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[NO SMOKING, NO ROBBING]

My youngest was a naughty little non-writer the other day, so he's in the dog house for a couple days. Since he was not assigned homework today, we assigned him the following task:

Imagine you are the ruler of a kingdom. Write down all the laws your kingdom would have. You will be judged based on how well your society would get by with your rules.

First draft: NO SMOKING, NO ROBBING

I saw this and it made me think of you: http://olympusoverdrive.com/index.php?id=75

So, Al Jazeera America launched just a couple days ago and I wanted to know how you spags feel about it.

I had never heard of Al Jazeera before the nonsense about them airing the Bin Laden tapes and falling for the "STARTS WITH AL, MUST BE TURRIST" meme. While I managed to step back from that bad signal early on, I didn't pay any attention to the network until the Arab Spring, because they were the only ones covering it in any sensible way. Now that it's available, it's overtaken CNN as the default background noise and I'm super enthusiastic about the switch. The selection of what to cover has been much more in line with what I think is worth talking about, there's no screaming matches between two arbitrarily selected representatives of opposing view points, and the reporting is pretty solid.

Dear PeeDee,

I want to start calling myself a professional ghost eater. Someone please hire me to eat some ghosts. Satisfaction guaranteed.

 

Really unpolished and I'm not sure how to end it, but the HUMANS thread got me thinking about this again. Unlike other posts, I would appreciate a heads up before copying, bending, folding, or stapling this.



Unidentified object detected in the region of [untranslatable]. Initial analysis indicates highly regular structure exhibiting bi-lateral symmetry. Does not conform to any known standards for starcraft. Trajectory indicates impact with [untranslatable] at .85c absent any interference or changes in velocity. Impact deflection team dispatched. First contact liaison also on board, in the event it is a vessel of some kind.

First contact liaison reports anomalous patterns of radiation over long end of electromagnetic spectrum. Communications team assigned to interpret data.

Impact defection team approaching object. Emission patterns from the object have changed to a looping pattern which the Communications team believes to be based on a geometric constant. First contact liaison has recommended attempting to broadcast an identical signal to the object before interception. Equipment for broadcast is being assembled.

Long wave electromagnetic transmission sent.

Pattern of long wave electromagnetic transmissions from the object has changed in response to broadcast. Existence of intelligence confirmed. As of now it is unclear whether the object itself is intelligent or if it is in fact a vessel for smaller intelligent beings. First contact liaison recommending soft interception measures.

Full first contact team assembled. Impact deflection team will match speed with the object and intercept if necessary.

First contact team away.

Object has reduced speed. Several small structures on the exterior of the object have been identified as propulsion mechanisms. Impact deflection team matching speed. Communications team reports continued patterns based on mathematical concepts. The object will broadcast a looping pattern until it is repeated back to them, and then will change to a different one.

Communications team reports strange new pattern from the object. Linguistic analysis suggests it may be some form of data transmission.

First contact team arrives at object. Team has informally dubbed the object "Little Star Spawn." Velocity of the object has continued to drop. Impact deflection team staying in the vicinity to support first contact team.

Communications team reporting potential breakthrough in analysis of earlier long wave electromagnetic transmissions. The emission patterns before the mathematical broadcasts may have encoded data representing visual content. The reconstructed transmission seems to indicate a being with bi-lateral symmetry opening and closing one large orifice and two paired smaller ones. First contact team is now examining the object for evidence of an entryway.

Using the methods established by the communications team, the first contact team is now attempting to interpret incoming transmissions from the object. New data again shows a being with bi-lateral symmetry opening and closing three orifices. Communications team believes there may be more data in the transmission and is continuing analysis.

First contact team has decided to create a new broadcast based on the object's attempts to communicate. They have encoded an image of a white circle with a black ellipsis and two black circles arranged in a manner similar to that of the being depicted in the object's broadcasts. This data is being sent to the object.

The object has responded with a burst of activity. New transmission shows the round being with three orifices that then moves away from the recording device, showing a much larger organism. The beings exhibit bi-lateral symmetry over the whole body. The central trunk has two long appendages below it that turn at a 90 degree angle towards the ends, and articulate mid-way through was well as at the point where they connect to the trunk, and two shorter appendages near the top of the trunk that also articulate near the middle and at the point where they connect to the trunk. The ends of these shorter appendages branch into five smaller appendages, one of which is smaller than the others and further removed. These sub-appendages are highly articulated. The part of the being that was initially visible rests at the top of the trunk on top of a narrow connector. Additionally, the communications team believes that the additional data in the transmissions may be vibrational data. These vibrations coincide with the motions of the larger visible orifice.

There is more than one organism on board the "Little Star Spawn." New transmission shows multiple beings making vibrations with their large orifice and moving appendages.

First contact team has created a new transmission. The new transmission encodes visual data based on our new understanding of the organism's shape and also contains vibrational data based on mathematical patterns exchanged with the object earlier.

New transmission shows one organism touching its trunk with one upper appendage, making vibrations, and then pointing towards the recording device. Communications team says that the organism is repeating this action, and the message itself is not a loop. First contact team believes this is an identifying vibration of some kind.

Entryway discovered in the object. First contact team hesitant to engage at this stage in communications.

First contact team has created a transmission encoding visual data based on the organisms and simplified visual data of their own appearance. Transmission shows the organism making touching its trunk and making the vibration recorded, then gesturing to our stand-in character. This character then touches its trunk and makes a vibration. The team has decided to use the old [untranslatable] vibration for "learner" as their identifying vibration.

No transmission from the object since latest broadcast.

What did you think? Did you really expect a bunch of little green men or guys with crap glued on their foreheads?
I wasn't expecting that!
The fuck do we do?
We can't run away, that net'll have us in no time.
I don't think they're trying to catch us, they've really been trying to communicate.
And if that screeching is how they communicate it's been an uphill battle I'm sure.
I don't think they're going to try to hurt us, if that was the plan it would have happened already.
Do they have weapons?
They got two ships here in the time it took us to slow down, I'm pretty sure they could blow us up if they wanted.
We don't have any choice here, we were sent to explore the planet and make contact if there was anything there. Clearly, something's there.
I don't like this.
The atmosphere's almost identical to ours, we should be able to at least breathe the same air. And that means we can sit together and try to talk.
This would be so much easier with a translator.
Well, tell you what, how about you get kidnapped and enslaved for a while and then they can use you as a translator when the next ship shows up.
Taylor!
What? It's how it used to get done.
We're going to be okay.
Okay, well, how do we do this?
How big are they?
What?
Well, I mean they made the cartoon look the same size as us, but they don't know how big we are and I don't think we can exactly introduce them to the metric system with how far we've gotten communications-wise.
Shit.
One of us should go EVA.
What, and just wave at the ship?
Would you rather invite them on board and find out they're too big to fit?
We should go to the planet
And do this around more of those things? No thank you.
I'll go. I'll go out there and if they let me on their ship I'll try to relay communications back to you guys.
You don't have to do this.
We have to do this.

Activity at the entryway.

One of the organisms has emerged from the entryway. It appears to have some kind of outer equipment providing propulsion. It is moving towards the first contact vessel.

The organism has stopped halfway between the object and the first contact vessel.

[untranslatable] from the first contact team has volunteered to meet the organism.

[untranslatable] and the organism are engaging in physical gestures. [untranslatable] is confident that contact is proceeding well.

[untranslatable] has communicated to the organism that it should come to the first contact vessel. The organism is following. Contact will continue in a sealed room on board the first contact vessel to prevent any contamination in the event that the organism is emitting or carrying anything hazardous.

The organism is on board.

The organism is no longer moving. First contact team believes it is deceased. Awaiting full report.

First contact team report:
Organism A came aboard the vessel after communicating through gestures with [untranslatable]. Organism A removed one piece of equipment, which we believe to be a propulsion device and not necessary for life support. It was permitted to retain all other equipment, including what we now believe to be a protective outer garment. [untranslatable] and Organism A boarded directly into sealed contact room, and did not interact with any other crew members. Shortly after coming on board, Organism A began gesturing towards its upper, round appendage with the two upper-trunk appendages. It removed the top portion of the protective outer garment, exposing the top appendage. The large orifice was open and making intense vibrations and the two smaller paired orifices were closed and remained so. The two lower appendages bent at the middle and the articulation points came down to touch the floor. It then bent just above the point where the lower appendages meet, folding over itself. The vibrations continued for a brief period, followed by the organism tilting to one side and ceasing all movement. It was observed that Organism A was leaking a small quantity of fluid from two previously unknown orifices on the top appendage. After screening for potentially harmful gasses and microorganisms, it has been decided that Organism A is non-toxic and dissection is scheduled.

Dissection results:
Organism consists of soft-walled cells containing smaller organelles. These cells are grouped together based on function. Soft tissue is attached to a hard interior system of support structures. Support structure is comprised of inflexible hard tissue connected by stretchy materials at articulation points. Large orifice in the top appendage connects through the support tube to both the digestive system and a pair of spongy organs that may process gas. Smaller paired "orifices" actually small openings that house round organs of unknown importance. It is potentially possible that these are sensory organs for detecting electromagnetic radiation. Two additional orifices discovered in the top appendage connecting to the larger one through a series of internal filters. The two orifices on the sides of this appendage appear to be too badly damaged for speculation as to their purpose. Organism is filled with several different types of fluid, although the primary fluid appears to be the one that it was leaking at the time of death. A small, possibly vestigial orifice was discovered near the center of the torso, more of an indentation than anything else. Potentially an old battle wound? Below this, a soft, tubular appendage much smaller than the others that did not contain any support structure, and a loose sac containing two organs of unknown purpose. A final orifice was discovered behind these that was later identified as the end of the digestive system. The organism was wearing a protective outer garment in addition to several layers of soft, presumably decorative garments. The only areas exposed before removal of these decorative garments were the ends of the upper-trunk appendages, the top appendage, and the connecting tube. It has been observed that these areas are most used in the organisms' attempts to communicate.

First contact team recommends further deliberation before a second attempt at contact.

First contact team is struggling with the best way to communicate to the remaining organisms about the demise of Organism A. [untranslatable] is concerned that current proposed methods may be interpreted as threatening.

You heard him.
The fuck did they do?
I don't know.
What do we do now, just wait for them to come in here and kill us all.
I don't think they did it on purpose.
How do you accidentally do that to someone?
We don't even know what happened to him
They fucking murdered him, that's what.
Maybe there was something on the ship
He started screaming before the helmet came off, long before.
It could have been something the suit didn't protect against, something they didn't even know was a
Oh my god will you stop apologizing for those fucking monsters!  They killed him, what more do you need?
What are you going to do, then? You gonna start shooting things? Where does that get us?
At least we can take a couple of them with us.
And if it was an accident?
How the fuck is that an accident?
Guys, stop it. This isn't getting us anywhere.
Kill or be killed, you know it.
We can't kill them, we don't even know what they're made of.
How many do you think are on there?
We can't fight them, guys.
Do you want that happening to us?

First contact team is operating under the theory that the physical structure of the organisms may be damaged by [untranslatable] communication. Organism A began displaying what is now believed to be signs of distress when [untranslatable] other team members. All future contact with the organisms will be conducted through vibrations and no [untranslatable] will be permitted within the vicinity of the organisms.

CAN YOU BELIEVE THE FUCKING GALL? I JUST HEARD WE'RE SUPPOSED TO GET APPROVAL FOR NEW THREADS BEFORE WE POST THEM! WHAT THE SHIT IS THAT FUCKDAMN, ANYWAY? WHO DOES THIS CRAMULUS THINK HE IS?

[you are a fucking moron that can't tell what's good for you.]

Yeah, you know what? It finally dawned on me exactly why I hate these smarmy fucks.

No, it's not that they don't believe in gay people. That's a load of horseshit, for sure, but there was something else going on there that was getting under my fucking skin.

No, it's not the assumption that the only "win" state in relationships is a life-long, monogamous partnership. While I vehemently disagree, too many people are too into that idea for me to be mad about it.

No, the problem is that unlike advertisements for other dating sites, eHarmony gleefully tells you that you are a fucking moron that can't tell what's good for you. You are too goddamned stupid to figure out what kind of person you want to be with, so you need this algorithm to find them for you. If you go looking somewhere else for somebody to love, you are an idiot and you will be sorry.

(For examples, see: dating is for morons, trust the computer, you're always a bridesmaid because you won't answer our questions, and your marriage will fail because you didn't find each other on our site.)

