I've seen several posts recently where people complain about having "infinite" Meta-Mod points. Almost like it's a burden.
It most certainly is not. It is a gift to patient, karma-whoring trolls. Read the Meta-Mod FAQ.
Say you encounter a typical "OMG BILL GATES IS TEH SATAN!" post by, say, circletimessquare. It's been duly modded up as "Insightful" by some unknown editor or slashbot. Why not Meta-Mod that as "unfair"? Sure, you won't have any significant effect on either the poster's karma or the person who modded them up, but you will "help... remove bad moderators from the M1 eligibility pool."
Similarly, suppose you encounter a post by a troll seething with racism and hatred. It's been duly modded down as "Troll" or "Flamebait". This too is "unfair"! That post increased the noise, and as such was very valuable. It belongs in +2 territory with something by Perens, surely! Whoever modded that down should be removed from the moderation eligibility pool, post haste!
(Note that you don't have to support the racist shite in the post. The poster probably doesn't either; he's just doing it for the reaction.)
This is the same thing that happens to positive-karma troll accounts when they upmod a troll. They're found out in Meta-Mod, and lose their ability to moderate.
It's time the trolls use the same weapons as the slashbots! If you moderate, use "-1 Overrated" since those don't get Meta-Modded. And Meta-Mod whenever you get the chance! I mark almost everything as "unfair", though I occasionally see a very obvious troll being upmodded, which I mark as "fair" or leave alone.
This is what happens when you copy the shitty HTML page source and paste it into a post. Nice coding Taco, you shithead!
HTTP/1.1 200 OK Date: Sat, 19 Jul 2003 04:12:55 GMT Server: Apache/1.3.26 (Unix) mod_gzip/1.3.19.1a mod_perl/1.27 mod_ssl/2.8.10 OpenSSL/0.9.6g Connection: close Transfer-Encoding: chunked Content-Type: text/html; charset=iso-8859-1 OK The server encountered an internal error or misconfiguration and was unable to complete your request.
Please contact the server administrator, pater@slashdot.org and inform them of the time the error occurred, and anything you might have done that may have caused the error.
More information about this error may be available in the server error log.
When I think of dirty old men, I think of Ike Thomas and when I think about Ike I get a hard-on that won't quit.
Sixty years ago, I worked in what was once my Grandfather's Greenhouses. Gramps had died a year earlier and Grandma, now in her seventies had been forced to sell to the competition. I got a job with the new owners and mostly worked the range by myself. That summer, they hired a man to help me get the benches ready for the fall planting.
Ike always looked like he was three days from a shave and his whiskers were dirty white, shaded by the brim of his battered felt fedora.
He did not chew tobacco but the corners of his mouth turned down in a way that, at any moment, I expected a trickle of thin, brown juice to creep down his chin. His bushy, brown eyebrows shaded pale, gray eyes.
The old-timer extended his hand, lifted his leg like a dog about to mark a bush and let go the loudest fart I ever heard. The old fellow then winked at me, "Ike Thomas is the name and playing pecker's my game."
I thought he said, "Checkers." I was nineteen, green as grass. I said, "I was never much good at that game."
"Now me," said Ike, "I just love jumping men . .."
"I'll bet you do."
". . . and grabbing on to their peckers," said Ike.
"I though we were talking about . .."
"You like jumping old men's peckers?"
I shook my head.
"I reckon we'll have to remedy that." Ike lifted his right leg and let go another tremendous fart. "He said, "We best be getting to work."
That summer of 1941 was a more innocent time. I learned most of the sex I knew from those little eight pager cartoon booklets of comic-page characters going at it. Young men read them in the privacy of an outside john, played with themselves, by themselves and didn't brag about it. Sometimes, we got off with a trusted friend and helped each other out.
Under the greenhouse glass, the temperature some times climbed over the hundred degree mark. I had worked stripped to the waist since April and was as brown as a berry. On only his second day on the job and in the middle of August, Ike wore old fashioned overalls. Those and socks in his high-top work shoes was every stitch he wore. When he bent forward, the bib front billowed out and I could see the white curly hairs on his chest and belly.
