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  Phantom Votes Cast in Dáil Eireann.
Posted by: Dartz - 6 hours ago - Forum: Politics and Other Fun - Replies (1)

So, it appearrs that a TD who was not in the chamber at the time of the vote, somehow managed to vote on at least five pieces of legislation.

Details lurk behind this elegant link here

What appearrs to have happened is that one TD has asked a colleague to vote on his behalf while he takes a phonecall - not an unusual thing at all and perfectly normal in the house. The standing rules of the house only require that a TD be 'present' in the house for their vote to be valid - they could be jerking to nude pictures of Marian Finucane in the gallery for all the rules care - so long as they're in the chamber their vote is valid.

Now what happens, is that this particular TD leaves the chamber entirely, and the colleague doesn't realise and pushes the TD's 'vote' button 5 times - while on the phone himself.

Oops. No malice is intended - only a good hard bollicking is in order.

This is now the biggest political crisis in the State. After the one TD that fell off a swing and sued a hotel for a stupd amount of money - and everyone called her a rediculous eejit for it. 

Compared to what's happening on both sides of ourselves I'm reassured by how positively pointless this actually is.

Of course, that's forgetting the homelessness crisis, the rental crisis, the mortage crisis, the climate crisis, the carbon-tax crisis and the complete unwillingness of the government to do anything about these. (Brexit is not on the list because, tbh, the Government are doing fairly alright on that one)

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  Yahoo! Groups winding down
Posted by: SilverFang01 - 10-18-2019, 03:51 PM - Forum: General Chatter - No Replies

If any of you have content there, now it’s the time to make copies


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  Images: This one goes to ELEVEN
Posted by: Norgarth - 10-18-2019, 03:04 PM - Forum: General Chatter - Replies (6)

Since the last one has reached 300 posts

[Image: 4NDfJkl.png]
[Image: iABPUYW.png]
[Image: 79Uc0Yf.jpg]
[Image: yrxcscU.jpg]
[Image: cEZ5544.png]
[Image: pS87UYj.jpg]
[Image: 3InoNHG.jpg]
[Image: T5IgTO2.jpg]

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  Vacation time
Posted by: Bob Schroeck - 10-17-2019, 12:53 PM - Forum: General Chatter - Replies (4)

I probably should have mentioned this earlier in the week, but Peg and I are heading down to Florida for a week tomorrow.  (If you actually look at the board calendar, then you know that, as it's been scheduled for some months now.)

Unlike our last few trips, we're actually going to our home timeshare resort, the Vistana Beach Club.  We haven't been back there in almost twenty years, since we usually trade our week on the resort network we're part of to go elsewhere.

And while we're there, we'll be visiting one of our favorite spots in Florida, the Morikami Museum and Gardens.  We have tickets for the lantern festival on Saturday, although we missed our very narrow window to actually buy lanterns.

Anyway, I'll be taking my tablet (and of course my phone) so I won't be out of touch.  But I will probably be a bit scarcer than usual.

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  Another teaser from Chapter 5
Posted by: Bob Schroeck - 10-17-2019, 07:47 AM - Forum: Drunkard's Walk VIII: Harry Potter and the Man from Otherearth - Replies (13)

Actually, this is more of a twofer... Enjoy.

As soon as I could politely do so, I had finished my dinner and
left the Great Hall for the Mansion. The Lovely Lady Innsmouth
had seen fit to sit in on my class the the last period of the day
(seventh-year Ravenclaws) and had spent much of it, clipboard in
hand, interrogating me.

Now, not only do I have considerable experience fencing verbally
with bureaucrats, I'm smarter than the average bear. Tying her
in mental knots was both easy for me and entertaining for my
class, but it did little to relieve the anger I felt at her
blatant bigotry and sickeningly-sweet but insulting insinuations.
I'm not an egotist (I'm *not* -- stop laughing) but even though I
made a literally metahuman effort to maintain my cool simply to
spite her, I was still was *furious* about the self-righteous
malice the bitch dripped from every pore.

