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MAME Ported to (Chipped) Xbox
metallik writes: "A version of MAME for the Xbox game console has just been released. This release will only run on Xbox consoles equipped with a mod chip. MAME is the Multiple Arcade Machine Emulator, one of the more successful open source projects out there. It emulates over 3800 arcade machines, from Space Invaders to Mortal Kombat III, many of them perfectly. This is probably only the first of many such PC software projects to be ported to modded Xboxes. At $199 (plus modchip), the Xbox will soon be an extremely attractive set-top box (if not for the reasons Microsoft wanted it to be...)" A while ago, we posted about getting MAME to run on a developer-kit Xbox, but since mod chips are now available, this sounds like a more practical approach. Update: 06/23 18:40 GMT by T : Note: Thanks to Santeri Saarimaa for a note that the project is now hosted here instead.
At the time I thought he didn't notice me (Wishful thinking?). Later I found that just the opposite was true (in his basement, he had made a kind of voodoo shrine to me, and my picture was on his coathangers, plus, he wanted his TWO DOLLARS!). I had been watching him for maybe two months trying to decide what it was about him that made my hormones go wild (Yes, they would all line up
and kick like the Rockettes.). When seated next to him I got so wet that I was worried about leaving a stain on the chair (later I realized that it was just my cigar-smoke that had triggered the sprinkler above my desk...). I had read about pheromone in relation to animals, but never thought that people were subject to the same influences (Cause I'm just a silly leetle girl. I could never make a connection like tha-at Hee. Wanna see my
underwear?).
Why we frequently found ourselves in such close proximity was another story (Does this mean what I think it means...?). The English department where I taught (English as a second language) did not think a lowly adjunct (good word!) needed a computer. In fact, they didn't even think I merited a desk (or, hee hee, A POT TO PEE IN! Silly ole me.). In reality, I didn't need a computer as programming was just a hobby for me (Yes, I think most English profs would agree. "Computers...BAH!). I just liked the idea of making a machine my slave (I, of course, prefer to make a slave my machine, but hey, different strokes...)
Thus we found ourselves seated in front of our respective IBM clones (nothing gets me going like erotica chock-full of computer references. If she later mentions IMSAI, and misspells it, I will surely die. Altair? S-100 bus? Oh the humanity!) on an almost daily basis. With a little detective work (I asked him. Call me Samantha Spayed!) I found out that his name was Michael and he was an (water polo) instructor in the computer science department.
Even if he had been a sexual zilch (zero), I still would have probably noticed him as we were the ONLY users of the two Linux servers in a faculty lab filled with Windows PCs (and the only two who wore leather bullet-bras over our halter tops). God! how I hated those machines (What's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like comp.sys.linux.advocacy?). My prejudice (God, how I hate serendipidists!), like most (of my other unattractive features) was inherited, in my case (of the clap) from my father. He has been working with computers for the last 30 years (in fact, he invented the transistor! Shocking.). As a memento, he gave me his original IMSA 8080 (Oh God, she did it!) still in working order. I had been brought up to think that computers should not be `cute' (nor should Sally Fields, but she's a button!).
Rob, the director of the lab, must have picked up on my vibes (because it wasn't a cordless one, but one of those big white mongo plug-in deals with the end that looks like a disc brake. And boy, was it loud.) as he would barely give me the time of day (Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really care. Lemme see, it's six to four). That is, until I hatched MY PLAN (I would corner the world silver market and then found the USFL!).
One day, finally overcoming my shyness (shyness is nice, but shyness can stop you from doing all the things in life that you want to), I glanced over at Michael (TREBECK! Together, we would RULE THE WORLD!!). Actually, I looked at his (hall) monitor (armband, notable for the penciled-in swastika) and realized that he was trying to pirate (a ship! But if you're not the Dread Pirate Roberts, then who is?) an application (for employment at Denny's, which is silly, because if you just ask, they are required by law to give you one.).
"If Rob catches you, he will hang you by your (barnacles and huge, gaping blowhole) thumbnails and tattoo Linux icons on strange parts of your body. (Honey, there ain't a part of me that's not strange. I'm from Canada.)"
Michael laughed and said ("There's madness afoot at the Circle-K this eve"), "Oh, Rob and I are good buddies (What is...a euphemism for 'lifemates'?). I teach C using the Linux and I frequently have to ask him questions. Actually, I make up the questions so I can stay on his good side (his BACK!!)."
After the ice was broken, we began to (skate) talk every day.
