Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Sex with robots!

koala_man: after some future breakthroughs in robotics, but before the price has gone down, there is likely to be robotic brothels

mawlipe: robot sex? that's scary.

koala_man: I know, that's what I thought. But according to my calculations, a condom of normal thickness has a dielectric strength of at least 780V. Meaning if the robot runs on mains and shorts out, you're still protected with a margin of nearly 500V

Mawlipe: .....not what I meant.

Friday, June 18, 2010

Popping the ol’ cherry

Greetings, Munchkins! I have just returned from the Great Abroad where I visited Mr. Choochoo (and secretly contemplated what sort of curtains would look best when I move in there in a couple of months, nyahaha). I went by ship. I quite like ships. Especially the big ones with the nice restaurants and all the funny shops. They’re like floating malls. That way I’m usually broke –before- I get to where I’m going on vacation. Funny that, eh?

As I sat down in my seat for the return trip, I have to say I was a bit worried, though. It was a lovely, sunny day. All clear skies and happy seagulls. But then the stewardess handed me a pile of 15 (!) seasickness bags. “Just in case,” she said.

She then tried to hand another pile to the guy sitting behind me, but he waved her away, saying: “no, no, nonono! No case! No case!” in a thick, German accent.

I stared from the seasickness bags to the frolicking seagulls outside and back to the seasickness bags and wondered. The ship started moving. It did that honking thing that it does when it leaves or enters a port. I like that part. It reminds me of Miss Marple and Poirot murder mysteries. I’m not sure why. All was quiet at first. Then the ship suddenly took a giant leap forwards. Then another and another and another. Pretty soon it was rhythmically leaping forwards and rolling sideways at the same time. For a moment I made believe that I was very small and that I lived inside a mechanical bull. Like when I was a kid and I pretended to be a fairy living in a shoe, only completely different.

As luck would have it, I had taken a little pill before we left Mr Choochoo’s house that morning. The kind of little pill that wards off not only travel sickness but also your ability to remain conscious for very long at a time. I’d fallen asleep as soon as we got into the car for the two hour drive to the sea. With my mouth wide open, I might add, and most likely snoring like a wilderbeast. I woke up on a couple of occasions because my tongue was dry, but other than that I was dead to the world.

So when the ship started rocking, it wasn’t very long before I was off to dreamland again. For the entire trip I woke up a grand total of three times. The first time I noticed that that the motionsickness bags had been piling up around people’s seat. Some were running towards the exit, out on deck, looking pale as ghosts. Mr. No-Case was heaving behind me and the air was thick with the smell of affordable cleaning products. I scratched the tip of my nose and went back to sleep.

The second time I was awake long enough for the stewardess to hand me a bisquit, saying it was good for the tummy. I don’t remember much after swallowing the last bite. I must have either passed out again or had some sort of black-out, like they do in the movies. The last option probably would have required more energy than I was capable of at that time.

When I finally came to, we were back in the old country and the weather had turned friendly again. So that was my first ever actual storm at sea.

Pic: "Cherry" by gusztil32 for deviantart.

Tuesday, June 01, 2010

The Big Orange

As you may or may not know, I recently moved into a maniacs garage. I should maybe point out that it's a garage apartment. I'm not about to bunk down on top of a pile of powertools.

The maniac is a big orange fellow. His hair and enormous beard are orange, his skin is orange, his house is orange, the garage is orange and down the road he has a great, big orange mailbox. He also drives an orange truck. If his shrill, shaky voice was a color, that would be orange too.

Since moving in two months ago, I have been out of town twice. Both times Big Orange locked himself into my flat and had a good snoop around. Seeing how this bloke was clearly...uhm...unbalanced - not to mention annoying like a hemorrhoid - from the start, I never intended to live there for very long. Therefore I have been living out of boxes.

I should also mention that Big Orange is more than a little bit of a neat freak. He will spend all day chopping firewood in the field below the house because every log has to be the exact same size. He mows the lawn every Wednesday at the exact same time. Last Wednesday he did it in the rain.

Needless to say, he found my boxes absolutely shocking. I mean, if you're using a large cardboard box as a dresser, then clearly the world is headed towards a state of dangerous anarchy and you will be sent to the burning pits of hell when you go 'join the choir invisible' as it were.

I'm sure there are choirs in hell. Or Simon Cowell will start one up when he passes on.

But I digress. My point was that Big Orange locked himself into my flat and confrontation followed.

Nobody is going to tell me whether or not I'm allowed to own cardboard boxes, so I kept up business as usual. This weekend I went out of town again and yet again curiosity got the better of Big Orange.

I read somewhere that it takes a certain bodysize in order for any creature to develop intelligence. If the body is too small, your nervous system is also too small and too simple to enable learning. No ability to learn, no intelligence. Big Red is proof that there is always an exception to every rule: sometimes really huge creatures don't have the ability to learn, either.

Not only did I still have all my boxes, plus a couple of new ones (I went amok at a flee market) but I had also cleaned some towels and then just draped them over the rack in stead of hanging them properly. He immediately tracked down my mothers adress and went over there to inform her that I was now evicted from the apartment. Which I had no objections to at all. I mean, there is only so much relaxing you can do with a crazy psycho buzzing around in your yard.

I should be settled into my new place by this weekend, and then Big Orange can explain to the police how the tenants act doesn't apply in his magical kingdom.