[bubba]

Two and a Half Men star Charlie Sheen's problems continued Friday, as the actor reported his four-door[color=blue !important][color=blue !important]Mercedes[/color][/color] stolen and officials found it -- at the bottom of a 100-foot cliff in Sherman Oaks, California.

"It was nice to have police come to my house and for once and I didn't have to leave with them," Sheen toldThe Insider.

[Ain't_It_Just_]

Bubba, on 06 February 2010 - 10:45 AM, said:

Two and a Half Men star Charlie Sheen's problems continued Friday, as the actor reported his four-door[color=blue !important][color=blue !important]Mercedes[/color][/color] stolen and officials found it -- at the bottom of a 100-foot cliff in Sherman Oaks, California.

"It was nice to have police come to my house and for once and I didn't have to leave with them," Sheen toldThe Insider.

I hope he appreciates the irony of the situation...

[Aptorian]

http://www.reddit.com/tb/b0x97

NSFW story, be warned, but it's funny.

Quote

Okay listen. This happened to me once. I was 14, sitting in my room, pimple faced and bleary eyed. I had my blinds closed so that nobody could see me. My nightstand light was on, for ambiance because I liked to have ambiance for special things.

Anyway, so my father comes home while it's going down, garage door squeaking like plague mice, and I hear it and I start freaking out. I'm like, "what the fuck, this can't be good if he sees me doing this, I've got to hide this shit".

So I start looking around the room for a place to hide everything. Dirty piles of laundry: too risky. Under the bed: too jam packed with shit. And everything outside of my closed, bedroom doors is too far away. We had one of those weird spiral staircases and open-aired second floors so my father could see everything the second he walked in.

Then I remember my closet, oh last bastion of safety, boxes everywhere that are great for hiding, mothballs galore which cover up any and all smells. I had a fucking huge closet, you see, and my parents stored all kinds of shit in there. It was like an adventure every time I went in there. Great place for hiding shit, too.

Anyway, the closet idea seizes on me and I climax. I barely manage to pull my dick out of her mouth before I came (my 14 year old brain didn't want to leave any evidence or something). Of course, my uncontrollable 14-year-old dick just sprays the hell everywhere, in her hair and all over. At this point, I hear my dad stepping out of the car, shutting the door with the hard slam of a fucking gorilla. So I waddle, pants around my legs, very quickly across to the room to the closet. I gesture angrily and she just looks at me, like a fucking deer in headlights, her eyes hazy from all the alcohol and vicodin we had tried earlier, so I pull my pants up, walk over to her and push drag her in. I hear footsteps coming up the stairs right as I close the door to my closet.

My father knocks on the door, asks me what I'm doing stumbling around up there and if he can come inside. I'm all "nope, I'm... uh... naked" because I'm a stupid 14-year-old who can't find better excuses. He responds to this with "Well put some pants on. I'm going in there in two minutes to have a talk with you and if you're naked, then so be it." And he says all this with a mean, gravelly voice, like the hard motherfucker that he is.

Two long minutes pass with me frozen like a dumb pillar of salt and he walks into the room, all six foot two and 230 pounds of him. He sits me down on my bed and he starts lecturing me about masturbation, how I shouldn't do it too much and other shit like that. Then he goes on this long fucking tangent about how I should treat women with respect or else I wouldn't be able to keep them. This entire time, I'm just sitting there, trying not to look at the closet. I'm sweating like a fucking pig and my legs are shaking like crazy, but I guess he just passed it off to some masturbation scare. He finishes up his story, gets up from the bed and gives me this creepy look that I guess was supposed to be meaningful. Suddenly, a kind of confused moan, like the kind you get would from a brain cancer patient in their death throes, comes from my closet. My father just looks at me with his "what the fuck, you're busted you little shit" look and walks up to the closet.

I'm freaking the fuck out now, telling him to stop and shit but the guy's pissed as shit and unstoppable. Just as he gets to the closet, the door bursts open and my mother stumbles out, half-naked and with cum all up in her hair, looking like the piece of drugged out meat that she is, and she says "I've been doing this for years" and falls flat on her face.

It was a good time. We made the best of it.

[Raymond Luxury Yacht]

What. The. Fuck.

[Ain't_It_Just_]

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[D'rek]

and it's called the aristocrats?

[Sinisdar Toste]

EVERYBODY! EVERYBODY!

[Aptorian]

http://www.reddit.co...ttack_only_two/

Quote

Dick Cheney has fifth hearth attack, only two horcruxes remaining.
Just because Tom Riddle made 7 horcruxes does not mean that Dick Cheney would make 7.

