Do to all the anti-gravity devices, free energy machines, and death rays which the Lovecraftian writhing of Tesla's decaying mind gave birth to--and to all the countless nuts propagating them--I would like to paraphrase a widely-attributed quote:
"When I hear the name 'Tesla,' I reach for my revolver."
10) Chicago is about 90% nuclear, there cost per kilowatt is about a nickel.
But it's run by Commonwealth Edison, increasing the murder rate of the city drastically. Did you know that the average CommEd employee lasts only six weeks before being murdered by a Chicagoan? The brain drain makes this a vicious cycle, and scientists estimate that by 2020, people will be murdered in their home no more than 10 min after submitting their resume to CommEd via monster.com.
Heck, run steam pipes to various buildings to provide heat.
This is so common up here in Sweden that most regions don't even have natural gas connections. Also, the modern technology is hot water. The notion of steam-based district heating would be as dead as the dodo if it weren't for New York's ancient relic of a system.
I took a day trip a few years ago, out to a very large wind park in Groningen province, the Netherlands. There, several dozen wind turbines were installed on grazing land. While walking around beneath the turbines, I saw one dead gull and one dead sheep.
From this, I can conclude that wind turbines are equally deadly for sheep as for birds. Clearly we must find a better way of keeping sheep from flying too close.
I'm currently studying nuclear engineering at the Royal Institute of Technology in Stockholm. The ongoing construction of Finland's new reactor affects me greatly, as we will be taking a trip to see it in December, and I'll be able to buy lots and lots of cheap booze while I'm there.
Hydro? Well...forget about that one. Hydro power options are mostly in use in developed countries.
More accurately, hydropower is fully-developed in countries. Hydropower resources are something that, even in their hayday, had to be fought tooth and nail for. There simply aren't enough undeveloped/unpopulated areas left to fit that much more hydropower capacity in. It's not just a matter of finding a gorge or some rapids and building a dam. Any potential hydropower project would have to justify what it displaces in a power market with so many other options--unlike when most of the current sites were installed.
Juan sat in the sand, leaning over to catch a black scorpion that was wandering across a cactus. Twenty million other displaced Mexicans surrounded him in their makeshift refugee camp. As Juan skewered the scorpion on a stick and began to roast it over a fire, he eyed the large pile of sacks of "UN Food Aid" that had been sent by the United States. The weeds and cactuses had withered and died in a 30 foot radius around the stack. The United States had indeed found a very creative solution to rid itself of unwanted nuclear waste.
As the scorpion cooked over the open fire, emaciated latinos with distended bellies looked at Juan with jealousy. He gripped his Makarov pistol tightly and eyed them back.
Juan removed the charred scorpion from the end of his stick, plucked the stinger off, and stuffed it in his mouth greedily. This had been the first time he had eaten in twelve days. As he chewed, he looked at the Great Barrier Wall on the America-Mexico border, one of the few man-made structures that could be seen from space. A plane flew over it and began dumping medical waste from its fuselage onto Mexican soil as though it were fighting a forest fire. Juan made a mental note to obtain some of the discarded vaccines that the Americans were fond of mixing in with broken thermometers and bed pans.
Padre walked up to him from behind, startling him.
"Hey ese, I got an idea on we can get back into the states." Padre said with a distinctive American accent.
"Listen Padre, you know I ain't goin to sell myself into slavery." Juan responded.
Both men had been born and raised in the USA and spoke more English than Spanish, but the Mud Peoples Relocation Act of 2009 and subsequent Constitutional Amendment had seen them lose all their possessions as well as their American citizenship.
"No man, I think we can get back by disguising ourselves as gringos." Padre explained as he revealed several bottles of colloidal silver and Just For Men blond hair dye.
A smile broke upon Juan's cracked lips as he eyed the materials. "Where did you get those from, homes?"
"Traded them to an American smuggler for Penicillin."
------
Meanwhile, in Washington DC, President Ron Paul sat in his office in the Goldhouse. His red skin, redder than the skin of a Custer Killer, shined magnificently, a byproduct of his years of dabbling in Colloidal Gold. His wizened face looked upon the latest presidential briefing about the removal of "cancers". Suddenly his phone received a text message.
"smbdy wnts 2 c u"
"ok let thm in"
A Canadian ambassador arrived, shuffling nervously about. He passed through a metal detector and entered the presidential office, nervously fidgeting with his tie.
"So what do I owe the pleasure of this visit from the ambassador of Canadialand?" Ron Paul asked, his brick-red face raising an eyebrow, his eyes fixed on the man before him like a hawk.
