Archive for the ‘ Humour ’ Category

STFU u n00bs!  You don’t know anything about the l33t skience of physics, fule!

…at least not until you read this..

Zeig Heil Jesus!

A week on the internet as applied to staying power is like a year in traditional media, but hey, it still doesn’t make a photo any less amusing.  Presenting: An alternative view of the new pontiff.


Thanks to Sim for the image and the stolen title! emoticon


Crappy, Sweaty, Rainy Monday

Sometimes you have to learn how to read the signs.

I wake up about three minutes before my alarm is set to go off.  Right away, you know that if I’m depriving myself of my much-loved sleep all on my own, there’s something definitely wrong here.  In any case, I get up a half hour later anyways, which is about normal.

As usual, I take too much time reading the news online, and after I pull the inevitable "oh, shit!" when I glance at the time, I’m off to my routinely frantic dance of teeth-brushing, shaving, getting dressed, and lunch making.  Surprisingly, I’m out the door a bit earlier than usual, which simply puts me on time.  No need for the five-block sprint in the rain to the metro today!

Actually, there was, because metros being what they are (i.e. unpredictable bastards), I end up having to run to work from the metro station to be there on time for the 9 am meeting.  I make it for 9 (again, surprise!), but there are no more chairs, and I end up having to stand, all hot from the run, and uncomfortably close to the other standing late comers.  Consequently, I’m sweating.  And did I mention I hit my head on the door when I tried to enter the darkened room?  It was opening so easily, then wham! Someone was standing there and I was already into the follow-through.  Beautiful, sweaty, hot lab meeting…  but at least the presenter was interesting! (Ça, c’est pour toi, Cat, si tu lis!).

Anyways, seeing how for one of my courses I need to attend the astronomical 30 seminars having to do with various subjects of my domain, and there are two happening at McGill today, I take off at about 11:20, assured by Tous Azimuts that the trip to McGill would take at most 20 minutes.

Let’s go on a tangent here: Are we going to trust the STM again?  Should I ever have done so?  Is this the last time I get screwed by them?

In case you’re wondering, the answers to the above challenging questions are in the negative.

I should have seen the omen for what it was – the old man with no neck dressed in an expensive business suit, in a sleep coma drooling on his expensive tie.  I was disgusted, but yet I could not turn away.  It obviously was a sign that no matter what, I would be either screwed or end up riding the metro forever, like this dude seemed to be doing.

As prophesized by Mr.Drool (oh, he SO saw that coming!), a connecting metro leaves about 10 seconds early, royally screwing me and causing me to be late by 10 minutes, where I would otherwise have been about 5 minutes early.  But wait, I’m forgetting something.


I was following the signs (literally, this time) to get to Sherbrooke.  So far, so sweaty (metros aren’t known for their excellent ventilation, especially with a jacket on).  I know where one exit leads, but another sign points to a tunnel I never took before, and the promised land of Sherbrooke street is proudly displayed above.  I enter.

What I end up in (where I become more and more apprehensive) is a strange self-enclosed steel and glass food court, with no apparent way out.  I see some escalators, but dismiss them after seeing from where I stand that they lead to a marbled lobby with metallic lettering.  Five minutes to the seminar.

I dash around the food court, trying, for the love of all that’s holy, to find a way out.  Then I meet this little gem of a woman:

Me: "Pardon, où est-ce que je peux trouver la sortie?"
Her: {Shrug}
Me: "…"
Her: "Sorry, I can’t help you."
Me: "You have no idea where the exit is!?"
Her: "No…"


A BANK?!  W.T.F!

Yes.  People evidently need a special tunnel to get to the bank from the metro station.  I suppose the Mole-Woman needs to do her banking somewhere…

Five minutes late.  I exit, two blocks east (that’s bad) of where I would have been if I had just gotten out the metro normally, and semi-dash to Drummond street.  If you’re at all familiar with Montreal, and at all familiar with the unexplainable obsession of universities putting their buildings on the top of freaking mountains, then you also know that you can’t climb Drummond at a run – more of a exhausting, toungue hanging out, plod.

Of course, the seminar is on the 10th floor – don’t you know that low oxygen stimulates students?  I’m sweating, I’m annoyed, and I have no fucking idea where the damned room is.  10 minutes late.  I find a door with the right number – I can hear someone talking inside – and I try it.  *RATTLE*.  Ugh.  Must be a two-door class deal.  I’m now resigned to the ugly stares I will inevitably get for not only disturbing the lecture by coming in 10 minutes late, but resonating a loud, annoying sound throughout the lecture hall.  Luckily (and no, this doesn’t make up for everything else!), a poor chump is also making his way in right before me, and becomes my human shield. 

