If I recall correctly, I used to do the exact same thing when I was a kid, except there would be a lot fewer people watching and I would have to clean the blood and broken branches out of my Little Tikes Cozy Coupe myself. Every once in a while I’d have to go get dad to pull the red and yellow convertible wreckage out of the ditch next to my house. He was pretty mad the first time, because my little car didn’t start out as a convertible. It sort of ended up that way after some on-the-fly modifications. Big branches and roofs don’t go together very well.
One thing I realized during my trips down the slight incline in my mother’s back garden is that nothing beats having the wind in your hair, the bugs in your teeth, and the twigs in your eyes. Sometimes avoiding the trees isn’t the best option. If you don’t hit the trees, you just keep accelerating. Then again, I wasn’t very bright when I was 17.
Ask Not What Your Flamethrower Can Do For You — Ask What You Can Do For Your Flamethrower
(Warning: some salty language, yelling, and incessant questioning of things women will never understand)
A man doesn’t build a flamethrower for any real reason; he builds it because he can. Unless he’s a professional arsonist, in which case the flamethrower is a vital piece of equipment. Then again, if someone hands you a business card that says professional arsonist it’s probably a good idea to give it back and wipe the gasoline off your fingers before he gets any big, flamey ideas.
Defined as: “a mechanical incendiary device designed to project a long, controllable stream of fire”, the flamethrower really needs a few bits appended onto that nice little description to make it fit better with the parlance of our times.
How about: “A thingy that throws flames, and shit; get over it Martha it’s not that big a deal, Christ”. Better? Better.
Jeesh, Cape Canaveral really went to hell after people stopped giving a crap about space travel. We already beat the Russkis to the Moon and no one want to nuke anything from orbit anymore, so I can see why a lot of people have lost interest. The last time anyone managed to get to the Moon and back was 1972, and that’s an awfully long time by any standard. If the last successful mission to the moon was a person they’d have grown up, graduated from college, gotten a job at the cracker factory, gotten married, had three kids, raised those kids to adulthood, and drunk themselves to death by now.
I think the string of unsuccessful missions before and after that really put a damper on things; people want Moon rocks, not a big heap of well-done astronaut. I think we need to work our way back up to where we were beforehand instead of starting where we left off. We’re too far gone now, and every useful member of the space program has died of boredom. We need to start off by sending a few monkeys to test the water. If they don’t come back we’ll readjust and try again later. I mean — how hard can it be? If a bunch of robo-dweebs with slide ruler can do it then we normal people can.
(Many thanks to our dear friend Charles Schneider for sending this one along)
The Love Child Of Uncle Fester And Friedrich Krupp Is Back With The Mother Of All Slingshots
I’ve never heard anyone chuckle that way that wasn’t up to no good. But I”m sure old friend Joerg Sprave wouldn’t hurt you, unless you were a zombie or something. Then he’d chuckle and let you have it.
(Thanks to reader Sam Dunkin in Oregon for sending that one along)