A Little Free Q&A.

For those of you who don’t know what I do (nothing), I’m a PR major with a focus in media relations. Blah blah blah, right? I know. The point is, I’ve decided to do some pro bono work for an institute with some media image problems right now: CERN.

With pseudo scientists and yellow journalists spreading rumors about their Large Hadron Collider, people are asking questions, and I feel like someone (me) should give them answers.

On the subject of black holes:

Q: How do they know a small black hole will just dissolve? Why wont it grow uncontrollably bigger and eat everything in the nearby space time continuum? We only live in 4 dimensions… and it seems clear from upper level physics there are definitely more dimensions than that around. Maybe it will create a portal into other dimensions or just weird stuff we can’t even imagine…
–Matt

A: Good question, idiot. We’re supposed to assume from your post that you have a competent grasp of “upper level physics”, but you can’t figure out when to properly use ellipses (Hint: It involves omission, and is not a substitute for a single period)? To answer your question, maybe you’ve heard of this guy:

That’s right, Stephen Hawking has done some math that would dissolve your brain and concluded that any black holes created by the LHC would lack stability and would dissolve in tiny bursts of radiation. Do you know more about quantum physics than Stephen Hawking, Matt? Quick, name me two people that do. I’m waiting. That’s right, Matt, you don’t know any, you bitch. Next question.

Q: A black hole is, by definition, a gravitational force so strong that nothing, not even photons, can climb back out. How can such a thing “dissolve”?
–Pete

A: The answer to this question is as simple as your mind, Pete (if that is your real name). All black holes emit radiation known as “Black Body Radiation”. That’s right, a black hole expels energy, contrary to your “definition” of a black hole, which some would call “simplistic”, and others would call “retarded”. Mathematically, a black hole created by the LHC would have a mass of only a few neutrons, which would be dispelled by the ejection of the Black Body Radiation in a matter of nanoseconds. Next time you define something, try looking at something other than Webster’s. Even Wikipedia could have answered this one for you, Petey.

Q: It is interesting to me that [CERN Physicist] Dr. Huth admits that a black hole could result, but would be so small that it would take “many, many, many, many, many lifetimes of the universe before one of these things could [get] big enough” to become a problem. Isn’t that a problem? Why is it in our culture that potential future problems are not taken seriously?
-Bethanna

A: Your name is stupid.

Now that we have that out of the way, let me call attention to how retarded you are, even without the empirical evidence of your name (Bethanna, psh!). You cite the respected Dr. Huth (where’s the “Dr.” in front of your name, Banana Fanna Foe Bethanna?) as saying it would take “many, many, many, many, many lifetimes of the universe before one of these things could [get] big enough” to become a problem. Then you ask if this is a problem. Bitch, please! The keys here are the words “LIFETIMES OF THE UNIVERSE”. This means that before a minute black hole would become large enough to destroy even one planet, the Universe, to say nothing of our own solar system, would be long fucking gone, baby. Don’t even try to compare our current climate/energy crises with the remote dangers of a tiny black hole, you tangential hippy whore.

Bethanna thinks this could someday be a problem…

On the subject of God, Religion, etc…

Q: I just don’t understand why there is a need to know. Somethings [sic] should be left a mystery. Maybe we are[n’t] meant to know how, why, when, where, [or] what after we leave our physical forms. If energy never dies who is to say that after we depart our physical forms that we don’t evolve into something else[?]
–Melly

A: You don’t understand why there’s a need to know, Smelly? Our curiosity is responsible for our evolution, or at the very least our progress, as a species. How about when you get some horrible cancer (and you will, for being so goddamn stupid) and you want someone to cure it for you, the doctors will just say, “Well, we didn’t understand the need to know, so we didn’t do any research or experiments.” Sorry bitch, you’re gonna’ die.

P.S. To answer your question, we rot in the ground after we “depart our physical forms”. Any energy released by our dying would be completely unrecognizable and indistinguishable from all the other identical energies flying around. This is not about philosophy or metaphysics, it’s about understanding the fundamentals of existence.

Q: Hmmm… A meticulously controlled experiment under conditions created and designed from human intelligence… The question science will never answer is, “What intelligence, if any, led to the Big Bang in the first place?”
–John

A: Well, John (the Baptist?), if we’re going to effectively recreate the Big Bang under laboratory conditions, wouldn’t that shed some light on the question of what intelligence, if any, led to our Big Bang? If we, as human beings, can do what your “God” did 13.4 billion years ago in a laboratory, wouldn’t that lend a unique understanding to the situation? How can you claim that science will never answer that question? You are a short-sighted moron who probably needs help tying his own shoes. Cheerily go fuck yourself.

On the subject of cost:

Q: 9 billion dollars just to prove some theories about what happened billions of years ago and boost some egos. Imagine what 9 billion would do for cancer research or how many mouths that would feed.
–Barry

A: Oh, Barry, if only you were the master of unlocking.

An artist’s rendition of Barry the Bleeding Hearted Bitch.

Although this isn’t really a question, it still warrants an answer, or at the very least a response. According to the National Cancer Institute, the cost of the LHC would supply their budget with funds for less than two years. The cost of one year of the US occupation of Iraq, on the other hand, would fulfill the Institute’s current budget for over a quarter century. But hey, at least our invasion of a sovereign nation halfway across the globe wasn’t about satisfying someone’s ego, right?

If you’re looking for your ass, it’s right here. That’s right, I just handed it to you.

You can have this back, Barry.

Q: It tickles me when people claim that spending 9 billion dollars to learn some of the important mysteries of the Universe is a waste of money. Really? What could possibly be more important than extending the boundaries human knowledge? Owning several jets to fly us around for entertainment? Building several sky-scrapers with multi-million dollar lofts? Expanding local freeway systems a few lanes wider? Think about it.
-The Human Pursuit

A: Oh, I have thought about it, THP (nice name, dipshit). And yes, owning several jets to fly me around for my entertainment would be sweet. What they should have done with this money is given to me. Then I’d buy all my friends jetpacks and pizza. Then you’d wish you were on my good side. Seriously, though, comparing scientific grant money with money spent by the top .001% of world earners or money spent on civil engineering projects is dumb as all fuck. The similarities are simply not present. Thanks for calling.

Well, that’s all we have time for today, kids. If you’re wondering where these questions came from, check here.

Also, CERN, you’re welcome.

~M

Webcomics are so not cool.

I have to go make chili, so fill your faces with this comic test. Because of my page layout, you might have to click and zoom to read the whole thing. Just hit the “Full Size” tab on photobucket.

Too Busy for Anything but Updates.

I’m currently working on some graphical content to spice up the text-heavy layout of my posts, as it has come to my attention that most of you have the attention spans of a particularly frenetic species of ant.

In other news, I received a comment from someone claiming to be the legendarily retarded Hyde D. Montage. Sadly, instead of being a long string of barely comprehensible capital letters, the comment was readable and actually sort of played along with my rampant, but completely warranted, bashing of his profoundly stupid blog. This leads me to one of 4 conclusions:

1. Hyde D. Montage is, in actuality, a clever satirist who’s blog is actually a vehicle for mocking the shallow, immature wasteland of pop culture idiocy that is the internet.
2. Hyde D. Montage is, in actuality, a robot built by the Canadian government and specifically designed to piss me off.
3. Hyde D. Montage is, in actuality, a complete moron with an inferiority complex, crying out for attention and using the internet to justify his existence, despite the fact that it would be better for the world if he’d been a partial birth abortion.
4. Someone else posted using the name Hyde D. Montage.

Also, in a completely unrelated but still important to me (and therefore everyone else) story, that Bigfoot from Georgia was fake.  I fucking told you so, Georgia!  You know what lives in Georgia?  Idiots.  As a result of this debacle, and my general distaste for the South, I move that Georgia be forcibly removed from the United States of America.  Furthermore, I move for an economic embargo/siege of the newly emancipated Georgia by the United States.  See, Russia?  We can be dicks to a country named Georgia, too.

~M

Another Update: Biographicon is closing.

So, the site that was hosting a summary of my biography is closing in a few days. As a result, I’ve added a link to the right sidebar labeled “About Me” where you can find a short expose about my awesomeness.

~M

Update: Hyde D. (the “D” is for “Dipshit”) Montage

You probably remember a few days/weeks ago when I made some horrible remarks about the blogger who posts at www.onblastatlast.com. In an ongoing effort to crush his meager soul, I’ve decided to spam him with vitriol at every opportunity. Today’s post:

Mike said…

I hope you die. Seriously. I’ve got to tell you, you have set the bar really high for douchebags everywhere. Your blog is the worst piece of shit I’ve ever seen. Are you even aware that there is a key next to the ‘a’ on your keyboard that allows you to type things that aren’t all capital letters? Yeah, it says ‘caps lock’ on it.