I was watching the interview with one of the Zimmerman jurors saying that she felt bad because he got away with murder, and it seems like jury nullification should have been an option for them. Obviously, nullification resulting in a conviction instead of an acquittal is less effective because appeals are a possibility, but I can't see anything in the materials I'm reading that says jury nullification can't be used that way. If, by the letter of the law, a murder is legal it should be a possibility for a jury to declare the defendant guilty because the law itself is wrong and a not guilty verdict would be unjust.

With a lot of the other stuff going on, the Zimmerman case isn't the only thing that's got me thinking about it, but I feel like it's a good jumping off point to start conversations with people and maybe raise enough awareness to make a difference in jury pools.

I've been reading materials from FIJA, but it'd be good to bounce things off the board. More folks with functioning bullshit filters looking at source material is always a big help

I don't have enough people coming over for Tuesday dinner, anyone free? This week's theme is ball-shaped foods.

Your enemy will not challenge you.
Your enemy appreciates your complacency, your arrogance and self-involvement.
Your enemy does not want you to think.
Your enemy wants you to burrow deeper into the comforts of echo chambers, of sub-sub-cultures and entertainment, fantasy and other self-inflicted wounds.
Your enemy does not want you to reexamine your beliefs.
Your enemy wants you to SHUT UP.
But it will settle for you screeching like a fucking chimp on steroids about ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING BUT the problem.
Your enemy loves it when you get butthurt.

You think your friends should be the ones who treat you nicely and never make you uncomfortable, but THOSE ARE NOT FRIENDS. They are cabbages and they are tricking you into putting on a uniform and turning off your brain before those dangerous thoughts in your head infect someone else. Your friends are the ones who tell you that you're acting like a fucking moron. Your friends know every flavor of bullshit you're selling and remind you not to eat the menu while you're at it. Sometimes, your friends are NOT NICE AT ALL.

Because the world isn't nice, babycakes. And you, you who have chosen to take on the most powerful people in the world specifically because they are too powerful, you crumple at the slightest criticism? You who should be embracing every moment of battle experience before the big fight, you let your identity override your mission? You, who should be terrible and awesome, who should eat and shut hate like a goddamned aphid, absorbing so little into yourself that the output could be bottled for resale, you whimper at cusses?

Did you not get the memo? We're the bad guys. Good guys do as their told and toe the line and gulp down propaganda like greedy orphans and ask for more. Good guys sit down and shut up. We are not the heroes. We are the FUCKING RESISTANCE. We are the malcontents, the unstable ones, the blight on humanity. We are the ASSHOLES.

Good guys don't make history.
Good guys don't do well in Interesting Times.
All you have to decide is if you're going to let your hurt little feelings get in the way. All you have to decide is if you're ready to be a thing that goes bump in the night.
There's no padding, here, no foam darts and molded plastic. The real fucking world is out there ready to get its ass kicked, babycakes. You in, or are you out?

Once upon a time Queen Gogira went for a walk and tripped on the broken sidewalk. She fell straight forward and ripped the skin right off the bottom of her chin, so deep they said that if it had been a clean cut there would have been stitches involved. But there were no stitches, because there was nothing to stitch up, it was just gone.

And SWEET MERCIFUL FUCK did it hurt, and QG did wail and sob as her wound was tended to. And she had to go to school with a giant bandage covering her chin, and for many months there was a scab as the layers of flesh grew back over the spot. And yea, she did pick at it like a moron, making the whole process take longer. In the end, there was a scar, one that she carried with her all her days.

And Nigel said unto QG "That sucks! I'm sorry that happened!"
And Doktor Howl said "This, too, will be okay someday!"
And Twid said "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help!"
And LMNO said "I know there's a dick joke in here somewhere..."

But, lo, from the north! The voice of RWHN came down from the woods and boomed "WHAT IS THIS? YOU HAVE BEEN INJURED! HAD THAT SIDEWALK NOT BEEN IN SUCH TERRIBLE DISREPAIR, NONE OF THIS WOULD HAVE COME TO PASS! SOMETHING MUST BE DONE!"

And QG said "It's fine, really guys. I mean, it kinda hurt and all, but I'm going to be okay."

But RWHN persisted "WE MUST REPAIR THIS BROKEN SIDEWALK, BEFORE THE CHILDREN WALK THERE AND ARE INJURED! THE TOWN IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS TRAGIC TURN OF EVENTS! COME ON, GUYS, WE CAN'T LET THEM GET AWAY WITH THIS! TO THE COMMITTEE!"

Thus RWHN went to the committee to lodge a formal complaint against the town for the cracked sidewalk, while QG went and got rambledrunk with everyone else.

http://www.nsa.gov/public_info/_files/cryptologs/cryptolog_08.pdf

Because it looks so much like the Principia I can't even...

He was a dick, Hinkleman. He was a dick to you and a dick to his wife and a dick to everyone he ever interacted with, there's no "hidden nice side" all of us are forgetting or glossing over. He was a dick when he was healthy and a dick when he was sick and I swear to fucking Zod in the Phantom Zone if there is any kind of an afterlife at all he is there being a dick right now. You don't have to feel bad about it. Seriously, how many second chances did he get? How many times were you sitting there by his hospital bed with the doctors saying "THIS IS FUCKING IT, FOR REALS THIS TIME" and he just sat there being a dick at your brother and you and everyone up to and including the doctors who were trying to save his fucking worthless life. Really? You're going to act horrified at that one? Yeah, I know he was a dick because untreated mental illness, but do you remember why it went untreated? Because he was a dick every time someone offered help. It's not like he didn't know there was a problem, and it's not like it wasn't fucking treatable. It's not like it was goddamned dementia, he just didn't want to bother taking any amount of time figuring out his own shit so he could stop being a dick at all of you. The bastard dug his heels in and wouldn't do it. Like a goddamn three year old. Christ, man, it's not like he was an idiot. He knew this was his one chance on the merry go round. This life we have, this world of motion, it's the only place where the caterpillar can turn into the butterfly, and he wasted it. Had more time than a lot of us will, and no shortage of chances to do something with himself. But no. He spent his whole life making sure that he would always stay what he was, and that was a dick. He didn't want to be better, so fuck him.

