So there's this place I go to when I sleep sometimes. I call it "The Circus", though it's more like the arcane sanctuary from Diablo II, if the arcane sanctuary was a hip arthouse and shit. Weird place, but I have friends there, they're like oneiric amalgamations of people I know, we all hang out at the Circus from time to time.

Now, each one has their own really bizarre power. One of the girls, for instance, bites off the head of a pidgeon and that heals her and makes her stronger. Think Ozzy Osbourne, but it's actually cutie goth Popeye. Also she's perpetually drunk for some reason.

Anyway, after having a brief reunion at this ornate round table we just happen to have laying around in the kitchen, we go out to hunt. That's the thing we do, we hunt for magical artifacts, and there's these demon gnomes all around trying to fuck us up. They suck, so we fight them with our powers and kung fu, that kinda vibe.

So it was a good hunt, right, but we have like a scoreboard based on mystical prowess and turns out mine is the lowest. Pidgeon Bitter, who is leading my squad, starts mocking me and says "hehe you have no real powers!" and I'm actually mad about that because it's true, I don't have any, I just fly around and do nothing useful in combat.

Anyway, we then bring the artifacts we collected to fucking Zordon, and he's like well done rangers. Turns out bald motherfucker in a tube doesn't discriminate based on mission score, so good on him. Everybody goes to bed, yeah we have bedrooms at the Circus for some reason, and I can't sleep because of what my captain said.

That's when I do something stupid, I think the dream logic here is I'm having a character arc moment or some shit, doesn't matter -- the point is I embark on a hunt all by myself, and I'm overrun by these fucking demon gnomes. I try to fight them with kung fu and escape with this magic crystal I found, but there's too many of them...

And so my true power finally awakens, and it's a fucking explosion. As in, I become a fire elemental, and in the dream this is good because I just cook all the gnomes alive and make off with the artifact, but I wake up before I can run to Pidgeon Bitter and smear my success in her captivating bloodstained drunk ass face.

My thoughts? Fire magic is two-times lame. One, because I was hoping for thunder, or ice, or something edgy like shadow or whatever. But NO, I got fire. Two, it's lame because it's the most uninventive, straight-forward fucking power in a setting where everything is obtuse, so it's out of place. I just go like really really mad and release an explosive pillar of flame, whoa, so original. Also casting this hurts me for some reason and it destroys everything around me.

And given that I've had other dreams of the Circus where it was obliterated and no-one trusts me anymore, I think it's safe to say those were a flash-forward to next season, and what happens next is I just randomly go into BLIND RAGE mode while taking a shit and everyone but me dies. Just a theory.

What is your Circus power? Let us know in the comments below!

!dev, started listening to 70s Pentagram tunes and FUCK ME it's so good. Nothing like DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM to get me in the mood. For what? YOu figure it out, brb I'm gonna weave some spells.

Ah, shit. First, I get downvoted a bunch, by a rogue jester bot I assume, then the retoornuke goes off, and with her account, even more of my hard-earned updoots lost into the ether.

How is this important? It isn't. I'm merely annoyed. Needed only a couple more to get myself a pet, I was so fuckin close maan. Now I need about 60 again, so not too bad actually, but if you see me shitposting at an increased pace, then you know why.

All of you, take note of this date: 12/10/2024.

You get upvoted by green dots, be suspicious.
You see the same date on their profiles, be suspicious.
You see their profiles boosting spam messages, well, you better be fucking suspicious.

There's a bit shy of two hundred of them already, and the numbers will continue to grow. We are getting fucked in the ass, I repeat, we are getting fucked in the ass.

This rectal warfare PSA has been brought to you by [EXTREMELY CENSORED]

So, one day I get up, and just happened to offhandedly predict that a holy war would be fought on this very site, by mighty botlords, with weaponized updoots as the deciding factor of every battle.

The lesson would then be that, maybe, just maybe, I should've shut the fuck up instead, as most of it has come to pass.

Anyway, the last part of the prediction was hexical pulling the plug on this site as the war escalated, so fingers crossed, but if a nuke hits the server I call dibs on the ever loving supreme 'I told you so'.

Trying out the new version of fasm, I realize it's good, and conclude I should update my code to work with it as there's small incompatibilities with the syntax.

So, quick flat assembler lesson: the macro system is freaking nuts, but there are limitations on the old version.

One issue, for instance, is recursive macros aren't easily possible. By "easily" I mean without resorting to black magic, of course. Utilizing the arcane power of crack, I can automatically define the same macro multiple times, up to a maximum recursion depth. But it's a flimsy patch, on top of stupid, and also has limitations. New version fixes this.

Another problem is capturing lines of code. It's not impossible, again, but a pain in the ass that requires too much drug-addled wizardry to deal with. Also fixed in new version.

