gominokouhai: (Default)

Which idiot called it e-liquid? The far superior choice for a name was sitting right there, and that choice is snus juice.

It has the added bonus that, were one to walk into a room and note that characteristic fake-strawberry aroma that signals someone has their voltage tunred up to macho levels, one could sniff the air and proclaim:There's snus juice aboot this hoose.

gominokouhai: (Khaaan!)

How did Kirk know he had to steal the Enterprise? Last thing he knew, Spock and his tube were burning up into their component atoms in the upper atmosphere of the Genesis Planet, to the tune of Amazing Grace. As far as Kirk knows, there's no body for him to rescue.

In the novelization, Saavik secretly adjusts the torpedo's orbital parameters to give Spock a soft landing. That's not the case in the movie, since David and the crew of the Grissom are surprised to find the tube on the surface. The gravitational fields were in flux, David says. That's remarkably fortunate, because otherwise it would have made for an incredibly awkward conversation with Spock's dad.

Sarek's logic is uncertain where his son is concerned )

Of course none of this would have happened in the first place if Chekov knew how to count to six.

On singledom

Sat, Aug. 29th, 2015 21:43
gominokouhai: (Default)

Things I've had to get used to very fast:

  1. Buying single pints of milk.
  2. A relatively tidy flat. Holy crap she had a lot of shit lying around.
  3. No longer being able to say: here are your photos, please just let me know if you'd like any of them touched up. My photoshop expert has disappeared.
  4. No more cooking. There's no point putting on an epic spread for just one person. My shrink said: why not just do it for the fun of it? and I said: there's no point if you're not showing off to someone. I mostly live on ready meals these days.
  5. That said, I am now allowed to own proper vinegar instead of that balsamic shit.
  6. And I can have the radio on now.
  7. Bookshelf space!
  8. Fridge full of beer!

I was in the shop today, buying individual-person supplies as I am now wont to do. Single pint of milk. One of those mini-cartons of four eggs. 400g loaf of bread. Cigarettes and a couple of bottles of beer to numb the pain. Scanning it all, the checkout girl said: you live alone, don't you?

Why yes, said I, how could you tell?

She said, Because you're an ugly bastard.

gominokouhai: (Default)
  • 16 reasons behind the decline and fall of the Roman Empire
  • The self-contradictory rule obeyed by these WW2 airmen will blow your mind!
  • This French Marquis Locked Himself In A Castle For 120 Days. You Won't Believe What Happened Next
  • POLL: RT for war, fav for peace
  • Please Laboriously Click Through All Twenty-Seven Images In This Post, Each Of Which Incomprehensibly Deserves Its Own Page, Like You Had Nothing Better To Do, Because Of The Vague Promise In The Title That One Of Them Might Be Godot

The joke is that listicle and microblogging formats do not readily lend themselves to in-depth discussion of complex concepts.

What do you think? Let us know in the comments!

Vignettes

Mon, Mar. 24th, 2014 13:09
gominokouhai: (Inspector Fuckup)

The 23rd century is going to suck, and this is why: all of those hot alien babes, green-skinned or otherwise, saying what is this human emotion you call love, to which I am compelled to reply: baby don't hurt me, don't hurt me, no more.

Buwuh? [Or alien equivalent.]

Honey, you wouldn't understand. It's an Earth thing.

DAMN YOU HADDAWAY, COCKBLOCKED FROM FOUR CENTURIES IN THE PAST AGAIN

~

My wall planner indicates the phase of the Moon with little moon icons (moonicons). Down at the bottom of the planner, to splain the different moonicons used for the different phases of the Moon, there is a legend, or key. It is (and it says so at the bottom of the planner) a moon key.

It is particularly good at the gibbers phase.

~

The security light outside my flat door has started strobing. This wouldn't be a major problem but that I'm now unable to pass it without throwing some shapes and singing THE SYSTEM. IS DOWN.

We bought those security lights so that you could escape the building safely in the event of major power failure. Not so that you could throw light-switch raves.

~

I am in the process of developin a series of whisky-tasting evenings, themed, with narrative cohesion and everything. Partly this is for work use and partly so that I have something I can do if they ever fire me. The big practice session is tomorrow night. I bought all of the whiskies myself (and did so for the pre-practice session last week, and for the copious amount of targeted bar time it took to select the whiskies in the first place). Next time, I hope to be able to expense this shit.

Thinkin of a name for myself should I ever take the whisky-tastings freelance: I quite like Six Nine Two Events, or possibly 692 Events, which is a tip of the hat to the 692 illicit distilleries closed down in 1834, eleven years after the Excise Act made it much easier to be a licit one. I like the idea of raisin a glass to those stubborn holdouts who kept to the old ways, as a tribute and a memento mori. Plus, it sounds trendy enough that nobody ever needs to know.

Other possible business name ideas included: LASER SPLOSION WHISKIES, DIAL-A-SPLOSION (because somebody needs to have a business called that and it's not my responsibility that dialling for splosions isn't exactly what I offer), and Whiskypalooza, at which point I gave up.

Help?

gominokouhai: (Default)

The irrepressible and frequently incorrect [twitter.com profile] dhothersall started it. It's not my fault, I promise.

So #indyrefpoetry is a thing. All of my efforts have been far, far too terrible to commit to the Twitters, but that's what I have a longform blog for, so now you all must suffer. [personal profile] scotm deserves credit for originally enduring all of these over IMs. He will testify that, although terrible, they were at least written very fast. Regular readers may recall that I seem to do all right at iambic pentameter. How bad can it be?

Pretty damn bad, actually )

My last attempt actually fit into 140 chars, and was Oh, ye cannae shove yer Westminster oligarchs aff a gravy train. Thus was it indicated, quite appropriately I think, that it was time to stop.

ETA.

Oh, no, there's more )

I tried to do a pastiche of Sassoon, but it just isn't going to work. Sassoon is beyond my meagre skills. You should probably consider yourselves lucky.

No, I'm not going to do Rabbie, and you all already know why.

gominokouhai: (Default)

As the demigoddesslike (and deipnosophistic) annajroberts draws to a close her epic deconstruction of a certain popular novel (which magnum opus begins here), it is time once again to turn to your regularly scheduled lamentations that E L James is, for some unfathomable reason, remotely successful.

annajroberts[twitter.com profile] ajrobertswrites
When you type SHA into Amazon's search engine the first predictive result is Shakespeare. The second is Shades of Grey.

annajroberts[twitter.com profile] ajrobertswrites
I suppose it could be worse. Could be the other way round, but talk about opposite ends of the talent spectrum.

annajroberts[twitter.com profile] ajrobertswrites
I wish Shakespeare HAD written Fifty Shades of Grey. It might have contained some actual dick jokes. And maybe they'd have killed themselves

pajh ‏‏[twitter.com profile] gominokouhai
@ajrobertswrites I foresee a project.

annajroberts [twitter.com profile] ajrobertswrites
@gominokouhai Ugh. Forget it. I've only just put one parody to bed and I only wrote that to get it off my chest.

pajh ‏‏[twitter.com profile] gominokouhai
@ajrobertswrites I'm just considrin the potential for proper rhetoric in the contract scene. I might do it if you won't.

annajroberts[twitter.com profile] ajrobertswrites
@gominokouhai Do it! I won't - I've had more than enough of those mewling, worthless assholes, with their sex contracts and crap BSDM.

pajh[twitter.com profile] gominokouhai
@ajrobertswrites I have four lines of stichomythia in iambic pentameter earworming me now. I may have to write this down to exorcize it.

You asked for it, you got it. (Okay, you didn't ask, but still. Nobody expressly forbade it.) I include the foregoing discussion as context, so you know who is to blame for the ensuing nonsense.

(A further disclaimer: no I've not read Fifty Shades of Grey. In fact I once had to discipline a staff member who I suspected of reading it. Turned out to be a false alarm. So having only read the parody version, and not having read Twilight either, I have no idea if this scene actually takes place, but I'm led to believe it does. So there.)

TEN AND TWOSCORE CHIAROSCUROES
Or, A Bardish Bawd for the Bored.

ACTUS SECUNDUS, Scaena Prima.

