#quarter-till
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thehemicane.bsky.social
Recently, my fave quarter machine at an arcade in OCMD was junked. I knew when the 2K tix pack was positioned to soon drop. How to layer coins for a good push. I’d lie in wait till the perfect machine came up during my week. Spend $20 or $30 and walk with a few thousand tix. I was legend.
roadside.xor.blue old roadside pics @roadside.xor.blue · 13h
palace amusements, asbury park, new jersey, 1978
palace amusements, asbury park, new jersey, 1978
January 18, 2026 at 2:34 PM
ruggerlad.bsky.social
Phantom is stunning

I love how unhinged Sisters gets in the final quarter or so.

I love The Fury too :)

DePalma like Carpenter had an amazing and sustained early 70's till what early / mid 80 s?
January 17, 2026 at 9:22 PM
trickchat.bsky.social
Just watched the highlights of Texans and Steelers. Mad that it was close till 4th quarter, and then a blowout. Happy to see the Texans advance though. #nflplayoffs #wildcardmonday #texans #steelers #trickchat
January 16, 2026 at 8:53 PM
clowdsatdusk.bsky.social
Trolley problem:
-You get paid tmr morning
-You on a quarter tank
-You have 20$ in your pocket today

Do you:
A) Get a PHAT plate from your local spot with all the fixins

OR

B) Put 20$ worth of gas in the tank till tmr
January 15, 2026 at 9:18 PM
lawrencemoore.bsky.social
Here’s ‘Alone as Cinderella’ from my new poetry collection ‘This Joyful Interlude’, out now ✨

Book links (or pm me for a signed copy)

UK amazon.co.uk/dp/B0FWKQBX77
US amazon.com/dp/B0FWKQBX77
CA amazon.ca/dp/B0FWKQBX77
DE amazon.de/dp/1068432330
AU amazon.com.au/dp/1068432330

#poem #poems #poetry
Alone as Cinderella Last dusk, my Fairy Godmuse spied on me, confuzzled as to cause, this dormant state; bore witness as I passed the lonely hours foul-mouthing maledictions, slurs at fate. Post laughter, after cleansing of the ears, thought 'With a tongue like that, he has a chance.' Our medium? Concluded poetry, gave wave of magic wand and here I am. Alone as Cinderella at her ball, I dance and weave, almost believe each line, resemble everything I wish I was, neglect to keep one eye upon the time till quarter before midnight; sorry folks, my pumpkin cab awaits, ta-ra, goodbye.
January 15, 2026 at 12:06 PM
loyaldemforever.bsky.social
Can we meet at 7:45? No, but I can meet you at a quarter till 8.
January 14, 2026 at 3:20 PM
spinner12321.bsky.social
#quarter-till
January 14, 2026 at 1:12 AM
scratchmarks.bsky.social
I have been so unhorny, so busy, so sick, and I scratched a quarter of my chest raw so I've just not been participating here till I feel/look better but woof
January 13, 2026 at 7:27 PM
crow-queen-art.bsky.social
Trying another format here in hopes people will read my wee story about my OCs, Vern and Jayson🙏😭

Click each image to expand! Text is in ALT too✨

Again, the full story/the WIP of it, can be found on my Patreon!!! (Link in bio~)