Why would you want to capture lines of code? Well, because I can do this, for instance:

macro parse line {
··match a =+ b , line \{
····add a,b;
··\}
};

You can process lines of code like this. The above is a trivial example that makes no fucking sense, but essentially the assembler allows you define your own syntax, and with sufficient patience, you can use this feature to develop absolutely super fucking humongous galactic unrolls, so it's a fantastic code emitter.

Anyway, the third major issue is `{}` curlies have to be escaped according to the nesting level as seen in the example; this is due to a parser limitation. [#] hashes and [`] backticks, which are used to concatenate and stringify tokens respectively, have to be escaped as well depending on the nesting level at which the token originates. This was also fixed.

There's other minor problems but that gives you sufficient context. What happens is the new version of fasm fixes all of these problems that were either annoying me, forcing me to write much more mystical code than I'd normally agree to, and in some rare cases even limiting me in what I could do...

But "limiting" needs to be contextualized as well: I understand fasm macros well enough to write a virtual machine with them. Wish I was kidding. I called it the Arcane 9 Machine, A9M for short. Here, bitch was the prototype for the VM my fucking compiler uses: https://github.com/Liebranca/forge/...

So how am I """limited""", then? You wouldn't understand. As much as I hate to say it, that which should immediately be called into question, you're gonna have to trust me. There are many further extravagant affronts to humanity that I yearn to commit with absolute impunity, and I will NOT be DENIED.

Point is code can be rewritten in much simpler, shorter, cleaner form.
Logic can be much more intricate and sophisticated.
Recursion is no longer a problem.
Namespaces are now a thing.
Capturing -- and processing -- lines of code is easier than ever...

Nearly every problem I had with fasm is gone with this update: thusly, my power grows rather... exponentially.

And I SWEAR that I will NOT use it for good. I shall be the most corrupt, bloodthirsty, deranged tyrant ever known to this accursed digital landscape of broken souls and forgotten dreams.

*I* will reforge the world with black smoldering flame.
*I* will bury my enemies in ill-and-damned obsidian caskets.
And *I* will feed their armies to a gigantic, ravenous mass grave...

Yes... YES! This is the moment!
PREPARE THE RITUAL ROOM (https://youtube.com/watch/...)

Couriers! Ride towards the homeland! Bring word of our success.

And you, page, fetch me my sombersteel graver...
I shall inscribe the spell into these very walls...
in the ELEVENTH degree!

** MANIACAL EVIL LAUGHTER **

Since regexes have been mentioned, I'll take this opportunity to make this one thing abundantly clear...

The chief weakness of C++ is not safety concerns but the ultradiarrheic verbosity proudly inherited by it's claimants and successors. See here, straight from reference pages, a basic example of substitution:
{
std::regex_replace(std::ostreambuf_iterator<char>(std::cout), text.begin(), text.end(), vowel_re, "*");
};

Not so bad, right? By which I mean, there's worse still. Now hold my sigils:
{
$text=~ s[$vowel_re][*]g;
say $text;
};

It may be true that people don't respect your intelligence, due in great part to the well-known argumentative proclivities typical of closeted visual basic enthusiasts that are deeply rooted within your innermost self, however no matter how oft-denigrated and disparaged for their shortcomings an individual is, they are still nonetheless physically capable of seeing that the line in question doesn't even exceed 32 characters. Else this wouldn't be a discussion of syntax, or semantics, but rather your ability to count, which would be a much more dire situation.

And now that I have degenerated any semblance of reason existing within this discussion in favor of shame and humiliation towards my enemies in a bid to assert dominance, I've honestly forgotten what my point even was, and no doubt, this will be used against me; truly, the most lethal of double-edged gambits.

In any case, may a razor-sharp serrated diamond obelisk violently penetrate your rear orifice with such excessive force and excruciating pain so as to render your nervous system henceforth inoperable from cheeks to the core, most cavernous depths of your asshole.

Forever yours,
I nevertheless like C++

And so the land was finally rid of the years-long plague that had desolated a once great nation. The weary denizens let out a sigh of relief, thanking their lucky stars for this new-found peace. But it was only the beggining...

For although the enemy had been defeated, it's undoing was brought about by profane arcana of a much more insidious, dark nature. In saving themselves, the fools had in truth sold their very souls.

"Grandiose... " he muttered villanously between his teeth, fixed on a wolfish, most somber grin.

"Like lambs to the slaughter, my Lord" his assistant verbally circle-jackaloped him off, to great bottock-suckling effect.

"They will soon bow down to me... " so begat his five-hour-long expository monologue, a scheme only as devious as it was needlessly complex "and all the ass in the province shall be mine!!"

