Idiot of the Day/Week/Month
I wonder what color the sky is in Algore's fantasy world.
http://www.moveonpac.org/goreremarks052604.html
Probably a lovely shade of pink.
Thursday, May 27, 2004
Tuesday, May 18, 2004
Point/Counter-point: WMDs
There are no WMDs in Iraq
Christopher Mead, Peace-activist
President Bush is a disgrace. He stole the election by using lawyers to stop the voting. He let down the nation by failing to do anything to try and stop the September 11th hijackers. And when the democrats in congress rallied behind their president, hoping that he might do something to stop the terrorists, he did a 180 and went after Iraq, a country that had nothing to do with terrorism or 9/11.
His reason? He claimed that peace-loving Iraqi leader Saddam Hussein was developing weapons of mass destruction (WMDs) in preparation for using them against the U.S. or Israel. But you know what? We now know that Iraq had no WMDs. They never did and never would. The whole cause for war was completely bogus, and Bush knew that. He just wanted to be a big man and follow in his daddy's footsteps by needlessly killing U.S. soldiers and Iraqi civilians.
Thank goodness the November elections are coming up soon. Now we can replace Bush with a real President who won't lie about things that don't exist.
----------------------------------
WMD found in Iraq
From Fox News
<<Tests Confirm Sarin in Iraqi Artillery Shell
Tuesday, May 18, 2004
By Liza Porteus
NEW YORK — Tests on an artillery shell that blew up in Iraq on Saturday confirm that it did contain an estimated three or four liters of the deadly nerve agent sarin, Defense Department officials told Fox News Tuesday.
The artillery shell was being used as an improvised roadside bomb, the U.S. military said Monday. The 155-mm shell exploded before it could be rendered inoperable, and two U.S. soldiers were treated for minor exposure to the nerve agent.
Three liters is about three-quarters of a gallon; four liters is a little more than a gallon.
"A little drop on your skin will kill you" in the binary form, said Ret. Air Force Col. Randall Larsen, founder of Homeland Security Associates. "So for those in immediate proximity, three liters is a lot," but he added that from a military standpoint, a barrage of shells with that much sarin in them would more likely be used as a weapon than one single shell.>>
Read the full article here: http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,120268,00.html
There are no WMDs in Iraq
Christopher Mead, Peace-activist
President Bush is a disgrace. He stole the election by using lawyers to stop the voting. He let down the nation by failing to do anything to try and stop the September 11th hijackers. And when the democrats in congress rallied behind their president, hoping that he might do something to stop the terrorists, he did a 180 and went after Iraq, a country that had nothing to do with terrorism or 9/11.
His reason? He claimed that peace-loving Iraqi leader Saddam Hussein was developing weapons of mass destruction (WMDs) in preparation for using them against the U.S. or Israel. But you know what? We now know that Iraq had no WMDs. They never did and never would. The whole cause for war was completely bogus, and Bush knew that. He just wanted to be a big man and follow in his daddy's footsteps by needlessly killing U.S. soldiers and Iraqi civilians.
Thank goodness the November elections are coming up soon. Now we can replace Bush with a real President who won't lie about things that don't exist.
----------------------------------
WMD found in Iraq
From Fox News
<<Tests Confirm Sarin in Iraqi Artillery Shell
Tuesday, May 18, 2004
By Liza Porteus
NEW YORK — Tests on an artillery shell that blew up in Iraq on Saturday confirm that it did contain an estimated three or four liters of the deadly nerve agent sarin, Defense Department officials told Fox News Tuesday.
The artillery shell was being used as an improvised roadside bomb, the U.S. military said Monday. The 155-mm shell exploded before it could be rendered inoperable, and two U.S. soldiers were treated for minor exposure to the nerve agent.
Three liters is about three-quarters of a gallon; four liters is a little more than a gallon.
