No wait, even worse, he was still talking. If it had been any other day Peter would have shrugged and walked away. Deadpool would heal. He could live with that. Peter swore softly and took a step toward a muttering Wade Wilson, who appeared to be engaged in a debate with himself on the merits or lack thereof of cheap plot devices.
He finally acknowledged Peter's presence. But we're going to banter right? You seriously have no idea how much I miss the banter. I think I've got sometime between three panels and half an hour before everything grows back, so give a guy a hand wouldya? Or y'know, a couple of legs? Yeah, lame joke, right I know. He swallowed back bile and found himself dragging a pair of legs to the top half of Deadpool only to hear the two connect with a sickening wet noise. There was then what anyone who knew Deadpool to be a very long silence.
At least a full minute, Peter estimated. No movement, nothing. Could he actually be -? A gloved hand grabbed Peter's before he got the chance to check under a blood-soaked mask for breath. What kinda guy do you think I am? Well whaddya know? Even put 'em back facing the right way round too.
Might be nice to appreciate your own shapely butt, but Peter tugged his hand away and felt stupidly relieved that Deadpool couldn't see his look of horror. Wade slowly started to sit up and leaned against the nearest a wall. Was that a huge wedge of gum pressing into his back? Nothing worse than people who just spit out their gum everywhere. Gets caught in your clothes, on your shoes Dead dead?
Bitten the big one? Joined the choir invisible? Can't even hold a tune in a bucket. Do they even have buckets in Heaven? Anyways, you're missing out on the real criminals around here Spidey. Wade shifted and clenched his jaw as one great big salsa dancing party of pain shot through his body as his healing factor kicked into overdrive.
He would hunt down every single one of those minty fresh bastards and stuff 'em to bursting with gum right up the -. You've just been hacked in two and you're - ' Pausing, Peter remembered just who exactly he was talking to and sighed, forcing some perspective. You have a lover's tiff with Bullseye? Damnit, was Peter going to have to take him somewhere to have time to heal again? But who would take him in this time? The X-Men were too far, and Peter couldn't think of a single Avenger Deadpool hasn't ticked off, fought with, flirted inappropriately with or kicked in the balls, literally or figuratively.
The Richards' had already made their anti-Deadpool position quite clear and Matt Matt was not an option right now. Don't sully our strictly professional relationship like that. That's just so cheap. Besides, I'm the innocent victim here.
And by victim I mean Frankie got a lucky shot in with a chainsaw. Just one. Well maybe three but definitely no more than eight. Peter crossed his arms. What did you do and why exactly shouldn't I be leaving you gift-wrapped for the cops? I took out a one hundred percent gen-u-ine evil dick of a dictator. One shot, nice and clean, everybody's happy. He was also famous for being very dead that afternoon and not a pretty corpse.
Was Frank Castle simply keen to take the mouthy merc out once and for all? Deadpool flicked an errant piece of gum from his knee. Talk about timing! The one freaking moment in his life ol' Pez Pop helps a kitten out a tree? That had to hurt didn't it? Serious Grade A pain factor. Peter's fingers itched.
I didn't until they reported him dead. Which, by the way is still not the way to get yourself into the Big Book of Heroes, Deadpool. Have you ever listened to a word I've said? Peter sighed again. He was beginning to feel borderline asthmatic.
That was it, time to go Pete, move it along, try to ignore something resembling disappointment in the pit of your stomach. He flicked out a strand of webbing toward the top of the nearest building. Wait, Not heard. Hearing would be bad for you. Peter considered his options. Deadpool didn't seem to be getting up any time soon. The sun was impatiently making its way toward the horizon, and Peter really wasn't keen on leaving NY garbage collectors with a babbling bloodbath on their hands.
There was only one thing for it, wasn't there? Drinking, soldiering, screwing, all the fun stuff? I can never remember which universe this is supposed to be in, and technically you oughta be like sixty by now anyway, but if I don't make sure, the fangirls will freak. Peter opened his mouth, then promptly closed it. Just ignore all the other stuff.
Focus on getting him out of here. I'm legal. Wade grasped the hand and rose somewhat shakily to his feet, but Peter could not miss the shit-eating grin that spread over masked features. Best news I've heard all day. I am so getting laid. Now tell me honestly Doc. Will I ever tap dance again? Acting on automatic, Peter grabbed and steadied the suddenly barely conscious form of Deadpool, not for the last time thanking his superhuman reflexes.
