How Insane People Get Here, Part VI

... I deny I got here using any kind of search engine.

My favourite way of finding web sites is to go through every combination of letters between www. and .org until I find good sites.

In the time I've been doing this I've made some startling discoverys.

1. There are a lot of linux pages out there.
2. There are a lot of porn pages out there.
3. Porn and Linux cross over more than you would expect. ( LINUX+PORN )
4. To find thingsihate you have to try 1587841192872024 alternatives, most of which don't work. And thats without exotic characters included like hyphens!
5. The Internet migrates onto your hardrive at a rate that is proportional to your bandwidth. This introduces the Internet Migration Ratio Konstant, knows as k, which gives us r=kb, where r is rate of Internet Migration to hard drive, k is the Internet Migration Ratio Konstant, and b is your bandwidth, and this is the down stream bandwidth.

To assertain the value of the Internet Migration Ratio Konstant, we have had three computers leeching Celine Dion Donkey Porn ( CELINE+DION+DONKEY+PORN ) constantly off of the internet for 56).
One was connected via a 512k cable modem link, one via 56k modem and a control system which wasn't connected to the internet at all.

rate is measured in Kb/s

Our 512k link gave use 77.0 Gb (77044.4325 Mb, 78893498.88 Kb) of Celine Dion Donkey Porn, in a 56 day period, we didn't actually check the quality of the downloaded porn but it was all unique.

Our 56k link gave us 8.4 Gb (8426.565 Mb, 8628802.56 Kb) of Celine Dion Donkey Porn, 50% of which was downloaded twice.

Our control PC only had 432kb of Celine Dion Donkey Porn, we consider this to be an experiemental anomoly.

So from our results we can work out the rates of download, the 512k rate is equal to 16.3057 kb/s, the 56k rate is equal to 1.7834 kb/s.

from the rearranging of the equation r=kb we get k=r/b
So putting in the results of the test we get
k= 16.3057/51.2 = 0.318470703125
and
k= 1.7834/5.6 = 0.318464285714

Now the interestign thing happens if we turn both sides of these equations on thier heads we get...

1/k = 1/0.318470703125 = 3.14000625 etc.
and
1/k = 1/0.318464285714 = 3.14006953 etc.

So we have discovered that 1/k is roughly equal to pi, accounting for experimental errors, it can be said that k= 1/pi which in anyones language is an astounding discovery of monumental proportions.

By the way is it illegal to abuse search engines?

That would have been better as a rant than as a comment.

That redwood+forest+of+penises search is apparently a reference to a recent episode of South Park. I hang my head in shame.

..If I had done it as a rant I would have felt pressured to actually do some legitimate research into the phenomenom. Or infact choose a legitimate phenomenon.

Incidently after looking into the bizarre results of the control machine I discovered an interesting paper on Quantum Porn Effects which would acount for the results, it seems that porn and anti porn can spontaneously appear from the ether and most often the two would then annhilate each other to create what is known as zero point energy, in this case for instance it was Celine Dion Donkey Porn and perhaps pictures of the Pope.
What happens however is if this happens in the vicinity of a computer without an internet connection the porn is attacted to the harddrive and the picture of the Pope flys off erratically to the vatican.

I had a strange dream last night, I'm very sorry everyone I'll take a holiday now.

to me this one is the most evokative.

i picture a black man sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped. impotent. he turns to look at the sleeping form of his white wife. shudders, puts his head in his hands and starts weeping silently. later, he creeps off to the computer to seek help... perhaps there is a stranger out there who can finish the job he wasn't man enough to...

"evokative" sounds like a movie where dracula visits the forest moon of endor

These phrases could be loaded into the Perl Cut-up Generator for some nice stories. I like it that Andrew's control computer which wasn't hooked to any input line, had an anomoly of 432k of Celine Dion Donkey Porn, it only seems right that some would have osmosed, perhaps from some sort of cable bleed-thru, or ambient Celine Dion Donkey Porn, although I've sometimes encountered transient Britney Spears Llama Porn.

for today. Everyone takes one of the above search queries and write an evocative one-paragraph scene setter leading up to the insane person's trip to their computer, ala alptraum. If you can't make it evocative, for God's sake at least make it ekovative.

I call dibs on indian+underwear+bulges!