"Canada wishes to sign a ceasefire." the ambassador replied, reaching into his pocket. Instead of producing a document, the ambassador before him produced a small glass globule filled with crimson liquid. He quickly and precisely threw it at Ron Paul's head. The President was faster than the would-be assassin had counted on, however, ducking under his chair as the red glass globule brushed against his hair and slapping his hand over a green button. The ground beneath the assassin disappeared into a cavern as the glass ball shattered on the curtains behind the presidential desk, swallowing him down through a trap door.
"I see Soros is up to his old tricks again." President Paul said, his wizened red face smiling. A bodyguard rushed in and quickly examined Ron Paul to ensure his safety. He looked back at the blood-stained curtains with worry on his face.
Ron Paul stepped away from his desk to calm the bodyguard.
"Don't worry, Tom, it's not my blood. It's Jew blood." He explained. He sniffed the air and claimed "Ethiopian Jew blood, if I'm not mistaken."
Circumcision is primarily performed in in first-world countries among puritan-based societies because it makes masturbation more difficult.
I remember when I started to realize I was different from other boys--it was in the 8th grade. We had gotten to that age when girls suddenly started to become more and more interesting, and forbidden pleasures on the Internet were all the rage. Hanging around after school, my friends would constantly show off the latest vulgarity they'd snuck out of a convenience store's magazine rack or about the girl with the most ample breasts. It was a haunting feeling that none of this aroused me. It was new, it was exciting, but none of it struck me deeply.
That is, until one day, when I was browsing Slashdot. It was another article about the Bill Gates' suspected involvement in Belgian pedophilia rings. A poster, who for confidentiality's sake I will call "Anonymous C.," had posted a link to a startling new development in the case, from a new agency located on Christmas Island. I clicked the link--the browser hesitated, no doubt due to the massive amount of traffic the site had received. Then, suddenly, he appeared... A fire burst forth in my loins, gripping my chest with an exhilaration I never new existed. Two and a half hours later, when I had finished masturbating to the picture, I clicked Anonymous C.'s profile and went through is journal.
Tubgirl, lemon party--the list went on, each one more thrilling than the last.
Well, years went by, and middle school turned to high school, high school to college, and college to law school, and law school to a firm. In the meantime, I'd managed to become quite successful academically, and then professionally. My position afforded me great personal wealth, social status, and, finally, a beautiful wife. But, my great darkness was soon to surface, ready to swallow all that I had built for myself.
It was the wedding night, my wife and I were exhausted from the ceremony and reception, and collapsed into bed. She was hungry, and mounted me, undressing with a wild look in her eyes. I wanted too, but I couldn't. I tried to play along, but there was an emptiness--no, a longing. A longing for that which she could not give me, no matter how she tried. It was then I knew, I was a shocksiteophile.
Two years had passed, and, with the exception of several abortive attempts following the wedding, our marriage had not yet been consummated. On my in-laws' advice, I went to visit our rabbi one afternoon. At first it was awkward, sitting before his mahogany desk, being pressed on these matters--I tried to hold back, but knowing that my marriage was at stake, there was no recourse left but to open the floodgates. There, for ten, fifteen minutes I ranted and raved--from my first introduction by Anonymous C., to sneaking tubgirl visits between clients--everything came out.
Finally, fully exposed before my rabbi, I fell silent. A slight grin spread across his lips. Terror gripped me. "My son," he said, "you have nothing to fear, for this is all part of our covenant with G-d." He rotated his monitor 180 to face me. There, blown up to full-screen was hello.jpg. "You see, the of your circumcision was the first step on a great journey. The foreskin is an impenetrable barrier to sexual development that must be broken down. Consider the apes; do they engage in watersports while clad in latex bodysuits? No. Free from it, we Cut Ones are able to expand our horizons far beyond mere procreation to those experiences which separate us from the beasts of the field."
"You," he continued, "however, are especially blessed--and it is your time which has come. Centuries--nay, millennia--of spanking, femdom, and countless other perversions have played their course, preparing our kind for a glorious future. A future of sex entirely based on shock sites. When the tide comes, my son, you will be a general leading the forces of humanity into a new era, where givers are free to give and
Slashdot Mirror
What's this "electrocuted" you're talking about? He was westinghoused!
Do to all the anti-gravity devices, free energy machines, and death rays which the Lovecraftian writhing of Tesla's decaying mind gave birth to--and to all the countless nuts propagating them--I would like to paraphrase a widely-attributed quote:
"When I hear the name 'Tesla,' I reach for my revolver."
She's got a kinky sister, too.
I'm not clicking on that link until someone who's not at work can prove the parent poster isn't with the GNAA.
The cause of Iraq War Syndrome? Source?
Yeah, and what about your Mr. Fusion?
10) Chicago is about 90% nuclear, there cost per kilowatt is about a nickel.