Fortunately I took dinner early enough that I avoided her at the
staff table, but as soon as I could scarf down my dessert, I bade
my coworkers good night and ran all the way up to the eighth
floor with my helmet in hand. As soon as the Mansion door
manifested, I slammed it open, blew past Summerfield, and threw
myself into the Danger Room, bellowing for the computer to start
the Million-Mook March right fucking *now*.

An hour later, the endless slaughter had done little to soothe my
anger, and I ended the simulation before I could get caught up in
another wave of suicidal crunchies. I needed something different
to calm me. I needed something *constructive* instead of

I stood there in the chill, empty Room, staring blankly at its
dimpled white walls, panting from the effort of the last few
minutes of the sim, while I wracked my brains for something,
anything, that might help.

And then it came to me.

"Computer. Give me Hef's shop."

The real Mansion's Danger Room would have no idea what I was
asking for, even after downloading the records in my helmet, but
I was counting on whatever magical mechanism was behind the Come
and Go Room to know or figure out what to give me the same way
it had known how to provide the Mansion.

I wasn't disappointed.

A familiar shop, one I had spent many weeks in, swirled into
existence around me. Concrete walls with open glass windows, a
floor of packed sand, and at one end a pair of double doors
almost like the doors of a barn. One of these hung half-open,
wide enough to let in a cooling breeze and reveal bright summer
sunlight and an open yard in which a rusting pick-up was parked.
Here inside, though, it was warm, almost uncomfortably so, thanks
to the gas-fired forge, its interior already up to temperature
and glowing red, that stood in the center of the shop.

Surrounding and between it and me were bins of metal stock, racks
of tools, barrels of water and oil, an assortment of anvils in
all sizes, and a power hammer just the right size for one or two
people to use. I took a deep breath through my nose and savored
the scent of hot metal and oil and, incongruously as always,
burning coal.

It brought me right back, and I immediately felt calmer.

Walking through the shop, I collected up a pair of tongs, a thin
bar of one grade of steel stock and a much larger ingot of a
certain different grade of steel. I stacked the bar on the
ingot, then slid them into the forge. As I waited for the steel
to glow cherry-red, I thought back to the last time I had been in
this building.

I'd met Tom Hefner a couple of worlds earlier at a ren faire and
SCA event in southern California. It'd been late summer of that
world's 1997. My adopted daughter Utena and I had gone
specifically to look for a swordsmith, and Tom'd had a booth of
his wares set up near the ring where they'd been holding their
mock combats. A former quarterback sidelined by an injury that'd
left him with a permanent limp, Hef was a mechanic by trade but
made knives and swords on the side; he turned out some absolutely
beautiful -- and *functional* -- blades, about which he was
justifiably arrogant. When Utena expressed an interest in one,
he pretty much dismissed her with words to the effect of "move
on, little girl, and stick with your dolls."

Well. You just *don't* say stuff like that to Utena. Long story
short, we broke one of his blades (not to mention Buckaroo's
katana) while proving she could use and was worthy of owning a
sword. This impressed Hef no end, and we ended up involved in
the process of custom forging one for her.

I'd already acquired a minor interest in smithing from long hours
watching Skuld at work even more worlds before that, and having
had Buckaroo's katana shattered in our no-holds-barred Rose Duel
over, around, through and above the faire's arena, I decided that
this would be the time to learn how to do it myself -- by
reforging his blade.

In the end, both Utena and I learned swordsmithing from him, as
well as general blacksmithery. With her help and Hef's
instruction I had repaired Buckaroo's katana. And as is typical
for anything on which I do work with my hands, it ended up
accidentally enchanted -- at least, that's the only explanation I
have for why it now gives off the scent of roses when I draw it.

And all three of us worked on Utena's sword, which proved it was
more than up to the task for which it had been made not long

The night we completed the blade which she and I had dubbed
"Calyx" was the last night we saw Hef and his shop.

