Musikal Time Machine

Music keeps really good time. Sometimes it switches timebases mid-flow. Except it appears to always be metronomic and consistently periodic. It would be sweet to steal a time machine and go back and listen to really old music. Before strings and metallurgy and such. Maybe those old old compositions were the inspiration for timekeeping, or maybe timekeeping was the inspiration for music. Either way it'd be ironic and symmetric that your time machine went back to research
music and in the process started creating music. See all you really got to do to build yourself a time machine is to play some music. Do it. You'll see. Back, back, back in time you go. To do it right of course and transport yourself physically back in time is gonna take some pretty crazy loud noise. So I hope you have understanding neighbors. While you're back there please dont step on anything, or give it a cold. I don't want you changing my present into your non-linear, unintentional temporal mistake.

The Golden Wumpus

Once in a land far, far, away there was a tree. Now this was by all accounts an ordinary tree. Indeed, being a perfectly ordinary tree ment that it didn't go to the ATM all that often. In fact never. Not even once. For during it's brief lifespan of 12 and 7/8 years it never once uprooted itself and walked to an ATM. Now of course it never will. At least not in the sense of being a tree. For you see, a supernova in your celestial backyard is a world shaping event. Much like the invention of frictionless steam propulsion. So the next thing you know, this tree is all blasted into molecular oblivion and stuff. Bit's and pieces flying all about the ethers, as the entire planet was forcibly reassembled in a surprisingly large, fast, and rather destructive manner. This little tree ended it's brief sojurn upon it's earth and was replaced by an amalgamation of gold atoms. The kind that form as all manner of forces bend and crush things into things which are different than the things of which they previously were. Now this tree happened to be a tree, now it happened to just be a bunch of gold atoms... winging their way out the vicinity of the cataclysm. As everybody knows you don't mock a wumpus. If you don't, you will. Especially don't infuriate a wumpus who's just eaten half a parsec of former planetary remains and just discovered that it was laced with gold particles. Don't say I didn't warn you. Not like you have any excuse for mocking a golden wumpus, as they are rather hard to mistake for a normal wumpus, whilst giving off a nice radioactive afterglow. At any rate steer well clear of them. You never do know, they could end up meeting up with the golden calf and next thing you know you've gotten yourself halfway to a menagerie of golden themed animal/god-like creatures to contend with.

Are you being served?

In the world of instant communication, television, intarwebs, cell-phones and twisted-pair spooky action at a distance entanglements this critter dares ask the question... am I being served?

Indeed you are my friend, indeed you are.

Electronic mana raining from the heavens, filling your little head with all manners of thoughts. 24/7 entertainment straight cross the pipes and into your abode.

Served like nobodies business. In fact, tis time for contrarian Bob to make an appearance... it's EVERYBODIES business you are into.

Now that the world is your circus and your digital daily bread is delivered straight into your sparking little ne0-cortex of utter impressibility. You ARE BEING SERVED.

More to come

Welcome to vertigo

Cantor, Boltzmann, Godel, Turing. Meet Adams.

Sometimes the restaurant at the end of the universe does indeed serve the best possible BLT.

Question being, is a BLT still a BLT if there is no-one there to taste it?

Though reality is simply a milk-shake, and yes, you can get fries with that.

Oh, and by the way.... This is true. QED.