Slashdot Mirror
Motherboard Preview From Comdex
adpowers writes "Anandtech has a large preview of upcoming motherboards shown at Comdex."
P4s dominating Athlons, lots of DDR SDRAM boards. A quite lengthy article. The FIC pages have several interesting looking PCs, I dig the AquaPad, a WinCE Transmeta box.
blah
---------- "We all evolved from predator's, well not me; I was just programmed by them" -The Doctor ----------
Tuesday, November 6, 20001. Digging through some boxes in the Psychology lab where I work today, I discovered an ancient box full of syringes, heroine, and what looked to be the Rorschact Test. Then I found instructions for an old experiment that had been carried out here in the lab during World War II. Apparently the experimenters hypothesized that if American soldiers were to shell the Germans with artillery shells containing a gaseous form of heroine and then dropped Rorschacht test cards from airplanes, they'd all just fall down into heaps of twitching, high-as-a-kite junkies. Naturally, it all made little sense to me. But then hey, why the hell not try it? So after preparing a syringe with the heroine, I pulled down my pants and injected it directly into my penis. Hey, I'm no perv. There's a lot of blood vessels in there just waiting to carry the delicious drug straight to my brain. I guess I should have known better than to inject 60-year-old opioids into my privates, though, because before I could remove the needle I slumped over forward and continued to fall -- all the way INTO one of the Rorschacht Test cards. Then some oddly catchy electronic music kicked in. Where was it coming from? So began Stage 1-1 of my odyssey.
Life is a scam. - Steve McQue
I'm curious...
Let's have a close look at the costs involved when running a Linux system.
An important factor in Linux' cost is its maintenance. Linux requires a *lot* of maintenance, work doable only by the relatively few high-paid Linux administrators that put themselves - of course willingly - at a great place in the market. Linux seems to be needing maintenance continuously, to keep it from breaking down.
Add to this the cost of loss of data. Linux' native file system, EXT2FS, is known to lose data like a firehose spouts water when the file system isn't unmounted properly. Other unix file systems are much more tolerant towards unexpected crashes. An example is the FreeBSD file system, which with soft updates enabled, performance-wise blows EXT2FS out of the water, and doesn't have the negative drawback of extreme data loss in case of a system breakdown.
According to Linux advocates, an alternative to EXT2FS would be ReiserFS. Unfortunately, ReiserFS is still in beta stage. This means it is not intended for production use (although according to many Linux advocates this shouldn't be a problem, which makes me wonder how (little) valuable they find your data).
The other proposed 'solution', EXT3FS, is nothing more than an ugly hack to put journaling into the file system. All the drawbacks of the ancient EXT2FS file system remain in EXT3FS, for the sake of 'forward- and backward compatibility'. This is interesting, considering that the DOS heritage in the Windows 9x/ME series was considered a very bad thing by the Linux community, even though it provided what could be called one of the best examples of compatibility, ever. When it's about Linux, compatibility constraints don't seem to be that much of a problem for Linux advocates.
Back to Linux' cost. Factor in also the fact that crashes happen much more often on Linux than on other unices. On other unices, crashes usually are caused by external sources like power outages. Crashes in Linux are a regular thing, and nobody seems to know what causes them, internally. Linux advocates try to hide this fact by denying crashes ever happen. Instead, they have frequent "hardware problems".
The steep learning curve compared to about any other operating system out there is a major factor in Linux' cost. The system is a mix of features from all kinds of unices, but not one of them is implemented right. A Linux user has to live with badly coded tools which have low performance, mangle data seemingly at random and are not in line with their specification. On top of that a lot of them spit out the most childish and unprofessional messages, indicating that they were created by 14-year olds with too much time, no talent and a bad attitude.
I could go on and on and on, but the conclusion is clear. Linux is not an option for any one who seeks a professional OS with high performance, scalability, stability, adherence to standards, etc.
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subject says it all
I dig the AquaPad, a WinCE Transmeta box. == I dig ... a WinCE ... box.
Taco you've forsaken your roots!
I told my mother about this story, and she got bored to tears.
WOCKA-WOCKA
I just heard some joyful news on the talk radio.