Pedro Gitano stood up, slowly, and put a hand on his aching spine. Enough weeding for today. And yet something didn't seem right. His still-sharp eyes, glinting beneath the worn brim of his sombrero, scanned the plot one last time as he unscrewed his hip flask and took a swig. were the carrots looking especially wilted this week? and he could have sworn the lettuce rows were larger when he laid them out. And... could it be? was that a pile of dead radishes, their pale, withered forms hastily tossed in a shallow trough? Then he knew. It had come, the day he had dreaded since his father had told him the old legend. He would have to warn the others. Limping back to his tin-roofed shack, Pedro fired up his trusty 286, plugged in his 2400 baud modem with shaking hands. The village would have to be evacuated. If only he could reach the others in time. After draining the flask in one desperate gulp, Pedro forced his hands to type the words he had lived in fear of, the words which had haunted his nightmares. Hitler+turnip. He prayed he wasn't too late. At that instant two leaves clamped down over his eyes. a tiny voice cried "totet ihm!" Pedro's screams echoed across the valley, as the rutabagas began their march toward the village.

i feel like shit right now
cant stay up and search the web
bye

I went searching for the Hitler Turnips, but found a 26kg. beet. I also found out that some turnips are called swedes. It is difficult to choose amongst the remaining possible topics; I am still boggled by the Celine Dion Donkey Porn experiment.

... I just wrote a long rant about the peculiaritys of the place I work to send to things i hate, then I deleted it.

It was based on someone saying.

Leave two spaces after a full-stop and one after a comma. (This is
particularly time-consuming to correct! :-) )

But on reflection I decided it was crap so deleted it, this is generally the common denominator when it comes to things I write, they have to be published before I delete them.

It makes writing inane comments so much more exciting because any moment I could snap and delete it all.

i keep hearing it's just one space after a period now... although that might be just the states. whatever. i'm always running into trouble at work for putting a comma before the last item in a list, as in I, Hate, and You. bastards.

This morning I woke up, and I got to thinking..? Who was the Mua'dib of Music? I was going to give Aphex Twin the crown and Squarepusher would be the Shai Hulud of Sound, I figured I'd be the Beast Rabban of Bassitude. (SquarePusher then said he wanted to be the Beast Raban of Bassitude, I wasn't suprised even though the Shai Hulud of Sound was pretty cool)

But just recently I've been reading the Archives, and I got to listening to the Ballad of Petey, and I realised that Blind Mama Pelphrey was clearly the Shadout Mapes of Music.

This is when you suddenly realise your halfway to work and you have no idea how you got there, last thing you remember was pondering importance of who was the Bene Gesserit of Blues, and here I am driving to work.

This happens to me a lot.

Do you ever wonder who is the Duke of Uke?

.. but now I know.

The question is .. Is he the Duke Leto of Uke as well? Or is that someone else?

I will let you know something soon, I'm on my third double espresso, and nothing much is happening; this may require stronger measures.

A thousand emotionless, plastic dance tracks were not enough for Moby!

Within an hour, T-shirts appeared with the slogan, ``Love the fucking baby yourself, you goddamn robot''.

Christine was home from work, sick with the flu and parked on the couch watching ÒGandhiÓ because she felt too crappy to change the channel. She had managed to avoid seeing this movie her whole life, and hearing the endlessly droning dialogue she now knew why. Through the NyQuil and Sudafed haze in her head, all that political talk about English imperialism dissolved into pleasant background chatter and Chris began to just stare at the pictures. After a while, she realized sheÕd been staring intently at Ben Kingsley for quite sometime, and more specifically at the garments he wore. She realized sheÕd been rubbing her knees together and had gotten herself quite aroused. By the time she got her sweat pants and underwear off she was completely focused on the men in the movie and their culturally unique choice of clothing, which resembled undergarments more than outerwear. Unfortunately, since she hadnÕt really been paying attention to the plot, she didnÕt know the movie was minutes away from ending. Just as she was reaching climax, the credits started rolling. ÒNo!Ó she screamed. She wasnÕt going to let Gandhi do what her boyfriend always did. She wouldnÕt just fake her orgasm and roll over and try to sleep. Not this time, damn it. Christine rushed to her computer and typed in three words. She needed pictures, very specific pictures.

That's why they call the Hindu film industry "Bollywood"