#Multi Purpose Unit

[hemantgoel]

Kilolab equipment | Glass Pilot Plant | manufacturer & suppliers | Goel Scientific | Canada

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[unitedflooring]

Why Rubber Flooring is Perfect for Modern Gyms and Offices

Introduction

When designing modern gyms and offices, flooring is a critical consideration. The right flooring can enhance safety, comfort, and functionality while also contributing to the overall aesthetic appeal. One standout choice that perfectly meets these needs is rubber flooring. Let’s explore why rubber flooring is the ideal option for modern gym flooring and multi-purpose flooring solutions in offices.

Durability and Longevity

Rubber flooring is renowned for its durability and long-lasting performance. In high-traffic areas like gyms and offices, floors need to withstand constant use without showing signs of wear and tear. Rubber flooring meets this demand effortlessly. It is resistant to scratches, dents, and stains, ensuring your floors look great and function well for years.

Safety and Comfort

Safety is a top priority in both gym and office environments. Rubber flooring provides excellent traction, reducing the risk of slips and falls. This is particularly important in gyms where vigorous physical activities take place. Additionally, rubber flooring offers cushioning, which helps reduce the impact on joints during exercises, making it a preferred choice for gym-goers.

In office settings, where employees spend long hours on their feet or moving around, rubber flooring provides a comfortable surface that reduces fatigue. The cushioning effect also makes standing desks and collaborative areas more comfortable, promoting a healthier workplace environment.

Versatility for Multi-Purpose Use

One of the standout features of rubber flooring is its versatility. Modern gym flooring needs to accommodate various activities, from weightlifting to yoga. Rubber flooring’s shock-absorbent properties make it suitable for all these activities, providing a safe and supportive surface.

In offices, multi-purpose flooring is essential for spaces that serve multiple functions. Conference rooms, break areas, and collaborative spaces all benefit from rubber flooring’s adaptability. Its ability to withstand heavy furniture, rolling chairs, and high foot traffic without damage makes it a practical choice for dynamic office environments.

Easy Maintenance

Keeping floors clean and well-maintained is crucial in both gyms and offices. Rubber flooring simplifies this task with its easy maintenance. It is resistant to spills and stains, and a simple cleaning routine keeps it looking fresh. Regular sweeping and occasional mopping are usually sufficient to maintain its pristine condition, saving time and effort for cleaning staff.

Aesthetic Appeal

Gone are the days when rubber flooring was only available in dull, industrial-looking designs. Today’s rubber flooring options come in a wide range of colors, patterns, and textures, allowing you to create a visually appealing environment. Whether you want a sleek, modern look for your office or a vibrant, energetic vibe for your gym, rubber flooring can meet your design needs.

Eco-Friendly Choice

For those committed to sustainability, rubber flooring is an eco-friendly option. Many rubber flooring products are made from recycled materials, reducing environmental impact. Additionally, its durability means it doesn’t need to be replaced frequently, reducing waste. Choosing rubber flooring aligns with modern values of sustainability and responsible consumption.

Cost-Effectiveness

While the initial investment in rubber flooring might be higher than some other options, its long-term cost-effectiveness is undeniable. Its durability means fewer replacements and repairs over time, resulting in significant savings. Additionally, its easy maintenance reduces cleaning costs, making it a wise financial choice for both gyms and offices.

Conclusion

Rubber flooring stands out as the perfect choice for modern gym flooring and multi-purpose flooring in offices. Its durability, safety, comfort, versatility, easy maintenance, aesthetic appeal, eco-friendliness, and cost-effectiveness make it a superior option. By choosing rubber flooring, you invest in a solution that enhances the functionality and appearance of your spaces while providing long-lasting benefits. Make the smart choice for your gym or office with rubber flooring and enjoy its many advantages.

[dontforgetukraine]

Ukraine Donation Guide Master Post

(Ver. 2 updated Aug 13th, 2024) I will be reformatting this and adding more in the future when I have time.

Also a quick note, all of the groups I have found through twitter have been around long enough for them to be vetted by each other and the brigades they work with. In fact, a lot of these groups collaborate with each other too. Those that are in the fight for Ukraine have been diligent in calling out those that are grifters. Word spreads around quickly if an organization doesn't show up with what they promised. They also use their social media (often Twitter) as a means of transparency for their work.

Remember: When considering on whether to donate, always use your best judgement and donate to those you trust if you do not see what is listed is up to your standards.

Multi-Purpose

United 24 has various fundraisers dedicated to defense and drones, medical aid, rebuilding Ukraine, humanitarian demining, and science and education. You can pick which one you want to contribute to under their various projects.

Liberty Ukraine uses funds for humanitarian aid, medical supplies, protective gear and equipment, and rehabilitation therapy. You can choose which campaign of theirs to donate to.

Come Back Alive is a charitable foundation that supports Ukraine's military with competent assistance while also focusing on security and defense. They also have projects that use sports to help veterans rehabilitate. You can choose which campaign to donate to.

Serhiy Prytula Charity Foundation works to help both civilians and Ukraine's army. You can choose to donate to an active project or any of their general campaigns. Civilian aid campaigns cover temporary housing, supporting crisis and emergency responses, schools, demining, and healthcare. Military aid campaigns cover drones, optics units, communications equipment, and support of air defense teams.

Food Aid

World Central Kitchen works with local partners wherever they are providing food aid. They make sure meals and meal kits are what the local population eats. Even though there is no separate fundraising campaign for Ukraine (that I can see), they still do great work.

Animal Rescue

Hachiko Foundation works to help displaced pets and strays in frontline areas. They help with veterinary care, outdoor shelters, setting up feeding stations, and rehoming animals.

Medical Aid

Hospitallers (Website) is a volunteer organization of paramedics that was founded in 2014. They evacuate the wounded, provide medical aid on the frontlines, assist in rehabilitation, and transfer of the deceased to burial sites. They are also supported by Ukraine Charity. Visit Hospitallers' website to see how many they have evacuated, different methods you can donate, and more information about them.

Other

Saint Javelin (Twitter; Website) is a great place to get apparel, gear, and other cool loot to show your support for Ukraine. They don't take donations, but instead raise funds through their shop with a portion of their sales going towards humanitarian aid and critical items needed by the defenders (generators, pick-up trucks, medical supplies etc). Part of their shop has items made in Ukraine to support Ukrainian businesses. Overall, their products are high-quality. I include them due to their impactful presence in the Twitter community I follow and how they make Ukraine visible in an alternative way. Consider buying someone a gift from their shop.

The Kyiv Independent (Twitter; Website) is a great English language resource for news about Ukraine. I include them because I think supporting good journalism is incredibly important, especially now when the information space is fraught with Russian propaganda, misinformation, and disinformation. My followers have probably noticed I've pulled a lot of quotes from their stories in an effort to amplify Ukrainian voices and experiences. Look on their website for more information on different way to support them, such as their Patreon.

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If you're on twitter, there are a number of groups and people that fundraise for Ukraine and for specific units fighting on the frontlines. If there is no official website, a PayPal for donations is listed in their profiles. When considering on whether to donate, always use your best judgement and donate to those you trust if you do not see what is listed is up to your standards.

@/Teoyaomiquu almost always has a fundraiser for Liberty Ukraine with a specified purpose. At the time of writing this, he is currently raising funds for engineering equipment such as excavators. One such excavator is already in Kursk. Follow him to stay up to date with what he's fundraising for.

Dyga's Paw (Twitter: @/dzygaspaw) is a smaller group that has recently raised funds for starlinks, drones, batteries, and Ecoflow generators. You can look at the fundraising campaigns they currently have on their website.

@/DefactoHumanity represents and founded Planet of the People with their website U(a)nited for Freedom. She frequently posts updates about their fundraisers and what their partners need. They are known for providing Frontline medical aid supplies, protective equipment and other military aid, technical equipment (starlinks, drones, scopes, etc), and infrastructure equipment (generators, vehicles, power stations, etc). They even have a merch store of the battalions they partner with if that's your jam. Here is their link tree if you wish to explore more. And in case you're curious, there is an article bout the founder here.

@/wilendhornets (Website) specialize in making high quality drones that have gotten a lot of praise from Ukraine's army. They have attracted a lot of media attention too. Check out their website for the list of articles that have been written about them. Their Twitter is very active with strike footage.

Ants Kitchen Hub (@/ants_kyiv) is a volunteer kitchen that makes dry rations for the Ukrainian army. They are more active on their other social media. To learn more about them, check out their link tree.

@/frontlinekit (Front Line Kitchen) is represented by Richard Woodruff. Originally they made shelf stable food for the Ukrainian army, but now their fundraising has branched out to other campaigns such as raising funds for medical supplies and drones. They are a well known group that many battalions have come to for help.

@/bekamaciorowski (Rebekah Maciorowski) is as combat medic and nurse who helps provide medical care to soldiers and civillians at the frontlines. She raises funds for medical supplies and other equipment, but also helps train soldiers in first aid. More of her social media that features her work can be found in her link tree.

@/UkraineAidOps (Website) is another organization battalions frequently go to for help. They fundraise for all sorts of equipment from medical supplies to drones. If you're interested, they also have a shop with patches from different brigades and flags signed by soldiers. Their shop also includes a separate section called the Victory Gallery where artifacts from the war are turned into art. This includes shells that are painted on, scrap metal from downed enemy planes are turned into keychains, and pieces of a rocket are turned into lamps.

Chris Garrett is the co-founder of Prevail. His organization deals with humanitarian demining as well as training for trauma care, training of bomb disposal, and education to the public. Prevail works with local agencies in Ukraine as well as the army.

