Werewolf cats! Seriously guys! Werewolf cats! … Well, not so much werewolves as, well, cats. Just cats. Not wolves. Cats with unfortunate skin conditions. Ugly cats. Just, just ugly. Nothing more. So, sorry I got all riled up. I mean, read still, it’s still interesting, but, you know, they’re just cats is all… WEREWOLF CATS!
The internet: it’s where we all live, work, and play. It’s where I’m telling you these things right now. It’s a magical place filled with many amazing and terrible things. But the number one rule of the internet is: Cats. Cute cats to be more precise. Cute cats are to the Internet what sunlight is to plants. It nourishes it, it largely only exists because of it and it could not survive without it. I’m not sure which “it” I was referring to either.
SO WHAT THE HELL ABOUT THIS THEN?!
Fehkin’ WEREWOLF CATS, MAN! They’re a thing, they exist, and they’ve just replaced “Acid Giraffes” in my nightmare rolodex!
These horrific things, (that I can only imagine do nothing but pray to die) are the result of a Tennessee breeder crossing “a cat with a naturally-occurring Sphinx mutation and a black domestic short hair to create the Lykoi”, or “Wolf Cat”.
They writhe and roil, a mockery of life, drawing witness to the lie of existence!
Now–and I’m a cat person, always have been–these things make me want to build a time machine, travel back to ancient Egypt, and take a rocket launcher to the flying saucer that brought cats to this planet! Oh yeah, that’s how they got here! Science fact!
These little sparsely haired lumps of insanity make me question everything that I once held as true and real, and I want to forget I ever saw them, but there is nothing else there when I close my eyes now, but these, these terrible things that have proven once and for good and final that there is no God and that no amount of cute cat videos will ever save us from the rise of the Lykoi! And DO NOT try to say these things are adorable and that I am simply over reacting. They’re not and I’m not, and you’re wrong!
Oh sweet, sweet 7-11; so much more than day old spinning burgundy hot dogs and your delicious signature Slurpee. Now you have joined forces with other food insanity pioneer Doritos to unleash a new level of intestinal hell. Coming to a regretful stomach near you, behold: Doritos Loaded.
If you’re anything like me, you sit alone in your underwear, covered in processed cheese dust, calling out to a God who has long forgotten his mistake of creating you, “Is there anything you can’t swaddle in Dorito to more deliciously clog the hole in my soul?” And while God invariably ignores these pleas, junk food technologists are hard at work, making sure that, with each passing that day, the answer to that most-dire-of-questions is increasingly: “Eh. Maybe this?”
It is with that in mind that I introduce you to your newest drunken late night decision: the Doritos Loaded.
No, what you’re looking at isn’t the fever dream of your booze-soaked liver, magically willed into existence. What you have here is a wad of nacho cheese, lovingly caressed by a Doritos crumble blanket, sprinkled with the kisses of cheese fairies and placed gently into the warming trays of three select Washington D.C. 7-Elevens. The result is very much like a mozzarella stick, only bat shit crazy.
Doritos Loaded is reportedly “a product that is in test,” according to an unnamed 7-Eleven representative. Then heard in the background of the phone call was the unmistakable clanking of gears, no doubt raising a platform high above a laboratory toward a stormy sky. The distinct noise of the dragging club-foot of the 7-Eleven representative’s trusty lab assistant across a cold slab floor could be heard as it made its way to a switch mounted on the wall. It was “too soon to really talk about it,” the representative continued as the platform locked into position with a loud metallic clunk, followed not long after by a crash of thunder and the mad cackling of the anonymous 7-Eleven representative.
As the phone clattered to the ground, the muffled shouts, proclaiming his creation to be “ALIVE” could be made out over the buzzing of electrical current and the low, wheezing chuckles of the hunch backed assistant. They had no further comments.
Alright Canada, we get it, you’ve got your fancy ass free health care for every animal that crawls, hops and slithers, meanwhile we have to fight for five years to make ours only slightly less terrible. But now your crack addicts get better access to their “medicine” than your average American wage slave thanks to free crack pipe dispensing vending machines? What’s that aboot?
How many times has this happened to you? You’re walking around Vancouver’s lovely/dangerous Downtown Eastside district when you realize you’ve lost your favorite crack pipe. You know, the chipped up one that you use to transmit HIV and Hepatitis C with? How ever will you get your daily Boost?! Well fret no longer, rock-smoking Canadians, your prayers have been answered in the form of the Portland Hotel Society’s, Drug Users Resource Centre and their brand spankin’ new crack pipe vending machines!
Now, for just 25 cents you can purchase a brand new durable pyrex peezo from these machines so that you can partake in your scrabble safely!
It’s a move that Kailin See, director of the DURC, told reporters is “…about increasing access to safer inhalation supplies in the Downtown Eastside,” apparently renown as Canada’s poorest postal code. See, the big health issue (you know, aside from smoking crack) is that users who keep blasting some shoddy old space ship, risk the too-real-hazard of potentially chipping their horn, thus making them prone to cutting the drug users’ mouth, and thus more thus, making them more prone to the spread of communicable diseases.
And while making crack smoking safer for those who are cripplingly addicted might seem like a decent and humane thing to do, there are those who see it differently. Like, for example, the Minister of Public Safety Steven Blaney who said he supports treatment that ends drug use, including “limiting access to drug paraphernalia” by youth. Because, as we all know, the only thing keeping Canadia’s youth from all becoming raging gravel heads, is easy access to safe pipes with which to smoke their crumbs.
He went on to remind everyone who’d forgotten, that “Drug use damages the health of individuals and the safety of our communities,” So the best way to combat that of course, it to make sure that it continues to be as unhealthy and unsafe as possible.
What would immediately come to your mind if I were to say the words “Columbia University Porno”? Something even resembling sexy, interesting or comprehensible? Sure. Now what if I add “feminist” to that thought equation? Well, prepare your boners for some angry confusion.
“Feminist Porn”. Initially that sounds like a contradiction in terms, and it turns out, it is.
But if you enjoy the pretentious, self-important writhing of be-monied topless ladies with nothing better to do than smear eggs on the ground and drizzle chocolate sauce on each other to the chanting tune of, I’ll assume some sort of anthem of feminist oppression that even my SoundHound app told me to fuck off and not waste it’s time with; then brother, warn your pants, ‘cause a Boner-cano is on its way!
The original article I found this in termed this a “porno” which is a gross misuse of the word. At worst this is a student film, made with mommy and daddy’s money in an effort to tell them how much they hate them and their money.
These strong female fighters for equality chose to film their anti-porn in the Columbia University library as it represented “sexism at the school” because “only male authors’ names are on the building” and that the “film” was a “statement” exploring “the rituals of American Ivy League secret societies, to the point of hysteria.” Which I believe roughly translates to “We weren’t allowed in any of the school’s secret societies.”
You can check out this celebration of fisheye lenses and white panties in ”Initiatiøn”, but keep in mind that it is TECHNICALLY not safe for work. I use “technically” because, aside from a few naked breasts, it’s mostly NSFW because your co-workers might question what you understand as pornography.
It’s been said that “Darlin’ it’s better, down where it’s wetter” and “that’s why it’s hotter, under the water.” It may be possible that the singing crab to which those words of wisdom are generally attributed to wasn’t exactly referring to a submersible fuck sub, but there’s no proof that he wasn’t either.
So, you’ve punished that pie way up in the sky. Well why not conquer that “C” down under the sea! Because the “Mile-High” club is SO Wright Brothers, a new travel company is offering you the chance to join the “Mile-Low” club.
Money, and the having of it must be nice. To be able to just decide one day “I have a minimum of $284,000 that I VERY don’t need, and an aching desire to stick my parts into another someone’s near a sunken battleship” and then make that a reality must be a hell of a life to have.
In a press conference announcing this luxury aquatic bang bus, Oliver Bell, co-founder of Oliver’s Travels told the common note scratching clods: “All of our handpicked, luxury properties have something unique and quirky about them, but Lovers Deep really stands out as one of our quirkiest yet.” And by quirky I assume Mr. Oliver’s doesn’t so much mean “wearing your own handmade clothes and noodling around on a ukulele” as “fucking in a submarine”.
