Tuesday, 30 July 2013


If Obama was cool, he could have let Bradley Manning and Edward Snowden get away with 5 year sentences

unfortunately if he was cool, that would mean that it would be jeopardising the integrity of intelligence networks by saying that you're allowed to go work for them AND not feel like you have to keep secrets, therefore compromising the CIA, NSA, etc and ensuring paranoia amongst everyone working there as to whether they'll get grassed up for doing something morally wrong... which they pretty much are - every single day.

Therefore, really, the system of espionage itself is the problem here, not the detaining of two men for breaking its rules. The presumption that the existence of networks that exist in order to preserve secrecy surely is a pretty good sign that most of what they're doing isn't exactly whiter than white.

The problem is, we're up against two governments that don't believe in democracy, and if we were to take down all our defences and sit back being one hundred percent nice and decent, it's not very likely they'll feel really bad about themselves and decide that they'll stop doing anything nasty as well, and then enable democracy to happen.

Of course, it's a lazy assumption to say that a non-democratic country must be intrinsically bad. But, combined with the power and size of both Russia and China (as well as the nuclear capabilities of other countries such as North Korea), to turn the other cheek is to risk not only being punched, but being knocked out completely. That's pretty much the worst thing I've ever written. What I mean is basically, if the USA were to back down completely, it would first of all lose respect, credibility as a world power, and, just like in the school playground, it would be bullied - instead of being the one doing a lot of the bullying.

Because really, international diplomacy between countries, especially countries led by egotists, is no different to the playground. There will be punches thrown, words slung, and the geek in the corner, whilst essentially the only good person in the whole mix, will be ignored, and left to sulk in a corner. The only way to gain power is to use leverage. And the USA's leverage is still the military-industrial complex (a phrase I always loved), as well as its superior intelligence.

Of course, back in the day, it was the nuclear capability that was the focus. It was more to the point. "Do as I say, otherwise you die from bombs." Whereas now, it's more like "Do as I say, or perhaps something bad might happen. I'm not going to say what it is, or to whom, but trust me."

The issues are when humans enter this equation and we see how twatty the entire thing is. Eventually it comes down to who was the first to accidentally hit the geek in the corner and knock his glasses off. That's when shit gets real, as well as hilarious.

Back to the original thing... if Edward Snowden and Bradley Manning were given no charges and allowed back in society, they'd be celebrities - and they'd feel like they could pretty much say anything about the USA's entire espionage and military programme of the last few years. The Chinese and Russians sit back laughing while the USA wilts in the face of overwhelming distaste.

The only possible way in which those two men could be allowed freedom is if they could expose the Chinese and Russians on an equal level, showing the world the idiocy of international espionage. By saying how morally wrong the USA's approach is, they're inadvertently saying that other countries don't do anything reprehensible or have any dirty - dirtier - secrets.

And so the charge of aiding the enemy is dropped. To be honest, I don't know why, because it clearly aids the enemy. I guess the issue is... what enemy? Officially the enemy is whomever the USA is in war with, but in this case, the enemy is other, larger countries in need of anti-American propaganda to help stifle dissent at home.

Russia's homophobic policies, stifling of freedom of speech against the government, stifling of democracy... they're all real. People who casually say that the USA doesn't have a democracy anymore should go to Russia or North Korea. The USA is obviously far from perfect, but I'm pretty sure I know which country I'd rather live in. China is like a bodybuilder with HIV: you know it's powerful now, but there's something wrong there.

I think Germany and England suit me down to the ground. England's MI6 only exists so that James Bond films can be made, everyone knows that.

