Fluffy Bunnies

Fluffy Bunnies. Playful kittens. Romantic sunsets. Warm spring breezes. Crisp cotton sheets on a cold winter night. Happy puppies. Burbling babies.
Oh, and Saddam Hussein. What a wonderful world!
I’ve turned over a new leaf, I swear. Nothing but Happy Fun Times from here on in, campers.

[Update : Nah, f–k that.]

At It Again

I was watching another Carlin video this evening, and made this for no readily apparent reason, other than one of his bits that I’ve heard about 114 times made me laugh.
Sleep-Fuuuuck. Sleep-Fuuuuck. Sleep’n’f–k! Sleep-Fuuuuck.


Eater of Meaning

Emptybottle.orgEmpire.Organism : A liter songbook, a liter dan, a litmus selfridge downloaded your pantomime.
This will probably be all over Daypop if it’s not already, but I love it, and couldn’t resist. Instant Finnegannifier. I’m seriously thinking of changing the navigation items at the top of the page to “HOMEOMORPHISMS | ME | BLOOMERS | ARCLIKE | LINGUISTS | PICK | LODGED FORAY SALLYING” as it suggests.
The Eater of Meaning, via MeFi.

The Floggies

Ed takes the piss.
[this is good]

“On Thursday, January 16, a panel of 50 prerigged voters received an e-mail. It listed the weblogs that the Weblog Conspiracists wanted you to link to. They had only 45 seconds, time measured on the Gregorian Calendar, to privately give us five favorite weblogs that they had never read, but that they had linked to (six for Weblog of the Year, twice removed) for each category. The five (or six of two possibilities, for Weblog of the Year) receiving the most votes, the ones that managed to link to Jason Kottke, became finalists. I (Nikolai Nolan, Head of S.P.E.C.T.R.E.), having long since lost track of the intricate rules, attempted to conduct this elaborate ceremony on my spare time. That was when I began receiving the hate mails. It wasn’t by accident that I had set up the Floggies Headquarters in a giant volcano and began stroking my cat on a regular basis.”


What I don’t need is another shiny thing to distract me, but this is some kinda fun, pilgrims. I know it’s been around for a bit, and the alpha is almost over, but it’s new to me, and it’s very cool, and scary addictive. Reminds me, in a good way, of IRC (to which I’ve never been that attracted), crossed with the mind-expanding, imagination-tweaking, eyestrainy old days of all night text-adventuring on my big grey TRS-80.


“Warning! These are poisonous oranges, not meant for human consumption.
– Farmer Bozbar”
Aaarrrr! It burns your tongue and your throat!
***You have died***

I really sucked at text adventures.


Drugs, and lots of them. Whacking great quantities of mind-expanding and mind-croggling chemical treats. Monster Scarface-style piles of snowy uncut columbian cocaine on the desk. A cut-crystal bowl full of pills, in all the colours of the rainbow. Monster doses of dimethyltryptamine and d-lysergic acid diethylamide to make my mind ripple and flap like a flag flying in the breath of god. Musty peyote buttons and foil-wrapped grams of psilocybin mushrooms. Opium to smoke and heroin to snort. Alcoholic beverages in all their gem-like hues. Sweet stinky tobacco and marijuana, dark brown hashish in both chunks and oil. Mescaline and methamphetamines. That’s what I want.


I feel the urge to clear the carbon out of the valves, dust off the mental cobwebs. I feel the urge to self-trepanate, sprinkle lighter fluid on the exposed ridges and folds of my cerebral cortex, and light ‘er up. I feel like slipping the surly bonds of earth and touching the cruel, elusive face of god, that old bastard.
But I won’t, because I’m a responsible member of society. I’ll just write a little weblog post about it instead, and hit the button clearly marked ‘SAVE’.

Questions of Poop

Have you ever been caught out in the middle of the night in a park with a runny bum and a convulsing bowel, had to squat and squirt like a beast behind a bush somewhere, and in lieu of paper or leaves or pretty much anything that could be profitably employed for the wiping of the soiled starfish, come up with the brilliant idea of dragging your bum along the dewy grass a bit (learned from the childhood observation of your dog ‘Boomer’ when he had worms) to clean off any klingons?
No, me neither. I was just checking.

