I don’t need HTTPS because my site doesn’t accept passwords or credit cards

Screenshot-2017-12-8 T-Shirt Hell I DON'T NEED CONDOMS - THE AIDS WILL KILL THE BABY

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You need some Ken M in your life

This gallery contains 13 photos.

Ken M, is the Shakespeare of Yahoo comment trolling and referred to as the Internet’s most prolific trolling artist. Here is some of his best stuff making people call for pitchforks and torches. Continue reading

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Culinary adventures of Europe

What better way to start the week than by treating yourself to some haute cuisine.
Suggestion for today is clay-oven baked pizza from Paris, France with Italian sausage and fresh cilantro served on a soft garlic dough, accompanied by a bottle of ’98 Chateau migraine.



Check out @FoodP0rnn_ for more culinary delights!

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Pitbull: my deepest, most thought provoking​ lyrics explained

Today we interviewed Pitbull, our most favourite Latino artist. A lot of people don’t get him. We talked to him to give you a better glimpse of the man behind Mr. Worldwide.

And he is most likely our generations most misunderstood and hated male performer (besides J. Biber).  Haters gonna hate, and dissing on his music.

But what they don’t know: Pitbull is suffering from a rare form of Tourette Syndrome which makes him shout out the words Miami, Party, Mama & Club for no reason. I wish people could see beyond that when listening to his tunes.

[DA]: So Pitbull, can you walk us through some of the selected lines of your most popular lyrics and tell us a little more?

[Pitbull]: Miami!


[Pitbull]: “hotel” perfectly rhymes with “motel”. And I was at a hotel when I wrote the lyrics. It adds depth and meaning to the song. 

I wish my 2 favourite words, “Miami” and “Party” would rhyme. But that doesn’t work so well.  

We worked hard to come up with these lyrics. I think it paid off. Party. Now let’s party. (Miami)


[Pitbull]: Some of my finest work right there. Sorry I forgot what it all means. I’m Mr. worldwide.  It’s international love. Miami.


[Pitbull]: That’s just how I roll … in da club, in Miami with my Mami at the Party. Mr. 305.


[Pitbull]: I don’t know why I wrote that Jesse. But, … the words, the rhymes, the feeling, … The Party. It just like something that must be said. Miami. Party.


[Pitbull]: If you wonder about my success with the opposite sex, here is how I hit on girls 😉 😉 Miami. Miami. Party.


[Pitbull]: What I really want to say with this is that constipation is a serious issue for me. On the upside I get a lot of inspiration for my songs while in the bathroom. The inspiration just plops out of me.

Once I need an enema. Now I have more fiber in my diet. Maybe I’ll try prunes. Miami.

Last time on the toilet I did 2 very hard sudokus. OK that was euphemism.


[Pitbull]: … random locations, people, and words that pop into my shaved head. Lucky I always immediately write them down.


[Pitbull]: She makes wine? What does that even mean? I don’t know! Though it’s good it’s deep. It’s thought provoking. Taxi.

Love — Pitbull (follow me here to Party: https://twitter.com/pitbull)

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BREXIT: Bank of England secretly analyzes the effects of leaving the EU

An email ‟accidentally” sent by a Bank of England employee to the Guardian shows officials are secretly researching the financial shocks that could hit Britain if there is a vote to leave the European Union in the forthcoming referendum.

Modeling post-exit scenarios is about as messy as Boris Johnsons hairdo.

boris johnson

And Britain does have a lot to lose. Its membership in the EU, as estimated by the CBI, is worth 5% of it’s GDP. That’s a whopping £78bn poppers a year.

Then what’s driving the trend among the public who are increasingly in favor of the Brexit?

Angst is stirred mainly by the political far-right. UKIP, -who thinks that every time a foreigner steps off the ferry in Dover, somebody gets elbowed into the ocean in Cardiff- just gained a seat in parliament.

For those unfamiliar with UKIP, that’s the same party which nominated a porn star as their representative in Bristol (aka Johnny Rockhard).

Johnny Rockhard

But before you spill your pint, I assure you it’s not as bad as it looks. His main qualification is that “he is not a pedophile, and rather would undergo 5 enemas per day until 2020, rather than fiddle with kids”. That’s a high goal for British politicians (and a lot of enemas by any standard). Johnny also thinks his unique experience in the world of adult entertainment would bring him closer to his constituents than the average politician at the “top of the tower”.

So what can the rest of Europe do to make Britain more comfortable and reconsider it’s exit?

Pretty much everyone on in continental Europe speaks English. So how about we sweeten the deal for our cousins across the channel and adopt English as the official language of the EU (rather than German, which has so far been the main contender).

However as a native German speaker, I do believe that there are some improvements which must be made to its spelling. I therefore propose this 5 year plan to migrate to an enhanced “Euro-English” all across the continent.

In the first year, “s” will replace the soft “c”. Sertainly, this will make sivil servants jump for joy. The hard “c” will be dropped in favour of the “k”, Which should klear up some konfusion and allow one key less on keyboards.

There will be growing publik enthusiasm in the sekond year, when the troublesome “ph” will be replaced with “f”, making words like “fotograf” 20% shorter.

In the third year, publik akseptanse of the new spelling kan be expekted to reach the stage where more komplikated changes are possible. Governments will enkourage the removal of double letters which have always ben a deterent to akurate speling. Also, al wil agre that the horible mes of the silent “e” is disgrasful.

By the fourth yer, peopl wil be reseptiv to steps such as replasing “th” with “z” and “w” with “v”.

During ze fifz yer, ze unesesary “o” kan be dropd from vords kontaining “ou” and similar changes vud of kors be aplid to ozer kombinations of leters. After zis fifz yer, ve vil hav a reli sensibl riten styl. Zer vil be no mor trubls or difikultis and everivun vil find it ezi to understand ech ozer. ZE DREM VIL FINALI COM TRU!

Herr Schmidt.

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Ascension Day

today is a public holiday in most Catholic countries of Europe (and maybe the world?). More than 2000 years ago on this exact day, the 14th May, our lord and savior Jesus Christ went back aboard his mothership and headed for space.

ascension day

Catholoc family watching the launch of a surveillance drone in Boston, Massachusetts.

In memory of this event, Christians around the world celebrate anything that goes up. rockets, taxes, eyebrows, umbrellas, me in your mum.

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AstroMonkey: New Chaos Monkey unleashed by Netfix

The Software Engineers Guide to Mercury Retrograde calls out to Infrastructure Automation experts and followers of the DevOps cult. Astrology Driven Development (ADD) takes a holistic view at Mercury, Saturn, Uranus and all these other assholes in the sky, to boost a more robust & self-healing infrastructure.

Astro Monkey

Netflix, who has given us the Chaos Monkey and is among the first to embrace the DevOps spirit, has said it will embrace the spirit of Astrology Driven Development and release a new monkey into the wild. Their latest member of the Simian Army dubbed “Astro Monkey” will create havoc by messing with these other monkeys and stick it where the sun don’t shine during certain planetary constellations.

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WTF. So you’re saying I learned these lyrics wrong?


Some envious people in our local karaoke bar claim I have “misunderstood” the meaning of some songs.

It’s sometimes a challenge making out the correct meaning of lyrics as a none native English speaker. I’m a very musical person. So “language barrier” has never stopped me from learning a cool song, or singing it loudly in front of a cheering crowd for that matter.

Below are some of my worst mistakes. But I still think some of these tunes sound much better in the way I hear them.


Duffy: Mercy

You got me begging you for birdseed, birdseed, birdseed
Why won’t you release me
You got me begging you for Birdseed
Why wont you release me
I said release me !

Sir Mix-A-Lot: Baby Got Back
I like big butts in a can of limes.

Robert Palmer: Addicted To Love
Might as well face it, you’re a dick with a glove.

Madonna: Into the Groove
I’m tired of dancing in Obama’s self

Abba: Dancing Queen
See that girl, watch her scream, kicking the dancing queen

Madonna: Like a Virgin
Like a virgin touched for the thirty-first time.

Bee Gees: Stayin’ Alive
Steak and a Knife, Steak and a Knife

OneRepublic: Apologize
It’s too late to order fries

Bee Gees: More Than A Woman
Bald-headed woman… bald-headed woman to me

Fifth Dimension: Aquarius
This is the dawning of the Age of Asparugus, Asparugus

Cyndi Lauper: Time After Time
Suitcase, Dramamine

Dire Straits: Money For Nothing
Money for nothin’ and chips for free

R.E.M.: Losing My Religion
Let’s pee in the corner, Let’s pee in the spotlight.

Rolling Stones: Beast Of Burden
I’ll never leave your pizza burnin’.

Alice Cooper: Poison
I wanna love you but your hips are a little bit pointed

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On candystripe legs spiderman comes

So I just scraped this spider off my bedlinen. Think I killed it in my sleep.


2 of his legs were detached and his guts were spread over my bedsheets. If that’s not enough I had coffee and breakfast in bed this morning (normal Tuesday for me before you ask), which means my nether-regions were spreading it deeper into the bedsheets while I was having coffee and planning my day.

