My journey through town was a rather uneventful one. The blandness of the sights and sounds and smells and whatnot made me long for retraction into my own world, where thoughts and ideas are as tangible as steel and stone, and one cannot tell the difference between either medium of consciousness.
My fugue was shattered upon contact with a most peculiar vibration - the sound waves eminating from the new development in town. I had heard of the project... hearsay from contractors confirmed the construction of some sort of entertainment venue. Being that the day was in desperate need of a variety injection, I forced myself to visit. As I got closer to the source of the sound - I was able to discern the distinct bleating of bagpipes. This must be some sort of Scottish cultural thing, I thought. Thrilled by the idea that I might finally have a chance at the haggis my grandfather warned me about, I continued my pace. To make time pass, I shifted back into my own world.
Disoriented from the concept of time, I knew not how long the walk was. My journey was stopped short by the most unusual sight I've seen in ages... a short, stubby Irish man, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Lucky from those Lucky Charms (TM) commercials, only with more facial hair, acne, and a cigar protruding from his fat lips. He wore a green top hat, and looked as if he had been on a heroin binge.
"AYE!!!" he said to me, in a horrible Scottish accent "Welcome to Willy's Wild and Wacky World of Witch Cunt!!!"
I didn't know what was more shocking, the fact that an Irishman was trying to pass for a Scotsman, or the amusing title of his club.
"Pardon me," I asked, "But what exactly is this place?"
"BAR-HAHAHA!!! For the best witch cunt a lad can get... come to Willy's - ya won't regret!!! HAHAHA!!! Now, ya intrest'd?"
"Well, I'll admit, I am awfully curious... and I've always wondered what the vagina of a witch looked like!"
"There's a good lad! BARHAHA!!! It'll be five dollars, plus taxes!"
"Can do!" I paid the amount required, and went in.
I walked up the wooden ramp to a dim, dark enclosure. The room reeked of the odors one would find in the backstages of an art fag convention. The style of Art Deco, thought to be lost with the advance of modernist arcitecture, was wonderfully recreated. The room, dim as it was, led me into a dusty square chamber, which could have passed for a ballet room. I entered, and the door shut ominously behind me. I heard a lock latched on the other side... and somehow, I felt a twitch of my death nerve.
"BARHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Ye won't be comin' out alive!" yelled a distant voice, in sadistic delight. It was the Irishman/Scotsman/Whatever. I knew the little bastard had tricked me!!!
All of a sudden - and what a sudden it was! - the walls did a 360, and on the side that now dared to rear its ugly visage, there were chained twelve witches. All of them were stark raving naked, save for the giant pointy hats on their heads and the tacky pairs of high heels they had managed to squeeze their giant hairy feet into. And make no mistake, these were UGLY witches. Warts everywhere. White streaks in their hair, if they had hair at all. Saggy tits. Long noses. Some had green skin. But worst of all were their vaginas. They were all infected with the most heinous STD known to any carbon-based life form. They were a smoldering amalgamation of pus, crust, filth, warts, age, dead skin, hair, and other organic substances to vile to mention. Their stench hissed when it made contact with the air. Then they began to bubble, like a Zerg Creep Colony, only one that no mouse could ever click on without melting.
I had to get out of there. The smell of rotting fish was enough to drive a mortal man insane. I looked around, but there were no exit other than the barricaded door, and I dared not come close to those vile witches.
"TEE HEE HEE HEE HEEE HEEEEEEEEEE!!!" screamed the witches!
Suddenly, one of them let rip the loudest, most splattering queef I've ever had the misfortune of hearing. A geyser of hot, green, steamy liquid spurted forth from her vagina, spraying everywhere, and sending green cunt fumes to dissipate into the air.
"BLEARRAAAAAGGGGGHHHH" yelled another witch, following in the cuntsteps of the first, letting loose a stream of hideous cunt juice. Even more followed, screaming their insane witch screams before letting loose another round of bodily fluids. My suit was now soiled, and the air itself had taken on a greenish haze. I could barely breathe.