Indeed, all unfolded as it was foretold: unleashing the first spell of Mass Desacration would only lead to it being perfected, further corrupted, twisted, and molded into the girthiest, gnarled, grandemonic phallus of anal destruction, by which the souls of an entire people would be bound to the sexually distorted whims of an ancestral eldritch degenerate.

Once uppon a time, they were warned, but laughed at our harbinger -- and as penance, we abandoned them to their black fates. The extremity of the grave peril looming over their every orifice seemed a rather guffawable matter to them... and so was to us the brutal, inter-continental violation that swiftly befell theirs, most precious of human cavities.

Suffice to say, their anus shall never fully recover.

As for Wizard James, he was summarily executed via automobile-assisted castration, his jagged testicles mercilessly crushed under the weight of a thousand oxes. But that is a story for another day.

Working on a feature for about a month, give or take. And the whole way through, I'm feeling worried that what I have is very little in relation to how much time I've spent on it.

Well, guess what? I send the PR, and see all the commits put together -- and ONLY THEN I'm able to realize it's a WAY bigger contribution than in my wildest fucking dreams.

So now I'm thinking shit, I may have gone too far in a few places...

Anyway, the feature is not a 100% done: this is just the first step lmao. But I'm glad to get a break from this, though it was a very cool thing to get to work on, I definitively got severe tunnel vision focusing so much on it. Time to return to smaller bug fixes, let's go!

**ANXIETY INTENSIFIES FOR NO REASON**

Computer! I live in a state of constant mental exhaustion. What does this mean?

*BEEP-BOOP*. IT MEANS YOU'RE STRESSED, BITCH.

Interesting. How do I get rid of this... "stress" you speak of?

*BEEP-BOOP*. GO OUT, BITCH. SEE NATURE, BITCH. CONNECT WITH HUMAN BEINGS, BITCH.

Oh, fuck no, that's just not going to happen. Any other tips?

*BEEP-BOOP*. STOP USING DRUGS, BITCH. YOU DRINK TOO MUCH COFFEE, BITCH.

Well, fuck me, I can't do that either; guess I'll just take this with me to the grave. Thanks anyway, computer.

*BEEP-BOOP*. YOU'RE WELCOME, BITCH. YOU'RE GOING TO DIE, BITCH.

Yes, I hope as much. The sooner the better.

My name was Quiet Array -- I showed it, printed on my ID card, to some waitress. She asked for my hand in holy matrimony, and we got married by a soda dispenser. Immediately went our separate ways. I fiddled around with some runes on my galaxy-sized stash and invented a new way to sodomize demons, but the arcane secrets got lost in translation.

Then I woke up, and my first thought was: "shit, what a cheap-ass discount kiki dream".

Fuckdev: I heard people were having meltdowns in certain more political corners of the interwebz, you figure out why, and so I went to read a little bit to see what was going on.

Truth be told, I did not expect this wild mask-off type shit, but it's interesting nonetheless. Malcolm X was proven right once again. I mean el Hajj Malek el Shabazz, dude. These bitches are indeed like foxes, showing their teeth but pretending to smile.

I'd feel bad for the poor fucks, hadn't they come out swinging against immigrants with a copy of Mein Kampf. Not so disgusted by the dextral folks, then? Sinister!

Anyway, having bore witness to such undeniable proof of their conceited wickedness, which makes them more than ever indistinguishable from what they merely *claim* to oppose, I am now at ease for thinking that the B-52 bomber with pride flag meme was kinda funny.

I have an army of skeletons following me around. So why can't I hold all these fucking chipped gems.

Let me tell you, I have never been so glad to get the Horadric Cube. My stash was full of the shit, had to offload to a fucking mule. ATMA for life bitch.

And Duriel, I'm coming for that ass.

Here's an idea: starting my own botfarm to automatically downvote obnoxious adbots that simply won't stop tickling our collective fucking testicle sax with unrequited love stories and crypto bullshit.

To detect the sheeit, just look for idiot giving contact info in a rant about hacking the device of your unfaithful spouse/treacherous cyber girlfriend who also ran a bitcoin scam and fucked you in the ass with a welding torch. That should do the trick, I can give you that power with a perl script, because fuck you that's why.

But since there is no moderation in this bitch, daring to offer me sufficient knowledge to the inner workings of such a construct would be exceptionally perilous to your asshole. That is to say, nothing could then stop me from redirecting said botfarm to target my enemies and anally assault their every rant and comment.

Indubitably, this would in turn quickly spiral into digital warfare of cyberfeudal lords pitting their automated fake accounts against each other. Millions will die. Upside being hexical gets to pull the plug without guilt.

What do you say? Should we begin the apocalypse?

ولن يرمش لي جفن
I won't bat an eye.

You know how I always """joke""" about smoking crack cocaine being the secret to my success?

