Archive for September, 2011

She Don’t Lie

Ye gods. Just look at what they’ve discovered now.

Science Men out of Harvard University have determined that gazing upon the face of an attractive woman “triggers the same reward centres in a man’s brain” as are set off by snorting cocaine.

Researchers at Harvard University found that when men were shown images of gorgeous female faces, their brain image scans showed that the ‘reward’ circuitry was activated—the same reaction the brain has when it’s faced with the narcotic drug.

The images that the male brain found most exciting were faces with a prominent, curved forehead and nose located lower down the face. They also liked round cheeks and a small chin.

Furthermore:

A beautiful woman’s face is like chocolate, cash or cocaine to a young man’s brain[.]

The brain-imaging study reveals that young men looking at a lovely young woman can set off the “reward center.”

When shown pictures of various faces, only the females deemed beautiful triggered activity in brain regions previously associated with food, drugs, and money.

Even when those males looked at attractive men’s faces, the response was clearly different. The women triggered the “reward” factor, and the desire for more of that “view.”

Everybody Knows They Are Nowhere

First I read of the people. Disappeared from cruise ships. Some 165 of them, over the past 16 years. For some of the disappeared people, there are theories. For most, though: none at all.

Then I read of the pigs. Disappearing from farms all over the US midwest. Hundreds and hundreds of them. For some of these vanished pigs, there are theories. But, really: folks don’t actually Know.

Some people would say there is no connection. Between people vanishing far out at sea. And pigs peeled out of their pens.

Some people would be wrong.

For there is indeed a connection. There always is. As there are no coincidences. One but must needs discern the Pattern.

This I have done. And thus I know the answer. I know who is disappearing the people. And the pigs.

Winkers.

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Erasmas Dedicates The Work

I hope therefore you will not only readily accept of this rude essay as a token from your friend, but take it under your more immediate protection, as being dedicated to you, and by that title adopted for yours, rather than to be fathered as my own. And it is a chance if there be wanting some quarrelsome persons that will show their teeth, and pretend these fooleries are either too buffoon-like, or too satirical, and so will exclaim against me as if I were vamping up some old farce, or acted anew the Lucian again with a peevish snarling at all things. But those who are offended at the lightness and pedantry of this subject, I would have them consider that I do not set myself for the first example of this kind, but that the same has been oft done by many considerable authors. For thus several ages since, Homer wrote of no more weighty a subject than of a war between frogs and mice, Virgil of a gnat and pudding-cake, and Ovid of a nut. Synesius pleaded in behalf of baldness; and Lucian defended a sipping fly. Seneca drollingly related the deifying of Claudius; Plutarch the dialogue betwixt Gryllus and Ulysses; Lucian and Apuleius the story of an ass; and somebody else records the last will of a hog, of which St. Hierom makes mention.

—Erasmas, In Praise Of Folly

The Lions Sleep Tonight

The planet continues to produce non-ordinary personages.

We regard here Al-Sayed al-Essawy, a 24-year-old Egyptian man who claims title to “strongest man in the world.”

In June of this year, this man resolved to engage in a “steel-cage fight” with a lion.

After twenty minutes, there in the cage with the lion, al-Essawy declared “victory.” During the “combat,” the lion did not attempt to attack the strongman; no one was harmed.

Below, find some of al-Essawy’s wisdom, uttered pre-fight.

The lion, naturally, does not speak.

God made me, and he made the lion, and he put us both on the same planet, which means the lion is fair game. Ethically, there should be no problem.

I have a whole series of shows planned in my head. I will pull an airplane with my teeth, and I will pull an airplane with my hair. I will also be run over by an airplane.

In between each of these acts, there will be lion battles.

I’ve taught children how to chew glass and pull cars with their teeth. I can raise a generation of supersoldiers. I’ve jumped from ten-story buildings and I’ve hanged myself many times.

I think it’s time we start celebrating genuine talent.

Chips Ahoy

I am sensing a pattern here.

First, the guy who invented Pringles received special dispensation to be buried in a Pringles can.

No, I don’t make this shit up.

The man who designed the Pringles can has been buried in a can of Pringles as per his request.

Fredric J. Baur, who was originally from Cincinnati, was recently cremated and had his ashes buried in a Pringles can.

Mr. Baur made the special request because he was so proud of his design of the world famous Pringles container, a son, Lawrence Baur, of Michigan, said Monday.

Baur retired in the early 1980’s though his invention lives on, here and in the beyond.

Now the guy who invented Doritos is going to have the stuff scattered over his grave.

Famous snack creator of the Doritos corn chip Arch West has passed away at the age of 97 of natural causes. [T]he family has a rather unusual final request as they lay their loved one to rest. West’s family will bury dozens of Doritos along side of Arch West’s ashes at his funeral.

