Don't you just wish you can delete things from the internet forever?

I used to be a host on this show, not telling the name tho. It aired every Thursdays at 10 pm. And in case anyone missed it, the television station would post it on their youtube channel.

I was so desperate to remove it that I flagged it a bunch of times, but I knew it wouldn't work.

I'm dying of embarassment because everyone is finding it. It doesn't air on TV anymore, so that youtube channel is the bane of my existance.

I even got the idea to search myself up and delete any social media accounts, because I want to be nearly invisible on the internet.

That worked out. Except for that damn youtube channel.

I was a fucking 14 year old. I looked weird, acted weird, my mom made me dress weirdly. I was so nervous, I licked my freaking lips ON CAMERA. Not to mention, I had acne, and my skin was dark at the time because I was fresh out of middle school, and I did cross country in middle school.

Now I'm curious. Does anyone else have something embarassing on the internet that they can't get rid of?

I just tried to sign up to Instagram. I made a big mistake.

First up with Facebook related stuff is data. Data, data and more data. Initially when you sign up (with a new account, not login with Facebook) you're asked your real name, email address and phone number. And finally the username you'd like to have on the service. I gave them a phone number that I actually own, that is in my iPhone, my daily driver right now (and yes I have 3 Androids which all run custom ROMs, hold your keyboards). The email address is a usual for me, instagram at my domain. I am a postmaster after all, and my mail server is a catch-all one. For a setup like that, this is perfectly reasonable. And here it's no different, devrant at my domain. On Facebook even, I use fb at my domain. I'm sure you're starting to see a pattern here. And on Facebook the username, real name and email domain are actually the same.

So I signed up, with - as far as I'm aware - perfectly valid data. I submitted the data and was told that someone at Instagram will review the data within 24 hours. That's already pretty dystopian to me. It is now how you block bots. It is not how Facebook does it either, at least since last time I checked. But whatever. You'd imagine that regardless of the result, they'd let you know. Cool, you're in, or sorry, you're rejected and here's why. Nope.

Fast-forward to today when I recalled that I wanted to sign up to Instagram to see my girlfriend's pictures. So I opened Chromium again that I already use only for the rancid Facebook shit.. and it was rejected. Apparently the mere act of signing up is a Terms of Service violation. I have read them. I do not know which section I have violated with the heinous act of signing up. But I do have a hunch.

Many times now have I been told by ignorant organizations that I would be "stealing" their intellectual property, or business assets or whatever, just because I sent them an email from their name on my domain. It is fucking retarded. That is MY domain, not yours. Learn how email works before you go educate a postmaster. Always funny to tell them how that works. But I think that in this case, that is what happened.

So I appealed it, using a random link to something on Instagram's help section from a third-party blog. You know it's good when the third-party random blog is better. But I found the form and filled it in. Same shit all over again for info, prefilling be damned I guess. Minor convenience though, whatever.

I get sent an email in German, because apparently browsing through a VPS in Germany acting as a VPN means you're German. Whatever... After translating it, I found that it asks me to upload a picture of myself, holding a paper in my hands, on which I would have a confirmation code, my username, and my email address.. all hand-written. It must not be too dark, it must be clear, it must be in JPEG.. look, I just wanted to fucking sign up.

I sent them an email back asking them to fix all of this. While I was writing it and this rant, I thought to myself that they can shove that piece of paper up their ass. In fact I would gladly do it for them.

Long story short, do not use Instagram. And one final thing I have gripes with every time. You are not being told all the data you'll have to present from the get-go. You're not being told the process. Initially I thought it'd just be email, phone, username, and real name. Once signed up (instantly, not within 24 hours!) I would start setting up my account and adding a profile picture. The right way to ask for a picture of me! And just do it at my own pace, as I please.

And for God's sake, tackle abuse when it actually happens. You'll find out who's a bot and who isn't by their usage patterns soon enough. Do not do any of this at sign-up. Or hell, use a CAPTCHA or whatever, I don't fucking care. There's so many millions of ways to skin this cat.

Facebook and especially Instagram. Both of them are fucking retarded.

Why the hell did it take youtube so freaking long to get a dark skin?
My eyes get killed without it @ 2am looking at a tutorial without a dark skin.

I have had a dark skin installed via userscript for over 5 years.

Now they need to implement some of the features youtube+ has...

