Amount of texts to »computer« 57, and there are 55 texts (96.49%) with a rating above the adjusted level (-3)
Average lenght of texts 372 Characters
Average Rating 1.702 points, 5 Not rated texts
First text on Apr 11th 2000, 14:46:37 wrote
anybody about computer
Latest text on May 30th 2008, 20:05:08 wrote
the index about computer
Some texts that have not been rated at all
(overall: 5)

on Sep 27th 2007, 12:58:33 wrote
Werner about computer

on Dec 9th 2007, 00:14:20 wrote
Emma Example about computer

on May 30th 2008, 20:05:08 wrote
the index about computer

Random associativity, rated above-average positively

Texts to »Computer«

Orpheus wrote on May 29th 2002, 17:29:37 about


Rating: 2 point(s) | Read and rate text individually

"Step aside, process! My day of tribulations is far from over, but before we next speak righteous vengenace shall be mine and mine alone!
Let us begin at the beginning. I awoke refreshed from a full eight hours rest and immediately headed out to eat. I then spent twenty minutes in the drive-through of the McDonald's arguing with the reprobate on the other end of the speaker because she refused to serve me breakfast, simply because it was 3 PM.

McMuffinless and distraught, I arrived at work and stepped into my domicile, sheltered from sunlight and lit only by a single lava lamp and the warm refreshing glow of thousands of LED lights from our servers and routers. I call this place the Crucible of Enlightenment. It is here I weave my Arcane Arts of Unix Server Administration.

It is my Xanadu.

But my wrath still boiled within me, and before I could begin my daily cryptic shell scripting, I felt the need to restore the balance with a warm, refreshing game of chess on the Internet. My mind, like a steel trap, finds nourishment in the predictable and comforting patterns of the aged chess warriors of yore. I logged in and set up a game with an opponent I felt would assuredly assuage my pain of hashbrownlessness.

Soon, however, my egregious chess opponent began verbally abusing me! My blood began to boil. Darest he mock my Italian opening! Darest he cast doubt upon my flawless Evans' Gambit! ... Darest he call the black bishop his »...Little Popey Dude?«

Most certainly my opponent could've been no more than a small child, a precocious brat who, like a user over his account size limit, required immediate schooling. But in mine burning anger and haste, I threatened his precocious Queen and inadvertently exposed my rook, who fell victim to what he called his »horsey.« I was livid with rage. I screamed audibly. I had been manhandled by a slavering prepubescent!

Burning with furious wrath, I picked up my chair and hurled it at my infernal machine. Glass shattered; sparks flew. Nearby the shelving unit perched precariously upon my desk tumbled; spilling burned CDs everywhere, it crashed into the server rack, cracking the plastic front like dried pasta. There was a flash; a rain of sparks. The entire rack crumpled upon itself like a house of cards, tossing expensive hardware carelessly into the ground. A multitude of green lights went very red, and then very very black. For the first time in years the comforting hum of mine minions slowed and ceased like the last rasping breaths of a dead man. Silence.

I had taken our entire coastal web server array offline.

Within moments my sniveling sweatshirted boss who does nothing but play Asheron's Call all day stormed into the Crucible of Enlightenment. »I've lost my net connection to the AC servers!« he cried, as would a whining child. Then he saw the devastation. »Good God what have you done!« he wailed.

I explained, as patiently as I could, that Unix servers rarely require rebooting but every year or so it's good to give them ... a hard boot. He was not amused. He pulled out his damnable organizational chart and droned contemptuously about his plan to remove all but a handful of functional employees so that he and others may play online RPGs all day. He then explained that he had slashed the server administration department to me and me alone because nobody else could decode my arcane scripting routines and backup procedures. He explained that we as a company could not sell off nearly enough EverQuest items on EBay to make up the cost of hiring additional consultants, and that if I didn't have the servers up and running within the next few hours his entire so-called »business plan« would fall apart. I wept no tears. The foolish and desperate wranglings of middle management were of little concern to me; I had lost my rook.

But then he explained that our mentally unbalanced technical support representative had recently overdosed on Vivarin, and that during the crisis I would be forced to handle the volume of support calls while he procured the required replacement hardware for me. LAMENTABLE! I was sat in front of a phone like a lowly acoustic coupler. I was horrified. Actual verbal contact with our sycophantic contemptible users? I wept inwardly and stared at the blinking extensions. I had descended into hell.

I answered call after call from the hamster-headed stepchildren of our backwards networked world.

»Helpa lowly user begged. »Microsoft Word is unable to access my network documentsI explained to the miscreant that she should be using VI for all her text editing needs, then hung up.

»My email is down! Microsoft Outlook can't find the server!« wept another sorry subhuman. I scoffed audibly. »Outlook? Bloatware! Use Pine. Or just type 'mail' at the % prompt, wretched villain!« Then I hung up.