The stench was now terminal. It stunk of the ashy ass of my dying grandmother as she wallowed in her own filth on the hospital bed. They squealed at my death with sadistic delight, as green, vaginal vapors spouted forth from their vulvas like geysers and filled my lungs with despair. I coughed. I wheezed. I shielded my face. I gasped for breath. But it was no use. I was gonna die. I knew it.
Or was I?
I remembered I had a Desert Eagle in my coat pocket. I pulled it out, barely able to see what was going on. Praying for the best, I let loose, but not without precision. I blasted, at point blank range, the first homicidal pussy I came across. It exploded like a rotten fruit. The witch shrieked in agony, as the essential fluids now were draining from her body. One down, eleven to go.
Like an assembly line genocide, I shot the closest cunt I could find. My face was covered, but fortunately my glasses shielded my eyes. I came across one festering pile of genitalia that required two shots to the gap just to put it out of its misery. The sanguine fluids gushed from their bodies, filling the room like a Roman bath straight out of Hell.
At last, only one vagina remained. Alas, I had ran out of bullets. The clip only carried 12. In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have wasted the two shots on that last one. It was too late now, though.
I could almost hear it laughing at me, mocking my misfortune. I could hear it singing "RICOOOOOLA." The witch who was it's host was clearly possessed by some demonic force, as she uttered nothing more than groans. This is it... I thought. I'm doomed, again. The Apocalyptic Cunt Trumpet of Death was bleating, and my ears could not drown out the sound. It was inevitable - I was cuntfood.
At this thought, an instinctive urge of self-preservation seemed to possess my arm. I reached for my empty Desert Eagle, and, with the strength of a tennis player, I jammed that gun so far up her crotch my wrist touched the outer labia. The witch, having been smitten by my gun, proceeded to scream and die.
It was over. I was covered in cunt slime, and I would probably spend the rest of my life in therapy, but, yes, it was over. Now I had to find a way out, as I was knee deep in blood, pus, excrement, and vaginal goo.
The door was unlocked, and opened.
"BARHA!!! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU SURVIVED!!! MY WITCHES!!! MY CUNTS!!! YOU KILLED THEM!!! NOW I'LL KILL YOU!!!"
He lunged at me, but the fat little fuck was no match for my superior strength. I was in no mood for this shit. I grabbed his bald head, and dunked it into the afterbirth of my encounter, the giant pool of seminal glop that had filled up the room. He struggled like a suffocating infant at the hands of it's welfare mother, but in the end, it was futile. He died, drowning in the very mess he was responsible for.
NOW, at last, it was over. Home free.
But there still remains one problem... the dog who goes bouncing from door to door, squashing my garden with his giant nutsack.
You an Ontarioian? Tell the Federal Government to give us a transit funding as Toronto got one when they were up for the Olympic Bid. We're up for the 2010 Olympic Bid and we haven't seen such a thing.
A blond, a brunette, and a redhead were trying out for a new NASA experiment on sending women to different planets. First, they called the brunette in and asked her a question.
"If you could go to any planet, what planet would you want to go to and why?"
After pondering the question she answered, "I would like to go to Mars because it seems so interesting with all the recent news about possible extra terrestrial life on the planet."
They said "well okay, thank you." And told her that they would get back to her.
Next, the redhead entered the room and the NASA people asked her the same question. In reply, "I would like to go to Saturn to see all of its rings." Again, "thank you" and they would get back to her.
Finally, the blond entered the room and they asked her the same question they asked the brunette and the redhead. She thought for a while and replied, "I would like to go to the sun."
The people from NASA replied, "why, don't you know that if you went to the sun you would burn to death?"
The blond smirked and put her hands on her hips. "Are you guys dumb? I'd go at night!"
Feudalism:
You have two cows. Your lord takes some of the milk.
Pure Socialism:
You have two cows. The government takes them and puts them in a barn with everyone else's cows. You have to take care of all the cows. The government gives you all the milk you need.
Bureaucratic Socialism:
Your cows are cared for by ex-chicken farmers. You have to take care of the chickens the government took from the chicken farmers. The government gives you as much milk and eggs the regulations say you should need.
