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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Deekoo L.'s LiveJournal:

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Monday, March 17th, 2008
1:44 am

tl;dr version: my blog is on deekoo.net. Go there. There are even posts from 2012 there!

It's been quite a while since I last updated my Livejournal. Why? Well, shortly after the last update, the protocol changed and Addendat could no longer post updates. I vaguely meant to get around to fixing that at some point, but it wasn't really a priority. Playing catchup to someone else's protocol changes can be disheartening, and it's not like my blog _needs_ to be posted to two places at once - the only reason I even use Addendat instead of doing it by hand is that I like to stick the most recent update on my rather badly designed front page as well as my excessively long blog.

And the longer I waited to play catchup, the more dully corporate LJ got. I forget whether it had already been sold to SixApart. Recently, half the time when I've been following someone's paste of an interesting LJ link it's required me to tell them that I'm old enough to see it. And now, it appears (See http://stewardess.insanejournal.com/228245.html for details) that someone's decided that their popular interests list shouldn't contain Bad Things. Like bisexuality, faeries, and yaoi, for one.

Is it any particular surprise that I cannot actually be arsed to go to the trouble of updating my LJclient just to make it easier on users of an increasingly plastic corporation? If you want to read my blog, it's on my site. If you can't be arsed to pay attention to anything not on your ljfriends list - well, you weren't interested anyhow, were you?

Tuesday, May 9th, 2006
10:19 pm
Hot anal outdoor sex on jaguar! Jenny like to be fucked hard in the her tinny ass!

The things one sees in spam.

I took some dead Spamforo botmasters out of Nematocyst's target list and added some new active ones.

Also, while I was at it, I made chunks of my site look Not Hideous in Dillo. This is not an easy feat; however, Dillo is _FAST_ and fits on a cellphone, while Mozilla and even Konqueror crawl by comparison (and don't fit on cellphones, as far as I know.)

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Wednesday, April 5th, 2006
1:01 am

So, one of the staffers in the public relations department of the transportation security administration of the department of homeland security (henceforth to be referred to as PRDOTTSAOTDHS, pronounced exactly unlike it's spelled) got arrested for trying to seduce an ersatz fourteen year old.

The AP story gives his title as 'Deputy press secretary for the U.S. Department of Homeland Security'; an older report, on Silflay Hraka, has him answering email questions for the TSA on matters of boobfeeling. He doesn't evade nearly as much as Shrubbery minions usually do (I gather one of the tricks in Rove's bag is to steadfastly repeat the same statement in response to questioning, whether or not the statement has anything to do with the question.).

I'd find it amusing that perving at an apparently willing sheriff's deputy is a crime and arresting someone for watching an arrest (scroll to the bit about Rajcoomar) is allegedly heroism, but I have to live in the same country as this comedy of buffoonery. Le sigh.

One other thing to watch for - if they're turning into the sort of organization they appear to have been designed to be, this is how they will handle involuntary resignations. Discredit the target with some behaviour intended to outrage Decent Folk before they eject him, so fewer people will take him seriously if he troubles them. And so fewer will mourn if he shoots himself in the face twice in a row.

- A sleepy Deekoo.

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Monday, April 3rd, 2006
3:09 am
As a member of the world's largest religion, I, of course, attended the St. Stupid's Day parade yesterday. (I do so every year, though, sometimes, the parade is rude enough to happen in the middle of the day in spite of my not being awake then, or to take off before I arrive. In fact, the latter is not very unusual, given my laggard nature.)

A few pictures of my outfit that day have been uploaded to Tentacled (Specifically, to pr0n/deekoo/shiny thereon.). Note: while none of the shiny pictures are porny, I don't guarantee that I won't add something pornier on that URL later. And almost everything _else_ on Tentacled is artpr0n; which is to say, not work-safe unless you work as either an artist or a pornographer.