Saying their final goodbye to Arch, surviving family and friends stated that they plan to scatter his world-famous Doritos inside the open grave before placing West’s Urn containing his ashes inside the grave site and burying him.
This has got to stop. Now. What if this spreads to Science Men? And Edward Teller—if he ever does die—requests that his invention, the hydrogen bomb, be detonated upon his grave?

Fear Of A Fat Planet

Friday I clicked on The Eggman (know thy foe) and there beheld a photograph of Chris Christie, reproduced below. And the sight of this man, it unaccountably filled me with Fear.

I say “unaccountably,” because heretofore I had serenely cleaved to the wisdom of this piece, presenting the prognostications of this never-wrong wizard: that is, come 2012, no matter how battered and bruised, Destry would ride, if wearily, into a second term. None among the cretins and the clowns in that toxic, smoke-belching Christine of a car of the Republican Party, would manage to run him down.

But suddenly, looking there at Christie, I was beset with a terrible vision.

What if the American people decided to go wide?

Now, it is true that this—picking the portly—is something they have not done since Grover Cleveland, which was well over 100 years ago. And that in an age when not all that many voters knew what the presidential candidates looked like. In the many years since, hoisting into the Oval Office someone packing serious excess poundage has been something that was Just Not Done. It has been a political given, for more than a century, that an overweight man seeking the highest office in the land stood no more chance than, say, an atheist. Or, uh, a black man.

Ah, yes. That last. It, well, changed everything. Did it not?

As a wise sage recently observed: “There’s a family of Negroes living in the White House. That’s the sum-total of what’s going on.”

Yep. And that simple fact—black folk in the White House—has driven half the nation stone-mad. These people knew they weren’t going to like it from the get-go—only 43% of white people casting ballots in 2008 voted for the black family to move into the White House. But even they had no idea how badly they were not going to like it. Once it became Reality. Now they know. It’s an outrage. Not to be borne. And they want it Stopped. By any means necessary.

So, in my vision, gazing at that photo of Chris Christie, the picture goes sepia. A planter’s hat appears upon his head. His clothing reverts to that of a Southern plantation owner, circa 1850. He is transformed into one of those coarse, corpulent, antebellum plutocrats, living fat off the bondage of black folk. Because that’s what he looks like. Even in modern clothes.

And I see him, thus, as he really is, on the debate stage, next to Obama. Who, back there in 1850, looks like the underfed runt out of one of Christie’s slave families. The biracial Obama maybe sired by Christie himself. Christie’s wife suffering from a “nervous disorder,” his excuse for sneaking off nights to the slave quarters. Because that sort of thing’s okay. Like with Strom Thurmond. So long as you don’t talk about it. And I see that, through the eyes of the knock-kneed white-bread nation, “[t]here’s a family of Negroes living in the White House.” And I see the determination of the people that a fat Southern planter is just the man to send them Negroes back to from where they came. To make the White House white again. Amen.

The horror. The horror.

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Science Men “Buggered”

Some neutrinos have gone totally wild, and are out there running around faster than the speed of light, causing at least one Science Man to moan that these Speed Racers are so violating so many Science Laws it means he and his fellow Science Men are pretty much “buggered.”

Now, it is Well Known that many things—including socks—travel faster than the speed of light. It’s just that heretofore Science Men hadn’t created Machines capable of Measuring this.

But that’s all over now. Because in recent years Science Men have begun building some gigantic subterranean racetracks, where they can race stuff around at extremely high speeds and then crash it all together, to See What Happens. Some of what could happen is an Oops of such magnitude that it will swallow all of space, but never mind that now. Because neutrinos probably won’t do that, as they’re just not that interested. They’re hardly even “there”; Science Men used to have to go deep down into mines to look at them. Barely matter, neutrinos are flowing through our bodies all the time; sometimes, when zooming through a brain, they inadvertently trip a synapse, and cause a person to start doing things For No Known Reason. This is why I plan soon to introduce into criminal law the concept of “the neutrino defense.”

Anyway. Science Men don’t need to descend into mine shafts anymore to look at neutrinos. Now they can watch them on their underground racetracks. And, in a project deliciously monikered OPERA—Oscillation Project with Emulsion-tRacking Apparatus—Science Men who sent neutrinos on a 453-mile journey discovered that some 15,000 of the wee beasties arrived at destination’s end sixty-billionths of a second earlier than they were Supposed to. The neutrinos didn’t care that they weren’t Allowed to travel faster than the speed of light; they did it anyway.

They were in a hurry.

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When I Worked

September 2011
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