Fascism:
You have two cows. The government takes both, hires you to take care of them, and sells you the milk.
Pure Communism:
You have two cows. Your neighbours help you take care of them, and you all share the milk.
Real World Communism:
You share two cows with your neighbours. You and your neighbours bicker about who has the most "ability" and who has the most "need". Meanwhile, no one works, no one gets any milk, and the cows drop dead of starvation.
Russian Communism:
You have two cows. You have to take care of them, but the government takes all the milk. You steal back as much milk as you can and sell it on the black market.
Perestroika:
You have two cows. You have to take care of them, but the Mafia takes all the milk. You steal back as much milk as you can and sell it on the "free" market.
Cambodian Communism:
You have two cows. The government takes both and shoots you.
Militarianism:
You have two cows. The government takes both and drafts you.
Totalitarianism:
You have two cows. The government takes them and denies they ever existed. Milk is banned.
Pure Democracy:
You have two cows. Your neighbours decide who gets the milk.
Representative Democracy:
You have two cows. Your neighbours pick someone to tell you who gets the milk.
British Democracy:
You have two cows. You feed them sheep's brains and they go mad. The government doesn't do anything.
Bureaucracy:
You have two cows. At first the government regulates what you can feed them and when you can milk them. Then it pays you not to milk them. Then it takes both, shoots one, milks the other and pours the milk down the drain. Then it requires you to fill out forms accounting for the missing cows.
Pure Anarchy:
You have two cows. Either you sell the milk at a fair price or your neighbours try to take the cows and kill you.
Pure Capitalism:
You have two cows. You sell one and buy a bull.
Capitalism:
You don't have any cows. The bank will not lend you money to buy cows, because you don't have any cows to put up as collateral.
Environmentalism:
You have two cows. The government bans you from milking or killing them.
Political Correctness:
You are associated with (the concept of "ownership" is a symbol of the phallo centric, war mongering, intolerant past) two differently - aged (but no less valuable to society) bovines of non-specified gender.
Surrealism:
You have two giraffes. The government requires you to take harmonica lessons.
Enron Capitalism:
You have two cows. You sell three of them to your publicly listed company, using letters of credit opened by your brother-in-law at the bank. He then executes a debt/equity swap with an associated general offer so that you get all four cows back, with a tax exemption for five cows. The milk rights of the six cows are transferred via an intermediary to a Cayman Island company secretly owned by your CFO who sells the rights to all seven cows back to your listed company. The annual report says the company owns eight cows, with an option on six more.
You had something to save
You should have backed it up shouldn't you?
Now your OS misbehaved
You could be fired now couldn't you?
It's now time to pay the price
For not listening to advice
And trying to get by
using Windows 95
It used to be so easy now
Until this crash reminded you
Now you'll have to tell them how
Those fancy gadgets blinded you
It's too late to change events
It's time to face the consequence
For deciding to be bright
and use Windows 95
Never, you said, could you go wrong with 3.1
Never, you said, could you go wrong with 3.1
Now you're standing there disc gone
You'd better learn your lesson well
Get a JAZ drive before long
Or an OS not from hell
You'll see your problems multiply
If you continually decide
To never say goodbye
to your Windows 95
Never, you said, could you go wrong with 3.1
Never, you said, could you go wrong with 3.1
--
I'm sitting here in a boring room
Where everything runs Windoze and not even Doom
I'm wasting my time I got nothing to do
Cause each time I try I have to reboot
And each machine that crashes
Makes me wonder
I'm sitting here I miss the power
Well there's a hundred Mips inside that tower
But there's a heavy system overhead
It's doing no work but swapping instead
And each time that it's hanging
Well I wonder
I wonder how, I wonder why
Everything is different and the papers fly
And all that I can see
Is just this stupid gadgetry
I point and click, it makes a sound
I think it's quite okay but then it crashes down
And booting up I see
The DOS beneath the gadgetry
I'm not quite the one to criticize
After all I'm just one of these other guys
Who can't escape the Gates of Hell
When all I really want is a command line shell
There's animated icons
And I wonder
Resignation
Is what I really fear
Fascination
Is what I want instead of gadgetry
Life could be fulfilled with joy
If there was a way that I could trash this toy
And get a real computer
Well I wonder
I wonder how, I wonder why
They got so big and ugly while nobody tries
To give us what we need
Instead of fancy gadgetry
A crash an hour seems normal here
But everyone accepts it due to stupid fear
Of systems that don't need
That neverending gadgetry
--
Ataris gone across the Hades
Leaving just a memory
Of systems working without hard disk
And multitasking within one MB
Jack, why'd you take the dough and flee?
