"interactive investor will become part of the abrdn group" - wut mean?

2021.12.03 09:56 Snoo_50434 "interactive investor will become part of the abrdn group" - wut mean?

What does that mean for the apes? Did anyone look into abrdn group? I cannot help myself to feel like we are going to get fcked over.
I am waiting on my shares to be moved from ii trading account to IBKR, but I also have SIPP with ii, which I cannot DRS...
submitted by Snoo_50434 to superstonkuk [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 09:56 jksalol17 https://t.me/corinnakopfonlyfanz

submitted by jksalol17 to StacyisgoldOF [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 09:56 Interesting-Gas-7566 Doge🐕Bonk 🏏 - We are the anti-meme dog, meme dog token. Contract Renounced / LP Burned / 🔥BURN wallet 🔥

not another Uniswap clone,
no useless NFTs,
no roadmap,
no fake promises,
just BONK memes 🏏
We're honest with you.
DogeBonk is the most memeable project in the crypto space.
Not convinced? Google "Doge Bonk" and look at the images 😊
We've got the best community, the best memes, the best energy.
We're on a mission to bonk all other meme tokens - and you can join us for this ride! 🤘
Our community is constantly organizing raids, doing marketing and designing memes 🚀
We went from $2000 market cap to $6m market cap within 3 days, and currently on a dip!
This is going to go parabolic just because of the sheer force behind it 🔥
Is DogeBonk safe?
Liquidity was locked forever by burning all LP tokens 🔥
Ownership of the contract was renounced.
Contract is a 1:1 copy of SafeMoon which was audited by Certik.
Top holder owns only 0% of the supply.
10% tax on all transactions:
8% are distributed to fellow DOBO holders,
2% are added to liquidity to create an ever rising price floor.
Contract address: 0x21ede9b04cd2abc8ce2023175c3dba0a53778bbd
BUY HERE: https://pancakeswap.finance/swap?outputCurrency=0x21ede9b04cd2abc8ce2023175c3dba0a53778bbd
Renounced Ownership: https://bscscan.com/token/0x21ede9b04cd2abc8ce2023175c3dba0a53778bbd#readContract
LP Locked: https://deeplock.io/lock/0xd9d89fade441f556f2A0472C9284b490c95C7aB3
submitted by Interesting-Gas-7566 to cryptostreetbets [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 09:56 Anonymus2409 Jemand Lust zu tauschen? Dm

Jemand Lust zu tauschen? Dm submitted by Anonymus2409 to FreundinTausch [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 09:56 catw0man05 [selling] My delicious undies can’t wait to be wrapped around your cock 😈 Kik @alexa_again1

[selling] My delicious undies can’t wait to be wrapped around your cock 😈 Kik @alexa_again1 submitted by catw0man05 to PantySuppliers [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 09:56 casajay You have access to your school's loudspeaker system. Knowing you won't get caught, what would you do with it to cause the most chaos/confusion?

submitted by casajay to AskReddit [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 09:56 Arghhhh_yo 1743 2379 8257

1743 2379 8257 submitted by Arghhhh_yo to PokemonGoRaids [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 09:56 AshleyMeyer77 Dave Grohl & Violet Grohl gift us with a stunning Amy Winehouse cover for Hanukkah (+ see Foo film sneak peek)

submitted by AshleyMeyer77 to MusicNews [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 09:56 --GA-- Leukoplakia

Anyone ever get this from using Snus?
submitted by --GA-- to Snus [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 09:56 Pizzaman57265 selling adopt me pets for robux(for almost any amount)

my inventory is pinned on my profile
submitted by Pizzaman57265 to CrossTrading_inRoblox [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 09:56 GHOST-M416 ගොඩක් ජුකයි 😌

ගොඩක් ජුකයි 😌 submitted by GHOST-M416 to TKASYLUM [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 09:56 Cicerothesage things happen, grandma thinks there is a grand conspiracy

things happen, grandma thinks there is a grand conspiracy submitted by Cicerothesage to forwardsfromgrandma [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 09:56 Master_Visual_8407 Found this one, biggest lip cyst pop ever.

