Cults are all alike. They all push you to cut ties with anyone who isn't in the cult so they don't hear anyone tell them that 48 year old church elders shouldn't be having sex with ten year olds, or other obvious truisms....just look at Trumpsters.

What?!? How is that possible? You said he's lost it, rambles incoherently, and has no plan. Don't tell me you were W-w-w-w....w-w-w-w....wrong.

His message was vote for me because I'm not Trump. Exactly what people need. FTFY

It took Trump 3 to erase those gains and then some. Too fast.
Cut taxes and removed regulations and billionaires did great, but not average citizens who lost purchasing power and didn't see a tax cut they can notice but now owes $88000 and rising fast thanks to the exploded debt and deficit, and has seen insane cost of living increases and decreases in public services in that time....and now thanks to his failure handing the pandemic, we're teetering on great depression.

Just look at over 50000000 jobs lost, and how many businesses lost, and GDP the worst drop ever exponentially, and no investment in America but massive leveraging our assets....that's jobs lost and wages dropping.

Um...I don't want sniffy poo Trump. I guess you forget he does far more than sniff little girls with his best friend Epstein, including his underage daughter, pageant contestants, even random ten year olds he sees in public and dreams out loud of dating soon.

Every day you get more deluded, it's almost impressive you keep bringing up Trump's disgusting habits by accident....maybe it's not an accident?

He might, the fix is overwhelmingly in on uncountable fronts and I won't underestimate the stupidity of the American voter again. If he manages to steal enough votes through his many schemes, he just might win the electoral college again....he's never won an election in 4 tries.
🤦‍♂️

Had an awesome experience trying to explain to a couple of ten year olds in a High school stadium in a Chicago suburb where our group came from (Prague, Europe).

After like 10 minutes I was almost sure they had it, but as I turned away I heard one say to the other "must be somewhere in Wisconsin".

Incredible! The ten year old in me is losing his mind.

Have to disagree with Star Wars.

Without the massive appeal the series built, this movie wouldn't get many good reviews at all. The plot is an insane jumble of random events and plotholes that should have been embarrassing. To enumerate a few:

1) Randomly Melennium Falcon happens to be at the right place, right time (I can buy this, barely, because it's fun)

2) Before they can even have a full conversation (something the filmmakers seemed determined to avoid, even though, as this list shows, dialogue can make riveting cinema) HS and Chewie burst in. I could buy into this, if not for the rapid-fire pace of these events, as it is it just seems random and things are starting to get silly.

3) Before THEY can even have a full conversation not one, but two gangs HAPPEN upon the group, for no reason, except some executive was apparently worried about giving the audience a moment to reflect and MAYBE develop some connection with the characters.

4) Kylo Ren kicks ass. He's the only Force master EVER to stop a blaster bolt mid progress. He's got some serious juice!

5) Kylo Ren can't fight his way out of a paper bag (a bag named Finn) narrowly winning the fight and merely wounding the otherwise fairly useless ex-stormtrooper.

6) Kylo Ren is BEATEN by some chick with no training whatsoever! (Don't get me wrong, I like Rey, but the good guys are SUPPOSED to be weaker than the bad guys, and what's the point in Jedi training if she already kicks Evil's ass? )

7) WTF is up with this whiny Emo? He is, bar-none, the worst villain of the entire SW series thus far. It's not surprising that they defeat him, he's so useless, what's surprising is it takes them so damn long to beat his whining Emo shitty-at-lightsaber-duelling ass.

IMO the whole film was a hot mess that reeked of far too much studio interference which turns artistic vision into "more explosions!"

In summary, and this is totally true, my ten-year-old son, who loved the first 3 SWs (I won't let him watch the prequels) when asked what he thought of it replied, "Too many explosions." This is the mediocrity paradigm of big-budget Hollywood films at it's pinnacle.

I really wouldn't be able to pick Piers Morgan out of a line up. I wrote that first comment over a year ago in the immediate aftermath of the Newtown shooting and it was largely a response to the rhetoric pro-gun advocates were displaying all over my Facebook feed.

What I wrote is not at all an over-reaction to what I saw during that time.

