Friday Ephemera (842)
Clearly, it was a load-bearing ribbon. || Beauty treatment. || Herring bananas. || “The biggest thing is the toilets,” says the cross-dressing man. || Surprisingly tall self-balancing pole. || Paper, cut. || Time to play prettify the lady. || Ladies of the shopping mall. || How to shit. || How to get shot. || Hampstead, 6am. || When you’re gorged on unguarded chickens and too fat to fly. || This fatigue of which you speak. || Can’t say I like the colour, though. || Eh, close enough, I guess. || Monster Mash, if it were performed by The Cure. || Rock music. || Messing with ants. || Sudden-onset upwardsness. || Unhindered chopping. || “His doctors described him as being in a state of agitation.” (h/t, Neatorama) || No, really, it’s totally fine. || On quivering flesh. || You’re not looking at the fireworks, are you?
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That’s funny. He doesn’t look trollish.
That’s one small step for a mixer, one giant leap for mankind.
Seen on the internet, somehow seems like it belongs here:
The irony of using Jensen Huang’s baby to skewer Jensen Huang
Microsoft has not just screwed the pooch, it’s buggered the entire fucking kennel.
The signage is … distracting.
‘MooMoo’.
It’s all so tiresome (TM).
The top criterion when looking for a home is avoiding the ferals.
Er, what was the question again?
Good luck with that. They’re everywhere.
Fascinating discussion of On The Road by Jack Kerouac:
Nowadays the default solution is (1) moving farther away from those “urban” areas, and (2) moving to a gated and/or high-priced neighborhood.
But retreat is not a good long-term solution. Forcing them to retreat is necessary.
Why not put all the ferals in a different sort of “gated community”?
“Just read the instructions” doesn’t work for the illiterates and druggies.
But let’s build a $400,000 public toilet anyway.
Falconry is a tricky game of constant weighing to see if your bird is in the right condition to fly, so this isn’t as surprising as it might seem.
Is today’s other word ‘pervert’?
Morning, all.
I’m expecting a mixed response.
Speaking of said foodstuff.
The unconvincing pseudo-ladies don’t seem at all concerned that actual ladies might want to “pee in peace” without intrusions by creepy, cross-dressing men, who, statistically, are much more likely to be a danger than the average bloke, and to do things like this.
Just going to leave that there, I think.
The oven cleaning was what sold me.
And not at all annoying.
Now wondering whether the robot used the same cloth on the oven and the toilet.
Those darn Latinos! Messing with our stuff!
In Colombia I remember a street vendor selling hot dogs where you could pile on something similar to potato salad, plus other abominations.
Also, pizza places where they offered figs, cherries, and canned peaches as toppings.
There’s a hot dog subreddit?
Ok. Why not.
There seemed to be an awful lot of condiments. And what appears to be sweetcorn.
I see Microsoft Outlook is still upbuggered.
[ Sound of a million laptops being needlessly rebooted, salty epithets in all human languages. ]
That standard deviation can really bite you on the ass.
[ Slides jar of pickled eggs along bar to David ]
I think it was the lurid stacking of condiments, as if all of them were necessary or remotely compatible. I mean, there’s a place in the universe for ketchup, and for mustard, and for mayonnaise, but it’s not in combination. And at risk of being controversial, the addition of sweetcorn wasn’t an enhancement.
And then – and then – there’s the consequent sogginess of the bun.
You don’t want soggy buns.
[ Peers over spectacles. ]
Elon needs to buy Microsoft.
Give me a dirty water dog from a Sabrett’s cart any day. I’m an “onions in red sauce” gal with those.
[ Returns with microphone, ear piece and TV camera crew. ]
Tell me, madam, where do you stand on the whole soggy buns issue?
Band name.
I’m not complaining as I can do something constructive, like the ironing…
Band name.
Apparently, they like scrambled eggs.
That’s our David, always thinking of us.
[ Inbox rattles with avalanche of belated emails. ]
Band name.
I’m sorry David. I’m from Chicago, IL. It’s law in Chicago that if you put ketchup/catsup on a hot dog 🌭, it’s an abomination that earns a beating. I stopped watching because it stopped being entertaining and started getting annoying heading towards horrifying. How do you even taste the hot dog? Then again, maybe the hot dogs taste so bad the five pounds of toppings hide the flavor.
It’s all in the presentation.
(via)
How very … Zen.
My own philosophy of hot dogs:
As you say, needless titivation does rather call into question the merits of the dog.
I’m a chill guy. For the most part.
[ Closes door to muffle unkind laughter from next room. ]