*
Original: Abstruse Goose #52
@god
Now that Obama has said "I have never used Twitter", and that his alleged account was verified, long ago, by the Twitter team, I can finally stop wondering about this:
[click to maximize]
And, God too likes Abstruse Goose. Yay!
[click to maximize]
And, God too likes Abstruse Goose. Yay!
The day Google News beat Google Reader
Try this article. Or just this gem of a line:
"Harbhajan Singh was lambasted by security officials for leaving the high security team hotel and venturing out without informing them."
I was italicizing the ironic keywords being kind to those suffering from media-Acquired Irony-perception Deficiency Syndrome. And voila! It was then that I got past the false layer of irony that had been fabricated perhaps to oblige Amit Varma and suchlike keeping the supply of WTF news for them up, and saw the play on words by the genius of a journalist, namely- The security was high.
For a moment, I told myself that had to be the line of the decade, and then the sexist me saw this headline:
PM 'deeply satisfied' with Mamata, says Trinamool.
The article, needless to say, doesn't live up to the headline. Despite reiterating the phrase 'deeply satisfied'. And with quotes. But that's okay, enough for a day.
"Harbhajan Singh was lambasted by security officials for leaving the high security team hotel and venturing out without informing them."
I was italicizing the ironic keywords being kind to those suffering from media-Acquired Irony-perception Deficiency Syndrome. And voila! It was then that I got past the false layer of irony that had been fabricated perhaps to oblige Amit Varma and suchlike keeping the supply of WTF news for them up, and saw the play on words by the genius of a journalist, namely- The security was high.
For a moment, I told myself that had to be the line of the decade, and then the sexist me saw this headline:
PM 'deeply satisfied' with Mamata, says Trinamool.
The article, needless to say, doesn't live up to the headline. Despite reiterating the phrase 'deeply satisfied'. And with quotes. But that's okay, enough for a day.
Butterfly
I killed a butterfly that flew into my room. With a notebook.
I put the butterfly above the reading table. Used some Fevicol.
Was a thing of beauty. Now, a joy forever.
I put the butterfly above the reading table. Used some Fevicol.
Was a thing of beauty. Now, a joy forever.
Biology
I pee, you pee. So do cows and dogs. Yesterday I realized, I have never seen a lizard pee. So I deduced that they don't pee per se. It was the same method of observation and induction that was exploited by Darwin, Mendel, and others, most of them with excellent sideburns, before being recently invoked by one of my friends, who decided that dogs lack menstrual cycle after his landlord's bitch (the pet) didn't bleed even once in the two years he got to see her. Her behind, rather.
So, do lizards pee?
WikiAnswers answers, as if it were a perpetually pissed person - "NO."
Okay, they don't. So, why don't they?
Yahoo! Answers says- "Lizard urine comes out of their vent, pretty solid and usually pretty white, some yellow. That's why lizard droppings often have white on them ... Birds too."
So, what class of organisms pee more often than they poop? Where exactly in the evolution did pee and poop get compartmentalized?
Can anyone google, wiki, or maybe read (duh) a little more on this, and shed some light on the pystery?
-----------------------------
Also realized that biology is interesting. Yeah, even Biology minus those pointlessly funny, unreasonably complex, yet vaguely erotic diagrams of the 'reproductive organs' in standard ninth textbook.
If you are the kind of person who is at peace with, and even secretly enjoys, his/her nerd tag, biology has got a lot of interesting information to offer. For example, a new animal if discovered tomorrow won't need to have mammaries necessarily to be classified as a mammal. Sweat glands on him would be just about enough.
Sweat glands are one of the classifying features of the mammals. Boobs being the biggest ... err ... most prominent 'sweat glands' of the body, hence the name.
In case a punchline is needed to get you to stop reading:
So the next time your partner says your body odor is awful, you know what to say.
----------------------------
PS: Maybe we would have been the same whiny us had the choice for Nobel Peace Prize been Baharita al Safhir Khan or Ming san Ju Piski, but then we won't have a clue about who the hell they were.
Note to myself: Is the reluctance to revere contemporaries unique to modern times?
So, do lizards pee?
WikiAnswers answers, as if it were a perpetually pissed person - "NO."
Okay, they don't. So, why don't they?
Yahoo! Answers says- "Lizard urine comes out of their vent, pretty solid and usually pretty white, some yellow. That's why lizard droppings often have white on them ... Birds too."