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Thursday, March 30th, 2006
12:24 am
I am wrestling with DRI on an old Mach64 card. Rage XL, specifically. It's not going well. This is intended in part to allow me to play with various game-engine systems and see how insane they drive me - I did, after all, intend to write video games when I got my first computer, back in the mists of time, and perhaps it's about time I got started. Monde and I went to see V for Vendetta today. I won't deliver anything resembling a review, however, because it was great and anything actually said about it could contain spoilers. Instead, I shall be as the dustjacket blurbs which so annoy me wherein you hear a zillion famed authors quoted saying "1T RUL3Z M4N!!" (albeit not in those exact words, unless, of course, the 'l33td00dz demographic is being targeted.

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Friday, March 24th, 2006
12:38 pm

Yarm was built aeons ago, by a race of three-eyed, three-legged giants who inhabited the twisted surfaces of a volcanic island now sunk beneath the Pacific and spoken of only in whispers by the descendants of the Inca, who bide their time amongst the Polynesians.

Yarm is, in addition to a town in Britain (perhaps in Qwghlm; I am not certain), a computation device. An electronic brain, if you will. He is based around a K6/2-300. One of the ones with a 66*4.5 multiplier, not one of the 100*3 ones.

There was no real reason to upgrade it. Sure, Gimp would be lugubrious working with 300dpi full-page images, but I don't do that often enough to _need_ something faster. And all of Konqueror's lagginess (to say nothing of Mozilla's) could be blamed on loose coding practices.

That being the case, I held off on upgrades until something absolutely dirt cheap dropped on me.

This droppage happened recently. A PIII/933 with 256megs of PC133 RAM. Plus various and sundry minor cards that weren't factors in the decision to obtain.

Selection modus: Because it had MORE SLOTS than the next one up speedwise in the same pile (A Celeron 1100 or 1200 with everything onboard). I like to throw cards into my hardware in copious profusion. (Unfortunately, it has no ISA slots. Another reason for holding off. I couldn't really justify the cost of a new hardware modem. This one comes with a PCI hardware modem, though, which I hadn't known when picking it.)

I've been testplaying Hanako's new game (Since I don't see anything about it on their website, I'll be completely cryptic about it, though). Which testplay is erratic, because I need to wedge Monde off her machine to run GameMaker apps.

So. I need to do some huge compiles anyhow to test my new board, and the Wine website said something about Direct3D-related fixes, if I recalled correctly. So a stack of patches download, apply, compile...

And there's a typo. In the released version of Wine. I change the $ to a space, compile it again. And there's a segmentation fault.

Which, on a second make, isn't.

Buggery. Something is Wrong.

Many more compiles later, I determine that turning on the L2 cache doesn't help, that putting the drive I've been compiling on on a 40-pin IDE cable by itself doesn't help, that there's another spurious typo in which a C has become a G, that turning off the L2 cache doesn't help, and neither does turning on ECC for the L2 cache; that bad sectors fail to show up on non-destructive read-write tests, and that a cdefs.h has become a cdefs.l in a Makefile. Grr. So it is looking to me like something likes to set bit 4. Sometimes. It might be the CPU. Might be the motherboard. Might be my sole PC133 DIMM.

On most recent swap, it appears that that last might well be the problem. *crosses his toes and compiles Wine twice more.

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Sunday, March 12th, 2006
5:17 pm
After the war, we lived in hovels, eating roots and leaves for our enjoyment...

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6:20 am

For those who may disappear - a fragment of an answer.

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Thursday, February 23rd, 2006
2:20 am

Corporate image propaganda meets search engine pessimization*:

As we all know, bad information on the internet is usually provided by people or groups that have an agenda to accomplish, when in fact they really don't have any bad Walmart news to report at all.

There has never been a precedent in Wal-Mart history for a union to be necessary. Other organizations feel that a Walmart Anti Union stance is born from greed or negligence to our employee's needs. In actuality, there has never been a need for unions at Wal Mart due to the close, personal relationship between Wal-Mart associates and their managers. As you can see, there is no Walmart Anti Union state. We have positive and profitable relationships with both associates on the floor of each Wal Mart facility as well as the managerial staff. There is no need of an intermediary to resolve disputes because the disputes are handled face to face between the necessary parties.

