I'm so stupid, I signed up and got the Zot.

[hk409]

THIS SITE IS ZOT!

GIMME A BRAKE ALREADY! YOU GUYS MUST BE THE BIGEST MORONS ON THE WORLD! THE BIGEST MORONS NEXT TO THAT SOFTWARE COMPANY I USED TO VISIT SIX YEARS AGO! OY YOY! YOY! YOY! YOY! YOY! YOY! YOY! YOY! EACH TIME I TRYED TO POST SOMETHING NO MATTER HOW SMART! NO MATTER HOW CONSERVATIVE! EVEN IF I BEND OVER BACK AND DO BACK FLIPS AND THEN BEND OVER FOR THAT DUMB LIBERAL WE UNFORTUNATELY ELECTED! EVEN IF SPELL CHECKER ARE WORKING I STILL GET THEN KICKED OFF!! THEN ZOTTED!! WHY? IS IT JUST BECAUSE I WRITE SO BRILLIANT? BOB RUNS THINGS HERE!? OKAY. OKAY. OKAY. OKAY. OKAY. MAEYBE PEEPLE LIKE JJFATE AND NOAH HORSEFLY IS ASKING FOR IT BUT WHAT ABOUT ME!

[Monkey Face]

*sigh*

{pout}

[Monkey Face]

OK...gotta get off here for a while, so I will talk to you all later...

I hope I can get on later today.

:o[

[freedumb2003]

Welcome back to the fold!!!!

After you indicated you were getting behind the wheel, I went back to track down your destination. I am sooo sorry that I couldn't remember or find it in my pings.

So where are you and how was the trip? (don't get me started on the "Mistress of the UT thread).

[Tax-chick]

Hi! Just back from Weight Watchers; I'm only 4.8 lbs. over my goal, even though it's been 3 months since I went to a meeting. It could have been much worse!

In other good news (just had to share this!) my mother e-mailed and said that my Dad may not have Alzheimer's Disease after all. His GP diagnosed it last summer and put him on Aricept, but it hasn't done much good. Now he's had a full neurological workup and blood profile, and the neurologist thinks the symptoms are caused by iron and B-12 deficiency! He's going to get iron supplements and B-12 shots, and they expect improvement in only a few weeks. I'm very excited (even though Mom said not to be, until they see what happens); Dad's only 68!

Thanks for listening!

[NicknamedBob]

Beer Run.

The top of the main trapezoidal tower opens slowly. The crowd stands in hushed expectancy.

Strange sounds emanate as a frothy substance begins to extrude and expand. At first looking like a pastry chef’s hat, the shapeless form continues to expand. Large panel doors four stories high open on the trapezoidal structure to reveal tremendous engines on gimbaled struts. The engines extend outward and deploy.

Overhead, the plastic bubble continues to expand, like a parachute operating in reverse. It reaches up, higher and higher, expanding as it goes. Veins of thread and rope-like material begin to show in the surface texture, apparently lending strength to the material. The expanding balloon seems to be like a dragonfly wing, growing and inflating from a crumpled nothingness to an iridescent beauty in the sunlight.

The engines fire with a muted roar, their exhaust dark and smoky at first, but soon clearing until only the dancing images show the heat of them. A funnel-shape catches and redirects the hot gases back into the structure. Now the balloon begins to inflate steadily, rising into the cool air, as a large yoke assembly scissors away from the trapezoidal shape. The tower tilts over, toppling slowly toward the lake like a felled tree, ending not with a splash, but a gentle slowing.

The empty shell of the tower maintains the integrity of the steel basket which holds the peripatetic castle and floating island. The crowd excitedly surges forward, carrying baskets, coolers, cameras and suitcases. They enter the cavernous ramp doors at the base of the structure and make their way up the metal stairs along the side-walls. Many note the strange Escherian quality of the stairs, which moments before, could have been used at right angles to their current orientation to climb to the top of the tower.

The people take up seats in the now top of the structure, which has taken on the look of a flying shoebox. Row after row of window seats fill as the passengers make themselves comfortable. One late arriving passenger, arms full of maps and charts, comes running up and enters the craft.

The assistant loadmaster makes his final checks, and gives a visual signal to the pilot, also speaking into a walkie-talkie. He then steps onto the ramp door and walks up it as it begins lifting upward to close.

The jets throttle up in pitch as they slowly rotate downward, rippling the surface of the Loch with their exhaust. The balloon inflates again, like a swimmer preparing for a dive. As the huge warehouse sized structure rises ponderously in the air, the signal is given, and mooring ropes are cast off and hauled aboard.

