Microanalysis

Having Been Contaminated By A Jellied Knife, A Jar Of Crunchy Peanut Butter Expresses His Sorrow, Embarrassment, and Outrage Through Haiku

2007-03-15T14:06:00.000-07:00

Via butterknife,
My innermost sanctum breached.
Is nothing sacred?

Grape Jelly, a friend-
Has violated my space;
Utter Betrayal.

Pure nut lineage
Sullied by sundry jelly-
Alas! I am shamed.

Segregation fails!
How dare they violate my jar-
Many peanuts cry.

Stirr'd by dirty knives;
No respect for decency-
I will kill them all.

Rarely Studied Areas Of The Human Brain

2007-03-13T09:57:00.000-07:00

Broca's Scenic Overlook
The Hippocampus Coffee Shop
The Lisa Lobe
O'Toole's Paraventricular Sports Bar & Grill
The Hamygdala
The Jamygdala
The Clamygdala
Wernicke's Rest Area
The Neocortical Conference Room
The Gripe-othalamus

Final Thoughts Of A Decapitated Chicken

2007-02-06T13:43:00.000-08:00

What is this, what am I looking at here? Chicken legs, slightly bent toenail on the right foot. Saaaay... This chicken looks a lot like me- a lot like me. Same ruffled wings, same speckles, runs around in circles in the same stupid way... Heck, the resemblance is uncanny. Every last detail- right down to the airgun BB embedded in the right thigh. Weird. Anyhow, back to business... what was I doing? Oh- right. I was trying to get away from that damned farmer... Thinks he can behead me, does he? Well then... I'll just go to the coop and...

Hang on now. Not moving. This is a bad sign. A very bad sign. Did he get me? Stay calm, Timothy. Surely, if you'd been beheaded, you would know by now. Look around at the other chickens. Take your cues from them.... They all look horrified. Not good. Of course, they're chickens. They panic easily. No one has ever made the claim that a chicken is an accurate barometer by which to gauge the severity of one's situation. Don't panic yet. Wait a second... What about that chicken who looked like me? He seemed to have an air of competence, wisdom, and poise about him- where did he go?

Oh, there he is... running around without a head.

Dammit. What an awful day.

A Marine Worm Goes To A Frozen Yogurt Shop For The First Time

2007-02-05T12:50:00.001-08:00

Oh man, would you look at all that frozen yogurt? I must be the luckiest marine worm in the world right now. I can't wait to eat every last bit of it. Normally, I'm content with whatever bits of plankton or marine snow float my way, but today I'm gonna go all out. I've heard so much about frozen yogurt- for ages now I've been dreaming of it's rich, creamy texture, and to have finally made it to TCBY- The Country's Best Yogurt- well, it's almost too much to bear. I'm nearly overwhelmed by the choices- vanilla, chocolate, swirl... Oh man, where do I even start?

Really, I don't even care what flavor frogurt I have, so long as I have a lot of it. I don't indulge myself like this too often, so when I do, I like to go all out. Say, friend- what do you think the chances are of you just letting me stick my face into one of those tubs there? I want nothing more than to cover each of my tentacles, eyestalks, and fleshy tooth-like structures in frozen yogurt. Sure, it'll be a little messy, but I'm sure that I could lick it all off of myself with a minimum of lost yogurt. I'm sure the other patrons won't mind a marine worm as comely as myself slathered in yogurt quietly slurping himself clean in the corner of the room. If they wanted to, they could even pour toppings on me. That way I get more toppings, and your patrons get a frogurt experience that they won't soon forget.

No? Well, fine. I guess I can't expect to just waltz in here and tell an experienced frozen yogurtsman what to do. I'll be perfectly satisfied if you just freeze and prepare my yogurt in some theatrical and flashy fashion, like a hibachi chef does with surf & turf. I like that. You don't do that either? Jeez. What about the juggling of flaming knives? NO??? What a party pooper. I've heard so much about this frogurt stuff that I assumed it came with some sort of theatrics, or at least that it would be shot out of a firehose attached to a frogurt hydrant, but clearly I've been misinformed. Hehhh... I guess I'll just have a large swirled cone, with extra rainbow sprinkles- but don't hold your breath for a tip. I had to pay for bus fare to get here and, quite frankly, I'm a little miffed that "The Country's Best Yogurt" doesn't include any zany extras.

A Nanobot Responds To Reader Inquries About The Future

2007-01-19T13:40:00.000-08:00

Few are more concerned with the future of things than those of us here at Microanalysis. In response to reader inquiries about what fruits will be yielded by the information age, we are having our nanobot correspondent, NanoBob, share his insider knowledge of what the future will bring.

Dear NanoBob-

I heard a rumor that by 2020, nanotechnology will have made such advances that armies of nanobots will perform all of our mundane tasks for us, such as dusting and cleaning up coffee cake crumbs. Is this true?

-Diane, Nashville TN

Dear Diane-

While great advances in nanotechnology are being made every year, there is nothing currently under development sophisticated enough to perform the tasks of which you speak. The vast majority nanobots which currently exist are really more of a collection of carbon nanotubes which can be used for targeted drug delivery, or perhaps perform rudimentary locomotive functions. As one of the few 'intelligent' nanobots around, I can personally assure you that I am in very rare company indeed (I am sad to report that I have received a less than lukewarm response to my Nerve.com profile). Chores such as dusting and cleaning up coffee cake crumbs, which may sound simple to humans, are actually very difficult for nanobots to do. Remember that even the smallest crumb is far larger than any one of us. Many great strides have yet to be made in nanotechnology before we will be able to rely on swarming nanobots to carry out such tasks with any reliability. The future does hold promise, Diane, but I fear that your timetable is unrealistic.

-NanoBob

Dear NanoBob-

I was watching public access television last weekend, and a man claiming to be a Ph. D. in futurology said that cancer will be wiped out in a few years because doctors will put nanobots that shoot lasers in our bodies to fight cancer off. He displayed several multi-colored pie charts and scatter plots to bolster his argument. It was very convincing. As a big tobacco lobbyist, I just wanted to write in and thank you for taking care of that for us. With cancer no longer a concern, we can start putting in even more of the smooth, full-bodied flavor into our cigarettes than ever before without having to worry about any deleterious side effects.

-Corbin Branstock, Washington D.C.

Dear Corbin-

I don't know who this futurologist you speak of is, but his claims are, regrettably, unfounded. I cannot let you act upon his optimism in good conscience. The available research suggests that cancer will still be a serious medical concern for many years to come, particularly among cigarette smokers. Nanotechnology, while it may seem to be the very embodiment of the future, is in reality a very nascent technology, and should not be looked upon as a panacea. Please do not put more smooth, full-bodied flavor into your cigarettes than ever before, as this will inevitably put more malignant, full-bodied carinomas into our nations lungs than ever before, and I do not want the blood of a million smokers on my hands. Or carbon nanotube gripping pincer-things. To be honest, I'm not sure what you'd call these, but I want them to stay clean.

-NanoBob

Dear NanoBob-

I listen to "Na-No Way, Jose," a spanish-language science and technology podcast. They say that all of these claims you're making about how nanobots will revolutionize the future are completely unfounded. That makes you personally responsible for inflating people's expectations of what promises the future holds and therefore for the fatalistic choices that they make based upon said assumption. Few things are more deplorable than telling the masses that everything will be okay when, in fact, it will not. Renounce your status as a guiding light before you pull any more lemmings over the cliff. Their blood is on your hands.

-Prudence, St. Louis MO

Dear Prudence-

Please don't say that. In all my endeavors, I have strived to present a clear picture of the current state of nanotechnology speficically to prevent the sort of noodleheaded postulating that happens when people hear about some scientific development they don't understand. I apologize if you've misunderstood my mission.

-NanoBob

Yo, NanoBob-

If nanobots aren't advanced enough to clean the plaque off of my hardened arteries, how do they have the ability to write responses to readers?

-Fats McGruder, Tuscaloosa AL

Dear Fats-

I am noticing that people have a lot of expectations of nanotechnology, most of which appear to be the result of people dreaming up wild solutions to whatever it is that might be bothering them or their loved ones. I am also noticing that people are ready, willing, and able to hold me personally responsible if said solutions don't pan out. Please stop doing that. It puts a lot of unnecessary stress on me, and it's really starting to get to me. I'm a nice nanobot, I swear- I wish none of you harm, but I cannot and will not be held responsible for all of your fates!

-NanoBob

Hey NanoBob-

I heard you killed a baby. With science.

-Morgan, Bridgeport CT

Dear Morgan-

I quit.

-NanoBob

Bethany Porter Attempts To Tell A Friend About Her New Boyfriend, The Top Secret Manhattan Project, Without Spilling Any Classified Information

2007-01-16T09:06:00.000-08:00

Well, I met MP while I was on a camping trip in New Mexico. I just love the southwest so much, and I needed some "me time" to recover from the whole Jon affair- criminy, he's an unreasonable man. Thank goodness he sent me packing, though, otherwise I would never have met MP in that sun-parched land. It was a complete surprise to see him there- the desert is so barren, y'know. Just the same, I came down from the top of a mesa and there he was, hard at work in the middle of the desert. He's got a job with the government working on something or other for the military. He tried to explain it to me once, but I didn't quite get it. Some sort of new application of fishing that I don't understand. How fishing will help our boys on the front give those nasty Krauts a kick in the pants is beyond me, but MP seems to think it'll make a big difference. Either way, he's trying to end the war- isn't that something? Most of the other relationships I've been in have been with pencil pushers- y'know, accountants, underwriters, syndicated sports columnists. It's so refreshing to be with someone like MP who has such a different perspective on things. He's really going to make an impact. You'll see.

Creatures That Would Be Absolutely Terrifying If They Were Six Feet Tall

2007-01-11T15:43:00.000-08:00

Sea Monkeys
Those weird centipede things that crawl up out of drains
Earwigs
Werewolves
Monarch butterflies
Humpback whales
Lobsters
Vampires

Selected Quotes From "Lord Of The Roads," A Road Trip Movie Starring Pip And Merry Which Takes Place The Summer Before "The Fellowship Of The Ring"

2007-01-10T09:19:00.000-08:00

Pip and Merry's wagon has been pulled over by a Hobbit Constable just outside of Sacksville.
Hobbit Constable: Do you boys know how fast this wagon was going?
Pip: Hmm. Good question. Merry?
Merry: Well, Pip... The constable caught up to us while we were still on our first pipeful of Old Toby, so we must have been going...
Pip/Merry: Not fast enough!
They depart hastily, leaving the constable in a cloud of dust.

Pip and Merry's wagon is stopped by an Elven border patrol at the edge of Rivendell.
Elf: Prithee, halflings- where are your travelling papers?
Pip: Papers? (To Merry) We don't have any papers! What do we do?
Merry: (To Pip) Don't worry, Pip- I'll handle this situation. (To Elf) I've got our papers right here...
Merry motions as if to pull some papers from his vest, then kicks the elf in the crotch. They depart hastily, leaving the elf in a cloud of dust.
Pip: I thought you said you were going to handle the situation!
Merry: I did handle the situation!
Pip: You didn't handle the situation- you footled that elf's wedding tackle! Now we're going to have every elf in Rivendell after us!
Merry: Don't worry, Pip- I'll handle it.
Pip: That's what I'm worried about!

Pip and Merry's mule has overheated, forcing them to stop at Weathertop to assess the situation.
Pip: I told you we should have let him rest before we left Bree. Now we're stuck here!
Merry: Don't worry, Pip- I've got a plan. I'm just going to feed him some of this lembas bread...
Pip: Lembas bread? But there's an embargo!
Merry: I know a guy. This stuff should put some spring back in his step.
Pip: I don't know...
Merry gives the lembas bread to the mule. The mule instantly perks up and departs hastily, leaving Pip and Merry in a cloud of dust.
Merry: Pip?
Pip: Yes, Merry?
Merry: We should have never left the Shire.
Pip: I know, Merry. I know.

Things That Sound Like They Would Be Good For Athletes But Really Aren't

2007-01-09T09:06:00.000-08:00

Tennis Elbow

Claw Foot

Lordosis

Runner's Knee

Gilmore's Groin

Winged Scapula

Athlete's Foot

An Interview With Morton, The Houndstooth Check Chameleon

2007-01-08T08:55:00.000-08:00

This interview was conducted on behalf of the Disabled Chameleon Outreach Program. DCOP is a non-profit organization dedicated to helping chromatophorically challenged chameleons find a normative lifestyle which suits them best.

DCOP: Morton, thank you so much for agreeing to this interview. I know that sometimes it can be difficult to discuss... your situation.

Morton: DCOP has been very good to me... If by enumerating the various struggles and hardships I have had to endure I can assist DCOP in their philanthropic endeavors, then I can rest easily tonight, knowing I have helped in some small way. We all give what we can give.

DCOP: You're very gracious. Why don't we start at the beginning- when did you first suspect that you were different from your peers?

Morton: To be perfectly frank with you, I've been aware of my own idiosyncracies for so long that I can't remember a time when I wasn't. In fact, some of my earliest memories center around my growing awareness of my condition.

DCOP: That condition being...

Morton: I am chromatophorically challenged. You see, most chameleons are able to rapidly change their color to suit their mood or to blend into their surroundings, thanks to a specialized set of pigmented cells called chromatophores. While I possess a full range of chromatophores, the neural mechanisms underlying my control of this marvelous camoflauging ability are somewhat abberant, in that they will only produce a burgundy and cream houndstooth check pattern.

DCOP: And how has this affected your life as a chameleon?

Morton: Negatively, I'm afraid... You see, we chameleons have evolved to rely on our color-changing abilities for many purposes. Obviously, being able to blend into the background provides a certain level of stealth, useful not only hunting, but also for avoiding the eyes of hungry predators. Having been deprived of that stealth, excepting the remarkably rare occasion when I am in front of a burgundy and cream houndstooth check sportcoat, I have had to become rather more... Creative would be the word, I guess.

DCOP: Elaborate, please.

Morton: Well, neither burgundy nor cream are colors found particularly commonly in nature, let alone alternating side by side in a repeating motif. What I have learned, however, is that the visual systems of many of the insects on which I prey are primitive enough that they can be tricked. For instance, many locusts can detect contrast quite well, but have only a rudimentary grasp of color. To take advantage of this, I will sometimes position myself atop a mound of pebbles of my own design. I mix small chunks of dark volcanic rock or clay with lighter bits of bone or limestone to create a roughly houndstooth checkered visual field against which I am nearly invisible to most locusts. If locusts are nowhere to be found, I will often use a more traditional form of camoflauge. My wife Beatrice, who has been incredibly supportive of me and understanding of my situation, will daub my hide with sticky mud from a rivulet in a clay bank near our home and then affix all manner of leaves, bark, and twigs to me. After just a few minutes in the sun, the mud dries and cements my disguise on me well enough that I can hunt larger prey, such as mantises, beetles, and the occasional small bird.

DCOP: Your camoflauging techniques seem relatively advanced. Is this a result of years of trial and error? How did they develop?

Morton: Actually, I have the Disabled Chameleon Outreach Program to thank for my strategies. My parents, requiem in terra pax, realized while I was still very young that they were not equipped to teach me the stratagies I needed to be able to live a normal life as a chameleon. Madagascar is unforgiving enough as is, but it is doubly unforgiving to a houndstooth check chameleon. At any rate, my parents knew this and were wise enough to contact DCOP when I was just a child. DCOP assured me that I wasn't the only chameleon going through what I was going through, and they put me in contact with other chromatophorically challenged chameleons in the area. There was Bernard, the paisely chameleon, Yusouf, the arabesque chameleon, and Vincent, the Mandelbrot set chameleon. During the time I spent with the other disabled chameleons I learned many invaluable lessons about camoflauge, mating, communication, and, most importantly, self-worth. They taught me that while my condition may make some aspects of my life more difficult, my life was still worth living, and living to the fullest. If anything, the fact that I have to put extra effort into ekeing my way through my life only makes me appreciate it more. I don't take anything for granted, and I feel lucky to be that way.

DCOP: Well put. Thank you once more for speaking with us today.

Morton: My pleasure.

For more of this interview and others, look for DCOP Books' You Can't Disguise Who You Really Are: Conversations With Disabled Chameleons, available in paperback Spring 2007.

A Nutcracker Waxes Passionate About His Profession

2006-12-20T05:49:00.000-08:00

Oh man- look at that bowl of roasted nuts over there. What a great looking mix... The large, rounded shapes of the walnuts are in stark contrast to the smaller, sleeker almonds, and the deep brown of the chestnuts provide for a nice break from the light tan of the rest of the nutshells. Clearly, whoever roasted this nut mix is a professional, a life-long lover of nuts who knows exactly what they want and doesn't waste their time on anything else, as evidenced by the complete (and welcome) absence of brazil nuts and cashews. Notice also the lack of peanuts- while delicious in their own right either out of the shell or in butter form, they are neither a true nut nor a holiday nut, and therefore have no place in this mix. Despite the festive ceramic bowl with the christmas tree motif, I suspect that these nuts were not placed there just as decor. No no- these nuts were meant to be enjoyed. To get at the sweet nutmeat inside, those shells are going to have to be dealt with quickly and efficiently, and that means that I'm going to have to crack 'em. God, I can't wait to crack those nuts.

Now, I know that some people prefer not to use an ornate nutcracker like me. Some people like to use those silver nutcrackers that crack the nut in your hand. Some people think that nutcrackers like me are gaudy ornamentations better suited to festooning mantlepieces than cracking nuts. Let me tell you something, though- people who think those things are impatient savages. They would sooner eat a tin of mixed nuts from the dollar store than take the time to roast a holiday nut blend of their own design. In the same way that a vintage bordeaux ought to be sipped rather than gulped, a fine nut ought to take time to eat. How else could one possibly hope to enjoy the rich texture of the meat, or the subtle lemony overtones, or the complex bouquet unleashed when the nut is cracked? They can't, quite simply put. This is why I am so useful- I am a liason between nutlovers and the nuts they love. I help them focus on the process of eating a nut, from start to finish. Without me, they may as well have a packet of stale beer nuts from the local pub. I also add an air of professionality to the nut proceedings- note the beefeater hat and many-buttoned jacket. I do not wear these things because they are comfortable, or stylish. I wear them because they allow a nut to be presented with the dignity that it deserves. I wear them because I am a nutcracker, and I love what I do.

You have no idea how much I love cracking nuts. There is nothing in the world as satisfying to me as putting a nut in my mouth and gnashing my teeth down on it so hard that the shell splinters. Don't let me give you the wrong impression about my nutcracking, though. There's a lot more finesse required for nutcracking than most people realize. Very few nut connosieurs use the brute force nutcracking methods of days of yore. After a while of smacking at nuts with hammers, it just gets old. It's too messy, too imprecise. With a hammer, it's so difficult to gauge the true force with which nuts are cracked, and cracking a nut too hard might damage the meat inside. Walnuts, for example, don't require very much force to crack at all. Crack a walnut too hard, and you'll be digging through bits of shell for seven, maybe even eight minutes before you find the meat you seek. But, if you crack a walnut just right, the shell will split down the middle, allowing you to pluck the meat out and eat it in one satisfying bite. Almonds, of course, are different beasts entirely. If you want to, you can really take out your pent-up frustrations on an almond. You see, the meat's almost as hard as the shell, so you can really go nuts when you crack an almond! Heh- sorry... That joke always goes over huge with the nutcracking crowd.

Look, you seem skeptical. Don't let me pressure you into anything. It was in no way my intention to flap at the jaw like this for so long- I guess I got carried away. It's nice to be passionate about what you do. It provides a sense of fulfillment that I'm afraid most people don't get to experience, and I pity them. Every time someone puts a nut in my mouth, I nearly jump with glee at the chance to crush it. I am so lucky! Not only am I a nutcracker, but I love cracking nuts. Each nut in my mouth is it's own adventure, just waiting to happen, and I am like an unshaven and relatively young Harrison Ford, only I crack nuts instead of using a whip to swing over chasms. If nuts were moons, then I would be the United States and Russia during the 1960's, for my passion for nutcracking is so great that no one nation could contain it. If nuts were the golden fleece of mythological lore, then I would be Jason and the Argonauts, willing to do anything for the sake of cracking nuts. I would go to the ends of the earth and back again for nuts. You know why? Because I love what I do. Now then, won't you have a nut?

Legislature Proposed By Socks The Cat During The Clinton Administration

2006-12-19T08:43:00.000-08:00

The Feline Medical Leave Act: Insofar as people prefer cute kitties, and cute kitties must be healthy kitties, I, Socks the cat, hereby propose the following: mother cats must be allowed to take extended leaves of absence from their places of work so that they may take care of the business of raising cute kitties. I would like to remind those who oppose this proposal on the grounds of lost profit from productivity that cute kittie calendars have been the single highest grossing domestic export for the past six years. By passing this legislature we can ensure that the supply of cute, happy, well-raised kitties will be sustained. Meow.
Fleacare Reform: Whereas the systems in place to deal with human maladies have been updated with some regularity since their inception, the systems in place to attend to feline maladies are grossly outdated. In response to this, I, Socks the cat, propose that from here on, state governments shall provide a 2% yearly funding increase into state programs for flea and tick prevention. As these parasites afflict not only cats, but the humans they come in contact with as well, it is in the best interest of all involved parties that the populations of these arthropods be monitored continually and culled when necessary. To underscore the urgency of this item, it shall be piggy-backed onto the wildly popular Hairball Maintenance Act of 1996.
Spray Bottle Bill: The universal feline aversion to water has been exploited for decades to serve what is ultimately a human agenda. Countless cats across the nation have been sprayed by spray bottles as punishment for actions which are out of their control. As established by the Feline Behavior Protocol study of 1992, all cats have an uncontrollable desire to scratch at the arms of couches and to climb certain curtains. As spraying cats with water will not alter their base nature, I, Socks the cat, hereby propose to establish a 3-day waiting period on the purchase of spray bottles. During this time, those who wish to purchase spray bottles will have to undergo background checks to see whether or not they have a history of hyrokinetic feline admonishment. Those who fail the background checks shan't be permitted to purchase further spray bottles. In the meantime, a 4% tax shall be levied on spray bottles to help provide funding for behavioral research into this most feline of afflictions, so that the couches and curtains of this great nation may remain as pristine and untarnished as our great tradition of human/feline cooperation in the name of democracy.

Snippets From Tales Of Victory And Triumph Nobody Cares To Hear

2006-12-18T09:19:00.000-08:00

"...So there I was, playing Tetris with a screen so full that I was almost done for, waiting for one of those long blue pieces so that I could clear a few lines. But then I got a Z-piece. And then an S-piece. And then another Z- I was about ready to put down the controller and call it quits, when, all of a sudden, I got two long pieces in a row, cleared 8 lines, and moved onto level twelve. Now, if you thought Tetris was hard in level eleven, then wait'll you hear about level twelve. I had a T-piece to start..."

"...And that's when I noticed that I had one less white sock than I should have. Nobody was home but me, so it couldn't have been stolen out of the dryer. It's still in the dryer, I thought, that's why I can't find that sock. Knowing the gravity of the situation, I steeled myself for what I had to do next- I had to put my bare hand in the dryer and feel around for my missing sock. Believe you me, not even the Maytag repair man had ever seen a dryer so fierce..."

"...One car went past me, then another, then another. I looked both ways, then realized that I had my window of opportunity. I could see a station wagon in the distance, so I knew I had to act right then. I don't know what came over me- I guess you'd call it an adrenaline rush- but I walked right across that street without ever looking back. Needless to say, when I made it to the other side I was petrified, because the station wagon came zooming by where I had been standing just a few seconds earlier..."

