Jasper emitted a low growl, and she withdrew her claws from his flesh. She hadn't realized she was hurting him – that she could hurt him. If somewhere in the back of her mind she was punishing him for bringing them here, then a part of him clearly thought he deserved it. He'd been warned, after all. And in saying it over and over –– Hellhole, Hellhole, Hellhole –– he had warned them all.

"I'm sorry, Delilah," Jasper whispered.

Delilah clicked on her penlight and saw Jasper's sad eyes peeking out from under a very swollen forehead. What's worse, they appeared to be dilated. She watched him rub them vigorously like a small child.

"Nobody forced me to come along," she assured him. "Shit happens. Now, shut up, stay low and don't knock anything else over. I'm going to get us out of here."

"You're leaving me?"

"Stop it. I'll be back." She reached into his front pocket and pulled out his penlight. "I promise."

"What about Lucky?" he asked.

"Pfft...Lucky. Remind me to never listen to your stupid ass ever again." She stroked his hangdog expression with one hand. Whatever that family had done to them earlier in that room, it was possible his head injury had left him more vulnerable to its effects. Now, if she were to make it out of there, he was of little more use than a steak thrown into the corner of a lion's cage. Forget the tattoos, he had "dead meat" written all over him.

She lifted her mask and kissed him on the mouth. He didn't flinch or stiffen. On the contrary, he seemed to relax his cheek into her soft palm like a spotted Great Dane. Dammit, she thought. She might actually miss him, now.

If he were subject to the review of an expert on plastic surgery, Ken Jr. would have been pleased to hear that he had done a fairly competent job. Once the prodigious amount of swelling had been drained around the carefully reconstructed cheekbone, his patient's face had regained its flattering symmetry. After that, it was a simple matter of replacing the skin flap and gluing it to within rigorous tolerances. A few swipes of a damp rag and he had to wonder if the man was right: maybe medicine was in his future. The boy felt a wave of accomplishment the likes of which he had never experienced before. If only his father had been there to see him work.

He checked the man's pulse. It was weak. He'd come in and out with such regularity, time must have been a complete mystery for him. The thought reminded him, and he looked up, shining his light onto the far wall. There, among an array of framed mirrors, hung a clock. It's pendulum shone brightly, reflecting the beam, and it felt to Ken Jr. that it would swing at any moment. He concentrated on its round face, and the hands that were stuck on the number twelve. For a moment it looked as if one of them had fallen off, but as he approached it he could see that the second second hand was neatly tucked behind the hour hand to signify the exact beginning of the hour; it was the "witching hour", to be specific. What had mother said as they climbed the stairs? "Black magic is at its most powerful during the witching hour," she had said. Maybe that's why her chant didn't work. At the time it felt more like 7:30.

He focused on the design of the numbers and the slightly intricate tooling of the hands. With a free portion of his brain he thought of his father. The man was practically a stranger. He couldn't think of a single person he knew less and for longer. At the same time, he couldn't think of anyone he loved more. The guy was a winner, and he, sadly, was not. Could be that was changing. Or maybe the work he had done on the man's face was a fluke, meant to be witnessed by no one other than himself. And no matter how badly he wanted his old man to be proud of him, maybe it was never to be.

"Interesting...," said a voice behind him. Ken Jr. turned to see his father holding a lamp near his patient's head. The map was laid on top of the man's stomach.

"Sorry," said Ken Jr. He'd learned to start every conversation off that way, even if he didn't know what he'd done. Usually, within a matter of seconds, he'd find out.

"Come here, son," said Ken Sr. Without delay, Ken Jr. lowered his head and made haste to the foot of his handiwork.

"Sorry," he said again.

"Stop saying that, Kenny. You're not in trouble."

"I'm not?"

"No," he replied, still inspecting the face of the man on the table. "What's happened here?"

Ken Jr. told him. He left nothing out.

"I saw the Bondo," his father said, his voice rising in pitch with interest, "but I wasn't sure. Shattered, you say?"

"Totally," answered Ken Jr.

"That's pretty impressive, son."

Ken Jr. put his hand on the man's leg to support himself. His father was impressed with something that he did. Something that usually got him grounded and scrubbing the oil-stains from the garage floor. He had to be sure.

"It is?" he asked, sheepishly.

"As far as I can tell. I'm no surgeon." He walked around to the other side for a different perspective, raising and lowering his viewpoint in order to more accurately asses the angles. "Maybe I should be thinking about paying for medical school, huh?"

Ken Jr. almost fainted. What he did do was slam a fist down on his unconscious patient's crotch without meaning to, which woke him up.

As he struggled to keep from vomiting, Lucky tried to focus through the stars in his eyes. Over him stood the boy and his father. They were laughing. Jesus fucking Christmas, they were laughing.

The Kens walked side by side, Jr. with the map and pointing. Sr. held the gun out in front, using it to move items that were dangling from the ceiling or sticking out from the shadows. There was a bounce in their step and from time to time they giggled like playground buddies.

"There!" said Ken Jr., as if he'd found the exact shiny new bike he'd been looking for. What he'd really found was a wardrobe made of red oak like the kind they had sawed to pieces a few hours before. The reflection of Jr.'s penlight against it looked like a splash of milk in a jar of blood. "Can I?"

Sr. set his lamp down on an old hanging planter and checked the safety on the gun.

"Okay. Go ahead."

Jr. reached out and swung open the wardrobe door. There, slumped at the bottom, was the weary heap of the colored-in man, doing his best to peek out from under the purple ostrich egg jutting from his forehead. He held the Swiss Army knife in his hand with the file sticking out of it. It looked like he had been carving into the wood.

"Daddy?" whispered the poor sonofabitch.

BLAM! The flash lit up the room, showing the bits of skull that rebounded off the back of the wardrobe and onto the floor. The penlight lit the other pieces that were already dripping their way over the unfinished carving like snails in a downhill heat. In the silence that followed the blast's echo, particulate matter could be heard sprinkling to the floor like the last few beads in a rain stick.

"You want it?" Sr. asked, the concussion disappearing from his ear drums. "Might be a project in there somewhere."

"Nah," answered Jr. "I like 'em alive, first."

Sr. pulled his son close. He pulled him close like he loved him. He pulled him close like he loved him because he did love him.

Delilah heard the shot, as did the two crazy bitches mixing eggs in the kitchen. Maybe it would distract them long enough for her to arm herself before she sent the whole place back to Hell.