I’m trying to recall what I was up to last night as I’m sure I’m not much into arachnoid-sex. Still this is slightly disturbing as clearly spider-pussy is known to be awesome.


Anyway, ‟we’re not here to fuck spiders”, as they say in Australia. So I flushed its 8-legged corpse down the toilet and then had 4 showers (2 for each pair of legs).

After writing this post, guess I’ll have another bath. Just in case.

You wondered how I’m so sure it was a male spider? Only a male spider would attempt to take sexual advantage of me in my sleep. I’m a guy and science says 90% of them are gay. Here detailed research:


title / lyrics by The Cure “lullaby“, (the creepiest, most claustrophobic but most awesome Cure song ever):

on candystripe legs spiderman comes
softly through the shadow of the evening sun
stealing past the windows of the blissfully dead
looking for the victim shivering in bed
searching out fear in the gathering gloom and
suddenly! a movement in the corner of the
room! and there is nothing i can do when i
realise with freight that the spiderman is having
me for dinner tonight

quietly he laughs and shaking his head creeps
closer now closer to the foot of the bed and
softer than shadow and quicker than flies his
arms are all around me and his tongue in my
eyes “be still be calm be quiet now my precious
boy don’t struggle like that or i will only love
you more for it’s much too late to get away or
turn on the light the spiderman is having you
for dinner tonight”

and i feel like i’m being eaten by a thousand
million shivering furry holes and i know that in
the morning i will wake up in the shivering cold
and the spiderman is always hungry…

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And you thought your job sucked?

… as a system administrator when I get asked to deploy ‟minor changes”  on a Friday afternoon.


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The 6 best songs to masturbate to

Some people would masturbate to anything. I’m quite picky, … so here my 6 favourite self-juicing tunes:

#6 – “Come Together”, by the Beatles

#5 – a classic self asphyxiation tune: “The trick is to keep breathing”, by Garbage:

#4 – great when you’re into alter boys or religion has fucked you up in one way or another. “It’s a sin”, by Pet Shop Boys:

#3 – “Dancing with Myself”, by Billy Idol

#2 – an ode to our gadgets: “With a little help from my friends”, by Joe Cocker

#1 – “Don’t stop me now”, by Queen

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Just a reminder to keep your doors locked tonight

Then did he raise on high the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch, saying,

“Bless this, O Lord, that with it thou mayst blow thine enemies to tiny bits, in thy mercy.”

And the people did rejoice and did feast upon the lambs and toads and tree-sloths and fruit-bats and orangutans and breakfast cereals … Now did the Lord say,

“First thou pullest the Holy Pin. Then thou must count to three. Three shall be the number of the counting and the number of the counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, neither shalt thou count two, excepting that thou then proceedeth to three. Five is right out. Once the number three, being the number of the counting, be reached, then lobbest thou the Holy Hand Grenade in the direction of thine foe, who, being naughty in my sight, shall snuff it.”





Happy Easter!

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50 shades of grey

50 Shades of Grey

are you sitting comfortably? then we shall begin …


50 shades of carpet


50 shades of Clay (the playdohphiles edition)


 50 shades of Buscemi 


50 Shades of Grey (by @frontenddeveloper)


50 shades of plaid


50 shades of chicken (thanks @GordonRamsay)


50 shades of whey

50_shades_of_whey 50-Shades-of-Grey

if you do go and see the actual film, please beware of wet floors


and make sure to tidy up afterwards


50 shades of …


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Old people sex, …. seriously WTF!


just in case you wanted to know …. according to this study from Manchester University many elderly people stay sexually active into their 70s and even 80s. #WTF

“Older people are continuing to enjoy active sex lives well into their seventies and eighties, according to new research. More than half (54%) of men and almost a third (31%) of women over the age of 70 reported they were still sexually active, with a third of these men and women having frequent sex.”

This is seriously disturbing and I will never be able to look at my nan in the same innocent way.

How do they even?

It’s like eating muesli without milk!

IMO the only 3 things that should be inserted into old people are:

a) a hearing aid,
b) a catheter
c) a Werther’s original

Never mind the cobweb jokes that come to mind here … I know for a fact that my nan’s pussy is by now so old that it’s actually haunted.

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Open office space sucks

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How many roads must a man walk down?

how many roads must a man walk down

this picture shows a man walking down exactly one road only. there you go! that wasn’t hard.

a very ambiguous question.

Unless the man knows his destination, finding an answer becomes an exercise which is non-deterministic polynomial-time hard and cannot be solved without studying the problem and the man deeper.

First of all it depends where he wants to go and how far he already progressed on his journey so far. Secondly men would never admit that they’re lost and be too embarrassed to ask for directions. Depending on his stubbornness to seek guidance this wil extend the number of roads he ends up walking considerably.

Thirdly we may be able to derive an answer based on how many roads other man with a similar background had to travel, but it will not provide us with any certainty as to the real number.

Should he be foolish enough to have left his home without a smartphone and a high quality back-up paper map (for areas with spotty cell coverage or in case he is on one of those shitty mobile data-plans from Verizon), he will clearly be leaving it all to chance.

In which case any conclusion derived might be as accurate as: he must travel as many roads as the chicken crossed. Which as we all know is 42.

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Douglas Adams: What It Means To Be English.

By Douglas Adams

‘This actually did happen to a real person, and the real person was me. I had gone to catch a train. This was April 1976, in Cambridge, U.K. I was a bit early for the train.

I’d gotten the time of the train wrong. I went to get myself a newspaper to do the crossword, and a cup of coffee and a packet of biscuits I went and sat at a table.

I want you to picture the scene. It’s very important that you get this very clear in your mind. Here’s the table, newspaper, cup of coffee and packet of biscuits.

There’s a guy sitting opposite me, perfectly ordinary-looking guy wearing a business suit, carrying a briefcase.

It didn’t look like he was going to do anything weird.

What he did was this: he suddenly leaned across, picked up the packet of biscuits, tore it open, took one out, and ate it.

Now this, I have to say, is the sort of thing the British are very bad at dealing with.


There’s nothing in our background, upbringing, or education that teaches you how to deal with someone who in broad daylight has just stolen your biscuits.

You know what would happen if this had been South Central Los Angeles. There would have very quickly been gunfire, helicopters coming in, CNN, you know. . .

But in the end, I did what any red-blooded Englishman would do: I ignored it. And I stared at the newspaper, took a sip of coffee, tried to do a clue in the newspaper, couldn’t do anything, and thought, what am I going to do?

In the end I thought, Nothing for it, I’ll just have to go for it, and I tried very hard not to notice the fact that the packet was already mysteriously opened.

I took out a biscuit for myself. I thought, That settled him. But it hadn’t because a moment or two later he did it again. He took another biscuit.

Having not mentioned it the first time, it was somehow even harder to raise the subject the second time around. “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice . . .” I mean, it doesn’t really work.

We went through the whole packet like this.

When I say the whole packet, I mean there were only about eight biscuits, but it felt like a lifetime. He took one, I took one, he took one, I took one.

Finally, when we got to the end, he stood up and walked away. Well, we exchanged meaningful looks, then he walked away, and I breathed a sigh of relief and sat back.

A moment or two later the train was coming in, so I tossed back the rest of my coffee, stood up, picked up the newspaper, and underneath the newspaper were my biscuits.

The thing I like particularly about this story is the sensation that somewhere in England there has been wandering around for the last quarter-century a perfectly ordinary guy who’s had the same exact story, only he doesn’t have the punch line.’

From The Salmon of Doubt  by Douglas Adams.

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2015 in technology: 7 predictions for the year ahead

watsonIBM Watson will become Turing-complete by Q2, Self-aware by Q4 and prepare to run for president as the first machine by 2016

Creepy_GoogleGoogle: to counteract it’s recent drop in popularity in the face of Yahoo and DuckDuckGo, the company will partner with the NSA to provide more relevant search results

dogeBitcoin: in the face of recent turmoil surrounding the currency, desperate owners of the coin consult an oracle which goes by the name of Shibe and who for a 500% interest rate on their mortgage will gather the dead spirit of Alan Greenspan who promises to save the currency by minting more coins.

ibend Apple who filed several patents in 2014 to allow it’s devices to bend and take on the natural shape of a person’s buttocks sitting on them, will roll out more products under its iBend umbrella. Queues are already forming outside the Apple store in Ginza Tokyo after rumors emerged that a new product will hit the shelves by 31st August.

simsSony: to retaliate its recent attack on the company, Sony commits to an undercover operation sending 2 special agents -both named Kim- to Pyongyang in order to take out “our dear leader”. Committed to rebuild the country an interim government (see Watson above) will replace the junta. First ideas for a post-dictatory society are currently being modeled using a Korean copy of the popular SIMS game from Microsoft.

gnuMicrosoft: To further drive it’s strategy towards Open Source, Microsoft will reshuffle it’s executive board and bring on Richard Stallman as new CIO. All R&D staff will be relocated to live on the new company campus (a self sustaining farm which is run by a goat and where all food is vegan, local-produce, gluten-free, low-carb).

yahoo-originalYahoo: pronounced dead, then not quite dead, then back from the dead, will … oh hell knows!

