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Do you think he likes to just hang out sometimes? Play pool? Share a meal?
Or is it all prodding people with pitchforks and that?
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If psychology was real, some people would be too stupid to be helped. They'd just have issues for life because those issues would be behind an impenetrable wall of stupid. It's the same way nobody ever changes anybody else's mind here. What difference if you're paying for it, except that you're paying for it?
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I don't think this is really a conspiracy theory, but I think the entire field of psychology is largely a con. I think there's fuck all of substance in it and the most part of what makes a successful psychologist is a neutral tone of voice. I also think the great psychologists made a career of stating the obvious a little bit. Imagine paying money to these people and walking out of there with nothing. I dated a girl for a while doing a PhD on gratitude and gratitude journals. Gratitude. She was never the least bit interesting, but at least I got to bang her. Thanks god for that, I guess.
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Also my most regularly occurring random thought is that I should make an onlyfans. Bitches making too much money out here.
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My favourite one of these was a meme I saw recently. If a vampire wears an eyepatch with a piece of mirror inside of it, does that mean he's got an eye out the back of his head?
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I recently wondered do bigger people die faster than smaller people, and I looked it up and found some study of extremes, basketballers and people under whatever height, and apparently they do. Big dogs dying faster that smaller dogs gave me the idea, of course.
Also I recently wondered at how come world champions in whatever sport are always good looking eg. Muhammad Ali, Ronaldo, Magnus Carlsen, Anthony Joshua. Again I looked it up and found some survey taken about Tour de France participants, and a ranking of their attractiveness corresponded fairly well with their actual placing. I figured to begin with that it might afford a psychological edge, but maybe it's just another manifestation of general superiority or something. Either way, apparently it's a thing.
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Two lions is unfair
If one, I would exert every bit of strategy in me to perhaps kick the lion in the testicles.
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@thett3
-->@badgerYou might find this interesting. There was a theory based on a lot of circumstantial evidence that this account was hers. It’s an extremely influential account that was a moderator of some major subreddits and had the 8th most upvotes of all time. It was loudly denounced as a conspiracy theory but the decade old account went inactive a day or two before she was arrested and has not posted since
I dug through this and found no one hung and was disappointed lol.
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@thett3
@bmdrocks21No way that was a one-man job. Carrying all of those guns up by yourself? DoubtfulPlus, even though he injured and killed about half a thousand people with a firearm and missed many bullets, official reports only say they found "hundreds" of spent shell casings... https://www.fox5vegas.com/news/newly-unsealed-fbi-search-warrants-show-inconsistencies-but-no-second-shooter/article_271e4eb0-eb8a-5aa6-8788-64086d8aca7f.htmlI can actually believe that he brought all those guns up in multiple trips, but it’s weird. For what purpose? And then the fact that this guy was totally unknown, no known motive, and no attempts to dig up a motive. The whole thing was memoryholed almost immediately despite it being one of the most deadly events in recent history (and committed by a white male to boot.) And that Ellen interview with the security guards (who have also dropped from the face of the earth) was one of the creepiest things I had ever seenSeems obvious that it was some kind of arms deal gone wrong and that the feds were somehow involved which explains the weird lack of interest from all parties involved
I'm don't know what your experience with gambling is, but strangers you play cards with are easily despised. I'm surprised Las Vegas isn't shot up more often tbh.
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I regret that I do not believe in anything fun. I do however semi-regularly google Ghislaine Maxwell waiting for this bitch to roll some people. I think Bill and Hillary Clinton are creepy fucking people.
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@Wylted
I read zero debates but I would read this one.
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You might make the argument that making it easier is lowering the bar a little bit too, maybe what we really want is the super geniuses that come out of nowhere altogether, as if godly creation, and we'll ignore a few explosively bad ideas that way too. But I do like this idea of a world shaped by bombers. The debates surely do get boring after a while.
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@Wylted
I still say that gathering information for terrorists should be legal. No action should be taken until you do a crime.Participate in planning = should be clear legally.Carry out plans= should be illegal.This makes it easier for high IQ people to reach their objectives, and we as a society want high IQ individuals such as those termed "master minds " to be uninhibited when pursuing their goals.A person with an IQ of 100, should have less freedom than one with a IQ of 180, the suggested changes to the laws I make above would help high IQ individuals have more influence over society.