Its almost the weekend, thought i'd try something new. Every friday, five songs picked out by yours truely. Enjoy!

Wiley- Summertime (Crookers remix) (zshare)

Switch- this is sick (zshare)

Laidback luke Ft. A-trak- Shake it down (zshare)

Eric Prydz- Pjanoo (zshare)

Bloc Party- Two more Years (MSTRKRFT remix) (zshare)

Lucky had barely caught his breath before the little fucking shit stain went back into his cheek with the pliers. It felt like he was pouring molten lava into his face. What's worse, the kid had rigged the penlight around his head like a coal miner and no amount of screaming prevented him from getting lost in his work. There was also no telling how badly he was being butchered. Only that the kid had been adding screw after screw, and with each one, looking more unconvinced. It was like he was fixing on a model airplane without the instructions. Would someone please tell this sawed-off fucknut what he was really up to?

"Crap...it's worse than I thought," sighed Ken Jr.

"Jesus, kid, just quit at it. Okay? I need a real doctor, now."

"I told you I'm not a doctor. I'm an engineer."

Lucky'd had enough. "Engineers drive trains, you stupid moron!"

The quip broke Ken Jr.'s concentration, and he looked lucky in the eye. Them holes seem to be driven back through his skull and into outer space. The evil, Lucky thought, was nothing like he'd ever experienced in his life. How the fuck did he get here, again? He'd give his boots and all the change in his pocket to be back at his old man's garage. He'd straighten up, too. No more stealing. Fixing cars was honest work, and he was just getting handsome. Shit, life's a scorpion's tail.

He watched Ken Jr. walk away and root around in a bucket. It sounded like he'd put the Tin Man through a chipper and collected what was left.

"Hey, kid...you know...I used to work on cars. Engines, brakes, electrical –– the whole nine." The kid stopped what he was doing and looked to be lending an ear. "Yeah, all kinds, too. Once...once we had this souped-up chopper roll in. It had one wheel in the front––"

"Duh."

"Right, but the cool part was that he had it rigged up to a sofa."

"A sofa?"

"A sofa! Purple velvet uphosiery, ornape woodwork and such. I mean, it was a sight."

"How'd they keep the sofa from catching fire?"

"The engine was all epoxied over and inserted under the cushions with enough room for air to cool it. And then on either side he had these two big tractor-trailer tires. The exhaust pipes stuck out the back like chromium cannons. Must've been thirty of 'em."

"Thirty?"

"At least. I'm telling you, you ain't never seen nothing like it. Roared like a T-Rex and ran like a Rolls. Spotless, too. Like fine china." Lucky could feel that some of the blood had already caked down his face. He'd stopped bleeding, thank fuck. His vision had sharpened, too. Best of all, his gab was coming back.

"You said it was epoxied?" asked Ken Jr.

"Yep. All over."

"Like a circuit board in a radio...what they use to keep everything together and in one place."

"Umm...sure, I guess. It's plastic, I think. But it don't burn easy."

"Right."

He saw the kid thinking. Normally that was a good sign. Only, this kid thinking on his own was not a good sign at all. The silence started in on his nerves.

"What?" cracked Lucky. "What's the matter?" He was just about to talk him into looking around for some junk to trick out. What the hell was he up to?

"I gotta look for something," answerd Ken Jr. "It should only take a second."

"Wait, wait...let me up and I'll help. I promise. One engineer to another. I'll help you find whatever you're looking for. Four eyes is twice as good as two in a place like this."

"That's okay. I know where it is," said Ken Jr. "I think I saw it in the van."

"What? What's in the van?"

"Bondo. You just gave me a great idea."

And with that, he ran off. Lucky could see the light dancing like a crazed firefly as it weaved in and out of that mazy mess of a house. The kid had an idea, alright. He was going to put car body putty in Lucky's face.

And when he did it, Lucky tried to imagine what was hotter than lava. All he could think about was the sun, and how he wished he could see it.

Delilah pulled on Jaspers tourniquet until he told her to stop. He kept complaining of being short of breath, and every once in awhile he would whisper something about grass. It sounded like he was starting to hallucinate from loss of blood and dehydration. If she could find some water, she may be able to bring him around again. If not, he might do something stupid and they'd both end up like Lucky.

She'd heard the loverboy's screams. They'd echoed off the weird angles in the walls and shook the cheap glass baubles that hung from a nearby lampshade. She was afraid that would give her and Jasper away, but them people had just stopped a second, whispered amongst themselves, and kept going. Jasper nearly yelled back when he heard Lucky, and she had to place her hand over his mouth. As much as she was taking to him, she still had to consider the possibility of taking him out. It wouldn't be easy, but he was weak and she would only have to ask nicely for the knife. She still had her head, and more importantly, the presence of mind to preserve it.

She was 99% positive they were alone in the room, and about 50% positive as to the way they came in. If they could retrace their steps, they might be able to get back to the den. If she was right, there was a kitchen right next to it. And where there was a kitchen, there was a sink with a water spout, and most likely a kitchen window. If she could get Jasper hydrated enough to get through it, he could beat them a path to the car. He'd have to hurry, though. Because once she was through with the den, there'd be more than just a family of blood-thirsty freaks licking at their heels. The heat would most definitely be on.

Just before she meant to pull Jasper up and out of their hiding place, Lucky passed through her mind. Wherever he was, in order for that kid to do whatever he was doing to him most likely meant that he was trapped. That must have been the worst part, for him. When she first saw him in her store she thought he was kind of sexy in a leering, perverted uncle kind of way. She could tell he was vain, and had used it against him right from the start. Still, the few hours she spent with him driving up to Hellhole weren't all that bad, in relative terms. He knew what lay behind the mask and yet she could practically taste the testosterone bubbling off the surface of his skin every time she sent a whiff in his direction. He really thought he might get some, she could tell. His dick, like every dick she ever met, fooled him into thinking it was he and not the pussy who was in control. That man was all on the surface like any one of them fiberglass monstrosities they passed along the road. Which meant that –– if those gurgling wails were any indication –– what she was planning to do was really doing him a huge favor.

And with a heavy tug, she got Jasper to his feet.

Right away he knocked over a stack of serving trays.

Now they would have to run.

La fortuna ha voluto che ho quasi sempre a portata di chat Giorgio Zarrelli e che dopo averle tentate tutte mi abbia acceso una luce con delle semplici istruzioni passate da un sistemista Cisco suo amico.