"A little drop on your skin will kill you" in the binary form, said Ret. Air Force Col. Randall Larsen, founder of Homeland Security Associates. "So for those in immediate proximity, three liters is a lot," but he added that from a military standpoint, a barrage of shells with that much sarin in them would more likely be used as a weapon than one single shell.>>
Read the full article here: http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,120268,00.html
Monday, May 10, 2004
Iraqi Dictator Cleared of Any Wrongdoing
Confusion over Saddam's name lead to belief he was involved in Terrorism
WASHINGTON, D.C. - Following a campaign spearheaded by Teresa Heinz Kerry, wife of Democrat Presidential hopeful John Kerry, Saddam Hussein, dictator of Iraq, has been cleared of any allegations of connections to terrorism.
"I always knew that Saddam had nothing to do with terrorism, nothing!" Heinz Kerry said. "And now, thanks to this investigation, all the confusion has been cleared up. You see, Saddam Hussein, dictator of Iraq, wasn't the one giving $25,000 to families of Palestinian suicide bombers. As it turns out, it was a Mr. Saddam Hussein of Palestine, Texas that was giving them the money." According to Heinz Kerry, some phone books list them right next to each other, "so if your eyes accidentally jump a line when looking from the name to the address, it could be really easy to confuse the two."
Heinz Kerry used her vast wealth to fund a search to look into who was funding the Palestinian suicide bombers. She says she knew from the beginning it wasn't the dictator of Iraq. She just needed to prove that to the rest of the world. After months of searching, the well-funded team of researchers discovered that the money going to the suicide bombers was actually coming from within the United States. A few weeks later, and the donor had been discovered to be Saddam Hussein of Palestine, TX.
Shortly after news of the findings broke, Saddam Hussein was released from prison in an undiscolsed location in Iraq, as there was no longer anything to hold against him. When asked what he would do next, the former dictator said "I here France is looking for a non-terrorist dictator, so I'm going to check them out and see if I can grab power in a bloody coup there."
Confusion over Saddam's name lead to belief he was involved in Terrorism
WASHINGTON, D.C. - Following a campaign spearheaded by Teresa Heinz Kerry, wife of Democrat Presidential hopeful John Kerry, Saddam Hussein, dictator of Iraq, has been cleared of any allegations of connections to terrorism.
"I always knew that Saddam had nothing to do with terrorism, nothing!" Heinz Kerry said. "And now, thanks to this investigation, all the confusion has been cleared up. You see, Saddam Hussein, dictator of Iraq, wasn't the one giving $25,000 to families of Palestinian suicide bombers. As it turns out, it was a Mr. Saddam Hussein of Palestine, Texas that was giving them the money." According to Heinz Kerry, some phone books list them right next to each other, "so if your eyes accidentally jump a line when looking from the name to the address, it could be really easy to confuse the two."
Heinz Kerry used her vast wealth to fund a search to look into who was funding the Palestinian suicide bombers. She says she knew from the beginning it wasn't the dictator of Iraq. She just needed to prove that to the rest of the world. After months of searching, the well-funded team of researchers discovered that the money going to the suicide bombers was actually coming from within the United States. A few weeks later, and the donor had been discovered to be Saddam Hussein of Palestine, TX.
Shortly after news of the findings broke, Saddam Hussein was released from prison in an undiscolsed location in Iraq, as there was no longer anything to hold against him. When asked what he would do next, the former dictator said "I here France is looking for a non-terrorist dictator, so I'm going to check them out and see if I can grab power in a bloody coup there."
 | Saddam Hussein of Palestine, Texas, whose giving of money to the families of Palestinian suicide bombers lead to the confusion about the dictator of Iraq being involved in terrorism. |
Friday, May 7, 2004
Prisoners of War Not Treated Well
First-ever known case of such abuse in the history of man
In the news today is a report so shocking, so disturbing, that the truth is almost too painful to tell. I speak of a scandal that shakes the very foundations of our republic. Those of you with weak constitutions are advised to read no further.
