Gits!
I am crying with laughter and people are giving me Funny Looks.
400 publicly visible posts • joined 8 Aug 2007
Bozoman, more like. Mind you, this is a place which once prevented Eleanor Roosevelt from delivering a speech at the university on the grounds that she might be "too controversial".
Worse still, my planned road trip later this year takes me through Bozoman. I may have to apply for a job there, just so's I can attempt to Fuck the System.
...is: what happened to inveterate letter-writer Paul Hardy of Bingley, a.k.a "Bushcat Systems"?
There were always copies of PCW lying around in my first job as a Babbage-Engine driver, and ISTR they were touting Un*x as The Next Big Thing.
In 1986.
Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose, eh?
"For some reason, even Fortran wasn't that nasty to use, even if you did have to be careful what letter your variables started with."
I commend unto Sir FORTRAN 90 which, as well as allowing one the luxury of the IMPLICIT NONE statement, would also let you use identifier names like "soapytitwank" or "hairy_japanese_bastards" without the compiler going postal.
Not that I would ever have done such a terrible thing, of course.
"Whatever you do in public is public. Period."
Not in Germany, it isn't.
In one of his "Fifth Column" pieces in "Autosport", F1 journo Nigel Roebuck told the tale of Herr X, who attended the German Grand Prix at Hockenheim some time in the early 1980s. Frau X, watching the proceedings on the Wireless With Pictures at home, was surprised to see Herr X in the grandstand, and doubly surprised to observe that seated next to him was Fraulein Y. A miffed Frau X consulted her solicitor and in fairly short order Herr X found himself both single and considerably poorer.
Whereupon he sued the TV company for being responsible for his plight
And won.
The following year, race tickets had a disclaimer on the back, stating "if you get caught it's YOUR fault, not ours".
When I relate this tale to The Woman Formerly Known As Mrs Larrington (who is German) she was astonished that anyone would find this in any way odd.
Additional: Peter Thomas should be aware that under forthcoming anti-turrism laws, taking photos inside your own home may be very illegal if the subject contains one or more of the following:
o bleach
o nipples
o Marmite™
o empty Lucozade™ bottles
o children
o pets
o the Daily Telegraph™
o life-size cardboard figures of Mahmoud Ahmadinnerjacket
o anything else that Wacqui Jacqui dreams up while in the bath (please pass the Mind Bleach™)
...to have kept the list SEEKRIT? Then, in the event of a twat like Savage trying to gain admission to BRITAIN, he could have been quietly told to bugger off at immigration, thereby causing him to waste a metric fuckton of money on his (hopefully non-refundable) plane ticket.
When a previous employer was Borged by a USAnian BigCo, The Mgt introduced "Town Hall Meetings", wherein we would sit on chairs rejected on the grounds of inhumane-ness by the nastiest of South American secret police forces for three hours while senior The Mgt cockwombles showed us Powerpoint presentations, corporate rock videos and the turd in human form who was alleged to be the HR director[1], until our eyes bled, or our Gameboy batteries ran out. Attendance was compulsory, unless one could contrive to crash the system five minutes before it started. And after the second one They stopped providing sandwiches, pack of scunners that They be.
I commented at the time that if this was really a "Town Hall Meeting", then the town in question could only have been Pyongyang.
Moreover, no-one has yet mention Kim Jong Il being ronery. Standards are clearly slipping.
1 - He wore white gloves and had only three fingers on each hand, thereby proving that, in common with 99% of HR fuckpuppets worldwide, he was actually a cartoon character made flesh in a Mad Scientist's SEEKRIT laboratory. In Bracknell.
It's a measure of how mad more recent The Home Secretaries have been that Blunkett sounds *almost* sensible.
Not /actually/ sensible, obv. since the prime qualification to be a The Home Secretary under this lot seems to be the abilty to tick the box marked "Are you a complete fruitbat?" without having to lie.
"Horse riding has no long-term effect *unless* you have an accident."
Sorry, laddie, but this is complete bollocks. Side effects of long-term horse riding include bow legs, fat bum, reading the Daily Mail, driving a Range Rover like a total cock and voting Conservative.
In the meantime, consider the graph at here:
http://www.thatsfuckingstupid.com/index.php/2009/01/see-me-after-class/
In a previous existence, one of my tasks was keeping an eye on a thing we used to run for the Ministry of Filth and Lies, or "BBC" as some are wont to call it. Among the clever things it did to amuse itself in the still watches of the night was automatically to execute stored searches of the Data Bases and e-mail the results to the intended recipient. One such recipient was a well-known TV presenter. His searches, though, had clearly been set up by someone else, as the automagic system soon received a plaintive reply from the well-known TV presenter, along the lines of "Help! What am I supposed to do with this?"
Because I am evil, and don't like wasting time wielding the Cluebat, I had set up an auto-reply saying "I am only a a piece of software and cannot help you. Pray call the Helldesk". The well-known TV presenter, however, did not heed the warning, and kept replying. Until, that is, I got fed up with him and deleted all his searches. Blissful e-silence ensued.
Eventually the Ministry of Filth and Lies declined to pay for the system any more, so we buried it in an unmarked grave at midnight with a stake through its heart, and used the disks to make soap. It would be cruel and heartless of me to mention the well-known TV presenter's name, but I'm betting the merest mention of his name makes Mik-ell How-erd squirm with embarrassment.
They did indeed have their reasons, but they weren't terribly good ones. It needed non-standard front tyres and the standard size rears were still out in the airstream, so it had little less drag, and no more traction, than a four-wheeler. http://www.geocities.com/simontmallett/240march1.html shows one which might have worked better, had they been able to get the under-engineered transmission to work.
"the US version of The Office - possible proof that Stateside rehashes of successful Brit series don't always end in televisual crash-and-burn."
Could this have anything to do with the fact that the BRITONS' version of The Office was dismally unfunny to start with? Ricky Gervais is so far up his own arse these days that his digestive tract resembles a Klein Bottle.