Grazie ancora a te Giorgio ed al tuo amico , vi devo quantomeno una bella birra ghiacciata :)

PS : mi sono fatto due appunti due , come al solito pseudotecnici e caotici , che possono essere recuperati qui.

Todo resultado dependera basicamente de dos variables: topología de red [1] y uso de hub [2] o switch [3].

Esta información es válida para cualquier sniffer de los ampliamente difundidos: Ethereal, Wireshark, TCPdump, etc...

Posición del sniffer en una red no conmutada (uso exclusivo de HUB)

Este es el modelo más básico de red, varios pc a un hub central. En este caso, posicionando el sniffer en cualquier boca del hub, con una tarjeta en modo promiscuo, obtendremos acceso a todo el tráfico de la red.

Esto se debe a que en un hub todos los paquetes son transmitidos a todos los hosts conectados dentro del mismo segmento de red. Se divide el ancho de banda entre cada host de la red, ademas, se transmiten los paquetes a la velocidad del dispositivo más lento del segmento. Se producen colisiones que derivan en una red más lenta ya que requiere de la existencia de retransmisiones de paquetes.

Posición del sniffer en una red conmutada (uso de SWITCH)

En el modelo de red utilizando un switch, cada host conectado a este recibe solo el trafico a el dirigido (unicast) y el broadcast/multicast. El tráfico dirigido a otros host NO le llega. No divide el ancho de banda, es decir, explicando por encima, que cada puerto es capaz de transmitir a un máximo de velocidad dedicada (en un switch de 100mbps, este sería el tope ideal por puerto) lo que lo hace más eficiente que una red no conmutada.

Sin embargo, de conectar el sniffer a un puerto del switch, solo veremos tráfico dirigido al host que aloja al sniffer ademas del tráfico broadcast/multicast tal como ARP.

Posibles caminos a seguir ante una red con switch:

Opción 1

Una posibilidad es utilizar Arp Poison [4] aunque no se aconseja en lo más mínimo debido a que puede crear inestabilidad y/o causar otros problemas.

Opción 2

Es posible colocar el sniffer en el gateway [5] de salida o en un host firewall [6] con varias tarjetas, esto permitiria indicar cual es la interface que nos interesa olfatear. Esto permitira ver más trafico ademas del de broadcast/multicast.

Sin embargo para ver el tráfico, especialmente entre dos hosts hay formas más eficaces.

Opción 3

Podemos aprovechar opciones como la de SPAN o Port Mirroring de los switches modernos administrables, básicamente esta modalidad copia el tráfico de dos puertos a un tercero, en el cual ubicariamos el sniffer.

Sin embargo esto implica una gran carga de procesamiento para el switch, lo que en una red en producción, con gran carga de tráfico se vuelva una opción no del todo aceptable.

Opción 4

Si estamos interceptando el tráfico entre dos hosts a traves de un switch antiguo y/o no administrable, o que simplemente no soporte Port Mirroring deberemos considerar el conectar un hub al switch donde dejaremos uno de los host a sniffear. En este hub conectaremos, en un puerto el otro host a sniffear y el sniffer propiamente dicho.

Esto permitira el ver todo el tráfico entre ambos host ademas del tráfico de broadcast/multicast.

Sin embargo esta opción puede dar problemas y no es aconsejable.

Opción 5

Otra opción, considerada de naturaleza pasiva, sería equipar al host sniffer con dos tarjetas de red, una de ellas conectada al switch que aloja a uno de los host a sniffear y otra que se conecta al otro host a sniffear. Sin embargo requiere que el host sniffer este configurado en modo Bridge [7].

Opción 6

Esta opción, es quiza la calificable como SOLUCIÓN, es quiza la más eficiente y aconsejable, aunque a veces la más costosa y quiza incomoda. Consiste en hacer uso de un TAP [8] o "Test Access Port" (Puerto de Acceso de Pruebas). Este dispositivo permite la captura de tráfico de una red conmutada en modalidad pasiva, es decir, no interfiere en el flujo o tráfico de nuestra red.

Bien, sin embargo, antes de despedirme, les recuerdo que la captura de paquetes en una red privada no es siempre considerada legal o dentro de la reglamentación de la empresa que la administra, antes de conectar un sniffer informense y soliciten las autorizaciones necesarias.

Links:

[0] - Sniffer - Wikipedia (ES)
[1] - Topología de red - Wikipedia (ES)
[2] - Hub - Wikipedia (ES)
[3] - Switch - Wikipedia (ES)
[4] - Arp Poison - Wikipedia (ES)
[5] - Gateway - Wikipedia (ES)
[6] - Firewall - Wikipedia (ES)
[7] - Bridge - Wikipedia (ES)
[8] - TAP - Link1 - Link2 - Link3

mapacheUY

Any frequent visitor of 2DB will realize that myself and Meka support Coney Island's Torae to the fullest. Dude has put in work over the years! If you're still in the dark, allow him to re-introduce himself. With that being said, Torae & Shake thought it would be dope to collab on something...

Okay people here it is. I get an overwhelming amount of inquires on myspace about beat submission. So me and the good fellas at 2DB came up with something for all you aspiring producers. I'm going to be releasing my new video for "Switch" in the next few weeks as well as a digital 12" and you're going to be on it. All you have to do is download the a capella version and do what you do best. The contest will be judged by 2DB, myself and all the sites lovely visitors. The winner will receive placement on the "Switch" digital 12" which will be available on iTunes, amazon and every other digital music outlet. Make it creative, make it original and make it dope...2 Dope. - Torae

All submissions please send to switch.remix[at]gmail[dot]com. Due date is September 9th and please remember to include your producer/DJ name with the mp3. Good luck and bring some originality!

DOWNLOAD: Torae - Switch (A capella)

Okay, that’s a big fat lie!

So, I’m not the most optimistic person in the world, but I shouldn’t be so fuming about this whole thing.

Really, if he’s seeing someone else shame on him! I’m so worth it.

Shame on her too, cause eventually I think he ran into her because she was way easier than me. But I’m not here to talk shit about her, thought it would be comforting.

What makes me really angry is that I don’t know why in hell he chose to be with her not me. He was so into me, can you explain me what the fuck?

And I don’t want to wait, oh fuck. Why people around me have to be so optimistic? Like saying that her boyfriend was involved with five other girls – yes, at the same time – before her.

Is not that I’m in love, is merely as Emilie Autumn said: “I just wanted a hand to pour my heart into.”

The fact is: I want to be special, but I don’t believe myself as special.

What do I do?

