Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Smarmy Wolbrutt

The paper Challenges to the Sex-Glasma of Rhunthipgen Racastagelder will not be published in this week's edition of Smarmy Wolbrutt. Instead, a thirty minute interlude of stroboscopic laser light will be typeset by the firm Havvafar, Schlrellen, & Congry in between pages 23 and 24. Instead of page 30, there will be a misprinted, upside down advertisement for Hfeff Bath Purity Crystals (now with Flovvoproteins!) indicating that pharmaceutical formulations of Hfeff Bath Purity Crystals can now be purchased at your local apothecary for two drachms a dram, or a millishekel per liter, depending on your province or borough's local exchange rate. Also, in this edition, Lillian Van Aauldungfrepst writes an editorial condeming the practice of ferrolugubrious vonnop-toddling as practiced by the shortshoreman of the Green Wharf, suggesting that their appetite for hypermagnetic scullion points and flushed grollings might make the shipping containers more prone to the Helvetica scenario. There will be poetry by Zrullnipa Van Astgronne, a pithy diatribe by Vunculo F. Snorbins about the sad state of polydielectric zener tetrodes in the weird industries, several news reports from the current front in the war in Old Mlollopf, as well as reports of successful Mlollopfi refugees in Screllings and Frenns district, Vorset, in their Mlollopf cuisine shops selling laser marinated halal vronk meat. All in the next edition of Smarmy Wolbrutt, available at reputable local newssellers.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

oh well

Varaster Mehlgvwhorl collects rindges. Rindges are apparently specially constructed Faberge like ridges, that are plasma coated with a number of different metals in turn, and then treated at twelve kelvin for fifteen years in oscillating hexapole magnetic fields, then blessed by two holy men of conflicting religions. The rindges are then vacuum sealed under lucite and kept in a maze of drawers in a environmentally controlled warehouse that Mehlgvwhorl maintains in Wyhervbrac Commons, by the Drayvespright Promontory. Mehlgvwhorl's collection has won some awards -- maybe the Vellespront Object Collecting Award, or the Trantellington Prize (seventy five thousand wonzlos sterling in polished bismuth cheeses or ravvit arcs or something esoteric and pretty. He tries to maintain a superposition of feeling about his collection: he is between vague-listless-irony and discontented-arrogant-ennui most of the time, but takes time out of alternate sundays to feel just a smidge of rotten-ameliorated-bathyscapesquenss. While most people see his collecting as being deeply and anesthetizingly dull and boring, the documentarian E. Thellington Wesselwright was sufficiently impressed by the subtlety of Mehlgvwhorl's emotions about his collection that he (sadly) produced a nineteen hour documentary about the fleetingest of Mehlgvwhorl's emotions. Two hours spent on ribald-otolithic-panegyric, followed by another two, ploddingly labyrinthine hours on velumniciously-obstreperous-noodle-rage, then another ear-wringingly painful minutes on dirigible-gas-excretions and so on. Wesselwright seems like a sommelier interested in disgusting the viewer with laborious, contrived, and vapid catalogueing of the Mehlgvwhorl's emotionscape.

Monday, January 12, 2009

just under the wire

Sirris Inglethorpe does not approve.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

charging the oeuvre d'Lopsiquunt

Effars, we normally figure that those who live are the result of the ever so hard struggle to procreate, and so forth. Effars, the Te of Rehallaglot believe that those who exist are those who have, by their own carelessness, have failed to nonexist: for those that nonexist merry-go-round happily seem to be in a state of continual worship by those who have failed to nonexist. The nonexistent are innumerable, perhaps uncountably so, but that depends on how many quantum states various inscrutably tiny things can possess. The extant (or those who have failed to nonexist), well, they don't get the cake.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

deengineering the escafnunt: an apology

Look, the binary trophies which were awarded to the princes of persuasion were not in fact some off the shelf doohickeys principled in the miserrors of the past: they were full blooded artificers with imperial signatures corroborating their tales and confirming their good standing in the metaconsortium's common weal: these farctators have imbued their filigrees with fine silver, fine gold, fine electrogyromagnetized elephantitis modules so carefully wrought by master Ballyrinthian craftsmen. Their work was unimpugnable and glistened with a two day accretion of Ven Lenxshmire's Exotic Fluorescent Purple Fungus.

