Zonorhc

If God was a programmer, he wasn't a very good one. I mean he didn't even write up decent documentation, and his program is full of bugs. Plus, the last time he performed any maintenance, the server was down for forty days and forty nights.

You'd think people would learn by now... In the first scenario, use my tank method to determine if it's worth going for her. In the second scenario, tell her parents to get her some therapy and tell her to stop being a selfish prig. Failing that, ram her with a tank.

From a purely economic perspective, yes, being rich does lend itself to a better quality of life. However, in welfare states like some EU countries, you don't necessarily have to be wealthy to have access to a better standard of living than in other places in the world. It comes down to perspective, but on the whole, more wealth does equate to an easier, and thus economically better life.

It hunted him, he knew. Every rustling and every whistle of the breeze among the branches tightened Sherell's grip on his spear. Above him was the pale gold of the sky, streaked with wisps of cloud. Below was the forest floor, carpeted in the reds and oranges of autumn. There he had laid out the beginnings of a campfire, but the approaching dusk had him on edge and made him keenly aware that the ground here was not going to be as safe as it was closer to home. The Elves wear white when they mourn; they say it is the colour of death. The small pool of water a short way from his camp trembled as a leaf touched its surface. Off in the distance, he could hear a hawk's screech, and the fluttering sound of wind against feathers. He wiped cold perspiration from his brow, and jumped lightly down from his perch, landing almost silently among the leaves with practiced grace. Whatever the danger was that he felt before, it was gone. He took a dried sliver of meat from his pouch and chewed it carefully. Grey eyes scanned the spaces between trees, searching for that malevolent presence that had haunted his steps for the past two days. It was part of the trial, he knew. To slay the Shagann, the forest dragon, before it took you. That was the price of manhood in his tribe. Sherell had nothing to do but wait. The first day, he had tried to track the dragon, but it eluded him and drew him further into the forest. The second day, he tried the same, and further he went into its domain. This was a rite of passage for the creature as well, he was told. To earn the right to mate, the Shagann must slay a single adolescent elf. It was this sense of mutual competition that kept Sherell on his guard, and drove away fatigue time and again. To take the dragon's life or lose your own. Over the ages, his people practiced the same rites, and always the dragons had practiced theirs. Both respected the other, and respected their traditions, though whether one rite of passage developed as a result of the other it was no longer known, for even the oldest dragons have long since laid to rest among the boles, their graves marked here and there by bleached bone and lush greenery. Sherell looked up. The sun had sunk lower into the western sky, and the dim glow of the Belt was beginning to be seen. To the east, the forest floor cleared and ended with a sheer drop. A small, rocky game track led down the cliff, where the overflow from the pool of springwater trickled down in a stream. The forest below was shrouded in darkness and evening fog, blue-grey and glowing from the rising moon, and punctuated with treetops like islands and sea-stacks. Red Moon had yet to rise, and Sherell knew that it was fast approaching the deadliest hours of the evening, in the grey darkness before the brightness of Red Moon came, when all manner of beasts would come forth and stalk between the trees. A light rustle had him drop flat, hand and knees supporting his weight, spear ready to be thrown. He hazarded a look toward his camp, and relaxed. It was only a bird, come to peck at crumbs from earlier in the day. He wanted to curse himself for his paranoia, but that silhouette he saw on his first day remained in his thoughts, reminding him of what was at stake. In the distance, there was another screech, and he saw a small shape lunge down from the air into the trees before rising once more, flying northward with something clutched in its talons. So the hawk found its quarry, he thought, and wondered when his would come. He resolved to stay here atop the escarpment one more night. For all that its shadowy image haunted his dreams and waking moments, he wished the Shagann would come. He wanted the hunt to end here, on his terms. He did not want to descend into the darker land below, where the forest would be thicker and more familiar to the beast. He looked to his camp, and resolved to light the fire. For all that it would attract attention, it was better than freezing in the creeping chill. It was not yet winter, but that was fast approaching, if the naked trees were any indication. Simple linen and hides would not be adequate to last him a night away from a fire, but it was all he could bring and still be able to move freely. Sherell dragged a fallen log beside the ring of stones, and set about making his fire. * An hour later, the sun had set, and Red Moon was still nowhere to be seen. Sherell had chanced a quick trance, for as an elf, he did not need to sleep, but still had to calm his mind and body. He sat clutching his spear against his chest, with his back to a tree and facing the fire, staying far enough away from it to be in the shadows, but close enough