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New May an Oracle Conslutant visit your dormer
with a pictionary,
what do you have against Marlowe's mailman? He might be a Achnod who guesses what Marlowe does for a living and redirects the entire output of the Publishing clearinghouse into his porch.
thanx,
bill
"You're just like me streak. You never left the free-fire zone.You think aspirins and meetings and cold showers are going to clean out your head. What you want is God's permission to paint the trees with the bad guys. That wont happen big mon." Clete
questions, help? [link|mailto:pappas@catholic.org|email pappas at catholic.org]
New I plan to be an ex- before I get around to that.
     AARGH! You can't even take a dump without politics! - (deSitter) - (11)
         Of course! Politics are such pain in the ass!. -NT - (Arkadiy) - (1)
             fscking rooskies - always with the sarcasm -NT - (deSitter)
         In the words of Henry Brooks Adams: - (a6l6e6x)
         He has his own personal fears.. - (Ashton) - (7)
             These fsckers are everywhere - (deSitter) - (6)
                 May an Oracle Conslutant visit your dormer - (boxley) - (1)
                     I plan to be an ex- before I get around to that. -NT - (CRConrad)
                 Let it go, Sitter, it's the painkillers talking... -NT - (screamer) - (3)
                     ? - (deSitter) - (2)
                         I'm glad to hear of your progress... - (screamer) - (1)
                             Heh - (deSitter)

You're typing on a device that stores trillions of pieces of data and makes billions of computations per second with the ability to grab data on almost anything from around the world in milliseconds, using electricity transmitted from hundreds of kilometers through wires on towers dozens of meters tall connected to megastructures that do things like burn coal as fast as entire trains can pull into the yard, or spin in the wind with blades the size of jumbo jets, or the like, which were delivered to their location by vehicles with computer-timed engines burning a fuel that was pumped up halfway around the world from up to half a dozen kilometers underground and locked into complex strata (through wells drilled by diamond-lined bores that can be remote-control steered as they go), shipped around the world in tankers with volumes the size of large city blocks and the height of apartment complexes, run through complex chemical processes in unimaginable quantities, distributed nationwide and sold to you at a corner store for $1.80 a gallon, which you then pay for with a little piece of microchipped plastic, if not a smartphone, which does all of the aforementioned computer stuff but in a box the size of your hand that tolerates getting beaten up in your pocket all day.

But technology never seems to advance...


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