This is the biggest slime in American politics in the past decade. Splitting your soul 7 times is childs play in his world. Far more devious and far more evil than Voldemort could ever be, Dick Cheney would go to any length to ensure that he could not die - even live out a 100 year prison sentence for admitting to torture. Do not underestimate the Cheney.

So lets take a look at what possible things Dick Cheney could have separated his soul into:

• Born in Nebraska, he most likely made his first horcrux here. Since his childhood is clouded in mystery, this could be a difficult one to detect. Most likely is was some sort of family heirloom that made him believe he was special.
• As a flunk out of Yale University, Cheney undoubetly purposely flunked out as it would allow him a safe haven for another horcrux. This one could be something inconspicuous and may be on of the most difficult ones to find.
• His applications for the draft for Vietnam are anything but. These 5 applications are without a doubt 5 identical horcruxes made in order to fool a person into believeing that he would actually put his life on the line for someone else. In fact, these horcruxes were a great insurance for his longevity.
• His early White House Appointments were nothing more then to get access to one the most well guarded buildings in all of America - the White House. Here, Cheney was able to get military and government personell to unknowningly guard items that would allow him to live virtually forever.
• During his terms in the Senate, Cheney further increased the protection of his horcruxes. However, his genius is more perplexing than one could imagine. By opposing the creation of the Department of Education, he would make it appear that he didn't want an fair public education in America. He knew that regardless of his vote, that the DoE would be created. This veto ballot, which would never be seen again, is without a doubt another horcrux.
• In 1986, he pressed the South African government to release Nelson Mandela. More likely, this was a scapegoat in order to get access to a foreign nations prison, as it would provide another layer of security for a horcrux location.
• In 1991, he was awarded a Presidential Medal of Freedom for Desert Storm. This is definitely a horcrux.
• During the next decade, Cheney visited many different countries, including many secure locations and possible nuclear silos. There is little detail of his journeys, and thus finding additional horcruxes he made during this decade may not be possible. It is also possible that none were created during this time, as he already thought he created enough to secure his life for the time being. It is also possible that the twin towers were both horcruxes, and in order to further split a horcrux into other horcruxes, he had them destroyed.
• The assassination attempt on him in February 2007 was a blatant coverup. Supposedly a bomb was detonated at the main gate, however, this was only to provide him with a plausible deniablility. This is believed to be his first attempt in a decade to create a new horcrux and something went wrong. Instead, he blamed it on a terrorist attack.
• Finally, this hunting accident was no accident. He deliberately shot Harry Whittington in order to make his last horcrux - inside that of another man. With a living body to that encapsulated the essence of Cheney, he is able to secure horcrux in the blood of another human.

And this leaves us with a sense of despair. While Voldemort may have avada kadavraed-crucioed-imperioed many other wizards, Cheney has undoubtedly gone beyond what is considered evil. His political monstronsity will continue to exist in America, as without a guide to start hunting horcruxes, Cheneys life will most likely outlive you, me, and every other redditor.

[Ain't_It_Just_]

Aptorian, on 25 February 2010 - 08:39 AM, said:

http://www.reddit.co...ttack_only_two/

Quote

Dick Cheney has fifth hearth attack, only two horcruxes remaining.
Just because Tom Riddle made 7 horcruxes does not mean that Dick Cheney would make 7.

This is the biggest slime in American politics in the past decade. Splitting your soul 7 times is childs play in his world. Far more devious and far more evil than Voldemort could ever be, Dick Cheney would go to any length to ensure that he could not die - even live out a 100 year prison sentence for admitting to torture. Do not underestimate the Cheney.

So lets take a look at what possible things Dick Cheney could have separated his soul into:

