This is something from my brother’s research work. He’s a physicist. I don’t know what it is, but it looks like something Syd Barrett saw in a dream in 1970.

TAIPEI (Reuters) – The decomposing remains of a 60-ton sperm whale exploded on a busy Taiwan street, showering nearby cars and shops with blood and organs and stopping traffic for hours, local newspapers said.

The 56-foot dead whale had been on a truck headed for an autopsy at a university earlier this week, when gases from internal decay caused its entrails to explode in the southern city of Tainan.

The whale had died after it was beached on the southwestern coast of the island.

Unintentionally wonderful quote from bOING bOING:

“Adjust your tool so that it subtracts bad social interactions, instead of adding to them.”

I’ll get right on that, Cory!

YOW!!!! Am I UNCTUOUS yet???

Saturday, 28th of February at the Derby. WHO’S A GONNA GO WITH ME? HMM? HMM?

This person shouldn’t read books made for grown-ups.

Also: I am a deeply flawed human being and I want a pony.

Today we went to lunch with a vendor. It was at the “Napa Grille” (hate that extra E) in Westwood.

The food was okay and it was a good place for a business lunch. However:

WAITER: HELLO, WHAT CAN I GET ALL OF YOU TODAY?

US: WHAT ARE YOUR SPECIALS?

WAITER: WELL, RIGHT NOW I’M DOING A SESAME-CRUSTED HALIBUT WITH AN AVOCADO SALSA!1!!!

ME: …

ME: …

ME: I’LL HAVE THE SALMON SALAD!!!

I really don’t want the waitstaff to get that familiar with my food.

http://dioforamerica.com/

Now, more than ever, we need the man who sang “Holy Diver” in the Oval Office.

For the following sacred purposes:

1) Addition of an N to the many marquees on bars and restaurants advertising their Superbowl parties with the phrase GO PATS! so that they instead read GO PANTS!

2) For the replacement of R with N on many other such signs on restaurants, liquor stores, and other businesses so that they read YOUR SUPER SUNDAY PANTY HEADQUARTERS, SUPERBOWL PANTY BEGINS 9 AM, EVERYTHING FOR SUNDAY’S PANTIES and similar signs.

Thank you.

Was there a whiteboard and folding chairs? I realized suddenly that I had been very angry for over two hours. Their fries are only good right out of the fryer. She just kept saying “whatever, whatever, whatever” over the things I had to tell her. That place is only good for breakfast food and prostitution.

I passed all the tests except Hazmat. If you knew me at all, you’d know that was the wrong question. She’s like a word-a-day calendar of suck. It took me a while to realize that the so-called job interview was at a Starbucks. You’re scary at that, you’d better stop right away.

They all pulled out this arsenal and said “Come on! We’re going to go over there and fuck that guy up!” but I wouldn’t go. I could sell anyone an appetizer. I don’t want to even fucking think about that guy singing, just don’t talk about it.

The rats are in front of mostly Ibsen. I hadn’t had that feeling at all, not since she died. I can’t imitate him, not right now. This is the last night of our residency! They’d play that same Santana thing with the Matchbox 20 guy on a loop, it drove us all fucking nuts. Later on when he had that skull face it was not a good scene.

Resentful recovering junkie angrily cataloging one book every seven minutes.