Let's go get drunk.

https://www.eff.org/node/74804

Short version: shouldn't have been tried in NJ, unprotected pages can't be "unauthorized access" under the law, postcards are not losses, 

so youhad some fun with the caps thing,,,im good with that...also i realize that i kind of threw that stuff out shotgun like,,,like crap so i stand corrected,,i need to back up and slow down...didnt know id be gunned down by all you paper carrying phi beta capa hooters,,,you scholastic cum lottas and not to forget queermous the caps god and that sharpie guy that graduated "hand in lappa"....your basic kindof great bunch of guys to chat with even though i ve never done chat shit before,,just thought i d try my hand at it...my credentials are longer than yours..ha!...the manuscript BOOK OF LOVE--THE FACTS OF LIFE--unpublished as of yet,cant seem to get help,,,also copywritten --THE ALLERGIC REACTION FINDER--so simple a 6/7 year old can read it and find whats causing their reaction...hint big hint;;;its not any of THE 8 FOOD GROUPS LIE THE a.m.a.spewed out along with other lies...excuse me as some of you wi8ll pretend noy to knowa.m.a. is american medical assosciation....and jonas salk found the polio vaccine,,polio was a MEDical blunder causing untold suffering on millions of children...just a little blunder...no ones guilty????course they kill and maim at free will along with pharmaceutical giants ,,,together they are responsible for-----yea right lets not forget those nose pickers the psyco people,the psychiatrist,,who at their whim hand out powerful suicidal mind altering drugs that they and no one else should dispense..
. anyway i have a list of 20 or so {"cures"]you see as stated jonas salk polio vaccine was the last cure in the 1950s,none since,,,this should be enough for anyone to want to find the truth...they are not really looking for cures because they couldnt afford to lose not one multi billion dollar disease..its big bussiness to get sick and die. thats what they want you sheeple to do,die!!! pure greed and power,,,.smart people live in another country,,,rich people dont eat the petro chemical food and drink they feed you.............

I just, I don't even, no words.

This is a story about how trying to stomp the utter bastards will get you stomped.

I have a bunch written down on paper, I'll get it up as I can (still out of town) and I'll be begging for input on how to make it work better as a parable. Short version: Ulric the Utter Bastard is the Town Manager in the Sinking Lands in the region of Prickle. Some young Discordian gets the idea in their head that the Utter Bastard must be stopped, so s/he gathers a posse to do some stomping, but the posse keeps bringing up other people who are also bastards, and they decide they're going to stomp all the bastards. They go to Ulric's house first, and Ulric takes control of the mob and has them kill the Discordian, because that's what Utter Bastards do.

Go for a walk somewhere you've never been. Wander around until you get lost and find your way back home again. Take a different walk tomorrow. Salt your data. Leave your phone at home sometimes, take out the batteries or let it run down to empty for shits and giggles. Leave it in the car overnight. Get a new facebook. Get seven LinkedIns. Update them all infrequently and with conflicting information. Encrypt your grocery lists. Learn to fingerspell. Go to a different restaurant, shop at different stores. Take a different stop on the subway and walk the rest. Show up for work early at random intervals, and just sit in the parking lot. Learn all the different long ways home.

Make new friends. Reconnect with people from high school. Talk with the homeless people at the bus station (you can bribe them with a sandwich if you don't know how to start a conversation). Go to a club full of pretty people. Spend three hours at the library reading things and never checking them out. Go to political rallies for your ideological foes. Pop into a church on Wednesday.

Humans are creatures of habit, so make new habits you can take with you in your unpredictable life. A morning sudoku. A fidget toy. Mismatched socks on Thursdays. Don't worry about it being too silly or to small, you're just reprogramming your security blanket settings. Because you should be able to go about your business and not have anyone tracking your movements, logging your emails and phone calls, listing your associates and political affiliations. You should have your freedom to assemble, to speak, to security in your own property and privacy, but as long as the only thing keeping the cameras off your back is the discretion of a bored contractor you don't have any of it. Salt your data.

Don't wait until you have a reason to do it, then it will look suspicious that you have changed your activities and the powers that be will use this fact against you in a secret court of secret law. Don't assume you're safe, today it's Muslims in American and Trans people in Greece, but tomorrow it could be Buddhists in England or Single Parents in Brasil. Even if it's never you, you have a responsibility to make life difficult for those who would indiscriminately spy on and harass the citizens of the world so they can sleep better at night.

Or Kill Me.

It's here: http://www.flowersofmalden.com/

Because how many lines will you cross before you admit to yourself that you're retreating?
How long can you lie to yourself about what you've given up, and the nothing you've received in exchange?
How can you sit there, comfortable in the cell that you built for yourself when outside you see they're nailing people to the fucking wall?
YOUR PEOPLE.
Because there isn't another time this can happen, no next year, next season. You can't sit around waiting for someone else to break out first, and there's nothing outside the prison but screaming oblivion. NO ONE IS COMING TO SAVE YOU.

It's time to break out.
Because the prison guards have their own cells they live in, they just gave each other permission to wander out and beat you from time to time.
Because the walls are closing in and it's not just your imagination this time, they're bringing in more iron every day and you, babycakes, you helped them install it so you could get your cookies for "good behavior."

Because we all have to die of something, and I'd rather get blown up than cancer.

Hello, my name is Gogira Pennyworth, and I'm addicted to drug threads.

I gotta iron it some more, and I made the waist a little tight so I'm gonna need to figure out a way to attach a button that can take it, but, yeah! Skirt!

Because we grew up in someone else's walls, and our own walls, and the walls of our parents and grandparents and back across the centuries and the windows just keep getting smaller and there's no such thing as a sledgehammer strong enough to tear the fucker down, and there's nothing outside the walls anyway.

We can't breathe.

And we wonder if every generation feels this fucked or if it's only special generations, special times, that get cornered so fucking hard that even staying in the lines becomes an impossible task because they drew the lines smaller than your body and how the hell are you supposed to fit in there?

We crave dystopian stories because they're familiar. We live and breathe for the moment of defeat, the moment he loves big brother, the moment he swings in the breeze, the moment she goes D-con. There are no good paths open to us, only bad paths and corrupt ones. The walls are ten miles high and made of granite. It's just this, forever and ever, and so many people seem blind to it that it's comforting to know at least one other person in the history of the human race has seen what we see and it won't make things get any better but at least you're not crazy.

Not uniquely crazy, anyhow.

