|  | 
April 11, 2005 |
Madrid, Spain Gay Bagel's Hair A close-up of a hair follicle, possibly seen before in a cameo on C.S.I., that could one day potentially hold the entire run of Newsweek on its length. nventive sports in Madrid, Spain have made extremely trivial history by performing the tiniest writing ever done, copying the first paragraph of Cervantes' Don Quixote onto a silicon chip. The physicists, apparently fighting their own windmills in the effort, wrote the letters so small they claim the entire novel could be copied onto the tips of six human hairs, though they didn't name anyone who volunteered to do so. Whether the hair would belong to Grace Jones or David Lee Roth, they didn't offer—surely they realize hair is quite relative.
"What a fantastic feat!" exclaimed book critic and hair enthusiast Alameda Ramirez, also of Madrid. "It's an amazing step forward for people who like to copy things really small onto objects not paper."
The physicis...
nventive sports in Madrid, Spain have made extremely trivial history by performing the tiniest writing ever done, copying the first paragraph of Cervantes' Don Quixote onto a silicon chip. The physicists, apparently fighting their own windmills in the effort, wrote the letters so small they claim the entire novel could be copied onto the tips of six human hairs, though they didn't name anyone who volunteered to do so. Whether the hair would belong to Grace Jones or David Lee Roth, they didn't offer—surely they realize hair is quite relative.
"What a fantastic feat!" exclaimed book critic and hair enthusiast Alameda Ramirez, also of Madrid. "It's an amazing step forward for people who like to copy things really small onto objects not paper."
The physicists performed the chip-writing as part of a 400th anniversary celebration of Cervantes' classic work, and those involved are very insistent no beer was involved. The group used a very expensive atomic force microscope for their frivolity. While some stuffy scientist-types were enthusiastic about the possible use of the microscope for writing more information on smaller chips and revolutionizing the computer industry, intellectual literary-types were more excited about the possibility for easier-to-store books.
"If you could fit all of Don Quixote onto six hairs, imagine how much you could write on someone's entire head?" librarian Marcos Gally thought out loud. "Assuming you didn't kill them in the process, of course. I could carry the entire annotated works of Shakespeare and all the great plays of the twentieth century, in all languages, in my hairbrush. I wouldn't necessarily be able to read them. Which is my second point—we need to get to work on microscopic bifocals right away."
His colleague, bookstacker Londo, agreed. "Yes, but sad that intellectuals like John Malkovich and Michael Stipe would get no books at all. While Pamela Anderson would have them in abundance."
Both then agreed the complete conversion from paper books to hair books should wait at least until better transplant options became available.
Most appealing about the tiny writing possibilities, according to literary historian Bernadette Fopps, is making the wealth of the world's literature available in the least expensive format ever.
"A library of every piece of printed material ever, from the Bible in Esperanto to the latest issue of Ultimate Spider-Man, could easily fit into most modern handbags. That is, if you didn't mind a purse full of hair. But of course, not everyone is going to want a copy of everything. Personally, as a fan of early twentieth century British psychological literature, I would relish the opportunity to have a complete catalogue of George Orwell's fiction on a single pubic hair. Though, maybe that's more appropriate for the work of Henry Miller—I'm not the one to make those kinds of decisions."
A few detractors weren't ready to get on board the small hair writing train just yet. Such as author Tom Clancy.
"I'm as prone to mistakes as the next guy," said the Hunt for Red October author. "If I get to page 435 and Jack Ryan is about to knock out the bad guy, and I have a few type-O's, is my editor going to be able to correct those mistakes? 'Cause I'm not going to pluck a new hair and start over. I love my craft, but there are limits, you know?"
