#ultimate welder

It was a very angry Irish woman who was a welder, and could repair turrets, replenish ammo, and her special attack was taking a piece of metal in one hand, an electrode holder in the other, and smacking them together so that everyone in the surrounding area was blinded for several moments, leaving them vulnerable to attack. 

I dunno what her weapon was or her other attacks were, but she spoke like the Scotsman from Samurai Jack and when I questioned this in my dream, she got really pissed at me, threw a ball-peen hammer in my face, and then I woke up.

Ultimate Welder here, wondering if Bendy and the Ink Machine fan art contest would accept photos of metal plates welded together to look like Bendy.

Just the body, not the face. Or at least, the head shape. Probably use a Sharpie to finish the details of the face, like the smile and eyes.

If I try welding details of the face, it’ll look like monster, inky Bendy.

But messier.

And not in a good way.

Well... I mean, it could be done in a good way.

Maybe that might be a cool thing, overheat it and make it melt... or try using a TIG machine and a really steady hand, but that might burn through the tungsten which will make me look like a jerk, and I never have a steady enough hand with all the caffeinated soda I drink to stay awake I swear, you could cut me open and I just bleed Mr. Pibb.

What was I saying?

Oh.

Okay, so I gotta see what plates are available first. Then take pictures and see what happens next.

No one knew who did it or why it happened.

Maybe it was jealousy. He was a handsome man, very talented and flexible, and he would playfully flirt with audience members as he performed. He always had that little magic trick of presenting a fake rose to several people, making them all swoon and giggle bashfully. It never meant anything, he knew boundaries and could read people’s faces very well; he never put someone who was shy and uncomfortable on the spot to embarrass them. Perhaps he read someone wrong, they got too embarrassed, saw it as legit flirting, and decided to take action. Maybe he flirted with someone’s spouse or partner and someone got violently angry, gathered rightfully angry friends, and confronted him when he was vulnerable and alone.

It could have been someone who was angry with the circus. However, they never used animals like elephants or tigers. They had a group of dogs that were well cared for by Matt, the tall, weird looking blond man. He kept them happy, healthy, and comfortable. Someone must have doubted him, maybe saw him throwing a temper tantrum when he stubbed his toe or stepped in dog shit. Matt was probably asleep or trying to awkwardly flirt with the fortune teller. The victim was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.

It was possible that someone was angry with his brother, a fortune teller, who either saw something unfortunate or didn’t see something clear enough, and his customer got enraged. His brother was not a fighter, and big brothers have to protect their baby brothers. His brother, a much fragile and weaker man, would never be able to defend himself, especially with a group of angry individuals. He must have confronted them before they could hurt his brother and took all the hits.

Whatever happened, it made Ben want to run out and kill whoever did this to Hux.

All he could do was sit by his bedside, fists clutched in pure anger, as Hux lay in the hospital bed. All the circus employees were informed that their famed dancer and ring leader wouldn’t be performing for a while (whoever heard of a circus on hiatus), the police promised they would catch the bastards who beat him to a bloody pulp, and he was getting the proper care he needed. But it wasn’t enough. Ben never felt so helpless and angry, a nauseating emotion boiling inside him.

Hux, his poor Hux, just lying there before him. Swollen, bandaged, pallid, and unconscious; he hoped he was unconscious for most of the damage dealt. They broke his nose, legs, and several ribs, but all the slashes and slice strewn across his body made his anger boil even more. They wanted him to suffer, to bleed out. Hux was a pompous idiot with a sharp tongue, but to do this to him? He didn’t deserve it.

He heard him stir, letting out a small whimper through clenched teeth. Ben quickly got up, forgetting all the violent thoughts bubbling in his head, and carefully cradled his small hand in both of his. His one non-swollen eye weakly fluttered open and Ben stayed silent. What could he say in this situation? “Are you okay?” Clearly not. “Do you remember who did this to you?” Much too soon and traumatic to be doing that (and he does not want the police to be badgering him in this state). “Do you remember who I am?” Either he’ll get a smarmy response or he might actually not remember, and he’s not in the right state of mind to face that answer. “Hey, those guys who beat the shit out of you broke your leg so badly that you might not be able to dance again, is that okay?” Ben wasn’t that cruel and stupid.

He felt a faint squeeze in his hands and he quickly focused on Hux. He looked so pitiful, staring up at Ben as if waiting for something, anything. He stared back, tongue dry and eyes burning. Slowly, very slowly, he bent down and softly, so gently, pressed his damp forehead to Hux’s own. He couldn’t take the pain away. He couldn’t turn back time and chose to walk Hux back to his tent (or tell him he was joking about not wanting to share a living space together) instead of pissing him off and watching him storm out of his tent with drunken, gleeful giggles. He couldn’t tell him everything was going to be okay from now on. He could hardly hold him in fear of just causing more pain and making everything worse.

He closed his eyes and let out a slow, shaky sigh, keeping their foreheads pressed together in a silent apology. He winced when he felt Hux feebly nudge his face upwards, trying his hardest to nuzzle him. He hushed him and carefully stroked his face, feeling the tears finally spill down his face.