Well, guess what. Some famous brit flower boy singer or some shit was staying at a hotel a mere 20 or so minute bus ride away from where I live.

What happens then is, of course, that brain fissure mother fucker got higher than shit on that damn crack and jumped to his death. Coincidence? I don't think so. I mean, what are the odds?

He was trying to copy my formula, no doubt about that. And obviously, he failed.

But I still feel this is very unfair -- to me. Not only did he plagiarize without recognition, I now also may or may not have to deal with the inevitable shrine that will be built by his fans on the spot where he met his unfortunate end, to gather around and ritually incinerate hardcore drugs in his honor, leaving behind crackpipes for him to smoke in heaven and that kind of commemorative jazz. Hmm, it might boost turism though, so it's not all bad.

Imagine the tour guide, maan. "Oh, and this is the spot where that guy from some dumbass boyband splattered against the ground after trying to beat Max Wright at his own game, RIP and please sir don't defecate on the plaque SIR DO N-- well, nevermind. OK, moving on... "

Anyway, I just wanted to publicize the fact that I didn't even know who the fuck he was until his untimely demise, may God have mercy on him, but it serves him right for trying to steal my arcane secrets.

!dev

Nothing is a dream.

My very first step, as I left the staircase, was on a plate. A loud click made my instincts tick, pushing me to blindly roll forwards.

Before I even had the time to process, that I had just evaded being burnt alive by a wall of flames, the rumblings of another mechanism made my heart accelerate yet again.

Five iron spikes descended uppon me, scratching my cloak, but no more. Twice I was lucky...

But three doors: one behind me, two to my left and right. The ones at my sides spring open with a loud crack, and four terrors pour out, seeking to flay me alive and wear my skin.

I slash at them with my bloody falchion, walking backwards, seeking to escape through the remaining door. Primal fear runs through my spine as I realize: it's barred from the other side!

Burning through my mana, I manage to unlock the door, and quickly close it behind me... but the terrors do not abandon the chase. With inhuman strength, they pound on the door, while desperately crying out for my blood.

I try to escape to the next room... another locked door. There must be another way! There has to, or I'm as well as dead...

What's this, in the corner, among cobwebs? A handle... and a secret passageway, that I can close from the other side! Magnificent!

Another flight of stairs takes me deeper into the tomb. I find an oil lamp, suspiciously well-maintained. Someone has been here recently...

I marvel at the macabre carvings on the wall, depicting scenes from when immortal tyrants ruled the earth. Haven't I seen these before... ?

No matter, I must focus. I was instructed to find an artefact hidden within this acursed place, that I may use for the purification ritual -- there is only one way, so onwards.

An old wooden gate, with a broken bronze knob. Soon as I put my hand on it, it opens inwards...

Eyes black like diamonds, she awaited me inside.

I had never been, simultaneously, just as terrified as enraptured. Day and night, her voice still reverberates inside my mind. And even as I lay dead, her inescapable gaze still clutches the very bottom of my heart.

"Did you come for me?" she asked, smiling, opening up her arms, so that I may fall into her sweet, loving embrace.

"Yes" I whispered as I walked towards her, enthralled.

In a bout of deranged ecstasy, she drank every last drop of my blood. But then... she cried, cuddling my remains.

"No... no, no, NO!" her screams tore apart her very soul "I killed my son... I KILLED MY SON!"

Oh, mother...
Don't cry mother
it hurts no more.

Now I live again.
And I forgive you.

Because I loved you,
as ashamed as I am to admit,
the very moment I saw your eyes,
I loved you.

"I was imprisoned here, so that I may not harm anyone else" she muttered, tears in her eyes "I cannot stop myself -- I am cursed"

Do not ask of me, that I end your suffering.
How could I?
If there is no cure...

"Please, my love... " she begged "kill me... "

No... I can't...
I can't bear either weight
for the rest of this wretched eternity!

How could I take your life?
But how could I leave you to suffer?!

"Now we'll be together... " she smiled, as I raised the falchion.

"Forevermore" I wept, before bringing it down.

***

Nothing is a dream.

Somber, I returned to the Santuary, having fulfilled my mission.

But looking uppon the bone mask I donned, obscuring my eyes, the Matriarch knew that I had been... changed.

I felt no remorse as I slaughtered the witch that doomed my beloved, right on her own altar to heresy. She earned as much.

Her guards, however, I could not defeat.

But that doesn't matter;
deep inside, I was already dead.
And behind the mask,
the whole way through,
I had shed tears without pause.

"Now we'll be together... " I prayed to the nightsky, as silver blades punctured my thorax.

"Forevermore" her sweet voice replied.