To summarize, you are a shining example of everything that is wrong with the internet and the dumb fucking people on it. I hate you as a person and I hope you get some extremely malignant type of cancer.

This is a serious entreaty to anyone who might read this post: Go here, and make fun of this guy in the meanest way possible. Seriously. Do it. Post your comments on his blog, then copy and paste them in the comments section of this post. I’ll do something to immortalize the person who comes up with the most demoralizing comment, and if you live in the Mt. Pleasant area, I’ll buy you a beer.

~M

My Experience With Bigfoot

Those of you who keep up to date on important news developments are probably aware that two gentlemen in northern Georgia (the one in the United States, not the one being invaded by the Red Army), held a press conference today to announce the results of DNA testing done on samples from a body they claim to be the legendary Bigfoot.

Of course, news has already spread that the DNA samples didn’t amount to anything (one was human, the other was from a possum), but that doesn’t mean Bigfoot doesn’t exist. In fact, I myself had an experience with the supposedly mythical beast way before these Georgian pig-ticklers found their “Bigfoot” corpse. It all started on balmy summer day in 2005…

I was hiking through some unnamed woods in northern Michigan (which is way closer to canonized Bigfoot territory than fucking Georgia) when I suddenly caught a whiff of a strange odor. See, everyone else was out hunting quail or some dumb shit, and since I don’t really like hunting anything that doesn’t provide me with sex or money, I merely went out with them to drink their beer. Having accomplished everything on my list of things to do that day (read: Drink all the beer), I was walking back to the cabin to eat all the Ben and Jerry’s out of the freezer before they got back.

Anyway, as everyone knows, their distinctive odor is one of the main indications of Bigfoot activity. However, contrary to popular belief, the Bigfoot does not necessarily smell bad. This one did though, like Tinactin and Cheese. I crept my way stealthily through the woods, drawing upon my vast powers as a woodsman to sneak up on the creature I sensed was near. I peered to my left, seeking an easier route through the dense undergrowth. When I turned back around, the beast was directly in front of me! As every good woodsman knows, you should never make erratic movements or loud noises at a wild animal, or it might attack. I needed to stay as quiet as possible.

“JESUS-FUCKING-ZOMBIE-CHRIST! IT’S A FUCKING BIGFOOT!” I shouted as quietly as possible, at the top of my lungs. I stealthily attempted to turn and run through a pine tree, scratching up my face while simultaneously shitting my pants. I gracefully pivoted and fell on my ass as the creature approached me with lumbering steps. It reached down with an enormous, hairy palm…

“Hey, are you okay?”

I was dumbfounded. Had the beast really spoken to me, or was I hallucinating from sheer terror?

“You, uh, really whacked your face into that douglas fir pretty hard there, man,” said the beast in a voice that reminded me forcibly of a young Morgan Freeman.

“Ur, uhm, wha?” I said shrewdly, staring at the extended palm before me.

“Here, let me help you up, man.” The creature lifted me from the ground and sat me on my feet, forcibly shifting the newly deposited contents of my boxer shorts (yes, ladies, it’s boxers, not briefs).

Pants-shitting terror aside, I was enthralled by the creatures gentleness, so at odds with it’s enormous size.

“Uhhh… So… You’re a Bigfoot, huh?” I asked nonchalantly.

“Well, I suppose,” It replied. “We actually prefer to be called ‘Sasquatch-Americans’.”

“Oh, uh, sorry.”

“No big.”

I wasn’t really prepared to conduct an interview with the creature, so I just asked the first question that came to mind:

“You’re not going to, like, eat me or anything, are you?”

It stared at me in what I assume is a quizzical manner for a Sasquatch-American.

“No, I gave up eating humans for Lent,” It said. I checked my mental calendar, quickly realizing that lent had ended over two months ago. Either the Bigfoot was cracking a joke, or it didn’t have a very good grasp of Catholic dogma. “Besides,” it said, “you smell worse than me.”

“Sorry,” I replied. “I just shit myself. What’s your excuse?”

“My HMO won’t cover a visit to the dermatologist.”

“Fuckin’ Bureaucrats, man.” I said, shaking my head.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” the beast intoned. “It’s one thing after another with them.”

“Uh-huh. So how’d you sneak up on me like that?” I asked.

“Sneak? Man, I’ve eaten logging crews that didn’t make as much noise as you do moving through the woods!” The beast shook in what I can only assume was Sasquatch-American laughter. I happen to know that my skills in woodslore are way above par, so I can only assume the beast had super-hearing or something like that.

“I’m a little drunk man, give me a break.”

