Virtual vehicles for the metaverse
Topics concerning that thing known as ‘real life’ and not virtual worlds.
Disaster strikes! CBC reports that there’s a problem with beer distribution in BC! I’ll begin stockpiling right away — buying up all the beer I can find!
Oh. Hold on. It only affects Molson’s and Labbatt’s. No problem then. I never drink that pissy stuff anyway.
About a year ago, I posted this entry on a temporary blog for my first blogiversary contest. Since that blog is no longer online, I might as well post it here. It’s a scene called “A Matter of the Utmost Urgency”. I should warn you — it’s painfully bad.
[Exterior, space. S.S. Interesting travels at hyper speed. Intro music.]
TURK [voice over]: Captain’s log, stardate two three four five… uhhh… six. Whatever. I just make those up anyway. We’re on course to rendezvous with Starbase 69 — a personal favorite of mine for R-and-R. And maybe a little S-and-M. Yes, that old starbase is home to the best sardines-and-mayonnaise this side of Rigel Four.
Or is it Rigel Five? Why do they number those damn planets anyway? In a hundred years of colonization, couldn’t they think of a name for their planet?
Anyway, I’ve called a meeting of the bridge officers to discuss a matter of the utmost ugency.
[Interior, meeting room. SPORK, BONER, and O’HARA sit around the table in silence. TURK enters and sits.]
TURK: Gentlemen.
O’HARA: And lady.
TURK: And… lady, of course.
O’HARA: I think you’d better start the meeting now, Captain.
TURK: Of course. I called this meeting to discuss a matter of the utmost ugency.
BONER: What is it, Tim? Hostile aliens?
TURK: No, Boner, it’s—
SPORK: Has Space Command given us a dangerous mission?
TURK: Uh… no. No, it’s not that—
O’HARA: Is it a tear in the space-time continuum, leading back to a time in our past, which will inevitably invoke a quantuum paradox?
[silence]
BONER: That was last week’s episode, O’Hara.
O’HARA: Oh. I took last week off, remember?
BONER: That’s right. How was the crab nebula? Is it as good as they say?
O’HARA: Well it’s mostly imitation crab now.
BONER: That’s a shame.
O’HARA: I hear the quality hit rock-bottom when they made a deal with the Hake system. Then the market floundered.
SPORK: Would anyone like some coffee?
[General assent. SPORK pours cups of coffee all around.]
TURK: I’m afraid that we have a very serious problem on our hands. We are running out of coffee.
[a collective gasp is heard]
We really have to get that air vent fixed.
Now, I understand your feelings, and I realize that we’re still weeks away from Starbase 69. But there’s no denying it: we have only enough coffee to last five more hours. In fact, these cups may be the among the last you’ll have. We need to explore some alternatives. Suggestions?
SPORK: We could synthesize a mild stimulant by fermenting Mr Fugu’s underpants. We could survive on Fugupants-extract for several days, and go without coffee altogether.
TURK: Altogether?
ALL OFFICERS: [together] We could survive on Fugupants-extract for several—
TURK: [cutting them off] Gentlemen! GENTLEMEN!
O’HARA: Ahem.
TURK: Gentle…uh…persons. Heh.
O’HARA: [under her breath] Oh, for crying out loud.
BONER: Tim, I respect Mr Spork’s expertise in this area, but… well, quite frankly, I’d rather throw myself into a pit full of bamboo spikes and Celine Dion cross-dressers than consume Mr Fugu’s underpants. Dammit, Tim, there’s got to be another way.
SPORK: Fugupants-extract is quite safe, doctor. As a matter of fact, I add some to the coffee every morning.
[everyone does a spit-take]
BONER: Damn you, you purple-blooded Uvulan bastard.
SPORK: [breaking into tears] I hate you! I hate you all!
[SPORK runs from the room, sobbing.]
TURK: Easy on the racial slurs, Boner.
BONER: Sorry.
O’HARA: I may have an alternative, sir.
TURK: That’s officer thinking, O’Hara.
O’HARA: I haven’t told you what it is yet.
TURK: Yes, O’Hara: officer thinking.
O’HARA: I recently intercepted a transmission from Fowlia, captain.
TURK: The planet of hyper-intelligent space-monkeys?
O’HARA: Penguins. Hyper-intelligent space-penguins.
TURK: Really? What happened to the monkeys?
O’HARA: There are no space-monkeys, captain. There never were.
TURK: That’s a shame. I like monkeys.
BONER: So what was in the transmission, O’Hara?
O’HARA: The space-penguins are in our sector, and on an intercept course with Starbase 69. They’re after the sardines-and-mayonnaise.
BONER: You knew they were going to attack the starbase? Why didn’t you mention this earlier?
O’HARA: I was waiting for a gap in the banter.
BONER: Fair enough.
TURK: So. The penguins are after some S-and-M. What does this have to do with our coffee shortage?
O’HARA: Um. Not a lot. I thought maybe we could intercept the space-penguin ship and—
TURK: [interrupting] And confiscate their supply of coffee! O’Hara, you’re a genius.
Gentle… officers, we’re about to take a step into the unknown. We’re about to boldly go where no m—… person… has gone before. The mission could be dangerous. We could die a horrible death. The space-penguins may blast our hull asunder like a ballpein hammer on an apple strudel. We may be exposed to the brutal vacuum of space. Our eyes may explode in their sockets. Our blood may boil away through our skin. Our skin may freeze in the icy embrace of interplanetary space. We’ll be boiling and freezing and exploding, ALL AT THE SAME TIME! But will we be afraid? Will we retreat from danger? Will we cower behind a rock like little boy when a big, scary clown is at his birthday party?
BONER: “Yes”?
TURK: No!
[presses intercom button]
Mister Fugu! Lay in an intercept course with the space-penguin craft. Ahead twisted-factor seventeen.
FUGU: [over intercom] We only go up to twisted-factor five, captain.
TURK: Well get Spotty to have a look at the engines. Oh, and Fugu… we won’t be needing your underpants anymore.
FUGU: [over intercom] Thank you captain.
[end of scene]
Here’s another link brought to my attention by the talented web-surfers of BoingBoing.
At www.lileks.com, you’ll find a compilation of some of the most horrific recipies of the mid-twentieth century. The author has organized them into categories and annotated the blurry food photos with his own commentary, including this one from “Meat Meat Meat!“:
One of the more popular cuts: pressed shank braised with smoker’s phlegm. It may take a few tries to get Uncle Hank to hack up enough Lucky sauce, so be patient.
Some of these recipe photos are truly alarming. If you ever needed an argument for becoming a vegetarian, these photos should suffice.
Here’s a link to an interesting video clip — Dubya casually reaches over and uses a woman’s sweater to clean his glasses.
Link: Human Kleenex
Does it disturb anyone else that the man has so little respect for people that he’ll basically use them like tissue?
And does anyone find this behaviour the least bit surprising? No, neither do I.
(Link via BoingBoing)
My dinner last night was a spinach salad from the drive-through window at Wendy’s. Now, I can understand that there’s a lot of pressure on the drive-through staff, and sometimes it’s not easy to make a snap decision about which utensil would best suit the food. But really. You gave me a knife. Not a fork — or even a spoon — but a lonely plastic knife.
A bit of nonsense verse that I read as a child sprang to mind, though I can’t remember where it’s from:
I eat my peas with honey
I’ve done it all my life
It makes the peas taste funny
But it keeps them on my knife
Replace peas and honey with spinach leaves and Italian dressing and you can picture how my meal went.