All that's now left to see is the pain named NT
All that's now left to see is the pain named NT
We don't need no System.Ini
We don't need no Registry
No animations and no Wizards
Hello Billy, won't you leave us be?
Bill, go away and leave us be
The one thing I'll never buy is the pain named NT
The one thing I'll never try is the pain named NT
I don't need no Sun to warm me
I don't need no Mac to calm me
My NeXT computer won't be a PC
After all there's still a place to Be!
And what I'll never feel is the pain named NT
And what I'll never know is the pain named NT
I went ahead
and crashed my Windows
That's not too bad
but this one thing does it not do
It won't boot anymore
Seems like it's time
to reinstall it
Not that I'd mind
if then once more its work it'd do
But it won't boot anymore
Wouldn't it be good if I could get myself a Macintosh
Say goodbye ninety-five
Well so much for pretending
Cause this crap's neverending
And I know that
I'm buying updates
but I can't help it
With each thing new
another's failing and now
It won't boot anymore
Well
Got an Atari
It makes no problems
It's running fine
not like this piece of shit of mine
Which won't boot anymore
Wouldn't it be good if I could get myself a Be OS
Say goodbye ninety-five
Well so much for pretending
Cause this crap's neverending
It's neverending...
Well
It could be worse
I could have data losses
But still it hurts
when I want to do something but now
It won't boot anymore
Wouldn't it be nice if I could sing myself a Rhapsody,
"Goodbye Ninety-Five"
Well so much for pretending
Cause this crap's neverending
And all this time I'll be standing
Thinking the next release is going to fix this bug and mend it
McAfee-Question: Is Windows a virus?
No, Windows is not a virus. Here's what viruses do:
1. They replicate quickly - okay, Windows does that.
2. Viruses use up valuable system resources, slowing down the system as they do so - okay, Windows does that.
3. Viruses will, from time to time, trash your hard disk - okay, Windows does that too.
4. Viruses are usually carried, unknown to the user, along with valuable programs and systems. Sigh... Windows does that, too.
5. Viruses will occasionally make the user suspect their system is too slow (see 2.) and the user will buy new hardware. Yup, that's with Windows, too.
Until now it seems Windows is a virus but there are fundamental differences:
Viruses are well supported by their authors, are running on most systems, their program code is fast, compact and efficient and they tend to become more sophisticated as they mature.
So Windows is not a virus. It's a bug.
tsunami:/# ping goatse.cx
PING goatse.cx (209.242.124.241): 56 data bytes
64 bytes from 209.242.124.241: icmp_seq=0 ttl=241 time=94.4 ms
64 bytes from 209.242.124.241: icmp_seq=1 ttl=241 time=94.6 ms
--- goatse.cx ping statistics ---
2 packets transmitted, 2 packets received, 0% packet loss
round-trip min/avg/max = 94.4/94.5/94.6 ms
Slashdot Mirror
http://slashdot.org/journal.pl?op=display&uid=&id= 4466 = 4466 = 4466
http://slashdot.org/journal.pl?op=display&uid=&id
http://slashdot.org/journal.pl?op=display&uid=&id
THIS IS WHY!
...is darn tootin' the best!
...or do Slashdot posters really suck?
By "suck," I mean "sucking CmdrTaco's dick."
How do you like my new signature?
I hate you. Go back to CmdrTaco's house and have sex.
Damn those sand-niggers and their Javascripts.
Black people suck.
So do Asians and Mexicans.
Also to add, Racists suck.
