Nah I was in a pretty small town, semi-rural but not buttfuck-nowhere either.

It certainly wasn't labelled "ableist" then, it was simply "being a little shit" - I only really learned of the term ableism around 10-15 years ago.

I don't know - the term "ableist" has certainly spiked in popularity in the last ten years or so, but even in the 90's you'd get a bollocking for throwing around the terms "mong" or "spaz" or "flid" within earshot of a teacher.

I mean, I can see why - I hate the terms myself now. but when you're in single digits of age, it's just used as another derisory term rather than a specific slight at someone's physical or mental development challenges.

It still got you in hot water if you were daft enough to get caught shouting it though.

We had a dude called Richard in primary school that went blank at the thought of a nickname. Obviously, as responsible classmates we helped him out, and he was christened Romanian Richard.

Richard was not Romanian, nor did he have any ties to the fine country of Romania.

Whatever inexplicable logic that was at play here, directed that he should have the last ten seconds of the Taz-Mania theme sung to him repeatedly, sorta like:

"Richard Romanian,

Richard Romanian,

Richard Romanian,

We mean you!"

Before making the appropriate Taz noises finishing with a raspberry in close proximity to his face. What was really weird, was that Richard didn't appreciate this new fame and form of address, which was a real shame because everyone else did and it was highly entertaining before teachers got involved, parents got called, and it was saved for the days when Richard was really being a oil-fired arsehole.

These were the days before we drew the line from Richard to Dick, you must understand.

Off topic, but I rarely get to answer the phone these days. Not through choice, but ever since I enabled the automatic blocking of withheld numbers it has made my life so much quieter. That, and my workplace only ever calls out from a withheld number, which is fuckin' magic.

In ye olde days though, our household used to answer with the name of the town and the three digit identifying number for that line.

Stuff that would only ever happen in the 2000's right there. Back when it was "normal" to text your so-called number neighbours - the number one digit above and below yours.

Now, people are a little bit more switched on so would probably think it's a phishing scheme, or devices would probably screen it out as a scam.

F

It used to be the first thing you checked on 56k.

Hold tab for the score and stats, see if your pingtime was under 350, and crack on.

There was a certain art to playing as an HPB, especially when ISDN or leased lines were the domain of the rich and famous... and students.

These days, it seems that anything over 30 is... suboptimal, and only single digit pingtimes are good enough for competitive non-LAN play.

That said, before multiplayer was centralised, you checked the server pingtime before joining the server. Private servers seem to be a dying breed now.

Dw i'n hoffi coffi, achos mae'n gret!

Literal minutes of Welsh study proving their worth there

My colleague's lad has randomly started telling anyone who will listen: "my mum's getting new boobies".

This lady is in fact not getting new boobies, and they're both at a loss as to why the kid has suddenly decided that, and why he has chosen to announce it.

Legend.

Cool. It is his right to do so.

Given the fairly decent conditions he's reported to be living in, and Norway's efforts to give him every avenue to rehabilitate, I very much doubt this case will get very far.

As always, the only winners in pointless stuff like this are the solicitors and lawyers.

neurospicy

outstanding