"Me? I just love to eat pussy!" Ike licked his lips from corner to corner then sticking his tongue out far enough that the tip could touch the end of his nose. He said, A man's not a man till he knows first hand, the flavor of a lady's pussy."
"People do that?"
He winked. "Of course the taste of a hard cock ain't to be sneezed at neither. Now you answer me, yes or no. Does a man's cock taste salty or not?"
"I never . .."
"Well, old Ike's willing to let you find out."
"No way."
"Just teasing," said Ike. "But don't give me no sass or I'll show you my ass." He winked. "Might show it to you anyway, if you was to ask."
"Why would I do that?"
"Curiosity, maybe. I'm guessing you never had a good piece of man ass."
"I'm no queer."
"Now don't be getting judgmental. Enjoying what's at hand ain't being queer. It's taking pleasure where you find it with anybody willing." Ike slipped a hand into the side slit of his overalls and I could tell he was fondling and straightening out his cock. "Now I admit I got me a hole that satisfied a few guys."
I swallowed, hard.
Ike winked. "Care to be asshole buddies?"
***
We worked steadily until noon. Ike drew a worn pocket watch from the bib pocket of his loose overalls and croaked, "Bean time. But first its time to reel out our limber hoses and make with the golden arches before lunch."
I followed Ike to the end of the greenhouse where he stopped at the outside wall of the potting shed. He opened his fly, fished inside, and finger-hooked a so
When I think of dirty old men, I think of Ike Thomas and when I think about Ike I get a hard-on that won't quit.
Sixty years ago, I worked in what was once my Grandfather's Greenhouses. Gramps had died a year earlier and Grandma, now in her seventies had been forced to sell to the competition. I got a job with the new owners and mostly worked the range by myself. That summer, they hired a man to help me get the benches ready for the fall planting.
Ike always looked like he was three days from a shave and his whiskers were dirty white, shaded by the brim of his battered felt fedora.
He did not chew tobacco but the corners of his mouth turned down in a way that, at any moment, I expected a trickle of thin, brown juice to creep down his chin. His bushy, brown eyebrows shaded pale, gray eyes.
The old-timer extended his hand, lifted his leg like a dog about to mark a bush and let go the loudest fart I ever heard. The old fellow then winked at me, "Ike Thomas is the name and playing pecker's my game."
I thought he said, "Checkers." I was nineteen, green as grass. I said, "I was never much good at that game."
"Now me," said Ike, "I just love jumping men . .."
"I'll bet you do."
". . . and grabbing on to their peckers," said Ike.
"I though we were talking about . .."
"You like jumping old men's peckers?"
I shook my head.
"I reckon we'll have to remedy that." Ike lifted his right leg and let go another tremendous fart. "He said, "We best be getting to work."
That summer of 1941 was a more innocent time. I learned most of the sex I knew from those little eight pager cartoon booklets of comic-page characters going at it. Young men read them in the privacy of an outside john, played with themselves, by themselves and didn't brag about it. Sometimes, we got off with a trusted friend and helped each other out.
Under the greenhouse glass, the temperature some times climbed over the hundred degree mark. I had worked stripped to the waist since April and was as brown as a berry. On only his second day on the job and in the middle of August, Ike wore old fashioned overalls. Those and socks in his high-top work shoes was every stitch he wore. When he bent forward, the bib front billowed out and I could see the white curly hairs on his chest and belly.
"Me? I just love to eat pussy!" Ike licked his lips from corner to corner then sticking his tongue out far enough that the tip could touch the end of his nose. He said, A man's not a man till he knows first hand, the flavor of a lady's pussy."
"People do that?"
He winked. "Of course the taste of a hard cock ain't to be sneezed at neither. Now you answer me, yes or no. Does a man's cock taste salty or not?"
"I never . .."
"Well, old Ike's willing to let you find out."
"No way."
"Just teasing," said Ike. "But don't give me no sass or I'll show you my ass." He winked. "Might show it to you anyway, if you was to ask."
"Why would I do that?"
"Curiosity, maybe. I'm guessing you never had a good piece of man ass."
"I'm no queer."
