Why it’s called “Meatspace”

Oh, Elsie is in for a rude shock

Oh, Elsie is in for a rude shock

Have you noticed that we have no difficulty believing we are spiritual beings, but we simply cannot wrap our heads around the actually demonstrable fact that we are, in fact, made of meat? Why, even on this very blog, we’ve had suggested wine pairings for cannibals, whom we have also covered. Repeatedly, in fact. We’ve even covered fake me-meat, as well as munch-by-munch reports of ursine-sapien dining and a scientific investigation into just how Modest a Proposal Jonathan Swift‘s little suggestion really was.

Well, it’s time for a refresher. We are nothing but wetware in meatspace, and even the aliens abducting and probing us, anal fissures first, find it distasteful. Observe:

Close observers will observe the observer observing them observing us; he is the Venusian Martian from the original 1961 Twilight Zone episode, Will the Real Martian Please Stand Up;

I for one am relieved he got away. And more relieved not to have the gory details.

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Happy Birthday, Paul Rudd!

Paul Rudd covers up his Rudds

Paul Rudd covers up his Rudds

Give the man what he asks for: a cure for cancer!

“I know it’s the thought that counts, but…the money counts too!”

Normally, as you know, I am so NOT all about the self-conscious hipsters (apologies: I repeat myself) particularly those of ironic eyewear, but in this case I must give it up to Mister Paul Rudd, who suggests that on your birthday, you ask your friends to donate your age in dollars to the Cancer Society. Now, this may well bankrupt my friends, but you, according to Quantcast, are younger, and you should be doing this. I mean, if they spend that money on PBR you’re just gonna have a beer belly and a hangover to show for it the next day, right? Whereas fighting cancer provides a glow which makes one irresistable to the opposite sex (as several cancer fakers of my acquaintance know and have taken advantage of, and don’t worry, I’ve taken care of them in ways they don’t even know yet).

Am I ranting? Oh, let me rant. I beat cancer: I’m entitled to rant a bit. If you’re feeling ranty right along with me, here are some infuriating, medically-themed gossip links for you to read and ensure that your blood pressure remains elevated. If you get angry enough, it even counts as aerobic!

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Crowning Glory

From nearby in the blogosphere comes news that the stars are nigh unto aligned and the glorious new era is upon the threshold. From news sources and historians comes evidence that the allies are preparing, making smooth the way for the return of the Great Old Ones.

From Olde Strasbourg:

 

This was during the Krakatoa eruption, when Rlyeh briefly surfaced

This was during the Krakatoa eruption, when Rlyeh briefly surfaced

Yes, the allies from the kings of the jungle even unto the smallest vermin that crawls, unseen yet lathesomely felt, through the teeming maze of our urban decayscapes, have begun to unite in expectation of The Great Rising!

 

Why is it always Germany? Are their rats particularly activist?

Why is it always Germany? Are their rats particularly activist?

Science shows that, in at lesat some cases, rat kings/crowns have been formed while the attached rats were still alive and growing, indicating strongly that these rats were holy, set apart, and that servant rat classes brought them food and attended to their every sordid bodily need while they awaited the glorious Return of the Great Old Ones.

Evidence (you KNOW we’re all about the evidence around these parts):

rat crown xray is all sciency and irrefutable, so there!

rat crown xray is all sciency and irrefutable, so there!

As well-documented in the manuscript known as The Call of Cthulhu, such a pivotal time affects not only the lower orders, but also the sensitives among us, from the most Strindbergian slam poet to the dandies of the Royal Portrait Gallery.

Rat King, the watercolour

Rat King, the watercolour. Somewhat Twomblyesque, non?

Even innocent embroiderers have had hideous glimpses of the godless Gordian knot:

And in another age, these would have been daisies!

And in another age, these would have been daisies!

Truly a motif for our time. We can only shudder and whisper horror-struck guesses at the unspeakable, Transformer-like superpowers to be unlocked by a successful unification!

Rat King sculpture, RATTENKONIG! COWER, MORTALS!

Rat King sculpture, RATTENKONIG! COWER, MORTALS!

Rat King Perfection ACHIEVED unlocking superpowers now

Rat King Perfection ACHIEVED unlocking superpowers now

Soon, very soon, Cthulhu will rise again.

Okay, whose job was it to bring the vaseline?

Okay, whose job was it to bring the vaseline?

Just as soon as we get this situation straightened out.

Nuclear Boy Has a Stomachache

Nuclear Boy better not poop!

Nuclear Boy better not poop!

Nothing ruins a good day at nursery school like a pile of radioactive shit, eh? The Japanese, faced with the biggest pile of radioactive shit the world has seen since Chernobyl have come up with this charming little cartoon starring everyone’s favorite incontinent anthropomorphism. Soothing? Appalling? Amusing? Inspiring? If nothing else, it makes me wonder about what they’re making Japanese diapers out of.