/jp/ - Otaku Culture

[Anonymous Mogul No.]

"Please... please let me go ze~"

The black-white pleaded to the rainbow magician; while battling the forceful urge within her, Marisa begged again. With tears in her eyes, her actions were simply ignored by an apathetic Alice; sitting not even five feet away and reading a book, peering out the corner of her eye at the witch's struggle. Her many dolls completely restricting Marisa's movement in her time of desperation.

"You must..." the witch whined, "please, release your dolls! I can't take it much more..."

Alice remained idle and flipped a page in her book. The pressure within the Marisa grew greater with every passing second, a force that she could never prevent merely with knowledge and wit.

"I... beg of you... please..." a mixture of tears and sweat streamed from the witch's face and made its way to the magician's wooden floor.

"I... I..." with her last shred of willpower, Marisa fell to the floor. With her face down, in a shameless admit of defeat, a puddle formed from under her; the liquid passing through the thin fabric and drenched her dress within mere seconds. A smirk appeared on Alice's face as the liquid expanded on her floor and made it's way up Marisa's body; the magician placed her book down and walked passed the witch, stepping in the shallow puddle of Marisa's urine.

"I hate you... you damn bitch." With her head still facing the floor, tears multiplied in the witch's eyes and diffused with liquid she exerted moments ago. Whelps and sobs came from Marisa's mouth along with mumbles of "damn Alice..." and "I'll never forgive you."

The magician walked back into the room and tapped the witch on the shoulder; looking up, she saw Alice's hand reaching out. Knowing she couldn't continue to wallow in her piss, she picked herself up and hung her head as Alice lead her to another room.

In Alice's bedroom with the door shut behind them, the magician began to remove the soiled dress of the witch; however, she was met with a forceful hand.

"What are you doing ze~? I don't need your help," muddled Marisa with the slightest hint of red in her cheek. "I can do this myself. Also, what are those things..." she pointed to her bed. Alice picked up one of the white objects; "those can't be..." the magician nodded.

Marisa signed with a hint of disgust, "You get weirder everyday, doll freak..." A thought occurred. "Hey, wait, why do you even have those things?" Hesitant, Alice lifted her skirt and revealed that she herself was wearing a diaper. Despite the humility that bestowed onto Marisa minutes ago, a smile came to her face. "So it is true, you do lea..."
Alice forcefully grunted and a trio of dolls surrounded the witch. One quickly flew behind Marisa and untied her apron and the other two grabbed the straps of her dress and lifted it over her head; the dolls then flew off with the garments. Before the black-white had a chance to fight it, she stood in Alice's bedroom with nothing but her shirt and soaked bloomers.

Alice, face redden, placed her hand on the witch's shoulders and led her to her bed. Marisa, unsure of what she should do, was forcefully seated on the edge and pushed back by the doll otaku.

Alice excitingly placed her fingers on the witch's waist; as she was about to pull down her bloomers, the magician was met with Marisa's grasp.

"No, ze~. Don't you dare do that." Just then, a group of dolls flew onto Marisa and restrained her arms and legs once again. "Dammit, ze~; let me go!" Alice ignored the demand and pulled down the wet bloomers. Staring at what was now exposed, trickles of blood dripped from the magician's nose.

"You sad, lonely freak." Marisa remarked as it was all she could do. Wiping the drippings of passion from her face, she slid the diaper under Marisa. Sprinkling a blot of powder onto the area, she quickly taped the garment into position before she fainted from blood loss.

Regaining her composure, Alice witnessed what she had accomplished and let out a delightful smile. Flushed with redness, she placed her face next to Marisa's and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. Then with a soft giggle, she slowly walked toward the door.

"I'll make some tea and cakes." The dollmaster opened the door and exited the room; her minions release their grasp on the witch and followed.

Marisa sat up, hearing the unfamiliar crinkle as Alice's success, and pondered what the magician really meant to her.

Suddenly, a huge black snake head with retarded-looking eyes materialized in front of them, and in a loud booming hiss, asked "Have you read your SICP today?"

The surroundings faded into blackness and within a few moments the group found themselves seated in a lecture hall at MIT, amongst several dozen other students. "Welcome to 6.001" was written on the blackboard, and Professor Gerald Jay Sussman walked into the room, dressed in his robe and wizard hat.