"Now don't be getting judgmental. Enjoying what's at hand ain't being queer. It's taking pleasure where you find it with anybody willing." Ike slipped a hand into the side slit of his overalls and I could tell he was fondling and straightening out his cock. "Now I admit I got me a hole that satisfied a few guys."
I swallowed, hard.
Ike winked. "Care to be asshole buddies?"
***
We worked steadily until noon. Ike drew a worn pocket watch from the bib pocket of his loose overalls and croaked, "Bean time. But first its time to reel out our limber hoses and make with the golden arches before lunch."
I followed Ike to the end of the greenhouse where he stopped at the outside wall of the potting shed. He opened his fly, fished inside, and finger-hooked a soft white penis with a pouting fo
The word is "ought", you worthless french shitgobbler.
The review submitter sounds like an ass, and doesn't use words like "pejorative" correctly. At least he didn't use a word like "grok" which would've solidly pegged him as another assloving Lunix gimp such as yourself.
Jesus FUCKING christ this place is inundated with asses. You and Jouster belong together.
Hello, timothy! I've got a surprise for you!
on
Google Hacks
·
· Score: -1, Offtopic
Would you like to touch my monkey? It's shaped just like your buddy michael, but with less hair.
I'm a cop, you idiot!
BANG! BANG! BANG!
I've seen several posts recently where people complain about having "infinite" Meta-Mod points. Almost like it's a burden.
It most certainly is not. It is a gift to patient, karma-whoring trolls. Read the Meta-Mod FAQ.
Say you encounter a typical "OMG BILL GATES IS TEH SATAN!" post by, say, circletimessquare. It's been duly modded up as "Insightful" by some unknown editor or slashbot. Why not Meta-Mod that as "unfair"? Sure, you won't have any significant effect on either the poster's karma or the person who modded them up, but you will "help... remove bad moderators from the M1 eligibility pool."
Similarly, suppose you encounter a post by a troll seething with racism and hatred. It's been duly modded down as "Troll" or "Flamebait". This too is "unfair"! That post increased the noise, and as such was very valuable. It belongs in +2 territory with something by Perens, surely! Whoever modded that down should be removed from the moderation eligibility pool, post haste!
(Note that you don't have to support the racist shite in the post. The poster probably doesn't either; he's just doing it for the reaction.)
This is the same thing that happens to positive-karma troll accounts when they upmod a troll. They're found out in Meta-Mod, and lose their ability to moderate.
It's time the trolls use the same weapons as the slashbots! If you moderate, use "-1 Overrated" since those don't get Meta-Modded. And Meta-Mod whenever you get the chance! I mark almost everything as "unfair", though I occasionally see a very obvious troll being upmodded, which I mark as "fair" or leave alone.
Either that, or just have fun. Whichever.
Edit I've recently realized that my alter ego and I make up a fifth of $$$$$exyGal's foes. I am beaming with pride. Almost as much pride as nabbing 5,000,001st post, or having my sordid past with michael crapflooded by SexualAssPussy.
You know that story about me and michael that was crapflooded a couple months ago? Well, it's true. At first I was furious that it got published so widely, especially since it was such an intimate experience. I got over it, since it was, all-in-all, a wonderful experience.
But now I'm bitter. Since that crapflood, Michael won't return my calls, and I think he's blocked that whole experience out of his memory.
He needs help. Once you've experienced what we've had together, it's unhealthy to pretend it never happened. I can damage the psyche.
I may be old, but I still care about him. Once he embraces his past, he'll give up the bitterness he has towards people, and the horrible things he does in a vain attempt to forget.
He's thinking of allowing paying readers to read stories in advance, so they can PROOFREAD and CHECK FOR DUPES (which should be HIS job) before the stories go live. Paying readers will also get to see sites before they're slashdotted.
WHAT THE FUCK.
The benefits of paying for slashdot:
1) You get features that don't actually work (extended histories, etc.) 2) You are expected to proofread and dupe-check stories ('cause Rob's so busy, ya know) so that unpaying readers can read stuff without problems.
That's totally fucking backwards, Taco, you shithead.
He's also totally aware of the Slashdot effect. Instead of doing something about it (i.e. developing a cache), he's just skirting it. How totally irresponsible.
