As ever, the Buffistas are a ready and willing font of information:
NovaChild:
I'm still not working on my homework. This is a bad thing.
Anybody know anything about Crow's polygon rasterizing algorithm?
(sigh)
Cass :
<Googles>
<breaks brain>
No, but now I am fascinated. NovaChild, I blame you if I go and learn something tonight instead of watching tv.
tommyrot :
It's, um... good. It rasterizes the fuck out of those polygons.
ita :
Is that the algorithm that came back from the dead to rasterise the algorithms that had vectorised its heuristics
Polter-Cow:
There once was a country named Canada
Who thought all the Yankees were mad at the
Silly Canucks
With their looneys and ducks,
But in truth, it's just hard to rhyme "Canada."
The Bitches at play
Erin
I would probably be a much happier person if I just went around sporking people and then setting them on fire.
NoiseDesign
That's your answer for everything. Well, everything that isn't answered by "Let's stick a spork in it."
Erin
A spork is NOT a toy.
NoiseDesign
Of course not, that's what Knives are for.
Erin
Yes, but knives are obvious.
A spork, now...Sporks have subtley. No one ever foresees their death by spork. Sporks are stealthy.
Neighbors
I stapled the Canadians
To their side of the border
But they wouldn't stay put
nor follow our order
Perhaps because
I used my library's stapler
At any rate, I'm sure
Vermont syrup's mapler.
Canadians are mean
But at least they don't stink
Like some other furriners
And dog breath, and mink
But they're so damned
"Nice" and also cute, it
Seems they're just too
Darned Canadian aboot it
Frost said, "Good fences
make good neighbors"
He didn't know about Canadians
Nor their evil labors
A Berliner might tell you,
"Eventually it will fall,"
But China's got the ticket
With their big, honkin' wall
our own Topic!Cindy
Two from Great Write Way, context be damned:
erikaj :
If the world ends, will somebody come take my dictation?
connie neil:
Nearly every job I've gotten can be traced back to a Secretarial Typing course I took in high school. IBM Selectrics, those honking big beasts. First day of class, first instructions. "Turn on the machines". Big whirr of fans. "Hit the Return button." The guy sitting behind me does, and the carriage return flies off the machine onto the floor. He stares at it, then looks at the teacher.
"I should just drop this class now, right?"
Gus
in
Natter
expressing one of the constant problems with posting on an articulate board:
OK, five attempts spell "Mediterranean", followed by a really long look at "synchronicities" in a suspicious manner makes me think it is time to toddle off.
in Angel:
Cindy:
Screw you WB, and your little frog, too.
P. M. Marcontell, in the Minearverse:
I'm a 12 year old boy. With tits.