Project Konstantin (Twitter; Website; Linktree) is still going strong after the death of their founder, British paramedic Peter Fouché. His digital ghost can be found here. They collaborate with the military, thus giving them an insight into what is dearly needed. They often raise funds for starlinks, personalized first aid kits (IFAKs), generators, portable power stations, and other nonlethal military equipment. I regret forgetting them the first time this post went around. Visit their website to see everything they have done and more. It has more information on what and how they do it than this post can cover.

One Team One Fight (Twitter; Website; Linktree) has some of the original members that worked for Ukraine Aid Ops. They formed their own group after differences with the previous one, and are still helping Ukraine. They are very visible on various social media showing what they have accomplished in their deliveries to various brigades. They're another group that seeks to bring starlinks, drones, medical supplies and protective gear to the battalions that come to them for help. Check out their website for more information on their current fundraisers, their achievements, and received recognition.

NAFO 69th Sniffing Brigade (Twitter; Website) Another small group that focuses their funds on delivering drones, generators, vehicles, and saving the occasional furry companion. They are very diligent in their updates for their fundraising campaigns. Check out their website for more information and the articles written about them.

Postmaster General Boomer (Twitter; Website) focuses on humanitarian aid, animal aid, and logistics. Boomer is the beloved pet of one of the founders and the secret boss/mascot. They have many transparency reports and are diligent in reporting the various "tours" they do in getting supplies where they are needed to go. They are based in Germany but have built up many connections during their existence. They have also worked closely with Ukraine Aid Ops.

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I am sure I have forgotten some, so please reply or comment with any more I should add to this master post. I will edit and update as I see and evaluate more.

Last updated: Aug. 13th, 2024

Version updates listed below

August 13th, 2024 Added:

Hospitallers

Saint Javelin

The Kyiv Independent

Project Konstantin

1 Team 1 Fight

NAFO 69th Sniffing Brigade

Post Master General Boomer

[virginreprise]

J U N K Y ' P R I D E

joel miller x reader

" I KNOW I CAUGHT YOU AT A NOT SO HAPPY TIME OF YOUR LIFE " ✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

WARNINGS: age difference (big one), pervy joel, trailer park joel, joel miller has a vintage porn collection, joel's a sad old man, video game joel was in mind when writing, joel is six foot because i say so, multi-part, smut in the next chapter because i can't write anything if it isn't slowburn

WORD COUNT: 7.7k

CHAPTER TWO

AO3LINK

CHAPTER ONE—BAD DISEASE

Static from the television set tucked in a corner, a beaten leather armchair parked in front of it and a stack of vintage, VHS porn tapes on the unit. One half of “Agent 69” stuck in the VCR, balancing on its side due to the lack of care from its owner who’d jacked off in the very chair that towered over it—cum stained fist and a name on his lips, slipped out between plush flesh. Hand frantic, jerking in tandem with the buck of his hips as he flit his eyes between the TV and the wood-panelled ceiling, profanities spilling from his filthy mouth. Muttering to himself as pornstar moans graced his ears, words whispered into the night, stolen by the archangels and flown up to God: conspiring, scheming, uttering under their breath that he should not be allowed through the holy gates on judgement day. That the defiled Bible on his bookshelf and the cross that had been left for him by the previous owners, pinned to the trailer wall, was not enough for them to ignore the strained sentences that he spewed in a desperate bid for the Trailer Park Princess on her knees—red nails and red lips wrapped around his cock. A ring of colour staining the base. 

Utter filth. And Joel knew it. 

The perversions he didn’t keep to himself, laughed about bending over the pretty thing next door whilst nursing a beer on Pete’s porch—puffing away on the cheap cigars he’d stolen from the liquor store. They tasted like shit, smelt like shit and Joel would’ve been better without it, but it added to the image: kept Susan from asking him stupid questions like why he didn’t have a woman. It was her way of flirting, bikini top displaying her sagging tits, bending over the kitchen counter whilst his buddies watched baseball. 

“You got your eye on anyone, Joel?” 

“Not really, Susan.” 

Then Pete interjecting. 

“Come off it, Susan. Just cause he ain’t committed don’t mean that he ain’t got women.”

That kept her quiet, made her slink away into the hallway, slipping into their bedroom and pulling a cover-up on—suddenly insecure. 

Joel wasn’t a pervert. He didn’t have some strange penchant for young women. They were just…nice to look at. Pretty and sun-kissed in the Texan heat, ass hanging out their shorts, bikini top doing much more to entice than Susan’s did. There was no harm in looking—they never knew. He prided himself on being discreet, nursing a beer in the late afternoon whilst Kenny Rogers lulled from the radio, flicking ash from his cigarette onto the porch floor—eyes trained on your open window, cracked just a tad to let the air through. Drapes open. 

At times, he thinks you do it on purpose, a gentle taunt, a silent jeer: “You can only look, perv.” 

If the invitation was there, he’d take you up on it. Because out of all the women he’d fucked, headboard bashing against the wall, a chip in the wood of the trailer evidence of his trysts, you were the only one who’d worked him up to the point of no return. The only one who’d grabbed him completely by the collar and forced him to lick your boots. 

Like Joel said, he wasn’t a pervert. You were just a fucking whore who needed to be put in her place. 

So he’d sit there, in the white garden chair he’d snatched up from the pile of scrap that accumulated just east of his trailer, and watch. Most days, you’d be doing nothing in particular, unfortunately already dressed, dirty clothes in hand and wet hair dripping down your back. Other days, the days where Joel thought he was really lucky, where he’d stumble inside with a hard-on, sit on his recliner and hastily shove whatever he got his hands on, into the VCR, skipping over the poorly acted introductions, and pretend that the moans reverberating the trailer, were yours. Images of you slipping your shorts over your hips, swaying slightly to whatever tune you were listening to, peeling your shirt off your body. No bra. Slyly stepping towards your window, catching his eye once, a look so slight that he wouldn’t be surprised if he imagined it, and pulled your drapes shut. 

He’d spilt all over his hand, white on his knuckles and a smile on his lips. 

Joel would never feel guilty for wanting you, not when he had already made peace with the fact he was a deadbeat, bound to the white trash lifestyle, unemployed and living off the pills he paid for and sold for a ridiculously high price, still grieving his losses and wondering what the fuck he could’ve done differently. If he would’ve done anything differently given the chance. 

No, Joel was not a bad person. He just looked for her in every person, desperately seeking a will. And so far, you had succeeded in helping him remove the gun from his mouth—evenings spent in different, dangerous ways. 

Texan summers were unlike anything you’d experienced before, the heat so incredibly stifling that your love for the sun disappeared completely. Mornings spent on the porch, soaking in the last bits of breeze before cycling your ass to work, sweating and heaving by the time you got there, in the same condition when you rode back home and locked yourself away with every window flung open before nightfall fell and you felt you could breathe again. 

The cicadas were loud, the snakes huddled up in the shade, waiting for you to trample on them, and the beast next door, Joel Miller: terrifying, gorgeous and a fucking pervert. 

The day you’d moved into the trailer, despairing the loss of stability, ruminating upon your desperate escape from a home now dead and lost to the prairies of your mind, he’d been there. Wifebeater stretched across his wide torso, a cigarette placed on his lips, unused as it hung there, smoking away, the grey wisps begging with each dissipation into the atmosphere: breathe me in. He’d stared. Unable to be subtle no matter how slick he thinks he is, eyes flitting between your tits and your ass. Tits. Ass. Tits. Ass. A calculated dance that left a funny feeling brewing in the pit of your stomach, a lurch in your bowels that made nausea claw its way up your throat. 

Tits. Ass. Then, he suddenly looked at your face, standing there on his porch, the sunrise building its way up the horizon, too early for anybody to see him looking you over like you were a dead deer he’d just shot, smirking at the notion of sawing your head off and displaying it on the wall above his mantle. Heaving boxes into the empty trailer, lot number seventeen, whilst the owner of lot eighteen wouldn’t take his fucking eyes off you, was a terrible feat. 

Once you’d shoved the last box into your bedroom, you’d shut the door, locked it tight and peeked through the window to see that he had gone back inside, retreating to the haven of steel and veneer. 

Over time, Joel became easier to manage. After the initial, awkward introductions where he’d called you princess, babydoll, sugar (almost adding a “tits” to the end of the nickname before realising where he was) your stomach reeling at the monikers, time settled your unmistakable disgust for him, the universe replaced the sickness you felt when you spoke to him with another stomach-turning anxiety that you pushed down far into every crevasse and high onto every mountain. 

You grew to enjoy the nicknames, skipping a few paces up his porch steps and ask him ever so kindly if he could come and fix the cupboard door that was swinging off its hinges, change the lightbulb because you couldn’t reach the ceiling yourself, stop the leaky tap that seemed to start drip drip dripping every month—just to bully you. 

Although you knew that Joel was a dirtbag, hearing him talking about the filthiest things, laughing as Pete clapped him on the back in praise and acknowledgement, knowing that he wanted nothing more than to treat you like a whore, he gave you nothing except a sly smile, a sleazy nickname and the occasional help around the house. Fixing things. 

So, naturally, you began asking around about Joel. Susan liked to gossip. So did Lillian, a woman who had spent her entire life in the park and, at sixty-two, had no interest in leaving. 

“I remember when he moved here,” she’d told you one fine summer evening, when the heat wasn’t as menacing and you felt content being away from the air conditioning, sipping sweet tea in Lillian’s wooden garden chairs, feet placed on the seat—chin resting on your knees. “All stoic, wouldn’t speak ‘ta anyone. I could tell he’d gone through something bad, you know me and my sixth sense.” 

