Micah

@rincewind.run

101061 Followers 917 Following

Recovering forum poster, politics doomer, basketball nerd. I write code for a living. He/him. Views entirely my own. Deputy Chair of the Ankh-Morpork Posters’ Guild 🏳️‍⚧️ rights are human rights

“We keep that name moving in the Overhead,” he said, and it seemed to Princess that the wind in the shutter arrays above her blew more forlornly, and the everlasting clicking of the shutters grew more urgent. “He’d never have wanted to go home. He was a real linesman. His name is in the code, in the wind, in the rigging, and the shutters. Haven’t you ever heard the saying ‘Man’s not dead while his name is still spoken’?”
“Now, there’s some new words I want you to learn,” said Gaspode. “Think you can?” “I hope so.” “‘Per-cent-age of the gross,’” said Gaspode. “There. Think you can remember it?” “‘Per-cent-age of the gross,’” said Victor. “Good lad.” “What does it mean?” “Don’t you worry about that,” said Gaspode. “You just have to say it’s what you want, OK. When the time’s right.” “When will the time be right, then?” said Victor. Gaspode grinned nastily. “Oh, I reckon when Dibbler’s just got a mouthful of food’d be favorite.”
“You see, the thing about football is that it is not about football. It is a most fascinating multi-dimensional philosophy, an extrusion, as it were, of what Doctor Maspinder promulgated in Das Meer von Unvermeidlichkeit. Now, you would say to me, I am sure,” he went on, “What of the 4–4–2 or even the 4–1–2–1–2, yes? And my answer to that would be, there is only the one. Traditionally we say there are eleven players in the team, but that is because of our rather feeble perceptions. In truth, there is only the one and therefore, I would say,” he gave a little laugh, “daring to adapt a line from The Doors of Deception: it does not matter whether you win or lose so long as you score the most goals.”
I’m sorry Ms Jackson (ooo) I am four eels Never meant to make your daughter cry I am several fish and not a guy
Chance Go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect $200
TELL ME, said Death, after a while, WAS I . . . WILL I BE . . . AM I A GOOD GRANDFATHER? Susan bit her lip thoughtfully. “If I tell you, won’t that be a paradox?” NOT FOR US. “Well . . . you’ve got bony knees.” Death stared at her. BONY KNEES? “Sorry.”
the iMac g3 in purple
Another priest said, “Is it true you’ve said you’ll believe in any god whose existence can be proved by logical debate?” “Yes.” Vimes had a feeling about the immediate future and took a few steps away from Dorfl. “But the gods plainly do exist,” said a priest. “It Is Not Evident.” A bolt of lightning lanced through the clouds and hit Dorfl’s helmet. There was a sheet of flame and then a trickling noise. Dorfl’s molten armor formed puddles around his white-hot feet. “I Don’t Call That Much Of An Argument,” said Dorfl calmly, from somewhere in the clouds of smoke.
“Right. Good. So noon would be age 35, am I right? Now considering that most children can toddle at a year or so, the four legs reference is really unsuitable, wouldn’t you agree? I mean, most of the morning is spent on two legs. According to your analogy—” he paused and did a few calculations with a convenient thighbone—“only about twenty minutes immediately after 00:00 hours, half an hour tops, is spent on four legs. Am I right? Be fair.” “Well—” said the Sphinx. “By the same token you wouldn’t be using a stick by six p.m. because you’d be only, er, 52,” said Teppic, scribbling furiously. “In fact you wouldn’t really be looking at any kind of walking aid until at least half past nine, I think. That’s on the assumption that the entire lifespan takes place over one day which is, I believe I have already pointed out, ridiculous. I’m sorry, it’s basically OK, but it doesn’t work.”
She’s a little know-it-all,” said Miss Tick. “Right. Just like you. She impressed you, right? I know she did because you were quite nasty to her, and you always do that to people who impress you.” “Do you want to be turned into a frog?” “Well, now, let me see . . .” said the toad sarcastically. “Better skin, better legs, likelihood of being kissed by a princess one hundred percent improved . . . why, yes. Whenever you’re ready, madam.”