The raving madman, mass murder and terrorist Osa Bin Laden was found dead in his afganian cave this morning. It seems that he caught some deadly STD previously only found with goats and ran out out nali healing fruits due to the US carpet bombing.
I suppose the slashdot crowd will be happy over his death, if you didn't despise his mad rantings there is no denying in his terrorist acts.
P4s dominating Athlons, lots of DDR SDRAM boards... a WinCE Transmeta box
;-)
Let the flame wars begin!
This is a beaut of a setup! Perhaps we should bring in KDE, gnome, emacs, and vi in the discussion?
Good quote, too many chars. Seriously, the slashdot 120 char limit sucks!
It so stable I have not had one single crash....lay out is lovely
JonKatz homosexuality is dying
Yet another crippling bombshell hit the beleaguered JonKatz community when last month IDC confirmed that JonKatz accounts for less than a fraction of 1 percent of all homosexual fantasies. Coming on the heels of the latest GayMale weekly survey which plainly states that JonKatz has lost more market share, this news serves to reinforce what we've known all along. JonKatz is collapsing in complete disarray, as further exemplified by failing dead last in the recent Homosexual.com comprehensive ass-raping test.
You don't need to be a CmdrTaco to predict JonKatz's future. The hand writing is on the wall: JonKatz faces a bleak future. In fact there won't be any future at all for JonKatz because JonKatz is dying. Things are looking very bad for JonKatz. As many of us are already aware, JonKatz continues to lose market share. Bloody sperm flows like a river of blood. JonKatz is the most endangered homosexual Slashdot author of them all.
Let's keep to the facts and look at the numbers.
Slashdot leader CowboyNeal states that there are 7000 homosexual fantasies of JonKatz. How many ass rapings of JonKatz are there? Let's see. The number of homosexual fantasies involving JonKatz versus ass-rapings involving JonKatz posts on Usenet is roughly in ratio of 5 to 1. Therefore there are about 7000/5 = 1400 homosexual JonKatz fantasy users. Anal penetraion of JonKatz posts on Usenet are about half of the volume of JonKatz homosexual fantasy posts. Therefore there are about 700 users of anal penetration of JonKatz. A recent article put reacharounds involving JonKatz at about 80 percent of the homosexual fantasies involving JonKatz market. Therefore there are (7000+1400+700)*4 = 36400 fantasies involving JonKatz. This is consistent with the number of ass-rapings of JonKatz posts.
Due to the troubles of the Anal Sludge Eating Corporation, abysmal sales and so on, homosexual fantasies involving JonKatz went out of style and was taken over by fantasies involving CmdrTaco who sells himself on the street corner. Now CmdrTaco's Ass-Sex Company is also dead, its corpse turned over to another charnel house.
All major surveys show that JonKatz fantasies have steadily declined in market share. JonKatz is very sick and his long term homosexuality prospects are very dim. If JonKatz's homosexuality is to survive at all it will be among homosexual hobbyist dabblers. JonKatz homosexuality continues to decay. Nothing short of a miracle could save it at this point in time. For all practical purposes, JonKatz's homosexual fantasy is dead.
JonKatz's homosexuality is dying
Those are so irrelevant. All of these "Desktop Environments" suck shit. FVWM is all the window manager I'll ever need.
As to vi vs emacs, I've only got enough brainspace to learn one extensively (as in, know practically every keyboard command), and which of those is the editor that you can be 99% sure is installed on every damned UNIX box on the planet?
"That's Tron. He fights for the Users."
How can anyone know practically every keyboard command in emacs? I keep seeing odd things like backward-evaluate-sexp, or something like that, and I can't make head or tail of it. I just use C-x C-f and such.
Does anyone have a mirror site yet?
make Linux, not Microsoft. sin(beast) = -0.809016994374947424102293417182819
I downloaded Windows XP for free.
I am Legend
.44 MAGNUM.
.45 automatic. and carries
.45 and
.45.
.45, SHOOTS and blasts the window behind
.45 into the center of his back. He
Screenplay by Mark Protosevich
based on the novel by Richard Matheson
In 1995, researchers at the University of Kansas used
viruses linked to healthy respiratory cells to destroy and
replace diseased cells in patients afflicted with lung
cancer.