***

!dev

Vampire homegirl and I got into bit of a pickle last time we went out marauding around the City of the Dead. We collected payment for a hit on a merchant, but a large portion of the money was discounted, as unbeknown to us, there was a witness to our bloody crime.

Soon enough, we were being hunted down by a rival sect, encroaching on our territory. Their High Priest sent some dogs our way, and we felt right into their ambush, at a crossroads within the southern alleways. I took down three of those sons of bitches, with two crossbow bolts stuck on my back, before finally being knocked down by a shield slammed to my face.

Got both my fucking legs mauled with a flail and almost put out of commission. Luckily, my vampiric companion was there to save my skin. She fought a desperate duel against the last one of our foes left standing: an inquisitor, sent to either capture, or more likely, kill us both.

This fucker was tougher than any adversary either of us had ever fought against. Fully clad in silver armor, wearing an enchanted crimson cloak, her face hidden behind a terrifying iron mask. My companion stood her ground, but throughout the fight, she was constantly on the defensive, hesitant to close too much distance against the enemy.

Our foe launched one devilishly mighty blow, that my partner in crime fortunately managed to block. However, her blade was pulverized by the sheer weight of the inquisitor's strike, nearly shattering her ribcage. In a last ditch effort to survive the encounter, she lunged at her opponent with what remained of her sword, and stabbed the hunter right in her fucking eye, to then sink her fangs into the ecclesiastical bitch's neck.

Having temporarily incapacitated the inquisitor, we made our escape. My companion carried me back to our safehouse, where we would plan our next move... but our masters were one step ahead of us.

At our hideout, we were intercepted by them, at the behest of the Matriarch. We were to be smuggled out of the city inside a funeral carriage, to then be safely transported back to our sacred order's sanctuary.

Uppon arriving, we were confronted and reprimanded for our failures, past and present. I was forcefully separated from my esteemed nocturnal friend, as way our masters put it, our growing affections were cause for concern. Longing to be reunited, we schemed for weeks through our mutual acquaintances in the monastery, delivering small coded messages.

Through our cunning subterfuge, we finally managed to meet in an ancient grotto underneath a cedrus tree, on a hill overlooking the sanctuary. I was ready to plan a daring escape, but to my suprise, she had her mind made up to a wildly different course of action. We were to play by their rules -- go through with their dark cleansing rituals, meant to re-educate us before admitting us back into the order as fully-fledged acolytes.

And so, in the penumbra of that age-old grotto, a pact was made.

I am now riding south on a black stallion, falchion in hand, and a trail of witches' blood in my wake. I carry with me orders from the Matriarch herself: purify the nearby catacombs and prove my devotion to the utter blackness of our faith. Should I not return, my companion will be up next.

Failure is not an option. As I evade the twisted creatures that guard the entrance, and descend the staircase down into the tomb, I wonder what kind of horrors await me inside...

OH GOD FUCKING SHIT I JUST STEPPED ON A TRAP

** TO BE CONTINUED **

For reasons I won't disclose, I am just switching off reality in a pretty hardcore way.

Hours, and I mean almost half the fucking day, spent soloing my own TTRPG. It's actually the most fun I've had in years, I think I'm becoming slightly addicted. Dude, I have an abyss of grimdark lore, it's fucking crazy. I'm just bending the space-time continuum with my sorcerous ways, turns out the piece of shit $2 mechanics I designed are so flexible the game simply takes no effort to enjoy.

Anyway, I don't feel bad for this specifically. I do my daily work hours so I'm at peace, and allow myself to just do what I want to do.

Everything else is what gets me down. Fucking shit, man. I'd be ashamed of complaning, as I have it very good. I like my job and I like my game too. No problems there.

But the fact that I cannot go anywhere beyond those two things does raise little bit of an alarm, buried somewhere deep beneath the hundred tomes of forbidden spells I'm collecting on the alcove, down by my quarters on the cursed tower.

Tomorrow night, I'm going on more mystical adventures together with my vampire homegirl. She's a total boss. I was at 1 HP with both my fucking legs broken and no mana, just sitting on the sidelines trying not to die, while she fended off an inquisitor two times her level, all by herself. I know she's a fictional character but I said thank you for real a couple times, just to be nice, as she totally saved my arcane ass.

Now, you get me, right? It's escapism, and I'm great at it, a little bit too much. Honestly, once I'm done with my responsibilities for the day, I just don't feel like doing much of anything else, and I'm not crazy enough (yet) to not notice the downside, that being, no fucking life outside of working and locking myself up inside dark fantasy wonderland.

I suppose this is my roundabout way to say this better than sex, but I don't know if you would understand the sentiment.

Anyway, shutting off reality again in twelve or so hours, can't fucking wait.

One word: $0024.

So now I have to pay taxes because I'm employed. Fair enough, sounds reasonable.