She’d paused for a moment, taking a drag, a sip, a sigh before looking at you solemnly. 

“He was a catch with the ladies,” she’d muttered. “They were all after him, even this one over here,” she’d pointed to Susan who’d smacked her arm, complaining about her disrespect. She was a married, loyal woman after all. “Well, it’s true. If I were twenty years younger, I would’ve gone for him too, but it wouldn’t have done much anyway cause he didn’t touch anyone. There ain’t many pretty young ladies round here, you know you’re the only one,” she’d said plainly, addressing you with a hint of affection. 

Waving her cigarette around as she relayed every single detail she knew about Joel’s love life, telling you how after a few years of moping, he’d bring back girls in the middle of the night, fuck them, and then throw them out the next day. 

“He’s not a romantic,” Lillian had prefaced, Susan interjecting with:

“Ya think so? I think he is…if he just found the right woman-”

“Oh don’t listen to her Darlin’, he’s a man who likes to play. He ain’t lookin’ to settle, I tell you that much.” 

Listening to them both, their anecdotes, their stories, and their opinions, you concluded one thing about Joel Miller. He was an asshole. A man who had done nothing to better his life since he stepped foot in the trailer park ten years ago, a sag in his shoulders and an anger in his eyes. 

You weren’t sure if he’d mellowed since then, or if he’d just managed to conceal it better. Joel hadn’t been angry around you, not when you knocked on his door at three in the morning, asking him if he could come get the spider out of your bedroom, not when you’d accidentally run into his truck with your bike or told him that he was an asshole when you’d caught him talking about you one day in springtime. 

“She’s as dumb as fucking rocks,” he’d chuckled. “Bet she gets cockdrunk so easy.” 

He’d grumbled out the last sentence, an afterthought that was more for him than the men he was talking to, but you, stumbling around, half-asleep after your shift, were not willing to take the degradation. You’d berated him in front of his peers, slammed the door behind you, and regretted it immediately. Because, even though it shouldn’t matter, even though you thought he was pervy and angry and wouldn’t treat you how you’d been told you deserved, the last thing you wanted was for him to hate you. 

Every time he praised you, told you that you looked good as you stepped out of your home, on your way to Lillian’s for a catch-up and the cigarettes she bought you every three weeks, just for being good and keeping her company, you felt that tingle, the synaptic transmissions running down your spine every time he stepped through your door, asking what the issue with your tap was. You should’ve been disgusted when he’d left and you’d gone to the bathroom only to find the panties you’d left on the floor were gone, but you’d felt that same spark instead. A deep, sliding ache that consumed every part of you. 

Luckily for you, your sink decided to start leaking again on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon. Perfect time to lure him into your trailer, grab him by the neck and ask him as nicely as you could if he could cease the pain. 

Sip of beer, drag of cigarette, click of the remote to change the channel, repeat. 

A usual Sunday afternoon pastime. 

Joel would’ve rifled through his VHS’s, find something he could jack off to whilst he deliberated whether today would be the day he’d say “fuck it” and saunter on over to next door, hoping to god he’d get his dick wet by someone other than a whore, but he couldn’t be bothered to move from his seat. It was effort enough trying to change the channel, arm aching as he pressed the button, rolling his eyes as the same boring drab illuminated his TV screen. 

It was another one of those days. Glancing at the watch on his wrist, the broken glass, the notion that he would never fix it no matter how easy it would’ve been to go over to Shane’s and ask him to get it working again, all for the low price of a few pills. 

She’d left him with it and he would die with it. 

A reminder of her every time he glanced at his watch, swallowing hard as he remembered the way he’d pressed cool metal to the side of his head, a tear slipping down his cheek before realising that he never could. Because Joel was an asshole, he knew that. He was selfish and cruel and spoke about people as if they could get any lower than he already was. But more so than anything, Joel was a sad old man.

Tommy, the damn bastard, who’d left Joel to fend for himself while he went off with his new-found “true love” to have kids and a decent life, had sent a few thousand dollars and a pitiful “I’m sorry, Joel,” over the phone after his big brother had fucked up and lost his job. When Joel had been left penniless and broken. Nothing to fight for. No one to hold him or tell him that he was loved. He’d spent all his money raiding gas stations for cases of beer, bottles of whisky, anything that could numb the pain—choosing the alcohol over food, over his mortgage. When he’d lost the house, he hadn’t taken anything of hers. Even after she’d died, he’d insisted that everything needed getting rid of. Her clothes, her posters, even her damn phone. He’d slammed Tommy against the wall after realising that he was taking everything with him, that he was not doing as he was told. After that, Joel had closed the door on her bedroom and never stepped foot in it again. 

All he had of her was a damn watch, a photo that his little brother had shoved into his hands, a harsh, “Take it, you damn bastard. You’ll regret it when you stop feeling so sorry for yourself,” on his lips, and the memory of her in his arms when he’d felt that huge heart of hers stop beating. 

There had been many low points in Joel’s life, wandering through his existence on a tightrope that was ready to snap with every step, but none had been lower than that. 

Not even when he’d called Tommy in the middle of the night, sobbing, struggling to breathe with a clean bottle of Jim Beam in his hands, begging him to help. He’d lost his house, he’d lost his job, he’d lost his daughter. Where to next? 

Tommy, all the way in Wyoming had scraped together some money, told Joel to get himself down to the mobile park and a steady job. Start from the bottom again. 

Sometimes, Joel resented his brother for not giving him that money for a flight to the West, smiling down the phone as he informed that they had a spare room for him, his nephew cooing in his bassinet and waiting for his old uncle. 

He understood though. When he wasn’t drunk it made more sense why he hadn’t invited him to his home. 

They hadn’t spoken in sixteen years. To his nephew whom he did not know the name of, he was just the deadbeat uncle who hadn’t made it out of Texas—still alive but lost. 

Tommy would’ve probably hated him more if he was sitting on Joel’s couch, staring at the porn and the beer, the cigarettes that his little brother knew he had only smoked when he was a rebellious teenager—the occasional pull never becoming a habit, especially when his daughter came along. 

Almost certainly would’ve despised him if he knew how he felt about the girl next door, the perverse catharsis he experienced when he took himself in hand and imagined taking care of her, shushing her whimpers, making her whine with the way he stretched her open. 

Oh, and he was a bad man. A bad fucking man and he was the last thing you needed. Some poor, young girl who was doing her best to make it. Pay the rent on time, make sure she was kept fed, all whilst juggling the inescapable feeling that once you were in the trailer park there was no getting out. 

Joel didn’t see an end. He’d been here for over a decade; his drug money was not for a new house or a new life, it was for whores and booze, a carton of Marlboro reds that he got for cheap from Bill, and porn. He’d collected all the goddamn vices—became a person so unlike who he was, so far from the quietly loveable single dad he’d been hailed as years ago. 

As far as Joel now was concerned, that guy was a fucking pussy. 

That guy would think he needed professional help for the way he thought about you, would expel every single image of you naked and writhing, tits bouncing in time with his thrusts as you lay boneless and crying in his grasp. 

You were legal. What was the big fucking deal? 

Joel needed this. You were not just some throwaway material good that would leave him in debt for the next ten years—you were full and gorgeous, smart, quick-witted and made him harder than the oak tree that stood centuries-old just a little down the road from the old Palmer farmhouse. 

That day you’d heard him talking about you to his friends, the way he’d lied and said that you were dumb, when you’d come storming up his porch steps—all rage and heat—and cussed him out, he’d laughed. It didn’t matter about the taunts and the sniggers he got from his buddies who he would have no issue never speaking to again. They could go fuck themselves for all he cared because you hadn’t willingly thrown yourself at his feet and licked his boots. 

Whores were easy. No challenge with a whore, no longing, no desire, just a mutual understanding that this was transactional and she was going to moan as loud as you wanted her to whether it felt good or not. 

But you had given Joel something worth chasing. And fuck he was going to catch you, even if it meant he’d die in the chair he sat in, with nothing to show for his life except a case of Bud, an empty fridge, and a stain on his bedsheets where you’d reached for him—begging for everything he could not give.

Something about him had you checking your appearance before you walked out the door, making your hair presentable, touching up your lipgloss, blotting the oil from your face. All for a man who saw you as nothing but jailbait

You wanted to be wanted. To be looked at with a fire, an urge to grasp you and take you fully, pull you close when you cried and kiss you when you shook with the need to run far away. You wanted to be kept, to be reminded every day that you were needed, loved and desired.

You wanted Joel. 

Joel: the sad old man next door, the dangerously handsome figure in your life that stood six feet tall, jaw sharp and strong, muscles straining with his arms crossed—built big and firm. A chest you’d very much like to lay your head on. A bulge in his pants you’d very much like to see stripped bare. 

So when the opportunity came, you seized it, with an iron first, intent on capturing what had been yours since the day you’d moved to the free prison—since the day he’d stared at you, an unadulterated and irremovable, perverse desire that shook the very beings of your existence. That determined exactly who you are and how you would fall for the watchful eyes and glinting gaze that befell you every time you stepped down the rotten wood steps at the foot of the trailer entrance. 

You stepped onto them then, Chuck Taylors strapped to your feet, laces loose and lazily tied, skin smoothed from the razor you’d pressed against it in the shower that morning—all for him. The appearance every bit of expectation you had for his fantasies and ideals, hoping that the attire would thrust him further into abandoning a morality he did not have. 