#ocs #story #cowboys
This frozen Hell was a far cry from the warmth of the dimly lit, red-velvet parlors Jayson had called home for the past year. The landscape shifted from a crushing, humid green to flat, rolling hills blanketed with corn stalks, to golden grasslands. Still, the parlors were all the same, as were the men in them with their expensive cigars, starched collars, and sweat-slicked skin that always promised contractual warmth. Always the same. The raw wind, sharp as shattered glass, cut at Jayson’s cheeks, quickly pulling him out of his distraction from death. His hands were froze to the reins of his palomino quarter, and with every wheezing pull of icy air into his tightened lungs, the pain stung sharp and truer than the mocking jingle of coin muffled by his saddle bags. Jayson shifted in the stirrups, only to confirm that his legs were numb up to his hips, his toes surely plagued with frostbite in the cured leather of his Rosebud boots. His breath plumed white, then instantly froze crystals onto the collar of his lamb-suede jacket. A jacket that was fifty dollars and made of fringe and fine stitching, and didn’t do a damn thing except draw all the wrong kinds of attention on the snow-swept Colorado prairie. Well, that’s where Jayson believed he was, anyway. But after he swindled a particularly wealthy saloon owner in Scottsbluff, Nebraska—and bought himself a fancy but useless lamb-suede jacket—the shivering fool overshot the Colorado border by roughly four hundred miles in the opposite direction and was now wandering somewhere along the Montana-Wyoming line. For four days, he followed a winding river, and, on the fifth day, a blue norther threatened the boy’s… …existence in the blink of an eye. Jayson couldn’t see ten feet in front of him; the world was whiter than the strange patches of depigmented skin blotted over the boy’s eyes, near the corners of his mouth, and on his lithe hands (and feet) like paint splatters. Perhaps not now—looking like a carcass half-froze in the spring thaw—but before his snowy misfortune, Jayson was a sight to behold. There was no denying that his looks were half the reason the youth found wealth in the Southern states. He was thin as a whippet with a feminine charm about him. A halo of caramel curls framed his bright face, and his eyes—blue as glacial ice—sweetly complemented his rosy lips. His white eyelashes seemed to be crafted from the wings of a dove, and he fluttered them expertly to make his way into the beds (and pockets) of ranchers, lawmen, bank owners, European tourists, and the like. The other half of Jayson’s success was the gift of his voice. His eighty-dollar boots kicked up sawdust on stages from Savannah, Georgia, all the way to Houston, Texas. Steel guitar in hand, eyes closed against the warm light of oil lamps, his tenor voice lilting high and true with its Southern charm and soft, shushing lisp carrying above the whoops and hollers of drunken patrons. Beneath his starched straw hat, Jayson’s curls now lay flat and dark against his forehead. His bright eyes dulled to a pale gray, and his lips turned a deep blue, a glacial crevasse carved into the pallid canvas of his gaunt face. Beneath his inadequate clothes, the poor boy was impossibly thin. His rations had run out two days ago, and his waterskin only held a few drops of frozen freshwater. He’d… …lost the river ten miles back, and the two pistols strapped under his arms were more for show than killing. Jayson could’ve scavenged for berries and the like, but he did not know the nature of the native foliage and whether or not it held a desire to poison him. If the boy were able to spot even a damn vole in the storm, that would’ve been a miracle of its own, let alone prying his hands from the reins, sliding off his horse, making a fire, skinning the thing, and cooking it. A choked sob tore from Jayson’s raw throat, “I—I’m dead.” Instead of thinking of his own well-being, Jayson’s mind drifted with the snow to the dark mass of his guitar case precariously strapped to the back of his saddle. ‘It’s surely out of tune, and maybe a string or two’s snapped. This damn cold…’ Georgia was not cold. Home, the soft-breasted South he knew with its humid, syrupy air that smelled sweetly of jasmine and mongolias. With his parents’ quaint farm, he so stupidly ran from, and a tombstone he would rather not dwell on in the present moment. Though it was hard not to. ‘Should be layin’ right beside him…’ The boy mused in sorrow, as green foliage gently rustled against his waning mind, soft grass tickled his cheeks, and the dark twisting arms of a gnarled oak tree swirled before his eyes. The boughs shifted in the flurry, and Jayson assumed he was finally losing it—that the end was near—until the strange sound that lighted on his ears was so clear and crisp it could be no illusion of grandeur. The lowing of cattle, and the faint swish-swish of thick, hooved legs shifting through the brush like dark, rotted tree stumps in the pallor… …In a desperate surge of hopeful-fueled adrenaline, the boy reached for his lariat. He let out a high-musical whistle, urging his mare into a trot with an encouraging tap from his gold-plated and gaudy spurs. The herd was a black, low-moving tide, being driven from a lonely ranch in the high mountain pastures to the rails. They were fat for the butcher’s block after a long, easy summer of grazing, and—in Jayson’s desperation—they looked like disillusioned salvation. ‘Four miles till The Hole, best time I’m makin’ it in s’two hours before the sun sinks low. Snow don’t help none with findin’ my damn way… Dogs know where to go. So do the cattle,’ Vern’s mind was one of pragmatic statistics as he navigated the tangle of woody sagebrush roots as the prairie narrowed into a soft valley of emerald pines and blood-red willows. ‘Just need to go straight, can’t be climbin’ back up the mountain after I just came down.’ The mountain man sat heavily in his saddle, looking more like a bear on horseback with the way he was swathed in furs, thick sheepskin chaps, and a long oilskin duster that had seen better days. His black felt hat was pushed down to his brow and over his mane of long coal-colored hair, tangled with silver streaks, every strand marking his age with days gone by. His mess of a beard was no different, frosted with ice crystals from his breath, making the illusion of a greying wretch even more profound. His grip was loose on the reins, gloved hands cradling the straps of leather with the gentle cadence he’d reserve for a bird blown from its nest.
January 13, 2026 at 6:48 PM
sammydoodle15207.bsky.social
that’s why Rudolph should have been in starting of 3rd quarter waiting till the 4th quarter and 2 minutes left was ridiculous
January 13, 2026 at 5:28 AM
sammydoodle15207.bsky.social
that was a pathetic game overall but to wait till the 4th quarter with 2 min left to pull rodgers and put Rudolph in was a catastrophic mistake because possibly costed us this game when Rudolph should have been in at beginning of halftime
January 13, 2026 at 4:38 AM
matthewpb.bsky.social
I’m actually saying in the Jewish Quarter! I seem to have a habit of staying in Jewish quarters when I travel and often not dealing till I get there. I think they tend to be central but on the cheap side.
January 12, 2026 at 10:05 PM
honeybee-tanuki.bsky.social
Also, sautéed some mini peps, used some butter, some cajun seasoning, some mini pep, and then a quarter cup of apple soda, let it go for a bit at lowish, then bumped it to mid-hi after it was stirring thicker till it fully syruped up uwu served with some tamale, shit is fire
January 12, 2026 at 7:43 PM
brattykat.bsky.social
I love Caleb 💗💗
And I love he paints his nails for each game

