree (usually the holm oak), where it bears its eggs; the larvae hatch and feed on the body of the worm.” She (I am a worm and not a man) literally gives her life!”
“A crimson spot is left on the branch. When the scarlet spot dries out, in three days, it changes to white as it flakes off.” – Chuck Missler
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2021.12.03 19:39 snail_engine i lost the 50/50...

ahhh... been admiring him from the day i started playing the game. planned out what comps I'd used if he comes home. i just lost the will to play the game
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2021.12.03 19:39 thelegend2enty7even How would my school affect me later in life.

My parents sent me to a boys school in my formative years cause their math classes were less difficult, this was from 16 to 19. How would this affect me later in life since i didn't have prom, school trips or any interaction with the opposite sex.?
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2021.12.03 19:39 forestfluff Bring Out The Cotton Ball Man | Maury

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2021.12.03 19:39 i_am_a_loner_dottie My beagle Scout, what a mush

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