my pfp is my stupid son. CS student/ Pharm.Sci. dropout. he/him.
329 posts
Deadbladecharger - Uhhhhh - Tumblr Blog
The king of all cosmos got a twitter account around 2008/2009 to promo katamari forever and some of his posts are really good. He's like Dril to me.
theyre making the numbers get bigger & bigger but it means nothing. it means nothing .
Cringetober 6 is "unnatural eye color" but I wanted to do this instead
I'm not scared of you, motherfucker. I unplug my computer during BIOS updates. I have never ejected a drive safely, not even once. I edit random values in Windows Registry just to see what happens. All my passwords are just the word "password." I collect viruses the way old men collect stamps. Fuck you.
Including: At A Family Reunion And I Don't Know How To Talk To My Cousin, So I Asked If He Knew About Knightmare For The MSX And He Said No
I'm Trying So Hard To Charge My Phone's Battery To 100% On This Shopping Mall Socket But My Cable Keeps Disconnecting And Other Horror Stories
I'm Trying So Hard To Charge My Phone's Battery To 100% On This Shopping Mall Socket But My Cable Keeps Disconnecting And Other Horror Stories
It's 4(AM) and I'm at an airport yet again.
The crazy thing about airports and their nature as a transient space is that whenever I'm in one I feel like the rest of my life is the "between" rather than the airport. I feel like I either never left this awful, boring and terribly expensive place, I'm trapped here and when I'm outside this wretched space the little grains of 'sand' are just flowing down the hourglass.
here’s a website I found that teaches you how to make radio transmitters using anime girls. Link
they also created a bunch of fake languages Link
its so weird how time is silent. it should make creaking, whining noises
they call it a centipede cuz they live for a century. And it’s called a millipede cuz they have a million things to do
I was playing Knightmare for the MSX™ and the funny thing about Knightmare for the MSX™ is that not is it an old game but I also suck absolutely ass at it, which means my 6 hour Knightmare for the MSX™ session not only made me sweat my ass off and develop new (and unique to Knightmare for the...) stress ticks but it also awfully satisfying.
After finishing it, I wrote the only(so far) review it got on this logging site I use (because I need/like to log stuff) where I proudly declared myself a better person than before, because I had become a person who wouldn't play Knightmare for the MSX ever again.
And then I played Knightmare for the MSX the very next day.
Columbo Vs Skinnamarink
I'm so tired and I have to stay awake for another hour, I just need a cup of coffee, and cup of tea, and a can of Monster, and a pizza, and one of those batteries for GBA cartridges, and a CRT and a bottle of sriracha and a firm handshake and the moon to be in the right position, and Clowns by John H Towsen and a deck of playing cards and a fish and chips and a uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
"whiteness" is really an incomprehensible thing to me because the definitions of who is or not white seem to be a thing that's often in the eyes of the beholder. People will go "oh actually [anyone near the Mediterranean] isn't white", or shit like "[people closer to the urals] aren't white", I have seen people saying it about the irish, the french, the belgian(????) it doesn't matter and sometimes you see people from those countries saying that their fellow man two [administrative divisions] over aren't as white as them, it's like inside your racism there's a deeper more geographically specific/xenophobic racism, are you going to draw lines till we have the village of white????
Cmon buddy just slaughter one more village in the name of US imperialism and you'll totally be let into the echelons of whiteness. Just one more. Just one more and you'll finally be safe from white supremacy we promise.
Stranger
These odd, one-eyed goblins tend to loiter around dark alleyways and abandoned buildings within large cities. They're not very strong, but the unblinking gaze of a Stranger can cause mild feelings of paranoia. As long as you avoid eye contact, however, they are harmless.
Danger Stranger
Three Strangers that have fused to form a Danger Stranger. These tall monsters teeter back and forth, their gait unsteady. However, even if one should push a Danger Stranger, it won't ever fall. The concentrated stare of its three eyes can cause severe paranoia and migraines.
Become the adult you needed when you were a child
bingewatching will never come close to bingereading. there is nothing like blocking out the entire Earth for ten hours to read a book in one sitting no food no water no shower no bra and emerging at the end with no idea what time it is or where you are, a dried-up prune that's sensitive to light and loud noises because you've been in your room in the dark reading by the glow of a single LED. it's like coming back after a three-month vacation in another dimension and now you have to go downstairs and make dinner. absolutely transcendental
the world is running out of glassblowers and yet you want to become a fucking doctor
When you go to school for computer science, one of the things they try to teach you is that a computer can be anything. It doesn't have to be a bleepity-bloopity thing, stimulating rocks with canned lightning. It doesn't have to be a room-filling automaton made entirely out of fancy light bulbs. And it sure as fuck doesn't need to be some rocks that you move along on a piece of wood to count things. No, a computer can be anything, as long as it follows some basic rules. A dog can be a computer.
Recently, as part of my court-ordered requirement not to touch electronic computers and mobilized smart telephones, I've been training the neighbour's dog to access the internet. You might think that this is difficult, or impossible, but again: computer science theory says that the dog can do it. Rufus can be a computational device. At the very least, I can train him to run over to the neighbour's computer and read my newsgroups for me.
You might think that this is difficult work, but time is on my side. Without the cruel bonds of "productive employment," I can spend all day leaning out of my kitchen window and yelling random words at the dog. Eventually, I seem to hit on what I assume is some kind of command-injection fault. Rufus stands shock-straight, looks at the sky for a moment, and immediately bolts inside the house. Minutes pass, and then he emerges with a print-out of alt.autos.plymouth-volare, which has not seen any posts since the last time I checked. It's almost as if nobody else is posting there, but I feel relieved having reconnected to my people.
There's just one problem: Rufus, it turns out, is a narc. He has made more than one printout. In the time he was gone, he was delivering the other one to my parole officer. The judge doesn't appreciate my clever application of theory to practice. It wouldn't be so bad, except that from my prison cell, I can look out the window. It's there that see and hear the dog receive a medal from the Mayor Himself for valour. This is bullshit. He's no hero. He was just following orders.
Quivering, holding a loaded firearm to my temple: "I DONT NEED TO TAKE SHIT FROM SOME CUNT UNFAMILIAR WITH 1970s ITALIAN SURREALIST LITERATURE"