File Replace Quotes

Welcome to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. A magical place for kids and grown-ups alike, where fantasy and fun come to life. Fazbear Entertainment is not responsible for damage to property or person. Upon discovering that damage or death has occurred, a missing person report will be filed within 90 days, or as soon property and premises have been thoroughly cleaned and bleached, and the carpets have been replaced.

Mrs. Zuppa was coming in from bingo just as I was leaving the building. "Looks like you're going to work," she said, leaning heavily on her cane. "What are you packin'?" "A thirty-eight." "I like a nine-millimeter myself." "A nine's good." "Easier to use a semiautomatic after you've had hip replacement and you walk with a cane," she said. One of those useful pieces of information to file away and resurrect when I turn eighty-three.

Those angels you’ve painted in your mind wouldn’t last for a moment on the streets of London, Mother,” Ellie called out to her. “We’re the devils who stepped in to replace them.

She considered throwing the phone to the ground, stamping on it. But what a pain it would be to get a replacement. That's how you know you're a grown-up. You only allow the emotions that are convenient. You carry on.

There was a low growling sound and the Munstermobile came gliding up out of the parking garage, dripping water from its gleaming surface like some lantern-eyed leviathan rising from the depths. There were still a few dents and dings in it, but the broken glass had all been replaced, and the engine sounded fine. Okay, I'm not like a car fanatic or anything - but the guitar riff from "Bad to the Bone" started playing in my head.

(This is how the iron law of bureaucracy installs itself at the heart of an institution. Most of the activities of any bureaucracy are devoted not to the organization’s ostensible goals, but to ensuring that the organization survives: because if they aren’t, the bureaucracy has a life expectancy measured in days before some idiot decision maker decides that if it’s no use to them they can make political hay by destroying it. It’s no consolation that some time later someone will realize that an organization was needed to carry out the original organization’s task, so a replacement is created: you still lost your job and the task went undone. The only sure way forward is to build an agency that looks to its own survival before it looks to its mission statement. Just another example of evolution in action.)

How to tell your pretend-boyfriend and his real boyfriend that your internal processors are failing: 1. The biological term is depression, but you don't have an official diagnostic (diagnosis) and it's a hard word to say. It feels heavy and stings your mouth. Like when you tried to eat a battery when you were small and your parents got upset. 2. Instead, you try to hide the feeling. But the dark stain has already spilled across your hardwiring and clogged your processor. You don't have access to any working help files to fix this. Tech support is unavailable for your model. (No extended warranty exists.) 3. Pretend the reason you have no energy is because you're sick with a generic bug. 4. You have time to sleep. Your job is canceling out many of your functions; robots can perform cleaning and maintenance in hotels for much better wage investment, and since you are not (yet) a robot, you know you will be replaced soon. 5. The literal translation of the word depression: you are broken and devalued and have no further use. 6. No one refurbishes broken robots. 7. Please self-terminate.

As Marshall McLuhan observed, the first version of a new medium imitates the medium it replaces. The first commercial computers employed the metaphor of the office. Our screens had a “desktop” and “folders” and “files.” They were hierarchically ordered, like much of the industrial age that the computer was overthrowing.

I have written various words, verbs, adjectives, and adverbs, and bits of dismantled sentences, fragments of expressions and descriptions and all kinds of tentative combinations. Every now and again I pick up one these particles, these molecules of texts, hold it up to the light and examine it carefully, turn it in various directions, lean forward and rub or polish it, hold it up to the light again, rub it again slightly, then lean forward and fit it into the texture of the cloth I am weaving. Then I stare at it from different angles, still not entirely satisfied, and take it out again and replace it with another word, or try to fit it into another niche in the same sentence, then remove, file it down a tiny bit more, and try to fit it in again, perhaps at a slightly different angle. Or deploy it differently. Perhaps farther down the sentence. Or at the beginning of the next one. Or should I cut it off and make it into a one-word sentence on its own? I stand up. Walk around the room. Return to the desk. Stare at it for a few moments or longer, cross out the whole sentence or tear up the whole page. I give up in despair. I curse myself aloud and curse writing in general and the language as a whole, despite which I sit down and start putting the whole thing together all over again. [p.268]

againbite [agenbite] of inwit. James Joyce revived the expression agenbite [againbite] of inwit in Ulysses. it is a good example of Anglo-Saxon replacements of foreign words, meaning the "remorse of conscience" and originally being the prose translation of a French moral treatise (The Ayenbite of Ynwit) made by Dan Michel in 1340.