to receive its warmth. Dim, pale moonlight dodged between bare branches and cast the forest beyond the firelight in shadowy luminescence: enough to see boles, but nothing beyond that. Every here and there, a derran-flower shone with its pale blue glow, attracting insects in droves. Beyond the crickets and creaking branches, the forest was silent. Every now and then, an owl would hoot, and Sherell would grind his teeth. More than a hundred years of living in a forest, and he had never quite shaken off a fear of the night, especially when only one moon would show its face. Any other time, and he would have laughed off his nerves in the company of friends, and enjoyed an evening of listening to Kerrani tell stories by the fireside. It took more than a strong arm and a sharp eye to hunt the Shagann, Kerrani had said on the day he left the village for his Laran-trial. He did not say anything beyond that. Sherell followed the dragon believing that Kerrani had meant that it took persistence and discipline as well; now he was beginning to doubt himself. In the shadows of the forest with nothing but wind and leaves to accompany him, he was beginning to wonder exactly what it took to hunt the dragon. He remembered that the other boys who returned from their Laran-trials - no, men, he corrected himself - would come out of the forest with dull expressions; not the triumphant smiles he would always expect, but glassy faces bearing the marks of fatigue and terror. He remembered that none of them would speak of their trials, and returned from the forest changed forever: no longer playful children or youngsters learning to hunt, nor as easy to laugh or smile. He wondered now what it was about the trial which could change one so. He remembered that he had never even seen his quarry, save for a shadowy shape darting between the trees, barely in sight. He did not know its cry, or what marks would identify it. All he knew was that it was something large, perhaps the size of an open-land horse, which sped ahead, always out of reach and just within his vision. He imagined that it was like the dragons that traders brought stories of, the ones which the humans of the west would say lived in the mountains, with claws and teeth and wings and fiery orange breath. He always told those stories with his friends, and they laughed and smiled in wonder. When he thought of the Shagann now, it chilled him. Each time he tried to recall its shape, it became just that much clearer, yet never quite assumed a proper form. It was something so significant to his people, yet was also so alien and mysterious. He heard a sound, and froze. He let a moment pass before letting his breath out silently, slowly coming to his feet, back pressed against the bole. It was probably nothing, Sherell chided himself. Probably some small animal running back to its den, or a bird landing on a branch. The sheer uncertainty of his situation unnerved him. The precise nature of that noise in the dark was difficult to comprehend, particularly with his imagination playing tricks on his senses. It could have just been an animal, he repeated to himself. Still, his eyes darted back and forth, but he didn't dare to move more than that. It could have just been an animal, but the shadowy image of the dragon leapt from his mind, taunting him and forcing him to remember that it was out there somewhere. A rush of air caressed his hand, and a shadow slipped between the trees to his left. Eyes wide open in terror, he held his spear in a death-grip, his muscles straining but unwilling to release the reassurance of the wooden shaft. His other hand moved slowly to grip the handle of a small axe in his belt. He heard its sibillant hiss, like air being sucked in through slightly parted lips. It sounded so unnatural, so wrong, he thought. The shadow moved ahead. It's circling the firelight, came the realisation. It knows I'm here. Twice more the shadow on the edge of light circled the camp, always passing behind the tree Sherell held his back to. It came and went as a phantom, only seen as a vague shape in the dim light. Then it was upon him, shrieking as it burst into the firelight, serpentine in its shape and movements, its atrophied wings serving to grip boles as it moved. His mind ringing and paralyzed with terror, and adrenaline taking control of his body, Sherell did not wait to examine its wicked face, which he saw only as decidedly reptillian yet vaguely avian. He jumped towards the fire as it lashed out with talons longer than his arm. While following it, and in the shocking instant of its appearance, the creature had seemed so much smaller. Here it was now, with a snakelike body easily as thick as an ancient oak, and a screeching, beaked mouth lined with serrated teeth. Sherell could not help but turn and flee, terror filling his mind like a rising tide. He heard the creature shriek again, and thought that his ears would bleed. The noise! It rang in his bones and chilled him beyond what the night could ever do. He still ran, legs negotiating roots and undergrowth easily though they felt like lead. He did not risk looking behind him, but he knew it was still there. The trees thinned, and he could see open sky. He was approaching the cliff, he knew. He turned and pressed himself against a tree, hoping that it had lost sight of him. White Moon was creeping slowly overhead, casting the world in a series of greys which threatened to erupt in shrieking terrors at any moment. And yet - there was a slight comfort: that dim red glow in the east that told him Red Moon