Suddenly I received a call of paramount importance. I could scarcely believe my ears. »I was playing chess with some punk,« whined a voice from the ether. »I took his castle dude and then everything went dead

The audio connection between myself and my nemesis crackled quietly. The tension was tangible; I could feel it coalescing around me, tightening my very bones. My hairs stood on end. That scum. That freakish doctored tabloid photograph of a man. That worker of iniquity! WOE TO HIM! WOE TO HE WHO DAREST MOCK MINE CHESSMAKING CAPACITIES!

Restraining my bile I explained to him that I would be sending a »representative« to »help« with his »problemI then wrote down with quavering hand his home address. Now the fool was MINE.

Forsaking a phone bank filled with blinking extensions, I crawled under my desk and slipped quietly out the back door. But not before grabbing my trusted wooden staff, The Educator, which I loving refer to as »Kill -9

Oh yes my chess nemisis. Soon you will feel the stinging wrath of mine fury. Check, mate, match! You will be mine. Oh yes. You ... will be ... mine. "

LyndaC wrote on Apr 14th 2000, 05:39:50 about


Rating: 7 point(s) | Read and rate text individually

My computer is almost the centre of my universe. I love it as much as one can an inanimate object.

anybody wrote on Apr 11th 2000, 14:46:37 about


Rating: 7 point(s) | Read and rate text individually

A computer is a machine that is supposed to do the thinking for me. In fact, I have to do more thinking, because of the computer.

Tarzan wrote on Apr 30th 2000, 18:10:15 about


Rating: 1 point(s) | Read and rate text individually

Programmers guide

Instructions on how to shoot yourself in the foot in various computer languages and system interfaces

Caution! Please move any beverages and snacks away from your computer system before reading the remainder of this message. Do NOT attempt to eat or drink while reading this document.

The proliferation of modern programming languages which seem to have stolen countless features from each other sometimes makes it difficult to remember which language you're using. This guide is offered as a public service to help programmers in such dilemmas. The problem to be solved is as easy as it could be, you got to shoot yourself
in the foot! And here are the solutions for each language:


You shoot yourself in the foot.


You accidentally create a dozen instances of yourself and shoot them all in the foot. Providing emergency medical assistance is impossible since you can't tell which are bitwise copies and which are just pointing at others and saying, »That's me, over there


If you are dumb enough to actually use this language, the United States Department of Defense will kidnap you, stand you up in front of a firing squad, and tell the soldiers, »Shoot at his feet


After correctly packaging your foot, you attempt to concurrently load the gun, pull the trigger, scream and shoot yourself in the foot. When you try, however, you discover that your foot is of the wrong type.


You shoot yourself in the foot with a musket. The musket is esthetically fascinating, and the wound baffles the adolescent medic in the emergency room.


You hear a gunshot, and there's a hole in your foot, but you don't remember enough linear algebra to understand what happened.


You shoot yourself in the foot, then spend all day figuring out how to do it fewer characters.

Apple System 7:

Double click the gun icon and a window giving a selection for guns, target areas, plus ballon help with medical remedies, and assorted sound effects. Click shoot button and small bomb appears with note »Error of type 1 has occurred.«


You crash the OS and overwrite the root disk. The system administrator arrives and shoots you in the foot. After a moment of contemplation, the administrator shoots himself in the foot and then hops around the room rabidly shooting at everyone in sight.


You try to shoot yourself in the foot only to discover you must first reinvent the gun, the bullet, and your foot.


Shoot self in foot with water pistol. On big systems, continue until entire lower body is waterlogged.


You grab a bullet, get ready to insert it in the gun so that you can shoot yourself in the foot, and discover that the gun that the bullet fits has not yet been built, but should be arriving in the mail _REAL_SOON_NOW_.


USEing a COLT45 HANDGUN, AIM gun at LEG.FOOT, THEN place ARM.HAND.FINGER on HANDGUN.TRIGGER, and SQUEEZE. THEN return HANDGUN to HOLSTER. Check whether shoelace needs to be retied.

Concurrent Euclid:

You shoot yourself in somebody else's foot.


You squeeze the trigger, but the bullet moves so slowly that by the time your foot feels the pain you've forgotten why you shot yourself anyway. [rboatright]

DBase IV version 1.0:

You pull the trigger, but it turns out that the gun was a poorly-designed grenade and the whole building blows up.


You finally found the gun, but can't locate the file with the foot for the life of you.


You put your foot in your mouth, then bite it off. (For those who don't know, English is a McDonnell Douglas/PICK query language which allegedly requires 110% of system resources to run happily.)


You put your foot in your mouth, then echo it internationally.


yourself foot shoot.


Foot yourself in the shoot.


You shoot yourself in each toe, iteratively, until you run out of toes, then you read in the next foot and repeat. If you run out of bullets, you continue anyway because you have no exception- processing ability.

Genetic Algorithms:

You create 10,000 strings describing the best way to shoot yourself in the foot. By the time the program produces the optimal solution, humans have evolved wings and the problem is moot.


put the first bullet of the gun into foot left of leg of you answer the result


The first gun doesn't work. Three months later INFORMIX's support desk send another gun which doesn't match the version number of the bullets. INFORMIX suggest you upgrade to INFORMIX-ONLINE. You pull the trigger and you shoe gets wet.