I also have a running joke that the reason he doesn’t start really playing till the 4th quarter is cuz he waiting for his nails to dry 😂💗
January 11, 2026 at 6:27 AM
betseybraddock.bsky.social
I'm gonna give till 4th quarter, they tend to come alive then
January 11, 2026 at 3:19 AM
jimmyfk.bsky.social
Played well and got all the lucky breaks till that missed FG. Luck will probably even out second half and, of course, the illogical Bears fourth quarter super transformation is sitting and waiting to pounce. They better not let up.
January 11, 2026 at 2:37 AM
almadulce.bsky.social
They don’t start playing till the fourth quarter.
January 11, 2026 at 2:04 AM
andytulin.net
Still most interested to see what happens if Georgia hangs around till the 4th quarter since that’s when LSU has gotten into trouble lately, but I doubt it will be the case tonight
January 9, 2026 at 12:18 AM
mystakak.bsky.social
It’s also why people saying they should delay the portal till after the title game aren’t realistic. School has already started for quarter schools and most semester schools.
January 8, 2026 at 4:39 AM
wjmaggos.liberal.city.ap.brid.gy
Maybe with it being a playoff game, Caleb will start strong instead of almost always waiting till at least the 4th quarter to start playing well. #ChicagoBears #nfl
January 7, 2026 at 8:44 PM
I AM GOING TO DEFACE SOOOO MANY NEW QUARTERS!
every dump quarter will be DAMAGED till the day I die!
January 7, 2026 at 12:33 AM
ric0md.io
Yea I sat tonight doing all my over due training for security bits for the quarter, my resident engineer customer doesn't start back till end of the month here, so its probably gonna be spent learning terraform/rust?
January 5, 2026 at 2:08 AM
drbibliomane.bsky.social
The British bourgeoisie getting introduced to Beethoven --aka "crash bang"--circa 1840 or so ( #19thc, from Wilkie Collins's novel No Name)
(I love the slyness of "a symphony, papa")
Mr. Vanstone sat down composedly under his daughter's flow of language, like a man who was well used to verbal inundation from that quarter.. . . "The girls enjoyed themselves amazingly, my dear,' he continued, addressing his wife. 'More than I did, I must say. It was altogether above my mark. They played one piece of music which lasted forty minutes. It stopped three times, by-the-way; and we all thought it was done each time, and clapped our hands, rejoiced to be rid of it. But on it went again, to our great surprise and mortification, till we gave it up in despair, and all wished ourselves at Jericho. Norah, my dear! when we had crash-bang for forty minutes, with three stoppages by-the-way, what did they call it?” “A symphony, papa,” replied Norah.
January 5, 2026 at 1:08 AM
who-is-travis.bsky.social
Bears did not start playing till halfway through the 3rd quarter. Can't do that this time of year
January 5, 2026 at 12:24 AM
wspano.bsky.social
If I had a quarter for every time I had to reinstall SP6a on the NT 4 box after doing... anything on it.

And having to tell clients that no, just because the computer has a USB slot on it, you can't plug your camera into it. Not till we install W2K. Next year. :D
January 4, 2026 at 3:52 PM