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GPS Meets PCS
The Donald writes: "According to an article at News.com, Sprint PCS will be starting to implement E911 calls in Rhode Island sometime in October. The FCC required that all cell phone providers have an improved E911 system in place by October first. This is the first step in making the E911 a reality, with Sprint being the first major company to actually put a phone on the market that will work with E911; instead of just filing papers with the FCC saying the implementation is just to hard. The Samsung N300 phone will use GPS to track the people down. I like the idea, I just hope the phone will display the GPS information, and there is a way to opt-out for all of the location based advertisements you will get with your GPS enabled phone."
whoo! mod me down scotty!
H^H^H^H^H^H^H^H w00t!!! second post!
ok... so how long until the "E-911" system requires GPS implants?
it's just a matter of time, methinks.
Can I make a beowolf cluster of these?
Too bad this wasn't around when the Soviets has Mir up, then the cosmonaouts could have called 911 when they got in trouble.
Oh yeah, that was all the time.
Please email all complaints to root@127.0.0.1 and the issue will be dealt with in due time.
As I cruised through the various booths at the Linux Expo, I kept wondering if I might meet him.
Pretty much just wandering around; checking out the sights. A couple of neat gadgets here and there...free CDs, magazines, a couple cool booths from some big megacorps. Usual stuff, just not as much as I'd hoped for.
Then, a scent. Just a little something; a scent so weak I cocked my head to the side and sniffed to catch a little more of it. Socks. Smelly socks, with a tinge of underwear--a skidmark, definately--and underneath it all...yes, I'm picking it up...smegma. The kind of smegma a normal man would get by dipping his dick in yeast and wrapping a rubber band around his foreskin for three days in a humid jungle. Without looking up, I knew he was there...Richard Stallman.
When I finally took a quick look to confirm my suspicion, he glanced away quicky. RMS was scoping me out! Goosebumps trembled across my skin, and I felt a little woozy. It was him--the "Linux Commie". The one everyone hates. He's much taller in person, by the way.
So I played it cool, I just let a hint of a smile cross my face as I said it: "I know you. You're Richard Stallman". Even though I had caught him looking, and I think he let me do that, he was cool--cool like the ice in a sweaty asian sex club, a club where the kids are barely through puberty and two busloads of child-rearing german businessmen just walked in off a 22 hour flight.
"Hmmm?" he whined, in a nasal sort of way, kind of like a caricature of a old jewish woman you might catch on late night TV. "You are!" I said, trying to hide my inner excitement. "I'm so glad to meet you! I' m sure a lot of people tell you this, but I've got to say it too...you're my hero and I think you, single handedly, are correcting at least a thousand years of injustice done to modern society."
Well, what could he say? My words had done their magic, and there was a twinkle in his eye as he cast off my flattery. "Oh, please", RMS said, "it's nothing another person wouldn't have done in the same time and place..." Well, I won't bore you with the rest of our social intercourse, but let's just say I did my best to grovel before his excellence.
Hook, line and sinker, as they say. By the time we moved on, I had an invite to a BOF later that night, and a curious smile from the hippie-man. I was smiling to myself as I walked away, knowing that things were shaping up for one heck of of a gay-o time.
I wasn't disappointed. I arrived at the address fashionably late...a crappy motel 6 in oakland (big suprise there). The door opened to my knock, and the smell of poppers and pot wafted past me. "Krikey", I thought to myself, "it like 1983 all over again". Little did I know how much!
It was worse than I thought. All young geeky boys, bottles of vodka and bongs all over the place, a couple twinks making out on the couch with some trannie.
"Where's RMS?" I asked a little fag near the stairwell. "He's in the next room." the gayboy lisped boozily. "You'll have to get in line with all the rest" he slurred. For some reason he thought that was particularly funny, and kind of made a little snort. I looked away as a booger fell out of his nose and onto his shirt. Like I give a fuck.
Into the next room I went, and a line there was...right around a king size bed RMS was laying on. As expected, fan boys were lined up, each grateful for the few moments they were given to pay homage to his majesties' royal sceptre. I observed carefully, and my hopes were realized...none of these geeks had much talent, and RMS had obviously been bobbed by the best...he was barely erect and bored shitless!
"Ladeedaadeedaa" I thought while waiting my turn at his (still flaccid) delight. Finally, one geek to go, and I'm freaking out! This punk knows what he's doing! He sucking well--massaging his balls, making smacking sounds all around the head, tongueing the foreskin and slurping--and RMS opens his eyes and grunts! "Oh Shit" I think to myself...all this travelling and hoping and now some local takes the prize? WTF? Is there no justice?
I think fast. "Rimjob", I whisper, "he likes rimjobs". Pumpkin is so absorbed in the knob job that he doesn't think about it, and slides his tongue down to Richard's ass crack. Sure enough he jerks his head up, coughs, and this huge dingleberry flys across the room and lands in some twink's martini! "Yes!" I mutter, as the kid turns green and goes to puke in the bathroom.
My turn. I look him in the eyes and lower my mouth to his foreskin, then start working it. Occasionally I slide up and whisper quotes from "The Communist Manfesto" and Mao's little red book. As expected, his dick gets a little harder with each quote, and then I'm back down there, humming the commie folk songs he grew up with as I take him so far down my throat his scrotum is right against my teeth, yet it's no problem pushing my tongue out and gently caressing his nuts.
"How long can he take it?" I thought, getting a little worried. My face was reddening, and my throat was getting sore, but luckily he was grunting and I could feel some early warning signs...as I twisted my throat around his meat, his left nut twitched ever so slightly...I knew he was close.
Suddenly it happened without warning. I was totally caught by suprise...the first shot went deep in my throat before he made a sound, and even when he finally yelped it sounded more like a kitten after its first bath than a man.
I recovered fast; two quick plunges in my throat before the next spurt and then some slow twists as he finishes. I'm pulling him deep into my throat and working my muscles like a boa constrictor takes a rabbit. Jet after jet of his steaming sperm chowder rolls down my throat. I went to another place; time stopped as I revelled in my good fortune.
Long after the last spurt, long after the softening, I gently suck my hero.
Yep. I'd use it to find my pants.
also, visit #gift on irc.openprojects.net for even more info
I piss on Mecca. I wipe my ass with the Koran. I spit upon Mohammed.