Talk:Algorithm: Difference between revisions

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fucking 3:59 between a comment being posted and the archive bot kicking in, absolutely unbelievable, how is anyone suppose dto be johnny on the spot that quick???
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The statement that "a heuristic is an approach to solving problems that do not have well-defined correct or optimal results" is simply wrong. A heuristic is an approximate and often unproved method, independent of whether there exist well-defined correct of optimal results. See [[Heuristic]] in WP: "a technique designed for problem solving more quickly when classic methods are too slow for finding an exact or approximate solution, or when classic methods fail to find any exact solution". [[User:Zaslav|Zaslav]] ([[User talk:Zaslav|talk]]) 00:16, 19 December 2024 (UTC)
 
== Love story of frog and whomen ==
 
The lily pad was Bernadette's solace. From her balcony overlooking the pond, she'd watch the sun bleed crimson into the water, the dragonflies dancing a silent ballet. It was there she first saw him.
Not the prince of fairytales, but Ribbit. A common garden frog, green as emeralds, with eyes that held a surprising depth. Bernadette, a woman weathered by cynicism and long nights at her artist's easel, found herself drawn to his unwavering presence.
She’d leave him scraps of fruit, whispering stories of her day, about canvases that refused to bloom and the loneliness that clung to her like morning mist. Ribbit, in his amphibian way, would listen. He'd puff his throat, a gentle croak accompanying the setting sun, a counterpoint to her melancholic monologue.
One day, she found him injured, a gash on his leg, likely from a neighborhood cat. Bernadette, usually repulsed by anything slimy, gently scooped him up. His skin was cool and damp against her palm. She cleaned his wound with antiseptic, her hands trembling with an unfamiliar tenderness. She named him Ribbit, though she suspected he already knew.
Nursing him back to health became her purpose. She fed him mealworms with tweezers, watched him recover, and felt something within her thawing. His simple existence, his unwavering gaze, chipped away at the icy shell she'd built around herself. She started painting again, the colors vibrant and alive, inspired by the shimmering green of his skin, the quiet resilience in his froggy face.
The neighbors scoffed. They saw a strange woman talking to a frog, spending her days tending to a creature most would avoid. But Bernadette didn’t care. Ribbit saw her. He saw the hurt, the hope, the lost artist within.
As Ribbit healed, Bernadette began spending hours by the pond. She'd read poetry aloud, Shakespeare and Neruda, her voice softened by the gentle rustle of the reeds and Ribbit’s rhythmic croaking. She told him about her past loves, the ones that had withered and died, leaving her feeling empty. He listened, unblinking, his golden eyes reflecting the setting sun.
One evening, under a sky ablaze with stars, Bernadette found herself confessing her love for him. "I know it's absurd, Ribbit," she whispered, tears tracing paths down her cheeks. "But you... you see me. You don't judge. You just listen."
She reached out, her fingers brushing against his smooth skin. He hopped closer, nuzzling his head against her fingertips. In that moment, the absurdity faded. It wasn’t about magic, or princes, or fairytale tropes. It was about connection, about finding solace and understanding in the most unexpected place.
Bernadette and Ribbit. It was an unconventional love story, a whispered secret between a woman and a frog. He couldn't speak her language, but he understood her heart. And she, in turn, found a world of beauty and meaning in the simple life of a frog, a world where silence spoke louder than words, and love blossomed in the most unlikely of ponds.
Their love wasn’t passionate, but it was profound. It was the quiet comfort of shared sunsets, the gentle rhythm of two souls finding peace in each other's presence. It was a reminder that love, in all its strange and wonderful forms, can bloom anywhere, even between a woman and a frog, on the edge of a lily pad, under the watchful gaze of the moon. And for Bernadette, that was enough. [[Special:Contributions/2400:1A00:B030:2C7E:50F4:2EA8:7799:4890|2400:1A00:B030:2C7E:50F4:2EA8:7799:4890]] ([[User talk:2400:1A00:B030:2C7E:50F4:2EA8:7799:4890|talk]]) 08:06, 24 May 2025 (UTC)