Monday, March 31, 2008

Cannot Reach You. Your Phone is Everlastingly Busy.

That title is the heading of a spam message I got recently. It was from "Doll Isaiah". I also got one from "Leopold Gordon" saying "Separation Reason. Animals Involved." I like how creative spammers are getting; I'm almost tempted to click the animal one. But how come they always have outlandish names? If they made it from "Chris Jones" or something, at least there's a possibility that I know a Chris Jones and will click on it by mistake. I clearly don't know anyone named Leopold, and the only Dolls I know are strippers who I don't give my email address to.

ENOUGH TYPING. This is now a photo blog where I post pictures from my everyday life.

I got a new phone, a Sony Ericsson K790. It's also a camera. So whenever I am out and about and see something interesting (which is more common now that I live downtown), I can just whip it out of my pocket and take a picture.

This pile of broken records was in front of my building. Probably more victims of the dangerous combination of alcohol and balconies. Such a waste.

Here is Willow barking at loons Canada Geese.

Here is some graffiti (a graffito?) that's actually quite nice. Those who want graffiti to be a legitimate art form should do more stuff like this, instead of scribbling "DOWN" on every available surface. You London people know what I'm talking about.

This is the McRib sandwich. I'm so happy/disgusted that it's back.

Now I must go. Lately, I'm just everlastingly busy.

Friday, March 28, 2008

One Hundred Original Ideas for Horror Movies (#42)

42.) Mister Grabby Hands. The hands are the scariest part of the human body. These two lumps of flesh, with five tubular meat sticks protruding from each, are responsible for every knife thrust, every trigger pulled, every inappropriate touch. A recent spree of murders and assaults baffle police, as witnesses report seeing arms reaching in from windows, from doorways, from alleyways, and around corners, but nobody ever sees a body or a face to go with those arms.

After some disturbing scenes (e.g., the cop comes home after a long day at work. He sits down on the couch, closes his eyes, and hears his wife come into the room behind him. She gives him a massage that starts getting increasingly erotic...until he opens his eyes to see two wrinkly, veiny, spotted pale hands reaching from behind the couch for his zipper), the evidence leads to the mansion of an ancient wheelchair-bound billionaire. He's found the secret to making his arms extra stretchy, allowing him to fondle his way around town from the comfort of his own home. The cops try to nab him, but they just can't get past his long grabby hands. Eventually they trick him into sticking his hands into some conveniently placed lava. What they failed to realize is that he also has stretchy stinky yellow-toenailed feet. All hope is lost.

The opportunity for horrible puns in movie reviews make this idea worth pursuing. "Hands down, the worst movie I've seen this year"; "I wish Mr. Grabby would hand me my money back"; "You caught me red-handed: this movie is a guilty pleasure"; "On the other hand, whoever came up with this idea deserves applause"; "I gotta hand it to Anthony Hopkins for his nuanced depiction of Grabby"; "A handy way to put yourself to sleep"; "I can count this movie's merits on one hand"; "I wish I could give this movie the finger"; "Don't pay an arm and a leg to see it"; "It never really grabbed my attention"; "Wave goodbye to the actors' careers"; "A handful of truly frightening scenes" ; "I'd rather do manual labour than watch this movie"; "Two thumbs down"; "Better than Freddy Got Fingered, but not as good as Snatch" ; "Really stretches one's suspension of disbelief"; "It's not going out on a limb to point the finger at Mr. Grabby Hands as the cause of Fantastic Four comics being snatched from store shelves" ; etc.

See also: One Hundred Original Ideas for Horror Movies, #37 - 41

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Dr. Phronk's Weight Loss Solution

I've lost quite a bit of weight in the last few weeks. People always seem to be wanting to lose weight. Evidence of this is on the radio here in London, where there is this ad that plays on FM96 every few minutes for a product called Evercleanse. It begins with "are you a woman or a man who wants to lose weight?" I guess people with no genitals should stop listening. It then describes how "some experts" say there is extra weight "clinging to the colon wall like spackle or paste" (see, I have this memorized because it really is on every 5 minutes). You know, another name for this substance clogging our colons is "food." Evercleanse can get rid of this "food" by forcefully excreting it from your ass. Awesome.

No wait, that's not awesome. Why do they let people put stuff that's so obviously a scam on the radio?

Ah, but I have the real secret to weight loss, and I will share it with you for free, dear blog reader. Here are the secret steps to rapid weight loss:
  • Break up with your significant other. Love is actually a heavy tar-like substance that clings to your stomach walls. Get rid of that shit.
  • Make sure you share lots of stuff, like a house, so that splitting it up will cause lots of stress. Stress flushes out toxins and increases metabolism. (Unfortunately, this step didn't work so much for me, because V is awesome and non-crazy so it wasn't a messy divorce-like breakup like you see on TV. Maybe next time.)
  • Sell that car you shared. This will A) cause much-needed stress; and B) force you to stop being such a lazy fatass and walk everywhere.
  • You don't need money. Money reduces stress and puts you within reach of the leading cause of weight gain: Food.

  • Never have a back yard. That way, when your dog comes to visit, you have to take her for a walk every time she needs to pee. More exercise. Bonus if it's -20 degrees outside. Extreme cold boosts antioxidants and balances chi.

I kid! I'm really not negative or cynical. It's fun having slightly less fat and a bit more muscle than I used to have. I even trimmed my chest hair to see if I could really see my ribs and the vague outline of a six pack more than before, or if it was just an illusion. It wasn't an illusion. Now I'm all itchy though. How do you gay people manage to keep things hairless without itchiness?

Is that unfair stereotyping?


See also: Dr. Phronk's Weight Loss Challenge.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

Cougar Hunting Tips

I think that one of the best ways to pick up cougars is to work at a liquor store or The Beer Store. You can ID any cougars that pass through, pointing to the sign that says "if you look under 30, prepare to show your ID", and faking really genuine lines like "there is no way you're thirty."

Monday, March 24, 2008


Life is all about lumps.

A girl meets a boy and she gets a lump in her throat. He's got bulging lumps in all the right places. The lumps on her chest give him a lump in his pants.

More lumps and humps, and soon there's another tiny lump growing in the girl's belly. There are lumps of wedding cake and lumps of bills to pay, but soon the girl becomes mom and the boy becomes dad, and that tiny lump is a whole new person.

The little lump is now a little girl. There's lumpy gravy at Easter, and there's ironing the lumps out of her church clothes with mom on summer Sunday mornings, and there's jumping in lumps of leaves in the fall, and there's dad pushing her down lumps of snow in the winter.

But soon dad's lumps are disappearing and mom's are starting to sag. One morning she finds a new lump there, and a few years later, mom is just a lump of skin and bone in a lump of dirt.

The lumps of bills turn into piles. The beer gives dad a lump in his belly, and all he does is sit there like a lump unless he's giving the girl a few new lumps on her face.

Tired of lumps in the road of life, the girl finds a tiny lump of cash, throws a lump of clothes in a suitcase, and she's off. She sleeps on lumpy mattresses and lumpy pillows, and occasionally eats lumpy liquid that passes for food.

But slowly, some of those lumps smooth out while others grow.

She's got chest lumps of her own now, and soon she'll find a boy who gives her a lump in her throat.


Friday, March 21, 2008


Here is some fun stuff I have found on Ebay lately. Click to embiggen.

Awww, look at this logo:

It's from an Ebayer who is a stay at home mom and pastor's wife, making some extra money by selling on Ebay. How cute!

But wait...there's something off about that logo. It makes me feel funny.

Is that...? No, it couldn't be.

I'd better flip, enlarge and digitally enhance the image.


Further digital enhancement reveals more horrible secrets:

Yeah right you're a pastor's wife / mom. More like a Satanist trying to corrupt children that buy your used clothing with logo brainwashing.