Found this one, biggest lip cyst pop ever. submitted by Master_Visual_8407 to PimplePorn [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 09:56 SLMumby The Dam - Day - (Contains Inkarnate early access assets and textures) [Battlemap] [22x29] [3072x4096]

The Dam - Day - (Contains Inkarnate early access assets and textures) [Battlemap] [22x29] [3072x4096] submitted by SLMumby to mattcolville [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 09:56 -sya-z- I've finished all the anime I've wanted to watch, and I'd like suggestions on other animes

I'm more into romcoms but a good action anime wld do nicely as well.
i just recently finished watching Charlotte and Quintessential Quintuplets.
submitted by -sya-z- to Animesuggest [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 09:56 TheMayMayMakers Is this a hint?, (Post by u/Alarmed-Ad-436)

Is this a hint?, (Post by u/Alarmed-Ad-436) submitted by TheMayMayMakers to Maymay_Makers [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 09:56 LuisQuartz Crosspost from r/PokemonMaps

Crosspost from PokemonMaps submitted by LuisQuartz to PokemonRMXP [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 09:56 shallah Colorado Covid-19 Vaccinated & Unvaccinated Case Data: 3.6 Times Less Likely To Become a Covid Case, 10.4 Times Less Likely To Be Hospitalized for Covid, 10.8 Times Less Likely to Die From Covid

Colorado Covid-19 Vaccinated & Unvaccinated Case Data: 3.6 Times Less Likely To Become a Covid Case, 10.4 Times Less Likely To Be Hospitalized for Covid, 10.8 Times Less Likely to Die From Covid submitted by shallah to CoronaVirus_2019_nCoV [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 09:56 Resident_Prior_9749 🚨 🚨 🚨 🚨 🚨 52,000,000 #USDT (52,000,000 USD) transferred from Tether Treasury to #Binance https://t.co/XHjTD9dvd2

🚨 🚨 🚨 🚨 🚨 52,000,000 #USDT (52,000,000 USD) transferred from Tether Treasury to #Binance https://t.co/XHjTD9dvd2 submitted by Resident_Prior_9749 to cryptowhalewatch [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 09:56 Elegant_Whole3277 Rocket Fist Switch

Rocket Fist Switch Rocket Fist Switch
Rocket Fist Switch submitted by Elegant_Whole3277 to ROMSLAB2 [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 09:56 Remy_LightArk Tomorrow's Kenya's#1 Pop Culture Convention: MJX

Tomorrow's Kenya's#1 Pop Culture Convention: MJX submitted by Remy_LightArk to Kenya [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 09:56 kiplet1 [City of Roses] No. 2.3: Light from Fluorescent Ceiling Panels – a Dusty Hollow – Going Home – What is so Dangerous

