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| YUGO |
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YUGO LABS |
| ALSO WIK |
| Right | |
| my plinkets all askinder. my metatarsles uncooperative not enough metamewsill. you can't tarsel without meta, just like jesus said. i wouldn't want to tangle with that tarsle. poindexter communion is the science of achieving the ultimate. for nay and went the filth of society into god's box of bandaids like a skunk, into the night, farting hydrofluorochlorocarbons, gloriously, until the alternator finally stuck to the left. embrace the lead: it is your god. it is in your tubes. it writes your school rapport. pterodacyls bow before it. why not you too | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-03-30 21:42:42 | |
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| About Now | |
| I power up the rocket ship, I setup my rendezvous trajectory with the purveyor of fine green materials. I am distracted by a EXTXT secure COMINT, it contains details of an anomaly. By chance a random human variable path had led me back to a 70s psychedelia film, I had passed the recommendation onto Albert due to style familiarties. The communiqué detailed a vision of Itself, another parallel oddity in the continuum. I realise I am awake, I see a purple energy field in space spiralling into a rift. Abandoning slumber I quietly make my way to my VESTRAX ELITE computer terminal. Jeez, the less petite variety of girl had its advantages, not so great on storage though. Hibernated mode should increase that efficiency a bit only time will tell. The middle of the night provides a subtle chill to the studio so I don a crown & robe in royal colours. An encrypted window is waiting for me: “You are but a cog in the machine, a valuable party teamed with the ethereal” (sender: unknown). My instruments tell me that a dangerous mental fog is being blown in this direction, I lock down the base and setup HQ for long term “keep calm and carry on”. Three beeps cut through the darkness, it's about the time for lockdown containment protocol. With my beaker of peppermint tea and spiced inhalation stick the chronicles of 1701-D roll on. | |
| Posted by Mahjong The Wisest @ 2016-03-26 03:57:26 | |
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| rave wormhole ACK | |
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"EVERYBODY HAVING A GOOD TIME," the MC boomed. it was somewhere between a question and a command.
"WATCH DA RIEGHTDE!" he prompted next, derailing my attempt to process his ceremonial mastering. watch the ride? as in, like, "watch the ride! i just waxed it!"... or, had he actually said "watch the right"? like, "DJ, your right channel is flanging too hard, adjust your isolator"? the DJ.... the DJ had what appeared to be a pair of atari STs spinning around on turntables, but i was towards the back and it's entirely possible i was conflating what i was seeing with what i was hearing. "YEARS AHEAD!" the MC doth interruptus. did he mean: "this is for the years ahead!" or was he asserting that the rave itself was years ahead? "LIGHTYEARS AHEAD!" the MC belted, clarifying the situation. it was puzzling he'd elected to field my question, given that this was just a mix i was listening to on youtube. was possible that the metapsychological energies of the event had created a singularity -- a magickist homunculus of amen breaks in reality fomenting a wormhole -- available to anyone with the internet? the sensation is somewhere between a strong memory and a dream. a sense of presence; of being there. really, i do feel there; perhaps i am. that would be lovely. if it's september 16th, 1994, and you run into me in a rave warehouse, could you tell me i said hello? thanks. "perhaps i can coalesce it with a yugo post," i thought of myself thinking in the car, writing a yugo post. dropping script-fu down in that inital~d. there was already a certain amount of gravity to evental's horizontz. i'd listened to the mix over and over. i've exercised to it, as i find 45 minutes of raving preferable to a gym membership. but then, there was the disproportionate number of peak events it's triggered -- 6:38, 19:45, you know. the part with the harp glissando that makes you feel like luke vibert's just been sending post cards from a place you finally got to visit. on my knees crying. literally crying. ecstay... and i've never even tried ecstasy. like, i heard this story about a guy who was on a date and his date saw a pill on the floor and wanted to eat it. the logo is the same, she insisted. the gentleman was aghast: that's floor e! you don't know where it's been! it's dirty! five second rule! do any of these things ring a bell? but if it does that sort of thing, i think i sort of understand her attitude, despite being the sort of person who has to get every speck of whatever off the plates. again, it was time for the MC to derail my habitual retreat into an alpha wave state. "WHISTLERS WHISTLERS WHISTLERS INSIDE RIOOOOT" he screamed. i no longer questioned whether these were questions or commands; it was simply the nature of reality. wormhole coordinates, standard tube hashtable id notation. |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-03-18 02:23:24 | |
