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Human Gene Count Slashed
jd continues: "This has the potential for making life extremely interesting for genetic engineers, given that both individual genes and interactions between genes must be proportionately more complex, in order to get the same level of complexity out. Half the number of genes equates to twice the information encoded in forms other than discrete physical blocks of code.
There is no mention in the article of a story running in 2002 of genetic therapies unexpectedly causing cancer, although if you now factor in the increased complexity of interactions, it is possible that such side-effects can be better understood and therefore prevented. The new estimates, therefore, are more than just idle curiosity but have the potential for impacting how the science is approached."
In the Ghetto Part I
It was pitch-black in the roach-infested double-wide trailer. All was quiet except for the gurgling sound of an infant, shut away in its own room.
The floor creaked as a mass of flesh made its way to the infant's room. The door slowly opened, creating a growing triangle of light on the floor. The infant coughed and gagged and began to cry as it was overpowered by the horrid stench.
"It's time to suck on daddy's special pacifier, Marticock!"
As the door creaked shut, the whale in the master bedroom wept into her pillow. What kind of life was this for her precious little Marticock?
In the Ghetto Part II
Reza sat at the kitchen table, her cigarette smoke blending with the steam rising from her coffee cup. She took a sip of coffee and adjusted the rollers in her hair. She rubbed her eyes, which were still puffy from crying into her pillow all night.
Vlad shuffled into the room, wearing nothing but his briefs and a stained t-shirt, "hey you fat, pig, how are you this morning," he burped.
"Vlad, we have to talk."
"What now, fat-ass?"
"It's about Marticock. You have to stop molesting him... I think it will make it harder for him to make friends later on..."
Vlad slammed his fist onto the table, causing Reza to jump. She farted.
"You're not supposed to think, bitch! You're supposed to be making me breakfast! Where is it?!"
"Vlad, please..."
"Remember when we saw the Matrix Reloaded last weekend? THAT'S the style of Martial Arts I practice, bitch. You're about to get a FREE LESSON!"
Reza rose from her chair, causing it to fall over and ran - as best she could - into the bedroom to cry again.
"Fucking bitch," Vlad farted.
In the Ghetto Part III
Vlad sat on the living room couch, thecushions torn and vomiting foam from their inner core as he bounced up and down in excitement. He screamed at the television, as he shook his fist at it, sending Budweiser spilling out all over the floor.
"Come on, you goddamn white boy, if I wuz in there, he'd be dead now. Let's see some goddamn wrestling!"
Vlad didn't notice the doorbell ringing and continued screaming obsessively at the television as Reza bounced through the room to open the door.
Reza stood at the doorway in a sheeny, purple, see-through nighty, smiling at the black couple who greeted her, "hi I'm Reza! You must be Pedro and Florence from the personal ad..."
As a commercial flashed onto the television, Vlad turned to see what all the comotion was about. He recognized Pedro in the blue cathode-ray glow, "hey DOOOOOG!"
Vlad hopped from the couch, emitting a spurt of gas as he did so.
Pedro and Florence, who was holding a fat black child with curly hair, entered the dingey apartment. Vlad and Pedro high-fived each other and then Pedro began to rap:
This is Pedro G / Gangsta P / Sippin' on Hi-C / Smokin' PCP / Smooooooth Nigga
Vlad began to break-dance to the off-the-cuff rap. Farting with each bend of the leg and twist of the waist.
Oooooooh. A little Mastah B on the Bonus T
Got it goin' on girl
Droppin' Baby Marticock on your ass, Byatttch
Vlad and Pedro laughed heartily and butted guts.
"You ready to do some swappin' V-Dog," Pedro drooled. Reza grew wet with the suggestion.
"You bet I is, bro," Vlad replied eagerly. He trampled off into the other room, much to Reza's confusion.
In no time at all, Vlad returned holding Marticock, gurgling and farting. Pedro took his child from Florence and exchanged him for Marticock.
Reza frowned and shook her head, "no, no, no!"
Vlad and Pedro laughed as Reza and Florence ran into the bedroom to weep.
Vlad grinned as he removed the black child's diaper, "this is gonna be good! I never cornholed me a nigra before!"
In the Ghetto Part IV
Reza gazed into
Film at 11.
In the Ghetto Part XXI
Vlad had surgeoned the carburetor of the Chevy van with a degree of incompetence befitting a Lockwood. The van shook as it inched down the street; every few minutes, the exhaust manifold would flood with pure gas and react with a massive backfire. The van would then stall a moment and then lurch forward with a great burst of speed. This behavior seemed normal to Vlad, who had grown up believing that any healthy system must emit gas nearly constantly. The van was simply farting in the tradition of any normal "healthy" Lockwood.