Singing really loud,
~Vanny

Ps: Misery Loves Company by Emilie Autumn is THE theme song, ever.

The Cisco Discovery Protocol (CDP) sure looks simple enough, but there are quite a few details to know for success on the CCNA exam. In your CCNP studies, you'll be introduced to additional uses for CDP, but for now it's enough to know that CDP is designed to give you information regarding directly connected Cisco routers and switches.

CDP runs by default between all directly connected Cisco devices. CDP is also a Cisco-proprietary protocol - if the directly connected device is not a Cisco device, you won't see the information you wanted.

The basic CDP command to display information about the directly connected neighbor is "show cdp neighbor".

R2#show cdp neighbor

Capability Codes: R - Router, T - Trans Bridge, B - Source Route Bridge

S - Switch, H - Host, I - IGMP, r – Repeater

Device ID Local Intrfce Holdtme Capability Platform Port ID

R1 BRI0 167 R 2521 Dialer1

This command is particularly helpful when troubleshooting Cisco switches. There’s no need to trace wiring in a rack of Cisco devices to see what routers are connected to a Cisco switch when show cdp neighbor can be used. In the above output, you can see the remote device's hostname, what interface on the remote device is connected to the local device, the capability of the remote device, the remote device’s hardware platform, and the local interface that is connected to the remote device.

CDP can be disabled at both the global and interface level. To disable CDP at the interface level, run no cdp enable on the interface, and cdp enable to turn it back on.

cdp timer defines how often CDP packets are transmitted, and cdp holdtime defines how long a device will hold a received packet.

To turn CDP off for the entire router, run no cdp run. To view the current global status of CDP, run show cdp.

R2#show cdp

Global CDP information:

Sending CDP packets every 60 seconds

Sending a holdtime value of 180 seconds

CDP is running by default.

R2#conf t

R2(config)#cdp timer 45

R2(config)#cdp holdtime 100

The CDP timers are changed.

R2#show cdp

Global CDP information:

Sending CDP packets every 45 seconds

Sending a holdtime value of 100 seconds

The CDP values have been successfully changed. “show cdp interface” will give the timer information for each interface on the router.

R2#conf t

R2(config)#interface bri0

R2(config-if)#no cdp enable

CDP is disabled on the BRI interface. This does NOT have to be done to keep the line from dialing.

R2#conf t

R2(config)#no cdp run

CDP is disabled globally.

R2#show cdp

% CDP is not enabled

CDP has been successfully disabled.

Show cdp neighbor gives you a great deal of information, but what if you need the neighbor’s IP address? Just run show cdp neighbor detail. You will get even more information about that directly connected neighbor, including its IP address.

SW2#show cdp neighbor detail

-------------------------

Device ID: R4

Entry address(es):

IP address: 172.12.23.4

Platform: cisco 2520, Capabilities: Router

Interface: FastEthernet0/4, Port ID (outgoing port): Ethernet0

Holdtime : 158 sec

The details of CDP are important to you on the job and in the CCNA exam room. When you find yourself negotiating a badly documented network, you can use CDP to "walk" through the network and create a network map for your client as well. Sometimes the simplest protocols are the most helpful!

Chris Bryant, CCIE #12933, is the owner of The Bryant Advantage, home of over 100 free certification exam tutorials, including Cisco CCNA certification test prep articles. His exclusive Cisco CCNA study guide and Cisco CCNA training is also available!

Visit his blog and sign up for Cisco Certification Central, a daily newsletter packed with CCNA, Network+, Security+, A+, and CCNP certification exam practice questions! A free 7-part course, "How To Pass The CCNA", is also available, and you can attend an in-person or online CCNA boot camp with The Bryant Advantage!

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/?expert=Chris_Bryant [http://ezinearticles.com/?Cisco-CCNA-Exam-Tutorial:--Cisco-Discovery-Protocol-(CDP)&id=173606 ]http://EzineArticles.com/?Cisco-CCNA-Exam-Tutorial:--Cisco-Discovery-Protocol-(CDP)&id=173606

A primera vista el cable USB que ha lanzado Iogear me ha confundido. Pensaba que era uno de esos cables que se pusieron a la venta tras el lanzamiento de Vista para transferir ficheros entre ordenadores, pero el Iogear KVM Switch es, como su propio nombre indica, un KVM.

Estos dispositivos nos permiten compartir teclado, ratón y pantalla entre diversos ordenadores, seleccionando cual queremos usar en cada momento. Pero, habitualmente, su uso es algo tedioso, ya que debemos conectar todos los periféricos al KVM y de este echar cables a cada ordenador, pero este modelo lo soluciona usando solo un cable USB. A cambio, eso sí, solo sirve para dos ordenadores.

El Iogear KVM Switch nos permite controlar un ordenador desde otro, mediante el software que incorpora. La idea es utilizarlo con nuestro ordenador de sobremesa y con nuestro portátil, pudiendo, además copiar ficheros entre ambos ordenadores simplemente arrastrándolos a la opción correspondiente.

Adicionalmente, podremos compartir dispositivos USB externos entre los dos ordenadores gracias al conector que incorpora en el cable. Una solución cómoda pero con un precio excesivo, 130 dólares, cuando podemos conseguir algo muy similar utilizando algún software de VNC y a través de la red, incluso inalámbrica, sin necesidad de cables.

No matter how many times the kid explained it, it still didn't make no sense. Neither did the sight of that little nigger statue stood up near the table he was strapped down on. First thing he saw when he come to was the last thing he saw before he went out: those wide, milky eyes staring at him out of that shiny, chocolate brown face. He thought his vision had been knocked inside out like one of them picture negatives. Then the kid said it was a "lawn" jockey. Said something about George fucking Washington, a surprise attack and some frozen nigger who died holding a lamp so they he could find his way home. Then he went on about how the first thirteen winners of the Kentucky Derby was black but by that time, Lucky's head really started throbbing. Lawn jockey? Shit, this was some kind of bad fucking joke, believe it.

They was surrounded by three or four oil lamps, after a quick count. The kid held up a broken mirror – one he said the bullet got instead of him – and showed Lucky his swelled up face. Luckily nothing serious was broke when Jocko decked him, but his cheekbone was shattered and real tender to the touch. The kid showed him that, too. Little bastard. He said, "I could try and fix that, Mister. I've got a few loose screws." Then he laughed. It was a low, oily laugh.