My journey through town was a rather uneventful one. The blandness of the sights and sounds and smells and whatnot made me long for retraction into my own world, where thoughts and ideas are as tangible as steel and stone, and one cannot tell the difference between either medium of consciousness.
My fugue was shattered upon contact with a most peculiar vibration - the sound waves eminating from the new development in town. I had heard of the project... hearsay from contractors confirmed the construction of some sort of entertainment venue. Being that the day was in desperate need of a variety injection, I forced myself to visit. As I got closer to the source of the sound - I was able to discern the distinct bleating of bagpipes. This must be some sort of Scottish cultural thing, I thought. Thrilled by the idea that I might finally have a chance at the haggis my grandfather warned me about, I continued my pace. To make time pass, I shifted back into my own world.
Disoriented from the concept of time, I knew not how long the walk was. My journey was stopped short by the most unusual sight I've seen in ages... a short, stubby Irish man, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Lucky from those Lucky Charms (TM) commercials, only with more facial hair, acne, and a cigar protruding from his fat lips. He wore a green top hat, and looked as if he had been on a heroin binge.
"AYE!!!" he said to me, in a horrible Scottish accent "Welcome to Willy's Wild and Wacky World of Witch Cunt!!!"
I didn't know what was more shocking, the fact that an Irishman was trying to pass for a Scotsman, or the amusing title of his club.
"Pardon me," I asked, "But what exactly is this place?"
"BAR-HAHAHA!!! For the best witch cunt a lad can get... come to Willy's - ya won't regret!!! HAHAHA!!! Now, ya intrest'd?"
"Well, I'll admit, I am awfully curious... and I've always wondered what the vagina of a witch looked like!"
"There's a good lad! BARHAHA!!! It'll be five dollars, plus taxes!"
"Can do!" I paid the amount required, and went in.
I walked up the wooden ramp to a dim, dark enclosure. The room reeked of the odors one would find in the backstages of an art fag convention. The style of Art Deco, thought to be lost with the advance of modernist arcitecture, was wonderfully recreated. The room, dim as it was, led me into a dusty square chamber, which could have passed for a ballet room. I entered, and the door shut ominously behind me. I heard a lock latched on the other side... and somehow, I felt a twitch of my death nerve.
"BARHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Ye won't be comin' out alive!" yelled a distant voice, in sadistic delight. It was the Irishman/Scotsman/Whatever. I knew the little bastard had tricked me!!!
All of a sudden - and what a sudden it was! - the walls did a 360, and on the side that now dared to rear its ugly visage, there were chained twelve witches. All of them were stark raving naked, save for the giant pointy hats on their heads and the tacky pairs of high heels they had managed to squeeze their giant hairy feet into. And make no mistake, these were UGLY witches. Warts everywhere. White streaks in their hair, if they had hair at all. Saggy tits. Long noses. Some had green skin. But worst of all were their vaginas. They were all infected with the most heinous STD known to any carbon-based life form. They were a smoldering amalgamation of pus, crust, filth, warts, age, dead skin, hair, and other organic substances to vile to mention. Their stench hissed when it made contact with the air. Then they began to bubble, like a Zerg Creep Colony, only one that no mouse could ever click on without melting.
I had to get out of there. The smell of rotting fish was enough to drive a mortal man insane. I looked around, but there were no exit other than the barricaded door, and I dared not come close to those vile witches.
"TEE HEE HEE HEE HEEE HEEEEEEEEEE!!!" screamed the witches!
Suddenly, one of them let rip the loudest, most splattering queef I've ever had the misfortune of hearing. A geyser of hot, green, steamy liquid spurted forth from her vagina, spraying everywhere, and sending green cunt fumes to dissipate into the air.
"BLEARRAAAAAGGGGGHHHH" yelled another witch, following in the cuntsteps of the first, letting loose a stream of hideous cunt juice. Even more followed, screaming their insane witch screams before letting loose another round of bodily fluids. My suit was now soiled, and the air itself had taken on a greenish haze. I could barely breathe.