Go to the government's diseased scrotum of a webapp to tramit some ID stuff and shit. All good. Then I go to the bank, so I can open an account, so that I can receive the money, so that I can pay the government.

What happens? The guy at the bank tells me he can't access my ID, so he can't open my account. Understandable. I go once again to the gonorrhea infected maggotsoup that is the government's mother fucking webapp. THEY BLOCKED MY ID.

Problem? I had to attach images of some documentation, they say the images are illegible. I try again with a clearer image, ten fucking times the resoulution.

Is that good enough? NOOOOOOOOOO0=00=======0===000 oo O O OO O O, I am the government, my sole purpose in life is to be a dick in your asshole.

So what do I do? I, calmly, grab the documentation, go to the nearest office, and politely explain the situation to the dude behind the counter. Surely, he can verify himself that my papers are in order, no?

NO. HE CANNOT.
IT CAN ONLY BE DONE THROUGH THE APP.
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME.
WE ARE DOOMED AS A SPECIES.

LISTEN TO ME, DEAR GOVERNMENT.
AND DEAR TAXMEN.
AND ASSOCIATED BUREAUCRATS.
PLEASE HEAR ME OUT.

IF YOU DON'T UNBLOCK MY ID, I CANNOT OPEN A BANK ACCOUNT.
IF I DO NOT HAVE A BANK ACCOUNT, I CANNOT RECEIVE ANY MONEY.
IF I CANNOT RECEIVE ANY MONEY, THEN I CANNOT PAY **YOU**.
SEE HOW THAT WORKS?

ITS OK.
JUST SUSPEND THE PAYMENT I OWE.
YOU KNOW, THE ONE THAT'S DUE IN A FEW DAYS??

OH RIGHT!
YOU'RE STILL ASKING ME FOR THAT MONEY.
SILLY ME.
I THOUGHT I MAY BE EXEMPT.
SINCE YOU YOURSELF HAVE FORBIDDEN ME FROM PAYING.

ARRHGHHGGHGHGHGHGH!!!!!!!!
YOU IRREDEEMABLY STUPID FUCK.

Well, look at that, I fixed the bug and it's the end of my shift. Alright then, let's PR this shit and clock out!

CHECKS FAILED

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHSDJAGSJAGJR

Holy shit, I just got hired.

YGGG IM SO CLOSE I CAN ALMOST TASTE IT.

Register allocation pretty much done: you can still juggle registers manually if you want, but you don't have to -- declaring a variable and using it as operand instead of a register is implicitly telling the compiler to handle it for you.

Whats more, spilling to stack is done automatically, keeping track of whether a value is or isnt required so its only done when absolutely necessary. And variables are handled differently depending on wheter they are input, output, or both, so we can eliminate making redundant copies in some cases.

Its a thing of beauty, defenestrating the difficult aspects of assembly, while still writting pure assembly... well, for the most part. There's some C-like sugar that's just too convenient for me not to include.

(x,y)=*F arg0,argN. This piece of shit is the distillation of my very profound meditations on fuckerous thoughtlessness, so let me break it down:

- (x,y)=; fuck you in the ass I can return as many values as I want. You dont need the parens if theres only a single return.
- *F args; some may have thought I was dereferencing a pointer but Im calling F and passing it arguments; the asterisk indicates I want to jump to a symbol rather than read its address or the value stored at it.

To the virtual machine, this is three instructions:

- bind x,y; overwrite these values with Fs output.
- pass arg0,argN; setup the damn parameters.
- call F; you know this one, so perform the deed.

Everything else is generated; these are macro-instructions with some logic attached to them, and theres a step in the compilation dedicated to walking the stupid program for the seventh fucking time that handles the expansion and optimization.

So whats left? Ah shit, classes. Disinfect and open wide mother fucker we're doing OOP without a condom.

Now, obviously, we have to sanitize a lot of what OOP stands for. In general, you can consider every textbook shit, so much so that wiping your ass with their pages would defeat the point of wiping your ass.

Lets say, for simplicity, that every program is a data transform (see: computation) broken down into a multitude of classes that represent the layout and quantity of memory required at different steps, plus the operations performed on said memory.

That is most if not all of the paradigm's merit right there. Everything else that I thought to have found use for was in the end nothing but deranged ways of deriving one thing from another. Telling you I want the size of this worth of space is such an act, and is indeed useful; telling you I want to utilize this as base for that when this itself cannot be directly used is theoretically a poorly worded and overly verbose bitch slap.

Plainly, fucktoys and abstract classes are a mistake, autocorrect these fucking misspelled testicle sax.

None of the remaining deeper lore, or rather sleazy fanfiction, that forms the larger cannon of object oriented as taught by my colleagues makes sufficient sense at this level for me to even consider dumping a steaming fat shit down it's execrable throat, and so I will spare you bearing witness to the inevitable forced coprophagia.

