And industrial extruders..... Back in the sixties, I was an ever curious kid, and there was a brand of toothpaste called 'Signal', which had red stripes. I of course had to dismantle the tube to find out how it was done. There was a collar device in the tube nozzle that dispensed the red mouthwash sripes using laminar flow. However, the tube above is the result of a multi-nozzle shaped extrusion.
thorns, sharp small stones, glass, twigs, dog poop, slugs.......
But then there's the tendency of stainless steel to work-harden and then break, leaving a typically sharp, twisting fracture spike. Then there's the fact that these things will work as very tough scouring pads on soft wet sweaty feet. Hello bones!.
All in all, I'd say they'll do very little protection, and a heap of damage.
Or just buy an old suburban. 8X4 sheets no problem.
Seriously, Torchinsky's idea is kind of stupid. The U.S. doesn't do light trucks very well, the rest of the world has a zillion little trucks that will carry all the things he mentions without drama. And without the inevitable problems of asymmetric weight. When he stacks his 8x4s alongside the cab, how's he going to see to his right? And drywall in particular needs to be carried flat.
I don't know enough about U.S building codes to fully call BS on this one, but in the U.K. and Europe, the nephew's evil plan would have failed, because, by legal requirement, Aunt Anna's gas fire would have had a Flame-Failure Device (ffd), and when the pilot flame went out, the thermocouple cooled, the electro-magnet in the main gas valve would have snapped shut, cutting off gas to both main and pilot jets.
It's all about equality, so that men can experience the joys of splashing their shoes.
Back in Dickens' days, peeing in the street was by no means the big taboo it is now. In Victorian times, 'Cloakmen' were to be found on the street, their trade was simple. For a very small fee, they would use a large cloak to give privacy to someone needing to pee. In the later 1900s, however, London spent vast sums of money on a new, effective, sewer system, in order to alleviate the capital of 'the great stink', and new by-laws were passed, making public urination an offence in many boroughs. At the same time 'public conveniences' were built in great numbers.
Coin-slot operated doors gave rise to a new euphemism for excretion. "I just need to 'spend a penny'"
Maybe I'm being obtuse here, but to me, the message on that child's shirt says that he was going to die in february 2013. As a pregnancy announcement, that is more ominous than than awesome.
But.... But that's piracy! Oh my. Picture if everyone did that, root-sharing. It's the end of civilisation... Now imagine, if you could take an old potato, let it go green, sprout shoots, and.... plant it and get lots of new potatoes. Oh my... And if you could take the seeds of a tomato, and sink them in a little moist soil, on your window-ledge and get a whole new tomato plant?
Citizens, this is a road that leads to anarchy. The celery police are at your door. Now.
Ha! They still exist? Back a zillion years ago, 1977, I got married, and my then wife took a job with the local city council, as a word processor operator. It was, back then, the latest in technology, and the council was so proud of it that they had regular visits and tours of people eager to see the latest in computerised cutting-edge technology. She had taken typing class at school, and tried hard to teach me, but here I am, still pecking away with one finger. I remember the data storage, the controlled atmosphere room with tapes, coloured lights. very space-age. And there was indeed a big gender divide. Women typed, men wandered around frowning at machines. I wish I had learned typing back then. I still miss my old travel-remington typewriter, which, along with me, kept tip-ex in business.
Back in the 1930s, my father learned to type, he rose to become chief executive, and was proud of the fact that his typing in words per minute was as fast as any of the company's typists. He also could write in Pitman Shorthand, which, as a kid, I thought was a super-secret code. Which, I suppose it is. I wonder how many people today are fluent in Pitman?
Back in the sixties, I was an ever curious kid, and there was a brand of toothpaste called 'Signal', which had red stripes. I of course had to dismantle the tube to find out how it was done. There was a collar device in the tube nozzle that dispensed the red mouthwash sripes using laminar flow. However, the tube above is the result of a multi-nozzle shaped extrusion.
But then there's the tendency of stainless steel to work-harden and then break, leaving a typically sharp, twisting fracture spike.
Then there's the fact that these things will work as very tough scouring pads on soft wet sweaty feet. Hello bones!.
All in all, I'd say they'll do very little protection, and a heap of damage.
Seriously, Torchinsky's idea is kind of stupid. The U.S. doesn't do light trucks very well, the rest of the world has a zillion little trucks that will carry all the things he mentions without drama. And without the inevitable problems of asymmetric weight.
When he stacks his 8x4s alongside the cab, how's he going to see to his right?
And drywall in particular needs to be carried flat.
Back in Dickens' days, peeing in the street was by no means the big taboo it is now.
In Victorian times, 'Cloakmen' were to be found on the street, their trade was simple. For a very small fee, they would use a large cloak to give privacy to someone needing to pee.
In the later 1900s, however, London spent vast sums of money on a new, effective, sewer system, in order to alleviate the capital of 'the great stink', and new by-laws were passed, making public urination an offence in many boroughs.
At the same time 'public conveniences' were built in great numbers.
Coin-slot operated doors gave rise to a new euphemism for excretion. "I just need to 'spend a penny'"
As a pregnancy announcement, that is more ominous than than awesome.
Poor kid.
Now imagine, if you could take an old potato, let it go green, sprout shoots, and.... plant it and get lots of new potatoes.
Oh my...
And if you could take the seeds of a tomato, and sink them in a little moist soil, on your window-ledge and get a whole new tomato plant?
Citizens, this is a road that leads to anarchy.
The celery police are at your door. Now.
Back a zillion years ago, 1977, I got married, and my then wife took a job with the local city council, as a word processor operator. It was, back then, the latest in technology, and the council was so proud of it that they had regular visits and tours of people eager to see the latest in computerised cutting-edge technology. She had taken typing class at school, and tried hard to teach me, but here I am, still pecking away with one finger.
I remember the data storage, the controlled atmosphere room with tapes, coloured lights. very space-age.
And there was indeed a big gender divide. Women typed, men wandered around frowning at machines.
I wish I had learned typing back then. I still miss my old travel-remington typewriter, which, along with me, kept tip-ex in business.