SoylentNews

So, I've been sitting here watching the Spam moderations page and the mod-bombs page post-election thinking someone's gonna get butthurt and abuse moderation. It has yet to happen. Kudos to everyone for managing to restrain themselves. You guys make me fucking proud, so I'll leave you with this little bit of humor on an otherwise tense day:

Britain: Brexit is the most shocking thing a country will do this year.

America: Hold my beer...

“Say, Ed! How was your trip? Lager?”

        “Hi, John. Yeah, I’ll have a lager. The whole trip was lousy, a journey through hell all the way.”

        “Didn't you fly Green-Osbourne?”

        “Well, yeah.”

        The bartender swore; he was a wealthy man who owned the bar he was tending and quite a bit of Green-Osbourne Transportation Company stock as well. “What went wrong on the trip?”

        “Those stupid talking robots. God but I hate those things.”

        The bartender laughed. “Everybody does.”

        “Why do you have them talking, then?”

        “Advertising and engineering want to point out our superior technology, including AI.”

        “Well, it's too much A and not much I at all. Those things are really stupid.”

        John snickered. He hated talking robots, too, but had been voted down at board meetings. The tendbot he used when it got too busy for a single bartender to easily handle he’d special ordered, with no voice, only screen printouts and beeps. Most people thought talking robots were creepy.

        “Well, look, Ed, they can’t really think. Programmers just use humans’ built-in anthropomorphism and animism. It's a parlor trick, one of our engineers explained it to me once. So what did the stupid thing do?”

        “It was dinner time, the first night of the trip. I'd bought a business class ticket and somehow wound up on a first class flight... Say, did you have something to do with that?”

        John just smiled. “Go on, Ed, what did the stupid robot do?”

        Ed gave John a funny look and continued. “Well, I'd never had pork before. I thought it must be extra tasty, considering how ridiculously expensive it is.”

        “Well, it's environmental regulations.”

        “Huh?”

        “Sure, it's why Earth buys all its ores from space miners. Mining is pretty much illegal on Earth, because poisonous pollution from mining, farming, industry, and transportation nearly ruined the Earth's ability to sustain life a couple of centuries ago. It... Oh wow. Want to get rich, Ed?”

        “Not particularly, why?”

        “Someone will. We should build hog domes and farm pigs in them, and sell the pork to Earthians. I’d do it but I’m way too busy, what with Green-Osbourne, the bar, the brewery, and the farm I grow beer ingredients in.”

        “Well, I'll talk to a few folks. It would help Mars’ economy. Fill me up, John,” he said, sliding his glass across the bar. “Uh, what were we talking about?”

        “Pork and robots.”

        “Huh?”

        “Your trip.”

        “Oh, yeah, pork. Why is it so expensive?”

        “Like I said, environmental regulations. They almost made Earth unlivable a couple hundred years ago. Pigs are just too nasty to ranch more than a dozen or so in any one place there.”

        “Well, Earth was damned filthy, that’s for sure. Almost as dirty as it was heavy. Anyway, pork’s way too expensive for me. I wouldn’t even be able to afford pork on Earth, let alone on Mars, so since I had a first class ticket and meals were covered, I wanted to try pork. So I told the servebot I wanted ham and beans.

        “The stupid thing said there was no ‘Hammond bean’ listed in its database. So I said ‘No, you stupid junk pile, ham, and, beans.’ It said ‘The word hamand is not in my database.’ stupid thing.”

        John grinned. “So what did you do?”

        “What could I do? I ordered a barbecued pork steak. It was really good! But the damned robots annoyed me like that the whole trip. The very next morning I felt like a turkey cheese omelette so I ordered one. The stupid robot said ‘There are no Turkish cheeses listed in the database.’ So I said ‘A turkey omelette with cheese.’ So it says ‘there are no Turkish omelette dishes listed in the database.’ Stupid computer.

        “So I said ‘I want a cheese omelette with turkey meat. A turkey omelette has nothing to do with the country called Turkey...’ What’s so damned funny, John?”

        John was laughing uproariously. “Exactly the same thing happened to Destiny when we first came here, only the computer was printing it out instead of talking. Let me guess, it said ‘Parse error, please rephrase’.”

