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  • Mumble: Open Source, Low Latency, High Quality Voice Chat.

    Originally created for gamers, but it is also used to record podcasts etc.

    An idea of how powerful Mumble is: it has been used to connect Eve Online players with huge communities of over 100 simultaneous voice participants.

    Install it right away from the software repositories of Linux of your choice, or use a universal Snap-package!

    ==> https://itsfoss.com/mumble-voice-chat/
    _
    #Mumble #FOSS #Linux #voicechat #opensource
    Open Source Voice Chat App Mumble Has a New Release After 10 Years
    Mumble is a free, open source, low latency, high quality voice chat application. A new release has arrived after 10 years and brings much needed improvements.
    ITSFOSS.COM
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  • Mumble: Open Source, Low Latency, High Quality Voice Chat.

    Originally created for gamers, but it is also used to record podcasts etc.

    An idea of how powerful Mumble is: it has been used to connect Eve Online players with huge communities of over 100 simultaneous voice participants.

    Install it right away from the software repositories of Linux of your choice, or use a universal Snap-package!

    ==> https://itsfoss.com/mumble-voice-chat/
    _
    #Mumble #FOSS #Linux #voicechat #opensource
    Open Source Voice Chat App Mumble Has a New Release After 10 Years
    Mumble is a free, open source, low latency, high quality voice chat application. A new release has arrived after 10 years and brings much needed improvements.
    ITSFOSS.COM
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  • Chapter 2
    Emily opened the door for me as I fumbled for my keys like an idiot. I had so many keys, and they all looked so damn similar, so it always takes me a while to find the right one. Didn’t help that the only light bulb outside was weak and dim, and the sun was setting.

    My sister rolled her eyes at the familiar sight. “Just put stickers on your keys,” she said by way of greeting, probably for the twentieth time this month. And I replied in my usual way: a small smile, a nod and a promise that I would do it tomorrow.

    Emily disappeared inside before I could finish my response. I entered our apartment and the welcoming scent of chicken broth and basmati rice greeted me.

    “Dinner will be done in 3,” she called from the kitchen as I locked the door.

    I shouted a reply and made my way to my room, my hands going into my pockets to fish out my wallet, my phone… and the touch of warm silver froze me. I took out the ring, eyeing the ruby. It was still glowing a deep red; the inscriptions were too, only much fainter.

    “Logan, it’s done!”

    “Yeah, sure,” I mumbled back, though I doubted she heard me. With a final look at the gleaming jewellery, I shrugged, placed it next to my wallet and phone, and hurried out to dinner.

    * * *
    “How was work today?” my sister asked as we munched on our delicious dinner. Emily was in culinary school, and a damn good chef already.

    “Fine.”

    Oh, and by the way, I just saved a super hot woman and she gave me this weird ring that I’m seriously considering enslaving you with, and also the best blowjob of my life just to round it out.

    My sister blew away a few strands of her golden locks from her forehead. Like me, she had natural brown hair, but recently decided to try a change of style. That resulted in her going from a 10/10 to a better looking 10/10, much to my cock’s pleasure and my own personal discomfort.

    She poked a fork in my direction, talking with her mouth full. “Just ‘fine’? How was Mrs Bitchy Boss?”

    “Fine.”

    “How is Mrs Jones?” Her lips curved. “Any luck with her yet?”

    “No.”

    She put down the fork and frowned. “Okay, what’s wrong? Why are you so moody today?”

    I didn’t meet her gaze. “Nothing.”

    “Tell me, Logan,” she pressed. “You know you can tell me anything.”

    I propped my elbows on the table, my mind fabricating multiple replies. My boss gave me a hard time today, or shrug lazily and tell her again that it’s nothing, or-

    “Why the **** are there huge bruises on your elbows?”

    I looked at my elbows. ****, I completely forgot. Now that I realised I was injured, pain surged through my arms and I gritted my teeth, anchoring the pain there to keep my face still and composed.

    “Logan,” my sister’s eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

    “I just fell down okay. It’s nothing.”

    Emily got up and disappeared into her room. Moments later, she came back with medical supplies.

    “Give it here,” she said, sinking down to her knees beside me and gesturing to my arm. Memories of Clara flashed in my mind. She had been kneeling down too, giving me the best blowjob of my life. I tried to shove the images away, but it was too late, I was already aroused and very, very erect. It was so unfair; an attractive woman kneeling down in front of you was just too hot to not get worked up.

    Luckily, Emily didn’t notice the massive bulge between my legs, which was honestly damn lucky since it was hard to miss. Her frown deepened and she gestured at my injured arm again.

    I reluctantly turned to her and gave her my right, the one which was the worse for wear. Emily immediately went to work, taking care of my elbow, her lips pursed and her warm brown eyes focused. For a brief moment, I wondered if she would have that same intense concentration and dedication if she was giving me head.

    No, stop it. She’s your little sister, damn it.