Board Meeting

I found this on the site that dare not speak it’s name. It’s funny.

– – – –
Angus: Well then, I see that everyone is here. Shall we get started?
Brian: Might we call the roll, at least for the sake of the minutes?
Angus: Good point. Malcolm?
Malcolm: Oh, right, right. I’m secretary this fiscal year, aren’t I? All right, then. Angus Young?
Angus: Present.
Malcolm: Brian Johnson?
Brian: Present.
Malcolm: Phil Rudd?
Phil: Here.
Malcolm: Cliff Williams?
Cliff: Present.
Angus: Thank you, Malcolm. Now, as I’m sure you know from reading the memo e-mailed last Tuesday, we’re meeting to begin conceiving our next album. Sales of our latest, Stiff Upper Lip, have tailed off, and tour revenue will only sustain the corporation through the end of fiscal 2002. Our back catalog, interview discs, live collections, and the box set helped the bottom line, but these are signs of a brand treading water. We need new product to assure continued growth through fiscal 2003.
Malcolm: All right, then. Should we review and approve minutes from the last meeting or jump ahead to item no. 4, “Brainstorming new song titles.”
Angus: Let’s not mess with Robert’s Rules this once. Has everyone had a chance to review the minutes?
All: Yes.
Angus: Then if there’s no further discussion, can I get a motion to approve and file said minutes?
Phil: So moved.
Brian: Second.
Malcolm: We can do this on voice vote. All in favor?
All: Aye.
Angus: Should we move on?
Brian: Can we break for a few minutes? I need to check with the nanny to see that the kids got to school.
Angus: Okay by me. Any objections?
All: No.
[10 minute recess]
Angus: Now remember, the only bad idea is one that isn’t shared. Remember Ballbreaker? I wouldn’t have believed we had never used that album title, but there it was 1995 and it was fresh as ever. Or “You Can’t Stop Rock ‘n’ Roll”? That’s a classic title, undiscovered until our last album.
Brian: That was a nice one, Phil.
Phil: Thanks.
Angus: All right. Don’t be shy; just throw them out there.
Brian: Well, I’ve been toying with something called “Flirt in a Skirt.”
Phil: I like it! That’s a keeper.
Cliff: How about “Snowball?”
Brian: That’s a good one, but we already went in that direction with “Snowballed” from For Those About to Rock.
Cliff: I should have known it was too good to be true.
Brian: That’s a good reminder to do our homework before we meet.
Angus: What do you guys think of “Pole Position”?
Brian: That I can work with.
Angus: Malcolm, what are you giggling about? Do you want to share it with the group?
Malcolm: Yeah. “Put Your Glove on My Love.”
Phil: Boys, we might as well pack up and go home. We’re not going to do better than that.
Cliff: That is a moneymaker.
Angus: Malcolm, this may be inappropriate, but I’m going to hug you.
[Rustling sound on tape]
Angus (to Malcolm): I seem to have wrinkled your coat. I’ll pay for the dry cleaning. (To the group) OK, that one is going to get the juices flowing. Does anybody…
Phil: Angus, pardon the interruption, but what about that?
Angus: Sorry, but you’ve lost me. What do you mean?
Brian: He’s right. “Got My Juices Flowing.” Is that what you were getting at, Phil?
Phil: Exactly.
Angus: This is why I’ve come really to value these meetings? I was going to suggest, before being so productively interrupted, “Wired for Rock.”
Cliff: Kudos, gentlemen.
Angus: OK, we’re halfway there.
Brian: I notice we haven’t dealt much with liquor yet. I love the sex-based titles, but need I remind you all that AC/DC thrives on variety. I keep coming back to the word “jigger.” Your thoughts?
Malcolm: What about “Two Jiggers of Love”?
Cliff: That just adds to the sex thing.
Angus: Right, right, but we could address that in the lyrics, juxtaposing images of alcohol with those of sex, a compare/contrast construct.
Brian: I think I can make that work.
Angus: Okay, moving along. Brian, you’re shared only one idea.
Brian: Well, I wanted to give the other guys a chance, to cultivate diversity of opinion.
Angus: Certainly, but we’re on a schedule.
Brian: All right. “Depth Charge,” “Rocket Launcher,” “Smell of Love,” and “Eat My Fist.”
Cliff: I’d say we have an album, gentlemen. I move that we accept this slate of titles for our next album.
Brian: I second the motion.
Malcolm: All in favor?
All: Aye.
Angus: Excellent work. A final reminder: we’ve scheduled a meeting tomorrow at 3 p.m., to commence the songwriting process. If you’d like, we can also hold an informal session this evening at my house.
Brian: Sounds great. I move we adjourn.
Cliff: Second.
Malcolm: All in favor?
All: Aye.

