We struggle to do the obvious thing, at times: I speak for those who, like myself, consider themselves overgrown boys: not as a matter of being six-four in stature (we at least acknowledge that not all limbs are proportional to others), but that I believe (and I'm not sure if I am alone) that it does not do for a person who does conveniently stand up to wee or pee (like a weepy waterfall) to call itself a man: that is a job for its wife alone.
Certain aspects of modern houses are very poorly suited--in fact we might say positively aggressive towards--men six foot in height. For instance, kitchen counters.
At what point do I, who knows enough to throw clothing into the washing machine, to use a defy-witch (defy me, a stove or an oven) to keep their stomach happy, and generally goes about every day like a happy-chappy-with-a-crappy-in-its-nappy (but who knows how to use an incoveniently low toilet)
+ Stopped vi shipyard.xml
qwer@gnuBrian:~# He is in a virtual console. [CTRL+ALT+DEL]
At what point do I begin to alter my happy home by removing the things which annoy me about it?
Sometimes we find ourselves trying to debug our code on a Monday morning with a beer in our hands (wat 'n regmakertjie genoem is) in order to make something visible which we specifically were wanting to stash away from prying eyes.
There was a man who started to write a Kernel (of Note) who thought to himself one day, let me just back this up on the Internet.
"Oh look! There's a licence called GPL! How convenient!
"Hello everyone! Does this tickle your fancy!"
And by God, did it! There were people who forgot about the minor GPL aspect, and fucked around with the word GNU. But there were also friends of ours who fucked around with the Linux Kernel just as part of learning what the fuck an operating system kernel is.
And there was a man of a giant note not getting any recognition, and still today we recall being told not to mention the name of Richard Stallman, by programmers (nogal)!!
If anyone thinks that Mr Albert Einstein was suggesting to the world not to, ya know, build a giant fucking rocket and test his theories...
If the penny just dropped for a soul or two, before getting in contact with me, follow my installation trails of GNU-Debian-Linux, and then we'll talk about chatting on a sensible character matrix application (within a GUI, obviously)(!).
Anyone who talks about a wife colouring her husband's life needs to understand what those colored, underlined links are.
Well, having nothing to do but work on my shopping list today, and revise a few webdocs, I might as well start here.
Assuming you know a bit of HTML, and that little bit we add about the most important Html-Tag, which by coincidence is the first letter of the roman alphabet, being half of a whole.
urls://of.outside/a.href/values have been made very useful, but would someone please tell the English Media to shut the fuck up about a certain Briton who could hardly be less important than the Father of Computers (no matter what the papers and the government have said about his sexuality, and which we are expected to believe in spite of us not being privy to a shred of his personal writings)?
Then again, maybe we were. Pen names have not always been traced to their source. In fact, were a mathematician to choose to enter that game, they might find they've got a much more interesting challenge than something as useless as Abstract Algebra: apologies to all homomorphs: "I fay ye quells eff huf hay, I say ye are great posés."
Editing this document in order to remove a voice in my head, I start to think I need a friend of old to visit me and remind me who I am.
Any old friend from the C-Drive Internet Cafe will do.
But I have to exclude my friends from High School: I know I've written something about blonde jokes recently, and I try not to be racist. Our High School had of all racist institutions one of the worst: a bridging class.
And while some of our teachers I believe have been reserved a place on the Right Hand of the Throne of God, others of them I might just rip them limb from limb if I caught them in a place which seems not to exist in either of the old provinces or the old TBVC states (counting Soweto as one).
The same applies to many of my former school mates. But those I have kept contact with may consider themselves exceptions, as long as they don't intend to start a comparison between the Italian Blood and the Anglo-Norman-Norse-Druid-Celtic Blood.
Or involving us in debates about the quality of a protestant's sin in comparison to that of a Roman Catholic's sin.
I imagined doing just that last night (or early this morning), but merely as a thought experiment. I'd need an armoured truck before I ventured into the Sandton CBD.
Smoking my socks a little on an outstanding upstanding heater I think to myself, wouldn't it be cool to have underfloor heating?
But now I'm getting a little lost.
I considered the previous revision of this webdoc a masterpiece. And now I'm going to junk it.
It's a hell of a lot easier to junk a webdoc the author of which considers a masterpiece, than to junk a true masterpiece of a motorcycle, which stares me in the face every time I saunter into my garage with my hands in my pockets...
Walking around my house for just because, and poking my head into a garage full of fantasies and demons and toys and magical tools (literally) which I haven't a clue which side is the capacitance and which the impedance, I wonder what am I going to do about my waste. For instance, what if a woman who I proposed to when I was living a nightmare now decided to make my dream life one?
Written proposals are very unwise, folks. They don't have an expiry date; that would be plain arse-faced.
But the same applies to spoken ones; we assume the message was conveyed, but there was some trouble in the firmware.
Well there. The proposal was written. I have entrusted a copy of it to someone I unfortunately didn't know how to talk to about such things, before the nightmare proper began.
The nightmare was short lived. I have True Friends who I place above the True Sons of Jehovah.
If I were to mention names, I might feel compelled to add a few details here and there; which would annul the intent with which I write this.
I speak with my tongue firmly, but not literally, in my cheek.
Strange to say, unlike when I was working on this webdoc--for the first round--I no longer have much need to voice the phrases (periods) in order to get them to ring out and not seem like a depth-first tree-search designed as part of an indexing algorithm (and designed for the fun of it) ultimately used to (attempt) to figure out bot traffic from actual visitors (alien or carrion) using the likes of the RIPE databases.
An algorithm we lost the rights to, because we had lost our interest in GNU, when we thought that we were Pythagoras.
At least, when we discovered that pencil, paper, and rubber (folks, do I need to give a thing which rubs out carbon almost perfectly a new name) is a lot easier than struggling our way along with old fashioned tools like VI. Alone.
Thirteen years later, say, we've now got some sugar in our Debi.
So that it would the rather be a favour to a person who under her breath did roar or growl (but we were not behind closed doors, or at some silly motorbike rally) just for just because; just for just because I think it'd be more sensible than altering my house or getting another bitch to give me all of its love so that I can make up for the lost time with another I had to say goodbye to, for good.
I hope I am not leaving younger women behind in my trails, who may have been snails, but might (just maybe) be thinking, what were they thinking when they told an Anglo-Saxon-Norman-Norse-Druid-Celt to live by their rules or remain alone?
Because a man without a hair of a wife might get it into his head that while a proposal not answered in person doesn't count as being rejected, he may, if he so chooses, ask every woman who catches his eye to take control of the low counter-tops (&c) so he can get on with making music.
In the meantime I'm drowning in the beer here and wondering who I am going to find to help me make large amounts of money to give all to the treasurer?
In the meantime I need to figure out how to warm my feet.
Never heard of them? I have the templates here, but this winter I think I'll carpet my kitchen area with beerboxes.
After... oh never mind; I can never quite finish and be perfectly satisfied: OVER AND OUT!