In 1997, scientists at the Krippen Center for Genetic
Research in Berkeley, California made a significant
stride forward. By manipulating the genetic
information in a common blood cell and infusing it
with the characteristics of a potent virus, they were
able to create a biological warrior cell--the viragene.
Once introduced into a host, the viragene could hunt
and obliterate the body's natural enemies--tumors,
thickening arteries, decaying bone. Anything. The
'enemy' would be consumed, digested, and
transformed into energy to fuel the viragene. It was a
perfect tool. And the possibilities were limitless. AIDS,
cancer, muscular dystrophy, even the flu--the viragene
could beat them all.
The first human trials began in March of 1998. The
initial trial group, dubbed the 'Krippen Ten', were
afflicted with leukemia. These individuals, along with
Dr. Krippen, were about to make more than medical
history. They were to forever change the course of
humanity.
"Being unconquerable lies with yourself; being conquerable lies with the
enemy."
Sun Tzu, The Art of War.
"We used to wonder where war lived, what it was that made it so vile.
And now we realize
that we know where it lives. That it is inside ourselves."
Albert Camus, Notebooks.
"'Let there be light!' said God, and there was light. 'Let there be
blood!' says man, and
there's a sea!"
Lord Byron, Don Juan.
A VIDEO IMAGE FLICKERS TO LIFE. A ruggedly handsome man with dark,
haunted eyes. Eyes that have seen hell.
NEVILLE
My name is Robert Neville. Today is October 17th,
the year 2002. I was born in 1960, on this very day,
so that makes today my birthday. (remembering)
Every year for my birthday, my wife Ellen would throw
me a party. A kid's party. Cake, ice cream, funny hats,
"Pin the Tail on the Donkey". One year she rented a pony.
It didn't matter that we were grown-ups and this was all
kind of silly to the neighbors. She just did things like that.
She brought such joy into everything she did, everything
she touched... (too nostalgic) I am forty-two today.
I feel fine. I feel fit. My mental state is... pretty good.
(withdraws) Let's start over. (focuses)
My name is Robert Neville. I was born forty-two years
ago in Des Moines, Iowa. I had a wife Ellen and a daughter
Grace. My father's name was Bill and my mother's
Charlotte. They were farm people.
I hope... Someday... When someone finds these tapes...
You will know who I was. What I was about.
What I tried to do. What I try to do. (withdraws)
I think I killed six last night.
THE VIDEO IMAGE TURNS TO STATIC.
INT. NEVILLE'S HOUSE - DAY
ROBERT NEVILLE switches off the VIDEO CAMERA pointed at him. He
collapses the tripod and rests the apparatus in a corner. He wears
shorts, a t-shirt, tennis shoes. He slices a CD into an impressive
MUSIC SYSTEM and Mahler's "Resurrection" Symphony BLASTS from speakers
throughout the house.
INT. NEVILLE'S HOUSE - EXERCISE ROOM - DAY
A serious workout facility. Weights, boxer's heavy bag, rowing machine,
etc. Neville pushes himself through a series of strenuous exercises.
His body is in fantastic shape. Taught muscle. Lean, not bulky. His
movements are lithe, almost graceful. More track athlete than body
builder.
INT. NEVILLE'S HOUSE - SHOWER - DAY
Neville washes his body and we notice the SCARS. On his ankles, wrists,
neck, stomach, back. A few are the results of crude stitches, the
others... Bite marks ? Scratches ?
INT. NEVILLE'S HOUSE - LIBRARY - DAY
Neville passes shelves filled with COMPACT DISCS, AUDIO CASSETTES, and
VIDEOTAPES. Another section filled with BOOKS and PAINTINGS. Only a
carefully selected few hang on the walls--Degas, Klee, Rothko, Van Gogh.
The rest are stacked like pallets. They must be copies. Mustn't they?
A TELEVISION gives us the "Today Show", A RADIO, NPR's "Morning
Edition", "Resurrection" in the background. A wall of sound. The sound
of everyday life. Normal life. Neville descends a SPIRAL STAIRCASE
leading to the GROUND FLOOR.
INT. NEVILLE'S HOUSE - GREENHOUSE - DAY
Neville strolls the aisles of a hothouse. Vegetables, fruit, herbs,
potatoes. All in carefully compartmentalized lots. Panes of glass on
the roof allow in SUNLIGHT.