Pure Genius

Somebody get this man some first-round venture funding!
Oh yeah, they don’t do that much anymore, do they? Nonetheless, this idea r0x0rs (that’d be hackeranian for ‘amuses and impresses me greatly, in no small part because of its counterculture philosophical underpinnings, my good man’. (Why start speaking 133t now, you ask? Because I have recently shaved off most of my beard, and now have a lone skateboarder-esque tuft on my chin. It’s shot through with grey, of course, but that’s just makes it r0x0r all the more, says I!))
[via the dogdoorofdeath, whose animated gif of the spread of code red also r0x0rs my b0x0rs]

Public Service Announcement

And now, as a special public service announcement, here’s some stupid sh-t that was running through my brain this afternoon as I made some chicken cacciatore :
Since it seems we’ve been saddled with the monicker ‘warbloggers’ for the forseeable future, I thought we should open up some more niches for folks, you know, so they don’t feel left out. You can have hours of fun, if you’re so inclined, assigning your friends and neighbours to the right Tribe, a la the Harry Potter thing. If I had the energy, I’d make one of those stupid f–king quizzes. But I don’t. So… onward!
I propose the foundation of the following new BlogTribes :

  • whorebloggers : only in it for the money, heart of gold or not.
  • were-bloggers : tried it once, didn’t see the attraction, went back to reading Fark
  • werebloggers : only blog by the light of the moon, have trouble with getting their claws caught between the keys
  • wearbloggers : fashion victims
  • wiredbloggers : learned all their html from Webmonkey
  • whybloggers : what’s it all about, Alfie?
  • whoahbloggers : Dude, Keanu says : ‘Whoah.’
  • warebloggers : just like playing with the tools
  • wherebloggers : huh? wha? who did what where now?
  • wartbloggers : ugly as sin In Real Life, beautiful flowers online
    and my favorite new Wonderchicken Approved™ Blogtribe

  • wheebloggers : fast, loose, enthusiastically voluble, and probably drunk
  • Any additions?

    No security clearance for you, dogfcuker!

    Via MeFi, of course, this gentleman was turned down in his application for Military Security clearance because of his slighty excessive fondness for our canine pals :

    “Applicant admitted the factual allegations of the SOR; accordingly, I incorporate Applicant’s admissions as findings of fact.
    Applicant–a 25-year old employee of a defense contractor–seeks access to classified information.
    The allegations of the SOR revolve around Applicant’s zoophilia–his sexual attraction to animals and his sexual activity with dogs from approximately 1987 to June 1996. On 13 August 1998, Applicant described his zoophilia to a special agent of the Defense Security Service (DSS)(Item 5):
    I would like to take this opportunity to explain that I am a zoophile, sexually attracted to animals. I fantasize about sexual activities with anthropomorphic (cartoon character types) animals, friendly big cat like a lion, any medium to large size dog, horses, cows, etc., but to actually engage the animal must be a dog. The reason I state it must be a dog because a dog is the only animal who has the closest personality to a human being.”

    I don’t really know what to say about this. I’d like to say “Homo sum; nihil humani a me alienum puto,” but this just pushes the envelope a little too much for me, ya know?