So to set the scene, it's the height of WWII in France and my grandpa—a 6'3" 20 year old upper Michigan farm boy—has been separated from his company after their temporary camp was shelled. My grandpa (who, I have to add, was nicknamed 'the Suicide Kid' at this point because he worked in demolitions and bomb interception and kept taking the jobs no one wanted with the expectation that he was never going home anyway) is scared out of his wits, wandering around the French countryside alone. He has to move at night and sleep in barns and sheds during the day to hide from people who most definitely want him dead.

On one of these days, he finds a farmhouse of a very jittery couple who agree to let him sleep in the barn, with the conditions that he sleeps in the barn loft and if he's found, they disavow all knowledge that he was there. He agrees, because he's exhausted and will sleep in a hay pile if he has to. My grandpa manages to fit all six foot three inches of himself into a feed trough stored upstairs and tries to get some sleep.

However, right when he's half-snoozing, he hears motors outside and sure enough, here are some very angry officers of mixed Nazi and Vichy make confronting the couple saying someone up the road spotted an American soldier walking this way. They wouldn't know anything about that, would they? No, of course not.

All the while, my grandpa—now trying to figure out how to either escape the barn unseen or how to fight off six? seven? eight? people at once—freezes up and waits for the inevitable. While he does, a HUGE spider crawls next to his head and onto the loft railing. For one second, he thinks about swatting it away, but that would risk him being seen and killed.

So, instead, he lays there and waits to either fight to the death or get executed in a feed trough. And while he lays there, the spider starts making a huge web on the railing. My grandpa's transfixed by this thing. He watches her go around and around, building a solid web before plopping herself off to one side and waiting for breakfast. At the same time, the officers finally go into the barn.

My grandpa can hear them searching around, turning over crates and checking animal pens. Then, he hears one say to check the loft.

And then another say, "Don't bother. Look at the spiderwebs up there. No one's been there in a while."

And they leave.

Because my grandpa didn't swat the spider away and let her build her web, the officers thought no one was there and left him alone. They drive off and my grandpa immediately thanks the farmer couple and hauls ass out of there as soon as he can.

After this, my grandpa refused to kill any spider, and his kids did the same. Because if it wasn't for her, he wouldn't have lived and would never have had kids or grandkids. So we owe her one.

There's the man himself. Go grandpa!!

thats my weird emotional support dog his name is jeremy

"i thought endermen hated endermites?" i never said i liked jeremy

dude i dont think you should have beef with your emotional support dog

the emotion he supports is rage

FtB bees:

Vanilla bees:

If you know any other examples of this Please add them this is very funny to me

@rollingdanielle I have either good news or bad news, impregnated sticks are an item in the forestry mod that you need for bee keeping

You see you use them to make impregnated frames. Which you then put in your beehive that you made out of impregnated casing. I am a mature adult who is very aware that the term ‘impregnate’ can also just mean ‘soaked’ (in this case, soaked in oil) so I made sure to highlight the importance of proper stick impregnation while making my collage and defiantly didn’t make a gross squeaking noise when I first read the item name while flipping through the ftb wiki

just wait until you guys hear about gregtech

this is the actual developer-made featuremap for Occultism, a mod we mostly understand, and yet this diagram makes not a goddamn lick of sense

(and also somehow leaves out the part of the mod where you get 6x ore processing)

L + ratio + you are arrogant enough to presume that every single piece of art made across the eons must adhere to your narrow and self-centered view of what it should be