[City of Roses] No. 2.3: Light from Fluorescent Ceiling Panels – a Dusty Hollow – Going Home – What is so Dangerous previous | Table of Contents
Light from the fluorescent ceiling panels careens about the white kitchen. At the small table under a darkening window sits Ysabel in a white plastic chair. Tortoiseshell sunglasses, a can of Diet Coke, and a small plastic baggie lie next to the small thick book she isn’t reading. Her eyes are closed. One corner of the baggie holds a pinch of something golden.
A thin man whose dark-nailed hands glitter with silver rings pushes open the door, letting in the mutter of an active phone room. She doesn’t look up. His black T-shirt says Elegant Casualty. He yanks open the refrigerator, takes in a deep breath, blows it out half-heartedly. “You smoke?” he says.
“Who,” she says, looking up at him. “Me?”
“Do you?” he says, closing the refrigerator. “Because the idea of warmed-over tempeh goulash is not revving my motor.”
“Sometimes,” says Ysabel. “Did you want a cigarette?”
“No,” he says, looking down at his hands, over at the coffeemaker. “I don’t smoke. I just thought you’d maybe like to have something to do. When we go outside to talk.”
Ysabel looks at the closed door leading to the phone room. Uncrosses her legs. She’s wearing tight blue jeans that flare at the ankles. “We’re going outside,” she says.
“Yeah,” he says.
“What are we going to talk about?”
“How’s Jo?” he asks. He brushes something from his black jeans.
“Jo’s, ah,” says Ysabel. She sits up a little, uncrossing her legs. “Jo’s fine.” She looks at the door to the phone room. “Is something wrong?”
He’s looking over at the employee posters spelling out overtime rules, state-mandated lunch breaks, a busy spot of color on the blank wall. “It’s all working out for you? Crashing at her place?”
“Her apartment is much too small. And it’s wretched.” Ysabel’s smile is small and wry. “I take it we’re not going outside?”
But he’s brushing at his jeans again. “How’s your boyfriend?”
“Your boyfriend,” he says, looking down at her book, at the little baggie beside it. “That’s what Jo said. You’re staying with her because your boyfriend is a mean sonofabitch.”
“Then I’d say,” says Ysabel, sitting back in her chair, “he’s still mean.” She crosses one leg over the other again. She’s wearing leather thong sandals. Her toenails are painted gold. “You’re Guthrie, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” he says, his head canted to one side, still peering at her book. “What’s that you’re reading?”
Ysabel pulls the book into her lap and flips through to a page toward the beginning. “She turning back with ruefull countenance,” she reads, “cride, Mercy mercy Sir vouchsafe to show on silly Dame, subiect to hard mischaunce, and to your mighty will. Her humblesse low in so ritch weedes and seeming glorious show, did much emmoue his stout heroïcke heart, and said, Deare dame, your suddein ouerthrow much rueth me.” She closes her book and smiles at Guthrie, who’s frowning at a corner of the table. “Spenser,” she says.
“And see,” says Guthrie, “that’s the thing. That seeming glorious show. That was some party Saturday night.”
“Yes,” says Ysabel. “It was.”
“Do you,” says Guthrie, taking a deep breath, looking up at the bright ceiling, “have them often?”
“When we,” Ysabel starts to say.
“Because,” says Guthrie, looking down, looking at her, squinting a little, “I think I remember more than you think.”
Ysabel’s face is still for a moment. Then she says, “I don’t know what you’re on about. But if you’re trying to secure an invitation to the next one – ”
“I don’t want an invitation to the next one,” says Guthrie.
“What do you want?” asks Ysabel.
Guthrie reaches up and runs a hand through his thin hair. Bites his lip. Topples forward suddenly, hingeing at the waist, looming over Ysabel, catching himself on the back of her chair, the edge of the table. “I want to make sure,” he says, in her ear. “That you get it. Jo’s not alone in this. Okay? Whatever it is.”
There’s another burst of phone-room chatter as the door’s pushed open. A blond girl with a coffee cup squeezes past Guthrie, headed for the coffeemaker. Guthrie straightens. “I should get back to the phones,” he mumbles, reaching for the door.
“Guthrie,” says Ysabel.
He stops, halfway through the open door.
“I do appreciate everything she’s doing for me,” she says.
“Good,” he says, with a little shrug. The door swings shut behind him.
“Do you have any idea where the creamer’s got to?” says the blond girl.