• Born in Nebraska, he most likely made his first horcrux here. Since his childhood is clouded in mystery, this could be a difficult one to detect. Most likely is was some sort of family heirloom that made him believe he was special.
• As a flunk out of Yale University, Cheney undoubetly purposely flunked out as it would allow him a safe haven for another horcrux. This one could be something inconspicuous and may be on of the most difficult ones to find.
• His applications for the draft for Vietnam are anything but. These 5 applications are without a doubt 5 identical horcruxes made in order to fool a person into believeing that he would actually put his life on the line for someone else. In fact, these horcruxes were a great insurance for his longevity.
• His early White House Appointments were nothing more then to get access to one the most well guarded buildings in all of America - the White House. Here, Cheney was able to get military and government personell to unknowningly guard items that would allow him to live virtually forever.
• During his terms in the Senate, Cheney further increased the protection of his horcruxes. However, his genius is more perplexing than one could imagine. By opposing the creation of the Department of Education, he would make it appear that he didn't want an fair public education in America. He knew that regardless of his vote, that the DoE would be created. This veto ballot, which would never be seen again, is without a doubt another horcrux.
• In 1986, he pressed the South African government to release Nelson Mandela. More likely, this was a scapegoat in order to get access to a foreign nations prison, as it would provide another layer of security for a horcrux location.
• In 1991, he was awarded a Presidential Medal of Freedom for Desert Storm. This is definitely a horcrux.
• During the next decade, Cheney visited many different countries, including many secure locations and possible nuclear silos. There is little detail of his journeys, and thus finding additional horcruxes he made during this decade may not be possible. It is also possible that none were created during this time, as he already thought he created enough to secure his life for the time being. It is also possible that the twin towers were both horcruxes, and in order to further split a horcrux into other horcruxes, he had them destroyed.
• The assassination attempt on him in February 2007 was a blatant coverup. Supposedly a bomb was detonated at the main gate, however, this was only to provide him with a plausible deniablility. This is believed to be his first attempt in a decade to create a new horcrux and something went wrong. Instead, he blamed it on a terrorist attack.
• Finally, this hunting accident was no accident. He deliberately shot Harry Whittington in order to make his last horcrux - inside that of another man. With a living body to that encapsulated the essence of Cheney, he is able to secure horcrux in the blood of another human.

And this leaves us with a sense of despair. While Voldemort may have avada kadavraed-crucioed-imperioed many other wizards, Cheney has undoubtedly gone beyond what is considered evil. His political monstronsity will continue to exist in America, as without a guide to start hunting horcruxes, Cheneys life will most likely outlive you, me, and every other redditor.

That is quite possibly the most stupid, and epic, thing I've ever read.

[Aptorian]

http://www.reddit.co...nfusing/c0lb582

Quote

I had an uncle who was kind of weird. He traveled a lot - a lot more than anyone else in the family or in our town - and he was always telling stories about famous people he had met, or cool stuff he had seen, or crazy chases or even fights. We were all pretty sure they were mostly bullshit, but they were hilarious all the same and we put up with it.

He really liked throwing these big awesome parties for everyone - family, friends, people just walking by, etc. Strangely enough, he and I shared the same birthday, so it usually worked out pretty well for me too. He always got amazing (and sometimes really dangerous) presents for people, which made him even more popular. We never could figure out how he paid for everything, since he had no visible job. Some of our relatives (who held a grudge against him for some other reason) claimed he had been involved in something sketchy in another country when he was younger and came back rich, but most of us didn't know what to believe. We were just happy to get the free booze.

The most "bittersweet or confusing compliment" I've ever received came from this uncle. I'll never forget it. It was at one of his famous parties - the biggest he had ever thrown, or so it seemed; it felt like the whole town was there in the huge field by his house - and things had been getting more and more raucous as the day had progressed. He decided to make a speech. His speeches were never as good as his stories, but he had just given away thousands of dollars worth of liquor and food so we felt like we ought to oblige him.

The speech was pretty strange, even for him; I was young, and I don't remember it all that well. But I do remember that he seemed sad about something. He looked around at everyone, all drunk as fish, and gave the following bizarre compliment: "I don't know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve." It mostly confused people, but some of us were pleased.

He disappeared shortly after that, and he left his house and all his stuff to me for some reason. I've been trying to sort through everything, but there are relatives showing up all the time to try to take things that they claim should be theirs. Some friends are helping me with it all, but it hasn't been half as much fun as having my uncle around ever

[Sinisdar Toste]

Aptorian, on 28 February 2010 - 10:09 PM, said:

http://www.reddit.co...nfusing/c0lb582

Quote

I had an uncle who was kind of weird. He traveled a lot - a lot more than anyone else in the family or in our town - and he was always telling stories about famous people he had met, or cool stuff he had seen, or crazy chases or even fights. We were all pretty sure they were mostly bullshit, but they were hilarious all the same and we put up with it.

He really liked throwing these big awesome parties for everyone - family, friends, people just walking by, etc. Strangely enough, he and I shared the same birthday, so it usually worked out pretty well for me too. He always got amazing (and sometimes really dangerous) presents for people, which made him even more popular. We never could figure out how he paid for everything, since he had no visible job. Some of our relatives (who held a grudge against him for some other reason) claimed he had been involved in something sketchy in another country when he was younger and came back rich, but most of us didn't know what to believe. We were just happy to get the free booze.

