the rarely-mentioned but highly useful ability to run a terminal emulator inside itself, which is great if you're trying to design a Web site and need to see both the code and preview at the same time.
wah some faggot on the internet doesn't approve of my choice of software i must write whining fucking comment about how he's wrong and validate my life choices about licking dick to pay for magic: the gathering cards
What the fuck are you talking about? My Windows XP workstation has at least a month of uptime. I have Visual fucking Studio sessions that have been running for far, far longer than two days.
If they figure it out, it'll be just another way for Martha Stewart and her cronies (economic RAPISTS) to steal from the proletariat without punishment.
I read a newspaper article recently that said that the weird thing about Americans is that they're either ridiculously straight-laced, or completely nuts. John seemed to hold up this theory. He was the friend of a friend and when I met him in a bar he was hammered. He claimed not to have been sober since the early Nineties. He had thinning hair, and a permanent mischievous grin.
I ignored him for most of the evening. I was trying to drunkenly seduce one of his female friends, and getting nowhere. But he caught my attention when I heard him yell, "I AM A PROFESSIONAL ROCK THROWER." I stared at him as he finished the story, and asked him to tell it again. It may or may not have been true. But it made me laugh.
John had some friends who were even crazier than him. When they were in college, they decided to go on a road trip and get loaded and laid in every Southern state. To a large extent, they succeeded.
After a few weeks of travelling, they found themselves, drunk and stoned, in a tiny redneck bar somewhere in the hills of some Bible Belt state.
It's a real country bar. As they walk through the door, all conversation stops, and one-hundred bearded, buck-toothed faces turn to stare at them. John walked towards the bar, thinking, "5000 people in this town, and only five different surnames." They ordered a couple of beers, and some chasers, and something to chase the chasers. The rest of the clientele returned to their conversations, but they could occasionally feel a suspicious eye on the back of their neck.
A few hours later, John and his friends were tanked and feeling a lot less cautious. They started whispering redneck jokes under their breaths and laughing raucously. They had consumed a lot of whiskey and snuck back out to the car for some smokes. They were so wasted that they failed to notice that the regulars had decided that they outstayed their welcome.
When it all began, John was sitting at the table. Bob, one of the guys, had eventually admitted that it was his round. He had staggered up to the bar and seemed to have been gone for ages. They didn't even notice, until a booming Southern voice, bloody with rage, cut through the air.
"I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU, MOTHERFUCKER."
The guys slowly manoeuvred themselves around so they could see what was going on, just in time to see this enormous redneck with arms like oak trees. He was about to take a swing at Bob.
Bob, though drunk and stoned, was fast enough to sidestep the punch. While moving, he spun around on his heels, and ran at the door.
John and his friends, being drunk and stoned, thought this was the funniest damn thing they had seen in their entire lives.
They ran out after Bob and the irate redneck. Bob, who was the most unathletic person they knew, was breaking all sprinting records while evading the redneck. He had almost made it to the car when suddenly he stopped, dropped to the ground and came back up with a rock in his hand. The redneck slowed down. Bob stared him dead in the eye and shouted:
"I am a professional rock thrower. Don't make me throw this rock at you."
The redneck swore, and resumed running.
Bob took a classic pitcher's stance, wound up, and hurled the rock straight at the redneck. It hit him square in the nuts. All the observers winced.
Bob grabbed another rock and stood still, panting heavily. The redneck, gasping, slowly picked himself up, muttering obscenities under his breath and began walking away. John and his friends started walking towards their car. The redneck walked over to his pickup and opened the door. Bob sensing danger, shouted again.
"I am a professional rock thrower. Stop right there, or I'll throw another rock."
The redneck dived into the pickup. Bob hurled the rock, neatly shattering the windscreen. A southern voice could be heard yelling "motherfucker!" from inside the truck.
The redneck re-emerged from the tuck, just as Bob was about to pick up another rock. John stopped lau
Hi, I don't care about SCO, but I have GMAIL INVITES. Any interested (logged-in) slashdotters reply with an unobfuscated e-mail address below, and I'll fire one off to you.
Actually, I know a guy that helped develop this system. I asked him this very question, and he said that they've had some very sophisticated biometric encryption produced so that only authorised personnel can use them.
Back in the day, OSes were written in ALGOL, Fortran, LISP, and just about everything else. Generally, this would link the OS to its language for a complete development environment. It wasn't until Unix became popular, that C became "standard".
What the fuck are you talking about? From Wikipedia:
By 1973, the C language had become powerful enough that most of the UNIX kernel, originally written in PDP-11/20 assembly language, was rewritten in C. This was one of the first operating system kernels implemented in a language other than assembly, earlier instances being the Multics system (written in PL/I) and TRIPOS (written in BCPL).
There is no way in hell that C is a "very poor choice" compared to PL/I.
'^[', of course. With control in a sane place, that becomes very easy to do.
No it doesn't. I use vim because I'm too uncoordinated to hit ctrl and anything too often (let alone '[', which is right between two other keys that I use with ctrl). My soution was to swap the Esc and tilde/back-tick keys. It's very nice, and I find myself using zsh's vi-style editing much more often.
Yes, there can be false positives, which is why suspected spam is usually moved to a different folder (rather than deleted) that users can check every now and again. Another approach is to insert an extra header to indicate the message's probability of being spam so that the user agent can selectively filter it.
Your privacy concerns are, as always, more complicated than the technology.