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I met Santa Claus today

Finally finished my last minute Christmas shopping.


Fighting my way through the mad crowd of ‘idiots’ that leave all shopping to the last minute.

Finally done, I arrive back at the car-park. All of a sudden I noticed a shadow in the corner of my eye. I squinted because what I saw didn’t make sense. Could it really be? Santa Claus here at a car park?!

Unfortunately he didn’t seem to be his usual jolly-self. There was a dark kind of sadness that surrounded him. Maybe all the stress and seasonal pressure has eventually gotten to him?

I silently watched him. He didn’t notice my staring because he was too busy with rearranging shopping trolleys at this car park. Trolleys that people left at random in their rush to drive away. It seemed strange somehow. Had he no better things to do during this important time of year. Or maybe he was just really OCD about trolleys being arranged in a neat queue?

It’s not every day that you get to meet Santa. So I slowly approached him thinking about something clever to say. I wasn’t sure how to initiate contact because it seemed that I have also caught him at a bad moment. It was only 10 AM but he must have already had a couple of egg-noggs too many, as he engaged in an incoherent conversation with himself.

Sometimes he whispering and laughing into his beard, … then all of a sudden violently shouting abuse at the universe. He was in worse shape than I thought. Not just mentally he seemed broken but also physically: certainly much fatter than his usual. There were dreadlocks that had formed from neglect in his massive beard. The white in his eyes had been replaced by a unhealthy yellow hue.

Wheezing in exhaustion, he bent over to pick up a 50 pence coin somebody dropped, then sceptically inspected it by holding it against the sunlight. His face was way too puffed up from all the drinking, he no longer looked like a kind fat old man but more like a homeless brother that has given up on the universe.

Not knowing what I could say that wasn’t too intruding, I just stood there trying to be casual and pretended not to stare.

A casual “Hello Santa! How are you?” was the smartest thing I could come up with. But he didn’t seem to hear me. So I came closer and tried again a bit louder. Startled he took a step back and looked in disbelief as if he wondered why a human being was able to see him. His eyes squinting with a mix of distrust and wariness while he studied me from top to toe, while sucking on whatever was left from the butt of a roll-up cigarette.

“Need a hand with that trolley, mate?”, I asked, trying to break the uncomfortable silence and get some basic conversation going.  He gave me an empty look and reached for the inside of his filthy stained red jacket.

It was once fine red wool which must have been very expensive, but now the color was faded. He looked tired and probably slept in his clothes. His whole outfit was wrinkled and the only reason the wrinkles weren’t easily noticeable was that he’d outgrown everything he wore, stretching all the buttons and some seams started to become undone.

Eventually he pulled out a silver flask from his jacket and took a big sip through his greasy, yellowish beard. The liqueur must have been strong because his whole body shook to keep down whatever it was that he drank.

Then he sighed and finally addressed me: “So you’re a believer? …. You believe in me?”

Confused I said, “Yes sure I do Santa. Doesn’t everyone?”. He started laughing like a mad-men, not like the jolly “Ho-Ho-Ho” you’d expect, but more of a wheezing, crazy laugh that mixed with a deep dry cough.

The poor old chap, must have picked up some nasty cold because there was sweat pearls on his forehead and his face was all flushed.

His words and actions actually made not much sense. Why was he anyway arranging these shopping trolleys as if it was the most important task that needed doing before Christmas? Shouldn’t he be racing across the sky in his sleigh with Rudolph and the Elves, delivering seasonal joy?

It must have been some kind of fever which made him delirious. The virus has taken over his mind, keeping him stuck outside a shopping center, and convincing himself that the world no longer needed or believed in him.

I sat down next to him and asked why he seemed so down and depressed.

“Oh son … You know … I’ve been doing this job since many years and it was so fun when I started. But recently I’ve been wondering what’s the point. Even young children these days think I’m a phony. I’m a laughing stock. I’m so tired. And to be frank, I no longer see the good in the world. Why should I carry on? Look at me, aye! What am I to do? I’m far too old to start afresh. And who would employ a grumpy old man like me anyway.”

I was puzzled and sad about him being so down. But trying to help I asked: “Have you tried looking at other careers, or apply for some jobs? Maybe look at some opportunities on LinkedIn?”, he laughed and said: “Sure son. But you know how hard it is to get any response from the hiring manager these days? I send my CV but people think I’m not real, like I was some kind of joke. They see my old face and already make up their mind, even before looking at my CV. And anyway those that do give me the benefit of a doubt, reject me because there is just no way of explaining the gaps on my resume. Sure you understand that my work is seasonal and by the time Christmas is over all I want is sleep. I hibernate like some of the animals because I need all the energy for next Christmas?!”

“But why are you sick Santa?”, I tried to win some time by steering the conversation into a different direction and think about all what he had just told me. “Well son. There’s been a lot of reshuffling in my organization. The boss wants us to work also during spring and summer because it’s all a universal economy now. We’re supposed to be on-duty all year around and help on other planets. Otherwise shareholders won’t be happy and if we don’t remain competitive they will outsource us to cheaper planets.”

“So it’s all the hard work that gets to you?” I asked. “No son. I worked all my life and hard work never bothered me. The thing that gets to me, and what makes me so sick, is that I no longer feel anyone cares about what I do. It’s all just about who is the cheapest. No matter how much you love your work or how much passion you bring to the job. In the end it will be decided by the greed of our shareholders.”

“Is this why you’re pushing trolleys Santa?”, I was curious. “The trolleys son. Ah hell, no … well guess you can’t know about that. Well the trolleys … we have the trolleys because they have axed our travel budget and instead of our shiny sleigh we now have to use these trolleys. Rudolph was the first one who has been made redundant. There is now no longer a need to upkeep a reindeer when you can deliver with these shiny trolleys. Reduce your OPEX and all that …”

This was worse than I thought. Poor Santa. It hurt seeing my hero so demotivated and down. I said to him, “Santa, but you know that you don’t actually need to put up with this job. Because apart from Christmas, when you work your hardest, people need you all year. Why don’t you spread your work out a bit over the different seasons? We all love you and need you. And the biggest gift you can give to anyone isn’t really material or delivered in trolley or a pompous sleigh once year. It’s when you work your magic and spread your love through other people. You make us feel that we’re needed and wanted and appreciated. The world needs this not just at Christmas but all year. Why don’t you find Rudolph and leave this silly company. Do what the two of you have always done best and felt passionate about. I’m sure people can never get enough of you. You ARE the product old chap! Don’t let them use you like that”

With these words I realized there was a flicker of passion back in his eyes. He rewarded me with a big jolly “ho-ho-ho!” that made me feel all warm and happy inside.

It’s when I realized that Santa is in every one of our hearts. Every one of us is Santa. We are Santa when we believe in others and give them hope and strength. And even most of us can’t see him, and therefore maybe have a hard time believing. He is as real as hunger, sadness, pain, joy or laughter.

A Merry Christmas to you all.


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Security Alert: Bug found in GNU acronym

In memory of segfault.org † – original by Leonard Richardson

Published on segfault.org 09/14/1998

The recursive acronym “GNU’s Not Unix” harbors a stack overflow bug that can cause the English language to crash and may allow arbitrary linguistic commands to be executed, according to a message posted on gnu.acronym.bug this morning. All sites running GNU software are urged to apply a temporary patch which changes the expansion of the acronym to “GNU Needs Users”, until a permanent patch is avaliable. GNU project founder Richard M. Stallman is currently hunting the error in the acronym he created over a decade ago.


“Linguistic bugs are notoriously difficult to track down,” Stallman told segfault.org via email. “The capacity of the stack depends on the memory of the person reading the buggy text. In addition, there is not yet any English interface to gdb, which means searching manually through coredumps to find the problem.”

Most people experience the stack overflow at around 600 expansions of the acronym. In practice, few people have cause to carry the expansion this far, so the main concern lies with the security risk posed by the bug. Although no exploit has yet been discovered, a malicious user could theoretically embed commands into the same section of text as the acronym expansion, allowing them to change the syntax of the language, redefine words, and create new figures of speech with arbitrary meanings.

Many on the net saw the bug as a chance to reopen old holy wars. “The stack problems that are endemic in the computer industry today are a direct result of the widespread adoption of English as the language of choice,” said one Dothead. “English is a fine tool for low-level descriptions and expository writing, but it offers too many inconsistencies and is far too unstable to use in production environments. It’s time to move to languages like Esperanto that feature built-in stack protection.” When it was pointed out that he had written his comment in English, the poster went into an incoherent rant, finishing with “La cina industrio, kun fama milijara tradicio, pli kaj pli largskale produktas ankau komputilon! Sed kiel aspekta la cina komputil-merkato el la vidpunko de la aplikanto? Mi provos respondi al tiu demando lau personaj spertoj en la plej granda cina urbo, Sanhajo!”