Both snippets were snagged from Wal-Mart's new propaganda project. I suppose it beats I always had an free cum covered faces on my asian tgp japanese school girl asian girls hot asian in underwear teens sturgis webcam I japanese upskirt my asian big tits asian model My anal rape is a asian girls hot beautiful latina buns milk squirting titties wife next door natural tits a asian oral She is also blonde butt religious and goes to cartoon fisting twice every week and is free hand job pics nudist photo gallery in female domination smother She is not asian ladies resident evil hentai oral sex techniques gay marriage So she ebony cumshot ebony xxx free amateur sex videos our asian tgp say as asian exotic models and japanese beauties black and asian lesbian sex a brunette blow - at least this particular search engine pessimizer handwrote their sentences, giving them the much-desired 'contrived' look instead of the passé 'fridgemagnets in a blender' look.

* 'optimization' would imply an improvement.

And, of course, that first paragraph just cries out for the second 'bad' to be stricken.

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Wednesday, February 8th, 2006
4:12 am

And here's the discretionary non-security budgets in better perspective, albeit without anything before 2000.

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2:51 am

Recently, Monde leeched a bunch of White House PDFs. One of them contained a neat little graph intended to demonstrate how frugal the shrubbery is.

However, the dimensions they chose are a little off. The original graph doesn't show _spending_, it shows _percentage of increase_. Per year.

I took the liberty of changing the graph to show percentages spent compared to 2000, instead of just to the previous year.

Damn borrow-and-spend neoliberals.

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Thursday, December 22nd, 2005
5:35 am

And, while I'm at it, Nematocyst 1.1 fixes a typo and now escapes all the funny characters in the spam it collects.

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4:22 am
Lluzhionne 1.1.5 has escaped. Er, been released, I mean. Changes from 1.1.4: --version, and it no longer tries to upload completely blank files, and almost all its messages begin 'lluzhionne: ' to make it more clear which errors it's spewing and which the apps its using are spewing.

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Friday, December 16th, 2005
5:28 pm

After an inordinate amount of inconvenience caused by a collection of trojans which included a Spamforo variant, which was happily using the infected machine to peddle dodgy pr0n and dodgy pharmaceuticals (such as Cialis and Prozak(sic)), I decided it was time to Do Something.

Nematocyst is the something: a tiny perl script that mimics an infested machine, but doesn't actually send any spam.

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Thursday, December 15th, 2005
11:04 pm
Tonight, I registered a domain.

In theory, this should be a fairly quick procedure.

One feeds in a domain name, unselects the pile of checkboxes wherein the registrar decides that I of course really wish to buy the same domain in every TLD they work for, feeds in some nameservers, contact information, and billing information, no?

I used to use DirectNIC, Dotster, and OpenSRS. However, if I recall correctly, the last time I bought something through them, they had a list of customer credit card numbers to choose from. I don't _HAVE_ a credit card; on those rare occasions when the use of one is called for, friends and/or people who owe me money supply the requisite numbers. I don't want a slip of the mouse a year later to wind up doublecharging my friends, so I haven't registered anything new from them since noticing that.

A while back I found a registrar in Monaco called Namebay; however, the last time I tried to order something through them, their webforms were completely unusable. So this time, I decided to see how Joker was.

The first thing one notices upon visiting their site is that Konqueror has never heard of the authority who signed their certificate. As the leading certification authority, Verisign, is run by incompetent twits of prosimian parentage, I go ahead anyway. Their interface, while lugubrious, was intuitive enough that I could figure out the navigation in spite of their stylishly unreadable buttons.
Who needs visibility when you have STYLE?
Having run the gauntlet of Joker's webforms (at least, so it appeared), I finally reached the point at which it asked for the relevant credit card details. Feeding them in, I am presented with something along the lines of 'Your order is almost done! To continue, turn off any popup blockers, enable Javascript, click on the link below, and enter some information to confirm your purchase. Visa and Mastercard now require us to ask for all this.'. And a request for most of the customer's SSN, along with some other identifying information. Sigh. So either Joker has been replaced by cracklets, or the credit card companies actually have come up with the STUPIDEST IMAGINABLE response to widespread phishing.

The good news is, Namebay works again. Even if the process of ordering does inexplicably switch over to being in French partway through...