But it's run by Commonwealth Edison, increasing the murder rate of the city drastically. Did you know that the average CommEd employee lasts only six weeks before being murdered by a Chicagoan? The brain drain makes this a vicious cycle, and scientists estimate that by 2020, people will be murdered in their home no more than 10 min after submitting their resume to CommEd via monster.com.
Heck, run steam pipes to various buildings to provide heat.
This is so common up here in Sweden that most regions don't even have natural gas connections. Also, the modern technology is hot water. The notion of steam-based district heating would be as dead as the dodo if it weren't for New York's ancient relic of a system.
Wind farms - dead birds
I took a day trip a few years ago, out to a very large wind park in Groningen province, the Netherlands. There, several dozen wind turbines were installed on grazing land. While walking around beneath the turbines, I saw one dead gull and one dead sheep.
From this, I can conclude that wind turbines are equally deadly for sheep as for birds. Clearly we must find a better way of keeping sheep from flying too close.
They're a scam, just like those ultrasonic pest control thingies. Deer can no more hear ultrasound than we can.
I'm currently studying nuclear engineering at the Royal Institute of Technology in Stockholm. The ongoing construction of Finland's new reactor affects me greatly, as we will be taking a trip to see it in December, and I'll be able to buy lots and lots of cheap booze while I'm there.
NUCLEAR POWER CAUSES CIRRHOSIS.
Hydro? Well...forget about that one. Hydro power options are mostly in use in developed countries.
More accurately, hydropower is fully-developed in countries. Hydropower resources are something that, even in their hayday, had to be fought tooth and nail for. There simply aren't enough undeveloped/unpopulated areas left to fit that much more hydropower capacity in. It's not just a matter of finding a gorge or some rapids and building a dam. Any potential hydropower project would have to justify what it displaces in a power market with so many other options--unlike when most of the current sites were installed.
You've got the order all wrong:
That's nothing to joke about. In Habbo prison, even the pool has AIDS.
Don't look forward to any pleasant answers to that question...
Back in the U-S-S-R, you really knock out the Ukraine girls!
There is nothing modern about "they" as gender-neutral. It's as old as dirt.
Juan sat in the sand, leaning over to catch a black scorpion that was wandering across a cactus. Twenty million other displaced Mexicans surrounded him in their makeshift refugee camp. As Juan skewered the scorpion on a stick and began to roast it over a fire, he eyed the large pile of sacks of "UN Food Aid" that had been sent by the United States. The weeds and cactuses had withered and died in a 30 foot radius around the stack. The United States had indeed found a very creative solution to rid itself of unwanted nuclear waste.
As the scorpion cooked over the open fire, emaciated latinos with distended bellies looked at Juan with jealousy. He gripped his Makarov pistol tightly and eyed them back.
Juan removed the charred scorpion from the end of his stick, plucked the stinger off, and stuffed it in his mouth greedily. This had been the first time he had eaten in twelve days. As he chewed, he looked at the Great Barrier Wall on the America-Mexico border, one of the few man-made structures that could be seen from space. A plane flew over it and began dumping medical waste from its fuselage onto Mexican soil as though it were fighting a forest fire. Juan made a mental note to obtain some of the discarded vaccines that the Americans were fond of mixing in with broken thermometers and bed pans.
Padre walked up to him from behind, startling him.
"Hey ese, I got an idea on we can get back into the states." Padre said with a distinctive American accent.
"Listen Padre, you know I ain't goin to sell myself into slavery." Juan responded.
Both men had been born and raised in the USA and spoke more English than Spanish, but the Mud Peoples Relocation Act of 2009 and subsequent Constitutional Amendment had seen them lose all their possessions as well as their American citizenship.
"No man, I think we can get back by disguising ourselves as gringos." Padre explained as he revealed several bottles of colloidal silver and Just For Men blond hair dye.
A smile broke upon Juan's cracked lips as he eyed the materials. "Where did you get those from, homes?"
"Traded them to an American smuggler for Penicillin."
------
Meanwhile, in Washington DC, President Ron Paul sat in his office in the Goldhouse. His red skin, redder than the skin of a Custer Killer, shined magnificently, a byproduct of his years of dabbling in Colloidal Gold. His wizened face looked upon the latest presidential briefing about the removal of "cancers". Suddenly his phone received a text message.
"smbdy wnts 2 c u"
"ok let thm in"
A Canadian ambassador arrived, shuffling nervously about. He passed through a metal detector and entered the presidential office, nervously fidgeting with his tie.
"So what do I owe the pleasure of this visit from the ambassador of Canadialand?" Ron Paul asked, his brick-red face raising an eyebrow, his eyes fixed on the man before him like a hawk.
"Canada wishes to sign a ceasefire." the ambassador replied, reaching into his pocket. Instead of producing a document, the ambassador before him produced a small glass globule filled with crimson liquid. He quickly and precisely threw it at Ron Paul's head. The President was faster than the would-be assassin had counted on, however, ducking under his chair as the red glass globule brushed against his hair and slapping his hand over a green button. The ground beneath the assassin disappeared into a cavern as the glass ball shattered on the curtains behind the presidential desk, swallowing him down through a trap door.
"I see Soros is up to his old tricks again." President Paul said, his wizened red face smiling. A bodyguard rushed in and quickly examined Ron Paul to ensure his safety. He looked back at the blood-stained curtains with worry on his face.
Ron Paul stepped away from his desk to calm the bodyguard.
"Don't worry, Tom, it's not my blood. It's Jew blood." He explained. He sniffed the air and claimed "Ethiopian Jew blood, if I'm not mistaken."
"The One Drop
Oh god, OH GOD--don't do this to me!
I've spend over 15 years figuring out; they can't spring a new interface on me just like that!
Circumcision is primarily performed in in first-world countries among puritan-based societies because it makes masturbation more difficult.
I remember when I started to realize I was different from other boys--it was in the 8th grade. We had gotten to that age when girls suddenly started to become more and more interesting, and forbidden pleasures on the Internet were all the rage. Hanging around after school, my friends would constantly show off the latest vulgarity they'd snuck out of a convenience store's magazine rack or about the girl with the most ample breasts. It was a haunting feeling that none of this aroused me. It was new, it was exciting, but none of it struck me deeply.
That is, until one day, when I was browsing Slashdot. It was another article about the Bill Gates' suspected involvement in Belgian pedophilia rings. A poster, who for confidentiality's sake I will call "Anonymous C.," had posted a link to a startling new development in the case, from a new agency located on Christmas Island. I clicked the link--the browser hesitated, no doubt due to the massive amount of traffic the site had received. Then, suddenly, he appeared... A fire burst forth in my loins, gripping my chest with an exhilaration I never new existed. Two and a half hours later, when I had finished masturbating to the picture, I clicked Anonymous C.'s profile and went through is journal.
Tubgirl, lemon party--the list went on, each one more thrilling than the last.
Well, years went by, and middle school turned to high school, high school to college, and college to law school, and law school to a firm. In the meantime, I'd managed to become quite successful academically, and then professionally. My position afforded me great personal wealth, social status, and, finally, a beautiful wife. But, my great darkness was soon to surface, ready to swallow all that I had built for myself.
It was the wedding night, my wife and I were exhausted from the ceremony and reception, and collapsed into bed. She was hungry, and mounted me, undressing with a wild look in her eyes. I wanted too, but I couldn't. I tried to play along, but there was an emptiness--no, a longing. A longing for that which she could not give me, no matter how she tried. It was then I knew, I was a shocksiteophile.
Two years had passed, and, with the exception of several abortive attempts following the wedding, our marriage had not yet been consummated. On my in-laws' advice, I went to visit our rabbi one afternoon. At first it was awkward, sitting before his mahogany desk, being pressed on these matters--I tried to hold back, but knowing that my marriage was at stake, there was no recourse left but to open the floodgates. There, for ten, fifteen minutes I ranted and raved--from my first introduction by Anonymous C., to sneaking tubgirl visits between clients--everything came out.
Finally, fully exposed before my rabbi, I fell silent. A slight grin spread across his lips. Terror gripped me. "My son," he said, "you have nothing to fear, for this is all part of our covenant with G-d." He rotated his monitor 180 to face me. There, blown up to full-screen was hello.jpg. "You see, the of your circumcision was the first step on a great journey. The foreskin is an impenetrable barrier to sexual development that must be broken down. Consider the apes; do they engage in watersports while clad in latex bodysuits? No. Free from it, we Cut Ones are able to expand our horizons far beyond mere procreation to those experiences which separate us from the beasts of the field."
"You," he continued, "however, are especially blessed--and it is your time which has come. Centuries--nay, millennia--of spanking, femdom, and countless other perversions have played their course, preparing our kind for a glorious future. A future of sex entirely based on shock sites. When the tide comes, my son, you will be a general leading the forces of humanity into a new era, where givers are free to give and
Why do you hate freedom?
Finish your capitalism, young man--every last bite. There are starving entrepreneurs in China...
It all makes sense now!
That "heart" power the jungle boy and his monkey had was alcohol all along!
UIC students should be honored to have been mistaken for a real university.
*ducks*
How in the high FUCK can you get a pistol or CCW permit in Chicago?
We must keep paper towels out of the hands of terrorists. Even the janitor's closet has better security than most offices.
http://www.georgetownbookshop.com/georgetown/bathroomv.jpg