This is the most fun opinion anyone's ever had on here. Wylted, you really are some sort of genius.
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@TheUnderdog
So how do we punish people who ditch their girlfriends and wives when they are pregnant? Surely this must be punishable.
Not a thing to be done about it. You'll only ever come across as a total weirdo. Child support.
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@Wylted
Is it really ditching my child, if I knocked up some hooker last week?
This is hilarious.
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@TheUnderdog
You're not getting it. You are a weird young man. Nobody's ever going to buy this, because it leaves out something in them that you lack. The whole world of biological organisms is a result of rampant sex.
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None of this will ever happen, because it is sex. Child support keeps it halfway civilised, but sex is animal. Honestly, I agree with you, leaving your children means you're a deadbeat. But maybe try not being a 19 year old virgin.
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The hair smelling thing is not for beginners. Don't get arrested.
Tinder is plenty place to practice being a bit wild.
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@Wylted
I honest to god got with a girl before by sitting behind her in class, leaning forward and smelling her hair. She started wanking off her water bottle. I got her number after class.
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It has occurred to me that all of my favourite books have always been the recommendations of those close to me. People learn you character and find you in books. The top 100 lists are good too, but.
That is all.
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I'm all red flags and jolly rogers besides, but women love pirates.
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My honest to god advice for anyone looking to get a woman is be horny as fuck. I sometimes reckon every other dude must be so boring and I that I have a real advantage in being a dog. Women are horny.
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I actually skipped out on Djikstra's tbh. I managed to build an google maps type program with A* for a project in college, which honestly I don't know how it worked, because I pulled heuristics right out of my ass. It outdid my teacher's sample answer though. I was partying a bit too much, don't think that'll ever change.
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@Tejretics
Those are fair points. However, I just want to raise three counterpoints:
- AI systems are already becoming a lot more general. Consider GPT-3 and AlphaGo/AlphaZero, for example – the tasks they perform or the types of learning they engage in are significantly less narrow than we’d typically associate with narrow AI.
- The main bottleneck to progress in AI so far has been computational power. The cost of computational power is reducing a lot, and systems are close to reaching the computing power of the human brain. Ajeya Cotra of Open Philanthropy used a biological anchor framework to determine how much computing power and algorithmic advances are required for an AI to be as general as human brains, and forecasts an ~80% chance of transformative artificial intelligence by 2100.
- Most ML and computer science researchers think AGI is possible, and surveys find that they expect human-level artificial intelligence in the next 100 years with consistently >50% probability.
Admittedly, I have done pretty much zero research on this, but I am a software engineer and have some experience with AI - Djikstra's, A*, ID3, neural networks etc. I was going about building my own chess engine too at one point, but I guess I'd rather be making money for it. But it is always the same old cleverness, so far as I can see. I guess some of what I mentioned might be narrow AI or component parts, but AlphaZero isn't more than more involved algorithms. It is a far cry from the General of Artificial General Intelligence.
I'm not going to go reading through those links, although I'm sure they're interesting. My funny thoughts about the whole thing though is that AGI is something we'd need AI itself to create. We'd provide the environment and run the program and well we'd just wait until we heard the machine equivalent of a baby crying. A funny sort of goal state. I just can't even begin to imagine what went into the creation of human consciousness. I wonder if human evolution wasn't the most complicated thing in the entire universe actually. Maybe I'm fancying myself too much though. Or maybe the ML and computer science researchers are fancying themselves too much. Who knows.
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I tried to understand general relativity one time bored in work, unfortunately I'm no Einstein. I'm halfways confident though, that no matter the perception of time, the universe as a whole is going through the motions in a sensible fashion. That would be the larger time I guess. Why it's doing that who knows. God flicked a marble.
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@zedvictor4
Pity we didn't know you sooner, zed. DDO was a vibrant place once upon a time.
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@zedvictor4
Were you on DDO?
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Ya know, I've had too many women throw wine bottles at me not to believe it's a notable phenomenon.