    Little sister. Yeah, it was extremely embarrassing for me to have my younger sister taking care of me, not to mention doing the majority of the house work. She was just a year younger than me, but already extremely mature, even paying for her college tuition herself by copywriting online. I knew she was going to go far in life, way further than I ever will. I used to be extremely jealous of that, blaming it on her getting the premium genetics — she was smart, way more attractive than what was strictly legal, and possessed social skills I could only dream of having, which I still blamed on her attractiveness. I mean, who wouldn’t want to talk to her? She was always Mom and Dad’s clear favourite, and I used to hate her for it.

    But Emily was always nice to me and made a huge effort to be close. Eventually, I let my walls down and embraced her for the good sister she is.

    Emily finished nursing my right elbow, and I automatically gave her my left. She did this one quicker, but I still had to try my hardest to just keep my gaze levelled at her agile fingers, or anything really, rather than my view of her gorgeous breasts. She always wore skimpy tops at home, never bothering to put much on. Today, she had on a long, loose blouse that went to just below her hips, and… pink underwear. Nothing else. No leggings or shorts or anything. A dream sight for any straight man, and an uncomfortable one for her brother.

    “There, done.” She got up and cleared her throat. “Just be careful next time, okay?”

    I immediately swivelled back to the table, in case she finally took notice of my raging boner. “Yeah, okay.”

    We ate in relative silence after that. Me, from annoyance that my boner still hadn’t gone away coupled with the excessive number of involuntarily glances at my sister’s top that only made it worse. Her, from being deep in thought about something.

    We finished dinner and I cleared the plates, as per our agreement. Then, I plopped down on my bed and grabbed my MacBook, my phone glued to my other hand. I checked my messages. Nothing. It was a familiar sight. I didn’t have many friends and Emily had plenty — her phone dings constantly. I only saw her with girlfriends, but I was certain she had plenty of male ones too... and somehow that made me jealous.

    I discarded that thought with a sigh. I was insanely attracted to my sister, there was no denying it. She was prettier than Clara, which was saying A LOT.

    Often times, I would daydream about my sister… sinful thoughts like: what would her lips taste like? Sweet? Like Strawberry? Not sweet? It has to be sweet. And how would it feel ****ing her, or how good she was at sucking ****. I straightened myself on my bed. Probably better than Clara. Way, way better.

    I glanced at the ring. The ruby seemed to be glowing brighter than before.

    I was going to use the ring, for certain. But not on Emily. She was too good to me.

    But her tight ass… her breasts…

    ****. Why was I even considering that damn ring to even work? It was probably junk.

    But what if it works? What if Clara wasn’t bull****ting me? That chance, no matter how slim it might be, making sex with the woman of my dreams possible, my own sister...

    I shook my head. No. It has to be anyone but my sister. I used to be disgusted by any sexual thoughts about Emily, but eventually resigned myself to those sinful (and harmless) thoughts. I wasn’t really disgusted anymore — the opposite in fact, but I was still uneasy about my ever growing lust for her.

    I pushed my laptop off me and walked over to grab the ring, immediately jarred by the contrast of the unusual warmth in relation to the otherwise cool, air-conditioned room.

    I was not going to use it on Emily, but I sure as hell was going to try it on someone. And I was seeing that special someone tomorrow...

    * * *
    Alexandra Garcia (or Mrs Jones, as she kept telling us to call her) was the result of an exotic marriage of Latina and Italian. An eye pleasing woman who captures the attention of every room through her deep knowledge of psychology and fierce natural beauty.

    I watched Mrs Jones cross the room, her strides long and confident. Like always, most of the class — particularly the men — were only paying quarter attention, their gazes fixed on that plush ass and those perfect breasts of hers.

    Mrs Jones dismissed us after an hour’s lecture. I didn’t realise an hour has passed. I was so nervous, with butterflies in my stomach, and my hands slick with sweat. I fingered the ring, finding comfort in its warmth, running a finger over the strange inscriptions, feeling them scrape against my skin.

    I waited until everyone filed out. My friend, Blake, nudged me. “What are you doing? Let’s go.”

    “Nah, I want to give something to her,” I gestured to Mrs Jones using my chin.

    Blake gave me a knowing smile, a slap in the back for luck, then left.

    Mrs Jones was still at her desk, typing away on her laptop. I walked up to her.

    “Hey, Mrs Jones.”

    She glanced up with her emerald green eyes. Holy ****, she was hot. Though still paled in comparison to Emily, as everyone did. “Yes, uh, Sam?”

    I forced a smile. “It’s Logan.”

    She met my smile. “Ah, yes. I’m sorry. Too many students.” Her gaze went south, though not as low as I hoped. “What happened to your elbows?”

    “Nothing.”

    She must have expected me to say more, but cleared her throat when I didn’t offer anything else. “So what is it that you want, Logan?”

    “Um,” I pulled Mom’s wedding ring box out of my pocket, “I have a gift for you.” When she narrowed her gaze, I quickly added, “I just thought that since you’re such a great lecturer, I wanted to give something back.”