From the sidewalk the ground slopes steeply to an old cyclone fence. Beyond that a retaining wall drops twenty feet to the four-lane highway full of sixty-mile-an-hour traffic. Sweetloaf in his brown bomber jacket picks his way past a neatly trimmed shrub toward a dusty hollow tramped down in the weeds where the fence meets the concrete buttress of the bridge over the highway. On a flattened cardboard box squats a man wearing a grimy check sports jacket and a brown wispy beard. Next to him a filthy girl, grease smeared on her cheeks, her blackened hands wrapped in rags. An old mohawk sprawls across her stubbled scalp. The man standing by the bridge holds an empty bottle like a club. The others stare at Sweetloaf stepping carefully in his moccasin boots. The man by the fence doesn’t look up from the traffic.
“Got a proposition,” says Sweetloaf, his hands held out and away. “Fuckin’ simplicity itself.”
“Everything goes by the CO,” says the bearded man in a rusty monotone. “You know that.”
“Of course I know that,” says Sweetloaf, smiling. “And your CO said whatever, fuck it. Run it by the jefes, do it fucking ad hoc, he doesn’t give a fuck. So now I’m running it past the jefes. So.” He hunkers down next to the bearded man. “Jefe. You want to make some fucking money?”
“Sure,” says the bearded man. There’s a long roll of industrial felt, grey, flecked with dark colors, wadded up against the concrete buttress. Twitching. It rolls over. There’s a wild-eyed face poking out near one end. “Shut up shut up shut up,” it says.
“These two girls,” says Sweetloaf. “One of them has blond hair with these little fucking black bits in it. Can’t miss her. She’s wearing a black T-shirt with a devil on it and combat boots. They’re going to come out of that building – ” he leans back and points up at a modest skyscraper looming over them – ”at a little after nine o’clock. That gives you a couple of hours.”
The roll of industrial felt sits up and whoever’s inside it wriggles half out of it, a torso and a couple of arms in a puffy, dirty, pink ski jack, that face tucked in under its hood. “Shut up I’m trying to sleep goddammit.” Sweetloaf looks over at it and back at the bearded man. “Yours?”
“No,” says the bearded man.
“Okay,” says Sweetloaf. He looks at the girl with the mohawk, who’s still staring at him. “You getting all this?” Sweetloaf snaps at her.
“The other one,” says the girl with the mohawk.
“Yeah,” says the man by the fence, who’s more of a boy. His cheekbones hunch like shoulders under his squinting eyes. “The other girl.”
“You said there was another girl,” says the girl with the mohawk.
“I did,” says Sweetloaf, looking down at the dust. “Shut up shut up shut up,” says whoever’s in the pink ski jacket. “You might be familiar with her,” says Sweetloaf.
“Yeah?” says the girl with the mohawk.
“The Bride,” says Sweetloaf.
“Fuck that,” says the boy, pushing off the fence. “Fuck it. No way the CO signed off on this shit.”
“You’re just fucking hounds on this,” says Sweetloaf, jerking to his feet. “You scare them. That’s it.” The boy isn’t looking at him. “You don’t get your hands dirty because you don’t even fucking think of touching them. Just put on a show so his grace’s men can rescue them. And only his grace’s men. Nobody else. You have my word.”
“Shyeah,” says the boy.
“Shut up shut up!” shrieks whoever’s in the pink ski jacket. It might be a woman, standing up, kicking loose from the heavy felt. “No peace no goddamn peace! Fucking fuckers! Fucking goddamn slope fuckers sand fuckers spic fuckers slit fuckers fucking goddamn trying to fucking sleep!” The bearded man doesn’t look away from Sweetloaf. The girl with the mohawk is looking up at the building. The boy is looking back out over the highway with his arms folded.
“None of your Queen’s men?” says the bearded man.
“Fucking goddamn pixie fuckers!” she yells, kicking the felt.
Sweetloaf grabs the woman pinning her back against the concrete with one hand. “Boo!” She flinches. “You know what I just did?” says Sweetloaf. “You know what the fuck I just did to you?” She’s looking down, holding up a hand as a shield. “I just took a fucking year of your life, that’s what I did!” he yells. “I took a filthy fucking year of your worthless miserable life!” She’s panting, shallow, whooping breaths of air. “You want to try for more? You want to say it again?”
She says nothing. Coughs.
“Well?” snarls Sweetloaf.
Her hand still up as a shield.
“None of your Queen’s men?” says the bearded man. “We’re not getting caught in the middle of another skirmish.”
Sweetloaf lets go, steps back. “No,” he says. The woman in the pink ski jacket slumps down to sit with her back against the concrete. “You have my fucking word.”
“And?” says the girl with the mohawk.
“Twenty dollars.” Turning, Sweetloaf fishes three crisp new bills from his shirt pocket. “Each.”
The bearded man smiles. “You have your hounds.”