In any case, I had come to find smithing was very relaxing, and
I realized it was exactly that kind of relaxation I was needing
after having Dolores Umbridge in my face all afternoon. So as
the ingot heated up, I took off my robes and shirt, selected my
tools, and visualized what I wanted to make -- nothing fancy,
just a simple serviceable broadsword.

I rummaged around in one of the many cabinets and pulled out a
plastic deli container labeled "borax" in black indelible ink.
From a nearby rack I grabbed a scoop for the flux and, after a
moment's thought, a different hammer from the one I'd initially
decided upon. There was also the power hammer, which would make
the job faster and easier, but I wanted to do this manually, to
feel the work deep in my muscles.

I put the hammer and scoop down on a small table next to the
largest anvil, then opened the container of borax and set it down
next to them. I stepped back over to the gas forge, took up the
tongs, and using them withdrew the now-incandescent slug of
steel. With quick but deliberate steps I carried it over to the
anvil. I laid the glowing steel down on the top of the anvil,
held still by the tongs in my left hand as I took up the hammer
in my right.

And then I began pounding.

In between repeated trips to the forge to reheat the ingot, I
slowly stretched it out and folded it over, sprinkling flux on it
with each fold to better weld the alternating layers of different
steels together. The repetition of the pounding and folding was
almost hypnotic, and I lost myself in it as the two pieces of
steel became one, and slowly lengthened, thinned, and narrowed
until it had begun to look less like a block of raw steel and
more like the sword it was intended to be. It was nowhere near
done -- it normally would take me at least two or three days of
hammering by hand to shape the blank properly, a lot less if I
used the power hammer -- but it had served its purpose in the
hour or so that I'd been working it. My fury at Umbridge was
expended, transformed into constructive effort.

I studied the results of my hammering and decided I liked what I
saw. I stored the cooling blank in the rack reserved for blades
in progress, and turned back to clean up my workspace.

"That was very pleasant to watch," a dreamy voice suddenly said,
and I started. Glancing around the shop, I finally spotted Luna
Lovegood perched on an anvil in one of the more shadowy corners
of the shop. "I do believe I enjoy watching sweaty men without

I snorted at her bluntness as I wiped the sweat off with a towel
that hadn't been draped over the anvil a moment before. "Good
evening, Luna." I dropped the towel back on the anvil, and it
disappeared as I reached for my shirt.

"Good evening, Colonel Sangnoir." I raised an eyebrow at her
choice of address as she hopped off her perch and stepped into
the well-lit center of the shop. "You were very focused on your
work," she continued, "and I chose not to disturb you."

I waved off her concern, then finished buttoning my shirt. "That
wouldn't've been a problem."

She regarded me for a moment. "If you say so. I was speaking to
Kat earlier," she continued on without any warning, "and she told
me your full code name. Are you the one the Sorting Hat sang

I thought back to the moment when the Hat had mentioned "The
Music of the Madness". I grimaced, and after a moment I
muttered, "Yeah, I think so."

Luna nodded slowly as I put the lid back on the tub of borax and
put it back in its cabinet. "I thought you might be. My father
sent me an owl today."

She was going to snap my neck with these sudden topic changes.

"Yes. He says he's free to speak with you tomorrow or next

I nodded to myself as I put the hammer and tongs back in the
racks where they belonged. Tomorrow was no good -- it was a
Hogsmeade weekend, and I was one of the chaperons. I couldn't
ditch that for the hour or so it would take to talk to Mr.
Lovegood. "I think it'll have to be next Saturday. Please ask
him if noon at the Three Broomsticks will work for him."

She nodded. "I'm sure it will be."

"Thank you, Luna."

"You're very welcome, Colonel," she replied, smiling brilliantly.