The sun set rapidly behind you, the grass long and dry around your ankles, unmowed—as you nor Joel had ever discussed who would get mowing duty—and a clear head. A set destination, unstifled by a long day at work, the sweat curling along your back too harsh to be ignored and the sometimes discourteous demeanour of Joel’s so powerful that you often wondered why you liked him. Why you gave so much attention to a man years ahead of you, unable to look at you without laughing at the prospect you thought you were more to him than a pretty thing to look at whilst he wallowed in his castle of self-pity he’d built for himself all these years spent trapped and lonely. 

It all seemed insignificant that day you’d crossed the boundary between lot seventeen and lot eighteen. When you’d shakily advanced up his steps, onto the porch you grew so fond of, and knocked once, twice, thrice on the white door—stepping back to await his welcome. Hoping to god that he’d see you and take you there. 

The shuffling on the other side of the door raised your heart rate, a sweat forming on the back of your neck which you brushed away with a hasty hand, intimidated by what awaited you when the white disappeared and transformed into bulking arms and a firm chest—a tall body that you gazed up at with ardour. 

When the sight appeared, you gulped away the desire to run away, to pretend that you’d just come here for the leaky tap and that there was no other reason you had bothered him on his peaceful Sunday afternoon. No ulterior motive. Not that you just wanted to see him because he had hardly been around the past couple of days and in truth you were worried about him; you wanted to make him feel better. 

“Hi.” He struggled to conceal the surprise in his voice, seemingly struggling further to keep the thickness in his throat at bay, the redness of his eyes that displayed days of restlessness and insomnia. “You alright?” 

“Yeah,” you murmured impassively, licking your lips, swallowing away the dryness in your throat at the state of him: burning cigarette in hand, flannel shirt unbuttoned and displaying the white wifebeater that lay underneath. The shape of his belly was visible underneath it, his belt purposefully unbuckled and hanging from the loops of his jeans. “I’m alright.” 

There was a twitch of his lips as he stared down at you, eyes flitting from head to toe—shameless in the way he always was. In the way you liked. 

“You sure?” 

It seemed stupid suddenly: the entire situation. The call you felt towards him, the want you had to curl up against his chest, let him hold you and tell you he was proud of you for opening up to him—telling him how fucking much you wanted him, despite knowing exactly how it would end if you were to venture further into a relationship that surpassed just neighbours. 

So instead of inviting yourself in, seducing him until he fell to his knees, tugged you by the waist and begged you for just the smallest piece of yourself, you succumbed to your insecurity, and retreated from the palace walls. 

“Yeah…yeah, it’s just that my taps leaking again.” For a split second, he almost looked irritated, eyes honing in on you, narrowing with a look of aggravation—confirmed by the clench of his jaw. You appeased him, saying, “You don’t have to come over now. I just thought I’d tell you,” and the expression slowly slipped away into something much more sinister: mirth. 

“Sure thing, pretty girl,” he said as he slinked away from the doorframe, inviting you into his home, coaxing you past the threshold as he fumbled about in the fridge and pulled out two beers. 

Contemplating, you stared at him, the flex of his muscles as he uncapped each bottle, the stature and size of him as he hunched over the counters, turning around to hold out a drink to you. An invitation. One that you had expected you’d have to give yourself—that you’d have to kick and cry before he ever let himself find you. 

“Just have a drink,” he soothed in that southern lull of his, the words rolling from his tongue with ease. As if he had practised the scenario before he knew it would befall him. “No point in worrying over your tap, I can’t do anything until I buy new washers. I’m out 'cause of you.” 

The irritation he’d shown earlier seemed palpable now—as if he was inviting you into his home simply to make you as uncomfortable as possible, hold you down by the hips until you promised to leave him alone. A taunt, a ploy to make sure you would never get what you wanted. 

However, you had never stepped foot in his trailer, had only ever been on his porch and ran your hand over the chair he frequented, wondering what it looked like beyond the four walls, and curiosity prevailed as it always did. 

Uncertainly, you stepped onto the carpet, gently closing the door behind you, and mumbled a thank you as you took the beer from his hand. 

Almost immediately, you felt like apologising for his irrational emotions. 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I didn’t mean to put you out. I’ll pay for whatever you need-”

“You pay in ways you don’t know. I don’t need your money.” 

The cryptic way in which he spoke, the casualness as he gave you a look that hinted at something you couldn’t decipher and the slow saunter to his armchair left you in a state of uncertainty. Standing there, with a beer wetting your hand, a frown on your face and a furrowed brow, you had no idea where to go next. What would await you if you questioned him—the things you would discover that were best left in the hands of God and no one else. 

Again, curiosity thrust its violent hand into your stomach and forced your feet to start moving towards him, hoping that he’d appreciate your bravery—your denial of your urges to run far away. It was noted, however, that Joel Miller could care less about bravery. That the quality itself was right down at the bottom of the ladder and that he could and would not give a shit if you welcomed his advances in spite of your lack of courage. 

Hesitantly, you planted yourself on his couch, the furniture built into the wall, curving into an L shape where you imagined he’d kick his feet up after a long day, palm the bulge in his jeans and pick from the litany of porn that you took one glance at and thought better than to stare at it too long in case he felt offended by your interest. 

The discovery admittedly took away a little of his allure. 

“Make yourself at home,” he insisted, taking a sip of his beer and urging you to do the same with a single nod of his head. The slight twitch of his lips when you did so caused your body to go squirming, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as the fire raged within you—unable to be sated with the way he looked at you then. 

Just a scoff, a sip, and a glance at your lips before he turned away completely and focused his attention on the blank TV screen— his reflection the only entertainment. 

Silence grew uncomfortable, the bitter taste of alcohol coating the back of your throat, dripping down your oesophagus and choking any words that you wished to say. The heat emanating from him was overpowering even from the distance you sat apart, the scent of cigarettes overwhelming, so much so that you needed a distraction, anything to dull the rest of your senses from shutting down—all because of his powerful presence; the effect he had on you even when he sat still and awaited your call. 

“What did you mean?” The words came tumbling from your mouth, driven by an insatiable desire and lacklustre confidence you had somewhere deep in the pits of your stomach, bubbling with the acid that nestled there until it rose to the surface—bile transforming into questions that could leave you in a shell of humiliation. At his furrowed brow, you expanded. “About me paying in ways I don’t know.” 

He leaned forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees. Sombre, all of a sudden. Staring into the barrel of his bottle, the brown glass reflecting like constellations on his face—accentuating the sharp angle of his jawline, the sunken hollows of his cheekbones. 

When his eyes nestled on yours, burrowing right into your skull, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t even fathom the thought of taking a lungful of air, waiting with your breath held tight inside, for his answer. 

“You shouldn’t go asking questions like that.” He sipped quietly, wetting his lips by flicking his tongue in and out, averting his gaze back to the shadow of himself in the television. “You’ll get yourself in trouble.” 

It was not the answer you wished for, eyes downcast, focused on your shaking knee as you tried to gauge some form of clarity beneath the mystery that clouded the gates to his head—what lay beneath his skull; what you wished to find. 

Against your better judgment, you pressed further, keeping the beer bottle clutched between your hands and hoping it would stay cold forever. 

“I can handle myself.” It came out more confident than you had expected, your bobbing knee ceasing its movement, your dry throat provided with moisture. A break from the anxious sweat you had broken out in. “If you don’t tell me I’ll just leave a hundred dollars on your doorstep and leave you alone.” 

You hoped quietly, in that stifling room, that he would make sure it didn’t come to that. That he would let you pay in any way he saw fit. You hoped that the sad hulk of a man sitting in the lone chair with porn in every drawer and money set aside for whores, would let you have him—bring back a semblance of light to his eyes. Find out what kept the despondency trapped so tight around him, the crown of thorns on his head expanding until it reached his feet and kept him locked in nature's prison—skin scratched, bloody and unable to be healed unless he found someone willing to cut through the overgrowth. 

He seemed to bristle at your words, shoulders tightening, jaw clenching in the manner he did when he was irritated. You’d seen it before when Dale had been drunk and had followed you home. When you’d stumbled uncomfortably to your trailer and pleaded Joel who sat on his porch, almost looking like he was waiting for you, to get him off your back. That tick, the downturn of his brow, the twitch of his lip, the look so intimidating you had rushed inside and watched through the window as Joel clapped a hand on Dale’s back and ushered him away from you.

You had no idea what he’d done after they’d left your sight but Dale barely looked at you after. The last interaction you’d had with him was the morning after when he’d knocked on your door, timid for a fifty-year-old man, and apologised. Joel had been there, like he almost always was—always dancing in your peripheral, waiting for you, taunting you—with a cup of coffee clasped between two hands and a smug look on his face when he watched the interaction. 

“You ain’t as smart as you think you are,” he uttered, slipping you away from the vignette and shattering the memory with his simple words. 

They stung. More than you cared to admit. 

Men were never this difficult, never this hard to get through to, never this confusing. He had given you every possible sign, every protection, every knowing look that confessed: you are everything I wish to have. 

It seemed every day he was further from you, every day he looked at you and thought that he was blinded by loneliness and that you were the last thing he needed to dote on. 

With the rejection, came vexation, a rumbling little thing that forced its way into your mouth—lips parting to let it out. 

“You’re not as discreet as you think you are.” As soon as they fell, the rest came following like a herd of bulls, a huge red flag flying through the air, right where Joel sat. They came for him, and you didn’t care enough to stop them. “I’m not stupid, no matter what you say.” 

The tick, tick, tick of his jaw. That subtle way his eyes narrowed, honing in on everything but the thing causing his problems, trying desperately to stop the truths from betraying his conceptions. 