"Is this a hack?" he asked as he glanced around and saw the witch, the magician, Alice, and Marisa.

[Anonymous Mogul No.]

"What...?" Marisa managed to say, all of the confused by what had just happened.

"Nevermind, let's start the lecture." The Sussman said softly.

"I'd like to welcome you to this course on computer science. ... Actually, it's a terrible way to start. Computer science is a terrible name for this business. First of all it's not a science." The Sussman lectured while the students sat and listened attentively.

"What's going on?" Alice whispered to Marisa.

"I have no idea. But this is getting interesting."

"Or we'll actually see that computer... so-called science actually has a lot in common with magic." The Sussman continued.

"But... how can he do that? He's only a human, right?" the witch whispered.

The Sussman, who up until now had paid no attention to the group, turned and stared at the witch with an astonished expression.

"What did you just say?" he asked, pointing his wand at the witch.

All of the other students turned in the direction of the group.

"Nothing," she answered quietly.

"I hope so," The Sussman said in stern tone, ending his pointing with the wand.

"And... well I guess you know everyone needs a magical language and sorcerers, right, real sorcerers use ancient Arcadian, or Sumerian, or Babylonian or whatever. We're gonna control our spirits in a magical language called LISP, which is a language designed for talking about... for casting the spells that are procedures to direct the processes," the Sussman continued, waving his wand around as he spoke.

"What a disappointment. I thought he was going to teach us magic," Patchouli muttered almost inaudibly.

Once again, the Sussman quickly turned and stared at her, retrieving his wand and pointing at her with it.

"Excuse me?" he asked, "What did you say again?"

"Nothing," she replied, trying to avoid attention.

"No, I'm pretty sure you said something. Please repeat it for us, so as not to miss a fine learning opportunity."

"She said, 'What a disappointment. I thought he was going to teach us magic'," Koakuma exclaimed. At the sound of those words the Sussman's face turned a bright red.

"HOW DARE YOU DOUBT ME!!" The Sussman shouted angrily. "By the power of the Y combinator I send thee to the land of Java!"

"Now perish!" The Sussman shouted, conjuring a huge pair of parentheses from his wand, which surrounded the group and enveloped them in a closure.

"What do we do now?!?!" Koakuma screamed at Patchouli. "I don't know!" she shouted angrily in reply as the both of them hammered as hard as they could against the invisible, unyielding walls of the closure.

"I hope you learned your lesson, freaks!" The Sussman exclaimed, as the closure rose up towards the ceiling with the two trapped inside, exploding into a shower of white parentheses as it hit the top. The Sussman returned the wand to his pocket and continued lecturing.

...

"Where... are we?" Koakuma whispered as she opened her eyes to find Patchouli lying next to her.

"I think that guy said something about the 'land of Java'" Patchouli said in a low voice as they both sat up to find themselves in an empty office cubicle. The sound of mouse clicks and typing could be heard coming from around them.

They cautiously walked towards the opening of the cubicle, which lead to a long, brightly lit hallway that seemed to go on forever.

"Let's find a way out of this place," Koakuma said.

They walked into the cubicle beside the one they respawned in, but it wasn't empty; there was a desk, a computer, and an expressionless, bald man with startingly white skin sat there, staring into the monitor and pressing the keys frantically. They could see he was playing Perfect Cherry Blossom.

"Umm... excuse me? Could you ---" Koakuma began.

The man remained focused on the game.

"Hello?!?!" Patchouli screamed at him while waving her arms across his eyes. The man remained undisturbed, and continued to graze with astonishing accuracy. Even when she covered her eyes completely he did not miss at all.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?" she exclaimed, kicking him and then the monitor; but nothing refused to move --- it was as if there was a barrier surrounding him.

Seeing that nothing in the cubicle would respond to their attempts at moving or destroying it, they gave up and walked out into the hallway.

"This place sure is wierd," Patchouli commented sadly, "let's see what's in the other ones."

They visited several more cubicles, but the situation was the same; in each one was a man playing one of the Touhou series, and none of them could be disturbed by anything they did. After a while, it became apparent that almost every one of the cubicles was identical, and the hallway seemed to go on forever in either direction.