So, what class of organisms pee more often than they poop? Where exactly in the evolution did pee and poop get compartmentalized?
Can anyone google, wiki, or maybe read (duh) a little more on this, and shed some light on the pystery?
-----------------------------
Also realized that biology is interesting. Yeah, even Biology minus those pointlessly funny, unreasonably complex, yet vaguely erotic diagrams of the 'reproductive organs' in standard ninth textbook.
If you are the kind of person who is at peace with, and even secretly enjoys, his/her nerd tag, biology has got a lot of interesting information to offer. For example, a new animal if discovered tomorrow won't need to have mammaries necessarily to be classified as a mammal. Sweat glands on him would be just about enough.
Sweat glands are one of the classifying features of the mammals. Boobs being the biggest ... err ... most prominent 'sweat glands' of the body, hence the name.
In case a punchline is needed to get you to stop reading:
So the next time your partner says your body odor is awful, you know what to say.
----------------------------
PS: Maybe we would have been the same whiny us had the choice for Nobel Peace Prize been Baharita al Safhir Khan or Ming san Ju Piski, but then we won't have a clue about who the hell they were.
Note to myself: Is the reluctance to revere contemporaries unique to modern times?
Whatever
Okay, this should be none of my business, but somebody has got to say this.
What do you possibly mean when you say this was an attack on the national language, an attack on the idea of India and all? Seriously, What the fuck?
Don't you politicians get it? This was attack on an individual, on his freedom. As simple as that. And if you people can't protect a person on the face-value of freedom, at least don't twist matters or use dumb political cliches. For once, just say this truthfully- I have nothing to say, and so I won't open my mouth unless I am the one who is fucked next because, you know, I will have to scream then.
Does it make me sad? No. The irony of the Frankenstein you built for the lesser us coming finally for you is way too funny to be sad. And anyway, everyone seems to have decided to turn a blind eye until fucked for himself. So be it, I can wait.
What do you possibly mean when you say this was an attack on the national language, an attack on the idea of India and all? Seriously, What the fuck?
Don't you politicians get it? This was attack on an individual, on his freedom. As simple as that. And if you people can't protect a person on the face-value of freedom, at least don't twist matters or use dumb political cliches. For once, just say this truthfully- I have nothing to say, and so I won't open my mouth unless I am the one who is fucked next because, you know, I will have to scream then.
Does it make me sad? No. The irony of the Frankenstein you built for the lesser us coming finally for you is way too funny to be sad. And anyway, everyone seems to have decided to turn a blind eye until fucked for himself. So be it, I can wait.
November, the 7th
Caution: Lot of Is ahead
*
Another tooth filling came out. Winters are particularly troubling for my teeth. I don't know why. What I know is - the injections, the RCT pins, the tooth itself obviously- every damn thing hurts much more in winter than in summer.
Also, I heard most old people die in winter.
Sometimes I feel unlucky. And then I look at my bald friends.
*
Last night's deja vu made me feel younger and misty-eyed, like it did to millions who had once watched Sachin play in the 90s, before watching him work for his 90s in the 2000s. A lot of them were later sad to see India lose; personally, I couldn't care less.
*
Insomnia is the luxury of the jobless. Now that submissions, deadlines, final exams are killing me, I can finally sleep at will.
Woke up at seven, went for a walk, had tea .... fell asleep again. Attended classes, landed somehow in library with a Milan Kundera ... dozed off. Had snacks, came back to room, failed at Soiltaire multiple times, fooled around with the eternal question of what-do-I-do-now for a little while ... back to bed again. And believe it, my eyes are still a little droopy right now.
But the outdoor scenes at seven, on a much-longed-for hazy November morning, more than made up for the pathetic day that followed. Kundera's thoughts on Kafka and Rushdie were a bonus. Honestly, sometimes I do feel lucky.
*
Google has been updating page-ranks. The PR of Summer Diary, after having been stagnant at 3 for a long, long time (after I had abandoned it and all that), has finally climbed up to 4.
Now I know how PR works, but it's still a little baffling. I mean why on earth would Summer Diary have a PR of 4? Nobody really links to it, ten unique visitors at most in a day, fifty feed subscribers. Ordinary figures. And to think of it, when Fake IPL Player is at 5.
That leaves me with the only plausible explanation- someone at Googleplex, probably Google Büyükkökten himself, has fallen in love with me.