On about the third day, I found out about HIS OFFICE (He was...POPE!). Since he was an instructor, the university deemed (I love when a word like this crops up. Remember 'adjunct'? 'Merited'?? And now this.) to give him an office. It was a hasty (retreat) sheetrock affair of about 70 square feet and a very large Steelcase desk (um, excuse me. It was a "hasty" office? Well...you're the wordsmith.). On the downside (of five o'clock here at WOGL, and I'm gonna be sending you home with a little Bay City Rollers Action: S--A--T-U-R--D-A-Y. NIGHT!)?, it was located off the very room in which I sat (the very!). Despite these limitations, it had a door with a lock (of angel-hair pasta Scotch-taped to it, the meaning of which eludes me even now). This was not the point when I began to formulate MY (5 YEAR) PLAN, but I am sure that it was an inspiration (I sniffed again. My mistake. Per...).
MY (5 YEAR) PLAN took its focus the day Michael and I were on the elevator together (First, I would arrest all the artists and philosophers. Then I would make everyone wear gray and cut their hair like Moe Howard. Then...). It was the typical cattle car scene (lots of shit on the floor and a crazy cowboy or two getting their rocks off.). We were jammed in like sardines and the only redeeming factor that when pressed against each other I realized that Michael was sporting a very big hard on (bloodlog). After this revelation and a few later surreptitious glances, I realized that he had an constant erection whenever we were together (This could only mean one thing! He liked girls.). He seemed to have the same chemical reaction to me as I did to him (Yes, his vagina would moisten and his nipples would press against his bra.). This discovery was the impetus (keep these words coming. You know, impetus can be cured. Roll some stamps around his penis before you go to bed, stamp AIR MAIL on his forehead and then...) which led me to even think about anything as risky as THE PLAN (9 From Outer Space. by Edward Woodie).
A few very innocent lunches, laced with a lot of heavy (saltpeter) sexual (DYNAMO) tension, followed. As inconvenient as the location of his office WAS, it turned out that we were both married. This came as not a really big surprise, as I was fully cognizant (aware, to you and me) of my own marital status (no fool I! Although I forget sometimes and have to look at the ring to remind me. I'm so silly.) and since he was not a kid, the probabilities (of drawing a seven when doubling hard fourteen against a dealer's six drop dramatically if you scream, "Hit me, Lotus-Blossom!" and pound your fist on the table) were that he was married too. Although I had anticipated the fact, it presented (word) problems (especially those annoying 'related rates" thingees. I mean, who cares how fast the pool fills?! How will this come in handy at the supermarket?). I never claimed to be a romantic (poet), but the idea of a (Grecian Urn) seedy motel room didn't much appeal to (the car thief in) me.
His office therefore became the most likely location (No doubt.). As I mentioned before, its only assets were the large desk and the locked door (Well, and the bondage table, the sling, the hydraulic winch, the cross...). The walls were (toilet) paper thin. Since I generally cum loudly and frequently (IN BED), after contemplation (of course it helps that my mantra is "fuckme"), I decided I had better begin my homework (thank God all the odd answers were in the back).
While Rob beamed away (zip-a-dee-do-dah, zip-a-dee-ay, my oh my--), I began my research on the Linux. Discretion was the (better part of valor?) key word (say the key word and you win fifty dollars). Rob was very protective of his PCs. The actual (de)programming was done at home thanks to a Linux PC on loan from a friend (Anal Cocks). When it comes to programming, I am very patient.(Yes, I believe most programmers share this quality. In fact, I relish nothing more than the thought of compiling and linking five megs of Clipper code on an 8080)) Finally, after weeks of debugging (de-lousing, call it what you will), I was able to write and load a nifty (nifty! Hee. Aren't I just...such a girl!) little program that would render the Linux server useless for the hour or so I hoped I needed (Fabulous idea. Your co-workers will love you for it, especially if they're in mid-compile, or haven't saved anything).
After what had seemed eons (thousands of years), the day of execution arrived (I only regret that I have but one life to give for my country. HIS!). This was not exactly the type of program you could (master) Beta test so I just (VHS'ed it) crossed my (legs, snapping a co-worker's neck) fingers and hoped I could prove my (love to my) father (death be not) proud.
Although we were definitely running on the same track (the slow one), I didn't want Michael to suffer cardiac arrest (so I slipped the nitro pill under his tongue). In preparation for what was to come (The CULTURAL REVOLUTION!), I strolled into his office humming the tune of My Favorite Things from the Sound of Music (OH THE HUMANITY! Hey, remember Julie Andrew's hooter's in "S.O.B"? I do. They weren't big or pendulous but they were floppy.). When I began to sing my lyrics to the song, a broad grin crossed his face (and he looked like an idiot child, who loves nothing so much as wood). (If this is beginning to sound like a scene from an Indian movie, you're right, but stay tuned.(Oh I will, I WILL. Mississippi Masala?)
Guys in tight bike pants, their crotches a-bulgin'
Wet, hot, slick, hard skin, and secrets divulgin'
A story 'bout Suzy-Q("Queen. Of. Hearts. Come on, come ah-ahn),
oh what a scene,
These are a few of my favorite things
Guys in blue denim(denim boys. yummy.), their lashes a blazin'(oh
my!)