They continued to walk in silence, looking into the cubicles on either side for any sign of escape. One of them seemed to be empty except for a single purple book lying exactly in the middle, and aligned perfectly with the four walls.

[Anonymous Mogul No.]

"This one's different! But... what can we do?" Koakuma said as they entered it.

Patchouli reached for the book, and to their surprise it moved with her touch. She picked it up and turned it over.

On the cover was a picture of a wizard and the words "Structure and Interpretation of Computer Programs".

"Structure and Inter--- wait, is this the SICP that snake mentioned before we ---" Koakuma exclaimed.

"I think I remember now!" Patchouli shouted excitedly. "It said something about reading SICP!" She opened it and turned to the first chapter.

They started reading the first chapter, and just as they finished the first section, the lights of the cubicle flickered and the two of them were once again immersed in darkness.

"What now?" Koakuma asked, "didn't we read it?"

A deep rumbling sound was heard, and the floor began to shake. They held onto each other as they felt themselves falling through it, then fainting.

They woke up to find that they were back where they started, and the huge black snake head was still staring at them. Patchouli continued to hold the purple book tightly against her chest.

"You have read your SICP today", the head hissed before disappearing into the air.

"Are you borrowing that book?" Patchouli looked up to see a young man smiling at her.

"Umm... hi," she replied weakly, "No, but..."

"Didn't I see you... nevermind. Can I have the book?"

"Ok..." Patchouli said as she gave the book to him, "by the way, didn't I see you..."

"You two were at that lecture hall and..." he started, "I think I haven't introduced myself yet. I'm Sakai Yuji."

"I'm Patchouli Knowledge," she replied.

"You can just call me Koakuma," her partner said.

"What happened? Did the professor...?" he started to say.

"It's a long story, I'll tell you the details if you really want."

"No, I have to go now. Nice meeting you two."

The two of them watched as he walked over to the checkout counter, where the single asian girl had been there earlier. They saw her show her tits to him, though they couldn't hear what they said to each other. Then he walked outside and onto a bus, which seemed to turn black and snakelike as it drove away.

"Such perverted beings, these humans," Koakuma said to Patchouli

[Anonymous No.]

Cool, continue like that.

[Fledgling Investor No.]

The Sussman sat on his wizard throne, still donning his standard wizard hat and robe, which was still dripping from the shower in which he put them on. As he stroked his neckbeard he pondered the things which the Satori ponder. Beneath his feet lay the broken fragments of the python, the foul demon summoned by the Sussman’s nemesis and anticudder Abelson, then slain by the worthy and brave Haskell nomads.

The nomads were not there on this dark day, however. There had been a rumors of Guido in the forests of the north, who was suspected to be developing a new, even more woesome and fail snake to do battle with the almighty Satori. They had pursued the Guido over 9000 times in the past, only to turn up nothing in each adventure. That fucking Guido was sneaky like a fucking snake.

The Sussman stoked his wizard beard as he hummed the tune to SICP… today would be a well-balanced parenthesis.

Cons turned to Cudder, “Report?” Cudder was dressed in the standard garb of the Haskell nomads - relatively light armor gilded with the holy symbols of Haskell. The Nomads didn’t need much armor - they traveled fast and they traveled hard, almost as hard as the Sussman rides your sister’s ass every night when you’re alone in your room whacking off to the sacred tomes. And they were armed to the teeth. They provided a deterministic and constant effect to the battle, such that their arrival could almost be curried to optimize the battle’s execution speed and bring it to a quick close.

“Nothing sir, the eastern quadrant appears to be empty. Not a thing could be found.”

Cons, without even having to ponder this responded, “Excellent. check the other three quadrants; if anything is found recursively subdivide and search until we’ve harrowed the location down to a single square inch.”

“Yessir!”

Discipline was tight in the Haskell nomads. If a given expression did not behave deterministically he had to be wrapped up in the shroud of the monad and returned to the homelands after a ritualistic suicide - they couldn’t afford to have monads in their tight-knit battle group. It just wasn’t acceptable.