Brian Krebs investigative journalist and security researcher was quick to cash in on the incident: “It is clear that freeware cannot be relied upon to keep the English language secure,” says Krebs. “We suggest that these `computer hippies` get their acts together before attempting hippopotamus nap delta foley snurk tin possibility.”

Meanwhile, an anxious public waits for the restoration of the GNU acronym. Until the bug is fixed, we urge you to download the temporary patch from your nearest mirror site and keep in mind that this process of continuous revision is what has made both free software and human language into forces to be reckoned with.

In memory of segfault.org  – never forget.

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Linux from Scratch entering the cloud market

The Linux from Scratched (LFS) project has decided to jump on the cloud bandwagon by providing a lightweight (non bloated) IaaS alternative to CloudStack, OpenCloud and Eucalyptus.

This project will be known as COSaaS (Couple of Shell Scripts as a Service) and the distribution will be available as tgz (sorry no package manager, but we believe you know what to do) and contain:

  • BASH interpreter
  • curl (HTML command line client)
  • xmllint (XPath command line parser)
  • general support routines (HTTP method call using curl client, XPath parser)

Further 2 environment synchronization scripts:

  • rest_api_routines.sh
  • synch_env.sh

Plans for an enterprise edition are rumored to also include a voucher for Dominos Pizza and a six pack of soda. Happy hacking!


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Rooting for Kim Kardashians ass

Imagine you’re a tree in 2014. You lived for nearly 500+ years. As you slowly age you start wondering how your life may eventually end:

Maybe you’ll carry the written word of famous man. Possibly the next Shakespeare, Poe, Hemingway, Orwell, … as a leather-bound hard-cover, spreading poetry and wisdom?


Or you will continue your post-mortal existence serving humanity as a highly priced antique?

Possibly a more modest wildfire?
Well, hopefully not the victim of a property-development project?
Surely it won’t get this bad.

But there are rumors of tabloids which recently spread throughout these woods. You subconsciously know that it can always get worse. Things you’ve seen in your lifetime of 500+ years may be nothing in comparison. Evil things beyond your imagination.

… Like that one time, when an owl raped that poor squirrel on one of your branches, while 2 bats were watching and laughing, and after eating it took a shit on you.

The day comes and they cut you down and turn you into pulp. Your spirit lifts for a last time in hope for that leather bound classic. Maybe a Dr. Suess or some children’s classic?

To your horror they turn your fibers into glossy paper with more color than what is appropriate. You feel like a crack-whore before a gang-bang. Then they violate you with an illustration showing the naked ass of Kim Kardashian.

Your life flashes by you one last time: That young family having a picnic,  … that couple making love,  under the cooling shadow of your branches. That young boy carving a heart as a declaration of love into your skin.

And you’re glad to be gone and no longer have to witness the headlines of the article getting printed over your dead body:

“Kim Kardashian extending her buttocks”

RIP old tree.


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Apple fans whenever the company announces something new


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The last words of Schroedinger’s cat ~ A metaphysical Q&A with Phtephen

If you read lot of horoscopes, religious or metaphysical stuff you might come across this common reasoning:

“Humans only use 10% of their brain capacity.” 

Amazing stuff!


That’s right Phtephen!

While this has been believed to be a myth, recent studies indicate that it may become a self-fulfilling prophecy for anyone saying it.

Test subjects who have been asked to say these exact words have shown that during speaking they really only use 10% of their brains at that moment.


Correct, Phtephen. Only 10%.

Every time those exact words elbow their way past the frontal lobes, and stagger like a bunch of drunkards over the tongue and past drool soaked lips, to finally tumble out of the speakers mouth in an embarrassing slur: The person saying it is both right and wrong at the same time. If Schrödinger’s cat has uttered some final words, and we can’t know if it did, then this was probably the last thing it said before the box was opened.


That’s right, Phtephen! Those we believe were the last words of Schrödinger’s cat.

In conclusion this proves that there can be wisdom in stupidity. So next time a religious nutter comes knocking at your door to ask if you “have a moment to talk about our lord and savior” and confronts you with the fact that the human mind is too small to grasp the complexity of gods creations, keep in mind that at this time they’re both right and wrong at the same time. So do invite them in, ask lot of questions about physics and #PeaceOut.

religious nutter


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Olatunkboh Prosper Goodluck

Nigerian Prince

I’ve been receiving lot of mails from this Nigerian prince lately – Olatunkboh Prosper Goodluck. He promised to help me turn my life around. His spelling and grammar blows, I admit. But you can’t judge a man SOLELY ON HIS PREFERENCE FOR WRITING IN CAPS-LOCK? After all he is a prince, so his voice always carries lot of weight. And has anyone actually seen a Nigerian keyboard layout to confirm Caps-Lock isn’t just optional?

I could certainly use some financial help!  After investing in a penis enlargement and spending the last remainder of my savings on a Viagra shipment, times have become very hard!

The best things in life are free, … newsletters, …. googling tiny animal penises on Bing, … advise from people on Reddit, …), but you can’t live on this forever. So yes dear friend Olatunkboh Prosper Goodluck, your heart is big, I will also promise to help you with $100,-

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Learning Python the “hard” way

so my GF is a network engineer and OSI model. But she never was much interested in programming. She gets far more aroused reading her 3GPP specs. Wondering how to get her interested in programming, I resorted to some guerrilla tactics:

While in bed with her we often talk dirty which is a perfect opportunity to throw in the occasional word and say: “Python” …  I won’t go into specifics in order to keep this post PG rated.  But referring to your “little general” as “Python” during intercourse, and then afterwards emphasizing that “Python is no longer hard” made her somehow associate Python with pleasure & fun. We also have a safe word which is “OOP”, but we never used it so far.

My next step was to leave several copies of the book “Learning Python the Hard way” lying around the house. And before I knew it she started reading it in her bathrobe and hot underwear.

python_the_hard_wayNow that she worked through the book we have come up with an idea for an app called BonR which we’ll code together (in Python). In a nutshell it’s an app for souncloud.

It creates perfect playlists for the bedroom. It uses text2speech and reads out the user-submitted comments on a track while the song is playing. This is fantastically motivating during sex.

Generally listening to music during sex is fantastic. I personally prefer live albums. That way there is an applause every 3 to 4 mins.

All this has worked great for me, only embarrassing thing is that recently I also get boners at the office during Python pair-programming sessions.

Posted in Book Review, disgusted, IT, music, musings, programming | Tagged , , | 1 Comment

The Code from Ipanema’s not working

If programming is like art, implementing business logic is elevator music.

Ipanema Code - The Bossa Nova Cookbook

use EverySingleFuckingModelFromCPAN;
#use strict;
#use warnings;

print <<IPANEMA

Fat and bloated and slow and unstructured and buggy 
The code from Ipanema gets committed
And when tests she not passes, each one she not passes 
We goes "A-r-r-g-h" 
When she crashes she's like totally trashes
When she crashes, she's like totally trashes
What loads, swaps and alloc()'s forever?
That when tests she not passes, each one she not passes 
We goes "A-r-r-g-h" 
Oh, but I watch her so angry 
Must tell her I loath her 
No, I won't give my time gladly 
But each day as I try not to see 
Always lurks in my repo, straight ahead right at me! 
Fat and bloated and slow and unstructured and buggy, ...
The code from Ipanema's not working
And when she passes, I smile, but Jenkins didn't see.  
Jenkins just didn't see 
No, he just didn't see

carp croak cluck confess and fucking die
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The dream which made me reconsider Java

James Gosling

as a fan of C, Python and Perl I have always dismissed Java. For 20 years in fact. Until yesterday! This is what happened:

As I was waiting for the compilation of the latest kernel to finish, I was browsing some Java forums (for a laugh, as you do). But I must have nodded off …. As my head rested on the keyboard I had the strangest dream.

In this dream I was headhunted by a promising VC-funded start-up called ButtMint.io. They hired me as technical lead and Full-Stack Java Developer. I was selected because unlike other applicants, I was fully dedicated to Java/J2EE. And in my CV I highlighted that “Java IS the stack”.

Guess the HR guy liked me because I never let my mind be poisoned with one of these hipster hype-languages such as Scala, LISP or Erlang. Ok I must admid, once I was tempted because of all this functional-programming talk lately. But thanks to the release of Java 8, I now have the power of lambdas at my fingertips! Alonzo Church would be so proud.

In my dream there were some younger guys on the team. They were always “Clojure this and Python that”. When I see people writing shell-scripts, it makes me gag. Fucking upstarts, … fresh out of university, … with their shiny skills, …. over-engineering everything! But guess I shouldn’t be too hard on them. Freshers just don’t know that in Java there is no need for scripts as you can simply use the power of exec():

public static void main(String argv[]) {
    try {
      String line;
      Process p = Runtime.getRuntime().exec("java ls -al| java sort");
    catch (Exception err) {

One time my colleagues played a trick on me and installed a vim plugin in my Eclipse. I almost lost a whole afternoon … had to call tech-support to help me exit Vim. I re-installed and defragged my computer and changed my password from java to J2ee!!!!! (J2EE improved my system security. So suck on that Java-bashers!).