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  New Evidence Suggest Polygyny Can Be Beneficial
Posted by: Black Aeronaut - 10-17-2019, 12:20 AM - Forum: Politics and Other Fun - Replies (7)

Given the controversial nature of the topic, I figured I should put this in here.



The short and sweet of it is that other factors such as rainfall amounts have actually been skewing results.  Which really strikes me as idiotic to not take the general wealth and food production in the region into account.  An analogy to this would be performing a study of water quality in Mexico and flat-out concluding that it's terrible all around without taking into account the economic wealth in each region.  Or, for a closer fit, comparing the birthrates of whales in the Pacific vs that of the Atlantic without taking into account the availability of food.

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  In Another World with Truck-kun (Yet Another Damn Isekai Story)
Posted by: Black Aeronaut - 10-15-2019, 07:41 AM - Forum: Hangar 13 - Replies (8)


Here I am, supposed to be working on a bunch of other shit.


I blame https://writeordie.com/ for this.  Dr. Wicked truly lives up to his name.

Anyhow, here.  Tear it up, guys.  Keep in mind that I wrote this on a web app that promotes sheer word output above all else.  There's been minimal editing done on this.

Basic premise comes from the writing prompt, "What if the truck that killed you came to the next world with you?  IN ANOTHER WORLD WITH TRUCK-KUN!"  Except my expy doesn't get nailed with a truck...

I saw him, just an ordinary fellow looking at the trucks at a rest stop.

Oh, me?  Nothing special - just a rest break.  I was driving cross-country for a move that I honestly didn't want to make.

But the guy there seemed a little odd.  Not in the way he dressed or anything, though it seemed slightly antiquated with his wide brimmed hat and heavy duster coat.  It was in how he gazed at the tractor-trailer rigs in awe.  They shouldn't be that interesting.

Should they?

At the moment, I saw another semi-truck pulling into the rest stop.  There was only one available space left, and the guy in the duster coat was standing right in it.  The driver would never see him until it was too late!

"HEY!  WATCH IT WATCH IT!"  I cried out as I ran over to him and pulled the guy out of harm's way.  He was perplexed by my actions until the semi-truck rolled past us with only scant feet to spare.

I breathed out a sigh of relief.  "Dude, you gotta be careful standing out here.  Truck drivers don't always have the best viewing angles."

"Thank you, kindly, stranger!" said the young man - he was definitely youthful - he couldn't have been any older than eighteen.  "Forgive me for my absent mindedness.  Where I'm from, I've never seen such vehicles as these!"

I blinked at that.  "You haven't?"

"Oh no.  Our own forms of conveyance are much smaller and very much simpler."

What kind of podunk back-water did this guy come from?

He then continued, "If the merchants in my land had such vehicles, I could only imagine the prosperity it would bring.  But I fear they might be too big."

I blinked again.  Too big?  Podunk Backwater wasn't cutting it.  Was this dude Amish on Rumspringa or something?

But me being me, I was a helpful soul, so instead of exclaiming on his apparent experience, I pointed out my own truck - a modest little Mazda B-series using the third-generation Ford Ranger body, complete with a simple camper shell and a 5x10 two-axle enclosed rental trailer.

"Why not something like my truck.  It's got plenty of cargo space, and it can even tow a trailer, too."

"Oh my!  Why, that is a wonderful machine you have there," he said as he walked towards it.

Scrappy was my pride and joy.  I had taken great pains in keeping the truck repaired and maintained because it had literally saved my life once.  At a time when I was homeless, Scrappy's cargo bed with it's basic camper shell gave me a place of shelter and storage.  I kept food in coolers, cooked on a camping stove, and slept in a cot in the back of my faithful and dependable little truck.

"I can tell that you place a great deal of love and trust in this vehicle." said the Man.

"You could?"

"Indeed.  It's a well worn device.  But it's still in great shape.  Very much like a good pair of old trousers.  And this device on the back... I can tell that it fulfills some kind of function with the way it's meant to slide in and out, but I cannot for the life of me suss it out."

