Friday, 26 April 2013

26/04/13 - Ex-Astronauts

Being an astronaut is quite a tricky thing, I imagine. You need to know all sorts about science and stuff, but also have the extraordinary bravery to be strapped into a relatively flimsy metal tube and fired into a harsh, high-pressure atmosphere which is both extremely cold and somewhat lacking in oxygen. So the fact that spacemen always look so nonchalant in the videos they shoot of themselves while orbiting the Earth is nothing short of astonishing, frankly.

But when the heroics are over and they find themselves with their feet back on terra firma, it must be quite a disorienting and unnerving process, trying to reacquaint themselves with gravity and what-have-you. The Earth would surely seem a strange and annoyingly busy place once you’ve seen it in widescreen from above. Some potential challenges would probably include:

Dropping things
The thing about hanging out in spacecraft is that there’s no gravity. You just float about the place, as does everything around you. You must quite quickly get used to moving about the vessel by grabbing on to bits of it to propel yourself along, and to be very careful when you sneeze. And while things like pens and toothbrushes do tend to float about of their own accord, they will generally be roughly where you left them for a few seconds at least; for example, if you’re brushing your teeth, you can leave the brush hanging while you turn around to grab the toothpaste, and when you turn back you’ll probably find that the brush is still hanging there. This doesn’t happen on Earth. Gravity will make a fool of you. I wonder how long it takes astronauts to get used to gravity again, and how many cups of coffee they drop in doing so? They must constantly be breaking things.

Agoraphobia
In space, as the old saying goes, no-one can hear you scream. They also can’t knock on your front door and invite you to go out for a walk in the park. There’s nothing out there. (Well, no, there’s loads of stuff out there, but it’s not really accessible to you.)
And when you’re used to being hermetically sealed in a quite small craft, with the prospect of immediate sucking death should you accidentally crack open a window, it doesn’t really enamour you to the concept of going outside, does it?
The thought of opening up the front door and ambling to the shops may well be something that astronauts hold dear, something they can look forward to having the freedom of doing once they’re safely home. But it’s equally possible that they might become irreversibly chained to the notion of spending all of their time in one small space. Outside? Outside is dangerous.

Other people
Manned space flights are not busy things, personnel-wise. There’s only going to be a couple of other guys up there with you, or thereabouts. This must mess with your head a little; you’d know them inside-out (possibly literally, if you accidentally flick the ‘reverse’ switch on their catheter or what-have-you), they’d be the principle touchpoints of your day-to-day existence. So how much of a mind-bender must it be to be wandering around a crowded station or down a busy high street once you’re back home? People must be terrifying. There’s just so many of them.

Other people’s problems
One thing people love to do is whinge about their lives. Whether they’ve got a horrible disease or have suffered some unfortunate natural disaster or terrorist act, or they’re just caught up in the irritating minutiae of modern living, the quantity of peer-to-peer griping is pretty much constant across all levels of the misfortune strata.
If you’ve been to space, some of this must grate a little. People moaning about their phone’s poor battery life or the misspelling of their name on their Starbucks cup would come across as all the more insignificant if you’ve just spent several weeks on the very knife-edge of death. ‘Your Sky+ box keeps randomly cancelling your series-links, does it? Fuck you, I’ve been to space.’

Sense of scale
The Earth looks massive from space. When you’re on it, it’s just there. That must be bewildering. You know when you see something everyday like a hair or a biscuit under a microscope, and it gives you a whole new perspective on the complexity of it? Every day on Earth must be like that for somebody who’s been into space. I bet they get transfixed by small objects like tennis balls and jars of Marmite, wondering what it would be like to walk on their surfaces if they were planet-sized. And whether there are already tiny people doing that.
NASA call this ‘the space-crazies’. Ex-astronauts often complain of seeing tiny people crawling about on their food. Probably.

Sense of futility
Much like being a retired rocket scientist or brain surgeon, returning to Earth from space really reinforces the fact that you’ve already achieved the most impressive thing you’ll ever do, and everything thereafter will be a relative disappointment.
‘It’s not rocket science,’ people say, or ‘it’s not brain surgery’, implying that either of those two disciplines represent the pinnacle of human achievement. Similarly, saying that you’re one of the handful of humans who’s actually flown out of the atmosphere and then come back again is something that no sane person can fail to find impressive. But, in knowing that you’ve done something that so few people will ever get to do, what do you have to look forward to? Sure, you can dine out on the kudos for life, but what’s your next goal?
Get drunk and get fat, I guess. Fuck it, you’ve been to space, no one can judge you.