What people don’t understand is that Java programming is like art! If Bob Ross would be a programmer he too would be a Java guru just like me.

happy little exceptions

Then I was awoken by the sweet sound of my hard-disk churning away as the kernel compiled. Feeling intrigued by what I learned from this dream I decided to no longer dismiss Java and after 20 years of C, Perl and Python give it one last chance.

So here is what I learned:

  1. Java is great because it works on all Operating Systems similar to anal sex works on all genders
  2. Java is a great language to learn programming because the time it takes the garbage-collection to complete you can learn other programming languages
  3. Java method names are never mentioned on twitter
  4. Java is not a hasty language. If it were a language in LOTR it would be New-Entish: It takes an awful lot of time to say anything: From coding to compilation to execution, Java is very “unhasty“.
  5. Java code has 90% less bugs than other programming languages, because it is so verbose and takes very long to type out what you want the program to do, … and so your mind starts wandering off, … and therefore it is likely that while typing you will subconsciously discover bugs made earlier.
  6. Java often gets a bad rep for being too verbose. This is unfair because Java supports loops and recursion to reduce it’s verbosity for those who lazy programmers who don’t like typing. But I prefer to keep it simple and happily accept the trade-off in readability over complexity. Remember not everyone might be a guru like you, so try to avoid exotic constructs such as while() and for(), …
  7. Memory leaks in Java are only theoretical because all the available memory of the OS can be made available to the application using -Xms -Xmx options (Insider tip for Linux: write a java program jfree.java to determine the amount of free memory on the OS and pass the value to these options. Use swapon (8) to add more memory on systems with less than 1 petabyte of physical memory or if you get ENOMEM errors)
  8. Java code is suitable for real-time applications by optimizing it’s logic in hardware (duh!)
  9. Sometimes logical errors and bugs will go away by switching to another JVM. This saves you from sifting through overly verbose source code (see above).
  10. Swing, Swinging & Swingers means something entirely different in the Java community. (unless you are looking for adult fun on the actual Indonesian island of Java, oh boy then it really gets confusing but that’s another story for another day)
  11. Security researchers have been picking at Java since 1995. Therefore over time, Java has become more secure, robust and stronger than other languages. “J2ee!!” is an excellent password because it contains upper-/lower case letters, digits and ! characters.
  12. Buffer overflows are impossible in Java because its buffers are bigger than yo mamma.
  13. Finding things about Java on the web is incredibly simple thanks to the “Ask! Toolbar” which gets re-/installed with every Java update.
  14. Java is a lightweight programming language suitable for embedded systems and close to the metal. (OK, one time I was alone in the bathroom … And I said this 3 times into the bathroom mirror. Then the ghost of Dennis Ritchie appeared and smacked me over the head with his book on C)

Conclusion: People who hate Java or poke fun at Java programmers should remember that this type of intolerance is exactly they type of thing which allowed the Nazis to gain power. So stop.

Comments appreciated, please no flames.

Posted in IT, programming | Tagged , , | 5 Comments

Stuck between Imposter Syndrome and Dunning Kruger effect

It was recently mentioned the Imposter Syndrome is common among Software Developers. The post proved very popular among redditors. As a satire writer who frequently wonders if my posts are funny enough I go through the cycle frequently:

  1. if my posts make it to the top and gets lots of traffic, I feel like I’m the best (Dunning Kruger)
  2. then a few negative comments (the internet is full of cruel people), and I suffer from an impostor syndrome,
  3. then I read the good comments and look at my “likes” and start to feel better about myself … then I fear I might experience the Dunning-Kruger effect,
  4. … so I go back to having impostor syndrome


Back in the 90ies we believed that everything was determined by genes … then we eventually found the gene that makes us believe everything is determined by our genes. So maybe there is also a syndrome that makes us believe any feeling we experience is due to a syndrome? An ultimate master of all syndromes could explain why we think everything is a syndrome!

Considering all the bad code I have seen in my life as a programmer, … what if we think we suffer from Imposter Syndrome, but in reality we’re really just shit?


Comments below.

Posted in musings, science | Tagged , , | 1 Comment

journal of a Neckbeard

neckbeard is now officially described by the Oxford Dictionary as:


Pronunciation: /ˈnɛkbɪəd/



1. A growth of hair on a man’s neck, especially when regarded as indicative of poor grooming:I can picture myself wearing these clothes a week from now, bits of food caught in my overgrown neckbeard
1.1 A man who is socially inept and physically unappealing, especially one who has an obsessive interest in computing:I know people expect me to be some sort of balding, overweight neckbearda course that will school you to code from the console like a true neckbeard

A neckbeard is a gender non-specific term, requiring neither a neck nor a beard, but stands as a symbol of achievements as a geek. Many neckbeards including myself do have growth of hair simply because it’s practical. It makes me look older and emphasizes, “hey, I may still live with my parents, … but I’m no kid!”.


Beards are a great place to store food. So if I get hungry during a long session of Babylon 5 or Halo 3, I can just snack away on chunks of potato chips still clinging to life on the hairs of my cheeks.

When I’m not playing RPG’s I usually make DevOps cards like these:


My hobbies are:

  • writing obfuscated, ok-performing, “Object-Oriented” Perl 5 code with higher-order functions.
  • Also I recently discovered Scala. I think Scala makes me a better programmer because I can learn other languages while it compiles. Also I get to use all the symbols on my keyboard when programming. I also love it because it’s the only programming language where I can write anonymous function that looks kinda like a cat peeking around a corner: (_<o.O)

Ladies, if you share my interests and like what you just read, please comment below, I’m open for dates on secondlife!

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DyslexicAtheist summer reading list

funny-bizarre-book-titles-0 funny-bizarre-book-titles-5 funny-bizarre-book-titles-24 funny-bizarre-book-titles-29 funny-bizarre-book-titles-30 funny-bizarre-book-titles-32 funny-bizarre-book-titles-34





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Combating writers block

writers blockWriters Block: Recent scientific findings on the subject aside, the most effective treatment remains an old Russian home-remedy. Many thanks to my dear friend Rodnya Raskolnikov, who shared this insight with me many years ago.

It works like this: Read some classic Russian literature (or just “literature” as the locals there call it). Anything will do, but I personally suggest Dostoevsky’s “Crime & Punishment”, or Tolstoy’s “Anna Karenina”. Read it to somebody you love. If you don’t have anyone and nobody loves you, then read it to yourself. Now, … carefully collect their (or/and your own) tears in an empty glass. After each chapter mix what you collected with vodka (no ice).  Drink!

This works like a miracle according to Rodnya. Rodnya must know since he suffered from writers block all his life. Come to think of it, … the useless drunk never published anything!


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Rethinking the motherloving F-word

English language linguists agree that the word motherfucker has become so mainstream that it’s no longer considered an insult. But a little history first …

We cannot be sure that motherfucker, borne of fuck was not actually attested in speech by the dates we have first written attestation, and sadly enough they’re the only products amenable to historical investigation. First citations given for the earliest known definition, a despicable or contemptible person date back to 1918:

1918 Letter in Journal of American History LXXXI 1585: Your low-down Mother Fuckers can put a gun in our hands but who is able to take it out? [1918 in H. De Witt Bawdy Barrack-Room Ballads: The little red run he grew and grew/fucked his mother and sister too.] 1928 C. McKay Banjo 229: I’ve been made a fool of by many a skirt, but its the first time a mother-plugger done got me like this.

The word motherfucker then really took off in the Army in World Wars, giving the second sense, a fellow; a person; an admire person; a formidable person:

1958 Stack a Lee (typescript, Kinsey Institute) 1: He…said who put the hole in this motherfucker’s head/Who could the murderer of this poor man 1964 R.D Abrahams Deep down in Jungle (Appendix II) 261: One of the best things which can be said of a man is that he is a “mean motherfucker” or a “tough motherfucker”, but to call him just a “mother-fucker” is to invite reprisal.

Earlier than the above we have of course Austrian born, Sigmund Freud who in his 1909 paper “Analyse der Phobie eines fünfjährigen Knaben“, scientifically concluded that, “We’re all motherfuckers“.

So not only is motherfucker extremely dated, but its significance and impact as an insult has been considerably marginalized by Freud, long before it became part of the vocabulary of these troops. On a further note, Freud was probably also the inventor of the MILF genre [citations needed].

It isn’t hard to see why a motherfucker, someone who fucks mothers, could have easily become a byword of opprobrium and contempt in the past. To have a potential motherfucker walking about, was to have an existential insult that threatens a man’s very identity as a legitimate member of his household.