The stench was now terminal. It stunk of the ashy ass of my dying grandmother as she wallowed in her own filth on the hospital bed. They squealed at my death with sadistic delight, as green, vaginal vapors spouted forth from their vulvas like geysers and filled my lungs with despair. I coughed. I wheezed. I shielded my face. I gasped for breath. But it was no use. I was gonna die. I knew it.
Or was I?
I remembered I had a Desert Eagle in my coat pocket. I pulled it out, barely able to see what was going on. Praying for the best, I let loose, but not without precision. I blasted, at point blank range, the first homicidal pussy I came across. It exploded like a rotten fruit. The witch shrieked in agony, as the essential fluids now were draining from her body. One down, eleven to go.
Like an assembly line genocide, I shot the closest cunt I could find. My face was covered, but fortunately my glasses shielded my eyes. I came across one festering pile of genitalia that required two shots to the gap just to put it out of its misery. The sanguine fluids gushed from their bodies, filling the room like a Roman bath straight out of Hell.
At last, only one vagina remained. Alas, I had ran out of bullets. The clip only carried 12. In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have wasted the two shots on that last one. It was too late now, though.
I could almost hear it laughing at me, mocking my misfortune. I could hear it singing "RICOOOOOLA." The witch who was it's host was clearly possessed by some demonic force, as she uttered nothing more than groans. This is it... I thought. I'm doomed, again. The Apocalyptic Cunt Trumpet of Death was bleating, and my ears could not drown out the sound. It was inevitable - I was cuntfood.
At this thought, an instinctive urge of self-preservation seemed to possess my arm. I reached for my empty Desert Eagle, and, with the strength of a tennis player, I jammed that gun so far up her crotch my wrist touched the outer labia. The witch, having been smitten by my gun, proceeded to scream and die.
It was over. I was covered in cunt slime, and I would probably spend the rest of my life in therapy, but, yes, it was over. Now I had to find a way out, as I was knee deep in blood, pus, excrement, and vaginal goo.
The door was unlocked, and opened.
"BARHA!!! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU SURVIVED!!! MY WITCHES!!! MY CUNTS!!! YOU KILLED THEM!!! NOW I'LL KILL YOU!!!"
He lunged at me, but the fat little fuck was no match for my superior strength. I was in no mood for this shit. I grabbed his bald head, and dunked it into the afterbirth of my encounter, the giant pool of seminal glop that had filled up the room. He struggled like a suffocating infant at the hands of it's welfare mother, but in the end, it was futile. He died, drowning in the very mess he was responsible for.
NOW, at last, it was over. Home free.
But there still remains one problem... the dog who goes bouncing from door to door, squashing my garden with his giant nutsack.
I'll give it a rest. I need a fucking vacation.
Yeah, but what idiot province has Nuclear reactors?
They went to Memphis, screw them.
You an Ontarioian? Tell the Federal Government to give us a transit funding as Toronto got one when they were up for the Olympic Bid. We're up for the 2010 Olympic Bid and we haven't seen such a thing.
Hey fag, diss the B.C. Liberals and I will make sure Rob Malda rapes you.
They're the best thing to happen to this province and I hope your union-ass gets burned to all hell.
A blond, a brunette, and a redhead were trying out for a new NASA experiment on sending women to different planets. First, they called the brunette in and asked her a question.
"If you could go to any planet, what planet would you want to go to and why?"
After pondering the question she answered, "I would like to go to Mars because it seems so interesting with all the recent news about possible extra terrestrial life on the planet."
They said "well okay, thank you." And told her that they would get back to her.
Next, the redhead entered the room and the NASA people asked her the same question. In reply, "I would like to go to Saturn to see all of its rings." Again, "thank you" and they would get back to her.
Finally, the blond entered the room and they asked her the same question they asked the brunette and the redhead. She thought for a while and replied, "I would like to go to the sun."
The people from NASA replied, "why, don't you know that if you went to the sun you would burn to death?"
The blond smirked and put her hands on her hips. "Are you guys dumb? I'd go at night!"
FIRST POST!
YOU all suck because the regular fp'rs are using Anon. Coward accounts.
Die.
Stop fisting the /. editors.
Bill Gates and Rob Malda had bad sex at one time.
Feudalism:
You have two cows. Your lord takes some of the milk.