Neville notices a loose screw on a shutter and pulls a SQUARE of METAL
from his pocket. It's an ALL-IN-ONE-TOOL--something Neville is never
without. Only two inches-by-two inches, it has a screwdriver tip, a
serrated 'saw' edge, a knife edge, magnifying glass, etc.
Neville tightens the screw, holds the tool in his teeth--a habit--and
makes sure the window is shut tight. Neville picks a few strawberries,
checks the Condition of a tomato plant, and trims a vine with the knife
side of the tool.
INT. NEVILLE'S HOUSE - KITCHEN - DAY
Neville sits at a table eating a bowl of oatmeal with fresh
s-strawberries, sipping a cup of coffee. On a wall mounted TELEVISION,
Katie Couric and Bryant Gumbel. Neville watches
with an almost disturbing gaze. He mouths along with them, somehow
anticipating the "live"
dialogue...
NEVILLE / KATIE
And for those of us who'd like to lose a
few pounds, Dr. Art Ulene will be here to
tell us about his new weight loss plan...
(If we paid attention we'd notice the information contained in the TV
show and radio "broadcast" is old and familiar. We know these stories.
There's nothing "new" about the news.)
Outside, we HEAR a DOG BARKING.
Neville enters a ROOM adjacent to the kitchen--a state-of-the-art
MEDICAL FACILITY. Operating table, pharmacy, I.V.s, EKG, surgical
equipment, you name it. He uses a hypodermic to withdraw BLOOD from his
arm. He fills two plastic vials and tosses the syringe into a BIOHAZARD
waste bin.
INT. NEVILLE'S HOUSE - BEDROOM - DAY
Spartan. Bed, reading lamp, a few books. A PHOTO of his wife and
child. on the wall, an HISTORICAL PAINTING showing Napoleon's surrender
at Waterloo. Nearby, within a second's grasp from bedside, are a
SHOTGUN and a
At a closet filled with very few clothes--all the same type--Neville
loses the robe and steps into a BLACK TIGHT-FITTING BODYSUIT. Similar
to a diver's wetsuit, but the material is more flexible. It's some type
of protective undergarment, composed of a Kevlar-like mesh.
He dons a Kevlar vest, a work shirt and durable pants. He slips on
combat boots, tucks the pants into them, and TAPES THEM . He adds a
"utility" belt and fits the BLOOD VIALS into a secure pouch. He straps
on two wristwatches and chains an ELECTRONIC POCKET WATCH to his belt.
Again, the DOG BARKS outside.
NEVILLE
All right, all right. Keep your fur on.
He picks up a REMOTE CONTROL and switches off the TV, radio, and music.
It's replaced by an EERIE SILENCE.
INT. NEVILLE'S HOUSE - GARAGE - DAY
A no-frills underground garage. A LAND ROVER, SPORTS CAR, and
MOTORCYCLE. (Now shut off, the walls are lined with HALOGEN LAMPS.)
Neville walks to an electronic control panel and hits a button. The
garage door opens, but it doesn't open vertically. Instead, a
horizontal panel slides back, parallel with the earth's surface,
revealing a slanted cement ramp leading to the garage below.
SUNLIGHT pours in from above. The DOG BARKS. A MUSCULAR CANINE
silhouetted at the top. Neville WHISTLES. The dog bounds down the
ramp, delighted to see its master. Neville reacts coldly. No, "Hi,
boy, how ya doin'?!" Nothing. We know the dog wants a reaction, but
Neville is firm. He opens a CABINET, grabs a bag, and pours some chow.
The dog hungrily devours his breakfast and Neville sees the bag is
empty. He opens ANOTHER and finds it's CRAWLING WITH ANTS.
NEVILLE
Terrific.
He dumps the infested bag into a trash Container. Neville whistles and
points to the Land Rover. The dog leaps into the vehicle. Neville
shuts the passenger door and we see the Rover has been customized. The
roof, hood, doors, and trunk are crisscrossed with BARBED WIRE. All
windows--save the windshield, and that is protected by chicken
wire--have been replaced by THICK METAL PLATES. SLITS are cut into the
steel, but visibility is limited.
