Ctrl+V

[Darbor]

Re: Ctrl+V

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2GLA-gYuFi0

Wow! This almost qualifies as being rickrolled.

[Ragitsu]

Re: Ctrl+V

 

Wow! This almost qualifies as being rickrolled.

 

How ? It's not a Rick Astley song.

[Darbor]

Re: Ctrl+V

 

How ? It's not a Rick Astley song.

Well it seemed to fit the spirit of the Rick Astley song. In my opinion, of course.

[tkdguy]

Re: Ctrl+V

 

Sir Terry's Sword

 

Closeup

[Clonus]

Re: Ctrl+V

 

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/19/us/19judges.html

[Ragitsu]

Re: Ctrl+V

 

4chan room 422

[Ragitsu]

Re: Ctrl+V

 

[Certified]

Re: Ctrl+V

 

http://www.symantec.com/connect/blogs/hydraq-aurora-attackers-back

[Susano]

Re: Ctrl+V

 

DOG DAY AFTERNOON

 

The Angelus Zoo, like many things in the City of Tomorrow, is a

marvel of the modern age. Spread out over 200 acres of Alpha and Beta

Sectors, it’s noted for its collection of rare and endangered animals

and for its highly successful breeding programs. Breeding programs,

Lieutenant Chrysine muses, that were spun off from the very same

technologies that produce Clades such as herself.

 

It is strange, she thinks, how one’s perceptions of technology

depends on how it is used. Clades are -- were -- little more than

slaves in Angelus, and still are in much of the world. But here, the

same nanofactory processes are being used to rescue certain species of

animals from the brink of extinction. And -- if the rumors are true --

may be used to replicate certain extinct species, bringing them back

from beyond the grave.

 

Hands clasped behind her back, tail swishing gently with each step,

Chrysine ponders the philosophical implications of this possible

development as she trails behind her daughter Angie, who’s studiously

examining the display signage and entering notes into her data pad.

 

Truth be told, it’s a beautiful day for a trip to the zoo, and

Chrysine almost suspects the Director’s hand in the clear blue skies

and bright sun. Then again, the Director of XSWAT has better things to

do with her time than ensure that an XSWAT officer (and her daughter)

have a nice outing. Even if said officer is a decorated veteran and

the outing is for a school project.

 

“Mom! Mom!” Angie’s voice interrupts her thoughts. Ears tilting

forward, Chrysine looks to the most important thing in her life these

days.

 

Angie Winterfox is growing up tall, much like her adoptive mother.

And like her mother she’s a fighter, who refuses to let anything hold

her back for more than a moment. She also fully intends to join XSWAT

when she’s old enough, both to honor Chrysine’s commitment to her and

to repay a debt she owes to a certain Blue Lady.

 

“Mom, is this where your name comes from?”

 

Chrysine’s ears flick back and then forward as she gives the sign

Angie is pointing to a glance. Chrysocyon Brachyurus, the South

American Maned Wolf. There’s a certain degree of familiarity between

herself and the so-called “Red Fox on stilts,” especially in the large

ears and thick tail. Curious. Perhaps the animal’s DNA was used as

part of her make-up. Perhaps she was simply modeled after the animal’s

appearance. Perhaps her designers simply opted for exaggerated canid

features. Or, perhaps not.

 

Chrysine looks from the holo on the sign to the real thing as it

paces along a low ridge in its expansive enclosure. She studies the

animal’s graceful lines, admiring its lean build and long legs.

Without realizing it, her own ears and tail flick in time to the

wolf’s, although her nose wrinkles at the pungent smell of urine

drifting on the slight breeze.

 

“Woof! Woof! Woof!”

 

A small boy, no more than six years old, is leaping up and down near

the enclosure’s fence while pretending to bark. Chrysine stares at him

nonplussed, unsure what she should say -- if anything. After all,

there was no law against hopping up and down while barking, was there?

 

“Hey!” The boy catches sight of the tall Clade and stops his antics,

only to stand and point. He seems utterly unintimidated by Chrysine’s

190 centimeters, possessed as he is by the fearlessness of youth.

 

“Dog-lady! Make the wolf come over here and do a trick!”

 

Ears twitching, Chrysine tries to decipher what she’s just heard. Did

that child just call her ‘dog lady’? “Excuse me?”

 

“You heard me!” The boy seems to have only one mode -- loud. He

points over at the Maned Wolf’s enclosure. “C’mon! You can talk to it,

right? Make it do a trick!”

 

Chrysine’s ears twitch as her tail curls protectively around her long

legs. Nothing in her XSWAT (or arena) training has prepared her for

something like this.

 

“My Mom Is Not A Dog!”

