“Unh, ugggh, oh my me! The second coming is at hand!”

“See, if I put my arm through the sling here and reach down a little, all you have to do is shrug your shoulder. I call it the reverse Dutch rudder.”

Not according to my head-cannon.

And yet if I use that response in an interview, it’s “unprofessional” and gets me “escorted out of the building by security.”

Ooh, RIAA’s coming for you, they’re gonna get those four seconds back.

A tradition proudly preserved by the Catholic church to this day.

Nature’s little backhoes.

Do some geek shit and automatically reply with https://www.nohello.com/ if they lead with a greeting and a pause for dramatic effect. I usually just wait for them to continue with what they actually need which solves the issue one way or another.

Nothing happens.

> ▌

Lights flicker and dim throughout the neighborhood as a white-hot glow builds through the stack of 32Xs. A bright blue flash signals the destruction of the transformer down the block but you spare no attention for the freshly-darkened row of houses, captivated by the scene unfolding in your own living room.

Rather than sputtering out and returning to its previously inert form, the Sega only glows brighter. A voice is whispering to you but dissolves into wordless static against the ambient hum of the room. Your skin tingles and itches, the smell of ozone tickles your nose and you’re starting to think you should have brought some kind of eye protection. Probably too late to worry about that now though.

A crack of darkness forms in the center of the column of light – that, or your tortured optical nerves are finally burning out. The air takes on an unnatural viscosity which seems to conduct the ever-present hum straight into your bones. In an instant, the darkness pulses and ripples along its wispy edges before falling in on itself, carrying with it the last beams of your technological abomination like a mangled lighthouse blasting its warnings into a roiling hurricane.

You wake up in the morning to find a box on your doorstep. Oh yeah, you remember, that eBay listing for an old Sega and collection of accessories. Absently clicking together a stack of 32X modules while examining the contents of the package, you start to wonder if the thing will even power on…

I keep my skeleton inside a meat robot.

Fecal contamination is a fact of life or, put succinctly, shit happens.

C diff.

Smash them up and dump the crumbs into a glass. Now it’s a drink and no longer subject to the tyrannical nutritional guidelines of the medical establishment, leaving you free to consume it as you please.

I have an idea for what we could feed those dogs.

Photographers wanted to save their film for the fireball.

Don’t allow there mistakes too ruin you’re day.

That’s why you don’t store your stool samples in the same fridge as your chocolate pudding. Malware goes into the vault.

…‘Who is responsible?’

Obviously the deer is very responsible, he’s wearing proper PPE.