Office workers bored and clicking links on Facebook,
wading through a sea of half-remembered names,
with linkage to a recipe,
dancing cats, YouTube,
crowdsourcing and politics and quick Flash games.
Ganja-smoking sysadmins ingesting Reddit,
waiting half an hour for the index page,
with linkage to a git tree,
atheists, men’s rights,
webcomics and movies and political rage.
Basement-dwelling /b/tards sitting glued to 4chan,
posting and reposting all the memes outworn,
with linkage to an exploit,
labelled cats and possibly-illegal porn.
(wrote this a while back, just rediscovered it)
(it’s a parody of Masefield’s “Cargoes”)
When Joanna Southcott died, she left a sealed box with instructions that it must only be opened at times of national crisis, and then only by 24 bishops. This box is either
1) lost in the archives of Bedford museum;
2) opened in 1927 by a psychical researcher and discovered to contain a pistol and a lottery ticket (this is claimed to be a hoax by some)
3) in the possession of the Panacea Society of Bedford, who ran adverts in the 1970s attempting to get 24 bishops together to open it, unsuccessfully.
And people still ask where novelists get their ideas from.
how easy do you think it’d be to kill someone with a music stand cause I think it’d be really easy
well, let’s try the experiment
YES it was really easy
[me, in a discussion elsewhere]
…you have perhaps heard my story of finding a coffee machine in the break room (of a mental hospital) and noting that all the buttons were labelled but one. I duly pressed that one, and when the person I’d been waiting for arrived, I told them about it and mentioned that the resulting mug of brownish stuff tasted rather vile. “I’m not surprised,” they said, “that’s the self-cleaning button.”