anyway i'm tired


[–]hex_m_hell   ago
Punk isn't good or bad. It's ultimately both nihilistic and hopeful. For me I feel like it's useful to recognize these self destructive urges, and sometimes act on them, either directly or by proxy. That's why GG Allin was punk. That's why Hunter S. Thompson was punk.
I think a lot of punks are self destructive because we see the potential for beautiy and hope in human kind, and we see it squandered. Winston Smith said Flower power was so pretty it was co-opted by Kleenex. The punk scene was so ugly, so off-putting, that we thought nobody would want to touch it." I think equally the nihilistic tendancies of punk come from the hope of the hippies being crushed.
We want a world where we can be who we can be aggressively and unashamedly human. We want to care about other pepole, but we've seen that hope crushed and coopted so the only thing left is whiskey and heroin. We live in a terrifying world of overwhelming state power and overwhelming apathy, as hunter said "where rain is acid... and sex is death." Fuck going out with a wimper, fuck going out with a bang, punk is a nuclear fireball.
But that's just one side of punk. To deny it's existance is to ignore a part of ourselves. We can't whitewash this, we have to look the beast in the eye and say "yes, you are part of me." Nihilism is part of punk, but it's not all of punk.
As much as it's about self destruction it's about creation and community. Punk is about being angry together, and taking care of each other. Punk means looking at each other and knowing we're all a bunch of angry kids in a world that doesn't give a fuck and that means we have to be there for each other... and sometimes that means we can't OD because people need us. Punk is picking up after a huricane and providing medical support. Punk is organizing your community for mutual aid and support. Punk getting your friends to hang out and telling them how awesome they are so they don't sit at home and OD.

Monday, 29 July 2013

Before his week-long trip to Brazil for "World Youth Day," Francis had already raised the ire of Catholic traditionalists by washing the feet of a Serbian Muslim woman and saying that God redeems "even the atheists."
In May, he told a crowd at St. Peter's Square in Vatican City, "I think about those who are unemployed often because of an economic conception of society that seeks egoistic profit regardless of social justice" — a statement that union official Damon Silvers said was "very similar to our message at the AFL-CIO."

>washes infidels' feet
>lets atheists go to heaven even though we didn't play the game
>calls corporations out on their selfishness

I like this guy

Thursday, 25 July 2013

"The germans made a brave stand at Hamburg, But the Russian chariots overran them nevertheless. Meanwhile, the southern territories are at war. Pacal of the Maya's continues his eternal conflict with George Washington. If only George was willing to convert to Hinduism, all of this could be averted."

I like how a single Civ game can give rise to an epic copypasta

My last civ game:

The Indonesians. A civilisation that nobody had given much heed to. Sure, they had their own unique luxuries, but that didn't make much difference in terms of global politics, did it?
You bet your fucking ass it did.
First of all, Portugal decided to plant a city right slap bang in the middle of Indonesia's territory. Their home island. And I mean, nobody would sit back and take that shit, not even a seemingly peaceful shipping country. So they invaded and puppeted Portugal's city. And then decided to go sailing over to Portugal and invade the crap out of them.
A few turns later, and Lisbon was taken. Portugal, the scourge of the free lands of Indonesia, had fallen.


Wednesday, 24 July 2013


- By George, I’ve got it!
- Ok, I’ll go then.
- No, George, I wasn’t saying bye to you. You’re not even called George, Jajje.
- What have you got?
- Check out this guy’s credentials.
- Hmm. (Takes paper) He has GCSE’s?
- I know.
- And more than one?
- Yes.
- He got a few A’s? I’m impressed. Not many people have got that.
- There’s more.
- He has worked in shops. Actual emplyment?
- His personal statement bowled me over.
- I am honest, reliable and trustworthy. Fuck!
- I know. It’s like, you go through dozens of CVs where nobody tells you things that are just important. When was the last time you worked with someone who wasn’t only honest, but also reliable and trustworthy?
- You?
- If you insist.
- Look at the bit about what he can do.
- I work well on my own or as part of a team. Really? I can’t believe that.
- Give it a chance, Jajje. I know it sounds impossible, but if he says he can do both, I trust him. Just look at his hobbies - he sounds like an exceptional individual.
- My hobbies are socialising, watching sport, and going to the cinema.
- I know.
- I haven’t said anything.
- But I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering if it’s possible to lead such an interesting life.
- Yeah. I mean, socialising? That’s pretty astonishing. When was the last time you socialised?
- I don’t even know what it is.
- And watching sport? He doesn’t even play sport. He’s too good for that. The one that got me, though, was...
- Going to the cinema.
- Yeah.
- Exactly. It’s like...
- Just when you think this guy can’t get any better, he does and says that. What’s he even doing applying for a job like this, if he has that as a hobby?
- Well, he sounds enthusiastic.
- How do you know?
- Because he said it. ‘I am enthusiastic and hard-working.’
- Get the Phone.