Taco, your site is shit. Your staff is shit. Your program is shit. Please wise up.
Microsoft employees, like everyone else, need a good laugh.
Pretend you work for Microsoft. What better way to kick back and relax than to look at one of your chief "adversaries" as they duplicate stories, encourage at least as much FUD as you do, engage in hilarious hypocrisy ("MPAA IS BAD! Did you see LOTR? OMG WTF IT WAS GRATE!"), and think some unweildy kludgy, inconsistent OS written by cave trolls for cave trolls with mind-numbing MAN pages and HOWTOs will be used by everyone's grandma tomorrow?
No wonder half slashdot's visitors use IE - they're all MS employees surfing from their desks as MS having a grand old laugh.
I think this will really on the user providing meaningful information in too big a way.
Precisely. Joe User just isn't going to bother. The only way to truly satisfy the non-technical (or even technophobic) users is to connect the computer directly to their brain so they can bring up files just like they do memories... unfortunately we have no idea how that works yet.
Nontechnical people inspire me, actually. I'm getting tired of all of this tech that really hasn't made anything easier -- it's just made it so that I can do more in less time. Ultimately, my responsibilities have grown. I'm longing to be a Johnny Punchclock or Joe Sixpack so I can just chill out when I need to.
But in the future, please use "you're" in place of "your" in sentences like that.
I really must protest the amount of posts claiming that I'm some kind of sexual deviant. I'm really a nice old man.
I'm not responsible for the crapfloods, just inspired by them... but I was vigilant in my attempt to get the five millionth post. I love you all (except michael).
Slashdot Mirror
Take an English class.
Die, you moronic mouthbreathing shithead.
I've seen several posts recently where people complain about having "infinite" Meta-Mod points. Almost like it's a burden.
... remove bad moderators from the M1 eligibility pool."
It most certainly is not. It is a gift to patient, karma-whoring trolls. Read the Meta-Mod FAQ.
Say you encounter a typical "OMG BILL GATES IS TEH SATAN!" post by, say, circletimessquare. It's been duly modded up as "Insightful" by some unknown editor or slashbot. Why not Meta-Mod that as "unfair"? Sure, you won't have any significant effect on either the poster's karma or the person who modded them up, but you will "help
Similarly, suppose you encounter a post by a troll seething with racism and hatred. It's been duly modded down as "Troll" or "Flamebait". This too is "unfair"! That post increased the noise, and as such was very valuable. It belongs in +2 territory with something by Perens, surely! Whoever modded that down should be removed from the moderation eligibility pool, post haste!
(Note that you don't have to support the racist shite in the post. The poster probably doesn't either; he's just doing it for the reaction.)
This is the same thing that happens to positive-karma troll accounts when they upmod a troll. They're found out in Meta-Mod, and lose their ability to moderate.
It's time the trolls use the same weapons as the slashbots! If you moderate, use "-1 Overrated" since those don't get Meta-Modded. And Meta-Mod whenever you get the chance! I mark almost everything as "unfair", though I occasionally see a very obvious troll being upmodded, which I mark as "fair" or leave alone.
Either that, or just have fun. Whichever.
Why take the trouble to understand when you make much more noise just becoming a slathering Lunix fanboy? That's the Slashdot Mantra!
"Comments that agree" = karma and good fortune, my lad!
This is what happens when you copy the shitty HTML page source and paste it into a post. Nice coding Taco, you shithead!
HTTP/1.1 200 OK Date: Sat, 19 Jul 2003 04:12:55 GMT Server: Apache/1.3.26 (Unix) mod_gzip/1.3.19.1a mod_perl/1.27 mod_ssl/2.8.10 OpenSSL/0.9.6g Connection: close Transfer-Encoding: chunked Content-Type: text/html; charset=iso-8859-1
OK
The server encountered an internal error or misconfiguration and was unable to complete your request.
Please contact the server administrator, pater@slashdot.org and inform them of the time the error occurred, and anything you might have done that may have caused the error.
More information about this error may be available in the server error log.
Apache/1.3.26 Server at slashdot.org Port 80
Not enough of ME!!!!!!