“I see you, Joel. I see you through my bedroom window, using me as your personal stripper because you’re too fucking cheap to go down to the strip club and give a tip.” The push and pull was becoming apparent, the sympathy and disgust you held for him all at once growing and growing until all that prevailed was rage. That after everything, he still refused. That he was still a fucking coward no matter how many faces he pulled at anyone who looked at him wrong. You would not be deterred by the look he gave you then: one that should’ve made you shrink away in fear he would do something rash. “I see the way you looked at me from day fucking one. Just a pair of tits to stare at, a new young girl that you can prey on-”

“Stop.” 

“I’m not stupid.” Your voice was rising rapidly, your lips downturned in a scowl, unable to see the danger that befell you if you continued. “I know how you talk about me to your friends, I know that you make a show of being this immovable thing that no one can ever get to because you’re so wrapped up in your own self-pity that you can’t even admit to yourself that the only thing you are is a fucking pervert. And an asshole.” 

“You are crossing a line, little girl.” 

His words fell on deaf ears, a scoff coming from the back of your throat—so many things that you wanted to say but couldn’t voice. You settled for a final, blow. One that might kick him off his feet. 

“I know you stole my panties.” Jaw ticking, teeth grinding so hard they were liable to turn to dust in his mouth. “Took them right off my bathroom floor. Could you not help yourself? Are you that sad, Joel? Are you that much of a fucking perve-” 

Silenced by the way he towered, standing upright, bottle discarded by the leg of his chair and fury dancing in his eyes—so apparent and profound you finally stopped and cowered. 

“You don’t know a thing about me.” 

You were stunned into submission, finally on the end of his intimidation—a feat that was sure to happen sooner rather than later. You were just another Dale, just another one of his victims that he shot down with narrowed eyes and a nasty tone of voice that forced you to swallow down the confidence—sending it right back to your stomach, and burning the false assurance away. 

“I have been cordial with you for as long as possible.” There was danger in the way he spoke so calmly, a tremor in your hands as he stepped forward, facing you completely, and kneeled before you—eyes boring into yours, forcing you to look at him with the hand he placed on the couch beside you. “I’ve tried my hardest to be respectable but you make it so damn difficult.” 

“I’m sorry,” you began, wishing you could take it all back, wishing that you could’ve used your boldness for better: crawled into his lap and let him hold you, sank to your knees like he and worshipped him with every bit of yourself you had.

“Sh, sh, sh,” he shook his head, the hand on the couch, moving, the weight of it resting there dissipating and falling even heavier on the side of your face. “You can’t take it back now.” 

Nerves slipped like rapids through your stomach, the damn thing churning so much you began to feel sick with the anticipation and fear you felt being closer to him than you ever had been before. Your mouth opened as if to speak, then closed again when you realised that your throat had closed, the inside of your mouth dry and unable to lubricate your words with credibility as they fell from your lips.

“You think I’m a pervert?” he asked, eyes expecting an answer, eyebrows raising to help you find a response. “Hm?” 

“Yes.” The monosyllable fell shakily, unable to lie when he was looking at you so harshly, all whilst stroking your cheekbone with his thumb and engulfing the right side of your face with one, big, warm hand. 

He nodded with knowing, his other hand falling to your bare knee. You were crowded by him, completely consumed by his presence and with a harsh swallow, you hoped that he would slip away and allow you to breathe—if only for a moment. 

“I know,” he said with finality, your cheek whacked with cold air as he removed his hand, quickly providing you with warmth again as he pressed his thumb to your chin, holding it delicately. Making sure you couldn’t look away from him. “But you like it, don’t you?” he brushed the bottom of your lip with his nail, an uncontrollable shiver running through you that he revelled in.

He’d called your bluff entirely. He’d locked you up in his cage, gave you the upper hand for just a second, made you believe that you could get away from him if you kicked and screamed enough, only to leave you hopeless as he twisted the key to the right, and threw the metal that granted you freedom, into the fire. 

“If you had an issue with me looking, you’d close the drapes. You’re a smart girl, I’m sure it ain’t too hard for you.” 

His patronisation, his demeanour that consisted of arousal and determination, had a small breath puffing from your lungs, a sudden and overwhelming heat crawling from each of his hands and into your head—breaking your rationale and leaving you pliable and willing in his grasp. He’d got you. Right there. And if he wanted you, you would let him have you. 

“And if you didn’t want me to steal your panties, then you shouldn’t have left them there.” 

It was unbelievable, the way he twisted the blame onto you, the way he made you believe in everything he was saying with a simple swipe of his thumb over your bottom lip and a look in his eyes that stopped you from questioning him. 

“Yes, Joel, I’m sorry, Joel,” were the only words swimming through your head: words that you would’ve spoken aloud had he not stunned you into silence, the hand on your knee sliding along your skin, up towards the hem of your shorts where he slipped his fingers under and skimmed the skin concealed by the denim. 

“You understand me, little girl?” 

“I’m not a little girl,” you managed, voice shaky as the warmth of him engulfed you entirely, wrapped up in the scent of him, the feel of the callouses along your smooth skin and the eyes piercing you. If looks could kill…if those pretty eyes could rip you apart with the viciousness of their stare. 

“No you ain’t,” he murmured, gripping your chin, thumb rubbing along the flesh of your bottom lip, the skin bouncing as he peeled it back and let go. “I know you ain’t.” 

There seemed a flood came over his being, a white wave of purity dowsing him, ridding him of every adulteration and forcing sense back into his head as the hand fell from your face, the one on your inner thigh taking longer to slip away before the cloud of insensibility faded and he arrived to a semblance of morality. 

You watched as he stumbled over to the kitchen, hand working over the scruff he called a beard and forced his eyes away from you. 

“Joel,” you called softly, finally gaining back a little strength now he wasn’t crowding you; forcing you to look at him and make the first move so his conscience could be clean. 

“Just go.” The words were uttered much softer than before, the delicacy of his voice surprising you but the strain that coated his throat a reminder that this was still Joel Miller. Dangerously beautiful Joel Miller with a lifetime of terror stashed somewhere in the backrooms of his mind, a darkness in the depths of his eyes you couldn’t help but be frightened by, and a story you wished he would tell. A story that stretched years back to the life before he crept past the opening gates of Shady Springs Mobile Park and left a life that you had no clue wether  had been better or worse than his life now. “I’ll come over tomorrow afternoon and have a look at that tap. You might have to get maintenance round soon though if it keeps up.” 

“I don’t like strangers…in my house.” Your words trailed off at the end of your sentence, caught up in the possibilities of your words and how he would reply. If he would see right through you and clock how you’d only spoken because the tap was one of the biggest ties you had to Joel. If he would realise that you’d thought about getting maintenance months ago when it first started dripping but didn’t want a permanent fix, no matter how annoying. All because of Joel Miller and the way he’d perversely captured you in the plot of some barely legal porno that you would’ve turned your nose up at if it was anyone but him and you. 

You and Joel. 

The thought sounded nice—the reality a little less nicer. 

“Yeah, well…” he leant back on the countertops, arms crossed over his chest, eyes bloodshot and bordered by black—an undeniable piece of evidence that Joel perhaps wasn’t doing as well as he made everyone believe; that there was something deeper tugging at his mind and causing such aggravation. 

After a moments silence, when he looked at you and you looked right back at him, your head clear and working properly again, you diverted the conversation elsewhere—a ploy to hack deeper at his head and find what lay underneath his skull. 

“Are you okay?” Simple, easy. Not difficult to ascertain the concern laced deep in your tone because you were concerned for him. The moment he’d opened the door after days of barely seeing him, time spent cursing the fact he could peer through your windows but you could not peer through his, you knew something was wrong. That there was something happening to him. Something dangerous. Your sympathy began to overtake everything else, memory shed of all the times he had wronged you and replaced with the very little he had done right. “You look…tired. Exhausted, really.” 

“I’m fine,” he said with finality, the rage in his eyes returning but with less power this time. The fatigue was setting in, the constant running from himself finally catching up to him. 

“Are you sure?”

“I said I’m fine.” It shut you up well enough, so much so that you began to lose the commiserations. You could always say you tried. “Now get out of my house.” 

It was the final thing he said to you before he slipped away, striding down the hallway, footsteps echoing until he reached the bedroom; the click of the door resounding throughout the trailer. 

You stared at the spot where he’d kneeled, a finger brushing softly over your lip before shaking away the self-pity and gently placing the beer bottle on the table that sat next to his chair. 

Looking one last time at the door at the end of the hallway, shadowed and guarded by snapping dogs, you opened the door, the damn thing creaking as if to shout to everyone within a mile radius that you had made no progress with the man you desperately wanted, and stepped out. Leaving your pride on the doorstep. 

© virginreprise

thanks for reading !

[diawhims]

french quarter restaurant / apartments

inspired by new orleans architecture, this restaurant is situated in the crawdad quarter neighbourhood in willow creek. with its historic and authentic feel, it has something for everyone. whether you visit for the gorgeous scenery, a drink at the bar, or the delicious food it is sure to provide a good time.

this lot is multi-purpose, there are 4 rental units accessed through the doors on the right. you can choose whether you want it to function as a restaurant or as apartments.

lot type: restaurant / residential rental

lot size: 30x20

price: $534,471

gallery id: diawhims

patreon

CC LIST

colonial (1) (3) summergarden brickfence berlin (2) wintergarden (1) spoons (2) (3) kichen (1) (2) georgian paris (1) (2) chateau (1) (2) (3) (6) (7) martini soho (1) (2) (3) (4) susan cozybackyard copenhagen (1) shopthelook (1) (3) berlin (1) grove (4) coastal (8) jardane kwatei (1) bafroom preciouspromises octave (2) florence (4)

[techav]

On Multitasking

Sharing a Computer with Friends

The Motorola 68030 was a decently powerful microprocessor for its day. It is a fully 32-bit processor with 16 general-purpose registers, separate instruction & data caches, memory management unit, 18 addressing modes, over 100 instructions, pipelined architecture, and was available rated up to 50MHz. It was used in computers by Apple, Amiga, NeXT, Sun, Atari, and saw further life embedded in devices such as printers, oscilloscopes, and network switches. It was the kind of microprocessor used for desktop publishing, 3D CAD & animation, photo & video editing, etc.

