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| YUGO |
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YUGO LABS |
| ALSO WIK |
| talking with the interface again | |
| you got me walking on eggs, arnold, but i'm trying to make some sunny shine up but i'm i'm i'm i'm no general midi. no sir. rambleshelling up in the totes. totes. all. lee. now what? a teacup. white. floral pattern. on a saucer. no, a normal one, not one with whirlygiggLEDs. no, wait, i've lost it, i'm thinking of a drone that's an anti-anti-anti-drone done because who can keep up with that shit, these days? that teacup is buried in the attic somewhere. with the picnic. and the snicker-snack. the kerplutz. the kerpow. stored like a hoarding horder horde hoarding fuck m8 do you have a bit of trouble with that sometimes? yes, yes, and also yes. thank you, you've been a kind and understanding HTML form element | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-11-26 03:18:21 | |
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| fictional random walk | |
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eiwase osoutho d'bordeux von albert sed hallo. hallo albert! von blattplex not mit gebowserhausen. mit. nein. klapp. snare. no, the 808. it's 5x5, get it? cats down with the hypercube. alirhghttttt, g'day abalbberbbttt. b. vonamblen kintinisthetics along mittervovervobotten mitcheboygen gedunst gedunst gedunst. hallo peter! mitCheboygen hast d'nougaeuxte? ja. borp. sehr borp. blapp. snare. no, the 909. word, das hypercube. allblapp! snare peter bon bon. b. shuffletrausen kerslapp g'doeurvement compleux. walky mitvontchauelkiey. kerflailers mitgitgignite: kerbang! kerbang! hello officer. sorry for exploding noises in your area. snare. no, the CR-78. yessir, it's a very square cirtitizen of rumbleboxen. off with mine platter. p. less fanciggigleaux
daroundakornarenden den kersplode mit malarkerie: kerbang! kerplop! asplode! grandwawouldbdelight |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-11-25 02:18:42 | |
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| cartesian maximus | |
| flutter junket to the robot canal, first elbow connector under the sign for jaundice. no, the yellow one. by the river. in the bay. down by the boardwark. no, wark back. pereuive gone d'bouer | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-11-25 02:09:18 | |
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| operanting cawnditionally | |
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the crows again. and again and again and again. my current nook is, thankfully, free of crazy neighbors, but there is a little unrelenting echo of a certain someone in there: every morning, the crows wake me up.
there is a big tree right outside my window that is a tree island of sorts. every morning, crows begin to gather in the tree: caw! cawcaw caw! they are incredibly loud, and the position of the tree places them very close to my ears as i sleep. they wake me up. then they either keep me up, or wake me up right after i fall back asleep. their peak starts at sunrise -- 5 or 6am -- and lasts for hours. there was the familiar progression: "wat? oh. crow." to "lol" moves to "alright stop please" moves to "this is getting irritating" until finally "i am mad" hits after a week and a half and i am yelling out my window. at crows. they stop, briefly, then resume as they were. now wat? clearly, i have to take a more targeted approach. i surmise that the caw-ing is a form of sonic dominance, announcing claim over turf. the crows fan out and stake out a good spot and defend it like small air-raid sirens. at 5am. you bastards after outright yelling a few times didn't cut it, i'd like there in bed, making noises. singing sometimes. lip fart noises. seeing how much it took to get them to notice -- and i'd know when they noticed, because they'd stop caw-ing for a moment. it's like scene from austin powers where dr. evil is going: zzzip it! zippitudinal! zipps mccguillicutti! when a problem comes alonCAW CAWWccaAzzzip it! then silence... caw. cawCA- ZZZipp it! i'm gonna let you caw, but.... zip it. this was mostly done because i was too tired to get up but too harassed to fall back asleep. so i lay there, fucking with them. eventually, they left. for a few minutes... whenever they bothered me after that, i'd do the austin powers/zip it, i'ma let u caw, but... shit. i got very good at it. it actually began to get proper deep, in a sleep haze. my eyes closed, just listening for the caw. to do the "zip it" routine, you need rhythm. you suss out the rhythm of the party to be zippinated and lay in wait. sto- ZIP IT! why are you ju- ZIP IT! are you quite finished? becauZIP IT! you know? you have to play a little rhythmic chess game with the opposite party for it to be optimally irritating. the crows spike up when another noise -- say a passing car -- spikes up and dies off. on the tail end of the noise (relase on an ADSR) they begin to caw. noticing this, i listened for the cars, as this often put me in the perfect spot to tell the croZIP IT! this was remarkably effective. i became able to drive them off more quickly. but how can i do it even more quiZIP IT!? i realized that it's like a crow has just found a way to make cold fusion work and he's stepping up to the mic to claim his nobel prize, saying, "i made the cold fusion re-ZIP IT!" i made it. not you, crow. i lay claim to your invention. the hijack, i realized, is where it's at. dial into their pattern and be there to claim it. bookend the whole thing in your own noises, so the crow's loud trumpet is buried in the middle like nougat. it makes it seem like the crow noise is simply a small part of my own noise. they've put so much work into cawing, and now i've taken all the credit. they absolutely hate it. there is so much more to it: lying in bed, eyes closed, i started to be able to pick out individual crows and maintain a sense of where they were in relation to me. this allowed me to irritate individual crows in the swarm. once i had this down, i realized that certain crows are more dominant than others, and if you're all ZIP IT to the dominant crows, it dominoes, and they leave, and the other crows leave, and other crows see those crows leaving and also leave. the crows are like little clusters of neurons hooked together into a LAN. they form a sphere of influence that belongs to the CROW namespace via squabbling with each other noisily. predators disrupt the network and trigger the crows to move on. in a distant sense, it's like the crows form a hive mind, and this, truly, is what you are trying to irritate the living fuck out of. the hive mind has to notice you, get annoyed, and roll off like a tumbleweed. i've gotten exceedingly good at it. in the time it took me to smoke a zigguruaut on the porch, i managed to clear out every crow within earshot. not a single crow for a half-mile in every direction. i know this, because i can tell very clearly when they can hear me... but i don't need that, this morning, because i can't hear any crows at all. you'd think the problem would be solved, at this point, but they'll be back tomorrow. at 5am. |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-11-23 16:02:38 | |
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| 420 smoke everyday | |
| in moderation | |
| Posted by Mahjong The Wisest @ 2016-11-20 22:37:07 | |
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| news from the theta belt | |
| SMOKE WEED EVERYDAY | |
| Posted by shitbowl @ 2016-11-13 00:36:40 | |
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| typical reaction to riced out yugo # ibuprofin | |
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| Posted by shitbowl @ 2016-11-11 17:46:02 | |
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| cult of the lawn boat | |
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a lawn boat is a boat that you keep on your lawn. the best thing about a lawn boat is that it's on your lawn, like, all the time.
a good lawn boat should be almost as big as your house, but not bigger. park dat lawn boat riiiight on the left of your neighbor's house, right? then, when those in the nose on by, they remark: my god! that house is huge! and... that is a HUUUGEass lawn-boat! it's almost as big as the tiny house next to his huge house! all the houses on your block are the same size, though. ha ha! naw, eight out of ten share a common layout. some of this batch have various modular extras 'n' perks, which make them extra-covted by lawn boat fanatics. the remaining houses were either there before, or there after. those there before have devolved into truck gardens. those thereafter have transcended lawn boats for ferraris. as a matter of policy, all three of these groups hate each other, despite being more or less the same. one love: lawn boats there are so many things you can do with a lawn boat: put a tarp on it. take the tarp off. drink beer and admire it. drink beer and survey other lawn boats -- you only admire your own lawn boat, obviously. fuck, you talk mad shit about 'em when the lawn boat's captain ain't in earshot.... but, yeah, you stand there and squint. very clearly show your depth of analysis of the lawn boat features and shit, because you can't do that unless you Know Things, and you Know Things. and Stuff. you spend all saturday fixing your lawn boat, sometimes.... haw, that one's a joke. a code we use for the wives. we just open up an access hatch and throw some parts on the ground and then drink beer instead. no idea how the fuck that shit works anyways sometimes you hook it up to your truck after hooking your truck up to the wheeliegigger. the wheeliegigger has approximately 2^8 wheels, each on individually spring-loaded load-bearing spikes. the wheeliegigger is the yin to your lawn-boat yang. its shape is precisely that of your lawn boat, except opposite. well, upside down. but then if you go opposite, it's not upside down, you know what i mean? shit. nevermind... anyways, all those wheels the wheeliegigger has have a purpose. they mean shit. they designed the whole thing on the internet and it's precise custom to the shape of the hull. shit, bro. pick a wheel... yeah, that one? no? thi- oh, yeah, that one. that wheel is from when they used computer laser algorithms to accurify the fuck out of shit for load bulling. like, it matches the hull so well, it's like it's in the water. 'cos water flows around, you know? that way, when it's making your house look big, it's all making your lawn like a water bed. floating down your lawn forever. once or twice a year a good year, you can "take her out" and then "wind it out" like "all day and shit" and "shit dude i'm drunk what were u sayin." you hook the wheeliegigger up to your truck and take your lawn boat out to the lake. getting to the dock takes at least two hours, as you have a lot of driving around to do. this is your lawn boat's day to be visible to the world. drive like you do any normal day, though, so the extra complexification of sixteen tons of lawn boat whiplash make a crisp impression on terrified hair ladies. eventually, you get to the dock. this is always a crap shoot, man. harbor pass? boat license? designated not drinking beer person? shit, man, i own a lawn boat. i don't have a single one of that shit. sometimes the right