four nuclear towers assplode! with video!

Chapelcross towers falling down, falling down, falling down...

Am I being sensationalistic here? Perhaps a tad.

After all, the destruction of the 60 year old towers at the Chapelcross Nuclear Power Plant in Scotland was scheduled, professionally carried out, non-nuclear in nature, and the towers were out of commission not to mention enriched Uranium- and Plutonium-free.

But they blowed up good. They blowed up real good!

Here’s the BBC slideshow, should the YouTube prove too zippy a perspective for your nuclear tower blowing up pleasure.

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help! forums!

Yesterday was a typical day at the WordPress.com help forums. And, typically, I composed a rant to blow off some steam. Enjoy:

“Hi there! I’m an expert on web design, although I don’t know what a template is and cannot figure out how to use the search forum box, and I’ve only been here thirty seconds, but you should listen to me. There should totally be a way for people to post text in their blogs. They should be able to type something and have letter-shaped groups of pixels appear on their own unique webspace. What a shame WordPress.com does not allow this! I have posted a solution to this on my blog. See my blog for solutions. My blog is full of solutions.
Also, I’m not smart enough to leave a link to my blog. That is all. Think about my solutions!!!”

Gawd how I love clueless, knowitall newbies. Fresh meat.

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American Trash by Chris Jordan

Artist Chris Jordan makes digital images depicting just what and how much Americans use and discard every day. This, for instance, is an image of the two million plastic bottles that the US uses and throws away every five minutes.

Bottles by Chris Jordan

He’s also done an image of 65,000 cigarettes, one for every teenager who becomes addicted to smoking per month; an image of jet contrails; plastic and paper bags thrown out, and many others. This puts our own actions in context in a very powerful way: it’s not just me, it’s us, and this is what we do and this is the debris we leave behind.

Found indirectly via Gawker.

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the jPod expansion pack has arrived!

jPod Orca

But not technically landed. via Fark.

It’s pinkish and smiley. It’s stuck to its momma’s side, rising in and out of the waves like a shiny merry-go-round creature…

Scientists won’t know if the calf is a male or female until it rolls over and shows its belly. They do know it belongs to a family of local orcas called the J pod. And they know it has three siblings.

That’s good news for the little orca, which is being called J42 according to birth order.

The unit automatically upgrades to Carnivore in 12-24 months, and has an expected window of operability of between 20-40 years, depending on usage.

Note that installation of the jPod unit in a SeaWorld environment may void your warranty.

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Oh! Lestra!

Suripoop!

Is this the oil that launched a thousand chips?
Make haste toward that tiled, enchanted room.
Prepare thy drawers perchance some foul thing slips,
Or thundrous peals from out thy cornhole boom.

Though nature’s oils sufficed from dawn of man
For culinary functions tried and true,
It seems that P&G technicians can
Replace them with an oleated goo.

And now Olestra has begun her reign.
The Dark Queen sits and cackles in the night,
Dispensing bouts of shooting rectal pain.
Her fudge erupts from sphincters once held tight.

Beware the chips that claim to be your friend.
The Hershey squirts will get you in the end. 

Truly and often have the poets confronted us with our own torn desires; we love what we despise, we crave what we cannot tolerate, we desperately need what we can never have. Fecklessly falling for fallacies, we cyclically succumb to snake oil salesmen. And always, the poets are there, taking notes.

viz. this, an epic verse-cycle dedicated to that peerless promoter of poopage, Olestra. This, my friends, is truly a work of art, this generation’s Sonnet 130. It is genius, not any ordinary talent, that could spin such a gossamer web of pure poetry on the subject of anal leakage.

Speak on, sweet lips that never told a lie…

Olean… Olean… Olean… Olean
I’m begging you, please leave my sphincter shut
Olean… Olean… Olean… Olean
Please don’t go and lubricate my gutYou’re found in products everywhere, with fatty taste beyond compare;
Of mouth-feel, so enticing, you’re the queen!
Each cake is tasty, but so brief, each chip is crisp as autumn leaf;
And I cannot eat just a few, Olean

You wake me up when I’m asleep; there’s nothing I can do to keep
From oozing when I’ve had too much Olean
And I can easily see now too, how you can easily flow right through,
But you don’t know what that means to me Olean
(chorus)
Well you’re in every kind of snack, but I could never turn my back
You’re the only fat for me Olean
I have to have this talk with you, my skinniness depends on you
Whatever you decide to do Olean
(chorus)

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