Publish and Perish

Not to not brag or nothin', but you are now a friend/acquaintance/worshiper of a published scientific researcher. My first publication finally popped up on the internet recently (even though it was apparently published in 2007, the journal seems to be running behind or something). I'd like to keep this blog anonymous (at least as far as being easily Googled), but if you know my real name you can find the article by searching for [my name] and "optimal distinctiveness" in Google or Google Scholar.

I should also probably write myself into Wikipedia. Is that even allowed?

Optimal distinctiveness refers to the fact that people don't like to feel too different from other people, but also don't like to feel too similar. However, this is true for some people more than others. We found that people who prefer certainty to uncertainty also tend to try thinking of themselves as similar to other people after being made to feel different. In other words, these certainty oriented people tend to want to assimilate back into a crowd when they feel like they are weirdos who don't fit in.

We proved this with advanced science. Here is some science from the article:

Look at that fucking science. It's so sciency that you probably can't even understand it.

There is also math and formulas formulae. Like, omg, check this out:

These equations equationae totally clarify everything.

My favourite part is Fu.

But seriously, you wanna know something messed up about publishing an article in a science journal? To get this article, you either have to be part of an institution that pays a lot of money for access to it, or you have to pay a lot of money for it yourself. Our article costs $43.75 to purchase. Jesus! That's more than most books, just for one article that is, no offense to the authors (none taken), not all that exciting. The even more messed up part is that I don't get a dime of that. Musicians complain that record companies take a large percentage of the profit from record sales. With us, publishers take 100%.

Plus, isn't science supposed to be free, open, and collaborative?

Luckily, with the internet, it's nearly free to distribute a file containing a research article, and many researchers make their own work available free of charge on their personal web sites.

Anyway, I'm done bragging/feeling sorry for my broke self. Bye now.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Arthur C. Clarke, RIP

Arthur C. Clarke died today (*). The man was a genius. I've only recently started reading his books, but his impact has been felt throughout my life. Nearly every piece of science fiction created since the 50s owes something to Clarke. More directly, seeing 2001: A Space Odyssey as a kid, even though I didn't fully understand it at the time, probably had quite the impact on me. It's a testament to human curiosity about life's most perplexing questions, and the fact that there is more to life than this earthly existence, with no need to invoke the supernatural to appreciate it. Perhaps this was part of what sparked my interest in science.

Speaking of which, anybody interested in science should take note of Clarke's laws of prediction:
  • 1. When a distinguished but elderly scientist states that something is possible, he is almost certainly right. When he states that something is impossible, he is very probably wrong.
  • 2. The only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible.
  • 3. Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.

There's a lot to take out of those three little statements. But I think the main message is one of hope rather than cynicism. What seems impossible may very well be possible; what we consider magic today may be within our reach tomorrow.

Even though it's impossible, let's hope Clarke is now a glowing fetus looking down on us from a bubble floating in space. Float in peace, Arthur C. Clarke.

* Actually, he died tomorrow, since he was in Sri Lanka, where it's already Wednesday.

Monday, March 17, 2008

Hey You Kids, Get Off My Damn Lawn

My new landlord/caretaker people are the cutest little old couple ever. I'm glad they're nice, because I know it sucks living in a building run by assholes, which seems to happen quite a bit. Lucky me.

The husband is one of those crabby old man who's actually really nice on the inside types. I ran into him in the laundry room the other day, and he pointed out a poster that he'd put up around the building. It's about a protest against a new tax that the city of London wants to charge apartment renters in order to help pay for damage and other costs that irresponsible students cause to the city. This tax is blatantly retarded, which I told him (in more politically correct words). He then told me about how all the damn university students were tearing these posters down, and how he doesn't understand university students, and basically they are responsible for all the problems in the world.

I was like, yeah, damn university students. What the hell is wrong with them.

I guess I look old enough that I'd be unlikely to be a student. I didn't have the heart (or balls) to tell him that I'm still in school myself. Now I feel like we have this rapport based on a mutual hatred of university students. I'M LIVING A LIE.

He later told me that he hates computers because he can't figure them out, and prefers woodworking. He's an old, old man.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Book Review: 30 Minute Get Real Meals, by Rachael Ray

When I moved out, I took all the cookbooks that V didn't want. One of them was Rachael Ray's "30 Minute Get Real Meals". Running out of frozen TV dinners, I thumbed through it looking for something to cook.