This is what we're left with: structures and procedures. Easy as gobblin pie.

Any F taking pointer-to-struc as it's first argument that is declared within the same namespace can be fetched by an instance of the structure in question. The sugar: x ->* F arg0,argN

Where ->* stands for failed abortion. No, the arrow by itself means fetch me a symbol; the asterisk wants to jump there. So fetch and do. We make it work for all symbols just to be dicks about it.

Anyway, invoking anything like this passes the caller to the callee. If you use the name of the struc rather than a pointer, you get it as a string. Because fuck you, I like Perl.

What else is there to discuss? My mind seems blank, but it is truly blank.

Allocating multitudes of structures, with same or different types, should be done in one go whenever possible. I know I want to do this, and I know whichever way we settle for has to be intuitive, else this entire project has failed.

So my version of new always takes an argument, dont you just love slurping diarrhea. If zero it means call malloc for this one, else it's an address where this instance is to be stored.

What's the big idea? Only the topmost instance in any given hierarchy will trigger an allocation. My compiler could easily perform this analysis because I am unemployed.

So where do you want it on the stack on the heap yyou want to reutilize any piece of ass, where buttocks stands for some adequately sized space in memory -- entirely within the realm of possibility. Furthermore, evicting shit you don't need and replacing it with something else.

Let me tell you, I will give your every object an allocator if you give the chance. I will -- nevermind. This is not for your orifices, porridges, oranges, morpheousness.

Walruses.

Was a tad depressed yesterday and couldn't get any serious work done, so I start doing random chores to distract myself. Fixed my urxvt extension to correctly toggle fullscreen on and off, and then I remember that the reason I have a black desktop background is I couldn't stretch the terminal to cover the whole screen, so it looked weird.

Well, not a problem anymore, so let's have something more colorful. I have this image of the eastern veil nebula laying around, for no real reason other than I thought it looked pretty. Used to be my desktop background. Let's make it so once more, enable terminal transparency, turn opacity down to 82%; now I have something other than code and the void to look at.

But curious as to what this nebula is, I g*^gle it out. I don't believe in astromambo, but I do find it funny that it's in Cygnus, because that's a swan, and the mascot for my projects is a swan too -- not because of the constellation, but because I suck at drawing.

See, my mom is a sabuner, I mean soaper. She makes olive oil soap. And we had an old box of Nablus soap in the house, which we kept because it's pretty, and the front of this box had a picture of an ostrich, drawn in bright red. I tried to base my logo on it but it ended up looking more like a swan than an ostrich; I accepted my failure and decided then and there that this would be the mascot.

It's a multitude of little relationships between things I never really thought I could relate to one another. This is utterly random shit and it cheers me up.

Anyhoo moral of the story is nebulae are fucking cool.

I'm in a big fat fucking stinking rut, as in progress on this project has absolutely stagnanted.

Gonna rubber face your duck now **UNZIPS** excepts I don't have zippers, as joggers are the one true way; fake Adidas til I fucking drop.

Brain damage aside, I understand both how I've layed out the data and what I'm supposed to do with it. We have a virtual machine, an array of instructions and arguments for a given process within it, and we need to walk this array and map values to registers.

We also need to spill values inside registers to stack, IF they are required at a further point within that block. This also isn't terribly complex. We simply look forward in the array and see if the value is an argument to any instruction that *needs* this value to be loaded (ie, within a register).

So this implies multiple iterations; we need to better understand how one particular value is used throughout an F before we can make a final decision on how many registers and stack space are actually needed for the whole block.

Here's where it gets tricky. If there's a call, we need to be certain that the symbol being invoked has already been fully processed. Besides the obvious fact that recursion fucks me up, there's another matter: say a private method gets invoked by another private method. We can take advantage of this, by which I mean, sacrilege incoming so put on this toga.

Looking at the output for C compilers, it would seem this is not done in practice, I would assume because it's a pain in the ass. But when you have the guarantee that F will only be called internally, as that's what "private" means, there's two ways it can go:

0. It's well below the 13-20 cycle threshold, so you inline the fucker. No suprises there.
1. It's a more involved affaire, and invoked in more than one place, so you don't inline it. Codesize matters.

Recursion and [1] are the big deal things holding me back. Not because it's too hard, like I said this is kindergarten level abstraction. I'm just slow and fanatical, which is how I prefer to spell "constant obsessive paranoid delusions". I can see the potential optimization I can pull here, so I'm stuck trying to figure it out.

Idea would be, handling the register allocation and stack spill for an internal-internal (or deep internal; what we like to call a "guts" method) in synchronization with the *calling* processes. This is, fundamentally, violating all conventions -- but so under the hood no one will notice.