At such abruptly close proximity, Peter expected him to well Cheap junk food or something. He wrinkled his nose. No, just blood of course and maybe something And he was very warm too. Well that was weird. No, scratch that. Sniffing people you randomly picked up in an alleyway was weird. What on Earth was he doing? He easily manoeuvred Wade into a fireman's lift. Which you can pay for. Wade mumbled something about poor room service and a freshly buttered Eva Mendes before appearing to finally pass out.
Peter thanked the heavens for small mercies. The truth was, Peter admitted to himself, he was lonely, and miserable, and he needed some kind of distraction. Even a giant trouble-shaped one. At least he knew what to expect from Deadpool: Chaos. Peter later blamed the dozen or so recent late night slash early mornings slash heartbreak for his lack of basic observational skills.
Dumping Deadpool on his soon-to-be-ruined couch his background suspicions were confirmed when a very loud, very unconvincing snore issued from behind Wade's mask as he promptly sprawled out over the furniture, clearly making himself more than reasonably comfortable for someone who apparently needed time to heal mortal wounds. Peter figured that it probably was only a few minutes before he was back to normal.
Whatever normal was for Deadpool. He rubbed his face with the heel of his hand and yawned. It really must've been the lack of sleep driving him nuts, because there was no way in hell Spider-Man was having a slumber party with someone whose idea of fun was helping little old ladies into oncoming traffic. It was late, Peter reminded himself, and with any luck, Deadpool would be gone in the morning.
He'd removed all the weapons he could find hidden around Wade's person, because he was sad, not stupid. Just go to bed now, get your hour and a half's worth of sleep, and do not give in to the temptation to drop a certain jerkface from the top of the building and see what shape he makes when he hits the ground. Jumping from his bed he skidded into the kitchen to stare at what looked like the site of a small ritual sacrifice.
Grey feathers covered the floor and a small pigeon was absently pecking at a blackened slice of toast. His gaze then travelled up to the blood dripping into the sink from a still dampish Deadpool mask which was hastily snatched and tugged on almost before his eyes had time to focus on a face. The room smelled of gas, and smoke was floating rather ominously from a spluttering frying pan. I mean, seriously! You don't even have a proper freezer, there's no Canadian bacon, and the lack of — oh hey, it's the bird right?
Oh yes you are,' he grinned, offering it a juicy rind of fat. Peter had dealt with innumerable crises, villains, deaths natural disasters, not to mention terrible haircuts during his time as Spider-Man. He was okay with that.
Well, not okay, but he understood that. That was all part of the job. This was something else. That'd be your problem Deadpool. The bird obligingly hopped out, seemingly recovered, and Peter slammed the window shut with a little too much force. All deal-able, he reminded himself. He could deal with this. Wait, did Deadpool count as a natural disaster? How about you go share your zinger with one of your millions of friends?
Sorry, that'd be imaginary friends, wouldn't it? What crawled up his ass and died, then left him with little pissy spider babies and no child support? Yeah, so that's a weird metaphor even for me. Wade shrugged nonchalantly and headed for the door. How'd you like them ironic apples with a side of 'I'm too awesome for this argument', buddy? Because that friends comment totally doesn't bother me. At all. Oh hey, he's got a Captain America fridge magnet set?
That was so cool. Peter appeared in front of the door and slammed it shut a millimetre in front of Wade's face. You're not getting away from this mess that easy.
Wasn't that worth something coming from someone like him? Wow, okay so maybe that did sound kind of douchey. Wade regarded the gloves with a special look of disdain most people reserved for people who talked at the theatre. I mean, sure there was that one [maybe two or three? Of manliness and definitely of not cleaning.
Peter couldn't suppress an amused smile. I'm going to start up a Twitter feed and inform the world just how lame you've become, ridiculous quote by quote. Might be bad for your business, but hey, I'm sure everyone will get a good laugh out of it. Especially as he just made him smile for the first time in far too long. This was way, way too satisfying. Peter reminded himself that getting some healthier hobbies should be pretty high up on his 'to do' list.
I thought even you managed to figure that out by now. Wade continued, unabashed. Polka dots, polka dancing, all very jaunty. A blur of skin [I spy with my little eye something beginning with blushing like a schoolgirl. Peter scowled at the hastily scrawled text covering it.