Also reluctant to embrace the idea was Denny's waiter Christian Meams: "The last added frustration I need on my job is someone's reading a copy of the latest Michael Chabon book, they forget about it, and I get blamed for bringing them the burger with the novel in it." the commune news would love to see the day we can publish our latest issue on an eyelash—this website shit ain't free, you hear? Truman Prudy is unmistakably British, and we assume he prefers the smell of dusty old books—something he's wearing is giving off that dusty smell.
 | Iraqi prison abuses allegedly part of inter-prison frat initiations
Bachmann Promises $2 Gas, Apocalyptic Wasteland During Presidency
Italian journalist rescued by elite force of plumbers wielding hammers
Obama: "Fine, you guys do whatever the hell you want."
|
Mohammed Confesses to 9/11 Attacks, “Falling Down A Lot” During Interrogations Castro Announces 2008 Candidacy; Clinton, Obama Drop Out of Race Conditions at Walter Reed Upgraded to “Nightmarishly Clive Barker-esque” Unveiling of First Black Disney Character Raises Some Concerns |
|  |
 | 
 March 18, 2002
Family FeudDon't get me started, Shorty. You know exactly how I feel about them McEnroys across the gully. A fouler people there never was burped up onto the earth, and that's one scientific fact. When I was in shorty-pants my daddy told me about them McEnroys, givin' in me the good sense to hate them as does all God's green creatures. And dang did daddy hate them McEnroys. Like his daddy afore him and so on and so what back to the day when grand-grandpa Peter done stepped right in a big dollop of moose puddin' that grand-grandpa McEnroy did left on his porch as a early-mornin' prank of sorts. But this was one of them pranks that was destine not to get no laughs, 'cause grand-grandpa Peter was wearin' the new toot-boots he just got for Christmas a few days afore, the ones with the lyrics to "Sweet Mona May" embroidered around the back. You seen them boots Shorty, an I don't need to tell you how they was shamefully ruint. Dang if that wasn't one o' them tragedies o' bible-belt proportions.
And so it done started that my family always hate them McEnroys, and them McEnroys ain't none too fond on us, neither. As you would expect from a McEnroy, them bein' no higher than snake's ass draggin' on the asphalt. Over the years this county has seen quite a feud, with plenty o' moose puddin' left strategicaldy here an there. It's been a feud that claimed more than a few lives isself, too, like the time Bobby Mo and Steefie was blowed up tryin' to make an atom bomb out from pig dung an...
º Last Column: The Lucky Break º more columns
Don't get me started, Shorty. You know exactly how I feel about them McEnroys across the gully. A fouler people there never was burped up onto the earth, and that's one scientific fact. When I was in shorty-pants my daddy told me about them McEnroys, givin' in me the good sense to hate them as does all God's green creatures. And dang did daddy hate them McEnroys. Like his daddy afore him and so on and so what back to the day when grand-grandpa Peter done stepped right in a big dollop of moose puddin' that grand-grandpa McEnroy did left on his porch as a early-mornin' prank of sorts. But this was one of them pranks that was destine not to get no laughs, 'cause grand-grandpa Peter was wearin' the new toot-boots he just got for Christmas a few days afore, the ones with the lyrics to "Sweet Mona May" embroidered around the back. You seen them boots Shorty, an I don't need to tell you how they was shamefully ruint. Dang if that wasn't one o' them tragedies o' bible-belt proportions.
And so it done started that my family always hate them McEnroys, and them McEnroys ain't none too fond on us, neither. As you would expect from a McEnroy, them bein' no higher than snake's ass draggin' on the asphalt. Over the years this county has seen quite a feud, with plenty o' moose puddin' left strategicaldy here an there. It's been a feud that claimed more than a few lives isself, too, like the time Bobby Mo and Steefie was blowed up tryin' to make an atom bomb out from pig dung an gasoline, for what to blow up the McEnroy trailer an above-ground hot tub.
You know as well as anyone, Shorty, that I myself have had my own share o' close calls with that McEnroy clan. Remember the time a few winters back when we found that gopher done froze up solid in the ditch, and we build that catapult out from underwear elastic to shoot that frozed critter up onto the roof o' the McEnroy trailer? To this day I still think that was the best idea you ever had, Shorty. Sometimes when I've got trouble sleepin' I like to lay awake an think o' what it woulda been like if it had worked, an that critter woulda thawed in the springtime an created a powerful stink up there on that roof, an them McEnroys woulda just thought it was they own foul behinds makin' the stink. An I don't care not what nobody says, Shorty, neither o' us had any way from knowin' that icy critter was gonna come crashing down through the McEnroy roof and break botha grandma McEnroy's legs while she was sittin' there watchin' the $25,000 Pyramid.