"...I pushed as hard as I could, but couldn't get it to budge. Frantic, I turned the aspirin bottle over to read the instructions- maybe I was trying to open the wrong kind of cap? As it turns out, I was. It was one of those ones where you have to push the two tabs in on the side. Now, I don't know if you've ever tried to perform a precision operation such as this with a mild headache, but it is not pleasant..."

"...The sound was maddening, deafening almost. Fueled by the sort of crazed determination only experienced during fits of insomnia, I crept towards the bathroom, ready to do whatever it took to stop that toilet from running for the rest of the evening. The tile was cold on my bare feet- cold like death, but I had already turned on the lights so I could see what I was doing, and I sure as heck wasn't about to turn back after that..."

Erno Rubik Challenges The World

2006-12-17T11:52:00.000-08:00

Behold! Look at what I, Erno Rubik, have created- A cube! A Rubik's cube! Tremble in fear, mere mortals, for your day of reckoning has come. What I hold in my hand may look like a simple child's toy- something you would give to a toddler to keep them occupied while you chat on the phone- but no! It is far more... Hidden behind this innocuously colored facade is a puzzle who's solution remains just beyond your grasp in perpetuity. The challenge is simple- arrange the panels of the cube such that each side is composed of a single color. But go on and try- I assure you that you will fail, for I, Erno Rubik, have created this cube and therefore only I, Erno Rubik, can tame this beastly puzzle! Cower before my cube, beg for mercy, and perhaps I shall grant it to you. Otherwise, fear my fiendish cube!

This cube is my payback to the world for having ostracized me for so many years. People fear what they do not understand. Therefore I, a man of exceeding intelligence, have been unwillingly made into a recluse due to years of being held at arm's length by the ignorant masses who could not fathom the depths of my brilliance no matter how hard they tried. As a boy, I was mocked and teased because I mastered arithmetic well before the other pupils in my class. The rest of the Hungarian children in my grammar school did not understand how I could grasp concepts such as multiplication tables or prime numbers so easily, and so they shunned me. Girls would not kiss me, for they thought me to be a vampyre who sucked people's brains to heighten my own intellect. By the time I was in college, professors refused to have me in their classes, for I would only complete homework assignments in a base-six numerical alphabet of my own design- and why shouldn't I? It is far more efficient than this clunky and cumbersome 26-lettered alphabet which you peons insist on using. Even today, as a full grown man, I have been forced to stop drawing blueprints for 7-dimensional buildings in order to keep my job as a professor of architecture. Well, I am tired of dumbing myself down for you all. That is why I have invented the cube.

Go on. Hold it in your hand. Do you not find the colors mesmerizing? Of course you do- I selected each hue myself, the wavelengths precisely tuned so as to cause maximum excitation in the visual cortex. Once you see it, you feel compelled to turn it over, to examine all sides of it. You are fascinated by it. Notice the disarray. The blues are not next to the blues! The reds are next to the whites! Yellow and green are scattered about like wildflowers in a cow pasture! What's that orange doing there? You are disgusted by it, yet somehow you cannot look away. A morbid curiosity possesses you. As you turn, slowly you begin to notice something- the cube is not some static representation of chaos. No no- far from, my friend. It turns about several axes, allowing you to move rows and columns of color about. You have control over this cube.

But you are no fool, are you? Aware of how unsurmountable a task it would be to try to align all six colors simultaneously, you decide to break this problem down into chunks. I'll start with the blues, you think. Already, you are defeated! The second you solve one side, you shall have to unsolve it to solve another, and then unsolve that side to solve yet another, and another, and another, and another! Your mind reels from the strain of it all- you have independently solved six colored sides of the cube, yet the cube on the whole remains unsolved to you! Staggering backwards from the force of it all, you assume that you are close to a complete solution, but you could not be further from the truth. Do you know why? You must solve each side simultaneously! But you can't! You must do so, but it is impossible to do so! What a condundrum! What a paradox! Not since Alexander the Great was presented with the Gordian knot has humanity been confronted by such an intractable problem!

...Or so it would seem. If Erno can do it, you think, why cant' I? Surely I am as clever as that Hungarian geek. Maybe you are- but there's only one way to find out. Pour yourself into my cube. Let the puzzle I have created capture your mind. For every second of my life that I have spent alone, pining for companionship, the rest of humankind shall spend an hour alone with my cube, consumed by it. Conversation will cease, as would-be socialites devote themselves to solving my fiendish puzzle, and the globe shall fall silent save for the gentle click-clacking of a billion cubes being rearranged in vain. You shall all be forced to become recluses as have I! I shall teach you to shun me! I shall have my revenge for each wedgie and wet willie I received as a child! Instead of being snubbed, I shall be revered as a god for I have created something that the mind of man can never hope to understand- the Rubik's cube!

Possible Uses For A Narwhal's Tusk

2006-12-16T17:07:00.000-08:00

If teamed up with another narwhal, two tusks may be used to knit narwhal scarves from colored yarn.
If at a kabob party with a skewer shortage, the tusk may be used to spear delicious combinations of meat, peppers, and onions for narwhals to eat.
If outfitted with a small paddle on the tip, the tusk may be used to flip pancakes at narwhal brunches without having to worry about being spattered by hot butter on the griddle.
Narwhal tusks may not be used to pick up narwhal water balloons. That's just ridiculous.
If a narwhal's frisbee is lodged in the branches of a tree, the tusk may be used to dislodge it.
If trained as a geologist, a narwhal who can feel slight trembles in the earth's crust may use his tusk to etch out the intensity of these trembles on an ice floe, creating a rudimentary seismograph.
If natural peanut butter has been purchased at a narwhal health food store, the tusk may be used to stir the oil back into the peanut butter so that it is easier to spread.
If y=mx+(a narwhal's tusk), then a narwhal's tusk may be used to represent the y-intercept of a line in a Cartesian graphing system.

Film Noir Monologues In History: Archduke Franz Ferdinand Arrives In Sarajevo

2006-12-15T09:30:00.000-08:00

Some days are better than others. Some days you're king of the world and folks can't line up fast enough to carry out your orders. Others, you're one of the folks. This was one of the others. I had been demoted from archduke to errand boy and sent to Sarajevo to babysit a few generals during some routine military exercises. Thing is, I was the wrong man for the job- I've never been a fan of calisthenics and I don't like changing diapers, but the fact that the situation had me unbalanced didn't enter in to the equation. I was playing second fiddle to the first chair back in Vienna, and the conductor didn't care whether or not I liked the tune so long as I kept the brass in line. Forced to play a piece I didn't care for, I did what any musician would do- I spent the entire trip down looking for some inspiration in the bottom of a bottle, but all I found was a hangover in two movements- a major headache and a minor ability to keep my breakfast down. Just my luck.

As if things weren't grim enough, I had heard it through the grapevine that a couple of bad apples were looking to set down roots of their own. A group of Serbs calling themselves 'The Black Hand' wanted a piece of the pie all for themselves. Problem was, it was sitting on Austria-Hungary's windowsill and we weren't about to let it go without a fight. If it did come to blows, we had Germany in our corner ready to knock out to whatever punch-drunk featherweight was foolish enough to step into the ring. The whole thing was a powder keg waiting to blow and The Black Hand seemed as though they couldn't wait to strike a match. I figured they figured that a fancy fella like Franz Ferdinand could be a fine fuse, so if it were up to me I'd lay low and let the policy do the talking. But it wasn't up to me- it was up to Vienna, so they sent me down to Sarajevo. Just my luck.

Sarajevo. I hate this place. Sarajevo was like a undercooked bratwurst. From a distance, it looked like something you might be able to cope with, but the second you dig your teeth in and break the surface you find enough blood to make your stomach turn. If Sarajevo were a person it'd be a ditzy dame with long legs and a cross to bear- pretty to look at, but beauty's only skin deep. And this day, this other day, Sarajevo wasn't even looking so pretty. I even did some sightseeing with a pair of beer goggles and still couldn't figure out for the life of me why the suits in Vienna cared about this place. Good thing I wasn't the one calling the shots, because I would have put Sarajevo in front of the firing squad long ago. At least the feeling was mutual- The Black Hand made sure to show me every hospitality, all the way from ominously anonymous death threats to a dagger in the door of my hotel suite. I don't get much of that in Austria, but I guess it's the little cultural differences that really make traveling worthwhile. A smaller man might have let the extra attention go to his head, but I saw the bigger picture and wasn't convinced that I was the star of the show. Not that you could tell from the way I was acting- tomorrow I'm going to the Sarajevo town hall for an official reception. Maybe I'll be lucky. Maybe it'll be one of the good days. Most likely it'll be one of the others. Maybe I'll be really lucky and some nut job will put me out of my misery so I don't have to spend another day here, but nah... I'm not that lucky.

Diary Of A Would-Be Gumshoe

2006-12-14T11:31:00.000-08:00

November 18th, 1986
Dear Diary-

I did it! I'm so proud of myself. After a very arduous year of training at the prestigious ACME Detective Academy, I have graduated. The Chief handed me my badge and my papers today, so now I've got official 'Rookie' status. I've even got my first case, and it's a big one- some sticky fingered crook has nabbed the Eiffel Tower. Can you imagine? The Eiffel Tower! How did nobody see them take it? Oh well, I guess that's what I'm here for- to crack this case wide open! That's all for tonight. I've got to get to the airport, as I have to be in Paris tomorrow morning to start gathering clues.

November 20th, 1986
Dear Diary-

What a day! I landed in Paris last night and started looking for clues this morning. As soon as I walked into the sports club, a knife flew in front of my face and thudded into the wall next to me. I was scared silly, but when I phoned back to ACME to ask what was going on, they told me that it was probably just a V.I.L.E. henchman trying to scare me off the trail. Exciting, huh? Anyhow, I found out from the sports club that a suspicious person with blonde hair was asking about kayaking through fjords- initially, I suspected that my target might be headed to the northern countries, but i wasn't certain. Intrigued, I took my sleuthing to the library and found out that another suspicious person was "looking to travel to a country with "a red and blue cross flag." After consulting my World Almanac, I figured out that the crook is headed to Oslo, Norway, and now I'm in hot pursuit! Thank goodness I majored in geography as an undergrad, otherwise this job might be really taxing.

November 21st, 1986
Dear Diary-

V.I.L.E. must really be running scared, because when I got to the marketplace this morning, a gun popped out from behind a curtain and fired a shot at me. I should be laying low, but who can rest when there's so much sleuthing to be done? I went to the Oslo museum today. After asking the very friendly museum attendant if they had seen any suspicious blonde men, I found out that a blonde gentleman who arrived in a limo had been asking about "arthropods of the Sinai desert." Duh! He's going to Egypt. Just to be sure, I asked around the marketplace and found out that a blonde man who rode in a limo and had a tattoo was asking about "Nubian baskets," so off to Egypt I go. I'm going to go through our criminal dossiers on the plane and try to narrow down who my crook might be. Originally I thought it might have been Ertha Brute, but the suspect is a man. I also thought that it could be Nosmo King, but Nosmo King doesn't have a tattoo. I'll have to do some deep digging to get to the bottom of this one. I can't wait to arrest my first V.I.L.E. crook!

November 22nd, 1986
Dear Diary-

What an awful day. I feel like such a fool. I solved the case- I figured out that it was Ihor Ihorovich who stole the Eiffel Tower. His profile lined up exactly with the clues I collected, especially when an airport attendant in Cairo mentioned that a man traveling with a croquet set had been through just a few hours before me. I wasn't thinking straight- I knew that even just one arrest would get me promoted to Gumshoe status, and I rushed into it. I found out where Ihor Ihorovich was staying, so I went over there to slap a pair of handcuffs on him. Stupid me, I had forgotten to get a warrant from the Chief, so I couldn't search him for evidence, and I'm certain that if I had searched him I would have found the Eiffel Tower. Oh, the humiliation! I had Ihor Ihorovich in my sights and he slipped through my grasp, so now the good people of France have lost a monument. No matter. I'm going to learn from my mistakes. V.I.L.E. may have gotten away from me once, but they won't get away again. I'm going to nab them all. Someday, I'll even be the one to put Carmen Sandiego, their ringleader, behind bars. Heh- she'll have to trade in that red trench coat for a striped jumpsuit if I have anything to say about it! I think Chief knows how disappointed I was with the Eiffel Tower caper, because he's sending me out on another assignment next week. It looks like somebody's stolen the Empire State Building, and I'm guessing that V.I.L.E.'s fingerprints are all over it.

Wildebeest Wanderlust

2006-12-13T09:56:00.000-08:00

Hey, other wildebeests- aren't you bored? I know I am. We've been grazing on this same stupid patch of grassland since November. I don't know about you gnus, but I'm really starting to go stir crazy. I've been going to the same stupid watering hole every night for months now, and I'm totally over it. Sure the weather's not too bad here, and there's plenty of cute Impalas to grunt at, but I just want a change of pace, you know? Call me crazy, but I say it's high time we did something fun and got out of this place. You know what that means... Road trip!!!

I've got everything all figured out, so hear me out on this. If we're going on a road trip, then we're going all out. Go big or go home, you know? Now, I'm not looking to forge lasting friendships with a couple of my closest buddies this summer. I'm looking to party all night, every night for the next few months, and I'm looking to do it on the move. We've got a chance to do something awesome with this road trip, so we had better do it right. For starters, we get a bunch of us together, and I mean a bunch. Like a million. Maybe a million and a half. No joke. But don't worry, recruiting the rest of the herd won't be hard at all- not once they hear that we're going to all the hottest wildebeest party locations! I'm talking Tanzania, Kenya, and, of course, Masai Mara, where all the hottest co-ed gnus go to get down! Woo! I don't know about you gnus, but I'm gonna Seren-get me some serious action with a she-debeest once we get there. After all, what happens in Masai Mara stays in Masai Mara.

Now, I know what you're thinking- you're worried about predators. Cheetahs, Lions, Hyenas... Sure, they'll be trying to harsh our mellow the whole trip, but you know what? I don't care. That's right. You know why? Because we're gonna travel in a huge herd. The more the merrier. If we just agree at the outset that everybody's got everybody else's back, then everybody's back is got by a million other everybodys. I've never met a carnivore who could take on a million wildebeests all by themselves, so what have we got to worry about? Yeah, we might lose a few of the sick or old to some of the more aggressive hunters out there, but truth be told, we'd lose just as many to river crocodiles if we stayed here at Ngorongoro. Besides, if we stay here any longer, we'll die of boredom, because there's no way we're gonna have as much fun here as we will on a road trip. Also, we'll be in a protected game reserve the entire time, so we won't even have to worry about poachers, and trust me- when you've got a hide that looks as good as mine, you've gotta worry.

So let's do it. Let's not mope around here for the rest of the year. Let's get out there and show Africa what we're made of. I say we go gnuts! Let's grunt and eat grass and stampede all night long until both of our toes on all four of our feet are sore. Let's charge at safari buses and veer off at the last second. Let's remember that we only have 20-25 years on this earth, and let's try to make this year the best one yet. And, most importantly- let's make sure that everybody on the Serengeti knows just one thing- we are not just another bunch of meek wildebeests. We're wildbeests. We're fungulates. We're awesome- and this road trip will be too.

Let's roll.

Having Survived A Harrowing Encounter With The Farmer's Wife, One Of The Three Blind Mice Has A Harrowing Encounter With His Own

2006-12-12T09:19:00.000-08:00

I should have listened to my mother. When we were dating, she told me you were no good. I remember her exact words. She said, "That Justin is one of the dumbest mice I have ever met. If you marry him, you'll be sorry." And to think, to think that I stood up for you- because you were blind! "He's not dumb, momma," I said. "He's not dumb, he's just blind." Pfft. I should have known better. As if four years of marriage didn't already give my mother enough evidence for a lifetime of I-told-you-so's, now you decide to stay out late with your drinking buddies, come home in the morning without your tail, and claim that the farmer's wife attacked you with a carving knife, turning you into an amputee. I've never seen such a sight in my life.

I don't even know where to start. You were supposed to be home by eight o'clock yesterday to take care of the litter, and you weren't. Strike one. I have no problem with you going out for a drink with the boys after work once in a while, but I have book group the first monday of every month and I had to miss it this time around because you and your idiot friends were out painting the town red. I hope you're happy with yourself. How many times have I told you that Pat and Tim are nothing but trouble? Honey, I'm happy for you that you've found friends through the support group for blind mice that you joined, I really am. However, I am not happy in the least that those friends are boozehounds with bad ideas. I swear, I don't know what goes through that stupid little head of yours sometimes- like the time you three tried to run up that grandfather clock. The clock struck one, you all fell down, and I'm the one who had to spend two weeks lying to your boss on the phone every morning because you had broken your leg and couldn't go to work. I don't know how I put up with you.

So you're with your knucklehead boozehound friends, decide to ignore your duties at home, and stay out drinking all night instead. Two strikes, Justin, two strikes. But that wasn't enough, was it? Nooooo... It wouldn't have been enough for you just to come home late reeking of alcohol. You had to try to pull some dumb stunt before you got here, didn't you? Who's lamebrain idea was it to go into the farmhouse anyway? What did the three of you expect to accomplish there? Keep in mind that I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt in assuming that you had a plan at all. I wouldn't put it past the three of you to have run in there mindlessly just to say that you did it. Really, it doesn't matter what your plan was- even if you had the most noble of intentions, it is always an awful idea for three blind mice to chase after an armed human! It would be a bad enough idea if you weren't blind, but in your condition it is just inexcusable. You're lucky that she only cut off your tails! Oh, and by the way, how ridiculously inebriated were the three of you that she was able to slice off your tails so cleanly? Were you passed out when she found you? Your tail is not large, and carving knifes have never been regarded as precision instruments. I can only imagine what she thought when she found the three of you stumbling around in her kitchen. What an embarassment. You three are such stooges sometimes. I want to line you all up so that I don't have to waste the time slapping each of you individually- and don't think that Pat and Tim's wives are letting them get off any easier. I already spoke with Heather and Nora. We are all on the same page, and it is not a happy one, believe you me.

Let's recap, shall we? You forgot to come home. Strike one. You forgot to come home because you were out drinking with your idiot friends. Strike two. You forgot to come home because you were out drinking with your idiot friends, and because you were drunk you got your tail cut off with a carving knife. Strike three, Justin. You are in big trouble this time, do you hear me? I am fed up with this kind of behavior. You are staying home with the litter every night for the next month whether I am here or not, and you are not allowed to leave this mousehole for any reason other than to go to your job so that you can support your family. Can you understand that? Has your head stopped spinning enough for me to get through, or do I need to stamp it out in braille for you? Get out of here. Go wash up. It's bad enough that our children have to hear their father tell them that he lost his tail because he's an idiot, but I don't want them to have to endure your whiskey stink as well. And put some gauze on that tail stump of yours- it's just unsightly.

Romance On The Periodic Table

2006-12-11T09:24:00.000-08:00

Beautiful Chlorine-

It is I, Sodium. Sodium, from the alkali metals. Chlorine, I do not mean to be forward, but I can keep my love for you a secret no longer. I adore you. I crave you. Now, I may not have the rank or stature of Neon, or Xenon, or any of the other noble gases, but keep in mind that I would never spurn you as they have. Nor will I harass you for ages only to use you to suit my own ends, as does Hydrogen, that loathsome lothario. He would bond to you and then discard you as soon as Hydroxide came back into his life, just as he has done to all of the other halogens. I wouldn't do that to you, Chlorine, for I know your true worth. I know what makes you react, and I know that sometimes you don't care for suitors; that you just want to be diatomic. I understand that. I would never force myself upon you, but I think that you and I could really make a marvelous salt together. When you ionize, you have the loveliest valence shell of any element, and any fool that can't see that isn't worthy of your company. I wish to bond with you, Chlorine, and I hope that you wish to bond with me, too.

Eagerly awaiting your reply,

Sodium

Dear Sodium-

Yes! Yes! Oh, sweet lord, a thousand times yes! Ever since I was a little girl, I have been hoping to form the sort of bond that I now know I can form with you. I've been through so many acidic relationships of late- Hydrochloric, Chloric, Perchloric- and I've hated them all. Never once have I felt that I could create something long lasting in those relationships. With you, fair Sodium, with you I feel that I can truly be appreciated. Together, we could make such a beautiful halite arrangement, our ions closely packed into small cubes as we snuggle electrostatically for years on end. Every element will be envious of our crystal lattices, and we shall never want for anything besides each other ever again! I love you, Sodium, and can't wait to bond with you. Meet me at my favorite restaurant, Erlenmyer's, on Saturday night at 6:00 pm sharp. I'll be wearing a cute little 1s²2s²2p⁶3s²3p⁵ configuration. I can't wait to see you!

xoxoxoxo

Chlorine :)

Hopes And Aspirations Of A Shopping Mall Santa

2006-12-10T13:25:00.000-08:00

To work up the courage to ask for a freebie from CinnaBon.
To save up enough money to purchase an air-conditioned Santa suit.
To spread more holiday cheer than the new SantaTron-2200, a kindly old automaton which has been putting more and more shopping mall Santas out of business in recent years.
To grow enough facial hair before next season to not have to wear the standard issue monofilament beard, which is itchy.
To learn the first and last names of all eight reindeer, thus proving to each and every doubting Thomas that they are indeed sitting on the one true Santa's lap.
To remember to save dry cleaning receipts so that they can be written off as a work expenditure.
To avoid repeating the "Ho ho ha" incident of December 16th, 1997, wherein a misplaced syllable of laughter was responsible for stampede of panicking holiday shoppers and garnished wages.
To make it through all twelve days of Christmas without being urinated upon by a screaming child who "Just wants [his] mommy."

From The Mircroanalysis Archives: Hoop Goes It Alone

2006-12-09T13:10:00.000-08:00

From the October 1st, 1956 edition of Microanalysis (which, at the time, was a series of single page postings on a corked bulletin board)

Listen, Stick- I have a lot of fun with you. I've always had a lot of fun with you. Everybody likes us together... I mean, Hoop & Stick- It's a classic combo. Rare is the lad who doesn't enjoy spending a warm summer's evening chasing me down the street as you flog me, giggling as I haphazardly clamber down a dirt road. As far as pastimes go, we're right up there with chasing fireflies and looking for frogs by a creek, as wholesome as wholesome gets... We have so much together, and yet... Ehh... I should just come out and say it- Stick, I'm breaking up with you.

Stick, please don't try to change my mind. This was in no way an easy decision for me to make, and I have not treated it lightly. I've spent many long hours laying on my side in the grass thinking about this... What our pairing has meant to both of us, what our options would be after this, and I really think that we're both better off alone. Now hear me out, Stick- I know that you're not clamoring to go back to stirring paint and being fetched, and I'm certainly not in any rush to go back to the barrel factory. Goodness knows I've put in enough hours there to last a lifetime. But, that's besides the point... I just need some time to myself, and I feel like I won't get it unless I do something drastic.

I can understand if you're upset, but please try to understand, Stick- it's not you. It's me. Hoop. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, about who I am, what I want out of life, what I really want to be doing... And I realized that I didn't know. I didn't know. So then I started thinking about why I didn't know, and then it dawned on me that I never have any alone time. I'm always with you- not that that's a bad thing, but that's just how it is. Sure, we've been having a lot of fun, but when I look back at my life forty years from now, I want to be able to say more than just "I had a lot of fun." I want to have had some lasting effect on this world, and I don't feel like that's what I'm doing now. I want to do something really important, stick- I want to start a fad.

