N.Z.'s Champion posted:

A Wheezy Steampunk posted:

Lenny Nero posted:

As a Millennial I posted:

i'm cory doctorow

As a Millennial I posted:

i'm cory doctorow

(USER WAS PUT ON PROBATION FOR THIS POST)

As a Millennial I posted:

i'm cory doctorow

(USER WAS PUT ON PROBATION FOR THIS POST)

VLADIMIR GLUTEN posted:

lol

Space-Pope posted:

idk who that is so i guess im safe

Space-Pope posted:

idk who that is so i guess im safe

Farmer Crack-rear end posted:

stay safe space pope

Richard O'Keefe posted:

The other thing I notice (on the cover) is - a bearded squid - with only EIGHT tentacles instead of TEN

infernal machines posted:

Jonny 290 posted:

In the game, Matthew's characters killed monsters, as they did every single night. But tonight, as Matthew thoughtfully chopsticked a dumpling out of the styrofoam clamshell, dipped it in the red hot sauce and popped it into his mouth, his little squadron did something extraordinary: they began to win.
There were eight monitors on his desk, arranged in two ranks of four, the top row supported on a shelf he'd bought from an old lady scrap dealer in front of the Dongmen market. She'd also sold him the monitors, shaking her head at his idiocy: at a time when everyone wanted giant, 30" screens, why did he want this collection of dinky little 9" displays?

So they'd all fit on his desk.

Not many people could play eight simultaneous games of Svartalfaheim Warriors. For one thing, Coca Cola (who owned the game), had devoted a lot of programmer time to preventing you from playing more than one game on a single PC, so you had to somehow get eight PCs onto one desk, with eight keyboards and eight mice on the desk, too, and room enough for your dumplings and an ashtray and a stack of Indian comic books and that stupid war-axe that Ping gave him and his notebooks and his sketchbook and his laptop and --

Jonny 290 posted:

In the game, Matthew's characters killed monsters, as they did every single night. But tonight, as Matthew thoughtfully chopsticked a dumpling out of the styrofoam clamshell, dipped it in the red hot sauce and popped it into his mouth, his little squadron did something extraordinary: they began to win.
There were eight monitors on his desk, arranged in two ranks of four, the top row supported on a shelf he'd bought from an old lady scrap dealer in front of the Dongmen market. She'd also sold him the monitors, shaking her head at his idiocy: at a time when everyone wanted giant, 30" screens, why did he want this collection of dinky little 9" displays?

So they'd all fit on his desk.

Not many people could play eight simultaneous games of Svartalfaheim Warriors. For one thing, Coca Cola (who owned the game), had devoted a lot of programmer time to preventing you from playing more than one game on a single PC, so you had to somehow get eight PCs onto one desk, with eight keyboards and eight mice on the desk, too, and room enough for your dumplings and an ashtray and a stack of Indian comic books and that stupid war-axe that Ping gave him and his notebooks and his sketchbook and his laptop and --

Sham bam bamina! posted:

also why would they need "a lot of programmer time" for that, that seems like a trivial feature to implement

Jonny 290 posted:

Dongmen market

Bloody posted:

evertyihngn took asln ot of time.

As a Millennial I posted:

i'm not cory doctorow anymore.

infernal machines posted:

quote:

Today I was in a hurry, walking down to my local subway station, the 16th and Mission BART, and, as usual when I'm too late to take Valencia, this took me past the cluster of drug-dealers who hang out on my corner, in the north Mission. I was wearing the groovy MiG goggles I'd bought last month in London at the Camden Market and have been using as shades, and this big drug dealer cornered me and started harassing me to try them on. Then he started rambling about what he does for a living, just talking a load of really boring rounder horseshit that probably sounds good and Elmore Leonardy when you say it to yourself in your head but just sounds banal and incoherent when you're standing on a corner.
He's a big guy and so I "let" him try on my shades. Then it transpires that he wants me to buy drugs from him in exchange for my goggles. I explain that I'm not in the market for drugs, but he won't give back my shades and he's talking more bullshit. Finally I say, "So, you're robbing me, right?" and more bullshit ensues. I repeat the question a couple times, then walk off.

I'm really pissed. Really, really pissed. I really liked those goggles and clearly this guy decided he wanted to just gently caress with me for the hell of it. Short of flying to London, I can't replace them, ever. (Update: an alert reader pointed out a mail-order site, so I've replaced them)

I could go to the cops, but here's the thing: if I do, he'll know who did it and he might shoot me.

If I don't go to the cops, though, I am going to walk past this guy twice a day for the rest of my tenure in this apartment and he's going to know that I'm a soft touch and I'm bound to be in for more harassment.

Just-In-Timeberlake posted:

Just-In-Timeberlake posted:

pram posted:

its a bad language

newreply.php posted:

rotor posted:

don't ever be cory doctrow

infernal machines posted:

cory doctrow - not even once

Cold on a Cob posted:

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡＡ