What are your favorite uses for your own lengthy mane? Follow-up: have you ever used it to kill? Describe the killing in detail with pictures wherever possible.
Science has recently demonstrated that the primary evolutionary purpose of hair is to increase drag during rapid descents. One would not think that slowing down is at all in keeping with the noble way, but I have discerned a reasonable explanation for this evolutionary contradiction.
Picture this-
You have herded or stalked your quarry into a deep valley. They have the advantage in numbers, but you have the advantage in frenzy. You leap, axes in hand, into the void that lies between will and blood. Your intention is pure, your body is without mercy, your mind is crystalline and sharpened to a killing edge, and you're about to achieve terminal velocity. Virtuous fury be damned, it's called "terminal" velocity for a reason- you may smash one or two foes into the dust, but you'll find that being reduced to a bloody paste will significantly curtail your capacity for further berserking.
Now, the richly-maned alternative-
You leap, once more, into the void. The blackness of oblivion again looms in the periphery of your frenzied vision. You plummet, screaming, toward Valhalla. And then, what's this?! A great winged shadow spreads beneath you! The guardian angel of death?
Indeed, my bloodthirsty friend: the angel of death.
Illustrative images shall be appended as needed.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Monday, July 7, 2008
licking coke while poking glass means choking on sokal's dick with your ass
ROB: on a hooker... what parts are reserved for doing blow, and what parts are reserved for eating sushi?
Hookers can be your best friends or your worst enemies. It's all a matter of keeping them in good spirits. Tipping helps, but the real secret to happiness is to coat the entire surface in a thin layer of nose-candy, much like how you might bread a chicken cutlet:
This may not leave much (any) room for sushi (unless you enjoy what I like to call "Kate Moss Rolls"), but I saw on a Martha Stewart special that you can avoid having problems by serving the sushi on his/her/its clean bill of STD-free health. If one of these is not available, a condom can make an adorable sushi tray. One per roll, kids.
GRACE: how does one remove sand from a vagina?
What, it's theme night and nobody told me?
Science teaches us that when you melt sand, it fuses together and turns into glass. Since its melting point is pretty high, you're probably going to need to light up some white phosphorus to get things going. [Thermite may be an acceptable alternative.] Once it's good and melted, you can choose to get creative, or you can just let it cool off before cracking it into smaller, more easily-removed pieces.
Stay safe!
DOUG: for god's sake, when is the 80s revival finally going to stop?
The excessive irony and meta of the 90s has rendered it all but completely untenable as a subject for standard nostalgia. Fortunately, the impending collapse of civilization means that we should be looking at pre-apocalyptic nostalgia within the next 5 years.
In the meantime, keep hangin' tough.
Hookers can be your best friends or your worst enemies. It's all a matter of keeping them in good spirits. Tipping helps, but the real secret to happiness is to coat the entire surface in a thin layer of nose-candy, much like how you might bread a chicken cutlet:
This may not leave much (any) room for sushi (unless you enjoy what I like to call "Kate Moss Rolls"), but I saw on a Martha Stewart special that you can avoid having problems by serving the sushi on his/her/its clean bill of STD-free health. If one of these is not available, a condom can make an adorable sushi tray. One per roll, kids.
GRACE: how does one remove sand from a vagina?
What, it's theme night and nobody told me?
Science teaches us that when you melt sand, it fuses together and turns into glass. Since its melting point is pretty high, you're probably going to need to light up some white phosphorus to get things going. [Thermite may be an acceptable alternative.] Once it's good and melted, you can choose to get creative, or you can just let it cool off before cracking it into smaller, more easily-removed pieces.
Stay safe!
DOUG: for god's sake, when is the 80s revival finally going to stop?
The excessive irony and meta of the 90s has rendered it all but completely untenable as a subject for standard nostalgia. Fortunately, the impending collapse of civilization means that we should be looking at pre-apocalyptic nostalgia within the next 5 years.
In the meantime, keep hangin' tough.
bifrost bridges bind bands of belligerent boys and beasts in battle
Where did you put all the rainbows?
janey, 10
Thanks for writing, Janey!
Long ago, in the days before axes were replaced by briefcases, the deeds of the mighty warchief Karlor Skwigelf caught the attention of a wicked intelligence beyond the reach of light or comprehension. They crossed their blades, and much blood was nobly shed. In the end, finding themselves both equally matched and equally mutilated, they sought a solution both more brutal and more cunning than delivering mutual deathblows (as was considered good manners in those days).
Instead of striking one another down, they struck a deal:
Man, who held power over the realm of flesh, would righteously spill the blood of his foes, and it would trickle down into the soil. Dripping down through the earth and into the unknown black sepulchre of the screaming realms, the blood would feed that mysterious adversary.