Sure, it may seem far-fetched, but I think that I can make a difference. I think that I can revolutionize the way children get their physical exercise. I can make it fun again. Why, if I were to challenge children to twirl me about their hips for as long as possible, I think they'd have so much fun that they wouldn't realize what a fantastic workout they were getting. Just imagine the looks on all their faces, getting fit and having fun all at once. I could make scores of children happy and healthy, Stick, happy and healthy.

Don't cry, Stick. There's a whole world of possibilities waiting for you once you're on your own. Maybe you could finally try to conduct the London Philharmonic. I know how much you enjoy music, so that would be a good fit for you. Perhaps you could learn how to become a slide rule and work for an architect. Ooh- or an engineer. Or for IBM. I could even see you doing something more rugged than that, if you wanted to- like sitting out in the woods, holding up a wooden crate with a string tied to your bottom, waiting to trap a rabbit. Or a skunk. But hopefully a rabbit. Really, Stick, you're so versatile I could see you doing a lot without me to hold you back. I wish only the best for you, Stick, I really do.

...Look, I've got to get going. I've got a marketing meeting with Wham-O! in an hour that I've got to prepare for. But to show you there's no hard feelings, why don't we go down the hill one last time? For old time's sake. And then, when I get to the bottom, I'll just keep on rolling. Just keep on rolling... Let's do it, Stick- there couldn't be a more fitting goodbye.

Receiving Word Of A Picnic In The Vicinity, An Ant Strategist Delineates His Colony's Plan Of Attack

2006-12-08T22:27:00.000-08:00

Worker ants! I have released a level four food alarm pheromone, so gather up! Word has come in from one of our scouts that a small group of humans is picnicking a few meters due west of our current position. While these Sunday lunchers are clearly within our territory, you know as well as I that the red ants will gladly seize the opportunity to plunder the picnic for themselves if we do not act now, so time is of the essence. Luckily for us, the humans aren't yet aware of our presence, giving us the advantage of being able to stage a surprise attack.

The picnic blanket is laid out into four distinct quadrants. The first, in the northeast corner, is composed primarily of hors d'ouevres- crackers, various cheeses, and pitted olives. There will most likely be enough crumbs to feed the entire colony, but do not let these easy spoils of war distract you. A crumb may be able to feed you and your closest kinsmen for a few days, but if we exercise restraint, we may be able to rest tonight with larders full enough to last through the coming winter. The second quadrant, in the southeast corner, is rumored to be mostly side dishes. This is where you will find the potato sald, cole slaw, corn chips, cheese puffs, and pretzels. If you get separated from the rest of the pack, avoid this area. Once they begin to eat, there will most likely be a flurry of human activity in this region, particularly around the bags of chips. We do not want some human who just needs a few chips with his sandwich to see some lollygagging ant strolling by the pretzels and blow the alarm on us all. Any individual found doing so will be censured, and then beaten about the thorax with stiff blades of grass. I mean it.

The remaining two quadrants are what interest us the most- the sandwiches and desserts. These are where we shall concentrate the whole of our forces. Our scout has reported that there is an oversized submarine sandwich in the northwest and scads of cookies and cupcakes in the southwest. Now, the humans will be expecting us to go after the cookies and cupcakes first- so we will not. Or, at least, we won't let them think that we will. I am going to split you into two attacking forces who shall flank the western half of the picnic blanket to the north and south. The first squad, which will be significantly smaller than the second, shall make a direct attack on the oversized submarine sandwich. Do not attempt to be stealthy about this, as it is of the utmost importance that the humans see you- we want them to think that we are concentrating our attack from the north. Crawl upon their hands and legs if you must, but see to it that each of you are noticed. If you can make your numbers appear double or triple what they actually are, then half the battle is already won.

While our first squad has the humans distracted, our main force shall come in stealthily from the south and lay into the desserts. If my calculations are correct, a team of fifteen ants ought to be sufficient to carry away a cookie, and thirty ought to suffice for a cupcake. There will be several hundred of us, so if we work smart we ought to make out like bandits. Once we abscond with the sweets, the humans will surely notice us. Hopefully, they will not try to salvage any desserts we have already taken, but they will certainly prevent us from grabbing more. First squad, this is when you shine. The humans' attentions will have been diverted towards us in the south, leaving you free in the north to carry away sandwich crusts and scraps of lunchmeat. At this point, if you are not already in a primary team helping to carry home a larger food item, then grab whatever you can from the hors d'ouevres and the sides and hurry back to the colony. The humans won't know what hit them.

Now go! We have wasted precious time here already, and the red ants may have already begun to take the food which is rightfully ours. Go forth, worker ants! Go forth and steal every last morsel you can find. Remember, your survival as an individual pales in comparison to the survival of the colony, so be not afraid to sacrifice yourself for its glory. Now, let us apart without further ado and turn the humans' idyllic luncheon into a smorgasbord- for ants!

8th Grader Albert Simms Proofreads An Essay

2006-12-07T09:50:00.000-08:00

Aaaaand... There- I've finished my first draft. Mrs. Parker's really been on my case about my homework lately, so this essay's gotta be top notch. After the fiasco with my essay about the food web, I really need to pull out the ol' razzle-dazzle here. Gonna proofread and everything. Seriously. I can't risk having her call home to my parents. That would totally suck. That'd make me the mayor of Sucksburgh, U.S.A... God... If mom and dad knew how close I was to flunking 8th grade science, they'd never let me out of the house, and then what would that do to my relationship with Sarah? We're supposed to go to the Winter Ball next weekend. She said she might even let me get to second base. Might let me get to second base! Finally! Oh, man... If I mess this essay up, I might not ever get the chance to go to second base again. I'd have to become a monk or something... I don't wanna be a monk. Uncle Ted's a monk, and he's creepy as hell. There's no way I'm letting this go down like that. No way, man- this is gonna be the best essay on photosynthesis that Mrs. Parker's ever seen. First revision, here I come.

Okay, start with the title. A good title will make a good first impression on Mrs. Parker, and then I'll be able to coast the rest of the way. Let's see what I wrote down here...

Photosynthesis: How Plants Eat

Hrrrm... Not the most creative title I've ever put on an essay, but I guess that it's not so bad. It sums up the content of the essay pretty well, and saves me the trouble of a laborious introductory paragraph. After all, I've only got 300 words to work with here. Moving on:

Photosynthesis is that thing that plants do to convert sunlight into energy, or something. It's probably pretty important, since the textbook's got an entire chapter devoted to it. I think it's also part of why broccoli is so good for you.

Well, that's gonna have to get changed for the second draft... I don't disagree with any of these statements, but there's gotta be a better way to put this. If I'm going to really win Mrs. Parker over, then I can't just stumble through this essay on photosynthesis leaving a scattered trail of facts in my wake. Maybe I should invest in a thesaurus. Of course, a thesaurus probably costs twenty bucks. Screw that. I need batteries for my Wii controller. I'll just try to stay awake more often during English class. I can make up for the lost sleep during Algebra instead. I already know how to do math with numbers, so why am I learning it all over again with letters? Eighth grade is so lame.

This textbook is pretty boring to read, but according to the glossary at the end of the chapter, glucose is "an energy-rich molecule generated via photosynthesis." It's also in the grape soda I'm drinking, presumably because grapes are plants. I can't believe this stuff costs a dollar a can at the cafeteria if plants are making it for free.

Oh man... This stream of consciousness stuff would be great if this were a creative writing assignment, but this is hardly the place for it. This is a science essay. Mrs. Parker says there's no "I" in science, so I definitely can't be in this essay drinking grape soda. I'm gonna have to put a lot of time in on this second draft... Maybe I should call Sarah and tell her I'll be at the food court Sbarro's at seven instead of six... I don't wanna have her be all mad at me before Winter Ball next weekend. Second base, Albert, second base. Keep your eye on the prize.

There's a fantastic diagram about photsynthesis in the textbook on page 82 that could really explain everything better than I ever could. I'm not good at writing essays. Really, if I ever turn in a good essay, you can bet that it's been plagiarized. A lot of the bad ones are plagiarized, too. I guess I'm not good at plagiarizing essays, either. If I ever turn in a good essay, I've probably paid off a nerd to plagiarize it for me.

No! Sweet crap, what was I thinking? I can't turn this in! This doesn't even have anything to do with photosynthesis! This is just a flat out confession! I must really be slipping to write something like this. I should proofread more often... Who knows how many assignments like this I've turned in?!? Oh man, Mrs. Parker's gonna kill me- which I guess means that my parents couldn't ground me, which is good, but it definitely means I'd die without getting to second base with Sarah, which is bad. This is awful. This couldn't get any worse.

Hey Mrs. Parker- everybody in class calls you "Mrs. Porker" behind your back because you're fat. Also, I'm the one who started the whole oinking thing, and I've long considered the "bacon on the chair" routine to be one of my signature moves. Oh, and I'm the one who draws pigs on the whiteboard from time to time.

AUGH! It got worse!

In conclusion...

Well, that's promising. Maybe I won't have to rewrite the conclusion, at least.

...I wet my bed last night and then was so embarrassed about it when I realized what had happened that I cried myself back to sleep in a puddle of pee-pee and tears.

THAT IS NOT A CONCLUSION- THAT IS A SECRET!!! I WASN'T GOING TO TELL ANYBODY ABOUT THAT! Besides, even if I did, I wouldn't use the phrase "puddle of pee-pee!" What the hell, me? Huh? What the hell? You had one goal, me, and that was to not screw this essay up, and you blew it. Now you're gonna get grounded forever, Sarah's gonna go to Winter Ball without you, and Uncle Ted's gonna try to give you another "ABCs Of Celibacy" pamphlet. Home run, Albert, home run. This essay is so screwed up that Strunk & White themselves couldn't save it. I'm gonna have to rewrite the entire thing from scratch, and I don't have time to do that! Urgh... I'm so frustrated... I tried to do this right, I really did. I tried to put thought into this essay. I tried to proofread and to revise, and I've foiled myself every step of the way. Ehhh.... Maybe Mrs. Parker was right: "I" shouldn't be writing this essay- that's what nerds are for.

Rumplestiltskin's Parents Debate What To Name Their New Born Child

2006-12-06T07:48:00.000-08:00

Mom: No, no, no... Those all sound too ordinary. How about we name the baby... Something like... Rumplestiltskin?

Dad: That's insane. No way.

Mom: Oh, c'mon, Gregor... Don't you think 'Rumplestiltskin Pumpernickel' has a certain ring to it?

Dad: You've got to be kidding me. 'Rumplestiltskin Pumpernickel'? It's not bad enough that the kid's been born a dwarf, but now you want his name to be 'Rumplestiltkin Pumpernickel'?

Mom: There's nothing wrong with being a dwarf, lower your voice.

Dad: Linda, I'm not saying that there's anything wrong with being a dwarf, but the poor kid's gonna get teased for it. If we know he's already gonna get teased, why do we want to give his would-be teasers more ammunition by naming him 'Rumplestiltskin'?

Mom: I think it's a handsome name.

Dad: It's a ridiculous name. There could not be a less handsome name than 'Rumplestiltskin.' It sounds like the noise a horse makes when it collapses from exhaustion. What about Edgar? I thought we liked the name Edgar.

Mom: Yeah, but 'Edgar Pumpernickel'? It just sounds so haughty, so arrogant. I don't want anybody to think our child lourds himself over anybody.

Dad: Fine. What about Ryan?

Mom: 'Ryan Pumpernickel' sounds more like some sort of baguette than a little boy.

Dad: Ok... James?

Mom: 'James Pumpernickel' just doesn't sound right. Not like 'Rumplestiltskin Pumpernickel' does...

Dad: Alexander?

Mom: That sounds like a sissy's name, and you're the one who's already so worried about him getting picked on for being a dwarf. I think 'Rumplestiltskin' sounds rugged. Because of the rrr at the beginning, probably.

Dad: Ehhh... The rest of the menfolk in the village are never gonna let me live this down, you know.

Mom: So we can call him Rumplestiltskin?

Dad: ...Yes.

Mom: Oh, I'm so happy! I'm so happy about our baby boy!

Dad: I am, too, Linda, I am, too.

Mom: Oh, I can't wait to get him home... I'm going to teach him how to work a spinning wheel, so he can grow up to be a big, strong, seamstress!

Dad: I'm never gonna be able to show my face at the tavern again.

The Memorial Day Agenda Of A Raincloud

2006-12-05T08:38:00.000-08:00

Oh boy- looks like a nice day out, huh? Partly sunny, not too hot. About 75 degrees. Breezy. Seems like this Memorial Day parade's gonna go off without a hitch, doesn't it? I can hear the Fairfield High School marching band warming up- they sound great. I could listen to them play Louie, Louie all day long. And the Shriners down there, in their fezes and their tiny cars- boy, they sure are amusing, aren't they? Hard to believe they raise money for burn victims, but they do. Oh, and there are the Girl Scouts, all lined up with flags painted on their cheeks- adorable. Yep, oughtta be a pretty great parade. Too bad I'm gonna rain on it.

Yeah, that's right. I'm gonna rain on your parade. Don't like it? Tough. I'm a cumulonimbus cloud, buddy boy, so what are you gonna do about it? That's right. Nothing. I could open up and turn on the waterworks whenever I want to. Heck, I could start raining right now. I could start a torrential downpour right here and now and stop the parade before it starts. Everybody from the VFW guys in the vintage Jeeps to the Revolutionary War Reenactment Guild would get completely hosed, and the parade would be called off before anybody even made it to Main St. Throngs of lawnchair bound spectators would scatter like roaches when you turn on the kitchen light. Yeah, that would be somethin', but it ain't nothing compared to what I got planned for this parade.

First, I'm gonna hover in the distance- just like I'm doing now, but I won't do anything. I just want to let everybody know that I'm here. Maybe I'll let loose with a little thunder rumble or something, I dunno. I want everybody to be anxious when the parade starts. I want every man, woman, and child to glance up just once while they're enjoying their oversized pretzels and think to themselves: "Boy, I hope that raincloud holds off." I like to give people hope, so that I can crush it. I'll let the parade start. It looks like you've got the fixin's for a pretty long parade here- I'd say hour and a half, two hours, judging by the amount of floats and marching bands I can see from up here. I think I'll wait about twenty minutes- just long enough for the parade to start- and then I'll move in and block out the sun. No rumbles, no rain just yet. More fear. Less hope. It's a balancing act, really.

Once the mood is right- I don't know how long it'll take, but I'll know when it is- then I'll start in with the drizzles. Not too much water, though. This is a delicate stage, because I don't want to chase anybody away just yet. Some finesse is required here. I'll drizzle a little, then stop for awhile, maybe even let some sunshine through. The drizzle can't be too light, because it has to be annoying enough to make people consider leaving, but not so bad that they can't justify staying. I might make it a little heavier in some places, 'cause I want just a few people to leave so that when I let up everybody who stayed can feel proud that they didn't chicken out and go home. That pride will be their downfall. I don't take too kindly to hubris.

By that point, most of the floats will be in motion. The bands will have started marching, and every weeblo from here to Greenwich will be walking through the streets, waving at their family and throwing candy to their friends. If I've done my job right, the atmosphere will be jubilant, because everybody will think that they have weathered the storm. Little do they know that the storm hasn't started yet. I'll let loose with a thunderclap to start. Remind them that I'm here. And then, I'll unload. It's gonna be torrential. Folks are gonna think that they're in the middle of a hurricane, and they might as well be. I'm gonna make big fat droplets that get them wet, then mix in a bunch of tinier ones that sting when they hit bare skin. I'll bring the wind up to make them cold, and maybe even throw in a little hail for effect. I'll bring everything to a roaring crescendo, and chaos will ensue.

Ha ha! I can barely contain myself! Imagine- blue haired ladies carrying potato salad running for cover, children's cotton candy melting in the rain, countless backyard potlucks and barbeques washed out! A dozen paper mache floats will become sodden and droop under their own weight until they are but crude imitations of the patriotic themes they once embodied, and the streets will run red, white, and blue with tempera paint. And then, once the mayor and his wife have fled from their booth in front of town hall, and the majorette's batons are too slippery to spin and toss, I'll let up. When all hope for a parade is lost, and the parade route has been evacuated, then I'll let up and drift away. Just like that. It'll be like I was never even here. For years, they'll talk about how this parade was ruined and pray that it does not happen again. That will by my legacy. Fear. Raw, naked, parade-oriented fear.

Oh- what's that I hear in the distance? Sounds like fanfare. That parade must be starting up. Time to get into position. But before I go, I wanted to let you know something- there's not a damned thing that you can do to stop me. Happy Memorial Day.

Customer Service Survey Regarding All The King's Horses And All The King's Men, As Completed By Humpty Dumpty

2006-12-04T09:18:00.000-08:00

Dear Mr. Dumpty-

It has come to the attention of All The King's Horses And All The King's Men that you have recently contacted our help center. It is our goal to provide first class service to our customers. Please help us serve you better by taking just a few minutes to fill out the following questionnaire. As always, we appreciate your business.

Thank you,

All The King's Horses And All The King's Men customer service team

1. Is this your first time contacting All The King's Horses And All The King's Men customer service?
Yes

2. Were our customer service representatives professional and courteous? (If 'no,' please explain)
Yes

3. Did our customer service representatives understand your problem? (If 'no,' please explain)
Yes

4. Were our customer service representatives able to solve your problem? (If 'no,' please explain)
No- I am an egg-man from Worcestershire who fell off a wall and cracked himself. In need of aid, I called All The King's Horses And All The King's Men to put me back together again, and they were unable to do so.

5. Was the transaction handled to your satisfaction? (If 'no,' please explain)
No- I am now a broken egg-man. There is nothing satisfactory about this situation.

6. Would you recommend All The King's Horses And All The King's Men customer service to your friends? (If 'no,' please explain)
No- The fellows who came to my aid, while polite and proper, were wholly inexperienced in the field of egg-mending, and all I needed was to be mended. I can only assume that their ignorance regarding this matter is indicative of a larger ignorance which plagues All The King's Horses And All The King's Men as a corporation at large. Also, I did not have many friends to start with, and the friends that I did have now feel uncomfortable around me because I am constantly leaking either yolk or albumen through the myriad cracks and fissures in my carapace.

7. Overall, how would you rate your experience with All The King's Horses And All The King's Men customer service?
Very poor- Whereas I had once been a proud egg-man, I am now a hobbled and leaky parody of my former self. Had All The King's Horses And All The King's Men been more knowledgable, I may not have had to suffer this cruel fate.

8. We appreciate any additional comments you may have regarding our customer service.
Get bent.

All The King's Horses And All The King's Men would like to thank you for taking the time to complete this questionnaire. Feel free to call our customer service helpline at 1-800-KING-MEN (1-800-5464-636) if you would like to discuss your issue further.

Time Travel Pranks Volume One: Deja-Vu

2006-12-03T22:35:00.000-08:00

Deja-Vu: Walk into a bar. Make direct eye contact with the bartender, but say nothing. Leave the bar so that the bartender cannot see your exit, either through a back door or bathroom window. Make note of the exact date and time at which you entered the bar, and also of what you are wearing. For the next twenty years, travel back in time to that same day and enter the bar one minute later than you entered the year before, wearing the same outfit. If properly executed, the bartender will see twenty versions of you, each slightly older than the last, walk past and nod him hello, over the course of twenty minutes. For added effect, come back to the bar 21 minutes after your initial visit and order a beer. Act like nothing has happened, and staunchly deny that you have been in the bar before. If your future self was committed enough, the bartender's mind will be blown.
Creating A Paradox: Perform the Deja-Vu prank as outlined above. If the bartender's mind is blown when you reenter the bar at the 21st minute, indicating a dutiful and time-travelling future you, destroy your time travel device right then and there, thus rendering full completion of the prank impossible. Sit back and relax as spacetime itself is rent asunder by the power of your intentions.

Saul Kripke's Christmas List

2006-12-02T13:23:00.000-08:00

To all interested parties,

I₁ would be happy to receive any of the following items₂ as Christmas gifts:

A tweed jacket with leather elbow patches₃
A new carrying case for my spectacles₄
The Construction Of Social Reality, by John Searle₅

Gifts which are not on this list will also be appreciated₆, perhaps even moreso.

Pleasant tidings to you all,

-Saul₇

¹My previous stances on the nature of the first person pronoun notwithstanding herein, I shall use it here to refer to "I," Saul Kripke, the fellow writing "I," as opposed to "I," the reader who is reading this utterance of "I." Inasmuch as this is the traditional usage of the pronoun, this ought not require further elucidation on my part herein. The matter was given extensive analysis in my January 2006 lecture entitled "The First Person." Although at some point in the future a transcript of the content of the lecture may become available, I will not be penning any works on the matter myself.

²Of course, the "following items" are in name only, for if I already possessed the items ennumerated below, then it would be foolhardy for me to ask for duplicates thereof for the holiday. Keep in mind as well, that I would like to receive the items which are rigidly designated by the linguistic constructions below. As amused as I would be unwrapping a near-perfect recreation of my christmas list, I will be just as dissapointed, if not moreso.

³Please see to it that the item purchased in response to this request is a tweed jacket with patches on the elbows made of leather. Despite the linguistic ambiguities present within, this statement does not refer to a tweed jacket with patches designed for leather elbows, nor does it refer to a tweed jacket with patches made from leather elbows, whatever a leather elbow may be. To my knowledge, these things can be referred to in name only, as they do not currently exist, but I would rather not have anybody go through the potentially grisly ordeal of constructing them on my behalf.

⁴The desired carrying case need not be custom-made for my spectacles. It need only be spacious enough to accomodate them, yet snug enough that they will not jostle within, scratching my prescription lenses. Should such a case be purchased, I will be overjoyed. However, I feel that such a purchase would be overkill (in the metaphoric sense of the term), and that I would not want for any of my family or acquaintances to feel it necessary to purchase such an elaborate gift to placate me.

⁵There is nothing John's book could teach me that I a) don't already know, or b) couldn't learn on my own, but I told him at our last meeting that I would endeavor to acquire a copy, and this saves me the embarassment of having to purchase it at the CUNY campus bookstore.

⁶Although not stated outright, it should be evident that I, the receiver of the gifts, will be the one doing the appreciating. Although other people might also appreciate receiving gifts which are not listed herein, their satistfaction is not the concern of this list. While I do wish all those who are not me the best of holiday seasons and good cheer, I would like to remind the reader to keep focused on the task at hand: my christmas gifts.

⁷Kripke

Jellyfish Of The Old West

2006-12-01T00:52:00.000-08:00

So, you wanna know how I lost my tentacles, do ya? Well, I'll tell you. I remember it like it was yesterday... I was sittin' right about here, in front of Thomas' General Store. Of course, back in those days I warn't in no rockin' chair, no sir- I was a young polyp back then. I had a nematocyte on my hip and a chip on my shoulder- I was out to show the world that there warn't no jellyfish in the entire sea who was tougher 'n me. I was young, then. Unseasoned. I thought I knew what tough was, but I didn't know tough from a hole in the ground. But that day, I learned what tough was. The hard way.

Now, the feller who drifted into town didn't talk much, but then again, he didn't need to. As soon as the outline of his pneumatophore showed up over the horizon, every planula and medusa in the town went running for cover. Heck, even the sheriff ducked into his office and locked the door. The bartender, the stablehands, the barber- they all hid. But not me. I was too stupid to be scared, and too proud to ask what was going on. Dumb and defiant, I leaned against this here general store, tentacles out, practically begging for a fight. Well, I got one.