He was talking about the brake actuator on the trailer's tongue.  The trailer in question was an older 5x10ft van-trailer model from a popular rental company well known for its reliable trucks and trailers.

"It's called a surge brake," I explained.  "When I use the brakes to slow my truck, the momentum of this trailer and it's load causes it to press up against the hitch.  When that happens, a cylinder filled with oil is compressed, and pushes the fluid through steel tubes into the brake cylinders on all four wheels of this trailer.  It's so effective that I hardly even notice that I have the trailer."

"Truly?  This is indeed a wondrous device you have, good sir!  Perhaps I should invite you to my homeland.  It would be a blessing if you could provide services in transporting goods there."

I blinked at that.  "Is that a job offer?" I asked.

The man smiled at me.  "And if it is as such?"

"I would ask what it would pay."

The young man nodded sagely.  "A fair question.  Monetarily, I would not be compensating you.  That will be up to the people whose goods you are transporting.  However, I will personally see to it that your health is maintained and that your vehicle will never have need of repairs."

I blinked again.  "A health plan and a maintenance plan?  And what if there is an accident that damages my truck?"

"Then I will also see to it that it is of no matter."

I raised an eyebrow.  "That sounds too good to be true.  What's the catch?"

"Ah, you have a sharp mind, good sir.  In this case, I would have you work for my people until you're of an age to retire...  And given all the good you can do with such a magnificent machine, I imagine that your retirement would be very comfortable indeed."

"And if I change my mind?"

He gave me a somewhat smug little smile.  "You won't.  My homeland is a place of great bounty and plentiful beam.  And the woman-folk there are all quite pleasant... each in their own ways, anyhow."

My eyebrows crawled to the top of my hairline.  "Hold the phone, you're trying to bribe me with girls!?"

"Oh?  Am I mistaken?  Perhaps you have other preferences.  It's not so strange."

"Not that!" I cried out.  "I mean that other bit makes it sound like you're a human trafficker!"

He blinked at me in confusion.  "A what now?"

I sighed.  Simple folk.  Simple terms.  "You deal in slaves!"

"Oh, no!  Great maker forbid it!  While others may do such things, I assure you that my followers are not of that mindset.  The person must be free to live their own life on their own terms."

I frowned at that.  While it was a nice sounding platitude...  "You haven't happened to have read a book called The Fountainhead, have you?"

"Should I have?" he asked in confusion.

"Don't," I said flatly.  "It espouses platitudes similar to what you were talking about, but at the cost of exploiting others in the process.  They claim that this 'Objectivist Philosophy' does not promote such things, but the logic does not follow.  To follow those teachings, you must exploit others unfairly."

"Oh, I see.  That is dreadful.  Worry not, good sir.  For while my followers are of the merchant's mindset, we follow a path of benefiting each other in our dealings - mutual enrichment through commerce and trade."

"So, capitalism with a socialist slant.  I can get behind that.  But here's the final question: how do I know that everything you've told me isn't some fantasy?"

He then smiled cunningly at me.  "Fantasy, you say?  When you live in such a world with such incredible wonders?"  He then laughed softly in spite of himself.  "I would imagine that my homeland would seem to be a fantasy land to you.  But I assure you, it is very much real."

"Well, we have a saying that seeing is believing."

"Is that so?  Then perhaps I shall show you, then..."

And then suddenly I was no longer in Texas.

It looked and felt like Texas.

But gone were the rest stop and the freeway.  Gone were the wheel noise of hundreds of cars and trucks moving at 85 miles per hour.  Gone was the faint hint of diesel exhaust.

In it's place, rolling hills covered with vibrantly green oak forest.  Clear blue skies - like one of Texas's Frog Stranglers had blown through - as far as the eye can see.  And a simple, lonely, dusty two-track trail, carving it's way through the hills.

The only things that remained were myself, my truck and trailer, and the strange man.

