Superjenfu

On Sunday, a group of conservative radicals held a protest in Washington. Eventually they walked to the White House. One of these radicals felt it was a good idea to wave the flag of slavery, treason, and terrorism in front of the home of America's first black president. Lone idiots are often drawn to protest action. The behavior of such idiots, while alarming, should not necessarily be taken as an indicator of the aims and thrust of the protest. On the contrary, it is not so much the behavior of the lone idiot that matters—but the tenor of the crowd around him.

If, for instance, you witness a march against military action in Syria and see a Nazi flag among the protestors this should disturb you. But you would be heartened to see the protesters snatch the lone idiot in their midst, eject him from their party with great vigor, and give him some blows for good measure. The flag would still disturb you, but perhaps you might be able to see it as a fringe action, and not the heart of the protest itself.

It is the wisdom of the crowd that matters. The wisdom that marked Sunday's crowd was the idea that the president "bows down to Allah" and needs to "put the Qu'ran down." The wisdom that marked Sunday's crowd was the notion that Obama was not the president of "the people" but the president of "his people." The wisdom of Sunday's crowd held that the police, doing their job, looked "like something out of Kenya." It's not so much that a man would fly a Confederate flag, as Jeff Goldberg notes, in front of the home of a black family. It's that a crowd would allow him the comfort of doing it.

I was in a crowd once. It's been almost 20 years. But I remember most is how emphatically we were drilled, that day, on the politics of respectability.  Our wisdom was conservative—too conservative for my tastes, frankly. But I obeyed the edict of the day which held that had any black man who came to the Million Man March and so much as stole candy bar would doom us all. That was our wisdom. It's a good memory. But I fear that it is no match for the wisdom of Sunday's crowd. The blue period is upon us.

MORE: I don't know if I am effectively communicating what is wrong with that picture and why it is deeply infuriating. If a patriot can stand in front of the White House brandishing the Confederate flag, then the word "patriot" has no meaning. The Nazi flag is offensive because it is a marker of centuries of bigotry elevated to industrialized murder.

But the Confederate flag does not merely carry the stain of slavery, of "useful killing," but the stain of attempting to end the Union itself. You cannot possibly wave that flag and honestly claim any sincere understanding of your country. It is not possible.

Vince Gilligan always referred to Breaking Bad as the evolution from “Mr. Chips to Scarface,” so it seems only natural that we’d want to know what the writer of 1983’s Scarface thought of it—particularly seeing as we cannot rest until every famous person’s thoughts on the Breaking Bad finale are properly cataloged, for our children’s children. Fortunately, that writer, Oliver Stone, has now volunteered his review, coincidentally at the same time that he’s trying to drum up publicity for the Blu-ray release of his The Untold History Of The United States: “I happen to ...

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dinosaur comics returns monday!
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September 19th, 2013: This Is How You Die is the sequel to Machine of Death and is also SUPER AWESOME. It's out now! Within that book is a choose-your-own-path story called Your Choice, by Richard Salter. We thought it'd be a cool way to share some of the book by putting up that story as an interactive website, complete with audiobook narration! Go click that link! You can read a story OR have it read to you! :o One year ago today: i wrote this comic with a friend who used the phrase "sloppy seconds" because she thought it referred to when you're at a buffet and you get seconds and the food is all mushed up now. that doesn't relate to this comic, i just thought it was ADORABLE – Ryan

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September 25th, 2013: I will be at IndieCade this October, with To Be or Not To Be! It is awesome that my crazy book was selected to be part of this festival of independant games and if you're there come say hi! One year ago today: certainly the shopkeep would say "and stay out!", as from my careful observations it seems mandatory – Ryan

i went shopping today………………………

if you tweet at companies they will mail you prizes

sweating beer dog is my “spirit animal”

L/R COMIC FOR OCTOBER 9, 2013 - SCIENCE CORNER

And smile!

Smile!

Smile!

“I came across this little smiling goat on We Heart It today! I just can’t deal!” – Marla C.
Alpaca with bedroom eyes from Michelle H.
Cute giraffe smiling, taken at the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo in Colorado Springs, Colorado by Erin and Jason Y.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Farm Animals, Hoofers, Matchingks, Unusual Animals

Whee!

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Selle pildi saamislugu on kirjas 16.septembri postituses.

