Thursday, November 30, 2006

A Bovine Suicide Note


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.

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

The Wright Brothers Politely Defer To One Another


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.

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

The To-Do List Of A Poltergeist


Photo courtesy of Central Louisiana Paranormal Society (CLaPS)

Monday, November 27, 2006

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


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.

Sunday, November 26, 2006

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


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

Saturday, November 25, 2006

A Cetacean Fairy Tale

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.

Friday, November 24, 2006

Preamble To An Eruption


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


Thursday, November 23, 2006

Awkward Situations For Cyborgs

  • "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?"

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

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

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!

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Important Moments In Nerdic History

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."