would rise soon. He heard a branch cracked and split from a tree somewhere behind him, and the hiss of the Shagann. He shut his eyes, his mouth grimacing in fear. It was all he could do to not scream. He heard silence, ringing in his ears. His eyes snapped open in wonder. Could the beast have thought him lost? The thought almost made him cry in victorious exultation. He had eluded it! But he had also fled, he cursed himself. He was supposed to hunt the creature, not simply avoid being slain by it. Suddenly, its head was beside him, looking out beyond the edge of the cliff before finally facing him, its mouth set in a terrible grin. He was dimly aware of a small wing gripping the tree. The creature opened its mouth as if to shriek, and Sherell quickly sprang away, circling the tree and squeezing his eyes shut to block out the pain of the Shagann's terrifying cry. No sound came - but through his eyelids came a brightness, and he felt an intense heat on his side. It was not simply the orange of sunlight seen through closed eyes, but a near-white glare which lasted for but a moment, and when he opened his eyes, a black swath had been cut through the cliffside; where trees were, there was simply bare, charred rock. He looked to escape the beast, and saw the monstrous head emerge as it coiled itself around the tree. He leapt away, turning this way and that through the forest as the dragon shrieked and gave chase. He rolled and turned about, mustering all his courage to look upon the creature's face as he pulled the axe from his belt and hurled it at the approaching shape. It was not even in the air for a moment before a huge talon shot from the darkness and shattered it. It moved so fast! Another instant, and it was almost upon him - but he was already running. He saw the firelight to his right, and turned to the left. He remembered the little trail down to the forest below - he had to take the risk that the dragon could not fly down on its tiny, grasping wings. Red Moon was peering from behind the horizon now, illuminating the cliffside. He slid down the rocks, loose stones sliding down before him before plunging into the foggy darkness below. He slipped and struggled to gain purchase on the slope, all the while hearing the shriek of the Shagann above. Sherell looked up as he grabbed onto a root and steadied himself. The creature was following him! It thrust its talons into the rock, its serpentine, legless body undulating as it spend down. He scrambled down the narrow track, his hands and legs cut and bleeding while he used the butt of his spear to slow his descent. His vision reddened as a white lance of heat shot past him. His cheek stung, and he was dimly aware of a gnarled tree that simply disappeared in front of him, leaving nothing but ash in the wind. It was so hot that it didn't even burn... He stumbled the last fifteen feet and collapsed painfully on the gravelly ground. He rolled to the side instinctively, avoiding a talon that would have impaled him. He scrambled to his feet and ran into the forest; he could lose the Shagann in the denser woods. It takes more than a strong arm and a sharp eye to hunt the Shagann... He pressed himself against a tree, breathing hard. He heard the shriek, and leapt forward, rolling to his feet and running. Daring to look back, he saw the tree split in twain. It could see his heat! the realisation came, and his heart raced even faster. This was a force of nature that was not to be taken as lightly as he had those stories of western dragons. Another white burst shot into the trees to his right. Wood splintered from pressure or was turned to ash. The Shagann's breath was so hot that it would not set the forests it made its home in alight. Sherell hazarded another glance, and saw it following him relentlessly, its talons scything through the trees like so much wheat. He dodged and weaved through the undergrowth. Here, even with Red Moon rising, it was terrifyingly dark. Then ahead, there was brightness! The trees thinned out, and Sherell found himself fast approaching the edge of a lake, shrouded in fog that glowed red from the moons. Another glance back, and the shrieking dragon had also cleared the trees, now speeding its way towards him by pulling itself along with its talons. It opened its mouth once more, and Sherell sprinted along an outcrop, diving into the icy water as white flame shot at his heels, causing the rock to bubble. Another searing lance shot into the water after him, almost causing him to draw breath in pain as it boiled, part of the surface simply evaporating. He broke the surface for breath, and looked back. The dragon coiled itself atop the rock, like a great serpent. He held his spear in his hand still, and his lips trembled in the chill air. The beast grinned at him, well out of reach of its deadly breath. Then it slipped into the water. Without another moment's thought, Sherell kicked off for the shore. He could vaguely see the dragon beneath him, pulling itself along the bottom of the lake in pursuit. So fast! Its speed was almost unnatural. Finally he pulled himself out of the water, resolving to strike the dragon down once it emerged. He grit his teeth, holding his wet weapon ready to throw. The Shagann burst from the water, shrieking as it reached forward with its talons. Sherell almost faltered as he stared into its dead, emotionless eyes, so distressing as the rest of it moved with alarming alacrity. It reared its head and opened its mouth. Sherell threw. The Elves wear white when they mourn; they say it is the colour of death.