        “Yep, exactly. So I said I wanted an omelette with turkey meat, and it goes ‘There is no meat that has come from that country listed in the database.’ dumb machine! So I says ‘Turkey the bird, damn it!’ it said...”

        “It said ‘Parse error, please rephrase,’ didn’t it?” John interrupted.
        “Sure did. So I asked what meats were available for omelettes. It said pork, chicken, duck, turkey, and beef. So I said ‘A cheese omelette with turkey meat.’ the idiotic thing repeated ‘There is no meat from that country.’ I’ll tell you, John, that damned thing was really making me mad by then. I finally said ‘Damn it, computer, I want a cheese omelette with bird meat.’ it said ‘Please name the bird.’ I told it turkey and finally got my breakfast.”

        “There’s a trick to it,” John said. “Tell it you want a cheese and turkey omelette and it won’t give you any trouble. If you would have asked for navy beans and ham you would have gotten your ham and beans. Like I said, they don’t really think.”

        “No kidding. That must the dumbest computer I ever saw. Well, the tendbot in the commons may have been even more stupid. It didn’t know what a Cardinal was.”

        John groaned. “Ed, that’s strictly the Martian name for that drink. Everybody else calls them Bloody Marys.”

        “Oh. Why do they call them that?”

        “Because that’s what they were called for hundreds of years before anybody ever came here, before they had space travel, even. Before your ancestors ever left earth.”

        “So why do we call then Cardinals then?”

        “Frank Harris was responsible for the name. He was a farmer who came here from Earth and started growing tomatoes, under the ‘Cardinal’ brand.”

        “But why cardinal?”

        “There’s a bright red Earthian bird called a cardinal, so he named the bright red tomatoes after the bird. Bartenders here had never had a Bloody Mary before, because nobody here had tomatoes before Hardy brought them. So when they thought they had invented a tomato drink, they named it after the brand of tomatoes.”

        “How do you know all this stuff?”

        “My wife’s a history buff. She’s been getting me interested in it, too. So what happened after you got to Earth?”

        “Oh, man, it was pure hell, painful torture and terror. You know I've only been off Mars a few times in my life, mostly to Ceres or an asteroid dome out in the belt. But Earth... oh man. It was nothing like I'd ever experienced before. Or even imagined, it was horrible!”

        “First was the weight! That was part of what was wrong with the trip, when the robot was arguing about the turkey cheese omelette it was already getting really heavy. By the time we reached Earth I couldn’t walk at all and had to use an electric chair to get around. How do those people live like that?”

        “Ed, you should have been working out for months before going to Earth, especially since you’ve never had more than Mars gravity.”

        “Well, I did walk.”

        “Walking’s not nearly enough.”

        “No kidding, I couldn’t even stand up there. Had to have a robot help me in and out of bed. It was torture!

        “Why didn't you use a walker?”

        “You have to have gravity close to Earth's to learn how to use one.”

        “Bill Holiday uses one, and he's from Ceres. All the asterites grew up in less gravity than you did and he goes to Earth all the time, it's part of his job.”

        “He would have had to train to use it, those things weigh over a hundred kilos counting the power, and training takes longer than I was going to be on Earth.

        “The horrible weight was bad enough, but it was horribly scary there as well.”

        John grinned. He was an immigrant, who was born in St. Louis and had settled on Mars in late middle age. He hadn't thought of how it must be for a native-born Martian or Asterite on Earth. “Pretty scary, huh? I mean, not having a protective dome.”

        “Well, I've been outside the dome plenty of times, but being outside without an environment suit...” He shivered visibly. “Give me a shot of Scotch.

        “It was night when we got there, and they used what seemed like they use here on Mars to connect the ship to the terminal. On Mars it's so passengers don't have to wear environment suits, but I don't know why they do it on Earth. Probably so us spacers would feel at home.”

        “Well, not really,” John said. “It gets hot and cold there, and it rains. It's so passengers don't have to have coats and umbrellas. They were doing it like that before the first spacer dome was built.”

        “Yeah, I found out about rain and cold the night I got there, and heat the next day. In the entrance way to the terminal there was a flash in a window and a loud boom a second or two later. I thought there had been an explosion.”

