Ok time for the dumb question of the hour...

[stresseater]

I've had this silly computer for almost 2 years now and I have been here about that long. I loved jccowgirl77's stroy about the room and wanted to save it. After about 5 min. of editing the (<<<) before the start of each sentance I began to wonder WHY?:confused: :confused: :confused:
I want to know why those are there? Is it a program that does it or what. I refuse to believe there are that many people who do this for no reason. I just don't know the reason.:o :confused: :o :confused: :o :confused:

[chort1313]

if there is a program, i don't know about it! I've been editing the <<< out also! :)

[adair]

instead of deleting those >>>> all the time, copy the message and then go to www.draac.com/stripper.html and have them do it for ya....after ya strip it, copy it and put it where ya want it :D

[ahippiechic]

you can set most email clients to remove those >>>>> before you forward them.

[scifiwoman]

StripMail is a neat little utility that cleans out the '>' characters that clutter up forwarded emails.

The program makes it easy to cut and paste the text back into your message so you can send out a clean copy: It not only cuts out the nasty indention marks, but also re-formats the message into paragraphs. It's a tiny utility -- only 265K -- and it works with any email client. It comes from a Turkish company called Datasoft.

http://www.dsoft.com.tr/stripmail/

Please Note: the URL for StripMail is www.dsoft.com.tr/stripmail, not stripmail.com, which is an adult site

Hope this helps :)

[kelsie126]

Copy and past the story in notepad then go to edit>replace and put > in the first box and leave the 2nd box blank and then click Replace All that should do it.

[kelsie126]

Actually could of just done this the first time..LOL


The story behind the story "The Room "
17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for a
class.
The subject was what Heaven was like.


"I wowed 'em," he later told his father, Bruce. "It's a killer, It's
thebomb.
It's the best thing I ever wrote." It also was the last.


Brian's parents had forgotten about the essay when a cousin found it
while
cleaning out the teenager's locker at Teary Valley High School. Brian had

been dead only hours, but his parents desperately wanted every piece of
his
life near them-notes from classmates and teachers, his homework. Only
two
months before, he had handwritten the essay about encountering Jesus in a

file room full of cards detailing every moment of the teen's life.


But it was only after Brian's death that Beth and Bruce Moore realized
that
their son had described his view of heaven. "It makes such an impact
that
people want to share it. You feel like you are there." Mr. Moore said.


Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day afterMemorial Day. He was driving

home from a friend's house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road in
Pickaway County and struck a utility pole. He emerged from the wreck
unharmed but stepped on a downed power line and was electrocuted.


The Moore's framed a copy of Brian's essay and hung it among the family
portraits in the living room. "I think God used him to make a point. I
think we were meant to find it and make something out of it," Mrs. Moore

said of the essay. She and her husband want to share their son's vision
of
life after
death. "I'm happy for Brian. I know he's in heaven. I know I'll see
him."


The Room
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room.

There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered
with
small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list
titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files,
which
stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either
direction,
had very different headings.


As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one

that read "Girls I have liked." I opened it and began flipping through
the
cards. I
quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written
on
each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This
lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my
life.
Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a
detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity,
coupled
with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and
exploring their content.


Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret
so
intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.


A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I have betrayed."
The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Have
Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed
at." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've yelled
at
my brothers."


Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger" "Things I
Have
Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised
by
the contents.


Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I
hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived.
Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to write each of
these
thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth.

Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.

When I pulled out the file marked "TV Shows I have watched," I realized
the
files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and
yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut

it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast time
I
knew
that file represented.


When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run
through
my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its
size,
and
drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to
think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke
on
me.
One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards! No one
must ever see this room! I have to destroy them! In insane frenzy I
yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and
burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the

floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled

out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.


Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning
my
forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then
I
saw
it. The title bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel With." The handle
was
brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its
handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my
hands.
I could count the cards it contained on one hand.


And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt.

They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and
ried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The
rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever,
ever know of
this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.

But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not

here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open
the
files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response.


And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a
sorrow
deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why

did
He have to read every one?


Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me

with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I
dropped my
head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked
over
and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He
didn't say a word. He just cried with me.


Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end
of
the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over

mine on each card. "No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to
say was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be
on
these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so
alive.


The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He
gently
took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards.


I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next

instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my
side.
He
placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished."


I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its
door.
There were still cards to be written.

"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." ---Phil. 4:13


"For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever
believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life." John 3:16


If you feel the same way forward it to as many people as you can so the
love of Jesus will touch their lives also.


My "People I shared the gospel with" file just got bigger, how about
yours?

"LET'S FILL OUR OWN FILE CARD" AND MAY GOD BLESS YOU ALL!

[stresseater]

Yes but how do they get there and do they serve a purpose other than creating a reason for websites to strip them? Oh I am sooo confused hehehe.:confused: :confused: :confused:

[kelsie126]

Probably copied from a email that had been replied too. Thats normally where I see them and have to remove them from if I am saving something.

[ahippiechic]

Some email clients add those >>>> thingies when you reply to or forward another email. It puts them on the original message. With most email clients, you can change this option. In mine, I go to options/rules/Replying To Messages. I have 3 choices -
Separator
">"
None
I have "separator" checked on mine. It also has this information:

"You can quote the text of an original message when you reply or forward it. The separator option will mark the beginning of quoted text with a full line of bars ("===="). The ">" option will add the > symbol on each line of quoted text. Optionally, you can choose None and quoted text will not be marked by any indicators."

So you can keep your email from adding those >>>> to replies & forwards. If everyone did this, no one would have to take them out of something they recieved. HTH