An encounter with orcs. Last night, as I was walking home from a modest outing in downtown Sunnyvale, the home of Buffy’s hellmouth, I witnessed a homeless person, formerly known as filthy vagrants, hanging around the west side entrance (a dead end world), waiting for someone to open the gate and let them in so …
The CIA handbook says it takes a 70 foot drop to make it look like an accident. That balcony seems more like 40 feet, maybe 45, if I stand up and leap backwards.
So here’s the thing I discovered that you can press the little microphone button down by the keyboard and somewhere some geniuses or something call listen to what it is that you’re saying, and they will type it in as if you actually looked at all the letters and said yeah that’s what I want …
Not to reveal any secret weaknesses of mine, but water is my kryptonite. Dry ice is fine, but I really don’t like wet water.
If the police arrest you for the suspicion of committing a crime, and they tell you that you have the right to remain silent, shouldn’t they be equally prevented from arguing or verbally escalating the conversation with you?
Inside Doug's Head 