        “Thunder.”

        “Yeah, and it was really loud! I almost jumped out of my skin. Anyway, we rented a car and I told it to take us to our hotel for check-in, and the first lightning flash scared the hell out of me. It looked like a crack in the sky and made me feel like all the air would escape, and then the thunder. I've never heard anything so loud!”

        “You should hear a chemical rocket with a heavy load taking off!”

        “I have, down here on Mars, and it's nowhere near as loud as thunder.”

        John laughed. “Ed, there's hardly any air outside the dome. Haven't you noticed how much quieter it is outside the dome?”

        “There's nothing out there to make noise.”

        “Well, if there was it wouldn't be loud.”

        “I guess. Anyway, parking at the hotel was outside, but the car dropped us off under an awning before it parked itself. Lightning flashed again, and it really gave me the willies. Then it thundered, even louder than it had before. It was so loud you could feel the sound. It was really scary!” He finished his beer and slid his glass to the other side of the bar. “Fill 'er up, John!”

        John poured another beer for Ed as Ed continued his traveling horror story. “Man, all that water pouring out of the sky. It was really strange, and even the water was scary and I don’t know why. And it was cold. Must have been under twenty.”

        “It gets well below zero some places.”

        “How do they live like that?” he repeated. “I was all right as long as I was inside, except that first night when it stormed. I hated that storm! I sure am glad we don’t have anything like that on Mars!

        “There was a bar in the hotel, thankfully, so I didn’t have to go out until the next morning. But the storm scared the hell out of me.”

        “So how did your meeting go?”

        “Well, I had to take the car there, meaning I had to be outside. It was fine in the dark, like a room with no lights turned on, but walking outside without an environment suit when you could see the sky really freaked me out. I finally told myself it was just a big blue dome.”

        “Did it work?”

        “Not really. It was really hard rolling around out there in my electric chair, and it was really hot outside! I never sweated before, and I hate it.

        “But worse than that was bugs. Some of them bite. Some of the bugs they called ‘butterflies’ the Earthians thought were pretty. I thought they were creepy and scary.

        “And barking dogs. I never saw a dog before, and John, those things are scary as hell, just downright terrifying. And there are a whole lot of them there.”

        “Okay, how did the meeting go?”

        “Lousy. Between the weight and the storm I didn’t sleep well. And the weight, the bugs, the dogs, the outside, the heat, the storm, all of it had me so rattled I couldn’t think straight, and we didn’t get the contract, DA2 did. At least it was a friend’s dome.

        “Give me another shot, John. Man, but I’m glad to be back home here on Mars. Earth sucks. Now I know what people mean by ‘hell on Earth’. Earth is hell!”

        John grinned again. “So... I take it you’re not going back?”

It's not Russia that's trying to impact our elections, it's our evil neighbor to the north!

Those hosers have launched a propaganda campaign designed to confuse and demoralize Americans in advance of the election.

Couched in condescending terms as a "love note" to Americans, Canadians tell lies, make unsubstantiated claims and generally try to blow smoke up our asses.

But we know the truth.

We suck donkey balls and anyone who says differently is either a Clinton shill or one of her many secret hit squads have abducted family members and threatened them if they don't toe the line.

Okay, maybe that's just a *little* hyperbolic. Actually, I think the ad campaign is kind of sweet.

The entire universe was turned inside out and upside down and completely backwards today, and I must have been the only one to see it. It all started with an innocent looking email.

        I get a lot of emails like this one, except that the note’s subject line looked like a headline from the National Enquirer, or maybe The Onion. It read “Archaeologists Find Twenty Five Million Year Old iPhone.” Misaddressed, maybe? But it was a press release for an art exhibit.

        A few minutes after I set the mail aside is when it hit me; the fellow who sent the email had mentioned that he’d seen my work before and knew I’d written about art and wanted me to see his exhibit. I had written a story, one story, ten years earlier, and the paper hadn’t published it.

        I printed it out and went to see Frank, my boss.

        “What’s up, Stan?” he asked.

        “I just got the strangest email” I said, handing him the printout. He read it.

        “So what’s so weird, Stan? You must get these every day!”