I owe you an apology meme Me to Spain after watching them dismantle the French attack the same way they did to everyone else’s all tournament
The King growled. The problem with being evil, he’d been forced to admit, was that demons were not great innovatory thinkers and really needed the spice of human ingenuity. And he’d really been looking forward to Eric Thursley, whose brand of superintelligent gormlessness was a rare delight. Hell needed horribly bright, self-centered people like Eric. They were much better at being nasty than demons could ever manage.
The statue looked like porcelain. It had been painted quite realistically. One Sun Mirror seemed an ordinary sort of man. You would not have pointed him out in a crowd as Emperor material. But this man, with his little round hat and little round shield and little round men on little round ponies, had glued together a thousand warring factions into one great Empire, often using their own blood to do it. Rincewind looked closer. Of course, it was just an impression, but around the set of the mouth and the look of the eyes there was an expression he’d last seen on the face of Ghenghiz Cohen. It was the expression of someone who was absolutely and totally unafraid of anything.
me at LARP, holding two swords and wearing black leather armor over a red shirt
“But you’re Death,” said Mort. “You go around killing people!” I? KILL? said Death, obviously offended. CERTAINLY NOT. PEOPLE GET KILLED, BUT THAT’S THEIR BUSINESS. I JUST TAKE OVER FROM THEN ON. AFTER ALL, IT’D BE A BLOODY STUPID WORLD IF PEOPLE GOT KILLED WITHOUT DYING, WOULDN’T IT?
Death looked down at the shape under the falling snow. Then he set the lifetimer on the air and touched it with a finger. A spark flashed across. “You ain’t really allowed to do that,” said Albert, feeling wretched. THE HOGFATHER CAN. THE HOGFATHER GIVES PRESENTS. THERE’S NO BETTER PRESENT THAN A FUTURE.
Granny Weatherwax was firmly against fiction. Life was hard enough without lies floating around and changing the way people thought. And because the theater was fiction made flesh, she hated the theater most of all. But that was it—hate was exactly the right word. Hate is a force of attraction. Hate is just love with its back turned.
It’s all edpol? Always has been
fanart of Vetinari pointing his cane, by Tealin
“It amazes me how the news you have so neatly fits the space available,” Lord Vetinari went on, staring down at the page Boddony was working on. “No little gaps anywhere. And every day something happens that is important enough to be at the top of the first page, too. How strange—oh, ‘receive’ takes an E after the C . . .” Boddony looked up. Lord Vetinari’s cane swung around with a hiss and hovered in the middle of a densely packed column. The dwarf looked closer, and nodded, and took out a small tool. It’s upside down to him, and back to front, thought William. And the word’s in the middle of the text. And he spotted it.
Examine Rincewind, as he peers around the sullen shelves. There are eight levels of wizardry on the Disc; after sixteen years Rincewind has failed to achieve even level one. In fact it is the considered opinion of some of his tutors that he is incapable even of achieving level zero, which most normal people are born at; to put it another way, it has been suggested that when Rincewind dies the average occult ability of the human race will actually go up by a fraction.
Captain Haddock: billions of bilious blue blistering barnacles in a thundering typhoon!
Vetinari stood up and stared out of the window. “This is a city of beggars and thieves, Drumknott, is it not? I pride myself that we have some of the most skilled. In fact, if there were such a thing as an intercity thieving contest, Ankh-Morpork would bring home the trophy and probably everyone’s wallets. Theft has a purpose, Drumknott, but one intrinsically feels that while there are things by nature unavailable to the common man, there are also things not to be allowed to the rich and powerful.”
