Fully Functioning Portal Turret
Ever called yourself a hardcore Portal fan? Well, try to beat this guy. YouTuber kss5095 created this awesome Portal turret that actually tracks you with an IP webcam and fires Nerf bullets at its targets. Fancy.
(via: Geeks Are Sexy)
Blade Runner concept art by Syd Mead
“In his concept art for Blade Runner, Oscar-winning production designer Syd Mead pictured Los Angeles in 2019 as a dark, sleek dystopia — imagery that would influence sci-fi aesthetics for decades to come”. Fulll article.
It’s like setting a jar of moonshine on the floor of a boxcar full of 10 hobos and saying, “Now fight for it!” Sure, in the bloody aftermath you can say to each of the losers, “Hey, you could have had it if you’d fought harder!” and that’s true on an individual level. But not collectively — you knew goddamned well that nine hobos weren’t getting any hooch that night. So why are you acting like it’s their fault that only one of them is drunk?
You’re intentionally conflating “anyone can have the moonshine” with “everyone can have it.” And you are doing it because you’re hoping that we will all be too busy fighting each other to ask why there was only one jar.
6 Things Rich People Need to Stop Saying | Cracked.com (via rachelfershleiser)
Relevant.
(via lettersfromtaiwan)
Basically.
(via theswansays)
David Wong has been cranking out some really fantastic articles lately, particularly about sexism. Quickly becoming a favorite Cracked writer.
(via nodamncatnodamncradle)
A homeless man named Rex
(mental illness and booze, like the others)
stumbles out of his nightly routine
right into a very humble mask.
The mask allows him to speak the truth,
something he had never been good at before
but even more importantly
to see the truth.
He goes strolling down the road
And what he sees is mostly rats,
but some cyborgs too,
and rules posted everywhere.
On the roadside: NO RESTLESSNESS
In the entryways: NO HESITATING
Along the exits: NO SADNESS
A short time later he comes across two rats.
One looks sad, and is holding himself up by an arm on the other rat.
Rex asks him, “What are you doing rat?”
And the rat replies, “Well, I’m just leaning on Tom until the shovels get here, but if you call me a rat again I guess I’ll have to stop leaning on Tom and kick your fucking teeth in.”
It is here that Rex learns that
only cyborgs follow rules, and that maybe rats are generally not the nicest creatures to be around.
It is at this point that he tries to remove the mask. He can’t. The sucker is super-glued on there or something.
So…
He continues on the same road for a while, not seeing any more creatures but many more signs.
NO SYMPATHY
NO GUILT
NO THANKFULNESS
After walking for longer than he would have liked,
Rex finds the Stairway to Heaven (or so it is named)
and to his dismay, it goes down.
He follows it anyway.
When he gets to the bottom there is a factory titled “The Pursuit”
(his mind automatically fills in the “of Happiness”)
And everything is very white and sleek and sanitary.
Inside he finds thousands of cyborgs
working tediously to construct
vast and intricately woven images to represent themselves.
After finishing a section,
a cyborg moves forward a seat
in a circle of chairs,
forming an auditorium of productivity,
at the center of which is…
At this point Rex is sobering up
and starting to get the metaphor.
He tries to walk away,
But stops dead in his tracks,
wanting very badly again to be able to remove the mask,
and thinking of any way to escape his fate.
Doing what he does best,
Rex resigns.
He is defeated.
He walks slowly up to the nearest cyborg,
and asks the most redeeming question of his entire life,
by begging for just one last time.
“Sir, can I please have a mirror?”
The cyborg says “sure”
and hands him one.
He looks in it,
the mask is gone.
They had met in a place much different from the sunny beach in which you see them frozen now. It was darker, and instead of one light there were many- dimmer and colored. He is deaf, and was there for the vibrations. In fact, they both liked the way the music felt, above anything. Fortunately for him, it was loud enough to render her voice useless as well.
And so they said hello with their eyes. It was late, almost morning, and though they both wished to sleep only after they had died, the inevitability of this simple need saw their separation soon after their introduction. And so they did what all of us do: surrender their wireless identities, those ten non-alphabetic, should I wait two days or three, text or call, dinner or just a drink, unassuming and neatly structured line fragments. But he didn’t wait three days, not even two. In fact, he didn’t even wait until she had left the room, but it was a text of course, you know, with the loud music and all.
The man in his comfy red theater chair is un-amused thus far and his drink is already empty. The half of a bag of popcorn in his lap is, with its wonderfully tasting pump-bottle butter drizzle, tempting him, but he is strong and currently holding out knowing that its consumption will surely lead to a bad case of dry-mouth.
The texting was from that moment, non-stop. She liked to text because it allowed her to think things through. She wasn’t quick on her feet, and with the relative non-immediacy of text messaging she became daringly clever. He liked being clever too. They talked about their hometowns and high schools, all the normal introductory conversation, but they also began to form fantasies, intricate inside jokes. The fancied themselves con artists, and they had a pet ferret named Floyd, who was of great assistance because of his ninja skills and odd ability to poop milk duds. They would get a rich Italian (whom the dubbed Vittorio) to fall in love wit her and then sell all of his sheep to buy a yacht, where they would throw a party for all of high society, getting them drunk and blackmailing as many as possible. All of these fantasies were all terrible clever and interesting and fun to the extent that they became attached to them- however nonsensical they were.