 

It’s a credit to her training that Chrysine doesn’t jump at this

newest development. As it is she has a sudden sense of déjà vu. Of

reading an AAR and coming across that most hated of witness

statements: “all of a sudden....” And, truth be told, all of a sudden

what had been a calm and peaceful outing to the zoo has turned into a

Clade-rights argument in miniature.

 

Pulling herself up to her full height (which is considerable compared

to the boy), Angie glares at the child. “My mom is not a dog,” she

repeats, poking one finger into the boy’s chest for emphasis.

 

Chrysine gives an all-too-human roll of her eyes at the inventible

result. The boy breaks down in tears and runs of crying for his

mother, while Angie manages to look smug, as only a twelve-year old

can. Ears flat, Chrysine sighs and wonders if the Director has to put

up with this sort of thing from her children.

 

“Angie.” No other words are needed. As Angie turns she sees her

mother’s expression and the way she’s standing. She lives in Rho

(a.k.a. “Roar”) Sector and is well-acquainted with Clade body

language. Chrysine has never laid a hand on her adoptive daughter --

she’s afraid to, as she well knows how strong she is. What a regular

human might consider a corrective slap, delivered with her Claude-

augmented strength would be more than enough to lay Angie out on the

ground. A solid spanking would put her in the emergency room. On the

other hand, she has something human mothers don’t -- highly expressive

ears, and hers are flat against her skull, a sure sign of her

displeasure.

 

Getting down on one knee, Chrysine looks her daughter in the eye.

“Was that the proper thing to do?”

 

Angie’s response is first a sheepish look, followed by an almost

defiant “But Mom! That kid was calling you a dog!” While Angie knows

her mother’s job is to defend Angelus from all manner of paranormal

and supernatural threats, she also knows she needs to defend her

mother from all manner of civic and social threats, including small

obnoxious boys.

 

“And I’ve been called worse before, and yet here I am.” Chrysine’s

tone is calm and even, as she smooths Angie’s hair and combs a few

errant stands from her face. “Do you think me that defenseless?”

 

“What?” Angie seems shocked at the idea that her mother, the famous

Winter Fox and a decorated member of XSWAT’s Crash Team, can’t take of

herself. “Not, it’s not that, it’s just...”

 

“Seeing the boy call me ‘dog-lady’ reminded you of the some of

comments you heard when you first came to live with me, right?”

 

That had been a rough time for them both. While most residents of the

Untervasser had been happy to see Angie, there had been a few who felt

no human should ever intrude on the sanctity of Rhor Sector. They also

felt a Clade adopting a human child was ‘wrong’ in some fashion. A

case of the Clade ‘selling-out’ and trying to be human. There had

never been any physical violence (no one had been that stupid), but

plenty of verbal abuse from those who were highly vocal in expressing

their displeasure.

 

“...maybe...” is the reply.

 

Gathering Angie in her arms, Chrysine holds her tight. “‘There is no

more terrible sight than ignorance in action’,” she quotes. “If you

want to be in XSWAT, you’ll have to be able to deal with adversity, in

all its forms.”

 

“Is that one of your sayings from class?” Angie’s voice is small, but

strong.

 

Unseen over her daughter’s head, Chrysine smiles. “Maybe.”

 

“Thought so.”

 

“There she is! That’s the one who hit me!”

 

The voice cuts through their moment like a knife. Chrysine looks up

to find the child has returned, and he’s not alone. Behind him,

bearing down in a manner Chrysine finds akin to an angry Entity is

what can only be the boy’s mother. Although normally of an open mind

(she has to be), Chrysine finds herself disliking the woman

immediately, and they haven’t even spoken to each other yet. Perhaps

it’s the boy’s previous behavior, or the woman’s expressions, which

seems to indicate whoever touched her precious child was going to get

it, regardless of the circumstances.

 

“Where’s your mother!”

 

It takes an effort of will to not fold her ears against her skull.

Great, the woman is one of those who feels her darling Johnny (or

Freddy, or Mikey, or Billy, or whatever) can do no wrong. She can

tell, both from the tone of voice and body language. She’s seen it

before, especially when trying to tell a parent their ‘perfect’ child

was responsible for the deaths of nearly two dozen citizens of Angelus

due to meddling in magical arts best left alone.

 

Standing, Chrysine rises to her full height, her tail flicking from

side to side as she holds onto Angie’s hand. She almost starts as she

realizes the woman has discounted her already. Obviously she can’t be

the child’s mother. At best she’s a nanny. Granted, they have a unique

relationship, but still, the woman’s query has rendered her invisible

in one fell swoop.

 

“I am.”

 

Now she needs to suppress a grin as the woman halts suddenly and

looks up... and up. At 190 centimeters, she’s easily 20 centimeters or

more taller than the other woman, and a Clade to boot. The momentary

expression of surprise becomes one of apprehension and then switches

over to anger.

 

“Impossible.” Any further comment is cut off by Angie’s “She is too

my mom!”