He paused, and uncrumpled the note, staring. He wrote 'Wade. Wait a minute, how the hell did the guy get his own stationary? And why was one of his fridge magnets missing? Wade was confused. These guys won't cut it. Post 3 » by Bayside » Sat Oct 9, am You can save heaps. Problem is you have to be pretty tech savy.
You can do wonders hosting your own open source servers on metal backbones. Docker Compose has made things a bit easier but even then still hard concepts unless your comfortable with linux.
You can host services and have a way better end user experience. You can save money by getting good hardware and not getting smart screens etc. Post 6 » by Bayside » Sat Oct 9, am DonaldSanders wrote: I've cut the cord on cable and have no interest in restarting it. Bayside wrote: DonaldSanders wrote: I've cut the cord on cable and have no interest in restarting it.
If you do a lot of torrenting like I do, it's a must-have and totally worth the price. Then open your browser, go to settings, find the complete list of cookies and search for "nba". Delete any cookies having to do with the NBA. Exit your browser. Open your browser and go to watch.
Start a new account, sign in and go to the League Pass plans. Make sure it defaults to denominating in rupees. Every time you're done watching I recommend deleting the nba related cookies and every time before you start watching do the same thing.
DistroWatch Weekly A weekly opinion column and a summary of events from the distribution world. Welcome to this year's 24th issue of DistroWatch Weekly! Every once in a while it's nice to step off the well worn path of mainstream distribution releases and look under the open source rocks and stones to find out what is happening in lesser known projects. Our Feature Story offers first impressions of these two projects. In our News section we discuss Debian 10's upcoming release, due to arrive in early July.
Plus we link to a tutorial and documentation for working with Fedora's Modularity feature and discuss Ubuntu replacing its Chromium package with a snap. Then we discuss how to rename multiple files all at once and the steps required to check a thumb drive's checksum. Our Opinion Poll also focuses on the topic of renaming groups of files as we would like to know what tools you use to rename and organize multiple files.
As usual, we share last week's releases and we are pleased to share the torrents we are seeding. We wish you all a wonderful week and happy reading!
OS Every so often I like to step outside of the distributions I know, the ones I tend to see and use year after year, and try something different. Sometimes trying a new project introduces me to a new way of doing things, as Bedrock Linux did earlier this year. Other times trying a project that is just getting started is a reminder of just how much infrastructure, time and resources go into the big-name projects. At any rate, this week I want to talk about two young projects that grabbed my attention for different reasons.
The first is OS , which caught my eye because it is a desktop flavour of BSD, which is relatively rare. Specifically, the base operating system is NetBSD. The website did not offer much more information than that. The file had no version number associated with it, so I assume this is the project's first release.
Optionally, there is another set of instructions we can follow to set up wireless networking. Booting from the OS media brings up an installer which guides us through a series of text-based menus.
We are asked to select our keyboard layout, choose whether to install a fresh copy of the operating system or upgrade, and then select which hard drive will hold OS We are also asked to confirm our hard drive's geometry and whether we want to manually partition the disk or let OS take over the whole drive. The installer recommends we set aside at least 5GB of space on the drive. Personally, I found more space was required as the default package selection, including the MATE desktop, consumes about 6GB of disk space.
We are next asked if we want a full install, a mostly full install without the X. Org display software, a minimal install, or a custom selection of packages. I went with the full option since it was the default. We can then select where the source packages are located on the DVD, in this case and the packages are quickly copied over to the hard drive. A minute later I was asked to perform more configuration steps.
These included enabling networking, setting a root password, and turning on optional network services from a list of daemons. We can also create a regular user account and optionally download the pkgsrc ports framework. I skipped installing pkgsrc. Once the installer finishes we can reboot the machine and I found the system loaded up a minimal graphical login screen which identified the operating system as being NetBSD.
Signing into a terminal brought up another message which identified the system as being NetBSD 8. It also enables the background services required to run MATE.
We can then reboot to truly start experiencing OS OS -- The OS login screen full image size: 1. The second panel sits at the bottom of the display and holds the task switcher.
