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800 Maynard Ave S, Suite 200, Seattle, WA 98134
800 Maynard Ave S, Suite 200, Seattle, WA 98134
Credit is important in our consumer economy. Take the long and strategic view. Get a credit card, but use it the same way you use your cash and don't carry a balance.
oh noes an immortal.
Don't get a credit card. Live off of ramen and live in the real world.
If you already fucked it up you have seven years to live in the real world before whatever you did falls away.
Really. In seven years it goes away. Have fun. Rack it up.
Trill-i-ons.
I've 50k in credit in my pocket and not a penny to pay off.
Not to mention the $25,000 scrip reserved for my arrival in Fort Lauderdale.
Capital One throws out the most absurd lines for naught. At least one of my cards from them is for $9,500 and neither of them has a foreign exchange fee.
They gave me a card when I was 16 or 17.
I bought a fucking awesome comp with a Radeon and never paid it off.
To this day, now and again, collections will call me up and unless it's Patty from the South guilt tripping me and refusing to answer my questions about her own credit it's some guy or girl from the DC area and I cut them off, explain the legality of it, and wish them well.
They wish me the same.
Life can be fun.
Anyways, if you fuck it up and you are of the people your bank will float you a $500 credit card loan when the time is right and you can like buy a gym membership and pay that off every month and everything will be ok.
I really am going to go fuck with the mob on the chosen day of the tantrum. What else have you given me, Rachel?
https://goo.gl/jfecuV
"Blasphemer!" A rock caught him just over his left eye and blood welled forth.
Mike said calmly, "In fighting me, you fight yourself
More rocks hit him, from various directions; he began to bleed in several places. "Hear the Truth. You need not hate, you need not fight, you need not fear. I offer you the water of life-" Suddenly his hand held a tumbler of water, sparkling in the sunlight. "-and you may share it whenever you so will
A rock caught the glass and shattered it. Another struck him in the mouth.
Through bruised and bleeding lips he smiled at them, looking straight into the camera with an expression of yearning tenderness on his face. Some trick of sunlight and stereo formed a golden halo back of his head. "Oh my brothers, I love you so! Drink deep. Share and grow closer without end. Thou art God."
Jubal whispered it back to him. The scene made a five-second cut:
"Cahuenga Cave! The night club with real Los Angeles smog, imported fresh every day. Six exotic dancers."
"Lynch him! Give the bastard a nigger necktie!" A heavy-gauge shotgun blasted at close range and Mike's right arm was struck off at the elbow and fell. It floated gently down, then came to rest on the cool grasses, its hand curved open in invitation.
"Give him the other barrel, Shortie - and aim closer!" The crowd laughed and applauded. A brick smashed Mike's nose and more rocks gave him a crown of blood.
"The Truth is simple but the Way of Man is hard. First you must learn to control yourself. The rest follows. Blessed is he who knows himself and commands himself, for the world is his and love and happiness and peace walk with him wherever he goes." Another shotgun blast was followed by two more shots. One shot, a forty-five slug, hit Mike over the heart, shattering the sixth rib near the sternum and making a large wound; the buckshot and the other slug sheered through his left tibia five inches below the patella and left the fibula sticking out at an angle, broken and white against the yellow and red of the wound.
Mike staggered slightly and laughed, went on talking, his words clear and unhurried. "Thou art God. Know that and the Way is opened."
"God damn it - let's stop this taking the Name of the Lord in vain!"- "Come on, men! Let's finish him!" The mob surged forward, led by one bold with a club; they were on him with rocks and fists, and then with feet as he went down. He went on talking while they kicked his ribs in and smashed his golden body, broke his bones and tore an ear loose. At last someone called out, "Back away a little so we can get the gasoline on him!"
The mob opened up a little at that warning and the camera zoomed to pick up his face and shoulders. The Man from Mars smiled at his brothers, said once more, softly and clearly, "I love you." An incautious grasshopper came whirring to a landing on the grass a few inches from his face; Mike turned his head, looked at it as it stared back at him. "Thou art God," he said happily and discorporated.