v3.0.6—spinal meningitis got me down

• Fix empty output when ncplane_puttext() is used with NCALIGN_UNALIGNED (#2611 ) , thanks @alexhsamuel for the report!
• Fixed numerous issues regarding mouse interactions with ncmenu (#2592), thanks @kascote for the report!
• Fixed bug where ncmenu entered an infinite loop when opening a menu with no enabled items (#2606)
• Fixed assert() when replies came broken across multiple reads (#2590 ); this was especially nasty when running over ssh. You wouldn't see this bug unless your Notcurses was built with CMAKE_BUILD_TYPE=Debug or NDEBUG was explicitly undefined, thanks @christianparpart for the report!
• Don't emit DECSDM unless we know for sure what terminal we're talking to (#2587), thanks @AutumnMeowMeow / @j4james / @dnkl for the report and discussion!
• Massive overhaul of the Sixel encoder, ending this area of work for the time being. We now consume ~90% less memory per Sixel-targeted ncvisual, and encode in about 20%--50% of the 3.0.5 times. A tremendous improvement. How delightfully baller. We're still not where I'd like to be, but we're so much better than we have ever been. This work was tough, and dominated the 3.0.6 cycle (#2573 , #2603). #2573 is an epic story indeed, well worth reading IMHO.

Welcome @alexhsamuel , who appears to be taking over the Python wrappers, aka the bane of my existence.

i'll be having some intestines removed next week, having deemed them unfit for my august personage, but i doubt it'll slow me down for more than a few hours. hack on!

I checked the guidebook and it said: Excellent food, malevolent ambience. I'd been habitually abusing an illegal growth hormone extracted from the pituitary glands of human corpses and I felt as if I were drowning in excremental filthiness but the prospect of having something good to eat cheered me up. I asked the waitress about the soup du jour and she said that it was primordial soup—which is ammonia and methane mixed with ocean water in the presence of lightning. Oh I'll take a tureen of that embryonic broth, I say, constraint giving way to exuberance—but as soon as she vanishes my spirit immediately sags because the ambience is so malevolent. The bouncers are hassling some youngsters who want drinks—instead of simply carding the kids, they give them radiocarbon tests, using traces of carbon 14 to determine how old they are—and also there's a young wise guy from Texas A&M at a table near mine who asks for freshly ground Rolaids on his fettuccine and two waiters viciously work him over with heavy bludgeon-sized pepper mills, so I get right back into my car and narcissistically comb my thick jet-black hair in the rearview mirror and I check the guidebook. There's an inn nearby—it's called Little Bo Peep's— its habitues are shepherds. And after a long day of herding, shearing, panpipe playing, muse invoking, and conversing in eclogues, it's Miller time, and Bo Peep's is packed with rustic swains who've left their flocks and sunlit, idealized arcadia behind for the more pungent charms of hard-core social intercourse. Everyone's favorite waitress is Kikugoro. She wears a pale-blue silk kimono and a brocade obi of gold and silver chrysanthemums with a small fan tucked into its folds, her face is painted and powdered to a porcelain white. A cowboy from south of the border orders a "Biggu Makku." But Kikugoro says, "This is not Makudonarudo." She takes a long cylinder of gallium arsenide crystal and slices him a thin wafer which she serves with soy sauce, wasabi, pickled ginger, and daikon. "Conducts electrons ten times faster than silicon... taste good, gaucho-san, you eat," she says, bowing.