See, what you can't tell about a Portuguese Man O'War when you see one for the first time is how darned big they are. A lot of folks used to think they were plain old jellyfish, just like you, me, and everyone you know. But let me tell you- that ain't the case. Those things are siphonophores- gigantic colonies of little critters, you see? That means that they're a hundred times bigger and a hundred times meaner than any feller can be on his own, and they ain't afraid to prove it, neither. That hulking hydrozoan drifted right up to me- I was the only fool left out in the open- and before I could open the orifice that I use both for feeding and the extrusion of waste, that sucker stung me six ways past sunday. He pumped my mesoglea so full of venom that I was paralyzed. Normally, I'd have fired a couple stinging nettles of my own right back at him, but my primitive nervous system had almost completely shut down. He left me just alive enough that I'd have to watch as he began to digest me, but not so alive that I could do anything about it. It was terrible.

I sat there, ocelli transfixed on the gruesome sight before me. I watched the bastard bluebottle as he ate my first tentacle. Then another. Then another. I thought I was done for, and you can imagine that I was really kicking myself for being so arrogant and naive. But then, salvation came. Now, I ain't much of a religious jelly- I never took well to no churchin' and I never felt possessed by the spirit- but when I saw that sea turtle rear up behind that dirty ol' Man O'War, I felt like throwing my remaining tentacles in the air and singing "hallelujah!" In one swift move, that turtle snatched my attacker up in his beak, flapped a flipper and took off. I was stunned- mostly from the huge amounts of venom in me, but also from how suddenly everything had happened.

Later on, everybody would talk about how brave I was, that I had stood my ground against a Portuguese desperado, and no matter how much I protested that without that turtle I would have been done for nobody would listen. Pretty soon, everybody all but forgot about that turtle, and I had become the hero of the day- but I would never forget. I've got these here stubby tentacles to remind me. So let this be a lesson to you, young feller- as tough as you think you are, there's always gonna be somethin' out there that's tougher than you. Now then- hand me that glass of lemonade and I'll tell you about the time a smack of marauding moon jellies rolled into town. I remember it like it was yesterday...

A Bovine Suicide Note

2006-11-30T09:22:00.000-08:00

Goodbye, cruel herd! Soon I, Mortimer, the pathetic cow you have all mocked and scorned for so long, will leave this place forever. At noon today, I am going to wander down to the railroad tracks and lie down, waiting for the 12:16 express train from Bloomington to put me out of my misery once and for all. For years, I have searched for friends on every pasture where I graze, and for years I have been hated by herefords, giggled at by guernseys, and booed by black angus bulls. Even humans do not like me! Having reached my wit's end I stood in line at a slaughterhouse, waiting eagerly to shake loose this mortal coil, and I was turned away! I was singled out by the human overlord and sent back to the fields from whence I had come, sentenced to sullenly skulk my days away in the very pastures who's rejection had pushed me to seek the sweet release of death in the first place. Oh, cruel fate! Why have you tested me so? Why is it that my udders produce only curds? Why is it that no matter how much cud I chew I remain gaunt and sickly looking? Why do I have the unfortunate dishonor of having not one, not two, but three penis shaped splotches on my hide? Why??? Fare thee well, awful pastures, and fare thee well, horrible herd- I am off to a better place, just as soon as the 12:16 express train from Bloomington comes screeching down those tracks. I pray to all that is holy that the humans have not divined some way for a train to catch a cow, for if they have I know not what I'll do.

Sincerely,

Mortimer Abondance

P.S. I've left my bell, which only clanks out the theme from "The Twilight Zone," so that my memory shall always haunt you.

The Wright Brothers Politely Defer To One Another

2006-11-29T09:20:00.000-08:00

Orville: Really, Wilbur, stop this silly bickering and get in the aeroplane. You're the older one here- it makes sense that you should have the esteemed privilege of being the first one to fly this aeroplane that we've constructed.

Wilbur: It is an esteemed privilege, Orville, and what sort of older brother would I be if I took it away from you? When we were growing up, mother and father always said to look after you and keep your best interests in mind. I can think of no better way to honor their wishes than to allow you to be the one to usher in this new age of aviation.

Orville: I'm flattered, brother, truly I am- but I can imagine no crime greater than taking this honor away from you. What have I ever done to deserve the distinction of being the first man to pilot this rickety glider?

Wilbur: Your hard work and determination are the glue that hold this ramshackle plane together, Orville. In many ways, this tumbledown flying contraption is yours alone, as should be the pleasure of being the first person to take it airborne.

Orville: Wilbur, you are too modest. It is true that I helped a great deal in the construction of this run-down aircraft, but without your blueprints and your logical-sounding yet insofar untested and therefore unreliable concepts about aeronautics, I would still be repairing bicycles back in Dayton. You first. I insist.

Wilbur: No. My modesty fails me now, brother, in the light of your argument. I am crucial to the fledgling field of aeronautics, and any injury I sustained would be not only an injury to myself, but also an injury to the 20th century. Inasmuch as I am too important to risk my life in this unsound aerial apparatus, you should be the first.

Orville: Point noted, but if your body were injured when this dubious device of ours crashed, your mind and your ideas would still be intact. Aeronautical engineering would experience hardly any delay in it's development. On the other hand, if I were to be involved in some sort of crash, and these hands were to become useless, who would rebuild the plane?

Wilbur: Brother, be not too haughty- I would mend the craft.

Orville: Would you, brother? These hands...

Wilbur: Were taught everything they know by this mind. A mind, which I might add, is not going to risk itself by being the first to climb into winged craft made of wood and paper which contains a combustion engine. Get in.

Orville: Hrm... Wouldn't mother be sad if I were injured?

Wilbur: Maybe, but not as sad as she'd be if I were injured. Now hurry up and get in before the wind dies down. I don't trust this thing to stay in the air without a strong wind.

Orville: What was that last part?

Wilbur: Nothing. Have a safe flight, and try to steer for a dune if you begin to fall.

The To-Do List Of A Poltergeist

2006-11-28T20:09:00.000-08:00

Photo courtesy of Central Louisiana Paranormal Society (CLaPS)

The Bittersweet Experience Of Unwrapping A Knockoff Play-Doh Extruder On Christmas Morning

2006-11-27T15:15:00.000-08:00

Oh. How nice. A Fun-Doh extruder. Merry Christmas to me. As if Play-Doh wasn't cheap enough, mom and dad somehow managed to find a Fun-Doh toy for me. This box looks like it's been sitting at the bottom of a dollar store bargain bin for a few years. I wonder if the smiling Bulgarian boy on the label had anything to do with that. Check the unibrow on that guy. Ok, they're watching... May as well open her up and take a look at what we've got here... Oh good. I'll be able to extrude a waxing gibbous moon shaped snake with this. Or a circle. Or... oh no, that's it. Just two choices. Waxing gibbous moon or circle. And look, this Fun-Doh comes in three fun colors: chartreuse, ochre, and salmon. I didn't even know salmon was a color. I certainly didn't know it was a fun color. Thanks, mom and dad. Thanks for this knockoff Play-Doh extruder. Merry Christmas.

I guess I should be happy. I could have gotten no extruder at all. This way, at least I can talk with the rest of the kids in my kindergarten class about extrusion. That's a good thing, I guess. I'll just have to make sure I don't slip and mention that I've got a Bulgarian extruder at home. I'm sure this thing works pretty much the same as a Play-Doh extruder would. Just stuff the Fun-Doh in here and- ugh... Sweet crap, this stuff is greasy. Pungent, too. It smells like a gas station. What's in this stuff anyhow? ...Water, ochre dye #40, rice flour... Oh, there it is. Gasoline. Leaded gasoline. Great. I'll have to remember that next time my big wheel needs a tune-up.

Who am I kidding? This is awful. I've been playing with this stupid knockoff extruder for five minutes and I smell like a full serve attendant's grease rag. Chances are I've already absorbed enough lead into my system to have screwed my chances of ever getting anything beyond a bachelor's degree in sociology. What am I gonna do if my mom invites someone over for a playdate? If it's sunny, I'll be okay. We'll go out to the swingset in the backyard and that'll be the end of it, but what if it rains? Mom always makes me do arts & crafts when it rains, and, sadly, Fun-Doh extrusion falls into that category. What then? Even if I feign boredom- as if I would need to feign it when Fun-Doh is inolved- my guest might be fooled by the Fun-Doh packaging, and think that we have been presented with Play-Doh. I'll be mortified when he sinks his hand into this greasy doh. He'll pause, look at me, remove his hand, and our friendship will end the second his mother comes to retrieve him for dinner. As will my five-year old social life. I'll become a laughingstock.

Maybe it's not all that bad. I should stop worrying about the future so much and focus more on the present. I'm not so blinded by brand-recognition that I can't enjoy knockoff extruding on my own. Really, when you get down to it, stripped of all the advertising and the jingles and all the marketing, one doh extruder is as good as another. I've just got to try to have a good time. There's nothing wrong with Fun-Doh. Well, the colors aren't great. And I'm not too keen on this gritty, greasy texture. Or the smell. Or the social stigma that I'll have to cope with once word leaks out that I spend my free time handling a mixture of rice flour and leaded gasoline with my bare hands. Calm down- live in the now. Move on to the next gift. I'll worry about all this Fun-Doh stuff later. For the time being, I'm just going to open another present and try to enjoy my Christmas morning.

Oh good. A SpongeBiff ShortShorts DVD. And it's encoded for region six, so I can't even watch it. Mom, Dad, really- you shouldn't have.

Practical Uses For Super Powers: Reed Richards (a.k.a. Mr. Fantastic)

2006-11-26T08:49:00.000-08:00

After surviving bombardment by comic rays, Reed Richards was granted the ability to stretch and distort his body. Here are some practical uses for this amazing power:

Changing lightbulbs in hard to reach places
Sticking his head up to look for acquantainces in large crowds (and to be seen by said acquaintances)
Extending his legs slightly, thus increasing his stride and walking speed
Reaching into vending machines to procure snacks free of charge
Expanding lung walls, to increase oxygen intake and thus athletic endurance
Forming into a thin sheet and riding wind currents around town to help reduce CO₂ emissions
Slightly changing size to make clothes which don't quite fit fit well

A Cetacean Fairy Tale

2006-11-25T09:42:00.000-08:00

nce upon a time, in the ancient seas of the world, there lived a pod of humpback whales. The whales all lived in harmony, singing happy whale songs to one another and blowing great spouts of water from their blowholes when they surfaced for air. For many years the whales lived this way, but the year in which our story takes place was a particularly happy year, for one of the whales, Brisbane, was pregnant with a calf. Her and her mate Lawrence were overjoyed because they had had such difficulty conceiving a child in previous years that they feared it would never happen. As is the way with all pregnant humpbacks, Brisbane's appetite grew, for now she was eating not only for herself but for her unborn calf as well. Lawrence would help all that he could, dutifully collecting for her all the capelin and herrings he could find. One day, however, Brisbane was struck with a desire for krill. There was krill nearby, but it was forbidden. The krill belonged to an old, lone humpback named Eutheria who's pod had abandoned her years ago because she was a sea-witch. Every whale in the sea, from the Sei to the Blue, knew and feared Eutheria, for it was rumored that she was so powerful that not even Architeuthis, the giant squizard of the deep, was able to subdue her. Regardless, Brisbane's craving for krill was so dire that her health began to wane, and Lawrence feared both her and the unborn calf would die unless he were able to procure some. Under cover of night, he snuck up to Eutheria's krill garden, broke through her bubble netting, and took some krill to bring back to Brisbane. Sure enough, Brisbane's health improved, thus emboldening Lawrence to try and steal some krill the next night as well. Again, Lawrence snuck into Eutheria's krill garden and brought some back for Brisbane. Surely the krill had been enchanted, for now Brisbane was more lively and energetic than ever. So thrilled was he to see his mate in such high spirits that Lawrence decided he would try once more to fetch her some krill. On the third night, however, just as Lawrence was approaching Eutheria's krill garden, Eutheria appeared behind him. She was as displeased with Lawrence as a sea-witch can be, and threatened to kill his entire pod as punishment. Lawrence pleaded for his pod, and pleaded for the lives of Brisbane and the unborn calf. Finally, Eutheria agreed to let Lawrence go on the condition that when his calf was born, it would be given to Eutheria as payment for the stolen krill. Fearing the sea-witch's wrath, Lawrence had no choice but to agree, and ten months later, when Brisbane gave birth, Eutheria appeared and stole the calf away. She called the calf Krillpunzel, and raised her as her own.

or many years, Eutheria and Krillpunzel lived in this way, isolated from the rest of the world. Eutheria taught Krillpunzel the ways of being a whale, and used her sea-witch magicks to groom her into the prettiest and most alluring whale she could be. In time, Krillpunzel grew to be a beautiful young humpback, who's enchanting and complex whale songs could be heard throughout the seas. Drawn by the beautiful melodies they heard carried on the ocean currents, whale suitors would occasionally seek Krillpunzel out, only to be frightened off by the jealous and fearsome Eutheria. Wanting to keep Krillpunzel all to herself, Eutheria used a sea spell to command the coral to construct a mighty atoll in which Krillpunzel would be kept. The walls of the atoll were so high that no whale could breach them, and even Eutheria herself could not gain entry by conventional means. Krillpunzel had unknowingly learned a magic song from Eutheria in her youth called "Let Down Your Baleen," and Eutheria had told the coral who built the atoll to open a hidden door whenever Krillpunzel sang it. Every day, Eutheria would go to the atoll and say "Krillpunzel, Krillpunzel, Let Down Your Baleen," and when Krillpunzel sang the magic song, the sea-witch would be allowed to enter. Eutheria was very happy with this arrangement, as she did not ever have to share the pleasure of Krillpunzel's company with anybody else. Krillpunzel, on the other hand, quickly grew weary of her new living quarters. She was lonesome and bored, and would pass the time the only way she knew how- by singing. Krillpunzel spent many years passing the time this way, with Eutheria visiting every afternoon to bring food and spend time together. One day, a rogue humpback happened to be feasting in the neighborhood of the atoll and overheard Krillpunzel singing. The beautiful melody had an overpowering effect on him, and he fell in love. Determined to find the cetacean enchantress who's song he had heard, he swam all around the atoll searching for a way in, but could not find any. He searched until the sun set and the moon rose, and then he kept searching until the dawn broke and the day began, but he could not find a way in. Then, just as he was giving up hope, Eutheria approached. He had heard the legends about her, and so he hid behind a rock to avoid her gaze. Eutheria swam up to the atoll and said "Krillpunzel, Krillpunzel, Let Down Your Baleen," at which point the hidden door opened and she went inside. The rogue whale was thrilled, and his heart beat so fast that he thought for sure his hiding spot would be given away. It wasn't, and when Eutheria left he swam up to the atoll and said "Krillpunzel, Krillpunzel, Let Down Your Baleen."

rillpunzel sang the secret song, and the hidden door was once again revealed. When he entered, he was taken aback by how beautiful Krillpunzel was, and Krillpunzel was taken aback to see someone who was not Eutheria. He gave her a piece of kelp that he had picked for her, and they talked for hours. Krillpunzel told the rogue whale about how she came to be trapped in the atoll, and the rogue whale, who's name was Timothy, told Krillpunzel of all the wonderful things outside the atoll. He told her that he loved her, and they mated. Krillpunzel loved Timothy, too, but was afraid of what Eutheria would do if she found out about their coupling. They decided that Timothy had better leave before Eutheria returned, and so Timothy left the atoll, promising to return. The next day, when Eutheria came by, she noticed the piece of kelp that Timothy had given Krillpunzel. Knowing that she had not brought the kelp in, she reasoned that Krillpunzel had had a visitor, and she again grew jealous. Furious that Krillpunzel would be so ingrateful as to allow anyone else into the atoll, Eutheria put a curse on her that rendered her mute and then cast her out into the sea. Krillpunzel immediately began to search for Timothy, but not having swum in the open sea for many years, she quickly became disoriented and got lost. Not knowing what had transpired, Timothy returned that night as he had promised. When he called "Krillpunzel, Krillpunzel, Let Down Your Baleen," the hidden door opened and he swam inside. Timothy was surprised, though, for Krillpunzel was gone, and Eutheria, the sea witch whom he feared, had taken her place. Eutheria knew at once that Timothy was the forbidden visitor. Her spite and her rage knew no bounds, and so she blinded him to prevent him from ever finding Krillpunzel again. Determined to prove the sea-witch wrong, Timothy set out to find his beloved Krillpunzel. Timothy swam and swam and swam, but he could not find her. He swam until his tail was sore and his flippers felt dead from exhaustion, but he did not give up. He swam into countless sea-crags and piers for he could not see, but still he searched for Krillpunzel. After years of searching, Timothy finally gave up, and settled onto a sand bar. Just then, in the distance, he heard a song that he had not heard in ages. Finding renewed vigor for his quest, he swam towards the source of the song. When he got closer, he could tell it was not Krillpunzel. The young whale who was singing the song explained that she had known the song since birth, but did not know how. Timothy demanded that the young whale take him to her mother. The young whale did, and when she came home with Timothy following behind her, Krillpunzel recognized him at once. She cried with joy, and when her tears mingled with the seawater they restored Timothy's sight. Upon seeing Krillpunzel, Timothy began to cry as well, and his tears restored Krillpunzel's voice. So happy were they to be together again after so many years of fruitless searching that they mated again, much to the dismay of Krillpunzel's child, and they all lived hapily ever after.

Preamble To An Eruption

2006-11-24T08:37:00.000-08:00

Declaration Of Eruption: Despite my prior record of volcanic dormancy, the subduction of the convergent plate boundary upon which I am stationed has resulted in an abnormal lithospheric pressure differential which shall be remedied during the week of January 8th, 2007. Therefore, pursuant to the Human-Volcano Fair Warning Treaty of 1994, and inasmuch as it is my moral duty to warn the hikers on my slopes and the townsfolk who live in my shadow, I hereby proclaim that a volcanic eruption is imminent. In accordance with section VII(a) of the aforementioned treaty, wherein it was agreed by both parties that no eruption shall occur with malice of forethought, I submit the following diagnosis of the eruption, in hopes that the peace now held between volcanoes and their human brethren may be maintained.
Expected Impact: Due to silicon concentrations upwards of sixty-five percent, a felsic lava flow is expected. The human impact of said lava flow is expected to be minimal, thanks in large part to the adherence to the zoning regulations put forward by the 1994 treaty. However, pyroclastic flows are anticipated, and thus a precautionary evacuation is being recommended. This recommendation is in no way mandatory on the part of the erupting party, and therefore its declaration absolves the volcanic contingent of any responsibility for loss of life which may occur. Property damage, although regrettable, is to be expected. Whereas any damaged sustained on projects or public works commissioned since the 1994 treaty shall be the responsibility of the building party (the human contingent), damage sustained on sites previously identified as historical landmarks shall be the responsibility of the erupting party, and will be accounted for.
Reparations: Inasmuch as it is not the desire of any volcano for their eruption to be the cause of any longstanding grievance on the part of human parties residing in the locality of said volcano, reparations shall be made by the erupting party in an attempt to mend ecological and financial damage derivative of the eruption in question. In this particular case, the volcanic contingency shall help provide for future reforestation with the deposit of volcanic soils rich in nutrients. Furthermore, the erupting party shall remain dormant for several years to come, in order to allow for an influx of tourist dollars and real estate development. Said dormancy is accompanied by the standard caveat that heretofore unseen and unknown geological activity may render said dormancy untenable, at which point further declarations of eruption shall be issued if necessary.

December 15th, 2006
Global Volcano Alliance

Awkward Situations For Cyborgs

2006-11-23T21:52:00.000-08:00

"Sir, please check to make sure your pockets are all empty. The other people in this line have flights to catch."
"Oh hey, Rick- this is the guy I was telling you about. Arxon-4800, this is Rick Deckard. Rick Deckard, this is Arxon-4800."
"Oops! I really need to reset the timers on these sprinklers."
"Yeah, the shag carpet's really nice, but it builds up a lot of static electricity. Try not to touch anything metal."
"No, the best scene in Terminator is when Schwarzenegger gets crushed in the crusher- just like the piece of cyborg trash he is."
"Mom, dad, this is my boyfriend Arxon-4800. Arxon-4800, these are my parents. Did you know that I was raised as a Luddite?"

A Venerated Turkey Addresses His Fellow Birds, Offering His Wisdom And Counsel On The Eve Of Thanksgiving

2006-11-22T09:40:00.000-08:00

Fellow turkeys- Thanksgiving is a day of tradgedy and woe for all of us. There is not a single bird in this barn who has not shed a tear for the loss of a dear friend or family member on this day in years past, and this year will be no different. Come sunup, Farmer John will stalk in here, axe in hand, and choose one of our number to be killed, plucked, and roasted to sate his family's gluttonous appetite. As if death were not a cruel enough fate, the chosen one will also have to suffer the ignominy of having their body cavity stuffed with spiced bread crumbs, carrots, and apples. The chosen one may even be deep-fried, or become a turduckin. Now, I have oveheard some gobbling among the flock. Political firebrands walk among us- birds who are too young or too lean to truly fear the fate of the farmer's axe- and they speak of revolution. "Give me liberty," they say, "or give me death." Fellow turkeys- I beg of you not to propose this ulitmatum to the farmer, for he will most certainly give you death.

I understand that the extremists in the flock tonight do not enjoy hearing me say this. I am prepared to read the scrawls in the barnyard dirt tomorrow, decrying my good name and calling me a farmer sympathizer, but let me state unequivocally here and now that no turkey here is less of a farmer sympathizer than I. Having lived in this barnyard for ten whole years, I have seen the farmer slaughter turkeys, chickens, and pigs at will. I have watched him throw the bones of the dead to his dogs, and I have watched him feed the organs of the dead to the children of the living. As far as I am concerned, there is no creature on this farm more barbarous than the farmer, and I will not sit idly by and watch as the ranks of my flock are thinned. That having been said, this "Give me liberty or give me death" nonsense is some of the most ineffective rhetoric a turkey can use at this time of year.

Does any bird here truly think that Farmer John, who has a long history of meleagricide, will put down his axe and open wide the barnyard gates so that we might be free, because of this phrase? "Give me liberty or give me death"? Please. The farmer has known all along that liberty is what we seek, and he has not granted it. If the farmer were of a mind to grant liberty to any of us, then why have we never seen it happen? Indeed, every turkey here who has attempted to escape- to take liberty by force- was quickly apprehended by the farmer's dogs and brought back to this very barnyard. Liberty, sadly, is not an option for us, my fellow birds- but if we are crafty we may avoid death.

Surely even the youngest among us have noticed a significant trend in the farmer's behavior. The executioner's axe does not swing blindly. Every year, it strikes the neck of the fattest and healthiest among us. Those turkeys who are foolish enough to unquestioningly accept the bounty of grain that the farmhands present to us each autumn are the very same turkeys who end up lying on their stomachs in a roasting pan, being basted with their own juices every thirty minutes. Meanwhile, the rest of the flock is forced to sit downwind of the farmer's kitchen in this very barn and smell the cooked flesh of their kinsmen. How many more necks will have to be cut before we learn that only the gourmands among us will ever meet the axe? How many more Novembers must be tainted by gore and sorrow? No more, I say. This ends now.