First, this group is from the same country that invented Nazism. Second, there are three consecutive K's in the hostname. Should we really be glamourising this kind of thinly-veiled bigotry here on Slashdot?
Slashdot Mirror
I get it. It's just not funny.
It's even less funny when nerds use it to feel superior to everyone else.
Actually, they took SCHED_ULE out when they realised it sucked. The default is now SCHED_4BSD.
No, you are a klaming kaggot.
wah some faggot on the internet doesn't approve of my choice of software i must write whining fucking comment about how he's wrong and validate my life choices about licking dick to pay for magic: the gathering cards
What the fuck are you talking about? My Windows XP workstation has at least a month of uptime. I have Visual fucking Studio sessions that have been running for far, far longer than two days.
Wow, you wasted a whole day, loser.
Am I glad I run GECOS!
If by 'mosquitoes' you mean 'gentiles', then yes, I agree with you.
That's funnier than the time I flew some planes into some buidings.
If they figure it out, it'll be just another way for Martha Stewart and her cronies (economic RAPISTS) to steal from the proletariat without punishment.
I like your .sig!
That script doesn't do anything. Maybe you should try adding it to a C source file. Or go back to Unix 101.
I read a newspaper article recently that said that the weird thing about Americans is that they're either ridiculously straight-laced, or completely nuts. John seemed to hold up this theory. He was the friend of a friend and when I met him in a bar he was hammered. He claimed not to have been sober since the early Nineties. He had thinning hair, and a permanent mischievous grin.
I ignored him for most of the evening. I was trying to drunkenly seduce one of his female friends, and getting nowhere. But he caught my attention when I heard him yell, "I AM A PROFESSIONAL ROCK THROWER." I stared at him as he finished the story, and asked him to tell it again. It may or may not have been true. But it made me laugh.
John had some friends who were even crazier than him. When they were in college, they decided to go on a road trip and get loaded and laid in every Southern state. To a large extent, they succeeded.
After a few weeks of travelling, they found themselves, drunk and stoned, in a tiny redneck bar somewhere in the hills of some Bible Belt state.
It's a real country bar. As they walk through the door, all conversation stops, and one-hundred bearded, buck-toothed faces turn to stare at them. John walked towards the bar, thinking, "5000 people in this town, and only five different surnames." They ordered a couple of beers, and some chasers, and something to chase the chasers. The rest of the clientele returned to their conversations, but they could occasionally feel a suspicious eye on the back of their neck.
A few hours later, John and his friends were tanked and feeling a lot less cautious. They started whispering redneck jokes under their breaths and laughing raucously. They had consumed a lot of whiskey and snuck back out to the car for some smokes. They were so wasted that they failed to notice that the regulars had decided that they outstayed their welcome.
When it all began, John was sitting at the table. Bob, one of the guys, had eventually admitted that it was his round. He had staggered up to the bar and seemed to have been gone for ages. They didn't even notice, until a booming Southern voice, bloody with rage, cut through the air.
"I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU, MOTHERFUCKER."
The guys slowly manoeuvred themselves around so they could see what was going on, just in time to see this enormous redneck with arms like oak trees. He was about to take a swing at Bob.
Bob, though drunk and stoned, was fast enough to sidestep the punch. While moving, he spun around on his heels, and ran at the door.
John and his friends, being drunk and stoned, thought this was the funniest damn thing they had seen in their entire lives.
They ran out after Bob and the irate redneck. Bob, who was the most unathletic person they knew, was breaking all sprinting records while evading the redneck. He had almost made it to the car when suddenly he stopped, dropped to the ground and came back up with a rock in his hand. The redneck slowed down. Bob stared him dead in the eye and shouted:
"I am a professional rock thrower. Don't make me throw this rock at you."
The redneck swore, and resumed running.
Bob took a classic pitcher's stance, wound up, and hurled the rock straight at the redneck. It hit him square in the nuts. All the observers winced.
Bob grabbed another rock and stood still, panting heavily. The redneck, gasping, slowly picked himself up, muttering obscenities under his breath and began walking away. John and his friends started walking towards their car. The redneck walked over to his pickup and opened the door. Bob sensing danger, shouted again.
"I am a professional rock thrower. Stop right there, or I'll throw another rock."
The redneck dived into the pickup. Bob hurled the rock, neatly shattering the windscreen. A southern voice could be heard yelling "motherfucker!" from inside the truck.
The redneck re-emerged from the tuck, just as Bob was about to pick up another rock. John stopped lau
Does that work on OpenVMS, dumbcunt?
Hey buddy, the Black Hawk Down incident took place under Clinton.
Hi, I don't care about SCO, but I have GMAIL INVITES . Any interested (logged-in) slashdotters reply with an unobfuscated e-mail address below, and I'll fire one off to you.
Actually, I know a guy that helped develop this system. I asked him this very question, and he said that they've had some very sophisticated biometric encryption produced so that only authorised personnel can use them.
Yes, there can be false positives, which is why suspected spam is usually moved to a different folder (rather than deleted) that users can check every now and again. Another approach is to insert an extra header to indicate the message's probability of being spam so that the user agent can selectively filter it.
Your privacy concerns are, as always, more complicated than the technology.
First, this group is from the same country that invented Nazism. Second, there are three consecutive K's in the hostname. Should we really be glamourising this kind of thinly-veiled bigotry here on Slashdot?
Maybe one day this could be almost as successful as MS Passport.
Just like the rest of 'IT.'