Coachella Hipsters

Some hilariously pretentious twats here. 'Something that's cool? Yeah, of course I've heard of it...'

Fast Food & Wine

Late-night burgers and fried chicken don't have to be entirely devoid of class - click here for a handy guide to pairing wine with your takeaway scran.


Facebook Earth

The best thing about videos like this is the number of berks who think it's real and post hysterical comments on YouTube. I love thick people.

The Secret Bits of the Northern Line



Like that? Here's one about the Victoria Line...

Britain's Busiest Stations

All kinds of data on Britain's busiest stations, courtesy of the Guardian - click here. Very interesting, if you like that kind of thing.


First Day Nerves

As one YouTube commenter points out, 'it's not his fault, he's used to, um, you know, from being from the in east coast'.

Pulp Fiction: just the swearing

Impressively, this is enough to get the general gist of the plot.

Thursday, 18 April 2013

18/04/13 - In Defence of the Impossible

DUM DUM DERR DERR DUM DUM DERR DERR DUM DUM DERR DERR DUM DUM DERR DERR diddle-oooo diddle-oooo

There’s a lot of hate directed toward the Mission: Impossible movies, but if that riff fails to stir your soul then frankly I don’t think we can be friends. Yes, they’re a bit cheesy, the plot often doesn’t make sense, they’re riddled with continuity errors and blah blah blah, but they’re fundamentally decent, entertaining movies, and you should all just learn to accept that. So here we’re going to look at a variety of aspects of the series in what a cynic might describe as ‘slightly too much detail’. But that cynic can piss off, I’m going with ‘an entirely appropriate level of analysis’.

They fly a helicopter through the Channel Tunnel
A fucking HELICOPTER. In the CHANNEL TUNNEL. Cor!
This scene is sort of ruined by David Schneider’s rubbery face pulling a peculiar grimace of befuddlement at the end, rendering the entire sequence slapstick, and this is the element that people tend to focus on. But just let me reiterate the salient point: they fly A FUCKING HELICOPTER in the CHANNEL TUNNEL. Strewth! Blimey!
http://youtu.be/Cho039BrHpg

Red light! Green Light!
OK, so Ethan Hunt has chewing gum that turns into a bomb. That happens.
One end’s green, the other end’s red, and when you squish it all together it explodes. Suck on that, haters. (Or chew, rather.)

Impaled in the elevator shaft
There are many instances of people dying in lifts in movies. Generally it’s the case that the elevator plummets to the bottom and explodes (which, logically, couldn’t happen – lifts can’t freefall like that, and what is there to explode?), and here and there people get sliced in half while getting in/out (which, disappointingly, doesn’t happen in Speed). But in Mission: Impossible, a dude gets trapped on top of an ascending lift, has no escape, and looks up just at the right moment to get a huge spike through the face. Brutal.
(Also, ‘Impaled in the Elevator Shaft’ might make a good title for a porn remake of Mission: Impossible. Write that down somewhere.)

‘What are you going to do? Spank me?’
The improbably-named Nyah Nordoff-Hall (played by the almost equally improbably-named Thandie Newton) is hilariously filthy in M:I-2. There’s not even any double-entendre or suggestiveness, it’s just dirt. Magical, ludicrous dirt.

Limp Bizkit cracked off a decent tune
Yes, the ineffably cretinous Fred Durst’s merry troop of cod-rap-metallers provided the theme tune for the second movie in the franchise and, against all odds, it’s bloody brilliant. It takes the aforementioned DUM DUM DERR DERR DUM DUM DERR DERR DUM DUM DERR DERR DUM DUM DERR DERR diddle-oooo diddle-oooo and gives it a heavy, thudding edge. Brilliantly sinister. Listen - http://youtu.be/bPD6YiBFG1Q

That M:I-2 bike chase
The motorbike chase scene in the second movie is widely panned for its inconsistencies. But I reckon they actually make it better; the concept of the film is inherently absurd (and I mean this in a positive way), so it’s like discovering directorial easter eggs when you spot that Ethan’s tyres keep changing from road ones to knobbly dirt ones, or that certain scenes are clearly mirrored because the number plates are backwards on passing cars, or that the bikes’ registration numbers keep changing. It’s like that one episode of The Inbetweeners where Simon’s Cinquecento doesn’t have the registration number ‘M335 ALP’, but instead has ‘M483 LTH’. You’d all noticed that, right? Right? Hello…?

The internet

Oh my god, the internet is HILARIOUS in Mission: Impossible. When he types ‘Job 3:14’ into some proto-Google search engine and it comes back with ‘no results’ - ha! Things were different before they changed. Then they became different.

M:I-3 was co-written and directed by J.J. Abrams
…y’know, the guy who created wacky island adventure TV colossus Lost. That’s pretty good, isn’t it? (Although he did also write Armageddon. Hmm.)

M:I-3 also features various classic spy devices
…such as microdots, micro-explosives, and mysterious codenames. So all of the detractors who say that the movie franchise is an insult to the original TV series have slightly less to complain about.

The movies star Ving Rhames and Jean Reno
Ving Rhames and Jean Reno are both awesome, as anyone who’s seen Léon, Pulp Fiction, Ronin or, er, Con Air will tell you. They both pull off the scary-yet-charming thing masterfully. They’re also both a safe pair of hands – the sort of chaps you’d want watching your back in a caper. Good work, fellas.

Tom Cruise is great
Yes, he might be a closet-dwelling nutjob with questionable religious beliefs, but he seems like a decent bloke (usually), and he’s got a lot of brilliant films behind him: Jerry Maguire, Top Gun, Rain Man, Magnolia, Days of Thunder, Eyes Wide Shut, Tropic Thunder, Minority Report, Impaled in the Elevator Shaft… and he’s also endearingly small, which makes him seem more accessible. You know, like he’d be friends with you.

One of the all-time great lines

There’s a wonderfully tense scene in the first movie, in which IMF director Eugene Kittridge accuses Ethan Hunt of being a mole. ‘I can understand you’re very upset,’ he says. ‘Kittridge, you’ve never seen me very upset,’ replies Hunt. And then he blows up an enormous fish tank with his exploding chewing gum. In your face, Kittridge! Didn’t see that coming did you, you twat?

So yeah, the first three movies were great. I haven’t actually seen the fourth. Is it any good...?





How To Brush Your Teeth In Space

These ‘how to [x] in space’ vids are genuinely fascinating.

Getting Gymnasty

Some incredible physical comedy here. How is he not more broken?

Commuter/Newspaper Photobombing

So simple, so much fun. Click here.





Water & Sine Waves

The beautiful fusion of running water, a 24Hz sine wave and a 24fps camera. (Either that, or it's a glitch in the Matrix.)

Recycled Movie Costumes

An obsessively researched collection of costumes that have been reused in movies and TV - so if a scarf catches your eye and you can't figure out where you've seen it before, this is the place to look! Click here.



Cassetteboy vs. Jeremy Kyle

Close Calls

Crikey - some sharp intakes of breath here...

Ship My Pants

The kid definitely says 'shit', right?

Friday, 12 April 2013

12/04/13 - Nipper's Reprieve

So, it would appear that HMV has been saved from the jaws of calamity, maybe. Having finally relented to the harsh reality that very few people want to pay £17.99 for a new CD when play.com will charge you a tenner for it and deliver it to your house for free, the beleaguered retail chain collapsed rather spectacularly in January. It was all rather bitter and acrimonious, with disgruntled employees live-tweeting the brutal slash-and-burn chaos from HMV’s official Twitter account. But now, just as it looked as if all hope was lost, an outfit named Hilco, who already own HMV Canada, have bought up 132 UK HMV outlets and potentially saved 2,500 jobs. Which can only be a good thing. Let’s just hope they pay a bit more attention to what consumers actually want from now on. Nobody’s going to pay £40 for one season of Family Guy.

