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Will Microsoft Subsidize WinXP For Lindows Buyers?
kinema writes "Ars Technica has an interesting little article about Microsoft's alleged "dumping" of Windows XP. It seems that Microsoft is selling XP through TigerDirect for only US$50 to customers who have purchased a Lindows computer." Note that Tiger says nothing like this on their site (No, you can't buy WinXP for $50 there); Lindows CEO Michael Robertson says (in the linked column) that "Microsoft's latest offers to TigerDirect are extremely lucrative and I wouldn't be surprised if they ultimately cave to Microsoft's pocketbook." PR ploy or reality, you decide.
Duane was going to get married Saturday to Shelly, a girl he'd known
since high school. We'd known Duane for years and we were determined
to show him a great time. So we got lots of bourbon, beer and pot, and
had settled in at Tim's apartment for a long evening of poker,
drinking, smoking and general messing around. Duane never dreamed how
much messing around he would do on that infamous evening.
There were 6 of us sitting around Tim's kitchen table: Tim, Duane, Don,
Kevin, Jeff and me. I had also hired a local stripper, whose name was
Cindy, to "perform" for us. Cindy had made it clear that the official
list of services her company offered was not exhaustive, and that she'd
do much more for the right price. So I was surprised, when the
doorbell rang, at how pretty, fresh-faced and innocent she seemed. We
introduced her to Duane as "a friend of John's"; John hadn't arrived
yet but was due in an hour or so.
Cindy sat down next to Duane at the table where we were playing cards.
We were already drunk enough to have trouble walking. Tim handed her a
joint which she lit expertly.
After awhile we were starting to have enough of the card game. Duane
had been losing pretty consistently and we felt kind of bad that he was
losing at his own bachelor's party. Suddenly Don, sitting across from
Duane, let out a large fart. Tim roared with laughter.
"I know," Tim shouted. "We'll have one last round for the pot: a
farting contest! Whoever farts the loudest wins." We all thought this
was a splendid idea, especially Duane who was looking forward to
winning back the money he'd lost. We decided to let him go last.
Kevin started. After wiggling around, holding his breath and straining
a bit he managed a squeaky little fart, which sounded like a bird
breath. His face reddened as we laughed. He wouldn't be hard to beat.
But none of us was having much luck, except for Don, who'd eaten
Mexican at lunch that day. Tim's fart was like a puff of air, very
fragrant and very quiet. Jeff's was very tonal, like a muted trumpet,
but still not very loud. Don's was like a chainsaw revving up. I
wiggled in my seat, and managed a respectable fart, very classical.
But quiet. And I was happy, from the heavy feeling low in my bowels,
that I hadn't tried any harder. Cindy cut loose with a really good,
long fart, but then she was the professional here, with lots of
practice doing kegels and otherwise exercising control over muscle
groups in her groin area. Still, the loudest so far was Don's, and it
was now Duane's turn.
We began to chant "Duane, Duane, Duane," as he stretched his legs and
wiggled his ass. He stood up, and leaned forward slightly as a look of
concentration came over his face. You could tell he really wanted to
win this contest, as he scrunched up his face and pushed. A low grunt
escaped his lips. And he farted.
It was pretty loud. But it wasn't the sound you like to hear when
you're participating in a farting contest, especially if you're the one
making it. It was low, and flowing. "pb, pb, pb, pb, pb." It went on
and on. It sounded like oatmeal dripping from a spoon. It sounded
like the mixing of cement. It sounded like Duane had shit his pants.
Indeed, the smell from Duane's fart was much stronger than Tim's had
been, and Duane got very red in the face and clasped his legs together.
Instantly Cindy was on her feet, a look of concern in her face. I was
so glad for her at that moment, as she took Duane's hand and let him
toward the bathroom.
We felt pretty bad about the way things had turned out, but at the same
time, of course, it was hilarious. After awhile, when no sound had yet
come from the bathroom, I quietly walked over and peered through the
keyhole.
Cindy and Duane had their backs to the door. Duane's pants were lying
in a heap on the floor. An enormous brown glacier fl
Here's the article I submitted.
I would like everyone to know that I am gay as hell. I would also like everyone to know that I am shutting TrollKore down because we are stupid little kiddies with nothing better to do with our time than crapflood Slashdot. I am sorry for being such an annnoying faggot and I hope all of you will accept my apology.
-- Dessimat0r
ahh the stories my dad used to tell...
If you're using Office to handle videos, I'd say you're already using the wrong tool for the job...
-1 Uncomfortable Truth
Right, you can't moderate journal posts.
However, you *can* moderate replies to journal posts which is how the open story queue works at my journal.
--LP