In short, the 68030 is a microprocessor that can do some serious work. That's part of why I like it so much. It's a real workhorse chip but as far as 32-bit microprocessors go, it's dead simple to build with.

But running a single quick & simple BASIC program hardly seems like an adequate exercise for such a capable chip.

There is a prevailing claim that the 68000 architecture was heavily inspired by that of the PDP-11 or VAX minicomputers — powerhouses of the previous generation of computing. These machines ran entire businesses, at times servicing many simultaneous users. Surely the 68030 with similar capabilities but significantly faster instruction throughput than the decade-older machines would be more than capable of handling such a workload.

As I've mentioned before, one of my end goals for my 68030 projects is to run a proper operating system. Something like System V, BSD, or Linux; a true multi-user system befitting of the 68k's architectural heritage. My programming skills are limited, and getting such a complex project running is still outside my reach. But I am learning, and slowly inching myself closer to that goal.

Recently I built an expansion card for my Wrap030 project to add another four serial ports to it. In the context of the old minicomputers, another serial port means another terminal, which means the ability to serve one more user. My new 4-port serial card should give me the ability to add four new user terminals.

If only I had software capable of doing so.

Excluding symmetric multiprocessing and today's multi-core behemoths, supporting multiple user processes on a single computer processor means dividing time between them. The computer will run one user's program for a little while, then stop and run another user's program for a little while. Do this fast enough and neither user might ever notice that the computer is paying attention to someone else — especially since the computer spends much of its time just waiting for user input.

There are a few ways to accomplish this, but the simplest is to just make sure that every user program is written to cooperate with the others and periodically yield to the next user program ("Cooperative Multitasking"). A good time to do this is whenever the program needs to wait for input from the user or wait for a device to be ready to accept output.

Enhanced BASIC (68k EhBASIC), which I have been running on all of my 68k computer builds, was written in such a way that lends itself well to this sort of cooperative multitasking. It runs a tight loop when waiting for input or output, and while running a BASIC program, it stops at the end of each line to see if the user has pressed Ctrl-C to stop the program. This means that EhBASIC never goes too long without needing to check in with slow I/O devices. All that would needed is a simple kernel to set things up and switch to another user's processes whenever each time one of them is waiting for I/O.

So I set about creating such a minimal multi-user kernel. On startup, it initializes hardware, sets up some data tables for keeping track of what each user program is doing, loads BASIC into RAM, then starts running BASIC for that first user. Whenever a user process needs to read data from or write data to its terminal, it asks the kernel to handle that I/O task for it. The kernel will save the state of the user program to the data table it set up in the beginning, then switch to the next user to let it run until it too asks for assistance with an I/O task.

The kernel works through all user processes round-robin until it loops back around to the first user. After restoring the state of the user's process the kernel will service the I/O task that user process had originally requested, and return to let that user process run for a little while again. So all of the other user processes get their chance to run while one is waiting on data, and each process makes sure to allow the others a chance to run for a while when they are in the middle of running their own program.

I was able to throw together a quick proof of concept using the EASy68K simulator. What followed was days of catching all of the tiny mistakes I made, such as saving register A0 to the memory location reserved for register A1, overwriting the value previously saved for A1 and effectively losing both in the process — an error which resulted in BASIC printing only the first three characters of its startup header followed by a long string of null characters.

Debugging was tricky. I was starting from the bottom. No standard library, no existing structure or frameworks to rely on. The kernel process relied on the very same registers the user programs were using. Any changes to register contents by the kernel would affect the user processes. I ended up adding assembly macros to print short statements and register contents to the kernel console to try to get some insight into what was happening. I was able to track when registers came out of the user context save/restore process different than when they went in to find where I had bugs in that process.

This was a challenging project resulting in nearly a thousand lines of very low-level 68k assembly code, all of which I wrote and rewrote multiple times before figuring everything out. I've written small pieces of assembly code over the years, but none which required such deep dives into the CPU documentation to discern fine details of how the chip operates. I got there eventually though and now I have an 8MHz 68030 homebrew computer with 2MB of RAM that can run four BASIC programs simultaneously.

I'm going to need more terminals.

[hoodedjelly]

🌻Commissions Open!🌻

- If interested, Dm me! -

hello! revamped my commission sheets and added new things. for now my commissions are mostly going to help with making stickers and key chains! i have a lot planned (mostly nicktoons unite stuff) so if your interested in helping and getting cool swag from me think about dming me or reblogging, it helps a lot!

[keep reading] for typed out commission sheet information.

Sketch +1 character= +5 USD Headshot: 6 USD (example price = 46 USD) Waist up: 10 USD (example price = 15 USD) Full body 15 USD (example price = 20 USD)

Flat color +1 character= +10 USD Headshot: 15 USD (example price = 15 USD) Waist up: 20 USD (example price = 20 USD) Full body 25 USD (example price = 35 USD)

Shaded +1 character= +15 USD Headshot: 25 USD (example price = 25 USD) Waist up: 35 USD (example price = 55 USD) Full body 40 USD (example price = 40 USD)

Boundaries Will do: OCs, Humans, Humanoid, Furries, Robots, Fanart, self insert Ask first: Blood/mild violence, Multi fandom, Drugs/alcohol, Complex designs, Suggestive topics Will not: Complex backgrounds, NSFW , Extreme gore, Realism, racism/bigotry, incest, age differences, abusive dynamics, non-con, zoophilia

Terms of Service you understand that: - You may NOT make profits from the commissioned piece (reselling, redistributing, uploading to POD-services, make prints, NFT etc.) - You may NOT alter the commissioned artwork without my (the artist's) consent. (Trace artwork, Photoshop, Ai, ect.) - You MAY be allowed to sell the artwork if it is a part of an Adoptable. Please discuss this with me prior to paying for the artwork. - You may NOT use the commissioned artwork for commercial purposes. - I (the artist) reserve the right to cancel and refund the order at any time for any reason. - I retain all copyrights over the commissioned artwork. - All payments will be done through my Ko-Fi, up front, and in USD

[mechanoize]

Finally finished their redesigns, now i can draw them kissing and being in love. continuity rambling + individual refs under the cut hehhe

Prowl!

he has impeccable balance and reflex, + he essentially walks on his tippy toes :3 he can lock his doorwings into a neutral position, but his audial antennae are a dead giveaway for his emotions. He is not missing an optic, his lense is used to enhance his vision and is often traded between eyes, as the scoped vision can make his helm ache. his metabolism is insanely fast and he needs to fuel often, with a preference for very energon-compact foods. (Namely, energon goodies.)

he was the autobot's second in command, though after Optimus's death he leads alongside Magnus. Despite Rodimus holding the matrix, he had no desire to pursue a position of authority, thus leaving Prowl and Magnus to take over! Although he is not a necessarily social mech, he is well-liked by the autobots stationed on earth. Many of their victories are credited to him.

jazz!

he was short for a decepticon, but hes of average height for an autobot. He has mods that allow him to manipulate sound and soundwaves, + his doorwings are removable and can be repositioned elsewhere on his frame! after returning from a multi-millenium long undercover mission to infiltrate Decepticon ranks, his every attempt at reconnection with Prowl was immediately shot down. For awhile he was a cause for suspicion, but Optimus was very firm about his trust prior to his death.

he is a skilled operative with a distaste for unnecessary violence or cruelty. After losing his twin at the hands of Megatron, he's attempted to lead a pacifistic life. It has not gone well, but he recognizes certain sacrifices need to be made.

cliffjumper!

he's not a minicon! he shares a similar frame type with Bumblebee, who is both younger and shorter than he is. Part of his purpose on earth was to establish and maintain a positive Cybertronian-Human relationship. While his appreciation for flora is to be questioned, he loves Earth's fauna! Specifically farmlife...

cliffjumper and jazz bonded quickly over an appreciation for earth and it's cultures. Cliff suffers from severely low self esteem and impulsive recklessness. one of his greatest desires is to be taken seriously, to prove himself of use. Despite a few bumps in the road, his partners have done a tremendous job at reassuring him. Jazz's insistence to adopt him into his specOps unit was the start, where he also met his amica, Mirage.

[soon-palestine]

So it turns out that Elons trip to Israel wasn't just for kosher theater and an IDF propaganda tour.

A secret meeting took place while he was there that went virtually unreported by any news media outlets.

In attendance was Netanyahu, Musk's tour organizer, investor Omri Casspi, Brigadier General Danny Gold, Head of the Israeli Directorate of Defense Research & Development and one of the developers of Iron Dome, Aleph venture capital funds partner Michael Eisenberg, and Israeli cybersecurity company CHEQ CEO Guy Tytunovich who is ex-israeli intelligence unit 8200.

The six men talked about technology in the service of Israel's defense, dealing with fake content and anti-Semitic and anti-Israeli comments, and the use by non-democratic countries of bots as part of campaigns to change perceptions, including on the X platform.

The solution Musk was presented was the Israeli unicorn CHEQ, a company founded by ex-Israeli intelligence unit 8200 CEO Guy Tytunovich that combats bots and fake users.

