Most far side comics don't really resonate or make much sense to me
This one hits tho
An ancient, millennia old evil finally reawakens. Turns out, morals and ethics have changed a lot; its "evil" is fairly tame by modern standards.
Stolen from here: https://sh.itjust.works/pictrs/image/eca9e5a6-e00e-4967-a6a5-a9cf170f9a96.png
Her right thumb appears to be another finger instead of a thumb and also sort of morphs a bit into the pointer finger. It almost looks like it wanted to generate six fingers on her left hand but didn't. The chair has 5 legs and the concrete uhh curb I guess stops being a thing behind her and then it's just floor and railing.
Also two cups of coffee lmao
otherwise really good generation.
ok but why does carakota go kinda hard
A super hero goes through some tough times in their alter ego life, and has to start charging for their super services.
Alternatively, start finding some other way to make ends meet using their super powers.
Why are demiliches higher level than liches?
The entry on AoN basically describes demiliches as degraded liches; their soul cage is lost, their body disintegrates, their soul leaves the mortal dimensions, and all that's left is the skull and magical power and artifacts they left behind. To me, that sounds like a degradation; the vestiges of power leftover from them basically dying. Even the prefix demi- implies this, meaning half. Half a lich, so I'd assume less powerful, and in the case of runecarved liches this holds true, but horde liches are the same level as a demilich, and the regular liches are even lower level! I don't see how this makes any sense; the leftovers of a lich shouldn't be more powerful than the lich once was. Are demiliches only formed from the remnants of a runecarved lich? What's going on here?
Has Dr. Strange ever given a diagnosis mid fight?
Like he notices something or the person he's fighting says something and he gives a proper medical diagnosis then and there?
To quote DBZa's Android 16:
"But there you stand, the good man, doing nothing. And while evil triumphs, and your rigid pacifism crumbles into blood-stained dust, the only victory afforded to you is that you stuck true to your guns."
Life isn't some black and white fair tale story where if you stick to your guns hard enough everything will turn out ok. Sometimes you have to abandon your principles to protect them.
Bro would hate chess
A sudden urge to kill a foolishly dressed alleged comedian fills you to the brim. Unfortunately, there is none in the room with you. You'd have to find him before you can kill him, but you have your objective in mind. The first question is how you're going to get out of here. The front door is locked, and the only hint of a key is the shitty drawing on the floor. Ha ha. Very funny, whoever put that there. What's worse is that there's no weapons here. To kill someone, you'd need something to kill them with. Well, you could do with your bare hands, but it's much easier with a tool of some sorts, and the cabin is strangely absent of tools suitable for the act of murder.
You whisper the ultimate cat call. It echoes over the empty cabin; nothing happens, and a profound sense of loss washes over you. You walk over to the shelf by the window and run your hand over it, staring at the one particularly worn spot on it for a moment. You walk over and check the litter box, but of course it's clean. It always is nowadays. Old habits die hard after all. You cook yourself some breakfast and take a seat at the table, and try the call again. Nothing happens, as expected, not even when you open a can of tuna. Old habits die hard, but they die eventually. You spread the tuna on your bread and eat your meal, alone in the silence.
When you go to examine the bookshelf, you realize it's not actually a bookshelf, but a painting on the wall designed to look exactly like a set of bookshelves from precisely the perspective you were formally at. Oddly enough, all of the titles are books you have read before, but none are ones you're currently reading.
The squirrels. They've been your sworn enemy ever since you moved here, always raiding your pantry and gardens, but this latest ploy is befuddling. What use would a band of squirrels have for an anvil? And when did they learn to write? And how did they even move the anvil? It's a deeply perplexing puzzle, quite a pickle you found yourself in. To be safe, you figure you ought to double check everything you own; maybe the anvil wasn't the only thing they had taken...
Food: ooooooxxxx
Water: oooooooooo
Firewood: oooooooox
Ore & minerals: ooooxxxxxx
Anvils: 0/10
Hammer: 10/10
You whip up a large breakfast, fit for a hobbit's first breakfast: eggs, bacon, toast, fruit mix, cereal and yogurt and milk, orange juice and a small brownie for desert. Before long the scent washes over the entire cabin and your belly grumbles in anticipation. You sit down to feast and enjoy the fatty, savory meats and the crisp and buttered toast, the fluffy eggs and the sugary cereal and milk.
All incredibly filling, you pat your nearly bloated stomach, satisfied with the meal. You emerge onto the porch for a quick smoke of the herb, letting the floating sensation wash over you as you watch the trees sway in the wind and the dew twinkle on the grass. By now it's practically afternoon, just about time for second breakfast. Then again, you do have to tend to your farms and gardens; all this food comes from somewhere, no?
Breakfast had: 1/?
Pipes smoked: 1/30
Food stores: oooooxxxxx
You try the door, but find it locked. There doesn't seem to be any locking mechanism on the inside, only a keyhole. Whoever designed this door obviously intended it to keep things inside instead of out. From the window, you try to shift your viewpoint in hopes the name will reveal itself from a different angle, but no dice. Even the windows themselves seem to be locked. You're stuck, unable to escape from this cabin. You could even say that you're cabin stuck.
With great effort you rip your mind away from the anvil and focus on less important matters: valuable loot. Your antics left the cabin in ruins, its contents scattered all over the floor. Picking through the aftermath of your disastrous rage, you find some bits and bobs of seeming value; you could probably sell it all for a handful of silver pieces, provided the local market economy is strong. More importantly, you find something much more valuable that made the dastardly destruction much more worthwhile: a single radish. Now this is good loot. Just one of these rotund magenta delicacies could set you up for a few years, provided a decent market economy of course. But this is just one. You have a much greater goal than that. Yes, this one alone is a fantastic haul, but you need more.
Radishes found: 1/15
How do I pretend to give an app location permission?
Lizard insurance app mandates you give location permission, refusing access to the rest of the app otherwise. I have 0 intention of giving them this but so far have failed to find a phone number to call them (their mobile website tells me to use the app).
Until I find a different company run by living, real people, my current intention is to use the app to manage my insurance in the meantime. I don't want to give them my location, even if it's only while using the app, so how do I get the app to think it has my location when it actually doesn't?
inb4 just use a computer: nah. It's about spite at this point.
Are those top tier Geoguessers that do crazy stuff like figure out a location from 4 pixels and a mcslurry contracted by the CIA?
Seriously I've seen a guy see a bunch of pixels and go "Idk but that reminds me of Mexico" and he was right. There's no way the three letter companies wouldn't want that kind of skillset, right?