Did you not swap out your magazine for banishment rounds?” she scolded, hands on hips. The guard looked sheepish. “But you said they was expen—” “There is expensive and then there is needlessly paying for your funeral,” Eve snapped. An immediate ratchet and clatter of magazines being ejected and replaced signalled that the message had gotten across.

The cooker’s so old you’ve got to lean all the way inside and light it with an actual flame, risking certain death in the process. I know better than to bring up replacing it, because it’s a discussion we’ve had too many times over the years. Mum thinks it’s retro and cool. I, on the other hand, work hard not to think of Sylvia Plath every time I look at it.

I love you, Kayla Martin. I want to spend the rest of my life wondering what will happen when I turn on the microwave. I want to explain the X-files to you in bed every night and replace cabinet doors that are dented from your feet.....I want to go to sleep at night knowing that you're puttering around in the other room inventing something that will baffle and confuse me.

Moscow appeared to her as an Asiatic sprawl of twisting streets, wooden shanties, and horse cabs. But already another Moscow was rising up through the chaos of the first. Streets built to accommodate donkey tracks have been torn open and replaced with boulevards broader than two or three Park Avenues. On the sidewalks, pedestrians were being detoured onto planks around enormous construction pits. A smell of sawdust and metal filings hung in the air

The police up in the city had endless files filled with people who were so malevolent it was almost impossible to believe they were real. People for whom children were toys. When they were broken they were simply replaced.The internet helped these people connect. Helped them find the pictures to feed the habit, and then it helped them find what they wanted. Everything was available for a price. The fucking animals went online and ordered themselves a child to play with. They went online and found some other sicko who thought the same way they did and all of a sudden they weren’t deranged or evil—they were just part of a special club. Pete could actually feel the blood in his arms heat up just thinking about it.

What’s more, AI researchers have begun to realize that emotions may be a key to consciousness. Neuroscientists like Dr. Antonio Damasio have found that when the link between the prefrontal lobe (which governs rational thought) and the emotional centers (e.g., the limbic system) is damaged, patients cannot make value judgments. They are paralyzed when making the simplest of decisions (what things to buy, when to set an appointment, which color pen to use) because everything has the same value to them. Hence, emotions are not a luxury; they are absolutely essential, and without them a robot will have difficulty determining what is important and what is not. So emotions, instead of being peripheral to the progress of artificial intelligence, are now assuming central importance. If a robot encounters a raging fire, it might rescue the computer files first, not the people, since its programming might say that valuable documents cannot be replaced but workers always can be. It is crucial that robots be programmed to distinguish between what is important and what is not, and emotions are shortcuts the brain uses to rapidly determine this. Robots would thus have to be programmed to have a value system—that human life is more important than material objects, that children should be rescued first in an emergency, that objects with a higher price are more valuable than objects with a lower price, etc. Since robots do not come equipped with values, a huge list of value judgments must be uploaded into them. The problem with emotions, however, is that they are sometimes irrational, while robots are mathematically precise. So silicon consciousness may differ from human consciousness in key ways. For example, humans have little control over emotions, since they happen so rapidly and because they originate in the limbic system, not the prefrontal cortex of the brain. Furthermore, our emotions are often biased.

The Internet sites (Facebook, Meetic, and thousands of other sites) are based on a virtual and simulated second-hand sex through a screen interface. The first encounter is not natural; it occurs in solitude, in front of a machine interface, and everything else flows from there. Dialogue in front of the screen falsifies and misguides the rest of the relationship, because it suppresses the direct emotion of the first meeting and establishes the relationship on lies, even if these are involuntary. The accident of the first meeting — in a bar, at a party, an office, a friend’s house — is replaced by calculated effort in front of a cold screen. Imagination supplants reality. Romanticism or desire are transmitted in computer files. Psychologically, a contact receives a certain bias if it originates from a computer search. If you later happen to meet the person, you understand quickly that she does not correspond to the electronic persona with which one chatted.