Following the meeting, Elon signed an agreement with cheQ, and apparently, the reason for the quick closing of the deal was Elons "direct involvement" with the company.

Now. What they won't tell you.

Israel is primarily responsible for the creation of bots. There currently exists dozens of ex-Israeli intelligence firms whose sole purpose is perception management, social media influencing/manipulation, disinformation campaigns, psychological operations, opposition research, and honey traps.

They create state of art, multi layer, AI avatars that are virtually indistinguishable from a real human online. They infiltrate target audiences with these elaborately crafted social-media personas and spread misleading information through websites meant to mimic news portals. They secretly manipulate public opinion across app social media platforms.

The applications of this technology are endless, and it has been used for character assassination, disruption of activism/protest, creating social upheaval/civil unrest, swaying elections, and toppling governments.

These companies are all founded by ex-Israeli intelligence and members of unit 8200. When they leave their service with the Israeli government, they are backed by hundreds of billions of dollars through Israeli venture capital groups tied to the Israeli government.

These companies utilize the technology and skills learned during their time served with Israeli intelligence and are an extension of the Israeli government that operates in the private sector.

In doing so, they operate with impunity across all geographical borders and outside the bounds of the law. The Israeli government is forbidden by law to spy on US citizens, but "ex" Israeli intelligence has no such limitations, and no laws currently exist to stop them.

Now back to X and Elon Musk.

Elon met with these people in secret to discuss how to use X in service of Israel's defense.

Elon hired an ex-Israeli intelligence firm to combat the bots…. that were created by another ex-israeli intelligence firm.

Elon hired an ex-israeli intelligence firm to verify your identity and collect your facial biometric data.

Do you see the problem yet?

Israel now has end to end control over X. Israel can conduct psychological operations and create social disinfo/influence campaigns on X with impunity. They now have facial biometric data from millions of people that can be used to create and populate these AI generated avatars.

They can manipulate public opinion, influence congressmen and senators, disrupt online movements, manipulate the algorithm to silence dissenting voices against Israel, and they can sway the US elections.

When the company that was hired to combat the bots is also Israeli intelligence…

Who is going to stop them?

Cyberspace is the wild.west. There are currently no laws on the books to regulate foreign influence on social media. There is nothing to stop them from conducting psychological operations and disinformation campaigns on unsuspecting US citizens. These companies operate with impunity across all geographical boundaries and there is nobody to stop them. But don't take my word for it.

For anyone wondering what the end game is for this, it was recently verbalized by Vivek Ramaswamy here on X. To narrow and completely eliminate the gap between what we say (think) in private and in public. In practice, the thought police of the future. And X is actively working on it.

[simstorian-blog]

Residential Floorplan Suggestions

New York City: TWO

(CC List + Links)

World Map: San Myshuno

Area: Spice Market – Waterside Warble

Lot Size:  30 x 30

Capacity:

A Dive Bar

An Internet Café

A Pizzeria

A Tattoo Parlor

Bonus: 6 residential rental units floorplans completed – not assigned

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

Packs Needed

Expansion Packs

Cats & Dogs

City Living

Discover University

For Rent

Get Together

Get To Work

Growing Together

High School Years

Horse Ranch

Snowy Escape

Game Packs

Dine Out

Dream Home Decorator

Jungle Adventure

Outdoor Retreat

Parenthood

Spa Day

Star Wars: Journey to Batuu

Strangerville

Vampires

Stuff Packs

Crystal Creations

Home chef Hustle

Laundry Day

Moschino

Kits

Castle Estate

Courtyard Oasis

Cozy Bistro

Desert Luxe

Recommended Gameplay Mods

(Please read through what each mod has to offer before deciding if it fits your gameplay style or not.)

Carl’s Dine Out Reloaded

City Vibes Lot Traits

Functional Tattoo Parlor

Functional Venue Lot Traits

Lock/Unlock Doors for Any Lot

Spawn Refresh

Use Residential Rentals shared areas as Community Lots & Create Multi-Purpose Community Lots

Build Mode

CharlyPancakes

Chalk Pt.2 (Tiles)

Felixandre

Chateau Pt. 1 (Stone Foundation)

Chateau Pt. 2 (Doors, Metal Pieces, Tiles, Walls)

Colonial Pt. 3 (Fence 2, Plaster Foundation 2, Railing 2)

Florence Pt. 1 (Fresco Mural)

Grove Pt. 4 (Plaster Column, Plaster Floor)

London Interior (Dining Chair, Stool, Walls)

Paris (Cartouche Large, Corbel, Swag)

Schwerin (Terracotta Female)

SOHO Pt. 2

SOHO Pt. 3

SOHO Pt. 4

Harrie

Brownstone Pt. 2 (Traditional Door Frame – Med, Traditional Door – Med, Traditional Window 2 - Med)

Coastal Pt. 2 (Column)

Klean Pt. 3 (Concrete Floor, Painted Walls)

Kwatei Pt. 1 (3x1 BiFold, Double Arch, Single Interior Door)

Mutske

Stairs Add-on

Lijoue

Louer Collection (Iron Fence, Railing, Stone Stairs)

Peacemaker

Bistro Expanded (Awning 1x1)

Graffiti Mural 01

Pierisim

Winter Garden Pt. 2 (Double Door High, High Window w Bottom x2)

Sooky88

Checkered Marble Floor

English Country Wall Set (Subway Tiles, Subway Tiles w Wallpaper)

Scandinavian Wall Set (Plain w Tiles)

Syboubou

Neighborly 1 (Ceiling Outdoor Light, Mailbox)

Neighborly 2 (Interphone)

Buy Mode

AroundTheSims4

Laundromat (Seating x3 – Metal Base)

Tattoo Parlor (First Aid Kits, Gloves, Ink, Ink Display, Light, Saddle Stool, Tattoo Gun)

Cepzid

Functional Tattoo Chair

Felixandre

Berlin Pt. 1 (Curtain – Tall)

SOHO Pt. 1

Harlix

Baysic (Coffee Table, container, End Table, Kitchen Cabinet, Kitchen Counter, Kitchen Island, Kitchen Sink, Kitchen Trolley, Kitchen Accent Counter 1-3, Sofa)

Jardane (Leather Pouffe)

Kichen (Cabinet, Cups, Glasses, Plant, Shelf)

Kichen 2.0 Pt. 2 (Glasses 2 & 4)

Harrie

Shop The Look 1 (Armchair, Coffee Table)

Shop The Look 2 (Ceramic Side Table)

Shop The Look 3 (Circular Cushion)

Spoons Pt. 2 (2 Tile Glass Pedastal- Short & Tall, Counters, Espresso Bar, Island, Pastry Platter, Pizza Board, Shelving)

Kiwisims4

Blockhouse Dining (Booth Seating)

KKB

The Chilling Home (Module Bar Stool)

LittlleDica

Greasy Foods (Napkins, Salt Shaker, Stalls Door, Stalls Wall, Vents, Wet Floor Sign)

Modern Kitchen Stuff (Soft Breeze)

Rise & Grind (Décor Mural 2, Décor Syrup Bottle, Décor Wall Painting Menu, Dining Tables – All, Wastebun Counter)

Max20

Happily Ever After (Sign of Attention)

NANDO

Fashion Store (Ceiling Lamp)

Pierisim

Coldbrew Coffee Shop Pt. 3 (Menu, Paper Cup, Tea Box, Tips Jar)

MCM Pt. 1 (Simstudio Display)

MCM Pt. 4 (Kitchen Island)

Ravasheen

Shake and Shimmy Dance Floor

Shop Chef (Drink Dispenser)

Severinka

Industrial Light II

Simkoos

Clutter Dump Pt. 2  (Boba Notepad, Boba Stacked Cups V1, Cafeteria Straw Dispenser)

SimspirationBuilds

Toffee Pt. 1 (Art)

Syboubou

Catherine Sushi Restaurant (Wall Shelf 1 & 3)

Contemporary Haven (Armchair, Artworks, End Table, Sofa 3P Left)

Macaron (Counter Display)

TaurusDesign

Lilith Chilling Area Pt. 1 (Bartender Kit, All Drinks, SulSul Sign)

Tuds

Cave (Panel Light 2 x 4)

IND 01

IND 03

Turn Couch

Wondymoon

Fraxinus AIO Computer (DL on Patreon)

DO NOT REUPLOAD MY LOTS.

DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

DO NOT PLACE BEHIND A PAYWALL.

Tray Files: DOWNLOAD

[wauzmons]

My Plans for Elysian Eclipse 0.5.0

As most of you already know, the next release will be a major update, introducing the foundation of tribal stage. Here's a quick overview of what I want to achieve during the next 2 months.

Building System: Since the hut editor is functional now, the logical next step is allowing you to place those huts in the world. For this the construction menu, used to place nests in aquatic stage, will be further expanded in various ways.

Day / Night Cycle: We already tested a small scale version of the day night cycle in the Blorb Zone. Now it will be fully integrated into creature and tribal stage, including a time and weather display, aswell as cheats to change the current time.

Unit Selection: Instead of being a top-down view like in Spore, you'll still play from the perspective of a creature. You'll be able to freely swap between a few different tribe members. Not only will you be able to control multiple creatures, but also ...other things.

Interaction Menu: The interaction menu will be a multi-purpose system to interact with other creatures or objects. Only the base of this system will be implemented for now, but in the future it will be used for stuff like trading or crafting.

[hemantgoel]

Standard Unit equipment manufacturer & suppliers | Goel Scientific | Canada

Best, Top,Goel Scientific Glass offers a multi-purpose pilot plant Distillation unit that suits any application, Standard Unit equipment, The perfect compromise between quality & price, supply Canada, USA Ontario, Quebec, BC Alberta

[yallthemwitches]

My fic Masterlist

In love with 70s wizard love.