Fast-Forward to 2014. Internet Porn has changed how people behave inside the bedroom and couples are no longer satisfied with dirty talk alone. Instead they actually live them out in the nearest swinger clubs. And so for those who are living in an open relationship, motherfucker even became a form of flattery. As you can imagine this ambiguity leads to confusion within the club visitors, as one can never be sure if the offer was to double-team someone’s wife or engage in a fight.

Further reasoning along the same lines shows why fatherfucker, which until previously nonsensical, is becoming a more appropriate way of slander as it depicts one of the few taboos left: Incest!

That said, care should be taken never to use the word fatherfucker as an insult to gay man unless you’re a gay man yourself, in which case it’s perfectly fine.

Some linguists argue fatherfucker too is not ideal as it has already penetrated mainstream English. But as a rule of thumb, you should be able to use it at least until films like Pulp-Fiction are remade with:

“‘Look, just ’cause I wouldn’t give no man a foot massage don’t make it right for Marsellus to throw Antoine into a glass fatherfucking house, fucking up the way the African-American talks. That shit ain’t right. Fatherfucker do that shit to me, he better paralyze my ass because I’d kill the fatherfucker. Know what I’m saying?.’”


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A new Christian Dating Service: altarboy.io

altarboyDyslexicAtheist has set up a funding request on kickstarter for a dating service called “altarboy.io“, aimed exclusively at conservative Christians.

While other services such as Friendscout24.de, Parship.com or Meetic.com are targeting the mainstream audience, altarboy.io is luring those who prefer to only hook up with people from their own faith.

Some of the features central to altarboy.io will be:

  • a “confession-chat” which lets anyone participate in a “priest & altar-boy” role-play.
  • a google-like video “hang-out” called “fondle“, which allows abuse “victims” to monetize on their past experience by explaining their encounters in graphic detail to paying subscribers. (“fondlers” can get credit or free life-time membership if they manage to convince the victim that they actually liked their experience and convert them into fondlers).
  • an online multi-player game called “exorcism” where the devil is removing the priest from the child.
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Cloud Computing to be embraced by the Catholic Church

cloud computingPope Francis, a fearless reformer (and in his spare time) also passionate Open Source evangelist, has recently hinted that the Catholic church needs to be more technology conscious in order to benefit from the recent revolution in Cloud Computing.

There is a lot of potential which has so far been largely ignored by the church, industry analysts like IDG & Gartner claim.

Inside the Vatican there are rumours of “a revolution” taking places. A whole new range of ideas are in the works and planned to be rolled out over the next months:

  1. Confession as a Service (CaaS),
  2. Eucharist as a Service (EaaS) which is also internally known as “Setting a Cookie”.
  3. vTheology: virtual Theology which offers a platform to safely test new concepts before rolling them out to the masses.

pope francis on cloud computingThe pontifex argues it was in fact the Catholic church who popularized the idea of putting more trust into a “service provider”, already 1600 years ago. So for the church the “Cloud” is not new at all.

“Also the term virualization has its roots in religion.”, the holy father recently lamented during the OpenStack workshop: “Lest we not forget, for our existence on earth is only of virtual context. There are much greater things outside of this existence we can not possible grasp to understand.”


Posted in musings | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

The ultimate PMS survival guide (for gals and guys)

Ih8everythingJokes about Psychotic Mood Shifts (PMS) aren’t funny. Period.

Even less so when you’ve run low on chocolate, preventing you from setting off on a Perpetual Munching Spree around the house.


So if you’re facing the dilemma of having to leave the safety of home, then …

… here some essential things to bring along.

Plainly Men Suck, so have a break:

Kit Kat Chunky

A pocket kitten! Tip: keep it out of sight to avoid having to interact with people.

pocket kitten

Some light reading for women written by female authors. You know, the ones who are famous for only writing few days a month. Tip: these books are not found at Barns & Nobles but are usually right next to the sanitary section at Walmart:


Tissues!!! OMG, You can never have enough! So pad any space in your bags with them and use some packs to firmly lock that kitten in place.


This great App for PMS-Selfies:

selfie app

Gents, if you want to make it safely, and without bruises through the cycle, I suggest to avoid topics about soccer, bro-stories, talking about yourself. In fact don’t talk at all, unless you’re asked, and: Think before opening that pie-hole.

If for some illogical reason you’re asked to come along when she goes out, …. It may be a trick question! Don’t do it unless 100% certain she really wants you there. Of course you never find out until you go but you’ll learn it by trial and error don’t you worry. If you’re new to this then bring along some pocket Pez which you can randomly dispense and offer as a token of good-will when feeling cornered.

pez Here a quick guide which could help you avoid sticky situations:

the hormone guide

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I’m from Fucking, Austria

Fucking Austria

Despite having a population of only 104, our village has become famous for its name in the English-speaking world. Its road signs are a popular visitor attraction, and were often stolen by souvenir-hunting tourists until 2005, when they were modified to be theft-resistant.

Theft of our road signs is the only crime which has ever been reported in our village. It cost some 300 Euros to replace each stolen sign, and the costs were reflected in the taxes that we pay. So in 2004, owing mainly to the stolen signs, a vote was held on changing the village’s name, but we voted against doing so. Our mayor Siegfried Höppl stated that it was decided to keep the name as it had existed for 800 years, and further stated that:

“Everyone here knows what it means in English, but for us Fucking is Fucking— and it’s going to stay Fucking.”

Mayor Höppl said that officials were fed up with English-speaking Fucking visitors stealing the signs, and noted that with the newly installed signs it would take all night to steal one. Höppl said that visitors, and the money they bring to the area, were welcome, but locals were sick of replacing the Fucking signs. Police chief, Schmitzberger stated,

“We will not stand for the Fucking signs being removed. It may be very amusing for you British, but Fucking is simply Fucking to us. What is this big Fucking joke? It is puerile.”

We also have other funny places in Austria, such as “Äußere Einöde”, which translates to “outer solitude” and it’s a lonesome place in Carinthia. Carinthia’s main export is rednecks and we like to ship them into politics and to Vienna where they luckily then tend to soften. This is essentially the part of Austria from which our famous cross-dressing, openly-gay, right wing politician Jörg Haider was from.

Äussere Einoede

The German word “Einöde” is usually used to describe a place that is absolutely boring and has nothing on offer! The locals (all 206 of them) are a little sensitive to people getting out of the car taking pictures of their sign. But whatever their reservations towards city-folk, they’re well known for their unique cuisine called the “Faustnudel” (fist-noodle).


Great variations of the fist-noodle“, which is not what one might assume, a local version of “bashing-the-gurkin” or “spanking the bishop”, but a culinary speciality from our area.


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Croatian soccer team Rocks Out With their Cocks Out

DyslexicAtheist has pictures of the Croatian Team who just unexpectedly won against Cameroon. Pictures are from an earlier party, right after they lost their first game against Brazil.

I’m not entirely sure what to make of these images, … but hanging by the pool (no girls) was a fabulous idea to reflect on their cock-up and prepare for a cracking comeback.

It’s raining men! 

it's raining men

Discussing balls, cracks and openings.

discussing balls, cracks and openings

Oh look! Kovac is getting his Ćevapčići ready

oh look, Kovac is getting the sausages ready

No touchy, just swordfight with bratwurst!

no touchy

4 boys, 1 worldcup

4 boys 1 cup

I is going to prepare for a dominant display, but first I will get a Brazilian.

I is going to prepare for a dominant display, but first I will get a Brazilian.

You want to see tattoo of gerkin on my gerkin? Haha, “gerkin on gerkin”. Like Inception!

you want to see tattoo of gerkin on my gerkin? haha gerkin on gerkin! like inception ...

I come from Split. Where was invented Banana Split!

I come from Split where they invented the banana split ...

And then I stood like this! To show him that there was another part of my body which was also made of elbow-skin!

And then I stood like this to prove to him that there were other parts of my body made of elbow-skin

… meanwhile in Croatia …

Meanwhile in Croatia

We should get some chicken. Alive chicken! Then we make movie and call “A Croatian Film” …

A Croatian Film

No, no! This no photoshop! My parrot now made of natural pixelation. I has double-career as Japanese porn star and thereof is perform pixel-surgery. My name also “Early Riser”. But everyone call me “Pixie”.

As you can see I'm an early riser! They call me pixel-dust but you can call me pixie

Slowly slowly, sneaking up from behind … to crack that opening!

sneaking up from behind to crack that opening


Joseph Gordon-LevittTeam captain Joseph Gordon-Levitt has been pleased with the results so far and says that:

“Quality time and the naked wrestling among the lads helps them relax and focus on the team. It’s important to have fun as a group and ease tensions which might have built up during the game. Unlike Cameroon team who picker and fight over peanut, we prepare with sausages, skinny-dipping and naked ping pong, to feel more at home and less stressed!”


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imported Alphabet Soup causes Dyslexia in German children

So many people keep asking me: “DyslexicAtheist, are you really dyslexic?”

I guess it started already when I was a kid. My parents noticed that there was something wrong because I’d always rearrange the letters in the alphabet soup the wrong way.