The story behind HMV is actually rather sweet. You may be aware that the letters stand for ‘His Master’s Voice’… but do you know why?
Well, it stems from a painting by an artist named Francis Barraud. When his older brother Mark died in 1887, Francis inherited his Edison phonograph, complete with recordings of Mark’s voice, as well as Nipper, his fox terrier. When Francis played the recordings, Nipper would bound toward the phonograph, eager to follow his master’s voice and find where he’d disappeared to. In 1899 – a few years after Nipper himself had also died – Francis painted an image that would become what we now know as the HMV logo.
He initially tried to sell the piece (rather racily titled ‘Dog looking at and listening to a phonograph’) to the Edison Phonograph Company, but the phonograph industry wasn’t doing that brilliantly at the time, being usurped by superior technology, so it was a bit of a non-starter. In an effort to contemporise the piece, Barraud decided to replace the black phonograph horn in his painting with a brass one, and visited the London offices of the newly-formed Gram-O-Phone company to borrow one. On seeing a photo of the original painting, company owner Emile Berliner offered to buy the painting on the condition that the Edison unit was replaced with one of his own gramophones. The ensuing reworking, titled ‘His Master’s Voice’, was bought rights-and-all by Berliner and registered as a trademark in the US.
To cut an extremely long and complicated story short, the rights to the painting eventually fell to Victor Records (latterly RCA-Victor) in the US and The Gramophone Company elsewhere. When the latter teamed up with Columbia to form EMI, ‘His Master’s Voice’ was used to promote their range of HMV-branded gramophones, records, TVs and radios. When the first HMV store was opened on Oxford Street in 1921, Nipper was proudly displayed inside and out.

Now, like many Britons, HMV played rather a significant role in my childhood. It was one of four music retail touchpoints that formed the basis of much of my shopping throughout my teenage years, largely because of its relentless sales. I spent an absurd amount of my student loan in HMV too. And while the diversity of stock narrowed significantly over the years until most branches seemed to be largely focusing on the rap and r’n’b market, they always seemed to find a little corner in which to showcase some interesting and random new releases in the rock and indie areas; I don’t know to what extent this was the case in all branches, and whether they even did it in recent years (I very rarely went to HMV after about 2004; I doubt anybody else did either), but in the Portsmouth branch on Commercial Road they’d always have hand-written notes from the manager or staff next to the new releases, saying things like ‘you need this record – it sounds like Teenage Fanclub on mushrooms’ or ‘if you ever wondered what it would sound like if The Stooges had a noisy argument with Super Furry Animals, this is the record for you’. It’s what kept me shopping there, really. I love that personal touch, and the evidence that the staff actually care about music, rather than it just being a soulless business that could be selling anything. This is an outlook that informed two of those other aforementioned music retail touchpoints, which were:

Gatefield Sounds
I count this as one touchpoint, but it was (and possibly still is) actually three shops, all well known to the music geeks of east Kent. The home store was a tiny little place on Gatefield Lane in Faversham, and there was a second one on the High Street in Whitstable, and a third on Herne Bay High Street. I grew up in Herne Bay so I knew the latter best, although taking a short cut through an alleyway on the way to school in Faversham one day, I stumbled across the Gatefield mothership and was blown away by it – it was a tiny little low-ceilinged store that stocked all kinds of random indie singles on 7”, offered multibuy deals if you wanted to buy a single on multiple formats (because, back in the good old days before all this digital nonsense, a band would release a single on vinyl, CD and cassette, and offer different b-sides on each), and sold random albums that you might otherwise have never heard of for cheap. I remember buying the obscure album by Izzy Stradlin & the Ju Ju Hounds on tape for 99p. Brilliant.

B-Side the C-Side
A peculiar little shop which coincidentally happened to be right across the street from Gatefield Sounds in Herne Bay, B-Side the C-Side was a sort of cross between a record fair and a charity shop. It was run by the kind of guy that you can imagine the dude from High Fidelity turning into after a few decades of not selling many records, and had vast, unordered stacks of records and CDs. He seemed to ignore the pricing guides in Record Collector and stickered everything up according to how good he judged the music to be; a scratched and worn LP of the Stones’ Goats Head Soup would be £40 because ‘it’s a fucking great record that, lad’, while the stack of white-label Marion demos and Japanese Menswe@r imports would be pennies because he’d ‘never fucking heard of them’. It always felt kind of awkward being in there because a) there was never anyone else in there and b) he would judge you very harshly on your choices. But it was worth incurring his wrath, because it meant that you wouldn’t be spending much money. It was a great place to buy Lemonheads LPs because he thought they were ‘soft shit’.

…the fourth touchpoint was Our Price. It wasn’t that amazing a shop, but they always seemed to have tit-for-tat sales wars with HMV, so you could pinball between the two to see who’d marked things down the most.