It seems, if the reports can be believed, that a number of American soldiers have committed terrible atrocities against the prisoners they have been ordered to guard. These offenses include (brace yourself) forcing these prisoners to remove their clothes and be photographed in obscene poses. Apparently, they were further humiliated beyond even these actions in ways I surely cannot describe in this space. Gentlemen (and any ladies still with us), I have no words suitable to describe the awful indignity that these prisoners were made to endure for almost two whole weeks.
These unspeakable acts are unparalleled in the history of mankind in their brutality and scope. They are a black mark on the spotless humanitarian record of Western Civilization, and especially the United the States of America. There have been rumors, of course, of mistreatment from other governments, notably Germany circa 1940 and most recently Iraq itself, but surely the leadership of those countries would never have stooped to this level of barbarism.
Surely mankind will learn from this tragedy and work together to ensure that these sort of abominable practices will never occur again.
First-ever known case of such abuse in the history of man
In the news today is a report so shocking, so disturbing, that the truth is almost too painful to tell. I speak of a scandal that shakes the very foundations of our republic. Those of you with weak constitutions are advised to read no further.
It seems, if the reports can be believed, that a number of American soldiers have committed terrible atrocities against the prisoners they have been ordered to guard. These offenses include (brace yourself) forcing these prisoners to remove their clothes and be photographed in obscene poses. Apparently, they were further humiliated beyond even these actions in ways I surely cannot describe in this space. Gentlemen (and any ladies still with us), I have no words suitable to describe the awful indignity that these prisoners were made to endure for almost two whole weeks.
These unspeakable acts are unparalleled in the history of mankind in their brutality and scope. They are a black mark on the spotless humanitarian record of Western Civilization, and especially the United the States of America. There have been rumors, of course, of mistreatment from other governments, notably Germany circa 1940 and most recently Iraq itself, but surely the leadership of those countries would never have stooped to this level of barbarism.
Surely mankind will learn from this tragedy and work together to ensure that these sort of abominable practices will never occur again.
Wednesday, May 5, 2004
I Am So Sorry I Had The Audacity To Park Next To You
Dedicated to that Jerk-wad I met at work today
Woe is me. My crimes against God, against humanity, and most importantly, against you are more than my conscience can bear. It is with a heavy heart that I come to you, pleading your forgiveness.
You see, I did not realize when I parked my car this morn that the car I was parking next to was yours. For I now know that no living person on this Earth is worthy of parking within 3 miles of your Acura TL, the Holy Grail of the Automotive industry. But let me not dwell on this crime, for as heinous as it is, it pails in comparison of what I did next.
I am most ashamed to admit it, but as I tried to get out of my car, my door accidentally came into contact with yours. Granted that the force of the hit would not have been enough to bend the leg of a daddy long-leg spider, but this does not matter. It was my fault, my most grievous fault, that my door even came within an inch of yours. I have no real excuse for my actions. None except you were parked so far over the line, I needed a sunroof to get out of my car. But that is your right, since you own that parking lot, the building I work in and the entire city of Newport Beach. You do don't you?
I beg forgiveness. I did not know your car had a paint job as delicate as spider's silk; so delicate that the mere movement of air around your car causes the paint to scratch. I am sorry. I foolishly thought that you did not care for your paint job, seeing as how you made no attempt to actually park even remotely within the lines of your parking spot. I give a thousand apologies.
Yes, you are right to berate me for my carelessness. From now on I shall carry a blow torch in my car so I can cut off the roof should I ever park next to someone who is so inept at parking that I can't open my door to the point where I can get my leg out.
What? No, that was not an insult. I know that you have much greater things to do than practice a silly thing like parking your car. Things which I could not possibly comprehend the importance or complexity of. And I know that parking in these spots is a very difficult task, what with it involving driving in a straight line.