Catch the Wind--Hating him was easy, a feeling as natural as time marching forward. But something had changed with James Potter and Lily couldn’t ignore it so easily anymore. He was becoming, Merlin forbid, attractive. Explicit, Canon Compliant ,Multi-chapter

A Matter of Fairness: James' Quidditch match is derailed by a very distracting Head Girl NSFW, Mature, Oneshot

Slipping Away:Snape didn't think his life could get much worse---until Lily was falling in love with James Potter right before his eyes. A compilation of 3 particular moments between 6th and 7th year. Oneshot, Mature for one scene, canon compliant

Legitimens: Perhaps the real James was doing it on purpose--using memories of Lily to either drive him insane or to push away the real secrets that hid beyond. If it was true, he was succeeding on all accounts.

During a duel, Snape attempts Legilimency on James. Canon compliant. Oneshot, Mature

Bad Moon Rising:James comes back from a Full Moon outing with the marauders to find someone in his bed. Explicit, Canon Compliant Oneshot, smut

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner: Vernon thought a dinner at the Evans' house would be perfectly normal like all the other times--unfortunately for him, Petunia's sister is home and she has company. Vernons POV, T, Canon Compliant oneshot

Simple Math: Remus notices something is off about James and Lily at the Prefect's meeting. Teen ( some suggestive content), Canon Compliant, Written for Jily Week 2024, Prompt: Hair

United Front:Lily and James have the best intentions when showing up to Petunia's engagement party. Teen, Canon Compliant, Written for Jily Week 2024: Prompt: Teamwork

Force Majeure: It’s tempting. He could say yes. Climb those steps and sit on her bed next to her. It was entirely possible to stay friends in that scenario. To do simply as she said: listen to a record as friends because that’s what friends do.Teen, Canon Compliant, Written for Jily Week 2024, Prompt: In Vino Veritas

Those Who Wallow: Against better judgement, Lily uses her invisibility cloak to spy on James. Teen, AU Role Reversal (sort of) Written for Jily Week 2024, Day 3: Role Reversal

The Sound of Silence: Minerva always had a soft spot for Potter. Maybe that's why when it was time to choose a Head Boy alongside Lily Evans, he was was clearly the only option--- A series of vignettes of James and Lily's seventh year through McGonagall's POV. Teen, Canon Compliant, Written for Jily Week 2024, Day 5: Matchmaker

Not a Bang, But a Whimper: During their sixth year, Severus Snape goes out after curfew to give information to Lily that he thinks will bring them back together. Unfortunately, he finds her already with someone else. Teen, Canon Compliant. A companion piece to my other oneshot "Slipping Away" for Jily Week 2024, Day 7: Continuation Station

Playing Dirty: When Lily won against Potter during dueling practice, Snape couldn't think of a better way to finally rekindle their friendship. But Potter was a sore loser and Lily seemed far too willing to entertain him. E, Canon Compliant, Oneshot in Snapes POV

The Seat with the Clearest View: Lily and the marauders were his constant, like two separate stars orbiting his universe. But year after year stars get older. Their orbits start to move closer. It is only a matter of time before they collide. Three part series of Jily through the years. Remus POV. Rated T

Crash Into Me: A collection of unrelated, prompt based fics and ficlets for Jily Kinktober 2024. E, various situations but generally plotless smut, Canon Compliant

Until the Light Takes Us: A collection of unrelated, prompt based fics and ficlets for Jilytober Fest 2024. G-T depending on fic. Canon Compliant

The Storm, The Aftermath: Due to a snowstorm, Lily spends the night at the Potters. The continuation of my Jilytober fic 'The Storm.' E (Though part one is rated T), Canon Compliant. Smut

Whispers in the Dark: When Lily is awarded her prefect badge in fifth year, they warn her that James Potter has a talent for disappearing... but if that's true, why does he keep coming to her night after night, hoping to be caught? Rated T, Canon Compliant

A Hundred Visions and Revisions: “I know it’s silly—but can you tell me the future? The way you see it,” she whispers, curling into him so the top of her head can rest right under his chin, book falling abandoned onto the floor. She knows he’s no divination master–she’s seen his grades to prove it—but they both know that’s not what she's asking. Rated T, Canon Compliant

Getting Better: “Do you do this for all your sick mates?” She asks, breaking the silence with a wry smile.He chuckles, hand still sliding against her cheek. “Only the ones who deserve it—only the ones I’m especially fond of.” Rated T, Canon Compliant

At Least I'm Gonna Say That I Tried: The only thing more mortifying about kissing the girl you fancy and not being able to reciprocate properly is having to stand in front of a bloody crowd after said kiss and not look like you are about to fucking implode. Rated T, Canon Compliant, jily Xmas fluff

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Stephan Jenkins, singer from the band 3rd Eye Blind, is selling his 1880 Victorian in San Francisco, California. The 4bd, 2.5ba home has been completely renovated to combine vintage & modern. He's asking $3.6M. What do you think?

On the front stoop, there's a square of original tiles.

So. The entrance hall is painted shades of gray, including the wood, except for the railing. It looks like the original floor is still there, but it's stained much darker.

The front sitting room is immediately off the hall.

The less formal sitting room is more of a family/TV room and has an original fireplace that was refurbished.

The dining room is an example of mixing old with new. The wall has a faux patina decorated with old prints & mirrors. Classic draperies and a vintage carpet complete the look while a very modern table adds contrast.

The kitchen, however, is ultra modern. There's no standard cabinetry, just a long sink, charcoal gray island, some low shelving and a wood unit that houses the ovens.

There's a seating area in the kitchen with a wall that opens to the deck.

This is what it looks like from outside.

Back in the hallway there's a little sitting nook under the stairs.

The guest powder room is pretty.

A short pass-thru to the primary bedroom has a large built-in closet unit and a floating dresser. The window bump-out has a door to a small terrace.

Love this vintage bath.

Nice sunny room that is kind of a multi-purpose room with a lovely fireplace.

No other bedrooms are being used as such. This one looks like a TV room with a guest day bed. The niche is a nice feature.

This bath is an old/new combo.

The rooms up here aren't very big and this is a very tiny space.

A raised deck takes up most of the small yard.

There's also a sauna and a tub/shower. 2,875 sq. ft. lot.

https://www.realtor.com/realestateandhomes-detail/76-Liberty-St_San-Francisco_CA_94110_M18785-06815

[dream-world-universe]

Soldier Field, Chicago, Illinois, United States: The Chicago Fire play at the iconic Soldier Field stadium on the shores of Lake Michigan. Soldier Field has played host to college and professional hockey games, 2012 NATO Summit, countless concerts, thrill shows, rodeos, tractor and truck pulls, circuses, fireworks displays, stock car races, sunrise services, marching band concerts, open-air operas, skiing and toboggan events including a ski jump event from a 13-story platform... Soldier Field is a multi-purpose stadium on the Near South Side of Chicago, Illinois, United States. Wikipedia

[adafruit]

🎄💾🗓️ Day 11: Retrocomputing Advent Calendar - The SEL 840A🎄💾🗓️

Systems Engineering Laboratories (SEL) introduced the SEL 840A in 1965. This is a deep cut folks, buckle in. It was designed as a high-performance, 24-bit general-purpose digital computer, particularly well-suited for scientific and industrial real-time applications.

Notable for using silicon monolithic integrated circuits and a modular architecture. Supported advanced computation with features like concurrent floating-point arithmetic via an optional Extended Arithmetic Unit (EAU), which allowed independent arithmetic processing in single or double precision. With a core memory cycle time of 1.75 microseconds and a capacity of up to 32,768 directly addressable words, the SEL 840A had impressive computational speed and versatility for its time.

Its instruction set covered arithmetic operations, branching, and program control. The computer had fairly robust I/O capabilities, supporting up to 128 input/output units and optional block transfer control for high-speed data movement. SEL 840A had real-time applications, such as data acquisition, industrial automation, and control systems, with features like multi-level priority interrupts and a real-time clock with millisecond resolution.

Software support included a FORTRAN IV compiler, mnemonic assembler, and a library of scientific subroutines, making it accessible for scientific and engineering use. The operator’s console provided immediate access to registers, control functions, and user interaction! Designed to be maintained, its modular design had serviceability you do often not see today, with swing-out circuit pages and accessible test points.

And here's a personal… personal computer history from Adafruit team member, Dan…

== The first computer I used was an SEL-840A, PDF:

I learned Fortran on it in eight grade, in 1970. It was at Oak Ridge National Laboratory, where my parents worked, and was used to take data from cyclotron experiments and perform calculations. I later patched the Fortran compiler on it to take single-quoted strings, like 'HELLO', in Fortran FORMAT statements, instead of having to use Hollerith counts, like 5HHELLO.

In 1971-1972, in high school, I used a PDP-10 (model KA10) timesharing system, run by BOCES LIRICS on Long Island, NY, while we were there for one year on an exchange.

This is the front panel of the actual computer I used. I worked at the computer center in the summer. I know the fellow in the picture: he was an older high school student at the time.

The first "personal" computers I used were Xerox Alto, Xerox Dorado, Xerox Dandelion (Xerox Star 8010), Apple Lisa, and Apple Mac, and an original IBM PC. Later I used DEC VAXstations.

Dan kinda wins the first computer contest if there was one… Have first computer memories? Post’em up in the comments, or post yours on socialz’ and tag them #firstcomputer #retrocomputing – See you back here tomorrow!