."
."
."
When I think of dirty old men, I think of Ike Thomas and when I think about Ike I get a hard-on that won't quit.
Sixty years ago, I worked in what was once my Grandfather's Greenhouses. Gramps had died a year earlier and Grandma, now in her seventies had been forced to sell to the competition. I got a job with the new owners and mostly worked the range by myself. That summer, they hired a man to help me get the benches ready for the fall planting.
Ike always looked like he was three days from a shave and his whiskers were dirty white, shaded by the brim of his battered felt fedora.
He did not chew tobacco but the corners of his mouth turned down in a way that, at any moment, I expected a trickle of thin, brown juice to creep down his chin. His bushy, brown eyebrows shaded pale, gray eyes.
The old-timer extended his hand, lifted his leg like a dog about to mark a bush and let go the loudest fart I ever heard. The old fellow then winked at me, "Ike Thomas is the name and playing pecker's my game."
I thought he said, "Checkers." I was nineteen, green as grass. I said, "I was never much good at that game."
"Now me," said Ike, "I just love jumping men . .
"I'll bet you do."
". . . and grabbing on to their peckers," said Ike.
"I though we were talking about . .
"You like jumping old men's peckers?"
I shook my head.
"I reckon we'll have to remedy that." Ike lifted his right leg and let go another tremendous fart. "He said, "We best be getting to work."
That summer of 1941 was a more innocent time. I learned most of the sex I knew from those little eight pager cartoon booklets of comic-page characters going at it. Young men read them in the privacy of an outside john, played with themselves, by themselves and didn't brag about it. Sometimes, we got off with a trusted friend and helped each other out.
Under the greenhouse glass, the temperature some times climbed over the hundred degree mark. I had worked stripped to the waist since April and was as brown as a berry. On only his second day on the job and in the middle of August, Ike wore old fashioned overalls. Those and socks in his high-top work shoes was every stitch he wore. When he bent forward, the bib front billowed out and I could see the white curly hairs on his chest and belly.
"Me? I just love to eat pussy!" Ike licked his lips from corner to corner then sticking his tongue out far enough that the tip could touch the end of his nose. He said, A man's not a man till he knows first hand, the flavor of a lady's pussy."
"People do that?"
He winked. "Of course the taste of a hard cock ain't to be sneezed at neither. Now you answer me, yes or no. Does a man's cock taste salty or not?"
"I never . .
"Well, old Ike's willing to let you find out."
"No way."
"Just teasing," said Ike. "But don't give me no sass or I'll show you my ass." He winked. "Might show it to you anyway, if you was to ask."
"Why would I do that?"
"Curiosity, maybe. I'm guessing you never had a good piece of man ass."
"I'm no queer."
"Now don't be getting judgmental. Enjoying what's at hand ain't being queer. It's taking pleasure where you find it with anybody willing." Ike slipped a hand into the side slit of his overalls and I could tell he was fondling and straightening out his cock. "Now I admit I got me a hole that satisfied a few guys."
I swallowed, hard.
Ike winked. "Care to be asshole buddies?"
***
We worked steadily until noon. Ike drew a worn pocket watch from the bib pocket of his loose overalls and croaked, "Bean time. But first its time to reel out our limber hoses and make with the golden arches before lunch."
I followed Ike to the end of the greenhouse where he stopped at the outside wall of the potting shed. He opened his fly, fished inside, and finger-hooked a so
When I think of dirty old men, I think of Ike Thomas and when I think about Ike I get a hard-on that won't quit.
."
."
."
Sixty years ago, I worked in what was once my Grandfather's Greenhouses. Gramps had died a year earlier and Grandma, now in her seventies had been forced to sell to the competition. I got a job with the new owners and mostly worked the range by myself. That summer, they hired a man to help me get the benches ready for the fall planting.
Ike always looked like he was three days from a shave and his whiskers were dirty white, shaded by the brim of his battered felt fedora.
He did not chew tobacco but the corners of his mouth turned down in a way that, at any moment, I expected a trickle of thin, brown juice to creep down his chin. His bushy, brown eyebrows shaded pale, gray eyes.