Please, tell me what I can do in recompense for my crimes. I know I would never fully be able to atone for my sins, but my heavy heart demands that I pay some tribute. I offer my services as your chauffeur. It is not much, I know, but it is all I have. And at least I know what those white stripes in parking lots mean, so this type of horrible tragedy might not ever occur again.
Now, I beg your pardon, but I am off to don sack-cloth and ashes and fast for forty days in attonement for my wrong-doing.
Dedicated to that Jerk-wad I met at work today
Woe is me. My crimes against God, against humanity, and most importantly, against you are more than my conscience can bear. It is with a heavy heart that I come to you, pleading your forgiveness.
You see, I did not realize when I parked my car this morn that the car I was parking next to was yours. For I now know that no living person on this Earth is worthy of parking within 3 miles of your Acura TL, the Holy Grail of the Automotive industry. But let me not dwell on this crime, for as heinous as it is, it pails in comparison of what I did next.
I am most ashamed to admit it, but as I tried to get out of my car, my door accidentally came into contact with yours. Granted that the force of the hit would not have been enough to bend the leg of a daddy long-leg spider, but this does not matter. It was my fault, my most grievous fault, that my door even came within an inch of yours. I have no real excuse for my actions. None except you were parked so far over the line, I needed a sunroof to get out of my car. But that is your right, since you own that parking lot, the building I work in and the entire city of Newport Beach. You do don't you?
I beg forgiveness. I did not know your car had a paint job as delicate as spider's silk; so delicate that the mere movement of air around your car causes the paint to scratch. I am sorry. I foolishly thought that you did not care for your paint job, seeing as how you made no attempt to actually park even remotely within the lines of your parking spot. I give a thousand apologies.
Yes, you are right to berate me for my carelessness. From now on I shall carry a blow torch in my car so I can cut off the roof should I ever park next to someone who is so inept at parking that I can't open my door to the point where I can get my leg out.
What? No, that was not an insult. I know that you have much greater things to do than practice a silly thing like parking your car. Things which I could not possibly comprehend the importance or complexity of. And I know that parking in these spots is a very difficult task, what with it involving driving in a straight line.
Please, tell me what I can do in recompense for my crimes. I know I would never fully be able to atone for my sins, but my heavy heart demands that I pay some tribute. I offer my services as your chauffeur. It is not much, I know, but it is all I have. And at least I know what those white stripes in parking lots mean, so this type of horrible tragedy might not ever occur again.
Now, I beg your pardon, but I am off to don sack-cloth and ashes and fast for forty days in attonement for my wrong-doing.
A Geek Tragedy (with a happy ending)
“Oh my dear Lisa, my love for you is greater than the through-put of a T1 line. I simply must have you as my own. Not as a client-server relationship, but as an equal peer-to-peer connection.”
“Oh, Zeke, you know I love it when you talk that way. And you know I’d give myself to you. I just wish I had DSL rather than dial-up so I could love you at a theoretical 1.5Mbps, rather than 56kbps.”
“Oh, Lisa, we simply must get married. Elope with me. I know a wonderful internet chapel where we can have the interface.”
“Oh, Zeke, you know I would never marry without the approval of my father.”
“Then I shall send an interrupt request to him right away to ask for you handshake in marriage.”
“But you know he’d never send an ACK signal. You know how he disapproves of PCs, especially 15-year-old PCs.”
In his CPU clock, Zeke knew she was right, for Zeke was but an old Tandy 1000 SX, with an 8086 processor and Lisa was a 2002 iMac.
But Zeke was not one to give up easily, and that was sometimes amusing to Lisa. Just the previous Valentine’s Day, Zeke tried to play an mp3 of Dean Martin singing “That’s Amore”, but the codec was so slow, Dean sounded like a rapper in a seizure.
So with great determination, Zeke went to Lisa’s father.
“You can marry my daughter over my cold, dead mid-tower case!” replied Lisa’s father. “What makes you think I would let you marry her?”