Kaizong watched Uncle Chen’s solemn expression; watched the young people taking photographs and recordings of the proceedings so that the files could be sent to the email addresses of dead relatives; watched the silent, praying faces, childish or lined, flickering in the flames from the candles and burning incense—and something deep in him was moved. Perhaps there would come a day when everything he was looking at would be replaced by virtual reality, by simulation, by technology, but what couldn’t be replaced was how people longed for those they loved. They needed some ceremony, some platform, some way to cross the border between life and death, to connect the past to the present, to shape the formless memories and longing into objects, acts, or ritualized performances so that the feelings that had been numbed by the passage of time might be reawakened, so that the pain of loss, once heartbreaking and bone-weary, could be recalled along with the endless memories that followed.

Isis in Darkness, he writes. The Genesis. It exalts him simply to form the words. He will exist for her at last, he will be created by her, he will have a place in her mythology after all. It will not be what he once wanted: not Osiris, not a blue-eyed god with burning wings. His are humbler metaphors. He will only be the archaeologist; not part of the main story, but the one who stumbles upon it afterwards, making his way for his own obscure and battered reasons through the jungle, over the mountains, across the desert, until he discovers at last the pillaged and abandoned temple. In the ruined sanctuary, in the moonlight, he will find the Queen of Heaven and Earth and the Underworld lying in shattered white marble on the floor. He is the one who will sift through the rubble, groping for the shape of the past. He is the one who will say it has meaning. That too is a calling, that also can be a fate. He picks up a filing-card, jots a small footnote on it in his careful writing, and replaces it neatly in the mosaic of paper he is making across his desk. His eyes hurt. He closes them and rests his forehead on his two fisted hands, summoning up whatever is left of his knowledge and skill, kneeling beside her in the darkness, fitting her broken pieces back together.

Jamie guessed he wasn’t sure if calling it a homeless shelter when it was filled with homeless people was somehow offensive. He’d had two complaints lodged against him in the last twelve months alone for the use of ‘inappropriate’ language. Roper was a fossil, stuck in a by-gone age, struggling to stay afloat. He of course wouldn’t have this problem if he bothered to read any of the sensitivity emails HR pinged out. But he didn’t. And now he was on his final warning. Jamie left him to flounder and scanned the crowd and the room for anything amiss.  People were watching them. But not maliciously. Mostly out of a lack of anything else to do. They’d been there overnight by the look of it. Places like this popped up all over the city to let them stay inside on cold nights. The problem was finding a space that would house them. ‘No, not the owner,’ Mary said, sighing. ‘I just rent the space from the council. The ceiling is asbestos, and they can’t use it for anything, won’t get it replaced.’ She shrugged her shoulders so high that they touched the earrings. ‘But these people don’t mind. We’re not eating the stuff, so…’ She laughed a little. Jamie thought it sounded sad. It sort of was. The council wouldn’t let children play in there, wouldn’t let groups rent it, but they were happy to take payment and let the homeless in. It was safe enough for them. She pushed her teeth together and started studying the faded posters on the walls that encouraged conversations about domestic abuse, about drug addiction. From when this place was used. They looked like they were at least a decade old, maybe two. Bits of tape clung to the paint around them, scraps of coloured paper frozen in time, preserving images of long-past birthday parties. There was a meagre stage behind the coffee dispenser, and to the right, a door led into another room. ‘Do you know this boy?’ Roper asked, holding up his phone, showing Mary a photo of Oliver Hammond taken that morning. The officers who arrived on scene had taken it and attached it to the central case file. Roper was just accessing it from there. It showed Oliver’s face at an angle, greyed and bloated from the water.  ‘My God,’ Mary said, throwing a weathered hand to her mouth. It wasn’t easy for people who weren’t exposed to death regularly to stomach seeing something like that.  ‘Ms Cartwright,’ Roper said, leaning a little to his left to look in her eyes as she turned away. ‘Can you identify this person? I know it’s hard—’ ‘Oliver — Ollie, he preferred. Hammond, I think. I can check my files…’ She turned and pointed towards the back room Jamie had spotted. ‘If you want—’ Roper put the phone away.