The door to the phone room swings open. Jo ducks her head around. “You ready?”
Ysabel looks up from her book.
“Let’s go,” says Jo.
“Where to now?”
“Home,” says Jo. And as Ysabel opens her mouth to respond, “Don’t even,” says Jo.
“Just for a drink,” says Ysabel. “One song.”
“You can go wherever you want,” says Jo. “I’m going home.” She ducks back into the phone room. Ysabel slaps her book shut and stands.
In the hall, Jo punches the down button for the elevator. “It doesn’t have to be a bar,” says Ysabel. “Or a club.” Jo doesn’t say anything. “It,” says Ysabel, “we could go – ”
“Where?” says Jo.
“I don’t know.”
“Where, Ysabel? Where’s the free drinks? With no cover? Huh?”
Ysabel looks back at Jo. “We don’t,” she starts to say.
“You blew the last of our cash on lunch.” Jo kicks the elevator doors. “Slowest goddamn elevator in town, I swear.”
“Second-slowest,” says Ysabel.
The elevator dings. The doors jerk open. As Jo steps on, Guthrie and a short, older woman come out of the office down the hall. “Hey,” says Guthrie, “could you hold..?”
“Oops,” says Ysabel, pressing the close door button. The doors close. The elevator judders into motion.
“What did you,” Jo starts to say.
“Is he,” says Ysabel, “a friend of yours?”
“What does that have to do with – ”
“Does he talk to you? Did you talk? Tonight?”
Jo leans back. Dozens of dim Jo reflections lean back with her in the tarnished mirrors lining the elevator. “We’re on the phone all the time,” she says. “We don’t exactly hang out and chat.”
“You’re tired, aren’t you,” says Ysabel. “You don’t actually do any work at this job, but – ”
“People telling you to fuck off gets a little draining after a while,” says Jo.
“So just,” says Ysabel, lifting a finger, “one drink – ”
“We can’t!” snaps Jo. “Christ. Just take off by yourself.” She’s looking Ysabel up and down, her hip-hugging jeans, her peach tank top. “You wouldn’t have to pay for a goddamn thing.” The elevator grinds to a halt.
“If I go anywhere,” says Ysabel quietly as the doors jerk open, “you have to go with me. You know that.”
“Well,” says Jo, stepping out, “I’m going home. There’s your options.”
“It’s your duty,” snaps Ysabel, following her.
“Fuck that,” says Jo, storming across the brightly lit lobby.
“You said yes!” calls Ysabel, click-clacking after her. “You agreed!”
“Wish to hell I hadn’t,” says Jo, rearing back, aiming a big black boot at the crashbar of the glass outer door, kicking it open. Outside, sunset smolders behind the western hills. The sky is a deep blue shading into indigos and blacks in the east, where only a few of the brightest stars can be seen. There is still more light in the air than what’s put out by the streetlights and the bright hotel sign on the corner. Jo catches the closing door and holds it open for Ysabel. “Look,” says Jo, who takes a deep breath, and then in a rush says “You can’t come here tomorrow.”
“What,” says Ysabel flatly, stopping there in the doorway.
“You can’t come here tomorrow,” says Jo, looking down. “Becker said.” She’s still holding the door open for Ysabel. “You have to stay at my place.”
“And you,” says Ysabel, still standing in the doorway.
“Will go to work. Just like today.”
Ysabel takes a deep breath. The street is empty. The only real sound is the susurrus of traffic on the highway two blocks away, hidden in its great gully. “You still don’t understand,” she says.
“You don’t understand,” snaps Jo. “I don’t know what it was like, hanging out with Roland. Maybe he had some magic credit card, I don’t know. I don’t have that. Okay? We don’t get to do that. I have a job. I have to have a job. And my boss is giving me shit because of you and I am not going to get fired.”
“None of that matters,” mutters Ysabel. She starts walking down the street, away from the highway behind them.
“So you can stay home tomorrow,” Jo says as she lets the door close. She heads after Ysabel. “Or go wherever the fuck you want. I officially do not care.”
“None of that matters,” says Ysabel. Jo leans out, catches her arm. Jerks her to a halt. “The fuck?” she says, as Ysabel’s saying, “I am your responsibility. You have the keeping of me.” Her eyes are wide, her mouth in a frown. She’s trying not to breathe heavily. “You can’t just leave me in that pigsty. Alone. You must keep me safe. No matter what.”
Jo blinks. “Can you stop with the pigsty cracks?” she says.
“Dammit, Jo!” Ysabel jerks free. There’s a weirdly distorted, glassy clink, somewhere away behind Jo.
“What?” says Jo. “What am I keeping you safe from?” There’s a clank, and another.
“Jo,” says Ysabel.
“What is so dangerous?” Another clink. “That you need a freaking bodyguard, twenty-four seven.” Clonk.
Ysabel points. Jo turns.
Down the street from the bridge over the highway come four people: a girl with a limp mohawk, her hands wrapped in rags. A man in grimy grey and black camouflage, his shoes a pair of disintegrating Nikes. A tall boy in tight black jeans. A boy in an old grey sweatshirt, his face twisted in a scowl. He’s got three empty glass bottles in his right hand, his fingers and his thumb jammed in their necks, and he lifts them and clinks them together, and again. “Chickie chickies,” he says. “Boo,” says the tall boy. They’re a block away and spreading out, into the street, and the girl with the mohawk is holding her hands wide, grinning. “Chickie chickie,” says the boy with the bottles. Clink. Clonk.
“We’d better,” Ysabel starts to say, as Jo, frowning, takes a step towards them. “Christian?” says Jo.
“We’d better go,” says Ysabel.
“Aw, shit,” says the boy, dropping the hand that holds the bottles. The girl with the mohawk says “Come on!”
“Christian?” says Jo again. “What’s going on?”
“Shit,” says the boy. “The fuck you doing here, Jo?”
previous | Table of Contents
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2021.12.03 09:56 ProtectionOk51 When you watch morning news and see this...and then remember the LDSINC runs it....

When you watch morning news and see this...and then remember the LDSINC runs it.... submitted by ProtectionOk51 to exmormon [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 09:56 CommitteeFirm1190 Probably posted already but positive read

submitted by CommitteeFirm1190 to SHIBArmy [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 09:56 Fisch225 Hell

Hell submitted by Fisch225 to adamsomething [link] [comments]