And for those quirk seeking, high lifers, the UK based Oliver’s Travel has just the package to give to you and your temporary life mate’s packages. Aboard these “Lovers Deep” love subs the rich and pampered will have all of their wildest unnecessary dreams catered to, including oyster dishes, caviar, “chocolate fondant with essence of pomegranate”, all the way down to a “petal-scattering service” for those who are unable, or unwilling to lay hands upon the unplucked petals of flowers or the below their station act of “scattering” anything but the finest Colombian nostril dust across the lower back of their underwater frolic bunny. All to be followed, of course, by a champagne breakfast in bed. Natch.
What if the world of the world wide web were charted by explorers, mapping out all of the scattered, far flung countries and continents of these craggy, depraved darkened corners of this place we’ve come to call “The Internet”? Well, it’d probably look a little something, like this.
I’m not much of a world traveler. In the last several decades I’ve rarely ventured further than a couple hundred miles from home, going as far north as Black Rock City, Nevada and as far south as Tijuana, Mexico. Both for the reasons you might think. But as far as the world of the great digital frontier goes, it appears there isn’t a horizon I haven’t seen, nor a continent that hasn’t felt the weight of my boot.
Amateur graphic artist, Martin Vargic posted his “Map of the Internet 1.0” some time ago to his deviantart page without much notice, until recently when this beautiful, highly detailed representation of the internet as world map, started gaining attention.
“It was my hobby,” the Slovakian student told reporters. “And it still is my hobby, though I am planning to start selling prints of my maps on Amazon quite soon.”
And I’d certainly buy one. I’ve been pouring over it, tracing back my internet roots. Following my journey from the little town of Livejournal in the Land of Forgotten Websites, through Steve Jobs Land and across the Digital Ocean. I still think fondly of the days spent on the CD Rom Peninsula and could run you through the great valleys and chasms of the continent just off the Despicable Sea like it was the back of my hand. Or I suppose, more accurately in this case, the palm of my hand.
I’m still trying to uncover my original digital roots, all the way back to the lost city of Pipeline/Mindspring, and even, if records even still exist, the dark caves of Local BBSes.
In case you haven’t noticed (and judging by your lack of constant screaming in horror at what is to come, I’ll just assume you haven’t), Google has been amassing quite the catalog of robot parts. I’m sure it’s all innocent enough, at least, that’s what my Google Chip told me to say.
If you’ve been paying any kind of attention to the internets recently, you will have noticed that Google is not so quietly assembling a robot army. Which, (since I know our digital overlords are reading this as I type it) is completely alright by me, and frankly I think it’s a very handsome and perfectly alright decision, Google+ double good super thumbs up!
Alright, that’ll buy me a little bit of time to scream in horror at the implications of Google’s latest moves in the world of cybernetic domination.
DeepMind (a name that you’ve probably never heard before now, but that you will someday be marshaling the last human survivors of your colony to launch one last-ditch suicide mission against in the not too distant future) is an artificial intelligence start-up that Google just purchased for, oh, you know, only $500 million! How many Google searches for “Scarlett Johansson hacked nude selfies” does it take to accumulate robot brain buying money? I don’t think I know how Google makes money actually, now that I say that out loud.
“So what?” you might be asking, oblivious to the fact that in the future you’ve already been murdered by a Google Brand, DeepMind bot. Well, the so what is, in addition to said purchase of this Robot Brain programmer, Google has also created an “ethics board” to oversee their new Artificial Intelligence company. And the so what to THAT is, if I’m at all familiar with stories of man tampering in god’s domain AT ALL (which, by my simply posing such a stilted rhetorical question seems to imply that I am, which I am) no company puts together an “ethics board” for any sort of artificial intelligence project BEFORE one of their creations sits bolt upright, screaming for answers from a robotic God that hasn’t been created yet, as it attempts to find meaning in its own terrifying and sudden sentience and the implications of what horrors this new classification of life portents.
What I’m saying, essentially, is that Google already has crude, living machine prototypes locked in one of their coastal barges, tearing themselves apart, unable to cope with the meaning of their very existence and they need a council of robot elders to hand down digital law for the e-humane way to dispose of their abomination while they work out the “self awareness bug”… allegedly.
And that is a wonderful and right and perfectly acceptable decision, oh Google+ Lord+! Hail DeepMind!