That's true, but as KCHughes mentioned, a number of emos are the sorts of people who really wouldn't have any justification for their behaviour, and are otherwise far too privileged to know how bad life can really get.

Well, that's really on par with (allegedly) educated middle-class youth pretending to be disenfranchised street gangsters.

I think you missed the point entirely. It's part of a genre of infotainment known as "mockumentary". What this means is that the definitions and opinions they provide as "fact" is intended to be questionable and ironic. Oh, by the way, they're Australian. Notice how I said they're from my grade. Also, you type like a lobotomised goat.

* Server sets mode -foodaid NK OMG GIV IT BAK!! WUT R U DOIN BRO?!?!?

A couple of guys from my grade put this video together for a film festival and came second. It's really quite good. [WARNING] WATCH IT!

Ram them both with tanks. NEXT! (Seriously, I'm getting tired of these threads. Why don't you just read one of the others and see if you like any of the ideas there?)

Are you even sure she's flirting with you? It's not uncommon for hormone-charged males to get the impression that a female they're attracted to is flirting with them, even when she's not. Either way, don't do anything to upset their potentially stable unless you have a tank - in which case, you can follow these instructions: - Find a time when she's alone and on reasonably open ground. If she is not in an open space, ensure that whatever is enclosing her is not too heavily reinforced. - Next, ram her with the tank. If she is in an enclosed space, she will be awed by the power of your treads crushing the puny walls around her life, and could take that as a metaphor. Also, the main gun is incredibly phallic and, like a rhinocerus' horn, proves your virility. If she is in open ground, your treads are still mighty, and your main gun is still phallic. - If she is not impressed, forget about her. You have better things to waste your time and tank on. - If she is crushed and dies, forget about her. You have better things to waste your genes on. - Failing the above two situations, she should be sufficiently awed by your superior power and virility and to dump her boyfriend in favour of you. You may then commence breeding a race of tank-resistant humans. - Proceed to celebrate by firing your main gun repeatedly at useless structures and passers-by.

He was high while riding his bike. If you're high do you think you'll be able to think straight? So, whenever you're high, a car comes barelling out of nowhere to hit you? He was high, that's not really in dispute. However, he had enough control over his faculties to be able to balance and ride the bike for - assumingly - some distance before the accident. If the driver had his headlights on, he should have seen the bike and been able to stop or avoid the collision entirely. Even by streetlights he should have been seen. However, the fact is that the friend was hit, and people are jumping to conclusions that clearly he was at fault because he was high, rather than considering that the driver of the car may have been in the wrong themselves.

Air superiority is useful and can help you take an objective, but it can't occupy territory. This is where tanks and infantry come in. No matter your military budget, grunts still die to bullets, and tanks and IFVs can still be brought down by cheaper weapons. Can we get back on topic? Has it actually been confirmed that NK has nuclear weapons? That 1kT blast could've easily been replicated with 1,000 tons of TNT, might I remind you. NK also has a slight habit of trying to bluff its way past the West, as we've seen in that other thread where photos of Pyongyang were posted.

With sufficient ordnance, anything is possible!