Chr. My lady, shall I tie thee up with ropes?
Ana. Yea, even with your cable ties withal.
Chr. O madam, wilt thou take it up the butt?
Ana. My lord, I never so had thought before.
Chr. Not e'en consider up the butt to take't?
Ana. Mayhap I shall consider it.
Chr.                           Dude, sweet.
Ana. But shall we speak not of our hearts'—
Chr.                           We'll not;
      For thou art but a paltry Mary Sue
      And I a ripoff vampire libertine.
      No more than this we are, no more;
      And poorly written are we both at that.
      No sooner would I tear off both my stones
      Than tarry long in such a perfect void.
      But use thee shall I for my carnal aims,
      For what this novel lacks in plot it shall
      Repay with dirty bits in purple prose.
      With organ perpendicular I'll search;[0]
      In pleasures horizontal shall I find
      My consolation for thy lack of mind.
        For surely there could be no woman dumber
        Than one who seeks to romance such a—
Ana.                           Bummer.
Chr. I seest what thou didst there.

There, now it's out of my brain. And possibly into yours... sorry about that. I started off with two couplets I had to get out of my head, and ended up with a full-blown sonnet: there is a lesson here, I'm sure, but I'm damned if I want to know what it is.

--

[0] Bad Quarto editions have probe here, but later editors bowdlerized it for the sake of their own sanity.

gominokouhai: (Default)

This crazy fast-paced 21st century world can be a confusing place, what with its technologically-mediated interactions and 3D plasma tele-visual apparati. Hell, I'm still getting used to the concept of hot and cold running water. You just turn the tap on and there it is. And as soon as you've grown accustomed to this modern miracle, you need to learn how to deal with the sense of impotent outrage that occurs that one time when you turn the tap and running water does not, as expected, simply ensue. We need a word for that.

That's far too specific, pajh, you say. Balls, say I, and also bollocks, testicles, gonads, cods, tallywhackers and stones. This is exactly what English is good at, and my new best friend Mark Forsyth agrees with me.

[T]he English language is ready for anything. If you were to surprise a Frenchman in the act of putting a conger up a mare’s bottom he would probably have to splutter his way through several sentences of explanation, filled with circumlocutory verbocinations. However, ask an English-speaker why they are sodomising a horse with a creature from the deep and they can simply raise a casual eyebrow and ask: Can’t you see I’m feaguing?

The ability to explain why you’re putting an eel up a horse with such holophrastic precision is the birthright of every English-speaking man and woman, and we must reclaim it.

Likewise, we need words for the following newly discovered emotions. Some of these you may recognize:

  • The mild but nonetheless tangible sense of disappointment one gets upon using a public toilet and noticing that the hand dryer is of a make other than a Dyson Airblade™. Srsly guyz. Those things are amazing.
  • The rueful smile and shake of the head, directed at someone whom you otherwise respect, upon seeing them retweet their own #followfriday mentions. Oh dear.
  • The involuntary twitch when your phone beeped a notification but you have your hands full for the next few minutes. Worse if you're currently having sex.
  • The gradually dawning realization that a person you follow on the Twitters is actually turning out to be a big old racist.
  • Combined delight and despair at the expensive new headphones you've bought, because they're so good that you'll have to re-rip everything you own as FLACs.
  • Wildly seesawing confusion at the nationality of a blogger based on subtle clues in his writing style. Is he English with a hint of internationalization due to being on Internet, or is he one of those highly-educated Americans who simply sounds English? Or is that just a convoluted way of saying Canadian? And why does this seem to matter to you anyway? Maybe you're the big old racist. But it's perfectly acceptable to be curious about the origins of a writer who interests you. Or is that what a big old racist would say?
  • Vague sense of unease that you just typed srsly guyz up there in a half-ironic fashion, but intent never comes across well in textual media and you're not sure if the reader won't just assume that you talk that way.

I don't have the benefits of a classical education necessary to retrofabrefact etymologically-plausible morphemes in this manner, except possibly just then, with retrofabrefaction. But I can drop Die Hard references into paragraphs that you wouldn't expect.

Vaguely related, Circumlocutory Verbocinations is going to be the name of my next band. Or possibly Holophrastic Precision.

gominokouhai: (Default)

Running to the window, he opened it, and put out his head. No fog, no mist; clear, bright, jovial, stirring, cold; cold, piping for the blood to dance to; Golden sunlight; Heavenly sky; sweet fresh air; merry bells. Oh, glorious. Glorious!