So y’all remember my saying, “There’s no discrimination in welding... unless you’re a dumbass.”

So it can be interpreted in many ways. Trying to weld dogs to people’s faces; you’re a dumbass. Ignoring someone’s pleas for assistance when learning something new; you’re a dumbass. Telling someone they can’t weld because of their gender, sexuality, race, religion, etc; you’re a dumbass. You’re a proud Nazi; you’re a dumbass and get the fuck away from me.

So then I heard about these people called radical feminists.

And as a person born in the 90′s, I thought ‘radical’ meant like a cool feminist. “Whoa man, you just need to chill out and we can work together for equality. Let’s talk it all out over a beer or lemonade, both organically made. Who cares about genitals, man? What we should care about is catching some gnarly waves, dude!” 

And as someone who is a feminist (as in, everyone is a human being, deserves equal treatment, and shouldn’t be discriminated), I thought that I could be a pretty rad feminist. I can hang out with the cool kids, right?

Then I learned who they really are.

What the fuck. 

Ultimate Welder here reminding you to not weld metal with paint on it.

That shit stinks, it’s REALLY bad for you, and it just looks gross. 

Burnt paint can look awesome, like if you want a Silent Hill-vibe, but for anything else... nah man. Just don’t weld on painted metal. Even with ventilation, you’re still going to be coughing that gross shit up. Plus, you don’t know how old that paint is. Lead in paint was a thing. Don’t inhale that shit. 

Please try to clean the paint off by either brushing it off with a metal brush, or using certified chemicals to rub it off. 

“There’s no discrimination in welding... unless you’re a dumbass.”

When he said dumbass, he meant like someone who does things without thinking and without the fear of consequences. Because people do stupid things all the time and get away with it. Like, telling a group of people ON TWITTER that they’re not allowed to serve their country because of money, despite the fact their army is the most expensive in the world and the money they’re saving takes up less than 1% of the military budget, but WE GOTTA SAVE MONEY TO BUILD THAT WALL. 

But in welding, if you screw up, you get screwed. But this can be prevented! Ask questions, ask for help, own up to your mistakes; just don’t jump into something without thinking because it harms EVERYONE.

As the Ultimate Welder, I proclaim that anyone is welcomed to the welding community. No matter your race, sexuality, gender, religion, politics, or whatever stupid people get nit picky over for no reason. 

Ultimate Welder here reminding you that mosquitoes can go fuck themselves. 

It’s that time of year where those bitches come out and ruin your life. So remember to spray yourself down with mosquito spray because fuck those things. Or get those weird candles. Or if you’re a welder like me, torch them! Just be responsible. I am completely joking please don’t use fire unless there is a legit takeover of mutant mosquitoes but there isn’t yet so just don’t take my advice because I am a dumb, silly person.

Also, if you have gotten bitten but can’t afford bug spray or something, I discovered that if you apply tooth numbing gel (like Orajel) onto your bite, it really helps numb it down, thus preventing you from scratching it and becoming miserable. I am one of those who gets a bite and it instantly becomes the size of a cow, so the gel really helps me. It also feels so good because it’s kinda cool when you apply it on and it’s such a relief. Aw yiss.

Or stay inside and avoid those assholes, I don’t care. 

Ultimate Welder here, somehow needing to remind people that Nazis are awful.

Why is this a thing? Why are people defending Nazis? Why are people mad at a game where you kill Nazis despite the game being created when my dad was my age so it’s nothing new? Yeah, people are pissed off at the recent Wolfenstein sequel announcement. Anyone wanna break it to them fake gamers that the main character is Polish AND Jewish?

“Oh, but what if there was a famous welder who was a Nazi?” someone might ask.

I don’t give a fuck. I don’t care if they’re the best welder that I should be inspired to be! If they’re a Nazi, I hate them. I don’t care if they invented a type of weld I’ll eventually grow fond of and perfect. Because they created that in order to kill millions of innocent people. 

I can also do this amazing thing; separate the art from the artist. I can admire the welds, but tell the welder to go fuck themselves. 

The hatred is also a personal thing. My family was greatly affected during the war, especially on the Polish side. A lot of them died in WWII, some were sent to camps, and few survived. Several of them served this country and watched their friends get killed right in front of them because of those assholes, and were scarred for life. 

If you PLAY a Nazi, like in a stage production (I was in my local theater’s production of The Producers and played a stellar pigeon if I do say so myself), a video game, movie, or created a character that’s a Nazi, then you’re not a Nazi. It’s playing pretend. 

 If you’re fascinated by the history of WWII, that’s fine. Seriously read about it and all the awesome shit that came out of it, while also acknowledging the horrible things that also occurred and shouldn’t be forgotten.

Mel Brooks created several movies that make us laugh at those assholes. Laugh at them. Point and laugh at these pathetic babies. They have no feelings if they can hate an entire group of people simply because they’re different. How petty. They’re doing nothing but spreading hatred. Don’t let it happen.