In the future that globalists and feminists have imagined, for most of us there will only be more clerkdom and masturbation. There will only be more apologizing, more submission, more asking for permission to be men. There will only be more examinations, more certifications, mandatory prerequisites, screening processes, background checks, personality tests, and politicized diagnoses. There will only be more medication. There will be more presenting the secretary with a cup of your own warm urine. There will be mandatory morning stretches and video safety presentations and sign-off sheets for your file. There will be more helmets and goggles and harnesses and bright orange vests with reflective tape. There can only be more counseling and sensitivity training. There will be more administrative hoops to jump through to start your own business and keep it running. There will be more mandatory insurance policies. There will definitely be more taxes. There will probably be more Byzantine sexual harassment laws and corporate policies and more ways for women and protected identity groups to accuse you of misconduct. There will be more micro-managed living, pettier regulations, heavier fines, and harsher penalties. There will be more ways to run afoul of the law and more ways for society to maintain its pleasant illusions by sweeping you under the rug. In 2009 there were almost five times more men either on parole or serving prison terms in the United States than were actively serving in all of the armed forces.[64] If you’re a good boy and you follow the rules, if you learn how to speak passively and inoffensively, if you can convince some other poor sleepwalking sap that you are possessed with an almost unhealthy desire to provide outstanding customer service or increase operational efficiency through the improvement of internal processes and effective organizational communication, if you can say stupid shit like that without laughing, if your record checks out and your pee smells right—you can get yourself a J-O-B. Maybe you can be the guy who administers the test or authorizes the insurance policy. Maybe you can be the guy who helps make some soulless global corporation a little more money. Maybe you can get a pat on the head for coming up with the bright idea to put a bunch of other guys out of work and outsource their boring jobs to guys in some other place who are willing to work longer hours for less money. Whatever you do, no matter what people say, no matter how many team-building activities you attend or how many birthday cards you get from someone’s secretary, you will know that you are a completely replaceable unit of labor in the big scheme of things.

The trainer has been updated, again, and the gobblegum replacer still no longer works due to EMET (the program used previously) crashes and stops Black Ops 3 from working. Other than that, everything now works. Still no Round Changer so do not ask, it is still being protected and no bypass has been discovered. In the ZIP, you'll find a .txt file named 'tp.txt'; you use that to save the place you want to teleport to. It also seems that, with the latest update of BO3, some the protections for g_speed and timescale have been changed so that those features may not work properly. [Copy link to your browser to visit] ==>> blackops3.cheattool.online

In Virtual Replace mode, we overwrite characters of screen real estate rather than dealing with the actual characters that would eventually be saved in a file.

As prevalent as disks once were, they are now a dying breed. Soon they will have gone the way of tape drives, floppy drives, and CDs. They are being replaced by RAM. Ask yourself this question: When all the disks are gone, and all your data is stored in RAM, how will you organize that data? Will you organize it into tables and access it with SQL? Will you organize it into files and access it through a directory? Of course not. You’ll organize it into linked lists, trees, hash tables, stacks, queues, or any of the other myriad data structures, and you’ll access it using pointers or references—because that’s what programmers do.

Lt. Denice Barnum at the helm gave a sigh, then replaced her nail file on the control panel, beside her spray bottle of nail varnish and "like steel" hardener. "Sir?" "What's wrong with this picture?" he said, pointing at his plate. The youth looked. He looked at Marnetti. "Nothing, sir...looks normal to me, sir." "Look again." He looked harder. He squinted. "Sir?" Marnetti sighed. "This is stewed Kwarracks, isn't it, son?" “Yessir." The lad nodded. "Well, as far as I know, Kwarracks is supposed to be dead when you eat it, not so?" "Yessir." He agreed. "This one's still waving its tentacles.

That’s something no one should ever tell another parent. Never tell someone who grieves that their heart will heal. Never suggest having another baby could replace the one they lost.

The process of creating .jpgs is synonymous with the process of throwing away information. 12-bits of data per channel from the sensor gets squeezed into 8 bits of data per channel (giving up some tonality and fine shades of color). A little bit of dynamic range gets lost too.  Then Lots of visual information that the human brain cannot perceive gets thrown away, which is what’s responsible for JPG’s famously small size.  If there is a lot of high-frequency detail in the image, then that gets replaced by what’s called a .jpg compression artifact (which I describe in a couple of sections).  Then the compressed .jpg image file is written to the memory card, and then the raw information from which the .jpg was produced is discarded (unless you were wise enough to shoot in RAW + JPG mode). 

bunsen burners had been replaced by computers and sophisticated microscopes. We walked past people in white coats, poring over trays containing fine soil or sand, holding jugs and vases under special blue lights. There were tripods leaning against the wall and several hi-tech cameras nestling on the filing cabinets. ‘We’ve got various computer packages

Got a hot date tonight, Sarge?” Ro chuckled as he handed Syn the next group of Illustra’s entertainers that were being picked up for questioning. Syn flushed but chose to ignore Ro’s smug grin. “Shut up,” he mumbled, and flipped open the next file. He flinched so hard his neck popped. Syn’s breath caught at the image that stared back at him. “Oh yeah. This is the one I wanted to mention, he might be a prime suspect.” Syn threw his hand up, stopping Ro. This couldn’t be happening. “I thought we’d concluded that the killers were women from that crazy-ass men-bashing group, BTNS?” “Yes, we did. But hear me out; there may be more players in this. Starman was definitely taken out by women but he could’ve been set up by others. This guy's name is Furious Gray Barkley. During questioning, the owner of Illustra, Johnathan Mack said that Furious Barkley, who performs as Furious Styles, was scheduled to do a movie with Sasha Pain but declined. Furious’ replacement was our vic.” Ro rubbed his smooth face and kept talking, oblivious to Syn’s inner turmoil. “Kicker is, although this Furious Gray Barkley has no priors, he’s also known as Furious Gray Nicks. Husband to Patrick Nicks. That image there is a photo that was given to the Charlotte Mecklenburg Police Department when Furious’ husband filed a missing persons on him almost a year ago. Furious is on the run and I want to know why. I contacted the husband but had to leave a message. I already sent Jameson to pick him up. He works at a pub in ... hmmm.” Ro’s eyebrows rose. “In your neighborhood.

booby-trapped message is viewed. "This bug allows remote HTML content to be loaded, replacing the content of the original e-mail message," a user with the GitHub name jansoucek wrote in a readme file accompanying the exploit. "JavaScript is disabled in this UIWebView, but it is still possible to build a functional password 'collector' using simple HTML and CSS [ cascading style sheets ].

Debbie got her vibrator stuck inside her, so she went to her gynecologist. “To remove that vibrator,” said the doctor, “I’m going to have to perform a very long and delicate operation.” “I don’t think I can afford that,” said Debbie. “Could you just replace the batteries?

Most mods are single-player only mods. Knowing how to install single player mods helps in installing multiplayer mods. You must first download the mod that you want. Go to a reliable website and download. If the mod that you want is missing and cannot be found, this usually means that it is discontinued.   Windows   First you will need an archive utility application, such as WinZip, WinRAR, 7-Zip, or something similar.   Locate you Minecraft application. Go to the start menu, and type “minecraft” in the search bar. Click on this option to open the folder in a new window.   Your Minecraft application data can be found within your .minecraft folder.   Back-up your Minecraft save files before installing any mod. To do this simply copy your saves folder and paste it into another folder. Copy the previous saves folder back into your .minecraft folder to restore.   Extract the mod you downloaded with WinRAR or any archive utility application.   Locate the minecraft.jar file. This file can be found in the bin folder in .minecraft.   Back-up your minecraft.jar file. Copy minecraft.jar in the same folder as the mods.   Open the minecraft.jar file with WinRAR.   Copy all the mod files into the minecraft.jar file and select "Add and replace files”   Lastly delete the folder named META-INF.

Classification may very well not be useless, but it is never analysis, no matter how baroquely detailed and comprehensive-seeming its categories. At best, it begs questions. At worst it is presumptuous and totalitarian, replacing understanding with filing. We have all heard papers where categories are the driving force, according to which the way we understand literature (or whatever) is to work out what title fits where, as if literary theory was a giant card-catalog. Even when the last book has been slotted neatly into the last of the holes that were cut to be filled with books, what we have are books in neat piles. Which is not nothing, but neither is it that much.

