Gyromite

Something similar happened to me. I had two more people in the house but they were still (also, I was the only one drilling), and the noise meter just leaped 50%. https://clipchamp.com/watch/BcQiKjRtdTu

I have a few more videos on my channel, but I made this clip compilation 2.5 years ago. I'm a very bad editor haha.

Noice! Got a desktop version?

Her body tensed and quivered as she felt wave after wave surge through it. Johnnie probably should of told her that outlet had been faulty since day one. He shrugged and began to produce a pack of Redwood’s as the chefs in the kitchen picked up the new hostess by her arms. She was alright, just a little shock; the chef’s pointed her body toward the door and into one of the couches at the lounge. The head chef glared at Johnnie as he put the cigarette in his mouth, but with a measured and nice tone said, “Ah… no no, Mistah Everdeen, Miss a’ Ravyn will get so a’ mad if you smoke in here! Please go outside!” Johnnie squinted at the man and tried to look menacing, but only felt like a fool. He made his way through the dining area and lounge, nodding to the employees who were cleaning up for the night, and sat outside in the veranda. He took a sip from a small flask in his jacket and tried to rationalize the cost of hiring a contractor for a single outlet versus installing an outlet plug. Johnnie Everdeen crossed his legs, took a golden Zibbo® lighter from his breastpocket, and lit up a cigarette as he lost track of himself at sea. The crests of the water spray glittered in the sunset while the droning sound of waves crashing into the large wooden beams underneath him lulled him almost to sleep. He felt his cheeks flush as the last swig of peppermint schnapps made his blood vessels dilate and Johnnie felt a bit paranoid, although the employees usually mistook it for mouthwash if they got too close to him. A sudden caw from a nearby seagull snapped Johnnie partially back into consciousness, just in time as the last hostess was leaving Pearl’s for the night. Taking a drag on his cigarette, he raised his hand in a small, professional wave. At least that’s what he hoped it looked like, his body wasn’t responding well at the moment. His mind, however, was responding very well. A few months ago one of his house cleaners had almost thrown away one of his most precious possessions, a crude portrait drawn of him on a simple sheet of paper. It was given to him during the last time he took a vacation at the DOC, by someone whose face he could hardly remember. He remembered when he first looked at it the sudden overwhelming feelings of emotion that washed over him, probably helped along by the copious amounts of booze he had been drinking lately. Since then, he started asking for pictures from his friends, and then progressed to asking people on the pier, to actually tracking certain individuals down and persuading them to draw something. He didn’t know why he liked them, he just did. Subconsciously he knew that he was collecting these drawings as memento's, many of the drawings he had in his possession now were from people who were long gone. Last night he caught himself looking at the picture of another Rook, Frank Morello, and he was overcome by emotion when he thought of the potential of losing the masterpiece. So, in a moment of clarity, he turned on his phone, took a picture, uploaded it, and continued on until had had backups of each. He wasn’t worried about the police tracking him at this house, it was clean as soon as he moved the rest of the… product out. Now, sitting on the back veranda at Pearls and swooning to the beat of the crashing waves, Johnnie decided to make the album of his drawings public. “I wonder if I still have the drawing I got from Commissioner Langly?” he thought to himself as he lit up another cigarette with his gold Zibbo® lighter.

Glad to have you here! I hope you have tons of fun!

@HighTV Told me that a good idea would be that you need to use a gun to interrogate, that would help at least make it clearer that someone is interrogating, because at the moment there's no indication.

The current system provides no downsides for people who run around comping drops all day just to shoot. I do think that if someone is willing to drop cash, a successful bribe could probably give the time that the drop is too. +1

-1 Too much room for abuse, why can't you just use discord pings? To be fair faction chat is mostly meme's anyway for most of the factions I've been in. If they got rid of fchat altogether I wouldn't miss it.

Like home alone, it depends on how much prep time Batman gets.

Glad to hear you're enjoying yourself, welcome to ECRP!

Date and time (provide timezone): 10/26/2021 6pm Central Character name: Johnnie_Everdeen Issue/bug you are reporting: The large wall fans that you can buy from the furniture store and that look just like the illegal ventilators are acting like them as well. When you have one near a drug table inside of a property, it prevents the smoke and damage you would normally incur. Expected behavior: The "smoke" from a cooking table should be only prevented by an industrial ventilator from the black market, not a regular furniture item. Evidence, notes worth mentioning, steps to replicate: As you can see in the video, there is an active table, I remove the large fan, and immediately start taking damage. You can see from the item dropped it is the large wall fan.

+1 It's sooo frustrating to misplace a piece of furniture, only to remove 5 other pieces to get to the one you messed up.

The hum of a window-mounted airconditioner permeated the background of the dimly lit living room, besides the small rays of sunshine gleaning through the broken window blinds, the only light was the flicker of the television's rapidly changing colors. The bright colors reflected off of Quintavius' thick glasses, lit up his face and the wall behind him. A look of intense concentration was magnified by the spectacles perched at the end of his nose. He was just a few seconds away from beating the course record in Kung Fu Rainbow Lazerforce Power Carts: True Racing IV, not just his own record, but the WORLD record. He glanced at the VHS tape recorder for a brief moment to ensure that it was still recording, this almost cost him a 16th of a second, and he felt a wave of heat flash across his forehead. "I'm almost there! Just 5 more consecutive hairpin turns and the record is mine!" He thought. At that same moment, he heard the front door slam, and an acrid smell almost like a skunk made his nose wrinkle up. He finished the second hairpin turn as his brother DeMarcus could be heard behind him. Quintavius stiffened however he still remained fixated on the screen with immense concentration. "Awww sheeeyut brotha! Your game be fucked up!" DeMarcus exclaimed as he literally stomped across the living room to his brother's Sprunk™ Series Gamestation 8. Quintavius couldn't afford to look away, as he was maximizing his acceleration coming out of the third turn. The vibration of his brother's footfalls made the candy dish on the living room table rattle. "Here, pause it, Imma help you bruh." DeMarcus said as he leaned over to the entertainment center and grasped the Gamestation. "Noooo!!!"Quintavius exclaimed as he shifted his attention to his older brother. It was too late, DeMarcus yanked the game cartridge out of the console, and turned it upside down. "See, ya gotta clean it erry once in a while, like dis!" To his horror, Quintavius' brother began spitting in the cartridge. DeMarcus then took the bottom of his filthy shirt in his filthy hands, then began to rub the inside of the cartridge. Quintavius' eyes were as wide as dinnerplates, his mouth was agape, and the color seemed to drain from his cheeks. "Why! What are you doing!?" he tried to shout, but only a meek little whisper escaped. With a stream of saliva still dripping from the cartridge, DeMarcus slammed the game pack back into the console. When doing this, the screen immediately went from a frozen picture to black. Quintavius thought he smelled burning plastic as he watched a tiny wisp of smoke rise up from the Gamestation. "Damn little nigga! Guess you won't be cooped up inside the house no mo!" declared DeMarcus. "Git yo ass up and come ousside and hang wit da real niggas! We gon show you howta roll a blunt, ya hurd!?" DeMarcus practically lifted his younger brother off of the rug from his sitting position and begun dragging him to the front door. Quintavius knew not to protest, or he would be subject to one of the many elaborate tortures his brothers could come up with. He shuddered as he remembered last time, where he learned what "Swirlie" was. It was on that day when a small 8-year-old boy's life was changed dramatically. He had gone from an innocent third grader to one of Brouge Avenue's notorious criminals in the making.