INT. LAND ROVER - DAY
Neville climbs behind the wheel. The interior of the vehicle is
outfitted with emergency medical supplies, flares, heavy-duty
flashlights, lamps, rope, wire, tools. The dog settles an a blanket an
the floor. Neville hits a few switches and CLOSED-CIRCUIT MONITORS
flicker to life. Via video, they show the side and rear views from the
Land Rover. Neville starts her up and the souped-up engine ROARS to
life. We stay within the Land Rover as it ascends the ramp.
NEVILLE
(donning sunglasses)
Another beautiful day.
EXT. CITY STREET - DAY
The Land Rover speeds along. We vaguely recognize the road as one of
streets of SAN FRANCISCO, but something's wrong. The road is in great
disrepair and littered with debris. The trees are barren, the area
deathly silent, and there is absolutely no other traffic.
INT. LAND ROVER - DAY
Neville continues to listen to Resurrection an the Rover's CD player.
He spots a DRIVE-WAY and turns into it.
EXT. RADIO STATION - DAY
High on a hill sits an abandoned broadcasting facility and tower. This
too is in utter disrepair. The Land Rover is parked outside, the dog an
guard. A desolate wind whistles.
INT. RADIO STATION - BASEMENT - DAY
Very familiar with the equipment, Neville connects wires, throws
switches, and powers up the EMERGENCY GENERATOR.
INT. RADIO STATION - DJ BOOTH / CONTROL ROOM - DAY
Neville adjusts the mixing panel and takes a seat behind a microphone.
(Throughout this scene we will notice that the radio station looks like
a tornado blew through it.)
NEVILLE
Good Morning San Francisco. Big Bob Neville
here with you this morning, as I am every morning.
Monday through Sunday, seven days a week, three
hundred and sixty five fucking days a year. Traffic?
There is none. Weather? Who cares. News? I'm still
alive. What about you, San Francisco? How 'bout
giving me a call? 1-800-F-U-C-K-Y-O-U.
He glances to his right. The Telephone switchboard panel is shattered,
dead, covered with dust.
NEVILLE
Wow. The board's lit up like a Christmas tree.
Too bad our time is up. If you would like to see
me in the flesh, however, I'll be doing a personal
appearance this afternoon at Golden Gate Park.
Today and every day. 12 Noon. All you have to do
is show up. (dead air) Please (more silence, then
pops a tape cart into a player) I leave you today
with one of my favorites. I know you're sick of the
fact that I only play classical music, but frankly, I don't
care. I like it. And right now... that's all that matters.
An Eric Satie piano concerto. Melancholy and haunting.
EXT. DOWNTOWN STREETS- VARIOUS - DAY
MUSIC CONTINUES as the Land Rover cruises through the heart of the city.
We don't spend much time here and it's frustrating, because we can't
fully comprehend the visual make-up of downtown. The streets are
deserted, litter and dust blow freely with the wind and the buildings
look ravaged. Looted? Burned? Destroyed by earthquake?
EXT. PET STORE - DAY
Neville and the dog exit the Rover and for the first time we notice
Neville wears a shoulder holster containing a
an M-16 machine gun. A high-intensity flashlight is attached to the
machine gun barrel and extra ammo clips taped to its handle.
INT. PET STORE - DAY
Merchandise is scattered on the floor--chew toys, plastic bones,
etc.--and the dog is drawn to it. Neville whistles and the dog obeys,
disappointed. Neville switches on the flashlight and heads for a
STORAGE ROOM.
INT. PET STORE - STORAGE ROOM - DAY
Neville KICKS IN the door. The flashlight beam dances to all corners.
Nothing but old supplies. The dog prances in and leads Neville to the
bags of chow. He hefts them onto his shoulder. Whistles. The dog
doesn't follow. His vision is locked on a thick piece of rawhide. He
turns his sad eyes to Neville, who gives in, nods. The dog happily
grabs it between his teeth.
EXT. GOLDEN GATE PARK - DAY
The monuments still remain, but the grass is scorched, tall, and dry.
Neville eats a sandwich he made at home and the dog chews the rawhide.