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12:52 am
The old man coughed weakly, his eyes focused on the great ball of fusing
hydrogen rising above the horizon. For a moment, it seemed he could hear the
voices of millions crying out in rage. A hallucination, he assured himself.
This long after the last pilgrimage, and still he remembered it. The fires of
sunrise on that last afternoon. The period of mourning. The horrible
fevers that had racked him, through which he had somehow retained the will
to continue. All lost now.

"They care nothing for will."

"Yes, Father."

The old man turned angrily, jerkily. "Nothing, flesh of my flesh."

The younger man sighed. "He hopes to come to an accomodation."

The old man's chair whirred as he spun, turning his back to the dawn. He
spat. "The President hopes to hide from the clouds as he has these past
fifty years. He has no honor, no pride, no courage."

"Grandfather warned us of that."

"Still, your grandfather honored his word. Stopped at the agreed border."

The younger man bowed his head a moment, turned away from his father. The
red globe seemed to sear into his memory; in the distance, he could hear the
chants to the the Destroyer, the Creator, the Fire. He shivered. "They
would burn in hell and call it Paradise."

"And they are the harmless ones."

"What do you mean, Father?"

"You will understand soon enough." His fingers clenched on air. "They admit
their enmity." He withdrew a small cube from a compartment at the arm of the
chair. "It will all be over soon enough." He laughed bitterly, tossed the
iridescent cube to the sand. "I must meet with the doctors. Make the final
arrangements." Sand, already hot, flew from beneath the chair's wheels.

The younger man's face was hard and bitter as he turned. He had never
appreciated losing, but he hated even more to surrender without a fight.
The Abomination came, and all men trembled before it, or, worse, flew
with a terrible love in their eyes to join with it. There were choices,
and all of them were anathema. He picked up the tiny data cube. His
father had spoken often enough of the device as his senility advanced,
so unnaturally soon it seemed - not all men were susceptible to the
life extension viruses. A small kink in chromosome 14 overrode one
of the most important aspects. He knew it all too well. Ghosts of shapes
seemed to dance from the cube as he fit it to the projection socket; then
blackness descended.

The young man froze, trying to determine which way to run, as a voice
familiar from a thousand speeches resounded in his ears. Resonant, carrying;
a voice that men could die for. That men had died for in the crusades.
The blackness faded away, becoming a checkerboard across his vision, glimpses
of the desert showing through. "My son. I will miss you. Do not mourn me;
for the things I have done, I deserve far worse than have happened to me.
I do them all for our people, and for you. Know, then, that you are the
only man alive to whom this device is entrusted. Only one other living
man knows the truth, and none would believe him if he told them."

He wondered if the cube would help in the fight to come. Perhaps. His mind
ached as he went through the slow, familiar patterns - the evocation that would
permit the device to use his own mind for to answer limited questions; the
evocation that, he knew, was perilously similar to the patterns that - but
he could not think of those, so he stopped, feeling as if he stood at the
brink of a precipice.

His grandfather's ghost twinkled in the eye of his mind. He felt himself
kneel in supplication. "I must know. The Abomination comes, and it cannot
be stopped, but it must be."

The ghost pled for information, about the Abomination, the world, the time,
himself, itself. The Prince ignored its questions, for they could not be
answered. Ghosts were always terribly hungry for memory, but they could
never store new ones; what was explained to them was forgotten again before
the sentence was even completed. He regretted mentioning the Abomination,
but only briefly; he asked it a question that it could answer: "Tell me.
The heretics were stronger than we, but we won them. How?"

In answer, a memory flashed before his eyes. His grandfather's face on an
archaic display, a television. Gunfire crackled in the air; a celebration,
a battle, who could really have been certain? His grandfather had watched
his old records, viewed directives that he could barely remember giving anew
so that he could store the information in memory less volatile than flesh.

The man shuddered as the new memory flowed through him, accompanied by a
certainty of its own rightness. Unseen, but still remembered images
drifted through the mind's eye as he listened to himself/the old man
speak of the organization of the factories. Factories that, a decade
later, his armies would raze to the ground in revulsion, salt the soil
with uranium that nothing might grow there.