Totally normal and sane friends of mine applauded a ten year old girl who shot and killed a home invader, enthusing that this is how America should be.

Totally normal and sane friends of mine waxed romantic about how concealing and carrying a weapon transforms a vanilla suburban dining experience into a potential battlefield. Whereas most people get lost in one of the many flat screen TVs at an Applebees, they spend their time sizing up potential adversaries and keep close tabs on every exit as they feel the reassuring bulge of their Glock at their side.

I totally agree that most of these guys will never end up needing to use their weapons in an adversarial situation, and I totally agree that these guys are responsible gun owners if responsible gun ownership is defined by a safe stewardship of the guns you acquire, but that is not the point that I'm trying to make.

The problem is that these sorts of people and the gun culture they have created has an enormous impact on the type of gun laws we pass. This wouldn't be a problem if they were coming from a place that wasn't obsessive and wasn't paranoid and wasn't delusional, but they are and this is unfortunate because it enables and accentuates much of the violence you lament in inner city culture.

@Fletch I wasn't clear.

This guy is selling this cabinet. He may not have kids but the buyers may have kids.

It is a fact that some gun owners ARE irresponsible gun owners. A gun safe is the only thing to have in a household with children. Responsible gun owners with children would not buy this product.

In the past year or so, here in the State of Washington, TWO police officers were careless with their guns around their children. A three year old boy killed his 6 year old sister with a service pistol left unattended in a car while the parents went to pay for the gas. A ten year old girl shot herself in the leg when her father left his service pistol on his nightstand -- just one week after a gun safety class where he was reprimanded IN CLASS for handling a gun carelessly.

I grew up with guns. I was taught gun safety. I have no problem with most guns.

And there is plenty of evidence of people being stupid with guns. This guy who is selling a gun related product would do well to have a warning that his unlocked cabinet is not safe around children.

>> ^Fletch:

>> ^schlub:
Yeah, once in a lifetime event? I know it's 2012 but.. let's bring the shitty camera we bought 10 years ago.
>> ^messenger:
Shame to go to all that effort and not even bring an HD camera.


Maybe the ten year old camera is the only one they had that allowed them to manipulate DOF and zoom so it looks like the guy is MUCH closer to the lava than he really is.
Anyhoo, THIS is the most incredible volcano video of all time. Proximity suit...


You silly fucker!.....Damn. Lois from the old days sure had some balls,eh??

>> ^schlub:

Yeah, once in a lifetime event? I know it's 2012 but.. let's bring the shitty camera we bought 10 years ago.
>> ^messenger:
Shame to go to all that effort and not even bring an HD camera.



Maybe the ten year old camera is the only one they had that allowed them to manipulate DOF and zoom so it looks like the guy is MUCH closer to the lava than he really is.

Anyhoo, THIS is the most incredible volcano video of all time. Proximity suit...

SREDNI VASHTAR

Conradin was ten years old, and the doctor had pronounced his professional opinion that the boy would not live another five years. The doctor was silky and effete, and counted for little, but his opinion was endorsed by Mrs. De Ropp, who counted for nearly everything. Mrs. De Ropp was Conradin's cousin and guardian, and in his eyes she represented those three-fifths of the world that are necessary and disagreeable and real; the other two-fifths, in perpetual antagonism to the foregoing, were summed up in himself and his imagination. One of these days Conradin supposed he would succumb to the mastering pressure of wearisome necessary things---such as illnesses and coddling restrictions and drawn-out dulness. Without his imagination, which was rampant under the spur of loneliness, he would have succumbed long ago.

Mrs. De Ropp would never, in her honestest moments, have confessed to herself that she disliked Conradin, though she might have been dimly aware that thwarting him ``for his good'' was a duty which she did not find particularly irksome. Conradin hated her with a desperate sincerity which he was perfectly able to mask. Such few pleasures as he could contrive for himself gained an added relish from the likelihood that they would be displeasing to his guardian, and from the realm of his imagination she was locked out---an unclean thing, which should find no entrance.