As the van lurched and shook, the imitation-gold medallion Vlad had hung from the rear-view mirror would swing wildly and knock him in the head. Vlad paid no attention, as he sang along with the eminem 8-track that was blasting at full volume. Onlookers pointed and laughed as the primer-colored van shimmied past them, with it's ridiculous driver singing and moving his head in rythm to the music that spoke so sweetly to the angry teen within.
Marticock wailed each time he was tossed about in the passenger seat. Each jerk of the van would throw Marticock against the door and loosen a pocket of gas. The burning methane would irritate his infected, gangrened rectum, causing him to scream out in agony. His face was red and his eyes were glassy from tears. A constant stream of bloodied pus oozed into his diaper. Marticock was only eight months old, but he was already developing a characteristic Lockwood beer gut. His stomach bounced and jiggled with the surging of the van and his tiny penis twitched in time with the music blaring from the speakers.
The power steering mechanism of the van was one of the many casualties of the jolted engine and Vlad struggled to turn the vehicle to the left. He barely managed to get the wheels turned in time and the sides of the wheels scraped the curb to the right, sending two hubcaps flying out at unsuspecting pedestrians. Vlad panted and sweat rolled down his face from the effort put into turning the steering wheel. Vlad floored the breaks and the vehicle slowly stopped in front of a sleazy-looking shop.
Vlad grabbed Marticock and lumbered into Priscilla's Sex Shop. Slowly, he waddled up to the counter and sat Marticock - dressed only in his skimpy diaper - onto the sticky floor. A rather robust woman was standing behind the counter, she forced a smile in greeting, "hi there... what can I do for you today?"
Vlad paused a moment to drool and remember the list of items he had come to purchase, "uhhhh. Let's see. Okay. I want a 12-inch Slim John, an extra-wide Smiling Joe, a pound of Love Balls. I need a Butt Beaver with extra fur. Uhhhh...."
Marticock gurgled as he played with some lint he found on the floor.
"Oh yeah, I need a glossy black leather ghimp suit."
The sales-lady was unphased by the list, having worked at Priscilla's for ten years, "What size would you like that ghimp suit?"
Vlad looked down at the gurgling Marticock and realized he didn't know what size to request. He bent over and grabbed Marticock by the back of his diaper. He lifted Marticock up for the sales lady. "This size," he panted.
As Marticock hung over the counter, a glop of bloody pus plopped out of his diaper and spattered on the counter. Vlad stared at the ooze for a moment and farted, "Oh yeah, and do you sell Vagisil?"
The sales lady disappeared into the dank shadows of the sex shop and returned with a large bag stuffed with goodies. Vlad drooled as he imagined the various uses to which he would put these wonderous space-aged products.
The lady expertly punched several keys on the cash register and derived a total, "that will be 128 dollars and 64 cents, sir, will that be cash, check or charge?"
Vlad farted, "food stamps".
In the Ghetto Part XXII
Vlad couldn't believe that the Welfare Department and Social Services were forcing him to go find a job. El-Arse hosting would soon have a
Slash the summary length!
In the Ghetto Part XXVI
Vlad, for the first time in quite a while, was alone in the house. A couple of days before Reza had complained of cramping in her lower abdomen and they realized that she was constipated again. They quickly hurried her massive bulk onto the back of a super-semi and shipped her off to the Nevada Test Site. There she would receive her annual metamucil treatment and the compacted toxic substances be disposed of in the only place on Earth more polluted than the Lockwood house. Only when they had shipped her out did he realize that Marticock must have somehow slipped between the folds of flab on her obese frame and had gone with her. Now he was lost, alone, and looking for amusement.
He had considered phoning for a hooker, but you needed money for that. Twenty bucks would break him, and they didn't take beer bottles. Besides, the hookers were mostly women, and the last time he had one he couldn't get the sound of laughter out of his head for days.
Vlad let off a massive fart and small amounts of brown, fluid fecal matter dripped out of his ass and onto the floor. As he moved forward he stepped on the various cheetos, pretzels and shit that he hadn't bothered to clean up. He scratched his anus as the fart had irritated his hemmorhoids yet again. His arm strained to get his hand back there and he pulled a muscle. In agony he pulled his arm back and collapsed to the floor in a massive flaccid heap.
A thousand miles away, a seismic sensor activated at Vlad's dropping to the floor. Later on CNN it was reported that a 4.5 earthquake had shaken Joliet.
Vlad grunted as he pulled himself up and made his way to the computer. Even though it was only ten feet away, it was a herculean effort. And his ass still itched. "Goddamnit..." he belched as he said it "...fucking AV3. This is their fault."