Dimly, he could feel tears running down his face. The factories had had but
one raw material, and that was humanity; and they had had but one product,
and that was pain. The heretics had built them all across the borderlands,
and when that which went on within them was discovered, even the enemies of
god rebelled in horror; they overthrew their masters and let the armies of
God in. And here was the leader of the armies of God, speaking in private
to his lieutenants. Telling them how the factories would be organized,
a decade before they were ever built. How the only way the Kingdom of God
could be would be if the enemy was exposed for what they truly were.

He did not remember that he was weeping when he removed the cube from its
socket and placed it in his pocket. He remembered only the bitter certainty
that drove him, enabled him to bring his empire to rule half the world
though arrayed against a superior foe.

Turning, he walked through the morning, the sound of blasphemous hymns
leading him to the platform where a crippled old man awaited the arrival
of the conquerors. He could not have said how it was that he knew that
his father was dead. Perhaps he could have said how he knew the codes that
would cause the silver machine within to release the feelers that had so
long traced out his father's life, glasssharp wires detaching as the shadow
of the abomination passed above. Perhaps, he could have said how it was
that he alone knew that the reactor the heretics worshipped could be
controlled by a tiny switch within the implant, switched off forever or
detonated as the most powerful bomb of them all. And perhaps, as the wires
sank into his brain, extracting the directive of his will, he could have
said what that directive would be.






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Monday, November 14th, 2005
11:55 pm

Someone just sent me a petition to raise the tax on cigarettes (IIRC, the tax is currently about 50% of the purchase price) by another $1.50. This money is supposed to be used to improve emergency care (thus mitigating terrorist attacks - well, I suppose at least spending money on the hospital system will work better than spending it on a Department of Homeland Security that took most of four years to notice that they hadn't bothered to come up with evacuation plans...), discourage kids from smoking, and reduce tobacco tax evasion.

Yep, people will definitely be less likely to evade a 160% tax rate than a 100% tax rate...

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Monday, November 7th, 2005
2:40 am
Oh, look, election time again.

All the people are rather dull this time, at least in my district. There is a write-in candidate running for Assessor-Recorder who hasn't actually bothered to make a single statement of position that I can find other than 'vote for Anthony Faber, he's none of the above'. Which is cute and all, but when your record consists of saying nothing in particular at little length and being entered into official minutes as having said 'Ditto!'... sigh.

The propositions make up for it.

H wants to ban handguns in San Francisco. (Rentacops and government agents may still carry handguns, however.). As a member of an endangered species, I would rather have the task of wiping out _MY_ ghetto be as difficult as possible.

The Won't-Somebody-Please-Think-of-the-CHILDREN faction wants to use unwilling underage girls to bear Christian children, so they can have somebody to think about who presumably isn't having sex for at least another twelve years. I'm sorry; I dislike abortion, but anyone who isn't sufficiently responsible to decide whether or not to have a baby _on their own_ is not sufficiently responsible to spend nine months carrying it, either.

The breeding programme, er, parental consent amendment dovetails neatly with the really big trojan horse on the ballot: Proposition 79. When I first encountered it, the petitiongatherer wouldn't let me read the text (side note: there's a really long preschool funding bill now in petition phase that the gatherer wouldn't let me read more than a quarter of floating about. I wonder what's hiding in that? She also claimed not to know that there could be things in the full text not found in the summary.). 79 carries in it language creating a regulatory board, whose jurisdiction seems to be 'making healthcare cheaper'. Said regulatory board has permanent emergency powers and is expressly exempted from having to show cause before enacting emergency regulations.

Fuckheads. Fuckheads all around. I'm off to puzzle over what sort of android I like better and what the power reconfiguration one REALLY does.

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Friday, October 14th, 2005
3:57 am
Wednesday, September 21st, 2005
2:53 am
I wonder if the militia units the Iraqi police were going to transfer a pair of British spies to are any relation to the militia units that just _happened_ to capture and murder the son of an American dissident shortly after his arrest by US security forces? No, this is obviously just paranoia. Next thing I know, I'll suspect that a President might order his opponents burglarized or sell weapons to the Ayatollah or give money to the Taliban.

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