"Fuck you," Lucky barked. He tried to make himself like a dog in the street, threatening to bite anyone who dared come too close. But the kid just laughed some more and went back to playing with his box of tools. Every once and awhile he'd shine that penlight into Lucky's eyes and then use it to inspect the wound.

Lucky was dumb enough to ask, "What the fuck you think you are...some kind of doctor?"

The kid replied, "No. I'm not interested in medicine."

"So what the fuck are you interested in?" He tried to sit up again out of habit, and again his vision went white and slammed his head back down.

"I told you," he said, like he was getting impatient. "Reverse engineering. My old man builds stuff and I want to learn how to rebuild it and make it better. Follow in his footsteps, kind of. Show him he can be proud of me."

"Can't imagine anybody being proud of no kid who'd tie down a man after knocking him out with a nigger statue," Lucky protested. The pain was pissing him off.

"I told you that, too," corrected Ken Jr. "His name is Jocko. Jocko Graves. And he was a hero. His lamp shone bright in the dark and he helped George Washington defeat those who wanted to come in and take over. You heard of the British, right?"

"You mean like the Beatles?" asked Lucky.

Ken Jr. didn't answer. Instead, he removed a pair of needle-nose pliers from his tool box and used the penlight to better see Lucky's busted up face.

"You know...I think I can fix that for you," he said. "But you'll have to hold really still. Otherwise, the screws might not go in right and I'll have to take them out and start again." He used the point of the pliers to move around the broken pieces of Lucky's cheekbone.

Lucky screamed and tried to turn his head, but Ken Jr. held it in place.

"Don't you fucking come near me with them things!" screamed Lucky, his eyes wider than Jocko's. "You do, I swear I'll fucking take you apart."

"Take you apart...," Ken Jr. thought for a moment. "...now that's what I'm talking about."

He placed the penlight between his teeth and grabbed a serrated kitchen knife from off the table. He returned the pliers to Lucky's cheek and looked at him.

"I got my dad's gun back, man," he said. "Don't make me put you down."

Delilah watched as her pursuers drew closer. Why didn't they just go and hide and let them leave. It was pretty obvious that they had given up on their original plan. You don't chase the people that were torturing you once you managed by some miracle to get free. And you for sure didn't do it in your underwear.

They had her gun. Fuckers. There were two shells maximum in the chamber. Normally, dipshit families like this one were easy to confuse. And at first, they had been. Like sheep they had waddled into the web and were wrapped up tight like helpless little houseflies. Then something had happened. She refused to accept that it had anything to do with that nonsense they were mumbling. Yet, she couldn't deny that she had experienced a palpable shift in reality. And it wasn't just her who had felt it. Lucky all but flaked to queer dust, and Jasper...he'd been a little clumsy, is all. Maybe. But she clearly remembered the air getting thicker than a Virginia country ham, and just as suddenly, her vision went all fucking bifocal. What's worse, the prescription had been for someone else – someone old and weak. Someone about to get hogtied by a family of spastics in Fruit of the Loom elastics.

It felt good to have Jasper near her, holding her. He really did have a sweet bone or two in him, and it surprised her how much she responded to it. She had written off romance long ago. The more she thought about it, the more she thought she had never had any use for it to begin with. In any other circumstance, his hulking presence would have been a huge asset. But he was hurt and still bleeding out. And if her better senses hadn't completely vacated her, he was just as scared as she was.

They passed. Thank fuck. She had held her breath and stayed as still as stone but Jasper hadn't. He was too weak and possibly too much in shock to manage. Prison: the place makes you hard, but it also makes you vulnerable in ways he probably didn't expect. Having someone tell you what to do and provide for you three squares a day may not be the best training for thinking on your feet in a real combat situation. She would have to lead them both, and she would have to do it fast. Because as deceptively big as the house was, it wasn't infinite. And something about these folks, something she hadn't seen ahead of time, made her think they'd smell the both of them before long.

She would make her move soon. And it was going to be a big one.

Även FöretagsService i Sandared har haft fullt upp under sommaren. (Här ryktas om en omprofilering av bolagets hemsida under hösten)

N&H

Ho da poco completato e pubblicato il capitolo 6 della mia guida al c che riguarda le istruzioni iterative. Come per i precedenti capitoli,trovate l'indice degli argomenti nella sezione " Guida al C " e troverete l'indice degli argomenti con i relativi link attivi ai pdf disponibili.

Questo capitolo è molto importante per comprendere i loop e i cicli. Come sempre la guida è molto semplice,schematizzata e seguita da alcuni esempi.

Per suggerimenti,migliorie,critiche,errori ed altro,naturalmente contattatemi o lasciate un commento ;)

PS: mi raccomando,vi aspetto anche sul forum ;)

This is a USB device that easily plugs into your computer and hides under your desk.  Just tap on it to switch screens.  Possibly not boss approved.  You've been warned.

Website: StealthSwitch
[Product Page]

Ohmigod, I think I'm a sub.

I DO still enjoy topping and being in control of everything. However, given some of my more.. ahem.. violent fantasies... I think I might be destined for the bottom... with the right person, anyhow. The man I'm with now is pretty dominate, yet he seems to enjoy putting ME on top. With my female lovers, I was usually the aggressor. Until I met Z.

I turned into a blushing, love struck maiden around Z. She was butch, and so very in control of things. I met her at work. She'd always smile and tell me how pretty I looked that day, which sent me into an instant tizzy. I found myself following her to the bathroom. After the 3rd or 4th time, when I got to the bathroom, she was waiting for me.

Z: Funny us meeting here like this all the time.
Me: *gulp* Yeah, ain't it?
Z: *walking over to me* I think you're following me.
Me: *gulp* Foll-? No. Of course not.
Z: You know, you really are pretty.
Me: *stammering* Th-th-thank you. Ahem. *blushing* Um, can I ask you something? Are you -? Are you-?
Z: Do I like women? Yes, I do. And I like you.
Me: *gulp, gulp* Oh. Really? Well, if you called me sometime, I wouldn't mind.
Z: I wanna do more than just call.....

Not too long after, I got transferred to another job. She continued to call me, and one day asked if she could come over for her lunch break. I told her yes, and gave her the directions. I has been cooking anyway, so I sat out 2 plates, and then went into a frenzy speed-cleaning my apartment.

From here, it gets fuzzy. I know she came over at least twice. And I know different things happened on each visit. But for the life of me, I can't remember which visit is which. I'm not entirely sure if I fed her the first time she came over or the second. I know the first time, we only kissed, and the second time, we had sex.