A great white shark bursts from the water while hunting for seals off Seal Island, False Bay, South Africa

Picture: DAVID BAZ JENKINS / CATERS NEWS (via Pictures of the day: 23 September 2013 - Telegraph)

flavorcountry:

basilton:

In the early years of space flight, both Russians and Americans used pencils in space. Unfortunately, pencil lead is made of graphite, a highly conductive material. Snapped graphite leads and particles in zero gravity are hugely problematic, as they will get sucked into the air ventilation or electronic equipment, easily causing shorts or fires in the pure oxygen environment of a capsule.

After the fire in Apollo 1 which killed all the astronauts on board, NASA required a writing instrument that wasn’t a fire hazard. Fisher spent over a million dollars (of his own money) creating a pressurized ball point pen, which NASA bought at $2.95 each. The Russian space program also switched over from pencils shortly after.

40 years later snide morons on the internet still snigger about it, because snide morons on the internet never know what they are talking about.

BAM

“The last words of Seamus Heaney, the Nobel laureate and Irish poet who died last week, came in a text message to his wife: “Noli timere,””

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Book News: Seamus Heaney’s Last Words Were ‘Don’t Be Afraid’ : The Two-Way : NPR

Don’t be afraid

I'm interning with the Late Late Show, which is cool! But now I don't have time to update the comic on a regular schedule, which is lame.

Everyone post your last five Google searches and why you searched ‘em!

1. does obama have a dog - I wanted to know if Obama had a dog (HE DOES) (OMG)
2. flames on the side of my face - wanted to see the clip from Clue after that Clue article was going around (it is a great movie)
3. griefbacon - couldn’t remember the German word for this (it is “Kummerspeck” and it is the perfect word)
4. ship steering wheels - couldn’t remember if there was a special name for them, and I think my description is KINDA ADORABLE imho
5. conditioner gorden - wanted to see if someone had made shampoo-themed batman stuff just so they could use this pun; the answer: yes

I was out on The Yard with another girl. Homecoming. 1996. That was the year I finally found myself and knew that there must be a world beyond The Mecca. That was the year when I finally accepted that I was a cliché, that I liked Seinfeld and Pretty Woman, believed in Nubian Queens and thought the suburbs were cool. 

I was walking across the Yard with another girl when I fell instantly in love. I am not ashamed to tell you this. I stopped and spoke to some friends. She was standing with your Aunt Kamilah, who was down with the Rythym and Poetry Cipher, and yes, that is what we called things back then. 

I am not ashamed to tell you that I knew nothing about her, beyond how she looked. I am not ashamed to tell you that I was ignorant and dumb, in search of some Umoja mythology or all that Malcolm meant when he urged us toward self-love. I am not ashamed because I now know that everyone is urged toward everyone because of myth, and the only difference is the quantity and vintage of our guns.

But I was 21 years old, and I knew nothing beyond the fact that I was so young that I could only be a walking cliché. I think of Ethelbert throning from the top of Founders, looking over my bad poetry and telling me that I more needed to live than write. What did I know of loving anything, beyond a longing, beyond being biased in one woman's direction. 

I can now say that I what I immediately felt that day was thin. I shall speak responsibly and say that love is built on years of struggle, on business, on the tight-spots from which you brawl your way out. And I shall speak honestly and tell you that the my whole adult life has been built on something else--on thin feeling, on myth, on instinct, on the irrevocable desire to do the sort of filthy things that makes respectable people shriek, "Think of the children."

Fuck the children. I was out on The Yard--Sadé in the tape-deck, while I'm moving in slow-motion. I was talking to Kamilah and my man René and I wasn't hearing a word being said. That thin feeling was everywhere around me and no one else could speak.

So we partnered, parented, and married in precisely that order, and we would have left the last one off it were in our responsible power. We would have left that one off so that we always remembered that our mutual roots were not in churches where angels sing, not in high holiness, nor registry nor showers, but in chaos and lust for blood. We have held ourselves together with good reasons. But we have always known that love is not made by respectable people but by the freaks who come out at night. May you soon strive to rank among them. 

I tell you this because I have fallen before, and it generally ended badly. So it goes. You will end badly too. So it goes. When I was 16 a boy smashed me over the head with a steel-trash can, then raised his arms like he was champion of the world. I haven't had the blues since.

I am thinking of Langston Hughes:

Folks, I'm telling you,
birthing is hard
and dying is mean-
so get yourself
a little loving
in between.