Neville checks his watch. 12:45. Scans the area. Absolutely no one in
sight. Forlornly, he stares at the ground, the cracks in the
pavement... Alone.
EXT. DOWNTOWN STREET - DAY
The streets are abandoned, buildings deserted. The Land Rover parked at
an intersection, the dog on lookout. Neville stands beneath a lamp
post, a coil of WIRE over his shoulder. He measures a length, tosses it
over the arm of the post, and creates an old-fashioned SNAPE out of the
cable. He adjusts, tightens, and pulls one of the vials of blood from
his utility belt. He takes a rag, douses it with the blood, and
positions it as "bait" in the snare. Satisfied with the trap, he
whistles for the dog and returns to the Land Rover.
EXT. ANOTHER STREET - DAY
Neville sets another snare.
EXT. DEPARTMENT STORE - DAY
The Land Rover pulls to a stop in front of what used to be
Nieman-Marcus. Right now, it looks like a ghetto tenement.
INT. LAND ROVER - DAY
Neville's eyes are glued to something across the street...
EXT. STREET - DAY
A BODY dangles from one of Neville's traps--one he must have set a
previous day. It hangs limply, ankle ensnared by the cable, its head
hanging a few feet above the ground.
EXT. LAND ROVER / STREET - DAY
With the dog at his heels, Neville chambers a round in the
approaches the body.
ANOTHER ANGLE
Quite abruptly, we are watching Neville from across the street, HIGH
ABOVE, from a sixth or seventh story window. We HEAR movement and
labored breathing.
BACK ON THE STREET
Neville reaches the body and spins it around. As soon as he sees the
face of a MANNEQUIN, he knows he's fucked.
THE HIGH ANGLE
We HEAR a bolt slide on a rifle and we realize we're watching Neville
through a SNIPER'S SCOPE. Neville's chest dead in our sights. We FIRE.
BACK ON THE STREET
Neville hits the dirt. The first bullet EXPLODES in asphalt. Neville
rolls. The second bullet just misses him. He DASHES behind an
abandoned car, escaping yet another shot from the sniper. The dog
stands in the middle of the street, BARKING at an upper story window in
Nieman-Marcus. Neville shouts...
NEVILLE
GET OUT OF THE STREET!
The dog continues to , its eyes on a specific section of the building.
Neville steals a glance and sees a RIFLE BARREL poking out of a
shattered window frame. ANOTHER SHOT whistles past the dog's fur. The
beast flinches, afraid.
NEVILLE
GET OVER HERE!
He waves his arm and the dog comes running to his side. He pulls the
dog close to him, sheltering him from the gunfire.
NEVILLE
Dumbest goddamm dog I ever had.
BLAM! A bullet HITS the car. Neville is pinned down.
NEVILLE
Great, Bob, just great.
He looks at the pistol in his hand. It's useless against a rifle. And
unfortunately, the machine gun is in the Land Rover. He can't make a
move. Unless...
Along the curb, hidden from the sniper's view, is a storm drain.
Neville inches his way toward it and slithers inside. The dog tries to
follow, but Neville motions for him to stay and speak. The dog
understands and BARKS at the sniper.
INT. STORM DRAIN TUNNEL - DAY
Crouching down, Neville is able to scurry to the other side of the
street. He inches his way through a crevice.
INT. DEPARTMENT STORE - DAY
Neville crawls into a dilapidated BATHROOM in the store's first
basement. The plumbing has been backed up for god knows how long and
Neville can barely tolerate the stench.
INT. DEPARTMENT STORE - FIRST BASEMENT - DAY
What used to be "Housewares." Neville spies the no-longer-functioning
escalators and strides upwards.
INT. DEPARTMENT STORE - ESCALATORS - VARIOUS - DAY
Neville reaches the fourth floor. We catch glimpses of BIZARRE
GRAFFITI, but mostly we're taken aback by the sheer emptiness of the
store.
INT. DEPARTMENT STORE - SEVENTH FLOOR - DAY
Neville creeps up the escalator. He HEARS the sniper, but it's
difficult to see anything because the windows in this section have been
covered with sheets of cardboard, blankets, and plywood. The only light
is a tiny shaft coming through the cracked pane the shooter is using for
his rifle.