"What's to-day?" cried Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in Sunday clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look about him.

"Eh?" returned the boy, with all his might of wonder.

"What's to-day, my fine fellow?" said Scrooge.

"To-day?" replied the boy. "Why, Christmas Day."

"It's Christmas Day!" said Scrooge to himself. "I haven't missed it. The Spirits have done it all in one night. They can do anything they like. Of course they can. Of course they can. Hallo, my fine fellow!"

"Hallo!" returned the boy.

"Do you know the Poulterer's, in the next street but one, at the corner?" Scrooge inquired.

"I should hope I did," replied the lad.

"An intelligent boy!" said Scrooge. "A remarkable boy! Do you know whether they've sold the prize Turkey that was hanging up there -- Not the little prize Turkey: the big one?"

"What, the one as big as me?" returned the boy.

"What a delightful boy!" said Scrooge. "It's a pleasure to talk to him. Yes, my buck."

"It's hanging there now," replied the boy.

"Is it?" said Scrooge. "Go and buy it."

"Walk-er!" exclaimed the boy.

The shop's closed, ya senile old bastard, chirrupped the boy, returning to his daily business, and plunging Scrooge into a deep despair from which he never fully recovered.

~ FIN ~

This post brought to you by Charles John Huffam Dickens and the fact that the bakery didn't bother telling us that they weren't delivering this morning. Cthulhu eat us first, every one.

gominokouhai: (Default)

IMG_0486

I'd recommend medium rare, maybe with a white wine and tarragon sauce.

gominokouhai: (Default)

or, Look At Me, I'm Important

Writing a reference for one of my staff. How would you say that the applicant is trustworthy? I would use my lungs to pass air over my vocal chords, modulating them in such a way as to make the following sounds: the app-lic-ant is trust-wor-thy. In what way would you say that the applicant is reliable? See question above.

Do you think that the applicant will be able to pay bills/rent on time? I have no idea what she spends it on, but I just got her two major pay rises over the course of a year, so probably, yeah.

These days I have some actual responsibilities to undertake, sometimes, and I'm still learning to restrain my natural flippancy on such occasions. One day it might get me into trouble. Until then I still plan on having some fun.

gominokouhai: (Inspector Fuckup)

One of my colleagues, previously referenced in these annals as $MINION, will shortly be squeezing an entire person out of her body. Tough job. I couldn't do it. So naturally, conversation at work over the last few weeks has tended to revolve around notions of expectancy and parturience. Apparently, so $HOUSEKEEPING_SUPERVISOR claims, the more younglings you produce, the easier it becomes to pop 'em out.

Specific examples were provided. (I've learned that, once you get a mother talking about the human gestation period, it's difficult to get her to stop.) In particular, $HOUSEKEEPING_SUPERVISOR's fourth progeny, a (now) young lady by the name of Ella, was so eager to emerge into this world that she hurtled forth in the lift on the way up to the maternity ward.

Brief as the lightning in the collied night, I was. (As the bishop said to the actress.) Ere a man hath power to say behold!, I said: Is that why she's called Ella?... middle name Vator?

Tumbleweeds rolled through the scene. (That's okay, I have staff to clean the dining room these days.) Somewhere, a lone carrion bird cried out. Not even a titter ensued. I need better staff.

To be fair, $CHEF sniggered, but only after I'd said oh come on, that was funny. He's allowed to take an extra couple of seconds. He doesn't speak English.

In other news, I appear to be a manager now. People laugh at my jokes when they feel they have to. Not everyone, but it's still better than previously.

gominokouhai: (Default)

I can't believe nobody's thought of this before.

ws1 ws2

Courtesy of the good fellows at the Keep Calm And Carry On O-Matic, naturally. And, incidentally, totally unrelated to the content of my previous post, although I know some of you are thinking that the half-shot of tequila must have had something to do with it.

So I'm about a billion years behind the times. Don't judge me. I'm having fun. I'm simply not cut out for today's fast-paced here-today gone-tomorrow internet world. I still find all your base funny.

While we're on the subject, I saw this on a t-shirt recently and WANT:

cut to save your friends page )

ObValspeak.

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