I think I'm gonna stop here. The memories are stirring up.. feelings.. that I haven't felt in a while. Must be overdue for a "release."

Delilah had been there for it, and she never once laughed or yelled or nothing. She took her eye off of what she was up to and went straight to him. Then she rubbed on him and tried her best to make it better. It was like, no matter what was going on or how much fun she was missing, none of it was as important as how he felt. It was nice. He could smell her as she crouched near his head. He could smell her pussy. It was like fresh cut grass and apple pie and a good steak and mother's milk all rolled into one. He never had a ma (she'd moved on, Dad said, and he never asked again), so to him, he didn't know it might be sick to say so. He only had a dad. Nicest motherfucker ever to take a sweet breath on this planet or any other. That's why he thought of the grass first.

Bill Dix (no middle name) worked every single day from his 13th birthday (he went by "Billy" then). It wasn't because his family needed money or he was some kind of Eagle scout or nothing. He just loved grass. Not the smoking kind, but the kind that grew out front of a house and sometimes up in the back if there wasn't too much sand and you had some topsoil left over. He liked how it smelled, he used to say, and all the different textures and kinds. He even liked crabgrass. He said it was tough, and wouldn't never vacate the earth to leave her naked where the sun could kill her. A man's lawn was his first line of defense against the devil, he said. And it made the street pretty just the same as the houses that lined it. It kept wildlife close by, and when you had a sprinkler on, it would sometimes bring a rainbow right to your front door. He said nowhere in the world was worth living that didn't have a nice front yard and a few bushes to set if off. Flowers he could take or leave, but grass...grass was the very glue that kept America together as the greatest country on the world.

So by the time he was in his late teens he was cutting everybody's grass and planting all of their shrubs. And as the neighborhood grew, so did his business. Everybody thought of him first cause he'd done it forever and tomorrow, and that was just the way it was. And grass don't take time off, so he'd do a few lawns every day depending on who needed it, and they paid him straight after. Cash. He didn't need much, and he always told Jasper when he was old enough to help with the hoses that what he was watering was green cause it was all the money in the world. He said, "Look there, Jasper. That ain't a yard that's Fort Knox." Didn't even matter that Jasper didn't know what fort he was talking about. Only mattered that it made him happy and that they could load up the truck and get to another race and to pizza after. He said his son would carry on the business one day, and that made him proud. Jasper knew it inside out and thought about one day making a race track with hedges carved into the funny shapes of all the bugs he'd seen (he'd gotten good with the trimmers). He'd call it Bill's Green Heaven, after his dad and his grass and all they did for him.

He would tell Delilah this when he got a chance. Right now, she was looking for the window they came in through, but the house seemed to grow a little since they got there. It didn't look like a regular house anymore. All the windows were too high to reach, and there were lots and lots of doors. But each one they went in seemed to lead away from the outside. Everything seemed to be a way in somewhere. It was like they were marbles spinning around inside a funnel, gathering speed towards the hole. Hellhole. Sure was living up to its name. Motherfucking soap.

He stopped her, and stood on one leg. With his free hand he grabbed her other one where she held the knife. He said, "Let's rest awhile. They ain't gonna find us. Hell, we can't find us. Let's rest."

She said, "Yeah...okay."

And so they sat on the floor and inched back into a hollow of some sort, all hunched up close like two peas in a pod. Might have been a table. And he didn't let go of her hand. And she didn't let go of his. It wasn't the worst time he'd ever had, even if they were either hiding or lying in wait – he wasn't sure which. At least they weren't boiling alive anymore. Things had cooled, and he thought about a drink.

Which was a mistake. Now he was back on it. He shouldn't have never given him that last beer. If he hadn't, maybe he wouldn't have falled asleep. Maybe they'd still be there, in that house, watching TV and eating pretzels, surrounded by all of Jasper's racing trophies, talking about how he could ride the fuck out of a BMX bike. If he hadn't gave him that last fucking Bud, maybe the fire wouldn't have fell from his hand and melted all of their dreams away. They saw that fire all the way across town and into the next, according to the nuns at the home. They felt bad, they said. Not bad enough, though. He'd like to help show them how bad they should feel. At the time they were the only things on earth he hated more than himself. Now, he just hated everything.

Except Delilah. No matter how hard he tried to cover himself up, she saw past it. She saw past all the years. He could feel it. They'd make a plan to get out, then another to keep going. Didn't even matter that she had no face. Either did he, when you thought about it. It'd be the first real plans he'd made since it all went up in smoke.

Speaking of smoke, Jasper smelled a bitter one. He looked up and coming to them were three candles...nope, they weren't candles. Too much glass. They were lamps like the one that fucking bitch had and the ones at the hardware store back home – home home – or what used to be home home. They weaved from side to side in a pattern like drowsy UFOs. Every time they did they would show something that was in the room by its shadow. The place was so big, with high walls that caught the stretch of shapes. It was like a barn, with stuff in it of all kinds, like a barn. Or a store. One of them that sold old things. Things with memories that would drift away until it was just a thing again. A thing with nothing left to lose.

Between thinking on how he was going to gut the fucking family that somehow threatened him and Delilah, Jasper remembered how he sprayed that fucking hose until it melted in his little boy hands. When they brought him back the next day, they wouldn't even let him out of the car. And all he could see through his singed eyelashes was a small patch of grass that quickly turned to mud.

Gizmodo reports that one-click functionality to enable and disable the built-in application blacklist functionality has now been built into the latest BossPrefs package, available on third-party installation system Cydia.

It's not all plain sailing, however: because Cydia – and, by extension, BossPrefs – is not an Apple-approved application, you can only run the tool on a jailbroken iPhone. If you were hoping for a way to prevent an iPhone running the standard software checking in with Apple for applications to be blacklisted, you'll have to wait a while longer.

BossPrefs isn't the only way to disable the blacklist functionality, either – although it is the easiest. An alternative, which again requires a jailbroken unit, is to convince the unit that the domain from which the blacklist is downloaded is a loopback address by editing the /etc/hosts file – although this is for the more technically minded only. Much easier to just install BossPrefs and hit the 'neuter' button.

Whether or not you agree with the intent behind the hidden blacklist, it is a cause for concern that the functionality can be disabled so easily – and transparently – by third-party software.

Will you be using BossPrefs to prevent Apple fiddling with your 'phone apps from afar, or does the functionality not bother you enough to want to disable it? Share your thoughts over in the forums.