Tuesday, 23 July 2013

It's a choice, he said.
Choice between what and what, I replied.
Oh you silly boy, said he, whilst rolling a cigarette in the morning rain. You have no idea about much do you?
I know about daft things like the price of petrol. I know about the direction in which one is meant to brush one's teeth - not up and down, nor sideways, but in various little circles. In fact, based upon Douglas Hofstadter's work, I've decided that all problems can be solved by applying solutions based upon little circular loops within a bigger structure. Like the Earth's rotation. Little truths and a bigger truth, that may be hard to swallow, but it doesn't matter because it wraps lots of little ones inside it.
You're right, it is hard to swallow.

He forsook his previous deity and pledged allegiance to the God of Plastics, formed around 1971 AD. This, he felt, was a God who understood him: a God who specialised in pragmatism, and was highly involved in most of the progressions undertaken by Western society at this present moment. What could we do without plastics? Not much, sirrah.
You would call me sirrah although the day is not yet through?
I would, bade he, bowing and extended a pair of billards from his pocket as recompense.
Nay, strode I, and curtailed his conjecture, and shut down his shipment of solicitousness, and subsequently earned myself a place amongst the highest of Halvalla Gods (the shitter version of Valhalla).
Did you ever pass the Daz Doorstep Challenge? said he.
Nay, I replied: I was never given such a task.
I was, he said, slipping a pipe between his teeth and a deodorant between his armpit and his upper chest. I remember it well.

It was the summer of 69. Trees were growing and the women were fine. Til one day a fisherman tossed me a line. Upon it was a fish marked with the red badness. I quivered but was caught. I was caught by that which had been caught: doubly annoying. Stupid Mark, branding me and causing me to lose sleep through the stupidity acquired by excessive contamination

I'm writing this to stop myself trying to sleep because I accidentally a bottle of whiskey and the moment I lay down my head I want to puke. This isn't going anywhere - nothing I've written of late has any real purpose. Then again, did it ever? I don't know. I certainly never got the tiredness when I was writing. Continuity. I had a constant Reader back then going by the name of the nameless liverjournallers. I did abandon them admittedly, but they got me started.

That moment though where you realise you're better than those who judge, where you realise that your own judgement is in fact more important than anyone else's, that moment where you realise you're capable of objectivity and fairness and a worryingly large number of people around you aren't. And that's me drunk. It's a handicap.

Random memory of standing outside in Mia's garden. I never thought that time would end. In some parallel universe it didn't, and I'm a little more miserable than I am now. Right now, I need to remember myself, remember that I was for a while totally alone. The weirdest thing of all? I have made (and lost) more friends in the last year than ever before. I can still see and name the people I knew for a couple of months at Roehampton: I could have spent an evening alone with any of them and felt like it had been an interesting time. .That was I guess aided by the lowest common denominator. I can't shake it. The feeling that I fucked it up. That by leaving by my own will I ruined the path laid out by God. God wanted me to fail eventually. He didn't want me to leave before I had the chance.

Stupid alcohol.

When the clock hits 4 I probably need to be asleep because I need to get up early to make sure I will get up for a 9:15 interview on Thursday: a job that right now I can't imagine getting.