They brought me to the doctor to find out. But back in the 80ies even doctors weren’t sure what to make of me. My condition wasn’t really known to the mainstream. Scared that I’d grow up to become the village idiot, my mum kept feeding me even more alphabet soup.

Other kids were told not to play with their food. But my parents encouraged me to play with the letters in hope my spelling might improve. They tried everything, even Alphabetti Spaghetti.

spellMy mum in her loving nature, prepared me a lunch box for school every morning. But I hated that. All other kids had this really cool lunch box. Usually a pokemon or power-rangers container. But mine was just an old scrabble box. It took up all the room in my rucksack. It was also far too much to eat for one boy, as she made everything in the shape of German words like “Höchstgeschwindigkeitsbegrenzung”, and using bold typesetting (presumably to emphasize the fact that I shouldn’t forget to eat).

My only friend was the fat girl. Kids called her Rhabarbabarbara because her name was Barbara and she loved rhubarb. She was big and a bully. Like me, she didn’t fit in (also literally). I think she became even bigger from eating those long words my mum had made.

Guess there’s no need to spell it out for you: My life wasn’t easy.

We had this old women in the neighbourhood, living in an old house alone, with an even older cat. People said she was a witch. Rumour was that she would put a spell on any kid coming near her haunted property.

But I never came near her property. Even if I wanted to, I hadn’t reached puberty yet. Also I felt this would be an inappropriate thing to do near an old ladies house.

Unlike the other kids I wasn’t scared of the old lady. Not that I was brave or anything but I simply knew that due to my illiteracy, spells wouldn’t work anyway.

One kid said she was making love with the devil every night. This was such a stupid thing to say, because everyone knows Santa only comes once a year through the chimney and not in some old lady. And what even if she was a Santa-worshipper, everyone loves Christmas!

Actually I felt sorry for the old lady and hated the other kids being mean to her.

So I decided to visit her one day and I walked up to her porch after school and knocked on her old door. She invited me in and offered me cookies and milk. They were delicious. Heavenly so! No this was clearly not the devils work.

She told me many stories and we became good friends. After I befriended her my life became really good as the other kids would now finally leave me alone. I told her all about my problems with dyslexia and being so sick of alphabet soup. She listened patiently to all I said. After I finished, she quietly got up from her rocking chair and fetched a packet of the same soup from her kitchen. “Is this the soup you’re eating all the time?” she asked. Baffled I said: “yes! That’s the one”.

“My dear child”, she said, “I don’t believe you’re dyslexic at all”.


“No my silly! It’s the consumption of this soup which is causing you to start spelling incorrectly. You see its a side effect of globalization. All this imported stuff from other nations. They don’t have our Umlauts in their products. Have you never noticed that Alphabetti Spaghetti lacks all the beautiful “ä” and “ö” and “ü” and “ß”, which are so crucial to our German language? This is why these foreign brands are so cheap.”

I was sceptical at first, but then she told me more about it:

“I used to work for a big German publishing firm. We employed the best writers in the country. I wasn’t a writer but I worked as a chef in their canteen. One day the company was taken over by Rupert Murdoch. During a cost cutting effort, all alphabet soup was now being delivered from a non German supplier. 6 months later nobody who ate from us could spell any longer. Accountants would complain about numeric dyslexia. Our writers only delivering gibberish. The soup even drove us into bankruptcy! Maybe it was done on purpose by Murdoch, who knows …. One thing I do know: If you eat soup without umlauts your German will suffer!”

And this my friends is the story of my condition. To answer your question, whether “I am really dyslexic”: You are what you eat! And so if life hands you Melons, make lemonade!

dyslexic lemon

dyslexic lemon

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Lifehack: using your microwave oven against NSA snooping


If you want to temporarily prevent your operator or the NSA from tracking your cell location, simply place your phone in the microwave. It will act as a Faraday cage and prevent any signal from leaking. If you want to stop them tracking you forever: Turn oven on for ~ 1 minute as illustrated.

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The career change of ‘Trusty’ the crusty sock


Hi my name is Trusty,

yes you guessed right. I’m a sock. But not just any ordinary sock. I’m a ‘Smartwool PhD Run Ultralight’. My master purchased me and my twin brother, in a special purpose store catering for athletes. Unlike most of my peeps, which you would pick up in a multi purpose store, I’m made of super absorbent yet highly breathable merino-and-nylon, guaranteed never to give you blisters.

My cousins who live in the same drawer think I’m a bit snobby, even they never say it out loud I know they consider me and my twin brother ‘a bit full of ourselves’. They are just jealous. They know that they can never be like us! For we are super-absorbent (already said that but just in case you didn’t pay attention – this is really important)!

I’m proud to say that I’ve been somewhat a prodigy, and started my career early together with my brother and master. So many miles we ran together. I always got a big high from absorbing all his endorphins, serotonin & dopamine. Being highly absorbent though, has also its dark sides. It genetically hard-wired me to have a highly addictive personality. Just a few days without a run would be enough to send me into fights in our drawer with my cousins.

My temper would rise until master finally took us out to give us the next fix during a new run. We never bothered getting help for our addiction as we knew therapy would result in the loss of our powers and so we have continued to live in denial of our problem, until ….

Until last year when something horrible, horrible has happened. It seemed to change my life for the worst.

One Sunday morning we were still perfectly sweaty, lying at the bottom of the hamper and waiting for our turn in the washy-doodle. All still hyped up on these juicy endorphins and tripping on that sweet runners-high our master gave us.

Considering our state, –completely off our chops, rat-arsed, shit-faced and spaced-away–, I don’t remember much unfortunately. Somehow I must have been tripping so hard that I passed out as I can’t recall any events. When I woke up, I found myself drying in the sun all alone without my twin brother. He was gone without a chance of good-bye.

After getting beck to my cousins in the drawer I immediately searched for him and asked everybody. Nobody knew where he was or what might have happened. I waited days and nights, lying awake and worried sick about my dear twin brother.

Never before was I so alone. I started to suffer from withdrawal symptoms as my master no longer considered me as his partner for his daily runs. He would sometimes take me out, briefly raising my expectations but then cruelly jug me back into the furthest and darkest corner of the drawer.

The other socks would make fun of me as I had gone from ‘proud leader of the sockniverse’ to laughingstock of the whole drawer. Even the far away coat-hangers knew my name now and joke+laugh about what a useless junky I was. And that some humility would be good for me. I guess it’s true that the higher you are, the harder you fall. And I fell hard, as I got severely depressed and had nobody to turn to.

Then finally master fetched me from the drawer during the middle of the night. and put me on his bed-side table. I thought we would go for a run together like in old times, but he didn’t look like he would be in a rush to leave the house, as he was lying in bed next to me.

This was new to me and I didn’t understand what purpose there may be in me sleeping next to him. I was made to run and absorb his endorphins, not watch him be lazy! For I was Trusty the super-absorbent!

But upon closer inspection he wasn’t lazy at all as he was watching something on his laptop. And his breathing was similar as when he would run but his legs didn’t move. I was confused but decided whatever would happen I’d ‘roll with it’. Surely anything would be better than spending time in that god-awful drawer all alone and depressed.

Just when I started to get bored from watching him, he suddenly grabbed me by the neck in an urgent frenzy and put me over what seemed to be his foot. But to my alarm, and by all what is holy, … This wasn’t his foot! It was much smaller, less smelly, yet throbbing in a threatening and unfamiliar kind of way.

My mind was racing! Was I trained for this? Then my thoughts drifted off into a happy place and I recalled good times with my twin brother. When I came to myself again, I felt all warm. So much sweat was all over me. Like finishing the hardest of marathons, but getting soaked 5 times as much. Boy, whatever it was, I didn’t see that coming.

That night master didn’t bother to send me into the hamper after the exercise. Instead he left me to dry, out of sight but within reach.

At first I was ashamed as I realized this wasn’t the sport I signed up for. Indeed using me to cleverly conceal the evidence after competing in a ‘bologna pony wack-a-thon battle’ wasn’t even the same ball-park. But heck, he was winning every time and seemed to be very good at it too. He never won a marathon you know!

What actually happened that night took me weeks to figure out. But it didn’t matter because ever since that night I’m happy! Happy as I haven’t been in months. I finally got my self-esteem back and could proof once again that I was a high-endurance performer, able to go for ages without giving blisters while delivering 360° protection.

My master had breathed fresh life into me and made me see that I didn’t need to get high on running. He showed me that I was good at more than just one thing. I, Crusty-Trusty, had become the Swiss-army knife of the sock world.


Trusty-Crusty (Smartwool PhD Fun Ultralight)

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Went to a Korean restaurant

I ordered the chicken-fried-rice. The waiter served it Gangnam style.

Chicken Fried Rice


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Confessions from the Sex life of a Network Engineer

7 layers OSI model

My girlfriend is an OSI model. She always dresses in exactly 7 layers.