Strengthened, this Other would then fly heavenward and play at slaying angels, which is what the immortals do instead of videogames. Angels, being dull, bleed only water when wounded. But the adversary, sly as he was, used this angel-blood to forge a multicolored bridge between Asgard and Earthrealm, as a symbol of their mutual understanding. This was the origin of the rainbow. For as long as a warrior could stand at the end of one of these rainbows, he would drain the strength of the Valar and grow incomprehensibly formidable.
Everybody won!
Lately, though, it seems that we have not been righteous enough in pursuit of martial glory. They grow tired in the dark places, grinding their teeth and waiting to feast. Sharpen your axe, little Janey, and strike out for glory. Treat your schoolyard chums to a nice rainbow, and say hi to Thor for me. The old ways are good.
Your pal,
Berserker
Thanks for writing, Janey!
Long ago, in the days before axes were replaced by briefcases, the deeds of the mighty warchief Karlor Skwigelf caught the attention of a wicked intelligence beyond the reach of light or comprehension. They crossed their blades, and much blood was nobly shed. In the end, finding themselves both equally matched and equally mutilated, they sought a solution both more brutal and more cunning than delivering mutual deathblows (as was considered good manners in those days).
Instead of striking one another down, they struck a deal:
Man, who held power over the realm of flesh, would righteously spill the blood of his foes, and it would trickle down into the soil. Dripping down through the earth and into the unknown black sepulchre of the screaming realms, the blood would feed that mysterious adversary.
Strengthened, this Other would then fly heavenward and play at slaying angels, which is what the immortals do instead of videogames. Angels, being dull, bleed only water when wounded. But the adversary, sly as he was, used this angel-blood to forge a multicolored bridge between Asgard and Earthrealm, as a symbol of their mutual understanding. This was the origin of the rainbow. For as long as a warrior could stand at the end of one of these rainbows, he would drain the strength of the Valar and grow incomprehensibly formidable.
Everybody won!
Lately, though, it seems that we have not been righteous enough in pursuit of martial glory. They grow tired in the dark places, grinding their teeth and waiting to feast. Sharpen your axe, little Janey, and strike out for glory. Treat your schoolyard chums to a nice rainbow, and say hi to Thor for me. The old ways are good.
Your pal,
Berserker
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
collapsing hemispheres; other fears
300 word, 5 paragraph essay on the ramifications of Dr. Mixalot's smash hit in the development of quantum computers/Helen "Yoshimitsu" Hunt's acting in Twister, plz!
The thing about bottoms, if there is such a thing, is that they can channel this new rap music into a means of tearing us all apart. It's representative of a growing undercurrent that's shadowed my entire life. The separation of the singular, unified (notional) public into demographics and subcultures. Rap music is not my scene, but I am connected, across the division, to people whose scene it very much is.
This connection maps several iterations downward onto the phenomenon of quantum decoherence. As universes branch off from every collision of a superposition with our "external" reality, we reenact this inevitable cultural splintering. In a quantum-parallel universe several branches back, I became a rap guy. So did you. The quantum superposition is a computational state of grace, and if we could replace our material bodies with qubits encoding every aspect of our bodies and minds, we could become everything at once. The undifferentiated stem cells of bein, before the fall.
Hunt, on the other hand, is shown as irretrievably beyond the reach of the quantum fall. The tornado becomes, for her, the singular uncanny. There is no superposition there, no "maybe it is tearing me apart and maybe it is not"- observation consistently prevents coherence, shredding thousands of splinters of universe-probabilities in every direction. And, speaking of direction, when will we go from referring to it as "space-time" to referring to it as "space-time-probability?" Just another dimension along which we are forbidden from moving. Another ever-present limiting factor.
The tornado is less a quantum situation than a chaotic one. If you incorporate qubits into chaotic systems, they expand to simultaneously cover dangerous amounts of territory. Human beings are consistent systems, but we are also chaotic. The danger of being everything at once is how much that includes; the horror of it.
For the head of a dead zaibatsu, whether a cultural movement such as rap, an abandoned field such as storm-chasing, or digital reality, the whole essence of reality can only be accumulated in the slightly comedic ending cinematic. We're approaching the fall of America, peak oil, the end of the Long Count, McKenna's novelty spike, the tipping of the global climate, and other hilarious punch-lines. A genre of music where men talk about knives, bitches, gold; a spate of ersatz apocalypse-cinema dwarfed by current events; the death of cryptography and privacy, the awakening of the AI. Laugh it up, sinners.
The thing about bottoms, if there is such a thing, is that they can channel this new rap music into a means of tearing us all apart. It's representative of a growing undercurrent that's shadowed my entire life. The separation of the singular, unified (notional) public into demographics and subcultures. Rap music is not my scene, but I am connected, across the division, to people whose scene it very much is.