The government replaced the real story of what had happened with lavish propaganda about how the military had fended off bloodthirsty communist hordes. The National Library removed references to the events from its records. Newspaper accounts were destroyed. Government files from the time were hidden or burned. What remained, the American historian Thomas Anderson wrote in 1971, was a “paranoiac fear of communism that has gripped the nation ever since. This fear is expressed in the continual labeling of even the most modest reform movements as communist or communist inspired.” Roque Dalton, the Salvadoran poet and activist, put it more succinctly: “We were all born half dead in 1932.

A person with a taste for paradox (if any such shameless creature could exist) might with some plausibility maintain concerning all our expansion since the failure of Luther’s frank paganism and its replacement by Calvin’s Puritanism, that all this expansion has not been an expansion, but the closing in of a prison, so that less and less beautiful and humane things have been permitted.

Anna nodded, replacing her glasses and looking at the file in front of her. “But according to my notes,” she said, “the doll would later become very important indeed…

human being and bolt on extensions that let them take full advantage of Economics 2.0, and you essentially break their narrative chain of consciousness, replacing it with a journal file of bid/request transactions between various agents; it’s incredibly efficient and flexible, but it isn’t a conscious human being in any recognizable sense of the word.” “All right,” Pierre says slowly. “I think we’ve seen something like that ourselves. At the router.” Sirhan nods, not sure whether he’s referring to anything important. “So you see, there are limits to human progress—but not to progress itself! The uploads found their labor to be a permanently deflating commodity once they hit their point of diminishing utility. Capitalism doesn’t have a lot to say about workers whose skills are obsolete, other than that they should invest wisely while they’re earning and maybe retrain. But just knowing how to invest in Economics 2.0 is beyond an unaugmented human. You can’t retrain as a seagull, can you, and it’s quite as hard to retool for Economics 2.0. Earth is—” He shudders. “There’s a phrase I used to hear in the old days,” Pamela says calmly. “Ethnic cleansing. Do you know what that means, darling idiot daughter? You take people who you define as being of little worth, and first you herd them into a crowded ghetto with limited resources, then you decide those resources aren’t worth spending on them, and bullets are cheaper than bread. ‘Mind children’ the extropians called the posthumans, but they were more like Vile Offspring. There was a lot of that, during the fast sigmoid phase. Starving among plenty, compulsory conversions, the very antithesis of everything your father said he wanted . . .” “I don’t believe it,” Amber says hotly.

The authorities arrived and replaced crisis with aftermath.

What did we really achieve by replacing the orange-haired orangutan with a better alternative, if that better alternative ultimately fails as horribly as his predecessor, when things get really desperate. I may not be a US citizen, but I am a US taxpayer, and when tax dollars from my books on peace and justice are used to aid and fund genocide and war, I find it difficult to maintain respect for such new administration. Citizens of earth could end all wars in a year - boycott all tax-filing unless your governments cease all defense activities for good.

For decades the idea of a solid-state amplifier, an invention badly needed to replace large masses of hot glass in vacuum tubes, was attributed to three physicists working at Bell Telephone Laboratories (BTL): in early 1948 John Bardeen and Walter Brattain filed their patent for a germanium point-contact transistor, followed by William Shockley’s application for a junction transistor; the three shared the Nobel Prize in Physics in 1956. But BTL eventually admitted (on its memorial website, now defunct) that it had merely reinvented the transistor, and in 1988, four decades after the BTL patents were issued, Bardeen made it clear that “Lilienfeld had the basic concept of controlling the flow of current in a semiconductor to make an amplifying device” but that many years of theory development and advances in material science were needed to turn his idea into a commercial reality.

Zhanlu’s voice came from the cockpit: “Sorry, my mental network only keeps a video recording of everything within the last ten days before they get replaced and deleted, should I keep that last scene in the permanent file?