Pure Socialism:
You have two cows. The government takes them and puts them in a barn with everyone else's cows. You have to take care of all the cows. The government gives you all the milk you need.
Bureaucratic Socialism:
Your cows are cared for by ex-chicken farmers. You have to take care of the chickens the government took from the chicken farmers. The government gives you as much milk and eggs the regulations say you should need.
Fascism:
You have two cows. The government takes both, hires you to take care of them, and sells you the milk.
Pure Communism:
You have two cows. Your neighbours help you take care of them, and you all share the milk.
Real World Communism:
You share two cows with your neighbours. You and your neighbours bicker about who has the most "ability" and who has the most "need". Meanwhile, no one works, no one gets any milk, and the cows drop dead of starvation.
Russian Communism:
You have two cows. You have to take care of them, but the government takes all the milk. You steal back as much milk as you can and sell it on the black market.
Perestroika:
You have two cows. You have to take care of them, but the Mafia takes all the milk. You steal back as much milk as you can and sell it on the "free" market.
Cambodian Communism:
You have two cows. The government takes both and shoots you.
Militarianism:
You have two cows. The government takes both and drafts you.
Totalitarianism:
You have two cows. The government takes them and denies they ever existed. Milk is banned.
Pure Democracy:
You have two cows. Your neighbours decide who gets the milk.
Representative Democracy:
You have two cows. Your neighbours pick someone to tell you who gets the milk.
British Democracy:
You have two cows. You feed them sheep's brains and they go mad. The government doesn't do anything.
Bureaucracy:
You have two cows. At first the government regulates what you can feed them and when you can milk them. Then it pays you not to milk them. Then it takes both, shoots one, milks the other and pours the milk down the drain. Then it requires you to fill out forms accounting for the missing cows.
Pure Anarchy:
You have two cows. Either you sell the milk at a fair price or your neighbours try to take the cows and kill you.
Pure Capitalism:
You have two cows. You sell one and buy a bull.
Capitalism:
You don't have any cows. The bank will not lend you money to buy cows, because you don't have any cows to put up as collateral.
Environmentalism:
You have two cows. The government bans you from milking or killing them.
Political Correctness:
You are associated with (the concept of "ownership" is a symbol of the phallo centric, war mongering, intolerant past) two differently - aged (but no less valuable to society) bovines of non-specified gender.
Surrealism:
You have two giraffes. The government requires you to take harmonica lessons.
Enron Capitalism:
You have two cows. You sell three of them to your publicly listed company, using letters of credit opened by your brother-in-law at the bank. He then executes a debt/equity swap with an associated general offer so that you get all four cows back, with a tax exemption for five cows. The milk rights of the six cows are transferred via an intermediary to a Cayman Island company secretly owned by your CFO who sells the rights to all seven cows back to your listed company. The annual report says the company owns eight cows, with an option on six more.
Come-on you cunt, it was good you bitch.
You had something to save
You should have backed it up shouldn't you?
Now your OS misbehaved
You could be fired now couldn't you?
It's now time to pay the price
For not listening to advice
And trying to get by
using Windows 95
It used to be so easy now
Until this crash reminded you
Now you'll have to tell them how
Those fancy gadgets blinded you
It's too late to change events
It's time to face the consequence
For deciding to be bright
and use Windows 95
Never, you said, could you go wrong with 3.1
Never, you said, could you go wrong with 3.1
Now you're standing there disc gone
You'd better learn your lesson well
Get a JAZ drive before long
Or an OS not from hell
You'll see your problems multiply
If you continually decide
To never say goodbye
to your Windows 95
Never, you said, could you go wrong with 3.1
Never, you said, could you go wrong with 3.1
--
I'm sitting here in a boring room
Where everything runs Windoze and not even Doom
I'm wasting my time I got nothing to do
Cause each time I try I have to reboot
And each machine that crashes
Makes me wonder
I'm sitting here I miss the power
Well there's a hundred Mips inside that tower
But there's a heavy system overhead
It's doing no work but swapping instead
And each time that it's hanging
Well I wonder
I wonder how, I wonder why
Everything is different and the papers fly
And all that I can see
Is just this stupid gadgetry
I point and click, it makes a sound
I think it's quite okay but then it crashes down
And booting up I see
The DOS beneath the gadgetry
I'm not quite the one to criticize
After all I'm just one of these other guys
Who can't escape the Gates of Hell
When all I really want is a command line shell
There's animated icons
And I wonder
Resignation
Is what I really fear
Fascination
Is what I want instead of gadgetry
Life could be fulfilled with joy
If there was a way that I could trash this toy
And get a real computer
Well I wonder
I wonder how, I wonder why
They got so big and ugly while nobody tries
To give us what we need
Instead of fancy gadgetry
A crash an hour seems normal here
But everyone accepts it due to stupid fear
Of systems that don't need
That neverending gadgetry
--
Ataris gone across the Hades
Leaving just a memory
Of systems working without hard disk
And multitasking within one MB
Jack, why'd you take the dough and flee?
