And you know how some people, when they get their hands on a friends phone cam, can’t resist the temptation to take a picture of themselves? Well, they really ought to learn to delete the pictures afterwards.
These are some slightly amusing cartoon jokes.
The second draft of Union Jack is done, clearing up questions of continuity and tone raised by my boy editors (thanks Damian and Dave!) I’m currently bashing out on the Libretto the beat sheets for parts two and three of the three issues they want for a pitch and thinking of the story beyond that.
Part of the long term plan is to introduce characters from all four of the UK’s constituent nations. I have England’s, Scotland’s and Ireland’s quite well mapped out, but Wales is still only vague. Which is pitiful considering I was born there. This article reminded me that the plan I have is for a bit of a Taff stereotype (a Druid! What was I thinking?) and that if I do use him he has to be proudly and vocally Welsh. Hence the need to learn a bit of the native tongue.
The depleted Wasp squadron flew over Stran island. No defensive guns fired on them. Black smoke from the fires whorled around the ends of their wings as they passed through it. On the ground small figures ran to and from the flames. They would make easy targets for a strafing run, but the Wasp pilots were heading for their moments of glory in the fjord.
There were small boats on the grand lake behind the island, turning in tight fvast circles to keep from being easy targets. Spotting the Wasps, they broke from their pattern and started heading into the attack in line abreast. Anti air arced up long before it could be effective.
The Wing split, the incendiary armed Cicciles and half the Wasps going high, thye rest divbing for water level. The low group hadn’t quite reached zero spans when they came within range of the anti air. A Wasp was hit, one engine flaming briefly the trailing black smoke, as tracer webbed around the planes. At wave height the planes flattened out, so low each trailed its own wake. The closing speed was phenomenal, and at zero elevation the gunners on the boats found their shells sailed over the planes.
Two of the boats turned away from the attack, presenting larger and easier targets. They were sliced by lines of converging gunfire as the plnes opened up on them. The opthers fared better, presenting smaller targets, but the white spray from falling rounds traced toward them.
And then the planes were past the boats. Apart from one Ciccile, which pulled up too late and shattered its propeller on the radio mast of the boat it flew over. The plane dived, like a sea bird after fish, under the water. The rest of the flight didn’t see vit pop back to the surface several counts later. The pilot, dazed but not even wet yet, wrestled the canopy open and climbed out.
Only four of the boats could raise fire at the receding planes. The wounded Wasp circled and headed back out to sea as its companions climbed to rejoin the rest of the Wing.
Primate Programming Inc. will contract out apes for software projects at far lower rates than humans. It’s a great solution, but not perfect.
It suggests companies provide “a leafy, comfortable workspace” and warns that “hominids (great apes) will not share source code and become very territorial when programming.”
PPI baboons can get rowdy after software testing, the Web site suggests, while its chimps are experts at debugging techniques and bill at a higher rate.
Maybe I could get one to do my job, stay at home, and pocket the difference.
via Salon