Memos descended fairly regularly from the Commissioner’s office, and they usually concealed an agenda. “Restructuring” was a current buzzword, having replaced “efficiency” and “skills development,” terms that had been the subject of the last two reports that the Department of Sensitive Crimes had been requested to submit. Each of these reports had taken two months to write and had disappeared into the maw of the police department without any sign of ever having been read by anybody. That was almost always the case with departmental reports, Ulf thought: People wrote them and submitted them. They then sat unread on several high-level desks before they were removed for filing. So it was, he suspected, throughout bureaucracies everywhere: people filled in forms and wrote reports that were rarely scrutinised and almost never led to anything happening in the real world.

Nice try, Jackson.” Victor turned to Bradley. “The next time you create a disappearing ink, make sure it lasts longer than an hour.” Jackson pursed his lips together and glanced at Bradley. “An hour?” Bradley shrugged. “I didn’t expect them to write the answers on paper. I thought they’d write on their skin.” “It was a smart plan,” Victor continued. “A nice countermove. When did you replace the pens in Mrs. Clark’s file cabinet? Last week?” Jackson cracked a smile. “I wish I could claim we swapped out the pens that far in advance, but honestly, we replaced them a few minutes before Rob and Thom went in.

Things I'll Neva Forget I'll never Forget my mother The one who loves me most her pretty,priceless smile will forever be kept my life "so called" file her motherly touch had no comparison nor equal it could never be replaced,stopped or re-enacted into a sequel i felt as if her life was all but drawn up without perfection it was done wrong Now she's gone But I'll never Forget my MOTHER I'll never forget father The one who changed my life thanks to him I'll know how to treat my own wife the ultimate villein on my hoodlum chart he's at the top......Wonder Y?........ my daddy es a Flop thus he did lie,cheat & steal in my heart I denounce I'll never forget my FATHER I'll never forget my Family 'My People" The Mohasoa Pride & that 2% Bopape Tribe Our individual ups & downs made it one hell of a roller coaster ride jokes aside "we miss you" the one who died like my mom she was our escutcheon against the dark what a tragic lose of our artery of traffic see throw mi eyes "divided we'll fall....together we shall rise" I'll never forget my FAMILY I'll never forget You Guys "My Friends" Mmmm aaargh "writers block" over-loading there's just too many of y'all BUT I never forget " My Friends" I'll never forget......Who I Am Me the man of my dreams "Lebogang Bopape" The boy who never knew his abilities till he was 7 fucked up everything by the time he turned 11 my 1st day at school "quite funny" didn't talk to anyone for like a week or so till I fell cried so hard I accidentally ran into my very own Jezebel so wrong was I thinking she's the one my feelings weren't intact I had none Uncle said "you'll get them when you turn into a man SON" What happened next an emotional recession the leading cause factor 4 this deception............LIES! call them what y'all want black or white they'er still LIES! all you'll get trouble Shit I'm seeing double losing sight of what is right got my life blue,black,cherry.......Bleary Time will tell I am a bit blind but look behind you Deep in the back of your mind you are who you are I'll never forget ME! Lebogang Yep thats Me Baby!

I fear our sad culture has replaced the servants with the stars and that we need to refocus. If you've been unfortunate enough to read scandalous headline in the checkout line lately, I think you agree. Recently I began receiving phone calls from the editorial staff st Life & Style, a Hollywood tabloid, asking me to comment on various goings-on in the unnatural lives of celebrities like Brad Pitt, Britney Spears, and Angelina Jolie. I joked with them a little, then asked why they'd called me. "You're on file as one of our experts," an editor said. I'm not sure if she could hear me laughing. At this time in my life, I cannot afford to be sidetracked by the trivial. If I am going to write about people, there needs to be some depth, some honor, something bothering on nobility. And that's what I found in the lives of [people] whose love for others propels me to love deeper.

