If you’re looking for value for money in that fancy hotel mini-bar, this handy-dandy infographic from those sellouts over at Mint.com suggests you might be better off sticking with the Patron and Veuve Clicquout. They’re only 13% and 33% marked-up over convenience-store prices, respectively, and the represent the best value compared to the astronomical prices for Snyder’s Prezels and RedBull.
Plus your hooker/social media consultant will probably appreciate washing down her ski trip with the snow bunnies (and anything else she might be ingesting that night) with your fine taste in top-shelf-label adult beverages.
In this video, Slate
gives a mini-history of the bacon meme, explaining what most of us knew by 2005 that “once something hits the NYT, it’s long since jumped the shark.” The video
is a quick, fun examination of baconmemitry. However, Slate may have also “Grey Ladied” themselves in the process. They cite the bacon meme as a 2008 phenom — which makes sense if you only use big mutant-corporate media blogs for your data sampling. But, for example, it was 2007 when us proletariat bloggers got our peepers on the infamous, it’s-over-now bacon bra
Not that bacon will ever be over. Or that I don’t like the people I’ve met from Slate. It’s just a matter of knowing how to source your memes.
From OhGizmo via the Museum of Hoaxes coms a link to my dream prank… the Wrong Number Generator.
The $89 box has modular plugs (damn… it’s been a while since I saw one of those things) and can be plugged in anywhere on the victim’s landline — like for instance, inside the wall so he or she will never find it. (Serves ‘em right for still using a landline!) It makes all calls from that phone line reach wrong numbers unless the mark dials 911, which always goes through. Replacing the telephone won’t do any good since the pranker has cleverly placed the thing inside the wall. Best of all, it allows one-quarter of the calls to go through correctly, encouraging victims to believe that they’ve gone totally insane.
At press time SpySite, sadly, is out of stock on this badboy. The evil muthas out there will have to satisfy themselves with the Disconnected Number Generator or Dead Ring Generator, both of which only affect incoming calls.
Link to Spysite.com.
Image via Ubuweb of Henri Chopin’s Sol Air (1964). Goodnight Henri.
A week into the new year, I’ve finally whittled away at the nostalgia and the prophecy of the year-end lists. Beginning by adding to the downpour of CES coverage, I turn your attention to Earth2tech’s Green Guide to CES. While the tech-nodes are being stimulated, tickle the ears with Disquiet’s rundown of Ubuweb’s first “featured resources” of 2008. Rekindle the visual cortex with 2007′s best photographers and stretch your brain around last year’s top ten new organisms. In case you missed it Hell did freeze over last year and the micronation movement is gaining momentum. Timetravel was made possible thanks to eBay and geek power. On that note, let us not forget all the people who died in 2007. To those we never knew who changed our lives forever, goodnight.
Actress, party hostess and general freak Amy Sedaris hosted a contest months and months ago to augment food with googly eyes and kinda “give it personality.” Personally, I’m not at all sure that I want my food to have personality — much less so after viewing the 313 entries in the Flickr Photo Pool, which seems to have escaped my attention until a recent post on Cute Overload wedged between a hedgehog with a lime green arm cast and an exhortation for your pet to join the WGA strike by giving up piano.
My favorite googly-eye entry, shown here, is Rogue Taxidermy’s Cinnamon Bun Satanic Goat Head, which prompted such user comments as “Sweetanic – selling your soul never tasted so good” (this from somebody named “Ham Gravy“)and “I keep telling people how awesome this is. i can’t stop thinking about it. did you eat it? where is it now?” Taxy’s answer? “I planned on eating this, but my roomate accidentally stepped on it (in his socks) so i didn’t.” Satan feels your pain.
Incidentally, the same artist’s beef tartare head is even more disturbing than the buns for Satan, but then I didn’t see the goat head post-squooshing.
Oh hey, while you’re over at Flickr, why not ask them if Satan’s violated their TOS lately? Yeah, that’s what I thought.
Link: Amy Sedaris Crafts Challenge @ WNYC; Flickr pool.
Image via Rogue Taxidermy.
It looks (and sleeps) *exactly* like my cat. Must be the breed. The video is just a soothing, sweet brain rest. Ahhh. (thanks, Sean!)
The Sierra Club Compass linked today to Greenpeace’s ad featuring a pasty-faced kid threatening us grown-ups for screwing up the environment. Apparently, he and his generation won’t be ignored or patronized any longer.
Kid, you don’t impress me. In the heart of the Reagan years I was recording anti-nuclear diatribes like this on my shoebox tape recorder, and as you can see that worked out real well both for me and for nuclear disarmament. If the best you can do is a histrionic plea to the better nature of adults plus an absolutist threat, an athletic-grey Hanes and 35 cents worth of whiteface… well, kid, I guess you better buy a firearm, stockpile Power Bars and learn to compost.