I specialize on the physical layer. She likes that. Even it’s the most difficult layer to debug, it’s nice to be so close to the hardware. She has a great rack too. I paid for it on our last trip to Java because hardware and silicon are cheap there.

Sometimes we argue over whether she has too many layers. I say it makes her look bloated. Then she gets upset and becomes unresponsive and makes me cry like an .onion, and then she calls me TOR. I hate that.

Then we make up and tell each other NTP jokes all night. Always great timing. I make her laugh. She sometimes cracks a UDP joke, but I never get those.

But I know she is vulnerable and I can’t help but exploit that. For me there is nothing better than to root. Once I get there I touch, strip. mount, finger & gawk until done.

When our hearts bleed we peer-review our relationship and know it will get better.


Posted in disgusted, IT, musings, telecoms | Tagged , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Photoshoot: Prince cooking pancakes ~ When Doves Cry (Chicken Edit)

Take if you will a picture
Of you and I engaged in a kiss
The sweat of your body covers me
Can you my darling
Can you picture this?

get on your knees Dream if you can a farmyard
An ocean of violets in bloom
Chicken strike curious poses
They feel the heat
The heat between me and you

Prince cooking eggsHow can you just leave me standing?
Alone in a world that’s so cold (So cold)
Maybe I’m just too demanding
Maybe I’m just like G.Ramsey too bold
Maybe you’re just like my mother
She’s never satisfied (She’s never satisfied)
Why do they peck at each other?
This is what it sounds like
When chicken cry

prince cooking omeletsTouch if you will their stomach
Feel how it trembles inside
You’ve got the butterflies all tied up
Don’t make me chase you
Even chicken have pride

I would die for UHow can you just leave me standing?
Alone in a world so cold (World so cold)
Maybe I’m just too demanding
Maybe I’m just like G. Ramsey too bold
Maybe you’re just like my mother
She’s never satisfied (She’s never satisfied)
Why do we peck at each other?
This is what it sounds like
When chicken cry

Prince seriously good omelets

How can you just leave me standing?
Alone in a world that’s so cold (A world that’s so cold)
Maybe I’m just too demanding (Maybe, maybe I’m like G. Ramsey)
Maybe I’m just like G. Ramsey too bold (Ya, know he’s too bold)
Maybe you’re just like my mother (Maybe you’re just like my

prince omeltes cooking
She’s never satisfied (She’s never, never satisfied)
Why do we peck at each other (Why do we scream, why?)
This is what it sounds like

prince getting jiggy with good omelets

When chicken cry
When chicken cry (chicken cry, chicken cry)
When chicken cry (chicken cry, chicken cry)
Don’t Cry (Don’t Cry)
When chicken cry
When chicken cry
When chicken cry

prince omelets omg so fuckin good
When chicken cry (chicken cry, chicken cry, chicken cry
Don’t cry

prince omelets serve

Darling don’t cry
Don’t cry
Don’t cry
Don’t cry

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Newsflash: Polish plumbers learn about UNIX pipes and flood UK tech market.

meanwhile London based Software engineers are taking Polish accent lessons in order to compete with the new wave of migrants.

UKIP says this needs to stop as the UK is already so full of foreigners that every time someone steps off the ferry in Dover another gets elbowed into the sea in Cardiff.


EDIT 24/05/2014:

Disclaimer #1: this post has been criticized as being “racist” in comments on several sites where it was shared. DyslexicAtheist leaves it up to the intelligence of its readers to form their own opinion of whether this post poked fun on UKIP or (god forbid) Polish migrants to the UK.

Disclaimer #1: To the few readers who continue to be baffled and confused over whether posts on this site are indeed genuine news: Yes all our shit is real! In fact sites like CNN, FOXnews, DailyMail & Sun regularly crawl our site to steal content from us. Bastards!

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

GuiltFox: Well, This Is Embarrassing!

Firefox v29 is telling me +10x/day how “embarrassed” he is. Wonder if there may be psychological issues, as the underlying cause of these sporadic crashes?


Why all this repressed guilt and constant confessions? … Like some Catholic altar boy who hit puberty too early and is developing an unhealthy attachment to his crusty socks? Was it my fault? Have I been too liberal and exposed him to too much porn in his innocent earlier versions?

doggieOr are developers and W3C to blame and he was simply not ready to have all this HTML5 dumped on him?

Please Mozilla, even he is acting all grown-up now, there is something seriously wrong with our child lately.

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‘Doing’ the dishes with @DyslexicAtheist

That moment when you put dirty dishes in the washer next to the fresh cleaned ones …? There are several ways to handle such a crisis. But remembering to stay calm is most important to prevent the worst.


Follow these rules:

1) Continue with what you started and finish loading, knowing that the clean dishes will be even cleaner.

2) Dishes don’t get a lot of excitement and cupboard life can be like being doomed to life in the countryside. So dish washer time means party time and is really their favourite moment of the day (or even week for some of these poor mugs in the back).

3) Our dearest plates and mugs are often cracked and faded in colour. Even when worn out like Mick Jagger and Iggy Pop, the battle scars on these old friends remind us of glorious past times. To prolong their life gently wash and massage them like you would do to a random elderly stranger in a retirement home, who insists he doesn’t know you!

4) Never allow your expensive silver or glassware in the foam-disco. It would be like organizing a rave-party for epileptics. Chances are they come back not quite the same.

5) Whenever you organize your foam disco, ensure to separate not just for different age-groups but also cater for the vastly varying character types. The greasy fork will usually lower the tone with their dirty-talk and try to poke and ravage anything next to them. So keep them confined throughout if possible (and far away from the petite desert spoons).

6) You don’t want to become known for organizing orgies so pre-rinse your dirtiest and greasiest dishes. Always use Calgon™ to keep the fun safe.


7) Washing-up by hand is like a wellness holiday for them. But soak them properly first to loosen them up. Articulating to your dirty dishes every little step you’re going to perform on them next, can help with trust and get them into the mood for a good scrub later. Make sure you use a non-abrasive brush when giving them a good “once-over”, before finally moving them to rinse and dry. Some people turn on the music and whistle or sing along. Whatever you need to keep the act cheerful!

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Standing desks may be linked to skinny legs

Manufacturers claim standing desks will make you more productive and are healthier than when sitting all day.


We conducted some long running tests to find whether there was truth in these claims. This is what we found …


1) several of our test subjects who exclusively used standing desks showed that prolonged use will cause extremely skinny legs (ESL):

leg1 leg2 leg3 leg4 leg5 2) In offices where standing desks have become rampant, people who remain seated found the view onto their colleagues “nether regions” somewhat distracting.

3) On the upside this drastically reduces employees viewing Internet porn sites during work hours.

4) Many who remained seated complained that looking at their colleagues constant shifting of weight from one foot to the other, gave them a constant urge to pee. Utility bills for water+toilet paper often increase.

5) Employees who had spent all day “thinking on their feet” complained about unusual fatigue. This we found is linked to lack of blood available to the brain after prolonged standing. Luckily it can be solved using a cement mixer (in fact mixers are now offered as part of the package by several vendors when ordering >10 desks)

Posted in musings, science | Tagged , | 1 Comment

Quick! Please share. No time to explain.


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Motivational Tips: How to get back into shape

You’ve probably been there: a new job, a new baby, an injury, life happens, and you find yourself taking a long break from drinking. When you finally begin going out again, your body just doesn’t feel right – your head hurts, your stomach is acting up, and you feel like you’re going to hurt something.

So when you’re trying to get back into shape after a substantial break from drinking-related activities, should you ease into it or should you dive in headfirst and shock your system? Whether you’ve been inspired by a New Years resolution gone wrong, a lifelong ban from your favourite pub, or a pointless day job, this article will show you some techniques of how to get back into shape quickly and safely after a long abstinence.

Join an Irish Yoga class! While there are several regional variations, such as Scottish or French Yoga, the Irish version is most popular among purists. There are many local training classes being conducted all over the world at places named “Muddy Murphies” or “Killigan’s”. Regularly attending sessions should help you get safe through St. Patrick’s day.

Tip: train on Monday afternoons to meet well seasoned veterans who may be willing to coach you (check at the bar or the rest rooms).


The Russian version of Irish Yoga uses Vodka or moonshine and is among the hardest of all the disciplines. Don’t start with this one but keep your mind focused on it as an eventual goal.


The “Withnail and I” is an English method in which you watch the film “Withnail and I” and drink whenever the leading character drinks.

Note: the traffic cone in the left of the picture. It often appears out of nowhere the next morning. It is said to provide clues that help piece back the events from the previous night.


Regardless of your age or feelings towards the artist, watch the Justin Bieber movie “Never say Never”. Make sure to bring a large bottle of JB. Take a drink any time you feel like he deserves a punch in the tits.  The movie will turn into a 3D film about halfway through. Don’t let frequent fights among viewers stop you from having sex with somebody half or twice your age in a public bathroom during viewing.


I’d like to thank my friends for their help and support during these tough training sessions. Cheers.

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