For the past six years or so, August and July have been totally without work. This is pathetic.

utterly gobstoppered

Good morning
Morning, me hearties.
I am Sobohu. I am a pirate.
Name’s Jake the Bastard. I too am a pirate.
What do you specialise in?
I seek lands of plenty where my men and I plunder and take back the treasures of the land, before spending that money on rum and wooden legs. You?
I believe in Allah and I punish the infidels by kidnapping their women and killing their men.
No, Allah. The one and only true God.
Rum’s me only god.
It appears you are in need of spiritual guidance. Let me recite a passage from the Koran.
No thank you. Nothing a quick dreg o’ rum can’t fix.
Alcohol is forbidden in Islam.
Remind me never to go there then.
It is not a place. It is our belief system.
Look, mate. You call yourself a pirate and you’re talking about beliefs and forbidding alcohol. You don’t get it. We - that is, me and my lads - we don’t do beliefs. We sail the seven seas and take our bounty. We sail ships until they get worn out then we steal a ship from someone else.
Allah would not look down kindly upon your ways.
What makes your ways so good then?
Because I do it in the name of Allah.
Right. So if I do my stuff in the name of Allah, then it’s alright?
Yes, why not.
Yo ho ho and a bottle of...
Water. And we don’t say yo ho ho. We do another sound. Elelelelelel.
Elelelelel and a bottle of water. That it?
So I can go ahead and seek beautiful women and steal my treasures?
No. Women are whores. You should not be debased by them.
That is a bit of a catch-22. How can they be whores if they’re not debasing themselves to us?
They just are. If they are not virgins then they are whores.
Oh. Where’s the fun in it? I like a lady with a bit of experience under her belt. I tell ya, Madame McGuffin over in the port of Yeshlavik knows a trick or two involving a cherry. She eats a cherry and then... well, then she sucks your cock.
I will not have such blasphemous talk on my ship!
But, you see, you’re not on your ship.
What are you talking about?
You think you captured our ship, and you think you caught us unawares? No, mate. Since we’ve been talking my men have been escaping your lot’s clutches. You don’t believe in my methods of piracy? You’re in one.
That does not make sense.
I know. I just wanted to have an excuse to say the line.
From what.
Pirates of the Caribbean, obviously. Best and most accurate film about being a pirate, ever.
I have not seen it. Western filth.
You call yourself a pirate and you haven’t seen Pirates of the Caribbean? How do you even know how to be a pirate?
I am a pirate because I am on a ship and I steal things. I asked Mohammad in a prayer what that meant and he replied that it meant I was a pirate. He then went on to say that I was Pontius Pilate.
Definitely schizophrenic then. Oh wait. You’re also a bit deaf.

I know what he called you. A poncy pirate.