But seriously, though, folks: Pat Joseph at the Compass helpfully observed that most of the reaction to this ad has been negative: “Small wonder, what with the veiled threat from some punk kid in a Unabomber hoodie.” Joseph also pointed out the similarity to a certain Star Trek episode; Matthew Yglesias at The Atlantic asked “Um . . . does Greenpeace really want to be suggesting that they’re planning on unleashing some kind of youth-driven terrorist campaign if congress doesn’t act swiftly on climate change?” and a commenter on Yglesias’s post quoted Star Wars: “Only a Sith deals in absolutes.”
Apparently the battle for the planet is going to be War of the Sci Fi Cliches, with Yoda paired off against the Children of the Damned on a lake of rising lava. Sign me up, and save me some Power Bars.
Image via Greenpeace.
Having been properly chastised by our fearless leader, I drag myself up from the murk of contemplating the future of my bionic spine, to shed light on some treats from the nether regions.
I am not the most faithful gamer on the planet and freely admit to not owning any flavor of console, but the only proper way I have found to recover from any surgery is to combine your pain meds with whatever version of Final Fantasy is currently on the market. Soon we’ll be able to combine all of this with the proper potion. Be sure to check the caffeine content, or you’ll be sorry. If anything goes wrong, it wasn’t your fault.
The return to the Juvenile is upon us like some new plague. It has a smell and a favorite restaurant and I have to admit I’m falling for it. Proof lies in the fact that I anguished over posting about the Transformer/Darth Vader mash-up for days and can finally admit my infatuation now that everyone, including Laughing Squid has mentioned it. The only thing remaining is that glorious and final Dargon Vs. Helicopter apocalypse. Another good way to relive your youth is to ressurect your favorite dead crooner or build a greener SimCity.
If you’re feeling too old, just create a real city or run off to that island hideaway. At least there no one can burn your man or annoy you with “blinky lights furry legwarmers body paint glitter pimp hats.” Your innocence will be your own to squander.
Now I’m off to sniff out the meaning of that 200 yards of spidery goodness which my morning news tells me has quite a smell and a distinct buzz from all the dead and dying insects.
And you can blame this surreal and winding trail of this rant on Borges.
Much of the coffee sprayed out my nose recently has been as a result of The Groovy Age of Horror, which has brightened my life with some hillarious distillations of some bizarre Italian horror-sex comix like Il Computer di Carne (“The Computer of Sex”), Il Laido Fantasma (“The Dirty Ghost”) and Pazzia Elettronica (“Electronic Madness”).
Having spent many posts in the last few months on vintage crime fiction from the likes of Charles Runyon, David Goodis and Australian sleazemaster Carter Brown, Groovy’s Curt Purcell has announced the launch of “Beyond the Groovy Age of Horror,” in which he’ll no longer concentrate his attentions on vintage horror comix; instead he’ll focus on whatever he feels like reading — pulp noir seemingly on the top of this list. I’m therefore not complaining, even though it’ll be hard to make it through the week without my fix of Italian comic book dames getting possessed by Satan and giving rimjobs to rodents. Sometimes sacrifices must be made.
Image from Il Computer di Carne via Groovy Age.
CBC.ca reports on the capture by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police of a real, live Sasquatch:
Mounties in eastern Manitoba have nabbed a strange, hairy monster that has been stalking campgrounds in and around the Whiteshell Provincial Park for the past two summers. Police received the call around midnight on July 30 from a woman who had been startled by the beastly creature while camping… “This was further to about 10 calls we had last year of the same incident in the Whiteshell Provincial Park, so the members were aware of the type of person we were looking for,” Staff Sgt. Glen Reitlo told CBC News Wednesday…The creature turned out to be an 18-year-old Winnipeg man wearing a hairy gorilla mask, which Reitlo described as “ugly” and “scary.” …Reitlo said the man was not intoxicated when nabbed by officers; he apparently had been camping in the area over the past two summers and simply enjoyed the prank. His victims were less impressed. The woman who complained gave the man quite a tongue-lashing, Reitlo said.
The Canadian Sasquatch, better known in the US as Bigfoot, is thought by believers to be representative of a species (or several species) of gigantic bipedal hominids distributed throughout the world, and known by many names, including the “Almas” in Mongolia, the “Barmanou” in Afghanistan and Pakistan, the “Skunk Ape” in Florida, and of course the ever-popular “Yeti” or “Abominable Snowman” in Tibet and Orange County.
The unnamed and “not intoxicated” man might want to watch what he wears, if the fate of Don Martin’s Fester Bestertester is any indication — the esteemed Mr. Bestertester got his ass kicked by abominable snowmen for the promotion of National Gorilla Suit Day. Of course, that’s only one of the hazards facing counterfeit Sasquatches. This debate over at the Sasquatch Research Initiative is a straight-faced discussion of “to shoot or not to shoot,” in which they’re not talking about photography.
Image of Bigfoot Sculpture by Cameron Gainer of Queens at Socrates Sculpture Park in Long Island City, NY via Wikipedia.