So there’s been a massive spike in demand for a product, that demand isn’t forecast to let up for the foreseeable future, and yet it’s outright impossible to get in on the action.

RAM is Lostech.

Okay Valve. Can YOU make memory?

Nothing he added was pointful. All of the CGI retouches of the original trilogy were pointless CGI effects for the sake of having pointless CGI effects. At one point in the Mos Eisley sequence a huge pack animal walks through the frame, obscuring almost all of it. Why? Because it was some computer generated shit to throw in!

You know, I bet you could hate yourself and others on Truth Social just as much as you do here, so why don’t you head back there where you can give everything you own to some prosperity gospel scammer or gold smartphone bullshit or whatever else you “too straight to fuck women” assholes do.

The mysticism of many cultures throughout history has assigned a power to knowing, saying and writing a demon’s true name. The earliest example of this I can think of is from the Ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead, the obscure god Medjed, “The Smiter” whose physical appearance can’t be known so when he’s depicted in heiroglyphs, he’s drawn as a bedsheet ghost with eyes and feet.. So to safely traverse the land of the dead you have to know him by his true name.

Call evil by its true name.

Don’t be euphemistic. Shame them by their actual name. It’s Microsoft. Microsoft makes software that is dangerous to its end users. SAY IT.

https://xkcd.com/36/

See? Imagery. And also, buy a bottle of bourbon and a bottle of rye with the excuse of doing A-B comparisons of Old Fashioned cocktails, drink like 6 and come away with the opinion that your favorite between the two is Luxardo cherries.

The key to a good stand-up routine? Imagery. And crowd-work.

Stop being a boomer and teach like a man.

So…

I inherited my grandmother’s house. I’m a heterosexual bachelor, I don’t give a shit about decoration, so the automotive tools and 3D printing detritus, house cat, and electronics shit from about waist down are mine, the artwork and curtains and shit at chest level and above are still my grandmother’s.

Included in this is one of those “one large frame full of a bunch of individual family photos” things that ceased to be manufactured during Dubya’s first term. In it is a picture of a bunch of relatives of mine hanging out in a back yard, the last of whom died last month, a black and white photo of my father when he was 7, a dageurrotype of my great grandfather’s first wedding…

And a polaroid of me, age 2, scrote ass naked, riding Bradley. Who the fuck is Bradley. So, while I was a fetus, my family went to a state fair. My father decided to stop at the carnie section to play ring toss. My hilariously pregnant 5 foot tall mother wanted to play too. So Dad gave her a fistful of rings. And she got one. As my dad tells it, the second my mama cheered, that carnie took the rest of those rings from my father, chucked them in a different, empty basket presumably to inspect them to make sure they are in fact smaller than the neck of the bottles, and begrudgingly told her to pick out one of the hilariously huge stuffed animals on display, and she picked a life-size tiger. On the way back out of the fair, my family walked past a National guard exhibit, including several tanks and armored vehicles. My grandmother, the idiot that decided to carpet my bathroom, noticed the sign next to a particularly large tank-like machine said “Bradley Fighting Vehicle” and she said “Oh how cute, they named it.” And lo the 6 foot long polyester tiger was named Bradley.

Three years later, I got out of a bath tub, and before some toddler sized tighty-whiteys happened I mounted that very tiger like a horse, which amused my father enough to go get the family Instamatic. My grandmother ended up owning the resulting photograph, time makes corpses of us all, I inherited my grandmother’s estate to include a 37 year old picture of my own dick.

So when I build my drinks cabinet intended to go on that wall, and pull down that photo collage and give it to my parents, one of whom was the photographer of several of those family photos, am I going to be arrested for trafficking child porn?

Probably, in Trump’s America.

Same mental disorder, different CEO?

Okay look, I’m old, I’m inadequate, and I’m drunk. But I’m also a millennial, and I was a flight instructor at the age of 23. I pray to whatever god actually exists instead of Jesus for the unceremonious deletion of every soul that doesn’t give young folks a chance to learn, grow and actualize themselves. Because I am so inordinately sick of being written off due to the year in which my parents fucked that I’ve got room on the docket to be pissed off when you do it to cohorts other than mine.

It is our responsibility to teach the kids, to let them learn, to let them fuck up in order to learn some more, so that they can become the actual adults someday. And it hurts my mind, soul and dick that I’m apparently the only human on earth not excessively lead-addled to realize that. And bitch I’ve washed my hands in 100LL. It’s blue and feels cold at any temperature.

If there’s one thing I’m going to teach you commie retards before I’m banned outright from this platform, it’s that you treat your students with at least the benefit of the doubt if you can’t manage genuine respect. Believe it or not, they’re real people living real lives that are different than your own. Things that are obvious to you aren’t to them because their lives led them to be curious about a different set of things than you did. And if you find yourself in the role of “teacher”, almost always your path led you to expertise sooner than your students. Sooner. Not Younger. I can tell you that, having served as a flight instructor at 23 mostly teaching men in their 50’s.

You think you’re the senior in a field? You think it’s your job to reign superior over your juniors? Think again. Because it’s your job to sit in the right seat as a kid twice your age sits in the Captain’s seat and fails to use the rudder correctly, because falling off a bike is how you learn how to ride. You have to let them slam the plane into the runway, because how the hell else are they going to learn?

Anyone with more experience expressing contempt for those with less experience for having shown up later: FUCK YOUR FUNERAL. Die unmourned.

Bullshit. I’m an American, do you know how much corn we have?

Each application is using the save dialog from whatever graphics API it was made in. GTK, qt, some tK ones are still kicking around…

Yeah. He lived to the ripe old age of 18. Had a long, happy life playing in all the boxes he could ever want.

I was more meaning the psychology of…having any reaction to it other than “what the nasal fuck is this?”

Rip Maru.

Because he legitimately is not a mammal. Cut him and he bleeds teal.