Nobody who's not a liar can prove it was me who did put that greased pig in the McEnroy's station wagon last summer, though I will admit to laughin' the hardest when we was watchin' them try to get that pissed-off squealer to come on out o' the car. Some have said that was the best prank pulled on the McEnroys since the time my own daddy snuck in on a moonless night an covered that whole property with mouse traps. That next morning this valley sounded like a good day in Vietnam, Shorty, and a finer day our family has never seen.
Sure, the McEnroys have had they own laughs at our expense, as is to be expected in any proper feud. Like all the times they've had the law on our tails, bringin' charges of assault with a deadly carcass and grand theft of a trailer home and stalkin' or whatnot. I have to say Shorty, them McEnroys got they own style o' feudin'. It's not like a McEnroy to grease your handrail or fill up your outhouse full of locusts. They're much more fond of callin' out the law every time one o' our pranks against them ends up causin' serious property damage or cripplin' the elderly. That's just like a McEnroy, too. Always takin' the high road.
Dang if I don't hate them McEnroys, Shorty. Where's my potato gun? º Last Column: The Lucky Breakº more columns
| 
|  June 13, 2005
I Think This New Stacked Show's Gonna Be a Giant Tit!America's favorite love-it-all reviewer from Spineless Magazine is branching out and trying his hand at the best new blog of the year! How's it going to turn out? Awesome-tastic!
1:21am - To Be Continued
:Gotta go, I'm late for something!
10:51pm - StillStacked
But the show's not just about boobs, no way! It's also got bouncy dialogue and cleaves right to the heart of important societal issues every week. There's also a funny old guy who's ugly and old enough to really let Pam's beauty shine through in contrast. She's a 10, no doubt, but he makes her look like a 10.7 at least. There are also some other pleasantly nondescript characters there to say all the lines that aren't Pam's. Which is good, because if it were just Pam talking all the time, then the show would be a one-woman monologue and those are never fun. She'd probably start talking about her vagina and ruin all the good times! Don't go there girl!
6:08pm - I Like Peanuts
:Am I the only one who thinks CBS Nightly News has totally jumped the shark? Sorry guys, but I'm going to have to jump on the bandwagon that thinks you guys did your best work back when nobody knew who...
º Last Column: You Don't Know Dickman (Vol. 3) º more columns
America's favorite love-it-all reviewer from Spineless Magazine is branching out and trying his hand at the best new blog of the year! How's it going to turn out? Awesome-tastic!
1:21am - To Be Continued
:Gotta go, I'm late for something!
10:51pm - StillStacked
But the show's not just about boobs, no way! It's also got bouncy dialogue and cleaves right to the heart of important societal issues every week. There's also a funny old guy who's ugly and old enough to really let Pam's beauty shine through in contrast. She's a 10, no doubt, but he makes her look like a 10.7 at least. There are also some other pleasantly nondescript characters there to say all the lines that aren't Pam's. Which is good, because if it were just Pam talking all the time, then the show would be a one-woman monologue and those are never fun. She'd probably start talking about her vagina and ruin all the good times! Don't go there girl!
6:08pm - I Like Peanuts
:Am I the only one who thinks CBS Nightly News has totally jumped the shark? Sorry guys, but I'm going to have to jump on the bandwagon that thinks you guys did your best work back when nobody knew who you were. Now it's all about the money, and the women. Nice hair, though!
5:31pm - In the News
:Has anyone tried these Lunchables? I've got a hunch(ables) they're pretty great!
5:06pm - MoreStacked
The studio execs were proven right once again, because Pam Anderson's got the giant big knockers of talent that the world has been dying to see!
3:59pm - Deepness
:What has everybody been hearing about this heaven place? Sounds pretty nice, ay? Or is that just me?