He pushed aside the used Fritos bags and beer bottles that had accumulated around his 'Work Station'. As he was about to logon to Kuro5hin the doorbell suddenly rang. He waddled over to the door and opened it. It was his neighbor. He was a gigantic man, but unlike Vlad all his mass was muscle and not billowing waves of fat. He took a puff of his Marlboro and blew it in Vlad's face. It didn't affect Vlad at all, as he was used to both his and Reza's own toxic gases.
"Lockwood, did you fuckin' fall on the floor again? This is the third time this month I've had to replace all my fuckin' dishes because you keep on trippin' on your fat ass!"
"I own a business, go fuck yourself! Welcome to /dev/null." It was the only
thing Vlad could think of. His mind had atrophied to the point where the words had
become automatic.
"What the fuck did you just say to me you fat piece of shit?" The man's hand slammed into Vlad and he went tumbling backwards.
"Just wait'll I get up. Have you seen Love Story? That's the kind of martial arts I practice!"
The man stood over Vlad and was about to ram his foot his Vlad's ass when Vlad farted. The sudden expulsion of gas engulfed the man and he started to choke. But even worse, his cigarette ignited the foul odor. Suddenly, the man was engulfed a ball of flame and he went screaming out the door. The force of the blast went all the way up into Vlad's anus and sent him rocketing across the room where he slammed head first in the wall. The entire house shuddered and collapsed around him.
In the wreckage Vlad smiled. The pain from the impact had shaken loose his 1/2" cock and he had cum spontaneously. He looked proudly down at the tiny pool of semen on the ground. He at last had found a way to amuse himself.
And his ass had stopped itching too.
In the Ghetto Part XXVII
Anal Faggotry at Garnsey Park
Vlad was angry. Vlad was mad. Vlad was furious. Vlad farted.
"Those LITTLE BITCHES on the Internet are really starting to get to me," Vlad silently admitted to himself. "Who the fuck made THEM judge & jur
more like wp.
worst post in the f-house.
I'll have some of that crackpipe please.
This P.I.G. will walk on the water, This P.I.G. will walk on the sea, This P.I.G. will walk whereever he wants.
Trolling is dead. This place is dead. This place has been dead for far too long. The Revolution and The Rebirth are coming.
Trolling will be re-born.
A New Era dawns. The future grows near.
The Revolution will be devastating.
The Rebirth will be glorious.
The End Is Near.
The Revolution: December 31st, 2002
The Rebirth: January 1st, 2003
Trolling is dead.
Trolling will be born again.
Trolling will return.
Trolling will return with FIRE.
January 1st, 2003.
Mark your calendars.
Clear your calendars.
Reschedule your life.
Everything you know is a lie.
Everything you know is going to change.
This is not the end.
This is not the beginning of the end.
This is the end of the beginning.
The Third Age of Trolling is about to begin.
January 1st, 2003.
It's coming. The Rebirth.
You are powerless to stop it.
Only a fool would try.
If you are a troll, rejoice.
The time of our supremacy is at hand.
The Revolution is coming. The Rebirth draws near. The fate of destruction is also the joy of rebirth. It's all about to change... forevar. THE END: December 31st, 2002. THE BEGINNING: January 1st, 2003. History has come full-circle. Get ready to troll, motherfuckers.
~ The New True Troll High Council
It's coming.
You are not ready.
You can't stop it.
TROLLING BEGINS:
January 1st, 2003.
It's coming.
Female hyenas are virtually indistinguishable from males. Their clitoris is enlarged and extended to form an organ of the same size, shape, and position as the male penis. It can also be erected. Their labia have folded up and fused to form a false scrotum that is not discernibly different in external form or location from the true scrotum of males.
It even contains fatty tissue forming two swellings easily mistaken for testicles. Authors of the most recent paper on spotted hyenas found the appearance of males and females so close that sex could only be determined with certainty by palpation of the scrotum. Testes could be located in the scrotum of the male compared with soft adipose tissue in the false scrotum of the female.
Sad news, Britney Spears dead at 22
I just heard some really sad news on Fox - Singer and Popstar Britney Jean Spears was found dead in her Louisana home this morning.
Apparently, the cause of death was excessive bleeding after a sizzling night of hot anal sex with her ex. boyfriend, Justin Timberlake.
"We were just having good sushi, and she asked me if I would please her", said Justin. Although he has since turned gay after his breakup with her, Justin was willing to please Britney as long as she would take it up her ass.
Following a night of sex for 10 hours, Britney sustained an injury in her lower vaginal area and subsequently bled to death. Her husband Kevin Federline, who is at the moment spending time at a federal prison for sexual advances towards Natalie "hot grits" Portman was not available for comment.