Thursday, 18 July 2013

Gordon the Gopher

- Do you know how Gordon the Gopher came into being?
- No.
- Philip Schofield's costume designer, Gordon Swazz, told Schofield he needed a new gimmick, like wearing a puppet of some kind. To that, Philip replied, "Gordon, go fuck yourself."
- As in, Gordon the Gophuckyourself?
- Yeah. That was actually his name for a while.
- Wait, what? This story made sense until what you just said. Go back.
- Yeah.
- His actual puppet was called Gordon the Gofuckyourself?
- Yeah.
- Not Gopher?
- No.
- What the hell did that puppet look like?
- It was Schofield's hand inside a puppet that looked like Philip Schofield. His hand was up his own arse. He was actually...
- Fucking himself.
- Yeah.
- How did that go down with the kids?
- Nobody batted an eyelid.
- Oh.
- But there were a thousand complaints.
- Oh.
- All from people who found themselves also unable to blink for some reason.
- Right.
- So basically, the kids thought it was funny that Schofield was talking to a puppet version of himself, but it was quite obvious to the grown-ups that there was something amiss.
- Well, I suppose a man with a hand up his own puppet is a bit dodgy.
- That's the thing though. It was a naked puppet. You could see his arse...
- And his nob?
- Yeah.
- A puppet's nob on kids' TV?
- Yeah. That was mostly the problem. Kids didn't realise it was a knob. It just looked like a random appendage.
- Is that a quote?
- Yeah, taken from an interview session on-air with some kids.
- Who undertook the interview?
- Jimmy Saville.
- Ah right, you went there.
- Yeah. He went there, too.
- I know he did.
- Back to Schofield.
- His back was to Schofield as he went there? Were they some sort of team?
- Don't.
- Don't what.
- Don't beschirm Schofield like that.
- Beschirm?
- Yeah.
- That's not the word. That's a German word. Did you mean besmirch?
- Yeah. Why did I say beschmirm?
- Subconscious. It actually means 'protect'.
- But... but no. That's pretty much the exact opposite of. What I meant.
- I know.
- Right, so.
- Yeah. So Gordon the Gofuckyourself was axed?
- Yeah.
- Is the right person talking now?
- Depends which side of the audio channel you're on.
- No, I mean.
- Does it matter? The story's about Gordon, not us. We're just his pawns.
- Right.
- So basically, Gordon the Gofuckyourself was placed in a storage box somewhere in the Pentagon.
- Yeah.
- And then Schofield of course had a brain wave.
- As in, he decided to use gopher?
- Not quite. He realised that post-feminism was based upon ad homenim -
- And Gordon?
- Oh, Schofield was having some conversation with his boss when he was interrupted in the middle of telling him to go fuck himself.
- Of course. Great things happen when things get interrupted. Look at the whole penicillin thing.
- Well no, that was mould.
- You haven't let me finish my story.
- Oh. That's ironic isn't it, talking about interrupting -
- One day, some woman knocked on some bloke's door asking for some sugar. In real life.
- Right.
- And he said, "Yeah."
- Course he did. You'd say yeah even if you didn't.
- Yeah. She then told him she had a headache.
- Right...
- He offered her aspirin. And she said "Can I have it with some water." He gave it her, and she then said, "I like it in the aspirin. Works better that way." What she meant to say was she liked it in the water.
- A simple mistake. For a droid.
- Yeah.
- What did he say?
- Well, this fellow, he said, "I'm sure you do like it in the as-" at which point they were interrupted by...
- By what...
- Erm... I dunno. A monkey.
- A monkey?
- Yeah. And so of course now, the entire conversation had turned on its head, with the whole aspirin arse fiasco.
- Right.
- Everything was innuendo.
- Yeah.
- What followed next was that the lady told him that she had an ear infection and asked if he had any penicillin.
- I can see where this is going.
- So he gives her the penicillin, at which point she tells him, "I like your penis."
- What, like that?
- Yeah.
- She wasn't... interrupted by a monkey?
- Well, it was more a case of she wanted the monkey to interrupt her. If you know what I mean.
- Er.
- Interrupt. As in... in. In. In to her. Interrupt. Into her up.
- Doesn't work.
- Fine.
- So basically, when the fuck did Gordon the Gopher come into our existence?
- When Philip Schofield watched a documentary about gophers and decided he wanted one called Gordon, alright?
- Is that a true story?
- No.
- Well, fuck.
- What is true is that according to Schofield, Gordon the Gopher was an alcoholic who later died in a ramraiding accident. This, however, was belied by Gordon's later television appearances.
- Wait.
- What.
- That's actually what Philip Schofield said?
- Yeah.
- What a heartless bastard.
- I know.
- Without Gordon the Gopher, Schofield would be nothing. Nothing!
- I know.
- Do it.
- Do what?
- The whole comparing him to Saville thing. Out of spite. Go the whole hog.
- Or rather, the whole gopher.
- I'm shutting this conversation down.

Monday, 15 July 2013

Reading up on blood poisoning from reddit - if you see red lines that's basically death crawling up your arm to your heart. It got me thinking about the healthcare system. Say you find yourself having to call 999 because there's a high chance you will die.
They come, and save you, and you survive.
How the fuck do they cope in countries where you have to pay for stuff like that? You have to actually give money just because your body randomly happened to be struck by something horrific? Death should not be staved off with money, it should be the science and people's good will. I know goodwill only gets you so far - the NHS is soaking up money, blah blah blah - but it's abstract money, it's money taken from the hands of moaning taxpayers.
I know there are a million and one problems with it, that waiting in A and E is a fucking drag, but actually - when you're about to die - they will try to stop you dying. For very little money. And that's the difference between the NHS and other places. They don't give you a fine for surviving.

I might be totally wrong about this. Probably.
watched skyfall the other day - was good, but for me the most notable moment was when M said 'fucked up'.

The film's a 12A. What are we doing to our children?