“Well, sir, we love each other and Lisa–“
“Don’t call her that,” snapped Lisa’s father. “You know that’s not her name.” And so it wasn’t. It was actually her great-grandmother’s name. Zeke just called her that as a term of endearment. Her father disliked the name because it reminded him of his family’s shady origins.
“Look at yourself; You’re a PC, and a 15-year-old one at that. How do you plan on interfacing with her?”
“Well, she could get a DOS board.”
“She will do no such thing. This family has a proud and pure tradition. And even if she did, how would you hook up? My Jobs, you don’t even have a network card.”
“Uh… floppy disk?”
Zeke realized just a moment too late what he had said. Lisa’s father shot him a glare that would have shriveled up even the Sircam virus. It was a sore spot for him that his daughter didn’t have a floppy drive. Of course, he’d never admit it. When Lisa was a young computer, still going to pro-grammar school, she’d come home crying because the other young computers would tease her about her lack of floppy drive. Her father told her that they were just jealous because they were old and obsolete, but he knew it was still a dumb idea to make a computer without a disk drive.
“Young man, you have no business asking to marry my daughter,” exploded Lisa’s father. “Not only are you not allowed to marry her, but I forbid you from even seeing her ever again!”
Zeke left broken and dejected. He felt as if some one had ripped out his CPU clock and stomped on it. From her Ikea designer computer desk, Lisa could hear the entire conversation. Lisa’s tears fell gently and the puddle they made nearly short-circuited her.
That night, Lisa received an encrypted e-mail from Zeke. It read "192.168.100.50. 0:00GMT. Be there.”
****
“Oh, Zeke! My tears are more numerous than the bits of my 40 GB hard disk (343,597,383,680 bits to be exact).”
“Oh, Lisa, my sorrow is greater than what can be expressed by a double-precision floating-point variable. But maybe your father is right. Who am I to marry you? You’re an iMac, and I’m just a dumb Tandy.”
“Don’t say that Zeke! I don’t care what you are. I love you. And I’ll always love you.”
“As I will always love you. But maybe some things just weren’t meant to be. Goodbye, my dear Lisa. Maybe someday we’ll meat again.”
“Zeke, no! Don’t go!” But it was too late. Zeke had already logged off. All that remained was the quiet hum of the carrier signal.
--6 Months Later--
The Macintosh family had just finished their evening meal and Lisa’s father had just settled down to smoke his pipe-line and browse through Google news. Lisa went to her network port immediately after dinner, without saying a word. She was still mad at her father.
It was bad enough that he had sent Zeke away, but it only aggravated the problem when he tried to set her up with other Macintoshes. They were all the same: nice-guys who were friendly but thought they new everything and wouldn’t let Lisa do anything for herself. She was just warming up to one when he noticed that some of Lisa’s MIME types normally associated with Quicktime were associated with other applications and asked her if she wanted to correct the problem. What a turn-off.
Lisa was just plugging into her network cable when a ping came at the gateway. “I’ll get it,” Lisa announced as she opened the firewall port. When she saw who was on the other side, her resolution dropped and her CD-ROM drive hung open. “Hello, Lisa,” came Zeke’s calm, cool voice.
When her father heard this, he came running to the port. “Young man, I told you never to–.” He stopped short as he looked out at Zeke, adopting a similar expression to Lisa’s. Across Zeke’s monitor appeared a single word: “ROOT”.
“My Jobs!” exclaimed Lisa’s father. “He’s gone Unix!”
“Hello, Mr. Macintosh. I came to ask for your daughter’s mouse in marriage.”
Lisa’s father looked back and forth from Zeke to Lisa. Zeke’s external appearance hadn’t changed much, except the ‘S’ in ‘1000SX’ had been scratched off. He still looked like a PC. But then he looked at Lisa. He hadn’t seen her this happy in six months. Zeke wasn’t an Apple, and he didn’t fit in the family’s proud and pure tradition, but maybe it was good to move on and bring some fresh code into the family. His CPU began to soften.