The jet engines are canted slightly outward to sea, and the craft drifts outward and upward. A thousand yards away, it turns gracefully, circling the floating castle island, and then begins moving off purposefully.

The beer run has begun.

[cyborg]

LOL keep it coming

[Do not dub me shapka broham]

Congratulations!

I hope that the original diagnosis turns out to be incorrect and your father is alright.

Will keep him in my thoughts.

-good times, G.J.P.(Jr.)

[Poser]

"The top of the main trapezoidal tower opens slowly. The crowd stands in hushed expectancy.

Strange sounds emanate as a frothy substance begins to extrude and expand. At first looking like a pastry chef’s hat, the shapeless form continues to expand. Large panel doors four stories high open on the trapezoidal structure to reveal tremendous engines on gimbaled struts. The engines extend outward and deploy."

The writing is strangely reminiscent of the view-room in the ancient but venerable computer game, Advent.

[SandyInSeattle]

Ouch! I bet that left a mark!

[King Prout]

*standing ovation*

[NicknamedBob]

"...the ancient but venerable computer game, Advent."

I didn't have anything to do with that, but thanks.

This was a fairly simple cut and paste, with changes, from the account called Moving in the Undead Thread Part One.

[Knitting A Conundrum]

So, where are we going and what are we getting?

[NicknamedBob]

"So, where are we going and what are we getting?"

Going sightseeing over Scotland and Ireland, and fetching some "souvenirs" and some beer.

We can drop you off anywhere you'd like. Catching up with us again will be up to you! Worst case, just head back to the castle floating serenely on Loch Ness.

[sionnsar]

I have a question for the powers that be.
We cheered when the undead thread got it's own link on the home page. How do we get updated? .It really links to the old site at the end of the internet.

[sionnsar]

Eh... we'll see. This thing is an ancient Athlon K7 Slot A 1GHz proc machine. One of the first K7 boards. Memeory is maxed.

geez... that's like my fast machine...

[TASMANIANRED]

I have a question about sites we may or may not post too.
Who do I ask or is there a list that I can access to check.

It is about "trilobyte magazine", which may or may not be a blog..

[Irish_Thatcherite]

You are the next Jules Verne!!

[sionnsar]

As far as I know, I'm the only techie to start a fire at my old workplace. The whole building smelled like an electrical fire

Wish I'd had a camera the day I produced a mushroom cloud over my workbench.

Had a little circuit in a breadboard (one of those plastic boards you plugged the ICs, components and wires into -- this was in '76, when everything was 0.1" through-hole), and as far as I can guess the CMOS analog switch suddenly shorted. The circuit wasn't working, so I started probing. Touched the IC and instantly got a rectangular burn. Suddenly a little blister formed on the top of the IC and smoke jetted out from the pins. Then the blister grew and popped, and I had a 15" mushroom cloud.

[sionnsar]

I don't know of any free Linux-based FTP programs.

Kbear. Isn't working right on my SuSE machine though. Suspect the permissions aren't set right.

[sionnsar]

Hello, 'Face! How was the trip??

[Irish_Thatcherite]

Going sightseeing over Scotland and Ireland, and fetching some "souvenirs" and some beer.

DON'T FORGET:

The Delphi Valley (South West Mayo)

The Aasleagh Falls (South West Mayo, below Delphi near Galway
border, the waterfall featured in The Field)

Nephin Mountain (North West Mayo)

[Irish_Thatcherite]

I never knew that CMOS devices were that sensitive!

[NicknamedBob]

"You are the next Jules Verne!!"

Thank you! It's ironic, but I was looking for a book which would be the right size for the proof printing of the cover of my book, "Outlandish!"

Jules Verne's Octopus Books edition of 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea fit it perfectly!

[Dead Corpse]

Wow! Hey look! We can see our house from up here! Neat-o!

I dare you to hawk a loogie on that car down there... ;-)

[NicknamedBob]

You don't want to spit into the wind. Perhaps you should move aft.

[Dead Corpse]

"I'm King of the Woooorllldddd!!!!"

*cough...gack...choke...spit*

Sorry... doing my Leonardo imitation and swallowed a bug...