Strange vavixules

Friday, January 09, 2009

herbs to counteract cyborg boot loading techniques

avasset! dzincua in major. barstalks charred and battenstaffed. Oh, catch me a drudgery, why wouldn't you? Vertiginously balanced on a cone in a force-potential precipice. Is it so swermy to wander acreages and villeponts on the undermoon? Pray tell me, what news of the schweiffplume? Are the Cheese Wars still being waged? Is Drontifet Mulvinsky still Vice-Arbasset of Foofaraw Junction? I have been out of the loop for so very long and my brain is so very soggy, probably a neurofluorofungus, so says my physiologist. But enough about Franklin Delano Roosevelt! Tell me about the initialization routines of a factory standard Blutveneer Cyborgus? Are the ram lacings straight and voombescent? Does the boot loader arrive at the key addresses in reverse lexicographic order or in hemialphanumeric order! I must know: for if we are to defeat the Flungian Laundry-Artists I must know these things so that in my Alchemy I can prepare a remedy, for perhaps some of these herbs I have stolen from the Scriveners of Yelvhreyl can counteract the bootloader. Perhaps some Yellow Orchidroot will interrupt phase IIA/4 of the principal kernel load, or some Oil of Zongsblossom will interrupt the device driver initialization, but I cannot predict which herb will have which effect if you remain silent, so speak!

Thursday, January 08, 2009

and what was that counterexample?

Navhatthar Rethaghan travelled eighteen kempares to meet with the mathematican Zr. Zaktar Ralaquon to discuss a 2000 page proof on the Great Theorem of Tetraquiver Theory. In short, Rethagan pointed out, as succintly and lucidly as possible that the Great Theorem of Tetraquiver theory was in fact, false. “You say that this theory of yours is true, but there is a trivial and blatant counterexample -- one of many that I can easily pull out of my hat -- which renders most of this so called imperterbable theory of yours on very shaky ground: I can save it, yes, that's no problem, but I think that the consequences are some very disturbing ideas that run contrary to the major undercurrents of this proof that you've published. It's a phoenix that doesn't get all its feathers back, sadly. What it does get is worth mentioning, and I'll think you'll find that what results is worth talking about and discussing. While Tetraquiver theory might just be a walk in the park, and certainly an entertaining delusion for a Sunday afternoon or a waltz down by the park, it's nothing compared to the behemoth that logically follows from the smorgasbord of counterexamples I can pull out of my hat.” -- Navhatthar Rethaghan, Chief Imperial Mathemagician, Empire of the Lurid Goat.

beware the chance eater

Scessilauris Norhaia Avellevetrevan recieved the highest honors from the Davanne Institute of Nociception today: A Hh.D. Meta Cum Laude, the Pharipsees Prize, the Trellingtonian medal (amazingly earning both the bismuth and germanium coated versions). He studied polychthonovores in millivoids, which is apparently a hot topic amongst thanatobiologists these days, and his specialty was in the Ashayette chondruloplasmotopsian, which is apparently the freak of all freaks of all thanatobacteria: apparently it lives on the undigested et cetera of probability-based life forms: all those unchewable chances and transfinitesimal probabilities that Saint Vornian's Arch-Turnip and the Hasseliopsis syntugkhavore find indigestible are readily and eagerly digested, and thus attract colonies (thanatofilms) of Ashayette in their guttocks and gizzards.

be prepared.

The nightmare of the tonnage engines still lies deeply scathed in the iron-indium rods of the martindales and the gesschuts-vonglers of Vretnutnik. Translate the choo-choo sounds from Vattanagale to Prosperonian? Unhand me, thy revolverule! I say, it is a most pretuntimentious thing, a bar-stalk of a cavernosa, an antennule of a wovvodge-kermoiler. I, like most gentleflvranks of my trempmonkey, carry both stithers and varrumpstent in my broddage-bus, and a small supply of unfrundled mavverwoorts, each with ignition octonule and crupzaziole, ready for use during the craziest of follieres! So despair not with worries of whitherings and plask-harrangues, of jirrup-vovongules and dirripfengles: preparation is the key! I keep a frosted ontwornch with me at all times, its krepflascar steadied in Occam-fashion, and when a Lromaceous Krobbage interferes with my lunkvrooding, I can detach the rulling spoke and throw it at the Krobbage, the krepflascar volatilising instantly, defrosting the ontwornch, and with the nacreous, vaporescent clouds of ontwornch confusing the Krobbage, I can easily make my escape. Or, I could find myself in a Fluvium and accosted by a Starrapteous Closyvlocht: it is simply distracted by a flung stither. The point is that my seemingly obstreperous hyperpreparation protects me in these circumstances, and thusly I advise you to lean towards carrying an unscarred Apothripteon, a pillanied Gatheptika, and at least a brinning kit wherever you go.

