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| Well I have been quiet for a while now. Exams and shit like that took a healthy chunk of my time.
Now i have been bored and not too well. So i've been bouncing off the walls a bit.
I think I should rename the site. Something along the lines of: Roverandom, The new home of Death, Rape, Sodomy and all the shit we don't want to see.
Paranoia is getting the better of me, I keep having to think about what I've done during the day so that I don't say stupid things. I get frustrated and I want to hurt people.
I have also just watched the thing that has made me laugh so much that i was crying, some poor fool having his mind changed for him with a nice friendly 2x4 
The other brilliant thing i saw was a hiddiously fat American woman get Tazed by a cop. I couldn't stop laughing her screaming and incoherent gibbering was just classic!
Well I'm off to find some more good old fashioned comedy.
Oh here is a reason why ppl shouldnt try to fly: http://www.ogrish.com/archives/2006/january/ogrish-dot-com-2_men_fall_out.wmv
Oh and pls dont forget to chew your food:
And this is for all they Red blooded guys out there:
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| Well today was interesting to say the least.
Our school was payed a visit by 4 members of the Royal Marines. They were on a recruiting drive here in SA.
I now have to say that i hav never been so tempted to join the millatary as I am right now, the only things that are stopping me right now are:
1 The war in Iraq
2 Questions about completing my degree
and lastly: Gill.
Both my folks have said they don't mind it. My dad was even thinking about suggesting millitary service to me.
Now the only thing that keeps my heart here is my angel. I would go if i knew my relationship cloud survive. I don't want to lose her. The problem is there is a minimum service length of 4 years. I also would want to complete my officers training in which they encourage you to complete a degree at a Brittish university but this takes a lot longer than the 4 years and then i would also get a British Passport.
Right now I dont know what i want to do. If i go i will probably only go after my first year at WITS. Wow i hav never been as confused!
Well thats enough of my whining. I'll see in a few months when I get the info pack that i singned up for.
Untill then i dont know. | | |
| Well I'm really bored, AGAIN, and i've churned out some more tripe:
Purely in the interests of science, I have replaced the word "wand" with "wang" in some Harry Potter Books.
The results are interesting...
"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" asked Harry.
"Oh, well -- I was at Hogwarts meself but I -- er -- got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wang in half an' everything
A magic wang... this was what Harry had been really looking forward to.
"Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wang. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wang for charm work."
"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wang. Eleven inches. "
Harry took the wang. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wang above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls
"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry's wang, tapped the lock, and whispered, 'Alohomora!"
The troll couldn't feel Harry hanging there, but even a troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its nose, and Harry's wang had still been in his hand when he'd jumped - it had gone straight up one of the troll's nostrils.
He bent down and pulled his wang out of the troll's nose. It was covered in what looked like lumpy gray glue.
He ran onto the field as you fell, waved his wang, and you sort of slowed down before you hit the ground. Then he whirled his wang at the dementors. Shot silver stuff at them.
Ok
I have found, definitive proof
that J.K Rowling is a dirty DIRTY woman, making a fool of us all!
"Yes," Harry said, gripping his wang very tightly, and moving into the middle of the deserted classroom. He tried to keep his mind on flying, but something else kept intruding.... Any second now, he might hear his mother again... but he shouldn't think that, or he would hear her again, and he didn't want to... or did he?
Something silver-white, something enormous, erupted from the end of his wang
Then, with a sigh, he raised his wang and prodded the silvery substance with its tip.
'Get - off - me!' Harry gasped. For a few seconds they struggled, Harry pulling at his uncles sausage-like fingers with his left hand, his right maintaining a firm grip on his raised wang.
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| Yes it has been forever since I was here. I had other things to deal with.
This even though i was disturbed at the time just has to be posted! Maths text books are so much fun to read thru...
Well here it starts:
Wherein it is related how that paragon of womanly
virtue, young Polly Nomial (our heroine) is accosted by that
notorious villain Curly Pi, and factored (oh horror!!!)
Once upon a time (1/t) pretty little Polly Nomial was
strolling across a field of vectors when she came to the boundary
of a singularly large matrix. Now Polly was convergent, and her
mother had made it an absolute condition that she must never
enter such an array without her brackets on. Polly, however,
who had changed her variables that morning and was feeling
particularly badly behaved, ignored this condition on the basis
that it was insufficient and made her way in amongst the complex
elements. Rows and columns closed in on her from all sides.
Tangents approached her surface. She became tensor and tensor.
Quite suddendly two branches of a hyperbola touched her at a
single point. She oscillated violently, lost all sense of
directrix, and went completely divergent. As she tripped over a
square root that was protruding from the erf and plunged
headlong down a steep gradient. When she rounded off once more,
she found herself inverted, apparently alone, in a non-Euclidean
space.
She was being watched, however. That smooth operator,
Curly Pi, was lurking inner product. As his eyes devoured her
curvilinear coordinates, a singular expression crossed his face.
He wondered, "Was she still convergent?" He decided to
integrate properly at once.
Hearing a common fraction behind her, Polly rotated and
saw Curly Pi approaching with his power series extrapolated.
She could see at once by his degenerate conic and dissipative
that he was bent on no good.
"Arcsinh," she gasped.
"Ho, ho," he said, "What a symmetric little asymptote
you have I can see you angles have lots of secs."
"Oh sir," she protested, "keep away from me I haven't
got my brackets on."
"Calm yourself, my dear," said our suave operator, "your
fears are purely imaginary."
"I, I," she thought, "perhaps he's not normal but
homologous."
"What order are you?" the brute demanded.
"Seventeen," replied Polly.
Curly leered "I suppose you've never been operated on."
"Of course not," Polly replied quite properly, "I'm
absolutely convergent."
"Come, come," said Curly, "let's off to a decimal place
I know and I'll take you to the limit."
"Never," gasped Polly.
"Abscissa," he swore, using the vilest oath he knew.
His patience was gone. Coshing her over the coefficient with a
log until she was powerless, Curly removed her discontinuities.
He stared at her significant places, and began smoothing out her
points of inflection. Poor Polly. The algorithmic method was
now her only hope. She felt his digits tending to her asymptotic
limit. Her convergence would soon be gone forever.
There was no mercy, for Curly was a heavyside operator.
Curly's radius squared itself; Polly's loci quivered. He
integrated by parts. He integrated by partial fractions. After
he cofactored, he performed runge - kutta on her. The complex
beast even went all the way around and did a contour
integration. What an indignity - to be multiply connected on
her first integration. Curly went on operating until he
completely satisfied her hypothesis, then he exponentiated and
became completely orthogonal.
When Polly got home that night, her mother noticed that
she was no longer piecewise continuous, but had been truncated
in several places But it was to late to differentiate now. As
the months went by, Polly's denominator increased monotonically.
Finally she went to L'Hopital and generated a small but
pathological function which left surds all over the place and
drove Polly to deviation.
The moral of our sad story is this: "If you want to
keep your expressions convergent, never allow them a single
degree of freedom." | | |
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Well this took me ages to get right and well thats pretty much all i've been doing in the last few days :p
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