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Danielle sending me PMs about annhasle sick of her shit and sure she was pretending to have cancer was some funny shit too.
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@Wylted
That one Bosnian dude who would do 3 debates a day about torture. He always changed his user name, but kept getting banned for his torture porn
I actually remember this dude.
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@Wylted
My favourite interaction with you ever was one time I asked you about challenging Danielle to the rape battle and you like shrugged it off as if you'd had a few too many beers or something, friendly as anything. I'm still shaking my head at you.
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It sucks that google doesn't find DDO posts anymore. I used to love to come back and go digging for memories.
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Wallstreetatheist. I'm sure I seen a debate on here that looked like one of his actually.
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Tulle's sister was legit the hottest woman I've ever seen in my life.
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I'll start:
Wnope
Sidewalker
Volkov
wjmelements
The mongeese twins
belle
Puck
Maikuru
Maikuru
That black girl, damn I can't remember her name lol.
DDO was half a dating site back in the day.
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My old man is not given much to deep thinking. He watches a lot of soccer and he farms. He's a talented tradesman and bettor too. Ireland is even post politics a little bit I think. The one thing I ever heard him wonder about, and the strange face he made and half upwards glance, was why we are so alone in the universe. I mean sure there's all sorts there in the way of goldilocks planets and great filters and I guess it makes sense, but it offers not a bit of comfort really. We're lost and nobody could ever know we're here. I feel like simulation theory is the mathematically minded man's flat earth.
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@n8nrgmi
I'll be stealing this one, and it will get me in trouble someday.
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That hot defiant screech was the Bohane El Train as it took the last turn onto De Valera Street. The El ran the snakebend of the street, its boxcar windows a blurring yellow on the downtown charge. The main drag was deserted this wind-less a.m. and it was quiet also in the car that Gant was sat in. There was just a pair of weeping hoors across the aisle - Norrie girls by the feline cut of the cheekbones - and a drunk in greasy Authority overalls down the way. The El train was customarily sad in this last stretch before dawn, that much had not changed. The screech of it was as a soul screech. If you were lying there in the bed, lonesome, and succumbed to poetical thoughts, that screech would go through you. It happens that we are often just so in Bohane. No better men for the poetical thoughts.
The Gant took a slick of sweat from his brow with the back of a big hand. He had a pair of hands on him the size of Belfast sinks. The sweat he found was after coming out on him sudden. It was hot on the El train and the flush of heat brought to him a charge of feeling also, the Gant was in a fever spell this season. The tang of stolen youth seeped up in his throat with the rasping burn of a nausea and on the El train in yellow light the Gant trembled but the familiar streets rushed past as the El train charged and the pain of memory without warning gave way to joy, a kind of joy - he was back! - and the Gant beamed then ecstatically as he sucked at the clammy morning air, and he listened to the hoors. ‘I fucking loved dat blatherin’ fucker big time’ said one. ‘He was filth, girl, s’bone truth of it’ consoled the other, he was casting off all over the town, y’ check me? He took you for a gommie lackeen.’
He was back among the city’s voices and it was the rhythm of them that slowed the rush of his thoughts. He had been glad to hop on the El train up on the northside and take the weight off his old bones. The Gant was back at last in the Bohane creation. Down along the boxcar he saw the Authority man mouth a sadness through his sozzled half-sleep, most likely a woman’s name – was she as green and lazy eyed as the Gant’s lost love? - and the city unpeeled, image by image, as the El train screeched along De Valera Street: a shuttered store, a war hero’s plinth, an advert for a gout cure, a gull so ghostly on a lamp post.
Morning was rising against the dim of the street lights and the lights caught just as the El screeched into its dockside terminus. The train locked onto its berth - the rubber jolt of the stoppers meant you were downtown, meant you were in Bohane proper and the El’s diesel tanks settled and died.
He let the hoors and the drunk off ahead of him. The Gant as he disembarked was fleshy and hot-faced but there was no little grace to his big-man stride. There was a nice roll to his movement – ye sketchin’? This Gant had old time style.