 

A quick squeeze of the hand is enough to tell Angie to quiet down.

The woman seems shocked to be talked back to by a child but recovers

quickly. “Well, she’s doing a poor job of it then, if she thinks its

okay for you to go around starting fights.”

 

Another squeeze keeps Angie from replying, although Chrysine can feel

the tension in her daughter’s hand and arm. “Angie did not start a

fight.” Her voice is calm and even. It’s the one you use when talking

to an upset victim or witness. “She simply felt the need to defend me.”

 

That line was a mistake as soon as she said it. She’s 190 (and a

half) centimeters of Combat Class Clade... there’s no way she’s going

to need anyone, much less a twelve year-old girl to defend her and the

woman knows it. “Don’t give me that,” she sneers. “I should call the

police on you! That’ll teach you a lesson.”

 

Chrysine’s not sure which ‘you’ the woman is referring to, but

doesn’t spend a moment worrying about it. She’s been given an opening,

and experience has shown her you exploit them as quickly as possible.

 

“I am the police.”

 

This seems to have the opposite effect. Instead of placating the

woman, it only makes her more upset. “You like! There’re are no Clades

in the police!”

 

Actually there are. The APD has Clades, not a lot, even now, but they

have them. But why tell her that? Allowing herself a slight smile, she

slides her ID card out and flips it open. “There are in XSWAT.”

 

It’s like someone has thrown a switch. All of the bluster and anger

is gone, replaced by fear. Even today, after everything the Crash Team

went through, after literally making the world a better place, XSWAT

still inspires a sense of dread in the average citizen of Angelus.

Unfortunate, but true. Normally Chrysine would feel uncomfortable

inspiring such as reaction, but not here, not now; not with her

daughter’s well-being at stake. The threat may be a mild one, but it’s

the principle of the thing.

 

“C’mon!” Grabbing the boy’s arm, and eliciting a squawk of pain and

surprise, the woman virtually drags her child away. She doesn’t look

back, doesn’t acknowledge she (or her child) might have been in the

wrong, she simply shunts Chrysine away, ignoring her now as she had

before. Chrysine’s ears flick slightly as she catches as brief snatch

of the woman’s venting. “How many times have I told you...” Of

course... the child can do no wrong unless it embarrasses the mother.

Typical.

 

Glancing down, she notices that Angie seems rather pleased with

herself. “So,” she asks slowly, giving a slight tug on her daughter's

arm to get her attention. “What has this taught you?”

 

The answer is quick. “My mom can take their mom any day of the week?”

A broad grin accompanies this proclamation.

 

Shaking her head, Chrsyine realizes she now knows how the Director

must feel when dealing with certain XSWAT officers.

[Clonus]

Re: Ctrl+V

 

http://www.oprah.com/oprahshow/Michael-Crowes-False-Confession

[Ragitsu]

Re: Ctrl+V

 

He's a troll, similar to Capt. Wesker

[Ragitsu]

Re: Ctrl+V

 

And yes, that is what I meant to say.

[Certified]

Re: Ctrl+V

 

Per Lux lucis Nox noctis

[Ragitsu]

Re: Ctrl+V

 

Hvac

[Susano]

Re: Ctrl+V

 

Eddie Izzard, Harry Enfield, Alan Rickman and the legendary Vic Reeves

[Cancer]

Re: Ctrl+V

 

The majority of students, who copied less than 10% of their problems, worked steadily over the three days prior to the deadline, whereas repetitive copiers those who copied 30% of their submitted problems exerted little effort early. Importantly, copying homework problems that require an analytic answer correlates with a 2-sigma decline over the semester in relative score for similar problems on exams but does not significantly correlate with the amount of conceptual learning as measured by pretesting and post-testing.

[Ragitsu]

Re: Ctrl+V

 

June 21st, 6:43 P.M.

 

Standing undecided, the six of you linger just beyond the brink of the vile odors emanating from those bags by the entrance. With the last few winks of daylight trickling away, the sky undergoes a transformation into a blue-gray darkness, clouds framed and wisped as if observing an oil painting. There is no report of cricket song, nor the distant vibration of fleeting traffic. The city below is still and silent. So too, now, is the parking lot.

 

Things are apt to remain stationary until forward momentum is again resumed. It is my recommendation that the six of you try to form some sort of definitive leadership, or perhaps a decision making process when faced with moral quandaries and differing opinions on how to proceed into a given situation, potentially hazardous as it may be.

 

You don't 'have' to do anything, to be blunt--you're free, were you so inclined, to simply beeline to the coast of one of the great lakes and then proceed to try and swim across. You're not on a train. That's not to say that you haven't go any substantial options however; the generalized goal of pursuing more information on what's going on remains a good one. Securing substantial food, water, and shelter is another solid task. There is also the discernment of what is going on in larger cities, attempting to meet up with others (such as Mr. Chesterfield) once again, and so forth.