So, a few words about this setup :
- I am not Portuguese, my girlfriend got this poster while on a trip
- The second monitor is very old and uses fluorescent tubes. It's shitty and not stylish, but useful at times
- Yes, I use a standalone scanner. Every multifunction printer I've had ended up suiciding itself, and suicided the built in scanner with it. A standalone scanner should be indestructible.
- The case is open because I haven't paid much attention to fans and stuff, so it gets pretty hot when gaming
- Talk about gaming : I dual boot W10/Ubuntu but use the original Gnome DE with Adwaita Dark (I love it). However, W10 is only useful for Lightroom and games. When Steam released proton, I decided to start using Darktable for photo editing in order to ditch Windows once and for all. That will probably happen in the coming months.
- I have not wired my home yet, so I use a router as Wi-Fi receiver.
- The top of the desk is not the original one. It used to be a glass one, but I didn't like the feel and it was too small. So I made a wooden one and painted it with paint my father had left over. However, it ended up looking hideous and sticks to the skin when resting on it for a long time. It has to be changed/fixed.
- The headphones hanger is just a big ass screw, and the headphones jack has been fixed at least a dozen times. I even changed the cable two times.
- The mic is shitty but cost only 8€ on eBay.

!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 **

!dev
I've finally been so agitated at G+ I need somewhere to just vent.
So for context. What I'm talking about is Google+, or more specifically, the Android app. The website is bad in its own way, but that's not here nor there. No opinions on the iOS version, as I simply REFUSE to touch iOS.

So anyways. The platform itself honestly is not bad. With competent developers behind it, and them actually listening to their dwindling fucking userbase, they could easily turn it into something successful, but the issue is that they just aren't
You see, it's almost like they change dev staff every 6 or so months. Why do I believe this? Because the GUI changes about that fucking often. They also have a history of forcing updates, but allowing you to use an older version, just horrifically slapping on a new and unwelcome skin. This isn't an isolated practice by any means, but it's by far the most prevalent here.

So, now a list of some of the issues the current version has:
-After about a week, the app becomes unstably slow, to the point of it taking about a minute to refresh your home feed, or an individual page.
-Searching is never good, always being slow and rarely giving you who you asked for.
-Transparency is non fucking existent. There isn't a development roadmap to speak of, and when something happens we get it second hand from staff in a "G+ help" community.

There is a solution for the first one, going and clearing the data/cache, but really, the end user shouldn't have to regularly do that. Not to mention the storage space Google apps IN GENERAL fucking take up. Why does Google Play Services regularly use 250MB? (For most people, this really isn't much. But when you only get to fucking use 4 GB of internal storage it's a giant fuck you.)

Bah, back to the topic at hand.
There isn't a good solution to searching, or for transparency at the moment.
The spam filter is awful as well. REGULARLY letting obvious spam pass, regularly blocking and filtering genuine users. It's real annoying that the Android app itself doesn't have support for seeing these flags outside of rooting through the settings a bit, but still. The web and iOS versions have this already.

Oh, it also completely lacks a dark mode like most Google apps for some fuckin reason.

That concludes my random 1:30 AM rant about something I have no ability to change, except hope in vain that someone who has the ability to change this forwards this to the developers of G+.

I need a better sleep schedule.

Portrait of Me, Writting Documentation -- a short french film:

The processes applied to any section of memory utilized for a given purpose should be strictly limited to those declared by the associated type that encapsulates the purpose in question until release or mutation.

That is to say, improperly encoding the intended usage of such a block by utilizing an identical type or alias thereof for a multitude of incompatible situations, giving place to guesswork to arise, constitutes the prostitution of an abstraction.

Such heinous acts of symbolical pimping have received strong condemnation from multiple digital rights organizations, as well as our own, prestigious office. Let it be made Crystal, Alizé and Hennessy clear, that we will not stand for this kind of degenerate practice, and that any heretical sects and cabals built around worship of the strange creatures that arise every eleventh night from the depths of the Black Mausoleum will be prosecuted with the full force of the law.

As a young, corageous man once said at the peak of his career: "it is only through the self-inflicted, hyperbolic discharge of smouldered, comminute perennial anadenanthera colubrina spermatic fluid that the cannonical transfiguration of our collective rectosigmoid junction can be brought to fruition". He was immediately violated with might and ire far beyond our wildest, most profligately depraved fantasies, yet his message lives on.

I leave you now to be ritually and figuratively blown by a posssessed mortician that is to become concubine to our dark master; the long journey to the old graveyard will be perilous, and my destination most assuredly fatal, as I depart to give my firstborn to our Lord Berzchjanzad -- a blood sacrifice meant to appease him from peeling off my skin and refashioning it into a bloodied scarf to be worn around his thumping, grandemonic cock.

And in this moment, as I stare blankly at this teleprompter, the president wishes to reassure you of his sacred vows of stalwart and promethean gayhood, and may __these__ nuts bounce on chins forevermore. Here's to *not* bleeding to death in retribution for this unending litany of sins...

Yet all predictions come to pass.

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