In the dull, cheerless garden, overlooked by so many windows that were ready to open with a message not to do this or that, or a reminder that medicines were due, he found little attraction. The few fruit-trees that it contained were set jealously apart from his plucking, as though they were rare specimens of their kind blooming in an arid waste; it would probably have been difficult to find a market-gardener who would have offered ten shillings for their entire yearly produce. In a forgotten corner, however, almost hidden behind a dismal shrubbery, was a disused tool-shed of respectable proportions, and within its walls Conradin found a haven, something that took on the varying aspects of a playroom and a cathedral. He had peopled it with a legion of familiar phantoms, evoked partly from fragments of history and partly from his own brain, but it also boasted two inmates of flesh and blood. In one corner lived a ragged-plumaged Houdan hen, on which the boy lavished an affection that had scarcely another outlet. Further back in the gloom stood a large hutch, divided into two compartments, one of which was fronted with close iron bars. This was the abode of a large polecat-ferret, which a friendly butcher-boy had once smuggled, cage and all, into its present quarters, in exchange for a long-secreted hoard of small silver. Conradin was dreadfully afraid of the lithe, sharp-fanged beast, but it was his most treasured possession. Its very presence in the tool-shed was a secret and fearful joy, to be kept scrupulously from the knowledge of the Woman, as he privately dubbed his cousin. And one day, out of Heaven knows what material, he spun the beast a wonderful name, and from that moment it grew into a god and a religion. The Woman indulged in religion once a week at a church near by, and took Conradin with her, but to him the church service was an alien rite in the House of Rimmon. Every Thursday, in the dim and musty silence of the tool-shed, he worshipped with mystic and elaborate ceremonial before the wooden hutch where dwelt Sredni Vashtar, the great ferret. Red flowers in their season and scarlet berries in the winter-time were offered at his shrine, for he was a god who laid some special stress on the fierce impatient side of things, as opposed to the Woman's religion, which, as far as Conradin could observe, went to great lengths in the contrary direction. And on great festivals powdered nutmeg was strewn in front of his hutch, an important feature of the offering being that the nutmeg had to be stolen. These festivals were of irregular occurrence, and were chiefly appointed to celebrate some passing event. On one occasion, when Mrs. De Ropp suffered from acute toothache for three days, Conradin kept up the festival during the entire three days, and almost succeeded in persuading himself that Sredni Vashtar was personally responsible for the toothache. If the malady had lasted for another day the supply of nutmeg would have given out.

The Houdan hen was never drawn into the cult of Sredni Vashtar. Conradin had long ago settled that she was an Anabaptist. He did not pretend to have the remotest knowledge as to what an Anabaptist was, but he privately hoped that it was dashing and not very respectable. Mrs. De Ropp was the ground plan on which he based and detested all respectability.

After a while Conradin's absorption in the tool-shed began to attract the notice of his guardian. ``It is not good for him to be pottering down there in all weathers,'' she promptly decided, and at breakfast one morning she announced that the Houdan hen had been sold and taken away overnight. With her short-sighted eyes she peered at Conradin, waiting for an outbreak of rage and sorrow, which she was ready to rebuke with a flow of excellent precepts and reasoning. But Conradin said nothing: there was nothing to be said. Something perhaps in his white set face gave her a momentary qualm, for at tea that afternoon there was toast on the table, a delicacy which she usually banned on the ground that it was bad for him; also because the making of it ``gave trouble,'' a deadly offence in the middle-class feminine eye.

``I thought you liked toast,'' she exclaimed, with an injured air, observing that he did not touch it.

``Sometimes,'' said Conradin.

In the shed that evening there was an innovation in the worship of the hutch-god. Conradin had been wont to chant his praises, tonight be asked a boon.

``Do one thing for me, Sredni Vashtar.''

The thing was not specified. As Sredni Vashtar was a god he must be supposed to know. And choking back a sob as he looked at that other empty comer, Conradin went back to the world he so hated.

And every night, in the welcome darkness of his bedroom, and every evening in the dusk of the tool-shed, Conradin's bitter litany went up: ``Do one thing for me, Sredni Vashtar.''

Mrs. De Ropp noticed that the visits to the shed did not cease, and one day she made a further journey of inspection.

``What are you keeping in that locked hutch?'' she asked. ``I believe it's guinea-pigs. I'll have them all cleared away.''