        “What’s weird is that yeah, I’m working on that story about the city museum, but I haven’t even finished researching it and barely have an outline, and I only wrote one other art thing, and it was never published!”

        “Huh, that is weird. Why don’t you go down and check the place out?”

        “You know, Frank, I think I will. Maybe I’ll get a fun story out of it.”

        It was here in town, 568 Broadway, up in the eleventh floor. It was only about a fifteen minutes ride on the subway, and I rode the elevator up.

        It looked like an Apple store, only it was as weird as the email. For instance, it had strange iPhone accessories, like a case with a built-in hourglass. It was like an Apple store in some twisted alternate dimension.

        I had expected to see Evan Yee, the artist behind the installation, but nobody was there at all. Also weird. I took a few photos and left, disappointed that I had gotten no story out of it.

        I went to the elevator, and there was no elevator. Instead, there was a door leading outside, at street level. I wondered if I was going crazy, and remembered the time my mother said she had a “senior moment”. Maybe I was just getting old, but I was only forty five.

        I reached for my phone as I walked outside, thinking that maybe I’d get some sort of inspiration from the pictures, but it was gone. Damn, that phone cost six hundred dollars! I was glad I’d noticed so soon, and turned around to go in – and it was an Apple store. Between losing my phone and my disorientation when I left the exhibit, I hadn’t noticed that there hadn’t been anyone outside.

        By now I was sure I was going crazy. I went in anyway, and there was my phone, laying on one of the counters. I picked it up, looked around, and the place looked nothing like it had before I’d left, although it still looked like a weird, twisted, dystopian Apple store.

        I left again, and the street and sidewalk were bright green. I just stood there a minute, kind of dazed, I guess. By then I was pretty sure I’d gone stark raving mad. Maybe I was having a stroke? I reached in my pocket to call for an ambulance, and my phone was gone. I could have sworn I’d stuck it in my pocket.

        I went back in, and it wasn’t an Apple store any more, just an empty room with my phone laying on the floor. I picked it up and tried to call 911, but there was no signal. I went outside again to get a signal; lots of buildings suck for phones, and it was now night; it had been morning when I’d gone in.

        And there were two moons. Everything else was normal, but there were two moons in the sky and there were no people.

        And my phone was missing again! Next phone I buy is going to be a cheap one. I went back inside, and it was an Apple store again, this time like any other Apple store. Again there was no one there, and again my phone was on the counter. And again, I could get no signal. I firmly gripped it in my fist and walked outside...

        And confronted a monster! A giant animal, really huge, bigger than an elephant with huge teeth and claws and feathers. I screamed and ran back inside... a cave.

        And I’d dropped my phone outside in my fright. Not that it seemed to work any more, anyway. Or that it mattered, since I had clearly gone insane.

        But I couldn’t just sit in the cave. I waited a long time to make sure the monster was gone, then peeked outside. No monsters, and no phone. I went back in, I don’t know why, and there was my phone laying on a large rock. I put it in my pocket, and noticed the cave had changed. It was huge before, now little more than an indentation in the rock face.

        I went back out, and it looked like New York in the early twentieth century, except there were no people. I hadn’t seen a soul since I’d started this ordeal, except for the monster.

        And my phone was gone again. I turned around, and the Apple store’s sign read “Bell Telephone”. I went inside and there was a bank of antique switchboards, all unmanned. My phone was laying on one.

        I put it back in my pocket and walked back out. I don’t think I’ve ever been as worried and scared in my life, especially when I’d seen the huge, weird looking animal. This time the streets and signs of civilization were gone, and a group of wigwams was there where New York City had been before.

        I was shaking. I sat down on a log, put my face in my hands and cried like a baby. I felt like one, lost like no lost child had ever been lost before.

        Cried out, I sat and tried to think of a way out of the mess I’d somehow gotten myself into. The only thing I could think of was going back into the wigwam.

        There was a room filled with some very strange looking machinery, machinery I’d never seen before and had an idea that no one else had either. And there were people there this time! Two women, a blonde and a brunette, both wearing extremely strange looking clothing, intently poring over a complex-looking gizmo that looked like it was from some science fiction movie, and didn’t notice my entry. I stood there speechless.