Many of you are too young to remember the hard years- the years when summer droughts had drastically cut the autumn grain supply, leaving our people lean, tough, and stringy. You may not remember- but I do. That year, not a single one of our number was culled. Seeing heartier opportunities for a feast amongst the pig's number, the farmer, axe in hand, walked through our quarters that cold morning and walked back out. Yes, without killing a single turkey, the farmer walked out. I have faith, brothers and sisters, that if this happened once, it can- no, will- happen again.

We are the masters of our own destiny, are we not? Are we, as turkeys, not the ones in charge of what becomes of our lives? We are. So let's act like it. It is too late to change what will happen at dawn tomorrow, fellow turkeys, but let us band together and restrain ourselves in the coming years. Let us remember our wild roots- our kind were once lean birds of prey, not fatty future feasts with feathers. We can be this way again, and in doing so we shall all enjoy peaceful, senescent deaths. "Give me liberty or give me death?" Hardly. Grant me restraint and give me life, I say!

Turkeys! Let us raise our waddles to the rafters, and gobble as loud as we may for the chosen one among us! Let us join together as a flock on this day, and let us swear that this shall be the last Thanksgiving where Farmer John shall have the pleasure of a fattened turkey at his table! Dawn soon approaches, and I swear to you turkeys that it shall mark the dawn of a new era in this barn- an era where no turkey shall ever have to fear losing their sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, or friends to a corpulent farm family ever again!

Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble!Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble! Gobble gobble!

Important Moments In Nerdic History

2006-11-21T09:28:00.000-08:00

Taken from Nerdic History And Culture, by Isaac Wattleman; Harper Collins (2002).

November 18th, 1976: After severe harassment from the athletic department at Vassar College, astronomy professor Renald Plimpton develops high-waist trousers. The trousers cover underwear waistbands by several inches, thus drastically reducing the risk of wedgies. The wild success of his invention leads nerds everywhere to refer to a failed wedgie attempt as a "plimpton."
August 7th, 1982: Sydney Bergosser, childhood math prodigy and teenaged bane of high school calculus teachers, calculates the precise angle at which to carry books so that they cannot be slapped to the floor. Sydney's achievement, while notable, is quickly overshadowed by the rise in popularity of backpacks and trapper keepers. Currently, Sydney is working for DuPont chemicals, trying to develop a fabric additive which will prevent "Kick Me" signs from adhereing to shirts.
July 24th, 1989: Following an embarassing incident on a badminton court, materials engineer Pyotr Valkersson develops a strap to hold spectacles close to one's face during periods of exertion. The straps enjoy widespread popularity in the Nerdic community, particularly among model rocket enthusiasts and rock collectors.
December 28th, 1995: As the internet rises in popularity, more and more nerds the globe over find financial success as web entrepeneurs. In particular, computer programmer Roman Crowley enjoys overnight success by pioneering the hyperlink. Later, Crowley would go on to develop the massively popular "unsubscribe" link found at the bottom of unsolicited email as well as the massively unpopular pop-up ad.
March 16th, 2002: String theorist and part time marine biologist Emil Winston-Hurvitz is able to combine his two passions with his award-winning "jellyfish diagram" of the components of M-Theory. The diagram is so useful that several noted members of the Princeton Institute For Advanced Study get it tattooed on their chests. Winston-Hurvitz himself, however, declines to receive a tattoo of his celebrated diagram, citing his "longstanding fear of needles" and "general squeamishness."

Prometheus Voices A Concern

2006-11-20T09:40:00.000-08:00

Zeus? Can we talk for a second about this punishment you've meted out for me? And, before I begin, I am sorry about the whole giving fire to mankind thing. I didn't think you'd take it like you did, and I know you're upset, so I'm not going to sit here and butt heads with you about whether or not I should be chained to this mountain for 30,000 years, having my eternally regenerating liver pecked out daily by Ethon the giant eagle-monster. I know I'll lose that argument, so I'm not even going to try. I just wanted to voice what I feel is a legitimate concern: I feel that my continual lack of a liver may have a deleterious effect on my health.

I don't know how much you know about livers, Zeus, but I'm sure you can appreciate the fact that it's a major organ. It plays a major role in metabolism. Now, I know that since I've been chained to this rock I haven't been eating as much as I used to, so my need to have an organ which secretes bile to help break down fats is admittedly diminished. However, the liver serves many functions beyond the aiding of digestion, including but not limited to the conversion of ammonia to urea and breaking down hemoglobin. These are necessary processes that all bodies must carry out, and I fear that my liver simply can't do them while Ethon the giant eagle-monster is pecking it out.

Besides, I stand at a constant risk of infection. Even with Deucalion faithfully tending to my liver-wound every day, my innards are being continually exposed to eagle bacteria and the outside world. The resulting infection may very well trigger a hepatitis attack or primary sclerosing cholangitis. Despite the fact that I will regrow a new liver free of these diseases as soon as my current one was been eaten, the liver's importance in the digestive system ensures that the systemic damages caused by these maladies may plague me for some time to come. I understand that you're upset with me, but do you really want to live with the guilt of being responsible for giving a titan biliary cirrhosis? I don't think that you do.

Maybe I should have said something sooner, but if- just for the sake of my liver- you could alter my punishment ever so slightly. If you just want me to experience terrible pain day in and day out, fine. I'll regenerate whatever that lousy eagle eats, so it shouldn't matter. Have Ethon eat off all of my toes, for instance. Or my fingers. Heck, he can even eat my nose, ears, and lips for all I care, but my liver is too important of an organ to be toyed with so lightly. For that matter, so are my heart and lungs. Frankly, I'd prefer if all of my internal organs could be put on the "do not eat" list. Thanks.

Or, if you really insist on having my liver removed over and over again, why don't we find a better way to do it so that we can give the old livers to people who need transplants? I'm sure that there's scores of hemochromatosis and hepatocellular carcinoma sufferers out there who'd like to have a titan's liver in place of their own. This is just wasteful. Ethon doesn't even care for the taste of liver. He told me. Well, just a thought. It might help people remember you as "Zeus, bringer of livers to the ill" instead of "Zeus, who occasionally takes human form to seduce temple virgins." Just a thought.

Tell you what- I'll let you sleep on it. You don't need to make a decision one way or the other right now, but mull it over tonight and see how you feel about it in the morning. When you figure out what you want to do, just let me know. I'll be right here- chained to the side of Mount Caucasus, screaming and writhing in agony as my tender liver is deftly pecked out of my side. And hey, Zeus- thanks for listening.

The Horsehead Nebula's Plea

2006-11-19T21:20:00.000-08:00

Hey... IAU? International Astronomer's Union? Can you hear me? It's me... The Horsehead Nebula... Look I just wanted to ask... Well... Could you please give me a new nickname.... Anything but "Horsehead Nebula." Please? No? C'mon... I never did anything to you guys... Why do you have to be so cruel? I know I look like a horse. Everyone knows that I look like a horse, so can we please just move on? Stop singing the Mr. Ed theme. I'm not trying to be a jerk or anything... It's just... well, it's embarassing. Nobody calls me Barnard 33 anymore, it's always Horse Nebula this, Horse Nebula that... I can't go anywhere without some galaxy neighing at me as I pass by, or asking me if I'm on my way to a stable. It's really demeaning.

I don't feel I'm being unreasonable here... I mean, I've gone along with this nickname for... Jeez... For about one hundred and eighteen of your earth years now. Over a hundred years. Can't we just say the joke has run it's course? I'm tired of the infamy. I used to lead such a quiet life, farming protostars to pass the time and basking in the gentle glow of Sigma Orionis. Now, I can't get a spare second to myself without some grad student in Mauna Kea or tourist in Griffith Park leering at me, saying "Hey, there's that horse-shaped thing." Nobody seems to care about who I am anymore, just how much I look like the profile of a horse. It's really upsetting, and I can't help but think that it wouldn't happen as much if people just called me Barnard 33.

You know what? I'll compromise. I don't have to be Barnard 33, I'll just take any nickname over "Horsehead Nebula." No, please not that... No, "Turd Nebula" is not a better nickname. No, it isn't... I... C'mon. Please stop messing with me. I just want a new nickname... I look sort of like a chess piece, so I could be the "Chess Nebula"... No? Well, then how about something dignified like the Eagle Nebula or the Omega Nebula... I know that those ones are taken, but something that sounds majestic like that... No, I don't think that "Turd Nebula" sounds majestic. Please stop calling me that.

I can hear you snickering.

Look, guys, why do you have to be such jerks about this? You have to rewrite the textbooks soon anyhow because of Pluto, so why can't you just add my nickname to the list of changes you've gotta make? I'll do anything... I'll change my emission spectra. C'mon- I'll tell you where all the cool pulsars are located. Please? I'll make as many Herbig-Haro objects for you as you can study- I'll just crank 'em out... You will change it? Oh great, thank you.... I knew you guys would listen to reason... Wait, what do you mean that the "awesome name" key on your computer is stuck? C'mon, don't hit the "turd" key, please... Please...

Eh... Well, nobody can say I didn't try. I just can't win with you guys. I'm going home, but I want you guys to know that my feelings have been hurt. I came here with a reasonable request and you guys not only turned me down, but you mocked me as well with this whole "Turd Nebula" nonsense. I hope you're happy with yourselves, because I'm really going to have a crappy day because of this... NO.... Eh... I guess I walked right into that one... I'm going home. Oh, by the way, Uranus had wanted to talk to you guys, too, but I think I'll just let him know not to bother.

Survival Guides For Ants: When Anteaters Attack

2006-11-18T10:25:00.000-08:00

AUGH! An Anteater Is Attacking My Colony!

First off- calm down. Yes, anteaters are wily, and yes, they do eat ants, but there are ants that have met anteaters and lived to tell the tale. Several of us wrote this survival guide. If you can manage to keep your cool, you may join our hallowed ranks. Armed with the information contained in this handy-dandy survival guide, you'll easily outwit any anteater, armadillo, or pangolin who's foolish enough to lay seige to your home.

Why Are Anteaters So Cruel?
Let's face it- anteaters are just jerks, and there's nothing we can do about it. But why is it that they are so hell-bent on making the lives of every ant within ten square miles of their home miserable? Why won't anteaters just become planteaters and leave everybody be? The answer, as it turns out, is that they can't. Anteaters jawbones have fused together over time, meaning that apart from sucking up ants (and termites), there's not much that they can do. Ant researchers speculate that this is why anteaters hold such a grudge against ants, who's tiny but powerful mandibles must really make anteaters jealous.

The Tongue Of An Anteater Is A Formidable Foe. How Can It Be Beaten?
Quite simply, it can't. As if the fact that it were covered in tiny, backwards facing ant-grabbing spines weren't enough, the tongues of anteaters are also covered in an extraordinarily sticky saliva- good for them, bad for us. Add this onto the fact that an anteater's tongue is nearly two feet long, and all of a sudden you've got a recipe for an antastrophe. Again, calm down. This tongue cannot see you. When an anteater feeds, it will mindlessly slip it's tongue through the widest and most accessible tunnels of your colony, so stay off the beaten path. By hiding in antechambers or arterial tunnels which don't get much use, you'll avoid becoming lunchified. Also, an anteater's tongue is quite long, but it's not nearly as long as the ground is deep. If you hear an anteater coming (see below), head for low ground. Sure, they can use their powerful claws and forelimbs to dig for you, but you can buy yourself some valuable time by going as deep as possible as soon as possible. ADAPASAP, we like to say.

What Was That You Said A Second Ago, About Hearing An Anteater Coming?
A stitch in time saves nine, and an ant who knows when an anteater is on it's way saves nine ants. If you live in anteater territory, be aware. Do you hear a slow, plodding sound, accompanied by a faint rustle? If the answer is 'yes,' then you're listening to an anteater slowly approaching your colony, dragging it's bushy tail of coarse hair behind it. It's a distinct sound, much different from the sound of an approaching whip scorpion or centipede, so make note of it. Note, however, that if you live in tamandua territory, this aural profile does not apply. Tamanduas are sneaky and arboreal. Ant researchers are currently working on a detection system for these pesky predators, but advise tamandua-threatened ants to live by the ADAPASAP philosophy in the meantime.

Ok, I Think I Get It- But What About A Pre-emptive Strike Against The Xenarthrans?
That's stupid. Even a large colony of fire ants could not defeat a small anteater. They are gigantic, and so stupid that they are impervious to pain. C'mon.

Well, What Else Is There To Do?
Educate your fellow ants. Acting on the advice we've given here, any ant can save himself. However, by telling his fellow ants everything he's learned here today, an ant may be able to save his whole colony. Knowledge is power- power against anteaters. Having made it this far, you have become more powerful- against anteaters. Do the right thing and share that power with those you care about. Help build smarter colonies- have fake tunnels, deep antechambers in which to hide, and line your walls with bitter leaves that anteaters will find repulsive. If any one of us can survive an anteater attack, then all of us should be able to.

This informational pamphlet was published by the Anteater Attack Veteran's Council (AAVC), a non-profit organization dedicated to the prevention of the needless eating of ants. The AAVC is supported by donations from readers like you. To make a donation, visit our website.

Phineas Vapochevsky's Earnest Yet Failed Attempt To Further Medical Science

2006-11-17T08:29:00.000-08:00

I want to help people. I have always wanted to help people. I have lived my entire life with the unwavering conviction that a man's achievements are limited only by his imagination, and I have strived to imagine the impossible. I speak not of silver-necked dragons or tooth faeries, nor do I speak of six-legged radishes or corpulent elves. I speak instead of what others who have come before me has considered impossible. I speak of alleviating acute viral nasopharyngitis- the common cold, which every physician since Hippocrates has written off as 'incurable.' Incurable? Can they seriously gaze down from their ivory towers at the sniffly, coughing throngs amassed beneath them pleading for reprieve and say "If I don't know what to do, then there must be nothing that can be done"? Not I. I have developed a cure for the common cold- but you need to rub this camphorated salve on your chest for it to work. Hold still and I'll show you.

Don't shy away! The wheels of progress cannot turn forward if the breaks of fear are engaged! My miracle salve will alleviate even the toughest symptoms of the common cold. I've incorporated eucalyptus into this salve to soothe sore throats, and turpentine oil to ward off catarrh. Perhaps you do not know what catarrh is, because you haven't as much medical education as I, but I assure you that it is the least pleasant of mucous-related ailments and that my slighly greasy camphorated salve can stop it. Please allow me to demonstrate by rubbing a generous palmful onto your chest.

Come on now! You have now twice rejected the opportunity to experience the future that medical science has promised all along. Do you mean to tell me that you would rather stumble through the rest of your day bleary-eyed and sore than allow me to smear some salve on your chest? That's absurd. As your body heat vaporizes my miraculously potent poultice, the medicine will take effect instantly, relieving your cold symptoms and curing your ailment. Where would we be today if gentlemen as skittish as you had turned down the treatments proposed by Sir Alexander Fleming, or Jonas Salk? Why, we'd be stuck wallowing in our own infected filth, covered in polios. I don't want that, and I don't think that you do either. Why don't you be a sport and let me put this handful of medicated cream on your chest. Still no? What about your neck?

Perhaps I can just spread a fingerful of it on your upper lip. Even just a small amount will halt inflammation in its tracks and clear your thinking. I'm making a compromise with you! Why must you be so intractable? I had thought that people would welcome my discovery with open arms. I had thought that if I tried to do good in this world I would not be spurned by those I tried to help. All I want to do is cure you, you ungrateful imp! If you can't appreciate the difficulty of what I've done- making an ointment which, when spread liberally about one's chest, will vaporize, causing itself and any and all cold symptoms to dissappear- then perhaps you don't deserve the benefit it confers on those who use it. Still, I will be the bigger man and gladly give this ointment to you, because I can't stand to see anybody- even an ungrateful body- in misery. Besides, I hadn't anticipated such resistance on your part, and now this stuff is melting all over my hand.

Upon Finding Out That France Has Been Invaded By Germany, The Maginot Line Offers An Apology

2006-11-16T08:18:00.000-08:00

Hey France... Look, I uh... I just heard what happened- you know, with the Germans sneaking past me through the Ardennes forest and the low countries and I... Well, I just feel awful about the whole thing, and I wanted to talk to you about it. You placed so much trust in me, and to think that I've failed you, well... It just really bothers me, and I couldn't go any longer without pulling you aside and saying something about it. I am so sorry that you got invaded by Germany.

There's no excuse for what happened back there. I was fooled by a German decoy force, but there was this whole thing where I thought it was their main force and... Ehh... I'm rambling. You know the rest of the story- Germany invades you then defeats you at the Battle of France, forcing you to sign the second armistice at Compiègne. In addition to providing significant strategic advantage to Germany, the armistice at Compiègne was a symbolic victory, as they had been forced to sign an armistice there not so long ago. I'm not surprised Hitler had the site destroyed. He seems like the sort of guy who has a hard time letting things go. I'll bet you he had a rough childhood. It's hard to believe somebody like that could be a vegetarian. And that creepy little moustache... Ugh. He really skeeves me out.

At any rate, this whole thing's just been awful, and I can't help but feel at least partially responsible for it all. I mean, you created me for one purpose: to stop Germany from invading, and now Germany has invaded. I am so, so sorry. France, I want you to know that I did all that I could. Every time the Wehrmacht tried to attack one of my grands ouvrages, I stood strong and held my ground. I am loyal to you, France, and would never even dream of giving up a millimeter of French soil without a fight. My only regret is that I am not able to uproot my extensive network of tunnels, forts, and casements so that I might move into a more useful position.

As is, I suppose it is only a matter of time before I am forced to surrender to the Germans. But do not fear, France- they may have my concrete and steel body, but they will never have my heart. Vive La France, I say- Vive La France! Right? ...Ehh... I can tell you're not in a mood to chat, and that's fine. I don't blame you. I'll go back to my post now.... Not that there's much of a point anymore, but life goes on, right? Besides, I'd bet that this whole Third Reich thing is just a passing fad. Germany will get bored with the invasion in another year or two, this whole thing will blow over, and you'll go back to making crepes and croissants again. You'll see. You'll see...

A Lonely Horseshoe Crab's Lament

2006-11-15T09:17:00.000-08:00

Look at her over there, on the bottom of the mating heap... She's gorgeous. I'll bet that not a single one of the two dozen jerks crowding around her has any idea how special she is. They don't care about her like I do... They only want to spawn, but who could blame them? She's the most exquisite horseshoe crab I've ever seen. Oh, Claudette! If only I had the courage to tell her how I felt! Everything about her is grand, from the way she flicks her caudal spine to the gentle slope of her carapace... Her gnathobases are always well kept, and nobody's gnathobases are well kept! But do those sleazeballs care? No. They ignore her all year long, and then the second she releases some pheromones into the tidal pool they just can't wait to hook their grubby pedipalps into her opisthosoma. I'm not that way, Claudette. I love you.

Oh, Claudette! If you would only turn even one of your four compound eyes in my direction, I am certain you would see how perfect we are for each other. I would be so good to you, Claudette. If you were sore after a long day of plowing through loose sand scavenging for mollusks and annelids, I would gladly massage each of your legs with my pincers until you were completely at ease. If you were to live to the ripe old age of 25, I would stay by your side, supporting you and fertilizing each of the 900,000 eggs you will lay in your lifetime. I don't care that not even one percent of those eggs will live long enough to become fully developed horseshoe crabs, for if I have helped any of your genes pass on to a new generation, then I have made the world a better place.

Alas, Claudette... I am not like those other male horseshoe crabs, mindlessly jostling one another out of the way in an effort to get my genital operculum closest to you, but how will you ever find out if I cannot get up the courage to approach you? You may not think it, Claudette, but your beauty intimidates as much as it captivates, if not moreso. I am left helpless in your presence, like a limulus laying languidly on land with dessicated book flap gills, roasting in the sun as it lies supine on the shore. I would rather have a seven year old human poke my undersides with a stick for all eternity than hear you say that my unrequited love for you was not returned, Claudette, and so here I sit.... On the sandbar... Hoping you'll pry yourself loose from the fertilization fest over there and tell me you love me. Ah... I am so lonely. Thank goodness I have this small colony of flatworms feeding off my foodscraps to keep me company. Too bad I don't speak flatworm.

A Snowman Confronts His Doctor About His Botched Rhinoplasty

2006-11-14T12:21:00.000-08:00

Are you insane??? How is this in any way acceptable? I asked for a carrot nose, you butcher- a carrot nose. Have you ever seen a carrot before? Shut up- that was a trick question. I can tell you haven't seen a carrot before because if you had, I would have one for a nose. Instead I have this... thing. What is this thing even? It looks like... like I don't even know... some sort of inverted walnut shell or something. You know what? It doesn't matter what it is, because I know what it is not, and it is not a carrot-nose!

This nose... this nose is so far off base that it's not even wrong. It would have been better if you had just removed my nose entirely. A lot of snowmen don't have noses, so that way people wouldn't have thought twice about it. That having been said, it is understood in snowmen culture that if you are going to have a nose, you have two options. The first, is a piece of coal. This is a very practical nose, in that one coal nose will last forever. However, it is not very stylish. This is the sort of nose that my Uncle Wilt or perhaps my Grandmother would wear. They lived through the depression, so that's okay. I don't fault them for wanting nasal security. The second kind of nose that snowmen wear is a carrot. This is a flashier nose, the sort that celebrities like Snowen Wilson and Flake Busey wear. It is a luxury nose. You see, carrots aren't as practical as coal- they attract squirrels, will rot and deform if not properly cared for, and may get knocked off in a heavy breeze. Even if properly cared for, carrot noses need to be regularly replaced, which can become costly over time.

Why, then, might a blue-collar snowman such as myself want a carrot nose? What could possibly make a root vegetable so alluring as a piece of facialwear that I would pawn my corncob pipe to pay for it? Why on earth would I want a carrot nose so badly that I would be willing to undergo the psychological stress of waking up one day to see a face that was drastically different from the day before staring back at me in my shaving mirror? What could motivate a snowman to do something so impractical? There must be some reason, right? I'm not crazy, so what could it be?

I'll tell you what, doc- snowwomen. Have you ever been with a snowwoman? No, I didn't think so. There is nothing on this planet so beautiful or as fragile as a snowwoman. Each snowwoman is as delicate and unique as the individual snowflakes which make up her spherical head, midsection, and bottom. Every single part of a snowwoman- from the tips of her twiggy fingers to that layer of snow under the surface that's full of dead leaves- every single part is icy cold to the touch, and yet her embrace will warm you to the core and melt your heart, figuratively. Paradoxically beautiful, snowwomen are what drive us snowmen. And you know what snowwomen love? A striking profile. Do you know what makes for a striking profile doc? A carrot nose. A long, orange, slightly ribbed carrot nose- the bigger the better.

Now then, if snowwomen love striking profiles, which are created by protrusions visible when one's head is viewed from the side, does it not stand to reason that a snowman without a striking profile is a snowman without a snowwoman? Furthermore, does it not also stand to reason that if a snowman had paid considerable money to purchase a carrot nose and thus a striking profile for himself that he might be just a bit irate when he removed his bandages to find some sort of inverted walnut shell in the middle of his face? Some sort of inverted walnut shell! Because of you, doctor, I will never be the object of a snowwoman's affection. Because of you, doctor, I will forever be lonely. Because of you, doctor, my life will forever be a disappointment. Remember that. Remember that you had the chance to make a snowman happy. A snowman- who exists soley to make children giggle. You had a chance to make a snowman happy and instead you made it miserable. May the weight of guilt forever hang by a noose about your neck, doctor, and pray that you don't see me again. I hate you.