*
PS: An interesting tag I came across somewhere: What would be the five pieces of advice would you give your younger self of an year ago (in a parallel universe, maybe)?
I am in love with the blog Autobiography of an ordinary Indian. His humor reminds me of A Product of Procrastination, only much less abstruse. Also, his style is easy on the mind- the Hemingway way.
*
Another tooth filling came out. Winters are particularly troubling for my teeth. I don't know why. What I know is - the injections, the RCT pins, the tooth itself obviously- every damn thing hurts much more in winter than in summer.
Also, I heard most old people die in winter.
Sometimes I feel unlucky. And then I look at my bald friends.
*
Last night's deja vu made me feel younger and misty-eyed, like it did to millions who had once watched Sachin play in the 90s, before watching him work for his 90s in the 2000s. A lot of them were later sad to see India lose; personally, I couldn't care less.
*
Insomnia is the luxury of the jobless. Now that submissions, deadlines, final exams are killing me, I can finally sleep at will.
Woke up at seven, went for a walk, had tea .... fell asleep again. Attended classes, landed somehow in library with a Milan Kundera ... dozed off. Had snacks, came back to room, failed at Soiltaire multiple times, fooled around with the eternal question of what-do-I-do-now for a little while ... back to bed again. And believe it, my eyes are still a little droopy right now.
But the outdoor scenes at seven, on a much-longed-for hazy November morning, more than made up for the pathetic day that followed. Kundera's thoughts on Kafka and Rushdie were a bonus. Honestly, sometimes I do feel lucky.
*
Google has been updating page-ranks. The PR of Summer Diary, after having been stagnant at 3 for a long, long time (after I had abandoned it and all that), has finally climbed up to 4.
Now I know how PR works, but it's still a little baffling. I mean why on earth would Summer Diary have a PR of 4? Nobody really links to it, ten unique visitors at most in a day, fifty feed subscribers. Ordinary figures. And to think of it, when Fake IPL Player is at 5.
That leaves me with the only plausible explanation- someone at Googleplex, probably Google Büyükkökten himself, has fallen in love with me.
*
PS: An interesting tag I came across somewhere: What would be the five pieces of advice would you give your younger self of an year ago (in a parallel universe, maybe)?
I am in love with the blog Autobiography of an ordinary Indian. His humor reminds me of A Product of Procrastination, only much less abstruse. Also, his style is easy on the mind- the Hemingway way.
Dropkicking Murphys
There is such a small window of ways in which things can go alright, what we would deem as alright that is, as compared to the multitude of ways they can go awry. And still life goes on butter-smooth.
Murphy's law, what a fucking joke! Thriving on the no-good pessimists out there, who aren't amazed at how they were born with just two arms, two legs, two eyes, two breasts et al, and and have been living since then, despite the ultra-slim probability of that happening.
Consider this: One mistake at the molecular level and -poof- you are history, just like Murphy. Number of ways that can happen- infinite. You can die any second, and with no particular disease. You eat thrice a day, thousand must be the times you swallow, one tiny grain might just slip in the wind pipe, and coughing is not full-proof. Things can go wrong and so Murphy says ... and by the way, how many times did you die today?
But the counter-argument was a para long, while Murphy said it in one uncomplicated sentence. So Occam's razor would probably uphold Murphy as the winner. Jerks all of them- Occam, Murphy.
Probably they were a part of some secret gang, somewhat like Bengali bloggers today, whose primary interest was mind-fucking lesser people like us, by formulating ridiculously oversimplifying laws of life over coffee at midnight, chuckling to themselves, and then maybe writing letters to each other, somewhat like this-
"Dear Occam,
I came up with a really good one today. It goes- There are two kind of people in the world- one who do this there-are-two-kinds-of-people-
PS: I am so pissed at this new guy Frederick. Did you get his tickling-the-balls razor? I would be drafting a resolution to banish him from the club next Monday. What do you think?
Yours,
Murphy."
*
Does thinking make you walk slow?
*
'Has the bus left?'
'Yeah, two minutes ago.'
Okay Murphy, I can see you laughing at me down there in hell, but I am still not giving in to your stupid law. For one, I didn't slip on the stairs on the way out despite pogo-sticking them absentmindedly, none of the trillion fucking dogs have bitten me yet, and so on.
You know what, you just wait a little more. And then I am gonna come down there myself and dropkick you so hard, and then ask you- 'Well, what were the odds of this? See, you were right all along.' And then dropkick you again and again and again .... till you take your bloody law back.