I looked around, my heart beginning to race as the excitement and anxiety built up in my chest.

"Where are we?" I breathed out.

"In a world like the one you were in before, but different.  Here, technology has not advanced much because magic fulfills most of the needs of the common people.  Here, we Gods walk the Earth and take great care of our young ones.  Here is a world where you can make real and honest change."

"You're not kidding, are you."  It wasn't a question, and he only smiled smugly at me reply.

I went and sat down on a nearby rock and out my head between my knees and simply focused on breathing and getting my mind in order.  After what seemed like hours, though, I finally felt myself begin to settle once more, and I addressed the man without moving from my spot.

"Why me?"

"Why not?" he replied.

I sighed.  "Okay, not the best question to ask.  Better question: Why at all?"

"Why at all indeed.  I am a God of Commerce and Trade.  Every time people here make a fair deal with each other, they are doing so with my commandments to my faithful in mind.  As a result, this country is one of the better ones to reside in.  However..."

"However?" I asked.

"The people here have stagnated.  There is no innovation because they see no need for it.  This land is prosperous... but it is not what your people have aimed to become."

"My people are selfish, greedy, and arrogant backstabbers who desire nothing more that to live in some fantasy world of kings and serfs."

"Not all of them.  Some of them dream of better things.  You are one of them.  You dream of going to far off lands.  You are Ishmael.  "I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote. I love to sail forbidden seas, and land on barbarous coasts."  Though you love your home, you also desire to see what is out there.  What is strange and unknown.  To learn and innovate.  To bring people to a higher understanding and spread prosperity.

"Believe it or not, these are essential traits of the merchant man.  Without exploring the unknown, you will never find and develop new markets and new opportunities.    You will never spread the prosperity that I so wish for my people to have."

"Okay then.  So, that answers why at all and why me.  Now, do you honestly think that I can do this?  If this world is as primitive as I think you're implying, then I will not have the materials to maintain my truck."

The God smiled at me.  "I already told you this will not be an issue.  I have blessed your wonderful machine to be resistant to the wiles of entropy.  It will be many decades until something will need to be fixed.  And you, for that matter, will have that same boon."

"Your health will be seen to, huh?"

The God smiled.  "You should look at yourself in the mirror."

That took me aback as I recalled a saying, when a God laughs, you run as fast as you can.  I went to look at myself in one of Scrappy's sideview mirrors and I could not believe what I saw.

"I'm a kid again!?"

"You are of the age of eighteen - the age at which young men are permitted to go out into the world to make their livings.  Although I should mention that they are usually well cared for despite that."

"Doting families?" I asked.

The God grinned.  "In a manner of speaking, yes."

I sighed.  "Okay, this is going way beyond just transporting goods or even fomenting development.  You've got an angle you're working."

"You're not wrong, for certain.  I will tell you this much: just be the person you are now - a good man that will help others in need.  One who believes in fair trade and equal value.  One who is unafraid to stand up for what he believes in."

"I don't know about that last part."

"I know.  Your past has been a hurtful one."  I gave the God a glare as he went on.  "I do not blame you for your anxieties.  They are not of your own making.  They're the work of a man who had no idea what to do with a dreamer like you.  But I know that had things been different...  I know that your mother was likened unto the Moon - demure, sweet, gentle, and beautiful; that your father likened unto the Sun - bold, strong, brilliant, and intense.  Had things been different, you would have been the beautifully shining morning star between then, becoming a beacon for others to home in on."

"Had things been different," I spat out with resentment.

"I know.  The past is the past, my good sir.  But here?  You can start again.  You can prove yourself in a world that is unfettered by preconceptions of education - where people care about raw ability and the goodness of their hearts.  With this, you can make waves that will bring about great and wonderful change in this world - change that is long overdue in coming."

"There will be people that resist that change."

"Some.  However, once others see how it can benefit their lives, the majority will embrace it."

I sighed at that.  "So.  I'm in some Isekai story, huh?"