Ken pulled away breathlessly and said, "Honey...about what I said earlier...on the stairs––"

Barbara grabbed his hand and squeezed her breast with it. "Later," she ordered.

"Okay," he said.

They kissed again, their hands covering every inch of bared skin between them. Ken's gun by birth achieved full girth. They were a bloody, gorgeous mess.

"What, now?" growled Amanda, having finished her countdown. "I've still got some what wilt to do."

Barbara thought for a second and then something in the fire caught her eye . The map remained open atop the burning wood, and had yet to begin to burn. But something else had sparked her interest. She glided over to the fireplace and looked in closer. There appeared to be something very tiny and alive walking across the stitched detail, but she couldn't make out what it was. Then she noticed that it wasn't just one tiny thing, but several tiny things, crawling from place to place as if looking for a stitch by which to escape. With her husband and daughter looking on, she reached her hand into the flames and grabbed hold of the needlepoint. With a careful motion suggesting the withdraw of eggs from a nest she removed it from the crackling pile. The action caused her neither pain, nor damage. She placed it on the table where it smoked a bit, still in perfect condition. Only the "bugs" or whatever they were continued to mark its face.

Amanda came closer and followed them with her finger. "What are they?"

"I don't know," answered Barbara. "They seem to be...shadows, of some kind."

Ken placed his hand on the small of Barbara's back and said, "It's them. It's those bastards. They came in here to torture, rape and kill us and now they're looking for a way out."

Barbara immediately saw that he was right, and a toothy grin of delight spread across her soft, round face.

"We mustn't let them get away," she said, her voice a pleasant shrill. "It wouldn't be right."

Amanda gasped. "So, can I..."

Barbara looked to her husband with a loving and lustful glare.

"Darling?"

He snorted and pulled the gun from his pants. "Grab the map, the lamps and let's go. Stick close, and keep a lookout for Ken Jr. If he's anything like his old man, he's due a good at bat," he cocked the gun, loading a shell into the chamber, "and damn it, I'd like to be there."

Lucky stubbed his toe for the third time, and shot into the floor. Stupid. He hadn't even checked how many of the chambers were loaded, and for all he knew he might've blown his last chance to end this meddling bullshit right quick. It was too dark to check, and digging out his teeny weeny flashlight from deep inside one of his pockets was too much work at the moment. Fucking kids.

He could still use the light from the room he just came from, and it got him to wondering just how big the house was. He had kept going straight since he left them, and as far as he could tell he was still in the same room. One thing about the dark settled his nerves a bit: the weird shapes things was taking was no longer a problem. What the hell was that, exactly? Most likely it was the meth playing tricks on the part of his brain that was cattle prodded into excitement by the events. Dammit, things was just getting interesting. And how the fu––

He heard a noise; like the sound of a door creaking open. Aww, shit. That little fucker was tucked away somewhere in that room and he was going to have to go feeling around for him. He had a gun, and about 100 pounds on the little freak, so why the hell was he scared? He tried not to think of those eyes, but the more one tries not to think of something the effect is the opposite. The idea of them watching him made it hard to breathe. And now he imagined himself sinking underwater, further and further into the blackness, vulnerable to the vicious eating machine who's eyes had earlier been brought to mind.

"Listen, you little bastard––" he stopped himself. Maybe some good ol' southern sugar was in order here. Like that one time he was backed into a fence by them three senoritas. He'd paid them in play money, fixin' to high-tail it once he stepped outside the front door, before they'd had a good look. Somewhere in the intercoils of passion, he'd forgotten all about that goddamn fence.

"Listen, boy...we're in something of a stalemate here, so why don't you and I just sit down and figure this out? We was just playin' in there, and sure...things got a little rough. You know how that is, don't you?"

There was another sound, like something heavy being drug along the floor. He thought of turning back, but he wasn't about to tell the D he'd been spooked by some furniture.

"I'm sure you accidentally crossed the line once or twice and felt bad. So what did you do? You said you were sorry, I'm sure. Well, Phineas Phrederick Christopher Lawn ain't above that. Ain't none of them back there above it, neither, believe it." There it was again –– dragging. But it weren't no furniture. He stopped and pointed the gun to where he thought it was coming from.

Then he had a thought. There was a definite reason he didn't go digging for his flashlight, he just failed to identify it correctly at the time. In a moment of highly regrettable subconscious irony, he'd hung his penlight onto the wall switch in the den at the same time he put down his pick. He was too anxious to get his hands back on the girl, and in his haste freeing them he'd effectively handicapped himself. He was often amused by how the sleepy side of his brain worked, and then there were times when it downright horrified him. Now, he hoped, wouldn't be one of those times.

Click. It was like someone had scooped up a handful of sun and thrown it in his eyes and then it was gone. He fired towards the flash and heard the bullet hit some glass. His flash blindness gave way to a painful peripheral vision, and in it he saw something flying towards his face. It also had a face. A small one with crazy, white eyes. And a hat?

An incredibly hot pain across the left side of his face cut short their introduction.

Viele sicher auch das Revival Switch Reloaded.

Für die, die es nicht kennen: Bei Switch (Reloaded) werden durch bekannte Kabarettisten wie Bernhard Hoecker (mit e Doppelpunkt, ich weiss, aber ich hab das nicht auf der Tastatur :D) bekannte Sendungen des deutschen Fernsehens verarscht.

Heute waren es unter anderem Stern TV mit einem Bericht über einen armen 42jährigen, der ein hartes Schicksal hat: Er bekam nach 7 Jahren wieder Arbeit.

Und mit Stefan Raab und seinen Versuchen, ein gutes Stand-Up hinzukriegen. Ohne Witz... also so wie er :D

Oder auch Lichter und Laffer, das A-Team der Küchenchefs, die als Gäste ausgerechnet Netzer und Delling (ja, den gibts noch, auch wenn die BILD ihn vergessen hat) haben.

Nicht zu vergessen: Die Super-Nanny mit dem schwierigen Fall einer hochbegabten 20jährigen, die nach 1,0er Abitur und Superpraktika nicht bei DSDS auftreten will, sondern statt dessen ihr Leben durch ein Studium der Europapolitik in Brüssel vernichten möchte.

Schön auch die Top 5 der blödesten Poesie-Albumsprüche...

Das Schlimme an dieser Sendung ist ja: Zumindest bei den meisten Persiflagen kriegt man das Dauergefühl: Also wenn da jetzt nicht der Hoecker stehen würde, sondern der Netzer, und neben ihm nicht der Müller, sondern der Laffer: Die Sendung würde GENAUSO ablaufen...