I am thinking of Black Thought:

We knew from the start
That things fall apart
And tend to shatter

But mostly I am thinking of you. I want to tell you that I have fallen for Paris. I think you know. I think you know because I am stupid and I am cliché. A serious man should should fall for some village in Moldova, for brandies made from magic apples, or ham taken from a rare and endangered hogs. A serious man should claim to have discovered Nashville, should live in Austin before it is Austin, then leave with tales of the edgy old days. I have been told that serious men are buying homes in Detroit. But I love chicken fingers. And I have never been to Foxwoods or Vegas. And I love New York against my better wishes. And I love Paris with that same familiar feeling--aching, everywhere and thin.

What I am telling you is that you do not need to know to love, and it is right that you feel it all in any moment. And it is right that you see it through--that you are amazed, then curious, then belligerent, then heartbroken, then numb. You have the right to all of it. You must want to own all of it. We will try to ward you away. We will try to explain to you that we have already walked that path. We will try to tell you that we have made your mistakes. We will claim that we are trying to spare you. But you will see our greed and self-service hiding behind our words. You will see us ward you away with one hand, while the other still shakes at the memories. Here is the thing--you have the right to every end of your exploration and no motherfucker anywhere can tell you otherwise.

The culture of our world, right now, is crafted by little boys who only recall being stood up on their first date, and nothing they got after. They don't remember the sand they kicked in other people's eyes, only their own injuries. Our art is cynical and bad-ass and made by people who will not be happy until you join them in the church of "everything is fucked up, so throw up your hands." This is art as anesthesia.

Our art is made in cities like New York by people who are running from other places. They feel themselves as misfits who were trapped in dead-end suburbs. They hated high school. Their parents did not understand. They are seeking a better world. And when they realize that the world is wholly a problem, that the whole problem is in them, they make television for other people who are also running, who take voyage in search of a perfect world, then rage at the price of the ticket.

I am not immune. But when I think of Baltimore, I think of Ma and Dad. I think of their new lives. I think of my sisters and brothers and their many mothers. I think of my youngest niece, like a daughter who I will never have. I think of nephews who are like sons to me. I think of high school friends who would have leaped in front of car for me.

I thought I would return to Baltimore. But I was out on the Yard. I was struck--then struck again by you. So it goes.

What does it mean to be an introvert? It means sitting on twitter instead of calling your parents back. It means going to a coffee shop to write, but leaving because you can’t have a table to yourself. It means spending all of your time at home on Facebook, rather than attending your friend’s birthday party, because you hate being the center of attention. You want to talk to people, but you don’t want them to talk to you.

Face it, you’re probably an introvert. That’s why you’re here reading this instead of attending your brother’s graduation. The seclusion is comfortable, but it has its downsides – chiefly, you want companionship.

But, how can you meet people if you can’t talk to them? For the answer, we look to nature. “Follow your nose,” as a famous cereal parrot would say. Non-social animals barely communicate at all, yet they still have sex. The nocturnal vole remains in its parents den well throughout maturity, attracting potential mates by fermenting its saliva in its own feces. Without as much as making eye contact with their mate (they’re blind) they successfully pair-bond and seal the deal the way nature intended – with scent and coercion.

Humans are socially indirect creatures, beings of subtlety and suggestion, our hidden estrus and Blurred Lines are indicative of this, and thus, we must only hint at attraction, not explicitly state it. What better way to say, “I may like you, but you’ll have to figure it out,” than by playing DS at a bar while drenched in something called Violent Rain?

So what’s the most effective cologne an introvert can employ to cast off their social ineptitude and crippling anxiety, foray into the extroverted world of bars and student activity centers, and participate in hookup culture? Axe body spray of course. Axe body spray for introverts. Through extensive research with pick-up artist focus groups, Axe has developed specific scents exclusively for the shut in who doesn’t want to be shut out.

Here’s a quick survey of the most popular varieties:

Bacon
Ah yes, bacon. Is there anything it doesn’t improve? Well, maybe your blood pressure, but everyone can agree that almost anything is better with bacon – especially conversations. Just as those delicious strips of pig belly cook and shrink in their own fat, so shall your inhibitions. Watch that fist in your throat shrivel into nothing more than another lipoma in your robust neck. Axe’s Bacon will attract a woman just as salty and stripped as your favorite breakfast side dish. The only thing left for you to figure out is how she likes her eggs in the morning.

Forbidden Hobby
A medley of citrus and musk, Forbidden Hobby is evocative of an attic filled with old Nintendo Power magazines, largely neglected and given only a perfunctory Lysol treatment once a year for several decades. The attic – the perfect allegory for your emotional lockbox, your latent desires and obfuscated interests, buried way below your external identity of a meme-shirt wearing, connoisseur of Family Guy quotes. Just a quick spritz before the next Smash Brothers tournament and you’ll be in a girl’s sweatpants before the next Dragon Con.

Conductor
The distinct smell of O3 from a faulty electrical motor is all too familiar to the model train enthusiast. While indicative of a problem, it also signifies an opportunity for pleasurable train maintenance. In many ways, a woman is like a train. Deceptively powerful in regards to how slow she is, elegant and beautiful, collectible, and ultimately worthless without a great caboose. As much as you’d like to miniaturize yourself and live in your stupid tiny train world, it’s time to pick yourself up by your overalls, don some Conductor, and get onboard the Pussy Getter Express.

Hidden Impulse
Remember as a child when the other neighborhood kids would fill their super soakers with urine and you’d become public enemy number one? Remember crying at first but sitting at home in your own filth, secretly enjoying the scent and discovering your nascent sexuality? Remember a time when being a diaper lover didn’t involve being a part of a blossoming internet community and was no more than your own secret shame, before it lost its innocence and the humiliation aspect was distilled? That’s exactly what you get with Hidden Impulse, a bouquet of wet cardboard and baby wipes that’s sure to trigger subconscious repressed attraction from potential suitors.

Giddy Stench
Pheromones are abundant in human sweat. In fact, some say the best cologne is what your body naturally produces, to an extent that the odor of your partner, over time, becomes pleasant and intriguing. But, the smell of body odor alone is too oppressive, and it lacks a playfulness required for a delightfully pungent bottled product. Giddy Stench captures the tones and textures of the shoe-tree outside of the ball pit at Chuck E. Cheese. Something about an unwashed child screams, “hey, I’m dirty, but I’m fun!”

And just so the ladies don’t feel left out, Axe is introducing BOX, a new line of body sprays specifically for women. Lady introverts need not feel excluded either, as a new flavor, Implied Conscent, is set to hit shelves this fall. Conscent is a potent cocktail of disgorged rail vodkas, placebo birth control pills, and melted down jelly shoes. Taking perfume a step further, it even penetrates the skin, enters the bloodstream, and inhibits memory and self-esteem, providing the wearer with the requisite shame and inebriation needed to fuck someone with a rage comic tattoo.

Um, this kitteh looks about five times more dramatic than she should—she’s like backlit to all heck… Even her tail has tripled in size! It’s almost like her lil’ face is floatingks in sunshine.

Ahhhhn.

Yubi S., I curl up next to you on the stairs.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Classic Meg Rewind, Kittens

(Peering through magnifying glass) These two little peanut Nigerian Dwarf baby goats, known as kids, were born this spring to “Cupcake” & “Rodney” of the Goat Yard at Connecticut’s Beardsley Zoo. If you are wondering what the kids’ names are, we are too! Anybody out there know?

Via Zooborns.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Farm Animals, Goats

A Chinese man’s son, 13, sleeps next to his pet snake. Bingzhe said his family has cared for the black python for 19 years since it was just an egg. Now, it has grown to 4-meters long and weighs nearly 100 kilograms. The albino Burmese Python has been a family pet for about 10 years. Due to Guangdong’s warm weather, the owner said the snakes don’t need to hibernate. ‘We treat them like human beings, so we often talk to them, take them out and even travel with them,’ said the father. The man claims the two non-venomous constrictors are very tame and mild and have never attacked humans.

Picture: Exclusivepix (via Pictures of the day: 23 August 2013 - Telegraph)

There’s been a mysterious wave of tutu thefts in this area and I, ah, wanted to make sure yours is still safe. Which it is. Yup. Plain as day, safe and sound. Right where you left it.

Classic Rule 32 action!

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: GIF of the Week, Kittens

Both sides of the political aisle are howling that the $6 million transforming Post Road Community Park into the Indianapolis World Sports Park could be better spent. Yet a powerful group of people and organizations says the 48-acre park championed by Mayor Greg Ballard is already paying off and will score even bigger dividends in the future.

Knowledge Services, founded by CEO Julie Bielawski in 1994, has been one of the city’s fastest-growing companies in recent years.

I think Charlotte is referring to the Bechdel Test, but it's so hard to tell.

Readers outside the USA! You know the new Bad Machinery book, The Case Of The Team Spirit, is on Amazon, right? You can get it on amazon.co.uk HERE - or check your local version.