Conradin shut his lips tight, but the Woman ransacked his bedroom till she found the carefully hidden key, and forthwith marched down to the shed to complete her discovery. It was a cold afternoon, and Conradin had been bidden to keep to the house. From the furthest window of the dining-room the door of the shed could just be seen beyond the corner of the shrubbery, and there Conradin stationed himself. He saw the Woman enter, and then be imagined her opening the door of the sacred hutch and peering down with her short-sighted eyes into the thick straw bed where his god lay hidden. Perhaps she would prod at the straw in her clumsy impatience. And Conradin fervently breathed his prayer for the last time. But he knew as he prayed that he did not believe. He knew that the Woman would come out presently with that pursed smile he loathed so well on her face, and that in an hour or two the gardener would carry away his wonderful god, a god no longer, but a simple brown ferret in a hutch. And he knew that the Woman would triumph always as she triumphed now, and that he would grow ever more sickly under her pestering and domineering and superior wisdom, till one day nothing would matter much more with him, and the doctor would be proved right. And in the sting and misery of his defeat, he began to chant loudly and defiantly the hymn of his threatened idol:

Sredni Vashtar went forth,
His thoughts were red thoughts and his teeth were white.
His enemies called for peace, but he brought them death.
Sredni Vashtar the Beautiful.

And then of a sudden he stopped his chanting and drew closer to the window-pane. The door of the shed still stood ajar as it had been left, and the minutes were slipping by. They were long minutes, but they slipped by nevertheless. He watched the starlings running and flying in little parties across the lawn; he counted them over and over again, with one eye always on that swinging door. A sour-faced maid came in to lay the table for tea, and still Conradin stood and waited and watched. Hope had crept by inches into his heart, and now a look of triumph began to blaze in his eyes that had only known the wistful patience of defeat. Under his breath, with a furtive exultation, he began once again the pæan of victory and devastation. And presently his eyes were rewarded: out through that doorway came a long, low, yellow-and-brown beast, with eyes a-blink at the waning daylight, and dark wet stains around the fur of jaws and throat. Conradin dropped on his knees. The great polecat-ferret made its way down to a small brook at the foot of the garden, drank for a moment, then crossed a little plank bridge and was lost to sight in the bushes. Such was the passing of Sredni Vashtar.

``Tea is ready,'' said the sour-faced maid; ``where is the mistress?'' ``She went down to the shed some time ago,'' said Conradin. And while the maid went to summon her mistress to tea, Conradin fished a toasting-fork out of the sideboard drawer and proceeded to toast himself a piece of bread. And during the toasting of it and the buttering of it with much butter and the slow enjoyment of eating it, Conradin listened to the noises and silences which fell in quick spasms beyond the dining-room door. The loud foolish screaming of the maid, the answering chorus of wondering ejaculations from the kitchen region, the scuttering footsteps and hurried embassies for outside help, and then, after a lull, the scared sobbings and the shuffling tread of those who bore a heavy burden into the house.

``Whoever will break it to the poor child? I couldn't for the life of me!'' exclaimed a shrill voice. And while they debated the matter among themselves, Conradin made himself another piece of toast.

As long as she's into ten year old boys, who am I to argue?

congratulations, you're a ten year old boy.

I do love that song "Laughter in the Rain." I mean, not love like I'd like to give it a rimjob or anything...or oral sex...not like he's Annie Lennox...but it was a happy song in a time/space continuum when I was around ten years old and more monkey than man, climbing trees and chewing on dandelion stems, scouring unlikely places for thrown-away Playboy's and Penthouses and dreaming of a secret hiding place where I could have sex with women twice my age....

Hrmph. Far less sexy and far more awkward than my inner ten-year-old ever would have guessed.

Hey thanks very much for the replies! I saw Ubuntu on Amazon for about $20 so I think I will go for that.

Its funny, I was assuming I would go ahead and order Red Hat Professional 8.0 (because it was the most expensive), until I noticed a user review that advised that the version shown was nearly ten years old and was no longer supported, it was also selling for $99.99...

So I will take on Ubuntu and tinkering with that will have to count as my summer holidays!