The most "bittersweet or confusing compliment" I've ever received came from this uncle. I'll never forget it. It was at one of his famous parties - the biggest he had ever thrown, or so it seemed; it felt like the whole town was there in the huge field by his house - and things had been getting more and more raucous as the day had progressed. He decided to make a speech. His speeches were never as good as his stories, but he had just given away thousands of dollars worth of liquor and food so we felt like we ought to oblige him.

The speech was pretty strange, even for him; I was young, and I don't remember it all that well. But I do remember that he seemed sad about something. He looked around at everyone, all drunk as fish, and gave the following bizarre compliment: "I don't know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve." It mostly confused people, but some of us were pleased.

He disappeared shortly after that, and he left his house and all his stuff to me for some reason. I've been trying to sort through everything, but there are relatives showing up all the time to try to take things that they claim should be theirs. Some friends are helping me with it all, but it hasn't been half as much fun as having my uncle around ever

[Cause]

I saw that one coming at the line when he gave away dangerous gifts

[Gwynn ap Nudd]

I'm sure most have heard this in one form or another by now, but as I ran across it again today I had to post it:

Quote

The simple question was: "Describe how to determine the height of a skyscraper with a barometer." To which one student replied: "You tie a long piece of string to the neck of the barometer, then lower the barometer from the roof of the skyscraper to the ground. The length of the string plus the length of the barometer will equal the height of the building."

This highly original answer so incensed the examiner that the student was failed. The student then appealed on the grounds that his answer was indisputably correct, and the University appointed an independent arbiter to decide the case. The arbiter judged that the answer was indeed correct, but did not display any noticeable knowledge of physics. To resolve the problem it was decided to call the student in and allow him six minutes in which to provide a verbal answer, which showed at least a minimal familiarity with the basic principles of physics.

For five minutes the student sat in silence, forehead creased in thought. The arbiter reminded him that time was running out, to which the student replied that he had several extremely relevant answers, but couldn't make up his mind which to use. On being advised to hurry up the student replied as follows:

* "Firstly, you could take the barometer up to the roof of the skyscraper, drop it over the edge, and measure the time it takes to reach the ground. The height of the building can then be worked out from the formula H = 0.5g x t squared. But bad luck on the barometer."

* "Or if the sun is shining you could measure the height of the barometer, then set it on end and measure the length of its shadow. Then you measure the length of the skyscraper's shadow, and thereafter it is a simple matter of proportional arithmetic to work out the height of the skyscraper."

* "But if you wanted to be highly scientific about it, you could tie a short piece of string to the barometer and swing it like a pendulum, first at ground level and then on the roof of the skyscraper. The height is worked out by the difference in the gravitational restoring force T = 2 pi square root (l / g)."

* "Or if the skyscraper has an outside emergency staircase, it would be easier to walk up it and mark off the height of the skyscraper in barometer lengths, then add them up."

* "If you merely wanted to be boring and orthodox about it, of course, you could use the barometer to measure the air pressure on the roof of the skyscraper and on the ground, and convert the difference in millibars into feet to give the height of the building."

* "But since we are constantly being exhorted to exercise independence of mind and apply scientific methods, undoubtedly the best way would be to knock on the janitor's door and say to him 'If you would like a nice new barometer, I will give you this one if you tell me the height of this skyscraper'."

The student was Neils Bohr. He would later go on to win the Nobel Prize for Physics.

[Aptorian]

That is an awesome story.

Strange I've never heard that story before, since Bohr is one the most famous Danish scientists.

[Morgoth]

Aptorian, on 02 March 2010 - 08:22 AM, said:

That is an awesome story.

Strange I've never heard that story before, since Bohr is one the most famous Danish scientists.

That sentence is wrong on so many levels

[Aptorian]

Now that you're no longer a moderator you've turned into a grammar nazi instead?

[Morgoth]

whatever provides me with echoes of power

[MTS]

Found this in the paper this morning.