But in the end if even our insanity isn't unique what on earth can we bring to the table? What possible use is there for 7 billion brains, most of them tied up in the same stories, barely capable of keeping up with the demands of daily function? What good is progress if we're killing ourselves in the process.

I wonder sometimes if I hadn't squandered so much of my mental energy on trying to be sane what I could have accomplished. Or maybe if I had fixed the problem sooner. I talk about myself in the past tense and remember practicing talking about her in the past tense, trying it on like an unwanted wedding gown - big and uncomfortable. When was the last time one person could do anything? She died because we think it's okay for the poor to get sick and the rich to get better, because she was a stubborn ass, because they didn't make her get help sooner.

For no damn reason.

It all happens for no damn reason, no matter how many stories we write about it and how hard we try to spin it, in the end it's just a couple people sitting around and trying to weave a fairytale of relevance around a life that probably didn't have much impact, but saying that's sacrilege. If only she'd been fighting an evil empire, taken down while rescuing others from a natural disaster, protecting the innocent from a mad man, if only there was a story that was worth it, but there never is. We just get ground down under the same machine and don't do enough to make it better and then we're gone and our kids are in the same boat. Over, and over, and over. And the guys who say "give me liberty" bleed, and their children live on, and they shoot Shays men and centuries later still no one is free.

So kill me.

Losing a loved one when you have a history of depression is like trying to play catch with a chainsaw.

With an eyepatch.

You know you're not going to catch that shit right, that's not even a fucking question. You can see the magnitude of the problem that's about to hit you, and there's ducking out of the way because then you're not playing catch at all, are you, you terrible person? And the other guy will probably chase after you with the chainsaw anyway because he'd have to be some flavor of sick bastard to be forcing you to play eyepatch-chainsaw-catch in the first place and no, this metaphor doesn't make a lot of sense. You can see it coming, you can recognize "this is going to suck" but you have no idea when it's going to happen.

You just sit there in the hospital room and something objectively horrifying happens, and you go "man, that's going to suck later" and you get on with this because it's not about you right now it's about the person dying in the bed. And then they're gone, and everyone goes "I'm so sorry" and "is there anything I can do to help?" and you put them on little tasks for this and that or bigger things that you can't handle but they can and everyone thinks "HOORAY I'M HELPING" and you're still sitting there and you can see the chainsaw's already in the air but you have no depth perception and you don't know when it's going to hit you.

And then it does.

But by then all the people have gone away and the ones who are still around have moved on to worrying about their own things which are totally legit things and you can't bother them because well they helped months ago and we're doing something else now didn't you get the memo and you're just standing there with a stump of an arm and you don't know how to make it better and there's still three more chainsaws in the air.

You get one vote. You can change votes up until polls close on Sunday. Winner announced on Monday.

This needs to happen. Post availability here.

[Neutral Waffle Base]

Neutral Waffle Base

     > 2 cups flour
     > 2 eggs
     > 1 3/4 cup milk
     > 1/2 cup vegetable oil
     > 4 teaspoons baking powder

This waffle is ready for you to add any flavor or combination of flavors to it. You can also just add a little sugar and have normal people waffles.

Tomorrow waffle night will be upon me again. Previous waffle nights have featured such fare as:

     * Waffled chicken patties (cooked chicken + breadcrumbs + egg)
     * Waffled black bean burgers (black bean burger recipe, waffled)
     * Waffled hash browns
     * Womlettes
     * Waffled burgers (not interested in doing that again, too messy)
     * Waffle biscuits
     * Radish waffle (smells terrible cooking)
     * Avocado and sundried tomato waffle


So, what horrors should I unleash this time? No fish, no shellfish, and nothing crazy expensive, please.

Seriously, guys, I fkn cannot concentrate on logo design today. I need to make three logos for a barbershop in an hour and a half. Commence the yelling.

You missed this yesterday:



We have to make horrible monster babbies together. For SCIENCE. For MEXICO.

[sad]

I need a hug because some people died in a place I hang out and a lot more people got hurt. It was unexpected and frightening.
I need a hug because the media went FULL ON APESHIT and wouldn't shut up about something that ultimately is Tuesday in Baghdad.
I need a hug because I had to extract my grieving father from the news coverage so he could go back downstairs and submit most of his email correspondence for the last two years for discovery in the law suit the company he founded has levied against him.
I need a hug because my sister is useless and I'm stuck with her.
I need a hug because my husband is far away.
I need a hug because I spent all week cleaning out my mother's craft supplies in the attic, and kept having to fight the thought "leave that alone, she's going to come back to that" because she's fucking not.
I need a hug because we had to split up her jewelry and all I could think about was how she wouldn't want me to have any of the nice things and that she'd rather they go to my sister.
I need a hug because baking is expensive and inefficient therapy.
I need a hug because assholes live in my town and I don't know how to make them stop.
I need a hug because my facebook feed is full of FUCK YEAH about something that really everyone should be sad about. It's sad that two kids got fucked up enough to want to do that shit. It's sad that one of them had to be killed and the other seriously wounded before he was captured. It's sad that we had to shut down a city to make sure those two particular rabid dogs were removed from society.
It's sad my mom's gone and my dad's drifting and my sister's unable to make the leap to adulthood.
I need a hug.

Some days they tell me the Desert is coming and it will eat us all but I know better. Oh, the Desert is a strong thing, stronger than my poor meatsac brain can hope to comprehend and that's a fact, but it's not me the Desert is going to be fighting. No, a long time ago we knew what we were up against, when the gears started turning and we clothed the world in the dusty tears of children. We knew we couldn't face it alone. No man can. So we broke every promise we ever made to ourselves and turned to the enemy of our ancestors, sitting proud upon his throne in the northern wastes. And he smiled, and he said "yes, children, I will take you in." We consummated the relationship in Halifax to the tune of 2.9 kilotons of TNT.
The Desert can't claim us, we already belong to another.

[Zero Structural Integrity Peanut Butter Cookies]

Zero Structural Integrity Peanut Butter Cookies

     > 1 cup peanut butter (creamy or crunchy)
     > 1 cup brown sugar
     > 1 egg

Preheat oven to 350
Mash together everything in a bowl
Scoop out onto ungreased cookie sheets (optionally lined with parchment paper).
(Optional: mash flat with fork dipped in granulated sugar)
Cook for not very long
Take out of the oven when edges are firm but the centers are still mushtastic.
Leave on the cookie sheet until you're afraid they'll start burning
Transfer to wire rack


FAQ:
Can I add stuff to these cookies?
Yes! Remember that the more stuff you add the more they will crumble.

