Captcha'ed!

I was at this site where you have to write down one of those ridiculous "captchas" so bots can't seemingly leave spam, and since I couldn't read a lot of them, I kept refreshing them. Some were so entertaining that I put a paragraph of them together with only a couple of rules: if they began with a capital letter I'd start a new sentence. If they started with an interrogatory word I'd put a question mark at the end. Otherwise, I pretty much wrote them as they came up. I could have done this all day "bot" I got bored.

So this is true "machine writing." Who knew. . ! (Notice that almost every other word is a recognizable one. Not sure what this means):

"Perceptible aidegedl exactness Ethista orystin water, suracyt some. Lostrac officer consider uaticip eestncy 1831, recoyf vant. Shall coussia the olickbut? Zeopedi them two elvoxi. AtBake 287 ddecia themselves. 

"Sewell, nfomko."

Personally I think it's some kind of code. Can YOU decipher it?

The Voice of Un-Reason

Hitler at age 5

You know, Brigitte gets down on me for my fascination with World War II and Nazis and so forth and I can see how and why. I mean, who really wants to probe into the reasons Reinhard Heydrich was called "Hitler's Hangman?" Or buy action figures of the guy from Enemy of the Gates, or love the movie "Downfall" about Hitler raving in his bunker.

I'd like to say this is all harmless fun, but it's not. It's truly a curiosity deep within me to try to understand how madmen can be, can exist, can be allowed to exist in the company of supposedly rational human beings.

I mean I know I'm smashing my head against a brick wall, but I would say that I want to understand them so that I can better ridicule them. I know that doesn't make much sense. But if I don't understand how Reinhard Heydrich sends so many people to their horrific deaths, then I can't get the true satisfaction of knowing that HE died as a result of a hilariously bungled assassination attempt and the real cause of his death was horsehair. This is cause for peals of laughter, if you ask me, when I'm sure he wished to go down fighting for the Turd Reich as its eternal Sturmbanführer but actually died because he was punctured by horsehair.

However, revel in the stupidity and insanity of these cockroaches though I might, it's very, very frightening to know that people like them are alive and well this very day. No, not the lunatic-fringe uniform-wearing monkeys parading around with swastika flags, but people pretending to be intelligent, rational academics, that at first come across as reasonable-sounding intellectuals, until you realise what their agenda really is.

A casual glance at that website reveals nothing untoward. But look closely, and amongst all the bullshit faux-intellectual "articles" is really a holocaust-denying, Hitler and Nazi-affirming mindset trying desperately to be legitimate. Don't quote me, but I'll bet that there are hundreds, if not thousands of these depraved websites all over the Internet, just as there are websites attempting to mask pedophilia and child molesting.

I may joke around with Hitler and the Nazis -- after all, most of them are safely dead -- but there are real you-and-your-neighbour-type monsters right here among us, who would like nothing more than say, a race war to erupt between whites and blacks under the auspices of some reconstituted Hitler, a spittle-flecked effluvient-spewing madman who will finally rid the world of Jewry (did you know that "Jewry" was the last word officially recorded by Hitler, in his last will and testament? To the very end of his miserable existence that was the only word that summed up his entire reason for being. Well, let me assure all you who believe in a God that your god will have made sure that not a single atom of Hitler's body survived to pollute the universe).

So I say to Brigitte: I must know all I can about them in order to figure out why they were so goddamn stupid, and how to spot the modern Nazi, of whom there are many.

If It Weren't So Sad . . .

 . . . it would be funny. Can you imagine if there was some band at a rock concert and the bass player made some rude comment about President Obama's late mother, and he's hauled off stage by police, beaten within an inch of his life and then held in detention, possibly being tortured all the while, for an indeterminate period of time?

"Obama's mama . . . she made BAD oatmeal cookies. She used BUCKWHEAT FLOUR, can ya imagine? Buckwheat!! And that's the title of our next song . . . hey, what . . . the -- OOF!"