Here is the cover of the book:

You can see from the fake uncomfortable smile that Ray knows something is wrong with this book. How bad can it be, though? The title - "Get Real Meals" - sounds like it's just another cookbook full of quick meals. "Get Real" is a little odd, since there shouldn't be anything particularly unreal about food, but she needed to title it something different from her other books. And that pasta dish on the cover looks pretty tasty.

But then you open up the book, and there is something strange about the recipes. Everything looks OK, but not great. You can't put your finger on it, but something is missing.

Then you read the inside of the dust jacket, and you find out the horrible truth; this is a low-carb cookbook.

If there's one type of book you should be able to judge by its cover, it's a cookbook. The theme of a cookbook should be obvious before you even read the back or open it up. Yet "get real" has absolutely nothing to do with carbs. Oh, and there's a fucking bowl of pasta on the cover. What represents carbs better than pasta?

But then you read further, and discover that no, it's not really a low-carb cookbook. "Get real" actually refers to the fact that it's just not realistic to live without desserts or pasta. So it's actually a book of recipes for meals that still have carbs, just not as much as some other meals. These are, of course, useless to anyone on a low-carb diet, which requires almost no carbs for the body to go into a state of starvation and start eating itself (*). It's also useless for anyone on a normal diet, since these are just watered-down versions of meals that used to taste good.

In conclusion: Rachael Ray has a stupid laugh and is a shitty talk show host.

See also: There is something wrong with Giada De Laurentiis.

* I tried Atkins for a few weeks once. I lost a few pounds, but found that I no longer enjoyed eating. Or life. So instead, I went on this crazy new diet where I eat less calories than I burn off through exercise.

P.S. Anyone remember this?

Monday, March 10, 2008

Deception Cream

The following ad appeared at the top of this blog recently:

What the hell is deception cream? What sort of cream has anything to do with deception?

The only thing I can think of is that it's a cream you rub on somebody you want to deceive in order to make them more suggestible. "Yeah baby, I can bench press 700 pounds, and I've won the Nobel prize. Wait, don't leave yet...wait, just let me rub this cream on your scalp."

If that ad pops up again, you'd better click it. Not only will you find out what it is, but seriously, you shouldn't buy anything until you've read about it. Seriously for serious.

Thursday, March 06, 2008


Another nice thing about living on my own is that there never needs to be any wine around. Wine is gross. I think the whole idea of wine came about when someone discovered some old nasty grape juice at the back of their fridge, and his friend dared him to drink it. Then another friend double dared him to sell it to other people. Then another friend double dog dared him to sell it to people, and make them think that it was somehow classy to be getting drunk off of carefully rotted fruit juice.

Then again, beer is just barley and hops chewed up and barfed out by little yeast fungus bugs. But at least it only tastes like puke when it's warm.

So if you plan on getting me a house-warming present, don't make it wine. Or do...because who am I kidding...this soul-crushing loneliness doesn't really care what drowns it, as long as it's cheap and it's got a high alcohol percentage.

(But really, it's you who I'm kidding, because living alone isn't so bad. Sometimes it's quite nice, actually.)

Monday, March 03, 2008


OMG I have internet again.

I remember when I used to say things like "I got internet" as a joke, because the internet is one thing, so it should be "I got access to the internet" or something. But it really doesn't sound as funny anymore. Maybe because (the?) internet has become so common that it's a necessary utility like power or water. "I have internet again", then, isn't so different than "I have electricity again".

I am a cunning linguist.

But anyway, the reason I have internet again, or more specifically, the reason I didn't have it for a while, is that I just moved to a new place. My own place. I can do whatever I want cook gross foods that nobody else likes. In my underwear.

Just as soon as I get blinds.

Here is a deep thought:

Being lazy is often associated with being messy, because lazy people don't bother cleaning. However, what if someone is so lazy that they don't bother making a mess in the first place?

Thank you and goodnight.