Posted on 10/08/2014 10:49:46 AM PDT by aardwolf46
It wasn’t me. I took a nap. Not a very successful one, but at least my hands were warm for a little while.
I need to get Kathleen up so I can look for wrapping paper in her room, which is also my closet.
Quietly reading, while your mind was busy elsewhere, creating havoc amidst the posters, who had no clue as to the extent of your malevolence.
What say you resurrect Anti-Claus and ping the Undeaders to a reminder of the chaos...?
You have such a nice big closet...
WW caught up with me after the fiasco of their website “cleaning,” so I’m good for another month. I have to go through about three more steps to find the tracking page I’m used to, but maybe they will streamline it again in a few months and put that back where it was.
A letter came from housing today. My raise hasn’t even taken effect, yet and already they have raised my rent. (As I knew they would, just not so soon.)
That butternut squash and asparagus were soooo good! And free, on WW! How do I rate? However, the pedometer website counts them and says I can only eat 238 more calories today...out of 759. The calorie count changes with the amount of my activities, so one day, I may have a total of 759 to use and other days, I get close to 1,000.
Now all I need is an excuse to walk through Walmart every day, since that seems to be my most energetic walking...(Did I tell you I hate shopping?) The farther from the entrance I get, the faster I walk! LOL!
I like hanging out in Walmart because I meet all my friends!
All my friends are online, so I try to hurry through Walmart and only say the niceties. I’m never rude, though many times I feel like I should be...
Long story short, I want to get done ASAP so I can get out and get home...
I nearly missed this one.
Phil Lemmons was the Editor in Chief of Byte magazine back when Byte was THE magaznie for computer nerds. He left Byte to start Personal Workstation, which is where I met him.
He told me of a holiday party once where John Dvorak met Adam Osbourne. According to Phil, their combined egos drove everyone else from the room.
That’s what your mix of Amiga, Apple, Atari, and Commodore enthusiasts made me think of.
I’ve met Adam Osbourne. I can believe it.
Your leg must be healed, Nully.
And by the way, Busdaddy sends his greetings and wants to know if you REALLY wanted snow in your future...
So that was you...
I remember that test. Caused me to add 'check drive cable' to my list of stuff-to-do-to-resurrect-dead-pcs...
But I never did find a bad one.
I’m much older than 32-bit PCs..
Which means you know the difference between a XT and an AT? And you know what MCA is. And the numbers 8088 and 80286 mean something.
Unless you go back further than that in which case Z80, Osborne and KayPro are meaningful. And CPM is magic.. ;-)
Disclaimer: I never played with a CPM machine. I entered the era of personal computing with a version of something that Bill Gates bought and repackaged. What I now remember of DOS commands is marginal.. But I still have my DOS 6 book buried in the stash somewhere just in case..
LOL!
By now you’ve seen that I’ve met Adam Osbourne.
My first “desktop” computer had no ROM. We had to key in the instructions so it could read the paper tape in the teletype machine to load the BASIC interpreter.
THAT’S BOOTING, BABY!
Yes, I go way, way back. Not to Eniac, but close.
Your presence has never been a problem for me.
We could hang together.
.
It's probably our destiny.
Your densities are tied together by the interwebs....
“It’s probably our destiny”
Another episode of Star Wars in in the offing...
G’night .:)
I remember a Fax you would put the phone handle in one end and a machine something like this
http://qph.is.quoracdn.net/main-qimg-f2ff7b7f9564666b19e636ef7871c2c4?convert_to_webp=true
I also recall punch cards for computers. I feel so old but I’m not.
I only saw photos of the original FAX machines, but I have seen a punch card computer...it took up an entire room.
And I don’t feel old...everyone else is just younger. ;o]
You mean...
Snowball Fight
Deep in the vast, ice-covered darkness of the South Pole dwells a creature as twisted and cold as his icy heart. His flesh eating snowmen wait with icicle fangs dripping in anticipation for the foolhardy human to wander close. A human thigh from KFH… Mmmmm!
Hunger often draws them to fortify themselves with a mixture of desiccated meatloaf and sour eggnog before heading for their snowmotrikes on a Search and Destroy mission for any careless food-thingy to be caught in the open darkness.
As Anti Claus ponders the plight of his starving minions, he tweaks his frozen beard as he decides to arm his Abominitious Slavering Snowmen, or A.S.S.es, and head NORTH to the Tundra! He arms them with the mummified remains of fruitcake which has been re-formed into armor plating and blackjack staves, and yes, even mortar rounds.