“Really?” the creature said. “You got any Jack or anything on you? Maybe a flask?” I didn’t want to offend the beast by telling it that only dirtball rednecks and/or problem drinkers carry flasks of Jack.

“Here,” I said, passing it my flask of Jack.

“Ah, thanks, man.” The beast took a deep pull. “Oh yeah, that helps.” The creature pulled something white from behind its ear. “Got a light on you?”

“Um..” I fumbled in my cargo pants for a lighter. “Here.”

“Thanks,” it said, lighting the white thing, which I now recognized as a cigarette, and breathing deeply.

“So, you seem pretty cool–” I began.

“Thanks,” said the creature, looking pleased.

“Uh, you’re welcome. So, why do you ‘Sasquatch-Americans’ hide from people?”

“Hide? Man, look around. We’re not hiding, we just live in the middle of fucking nowhere. Do you know how hard it is to get broadband out here? Fucking hard, let me tell you!” It puffed furiously on the cigarette in its enormous hand. “And every time we try to hang with you guys, you scream, shit, and run away. Not always in that order.”

“Oh. That sucks,” I said, wiping off the rim of my flask prior to taking a drink. “Well… You want to get some Wendy’s or something?”

“How much more J.D. do you have in that flask?” It asked.

“There’s a liquor store on the way,” I replied.

“Then yes,” the beast said. “I’m jonesing for a Baconator.”

So we went out and got shit-faced, then ate Baconators. After the Bigfoot dropped me off at home, I tried to tell the other members of my camping party about my encounter. To my surprise, no one believed me, citing the fact that I’d consumed about 18 beers before I “wandered off into the woods”.

In summary, Georgia can blow me, because no self-respecting Bigfoot (or person) would ever live in Georgia.

~M

See? This is why the world hates Americans…

My fellow Americans,

We are in trouble. Deep, deep trouble. We’re about to unwittingly vote the Antichrist into the Whitehouse!

Seriously, do a Google search for Barack Obama and Antichrist. No really, open a tab here and do it. Did you get nearly 400,000 search results, too? Thank the Lord Almighty we have the McCain campaign and the Evangelical Christian presence on the internet to steer us away from the (supposedly) preordained rise of the Antichrist.

Never mind that this assertion is blindingly ignorant and carries with it a subtle undertone of both racism and the fear-mongering that has become synonymous with the Conservative Right. It’s like the more idiotic elements of the Right came together and said, “Well, our candidate is an alright guy, but he also seems untrustworthy to the Evangelicals. Also, he has the same birthday as the Big Bang, has no discernible policy differences with the previous administration, and appears to either have Down’s Syndrome or be constipated whenever he gives a speech. How can we possibly make the other guy seem worse?”

Then, someone in the back, probably wearing the Confederate flag as a t-shirt, stood up and said, “What if he was the Antichrist?” Then he coughed and said, “Nigger” under his breath.

Brilliant idea.

I guess my question to the literalist Christians out there is: “ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?” A follow up question would be: “Would you like to be elbowed in the mouth?”

Now, before you start calling me a Jesus-hating socialist asshole, let me preemptively say, “Go fuck yourself”. Ok, now you can call me that. Then you can go back to conveniently ignoring the fact that there is no such thing as the Antichrist or the rapture, and that the Book of Revelations was in fact a coded letter bemoaning the persecution of Christians under the Roman Empire (which, at the time, wasn’t “Holy”). In fact, Revelations isn’t even a book of prophecy, as any credible biblical scholar would tell you.

If you choose to believe a comforting lie based on a collection of books compiled from dozens of different places and cultures and arbitrarily canonized by the Church 1800 years ago, that’s your choice, but you should at least read and study the books in question. The Left Behind series isn’t fucking canon, you morons. It has less basis in reality than the Da Vinci Code.

But hey, at least the Evangelical Right doesn’t make the rest of us Americans look like bigoted idiots who will believe any bullshit that comes down the internet pipe, right?

Right?

~M

A little help?

It’s come to my attention that some people don’t understand what the internet was meant to do. People seem to think that the internet is the accumulated knowledge of the world, that it helps people do business and communicate in the blink of an eye. These people think the internet exists to help them find cupcake recipes and homeopathic teas from Indo-China. You are wrong. The internet exists for two reasons: masturbation and making people feel bad about themselves (sometimes simultaneously).

Now, since some of us (me) have a constant stream of the opposite sex trying to break into their apartments for late night sex-stravaganzas ™, we don’t need so much of the internet’s masturbatory functions. For us, the internet is for spewing your vitriolic rage at strangers.