Joke. It was glorious to hear it. Bond in the 21st century fucking rocks

Sunday, 14 July 2013

Creation Began With a Mistake

By far the least exciting of the trilogy, The Last Man Standing focuses entirely on a housing estate within a post-apocalyptic Chernobyl-esque ruin of Lower Morden. Several residents take up arms against a Tampax-wielding contraption without any
What, it was had been long lost on the residents of the forgotten town whose name was once Morden but was now forgotten. Aeons had leapt like randy frogs forward into an entropy-worshipping
Molecular level cityscape. Atoms of buildings. Our planet is but a cell, and the
Gary Humdrum sat in his office, sipping his coffee which had spilt onto the white-coloured desk in an oval-shaped splurge measuring approximately three by five centimetres. The coffee had originally inhabited about two by two centimetres square but owing to its mass it began spreading at a rate which had begun fairly rapidly but, owing to the vicissitude of the desk, now curdled its progress. That, however, did not mean it wasn’t going to fall off the edge of the table, which it did: the coffee globules, still attracted to the surface of the table, curled inwards for a moment or two, until finally one droplet came away and landed on the floor. Instantly, a million alarms went off and Gary
Was a boring film, a remake of King Lear in Japan (King Real), which as we all know is a racist
A man walks into a
The yeti came crashing out of the undergrowth, before realising this undergrowth was within the bush of a woman named Eleanor T. Scuttonquupe, who without prompting proceeded to pump the hose further until it began to coat the yeti. Fortunately the yeti was hot and so the water simply had the effect of further enraging
Was a dark and stormy night. It was a lark in the morning light. It was an aardvark and fawning
Ten thousand years  ago, the Sword lay in the bosom of the boson, where it would lie forever because no man would be able to figure out how to find that boson - if they did, the world would begin to end and then unfortunately along came the bloody
Knives are dangerous, especially when placed in the hand of a Hamster. I circumnavigated the mad hamster of Eden, who had sent the snake running. If I could conquer the hamster I would restore meaning not only to the world, but the word. I had looked in the bible and discovered that the hamster had chewed most of the pages away, storing them in its stupid cheeks. I asked God something but he prattled and I ignored it as I made to destroy the Hamster. Then God threw down a massive plastic ball and the Hamster started running and hasn’t stopped running since. They say the day he stops running will be the day when the End comes. The ball is kept closed by seven
Are pretty cute, especially when they don’t kill people. Never look a seal in the gob. Never look a gift horse in the January sales. They go mad during this time. A seal, on the other hand, could club you to death - hence the revenge of the Canadians during their crazy seal-destroying season. How can something that looks so cute actually be a terrifying animal? Just ask the
The Sawn, more like. They made a series of Swan movies which went on for another six sequels. Basically they involved a bunch of people trapped in some situation, whereby they watch a video of a swan asking them if they want to play a game, and if they lose, he bites their arms off. Of course because it’s 12 the arms just get broken but
Still: unbroken. Pills: untaken. Bills: unpaiden. Gills: unpromotion. Hills: unclimbed. Quills: unwritten. Kills: unverified. Candle: ja-
Is the sound you make when a chamber orchestra comes veering over the horizon in their crazy 4 x 4s, hurtling along to the sound of bloody Wagner except of course they’re the ones playing it, so that means they can’t drive, which means they only place they can drive is mostly in the desert, otherwise they crash. You should see them, waving in crazy lines. The ironic thing is, if you view their sand tracks from above, they actually manage to draw a perfect representation of a
Desert Full of Sand
Yes I cheated, for the cheap gag. Not all systems stay in place: without fluctuation there is no gravity. Creativity, I mean - I’m starting to actually think of ideas within this useless frame. Hence the mistakes, but like all Great Writers I work with the mistake and make
Something Stupid
Like I love you, she sang to me as I lay on my foolish bed, trying to recollect the night before. I had lain with my head up and her head on my chest like in all the movies. I could not sleep for excitement. I thought about my past, my future, my happiness. Then I woke up to this. She’d turned into a
Is a fickle creature, according to whom you ask. I asked a Whom, a strange creature of origin unknown and future believable, who told me that the best way into a woman’s heart is through her ribcage. He was later arrested on charges of suspicion and possession of too many flick-books. In the meantime, time decided to get mean, get even, unmake haste, recalibrate seriality and sequence, and overthrow the gravitational time-shift, substituting minutes for hours and hours for
Controlled the population. Churches controlled the thoughts of each individual back in the day when everyone had a back and no front, like sprites in 90’s first-person video games. Humanity’s skull began to flake upon too much exposure to these gammy rays, wavelength putrid, spasming backwards, cancer breeding every tenth gene, so that Schrodinger himself would puke his acrid lungs out, although of course people don’t puke from their lungs although I guess they do cough up stuff so in other words, it began with
Gertrude surveyed the plasma. She peered in through the plexi-glass, which surrounded the Thing in a cylindrical shield. Nothing would get through today. Next week it would, because they all knew the Thing made the rules here. It was fun pretending for a while, though.
The ceiling shone with the light from fifty or so lights piercing that were imprinted into the ceiling, giving the impression of luminous pores within white skin. Waste of energy, most of it. This was part of the problem. No wonder the Thing was annoyed at them all. All impressions. All was in order: nothing was in order.