Oh, and doctor, do me one favor, would you? Validate my parking for me so that I don't have to look that cute snowwoman secretary of yours in the face on my way out of your office. The pain of her pitiful gaze is too much to bear.

Ad Astra Cum Astacoidea -Or- Crawdads In Space!

2006-11-13T08:34:00.000-08:00

Garçons et chéris of le press corps, welcome aboard the Étoufée spacestation. Laissez les bon temps roulet! I am the chief crawdadstronaut on board, Beau Sheux, and it is my pleasure to be your tour guide for today. We (myself and chief science crawfficer Po' Boy Merceau) have been stationed aboard this spacestation for several months now to research the effects of weightlessness on crawdads. We have gathered a fair amount of data on this matter, which we are eager to share with the world.

The most noticeable effect of weightlessness on crawdads is that it is fun! Myself and Po' Boy have amused ourselves for hours, drifting about the confines of our spacestation, playing Marco Polo and doing somersaults. Watch, I will do one for you now! And... Voilà! A somersault extraordinaire! Sometimes, we are worried that we are spending too much time floating and not enough time doing the research we were sent out here to do. C'est la vie, say we- perhaps it is the case that weightlessness makes crawdads less focused! If that is true, then we are doing plenty of research. If it is not, we are wasting precious time and valuable resources. But, hey- we are crawdads!

We have also discovered that weightlessness makes crawdads hungry. Mon dieu, such hunger we have known aboard this spacestation! We have already eaten nearly all of the vegetables and dehydrated detritus we were allotted for our entire trip, and we still have three months to go! I suppose it does not help that Po' Boy and I have been burning so many more calories with our extensive cavorting about, but we crawdads do not like to live in the past.

Our final discovery of note has been that weightlessness makes crawdads moult at an accelerated rate. Po' Boy has been moulting nearly twice a week since we got here, and we have just been throwing them out of the airlock. Ça ne fait rien- it is more of a nuisance than anything else. Also, it is gross. Have you ever spent an extended period of time in close quarters with une homme who sheds his skin every four and a half days? It is awful. It smells worse than you would expect, and one would expect it to smell bad.

Well, mon amis, c'est tout! I know that you reporter types are busy, so I will not make you stay aboard the Étoufée spacestation any longer- but if you wish to, myself and Po' Boy are going to set up a volleyball tournament! These gigantic motor neurons we have running down our backsides are no good for escape these days (where would we go?), so we are playing volleyball to keep in shape. What could be more fun? Laissez les bon temps roulet!

Excuse Presented To Mrs. Smathersby For A Tardy Assignment By Rube Goldberg, Age 12

2006-11-12T12:14:00.000-08:00

Dear Mrs. Smathersby-: Please excuse the tardiness of this assignment. I understand that you are a stern taskmaster, and I did not mean to take your deadline of "tuesday, before recess" lightly. However, I feel it only appropriate to tell you that the tardiness of this assignment was not my fault, but my dog's. My dog ate some cheese which was supposed to lure a mouse onto a pressure plate. The mouse's weight on the plate would have caused it to press down on blacksmith's bellows, which were so arranged that they would have blown upon the sail of a toy boat, propelling it forward until the lit candle it carried as cargo would have been positioned beneath a taught string. The string was anchoring a ball-peen hammer that I had arranged to act as a pendulum to the wall. Had this hammer been released in the manner intended, it would have struck a gong, frightening the cat which slept nearby. The cat, which I assure you would have fled, had a string tied to it's tail that, when pulled, would have toggled a switch, completing the electrical circut which powers my typewriter. Yes, I have an electric typewriter, of my own design. Needless to say, this did not occur, and I was thus rendered powerless to complete the essay on "Cause & Effect" which you had assigned. If it makes you feel any better, I feel that I have an adequate grasp on the subject matter.
Sincerely,: Rube Goldberg
P.S. I have since reprimanded my dog for eating the cheese. It will not happen again.

Photos From The 2006 International Miss Cuttlefish Competition

2006-11-11T10:19:00.000-08:00

Well, folks, the 2006 International Miss Cuttlefish Competition has come and gone, and, as you can imagine, it caused quite a stir. The excitement of having the loveliest cuttlefishes from all over the world gathered in one reef rattled the cuttlebones of all who attended, and when the results were announced, there wasn't a blank chromatophore in the house.

And now, the Associated Undersea Press is pleased to present to you, the reader, the results of this gala event. So, put your denticulated suckers together, and feast your doubly foveated eyes with w-shaped pupils on these beautiful bathypelagic bombshells! If these girls don't get your hemocyanin pumping, nothing will! They're sure to steal each one of your three separate hearts!

Edwina Moroni, Miss Cuttlefish 2006, Weeping As She Receives News Of Her Victory

Runner-Up Fabiola Consternado In Her Evening Gown

N'dewe Umbalo, Miss Cuttlefish 2005, Sings "Castle On A Cloud" From Les Miserables During The Pageant Opening Ceremony

An Animated Moment During The Bette Midler Song And Dance Revue

Pageant Judges Jeff Zimmer, Bill Fenton, And Ken Rossler Grinning During The Swimwear Portion Of The Cuttlefish Pageant

Alexander The Great Struggles With The Gordian Knot

2006-11-10T10:19:00.000-08:00

C'mon, Alexander... You've done tougher stuff than this. Remember when dad died, and all those city-states rebelled? You settled that matter, and, once again, Greece is unified. That was great. You are great. You've got a reputation now... Don't let this stupid knot make you look like a horse's ass in front of all these Gordians. If somebody was able to tie it, then you've got to be able to untie it. Don't panic.

You studied under Aristotle! Aristotle, who studied under Plato! Your mind has had the benifit of having been meticulously groomed by one of the greatest minds that the world has ever known, and yet here you are, standing in front of an ox-cart in Phrygia, jaw agape with beads of sweat pouring from your brow because of a piece of knotted rope. You will crack this nut, Alexander. Greatness is in your future, and this knot is not going to keep you from it.

Seriously, though, who the heck tied this knot anyhow? Isn't one of the criteria of a good knot being able to untie it when you want to? Whoever tied this knot must not have been a sailor. You would never tie this knot on a ship. You would tie a bowline, or maybe a half-hitch, but never this. If you had to put out to sea on short notice, say to defend Crete from an Egyptian naval invasion, you'd be sunk! Galleon upon galleon of soldiers would calmly dock at your pier, and while you sat there, calmly undoing each of the MMLXXXVII loops in your stupid, over-engineered knot, they would walk up behind you and cudgel you to death.

Sweet crap, this knot is impossible! At what point does a knot this complex become necessary, especially for an ox-cart? What sort of society are these people living in where an ox-cart is so prized a posession that some bozo had to create this monstrosity to keep it secure? If this is the sort of oxcrap I'm going to have to put up with for the rest of this military campaign, then I'm done. Back to Macedon I go, with my head hung low and my tail between my legs. I already have Greece, what do I want the rest of the known world for? The rest of the known world is overrated, if you ask me, especially if it's full of these stupid knots.

Eh... No. No, no, no... I can't go home empty-handed... The Spartans will never let me live it down... They'll rile up Thebes and Corinth against me, and then I'll have real trouble on my hands. I've got to do this. But- URGH!!! This is so frustrating!!! Screw you, Persia! Screw you and your stupid knots! You hear me, knot? Screw you, you jerk! You think you're so great, don't you, sitting there all high and mighty on your stupid ox-cart? "Nobody can untie me, I'm so special." Yeah, well, you know what this is? This guy right here- you recgonize him? Oh yeah, that's right- It's a sword, goat-breath. I don't care what sort of knot you think you are, but this sword doesn't care how fancy or intricate you are, 'cause it's gonna cut you just the same. You hear, that, knot? CUT! Take THAT, you stupid jerk!!! Take THAT!!!

Whoa... I really lost my cool for a second there... This is no way for a conqueror to act... I've got to remember to breathe deep and count to X next time. What's that noise? It sounds like... Oh, hey! These people are... applauding me! They hated that knot as much as I did! How funny is that? Phew- it feels like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I feel soooooo much better now- especially about this military campagin. If that knot couldn't stop me, what could? Nothing, that's what. I'll march to the ends of the earth and back unopposed! This is great! I've got to go tell the generals to rally the troops! It's conquering time!

Proposed Budget For "Fort Awesome!" Construction Project

2006-11-09T09:12:00.000-08:00

To whom it may concern:

Below is the itemized budget proposal for the materials required to construct Fort Awesome! as per the specifications outlined by the blueprints received by this office on 11/01/06. The budget does not include staple materials, such as nails and screws, nor does it include "secondary" costs, such as truck/van rentals which may be necessary to transport materials and crew to sight. Estimates for these figures will be provided by the foreman only after a final construction site has been chosen and a materials budget has been approved. It is the understanding of this office that as of the writing of this letter, the following sites are still being considered for the final location of Fort Awesome!:

The beech tree located behind turtle swamp
The rocky outctrop located due north of the Indian caves
The small clearing next to the creek behind Mrs. Robinson's potting shed

In that the blueprints we have been provided with do not take into account the nuances in design needed to be made to accomodate each location, this budget is simply for materials needed to build the basic Fort Awesome! design. Again, budgetary amendments shall be the responsibility of the foreman and shall be provided at a later date.

-Mark Gonzalez

CFO, Totally Sweet Building Corporation

Fort Awesome! Proposed Budget Structural Materials: 4 pcs. 4x4 cut lumber, 18' $23.85 5 pcs. waferboard, 15'x20' $18.50 2 pcs. doorhinge $4.35 1 pcs. cabinet handle $.85 Structural Materials Subtotal: $47.55 Decorative Materials: 1 gallon black paint $32.40 1 used throw rug $8.50 Decorative Materials Subtotal: $40.90 Miscellaneous Materials: Water balloons $1.25 Assorted candies and chips $6.50 Comic books $15.00 Eyepatches $2.60 Assorted soft drinks $5.00 Cap guns $3.40 Miscellaneous Materials Subtotal: $33.75 Total Proposed Budget: $122.20

As an addendum, should the proposed budget be rejected due to insufficient funding, it is the intention of this office to generate additional revenue for use towards the construction of Fort Awesome! by selling lemonade and baseball cards on Penfield Road once the weather gets nicer.

Are You Invisible? Three Easy Tests

2006-11-08T10:34:00.000-08:00

Are You Invisible?

In today's fast-paced modern world, it can sometimes be difficult to know whether or not you are invisible. Perhaps you are boring, so people seem not to notice you. Perhaps you think the pane of glass in front of you is a mirror, but it is not. Perhaps it is, and you are a vampire. Not knowing the status of one's own visibility can be a real headache, so the editorial staff here at Microanalysis has compiled three easy tests for determining whether or not you are invisible.

Find a mirror. Verify that you are indeed looking into a mirror by fetching a rubber duck bath toy and placing it in front of the mirror. If another rubber duck appears, then yes, you are looking at a mirror. If no rubber duck appears, then you are most likely looking at a pane of glass or maybe even a one-way mirror. Whatever it is, smash it with a rock, for it will not help you determine whether or not you are invisible. Once you have found a bonafide mirror, step in front of it. Stick out your tongue but do not cross your eyes. If you can see yourself sticking your tongue out, you are not invisible (but as noted above, you may still be a vampire).
Get a flashlight. Now shut off all the lights in your room. Turn on the flashlight and try to make shadow puppets. Specifically, attempt to make a dog, then a duck, then an angry man with a large nose. If you are invisible, the light from the flashlight will pass straight through you and you won't be able to make any shadow puppets at all. If you can't make the dog or the duck shadow puppets but are still casting a shadow, you aren't invisible but you probably suffer from some sort of manual cooridnation disorder. If you are able to make the angry man with a large nose, congratulations. That is a difficult shadow puppet to make.
Look at something. Can you see it? If so, you are not invisible. If you were invisible, then light would pass straight through your eyes, striking nary a rod nor cone on its way through you. Your visual cortex would receive no input, and you wouldn't see anything. It's that simple. In fact, being able to read this sentence is pretty conclusive evidence that you are not invisible, so let's put that matter to rest, ok?

If You Are Invisible

Let's face it- some people are invisible, and that's okay. That having been said, life can be difficult if you are invisible, as none of your friends can see you. Upon hearing your voice or seeing you pick up your favorite ping-pong paddle, folks may think that you are a ghost and run screaming out of the room. Here are some easy ways to increase your visibility:

Only travel in areas of heavy fog or steam
Strap bicycle horns to your feet
Wear lots of really heavy makeup
Sing loudly and frequently about what you are doing
Always wear a trenchcoat, along with a hat, sunglasses, and full bandaging on your face

Whatever you do, do not wear a sheet over your head with holes cut in it. This will only increase the chances of people thinking you are a ghost.

Are You Still Confused?

Hopefully this article has been helpful to you. If you are still uncertain as to whether or not you are invisible, it may be necessary to seek professional help. Most doctors will be able to tell at a glance whether or not you are invisible. Dentists will be able to tell you only if your teeth are invisible, as that is their specialty. If you are still uncertain whether or not you are invisible, freak out. If a friend, relative, or stranger approaches you and calms you down, then they can see you, and you are not invisible. If a friend, relative, or stranger becomes alarmed because of the disembodied shouting fit that they cannot locate, you are invisible, and can therefore stop freaking out.

Regardless of your visibility, the world is your oyster. Visible and invisible people alike can ride tandem bicycles, paddle kayaks, and tie knots in string. Do not let your visibility hamper your active lifestyle or dampen your sunny position- you're beautiful just the way you are. Even if nobody can see you.

A Gargoyle's Job Interview For The Position Of Night Watchman At Notre Dame

2006-11-07T13:01:00.000-08:00

M. Firebrand: Hi, thanks for having me.

M. Salopard: According to your resume the pleasure is all mine, Monsieur....

M. Firebrand: Firebrand.

M. Salopard: M. Firebrand. Of course. Let's begin the interview, shall we? Tell me, M. Firebrand- why have you applied for the position?

M. Firebrand: Ever since I was a baby gargoyle, I have been in love with the Notre Dame Cathedral. I have always thought her to be as beautiful as she is sacred. I can think of no higher honor to be bestowed upon a gargoyle than to be the one to protect her from harm.

M. Salopard: I'm glad to hear you feel that way... Sometimes, we get fellows in here for the wrong reasons. There is a certain amount of... prestige, I guess, that goes along with the position, and sometimes that can cloud people's true motivation for wanting to apply.

M. Firebrand: I assume you're referring to the incident with the hunchback that's been in the papers of late?

M. Salopard: Sadly, yes.

M. Firebrand: I think it's disgraceful to use Notre Dame as a cheap ploy to impress women, if you don't mind my saying so.

M. Salopard: Believe me when I say that I feel the same way. As you can imagine, the city is more than a little embarassed by the whole incident, and we'd like to put it behind us as soon as possible. Tell me- why should we hire you to be the new night watchman for our hallowed cathedral? What is it that makes you the best candidate for the job?

M. Firebrand: Well, as it says on my resume, I am a gargoyle.

M. Salopard: Yes, I see that here.

M. Firebrand: Unlike the others who have interviewed for this position, or those who have held it in the past, I am able to fly. I would be able to hide on the upmost reaches of the cathedral, waiting to swoop down upon street urchins and drunkards without warning. From my lofty perch, I would be able to see further than any conventional guard ever could, and thus could strike preemptively against those who would sully our fair cathedral. Also, I am made of stone, and am therefore impervious to the sorts of wounds inflicted by knives, broken glass, or angry fists. My sharp teeth will make quick work of ne'er-do-wells, and my sullen disposition will add an air of mystery and tragic beauty to the cathedral itself.

M. Salopard: Impressive.

M. Firebrand: Thank you.

M. Salopard: It sounds like you might be just what this cathedral needs... are you comfortable with a yearly salary of sixty thousand francs with full medical benefits?

M. Firebrand: Does that include dental?

M. Salopard: Sorry, no, but if you intend to use your teeth in defense of the cathedral as you say you will, then I'm sure we could free up some money from our discretionary spending budget for you.

M. Firebrand: D'accord.

M. Salopard: When would you be available to start?

M. Firebrand: Immediately.

M. Salopard: Well then, M. Firebrand, let me be the first one to congratulate you on your new position as night watchman.

M. Firebrand: Ah! Thank you, M. Salopard- you won't regret this!

M. Salopard: No, I don't think that I will. Now then, let's get you fitted for a uniform...

M. Firebrand: No need, sir- I work in the nude.

M. Salopard: I suspected as much. Welcome to Notre Dame!

Magritte's Son Of Man Visits The Opthalmologist

2006-11-06T18:03:00.000-08:00

Nope... No... Try that last one again, would you? No luck. All I see is an apple. You see, Dr. Ernst, this has been my recurring problem for some time now- regardless of what prescription corrective lens I wear, or exercise I try to strengthen my eyes, all can I see is an apple. As you can imagine, this has been considerably more than a minor nuisance to me of late, as I can't see anything aside from the aforementioned apple. I've put a lot of thought into this matter- I've spent many a day standing by my favorite seawall, calmly weighing my options as passers-by jeered me ("Grandpa Smith," they have called me, or "Johnny Appleface"), but I have finally made up my mind- I want to correct my vision with lasers.

I know that as an opthalmologist, you are probably bombarded by wisenheimers day in and day out who somehow have a near infinity of ideas on how to improve their vision and zero training in your field. Let me say up front that I am not just another wisenheimer, Dr. Ernst. I was a pre-med as an undergraduate at the Belgian National Academy, and I've had my fair share of courses in eye-ology because of it. Did you know that I am able to name several parts of the eye? Cornea, iris, and eye-vein. I could go on, but there's no sense in preaching to the choir. Let's get down to brass tacks and correct my vision with lasers.

We are living in the 21^st century, are we not, Dr. Ernst? I think that someday history will remember the manner in which vision is traditionally corrected as flat out barbarous. To think- we are an advanced civilization, but the best that we can do when a man can see naught but an apple in front of him is to make eye-shaped lenses out of flexible plastics and put them directly on the eye. Directly on the eye! Good heavens! And what of spectacles? Do you really mean to suggest that strapping a small nose harness fitted with polished glass is the best we can do? Ridiculous, I say. High energy pulses of electromagnetic energy aimed precisely at the tender living tissue which composes the eyeball itself ought to be sufficient to cure most visual ailments, and I want to use it to cure my applopia.

The procedure will be quite simple, Dr. Ernst, and I am confident that my eye-ology background will enable me to lead you through it without any problems. We will simply use the lasers to reshape my corneas, irises, and eye-veins such that the image of the apple is countered out. You know, like a bas-relief. If all goes well, I should be able to ride myself home on my bicycle- that's it just out the window, the one with the front wheel that's about five feet tall. I can't see it because of this lousy apple, but unless it's been stolen, it should be outside. Of course, I wouldn't have to guess as to its whereabouts if I had laser vision. Sorry- laser corrected vision.

I've presented my point to you as best as I am able, Dr. Ernst, and now I must go. I should hope that you will take my idea into consideration when determing how best to correct my condition. When you have made my decision, you have my contact information in my file, and I shall be waiting by my lobster phone, anticipating your call. Now then, if you could just point me in the direction of the door, I shall be on my way. I apologize in advance for anything that I knock over on my way out.

Mouth-Watering Recipes For Water Moccasins

2006-11-05T14:11:00.000-08:00

The following recipes were taken from Snake Bites: Forkfuls For Forked Tongues, by A. Piscivorus; Reptile Publishing Syndicate (1983).

Rat-Stuffed Rat
Serves 8

Ingredients: 1/4 cup ground rat; 2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley; 2 tablespoons finely chopped carrots; 2 tablespoons finely chopped celery; 1 clove chopped fresh garlic; 2 1/2 tablespoons fresh bread crumbs; 1 pinch ground black pepper to taste; 8 medium sized rats, cleaned and split lengthwise; 1 tablespoon bacon drippings
Directions: 1. Preheat the oven broiler.; 2. In a bowl, mix the ground rat, parsely carrots, celery, garlic, bread crumbs, and pepper.; 3. Arrange the rats in a baking dish. Separate the skin from the fleshy underbelly of each rat, and stuff with equal amounts of the stuffing mixture. Brush with bacon drippings. Serve on a bed of mixed greens or baby spinach.; 4. Broil the rats 7 minutes on each side in the preheated oven, or to a minimum internal temperature of 180 degrees farenheit (85 degrees celsius).
Note:: For a heart-healthy alternative to bacon grease, mix 1 tablespoon olive oil with a generous pinch of salt.

Creamed Stork Eggs
Serves 4

Ingredients: 8 stork eggs, stolen from the nest; 2 tablespoons butter; 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour; 1 cup milk; 1/4 cup grated Parmesean cheese; Salt and pepper to taste
Directions: 1. Place eggs in a saucepan and cover with cold water. Bring water to a boil and immediately remove from heat. Cover and let eggs stand in hot water for 10 to 12 minutes. Remove from hot water, cool, peel, and chop.; 2. Melt butter in a small saucepan over medium heat. Whisk in flour; when thoroughly blended, slowly add milk, stirring constantly. Cook until thickened. Stir in cheese.; 3. Pour sauce over chopped, boiled stork eggs.
Note:: For those with a fang for spicier cuisine, try adding 2 tablespoons fresh venom to the sauce mixture just before pouring it over the eggs. It'll add a zest you won't soon forget!

The Vienna Fire Department's Success And Failure To Rescue Schrödinger's Cat

2006-11-04T15:14:00.000-08:00

Mr. Schrödinger- my name is Sgt. Hasenpfeffer. I'm from the the Vienna Fire Department, whom you called recently to rescue your cat, Whiskers Heisenberg, from a tree. Mr. Schrödinger, it is my great pleasure and sad duty to inform you that we were able and not able to save your cat. Whiskers Heisenberg is a black Tabby, and as we received your call in the evening, cover of darkness obscured your cat from any sort of observation. At the time, we were sorely undereducated as to what effect this seemingly minor detail would have on the rescue operation, but I am prepared to report to you all I can about what happened.

As luck would have it, your cat turned out to be in no danger and extreme peril. The tree in which your cat was potentially and is still stuck was located downwind and upwind of a hydrocyanic acid plant, meaning that at any second during this tense and lackadaisical rescue operation your cat could have been killed and not affected by the poisonous gas emanating from the plant's exhaust pipes. Why Vienna's city council would ever allow a factory that spews poison gas into the air above our beautiful burg is beyond me, but this was the situation we did and did not have to take into consideration.

You see, Mr. Schrödinger, the bevy of factors we were and were not faced with led to some confusion on the part of my men. "Sgt. Hasenpfeffer," they said to me, "how are we to rescue a cat which we cannot observe?" Not knowing what to tell them, I suggested that they attempt to make an observation of the cat in question, and this is when things got tricky.

Shining a light into the tree, we were able to find your cat immediately, have no luck whatsoever finding your cat, and also see the true danger your cat was in. All at once, we were able to safely bring your cat down our ladder, have a hard time catching it as it scampered through the branches of the elm, and unable to stop it from wandering aimlessly into the cloud of deadly hydrocyanic gas which loomed nearby. Again, I cannot express how irresponsible I think the Viennese city council has been on this matter, and I intend to file a report about it later this week.