"Isekai, what on...  OH!"  And with that, the God laughed mirthfully, but in a way that I knew did not mean bad news for me.  "You are quite the genre-savvy one!  That will be of great assistance to you here."

I then reassessed my thoughts about him laughing.  I was fucked.

"hooo boy."

The God chuckled once more, then said in a kindly tone, "Do not fret so, my good sir.  You will find that this world is quite agreeable with you, even though you will run into troubles at times.  In the face of your intellect and your heart, they will not be insurmountable to you."

"Troubles, huh?"

"Don't worry about that for now.  You will have plenty of time to steel yourself for what is to come.  For now... Follow this trail.  It will lead you to the city of Saint Antonius.  You will find it familiar in some ways, and there will be plenty of work there waiting for you."

"And what about my belongings?" I asked.  "I can't just dump them in the street."

"You're a resourceful man, my good sir.  Consider this my first testing of your abilities as my agent in this world.  Impress me, good sir."

He disappeared and I sighed.  There was nothing more left for me except to jump into Scrappy and start driving.

Man, the rental company was gonna be upset about not getting their trailer back.  But as far as I was concerned, they could just suck it.  Here, it was as good as mine and as soon as I could, I would set to removing their livery from its aluminum skin.


I drove carefully over the trail.  While it was well packed, it was still rough and primitive.  And if this really was Texas only but through a mirror... then I knew this trail would become impassible once the rains came.

And come they will.  I could see bluebonnets, painted brush, and the myriad of other Texas wild flowers carpeting the meadows and glades that I passed through with a riot of colors.  This was Texas Springtime in full swing, which meant the thundershowers came quickly and frequently in these parts.  At one point I startled some roosting birds into the air, and in turn sent up a massive flock that curtained the sky for several minutes until they all settled once more, now inured to the unique sound of my truck.

And then I met my first locals.

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  iOS 13
Posted by: ECSNorway - 10-13-2019, 01:01 PM - Forum: General Chatter - Replies (1)

Anyone else been having bad experiences since upgrading iOS devices?

Things I've come across so far...

* Safari keeps losing track of where I am in a page, and frequently crashes a tab and has to reload the page. 
* Chrome spontaneously dumped all of my open tabs, bookmarks, and browser history, after having worked normally for a few minutes, and repeatedly crashes now
* Danmachi: Memoria Freese keeps crashing every few minutes

The annoying part is that I updated specifically because Danmemo wouldn't run under iOS 10 anymore...

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  Progress Report
Posted by: Bob Schroeck - 10-12-2019, 09:42 AM - Forum: Drunkard's Walk S: Heart of Steel - Replies (3)

As you may have noticed, the byte count for chapter 3 (as well as that for chapter 5 of DW8) has been going up steadily for the last few weeks.  This chapter is already larger than the last, and it's only about 2/3 to 3/4 complete.   I have a very definite arc and stopping point for the chapter, and it doesn't lend itself well to splitting into two.  So you'll just have to wait for me to finish it... which will be by the holidays if all goes well.

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  The Doom that Came to SpaceBattles
Posted by: classicdrogn - 10-12-2019, 12:44 AM - Forum: Other People's Fanfiction - Replies (11)

Well, looks like SB has begun the XenForo2 upgrade delayed by the problem-children PM scandal investigation thing. Hopefully the various fixes that have been ongoing for teething troubles on SV will already be included, but I still don't like how all the time stamps are "X minutes ago" until it gets to a full hour, and some of the layout differences that would look fine at full screen but make things awkward the way I prefer to have it at about a 5:3 ratio instead of 16:9. And some of the layout changes in general, like the timestamps being at the top of posts instead of the bottom, or how user profile pages are tabbed instead of linear and more things are unusably broken with JavaScript turned off, but meh. That's progress for you, and I can understand not wanting to let the forum software fall into "unsupported" territory given the size of the database and number of users.

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