I was not able to resize the desktop either to make better use of my host system's screen resolution. OS -- The MATE desktop and settings full image size: kB, resolution: x pixels Looking through the small number of desktop applications I found some, like VLC, worked as expected, though they tended to be a few versions behind upstream. Other applications, such as the Midori web browser and the LibreOffice suite, failed to start due to missing library dependencies. We can use the NetBSD command line package manager, pkgin , to install more software.
For example, running "sudo pkgin install firefox52" installs the Firefox browser, which worked for me. Unfortunately, after playing with OS for a while I rebooted the computer and found the MATE desktop and its services had disappeared. My system reverted to running the minimal login screen and signing into my account brought up the minimal TWM window manager instead of MATE.
The MATE desktop had disappeared as a session option. OS -- Running the Firefox browser full image size: kB, resolution: x pixels In general, my experiment with OS did not go well. The project has a lengthy setup process which requires a lot of manual work and knowledge of how to properly setup NetBSD.
At first, I mean; strangely enough, after a while things changed. Glory woke up one day to find herself keenly interested in a knotty problem. She could hardly wait to get her head beside the Other Girl's, to see if together they could not solve it. Is it me, or am I somebody else? It's Glory Glorified! Then she drew the girl's bright head down beside her.
The Ambition out of my heart. It's passed to somebody else—to you, I think, Glory—yes, I'm confident! You've got it this minute! And Glory understood. She went away wondering if it could be true that she, Gloria Wetherell, had a real ambition in life. Her mind hurried back to the knotty problem. She and the Other Girl were still at work on it that night, coming home.
It happened that it had not been taken up in the recitation that day. The two heads were close together, and the Crosspatch Conductor smiled as he passed them. He had been watching them with a good deal of interest for a long time. This time he turned and came back. The Crosspatch Conductor stood regarding Glory gravely. Another wrestle with the problem, and still another—then an exciting moment when victory seemed in sight.
Closer drew the brown heads—more earnest grew the eager voices. Her face sobered. She got to her feet in a sudden panic. What was this strange little place they were drawing into? Those woods, the houses and the trees—they were not Little Douglas. There isn't any other train back to-night—I tell you I've been carried by. This isn't my home! As Glory stood on the desolate little platform, realizing that she had been carried by her own station, she presented a picture of dismay. For an instant the Other Girl stood regarding her with indecision.
Then with a slight flush she stepped to Glory's side, and, placing her hand on her arm, said:. Come with me; you will not mind much. On the instant of offering hospitality to this dainty new friend, and acute perception of the barrenness of it overswept and dismayed her. In a flash she saw the patch on the seat of Tim's trousers, and instantly an array of mismatched cups, nicked plates and cracked pitchers, passed before her vision.
Had the dainty Glory in all her life eaten from a nicked plate? Her thoughts seemed to have occupied a long time, and she feared her invitation might have seemed lacking in cordiality. Glory scanned her face, then said:. I can't go back. If you are sure it will not be a trouble— But what will Aunt Hope do? She will be so worried! The train was wriggling into motion, and Glory caught sight of the Crosspatch Conductor on one end of the platform. She ran toward him wrathfully. The train was under way and she had to raise her voice to call after him.
I'm going with my friend. But Glory hesitated. She would worry all night long, I know she would. I never stayed away from her but once before, and that time I telephoned. There's a wire in our house, you know. The Other Girl reflected. I don't mind it myself. I love to walk. I'd walk to a telephone that had Aunt Hope at the other end of it, if I had to go on one foot! He makes that little crutch of his do almost anything but skip. Then it's time you did. It's never to late to—skip. Come on, I'll show you how.
Gayly they went skipping down the stretch of snowy roadway, with their arms around each other. The crisp air reddened the tips of their ears and patted their backs approvingly. For once, at any rate, the Other Girl was young. It was quite a while before she could make connections with the private wire, but she waited patiently. Is this you, James? Well, tell auntie I got carried by— carried by! Yes, I'm all safe.
I'm with my fr— Why, auntie, that's you! I hear your voice! You ought not to have walked out into the hall! I'm going home with Diantha.
Oh, yes, I knew you'd feel safe about me, then. I sha'n't tell Diantha. It would puff her up! Yes, I wore my rubbers. Yes, I've got my muffler. No, my cold's better. Take care of yourself, auntie; good-by. Oh, no, wait! You still there, auntie? Well, the reason I got carried by was because I was so buried up in a problem. Isn't that funny for Glory? Tiny Tim met them at the door of a little brown house near the station. His eyes widened with astonishment at sight of Glory.