The man, who in his age had become slightly hard of hearing, does not appreciate the deaf jokes, however subtle, and hopes there will not be more. He also does not quite see the fun in all the non-sense, but figures that this too is probably due to his old age.
The first date was nerve-racking for the both of them. Because nearly all but a few moments of their relationship had been via text, they both felt that they had, on some level, been a part of online dating. They weren’t sure what the other really looked like, and if their memory was just showing them the infamous “angles.” Not that there is anything wrong with online dating, but you know, there is a stigma.
She had been making a noble effort to learn sign language in the past week but was, by any reasonable opinion, still a novice. This led to a justifiable fear that they would inevitably end up texting each other from across the dinner table. She ignored the upside to this, which was of course, that it would be near impossible for her to be clever in sign language. He didn’t know the area well and was (also) justifiably afraid that he would get lost just driving to the restaurant.
The man has no interest whatsoever in their anxieties, justified or not, and is now quite upset with himself for his lack of will and significantly dry mouth.
The date begins well. The language barrier is much to her relief, relatively easy to deal with. She does most of the talking, as she can sign much better than she can “listen.” He notices this early and compensates by signing very slowly, like an American asking a foreigner for directions. Unlike the foreigner, this actually does help her follow and understand.
He asks what she wants to do for a living. She says she wants to be a writer, but her father wouldn’t pay for her to go to school for that. Biology is the compromise. He finds this disheartening and sad. She doesn’t.
He kisses her right after dinner, not wanting to wait until the end of the date where it becomes awkward and forced. They can feel each other smile right before it ends.
The man is finally starting to forget his surroundings. He remembers his youth. He remembers that he had a wife once, and that he really loved to feel her smile at the end of a kiss. Amused would not be the right word, but he no longer regrets coming.
The ice cream store is where things begin to fall apart. She explains that she gets headaches often, that they are hereditary, and her father is the only one in her family that doesn’t get them. He isn’t sure whether this is true, or if she is no longer enjoying herself and just wants to go home. Either way, they finished the ice cream (which the had agreed to split because they were both full from dinner) and headed home.
It turns out his fears were more justified than hers. He gets lost taking her home- a good hour out of the way. During this time there is often silence, only broken by her apologizing for the headache or him apologizing for getting lost. They can no longer remember the smiles felt by touching faces.
She exits the car without another kiss, and they both send apologetic texts simultaneously several minutes later. Neither respond. Both of them spend the rest of the night forming “I shouldn’t have” lists inside their heads.
His was a little longer that hers.
“I should have picked a better dinner spot.
I should have told you how beautiful you looked when the sun shone through your hair.
I shouldn’t have ordered the wine.
I shouldn’t have brought up my ex.
I shouldn’t have gotten lost.
I shouldn’t have gotten lost.
I should have printed directions.
I shouldn’t have let you leave the car with both of us so full so regret, so full of ‘I shouldn’t have’ lists. I should have kissed you again, or asked to go for a walk, or simply talked for thirty seconds longer, anything, anything…”
It is strange how often the most disastrous dates leave you feeling more emotional, maybe even more in love, than the ones that go well.
The next day comes. He initiates contact. The exchange pleasantries before getting to the point. She says she doesn’t think it’s going to work out. He doesn’t understand, speculating that it may have something to do with Biology, but he can’t be sure. His last text to her says, “Thanks for all the great conversation, it really is rare these days. I’ll be just fine, though, I think Floyd is a little sad to see us part.” They both cry, him for a little longer.
The man is also now in tears, though he is not sure if they are from happiness or sadness. These two wonderful young people had taken him away- if only for a moment. He doesn’t understand though, how it could have ended here. What about the photo of them? They had a future of more smiles and non-sense. Where has it gone? But alas, the show is over. There is nothing more to be explained. He looks down the empty row of seats, and can only think of one place. A place he remembers well. The beach.
Girl, can you spare a quick moment?
I swear I’m no proponent
for wasting your precious time.
I just want to ask you
is this your body’s debut,
and is my gaze a crime?
Girl, your skin is like the ocean
your lips the waves in motion,
and your eyes the gleaming sun.
Your legs are like the starlight
guiding all of my might
straight up to some fun.
Girl, I want to take a cruise to your nether parts
sail right past your heart,
linger for a while then
stop at your navel charts.
Hope that you smile when
I start moving down again
and dock when I hit the end.
Think of the time I’ll spend
down here
down here
down here in paradise.
Girl, you surely are a paradise
a vast flowing liquid vice
and the setting of my dreams.
You’re dress is a thunderstorm,
off when it’s getting warm
tearing right down the seams.
Girl, I want to take a cruise to your nether parts
sail right past your heart,
linger for a while then
stop at your navel charts.
Hope that you smile when
I start moving down again
and dock when I hit the end.
Think of the time I’ll spend
down here
down here
down here in paradise.
Girl, and when I have to leave
you’ll be quite relieved
that I’m back on solid ground.
But girl, I’ll come running back
with my boat already packed
just to hear your calming sound.
Girl, I want to take a cruise to your nether parts
sail right past your heart,
linger for a while then
stop at your navel charts.
Hope that you smile when
I start moving down again
and dock when I hit the end.
Think of the time I’ll spend
down here
down here
down here in paradise.