sports banter gets you in, though, and you can attempt to wet-dock your lawn boat. it's important to maintain the air of a man who has done this shit a thousand times i got this, it got this, shit, back-up. at that point, the lawn boat either dewheeliegiggers into the ocean or embeds a corner of itself in the beach. son of a the average lawn boat has a ten-year, two-ex-wife lifespan and typically makes it out into the ocean twice. at that point, either the beach broke it when it fell on the beach, or it didn't, and it reaches the final stage of the lawn boat life-cycle: kamikaze divorce settlement tactic. trade it in for a lawyer who's gonna stick it to your ex-wife. that bitch. if she's gettin' my lawn boat it's gonna be up her lyin drive my silverado into her settlement claims my ass just like tony mantana bro. like, check it: in this country, first you get the silverado. when you get the silverado, then you get the power. when you get the power, then you get the lawn boat. when you get the lawn boat, you get the lake house. when you get the lake house, you get the trophy wife. then the trophy wife take the lake house. then. the lawyer take the lawn boat. then all you have in this world is your balls. and your silverado! haw! good, right? shit, no, seriously, that's a lawn boat, but the Chorizo 5700 doesn't have the torque of the hammerfin 900 |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-10-31 13:07:26 | |
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| that's some next level shit m8 | |
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proposed band name files ~ file I2-IS0-D-NK
Let's start a band named.... Rubber Band Rect genre: in a grim future when putting a donk on it is not nearly enough, a band sets out to put a donk on a donk.... butt, well, it's still a donk. a donk scaled with the amplitude envelope f(x) = 2*x. similarly, putting two donks on a donk results in a donk that is three times as loud, but still just a donk. so what if we put a donk on a donk, duplicate the processed audio segment, and then put a donk on a donk on top of a donk on a donk? great idea m8, but all you get is a donk four times as loud. finally, it gets deep into the nature of the donk. what makes it a donk? why must we put one on it? why us? why were we chosen? is it due to resonant harmonics coded into our DNA to protect us from some extinct snake that donks? is it due to resonant harmonics coded into the language of music to make us ask questions? eventually, the trajectory of the donk has been traced back to the orgin of life itself, resulting in a trend line. once that is established, it's projected into the future -- to the donk singularity (donkularity?). finally, there is something that is exactly like a donk, but... more. and louder. this band sounds like that. meet up next weekend? ok. |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-10-30 02:26:38 | |
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| insides effects loop effects loop effects effects the other side | |
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butt many side effects, too
the love handle side is one of the many sides for which there are not only side effects, butt side-effects of the side effects, and this effects one's ability to handle one's ability to handle the many side effects. the most famous example: dr. louis ck's eureka moment. his love handle sides had side effects: pants became unfittable. the handles went unhandled and the side effects developed side-effects: pants that had become unfittable, again became fittable. he'd eaten his way through to the other side. you can read the article in Science magazine[1] [1]vol.II,pg.912,totheleft.noabitmore.notoofar.turnyourcitationaround |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-10-29 22:05:07 | |
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| foghat leghard / watcon four | |
| foghat leghard, formally a figment of my fractured automation, took on synchronicital importantude when i forgot to find it to the finnster over the fone, and the circumspaces for unregottination involved none other than the black jewfish, a shul of which is a foghorn dawn chorus ~ telling the other fish: fuck the fuck off. this is our... cubic zone of ocean water. or is it a sphere? in any case, i've sent the sms now. | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-09-26 05:57:43 | |
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| 0000000000 | |
| all the junctions were set, I was on a straight course for easy street. Trouble was this dame wouldn't get off my case, a straight rope salesman(?). I tell you something, and I tell you it good, there aint no picture in this universe that could tell me a thousand words, let alone a dozen. Give me a pickled egg and an afterburner i'll tell you what reality is. | |
| Posted by Mahjong The Wisest @ 2016-09-23 02:13:44 | |
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| æ girls shirt | |
| special features: never sold out | |
| Posted by Mahjong The Wisest @ 2016-09-19 23:07:15 | |
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| æ boys size large | |
| I haven't seen that autechre shirt in forevs. I think Adelle wrote a song about it or something. | |
| Posted by shitbowl @ 2016-09-16 21:22:57 | |
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| achievement unlocked: first cawntact | |
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i was frantically scribbling flowcharts, arrows, and using the full neural net capability of my wat matrix to condense my things i'd forget into writable things so i'd not forget them. i'd been distantly aware of the crows for a while.