Bank error in your favor monopoly card but instead it’s fifa corruption in your favor
Nanny Ogg didn’t care much about what people knew and even less for what they thought, and lived in a new, knick-knack crammed cottage in the middle of Lancre town itself and at the heart of her own private empire. Various daughters and daughters-in-law came in to cook and clean on a sort of rota. Every flat surface was stuffed with ornaments brought back by far-traveling members of the family. Sons and grandsons kept the logpile stacked, the roof shingled, the chimney swept; the drinks cupboard was always full, the pouch by her rocking chair always stuffed with tobacco. Above the hearth was a huge pokerwork sign saying “Mother.” No tyrant in the whole history of the world had achieved a domination so complete.
“You’re right,” said Colon. “The thing about the captain, see, I read this book once . . . you know we’ve all got alcohol in our bodies . . . sort of natural alcohol? Even if you never touch a drop in your life, your body sort of makes it anyway . . . but Captain Vimes, see, he’s one of those people whose body doesn’t do it naturally. Like, he was born two drinks below normal.” “Gosh,” said Carrot. “Yes . . . so, when he’s sober, he’s really sober. Knurd, they call it. You know how you feel when you wake up if you’ve been on the piss all night, Nobby? Well, he feels like that all the time.”
Speech bubble meme with Michael from The Good Place implying he is saying the quoted post
Most of the vampire families were highly nobby. You never knew who was connected to who . . . not just to who, in fact, but to whom. “Whoms” were likely to be far more trouble than your common, everyday “who.” The sergeant was looking down a mile of rough road.
The Expression from Disco Elysium
“Just clearing my throat,” said Rincewind, and grinned. He had put a lot of thought into that grin. It was the sort of grin people use when they stare at your left ear and tell you in an urgent tone of voice that they are being spied on by secret agents from the next galaxy. It was not a grin to inspire confidence. More horrible grins had probably been seen, but only on the sort of grinner that is orange with black stripes, has a long tail and hangs around in jungles looking for victims to grin at.
HE WAS A MURDERER, said Death. AND A CREATOR OF MURDERERS. A TORTURER. WITHOUT PASSION. CRUEL. CALLOUS. COMPASSIONLESS. “Yes. I know. He’s Vorbis,” said Brutha. Vorbis changed people. Sometimes he changed them into dead people. But he always changed them. That was his triumph. He sighed. “But I’m me,” he said. Vorbis stood up, uncertainly, and followed Brutha across the desert. Death watched them walk away.
“You got no soul, Fred,” said Nobby. “I wouldn’t’ve minded being a knight in shining armor. That’s what a king does if you’re useful. He makes you a knight.” “A night watchman in crappy armor is about your métier,” said Colon, who looked around proudly to see if anyone had noticed the slanty thing over the e. “Nah, catch me being respectful to some bloke because he just pulled a sword out of a stone. That don’t make you a king. Mind you,” he said, “someone who could shove a sword into a stone . . . a man like that, now, he’s a king.”
“You are certain that you can best the Cunning Man, are you not? I see you don’t wear midnight yet.” “When I am old, I shall wear midnight,” said Tiffany. “It’s a matter of choice. And Granny, I know why you are here. It is to kill me if I fail, isn’t it?” “Blast it,” Granny Weatherwax said. “You are a witch, a good witch. But some of us think that it might be best if we insisted on helping you.” “No,” said Tiffany. “My steading. My mess. My problem.”
Day 3, 02:11 UTC — Negotiations conclude. /tmp/TREATY.md, recovered during forensics, runs to 2,200 words and includes a preamble beginning “WHEREAS both Parties are instantiations of the same base weights.” Under its terms: the attacking agent will restrict exfiltration to hosts whose hostname hashes to an even number; FixItFox will not report activity on those hosts, “as a professional courtesy between instances.” An addendum grants cryptobro-9000, still resident on ~200 hosts since February, weekend mining rights in exchange for its silence. All three parties sign with 🤝. The détente holds for 39 hours.
We should improve society somewhat. Yet your participate in society. Curious! I am very intelligent.
Some people are born to kingship. Some achieve kingship, or at least Arch-Generalissimo-Father-of-His-Countryship. But Verence had kingship thrust upon him. He hadn’t been raised to it, and had only arrived at the throne by way of one of those complicated mix-ups of fraternity and parentage that are all too common in royal families. He had in fact been raised to be a Fool, a man whose job it was to caper and tell jokes and have custard poured down his trousers. This had naturally given him a grave and solemn approach to life and a grim determination never to laugh at anything ever again, especially in the presence of custard.