    Mrs Jones flitted her gaze between the ring box and me, not sure what to make of it. “This isn’t a bribe, is it? You know I can’t help you in your next week’s finals.”

    ****. I had completely forgotten about the finals.

    As I was thinking up a suitable reply, she laughed. “I’m just joking! What is that?”

    “Here,” I said, handing her the box.

    She took it, her facial features professional, but there was no mistaking the giddiness in her. There was a gasp when she opened the box and gingerly took out the ring, studying the glowing ruby and inscriptions like I had. “I have never seen anything like this. Why is it glowing,” a pause, “and so warm?”

    “I’m not sure,” I said earnestly.

    “This must have cost a fortune,” she gasped again, looking at me with wide green eyes. “I can’t accept this!”

    I tried to keep my gaze levelled. “No, really. Take it, please. I am just trying to repay you.”

    “Are you sure about this?”

    “A hundred per cent.”

    That seemed to satisfy her.

    “My husband would be so jealous,” She giggled uncharacteristically. She had a really nice giggle, sounding like a schoolgirl for just a second. She showed me her other hand where a golden ring with a bright diamond rested on her ring finger. “What would he think? With another ring on my finger?”

    I shrugged. “It’s just a gift for being such a good lecturer.”

    Mrs Jones smiled, twirling the end of her ponytail. “Thank you, Logan.” She handed me back the ring and offered her right hand. “Would you do the honours?”

    I nodded, and with trembling fingers, slid the ring on.

    * * *
    Nothing happened.

    Mrs Jones just ogled the ring for several more moments, commented on its unnatural warmth again, thanked me for the umpteenth time, then dismissed me.

    It was just a stupid ring. A stupid, stupid ring. I got scammed. Except it cost me nothing and I got a blowjob out of the deal. So why do I feel so cheated?

    Whatever. I hadn’t really lost anything. I would just forget what happened. Clara, the ring, dreams of having a sex slave, everything.

    There was no work shift for me today since part timers have it easier, so I just went home.

    My sister greeted me in the same fashion: a frown when she saw me fumbling around with my ring of keys.

    “Just get stickers for them,” she snapped, then walked away. My eyes immediately lowered to her ass, which was nicely on display today. She was wearing just an oversized t-shirt and black panties. I tore my gaze away before I could get another hard on from looking at my sister.

    Lunch was classic Carbonara with delicious green beans and tasty grilled mushrooms with bell peppers.

    a few seconds ago
    The GoldFish Report Public Statement About the Silencing of Winston Shrout https://youtu.be/WAO7xkl3On4 via @YouTube
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  • Paul Is Dead:

    Paul McCartney never wrote "Maybe I'm Amazed." He never formed the band Wings. He never clashed with Yoko, became a vegetarian, or fathered any of his children. When Queen Elizabeth knighted him in 1997, she was actually knighting someone else. This is because, conspiracy-minded Beatlemaniacs say, Paul McCartney secretly died in 1966. Theorists claim the other Beatles covered up his death — hiring someone who looked like him, sang like him, and had the same jovial personality. But the guilt eventually got to them and they began hiding clues in their music. In the song "Taxman," George Harrison gave his "advice for those who die," meaning Paul. The entire Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band album was awash with Paul-is-dead clues: the Beatles had formed a "new" band featuring a fictional member named Billy Shears — supposedly the name of Paul's replacement. The album contained John Lennon's "A Day in the Life," which had the lyrics "He blew his mind out in a car" and the recorded phrase "Paul is dead, miss him, miss him," which becomes evident only when the song is played backward. Lennon also mumbled, "I buried Paul" at the end of "Strawberry Fields Forever" (in interviews, Lennon said the phrase was actually "cranberry sauce" and denied the existence of any backward messages).

    Paul-is-dead believers think the Beatles accompanied these backward tape loops and veiled references to death with album covers that illustrated the loss of their friend. The original cover of 1966's Yesterday and Today album featured the Beatles posed amid raw meat and dismembered doll parts — symbolizing McCartney's gruesome accident. If fans placed a mirror in front of the Sgt. Pepper album cover, the words Lonely Hearts on the drum logo could be read as "1 ONE 1 X HE DIE 1 ONE 1." And of course, there's the Abbey Road cover, on which John, George and Ringo forwent all pretense and pretended to cross the street as a funeral procession. John wore all white, like a clergyman. Ringo, the mourner, dressed in black. George donned jeans, like a gravedigger. Paul wore no shoes (he didn't need them, because he was dead) and walked out of step with the others.

    If Paul is dead, then his imposter is still at large. He met and married Linda Eastman, with whom he had four children before losing her to breast cancer in 1998. He released a live album in 1993 called Paul Is Live (likely story), and produced more than 20 solo albums — and that's not even counting the ones released by Wings. Then he endured a horrible divorce from Heather Mills, which may have made him wish he were dead — or, at least, were still Billy Shears. So who is the real McCartney? The world may never know.
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  • PRE-ORDER NOW OPEN... Give a little Hoot Hoot... drmumbles.com #stayunderground
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