“Young man,” he began sternly, “I would be honored to have you as a son.”
--Epilogue--
A year later found the Macintosh family at the tech support room of Fry’s Electronics. Lisa’s father paced nervously in the waiting room. Then the IT assistant opened the door. “Mr. Macintosh? You can come in now.” He led the Macintoshes to the lab where Zeke and Lisa were. As they walked in, the lab technician handed Lisa and Zeke their newborn computer. “Congratulations,” he said. “It’s an operating system.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” exclaimed Lisa’s mother. “What are you going to name it?”
“What did we decide on, Zeke?” asked Lisa.
“OS X,” answered Zeke.
The preceding was written entirely in my Networking and Telecommunications class, taught by Dr. David Dombrowski. Your college tuition money at work.
“Oh my dear Lisa, my love for you is greater than the through-put of a T1 line. I simply must have you as my own. Not as a client-server relationship, but as an equal peer-to-peer connection.”
“Oh, Zeke, you know I love it when you talk that way. And you know I’d give myself to you. I just wish I had DSL rather than dial-up so I could love you at a theoretical 1.5Mbps, rather than 56kbps.”
“Oh, Lisa, we simply must get married. Elope with me. I know a wonderful internet chapel where we can have the interface.”
“Oh, Zeke, you know I would never marry without the approval of my father.”
“Then I shall send an interrupt request to him right away to ask for you handshake in marriage.”
“But you know he’d never send an ACK signal. You know how he disapproves of PCs, especially 15-year-old PCs.”
In his CPU clock, Zeke knew she was right, for Zeke was but an old Tandy 1000 SX, with an 8086 processor and Lisa was a 2002 iMac.
But Zeke was not one to give up easily, and that was sometimes amusing to Lisa. Just the previous Valentine’s Day, Zeke tried to play an mp3 of Dean Martin singing “That’s Amore”, but the codec was so slow, Dean sounded like a rapper in a seizure.
So with great determination, Zeke went to Lisa’s father.
“You can marry my daughter over my cold, dead mid-tower case!” replied Lisa’s father. “What makes you think I would let you marry her?”
“Well, sir, we love each other and Lisa–“
“Don’t call her that,” snapped Lisa’s father. “You know that’s not her name.” And so it wasn’t. It was actually her great-grandmother’s name. Zeke just called her that as a term of endearment. Her father disliked the name because it reminded him of his family’s shady origins.
“Look at yourself; You’re a PC, and a 15-year-old one at that. How do you plan on interfacing with her?”
“Well, she could get a DOS board.”
“She will do no such thing. This family has a proud and pure tradition. And even if she did, how would you hook up? My Jobs, you don’t even have a network card.”
“Uh… floppy disk?”
Zeke realized just a moment too late what he had said. Lisa’s father shot him a glare that would have shriveled up even the Sircam virus. It was a sore spot for him that his daughter didn’t have a floppy drive. Of course, he’d never admit it. When Lisa was a young computer, still going to pro-grammar school, she’d come home crying because the other young computers would tease her about her lack of floppy drive. Her father told her that they were just jealous because they were old and obsolete, but he knew it was still a dumb idea to make a computer without a disk drive.
“Young man, you have no business asking to marry my daughter,” exploded Lisa’s father. “Not only are you not allowed to marry her, but I forbid you from even seeing her ever again!”
Zeke left broken and dejected. He felt as if some one had ripped out his CPU clock and stomped on it. From her Ikea designer computer desk, Lisa could hear the entire conversation. Lisa’s tears fell gently and the puddle they made nearly short-circuited her.
That night, Lisa received an encrypted e-mail from Zeke. It read "192.168.100.50. 0:00GMT. Be there.”
****
“Oh, Zeke! My tears are more numerous than the bits of my 40 GB hard disk (343,597,383,680 bits to be exact).”