“Wake up,” whispered Pete the Decorator into her subcutaneous outcropping she referred to as her ear, and which most people referred to as her subcutaneous outcropping. “Made you jump, didn’t I?”
“No.” A small smile broke out upon her frosty features, but he would never get to see that, for she only had time for the Thing now. Pete smelled. Kind of a mixture of apple juice and tree moss. Was something different, anyway. More evidence of the chaos thrown into this sterile place: how can someone who smells like that exist in an area supposedly free of all bacteria? All smell was bacteria. Sometimes it accepted it, flaunted it. Other times it attempted to make itself smell clean. Didn’t make any difference to Gertrude. All aroma was a flaw. He put a hand on her shoulder which she shuddered at. She pushed it off and turned to face him.
“You’re weird,” she said, finally letting him enter her eyebrain. Hedge-like hair. Nostrils in need of waxing. Stubble in need of razing. Ears probably in need of cleaning. Mouth in need of brushing. An abomination, incompatible with these environs. But here he was. What did the word environs mean, anyway?
“And you’re my underling,” he responded, nostrils flaring with indignation but eyebrows betraying the enjoying he felt from receiving the attention afforded by her absorption of his malevolent spectrum into her manifest vestibule that she liked to call her mind but which for some reason others called the bana.
She pushed him over. “Enough,” she said, realising that she’d had to put up with him for far too long, and accepting that unleashing all her anger was the only way to deal with him. Sure, it would create chaos, but she was human, after all. Humans could never conquer space, because space did not and would never be compatible with that all-too-unconquerable human curse -
“Love,” he gushed, as he clattered bonanza into the door. Instantly two carrier-bots emerged and hoisted him upon their supposed shoulders, before carting him off into the MediWard. “I’ll see you again, Claymore,” he bellowed. “Mark my words! Mark them!”
It was always the same process. He would never remember when it had happened last time.
Slipping her goggles over her head, and snapping her gloves on, Gertrude began the experiment for real this time. No way would she have let him interfere with the process. But, after two thousand days since his accident, Pete had endeavoured to get Gertrude to proclaim her love for him. One time she did it and as a result he was comatose for the rest of the day, refusing to eat anything. When he defecated himself with a smile, she knew she could never love him. Nothing was worth doing if it meant compromising the conditions of the lab.
So she eyed the Thing, and for a moment it seemed as though it eyed her back. But of course her back was turned, so that was impossible according to the laws of physics, although some believe that the universe is round and so actually if you made it to the end of the universe, you would see your own back, or some bollocks.
If you had bollocks on your back, that was.
“That’s the future,” she sighed, as she slid the Thing’s box out of the freeze-dried vents from where it came, and carefully placed it upon the glass table.
SURFACE RECORDINGS INDICATE SPECIES IS UNKNOWN, chirped the voice of Rosie over the loudspeakers. The table of course glowed red because that was what it always did when it was confronted by this unknown organism.
“I know it’s unknown, stupid - that’s the point of having a human do this job. Rosie, can you turn yourself off?” No answer. “Rosie!”
Sure, Rosie had forgotten her surname, and Pete had forgotten her name, but really, what did it matter anymore? Ever since they’d got assigned to work on this station, there hadn’t been any real need for actual human interaction unless it was at the work level. No need for small talk. No need for drinks. No need for pool tables. All time had to be spent efficiently, and once the human body could no longer operate at an efficiency of over 90%, rest time was allocated, during which they hooked themselves up to the Node; after a few hours of this, the computers would decide that their bodies had had enough of being conscious and sent them to sleep through injection of intravenous drugs. Of course, being as they were inside the Node, they were never aware of the slippage into unconsciousness, apart from the odd moment where the Surreal might enter the Node and they would be all-too-aware of the change in their own physical circumstance.
“Turn yourself off!”
The Thing was out of the box, and lay on the pristine table as though it were the dinner of a madman. It had begun to thaw, and already there were signs of life. Its round, almost gravid shape had a feeling of perfection to it, but its flaws lay in its chemical make up, made clear by the readings. It did, however, possess some strange will of its own.
She grasped it with both hands and gave it a shake. The crust that had formed cracked a little. This had not happened before and she was afraid. With a little gasp, she dropped it. There, on the floor, it sat.
What Gertrude could not account for were the micro-organisms that had somehow survived the great sterilising process within the lab all those years ago. They thought it was clean but, of course, life, uh, finds a way.
Micro-organisms, dormant for so long, realised there was something to attach themselves to that wasn’t a shoe (which itself would be sterilised minutes later - they somehow knew this, as though the collective memory of their comrades who were lost had passed onto their generation as a genetic warning) and latched themselves onto it.
“Five second rule,” muttered Gertrude, and picked it up, beholding its rotund shape. “It’s fine. You’re fine, right?” she asked the Thing. It only gazed back at her with its eye that was no eye. The answer lay only in its continued three-dimensional existence. Bacteria probably now had hold of it. Should she disinfect it? No. That would compromise its integrity and perhaps even destroy what made it worth studying in the first place.
She slid it back into its compartment, deciding that perhaps this day might be a write-off. The bacteria - however microscopic - would have to be dealt with tomorrow. She had a whole week to figure this thing out.