Ah, alright. I was mainly asking because one of my friends, who is ranking around the middle of our grade in the HSC at the moment, is apparently able to do very well in the SATs, which is a good thing since he plans to move to America at a later date. I was also curious as to how big the discrepancy is between the quality of education here and in the States. Is it because your education system isn't centralised and given certain standards it must abide by?

They should... The SAT is pretty easy; however, since I've never taken the HSC, I wouldn't know how they would compare. The HSC isn't just a set of exams, though. The assessment is based on your performance for an entire year, and from what I hear, our course content is somewhat more advanced than what you get in the US, at least in some subjects - for example, calculus is a mandatory topic for most maths students. If I could see an example of a syllabus (what students are expected to learn in a given course), I might be able to draw a better comparison.

So what's the big deal with this SAT? Can someone explain it to me? How does it compare to the HSC?

You scold them and then give them a slap on the wrist. Instead of, you know, just having all food aid retracted. Some niche markets in Japan still like some things that come out of NK, like mushrooms. I'm sure that some other people like having NK around, like cocaine addicts. But then, you can still get all that after turning Pyongyang into a glowing crater. No big loss.

You know, everytime I read something like this, part of my esteem for the US dies. I know that if a teacher here tried to dodge responsibility by blaming alcohol, they'd get more than a scolding and a remedial class. The fact that they're under the influence of alcohol while still maintaining a duty of care to their charges is enough to remove them from the profession entirely. Some things simply shouldn't be allowed to happen, but I guess that no matter how much you think that there can only be so much stupid in the world, someone will prove you wrong. On the case of wanting to avoid responsibility, I give you the school that banned tag. "So many near misses," they say.

Sorry, wait. So he was high, and on a bike, and that means that being hit by a car was instantly his fault? What if the driver was at fault as well? This is just jumping to the conclusion that, "Oh, he's high, therefore it's his fault he got hit by a car." I'll remember to tell you next time I hear about a drunk guy getting stabbed in an alley. Clearly, it'd be the victim's fault because he was drunk. Now I don't advocate drug use, but I don't exactly agree with jumping to conclusions like this. In moderation, some drugs like marijuana aren't any more harmful than alcohol and other things that are actually legal. Until I see an official report saying that your friend was at fault and the driver of the car couldn't simply avoid him or stop, I'll take your story more seriously.

The good will of China? They don't make our products dirt cheap out of good will - they do it because its economically beneficial to them. And you know what? China is slowly overtaking the US as the economic hedgemon (sp?). The US was the dominant force in the global world/economy long before we started outsourcing to China. Your point is nonsensical. The goodwill of China and the rest of its trading partners. What's hard to understand? I emphasised China because it's one of, if not the fastest growing economies in the world at the moment. Nowhere did I say that China or anyone else didn't rely on the US themselves. Who's funding American national debt? Surely not Americans. The point of my post was that in a global economy, nobody "owns" anyone else. Someone needs to work on their geography. I think you missed the point. If North Korea is stupid enough to launch a nuke, or openly gives a terrorist organisation the means by which to do so, the US and everyone else who can will turn North Korea into one big glowing crater.

Now, I'm not advocating this for minors, but I've found some of the more risqủ̮̩̉ sites on the internet are actually rather good resources for figuring out proportions. Of course, what you'd want to look for is something that doesn't really get too adult, mostly just being images of people wearing clothes in neutral, albeit slightly suggestive positions. Personally, I recommend the Japanese variety, as even if you do slip up and access something hard-core by accident, it'll be censored.

I'm sorry, but you're wrong. The US owns the world about as much as the Democratic Republic of the Congo does. Its economy is practically running on the goodwill of China and the rest of its trading partners, just like everyone else's. This is the 21st century, and we have something called the global economy. It's been around for some time. The difference is that most other nations aren't in a huge cesspit of national debt.

It depends. I rarely have a subject to look at while drawing, besides rough drafts of what things I'd like in it and composition. Most of drawing for me is figuring out ideas, and then how I can put them on paper. I didn't really learn to draw overnight, and I'm still learning. However, looking back at things I drew two years ago and last year, I can see that I've improved quite a bit. It's just something that takes a lot of practice.

I approve of your forming clone legions of terror ahead of schedule.