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Chirstmas story

There was a man who worked for the Post Office, whose job it was to process all the mail that had illegible addresses.

One day, a letter came to his desk, addressed in a shaky handwriting, to God. He thought he should open it to see what it was about.

He opened it and read:

Dear God,
I am a 93 year old widow, living on a very small pension. Yesterday someone stole my purse. It had $100.00 in it, which was all the money I had until my next pension check. Next Sunday is Christmas, and I had invited two of my friends over for dinner. Without that money, I have nothing to buy food with. I have no family to turn to, and you are my only hope Can you please help me?

Sincerely,
Edna


The postal worker was touched. He showed the letter to all of the other workers.

Each of them dug into his wallet and came up with a few dollars. By the time he made the rounds, he had collected $96.00, which they put into an envelope and sent to the woman.

The rest of the day, all of the workers felt a warm glow for the kind thing they had done.

Christmas came and went A few days later, another letter came from the old lady, to God. All of the workers gathered around while the letter was opened. It read:

Dear God,

How can I ever thank you enough for what you did for me? Because of your gift of love, I was able to fix a glorious dinner for my friends. We had a very nice day and I told my friends of your wonderful gift.

By the way, there was $4 missing. I think it must have been those thieving bastards at the Post Office.

A romantic lovestory...

A romantic lovestory...

Micro was a real-time operator and dedicated multi-user. His broad-band protocol made it easy for him to interface with numerous input/output devices, even if it meant time-sharing.

One evening he arrived home just as the sun was crashing, and had parked his Motorola 68000 in the main drive (he had missed the 5100 bus that morning), when he noticed an elegant piece of liveware admiring the daisy wheels in his garden. He thought to himself, "She looks user-friendly.  I'll see if she'd like an update tonight."

Mini was her name, and she was delightfully engineered with eyes like COBOL (**** Miranda ***) and a PR1ME mainframe architecture that set Micro's peripherals networking all over the place.

He browsed over to her casually, admiring the power of her twin, 32-bit floating point processors and enquired "How are you, Honeywell?"  "Yes, I am well", she responded, batting her optical fibers engagingly and smoothing her console over her curvilinear functions.

Micro settled for a straight line approximation.  "I'm stand-alone tonight," he said, "How about computing a vector to my base address?  I'll output a byte to eat, and maybe we could get offset later on."

Mini ran a priority process for 2.6 milliseconds then transmitted 8k, "I've been dumped myself recently, and a new page is just what I need to refresh my disks.  I'll park my machine cycle in your background and meet you inside."  She walked off, leaving Micro admiring her solenoids and thinking, "Wow, what a global variable, I wonder if she'd like my firmware?"

They sat down at the process table to a top of form feed of fiche and chips and a bucket of baudot.  Mini was in conversational mode and expanded on ambiguous arguments while Micro gave occasional acknowledgments although, in reality, he was analyzing the shortest and least critical path to her entry point.  He finally settled on the old would_you_like_to_see_my_benchmark routine, but Mini was again one step ahead.

Suddenly she was up and stripping off her parity bits to reveal the full functionality of her operating system software.  "Let's get BASIC, you RAM," she said.  Micro was loaded by this stage, but his hardware policing module had a processor of it's own and was in danger of overflowing its output buffer, a hang-up that Micro had consulted his analyst about.  "Core," was all he could say, as she prepared to log him off.

Micro soon recovered, however, when Mini went down on the DEC and opened her divide files to reveal her data set ready. He accessed his fully packed root device and was just about to start pushing into her CPU stack, when she attempted an escape sequence.

"No, No!" she cried, "You're not shielded."

"Reset, baby", he replied, "I've been debugged."

"But I haven't got my current loop enabled, and I can't support child processes," she protested.

"Don't run away", he said, "I'll generate an interrupt."

"No that's too error prone, and I can't abort because of my design philosophy."

Micro was locked in by this stage though, and could not be turned off.  But Mini soon stopped his thrashing by introducing a voltage spike into his main supply, whereupon he fell over with a head crash and went to sleep.

"Computers!" she thought as she compiled herself, "All they ever think of is hex."