Meanwhile, at the North Pole, Kringle has his hands full with preparation for his Long Ride. He’d been hearing rumors of his bottomless evil Doppelganger, Anti Claus, sitting at the bottom of the world. He didn’t really believe them, but still, there was Mrs. Kringle to consider.
Suddenly, Rudolph bounded into the large gingerbread barn and nudged Kringle towards North Pole HQ. It was only then that he understood the noises at the edges of his hearing ~~ the screams, the tinkling of ice shattering, the sloppy slavering and the grunts and groans ~~ it could mean only one thing: The Abominitious Slavering Snowmen and Anti Claus were HERE! NOW!
Suddenly, all became silent and still. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
A shadow loomed in the lantern light. A melodious voice breathed, “Kringle! I’ve come to share the Holiday Spirits with you and Mrs. Kringle. Won’t you join me in my snowmotrike?”
Kringle was mesmerized by the silken voice, even though he kept seeing red alarms flashing a warning at him. He was unable to move as he watched in horror while his elves began to crumble into kibble under the onslaught of the A.S.S.es.
Using Uber-Santa strength, Kringle, realizing he was lying in a quickly-freezing puddle on the icy floor, and that his minutes were numbered, tried to rouse himself. But he was comfy, and the noise had receded as he drowsed… suddenly, he heard stamping and clawing of lots of tiny hooves, and he knew he must get up to fight.
Abruptly, he was jolted into awareness by a red-hot poker in his ribs, accompanied by snorts, grunts and other bodily emissions. Opening his eyes, he saw Rudolph, jabbing his nose into Kringle’s side, trying to get him up and fighting.
Elf crumbs and icicle pieces were scattered across the floor as Kringle grabbed Rudy around the neck and told him to back up and pull Kringle to his feet. Once upright, he clutched madly at Rudy, putting him in a choke hold under his arm like a rifle.
Together, they leapt over the bales of hay in the gingerbread barn, with Kringle bellowing reindeer obscenities at the snowy, shuffling ice heaps that had so decimated his forces.
With a tight-fisted squeeze, Kringle put his finger to the side of Rudy’s nose and a glaring red laser beam lanced through the closest icicle-toothed horror that growled for flesh, even as it melted.
Moaning and growling, gargling and snuffling, the A.S.S.es lurched and slid towards Kringle and his wriggling weapon. “Let go of me, you ham-handed fr-EEEK!!!” Rudy lased down and slagged several more death-fanged grotesqueries as they rounded the corner, elf bits and crumbs being wielded as clubs.
Rudy and Kringle kept up a brutal barrage and finally made their ways to the North Pole HQ building, leaving a wake of corn cob pipes, button noses, elf crumbs and wriggling puddles of fruitloaf and meatnog throbbing their lives out in front of God and everybody.
Kringle used Rudy as a battering ram and burst through the front door. Mrs. Kringle was on the floor clutching her downy comforter tightly to her chest and chuckling nervously, “He’s not here; he left.”
Kringle merely elbowed the door hard and squished Anti Claus behind it, where he dropped his suit and grabbed his nose.
Upon seeing the insanely glowing nose of the much-abused Rudolph, Anti Claus bailed through the window, somehow getting his boots and most of his other accoutrements back on as he fell. Jumping on his flying snowmotrike, he blatted off into the night, trailing his icy hordes behind him in defeat.
Mrs. Kringle waved her handkerchief goodbye and sniffled. “Don’t forget to write,” she whispered.
“What was that?!” Kringle demanded.
“Nothing, Dear. Oh, look! He left part of his suit,” she smiled, fondling the scratchy, matted fake fur.
It was only in later years, as her icy grandchildren were once again gathered ‘round her knees to hear of “The Battle of the A.S.S.es” or “How Anti Claus Lost His Suit,” which seemed to get longer and better in the telling. It was revealed that she had been ransacked that night, and though it was difficult to relate, causing her to growl like a cougar at inappropriate places, she managed to get through it with a smile and a few tears.
And every year on the anniversary, another suit would turn up. That first year, it was Rudolph’s turn to sue - for encroachment upon his dignity. But he won that suit by a nose.
And why not?
Star Wars will live forever. That and Dr. Who...
*pounce*
Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.