This connection maps several iterations downward onto the phenomenon of quantum decoherence. As universes branch off from every collision of a superposition with our "external" reality, we reenact this inevitable cultural splintering. In a quantum-parallel universe several branches back, I became a rap guy. So did you. The quantum superposition is a computational state of grace, and if we could replace our material bodies with qubits encoding every aspect of our bodies and minds, we could become everything at once. The undifferentiated stem cells of bein, before the fall.
Hunt, on the other hand, is shown as irretrievably beyond the reach of the quantum fall. The tornado becomes, for her, the singular uncanny. There is no superposition there, no "maybe it is tearing me apart and maybe it is not"- observation consistently prevents coherence, shredding thousands of splinters of universe-probabilities in every direction. And, speaking of direction, when will we go from referring to it as "space-time" to referring to it as "space-time-probability?" Just another dimension along which we are forbidden from moving. Another ever-present limiting factor.
The tornado is less a quantum situation than a chaotic one. If you incorporate qubits into chaotic systems, they expand to simultaneously cover dangerous amounts of territory. Human beings are consistent systems, but we are also chaotic. The danger of being everything at once is how much that includes; the horror of it.
For the head of a dead zaibatsu, whether a cultural movement such as rap, an abandoned field such as storm-chasing, or digital reality, the whole essence of reality can only be accumulated in the slightly comedic ending cinematic. We're approaching the fall of America, peak oil, the end of the Long Count, McKenna's novelty spike, the tipping of the global climate, and other hilarious punch-lines. A genre of music where men talk about knives, bitches, gold; a spate of ersatz apocalypse-cinema dwarfed by current events; the death of cryptography and privacy, the awakening of the AI. Laugh it up, sinners.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
panic-stricken, stapling pancakes in sickening maple
Can you tell us a few interesting things about furniture varnish and how?
The varnish can improve any setting from rich to poor, provided you attend all the necessary seminars. In a minor confrontation, apply directly to the victor's forehead for an increase in both growth and virility. You can use almost any situation to steer into the wind for a cut above the rest, but don't let the bastards back you into a corner if you've been using your hand gestures appropriately. They can always tell a lion by its comfortable fit and flecks of copper.
Deny everything after they draw and quarter you; you can have whatever you want.
The varnish can improve any setting from rich to poor, provided you attend all the necessary seminars. In a minor confrontation, apply directly to the victor's forehead for an increase in both growth and virility. You can use almost any situation to steer into the wind for a cut above the rest, but don't let the bastards back you into a corner if you've been using your hand gestures appropriately. They can always tell a lion by its comfortable fit and flecks of copper.
Deny everything after they draw and quarter you; you can have whatever you want.
met with unsettling sins of the flesh, one may die or win by getting fresh
Turning on you, or turning you on? Honesty is key now, no repression in secession.
Both at once, always, everywhere.
Both at once, always, everywhere.
mason-dixon models facin' maces may need makeup-fixin'
Nick: I've been driving through virginia for hours. Cigarettes are seventeen dollars a carton and gas is under four dollars but I still feel unsettled. I heard a warning today that following the son may prevent eternal burning and I'm not sure how to align my love for jesus christ with my desire to tan for the miss america contest.
Please help. Frazzled below the mason dixon line, Betty Lou Freeberg.
Dear Bouncing Betty,
Before the pageant begins, fill the basement of the convention center with as much gasoline as it can hold. See if you can pump it full enough that the contents are under significant pressure. Then, during the "talent" portion, (they still do that, right? If not, force them to) light and consume a whole carton of smokes, and casually flick one at a trail of gasoline leading to your massive reservoir of death.
If you time it right, the force of the blast should rocket the building directly into the sun, giving you a chance to get the world's sickest tan. Your competitors may be distressed by their impending demise, so explain that you're just doing yer Christian Duty and letting god sort 'em out. The burning should be temporary.
Yers in Krist: Nick
Please help. Frazzled below the mason dixon line, Betty Lou Freeberg.
Dear Bouncing Betty,
Before the pageant begins, fill the basement of the convention center with as much gasoline as it can hold. See if you can pump it full enough that the contents are under significant pressure. Then, during the "talent" portion, (they still do that, right? If not, force them to) light and consume a whole carton of smokes, and casually flick one at a trail of gasoline leading to your massive reservoir of death.
If you time it right, the force of the blast should rocket the building directly into the sun, giving you a chance to get the world's sickest tan. Your competitors may be distressed by their impending demise, so explain that you're just doing yer Christian Duty and letting god sort 'em out. The burning should be temporary.
Yers in Krist: Nick
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