[Knitting A Conundrum]

I hear a bird, Londonderry bird,
It well may be he's bringing me a cheering word.
I hear a breeze, a River Shanon breeze,
It well may be it's followed me across the seas.
Then tell me please:
How are things in Glocca Morra?
Is that little brook still leaping there?
Does it still run down to Donny cove?
Through Killybegs, Kilkerry and Kildare?
How are things in Glocca Mora?
Is that willow tree still weeping there?
Does that lassie with the twinklin' eye
Come smilin' by and does she walk away,
Sad and dreamy there not to see me there?
So I ask each weepin' willow and each brook along the way,
And each lass that comes a-sighin" Too ra lay
How are things in Glocca Morra this fine day?

[Dead Corpse]

So, we are headed to Glocca Mora for some bird watching? Is the beer any good there? ;-)

[Genesis defender]

Aw, man. I forgot my goggles, and now the crisp, cool air is drying my eyes out! Does anyone have an extra pair?

What's our current altitude? Whatever it is, keep it there for awhile. The view's great!

[sionnsar]

I never knew that CMOS devices were that sensitive!

The older ones were. My guess is that both a pullup and pulldown transistor got switched on simultaneously -- as I recall that forms a switched-on SCR; the only way to turn it off is to remove power (or wait until it melts into slag, which is what my device did).

[Dead Corpse]

I've got this old pair of swim goggles... Should work. Might smell a bit like dried seaweed though...

[GVnana]

Glocca Morra. Love Winton Marsalis' instrumental version. Do we get to sail through lochs?

[Dead Corpse]

Hehhe... seen that as well. Once the current pulse shorts across the insulating layers within the chip, you get an almost cascade failure type thing.

We still aren't completely sure what Tom did to turn a 510 watt Antec PS into an electric blue flamethower... It was like the open arch from a plasma torch... Just a foot high out through the top fan hole...

[Knitting A Conundrum]

But we're not in Scotland yet...here it's loughs....

Time to head for Dublin town----

In the merry month of June from my home I started
left the girls of Taum nearly brokenhearted saluted me father dear,
kissed me darling mother drank a pint of beer,
my grief and tears to smother then off to reap the corn,
leave where I was born cut a stout blackthorn to banish ghosts and goblin,
brand-new pair of brogues,
rattling o'er the bogs frightening all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin.

In Mullingar last night, I rested limbs so weary started by daylight next morning bright
and early took a drop of the pure to keep me heart from sinking
that's the daddy's cure when he's on the drinking see the lassies smile,
laughing all the while at me darling style, would set your heart a-bubblin' asked me was I hired,
wages I required 'til I was almost tired of the rocky road to Dublin.

Chorus:
Hunt the hare and turn her down the rocky road and all the way to Dublin, whack-fol-la-de-da!

In Dublin next arrived, I thought it such a pity to be so soon deprived a view of that fine city
decided to take a stroll all among the quality bundle,
it was stole in that neat locality something crossed my mind when I looked behind
no bundle could I find upon me stick a-wobblin' crying for a rogue said me
connaught brogue wasn't much in-vogue on the rocky road to Dublin.

From there I got away, me spirits never failing landed on the quay just as the ship was sailing captain at me roared,
said that no room had he then I jumped aboard a cabin found for Daddy down among the pigs,
played some funny rigs, danced some hearty jigs,
the water 'round me bubblin' off to hollyhead wished myself was dead
or better far instead on the rocky road to Dublin.

The boys in Liverpool, when we safely landed called myself a fool,
I could no longer stand it blood began to boil,
temper I was losing poor old Erin's Isle they began abusing hooray me soul,
says I, let the shellaillagh fly some galway boys were nigh,
saw I was a-hobblin' with a loud array,
they joined me in the fray and soon we cleared the way on the rocky road to Dublin.

[freedumb2003]

Wow -- really great news about your father! :))

My Dr. has me on Niacin -- says it enhances all the other drugs and generally helps incredibly!!

I haven't adjusted well back to the travel thing, so I am not quite ready to face a scale.

[Irish_Thatcherite]

Rule no. 1: when you smell burning, and the meter on the power supply starts short - you've created a malfunction.

[Irish_Thatcherite]

Correction:

....when the meter on the power supply indicates a short-circuit....

[Knitting A Conundrum]

and now, for a serious, sober pause,
paying respects to a proper Irishman:

Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin' Street,
A gentleman, Irish, mighty odd;
He had a brogue both rich and sweet,
And to rise in the world he carried a hod.
Now Tim had a sort of the tipplin' way,
With a love of the whiskey he was born,
And to help him on with his work each day,
He'd a "drop of the cray-thur" every morn.


Whack fol the darn O, dance to your partner,
Whirl the floor, your trotters shake;
Wasn't it the truth I told you,
Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake!