*
'Sorry.'
'Habitually late?'
'Nah, missed the bus. Had to take auto.'
'Oh ... Murphy.'
'More like last night's Burphy. Where's the toilet?'
Murphy's law, what a fucking joke! Thriving on the no-good pessimists out there, who aren't amazed at how they were born with just two arms, two legs, two eyes, two breasts et al, and and have been living since then, despite the ultra-slim probability of that happening.
Consider this: One mistake at the molecular level and -poof- you are history, just like Murphy. Number of ways that can happen- infinite. You can die any second, and with no particular disease. You eat thrice a day, thousand must be the times you swallow, one tiny grain might just slip in the wind pipe, and coughing is not full-proof. Things can go wrong and so Murphy says ... and by the way, how many times did you die today?
But the counter-argument was a para long, while Murphy said it in one uncomplicated sentence. So Occam's razor would probably uphold Murphy as the winner. Jerks all of them- Occam, Murphy.
Probably they were a part of some secret gang, somewhat like Bengali bloggers today, whose primary interest was mind-fucking lesser people like us, by formulating ridiculously oversimplifying laws of life over coffee at midnight, chuckling to themselves, and then maybe writing letters to each other, somewhat like this-
"Dear Occam,
I came up with a really good one today. It goes- There are two kind of people in the world- one who do this there-are-two-kinds-of-people-
PS: I am so pissed at this new guy Frederick. Did you get his tickling-the-balls razor? I would be drafting a resolution to banish him from the club next Monday. What do you think?
Yours,
Murphy."
*
Does thinking make you walk slow?
*
'Has the bus left?'
'Yeah, two minutes ago.'
Okay Murphy, I can see you laughing at me down there in hell, but I am still not giving in to your stupid law. For one, I didn't slip on the stairs on the way out despite pogo-sticking them absentmindedly, none of the trillion fucking dogs have bitten me yet, and so on.
You know what, you just wait a little more. And then I am gonna come down there myself and dropkick you so hard, and then ask you- 'Well, what were the odds of this? See, you were right all along.' And then dropkick you again and again and again .... till you take your bloody law back.
*
'Sorry.'
'Habitually late?'
'Nah, missed the bus. Had to take auto.'
'Oh ... Murphy.'
'More like last night's Burphy. Where's the toilet?'
The James Bond Trailer
"
On the second day, some passing terrorists shot at them, killing all the others and wounding him... He was simply terrific in his white shoes, white pants, black shirt and white tie. 'I'll begin with a sixties' James Bond trailer,' and he curled his lip. He would have liked to grin from ear to ear but his cheeks -dark brown footballs of frozen butter- prevented his mouth from stretching. Then his lips were sealed and he began his impersonation. ... His audience shut its eyes and was transported to a movie hall somewhere in 1967 ... first the Theme Tune from James Bond for ten-to-fifteen seconds, then a riot of gun shots, followed by a deep, wry, very British voice speaking BBC- gibberish, of course, but it sounded like 'Care for a cup of tea? Shaken, not stirred?' ... after which a couple of atom bombs went off, and next a woman purred for ten seconds, a profoundly satisfying but well-mannered orgasm. Her soft groans ended with a couple of gasps that sounded like 'Oh James ... James Bond.'
"
-- Upamanyu Chatterjee in 'The Mammaries of the Welfare State'
On the second day, some passing terrorists shot at them, killing all the others and wounding him... He was simply terrific in his white shoes, white pants, black shirt and white tie. 'I'll begin with a sixties' James Bond trailer,' and he curled his lip. He would have liked to grin from ear to ear but his cheeks -dark brown footballs of frozen butter- prevented his mouth from stretching. Then his lips were sealed and he began his impersonation. ... His audience shut its eyes and was transported to a movie hall somewhere in 1967 ... first the Theme Tune from James Bond for ten-to-fifteen seconds, then a riot of gun shots, followed by a deep, wry, very British voice speaking BBC- gibberish, of course, but it sounded like 'Care for a cup of tea? Shaken, not stirred?' ... after which a couple of atom bombs went off, and next a woman purred for ten seconds, a profoundly satisfying but well-mannered orgasm. Her soft groans ended with a couple of gasps that sounded like 'Oh James ... James Bond.'
"
-- Upamanyu Chatterjee in 'The Mammaries of the Welfare State'
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