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| FUCK U TLC | |
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IM THE MOTERFUCKING NIAGRA FALLS OF PEE STREAMS |
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| Posted by shitbowl @ 2016-03-15 16:35:29 | |
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| typical ordering coffee morning situation thing | |
| blank stares. i blink and enter my debit pin; unable to penetrate the cashier's universe. i had asked for beard claws and ear claires and even paul revere cremes but my free jazz absurdity simply wasn't changing the balance on my corporate gift card. this shit may as well have been some junked up shoe cookies up in my jaundice chateau are you ballin with steve. the cashier didn't give me cash back and also didn't get it when i asked if they did cash jews. | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-03-10 05:46:16 | |
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| what's up your axon, dendrite | |
| sucka vibes trying to hack my neural matrix, but i got da program for doez bad boyz, o yeah, kool aid. suckaz be q @ 392.25922 matrix crystal but i'm all BOOM BRAP the rap squad up dat virii grill u can't malware the daddy | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-03-09 23:36:33 | |
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| q | |
| I smile. Sudden UV-C absorption patterns shifted, I was in a realm with hope and resource prospects. The logo on the bottle cap was different, it had been printed badly, the CIA must have got to me. The trigger was an american horror story, the town was spread out and abandoned. The dream I must remember, but as long as I don't get on a plane. “Investigating plane crashes really did a number on your subconcious” Octavia said. The only response possible is obviously: “I don't give a fuck at this point, I've just got to get back to the right universe”. So you're probably wondering what the fuck is spinning on this acid planet, this oblique refraction in space-time. Keep on guessing motherfucker. Planet axon is my new home I'm not even going to try and save you people, I'll cya later on the federation datasphere. Hear that sound? That's the sound of your mind echoing neural pathways crudely represented by sonic frequencies. WHAT? YES? I don't even represent the national reconnaissance office. Why ask me that shit, WHY. WHAT THE FUCK? | |
| Posted by Mahjong The Wisest @ 2016-03-09 22:42:02 | |
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| invisible bannon | |
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| Posted by Mahjong The Wisest @ 2016-02-29 16:05:52 | |
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| The Horrors of the Mental Spectrum | |
| Suddenly I awoke, the screens had gone blank. I turn on the oscilloscope and reattach the electrodes. A short woman stood in the centre of the crowded lecture hall and paused her speech in such a way that the dialogue became somehow ethereal. That's what woke me up, now I've come to rest on this plane of existence. Waves of sadness become an ocean of numbness, only the mechanical sounds of electro interject with the occasional crackle of vinyl. “Hold your hand over the fire for as long as you can”, it seemed like a good idea at the time. An old VHS tape is playing, a timer on the screen is counting down. Surrounded by digital information, I can never stop, trapped in an ice field on some distant planet server. At the end of the corridor a room with a small safety glass window stands with sophisticated looking locks, in the centre of the room is a human brain connected to thousands of tiny wires, on the side of it's case is an on/off switch. I can't get in but I want to switch it off desperately, so much that I hurt my hands trying to break the door. The minimal beat loops round in the background with scientific rigidity, I am no longer sure if the corridor is real. Outside the world crumbles into dust. Struck by pain in my side I try and return to my previous life, I sat passing out in the back as the blood drips down onto the steps. The lecture continues: “The metaphysical unit becomes... engrained in the submatrix as you can see in this diagram. A change in ideology allows the life force to shift in and out of temporal fields. If you-”. Suddenly one of the audience bolted upright and shouted “I AM A PURE ENTITY, AND I WON'T BE COERCED INTO THIS MADNESS” and promptly ran for the exit. | |
| Posted by Mahjong The Wisest @ 2016-02-25 13:29:01 | |
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| intriguing | |
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"you don't usually see a minivan go perpindicular to traffic that close behind you," i commented to my co-pilot (who was daydreaming about goats). "whatever it did, it wasn't supposed to do it. there was something off about it."
