@h4ckernews@mastodon.social avatar h4ckernews Bot , to random

Mysterious Intrigue Around an x86 "Corporate Entity Other Than Intel/AMD"

https://www.phoronix.com/news/x86-Opcodes-Not-AMD-Or-Intel

/AMD ://www.phoronix.com/news/x86-Opcodes-Not-AMD-Or-Intel

x86

@h4ckernews@mastodon.social avatar h4ckernews Bot , to random
@LisaWarnerLisaLuv@mastodon.social avatar LisaWarnerLisaLuv , to random

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊πŸͺ΄πŸ›–πŸ‘πŸ πŸ˜οΈπŸ©β›±οΈπŸ”†πŸ˜ŽπŸ‘™πŸŒ΄πŸŒ΄πŸŒ΄πŸŒ΄πŸ’¦β›²πŸ„β€β™€οΈπŸ€—DEAR BELOVED FRIENDS AROUND THE WORLD I WISH A VERY ENJOYABLE EVENING!πŸ€—πŸ«‚πŸ€πŸ’œπŸ’šπŸ’™πŸ©΅πŸŒŠπŸŒŠπŸŒŠπŸͺ΄πŸ›–πŸ‘πŸ πŸ˜οΈπŸ©β›±οΈπŸ”†πŸ˜ŽπŸ‘™πŸŒ΄πŸŒ΄πŸŒ΄πŸ’¦β›²πŸ„β€β™€οΈπŸ«‚πŸ€—GO AHEAD BE A LITTLE CRAZY!& WILD!& HAVE FUN!πŸ€—πŸ€πŸ’œπŸ’šπŸ’™πŸ©΅πŸͺ΄πŸ›–πŸͺ΄πŸ›–πŸͺ΄πŸ•ΊπŸΌπŸ’ƒπŸΏπŸ•ΊπŸΌπŸ’ƒπŸΏπŸ•ΊπŸΌπŸ’ƒπŸΏπŸ•ΊπŸΏπŸ’ƒπŸΌπŸ•ΊπŸΌπŸ’ƒπŸΏπŸ•ΊπŸΏπŸ’ƒπŸΌβ€οΈπŸ’›πŸ€—*PEACE OUT!πŸ€—πŸ’—πŸ§‘πŸ©·πŸŒŠπŸŒŠπŸŒŠπŸŒŠβ›±οΈπŸ”†πŸ˜ŽπŸ‘™πŸŒ΄πŸ’¦β›²πŸ„β€β™€οΈπŸ•ΊπŸΌπŸ’ƒπŸΏπŸ•ΊπŸΏπŸ’ƒπŸΌπŸ€πŸ’œπŸ’šπŸ’šπŸ©΅πŸŒŠπŸŒŠπŸŒŠβ›±οΈπŸ©πŸ©πŸ©πŸ›–πŸ›–πŸ›–πŸ›–πŸ©πŸ©πŸ©πŸ©πŸ›–πŸ©πŸ›–πŸ©πŸ›–πŸ‘™πŸŒ΄πŸ’¦β›²πŸ„β€β™€οΈπŸŒŠπŸ©΅πŸ’šπŸ’œπŸ€πŸ©·β›±οΈ

@NaraMoore@sakurajima.moe avatar NaraMoore , to random

5/3 part 0

Are you the project manager for time? I asked.

β€œYou be RIGHT there, lass,” said the small, round fellow with clock-face eyes. He looked like a gnome-gremlin crossbreed. β€œHow can I be helping?”

β€œI’d like to make a small change to the spec.”

β€œRIGHT… Don’t have time for yer nonsense, lad. Good day.”

β€œHave time for a drink with me, Jack Daniels?”

β€œBlack label, the good stuff. β€” Don’t mind if I do. Just a wee sip.”

Definitely some leprechaun too, I thought.

β€” Β§ β€”

β€œA weeee changy pooh here, and weeeee” β€” the dials in his eyes spun madly β€” β€œweeee change thereee.

@ixtlidekami @QuasiTemporal

NaraMoore OP ,
@NaraMoore@sakurajima.moe avatar

Part 17: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part B

7/5.

My first impression was one of Spartan elegance. It was jarring after the roar and excess of 1920s Paris. Instead of the riotous laughter of the Folies, I heard the murmur of people talking and the occasional clink of a glass all me. The room was a lounge lined with aluminum tables and chairs, all lightweight and purposeful. Soft-colored fabrics upholstered the seats: beige, lavender, and gentle pinks. Murals adorned the cloth walls in dreamy pastels: parrots, palms, and Rio’s own Sugarloaf Mountain. It was utilitarian and efficient, a tasteful example of modernism.

From the murals, my eyes were drawn to windows showing the countryside drifting below. A sparkling river was so close that the people on the barges were visible. , quaint villages nestled in the morning mist.

Finally, a couple arguing caught my attention. On second glance, the argument seemed one-sided. A woman in a white linen dress addressed her twin sister, seated at one of the tables, in a shrill, New York-accented voice. β€œYou need to listen to me. Please, it’s important. You’re going to die.”

Her sister paid no attention and instead calmly talked to the man across from her. She took languid sips of a red cocktail. Despite her sister’s vehement words, she was as unruffled as the liquid in her glass.

Then it hit me. No one was paying attention to the woman. Normally, if a person makes a scene, people peer at them. Instead, everyone continued their conversations, reading their papers, or watching the scenery go by without blinking.

The woman at the table looked past her sister in my direction, said something to her companion, and laughed. Whatever she said caused the woman in white to turn around. Our eyes met, and shock spread across her face.

She stared. β€œMadam. You can see me?”