My wife used her iPhone to send a recipe to my iPad.
Remember the video footage of all the wonderful things the iPad could do? Boundless creativity. Family photos. Reading books. Painting masterpieces. Getting jiggy with some tunes. Keeping up on current events. Watching movies. Organizing your life. Unparallelled worlds of productivity. Publishing novels. Maps to everywhere. Recipes in the kitchen.
Recipes in the kitchen? Are you kidding me?
They showed busy home cooks and restaurant chefs consulting the magical device while they cooked. Just a touch away, all the knowledge of cookie at your fingertips.
I figured I’d give it a try. I clicked the recipe link my wife had sent and it opened a page in Safari that was consumed by about 80 percent advertising. Video was playing. Things were blinking. “What the?” I stammered, befuddled by the onslaught on my senses.
“Where the hell is the friggin’ recipe?!”
Oh, yeah. Right. They didn’t mention that part. You have got to have useable content for the iPad to be able to be of much use. Otherwise it’s pretty much the world’s most energy inefficient paperweight.
I squinted and looked really hard. There it is! I found the recipe buried alive and in a tiny tiny font. I used a gesture to try to to expand the page and make it look bigger. No dice. I looked for a print button. No dice. I checked the address bar for the world-famous Safari “reader” mode. Nope.
In desperation I made the commute to my office where I could actually read the page. I was hungry.
At last. I see we have a recipe from Emeril Lagasse. I looked over the instructions. “Pour the reserved liquid and grime into a saucepan and bring to a simmer.”
Crap. Here we go again.
Grime?! Grime?! Grime?! Is this some kind of master chef word that has eluded me throughout my career? “Oh, grime. Why are you so coy?”
“Honey!!! Where the hell is the grime???”
I went back to the kitchen and chucked the prep so far. It was time to improvise. At least the iPad made a serviceable cutting board. Finally! Dice at last!
Roll them Scrapples
My day job is negativist. In my spare time I try to earn some scrillas for survival. After that, the bulk of the remainder of my time is spent philosophizing and inventing. And pondering the ways of love. And packing lots and lots of boxes.
What I’m saying is I invented a new gambling game and I’m giving it to the world for free. In that way I’m just like the fellow that found the cure to polio and didn’t try to exploit it for big bucks.
Yeah, we need more gambling, so I hope this catches on.
Like most of my inventions, necessity turned out to be one fantastic mother. And, like most of our most harrowing tales, it all started one Christmas not too many years ago…
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DIY: Britney Spears’ private phone number
What if I told you there was a way to obtain the private phone number for anyone you want? And what if it was completely legal? Now how much would you pay?
Imagine it. You could call anyone you wanted. Maybe even someone like Britney Spears.
[ringtone] … hit me baby one more time … [click]
You: Hi, Britney. OMG, OMG, OMG!!! I can’t believe I’m really talking to you!!!
Britney (irritated): Who the hell is this?
You: It’s me.
Britney (speaking to someone else): Dammit. How the hell do they get this number? I was in the middle of lighting a cigarette, too. [click]
You: Britney? Britney? Are you there? Are you there? [pause] Britney, I love you! [pause] Oh, shit. [pause] Okay, it’s my move in Warhammer 40,000. Okay, okay. Let me finish up the paint job on this Tyranid Trygon first.
If you want conversations like that and so much more, make the jump for my secret, surefire technique. The probabilities are that you’ll love it.
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A note from the Chore Whore
We could live on an 8′ by 8′ piece of dirt and I’d still be in the doghouse for not sweeping and dusting enough.
The Universe, however, likes to toss me a bone every once and again. When it comes to chores, the Universe likes to say, “Hey, little buddy. How about you and me get together and make this fun?”
Apparently we don’t have enough in common to form a language translation matrix. The linguistic database chokes on this mysterious word “fun.” I guess that’ll have to remain one of the great mysteries of life.
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The Game of Poop
Another one of my amazing talents is “board game designer.”
I’m an old school gamer which means I love dice and hexagons. And I usually don’t like electronic gadgets in board games. An electronic gadget in a board game is a lot like a sound bite in politics. It may be flashy but is usually doesn’t add much to the game.
I’d now like to introduce my latest board game concept. I’m calling it simply: The Game of Poop. (The name “Origin of the Feces” was tossed out of consideration because Type O Negative released an album with that same title.)
The objective of my game is to fling poo at your opponents. Sounds fun already, eh?
Initially all players start on a clean board. Uh oh, I bet I know where this is going.
An early objective will be to gather and consume as much food as you can. After all, you can’t take out your opponents without ammunition.
Once you’ve made your first poo it’s time to go hunting for your enemies. Get as close as you can and fling that poo! Better hurry. Hold on to that poop too long and it might turn on you. Yes, there can be friendly fire in this game.
A player hit with three poops it sent to the Decon Chamber and is out of the game.
However, hit or miss, a square where poop lands will be turned brown. As the game progresses the danger level will increase. (This is where the electronic game board kicks in. The game board itself will keep track of the brown squares.) In this game time is of the essence!
Just like Monopoly, cards will be used to introduce random events into the game. The most coveted card will most likely be “Mexican Restaurant.” The most dreaded? “Know Your Enema.” A player receiving this card will be sent to the nearest medical facility and will lose valuable time as they attempt to roll doubles in order to be treated with a colonic.
The winning player, if lucky enough, will successfully take out all of the other players. However… if the game goes on too long brown squares could lead to contamination of food sources on the board. Or, landing in a concentration of brown spaces could result in an outbreak of deadly diseases, like cholera. If that happens, the game isn’t over, but the object for victory changes. The winner becomes the one who can stay alive the longest.
OK, be honest. I can take it. Would you buy this game and who wants to attend game night at my house???
Pronto! The best “55 views” YouTube video evar!
Sometimes on YouTube you get lucky. This is a rare gem. And I can’t believe it only has 55 views. This guy has got it all: screen presence, wit, a keen mind and biting humor. You must watch the whole thing. And no, I’m not being sarcastic. He’s hilarious! His YouTube profile says he wants to “write comedy” someday and I think he’s off to a great start. And he’s even a fellow WordPress blogger. Enjoy!
On the twelfth dice of Christmas …
Here is some late breaking news that Mrs. Abyss failed to share the first time she told me about her company’s Christmas party.
Woot. It’s an unexpected and serendipitous chance to talk about Christmas and dice again! 🙂
As a dice lover myself, even I thought this was outrageous. When employees arrived at the party a 12-sided die was rolled. The number shown on the die determined where the employee would be seated.
Now let me try to understand this. First the company told employees they could bring their spouses and significant others to the party but they would be charged $25. Now the company cruelly twists the friggin’ Christmas party and makes it serve double-duty as a bullshit touchy-feeling human-resources-style training event.
It’s the holiday season. Peace on Earth and goodwill towards people. To celebrate and show how much we care about you we’re going to randomize the seating to make your Christmas party meal as awkward and unpleasant as possible.
There is a time and place for that sort of thing and it is decidedly not the Christmas party! They are lucky I didn’t go. Would I have been forced to roll a die of my own and have a one-in-12 chance of sitting at the same table as my wife? I can only assume that yes, they’d be just that sick in the head.
Merry Christmas, ho ho ho! Whatever! Now roll them bones!