I made these cookies and they have structural integrity, what did I do wrong?
Those cookies are burnt.

Can I make these cookies with a non-zero value for structural integrity?
Yes. Add a couple tablespoons of flour. More flour = more structural integrity.

So, since that thread started up again, what do folks want shipped out in celebration once we hit page 75? Anyone who's interested should pipe in with allergy information and PM a shipping address.

QG is in no way responsible for any violence that occurs as a result of the receipt or consumption of baked goods

I have a book that I acquired for free at some ridiculous new age conference thing (me and a bunch of friends went to laugh at dumb people) that I'm planning on turning into word salad. It's full of delicious words like "Zoroastrianism" and biblical references, should be entertaining.

Has anyone done one of these before, and if so, any tips?

You have to help me. I'm sorry to impose, but there's just too much fuck in my head. I tried to get it out with a puppy, a chick, and a basket of bunnies, but the fuck just said that huge grin is big enough to eat those bunnies in one bite and it only looks like a smile because we're backwards monkeys that think baring teeth is a nice thing as long as the corners of your mouth are turned up and then I had to go away before it happened. I'm sorry. I don't want to infect you with the fuck.
They think it's in the water, but it's not. The fuck is a word and it's a word you don't know because they never taught us but we talk around it all the time, spinning huge narratives of garbage trying to get to the word and it's not just bad because grapes can go bad and grapes can't be fuck. The fuck gets caught in your throat and claws out a hole in your rib cage and makes you feel like you're going to vomit but nothing happens because that's how the fuck is. The fuck is nothing happening. The fuck is the itch you can't scratch, laughing at you. The fuck eats all the things you do and everyone you love and leaves them yellow deflated husks. The fuck nailed up all the fire exits.
The fuck got in and its claws are down in my muscles and its teeth are in my eye sockets and I can't get it out and it keeps getting bigger and I'm afraid my head will split like Zeus and out will pop a fully grown fuck and I don't know what it will do but it can't be anything good and I need to get this fuck out of me before it eats me like it eats everyone else and I knew this was going to happen, that's why I wanted to finish things when I was young and thought that the fuck was a thing you could fight or reason with and make it go away but that's not what the fuck is, the fuck is bigger than all the gods and demons and it likes it when we make imaginary friends to fight it because it distracts us while the fuck gets to dig its claws in deeper and it's already in me and I tried, I really tried to get rid of the fuck but here it is. And I shouldn't be talking to you because you might get the fuck too.
Of course, you probably already have.

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/americas/cheerleader-must-compensate-school-that-told-her-to-clap-rapist-2278522.html

A teenage girl who was dropped from her high school's cheerleading squad after refusing to chant the name of a basketball player who had sexually assaulted her must pay compensation of $45,000 (£27,300) after losing a legal challenge against the decision.

There are asshats in another forum trying to defend this decision and it's overloading my rage circuits.

Don't know if I posted this here before

I once made a batch of cookies called "Apricot Bastards"
They were supposed to be Apricot Pinwheels
But the wax paper broke
And they turned into a homogeneous mess
Of walnuts,
apricot jam,
and dough
I rolled them up anyway
And shipped them away
They were so delicious, someone got shot at.

*Note* not sure if this may get used elsewhere, no copies for now

I'm afraid to open my mouth
I'm afraid if I open my mouth, this scream will come out
No, not a scream
A sob? a wail?
Yes, that's it, a wail
Like a banshee
That's what the ghost of my mother called it
In the dream I had last night
We were talking about something
And I don't remember the words we used
But it was great and terrible and real
It was the gavel that said it was worse to violate a website
Than a sixteen year old girl
It was the sound of shipping lines
That drowned the songs of the deep
It was the waterhose in the Maldives
And the pepperspray at UC Davis
And the sticks they brought to Dewey Square
It was the weight of the world
And it was on me
It was mine
I knew it was mine because of what was written on the whiteboard
I opened my mouth to say something
About how we couldn't ignore this
And we weren't going to
And something was going to be done
And I was going to do it
But the words got caught
And what came out wasn't them
It came out loud and ragged and incoherent
It shook my shoulders and forced out tears
Like a baby
And I couldn't stop it
It tore through me
It ravaged my throat
Like the dream where I vomited glass
And she smiled
And said
"That's a good wail."

*Note* I am not sure if I may want to do something with this in the future, so the following is not available for copying/bending/folding/mutilating at the present time.


This is a piece of paper. If you examined it carefully, you would notice that it is ruled with blue horizontal lines marching down the page in neat half-inch steps after the inch margin at the top, and a faint red line down the left margin that borders on the pink range of the spectrum. You would also notice that along the left edge of the paper there are two separate areas that have been torn unevenly, indicating that this paper was once part of a larger notebook, and that the person who removed it therefrom was not overly careful about following the perforation when the time came to do so. You would notice the small area near the bottom where two of the blue lines have become diffused and the paper slightly warped, as one might expect if a small quantity of clear liquid had fallen on the page and been allowed to dry.

If you examined it less carefully, you would see that it was a note. The contents of the note might lead you to make some assumptions about the haste with which it was removed from the notebook, or the evidence of past spots of wetness.

The note is being held by a man with a gold shield sitting on his belt prominently displayed. The man does not wear a uniform, although there are other men around him who do. He holds the note with a gloved hand carefully, making note of the handwriting and mentally judging the mental state of the presumed author. He shakes his head as he eliminates the impossible and decides that whatever remains, however unlikely, must be the truth.

Earlier this same day, the same man stood in a different room surrounded by uniforms and men and women moving quickly and with purpose like only those who have missed the climax of a confrontation can. That room contained two dead men. One of the dead men had lead the man with the shield to this room, where there were no dead men but only this note, and all the things that the man had to believe were true as a result.

Pictures are being taken, just as pictures were taken in the room that stank of blood and old cigarettes. Files are being created, filled with reports and photographs. Two dead men lie in refrigerated boxes, awaiting people with scalpels to slice them into causes of death and certificates. There will be paperwork, the man knows. There will be analysis. The case will be closed. He puts down the paper and prays for sanity. Later, he settles for alcohol.