        “We almost had him!” one of the women exclaimed. “In the right dimension and we almost had him in the right time. It would have taken only one more minute. If he’d just sat still a little longer!”

        “I can’t find when he is now. This thing is being extra finicky today,” the other woman remarked.

        “Excuse me,” I said, “But would someone please call 911? I think I’ve had a stroke or something.”

        They both whirled around at the same time. The blonde said “Oh, no, he’s now!”

        The brunette said “It will be all right, sir. Please, take your phone and wait in the hallway until it rings. There’s a comfortable chair out there.”

        “What’s going on?” I asked.

        The blonde said “I’m sorry, we can’t say anything more without fouling things up even worse than they already are. Please, your world will be normal in a few minutes, just listen for your phone.”

        “Uh, okay, I guess,” I said, and took my phone outside and sat down.

        Maybe fifteen minutes later I heard my ring tone, and it was coming from inside the office. I looked in my pocket and my phone was gone again.

        I wondered if someone at work could have spiked my coffee with some hallucinogen, but no... nobody at the office would have done such a thing. I sighed, wondering what strangeness I was going to see next, and went in.

        I was back at the art exhibit, and again, no one was there. I picked up the phone to answer it, but all that came out of it were some strange noises. I hung up, and I was getting a signal again! I called my boss.

        “Where have you been?” Frank asked.

        “I got lost. I may have had a stroke or something, I’m going to the doctor to get checked out. I’ll call when I’m done to let you know.”

        “Well, I hope you’re all right. I’ll talk to you later.”

        “Bye.”

        I walked hesitantly out into the hallway, and the chair and door to the outside the building were gone, with the elevators taking its place. I pushed the button, and when the car came I stepped in gingerly wondering what would happen when I got outside.

        Outside the building everything seemed normal again, with the throngs of people and noise of vehicular traffic. I hailed a cab and took the taxi to the hospital, where they took my vitals and did a brain scan and some psychological tests. The doctor said everything looked normal, but my blood pressure was a little high and I should make an appointment with my regular doctor.

        I took the subway back to the office. As I waited for the elevator, Doris, an editor, walked up—and she had red hair. Oh, no, I thought. “Your hair!” I said, scared again.

        “Like it?” she said. “I was tired of being a blonde so I dyed it last night.”

        I could have hugged her. We took the elevator up and I went to see Frank.

        “Frank, do you mind having someone else check out that exhibit? I don’t think I could give them a fair revue.”

        Frank said I looked really pale and should go home, so I went home early. I couldn’t get this weird day out of my mind, so I just wrote it down.

        Of course, I’m not putting this in the paper. Maybe I’ll send it to a science fiction magazine under an assumed name, because there’s no way anyone could believe it wasn’t fiction.

        But I’m getting a new phone tomorrow.

Welcome to my continuing nervous breakdown. I have some new cynicism that I feel the world would benefit from.

Q: How many C++ programmers does it take to change a lightbulb?

A: Ten. Six to explain to the world why C++ was the correct solution and the advanced techniques employed in implementing that solution and four to implement a partially-working solution in twice the time that the lone C programmer got a complete, correct solution designed, implemented, tested, documented and signed off in last time.

Q: How many C++ programmers does it take to change a lightbulb?

A: Ten. They all set to work analysing their previous partial and unreliable implementation and come up with a new design based on new language features in the latest standard that have been in LISP for over thirty years but they've never heard of before. They draw UML diagrams galore and fire up Visual Studio It Never Rains But It Pours Cloud Enterprise 365+ Edition. Six months later the project is scrapped and declared impossible.

Q: How many C++ programmers does it take to change a lightbulb?

A: We don't know, about ten maybe, but the new language standard has advanced features that will make changing lightbulbs not just a possibility, but achievable by ordinary programmers. Watch this space.

Donny Hairboy takes the number one spot, as if anyone really thought he wouldn't.

Then again, this isn't anything new.

At the same time, there are those who would disagree with that sentiment.

But it just goes to show that, in fact, practice makes perfect.

That's not to say that others shouldn't get honorable mentions, but Donny is the undisputed king.

Long Live The King!