When she went into her living quarters that evening, she would watch a film she’d been meaning to watch for ages: The Last Man Standing, by far the least exciting of the trilogy.
Dear Bro,

Come at me.

Yours sincerely,


Saturday, 13 July 2013

So now that Brave New World has been added, Civ 5 is finally a great game.

Just one more flaw left: the turn times are very long once it gets to the end-game. My way around it has been to change between Normal and Strategic View which hurries it up somewhat.

The number of things now that can affect the future are vast. Pure chaos theory. Love it.

Wednesday, 3 July 2013


Today some annoying student in IT stood up and yelled to me "Sir, who sang I Just Had Sex? Was it Akon?"

Just before the teacher yelled at her for being inappropriate, I managed to mutter, "Well, it featured Akon but was actually by Lonely Island."

This Is How It Is To Be A Johnson

Monday, 1 July 2013

interesting thought (if slightly bollocks)

once broadband became cheap enough for your average family, all bets were off. 
it was no longer turn computer on, wait 5 minutes,
turn modem on, let boot up, 
find ISP short cut
enter phone number (or use drop down provided)
(usually) fail connection retry
after about 10-20 minutes you were on. 
BUT once connected what do you do?
THAT was the road block for 99% of the cancer. The simply could not figure out what to do once connected. Search engines such as yahoo, altavista, or lycos were no commonplace, and their algorithms were all different, meaning each engine gave different results, meaning, WHAT THE FUCK DO I LOOK AT AND WHICH IS THE RIGHT ONE FUCK IT IM GOING OUTSIDE!
like you said, we ended up with our own private playground where everyone shared similar views, meaning we all got along with one another.