behold the mad cheesewright

The ascidiomyceles did it's job: not a single cheesemonger in all ten boroughs of Caledon Te Tannoc woke on the ninth morning of the Lirobolatt cycle not unaware of how to factor a multicomposite Gnampiere sum, or what the subprime numbers of Lenceslad Van Trengle happen to do in the midnight dew when the Geffers' star is fifteen degrees from the azimuth. Garagon Affichette was pleased: the hyperscience of the Neuvanians had caused a revolution in fromaggiosynthetic techniques the likes of which had not been seen since the Bahallangonts had invaded Miesviries and insisted that the native strain of cows be cross bred with Dreyvwherl Givvidgeblyssthes, shocking the ordinarily conservative cheesewrights with such flavors as verruve, tressienta, and halpefarin, flavors that had been accidentally and carelessly bred out of the native Miesviries breeds by centuries of inaccurate bovine steadmanship. These days, verruve, tressienta, and halpefarin rich cheeses are commonplace, as imports from Miesviries are a constant, reliable staple of the neighborhood cheesemongers or grocery shop. But to such madmen as Garagon Affichette, the lack of borromago, fressaplunga, and eithne-shunyata cheeses was tongue-wettingly and swelteringly whetting his appetite for these bizarre flavors that had not been seen in a cheese in Caledon Te Tannoc for well over two hundred charbissiads. He purchased an engineered metafungus of the ascidiomyceles variety and deposited its spores in the collective subconscious of all cheese engineers for a hairswidth less than a kiloparsec away from the center of Caledon Te Tannoc. The spores grew into mycelial layers, penetrating id, ego, and the layered agglomerated of cheese making techniques in their minds, suffusing them with salivation for the earthy vapors of the borromago, the multifurcating blossoms of the fressaplunga, and the strange fires-of-emptiness characteristic of a good, redolent eithne-shunyata. Several months later when the cheese shops actually carried varragai, blenvrismafra, and zeitoro-kinesthetique cheeses, Garagon felt satisfied, so some of his more peculiar friends offered to vid him riding off into a fake nerf sunset, which he accepted, given how ludicrous it sounded.

a minimal effort

Darvauchies and Collogril devised a technique for estimating one's suburbane distance to the next chthonochrone using only a pair of rubber bands, a parsnip, and a (one, and only one) ten terahertz gloopfschein inversion diode while stranded on one of the Greater Valavian Islands after their ship beached itself on Yolladar and they were forced to swim the Berruthers Isthmus in search of food bearing isles. They were stranded for two weeks without pens, paper, computers, or abaci, and yet they managed to come up with a technique which was three orders of magnitude more accurate than the best secret government project at the time. Coincidence, I ask you, that the ship which upended itself on an ocean-beetroot was named after the Vice-Bleerongfast of Smutherington, Sar Vlartstak Binzoy, or that the manufacturer of the boat's primary capstan was Ovollochy Conspiracy-Mongerers, Federated?

Wednesday, January 07, 2009

angiotropy of the lesser darschellia levengitor zquid

Gathering the speleographic trophy cases and the butterbenjamins of Insaint Volvinsky of Ravars Cloordshire makes my meningocele varvid and tompeous: does the chrysapheous arrhengton of the blasmomeres insert itself into the sequence of charged dreams? Salazar, Banvaurvid, and the scimitar wielding duck-knights of Esserenga Green charge forth into analysis, with pens, paper, pencils, laptop supercomputers, and pocket quantum computers, ready to solve even the most intractable problems of transcosmic envobulation of the supernatant nickel triglycerides and banded nacreous gemstones and otoliths. Precess me daily foveal vice-quotes char my humility while bronco riding an untamed lambda expression and attacking a strange data structure with lance and vorpal blade.

Tuesday, January 06, 2009

twice a two tango for Lethe

Was it the tale of Artaxander and Alexoraganes? The gallium annealed swordsmiths from Temnellerophon and Apokritheon. Or of Eithne Eulalius and Nahehapes the Bristol-Shaker who defended the Sintered Statues of Corzellen from the Apists and their electromechanical steam impeller machines? Brigands and Apparition-Artists! Revolting isotopologues and crimminsmiths. Or Veitnar Rasalbalom, bearded, blind, and daft, wielding a buckycarbon blade at the entire 251st Platoon of the Great Syrevian Army during the Battle of Brontemps, in the ancient Wilzbonian wars? Nobody seems to remember the old times, and we find ourselves accosted by the conflicts of the age: these ancient scuffles find their ways into mythologues and countryside contentments, in books greatly scarred with age and non-acid-safe paper. The antitenebrous lilting of the treebirds over these battlefields reflects upon the gone-to-thusness which these fiercesome, ancient, and forgotten fighters now enjoy: we have forgotten their battles so that their fight would have some meaning: to remember would be to let a wound fester for centuries, so they are better as evanescent neutrino diffractions rather than echoing standing waves in the cenotaph of our collective subconsciousness.