and indeed there was. |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-02-22 02:06:23 | |
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| almighty robert | |
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stop the meeting! this is wrong!
how so? well, it's against robert's ruse... oh, ah, which one? well, er, the ruse. the one you use to stop the topic and change the meeting, like i just did here. what?! of course it's funny. i deliberately hindenbwrekd the delivery in order to be funny; that's the joke. oh, don't be silly. it is. it definitely is. botching the joke is hilarious! unless, that is, you don't get the joke. ...so, do you get the joke? you do. meeting adjourned. lunch will be cocaine hookers and lime jello for the oceans. |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-02-19 04:02:49 | |
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| Substance X | |
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until his exposure to Substance X, he was just a mild-mannered linear actuary, blissfully fomenting lateral financial movement in the lower intestines of a fortune 9000 corporation. orders and push. pushback and orderback. but then the Substance X, and he was all hollaback~!; alarming himself when no one answered back to themselves. he became convinced he was a mild-mannered ant-mite on a virtual reality vacation, and that the ant-mite was suffering a schizoid embolishment, and yes sir he was now thoroughly anti-embolishment because the embolishment is sabotaging my hot water taps and stealing my ted nugent records. DO YOU HAVE THEM? DO YOU?!
clearly the experiment, had unantiplated clonsuquoncenners-ment. |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-02-11 18:46:22 | |
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| atypical reaction to riced out subspace | |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-02-10 06:46:35 | |
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| three for ten | |
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the gentle cleaver of logic. it was my most powerful ally, just as fear was to darth vader. i just had to let the logic float through a point in me, and then into this man's cranial overhead comportments.
"it says three for ten. there are three of whatever strange vegetable is, in this bag. therefore, the cost is ten." "well, sir," the clerk explained, "you only have one bag, not three." i nodded. he nodded. "i'd like to speak with your manager, please." i calmly requested. he seemed noplussed. "look, i'd be happy to just let you pay ten for this bag of, uh ...strange purple vegetables... but, like, i have to ring it up through the computer! i can't change that! only my manager can change the..... oh, hold on. one moment please." triumph, as always. |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-02-10 03:58:48 | |
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| veedidyajay | |
| the man said he was going to go off and play some "vidja." i asked, joshingly, if he was a "veedidyajay" without realizing that i'd executed an embarrasing slide from texan to urdu -- and, texan's don't noe shit about urdunomics. or hindi, perhaps that was more hindian pubjabi? the disanskreet formulation, rather than continuous hindi? it was no matter. in the time i'd taken to reflect on my alarming turn of phrase, he seemed to have went off for that there vidja. i deemed this outcome to be acceptible and resumed counting my scones. | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-02-10 02:56:32 | |
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| GOLDEN OMEN 3 | |
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A sullen figure trudged through the verge, stumbling and adjusting balance according to some rule known only to the beholder. Distant cries of confined animals echoed throughout the night. The road was long and barren, Itself woke up to fields stretched out beyond imagination, the dew in the moonlight looked crystalline. Understanding of the situation was thin, Itself had wandered far from the light. A town was not far over but the unforgiving terrain merited some caution. Occasionally a car would pierce through, blinding and unforgiving. Street lights in the distance caught Its eye, “home” It uttered in the darkness. The process of putting one leg in front of the other was now an instinct, a homing beacon shone out from the hills above. Chimes reverberated from distant plantations and the road seemed alive stretching out in front as a snake would. As the town approached an alarming sight greeted It at the gates, 8 hooded figures spaced randomly across the road as if waiting. Itself froze, fear struck like an ancient animal relic. At first it seemed merely a trick of the light, the figures were so still and lifeless. A dark, low voice suddenly reverberated