Since the Great British Public voted by a narrow margin to show its un-wiped bare backsides to our closest, friendliest, most valuable trading partners (Brexit) in order to pursue potential trade deals with the economic powerhouse that is Australia, and to make TTIP easier to get done, I've had much less time and inclination to be interested in technology, unfortunately. Instead, I've been incubating a nervous breakdown playing at slapping the Kipper on the web sites of some national newspapers. My country (the UK) may be on the brink of disintegrating, after all.

We've suffered from simplistic right-wing ideology in government, and our social care systems and National Health Service (you know, that filthy commie thing we have where we pay money to have a free-at-the-point-of-use medical service for the benefit of us plebs and everyone else with no profit motive for corporations and the aristocracy) are. perhaps deliberately, being allowed to atrophy due to mismanagement and under-investment, so that they can be turned over to for-profit companies...

So here's my paranoid-delusional discourse. It applies to PHBs as well, so is relevant to the technology sector.

You have to think like a Tory (Conservative or UKIP) to understand the predicament the NHS and social care organisations are in.

To a Tory, the only thing with value is material wealth and anything that distracts from the maximisation of realising wealth is at best frivolous and at worst evil.

Little People (those not wealthy enough to live off their capital) are a danger to that if they are not work-producing units operating at maximum efficiency. So we have the phenomenon of the Useless Eaters. IDS, Gove and Osborne did their level best to reduce the number of Useless Eaters to protect the wealth.

However, sociopathic the Tory may be, he or she is not entirely stupid. They realise that amongst the population there are bleeding hearts and wooly-minded liberals who have an intrinsic irrepressible compulsion to value their fellow human being for no "rational" (wealth-related) reason.

Two things are implied here. The Tory realises that the "lefty" has a vote and influence on the political process and direction of society and, in order to maintain power, must pay lip-service to this. Hence, the NHS and welfare state is not quite dead yet, and is given almost enough money to limp along.

Secondly, the Tory knows that the "lefty" values the Useless Eater above wealth and so is intrinsically motivated (no money necessary) to provide assistance to said Useless Eater. Therefore the Tory knows that funding can be cut continually because the "lefty" will work itself to death out of this empathy for the Useless Eater.

Your PHB and its superiors may frequently say things like, "You're all professionals, so I know you'll be on board with this. We have to tighten our belts and redouble our efforts. We have to be grown-up about this. The market may be going through some difficulties, but we have to look after our investors." The PHB knows that your Little Person brain that feels intrinsic responsibility to your fellow human being can be used to produce more wealth for Righty with less expense.

Two cheeks of the same behind, as it were.

I don't fit in here. In fact, I don't fit in anywhere. Life's more fun that way. Wouldn't it be boring if we were all god-fearing, gun-toting "free-market" corporate lackey Libertarians?

Something amusing has turned up in my messages today. Someone called Coniptor has made me his/her/its foe. It's quite a list.

Let the games begin.

By request, these are our top resident wiseasses, clowns, and wit smiths:

By count: Nick Funny Mods %Funny wonkey_monkey60635% aristarchus59625% c0lo58522% Ethanol-fueled43113% VLM3809% bob_super35624% maxwell demon35520% Tork29720% frojack2574% Bot25337%

By percent: Nick Funny Mods %Funny Anne Nonymous16960% Buck Feta19755% Bot25337% DECbot12137% skullz10137% Gaaark21536% wonkey_monkey60635% JeanCroix9232% jimshatt9530% davester66624129%

A tip of the hat to @wonkey_monkey: and @Bot: for being the only ones to make both lists. Their asses are indeed wise.

Looks like I'm going to have to up my game if I want to make the list next time.

Here we go again. AC is excluded of course because he cheats by having tens of thousands of people do his posting for him.

By count: Nick Trolls %Troll Ethanol-fueled56517% Runaway19563097% jmorris23712% The Mighty Buzzard21910% aristarchus2179% frojack1503% Hairyfeet1499% zugedneb9025% khallow876% VLM802% By percent: Nick Trolls %Troll zugedneb9025% Ethanol-fueled56517% Khyber2015% jmorris23712% The Mighty Buzzard21910% jasassin3010% aristarchus2179% Hairyfeet1499% TLA148% Runaway19563097%

A tip of the hat to the returning champions and a hearty welcome aboard to the newcomers.