Monday, January 05, 2009

hypersaturnian godfrothingly obvious passions of Galbadar Saint Schaessen Polyphorik

The Zrenthe Carrago and Mispthenga Raylarion reach full occultation when the prism engine is aligned contrary to the zenith at an angle of several picoradians astern to the terminator. If the slip-processor is stream enabled you may be able to turn the triangle gears (if they haven't completely corroded in the centuries of their submersion in a brine bath to keep them from sublimating -- one of the dangers of using triply-blessed osmium palladium gears anointed with the oils from the thukdam of Gyatsen Thaktun) to bring up the sighting scopes. If you're using one of the new models (say the J33 or J34 -- that are younger than five centuries old and weren't manufactured by Callagde, Eithvenreyd & Daughters) you may be able to extend the telescoping probability filtration gas by at least one ten thousandth of a torr if the weather is right. Older models will have rusty philosophy modules and the blindging oil may have rotted because the ampoules were sealed with wax and craspy instead of the annealed polyorganics and devolatilized bismuth core-sealers. Ranquine, Flernhague & Sons make a grap-jaggling motivic conductor with beeswax seals and gas-junction linkages which have been certified to be Indricotherium free to one part in 10^16th, and under waranteed up to a maximum of ten thousand discharges or totalized current amplification of seven orders of magnitude, whichever comes last. Industry insiders say that some of the Terappanese firms (Asinhopun Incorparated and quite possibly the Fraspalan Organization) are working on transjective joinscapings, but the fab processes are still too expensive to be put into mass production affording to the difficulties in working wih postnuclear matter and distended catnip containers.

Sunday, January 04, 2009

metariboflavin burlesques make the frightened moisturizer blush

Eivenfleyd Garhec Neisteurberry saw the scar-charred fire ruins at Tolhec Point, across Yalver's Bay, near The Promontory of the Sterile Neutrino. It had been nearly eight thousand years since the Niemtahe people had occupied the shores of the Western Continent, with their bizarrely incomprehensible hypermathematics, and even stranger Planck and sub-quantum technologies. The Niemtahe people are extinct: archeaologists know little of their extinction event except that it was sudden and profoundly ordinary in the grand scheme of things. No, it was disturbingly, exorbitantly, and effervescently ordinary. Neisteurberry alighted her Langlands sextant on the local monodromy group to see if she could determine within a microradian the direction which the next Nymphalidae migration would come: the Question Mark (Polygonia interrogationis) and the Comma (Polygonia c-album) usually overwinter in the massive, green, Rungrhomb tree forests. (Eivenfleyd's biologist friends tell her that the Rungrhomb trees exude rare, highly volatile iridium metallolipids that are necessary for the survivial of the butterflies). Later that day, after taking tea with the local sherpa-analogues, she will examine Niemtahe fractal hieroglyphs on the buried buckycarbon slabs about ten meters from the outer ring of the fire ruins for evidence that the iridium deficiency in the butterflies was bioengineered by the Niemtahe for inscrutable purposes. It's well known (meaning an established fact by the study of Sellagio, Baker, and Brulvum) that the Rungrhomb trees were imported from the Isle of Zight, across the sea by the Watercress peninsula, and that it took the Niemtahe bioengineers at least five hundred years or so to breed a strain of them which would be fruitful and make Tolhec point verdant.

Saturday, January 03, 2009

abnormal number news report

The purported (and most likely illegal) synthesis of an abnormal number by The Zelar Francis St. Robilliard for Absurd Numerics in Jezzy City, Old Colorado was reported to the St. Germanium News yesterday by an anonymous correspondent. Many laboratories, both licensed and not, have been seeking to synthesize abnormal numbers for some time now, ever since Jacopi Martin predicted that there was a number of diseases an abnormal number might be able to offer substantially more than palliative care. In particular, Wordbeng's Darned Thorny Psycheneurephrenia and Gossat's Pernicious Spleenosis would be completely cured with low molality solutions of abnormal numbers in saline. The same anonymous source reported that a test rabbit had been successfully cured of Lepine Polyfluorosis of the Gland of Martindale by an injection of similar composition.