The reason I stopped shopping at HMV was twofold. Firstly, my musical tastes increasingly moved toward the kind of thing they wouldn’t sell, while they increasingly moved away from selling things that weren’t happy sitting in the ‘urban’ section. Throughout my teens I’d been a nerdy reader of Record Collector and spent all my pocket money on random music from dealers like Esprit and Sister Ray by mail order. (Esprit has since become 991.com, and really is very good indeed, you should check it out.)
And secondly, whenever I want to buy a new album, I just get it from play.com – they’re usually pretty cheap, and they have free delivery on everything. Did you ever try to buy anything online from HMV? It was a pain in the arse. Play does it all in a few clicks.

On the whole, it’s a good thing that HMV’s been (possibly) saved, I’m happy about that. But only because it means that loads of poor unfortunates have been saved from the dole queue. To be honest, I don’t give that much of a toss about HMV as it is today, it’s just another shop. But my inner child is glad that Nipper’s legacy isn’t dead just yet.

What I’m really hoping is that somebody will finally buy up and re-open Zodiac Records at the end of my street. That looks like a very interesting place...




Tony the Sociopath

Sport Balls Replaced With Cats

The clue's in the name. Click here.




Vatican City: confusing

How Animals Eat

Sublime. Excellent deadpan.

Architecture of Density

Well, this is depressing - a photographic project showcasing the density of modern living in Hong Kong. Click here.




Not Where You Saw

'The riveting tale of one brother's courageous stand for justice.' Marvellous.

Chatroulette ‘Call Me Maybe’

Fire-breathing Dragon Bridge

Da Nang, Vietnam, is known as 'the city of bridges'. And now they've got one shaped like a dragon that breathes fire. But of course.
Click here to see.




Street View Hyperlapse

Google Street View Hyperlapse from Teehan+Lax Labs on Vimeo.

Friday, 5 April 2013

05/04/13 - Beer? Grog Noose.

It’s no coincidence that ‘George Osborne’ is an anagram of ‘ogre’s ego boner’. The smug-faced anus of Tatton has done a remarkable job of taking the reins of a fucked economy and charging it headfirst into the murky waters of totallyfuckedness, all the while wearing a despicably creepy smirk and generally being an unlikeable arse. Well, George, fuck you and fuck your Budget. We’ve got a number of ideas right here that will get the economy shipshape in no time. The first step of the programme is to take that enormous house of yours and push it slowly and methodically into your backside, chimney-first, right down to the foundations, so that it’s wearing you like a skin-jumper – not that this would help at all, we just don’t like you. And once that’s achieved, we can move on to implementing the following concepts. Step aside, Bullingdon shitbag – we can take care of it from here. Go and steal some lollipops from schoolkids or something, play to your strengths. (Honestly, your Labour-voting mother must be bloody ashamed of you.)

Legalise all drugs
Sounds bonkers, but this will sort things out quick-sharp. Osborne’s 2013 Budget continued the tradition of taxing booze and fags just enough to make it look like they’re discouraging people without actually doing so – the tax revenues are enormous, so why not legalise everything and tax that too? 
This is a point that JuicyPips made back in October 2009; if it had been implemented back then, you’d all be living in gold-plated houses and driving Rolls-Royces by now.
Legalising everything just makes sense. It’s really short-sighted to assume that criminalising recreational drug use will reduce incidences of it happening. If people want to have a relaxing joint or a crafty line at the weekend then they’re going to do it. The benefits of making every drug legal are obvious: firstly, of course, it will rapidly diminish the organised crime network. The majority of organised crime centres around three areas – drugs, prostitution, human trafficking. Legalise the former two and the crime bosses’ sole revenue stream is the latter; with fewer police chasing after respectable citizens who like a cheeky toke or a handjob in a layby, they can refocus their efforts on cracking down on the human trafficking thing. Job done.
With all drugs available through official channels, authorities can control the content. Purity levels will be assured (value for money there), while harmful ingredients will be eliminated: with fewer people unwittingly snorting rat poison, pressure on the healthcare infrastructure will be relieved. Also, do the obvious thing: tax drugs. The government can take a cut of every pill, every gram, every eighth, and pump the vast profits into healthcare, education, the whole shooting match. Yes, you may find a slight rise in the number of recreational drug users initially, but a) the pros of the system outweigh the cons by far, and b) look at the Amsterdam model: do they have a weed epidemic? Of course not. People know what they want to do, they’re not stupid.
The only reason this idea hasn’t been mooted before is that there’s no way any party would ever get in with such a policy – the Daily Mail would have a field day.
JuicyPips isn’t afraid of the Daily Mail. Let’s fight intolerance with intolerance!