1:38pm - Still Hungry
:Let me be the first to say, deodorant is the way to go. Sure beats the alternative.
11:40am - StackedAttack
:You can say ta-ta to the small time, Pam, because I'm predicting your star's gonna bust right out of that tiny, constrictive bra of anonymity, baby. Anyone with a pair of eyes can see, Stacked is a giant tit and I see some golden globes in Pam Anderson's future! I know Golden Globes are awards for movies, I wasn't talking about that. I see big things coming out of the shirt of your career, girl.
9:16am - Meatloaf
:If there's one thing I can wholeheartedly recommend to every man, woman and child on the face of the earth, regardless of age, and without even knowing them, it's the BowFlex. Talk about your muscle factory! Those guys in the commercial are ripped! º Last Column: You Don't Know Dickman (Vol. 3)º more columns
|

|  |
Milestones1983: Reporter Raoul Dunkin begins down the long road of abandoning teams when things get rough, quitting a dodgeball match due to some minor bone fracturing.Now HiringYou. Seeking dedicated, hard-working you of moderate intelligence to engage in commune reading, web-surfing, and other you-centered activities. Payment and benefits to be based on experience.Top 5 commune Features This Week| 1. | Abe Lincoln: Tall Motherfucker | | 2. | Michael Jackson's Dating Tips | | 3. | The Dog Did It: A Dummy's Guide to Solar Wind | | 4. | Uncle Macho's Pepperoni Puree | | 5. | A Tedious Summation of All Your Flaws: Past, Present and Future | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Laurence Trundle Lawrence 3/3/2003 Scream, You MonkeyScream, you monkey
like the wrath of all
bananas was on your ass
or like you just found out
your Visa card was rejected.
That's right, you ape
with your little hat and jacket
you thought you had it all figured out
not so smug now, are you, Mr. Jitters?
I saw the best mimes of my generation destroyed
by a mulatto with a flame thrower
and a huge man-eating whale with rubber tires
oh my God he's coming!
I can hear his pant legs rub together
like the breathing of asthmatic Neanderthals.
The night is smoking
shitty women's cigarettes
and slithering like a turd
out of a toothpaste tube.
I can hear it squeaking
across my chalkboard downstairs.

Scream, you monkey
like the wrath of all
bananas was on your ass
or like you just found out
your Visa card was rejected.
That's right, you ape
with your little hat and jacket
you thought you had it all figured out
not so smug now, are you, Mr. Jitters?
I saw the best mimes of my generation destroyed
by a mulatto with a flame thrower
and a huge man-eating whale with rubber tires
oh my God he's coming!
I can hear his pant legs rub together
like the breathing of asthmatic Neanderthals.
The night is smoking
shitty women's cigarettes
and slithering like a turd
out of a toothpaste tube.
I can hear it squeaking
across my chalkboard downstairs.
That's right, I own a chalkboard,
what's it to you?
Crazy people decorate my windows
I crazyglued them up there
at first I tried staples
but staples don't stick to glass
they really should mention that on the box
so you don't waste six bucks
on a huge box of staples that are no help.
Women, ha!
What do you want to know about women?
I read a book on women once.
It was confusing.
But there were pictures.
Women look good in pictures.
The fog sits on the city
like a big smelly blanket
with a cigarette burn hole
which has a plane flying through it
and skyscrapers poke the blanket
like boners or something
and also fog is wet.
I once saw a shoe full of blood
like a cup of soup
—but weird—
I wondered who was wearing that shoe
and who was wearing that blood
like socks on their veins
only on the inside
like inside-out socks.
Or actually their veins are more like the socks
and the blood is like the feet
so it's kind of funny there was blood in the shoe like that.
I talked to a man with a golden head
totally made of gold
I'm not shitting you, gold
okay maybe I am shitting you
but it's a poem, get over it
anyway, his head was made of gold
and he told me wonderful things
but I forgot them all because
I was just thinking of how much I could sell his head for.
And then the sun came up
like a piece of toast
and I buttered the sun.
And the monkey screamed
because he was hungry.   |