Don't Eat My Finger

My tekka-maki ring

Check out this amazing ring I just got from Etsy. It's made by this obviously insane woman who makes the most incredible miniature food platters that fit on your finger, I am so tempted to buy ten different ones (there's one with a croissant sandwich and a can of coffee that's ubiquitous to Japan which is so lifelike I swear she has some magic miniaturization machine that takes the actual thing and shrinks it) except they wouldn't all fit. And at $20 or so, they're incredibly cheap!! I wish I had the ideas and the talent to do stuff like this . . .

Getting Personal

You know, I rarely get personal in this blog. Like talk about personal stuff or what's going on in my life. If I do, it's usually some humorous anecdote about something.

But I just thought it was time to get personal, because it might possibly help someone else.

I lived in Japan from 1988 to 1993. I married a Japanese woman while I was there, with total opposition from her parents. We came to live in Montreal, and in 2001 we had a son, Tai-chan (his name is Taishi, but "-chan" is the diminutive term for children and sometimes close friends, so that's what I call him).

In 2004 my then wife, fed up with Montreal and wanting to go back to Japan, somehow met someone over the Internet (you can't make this stuff up) who lived in the vicinity of her parents. To cut a long story short, she moved back to Japan, we got divorced, she married this guy and had two children with him. He met someone else on a business trip and they got divorced. (Like I said, you can't make . . .)

From 2004 to about 2008, while Tai-chan was pretty much pre-school, I would have him for three months and she would have him for three months. I ended up flying to Japan an awful lot, as many of you long-time readers probably know.

Then he started school in about 2008, and it became so that I could only pick him up for his summer vacation -- about one and a half months, and maybe three weeks at Christmas.

Meanwhile, his mother had lost access to the Internet because she couldn't afford it. I used to be able to chat with Tai-chan every week, Skype-style, and send and receive emails, but all that stopped years ago. Nw I only talk to him on the phone once a week, when he's at his grandparents' house.

Last Christmas my ex-wife finally told me I couldn't take him for Christmas. She accused me of always bringing him back late so that he missed days of school. This was true. I had already bought tickets, thinking that perhaps now that he was ten years old, he could fly alone to San Francisco, where I'd meet him, and we could spend Christmas with my mother and family in California. I had to cancel all that.

I thought well, at least I'd have him for the summer. But then during the weekly calls my ex-wife refused to speak to me. Her mother insisted she wasn't going to get in the middle of anything. So no one would give me the dates his summer holidays fell on. he didn't know them.

And last week I found out that she's not going to let him leave Japan for the summer. In fact, I don't think she's ever going to let him leave Japan. So in effect, he has been kidnapped.

I can't do a single thing about it. Nothing a court in Canada handed down would be accepted in Japan. If I went to Japan and demanded to see him, she could (and probably would) theoretically have me arrested and deported, with the added stamp in my passport "denied entry to Japan for life."

So, due to the vagaries of my ex-wife, I have now lost my son. The only possibility of seeing him is when he becomes 18 and can leave on his own. I will be 62 and will have missed 8 years of his life.

Oh sure, I could go to Japan and see him for maybe a week a year, but the expenses involved are beyond my means. And she knows it.

So that's my story, folks. Just wanted to let you know that very, very bad things happen to ordinary people just like you . . . and me.

No more lively Japan-trip stories for you Flock, I'm sorry about that. You'll just have to wait 8 years.

Claim Your Mercury Stake!

There are thousands of outfits who purport to sell lunar property -- simple criminal usurpers, since I own the domain name "galacticproperties.com," thus ALL intergalactic properties are under my jurisdiction --  and so now I am delighted to offer some limited properties on Mercury, the "Rising Star."

It's a little-known fact that Venus is hotter than Mercury! Yes, due to the ultra-greenhouse gases on Venus, it's at least 1,200 degrees warmer.

So you'll have some marvellous beachfront property on Mercury as soon as it's been terraformed in 2867 (estimated) so your great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandkids will enjoy a dip in the natural pool created by your own personal crater. And by then, your $24.95 purchase price will have ballooned to $240,987,009,876.87!

I currently own a 120-square mile patch (seen below) but there are several craters that could be yours!

Get your deal now before they all get grabbed. Just email me at Xryxxyx@www9.galacticproperties.com!

Get your crater NOW!

Liar Liar

I have to admit, I always kind of squirm when I listen to someone who's obviously lied about something try to explain themselves, under a firm but not necessarily accusative interrogation. The kind of interrogation where you know that the interrogator is not going to let the liar weasel out of an explanation -- the kind of interrogator that will press and press until the weasel finally comes out and admits it.

But I have to admit to kind of feeling sorry for the weasel -- kind of wanting to tell the interrogator, okay, lay off him, already -- you know he's a liar and he's all but admitted it, so let him off the hook, willya? Can't you see he's sweating bullets? But the interrogator is not satisfied with the "all but admitted it" part. He wants the full weaseldom, the "Yes, I lied" part.

So, for your listening edification, I present a podcast of just such an exposé. To wit, one weasel, who has lied shamelessly over and over again -- in fact, lying is his business. It's how he makes his money. And that wouldn't be so bad, except he doesn't want us to know he's lying, he wants us to believe every word he says. And a whole lot of people do.

Here is the backstory about the weasel, and just follow that link (here again) to hear someone squirm.

Except this time I didn't squirm, at all. I HATE when people lie about Apple. Do they have the death penalty for Apple-bashing Weasels?

Butter Late Than Never

I realise I'm very late on the Paula Deen bashwagon but when I saw this I just couldn't hold back from saying something. I always hated Paula Deen; she has a smarmy, creepily fake "Everyone's favorite mom"-type act and of course, the food she cooked was, to my eyes, the grossest, grease-smeared grunge that you'd be digging from your drainpipes for years after the meals and would coat the inside of your mouth like chopper-grade motor oil.

Her voice grated like bauxite against coarse granite and her face looked like a Salvador Dali version of a Kewpie doll, a melting visage inside a twisted nightmare from which you would likely never awaken.

At first I didn't know who this frightening hag was -- I'd simply immediately change the channel. Then, like watching a spider creep its way across my ceiling, I'd occasionally watch snippets of her show when there was absolutely nothing else on and I was flipping channels.

Needless to say, I thought no more about it until this brouhaha hit the 500 channels of the Multiverse.

Now that I have watched this sordid episode play out, it has brought to mind why it is that I no longer watch the Food Network at all. How, when it debuted, I was as excited as a kid in a toy store. I had it tuned practically 24 hours a day. I watched the first Top Chef religiously. I watched all the recipe shows -- back in the days when they had Mario Batali and Jamie Oliver actually cooking things.

And then, the suits got a hold of the numbers. Just like A&E became the Dog the Bounty Hunter channel, then jettisoned that for the Intervention channel, and National Geographic became the Dog Whisperer channel and Discovery became the Mythbusters channel, the Food channel became the food competition channel. I almost expected a Big Brother-type program, where ten aspiring chefs are locked in a house blanketed by cameras 24/7. Or has that already been done?

Instead, the only "Cooking" shows descended, by way of Rachel Ray, to Paula Deen. No more Julia Child or Martin Yan, no Carlo Cooks Italian or Bibi's Kitchen.

Just Extreme Eating shows like that Zimmern guy chowing down on disgusting crap. No, I've long since cancelled the Food Network, because of flatulent freaks like Paula Deen. Watch now, people, as this hideous, blubber-filled sac of an old bat blatantly lies, evades and squirms out of the truth while simultaneously trying to promote her latest integrity-free venture.

Pathetic.

This Just In

It seems two patrons in the rich seats at a classical music concert at the Orchestra Hall in Chicago decided to throw a fistfight. It wasn't apparently enough to stop the concert, but apparently the conductor, Ricardo Muti, stared "daggers" at the two pugilists.

Here's what was overheard from a seat just behind the two men:

Man A: "Psst. Your mother wears army boots."
Man B: "That's not what she told me in bed last night."

Man A: "Oh yeah? Is that why your sister was out so late at my place?"

Man B: "Fuck my sister!"

Man A: "Oh, I did!"

Man B: "Why, you son of a bitch . . ." (raises fists)

Man A: "Hey, chill, it's the second movement coming up."

Man B reluctantly lowers fists. "Okay. But watch it."

(Three minutes later) Man A: "Brahms should have written this andante, not sostenuto."

(Fistfight breaks out).

My New Home Theater System Arrives!

Brigitte is really pissed off at me. I got tired of my old home-theater system and, aiming for a little higher end, especially in the sound sub-system section, found a pretty cool HD system on the Internet. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to find it on eBay -- I got it from some tech university, not MIT but somewhere similar, and strictly speaking, it's still hush-hush and under development.

No matter! I'll iron out the tweaks as I go along. I've already got it set up and plugged in and it looks and sounds fabulous! I'm going to watch Back to the Future on it this afternoon. I'll report back how it was later on! Right now I have to placate Brigitte and help her dump the packing materials.

The new home-theater system, set up in the bedroom!

The Man Who Invented EMAIL

Believe it or not, one man invented email. It wasn't a bunch of programmers working for Arpanet, including Ray Tomlinson, the appropriator of the "@" for an "at" sign.

No, it was this schmuck Shiva Ayyadurai, some teen prodigy at MIT.

The inventor of email

Well, turns out, after having suckered the Smithsonian and the Washington Post that it was he, Shiva Ayyadurai, who had singlehandedly invented the complete system we know as email -- the cc, the bcc, the @ sign, the "re" -- in 1978, while still a teenager. Well, take a look at the link above and tell me that's not what he claims.

Even to me, a not-historian of the evolution of the Internet, knew that no one person invented email, that one guy came up with packet-switching, another guy came up with TCP/IP, another guy came up with FTP, another guy came up with HTTP . . . even I knew that.

But this fudgepacker (brown on the outside, shit-colored on the inside) claims he invented email.

It turns out that he didn't invent, er, EMAIL, really, I mean the email everyone else invented, but he invented EMAIL, the name of a program that used email as its base. Like the guy points out in this article, it's like taking an airplane and calling it AIRPLANE and then saying you invented the "Airplane," something which flies in the air with propellers, etc.

What a fucking shameless cretin. He should be hanged by his curry-stained fingernails as he shouts "Let me down, Sahib! I was meaning no harms! Let me down and I will invent for you a nice Vindaloo chocolate cake!" and then lined up against a wall and strangled with a dhoti.

The Strutting Dictator: How Tall Was He?

Never mind the estimates of how tall (rather, how short) the dictators were. All I know is that when you get them out of context they can seem large. You just never seem to get a full-length picture of Hitler standing next to anything ordinary, something you can estimate his height by. A lot of pictures of him seem to be taken from below, as if he's seven feet tall.

I'll bet you Hitler was no more than 5'6." That means that I'd be three inches taller than him. That means I'd be able to pummel his ass in a fight. Nah, he'd probably be so amped on benzedrine that he could fight off twelve gorillas.

Mussolini? It seems he was almost always photographed from below. I got the impression he was maybe 6'3" tall, maybe even more. But take a look at this picture. Using his head as a guide, measuring the bottom of his chin to the top of his head as around 10 inches, I figure he was a hair taller than 5 feet. Maybe 5'1". 5'2" in heels. Looking at pictures of Hitler next to him, I figure Hitler was max 5'6" but maybe he wore heels -- that would match his ego. So let's give him 5'5". Around Tom Cruise height.

That would mean I probably could kick Hitler's ass pretty badly.

How tall do you think this little freak is?

My Eyes and Ears Lie to Me . . . Don't They?

This is impossible. Yet . . . it IS. I don't believe the kid is one — more like two — but this is still absolutely unbelievable. All the "genius piano player at four" videos I've seen notwithstanding, this is by far the most amazing. I know because I can PLAY the drums. I used to be good enough to play in a band, but the scary thing is, this kid is not far from being able to play in a band.


Watch, and be amazed.