they were loud. it slowly wore me down over the course of... i dunno, three and a half transcribed things. crows, wow, loud. i was a bit irritated. i am in this empty parking lot at 5am precisely to avoid this sort of nonsense. right as i am thinking this, a crow sails in and lands on an embankment reasonably close to my failed bubble of isolation. CAW CAW! ~~ says the crow. oh, what the hell. caw CAW! ~~ i return. i can't transcribe that i'm doing a songy caw, and that the first one was lower by a third or so; please imagine this. the crow is not really bothered. he only goes up to defcawn three: ~~ CAW CAW CAW! i return fire ~~ caw CAW cawwwww ~~ you know, again, songy. mid HI lowwww with the last one drawn out. the crow tenses, a bit unnerved. but he gets himself together: ~~ CAW CAW! ~~ i songbird back: ~~ CAW CAWWWaaawa.. ~~ going all wop wop wahuhwahhh on him. now he's looking at me. god bless crows, though, they are curious birds. big, heavy, with matching brains. they don't fly off because flying is expensive if you're a bird 747. you figure it out a bit more. CAW! ~~ he caws. at me. CAWW! ~~ i caw, enthused. like: yes, you got it mate! his body language said confused already, but now... yes, i think i just made a crow wat. it was unmistakable |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-09-08 00:56:58 | |
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| Hello Yugo | |
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| Posted by ...my name. is. THE PLAGUE @ 2016-08-18 05:46:01 | |
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| Experience Life in Mixed Motion | |
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Take the chances nobody else won't. Do the right toggle. Visit January 4th twice a year. Yugo Labs, for when you need the right quagliquarrrty for your spsproltortottoronbromatontrll. |
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| Posted by ...my name. is. THE PLAGUE @ 2016-08-14 05:24:18 | |
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| SSDDeeffiinniittiioonn | |
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The following is an excerpt from the well-known Yugo Gsollary: YUGO: Your Underworld Guide Online SSDD: Single-Sourced Double Duplex DSDS: Data-Sink Disk Storage GORT: Gort Ort Rt T LAMP: Lots'A Messy Plates ROLD: Remote Office Long Doorway FJIR: Forward-Junction Infrastructure Rod BPPT: Bordering Possible Portway Transfers IILH: Idiomatic Idiom Lowering Highlighter RLGV: Rotary Lock Gravity Variator SXEX: Sussex X-ray External Xylophone NKOG: Neutral Klondike Originator Group |
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| Posted by ...my name. is. THE PLAGUE @ 2016-08-06 23:48:10 | |
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| harrsfnord stage II | |
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a rift opens in the plot. star and costar tumble into a scene right out of raiders of the lost arc. blonde drops predictable line about i've had enough vacationing can it stop now please. "we've got to find the beacon," harrison ford growls. "this way." he starts walking. "thatbeaconbettabeupdere" the blond fires off. we find it, we shut it down, we're arrested. this gets off us off this fuckin' island. kapiche? ja. hike up the hill with us. "so where's the beacon? huh?" axioliticnoyzeright? datsone right? right. uhh. yeah. there's no peninsula! who stole the peninsula. this isn't tomidenga. uhhh. no. so there is no bacon we're gonna turnoff no. umm. we could be, uh, further to the south. this could be matinooi. what's on matinooi? uhh. us.
wat. wat? blonde is disbelief. harrison fnrod has a conniption and begins uprooting jungle shrubbery. he just wants one fing to go rite. just one. goddamn. i'm the captain. i can't go around screaming, "o shit, we're gonna die." it doesn't inspire confidence. blonde reverses tactics and talks harrison ford's balls off of the ledge. i become tired of transcribing this shit. |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-07-29 11:43:41 | |
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| harrison fnord | |
| harrison ford is junting ceapocks in the hungle. look! there are lots of potatoes in the jungle. you won't regret it, he tells this movie's blone. they feast on exotic jungle bird about harrison talks about his very successful jungle business, a better way of adult planes, like flying, house on a beach, you know. livinalifeofdreams of. "pssh." blonde says, "sounds good if you're twelve." i just tuned in, but this movie already gets mad postpoints for sass factor. | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-07-29 11:34:10 | |
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