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I have adventures all the time. I don't know what you guys are up to.

This.

There's probably tons of shit in your own back yard that you've never seen or noticed before.  Go find it.

The best way to get into an adventure has been touched upon but not explicitly said:  redefine adventure.

Also, props on The Corinthian avatar.

Please don't anyone take any offense to any of the songs I posted.  None of them are intended to be swipes.  With some of you that I don't know as well I had to do some post archaeology and even then I may have been drawing blanks and essentially throwing spaghetti against the wall. 

Hah.  Well I don't know what would be tougher than someone who posted about once a day for a year, but you seemed to do pretty well with me.  I don't know metal, but I was cool with both of the ones you linked.

This is wonderful.  It's like a children's book got invaded and desecrated.

As for the feeding tube person, I think it's good as it is.  The point of the web is that it gets everyone regardless of age, beauty, etc.

Plus, not every cough potato or teevee addict looks like Carl.

Cymothoa exigua.

It's a parasite that eats a fish tongue until the tongue is atrophied and falls off.  Then the little bugger stays there and acts as the fish's tongue.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cymothoa_exigua

[And yes it is indeed probably the best way to consume chick peas. They are incredibly boring little balls otherwise]

I also added a spoon of minced chilli peppers and some honey. I don't think honey is in any of the recipes, but just a dash of sweetness really enhances the flavour (of pretty much anything).

Oh and powdered cumin.

Important trick is you need a LOT of olive oil, and from there you should add the water the chickpeas boiled in until it is all smooth and pasty. I could have added a bit more water to this one.

Carrots indeed make a really good combo for this stuff. And yes it is indeed probably the best way to consume chick peas. They are incredibly boring little balls otherwise

Anyway, anybody knows what's up with the semi-translucent orange garlic clove?

Disputed - I see your hummus and I raise you fallafel!

But hummus is delicious and if you haven't tried it it's a damn shame.

 

Ben Folds - Bitches aint shit

I saw Ben Folds play this track live at Glastonbury Festival 2008. It was awesome.

I don't dig on Ben Folds too much, but I will say he puts on one FUCK of a live show.

Personal Jesus - Johnny Cash (Depeche Mode cover)

I like cucumber yoghurt soups for cold soups.

I can't pin down if Indian Raita is a soup or not though.  Some serve it as soup and some serve it as sauce.   

[already]

So, it appears at first blush that both the left and the right have finally found something they can agree on: That it's way too soon for Obama to be getting any sort of peace prize.

So then it's already causing peace!?  Dear lord that prize commitee is prescient.

I know this leg of the project is over, but I seem to have missed this when it was happening.  I just wanted in on it even if it was only for the purposes of posting.

I can remember a time when the Spiders didn't want me.  I was too smalluglyweirdsmart for their web and, after all, even if they did ask me to fly into it I wouldn't do it.  Spiders just aren't my thing, said I, as I sat on the sofa and watched the teevee with Spider-approved shows on it or containing my beloved Spider-approved video games.  Smaller and seductively different spiders would suggest things for me to listen to and watch that were obviously very very different from the things the other Spiders suggested.

Even that fell through after a while.  I saw Spiders everywhere, always coming for me, always making an offer that sounded so sweet.  I only ate what I knew the Spiders hadn't touched and I only supported what I knew was certainly not Spider affiliated.  And no, no thank you, no pills for me.  I went to college and I studied psychology so I'm way too smartadjustedtalentedhaughty for that.  Seeing them everywhere got to me and some days the sun was bright and glinted so perfectly on fall leaves or spring blossoms or that snow that clings to dead trees like crystals and it was still all pointless and awful and low.  But at least I wasn't in that web.

Then one day I stepped out my door.

And I fell off the world.

Up doesn't become down and the ground doesn't become smaller just somehow it all goes away and you're tumbling directionless, terrified, flailing for something to hold on to, screaming for anything to stop you.  And it did. 

Tricky Spiders, I thought, silly big devious lovable things.  I was never too smalluglyweirdsmart and they never didn't want me.  They knew, tricky Spiders tricky old Spiders silly big devious lovable things, they knew.  I'll take the things they give me like I said I never would.  Because here it's blessedly sticky and I know I won't fall off again.

The Restaurant at the End of the Universe

March 15th,

This ought to be my greatest success, the breakthrough I've been looking for to bring my name into the national consciousness as not only a premier investigative reporter but as a champion of the modern day.  So why is it all I feel is dread?  The repercussions of this will be immense, I know it somewhere in me, but we're all to be liberated.  Yet the pit in my stomach hasn't gone away since I first lifted that flap.

I wrote it all up and submitted it to Marcus after I got out of The Factory.  I didn't even wait to see what happened, I just left as quickly as I could manage to my anonymous and safe little apartment where I could wait and see where it all went.  Maybe Marcus would just toss it aside?  But after waiting for the train and feeling like every eye in the world was on me, by the time I got home it had already started.  Yelling first, then glass shattering and wood splitting.  It wouldn't reach a crescendo until hours later when the write up got to the streets.  It seemed like every old newspaper flying around from previous days had just vanished and mysteriously turned into my article - I hesitated to check my own birdcage because I feared seeing yesterday's issue having transformed itself into today's.

All of this is just over the idea of that behemoth.  They don't even know what it looks like yet.  They wouldn't have believed me in the very first article.  It was all so wretchedly, perfectly, efficient.  Closest to my corner lay four pipes draining the biles, blood, and phlegm that fed back into it elsewhere.  Pumps and valves and pistons and cogs and semiconductors flashing and twisting and turning.  Arms would reach out to piles of debris and add tubes here and springs there in brutal, malicious wrenching motions.  But what brought my gorge to rise was at what looked like its center, beating in rhythm to my very own and prodded with ugly needles but pounding happily away, pumping even as I saw it shudder when it somehow knew where my gaze fell.

The lights are out and the shades are drawn.  Fires from outside are peeking through the edges of my windows so I may write this.  A glass of bourbon is in my hand and running its course to steady my pen so I may write this.  Would that I had the courage to strike that desecrated organ.  Oh but its arms were so quick and so accurate.  They would need to go first.  No, but its pipes were so hot and would burn.  They would need to go first.  But then its gears were so razor sharp and

Go for it.  And tell us if anyone visibly squirms.

For you, Cram: