Is this thing on?

Back in the good old days, when people corresponded with things called letters, the famous Piltdown Man skull was exhibited at various river banks and sea shores. Thus, the spate of utter nothingness happening at Illogicopedia has resulted in the deaths of literally millions. In order to eradicate this seething threat from a Hell dimension, Wal*Mart is having a white sale, which I think is a bit rude to the rest of the population of America.

W. Kamau has a hilarious show on FX. I finally got around to setting up a cheap webcam for my laptop, and decided to check out Chatroulette.com. The idea, for those of us who live in caves and read a lot of Plato, is an interface where your image is shown to the person who is chatting with you, and you can see them. You can "spin" through random users, and they can "next" you if they don't want to talk with you. And vice versa. Also, the other way around

There were surprisingly few hits where I was treated to the sight of penises or breasts. Most resulted in young men with their shirts off and glazed eyes. I had maybe 5 genial if short conversations over the course of about 15 hours of use. More on this later, when I'm not feeling like a mastadon trampled me at the market while choosing a nice brisket for dinner.

Mitt Romney: The Inevitable

Willard Mitt "Danger" Romney is a guy we don't hear about too often, because he's doesn't quote Pokemon movies and doesn't share a name with a reptile. However, he is deeply disliked by many people, including Mitt Romney. Yes, that's right. Romney loathes himself, partly due to the poor job his wife did dying his hair. If Herman Cain is Black Walnut, Romney must be plain vanilla. Seriously. Dang it!

So, yeah, this guy makes Barney look like a Grand Theft Auto thug.

This is probably breaking my contract, since I'm writing something about this, but I can't come up with better material.

"Isn't his hair sooooooooooooooo dreamy"? -- My mother

I am not a number, I am a free man!

Our Klingon correspondent TheHappySpaceman, also known as Klingon Man or Dan the Hedgehog, recently woke up with a huge hangover and not remembering what had happened the night before. Luckily, he had his camcorder with him.
"Where am I?"
"In the village."
"What's for breakfast?"
"Buttered scones."
"What do you want?"
"Information."
"Like, what kind of information?"
"Your family cookie recipe."
"You won't get it!"
"By hook or by crook, we will."
"Who are you?"
"The new #2."
"Dare I make a joke about number two having an alternate meaning for dung?"
"No."
"Who is #1?"
"Who the hell knows? Anyway, you're #69."
"I am not a number! I am a free man! Though, that is quite a good selection you made for which number I am..."



Luckily, Dan woke up lying on his couch. Realizing that he had been watching too much of The Prisoner recently, Dan turned on a Star Trek and went back to bed.

Retractable Landing Gear Week

They want us to be distracted.  We're all stupid to them.  We don't lust after the Benz, the private jet... the social games... so, we must be stupid.  So, they make sure we only get to choose the most stupid of the stupid.

There was a time when having a university degree conveyed a good likelihood that you were somewhat well-read, and could manage to discuss things a bit more crucial to the advancement of the species than Budweiser and what the kids want on TV.

We're in a sad state.  What do you want me to tell you?  That being said, we've always been in a sad state.  The pressures I complain of are simply inevitable.  If it weren't this, it would be that.

That being said, I recommend celebrating Retractable Landing Gear Week with aplomb and ashram.  Be classy, tell your neighbor their yard looks nice, wear a tight corset, tutu, gas mask, cowboy hat and cover yourself in Wesson Oil.

Stop and smell the coffee

We had another successful mission last night.  Across the street by the old hospital parking lot, we put up these fliers in the interest of furthering our illogical agenda.  This morning we went back, and lots of tabs were taken.

In a fantasy life, each of those slips of paper will make it's way into a church or government institution, left to molder and subtly infiltrate the brainpans of innocent and guilty alike.  Some day, we tell ourselves, those so-called normal people will have to take a back seat to the BULL GOOSE LOONY.

It's like an itch you can't burn with a butane plumbers torch.  Nobody expects anything more than obscure references to Igor Stravinsky and his plan to rule Europe and North Africa. 

Having a dog tongue in your nostril can be unpleasant

Harrowing accounts of deadly flying banana attacks have been reported at Illogicopedia's Rio Di Janerio offices. A fellow named Roberto has escaped the the mayhem to report exclusively to us as IllogiNews on the situation, such as it is. According to Roger, Roberto says robot bananas are the first strike shock troops that insinuate themselves into your nostrils. Sub-atomically, migraine structures become insinuated on the vascular bundles right next to your mom. Other gambits have been proposed by Darth Vader, Chiquita, Thessaly Boogers and Froogles MacKenzie.

A post shorter than the Italian national anthem, I promise

Welcome back to Crumpets Today, the quintessentially British babble fest guaranteed to annoy our North American readership. With me today I have professor Blurgle-Spitt of Madeupsville University, who will continue his thesis on falling off a cliff from where he left off last week.

Blurgle-Spitt: I shall begin by reading a short excerpt from my paper. Ahem. "I put it to you, sir, that your face looks like a baboon's arse."

Oh really, Mr Blurgle-Spitt, you German nancy boy? Well I put it to you that your underpants smell like a particularly stinky part of a recently discarded bag of chips.

Blurgle-Spitt: See that 'Roberto' fellow? That's you that is. That's you after a visit to the barber's. The best barber in London's West End, the one Hugh Grant goes to in between extended evening sessions. And not just the three hour ones, we're talking about nine looooong hours and a whole £256.75 worth of 'room service'.

Illogicopedian: Screw this, get to the 'your mum' jokes already!

...And now you know why I never go on IRC. With apologies to Newman and Baddiel.

;)