However, President George W Bush offered his comments on the incident. "Here is the reason why anal sex is bad and why gays are unAmerican, they kill Americans and American icons", he was quoted as saying.
There weren't any more details. I'm sure everyone in the Slashdot community will surely miss her - even if you didn't enjoy her work, there's no denying her contributions to popular culture. Truly an American icon.
*sob*
Hit me baby, one more time. I'll miss you, oh baby baby.
Indeed, Britney. Indeed. Rest in peace, child.
GNAA (GAY NIGGER teeth into when the fruitless states that there corps3 turned 0ver taken over by BSDI believe their Fact: *BSD IS A how it was supposed things the right
Speaking of slashed, it is now official. Headcraft confirms: *BEHEADING is dying
One more crippling bombshell hit the already beleaguered *BEHEADING community when Headcraft confirmed that the total number of executions by *BEHEADING dropped yet again, now down to less than a fraction of 1 percent of all executions worldwide. Coming on the heels of a recent Headcraft survey which plainly states that *BEHEADING has dropped dramatically after the US invasion of Iraq, this news serves to reinforce what we've known all along. *BEHEADING is collapsing in complete disarray, as fittingly exemplified by failing dead last in the recent Ruthless Dictators comprehensive execution test.
You don't need to be a Jailed Dictator to predict *BEHEADING's future. The hand writing is on the wall: *BEHEADING faces a bleak future. In fact there won't be any future at all for *BEHEADING because *BEHEADING is dying. Things are looking very bad for *BEHEADING. As many of us are already aware, *BEHEADING continues to lose market share. Rivers of blood no longer flow from headless corpses..
Ruthless dictator *BEHEADING is the most endangered of them all, having lost 93% of its core dictators. The sudden and unpleasant deaths of long time *BEHEADING evangelists Uday and Qusay Hussein only serve to underscore the point more clearly. There can no longer be any doubt: *BEHEADING is dying.
Let's keep to the facts and look at the numbers.
*BEHEADING leader Qusay stated that 500,000 Iraqis 'dissappeard' during Saddam's regime. How many of them died by *BEHEADING? Let's see. Executions were generally carried out by hanging, bullet to the head, or *BEHEADING. With *BEHEADING being to most difficult to clean up after, let's conservatively estimate that only 5% of the Iraqis that 'disappeared' were *BEHEADED, so 500,000 / 20 = 25,000 deaths by *BEHEADING during Saddam's regime. Saddam took power in 1979, meaning his regime lasted 24 years. Therefore there were (25,000 / 24) ~ 1041 *BEHEADINGS PER YEAR during Saddam's regime. This is consistent with human rights reports. Since the US invasion, there have been approximately 50 *BEHEADINGS. Therefore there have been (50 / 1.5) ~ 33 *BEHEADINGS PER YEAR after the US invasion. Clearly, the terrorists are not as efficient at *BEHEADING. *BEHEADINGS have dropped 97% in the past 18 months. Clearly *BEHEADING is dying.
Due to the troubles of Saddam's Regime, what with it being gone and everything, massive amounts of *BEHEADING stopped and was taken over by a dismal few but high profile *BEHEADINGs that were carried out by nothing but cowardly terrorists Now *BEHEADING is also dead, its corpse turned over to yet another charnel house.
All major surveys show that *BEHEADING has rapidly declined in market share. *BEHEADING is very sick and its long term survival prospects are very dim. If *BEHEADING is to survive at all it will be among terrorist networks. *BEHEADING continues to decay. Nothing short of a miracle could save it at this point in time. For all practical purposes, *BEHEADING is dying.
Fact: *BEHEADING is dead.
© 2004 CmdrTaco (troll)
I hope high gas prices are depriving your children, you fucking dumbass.
I wonder how quick Creationsits would be to embrace the "God did it" philosophy if their three-year-old broke a vase and the child claimed that "God did it"? Would they question it?
The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. - Edmund Burke
Just don't let Microsoft loose on re-engineering the human genome - it will bloat out to 50Mb and be even more susceptible to viruses, requiring plug-in service packs within 18 months
Well he had to include a few paragraphs of commentary on a subject he clearly has no clue about. This is slashdot after all.
Mathematics is made of 50 percent formulas, 50 percent proofs, and 50 percent imagination.
This really is a good point. There is an old jewish story about how abraham smashed up all of his father's idols and then claimed that the idols fought and broke themselves. This is obviously absurd. The ironic thing is this absurdity can be just as easily extended to saying "god did it."
"It is not how things are in the world that is mystical, but that it exists." -Ludwig Wittgenstein