The shooter himself is bundled in rags. Gloves cover his hands, a parka
hood hides his head, and a scarf shields his face. We see no details,
only a shape. in a corner is a sort of "tent' made from bedsheets and
blankets.
The sniper watches the street. Faintly, we HEAR the dog BARKING. The
sniper SHOOTS. A distant ping!--the bullet hits the abandoned car.
Neville gauges his surroundings, his enemy. Thinks. Positions himself
about twenty feet behind the sniper. Locks target with the
NEVILLE
Hey.
The sniper jumps, turns around, and shakes in his shoes at the sight of
Neville. He fumbles with the rifle.
NEVILLE
Ah-ah-ah.
The sniper stops. It's no use--he'd never be quick enough.
NEVILLE
Slide the gun over here.
The sniper has no choice. He sets the rifle on the floor and shoves it
at Neville, who quickly examines it.
NEVILLE
A hunter's gun. Where'd you find it?
No reply. Neville points the
the shooter. Glass explodes and SUNLIGHT pours into the room. The
sniper SCREAMS with fright and scurries for darkness. Neville aims his
pistol at another window.
NEVILLE
(a threat)
Where?
SNIPER
(his voice a raspy hiss)
Up north. In the mountains, a cabin.
NEVILLE
You're not part of Cortman's bunch.
SNIPER
Who?
NEVILLE
Never mind. In the mountains...
Were there people? Like me?
SNIPER
If there were, we wouldn't have had to
come to the city, now, would we?
NEVILLE
You're a smart one.
SNIPER
Thank you.
NEVILLE
You said "we."
The sniper realizes his error. Goes tight-lipped.
NEVILLE
How many?
No answer. Neville flips back the top of the "tent" and sees three
sleeping areas.
NEVILLE
Where are they?
The sniper refuses to respond. Neville BLASTS another window. More
LIGHT. Like a snake escaping a predator, the sniper slithers away, but
Neville pounces on him and jams the
pins one arm and extends the shooter's other arm into the path of the
light.
SNIPER
No!
The sniper is in agony.
NEVILLE
Tell me.
Frustrated, Neville, pulls off the man's glove. First, we see that the
flesh is pale white. So pale it's almost translucent. Second, we see
the effect of sunlight--the skin blisters and blackens.
NEVILLE
WHERE ARE THEY?
The sniper SCREAMS. Neville releases him and he hides in the shadows,
caressing his tortured limb. The sniper decides to pull off his hood
and remove the scarf, revealing...
A demonic visage. Ghostly white flesh so devoid of pigment we can see
the blue and purple veins beneath the surface. His eyes are an
unearthly cold blue/grey and white. He is completely hairless--nothing
on his pate, no brows, no facial hair. His lips a deep ruby red. This
thing was once human, but now, now...
SNIPER
(somewhat awed)
You're him, aren't you? You're Neville.
Neville reaches into his belt and takes out a VIAL of blood. The
sniper's eyes light up.
NEVILLE
Where are they?
The sniper is mesmerized by the blood.
SNIPER
(can't help himself)
The bay... The basement.
NEVILLE
I was in the basement.
SNIPER
Down... below... By the... subway.
NEVILLE
Do they have guns?
He won't answer. Neville pours a few drops of blood and steps back.
Thirstily, the sniper laps it up with his tongue, like a cat to some
spilled cream. Neville looks away. The sniper falls back onto a pile
of rags and lets his "fix" kick in. His body spasms and his face
contorts. The sniper's arm jerks and he lets out a satisfied breath. A
junkie feeling the high.
SNIPER
We heard about you. Way up in the hills
we heard about you.
Miraculously, the sniper's charred hand begins to heal.
NEVILLE
Your friends. Guns?
SNIPER
No. We found only the rifle.
His hand forms a fist. A sinister, unearthly hiss emerges from his
gullet. He looks at the vial in Neville's hand.
SNIPER
More.
NEVILLE
You'll get more if you tell me the truth.
SNIPER
More!
And something dark, something terrible fills the sniper's eyes. He
LUNGES at Neville. BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! Neville pounds him with three
bullets. Two in the stomach. One in the shoulder. Blood spatters.