Then his glance traveled to his sister in evident uneasiness. Glory laughed out merrily. But I'll tell you what, Timmie—if you'll let me come in and stay all night, I'll promise not to eat anything but a slice of bread and butter. What would Timmie say next!
She led the way through the tiny hall into a big, bright room whose centerpiece was a frail, smiling little woman with a lapful of calico bits. She held out both her hands to Glory. As if I didn't know! My dear, my dear, I am very glad you have come. Take off your things, dear, and just feel snug and at home. And thus the little home opened its arms to dainty Glory. The welcome extended was as gracious and as perfect a hospitality as could have been found in the grandest home in the land.
There was no luxury or even plenty. But Glory saw instantly there was the happiness that goes with love. It was her awakening. A new wonder filled the girl's heart that poverty and happiness could live together like this. While Di was busy she mused. I know I should. I shouldn't be sunshiny and nice like this. And they open their doors into their poor, bare, empty rooms and bid me welcome just as beautifully as Aunt Hope would do to our house. It is beautiful.
Just beautiful! It's a bit of heaven right down here in this little unpainted house. Diantha put on a big apron and rolled up her sleeves. Can't we play something—we two? Glory looked helplessly at the gentle mother, who smiled back at her quietly. But in the sweet voice, when it spoke, there was depthless wistfulness. Now I'm uncrutched. You play I'm very big an' tall an' my legs match. The little play went on until supper was ready.
Then the little crutch came out again and was put into active service. Oh, auntie, you know what I mean! You know I mean there were the muffins they were splendid and the tea and dried apple sauce.
I had more than I could eat. But you don't know how I wanted to fill that pale little lady's plate with some of our chicken and gravy and set by her plate a salad, after she'd worked all day. And pile Tiny Timmie's plate tumble-high with goodies! The two girls went to bed early and lay talking, as girls have done since girls began.
The topics of talk drifted through the different lessons into personal subjects. I'm going to do it right from now on. Maybe it's silly, but I am. I thought you must, because I did! I mean I'm hoping to pass the examinations for the next grade next summer.
That's just what I'm doing, Glory Wetherell. I am going to pass, too. If I get through the seminary I am going to Smith College some day. Miss Clem says I can.
I talked with her the other night. She says she'll help. Oh, Glory, there is no end to this road you have started me on.
One never knows what's on ahead or what may happen. After a while the subdued chattering ceased, and the two girls fell asleep, Glory to dream that she and her new friend graduated together from the Centre Town Seminary, in beautiful twin white dresses, and that Aunt Hope was there and clapped her thin, white hands but they were round and pink-tinted in the dream when she heard Glory's valedictory.
The Other Girl's dream was of longed-for luxuries for the patient mother and legs that matched for Tiny Tim. Both dreams came to an end in a startling way. But though he had alarmed the girls, he himself did not look alarmed. I didn't s'pose we'd ever have breakfast unless I wokened you up. Glory was still laughing periodically over their fright, when they got to the station to take the train. She had the picture of innocent-faced Timmie still in her mind, and the monotonous drumming of his little crutch, between his alarms, in her ears.
But he woke us up! After morning recitations, the Principal of the Centre Town Seminary had a caller in her office. It was Glory, with a pretty little air of pleading about her. Ought I to go away? I mean, if you let me graduate—or if you don't let me—I mean can't she graduate, anyway? She is a splendid scholar, and—and she needs to graduate somewhere! You'll let her, won't you? She has never been here? Dear child, how do you think she can graduate if she has never been here to school?
Glory's eager face fell. I'm just sure she can pass the examinations. It would mean so much to Diantha to pass. I'm sorry I troubled you, Miss Sweetwater—I didn't know. But the kind-hearted Principal detained Glory and drew out the whole wistful little story of the Other Girl. Such a girl must be encouraged. I will keep mindful of her and see if I cannot help her in some way.
I hope you can help her. She wants to do so much if she can ever get to earning. It seems as though almost anyone could learn if they had a mother to help, and a Tiny Tim.
There's an Aunt Hope. I can do it for her. I'm glad I've got to work. And thanks to Di, I do not stand so bad a show of graduating—with a great deal of honor, too.
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