All that's now left to see is the pain named NT
All that's now left to see is the pain named NT
We don't need no System.Ini
We don't need no Registry
No animations and no Wizards
Hello Billy, won't you leave us be?
Bill, go away and leave us be
The one thing I'll never buy is the pain named NT
The one thing I'll never try is the pain named NT
I don't need no Sun to warm me
I don't need no Mac to calm me
My NeXT computer won't be a PC
After all there's still a place to Be!
And what I'll never feel is the pain named NT
And what I'll never know is the pain named NT
I went ahead
and crashed my Windows
That's not too bad
but this one thing does it not do
It won't boot anymore
Seems like it's time
to reinstall it
Not that I'd mind
if then once more its work it'd do
But it won't boot anymore
Wouldn't it be good if I could get myself a Macintosh
Say goodbye ninety-five
Well so much for pretending
Cause this crap's neverending
And I know that
I'm buying updates
but I can't help it
With each thing new
another's failing and now
It won't boot anymore
Well
Got an Atari
It makes no problems
It's running fine
not like this piece of shit of mine
Which won't boot anymore
Wouldn't it be good if I could get myself a Be OS
Say goodbye ninety-five
Well so much for pretending
Cause this crap's neverending
It's neverending...
Well
It could be worse
I could have data losses
But still it hurts
when I want to do something but now
It won't boot anymore
Wouldn't it be nice if I could sing myself a Rhapsody,
"Goodbye Ninety-Five"
Well so much for pretending
Cause this crap's neverending
And all this time I'll be standing
Thinking the next release is going to fix this bug and mend it
It won't boot anymore...
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Microsoft sucks!
McAfee-Question: Is Windows a virus?
No, Windows is not a virus. Here's what viruses do:
1. They replicate quickly - okay, Windows does that.
2. Viruses use up valuable system resources, slowing down the system as they do so - okay, Windows does that.
3. Viruses will, from time to time, trash your hard disk - okay, Windows does that too.
4. Viruses are usually carried, unknown to the user, along with valuable programs and systems. Sigh... Windows does that, too.
5. Viruses will occasionally make the user suspect their system is too slow (see 2.) and the user will buy new hardware. Yup, that's with Windows, too.
Until now it seems Windows is a virus but there are fundamental differences:
Viruses are well supported by their authors, are running on most systems, their program code is fast, compact and efficient and they tend to become more sophisticated as they mature.
So Windows is not a virus. It's a bug.
YET LINUX DOES THE SAME THING. HO HO HO.
Is CmdrTaco's asshole biological?
tsunami:/# ping goatse.cx
PING goatse.cx (209.242.124.241): 56 data bytes
64 bytes from 209.242.124.241: icmp_seq=0 ttl=241 time=94.4 ms
64 bytes from 209.242.124.241: icmp_seq=1 ttl=241 time=94.6 ms
--- goatse.cx ping statistics ---
2 packets transmitted, 2 packets received, 0% packet loss
round-trip min/avg/max = 94.4/94.5/94.6 ms
The flashlight is used to look up CmdrTaco's ass as the stopwatch is stuck somewhere in his intestine.