The old-timer extended his hand, lifted his leg like a dog about to mark a bush and let go the loudest fart I ever heard. The old fellow then winked at me, "Ike Thomas is the name and playing pecker's my game."
I thought he said, "Checkers." I was nineteen, green as grass. I said, "I was never much good at that game."
"Now me," said Ike, "I just love jumping men . .
"I'll bet you do."
". . . and grabbing on to their peckers," said Ike.
"I though we were talking about . .
"You like jumping old men's peckers?"
I shook my head.
"I reckon we'll have to remedy that." Ike lifted his right leg and let go another tremendous fart. "He said, "We best be getting to work."
That summer of 1941 was a more innocent time. I learned most of the sex I knew from those little eight pager cartoon booklets of comic-page characters going at it. Young men read them in the privacy of an outside john, played with themselves, by themselves and didn't brag about it. Sometimes, we got off with a trusted friend and helped each other out.
Under the greenhouse glass, the temperature some times climbed over the hundred degree mark. I had worked stripped to the waist since April and was as brown as a berry. On only his second day on the job and in the middle of August, Ike wore old fashioned overalls. Those and socks in his high-top work shoes was every stitch he wore. When he bent forward, the bib front billowed out and I could see the white curly hairs on his chest and belly.
"Me? I just love to eat pussy!" Ike licked his lips from corner to corner then sticking his tongue out far enough that the tip could touch the end of his nose. He said, A man's not a man till he knows first hand, the flavor of a lady's pussy."
"People do that?"
He winked. "Of course the taste of a hard cock ain't to be sneezed at neither. Now you answer me, yes or no. Does a man's cock taste salty or not?"
"I never . .
"Well, old Ike's willing to let you find out."
"No way."
"Just teasing," said Ike. "But don't give me no sass or I'll show you my ass." He winked. "Might show it to you anyway, if you was to ask."
"Why would I do that?"
"Curiosity, maybe. I'm guessing you never had a good piece of man ass."
"I'm no queer."
"Now don't be getting judgmental. Enjoying what's at hand ain't being queer. It's taking pleasure where you find it with anybody willing." Ike slipped a hand into the side slit of his overalls and I could tell he was fondling and straightening out his cock. "Now I admit I got me a hole that satisfied a few guys."
I swallowed, hard.
Ike winked. "Care to be asshole buddies?"
***
We worked steadily until noon. Ike drew a worn pocket watch from the bib pocket of his loose overalls and croaked, "Bean time. But first its time to reel out our limber hoses and make with the golden arches before lunch."
I followed Ike to the end of the greenhouse where he stopped at the outside wall of the potting shed. He opened his fly, fished inside, and finger-hooked a soft white penis with a pouting fo
Speak for yourself. The story of the first tender moments between michael and I is special to me, and it hurts to see it spread so viciously.
I wouldn't mind if I could entice CmdrTaco or timothy with it though.
I also now own a cat.
HHHHHEeeeeeeeere, kitty, kitty kitty!
BANG!
Bullet to head = kitty corpsicle.
Love and kisses,
Old Ike
The word is "ought", you worthless french shitgobbler.
The review submitter sounds like an ass, and doesn't use words like "pejorative" correctly. At least he didn't use a word like "grok" which would've solidly pegged him as another assloving Lunix gimp such as yourself.
Jesus FUCKING christ this place is inundated with asses. You and Jouster belong together.
Would you like to touch my monkey? It's shaped just like your buddy michael, but with less hair.
... remove bad moderators from the M1 eligibility pool."
I'm a cop, you idiot!
BANG! BANG! BANG!
I've seen several posts recently where people complain about having "infinite" Meta-Mod points. Almost like it's a burden.
It most certainly is not. It is a gift to patient, karma-whoring trolls. Read the Meta-Mod FAQ.