They had had to perform a ceremony just the previous week. One of their dear comrades, Reed, had begun to perform differently from usual. A cursory inspection revealed that he had was indeed infected with the deadly disease and dispatched accordingly. Cons stoked his neckbeard. Reed was gone, celebrating the afterlife with the Lambda of Plenty.

His thoughts were interrupted suddenly by a bang!

“THE CAMLS!”, someone shouted.

“Damn,” Cons thought, “those fucking Camls and their fucking imperative features polluting the noble concept of functionality.” The Caml may have once been a noble race, but no one remembered such a time. Their syntactical swords were riddled with a chaotic mix of operators, a cacophony with few peers (Perl is among them).

Cons drew his two beautifully forged parenthesizes from their sheathes, the air filling with a glorious ring. Normally a weapon not wielded by the nomads, he had been gifted the pair b the Sussman himself and learned to use them well.

An Ocaml warrior suddenly jumped out and threw a malformed interrobang in an attempt to corrupt Con’s deterministic purity by destructively assigning his state with referential transparency (a black magic considered one of the darker evils from the depths of hell). Cons took up his parenthesis and swiped at the Caml with a quickly-crafted lambda function, but the Caml inferred the type of attack and was successfully able to evade any side effects. He didn’t notice, however, that Cons’ intention was not to slay him with the lambda but rather to incorporate the lambda into a foldl incantation to collapse the Ocaml’s state into a single return value. The Ocaml let out a scream as the tail-recursive function produced a single value from his state without any side-effects: -3.

Quite a weak Ocaml, Cons thought to himself. He glanced around at his comrades; for the most part they handled themselves well. The attack, though sudden was fairly small, most of the remaining Ocamls not dead were either dying or attempting to exit the current execution context. His subordinates hadn’t taken much damage though, one had been expanded into an array and then operated on in-place. Cons shook his head; it was a terrible torturous way to die, but honorable nonetheless.

Back at MIT, the Sussman was eating a tuna fish sandwich, something reserved for the aristocracy. The catchphrase on the can read, “You cannot tune a filesystem, but you can eat a tunafish sandwich!” It wasn’t very well-received, of course, but it was well-enough known at this point to remain.

[Fledgling Investor No.]

The Sussman munched on the delicious, moist tuna thoughtfully when all of a sudden he sensed behind hi a list comprehension. THE ABELSON! The Sussman leaped out of his seat, his wizard hat almost flying off his head (it was kept on by a quick (def (f x y) (f y x))).

And just in time - the Abelson’s blow, intended to truncate the Sussman’s tuna-filled spleen his the wooden wizard chair, which shattered into a thousand pieces.

“Well, well Sussman, I see you’ve maintained some of your skills from 6.001. You may have dodged that expression, but how long do you think you can hold out against my Python3000?”

“THREE THOUSAND?!” the Sussman shouted in response, cackling. “You never understood, Hal; you couldn’t defeat me with PythonOver9000.”

“What are you talking about Gerry. I’ve seen your powe–” he stopped, mouth agape as the sudden realization dawned over him. “NO, IT CANNOT BE!”

“YES. YOUR SUSPICIONS ARE CORRECT, HAL. I’VE BEEN SUPPRESSING MY POWER LEVEL.”

“HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE??!” Hal shouted. In desperation, the Abelson hurled a fury of list comprehensions, dictionaries and exceptions at the Sussman, but Gerry easily knocked aside the feeble incantations.

“You never understood, Hal,” he chastised as he prepared his final attack, “it was always as simple as EVAL-APPLY!!!!!!!” he shouted as he unleashed the ultimate spell at the Abelson.

The world froze.

Few people have ever seen a spell of such power; few people could even wield it and even fewer were willing to use it. In this terrible, suspenseful moment, the world froze. Completely. This isn’t just a literary artifact, something had segfaulted.

Sepples took a look at the screen. “Motherfucker!” he swore. Somebody had been running a fucking Ruby interpreter, which has exhausted not only the machine’s physical memory, but also used up all the allocated swap space. He’d have to reboot the system from the last savestate and re-run the computation another day.

Shit.

[Anonymous No.]

have you read your sicp today XDDDDDDDDD

[Anonymous No.]

>>46496439
Okay.