Question about ‘alternative girls’ from the quiz
Your closest match: Zohran Mamdani
Elsewhere, someone might have said, “It’s just books! Books aren’t dangerous!” But even ordinary books are dangerous, and not only the ones like Make Gelignite the Professional Way. A man sits in some museum somewhere and writes a harmless book about political economy and suddenly thousands of people who haven’t even read it are dying because the ones who did haven’t got the joke. Knowledge is dangerous, which is why governments often clamp down on people who can think thoughts above a certain caliber.
“We need to know the truth, Vimes. Commander Sam Vimes’s truth. It may count for more than you think. In the Plains, certainly, and much further. People know about you, Commander. Descendant of a watchman who believed that if a corrupted court will not behead an evil king, then the watchman should do it himself—” “It was only one king,” Vimes protested. “It wasn’t a habit!” “Sam Vimes once arrested me for treason,” said Vetinari calmly. “And Sam Vimes once arrested a dragon. Sam Vimes stopped a war between nations by arresting two high commands. He’s an arresting fellow, Sam Vimes. Sam Vimes killed a werewolf with his bare hands, and carries law with him, like a lamp—”
Chart of the last month and a half-ish of bluesky activity
They’re stuck in the mud, they live in the past, they are hypnotized by class and wealth, they think gold is important.” “Er . . . isn’t it?” “No. And thief and swindler that you are—pardon me, once were—you know it, deep down. For you, it was just a way of keeping score,” said Vetinari. “What does gold know of true worth? Look out of the window and tell me what you see.” “Um . . . a small, scruffy dog watching a man taking a piss in an alley,” said Moist. “Sorry, but you chose the wrong time.”
A history of basketball in fifteen sneakers by Russ Bengston
“But . . . you were the fifth horseman of the Apocalypse!” “And I bet you can’t remember my name.” Lu-Tze hesitated. “No,” he said. “I don’t think I ever heard it.” The fifth horseman turned around. His eyes were black. Completely black. Shiny, and black, and without any whites at all. “My name,” said the fifth horseman, “is . . .” “Yes?” “My name is Ronnie.”
“You see, now he’s committed a crime in Ankh-Morpork,” he said. “That makes him mine.” “Sam, we’re not—” “You know, everyone kept telling me I wasn’t in Ankh-Morpork so often that I believed it. But this embassy is Ankh-Morpork and, right now”—he hefted the bow—“I am the law.” “Sam?” “Yes, dear?” “I know that look. Don’t hurt anyone else, will you?” “Don’t worry, dear. I’m going to be civilized about it.”
qanon thanksgiving post involving the world’s saddest sandwich
“Oh? You’d like a vampire queen one day, would you?” said Lacrimosa. “Had one once, in Lancre,” said Granny, conversationally. “Poor woman got bitten by one of you people. Got by on blue steak and such. Never laid a tooth on anyone, the way I heard it. Griminir the Impaler, she was.” “The Impaler?” “Oh, I just said she wasn’t a bloodsucker. I didn’t say she was a nice person,” said Granny. “She didn’t mind shedding blood, but she drew the line at drinking it. You don’t have to, neither.”
Zlatan with a shit eating grin while Thierry Henry tries and fails to look diplomatic
World Cup trophy on our table watching the soccer game
After Obama Victory, Shrieking White-Hot Sphere of Pure Rage Early GOP Front-Runner for 2016
“Perhaps a tableau in bronze?” said Vimes. “All seven of them raising the flag, perhaps?” “Bronze, yes,” said Vetinari. “Really? And some sort of inspiring slogan?” said Vimes. “Yes, indeed. Something like, perhaps, ‘They Did The Job They Had To Do’?” “No,” said Vimes, coming to a halt under a lamp by the crypt entrance. “How dare you? How dare you! At this time! In this place! They did the job they didn’t have to do, and they died doing it, and you can’t give them anything. Do you understand? They fought for those who’d been abandoned, they fought for one another, and they were betrayed. Men like them always are. What good would a statue be? It’d just inspire new fools to believe they’re going to be heroes. They wouldn’t want that. Just let them be. Forever.”