I was reading someone else’s blog, which I occasionally do because it makes me feel better about my own, when I saw a link to a different website, www.onblastatlast.com. If you haven’t clicked on that link yet, go ahead and open it in a new tab, because it’s important that you know where I’m coming from here. Ok, now go scrub your eyeballs with holy water and bleach. Better? Ok.

So, the owner/moderator/evil entity of onblastatlast.com wrote the following entreaty in the comments section of the blog I was reading: “I just made a list of the 10 ways you know your a douchebag!! If you could read my blog and comment, I’d appreciate any feedback!!!”

I visited his blog. Oh yeah, I visited the hell out of it.

Here’s the feedback I gave him:

Hyde: You should add “You type everything in your blog in all caps” to your douchebag list. I’m sorry, but people like you should be banned from even owning a computer in the first place. I’m not suggesting that everything we type on the internet should be free from typos and slang, but for Christ’s sake, glancing at your blog made me want to hijack a plane, fly it to California, land it in your backyard, politely ring your doorbell, then jack you in the face with a stepladder when you opened up. If the Earth were to be struck by a comet, I would want it to land on you. I seriously hate you. You make children cry, and not in the good way, like I do, but in the bad, bad way; the way “Old Yeller” makes children cry. Someday I will literally kill you (metaphorically speaking). Have fun “keeping it real”, you moron.

I love the internet almost as much as I hate it.

-M

Movie Review

So, I was watching this movie, Funny Games, and thinking to myself, “God, this is horrible.  I wish the Earth would be struck by a comet so all evidence of this movie’s existence would be erased…” when I decided to regale you with a tale of my misspent youth (in college).

I had a professor with a senile disposition and a righteous mustache.  His name was Mr. Campbell.  The interesting thing about him was that, despite the fact that he was teaching a technology class, minor technological advancements completely dumbfounded him.  Here’s a transcript of a typical class period:

Campbell:  So, this website has a cgi object that keeps track of your visits to the site, and it will tell you “Good Morning!” if you log on in the morning, or “Good Afternoon!” if you log on in the afternoon, or–

Me:  (I stood up and flipped my desk over, scattering papers and frito dust everywhere) A FUCKING CLOCK!

Campbell:  Yes, Mr. Dowis, is there something you’d like to say?

Me:  You’re going on and on about a fucking clock!  It’s just a timer programmed to say shit when you log on!  Are you retarded or do you just have mercury poisoning?!  (I had been serrepticiously breaking thermometers in his briefcase for weeks, so it really could have been mercury poisoning)

Campbell:  I really don’t think that’s appropriate to say.  In fact–

Me:  I paid for this goddamn class, and I would appreciate it if you’d talk about some technology that actually interests me for a change, Mustachio Furioso.

Campbell:  I’ve asked you repeatedly not to call me–

Me:  For example!  Humanoid sex robots!

Campbell:  Really, this isn’t–

Me:  Satellites that can heat up a hot pocket from space!  Or, like, cars that run on Mountain Dew!

Campell:  I’m calling campus security.

Me:  Wait, wait!  Nanorobots that can jazzercise my muscles while I play Diablo II!  I’d be so ripped!  Oh, and also I get a jetpack and a life-sized Voltron that makes me grilled cheeses with bacon in them, and–

That’s as far as I got before campus security tried to drag me out of the room, whereupon I accidentally bit one of them and peed on the other.

The moral of the story is this:  Don’t watch Funny Games.  Ever.

Summer’s Over

Dear Reader(s),

As you may know, there have been no updates to this blog throughout the summer.  I know what you’re thinking: “Why, Lord?!  Why has he forsaken us?!”.

No need to curse your various deities anymore, kids, since I’m back and chock full of both inspiration and premium single malt whiskey.  Some of you may feel like I abandoned you for several months, so maybe I owe you some kind of explanation for my lack of posts.  First of all, fuck you, and second, here’s a list of reasons why I didn’t post over the summer:

1.  Premium Single Malt Whiskey

2.  Diablo II resurgence brought about by the announcement of Diablo 3.

3.  Busy punching children.

4.  Absinthe now legal in Michigan.

5.  Grillin’.

6.  Bought a Hookah.

7.  Slept a lot.

8.  Saw “The Dark Knight” every day for a week.

9.  Fuck you, that’s why!

Yeah, it’s been a full, rich summer.  Stay tuned for more posts!  I promise, this time.

~M