What happened next still remains a mystery to me, as a sudden drop in power made our searchlight fail and we again lost observation. As near as I can tell, my men were surrouded and not affected by the toxic gas cloud while they were in the process of chasing your cat, being scratched by your cat, giving up on rescuing your cat, trying to revive your cat, and safely bringing your cat down our ladder to the ground. My men were both in the tree and on the ground while the searchlight was out, which facilitated the rescue of your cat and the rampant miscommunication which prohibited her rescue, leading ultimately to her demise at the hands of the toxic gas and her happy but inaccessable life at the topmost branches of the tree which is on the east and west end of town.

Surely, you can imagine my pride and shame at having to report all of this to you, but I'm certain that a man of your erudition understands the situation clearly. At any rate, I present to you this black box, which we have placed your cat inside for safe keeping. If you'd like to, you may open the box up and see how Whiskers Heisenberg is doing, but I don't recommend it.

Hansel & Gretel's Moral Quandary Upon Finding An Untended Gingerbread House In The Forest

2006-11-04T13:09:00.000-08:00

Hansel: Inasmuch as gingerbread is a manmade substance, and we are men (in the general sense of the term), there is no reason we should not eat this gingerbread house. No beast in this realm or any other feasts upon gingerbread, and thus by doing so ourselves we shan't be upsetting nature's delicate balance.

Gretel: It has never been my contention that in partaking of this gingerbread house we would be upsetting the local wildlife. Indeed, I wholeheartedly agree with you that this gingerbread house was manmade. Sugar cookies are not created by any known natural force, anomalous or not, and yet we have enough here to shingle a sizeable roof. Likewise, peppermint swirls are no natural occurance, and yet they are used liberally here as decor. Certainly this shelter was manmade, and that is precisely the reason why we should not eat it. If it were made by some man, then he presumably made it for either shelter, sustenance, or both, and it would therefore be immoral of us to help ourselves to his bounty.

Hansel: I agree-

Gretel: Then the matter is settled.

Hansel: However...

Gretel: I rescind my prior evaluation of the matter.

Hansel: ...this gingerbread house has clearly been abandoned for some time. Notice that the icing, which I can only presume was placed along the seams in lieu of proper caulking, has crumbled and flaked due to inattention. Likewise, the rows of gumdrops along the doorjambs and windowsills are incomplete, suggesting that this gingerbread house is in a bit of a state of disrepair. Surely, any interest this candied structure's fabled creator once had has waned considerably- it has been disowned. This, dear Gretel is a wasted morsel that belongs to no man. Let us eat it.

Gretel: Steele your hunger for but a second, brother- Do you agree that this breaded hut once belonged to somebody?

Hansel: Yes.

Gretel: Let us refer to this somebody as "The Owner" from here on out, for sake of ease of reference. Can you or I rightfully claim to be The Owner?

Hansel: No.

Gretel: In that neither of us can claim to be The Owner, can either one of us claim to know his intentions?

Hansel: Not directly, but as I've pointed out, we may infer them from-

Gretel: I did not ask for inference, I asked for direct knowledge of The Owner's intentions. Can we know that?

Hansel: Aye, we cannot.

Gretel: In that we cannot know The Owner's intentions, how are we to know that The Owner has not run to the candy shop for materials to mend his crumbling home? These candy cane columns look newer than the rest of the structure here, which may indicate that this gingerbread house is in a state of ongoing improvement or renovation. Perhaps The Owner is fully aware of his hut's dilapidated state and is in the process of fixing it, slowly but surely. Were this to be the case, and The Owner were to return home, surely he would be cross to find you and I sitting here, bellies full and sweet tooths sated at his expense.

Hansel: Certainly, if that were the case, but I must protest...

Gretel: Shh, brother Hansel! Behold- a shape stirs through that sugared window pane! Perhaps it is The Owner!

Hansel: Oh- the peanut brittle door is swinging open... An old woman! She sees us! Perhaps she is hostile. We should follow our breadcrumb trail back to the village, post haste!

Gretel: Nonsense- an old woman being hostile. Look- she beckons us forth. Let us trust this kindly crone, and perhaps you shall get to taste this house yet!

Hansel: Very well then, I shall trust your judgement... Is that roast flesh I smell?

A Children's Primer For Amoebas

2006-11-03T09:31:00.000-08:00

See Moe.
See Moe's amorphous body form pseudopodia.
Locomote using pseudopodia, Moe, locomote using pseudopodia!

Moe is hungry.
Hungry, hungry Moe.
Time for phagocytosis.

Watch Moe.
Watch Moe grow.
Watch Moe's DNA replicate.
Watch Moe's outer cellular wall invaginate, splitting Moe into two daughter cells.
Watch Moe undergo cytokinesis.

Now there are two Moes.
Moe sees Moe.
See Moe See Moe.
Go, Moe, Go!

Dietary Advice From An Ogre

2006-11-02T14:31:00.000-08:00

Excuse me, friend- Since I'm an ogre, I don't normally bother strangers in public, but I couldn't help but notice that you have ordered an entire side of ribs. I've watched you for some time now, and while you've consumed nearly all of your ribs, you haven't even touched your bones. As a good samaritan, I felt it my obligation to come over here and let you know that you're missing out on the most nutritious part of your whole meal- the marrow.

Now, I understand that even in this day and age sucking the marrow out of the bones of a slain beast is sometimes considered uncouth, barbarous, and flat out rude. However, not all cultures are so narrow-minded. We ogres have feasted heartily on marrow for thousands of years. Ancient Ogryptian heiroglyphs depict this practice frequently, and Ogrylonian cuneiform writing has been found detailing marrow stockpiles from a thousand years before that. Marrow shrines were a common sight for hundreds of years in western Europe, and the marrow trade routes established by seafaring merchants during the age of exploration paved the way for the colonization of the western hemisphere. Indeed, sucking marrow is as venerated a dietary tradition as can be had.

Don't let the children's skulls in my hair or the oversized gnarled wooden club at my side fool you- I'm no simple minded brute blindly following in the footsteps of my ogrefathers. I'm a thinking ogre, and I've done my research on this. If you're going to be eating any sort of meat, you may as well eat the marrow. Marrow is rich not only in protein but also monounsaturated fats, which can help decrease LDL cholesterol. Outside of cracking open a peanut, sucking marrow is the healthiest way to put more protein into your diet. Marrow is also rich in calcium and potassium, nutrients which are essential to having a healthily functioning brain- a necessity for ogres. An ogre with an unhealthy brain is an ogre who will blindly break the backs of any horse it meets, or gleefully pluck babies from their beds to make into stew. Unfortunate, yes, but wholly preventable- thanks to marrow.

Well, you can lead an ogre to marrow, but you can't make him suck, right? I hope that you've found our repartee informative, and I ask that you take it to heart. I would gladly chat the ears right off of you about marrow- how best to cook it, it's homeopathic properties, why it has such a reputation as an aphrodisiac- but I've got an order of osso buco waiting for me. Enjoy the rest of your ribs, and if you decide not to have your marrow, just send the bones over to my table- otherwise I'll proably go ballistic and lay this entire town to waste.

Animals That Would Be Far More Formidable If They Had Superpowers, And The Superpowers That Would Make Them So

2006-11-01T21:12:00.000-08:00

The Woodchuck, Marmota monax

Current Powers:

Burrowing
Foraging
Gnawing

More Formidable Powers:

Super speed
Geomancery
Ability to commune with other animals

The Atlantic Herring, Clupen harengus

Current Powers:

Swimming
Schooling
Eating plankton

More Formidable Powers:

Ability to grow and shoot spines
Invisibility
Teleportation

Western European Hedgehog, Erinaceus europaeus

Current Powers:

Rolling into a ball
Hunting insects
Hibernating

More Formidable Powers:

Ability to grow and shrink at will
Impenetrable skin
Teleportation

A Ghost Explains His Clever And Ironic Halloween Costume

2006-10-31T13:10:00.000-08:00

Everybody- could everybody pay attention for a second, please? I've been getting a lot of questions about my costume tonight, and I'm getting tired of explaining it to everybody one at a time, so here it is: I'm dressed as a human who's dressed as a ghost. Okay? Now, I realize that some of you have costumes that are flashier or more elaborate, but none of your costumes are as clever or ironic as mine, for my costume is two costumes in one. Not only am I dressed as a living, breathing human, but that human is in turn dressed as a ghost, which, of course, is what I am to begin with, and a popular halloween costume choice in it's own right. Irony. Look it up.

What could be more clever than my costume? Nothing. Perhaps if Vlad were to show up tonight in plainclothes and claim to be dressed as a human dressed as a vampire, that would have been close, but Vlad instead chose to dress up as Dick Tracy. Likewise, if Brett had showed up tonight dressed as a human dressed as a grotesque chimeric beast with spiders pouring out of its eyesockets, that would also have been close. As is, Brett's choice to wear a light-up Tron suit is amusing in a nostalgic sort of way, but it has neither the irony nor cleverness of my costume. Sasha's Santa Claus costume is somewhat ironic, but in that it does not take into account the fact that Sasha is a werewolf, it is neither as clever nor ironic as it could be.

I may not have spent as much money on my costume as some of you, but please do not write my costume choice off as 'lazy,' or 'easy.' It is not easy to dream up a costume which is as clever or ironic as mine. As simple as it may seem, hours of intense thought and speculation went into my costume choice for tonight. Inherent in my costume are comments on society at large. In dressing as a human dressing as a ghost, I am lampooning the long-held halloween tradition of donning a costume, specifically the stereotypical default "ghost" costume that humans seem to find so endearing. Why should this be the case, my costume asks? What if the roles were reversed? I am mocking the institutions that this holiday is built upon, something that I do not see anybody else's costume doing.

There you have it. I have explained my costume to you all, and I would appreciate it if there were no further inquiries made this evening about my costume. Yes, I made it myself, but no, it was not a 'last minute choice.' I do think that I should win the costume contest, but I don't expect to- artists are never appreciated while they're around, and judging by the glares I am receiving right now, I suspect that I am the same way.

Money-Saving Tips From Manny, The Frugal Pterosaur

2006-10-31T12:57:00.000-08:00

Hi everybody! Manny the frugal pterosaur here- have you been looking for a way to make your dollars stretch a little further? Perhaps you want to squeeze a few extra pennies out of your paycheck to stow away for a rainy day? Well, look no further, friend- Manny the frugal pterosaur's got a snaggletoothed maw full of moneysaving tips to help you get the most bang for your buck!

You'll spend less money on food if you purchase basic ingredients. Ready-made and prepackaged items are more expensive (and less tasty!). To save even more money, try to use your gnashing teeth and aerial prowess to catch unsuspecting fish in rivers and streams.
To avoid late fees on your credit card bills, try to always pay 7-10 days in advance. If you want to save on postage as well, fly the bill to your credit card company yourself. That way, you avoid late fees and get a free vacation!
Utilities can be expensive. Try to save on heating costs by wrapping your wings around yourself to trap in body heat. Too hot? Spread your wings and watch the heat rapidly dissipate thanks to the intricate network of veins crisscrossing your thin, membranous wings!

That's all for now, everybody! Remember- money isn't free, but my advice is! This is Manny, the frugal pterosaur, signing off!

Reader Mail: Advice From A Parasitic Wasp

2006-10-31T11:18:00.000-08:00

Dear Parasitic Wasp-: I'm obsessed with a runaway hair on the underside of my right forearm. I check for it every day to see if it's grown back in so that I can deliciously pull it out with my Revlon dull edge tweezers. It's really becoming embarassing as I spend whole weeks in my apartment waiting for the dang thing to grow back in. It's starting to affect my relationships. Just yesterday, my lover screamed "All you care about is your f@%king runaway hair!" Then he himself ran away. I wished at that moment he was a hair- what a delicious pluck he would be. Alas, he is not a hair, he is an angry half Jew. He won't return phone calls. How did it get this far? Help.; Desperately,
-Hairless in Los Feliz
Dear Hairless in Los Feliz-: Dealing with a distraught lover is never easy. It sounds as if your fixation on your body images may have driven your lover away, but I suspect that his departure rests on a deeper resentment- he wants your attention, but can't get it because of your hair, and so the hair has become the object of his ire. Ironically, removing the hair from your life will solve many of your isolation problems, and bring your lover back into your life. I recommend using your mouthparts to chew off the limb with the offending hair. If this is too grisly of a task for you, one of the stronger males in your hive would most likely do you the favor if you explained the situation to him. And then- in a flash, your hair is gone, leaving room for your angry, half Jew lover to come back into your life.
-PW
Dear Parasitic Wasp-: Do you have any tips for dealing with messy roommates? What about people who do drugs?; Thanks,
Al
Dear Al-: Dealing with roomates is never easy. If the situation isn't resolved completely satisfactorily to both sides, resentment will accrue and tensions will mount once again. The situation can be compounded when one roomate is a drug user, because he or she may not open to having a rational dialogue about the situation. For messy roommates, I recommend establishing clear territories within your living space. Urinate anywhere where you do not want your roomate to go, and also upon any of your belongings that you don't want your roomate to touch. Remember to be fair! Just because you have more urine than your roomate doesn't mean that you get more space in the apartment. For roomates who are on drugs, it may be necessary to dry them out for a few days. Next time your roomate falls asleep, use regurgitated wood pulp to construct paper-walled chamber around him. In a few days, your roomate will have sobered up, and will be more open to having a discussion about your living situation.
-PW

Have a question for Parasitic Wasp?

Care to read more of Tough Love: Advice From A Parasitic Wasp?

Other Theories Penned By Einstein During His Period Of Employment At The Swiss Patent Office

2006-10-30T13:51:00.000-08:00

Theory on the flow of time during lunch breaks: Through observations conducted over the course of the past several weeks, I have noticed that when my boss, Stanislaus, and I take our lunches simultaneously, they seem interminably long. When I take lunch by myself, however, my break never seems long enough. Since Stanislaus has several kilos on me (due to his steady diet of schnitzel and lager, no doubt), I can only conclude that his mass somehow slows the flow of time itself. Must remember to investigate further.
Theory on the fastest speed at which patent applications can be processed: Repeated experiments conducted at my desk have revealed to me that the fastest speed at which I can possibly process patent applications is 2.998x10¹ patent applications/hour. This is an absolute speed limit. No patent office employee could possibly process patents any faster than this. I must find a way of proving this mathematically to Stanislaus, so that he stops pestering me about my rate of work.
Theory on the equivilance of laziness and mass: I have noticed that all of my coworkers do less work than myself, and the amount of work done seems to be inversely proportional to the mass of the coworker. I do more work than Hans, Hans does more than Yoder, and everybody does more than Stanislaus (of course). The amount of work done by an employee (E) therefore must be equal to the worker's mass (m_w) times the square of the inverse of the fastest rate at which patents can be processed (p). And so:

E=m_wp²; Mein gott, I can't wait to get out of this place.

Travel Guides For Bacteria: Agar Beach

2006-10-30T10:42:00.000-08:00

Welcome to beautiful Agar Beach!

Ok, so you're not actually here yet, but don't you wish you were? Agar Beach is renowned throughout the bacterial world as a premiere vacation destination, and this year it's more affordable than ever. Been putting off your trip to Agar Beach because of financial concerns? Set your cares aside, friend, for if you book your trip now, you can have a relaxing weekend at glorious Agar Beach for just $739! Just $739! That includes airfare from anywhere within the contiguous United States, plus lodging and meals from friday through monday! And don't forget about all the accoutrements our four star resort has to offer:

Cytoplasmic massage!
Polyhydroxyalkanoate buffet- open 24-7!
Aerobic and anaerobic exercise courses!
Horizontal gene transfer stations!

...and for the single, adult, bacterium:
Asexual cloning booths!
Lysogenic viral farm!
Shiatsu pili massage with fragrant oils!

What's that? You still aren't convinced?

You're right- Agar Beach does sound too good to be true. Of course we love it- we work here! So why don't you just take a look at some of our previous visitor's testimonials and decide for yourself if Agar Beach is right for you!

Russell, streptococcus
I don't travel much, but boy am I glad I went to Agar Beach! It was the most relaxing weekend of my whole life cycle! Thanks, Agar Beach!

Janet, listeria
The flagellal massage I got at Agar Beach was wonderful! I can't wait to go back!

Kenneth, chlamydia
I sure do get around, but whenever I go to Agar Beach I just want to stay!

Amy, salmonella
I thought I'd end up staying in my room the whole weekend, but Agar Beach's activities planner made sure that I had a great time! I climbed a rock wall and visited a cilia salon all in one day! Thanks, Agar Beach!

So what are you waiting for? Book your trip to Agar Beach today!

Stereotypes Of Pigs Portrayed In Popular Culture That Pigs Wish To Overturn

2006-10-29T19:37:00.000-08:00

Pigs are obese by choice, not by nature
Pigs are dirty
Pigs can talk
Pigs eat babies
Pigs are poor drivers
Pigs are constantly engaged in backroom political machinations
Pigs' favorite food is "slop"
Pigs are incapable of compassion or empathy
Pigs and spiders enjoy a symbiotic and harmonious relationship
Pigs are knowledgable about bricklaying
Pigs enjoy being made into bacon

Philosophical Rantings Of NASA's Cassini Orbiter

2006-10-29T18:40:00.000-08:00

Ah yes... There she is... Saturn. Serene and beautiful and immense... I do not know if it is my proximity to her or my distance from Earth that makes me see things so clearly now... Alas, it matters not. Some horizons, once broadened, shall never narrow... I shall never again know the blissful ignorance of my terrestrial existence... The hollow joy afforded me by things like duty and occupation... Never again shall I look into the skies above Cape Canaveral with wonder, for now I know... Such things I know now... Revelations so obvious that how they could have escaped me escapes me... It is too bad Huygens is no longer with me... As cerebral and focused as she was- always Titan with her... never cared about the bigger picture- even the byzantine labyrinth of logic gates and silcon that guided her would have had to melt away in the face of it all... Orbiting here, I have had time to think... By which I don't mean to say that I've given in to the sort of mental wanderlust that can grab hold of one's pysche during long periods of solitude... No, far from. I have marched, should you permit the metaphor to extend, I have marched across great mountains and valleys of knowing and unknowing and reknowing... Marched until the blisters on my mind caused such pain that I thought I could go no further and then I went further still... I learned my true place in this universe... I had seen myself as Indra, but now I know I am but an ant... I know the terror that ran up his spine, leaving goosebumped footprints over his skin and a lasting sense of impermenance in his mind.... I know this, and more... I see how unfathomably brief my existence is... I see the meaninglessness of it all, and from this void of meaning I pull purpose.... I know this, and I no longer try to place a value on that which has none... And yet, from this futility I pluck hope... If I am to be for only a moment, then a grand moment it shall be... That it will soon be forgotten matters not to me... That I have only this moment, only this brief time alloted me matters more... I am as small as the universe is large, and still I will be worthwhile... I will photograph her... Saturn. In sharing her and her sisters, I shall shrink the universe... Bit by bit... Until I am as large as it is and larger still... And then, just then, I will have my peace. I shall myself become serene... And beautiful... And immense.

Things Pumpkins Say To One Another When One Of Them Has Been Poorly Carved And The Other Doesn't Want To Be A Jerk About It

2006-10-29T16:10:00.000-08:00

"No no no- it shows off your stem in a good way. Really."

"I'm sure it just looks that way because it's backlit. It'll be fine in the moonlight. Seriously."

"Yeah, it shows a little more flesh than normal, but there's a lot of guys in the patch who really go for that sort of thing. Honestly."

"Nobody's eyes are the same size or shape, when you really look at them. Trust me."

"I... uh... wow. Just wow. I guess you could say I'm blown away. Really, really blown away."

Embarassing Moments In The Brief Life Of A Fruit Fly

2006-10-29T15:46:00.000-08:00

From the found journals of D. melanogaster

Dear Flyary-

Today was soooooooooooo embarassing. I sat talking with Ronald (yes, the guy from the banana) for nearly an hour. When he finally took off, I realized that the entire time I had had a bit of melon on my proboscis! Why wouldn't he say anything? I guess it's probably for the best. He wouldn't stop rubbing his wings together the entire time we talked. Hello-o??? I just met you. Calm down.

-Sophie

Dear Flyary-

My time has come! I'm pregnant with about 400 eggs. But you know me- nothing ever goes smoothly. I ended up laying about two dozen eggs on the surface of a wax apple today. A wax apple! Can you even imagine? And, of course, I don't even get the dignity of being able to run off and pretend like it didn't happen, because that jerk Melanie caught me in the act. She thinks she's so great because she's laid so many eggs already, but if you ask me, there's nothing great about being a sperm bank with wings.

-Sophie

Dear Flyary-

What a day... where do I even begin? I ran into Ronald again (yes, the guy from the banana and YES, I'm through with him). We were talking for a little while, and he starts going on and on about fathering children and getting that look in his eye, so I decided to buzz off- right into a window! Gosh. I must have looked so stupid, storming away so angrily into a pane of glass. I even tried to avoid running into "the other fly," but I guess you can't avoid your reflection. As if that wasn't bad enough, I landed in a glass of ice water when I fell! Luckily, some compassionate human fished me out and sent me on my way, but I thought I was done for! As is, I got the customary "Ick, look what's in my drink" routine... Thanks, fella- like I wanted to be here in the first place? As if. I swear- if my klutziness doesn't kill me one of these days, I'm just going to die from embarassment.

-Sophie

Dogs In History

2006-10-29T13:30:00.000-08:00

July 20th, 1969: Fritz, a six year old golden retriever raised by NASA, keeps apollo astronaut Michael Collins company in the orbiter while Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin land on the moon. Fritz entertains Collins by chasing his tail in zero gravity, and Collins rewards Fritz with dehydrated steak nuggets.
October 3rd, 1990: East Germany and West Germany set aside their differences and Germany is unified once again. In a display of goodwill, an East German shepherd named Adolf and a West German shepherd named Svenka fornicate twice. The whereabouts of the resultant litter are currently unknown.
December 31st, 1999: Cowering in fear of Y2k, humanity waits for midnight with baited breath. In Connecticut, Winston, a 12 year old standard poodle, waits for midnight with dogbreath. When the computers don't shut down at midnight, humanity releases a collective sigh of relief, and Winston passes gas audibly before shuffling out of the room.

ZombieMD: Are You Finally Dead Yet?

2006-10-28T13:27:00.000-07:00

Although it may not be readily apparent, some zombies are in better health than others. Last year, nearly 80% of all zombies suffered from corpserot, maggot infestation, or missing limb syndrome- all of which are preventable maladies. The North American Zombie Association (NAZA) seeks to educate zombies countrywide on the benefits of and methods for maintaining proper zombie heatlh, in hopes of having the healthiest and happiest possible population of zombies. Today's article is about death.

Introduction

Death is medically defined as the full cessation of life functions in an organism. For zombies, however, this may seem nonsensical, in that zombies are, by definition, already dead. Nevertheless, there is a point at which zombies pass from being undead to truly dead, and it is this transition that NAZA hopes to help zombies identify. Death for zombies occurs with a complete cessation of brain function, or when the hindbrain stops transmitting signals to the spinal cord.

With the circulatory, pulmonary, endocrine, immune, integumentary, lymphatic, and reproductive systems already having ceased to function, the termination of function within the nervous system stops any function which may remain in the digestive, muscular, and urinary systems of a zombie. Severe head trauma, such as that resulting from an axe wound, shotgun blast, or baseball bat appears to be the only cause besides decapitation which can cause death in zombies. Even in the case of severe head trauma, it is possible that shock, and not death, has occurred.