One mornin' Tim was feelin' full,
His head was heavy which made him shake;
He fell from the ladder and broke his skull,
And they carried him home his corpse to wake.
They rolled him up in a nice clean sheet,
And laid him out upon the bed,
A gallon of whiskey at his feet,
And a barrel of porter at his head.

Whack fol the darn O, dance to your partner,
Whirl the floor, your trotters shake;
Wasn't it the truth I told you,
Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake!

His friends assembled at the wake,
And Mrs. Finnegan called for lunch,
First they brought in tay and cake,
Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch.
Biddy O'Brien began to bawl,
"Such a nice clean corpse, did you ever see?
"O Tim, mavourneen, why did you die?"
Arragh, hold your gob said Paddy McGhee!

Whack fol the darn O, dance to your partner,
Whirl the floor, your trotters shake;
Wasn't it the truth I told you,
Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake!


Then Maggie O'Connor took up the job,
"O Biddy," says she, "You're wrong, I'm sure",
Biddy she gave her a belt in the gob,
And left her sprawlin' on the floor.
And then the war did soon engage,
'Twas woman to woman and man to man,
Shillelagh law was all the rage,
And a row and a ruction soon began.

Whack fol the darn O, dance to your partner,
Whirl the floor, your trotters shake;
Wasn't it the truth I told you,
Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake!


Then Mickey Maloney ducked his head,
When a noggin of whiskey flew at him,
It missed, and falling on the bed,
The liquor scattered over Tim!
The corpse revives! See how he raises!
Timothy rising from the bed,
Says,"Whirl your whiskey around like blazes,
Thanum an Dhul! Do you thunk I'm dead?"

Whack fol the darn O, dance to your partner,
Whirl the floor, your trotters shake;
Wasn't it the truth I told you,
Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake!

[sionnsar]

Rule no. 1: when you smell burning, and the meter on the power supply starts short - you've created a malfunction.

Unless, of course, you intended to create the smell of burning et al...

[GVnana]

I prefer the Scottish Highlands:

O Mary, at thy window be!
It is the wish'd the trysted [meeting] hour.
Those smiles and glances let me see,
That make the miser's treasure poor.
How blythely wad I bide the stoure [bear the struggle],
A weary slave frae sun to sun.
Could I the rich reward secure -
The lovely Mary Morison!

Yestreen [last night], when to the trembling string
The dance gaed [went]thro the lighted ha'
To thee my fancy took its wing
I sat, but neither heard nor saw:
Tho this was fair, and that was braw [fine].
And yon the toast of a'the [the other] town,
I sigh'd and said amang them a' -
"Ye are na Mary Morison!"

O, Mary, canst thou wreck his peace
Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?
Or canst thou break that heart of his
Whase only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie [not give],
At least be pity to me shown:
A thought ungentle canna be
The thought o Mary Morison.

Robert Burns

[Genesis defender]

I've got this old pair of swim goggles... Should work. Might smell a bit like dried seaweed though...

(puts on goggles)

These fit nicely, thank y...hey wait a minute! Everything looks yellow now through these things!

(sigh) Oh well. It's better than nothing.

[NicknamedBob]

"“Unless, of course, you intended to create the smell of burning...”

I am beginning to suspect why Conspiracy Guy is unwilling to trust his fate to electronic gizmos.

[Temple Owl]

The word pub is derived from public house another name for an inn.

[Genesis defender]

The study of words can reveal a lot about the English language. It's really fascinating.

[sionnsar]

Four fours!

[Temple Owl]

So is sex. The man who serves the drinks is called a publican.

[sionnsar]

"“Unless, of course, you intended to create the smell of burning...”
I am beginning to suspect why Conspiracy Guy is unwilling to trust his fate to electronic gizmos.

And just why would that be? There was that time I intended to blow up that electrolytic capacitor. (Unfortunately I hadn't yet learned about the stuffings inside one, so I did it in my bedroom. Oops.)

[NicknamedBob]

tavern (tàv´ern) noun
1. An establishment licensed to sell alcoholic beverages to be consumed on the premises.
2. An inn for travelers.
[Middle English taverne, from Old French, from Latin taberna, hut, tavern, probably from *traberna, from trabs, trab-, beam. See trave.]

[Genesis defender]

The man who serves the drinks is called a publican.

So a Republican is technically one who serves drinks again?

[sionnsar]

You got me thinking... if we're going to be hanging around Scotland a bit we'd lest learn the language:

(This is Scots, not Gaelic.)