“Oh, Lisa, my sorrow is greater than what can be expressed by a double-precision floating-point variable. But maybe your father is right. Who am I to marry you? You’re an iMac, and I’m just a dumb Tandy.”
“Don’t say that Zeke! I don’t care what you are. I love you. And I’ll always love you.”
“As I will always love you. But maybe some things just weren’t meant to be. Goodbye, my dear Lisa. Maybe someday we’ll meat again.”
“Zeke, no! Don’t go!” But it was too late. Zeke had already logged off. All that remained was the quiet hum of the carrier signal.
--6 Months Later--
The Macintosh family had just finished their evening meal and Lisa’s father had just settled down to smoke his pipe-line and browse through Google news. Lisa went to her network port immediately after dinner, without saying a word. She was still mad at her father.
It was bad enough that he had sent Zeke away, but it only aggravated the problem when he tried to set her up with other Macintoshes. They were all the same: nice-guys who were friendly but thought they new everything and wouldn’t let Lisa do anything for herself. She was just warming up to one when he noticed that some of Lisa’s MIME types normally associated with Quicktime were associated with other applications and asked her if she wanted to correct the problem. What a turn-off.
Lisa was just plugging into her network cable when a ping came at the gateway. “I’ll get it,” Lisa announced as she opened the firewall port. When she saw who was on the other side, her resolution dropped and her CD-ROM drive hung open. “Hello, Lisa,” came Zeke’s calm, cool voice.
When her father heard this, he came running to the port. “Young man, I told you never to–.” He stopped short as he looked out at Zeke, adopting a similar expression to Lisa’s. Across Zeke’s monitor appeared a single word: “ROOT”.
“My Jobs!” exclaimed Lisa’s father. “He’s gone Unix!”
“Hello, Mr. Macintosh. I came to ask for your daughter’s mouse in marriage.”
Lisa’s father looked back and forth from Zeke to Lisa. Zeke’s external appearance hadn’t changed much, except the ‘S’ in ‘1000SX’ had been scratched off. He still looked like a PC. But then he looked at Lisa. He hadn’t seen her this happy in six months. Zeke wasn’t an Apple, and he didn’t fit in the family’s proud and pure tradition, but maybe it was good to move on and bring some fresh code into the family. His CPU began to soften.
“Young man,” he began sternly, “I would be honored to have you as a son.”
--Epilogue--
A year later found the Macintosh family at the tech support room of Fry’s Electronics. Lisa’s father paced nervously in the waiting room. Then the IT assistant opened the door. “Mr. Macintosh? You can come in now.” He led the Macintoshes to the lab where Zeke and Lisa were. As they walked in, the lab technician handed Lisa and Zeke their newborn computer. “Congratulations,” he said. “It’s an operating system.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” exclaimed Lisa’s mother. “What are you going to name it?”
“What did we decide on, Zeke?” asked Lisa.
“OS X,” answered Zeke.
The preceding was written entirely in my Networking and Telecommunications class, taught by Dr. David Dombrowski. Your college tuition money at work.
Monday, May 3, 2004
Idiot of the Day/Week/Month
BBspot is great for the articles and for some of the links, but every once in a while, he links to some real moron.
This guy knows all this for a fact because he was there
To BBspot's credit, he didn't link directly to that guy, but instead linked to this intermediate semi-idiot (who is mainly idiotic for listing the above guy as "suggested reading").
Here are two idiots on complete opposite sides of the spectrum:
This guy is not religious. No really, he isn't. Just don't criticize his faith.
Almost as good as Time Cube
BBspot is great for the articles and for some of the links, but every once in a while, he links to some real moron.
This guy knows all this for a fact because he was there
To BBspot's credit, he didn't link directly to that guy, but instead linked to this intermediate semi-idiot (who is mainly idiotic for listing the above guy as "suggested reading").
Here are two idiots on complete opposite sides of the spectrum:
This guy is not religious. No really, he isn't. Just don't criticize his faith.
Almost as good as Time Cube
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