Georg meinte vorhin im ICQ: Die ersten 4 Folgen sind meist gut, die nächsten nicht.

Das ist aber auch klar: Nach 4 Wochen hat das Fernsehen sich ja wieder genug selbst verarscht (bei 45 deutschen Kanälen sind 2 "verunglückte Folgen" von Stern TV, Laffer und Lichter, den Tagesthemen, RTL Big Brother und was es sonst noch alles selbstproduziertes im Fernsehen gibt pro Tag schon durch die Wahrscheinlichkeitsrechnung Pflicht!), dass man nicht mehr Switch bräuchte, sondern einfach diese Sendungen abspielen müsste.

Und das wäre dann echt Switch Revolutions: Nicht mehr die Comedians spielen ihre Vorbilder, nein, die Vorbilder treten (freiwillig und auch unfreiwillig) in Cameo-Auftritten auf :D

Dann bräuchte man sich auch keine Gedanken darüber machen, dass nach 4 Folgen die Lacherdichte stark abnimmt: Bis dahin wäre entweder die Sendung abgesetzt oder das deutsche "Unterhaltungsprogramm" untergegangen.

Ich befürchte nur eines: Die Wahrscheinlichkeit, dass die Sendung am Ende nicht abgesetzt wird, aber die Sender dennoch den Müll wie gehabt weitersenden, ist höher als das Eintreten einer der obigen Möglichkeiten.

p.s. Ja, ich kenne auch Kalkofe. Der Unterschied wäre ja: Wir sparen uns den übergewichtigen Kommentator, der versucht, es noch zu übertreiben ;) es geht darum: Wir lassen die Stars das selbst spielen, was sonst Hoecker und Co. gespielt haben ;)

19 Euro hat das schicke Teil gekostet.

Komischerweise _überhaupt keine_ Probleme. Untypisch für mich ;)

Ausgepackt, angeschlossen, geht.

Wordpress seems pretty nice. I kinda like the google integration of services with blogger though.

This app (iPhone app I'm writing from) may have just convinced me to switch. It's actually pretty nice. It's taken no time to figure out.

We'll see... Maybe I'll be joining the wordpress ranks.

There was a time in her life when her own family looked at her in that way: examining, removed, clinical. Her father had been a famous surgeon before his stroke, and she and her mother were left with the duty to care for him. If that wasn't challenge enough, there were the two children of her own to look after. Kids are always a chore, but fraternal twins diagnosed with severe fetal alcohol syndrome conspire to steal every ounce of youth from a pretty young girl with an I.Q. of 190. At the tender age of 16, she had had enough and then some.

So she made a call. It was supposed to be simple: "the door will be unlocked – just come and get them and don't ever contact me again". Some people will do anything for a few bucks. It hadn't even broken her to close the deal. She had enough change for new shoes.

But like all of her life up until then, it didn't go down as planned. Her momma had herself made plans to be rid of poppa before his fortune was thrown out the window. He couldn't do shit by himself –- well, shit was about the only thing –- and she saw it in his eyes that he wanted out. She labored over the decision, trying to decide if what she thought she understood was indeed what he had in mind. So when she drove away that morning – like every morning – heading towards the lake where she would push her husband (several times banishing from her mind the idea of pushing him in), she only meant to drive around the block and return. He hadn't put up any kind of fuss when she placed the plastic grocery bag over his head, so she assumed she had guessed correctly. It was time to go home and tell her daughter that he had passed while doing the thing he loved the most, sweetly and quietly, with the ducks at this feet.

When she arrived home she would find a strange young man in Burberry walking out the front door with her grandsons. When questioned, he would hand her the kids and begin running. Seconds later, Delilah would exit the home to see her distraught mother calling the police from her cell phone. Delilah jumped into the car, her father several minutes deceased in the back seat. She was determined to find the man who had taken her money. Things had gone wrong, and it wasn't anyone's fault, but as things stood, if the police did manage to apprehend him based on her mother's testimony, Delilah would have hell to answer for. She needed to take care of this now.

She checked the rear view mirror and saw her father staring blankly back at her. "Don't worry, poppa," she reassured him, "I'll get you back in time for––"

Then it hit her. Why was her mother back so soon? When she took the next turn and her father slumped over, she knew. With tears in her eyes she turned back around and looked ahead into the street. The man she was after was trying desperately to unlock the driver's side door of a Volkswagen Jetta that was parked along the opposite curb, facing her direction. She picked up speed and her own car growled with intent. He saw her just as the door popped open, and reached in to retrieve a 12 gauge shotgun. As he pumped it to life, Delilah punched the gas and steered her car straight into him. The collision was loud, bloody and devastating. By the time the ambulance arrived, they had several pieces of Burberry clothed body to collect, and one very hysterical young lady. Later, the report would read that the gun had blown a hole straight through the air bag, which had apparently absorbed enough of the lead shot to save the young woman's life. Her injuries, it read, were extensive, but mostly superficial.

The man in the back had been killed on impact, according to the same report.

Delilah reached for the gun on the table, but Ken beat her to it by a dark and wooded, country mile. He didn't even need to move quickly. Had she seen him do it, she might have been struck by how nonchalantly he moved – as if he was merely curious about it rather than in need of protection. But she missed that part, and caught instead the sight of the daughter rising from her chair and approaching her. Delilah's vision was still as if she was peeking through one side of a goldfish bowl. It wasn't until the girl got up very close that she could see that she was sort of pretty; pretty like she had been. Once.

The girl stood toe to toe with Delilah and stared into her eyes. They were the same height, with almost identically matching figures. She was her opposite, however, in one important respect: she was all face and no eyes. She said, "Bitch...how old are you?"

Delilah answered, "Twenty-one."

"I'll give you 'til twenty-two," said Amanda, "and then I'm coming for your soul."

Delilah said nothing. She just calmly stepped back and helped Jasper to his feet. His speech was thick and slow, "This...this ain't––"

"Shh..." interrupted Delilah. "Let's go."

When she turned back, all three Ducharmes were on their feet. The big one had the barrel of the gun down the front of his pants, with the stock end bowing gently forward from his breathing and the slight pot of his belly. His wife, postured proudly beside him in her blood-stained brassiere, had one hand on it. It wasn't clear who'd put the gun where it rested.

Delilah held the knife in her hand as she helped Jasper from the room. As they disappeared, Amanda continued, "...five...six..."