Sometimes, there’s just no other words for it but “Baby Hewey-faced motherfuckers screwing over our country,” and no better messenger of the divine truth than Henry. Fucking. Rollins.
Selah.
Transcript coming soon. And yes, it must be admitted I got this from BoingBoing.
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
Hot on the (slightly wobbly) heels of tales of drunken astronauts at the controls of the Space Shuttle comes a delightfully scientific report on the theory and practice of, yes,
Beer! In! SPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACE!!!
…Graduate student Kirsten Sterrett at the University of Colorado in the US wrote a thesis on fermentation in space, with support from US beer behemoth Coors. She sent a miniature brewing kit into orbit aboard a space shuttle several years ago and produced a few sips of beer. She later sampled the space brew, but because of chemicals in and near it from her analysis, it didn’t taste great by the time she tried it.
Did anyone else note that, had it tasted good, it would have been the first beverage produced by Coors that ever did.
But there are drawbacks. Despite advantages like no lanes in space and not much to run into, turns out there are some compelling reasons not to chug your Spud in orbit.
Unfortunately for thirsty astronauts, beer is poorly suited to space consumption because of the gas it includes. Without gravity to draw liquids to the bottoms of their stomachs, leaving gases at the top, astronauts tend to produce wet burps.
On the upside, although in the oxygen-enriched atmosphere astronauts cannot partake of beer bongs, they can, thanks to advanced and high-priority Dutch research, partake of beer balls.
I once dated a guy who had beer balls, or so he tried to tell me in the backseat of his father’s Caddy.
:: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::
Let no man say the Catholic Church doesn’t move with the times.
Oh, it doesn’t generally change policies any faster than a glacier changes direction, but their marketing department is already all over Second Life, reaching out to those with no particular First Life (so no change there), and now from the Guardian (of the faithful?) comes news that the Vatican, heretofor known as rather a Slow Adopter (at least since that whole Savonarola brou-ha-ha) has gone all bleeding edge and announced that the C-list blogger known as “the Pope” will be sending daily text messages to the faithful.
No word on whether the service provider will be Virgin.
Again.
:: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::
Alas, not the Godly American hamburger chain. No, indeed. In-n-out is my internet service lately. Blame Shaw Cable. Maybe it was the 24 Gawker Media windows I had open; perhaps the incredible hotness of the Herbal Essences guy melted the switches or summat. Things better get fixed before I teach my blogging class; very difficult to blog offline.
Not to mention that WordPress.com keeps logging me out and back in as another identity.
In any case, posting will be light until things simmer down. Either click the raincoaster randomizer on the right or check out my blogroll: it’s mightily pimped out!
Ah, I love the internets. Getting big online is like starting a religious cult: if something doesn’t exist in the real world, just make it up. Once enough people believe in your premise, Bob‘s your uncle.
Before eBay, did anybody think Six Million Dollar Man crap was really worth THAT much? Suppose I can’t be too smug, though: I actually HAD that t-shirt. And no, I didn’t get it at the time.
As I write this, I am pimping out my Second Life avatar in preparation for leading online blogging classes. So we’re all about the meta, the virtual, and the zeta today.
For an example of the kind of ephemeral (and temporary {hello Mahir! I kiss you!}) career which the intertubes have brought down the i-chute, may I present Bandicar, the Lightsaber Sensei.
With no fewer than 26 different saber spinning styles, each with its own YouTube video, a presumably economically-rewarding relationship with the manufacturer of regulation lightsabers, and a DVD release last year, Banditcar here has clearly maximized the metaverse’s potential for self-promotion.
Hmm, are lightsabers futuristic or retro?
I have to ask these things.
Whether he’d truly be any good in a real lightsaber fight is a question which is the quintessence of irrelevance, given that there is actually no such thing as a lightsaber and thus, no such thing as a real lightsaber fight. So, it’s not a real object or a real activity, but it is a real career. Got that? Hey, money’s just a mutually agreed upon delusion anyway. It makes TOTAL sense to me.
Now, to think of crossover opportunities. Oh, ComicCon, sure, but let’s get creative here. Lightsaber-wielding bodyguard? Hey, we’ve endured the Cooterflash Wars, the Duelling DUI‘s: since lengthy prison stints do tend to take one off TMZ‘s radar, perhaps Pimp My Bodyguard is the way to go, and in the darkness of most nightclubs I can’t think of a more impressive way to stand out in Teddy‘s than to be guarded by a ring of lightsaber stormtroopers. Oh, scuse me, I’ve got a call…
:: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::
raincoaster 