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Dictionaraoke - Fair-Use meets Karaoke
stu42j writes "NPR's On the Media today interview's David Dixon from Dictionaraoke.com where 'A group of fair-use artists have created songs using the spoken pronunciation guides of words in online dictionaries. The result is an entertaining blend of computerized music and monotone singing.'"
interesting...
=P~~~
Mandi's voluptuous curves emphasised the singlemindedness of a Reaganite generation. Her wholesome rump, which would do a farmer proud in even the most competitive Texan meat markets, once again interrupted my field of vision to the birds perching nonchalantly on the roof of the opposite building. Two years, three months, four days and one hour into my job at dotcomrevolution.com, and the word on the seventh floor was that the VC's were about to cut off our air supply. These gulls were my only break from the monotony of BSD server administration, and Mandi had to be punished for her countless intrusive hours at the photocopier.
"Your ass is blocking my view," I mumbled.
"What did you say?" she roared. Well, it was more an angry squeak than a raw. I just had to block out the irritating, high-pitched whine that characterised all Mandi's replies, and my instincts caused my right hand to jump onto the air conditioning knob for the server room, turning it up to full blast.
"You -- that again -- I'll -- the manager!" she continued, her voice drowned out by the healthy whir of the most expensive fans in Christendom. I looked at her and grinned. "I can't think -- that -- noise! Turn -- off now!" She was trying to keep her cool (an act made all the easier by the now exceptional air conditioning), but even a blind man could have felt the heat from her cheeks as they began to turn a rosy red with rage.
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Mandy," I responded. I guess she looked like more of a Dave than a Mandy, her smooth but noticeably dark follicles of facial hair contrasting with her pasty skin under the lifeless fluorescence of office lighting, but she would not have understood the reference anyway.
With that, I turned back to my console and resumed my xtank session. But what was this? Out of the corner of my eye, I saw water begin to drip out of the corner of Mandy's eye, while she was sitting in my assistant's chair. (Well, I called it the assistant's chair, I had not actually had an assistant since late 1999, when I selected him to be the scapegoat for my rather poor backup schedule.)
"Why must you always make fun of me? I'm just trying to do my job," she blubbed. Sitting close to me now, not even $10,000 of Taiwanese ventilation could block out her piercing tone. "Ever since I got this job the guys here have made fun of me for my shape, why can't they just respect me for who I am."
A change of heart that would have made Montgomery Burns proud caused me to stand up and walk over to the wreck. I wanted to explain this rationally to her, in terms of the mating habits of the human male, and the desire for a woman fit for childbearing and housework, but there was no time for that (it was ten minutes to five). "I'm sorry," I uttered, and rested my hand on Mandy's shoulder, fearing a lawsuit.
Mandy stood up, and without hesitation put her arms round me, whispering, "Thank you." I reciprocated, grateful for a secure office lacking in inside windows. Instead of letting go, she squeezed me harder, and her tears began to stain the shoulder of my designer shirt. I motioned to back away, and in doing so my hand slipped downwards, brushing against her behind.
"I'm not so repulsive, am I?" she questioned.
I was racking my brain for a diplomatic response. "I guess there are advantages to looking at you over the gulls and the hypnotising router LEDs," I confessed. "And unlike with the routers, I'm not called out when you break down. And you don't leave a mess on the roof..."
"That's the nicest thing anyone's ever told me," she interrupted. "Do you have a girlfriend?"
(I'm a geek. Do you have a girlfriend? Exactly.)
"I'm, um, er.. I'm playing the field," was my closest attempt at honesty without offending my manhood. "I dont like to deprive others of my attention by focussing too much on one person."
"That's a shame," she said, and then her tone of voice changed completely. "Because I was so hoping to score before next week's lay-off."
"NEXT WEEK?" There was no chance that I would be able to return my home-brewed Beowulf cluster of 'borrowed' workstations so soon, and I had expected at least two week's warning from management. "Oh, and I know about your Beowulf cluster," she whispered, "but I'm sure I can use my special relationship with your boss to make it easier for you to return the equipment. The question is, what can you do for me?"
to be continued...
fp?
g to the oatse
c to the izzex
fo shizzle my nizzle see me spread em like warm butter
This is just in case the above gets slashdotted
g to the oatse
c to the izzex
fo shizzle my nizzle see me spread em like warm butter
I have determined that every Led Zeppelin tune can be interpretted in terms of Tolkien's Middle Earth with little difficulty. Please post challenges here.
This one is irrefutable, although the slashbots will try. But due to the fact that slashbots are douchebags, their attempt will only prove my thesis.
Two facts blow apart your theory: 1) Tolkien sucks. 2) Led Zeppelin does not. The two are irreconcilable.
They are going to get into trouble with ID-software.
The music sounds like the stole it from DooM