Let me give you an example. If we were to pass some value to a function, expecting to mutate it and get a different value back, in a lot of cases it'd be stupid to make an implicit copy by using two registers, one for input and another for the output. Dude, it's one cycle. Multiply it by a million, say sixty times per second, for every time you __needlessly__ make a copy of a value that we've already stated is mutable.

Clearly unacceptable. This is, in the strictest sense, everywhere in every single codebase. Premature micro optimization is the root of all goodness, God is great and praiseworthy. So how do we go about it?

Answer is I know and I don't know. By which I mean to say, this very thing I've done by hand. Assembly is fun. Now the issue is teaching a calculator how to do it. Not so fun.

There is a dependency chain between processes, as I believe I've kind of alluded to. I'm trying to make decisions on the side of the caller depending on the details of the callee, which is why recursion is rawdogging my soul. This is the same situation, it's inverting the direction of one or more links in the dependency chain, which makes no fucking sense.

And yet it does.
Brain, explain yourself.

How do *you* handle this without crashing?
Brain?

<<ME STEWPED; BEEP-BOOP>>

Alright then, that was a useless attempt at fuckery. Let's have a nap then, maybe it'll come to me in the morning. That's what I've been saying to myself for almost a month now.

Perhaps it is a hardcoded fuk.

I'm unironically VERY excited. In the last month, TWO real people, both of them into devops according to their profiles, have begun watching avtomat (https://github.com/Liebranca/...), and yes I WILL continue spamming the link if this keeps up. Would you like me to stop? Then give me a dislike and tit-slap the "unsubscribe" button NOW to end my suffering!

So, I applied for a job. People tend *not* to answer my applications, probably because my resume very clearly states I implemented malloc in fasm, among other things.

I imagine them going like "Sir, this is a Wendy's", or rather "we're looking for a 10X rockstar AnalScript ZAZQUACH mongoose-deus puffery quarter-stack developer". Fair enough, I certainly don't fit that bill.

But this time I not only got an answer, the guy went like "I'm impressed". Is this... recognition? From a human? What?

Fellas, I cannot process this emotion. Being frank, it's not even about the job. But willfully going against the idiocy of the industry standard, and then seeing that utterly deranged move actually amounting to something -- no matter how small -- is quite uncanny.

And of fucking course, it's a Perl job. Figures. Great minds think alike.

It's not the "age of AI" you dissecated nutsack munching buffoon, you could lick and suckle my delicious tits with that grandiose old tongue you have, if only it wasn't so profoundly infected with feces of every consistency and color.

Your word, for the two shits it's worth, is still better spent elsewhere than promoting falsehood, giving importance to that which has none, or spreading the belief that a demonstrably unscalable approach still has, somehow, room to grow. It's no fucking s*ndrome but full on imp*sterhood, truly a grand fellowship of pauseless jackoffs.

This is it -- a glorified, disobedient, largely unpredictable autocomplete. A probabilistic bullshit machine. It wouldn't be able to replace you, if only you weren't so fucking stupid.

And yes, I *am* contradicting myself by addressing the incredibly cost inefficient overclocked melting minerstack in the room, but I can hardly make the point without doing it, so shush.

Back to the stone age with this shit. Now pass the fucking joint.

Figure I can simplify the code if I have the compiler handle *some* of the register allocation.

Eh? What do you mean "NP-hard"? Dafuq's an ENN-PEE?

**frantically reads wiki**

I can proudly say that I understood absolutely nothing; CS stands for cocksucker or rather abysmal failure at the most basic forms of communication, I don't just sit here all day expecting you to flawlessly prove my point with every swallow of breath you draw, yet here we are.

Perhaps one factor involved in producing the generalized cluelessness of my colleagues, I mean their "imposter s*ndrome", has a bit to do with how fucking thick you've formulated this glorified bollocks you call theory. Were not for your incompetence, arcane crackheads like me would simply __not__ be capable of rising to the top of this field entirely via determination and a big salami, therefore I owe you both a debt of gratitude as well as every last word and sign of total disrespect.

As interesting as the study of computational complexity can be, if done correctly that is, you idiots are stuck in a mathematician's abstract mindset in a field entirely devoted to application of ideas rather than *just* the ideas themselves.

To answer my own question, it means there's no known efficient solution. That's it. The part about nondeterministic polynomial convolution of an irreductible rectosigmoid junction can apparently be skipped altogether. Anyway, I solved the problem with the computational equivalent of pizza sticks while you were out in the field mentally jacking off to λ.

Lecture is over, now go clean up the ethereal masturbatory residue if you will, I have mystical el Khwarizmi type-shit to solve via further clubbing of abstraction through liverwurst bologna of immense proportions. ^D