Say you encounter a typical "OMG BILL GATES IS TEH SATAN!" post by, say, circletimessquare. It's been duly modded up as "Insightful" by some unknown editor or slashbot. Why not Meta-Mod that as "unfair"? Sure, you won't have any significant effect on either the poster's karma or the person who modded them up, but you will "help
Similarly, suppose you encounter a post by a troll seething with racism and hatred. It's been duly modded down as "Troll" or "Flamebait". This too is "unfair"! That post increased the noise, and as such was very valuable. It belongs in +2 territory with something by Perens, surely! Whoever modded that down should be removed from the moderation eligibility pool, post haste!
(Note that you don't have to support the racist shite in the post. The poster probably doesn't either; he's just doing it for the reaction.)
This is the same thing that happens to positive-karma troll accounts when they upmod a troll. They're found out in Meta-Mod, and lose their ability to moderate.
It's time the trolls use the same weapons as the slashbots! If you moderate, use "-1 Overrated" since those don't get Meta-Modded. And Meta-Mod whenever you get the chance! I mark almost everything as "unfair", though I occasionally see a very obvious troll being upmodded, which I mark as "fair" or leave alone.
Either that, or just have fun. Whichever.
Edit I've recently realized that my alter ego and I make up a fifth of $$$$$exyGal's foes. I am beaming with pride. Almost as much pride as nabbing 5,000,001st post, or having my sordid past with michael crapflooded by SexualAssPussy.
Look, everyone.
You know that story about me and michael that was crapflooded a couple months ago? Well, it's true. At first I was furious that it got published so widely, especially since it was such an intimate experience. I got over it, since it was, all-in-all, a wonderful experience.
But now I'm bitter. Since that crapflood, Michael won't return my calls, and I think he's blocked that whole experience out of his memory.
He needs help. Once you've experienced what we've had together, it's unhealthy to pretend it never happened. I can damage the psyche.
I may be old, but I still care about him. Once he embraces his past, he'll give up the bitterness he has towards people, and the horrible things he does in a vain attempt to forget.
Help him, won't you?
Well I guess we know how Michael Jackson wrote his last few albums, now, don't we?
Probably Michael Sims too.
That's right. Read his journal (here)
He's thinking of allowing paying readers to read stories in advance, so they can PROOFREAD and CHECK FOR DUPES (which should be HIS job) before the stories go live. Paying readers will also get to see sites before they're slashdotted.
WHAT THE FUCK.
The benefits of paying for slashdot:
1) You get features that don't actually work (extended histories, etc.)
2) You are expected to proofread and dupe-check stories ('cause Rob's so busy, ya know) so that unpaying readers can read stuff without problems.
That's totally fucking backwards, Taco, you shithead.
He's also totally aware of the Slashdot effect. Instead of doing something about it (i.e. developing a cache), he's just skirting it. How totally irresponsible.
Taco, your site is shit. Your staff is shit. Your program is shit. Please wise up.
-MondoMor (read more)
While I approve of crapflooding, I'm sad to see my life's sordid details laid bare for all to see.
What's CLIT?
I'll need a picture of the mare.
For comparison.
You know... in the interests of objectivity.
What?
Holy crap!
Michael is indeed an idiot.
It's like trolls and crapflooders are magically attracted to michael's stories.
Things really would go better for you, sir, if you stopped acting like such a prick.
Microsoft employees, like everyone else, need a good laugh.
Pretend you work for Microsoft. What better way to kick back and relax than to look at one of your chief "adversaries" as they duplicate stories, encourage at least as much FUD as you do, engage in hilarious hypocrisy ("MPAA IS BAD! Did you see LOTR? OMG WTF IT WAS GRATE!"), and think some unweildy kludgy, inconsistent OS written by cave trolls for cave trolls with mind-numbing MAN pages and HOWTOs will be used by everyone's grandma tomorrow?
No wonder half slashdot's visitors use IE - they're all MS employees surfing from their desks as MS having a grand old laugh.
Hmmm.... tricky....
Could this be part of the elusive 'dark matter' talked about so much lately? 42. I win.
But in the future, please use "you're" in place of "your" in sentences like that. I really must protest the amount of posts claiming that I'm some kind of sexual deviant. I'm really a nice old man.
I'm not responsible for the crapfloods, just inspired by them... but I was vigilant in my attempt to get the five millionth post. I love you all (except michael).
And ten of them were useful! Happy 2003 Slashdorks!