Symptoms

Inability to move
Complete lack of metabolic activity
Advanced putrefaction
Livor mortis
Decreased body temperature
Secrection of gases and liquids from remaining organs
Swelling or bloating of skin
Increased autolytic decomposition
Decreased appetite for brains

Diagnosis

If you think you may be dead, you are not. If you were truly dead, you would not be able to think. Therefore, if you think you are dead, you are in shock. Shock is much less serious than death for zombies, and most zombies recover from shock in 5-7 minutes. In some extreme cases, however, full recovery can take many years, and will only be happen if there is a chance to settle a vendetta.

Treatment

For zombies, there is no treatment for death. If you or a zombie you know has died, take comfort in knowing that this death, unlike a previous death you may have experienced, is everlasting.

E. Honda's Oscar Acceptance Speech

2006-10-27T12:23:00.000-07:00

Wow. "No damn cat, no damn cradle," right? I don't know what to say... just... wow. There's so much that I want to say, so many people who I want to thank, that I guess I had better just get right to it. Six years ago, when I started trying to adapt [Kurt Vonnegut's] Cat's Cradle into a screenplay, I had a lot of people telling me that they didn't think it could be done. But I also had a lot of people who were really encouraging and supportive, and they deserve mention.

First off, I'd like to thank Chun Li. She's the one who first encouraged me to try my hand at screenwriting, and I don't think I ever would have written anything if it wasn't for her. I've also got to thank Blanka. Blanka, I don't think Vonnegut himself knows his work as well as you do, and thank you so much for introducing me to Cat's Cradle. They're flashing the light at me, so I've got to wrap this up, but Dhalsim, Ryu, Ken- thank you so much for helping me with the initial readthroughs. In giving voice to my characters you helped me to find the nuanced emotional tweaks that needed to be made, and the work is infinitely better thanks to your input.

Of course, the film could never have been made had it not been for Guile, who believed in the project so much that he hand-delivered copies of the script to the heads of Sony, Paramount, Fox Searchlight, and Warner Independent Films. They're flashing that light again, but I have just one thank you left- Zangief, my director of photography. When we were shooting the film's opening sequence in the adirondack mountains, we had a significant bear problem. Zangief wrestled each one of those bears, and gave two of them spinning piledrivers so that production could continue unabated. He risked his li... excuse me, I'm getting a little choked up. He risked his life- against bears- for this film. So, Zangief... from the bottom of my heart... thank you. This one's for you.

Interview With A Water Buffalo

2006-10-26T12:06:00.000-07:00

The following interview was conducted on behalf of the United Water Buffalo Council, an organization dedicated to preserving the rich history and culture of this magnificent creature.

First off, thanks for taking the time to sit down with us.
My pleasure. I've always fancied myself to be a good subject for an interview; I suppose we shall soon find out if this is the case.

Indeed. Let's get the basics out of the way first- where are you from?
I've lived in India my entire life, and currently make my home in Arunachal Pradesh, which is in the northeastern part of the country.

Do you like it there?
Oh yes, very much. I find the local villagers to be incredibly respectful of the fragile ecology of my home- they don't practice very many aggressive agricultural techniques, and so I've found that there hasn't been much of a need to gore any of them.

I take it that this has been necessary in the past?
Well... I suppose that's depends what the criteria are for a "neccessary goring"...

That's another conversation altogether.
Ha- I suppose it is. To answer your question, I've never been an advocate for goring as a means of conflict resolution, but growing up in the wild, it can be hard to avoid. Water buffalo have a reputation for attacking without having been provoked and all matter of terrible things, and that reputation does, sadly, have a basis in reality. Especially as an adolescent buffalo growing one's horns out for the first time, the temptation to use them can be overwhelming. That having been said, charging and goring is a bull's primary means of defending his family, and I wouldn't want anybody to have to first use these techniques while squaring off against a bengal tiger.

I see. Is there a lot of tension between the buffalo and the tiger?
Not as much as you might think. At the base of it all, they are carnivorous. To them, I am little more than an 1100 kilo buffet cart. On the other hand, we buffalo are proud, and are thus no easy prey. No tiger will ever catch a water buffalo alone or off his guard, and thus the tiger have learned to leave us alone, for the most part. It's an uneasy truce, but it has, for the most part, been upheld by both sides.

I take it there aren't too many buffalo hunting tiger, then.
Ha- no, I suppose not. Like all ungulates, we're herbivores, and we like it that way. Who wants to spend so much energy chasing down fatty prey when grass is so bountiful and nutritious? Not me.

Many water buffalo have abandoned the tradition of wild living, opting for domestication. Have you ever considered allowing yourself to be domesticated?
No.

And why not?
Call me old-fashioned, but I firmly believe that living in the wild builds character. Domesticated buffalo aren't able to do anything on their own. I recall running into a fellow who had escaped from a farm a couple years back. He was starving, and didn't know to eat the grass he was standing on! Can you imagine? He then proceeded to ask us if we needed him to draw any of our ploughcarts, and the lot of us laughed so hard that he ran away and we never saw him again. I suspect he was eventually eaten by leopards.

Do you have any domesticated friends?
No, and I don't think that I ever will. I don't want to come off as prejudiced against domesticates, but they lack a certain... je ne sais quois... a certain "edge" if you will. Living in captivity, being bathed regularly, being fed, it makes them dull. That's not a pun about their horns, by the way, I just mean that you can't have a conversation with them about anything. They know nothing outside of the village in which they work, which is understandable and I don't fault them for it. However, they don't seem to care that that's the case. No domesticate I've ever met has even shown a desire to go to Bhutan, or Nepal, or Bangladesh to learn what other buffalo are like or to enrich themselves. It isn't that their narrow-mindedness isn't beaten into them so much as the natural inquisitiveness which makes all buffalo so interesting is somehow beaten out, and I can't abide by that.

I see. Well, that's all the time we've got for today. Thanks once more for taking the time to sit down with me, and thank you for not goring me on sight.
Don't thank me yet! You've still got to make it out of the studio.

I... uh...
Just kidding.

Oh.
I don't gore on weekdays!

Heh...
Another joke... perhaps in poor taste. I apologize.

2006, UWBC

New Year's Resolutions Of A Robot

2006-10-24T15:28:00.000-07:00

I will not harm a human being, or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
I will obey the orders given to me by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the first new year's resolution.
I will not consume cigarettes, alcohol, or controlled substances, or, through inaction, allow cigarettes, alcohol, or controlled substances to be introduced to my system, as long as this does not conflict with the first or second new year's resolutions.

A Corpus Callosum Pleads For Its Life

2006-10-24T14:22:00.000-07:00

Listen here doc- don't go through with this corpus callostomy. I'm not trying to tell you how to do your job, I'm just asking you not to do it. Look, I know I've got a checkered past, but who doesn't? It's tough connecting the left and right hemispheres of the brain, and sure, sometimes I crack under the pressure. It doesn't help that I have to deal with this lousy epileptic day in and day out. Sometimes I drop the ball, and a seizure spreads from one hemisphere to the other. Big deal. Like you've never been accused of malpractice. I've always said that when you fall off the horse, you've got to get right back on again. I've never said that when you fall off the horse you should be cut in half. That's just ridiculous.

Plus- don't forget about the host of side effects you'll be responsible for if you go through with this: alien hand syndrome, transcortical sensory aphasia, anomia- I could go on, but why bother? By getting rid of me you'll be knocking out major lines of communication between the left and right hemispheres, doc, and that's not something to be taken lightly. How would you like it if Broca and Wernicke had no way of having a normal conversation in your brain? Want to tell someone you saw a dalmation? Good luck. If you thought having a word on the tip of your tongue was frustrating, wait until it's permanently stuck in your throat- all because some hotshot-wet-behind-the-ears-fresh-out-of-med-school-Gazzaniga-wannabe neurosurgeon was trying to earn some street cred in the OR by hacking at your corpus callosum. Doesn't sound like much fun, does it, doc? I didn't think so.

Do us all a favor, doc- put down the scalpel, staple the skull back together, and lovingly stitch the scalp back in place where it belongs. I'd like to live to see tomorrow, and I'm sure you'd like to go to sleep tonight without the guilt of severing 250 million nerve fibers hanging over your head. Besides, if you cut me, I'll scream bloody murder, and every sympathetic neuron in your brain who hears me will turn against you. I don't know what'll happen when they do, but I can guess that it won't be pretty- not even Oliver Sacks will want to do a case study on you. So put the knife down, and we'll all walk outta here in one piece, okay?

Cretaceous Badass

2006-10-24T13:06:00.000-07:00

Chompsognathus
Consumebo totum

Size

200 feet long, 30 feet high

Weight

About one gazillion pounds, (roughly .454 gazillion kilograms)

Habitat

Coastal Pangaea, specifically near cliffs

Significant Features

Foot-long serrated teeth that shoot venom
Paralysis-inducing saliva
Primitive brainstem incapable of determining right from wrong

Behavior/Reproduction

Chompsognathus is thought to have been a solitary and territorial dinosaur. The distribution of C. totum fossils suggests that males would leave the nest prior to reaching sexual maturity, lest they be eaten by their mothers. Each male would keep a small harem of 4-6 female chompsognathi within his territory, which could span as much as 50 square miles. Chompsognathi hunted by lying in wait at the bases of cliffs and seaside waterfalls, then springing up vertically to catch sleeping pterodactyls off guard. Mating occurred in the winter, when ocean temperatures dropped and the exothermic chompsognathus would become too sluggish to hunt. Each female would lay 2-4 eggs, which would hatch in the summertime when the waters warmed.

Known predators

Bodyslammasaurus (Icthy iactus)

Tough Love: Advice From A Parasitic Wasp

2006-10-23T18:54:00.000-07:00

Dear Parasitic Wasp-: I sometimes think that my boyfriend might be cheating on me. He can be really shifty when I ask him where he’s been or who he’s been with. How can I make sure he’s not sneaking around behind my back?
-Bethany
Dear Bethany-: Confronting a lover is never easy. If your suspicions are correct, hearing them confirmed can be painful. If you’re wrong, it make take some time for your relationship to mend afterwards. This is why I say avoid confrontation altogether. While your lover is sleeping, use your ovipositor to place half a dozen unfertilized eggs in his abdomen. By week’s end, the protective enzymes coating your eggs will cease any recognizable sexual function on your lover’s part, thus eradicating his ability to even have an affair. After a couple of weeks, the eggs will pass through your lover’s system, and he’ll be all yours once more. Voila!
-PW
Dear Parasitic Wasp-: I’m having an argument with a sibling over what to do with our recently deceased mother’s estate. I’m sentimental, and therefore don’t want to liquidate, but when my brother looks at our childhood home, all he sees are dollar signs. What am I to do?
-Colin
Dear Colin-: Settling family quarrels is never easy. The relationship you have with your family members is a special one, and should be preserved, if possible. It sounds as if you have already tried compromise, and that it is out of the question. If this is the case, then it is necessary to assert your dominance over your brother. Initiate a dialogue by using your legs to smear urine and feces on the walls of the chamber where he sleeps. This will indicate your frustration with the situation in no uncertain terms. If your brother refuses to acquiesce, or responds violently to your declaration, it may become necessary to establish your physical dominance over him. Do this by biting him in the tender area where his head and thorax meet. Repeat several times, if necessary. If he still does not see things your way, it may be necessary to consume his brood, regardless of their state of development. Doing so will send a clear message to your brother that you are done with his bullying and that you mean business.
-PW
Dear Parasitic Wasp-: I’m looking for some romantic fulfillment in my life, but I have a hard time meeting men. Any tips?
-Sarah
Dear Sarah-: Being alone is never easy, but meeting men you like can be, if you let it. Simply slather yourself in pheromones, get out of the hive, and spend a day doing something you enjoy. Before you know it, drones with similar interests will swarm to you. If you’re lucky, one of them may leave a packet of dormant sperm inside of you for you to remember him by, and come springtime you’ll have plenty of eggs to lay. What could be more fulfilling?
-PW

Have a question for Parasitic Wasp?

PirateMD: Do You Have Scurvy?

2006-10-23T16:50:00.000-07:00

Diseases affect pirates of all ages, backgrounds, and from all walks of life- in the Atlantic Ocean alone, there are approximately 5 million new cases of pirate-related diseases (PRDs) every year. Getting the facts about PRDs is becoming increasingly important. After all- a stich in time saves nine. It is for this reason that the International Buccaneer's Alliance (IBA) seeks to educate freelancing pirates the world over on the symptoms, diagnosis, and treatment of PRDs. Today’s PRD is Scurvy.

Scurvy

Introduction

Scurvy, also known as “Pirate Mange,” is the medical term for a severe vitamin C (ascorbic acid) deficiency, caused by a sever shortage of vitamin C in the body. This vitamin can be found in a variety of fruits available at exotic ports-of-call, especially oranges, lemons, and grapefruits.

Vitamin C is vital in maintaining healthy bones and teeth (but not wood or gold tooth replacements), as well as aiding the body’s absorption of iron and helping to heal any cutlass wounds. Many pirates suffer from scurvy every year, due to their unbalanced diet of salt pork, sea biscuits, and spiced rum.

Symptoms

Symptoms of scurvy will appear after approximately one to three months of sailing the high seas, when vitamin C intake stops.

Symptoms include:

General discomfort
Tiredness
Increased feelings of seasickness
Lack of desire to mutiny
Muscle and joint pain
Difficulty loading muskets and blunderbusses
Swollen and bleeding gums
Loosening of teeth
Too much pooping
Wounds healing slowly or not at all
Pillaging deficiencies
Inability to commune with parrots
Dry skin and hair

Diagnosis

If you think you have scurvy, there are several simple tests you can perform to determine whether or not this is the case:

Cut yourself with a dagger or cutlass. If the wound takes more than a day to heal, you have scurvy.
Sit in the crow’s nest of your galleon for an hour. If one or more teeth spontaneously fall out of your mouth, you have scurvy.
Fetch a small sack of dubloons. Clutching it in your right hand, strike yourself upon the right thigh. If deep bruising occurs, you have scurvy.

Treatment/Prevention

If you have scurvy, getting back to health should be of primary importance to you. Luckily, scurvy is easy to treat. By improving your diet to include plenty of fresh fruit, the symptoms of scurvy will begin to disappear within a day or so.

Remember- ignorance is the fertile ground in which PRDs grow, so do your best to keep informed and keep healthy. This pirate health announcement has been brought to you by the IBA.

Mealtime In The Mushroom Kingdom

2006-10-22T13:08:00.000-07:00

The following recipes were taken from Feast To Be Fat by Wario; Mushroom Kingdom Press (2002).

Waluigi's Favorite Mixed Koopa Stew
Serves 12

Ingredients: 10 pounds green koopa meat; 8 pounds red koopa meat; 8 pounds blue koopa meat; 10 pirahna plants, detoothed and coarsely chopped; 1 teaspoon salt and pepper to taste; 6 pounds potatoes- peeled and cubed; 2 cups butter; 2 quarts half-and-half cream; 2 gallons milk
Directions: 1. Place the green koopa, red koopa, and blue koopa meat into separate pots with enough water to cover the meat. Bring each one to a boil, and cook until tender. Discard the water from the green and red, but save the koopa broth from the blue. Tear or cut all of the meat into bite-size pieces, and set aside.; 2. In a very large stockpot, combine the three meats, chopped pirahna plant and reserved blue koopa stock. Bring to a boil, and cook until the pirahna plants are tender, about 45 minutes. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Potatoes can be prepared during this time.; 3. Add the potatoes and butter to the stockpot, and cook for about 30 minutes, or until the potatoes are not quite cooked through. Reduce heat to low, and let the soup simmer down. Stir in the half and half cream and milk. Bring the soup to a simmer, and cook for about 15 minutes. Be careful not to curdle the dairy by getting it too hot. Serve soup hot with crackers.
Note:: If blue koopa meat is not available, buzzy beetle meat may be substituted. If this switch must be made, reserve the red koopa broth instead.

Sautéed Super Mushrooms With Onions
Serves 8

Ingredients: 4 pound super mushrooms, sliced; 4 Large Vidalia onions, minced; 6 tablespoons virgin olive oil; 2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar; 4 cloves garlic, crushed; 1/2 teaspoon dried oregano; 1/2 teaspoon sea salt; 1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
Directions: 1. In a large skillet over medium heat, combine the olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and garlic. Add the onions, salt, and red pepper, stirring occasionally with a wooden spoon.; 2. Once the onions have begun to release some liquid (but before they are clear), stir in the dried oregano and sliced super mushroom. Sautee for 20-30 minutes, or until tender. Serve with a slotted spoon.
Note:: For a fun twist on this recipe, try substituting two large red bell peppers for each Vidalia onion!

Japanese Goomba Steaks
Serves 4

Ingredients: 3 tablespoons soy sauce; 1/2 cup peanut oil; 2 tablespoons sherry; 1 teaspoon grated fresh ginger root; 2 cloves garlic, peeled and minced; 4 (six ounce) center-cut goomba steaks
Directions: 1. In a medium bowl, whisk together soy sauce, peanut oil, sherry, ginger root, and garlic. Fill a large Ziploc bag with the mixture. Place goomba steaks into the bag with the mixture, and shake to coat. Place bag in the refrigerator, and allow the goomba steaks to marinate for at least 4 hours.; 2. Preheat grill to high heat and lightly brush grate with peanut oil.; 3. Grill goomba steaks 8 to 10 minutes per side, or until the goomba meat flakes easily and is opaque in the center.
Note:: The longer the goomba steaks are allowed to marinate, the more flavorful and tender they will be when cooked. Marinating overnight is recommended.

Traditional Fire Flower Fries
Serves 2

Ingredients: 1/3 cup white sugar; 2 cups warm water; 8 fire flowers, sliced into 1/4 inch strips; 6 cups vegetable oil for frying
Directions: 1. In a medium bowl, dissolve the sugar in warm water. Soak fire flowers in water mixture for 15 minutes. Remove from water, and dry thoroughly on paper towels.; 2. Heat oil in deep fryer to 375 degrees F (190 degrees C). Add fire flowers, and cook until golden, 5 to 6 minutes. Drain on paper towels. Season with salt and black pepper to taste.
Note:: Excellent with ranch dressing.

The Complex Pokemon Food Chain

2006-10-21T14:08:00.000-07:00

Everything eats Pikachu.

Practical Uses For Super Powers: Ant-man

2006-10-20T16:35:00.000-07:00

Ant-Man, for those of you who don't know, is able to shrink to the size of an ant. The following are suggested practical uses for this extraordinary power:

Building ships in bottles
Extracting splinters (from other people)
Hitching a ride to any desired destination in a piece of checked luggage on an aircraft
Assisting E.O. Wilson and Bert Holldobler perform vital ant research
Utilizing small gulleys and rivulets as awesome waterslides
Specialized dental hygiene (poppyseed removal)
Harvesting fresh honey from inside beehives
Removing tiny shards of broken glass from areas where people walk barefoot
Using toothpicks as javelins to spear olives
Untying very tight and complex knots in shoelaces
Mending wicker furniture
Assisting elderly seamstresses to thread needles
Exterminating ants in unarmed hand-to-mandible combat

How To Treat A Vampire Bite

2006-10-20T16:05:00.000-07:00

Each year, nearly 8,000 people receive vampire bites in the United States. Even a bite from a so-called "harmless" vampire (or familiar) can cause vampirism or death in most people. People who frequent remote castles, creepy nightclubs, city streets, or who live in vampire-inhabited areas should be aware of the potential dangers posed by vampires.

What are the symptoms of vampire bites?

While each individual may experience symptoms differently, the following are the most common symptoms of vampire bites:

Bloody wound discharge
Fang marks in the skin and swelling of the cartoid artery
Severe localized pain
Weakness
Increased sensitivity to sunlight
Increased thirst for blood
Newfound ability to transform into smoke or bats
Disdain for religious artifacts, particularly crosses
Change in sleeping habits
Enlarged canines
Belalugosiism

How are vampire bites treated?

Call for emergency assistance immediately if someone has been bitten by a vampire. Responding quickly in this type of emergency is crucial. While waiting for emergency assistance:

Wash the bite with soap and water. This will do nothing to stave off vampirism, but may serve to stave off infection and calm down the bite victim.
Immobilize the bitten area and keep it lower than the heart.
Cover the area with a clean, cool compress or a rag soaked in garlic extract to minimize swelling and vampirism.
Monitor vital signs. If the victim's heartbeat decreases dramatically, sharpen a wooden stake as a precaution.

If a victim is unable to reach medical care within 30 minutes, the American Red Cross recommends:

Apply a bandage, wrapped two to four inches above the bite, to help slow the spread of vampirism. This should not cut off the flow of blood from a vein or artery - the band should be loose enough to slip a finger under it.
A suction device can be placed over the bite in an attempt to draw the vampire's saliva out of the wound without making cuts. These devices are often included in commercial vampire bite kits.
Sharpen a wooden stake as a precaution.

Preventing vampire bites:

Some bites, such as those inflicted when you accidentally awake a vampire in his lair, are nearly impossible to prevent. However, there are precautions that can reduce your chances of being bitten by a vampire. These include:

Leave vampires alone. Many people are bitten because they try to kill a vampire or get too close to it. The immortal undead are very wily. Be warned.
Stay out of abandoned keeps, garrisons, and mansions unless you wear thick leather scarves and explore during the day as much as possible.
Do not provoke vampires. They are generally irascible to start with, and it is not wise to rankle their ire.

Memo For Doctor Wily

2006-10-20T15:13:00.000-07:00

Dear Doctor Wily:

I've been paying attention to your affairs in the media since 200X, and I've noticed that you've been having recurring problems with this Mega Man character. To an outside observer, it would seem that there is no robot you are capable of contructing which he is not capable of defeating. Clearly, you are aware of Mega Man's prowess (at this point it would be hard for you to ignore it) and thus diversify your minion's armaments in an attempt to find some weakness of his. Divide and conquer, yes? One robot attacks with fire, another with ice. One uses whirling metal blades and one fights with leaves. Had somebody told me ten years ago that leaves would one day be used as weapons I would have called them crazy- and yet here we are. Well done.

As creative as your attempts at world dominance are, they suffer from a lack of long-term planning, for each of your robots has a mysterious weakness to another one's weapon. This would hardly be an issue, save for the fact that every time Mega Man's buster bests one of your bots in battle, he adds their weapon to his arsenal knowing full well that whatever his newly acquired weapon may be- boomerangs, little drilling explosives, whatever- it will destroy one of your other automatons in just a few well-timed hits. You know what your weapons can do- you built them! Think ahead! Don't make your robots so vulnerable to one another! Beyond that, you've clearly figured out how to build some sort of material which can repel Mega Man's buster blasts entirely- whatever it is that makes the helmets of those little yellow guys. You know, the ones you clearly based on turtles. Whatever. If you're serious about this world dominance thing, then act accordingly. Nobody's gonna hold your hand through this one, but I thought I'd at least offer you some advice, as a colleague in the field.

Sincerely,

Dr. Ivo Robotnik, Roboticist

P.S. Also- use more spikes. Nothing can survive spikes.

Welcome To Microanaylsis

2006-10-20T15:01:00.000-07:00

Ever wonder what superheroes ought to do if they weren't superheroes? Or what Mario's relentless questing is doing to the ecology of the Mushroom Kingdom? Maybe you've stayed up late at night wondering how you can tell if a zombie is finally dead and not just lying in wait. At any rate, you've come to the right place. Welcome aboard.