The station is named Bohane St. Francis Xavier, officially, but everyone here knows it as the Yella Hall. The Gant sniffed at the evil undying air of the place as he walked through. Even at a little after 6 in the morning the concourse was rudely alive and the throb of its noise was by the moment thickening. Amputee walnut sellers croaked their prices from tragic blankets on the scarred tile floors, their stumps so artfully displayed. The Bohane accent sounded everywhere, it was flat and harsh along the consonants, sing-song and soupy on the vowels, betimes vaguely Caribbean. An old man bothered a melodeon as he stood on an upturned orange crate and he sang a lament for youth’s distant love. The crate was stamped Tangier - a route that was open yet - and the old dude had belters of lungs on him, was the Gant’s opinion, though he teetered clearly on eternity’s maw.
Choked back another tear did the Gant: he was big but soft, he was hard yet gentle.
The early edition of the Bohane Vindicator was in, the city’s only paper, but the bundles had as yet to be unwrapped by the kiosk man who listened with his eyes closed to an eerie sonata played on a transistor wireless at this hour on the Bohane Free Radio the selector tended towards the classical end of things and towards melancholy. Nodded his head softly, the kiosk man, as the violins caught.
Oh we’d get medals for soulfulness out the tip end of the Bohane Peninsula.
The hoors who had wept on the train were ahead of him now on the concourse, they had gathered themselves. They were painting on bravery from their compacts as they walked. They would be bound, he knew, for Smoketown and its early-morning trade. The Gant watched as they went out through the yellow hall. Ah look: the quick switching of their buttocks beneath the thin silk fabric of their rah-rah skirts, and the way their calves are so finely toned from half their young lives spent on 6-inch spike heels. The sight of the girls made him sentimental. He had run stables of hoors himself as a young man. There was a day when it was the Gant did the runnings of Smoketown, a day when the Gant had the runnings of the city entirely.
Was said out in Bohane the Gant ran it clean. He looked out to the first of an October morning. The gulls were going loo-la on the dockside stones. Those gulls of course were never right. That’s often said in Bohane, the sheer derangement in their eyes and the untranslatable evil of their cawing as they dive bomb the streets, the gulls of Bohane are one ignorant pack of fuckers. He’d missed them terribly. He laughed out loud as the gusts of morning wind flung the birds about the sky but he drew no looks, sure the Yella Hall would be crawling with wall-bangers at the best of times.
The Gant set out towards the Smoketown footbridge. He took a scrap of paper from his pocket and opened it, he read a hand that had not changed with the years - still those big nervous childish letters - and its scrawl spelt out these words:
Ho Pee Chin Oh-Kay Koffee Shoppe.
The Gant had a wee girl to meet at this place. It was a good time for such a meeting, he could be lost among the crowd. Smoketown he knew would be black at this hour of the morning. The late shifts from the slaughterhouses and the breweries were only now clocking off. Bohane builds sausages and Bohane builds beer. We exist in the high 50s of latitude, after all, the winters are fierce and we need the inner fire that comes from a meat diet and voluminous drinking. The plants worked all angles of the clock and after the night shift it was the custom to make for S’town and a brief revel. In the dawn haze the brewery lads were dreamy-eyed from hops fume while the slaughterhouse boys had been all the silver and shade of night up to the oxters in the corpses of beasts, filling the wagons for the butchers’ slabs at the arcade market in the Bohane Trace and the wagons rolled out now across the greasy cobbles and it was a gory cargo they hauled:
See the peeled heads of sheep and the vein fleshy haunches of pigs, and the glistening trays of livers and spleens, skirts and kidneys, lungs and tongues – carnivorous to a fault, we’d ate the whole lot for you out in Bohane.
The Gant hunched his big shoulders against the morning chill. The lowing of condemned beasts sounded in bass tones on the air – our stock yards are laid out along the wharf. The Gant stepped over a gutter that ran torrentially with fresh blood.
Now how, he wondered, was a man expected to think civilised thoughts in a city the likes of Bohane?
Kevin Barry, City of Bohane
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@Wylted
They did a little meet up back in the day and CosmicAlfonzo pulled a knife on Danielle. Was a special sort of drama tbh. He fought his case too.
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