Evan looked tired and miserable, his shoulders slumped in the chair, his eyes sullen and searching for the ground. “I regret inviting him to my house. I regret spending that time with him at my house. I regret giving him so many chances. He exploited my attempts at generosity … the generosity was giving Reggie an opportunity to work on something like this … for experience that he didn’t have.” “Do you regret Reggie sharing his idea with you?” There was no pause this time. “No.” These depositions did significant damage to Snapchat, both in the case and in the court of public opinion. Someone leaked videos of the depositions to Business Insider, making Evan and Bobby look bad for cutting Reggie out of the company and initially lying in response to deposition questions about Reggie’s level of involvement. After these disastrous depositions, Evan and Bobby replaced Cooley with David Quinn and the team at Quinn Emanuel Urquhart & Sullivan, the same firm where Lee and his partners got their start. It was also the firm that represented the Winklevoss twins in their infamous suit against Mark Zuckerberg and Facebook. David Quinn was tenacious in and out of the courtroom, running Ironman triathlons in his free time. Evan and Bobby were convinced Quinn Emanuel could use their experience from the most infamous startup lawsuit of all time to help them defeat Reggie. Quinn Emmanuel was much more aggressive than Cooley had been. They filed a sea of requests for documents, depositions, and subpoenas. They tried to dismiss the case and remove it to federal court, and they sought contempt sanctions and a restraining order against Reggie and Lee Tran & Liang.

Creating Lenses with Excel If you wish to use Excel radar diagrams to simulate lenses, follow these steps: Open a new Excel spreadsheet. Type the word Headers in cell A1 Type the word Score in cell B1 Type your chosen header from cell A2 downwards. Use as many headers as you like. Usually 6 or 8 headers are sufficient. Fill the corresponding B cells with zeros Select cells A1 through B… (as far as you went) Click the Chart Wizard button (the one that has a tiny bar chart on it), or use the menu  - Chart – Chart Type Select the radar type from among the options in the left side of the action box. Click on the Filled Radar chart sub-type on the upper right part of the box. Click Next Make sure that the series choice is Columns. Ignore the way the chart may look in the example. It often looks too small there, but it comes out all right. Click next Add the chart title, if you want. And clear the "show legend" box in the legend tab. Click finish. Click OK to put the chart on the same sheet. When you are with your client, you can type in his chosen scores against each header in the list (replacing the zeros).  Excel will automatically update the chart. If needed, you can print the charts using the file-print

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He looked out the window, sighed, and explained his predicament. “I do not pick the text materials. The entire faculty is Party members and the Central Committee keeps files on us. Deviating from approved teaching materials would end our careers.

My .38 had been lost in the battle with the gang of half-mad lycanthropes the year before, and I’d replaced it with a medium-barreled .357. I must have been feeling insecure that day, or something

If I were in this patio shade sail business, a method I would do it is to head out to the setting up resource enterprise and ask some of the guys behind the workplace about personnel who conduct your size job - they sure as heck not necessarily going to recommend technicians who not necessarily paying their bills and that will be a lifesaver there as well. It's impossible those men at the setting up source would become obtaining kickbacks from companies. Some of those men will not recommend contractors, but some will. Get four or five advice. We prepare subcontractor deals for our Standard Builder construction organization and just before preparing the arrangements, often check with the state office that gives away builder contractor licenses to make certain they're listed under the trade they state to get proficient in and find if there are any complaints filed. I also contact the talk about organization commission to see if they're posted now there and how lengthy they've been in business, and then have got their insurance agent to send us a copy of their insurance certificate showing that they have general liability and worker's compensation insurance (and make sure the name of their company on the contract matches the builder's license, the listed corporate entity, and insurance). And, you definitely want to make sure your contract has start and finish dates with liquidated damages for failure to finish on time, that the contractor supplies all materials and labor, that if the contractor breaches the contract that the contractor will be in charge of your legal fees, progress payments with lien waivers, as well as many other clauses AND a very detailed scope of work. It is important to specify the manufacturer and the exact type/quality & color of shingle, the underlayment brand and quality, the valleys' ice and water shield, tear-off or not of the existing shingles, how much will be charged if the sheathing is rotten per sheet for labor and material and type that it is to be replaced with, disposal of all construction debris, protection of your landscaping and personal property below the roof. I also attach a copy of the manufacturer's installation instructions and state that the product will be installed according to them. I prepare our contract and attach the subcontractor's contract to ours as an addendum (and our clauses supersede theirs). You want to get your scope of work ready to give to contractors to bid on so everyone is bidding on the same thing. When I first started, I would get several bids and cobble together a scope of work and then ask people to rework their bids based on it if their bids didn't include my new scope of work. So, this is going to be a large, important expense for you, and you probably want a good attorney, experienced in contracts, to review your contract. It will be worth the couple hundred extra dollars. (Ask how much the charge is up front.)