One with his pants off, his size is amazin'!
A horse with a hard on suspended by strings *(asterisk)
These are a few of my favorite things
When the clap (applause) hits, when his pud drops, and I need it bad I simply remember my favorite things, and then I don't feel so
sad
* This line inserted in honor of Catherine the Great, and the
new Russian democracy!(Nay!)
After my vocal recount of MY favorite things there wasn't much resistance (none, maybe?(ya think?)) when I knelt down in front of him and unzipped his jeans. Having waited for what seemed centuries (hundreds of years), I immediately began to savor the (table of) contents. As my tongue rolled around the head of his penis, in a voice (!!) tempered with both extesy (ouch!) and panic, he murmured,
"Jesus, we can't do this here."
Before the not to worry reassurance crossed my lips both of us heard a shaken (not stirred) Rob pounding his (pud) fists on a nearby keyboard. Putting two and two together Michael began laughing so uncontrollably that I found it my civic duty to silence him (Yes, I shot him.). Retaking appendage in mouth (eek) I began to suck it for all it was worth.
Not being slow on the uptake, Alex slid his hands into my blouse and discovered I was not wearing a bra (Hoo-er!). In fact, since it was a special occasion I had dispensed with all underwear (I dress like this at all joint sessions of congress, state dinners, and public executions). Taking this as his cue (I broke, sank the eight ball, and blew that popsicle stand), with a quick switch of positions we found ourselves (facing away from each other, preparing to duel) on his large Steelcase desk. He began by running his tongue along the curve of my small but well (mal)formed breast, and down my (ample)belly. Bearing right at (68 degrees) my navel, he shortly found his tongue wading through my short and curlies (Oh how precious! I want to bite and kiss you.).
I sucked him deeper into my mouth as his tongue hit my clit(Axl Rose). He had one hand twiddling (!! I don't know you silly boy, I've never twiddled) my clit between tongue laps(es), while his tongue was exploring my wet cunt, darting in and out(dart-like), tracing my lips all the way back where he lightly nibbled that very sensitive area between cunt and anus (I like to call it North Jersey), and then he gave my hole itself a gentle (tooth)brush (but that is the stuff of urban legends. Ooh, it was a Reach). The (Big)chill that shot up my spine caused me to gasp(and retch), sucking his pumping cock deeper into my eager mouth. His tongue finally returned to my clit. God the walls were shaking(the Earth was quaking my mind was aching, and we were making it. them mean old eyes...knocking me out with those American trout.)!
I could have continued with this game for a long, long time, but as if out of no where a condom appeared (oh thank you thank you my fairy condom godmother!). My heart, already pounding double time, started doing little flips(wreaking havoc with my artificial mitral valve). My clitty, so recently being ministered to by tongue, started pounding in anticipation of what it knew was coming (After three pounds she popped.). I took the packet from him and ripped it open (nearly destroying the condom in the process.).
Now, with both of us sitting on the edge of that steelcase, I gently grasped his member [I just HAD to] (we understand) in one hand and unrolled the sheath with my other (if it hurt as I unravelled the skin from his penis he never let on. And they say chivalry is dead. Piffle, I say.). I realized that the wrapper was still in my hand (20 more and I could get a Bazooka Joe decoder ring). As I reached across the desk to the trash, I felt a hand on my back, and then another reaching around my waist to my hot pussy (at first this was disconcerting since Alex was standing right in front of me...). I knew what was coming (soon...we'd PADIDDLE!), and I reached back to help guide his flesh missile into my anxious (but not hardened) target (??!! I thought you were sitting on the edge of the desk??!! So what target? MY SPINE!!). Help wasn't needed however, and before my hand found its target, his (smart)missile found mine, and with a grunt of satisfaction he started his (long, long) journey home.
With a long slow push I felt myself filling up (with...SEMPRINI??!). Then his hand came around me and started to caress my clit(man in the rowboat. ick.). Then finger twiddle,slow stroke out, fingers, fast push in. My clamping him tight on each outstroke was driving us both to a frenzy(sub-par Hitchcock, but not without its good points, like when the camera backs away from the woman's apartment and down the stairs) . With each beat of the penetration, the cycle of pleasure began all over again(cool beans.). As if upon mutual (pre-nuptial)agreement, a soft languid cry flowed from our lips and could have been heard if anyone had been listening(it sounded something like, "BARANGUS!"). Serendipitiously(luckily), a loud wail(a great white one) from Rob was produced on the opposite side of the wall(how fortuitous!).
I wish I could describe the sound of 12 Linux servers crashing simultaneously, but it really isn't very interesting (I believe you. Honest).
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