You pull the trigger, and your identical twin in San Franciso gets shot. You then turn off distributed query optimisation.

370 JCL:

You send your foot down to MIS with a 4000-page document explaining how you want it to be shot. Three years later, your foot comes back deep-fried.


You shoot yourself in the appendage which holds the gun with which you shoot yourself in the appendage which holds the gun with which you shoot yourself in the appendage which holds the gun with which you shoot yourself in the appendage which ho..


After realizing that you can't actually accomplish anything in the language, you shoot yourself in the head.


You spend days writing a UIL description of your foot, the trajectory, the bullet, and the intricate scrollwork on the ivory handles of the gun. When you finally get around to pulling the trigger, the gun jams.

Neural Networks:

You train the network in how to shoot your foot, after which it generalizes and keeps trying to locate some guy named Connor on the net...

Objective-C (NeXT):

You write a protocol for shooting yourself in the foot so that all people can get shot in their feet.


You send a message to your finger, which sends a message to the trigger, which sends a message to the firing pin, which sends a message to the primer, which sends a message to the firing charge, which sends a message to the bullet which sends a very unpleasant message to your foot. The pipeline continues to run, a hail of bullets emerging from the output channel and drilling their way via your foot to the centre of the earth. The high velocity arrival of such stupendous amounts of lead creates a density shock-wave which eventually collapses beyond its own event horizon. The black hole thus formed goes on to absorb earth, most of the minor planets and the Sun. The problems of your foot become increasingly insignificant during this process. Hyper intelligent beings from the planet Zorg nod their several heads wisely and confide to each other: `I always said Tony was a complete twat'


ORACLE sell you a gun, a box of bullets, a holster, a cardboard mock-up of a wild-west town and a stetson. You find the trigger takes twenty seven people to pull it. ORACLE provide 26 consultants all with holsters, cardboard mock-ups and stetsons. The bullet doesn't leave the gun-barrel and you hire four more ORACLE consultants to optimise. The bullet bounces off your sandals. You decide to buy INGRES. Richard Donkin shoots you in the foot.


Not only can you shoot yourself in the foot, your users can too.


The compiler won't let you shoot yourself in the foot.


You consume all available system resources, including all the offline bullets. The DataProcessing&Payroll Department doubles its size, triples its budget, acquires four new mainframes, and drops the original one on your foot.


You attempt to shoot yourself in the foot, but the bullet, failing to find its mark, backtracks to the gun which then explodes in your face.


You tell your program you want to be shot in the foot. The program figures out how to do it, but the syntax doesn't allow it to explain.


You'll be able to shoot yourself in the foot just as soon as you figure out what all these bullets are for.


You start to really shoot yourself in the foot, but 6 slugs is too many for an array and blows the compiler to pieces. Eventually you realise you must rebuild the compiler to allow such huge arrays. This is so stupid and boring that you start shoot yourself, but just in time you are interrupted by .....


You shoot yourself in the appendage which holds the gun with which you shoot yourself in the appendage which holds the gun with which you shoot yourself in the appendage which holds the gun with which you shoot yourself in the appendage which ho..
..but none of the other appendages are aware of this happening.

sh, csh, etc.:

You can't remember the syntax for anything, so you spend five hours reading man pages before giving up. You then shoot the computer and switch to C.


You spend so much time playing with the graphics and windowing system that your boss shoots you in the foot, takes away your workstation, and makes you develop in COBOL on a character terminal.


You grab your foot with your hand, then rewrite your hand to be a bullet. The act of shooting the original foot then changes your hand/bullet into yet another foot (a left foot).


If you succeed, shoot yourself in the left foot. If you fail, shoot yourself in the right foot.


You cut your foot off, send it out to a service bureau and when it returns, it has a hole in it, but will no longer fit the attachment at the end of your leg.


You carelessly invoke the procedure sp_insert_bullet() which fires a trigger (neat, eh) on the table GUN. To maintain referential integrity, the system invokes another trigger which inserts bullets in your other foot, your
shins, your thighs, pelvis and so on up to the cranium. You are left in third normal form.


% ls foot.c foot.h foot.o toe.c toe.o
% rm *.o
rm: .O: No such file or directory
% ls

Visual Basic:

You'll shoot yourself in the foot, but you'll have so much fun doing it that you won't care.

Topical68 wrote on May 6th 2003, 21:50:54 about


Rating: 5 point(s) | Read and rate text individually

Modern computers strive for two paradoxical, yet not necessarily incompatible goals: increased simplicity using increased complexity.

Nicole wrote on Jul 28th 2002, 10:00:41 about


Rating: 5 point(s) | Read and rate text individually

computers are great but you have to wonder if they will reach a point when we wished they never existed.

stroida wrote on Jan 24th 2001, 14:14:49 about


Rating: 2 point(s) | Read and rate text individually

If you don't have a computer at hand, there is nothing you can do; except having sex or eat or drink maybe. I could not have written this without a computer...

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