 

June 21st, 11:09 P.M.

 

As you pile into the Taurus and begin to drive away, there is a gust of fluttering and cawing, the entire lot of blackbirds taking flight in different directions, dispersing from the Wal-Mart's iconic lettering. Putting distance between the place and yourselves does wonders for your aural senses, though the pang of uncertainty, to the voice over those speakers, the music, and the clear electricity within do play through the recesses of one's subconscious mind.

 

The downtown area of the city is pulverized, in a word. Little of the structure to most of the buildings remains, and what does lie out in the open is either rusted beyond comprehension or charred into soot and ash. Someone, for some reason, went to thorough length and care to ensure the place was leveled--and perhaps some light is shed when a glint catches Jacob's eye in one of said ash mounds--a small bracelet, jewelry, around a broiled-black bone. Funeral pyres.

 

Making your way into the suburban outskirts finds a manner of success. You're hard pressed to find a front door which hasn't already had entry forced, but most of the larger furniture remains in each household. Couches, tables, dressers, and essentially anything of particular weighty proportions still sits where it had been left in the past months. Should you have a hankering for a television, you've got your pick of the litter. Often the contents of a household are found covered in a layer of sooty dust, depending upon the home's proximity to the center of the city proper. In three hours, you're able to search through six houses, each a two-story colonial style architecture, save for one single story ranch dwelling.

 

In one of the dwellings you search, a terrible smell hangs at the top of the stairs to the basement. Below, five corpses--two child sized. Each appears to have been shot in the head. In the opposite corner, a larger body has decayed, shot through the chin with a .38 revolver in hand with a single unspent bullet remaining.

 

You are able to locate an assortment of loose consumable goods with your efforts. Seven intact cans of baked beans, three cans of corn, and two cans of chicken noodle soup are the start. Half a dozen bags of potato chips, albeit well past their 'best by' dates. A half-empty fifth of Johnny Walker (black label) is found, as are three large boxes of saltine crackers, a box of oatmeal mix, and a sixteen pack of Coca Cola. Any particular kitchen utensils you deign to want are located between the six households--as well as blankets, pillows, clothing in varying degrees of comfortable fit, and 15 AA batteries.

 

Attempting to find water within the water heaters is a mixed bag. Corrosion seems to have done a number on most of the units, especially older models, you find. However, the water heater of the newest household you search does seem fairly well intact, and you are able to recover just shy of three gallons of clean water from the unit. You're able to find numerous personal belongings, including currency--though the usefulness of such is up for question at this time.

 

Around 11:00 P.M., the temperature begins to drop rapidly and dramatically, hitting 60 degrees seemingly out of nowhere. The city is entirely dark save for your own flashlights or the headlights of the Taurus, and the distant entrance to Wal-Mart. If turned on, your radios will emit a low but constant crackle of static, more than the units ordinarily should.

 

The Geiger counter reports safe readings at each household you visit. Within reason, you can find anything you might expect to see in a typical American middle class home that isn't especially valuable or appealing to the scavenger's eye. Use your own judgment, but approach it from the mindset that these homes -have- been looted before, likely even more than once. Your discoveries so far as food and the like were either in not-so-readily accessible places, or simply undesirable to some in the past.

 

Jacob's scrounging roll was a 3. You've recovered sufficient food to feed six grown men a single but satisfying meal for three days.

[Ragitsu]

Re: Ctrl+V

 

http://www.megaupload.com/?d=LTWL5FRN

[Darbor]

Re: Ctrl+V

 

http://www.csmonitor.com/var/ezflow_site/storage/images/media/images/cartoon-images/2010/09/cartoon100923/8691345-1-eng-US/cartoon100923_full_600.jpg

[Ragitsu]

Re: Ctrl+V

 

http://www.csmonitor.com/var/ezflow_site/storage/images/media/images/cartoon-images/2010/09/cartoon100923/8691345-1-eng-US/cartoon100923_full_600.jpg

 

Wow, I didn't know it actually ended yet, with the way people are still talking.

[Darbor]

Re: Ctrl+V

 

Wow' date=' I didn't know it actually ended yet, with the way people are still talking.[/quote']

That's the point of the cartoon. The recession "officially ended" in June 2009.

 

Added: But lots of people would disagree with that.

[Susano]

Re: Ctrl+V

 

socio-political intrigue

[Ragitsu]

Re: Ctrl+V

 

[Clonus]

Re: Ctrl+V

 

That's the point of the cartoon. The recession "officially ended" in June 2009.

 

Added: But lots of people would disagree with that.

 

Mostly because they think that the end of the recession means that people start getting jobs when all it means is that the GNP stops declining.

[Ragitsu]

Re: Ctrl+V

 

Senate voting this week on Don't Ask Don't Tell