Promote smoking
Let’s not be coy. People smoke. There’s money to be made here, right?
To pluck a random example out of the air, look at the field of motorsport sponsorship. Some of the most iconic and memorable liveries have been nicotine-themed: the JPS Lotus F1 cars and Rothmans rally Escorts of the seventies, the Marlboro Ferraris of the nineties… and then there was the embarrassment when cigarette advertising was allowed in some countries and not others, so that cars sponsored by Benson & Hedges had dumb slogans like ‘Buzzin’ Hornets’ plastered across them when they raced in the UK, and then it all just spiralled into silliness.
Bring it back. Put tobacco advertising on things. Let them sponsor TV shows. Give them back their billboards. There’s a shitload of tax revenue to be made by recruiting new smokers. Think of them as sacrifices for the cause.

Make people with self-inflicted maladies pay for their own healthcare
Obvious, this. The NHS is a magnificent, spectacular thing that I can’t praise highly enough. But it’s obvious that it’s massively over-stretched, and that isn’t fair on anyone. The idea here is to direct its good work only to those who need it through no fault of their own; people with diseases, people who’ve had accidents and so forth. Anyone who requires medical care because they’re fat, or they’ve been fighting in the pub, or they’ve been smoking sixty Marlboros a day for sixty years, should be presented with a bill at the end. You got yourself into it, you knew the risks, stop making other people pay for your treatment.
(Any care and treatment surrounding pregnancy and child-rearing is exempt from this, of course – yes, you [probably] made the baby on purpose, but your sprog will be pumping money into the economy further down the line. Playing the long game.)
This closes the perfect smoker loop, as you get money from them twice – once on the tax revenue from the ciggies, and once from the treatment of their emphysema/whatever.

Bring back window tax
It may sound horrendously draconian and, well, evil to be actively gearing Britain toward becoming a nation of shadow-dwelling hermits, but let’s be honest, the government has that whole evil vibe in spades. If the Osborne/Cameron/Clegg clusterfuck announced that they were bringing back window tax, no-one would be that bloody surprised. C’mon, it’s not that far removed from their bedroom tax…
The British window tax of 1696-1851 is the reason that so many buildings of the era have bricked-up window frames, often that were sealed right from the start and have never had glass in them. And that’s something we could embrace – build new houses with no windows. Force the poor to brick up their windows and live in the dark.
Hey, if everyone’s got rickets because they actively chose to seal up their windows, they’ll have to pay for their own treatment. More money for the coffers!

Filter 1% of TV phone-in money to the Treasury

It’s an embarrassing truism that far, far more people vote in X Factor and its kind than in local and general elections. This isn’t something that’s going to go away; indeed, with a growing percentage of TV shows centring around the reality phone-in mechanism, it’s bound to increase. People will pay premium rate to influence the outcome of something that ultimately has no bearing on their own existence, beyond being able to say ‘yeah, he won that talent show because I was one of eight million people that wanted him to’. And then Simon Cowell buys another Bugatti.
None of these dullards will care (or even notice, probably) if you add 1% to the cost of each call or text, and filter said amount to the Treasury. And that’ll add up to a fucking shitstorm of cash.

There you go, sorted. You’re welcome.

Interestingly, another anagram of ‘George Osborne’ is a description of his typical day: ‘Gorge. Sneer. Boo.’
Yeah, take that.







The best Beach Boys video EVER

It's the handclaps that get me. Magnificent.

Look At Me

'Look At Me' showcases a whole world of old photographs that have been lost, misplaced or forgotten; be they found in the street or bought in a thrift store, it's like looking into the past through a sepia kaleidoscope. Click here.





Shadow Pico

This is brilliant - a One Direction video, redubbed to be a chilling art-house movie. (Watch it with the captions on for maximum lols.)

Honest Trailers - Les Misérables

Ha! I wasn't planning on seeing this anyway, but it's nice to have my decision so devastatingly ratified.

Girls of eBay

This Tumblr is a celebration of all the women you find on eBay modelling things in questionable ways, and generally looking a bit silly. Click here.





The Internet is Bewildering

The Shining: deliberately confusing

A fascinating look into how Stanley Kubrick used Escher-style spatial awareness & set design anomalies to disorientate viewers. Behold:


Politiwankilols

More fine work from Cassetteboy.

Russell Hobbs Unboxing

Hurrah! An unboxing video that's not shit!

10-octave Range

This is the most amazing thing you'll hear today. But not for the reason you expect.

Insane in the Mainframe