Quote

In days of yore, we're told, people had less leisure time because everything - everything - was a protracted pain in the fundament. Want to clean that smock? Then you'll have to walk 10km carrying a bucket of water back from the village well. And that's before you've tackled the laundering process itself, which consists of three hours laboriously scrubbing your soiled garmet against a washboard and wringing it through a mangle. By the time you've finished, it's bedtime. Did you remember to clean your pyjamas? No. Back to the village well for you then.
No wonder the people in medieval woodcuts look so miserable, even when they aren't being cleft in twain by knights or dropping dead in a flurry of popping buboes. And oh how we modernites love to chortle at their unsophisticated lives.
But in many ways, the rustic serf of yesteryear had a better quality of life than the skinbag-about-town of space year 2010. Computers have freed us from hours of drudgery with one hand, but introduced an equal amount of slightly different drudgery with the other.
No matter how advanced civilisation becomes, there's an unyielding quota of drudgery lurking at the core that can never be completely eradicated.
These days it's commonplace to do everything online, from designing the layout of your kitchen to locating a stranger prepared to kill and eat you for mutual sexual gratification. Tasks the would have taken years to organise and achieve can now be accomplished in the blink of an icon.
Or would be, if you could remember your password. But you can't remember your password. You can't remember it because you chose it so very long, long ago - maybe three days afore. In the intervening period you've had to dream up another six passwords for another six websites, programs or email addresses.
In this age of rampant identity theft, where it's just a matter of time before someone works out a way to steal your reflection in the mirror and use it to commit serial bigamy in an alternate dimension, we're told only a maniac would use the same password for everything. But passwords used to be for speakeasy owners of spies. Once upon a time, you weren't the sort of person who had to commit hundreds of passwords to memory. Now you are. Part of you identity's been stolen anyway.
In the meantime: you need a new password. One as individual as a snowflake. And as beautiful, too.
Having demanded a password from you for the 28th time this month, His Lordship Your Computer proceeds to snootily critique your efforts. Certain attempts he will disqualify immediately, without even passing judgment.
Less than six letters? No numbers? Access denied. This is a complex parlour game, ok? There are rules. So start again. And this time: no recognisable words. No punctuation marks. No hesitation, deviation or repetition. Go.
Pass the qualifying round and it gets worse. Most modern password entrance exams grade each entry as you type, presenting you with an instant one word review of your efforts.
Suppose you glance around your desk and pick the first thing you set eyes upon, such as a blue pen. You begrudgingly shove a number on the end, creating the password 'bluepen1'. You submit this offering to the Digital Emperor, and he derides it as 'Weak'.
You can still use it if you want. But still; it's 'Weak'. So you try again. This time you replace some of the letters with numbers and jumble the capitalisation a bit, like a chef with limited ingredients trying to jazz up an omelette to impress a restaurant critic. The Computerlord pulls a vaguely respectful face. You've jumped a grade, to 'Ok'. You tingle within.
But you can do better. Admit it: you want His/Her Royal Higness Computer to actively admire you. You want him to give you a rosette for creating the most carefully constructed password in history, a password that isn't merely secure, but is beautiful. A password that sings. A password to make angels weep. You will present His Majesty the Mainframe with a masterpiece of encryption, an ornate lexicographic sonata - a creation whose breathtakingly impressive elegance is magnified by the heartbreaking knowledge that no human other than yourself will set eyes upon it. This is your private cryptographic poem, your encoded love letter to the machine. Better be good.
So you take bold made-up words, weave them with numbers, stud the souffle with spicy CaPiTaLs and garnish it with a random string of characters carefully chosen for their memorable unmemorableness.
You've performed reverse cryptanalysis; been a one-man enigma machine. And your offering pleases God. He deems it 'Very Strong': his highest accolade.
Still glowing, you try out your hand-crafted key for the first time, typing it into the lock. With a soft click, the mechanism turns. Access granted. You are now part of the smocklaundry.com community. How many of your smocks need laundering? When would you like them returned? No problem. Thanks for your custom. Farewell.
Three weeks later your smocks are returned, late and still plastered with hideous stains. You revisit smocklaundry.com to protest. But you can't remember your password. You can't remember it because you chose it so very long, long ago - maybe three weeks afore! And in the intervening period you've had to dream up another 42 passwords for another 42 websites, programs or email addresses.
Your beautiful password is dead. It was simply too complex and too exquisite to live in your humdrum world, your humdrum mind.
Now you must face the ignominy of clicking the password reset button for the 58th time this year. And as you trudge dolefully forward towards your inbox, waiting for the help letter to arrive, the cruel laughter of His Computerised Majesty rings in your ears.
You have failed, human.
You have failed.

This post has been edited by MTS: 03 March 2010 - 04:34 AM

[Adjutant Stormy~]

My god that is one of the most depressing things I have ever read!

Not completely untrue, a bit exaggerated, but damn depressing!

[Gothos]

Not that interesting. Bloated totally out of proportion. Seems like the wailings of an inept mind.