The sniper teeters, but does not fall. Neville aims at the heart and
fires, but his weapon is empty. He mutters "shit," hastily loads a
clip. The sniper clutches at his wounds, kneels and touches the floor
with his finger. He takes a deep breath and enters into some kind of
meditative trance. He summons...
The scattered drops of his blood heed his call. Like droplets of
mercury drawn to a common source, the blood moves across the floor and
flows up his finger into the open bullet wounds. And heals them.
NEVILLE
That was clever, the mannequin. That
took some thought. You nearly had me.
Click. Neville jams in the clip. The sniper moves. POW. POW. POW.
POW- Only this time, Neville aims at the windows. GLASS SHATTERS and a
wall of LIGHT pours in, hitting the sniper like a freight train.
SNIPER
NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The skin on the sniper's face blisters. Smoke rises from beneath his
protective clothes. he HOWLS. Neville, with intense calm, holsters his
.45 and raises the RIFLE.
NEVILLE
You know, I can understand me. But why
shoot at the dog? What did that dog ever do
to you?
The sniper staggers toward Neville, one last attack. Neville SHOOTS,
hits the sniper square in the chest. The force of the blast propels him
backward, to the open windows. The sniper slips on the broken glass and
falls...
... out the window. Seven stories to the street below.
Neville moves to the window, locks at the sniper's body on the concrete.
The DOG emerges from behind the abandoned car, sniffs in the direction
of the corpse, and looks up at Neville in the window. Neville shouts
down...
NEVILLE
STAY AWAY FROM HIM! You stay away!
The dog sits.
NEVILLE
Good boy.
EXT. DEPARTMENT STORE - DAY
A bandana acting as a mask on his face, Neville pulls a spare gas can
from the rear of the Land Rover and douses the sniper's corpse
(blackening in the sun) with fuel. He ignites a book of matches, tosses
them at the body, and whoosh--instant funeral pyre.
Neville reaches into a supply chest in the rear of the Land Rover. He
pulls out a mean looking, more powerful MACHINE GUN, two ammo clips, a
portable high-intensity halogen lamp, a COMBAT KNIFE, three small
electronic devices, and a customized remote control. He hangs a pair of
night-vision goggles around his neck and instructs the dog...
NEVILLE
Come.
Infernal contraption!
This one day in June my mother raped my asshole with her broom. I told my dad and he got mad at her. The Harry Potter movie sucks my hairy cock. Do not go see it for the life of you. Do you like beans? I do. My ass grows in three colors and four different flavors. Linux is cool but WINDOWS SUCKS and DO NOT use AOL it is for PANSIES like my little son. My son likes to eat peanut butter. Only when I smear a glob on my penis of course. Do you like grits? I do. Do you like Natalie Portman? I do. Do you like HOT GRITS? Well of course I do, hot grits are the best out there, if you like COLD grits my GOD go get yourself checked out at a mental institution. Dude what the hell is up with these ARABS lately. It's TURBAN TIME hey that almost sounds like TURPENTINE. Have you ever had anal sex with a little boy? It feels SO GOOD. I mean. It feels SO WRONG, but, so nice.. so young, firm and soft. Feels so great it's got to be wrong. When I get my thick log of manliness logged between them cute firm butt cheeks.. OH GOD IT'S HEAVEN ON EARTH. I absolutely LOVE it when the boy screams in delight as I pump my warm flow inside him, only to be farted out onto his dad's face later. That stuff is creamy, the old men lap it up like no tomorrow. Have you ever ripped someones arms off and then beat them to death with them? Then it's like if you're hungry, grab and arm and chow down on one of the arms that you just beat the guy to death with. Trust me the guy is a lucky sap cuz he wasn't killed by an Arab. That is only if you're not an Arab, but if you are you need to get your ass shipped back to Talibanland and do like they do and kill yourselves and each other before God, I mean the white man, takes back His land and sets things straight on how it should be. Bush has got a big old cock that is ready to go pumping up your tight fresh stale Arabian ass. You guys may have taken out the World Trade Center, but now I challenge you to take out the Empire State Building. I'm on the 49th floor. Come and get me motherfuckers. Watch me die. You are not logged in. You can login now using the convenient form below, or Create an Account. Posts without proper registration are posted as Anonymous Coward faq
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