the landscape as if it was merely a stones throw away: “A great valley must be traversed, the passage navigated, then you may find a home”. Startled Itself turned to the direction the voice had been coming from in the hedgerow, he found nothing. Clearly this journey was tainted by the touch of demons. A moment of madness, a moment of suicidal rage, Itself laughed manically into the darkness. Tonight was the night. An end was in sight. A stumble became a walk, a walk became a jog, a jog became a full on sprint towards the towns gates. Suddenly pain, Itself was smashed in the opposite direction by a blue forcefield type structure spreading across the width of the road. Dazed, Itself pulled his injured figure across the tarmac. “You... must not continue” the voice chanted, this time seemingly inside Itselfs head. It was bemused and uttered into the night “Where is she, the maiden of the dead. Another temporary excursion into materialistic abhorrences?”. The voice of the eerily still group echoed back “Why do you persist, they have moved into other narratives. The valley is all you care about now”. “It's wrong” Itself shouted, “this was the right universe and I stepped into it to be happy”. As suddenly as they appeared the group was gone from the road, leaving nothing but mist behind. Cautiously Itself edged up to where the forcefield was, it was gone. The walk back into town rolled on, an odd hangmans noose swayed from a tree. The buildings and lights seemed to spiral inwards, an infinite fractal perforated the shattered fabric of reality. Itself collapsed. |
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| Posted by Mahjong The Wisest @ 2016-02-10 02:02:13 | |
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| Properational Ollue Vopparitioning | |
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The man came in front of the assembled group and spoke. It was not in any common language, but only in high-minded abstractions, not tethered to any reference point: the essence of Maximum Business Value for the Customer. I waited politely for a break in the flow, past the effluvium of "I'm here to balance the books and bring us through our growth stage" type suit-wearing nonsense. I had to see if this man-shaped blot in my vision, soaking up brickloads of my time, had even the faintest glimmer of a soul. There was my pause, and the words came out: "Yeah, uh, who's your favorite author?" Everything changed in that moment. The shell of a man imploded, and this black hole of stammering awkwardness emptied the air from the room. It took a minute for the shocked "um, uh, errr," to replenish the oxygen, but by that time, the damage was done. |
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| Posted by ...my name. is. THE PLAGUE @ 2016-02-06 06:29:30 | |
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| summary | |
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we were smoking ziggurats outside the arby's, when troble happened -- as it usually does. a carefully-kept automaton approached my compatriot and i and demanded to know what we were doing. without waiting for an answer, she let us know that the issue (aka her fucking problem) was that we were smoking ziggurats outside the arby's. i explained to her: "madame, it is raining, this ledge provides shelter, and rain gets in the windows if we smoke in the horseless mirage. thus, we have sought shelter under the ledge of noble arby's, through which we shall smoke out this rainbromonium. can you not see my pants are wet? are your pants not wet? clearly, you see, it is the sane choice."
she seemed nonplussed, but still irate. "i have no idea what you're talking about!" she snapped sea spells by the sheshore that did it. "you see, ma'am," i kindly explained, "i'm afraid that if you can't sense the sense, then we can't talk the talk." "you're making nonsense! nothing you say makes anysense to me!" "well, uh.. then fuck off?" she stared at me for a tense moment, then snorted, about-faced, and stormed inside the arby's, reeking of ziggurat smoke. clearly, that attempt at more succinctly conveying my position had solved the problem. i made a mental note to try and summarize more often |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-02-04 01:26:42 | |
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| Net Scape 2 | |
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| Posted by ...my name. is. THE PLAGUE @ 2016-02-01 07:18:46 | |
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| bad microwave interface | |
| Microwave (80) > defcon 1 > start. Now enter the launch codes. Spin the dial slowly otherwise the time increase will stop, or set itself to 95 minutes. Press the start again. Pray. | |
| Posted by Mahjong The Wisest @ 2015-12-12 08:25:19 | |
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