I settle in to one remaining seat, and try to take notes without soaking the looseleaf with my drenched forearms.

Finally, on the way back home (after two incomprehensible lectures), I climb on the 24 bus, only to find that it absolutely and positively, smells like someone has taken a shit on the floor, then spread it around.  I kid you not – I was gagging.

Sigh.  Whattaday.

I want to be a Space Dude

Why?!  Because they get to do cool STUFF!  ..Like propagating the species on faraway utopian planets that will never, ever be *anything* like the consume-and-expand bonanza we gots going ons over here…  Ever.

I came across the source of inspiration for this post today, and I was immediately horrified that pictures of humans colonizing mars like the one pictured on the page are still allowed to exist.  What are we, in the 50′s?!  Like, that’s so, like, passé.  If you squint, you can probably see school children learning the virtues of "duck and cover" in one of those housing units that look suspiciously like Twinkies.  Corporate-sponsored space missions anyone?  Yes, the future is scary.  That’s probably Fox News doing the broadcasting from the tower in the background.

Anyways, the content of the article is what really caught my attention – the most important of the three most vital reasons to put humans into space being "to survive".  I’ve long thought that if we simply manage to just get past the point where the technology exists to get us off this slowly-degrading beautiful planet (although people like George are doing their darndest to put a stop to that, darn tootin’!), then we could all breathe a collective sigh of relief – we might die, but our whippersnapper progeny will live on, and perhaps grow an extra leg or two on a strange new planet where soccer is so popular, that the sport itself is used to decide matters of planetary importance – the extra leg would definitely make one a better debater.

I’ve also secretly always wanted to be that whippersnapper, able to take my humble self on a spacecraft (apparently made by Hostess(tm)) one day to a colony on the moon.  I hear the cheese there is excellent.

Not only that, but you could also hock quite the loogie out of the window on the way up.  Imagine getting one of those in your face while speeding along the rails of the Cobra at La Ronde (yes, that’s really La Ronde!  How cool is that!?).  The way I figure it, if the technology exists that could take me all the way up to the freaking moon, then the technology also exists to let me open my window and stick my head out on the way up.

To finish this insane thought process I’m having here, I’ve just finished reading Evolution by Stephen Baxter.  I’ve never really read anything like it before, and I trust that if you read it, you would say the same thing.  The previous link has a review of the book, but in essence this strange tale is a retelling of the lineage of human evolution, from a lemur-like thing that the author lovingly names Purga to the last remnant of the humans, 500 million years into the future.  It’s a sad depressing story at the end, because humanity as we know it has destroyed itself, and the only thing left is this proto-human that has none of our intelligence and lives in these leaf-pods on a single tree in the desert, and the tree eats the people when it gets hungry.  Bleak, yes I know.  But, if we go to the soccer planet, then we won’t care about the stupid pod apes – we’ll be living it up in stadiums that float in the stratosphere watching robots with 8 legs kick a flaming ball around to see who can score first, which will ultimately create a conservative black hole in front of the other team’s bench and suck them all into eternity.


Ball Lightning

"What’s incredible is that my room seems to have become the focal point of paranormal CD-case phenomena."

Your guess is as good as mine!

In a strrrrange case of music-gone-bad, every so often my roommate Josh (briefly mentioned in the previous post) discovers that some of the plastic cases of his CD collection, mysteriously and spontaneously, simply warp out of shape!

Take a look at this insanity!

The strange (OK, strangest) thing is that the CDs seem to stay OK, so at least this.. whatever it is… is not doing any real damage.

We’ve tried to be logical about this:  Sunlight?  Faulty wiring in the walls heating up?  Half-lives of cheap plastic CD cases? But each theory falls apart when we look at where the previous cd cases warploded.  So we keep falling back to the only reasonable explanation: Ball Lightning.  Either that or it’s a poltergeist that doesn’t appreciate Josh’s taste in music.  I suggested setting up a video camera with a super ghost detector deluxe filter to observe the room, but I was silently ignored, as usual.  Bastards.

More info will be forthcoming when we capture the spectre and ask him where he keeps his gold.