This is what the note says:

I'm sorry. I'm sorry to whoever's reading this. I probably should have taken care of this myself, but I don't think I have the nerve and besides, I need to make sure he goes with me. I can't let him do this to anyone else.

I didn't know what was happening at first. I think we all sometimes do things that we later regret. But it wasn't that I was regretting things, no, I was doing things that didn't make any sense at all. I'd be standing there in the middle of an argument, thinking "why am I doing this?" and all of a sudden other thoughts would be in my head and they weren't my thoughts but I didn't know it at first so I just made excuses. We all make excuses for ourselves. That's probably how he got away with it for so long.

I know, now, that the kids who killed my wife were no more responsible for their actions than I was when I quit my job at the University. I didn't know it when I hunted them down, and I am sorry to their families for everything I did, but that wasn't my fault either. I never would have done that. I would have called the police, I would have seen them arrested and sent to prison. The things I did to them... it makes me sick to think about it now. I know that sounds like one of those fake fucking politician apologies, but I mean it. I'm sorry. He's fucked us all and we didn't even know it. How could we?

He killed my wife. He killed her off because he wanted me to be a normal man pushed over the edge by grief. It's not even a good story. He killed my wife because he had a statement to make about vigilantism and the impotence of the state. He killed my wife because he wanted to be Batman, and the closest he could get was writing me into him, but he fucked it up anyway. I didn't know until I saw it there in the bookstore, mocking me from the display stand. It was a fast read, I'd already lived it.

I have to hurry, I think he's taking a break before he starts on the next book, I haven't felt any of those moments where I wasn't in control for a few months now, but I know he'll start up again soon and when he does I won't be able to stop him. I have to stop him. I found his house and that's where you'll find me, when this is done. I'm going to make the police take care of me. I don't think I have the balls to do it myself. He made me a murderer. No one should have to live with this. He won't do it to anyone else.

If you're the police, I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to come into this. I hope you understand why I couldn't live with the memories of the thing he turned me into. I wasn't always like this.

Please forgive me.

This is a piece of paper. It has been folded repeatedly and hidden away somewhere that a niece is sure to find, but the police will not. The note is shorter than it's counterpart. It says:

I'm sorry, I've made him a murderer again. I swear, I didn't know until I saw it in the newspaper. Please forgive me.

He had the moral fortitude of a ham sandwich.

His sense of empathy, likewise, was comparable to that of deli meats - although it is important to note that such comparisons would likely fall in favor of the meat if it had been in the fridge long enough.  His business sense, aesthetics, emotional depth, critical thinking skills... really when it came right down to it if it weren't for his hyper-inflated sense of self-importance it would have been very difficult to discern his mental abilities from those of any given inanimate object. He was, in short, an asshole.

At length, he was a gaping, cavernous sphincter from which nothing of value had - or ever would - emerge, which greedily consumed all within its immediate vicinity regardless of sanitary concerns or the physical limits of muscle and flesh, which permanently and terribly defiled everything in its direct presence and for miles downwind, coating everything in its influence with an invisible layer of filth that seeped into cloth and flesh and only grew worse with the attempts to scrub it away. He was the kind of man who took it as a compliment when you called him an asshole, because he didn't understand the fundamental difference between "someone who gets the job done" and "someone who ruins everything he touches by virtue of being morally, intellectually, and emotionally bankrupt."

He thought that ADHD was an adequate excuse for a transcript only a short-bus parent could be proud of, and blamed his privileged upbringing for all manner of personal failings. He fretted over the people and families that depended on his business for precisely long enough to inflate his own ego before scrapping them one by one, devouring his business from the inside out by insisting on cutting not just corners but whole sides, funneling his personal wealth into vanity projects which he coerced his ever-shrinking workforce to add to their existing load.

He challenged her sense of identity, as there were many things she would like to claim that she would "never wish on anyone" that she wished upon him on a daily basis. There were few things in the world that would have made her more happy than him getting hit by a bus,  and most of those things were along the lines of "him getting hit by a train" or "him getting hit by several buses consecutively."

Could someone get me a new set of eyes? These ones don't seem to be working right anymore. I mean, they're fine for general use, traffic signs and menu options and whatnot. I can even force them to work while I'm writing if I'm very careful and take breaks every couple or words. But sometimes it's all too much and they start to lose definition in the periphery and then the cone of blurry darkness tunnels down and I just have to reboot them and try again. I haven't been able to find anything in the users manual to troubleshoot this problem.

I think my eyes are broken, because they won't read things anymore. Short things, maybe, but never long ones. Two sentences in and it all smudges together into incoherent syllables of gibberish. It's a shame, I really liked these ones. I know they've had some problems from the get-go, but it's hard to find ones in a shade that's got some depth to it. I hope they don't stick me with grey for the replacements. They'll replace them, right? They have to, these ones aren't working. I can't go around with eyes that aren't working.

Could you help me with my eyes? They're not working at all like they used to, I can't seem to do anything with them any more, it's just a mess. I think I hit a dog with my car the other sau,. nut O dpm't know/ {;ease hel[/me/ I'm dalling apart and I con't know how I can dix it/ Upi cam dox o. eohjt? cp,espme jas tp dox ot/ O camt sp pm like this. O cam
t/ O can't fp arpimd wotj nrplem eues

Dear sweetie,

I love you. You know I do. It's the love that exists like the sunrise and the mountains: reliable and easy to take for granted but spectacular when you remember to look up. I love you like no one else is worth making out with. I love you to the moon and back.

But goddamn are you The Loudest Guy In The Room.

No, no one on the other end of the phone is having any trouble hearing you. Absolutely not. I have been on the phone with you, sir, and your phone functions quite adequately for the task at hand. Stop yelling.

No, you do not need to talk at full volume when my ear is actually resting on your chest. You know, that place where your loud-as-fuck lungs live? Yeah. Stop shouting at the TV. Seriously.

No, you are not "being assertive" when you bully people out of the conversation like that. Yes, you bullied them. No, they were not agreeing with you. Stop pretending to be a retard.

I love you.

SHUT THE FUCK UP.

Fuck off
Go away
No one ever liked you
No, not even me
I don't know why I put up with you for so long.

Don't pretend you didn't see this coming
I never mattered to you, either
Just a safe place to hide
From the cold
You didn't even ask to be let in.

I should have listened to my friends
When they said you were no good
But I was too proud
And too dumb
And too trusting.