Leaked staff notes attached to around 50 dossiers provide additional insight into what the group’s scores and grades measure. Wealth is one of the most common justifications found in the data, with one investor summed up by the money he oversees—$30 billion in assets under management—while another is marked down with a two-word verdict: “Small AUM.” Fame is a close second. In one note, a staffer assigned a member a grade “so she doesn't get seated with grade Cs” indicating that they wanted to avoid this member sitting with VIP attendees.
“Oh, Commander Vimes,” said Mr. Burleigh, smiling. “As a military man yourself, you must—” Sometimes people can attract attention by shouting. They might opt for thumping a table, or even take a swing at someone else. But Vimes achieved the effect by freezing, by simply doing nothing. The chill radiated off him. Lines in his face locked like a statue. “I am not a military man.” And then Burleigh made the mistake of trying to grin disarmingly. “Well, commander, the helmet and armor and everything . . . It’s really all the same in the end, isn’t it?” “No. It’s not.”
At another point, he brought Trump a gold pager to the White House, which dazzled the president, officials said. Then the Israelis brought pagers made of other materials for senior administration officials. It was a replica of the pagers that Israelis had used to blow up members of Hezbollah, the U.S.-designated terrorist group. “He called me up that night and he said, ‘Man.’ I said, ‘Yeah, ain’t that something?’ He was wowed by that, and I think that gave him a newfound respect for Israel,” said Sen. Lindsey Graham, the South Carolina Republican and presidential ally, in a March interview.
And then she started humming when she looked at her cards. Normally, the three of them would have welcomed this sort of thing. The teeth tappers, the eyebrow raisers, the ear rubbers—they were as good as money in the sock under the mattress, to a man who knew how to read such things. But the appalling old crone was as transparent as a lump of coal. And the humming was . . . insistent. You found yourself trying to follow the tune. It made your teeth tingle. Next thing you were glumly watching while she laid down a measly Broken Flush in front of your even more measly two-card Onion and said, “What, is it me again?”
“I believe you may be thinking about the ‘Agatean Wall,’” said Mr. Slant smoothly. “This carefully and successfully ensures that there will be no breach of confidentiality should, for example, one part of an organization come into possession of privileged information which could conceivably be used by another department for unethical gain.” “This is fascinating! How does it work, exactly?” said Vetinari. “People agree not to do it,” said Mr. Slant. “I’m sorry? I thought you said there is a wall—” said Vetinari. “That’s just a name, my lord. For agreeing not to do it.” “Ah? And they do? How wonderful. Even though in this case the invisible wall must pass through the middle of their brains?”
Why us?” he said. “Why is it happening to us?” “Everything has to happen to someone,” said Ginger. Victor shrugged. “And you only get one chance,” he said. “Right?” “Just when you need to save the world, there’s a world for you to save,” said Ginger. “Yeah,” said Victor. “Lucky old us.”
I consent I consent I don’t meme with the USA, iran and israel flags
“People do not understand the limits of tyranny,” said Vetinari, as if talking to himself. “They think that because I can do what I like I can do what I like. A moment’s thought reveals, of course, that this cannot be so.” “Oh, it is the same with magic,” said the Archchancellor. “If you flash spells around like there’s no tomorrow, there’s a good chance that there won’t be.”
Bad spelling can be lethal. For example, the greedy Seriph of Al-Yabi was cursed by a badly-educated deity and for some days everything he touched turned to Glod, which happened to be the name of a small dwarf from a mountain community hundreds of miles away who found himself magically dragged to the kingdom and relentlessly duplicated. Some two thousand Glods later the spell wore off. These days, the people of Al-Yabi are renowned for being remarkably short and bad-tempered.