Friday, January 02, 2009

high energy muons

The boredom of the palatine imperviousness is callahared by three Giardians: Lutvig, Narmilla, and Isaldrin. They have been given an imprimatur of the god Ogahec, the Night-Weasel of Surprises, to callahar the boredom of the palatine imperviousness for perpetuity, or at least as long as it takes to reprint the original edict in whatever the local language happens to be at the time. Being phantasmic and lemon-curry-howard isomorphic to complicated functions, these Giardians fear (or at the least detest) the Coming of The Great Iodophor, an iodine bearing deva with the capacity of bearing radiophorous emissions which will materialize as iodine atoms in the flesh of the three Giardians. What dictators of bad taste? What guardians of the Accordion of Doom! Why do we bother with collecting the nougat of the principal branch cut of these assgoblins? It's exactly this sorcery of misreasoning that we have to consistency check every one and a half millicycles and the Lvehn Mohaggle is not exactly best pleased. What's the use of dragging seventy metric tons of ultrapure germanium crystals fifteen parsecs if the recieving authority refuses to sign for it because of one lousy sodium atom accidentally lodged in the crystal lattice?It's exactly that sort of waffle-bendingly anality that cooks my hippocampus every time. Or those smegging long hauls in which the recieving party complains that my rig was just a little too shaky and the egg was damaged in transit: look, dude, don't get your mivonks in a knot, the egg was exposed to only one part in four octillion of the ship's momentum at most, and that's equivalent to beelining your sanctum sanctorum at not-the-smeg-all. Just because the Giardians are some major callaharers doesn't entitle them to blurgle maliferously about having violated some sacred covenant when you've just finished your eighteen kiloparsec jag to bring them some special nucleons and they complain that the shipment has been compromised by neutrinos. Unappreciative flonkwoodels.

tarnish the reputation of caarnforan

Scission-titers mark the border of the Wild Country, the mad mothers eschew the troubled daisy-counters at the edges of the Ragged Zones, with their espadrilles and lieutenants and the notochords and then the tonorous sighing of the excessively complex electronuclear equipment they have sworn an oath to protect from hyperaphids and other xylem-violating brigands. Vaporous contrails of pigment fly from the projectile anesthetic plants and must be protected against, because they will render even the most well protected technician unconscious unless they have the latest in microfilter gas masks and other biohazard equipment, because the pigmented gas vapors are indomitable in their perfusion and ability to take advantage of even the scantest porosity in whatever environment suits you bring to the Ragged Zones. Had I a zener diode for every time someone professed that their so-called specially engineered suit would protect them from the pigment gases, I would be a diodemonger living in Zokhveim spelunkingly wandering the streets saying /get your zener diodes here/ and eating my daily bread and soup daily with the chesswrights of Vruss and Mallabender.

The Hyperaphids of the Ragged Zones are steam driven automata that do have an electrical potential storage organ which is their stomach or heart or something, I'm really unsure about where it lies on that energetic spectrum, me not being a degreed thermodynamicist. This organ is discharged to resistance heat their boilers, which then circulate the steam necessary for their locomotian around to their articulation frames and limbs. But they don't get farther than the scission-titers, which form a (very loosely coordinated) natural antimechanical barrier that prevents the migration of the Hyperaphids into populated areas like Zokhveim and Fentap Rindge.

Thursday, January 01, 2009

glucose fructose syrup

A tremulous jamboree: my iced coffee is waiting at the McVerzel station. I asked the coffeemongers to calculate my whizbang factor today, but I was busy with other ordinates and abscissions: did the leaf just stay on the tree or was it a homily? Truly, like some factored antennule of some robotic insect god I had a fervent request that had probably been lost in the queue: my cheese lost, my neckerwrights sandwashed, the color of fury seeping into the undergarments of suspicion, was I not about to take my corpuscles down to the beach and observe to efflux of fauna and flora during the tidal excesses? Blast! Not another cyclical enjambment of retold stories and carbonated fury. It's for this reason that the monsters of the lost land never return Henry Haschgellester's calls. I'm sure the futuristic cell phone marimba stories might be redressed if the unfactored supply of inert primes was to broadcast on a station that's well known. But scoring someone's probability toast like that might just give Ol' Hastoffle a case of the mighty indigestion: what was more important, the ellided material or the signal to noise ratio collecting nutsgooses on the corner of the river. Did Vazbolb Struggins not semaphore furiously during the end of the Ryvgahelis Campaign? Mutter me another way Miss Muskwaray, for I hadn't seen the telegram at the office and my radio batteries had suffused throughout the lower stone chasm of the nightgaunts.

If Chollongster had been present, I'm sure she would have quoted us a number of cheesy soliloquies and other symposia and consortia all in timbral harmony. Chollongster, of course, usually has nothing to do with us, calling us voozblongs and lumpgossuwongs, nasty epithets just designed to hurt where it hurts the most: in the inner mandibulae of our spleens.