Friday Ephemera
Tokyo transsexual cooks and serves own genitals. // Self-stirring saucepan. // Assorted rattlesnakes. // Fly ablutions. // Robot spiders coming soon to hazardous environs. // Unmade beds and sailing boats. // Essential beach accessory. // Stop-motion crochet portrait. // The museum of endangered sounds. // Coin-operated mortuary. // Zombie gnomes. // The mysteries of Guinness. // Gummi bears infused with chilli. // British newspaper archive. // Fugu & Tako. // Found in Lapland. // Parked 747 encounters quite strong winds. // And for those who haven’t seen it, and you should, all eight episodes of The Planets (1999).
Sugiyama self-identifies as asexual, neither male nor female, and aspires to be so devoid of sexual features that he will be able to publicly wear transparent clothing
I’m so glad (s)he’s not just another attention seeking nutter.
Setting aside the fetishism, the dining experience was, it seems, a bit of let-down. The, er, items were described as “rubbery” or inedible, and except for the red wine, flavourless.
I suppose there’s only so much you can hide with parsley and button mushrooms.
So cannibalism is legal in Japan? Who knew?
There seems to be a preponderance of creepiness in this week’s Ephemera. Inspired by the Florida Zombie perhaps?
Jason,
It’s really not that organised, at least not consciously. It’s just whatever sticks to the net.
Sugiyama had also intended to include his nipples on the menu, but his attempt to burn them off with sodium hydroxide did not result in anything usable.
Yeah, the nipples are always the tricky bit.
Sugiyama self-identifies as asexual, neither male nor female, and aspires to be so devoid of sexual features that he will be able to publicly wear transparent clothing.
In plane English: Sugiyama is a self-loathing narcissist. (But I repeat myself.)
I once heard it put forth that there are three kinds of people in the world. The first kind, when they find that the dog has shit on the floor, clean it up. The second kind complain to someone else hoping they’ll do it for them. The third kind don’t clean it up either, but their first impulse, however, is to shove their own faces in it so they might complain all the louder about the smell.
Ah. It reminds me of my favorite headline on a Trash Mag.
Sick Rick The Knacker Snacker.
Man eats his own testicles.
Hard to beat.
We miscalculated the proper number of atom bombs to use on the Japanese. We used either too many, or not enough.
The self-stirring sauce pan is clever, but not useful. The sauce needs to be boiling to get the stirring going, which will ruin the sauce.
Many years ago, someone invented the pot-stirrer, which was much better. Battery-operated, it just spun around at a speed of your choosing on three little feet. As it spun, it spread around the pan at random. It looked like a figure skater making endless figure-eights. You could use it at any temperature. I made slow-cooked scrambled eggs with it without once stirring it. Protected the teflon of the pan too.