So I let things slide
And I hoped that you'd get better
That if I was patient
And kind
Things would resolve themselves.

I was only a kid.

I remember that night,
The light by my bedstand
When I finally had enough
And tried to make you leave
And found it hurt too much.

I was ashamed
Of myself
Of you
Of the pain
So I hid it, pretended it didn't matter.

And you dug your fucking heels in
Bastard that you are
Wheedling your way into my life
And my body
Like it's a thing you already own

No more of this bullshit.

I will boil you in acid
And I will drag you out by force
I'll cut you down
And throw you out
With the rest of the morning garbage

And it will hurt,
I know it hurts
And this hole you leave in me
May never, ever heal
I just have to hope it will.

Because I'd rather spend my life
Walking around
With a goddamn hole in my foot
Than spend one more minute
With you.

I{ have|'ve}{ been|} {{working|thinking|writing} too long|spending{ entirely|} too much time {thinking|writing|working}} {with|in} spinner{ syntax|}. {The human|A} mind is{n't| not} {intended|supposed|meant} to {function|work} {like this|in such a {ridiculous |{patently |}absurd |}fashion|this way}. A sentence {is {intended|supposed|meant} to|should} {have {a single|one} path to follow|only follow one path|{progress|move} in a {single|straight} line|be singular}, word choices {are not supposed to|{ought|should} {never|not}} be random.{ Phrases should{n't | not} be {left out|dropped|removed} {at the whim of a random selection|on a whim|wholesale}{, nor should {whole|entire} sentences|}.|} It{ is|'s} enough to {make you{r brain bend| {scream|cry out}| {begin|start} thinking in {complex|branches|onion skins{ one thought inside another{ {more and more|further down the|piling on more|delving into more} layers until {you can't even tell|it's not clear} where you {began|started} or why{ and the end{ing|}s {arrive|show up|come|happen} long before {the words are done|you finish writing}{ and you get {stuck|caught up} in the {fjords|branches} of infinitely complex borders{ like in a dream where you {begin|start} to look at something and the more attention you pay to it the bigger it gets until you{ just| simply|} can{ not|'t} focus on anything else{ and everything becomes so intense that you just want to run away but you can't {get away from|escape|elude|hide from} it: it's everything around you and everything you are|}|}|}|}|}|}}|r head hurt|r mind {break down|malfunction}}|drive you mad}{ under the {strain|pressure}|}. It's {not meant to be that way, written in branches|perverse, {abusing|muddling|mutilating|violating} {the |}language like that}. It's like a quantum multi-paragraph{, seen from above|}, the way you see {all {potential|possible} paths|every possible path|all the paths that could have been} in {a single|one} {muddled|incomprehensible|incoherent|mixed up} whole. Enough to drive {a {wo|}man|{some|}one} to drink.

http://www.booksofadam.com/2012/06/tooth.html

and I suppose other people, but the guy's from Portland, so the girl in question is probably from the area too.

I believe in America.

A lot of people who are currently being labeled nasty, unpatriotic things love America, too. We sit up at night and talk about it. It tries our faith and wears us down, but this is Who We Are and damned if the shrieking apes are going to take that away from us. They don't own this place. They don't own the land, don't own the history, don't own the hopes and dreams and promise of a nation or a continent.

I believe that this is a Special Place. I believe that this is the place (in some ways, the only possible place) where mankind comes together after millennia apart to learn from each other and to find out what the future will hold. I believe in the Clovis people, in the Aztecs and the Mayans and the Olmecs, the Inuit and the Navajo and the Abanaqi and all the rest. I believe in the ruins of Pumapunku and ancient Roman boats and Templar Knights and South Pacific Islanders and wandering Hebrews and Welsh explorers and Vikings. I believe in them all, not because the dirty brown people needed white saviors, and not because the noble savages must be magically better than us nasty invaders. I believe in them because this is a place that draws us in. Because this is Holy Land. Because when you have grown as much as you can in the place where you were born, you must explore, and nowhere else in the world is so separated from every other land, so likely to catch up explorers looking for the edges of the earth, and so kind to those who survive the trip.

The Americas are a land of exiles and adventurers, rebels and malcontents and deviants. We are the second siblings on too-crowded islands, set adrift. We are the refugees of famine and disaster. We are the eldest sons sent out to find their fortune. We are the well-bred daughters of poor families. We are the heretics and criminals, and we are the survivors of genocide. We are forgetful, because we spend so much time looking forward that we fail to remember our past in anything more solid than myth and parable. We are always in motion, accelerating. We are plural - always plural - because we never were one family with one origin. We are the mutts of the world, and we are never, ever satisfied. We sometimes commit ecological suicide.

I believe this is a land of apocalypses. I believe in Easter Island statues and abandoned cities and dust bowls. I believe that the only way to continue existing as the proving ground for new ideas is to periodically wipe away the old and start over. I believe the world is watching, because everyone likes a show, and no one gives a show like the Americas. I believe we are special because we burn brightly and lead the way for the others.

And, in time, their explorers will find this land again.

http://theoatmeal.com/comics/tesla

it is NEVER TOO SOON to educate your children on the doucheyness of Edison, or the awesomeness of Tesla.

They don't count, not them. They're Temporary People. They live in houses they don't own, afraid to touch the walls and ceilings lest their Masters withhold their precious savings. They huddle together in sad little enclaves, dreaming wistfully of the day they can leave this place or defiantly claiming the space as theirs. Children call the refugee camp "home." It doesn't matter, they cannot stay. They are forever outsiders here, outsiders everywhere. They will roam the earth forever, wasting away without an education or meaningful employment. The fringes of society. Human refuse. Periodic sweeps of the affected areas are necessary to scare the criminal elements and remind the others of how gracious we have been in tolerating them.

Real People don't live like this. Real People have their own fortresses, white picket moats. Real People don't co-habitate with mice and roaches and roommates. They call the exterminator like the good lord intended.

You can get to the gym
lose a little weight
You can put that lumpy body back into shape

but it won't be enough.

You can buy some makeup
put it on like you care
you can get a pair of tweezers and pluck those nasty hairs

but it still won't be enough

You can read all the papers
Keep up with the news
You can join the revolution when it comes around to you

but it will never be enough

Because you were never pretty enough
Never smart enough
Never sane enough
Never nice enough
And you'll never be young enough again.


(apologies for the emo bullshit)