Thursday 29 September 2011

99 Bottles of Beer in Urban Mueller's BrainF***

by Ben Olmstead

ANSI C interpreter available on the internet; due to
constraints in comments the address below needs to have the
stuff in parenthesis replaced with the appropriate symbol:


Believe it or not this language is indeed Turing complete!
Combines the speed of BASIC with the ease of INTERCAL and
the readability of an IOCCC entry!


Thursday 15 September 2011

Spotlighting our beloved Silent Penguin or how to find your head with two hands and a flashlight

It's not every day an editor gets spitlighted by another editor, especially an iconoclast of the elk of Silent Penguin.  The Seppy and I were having a heated discussion about whether there is a difference between "nothing" and the number zero.

So, earlier that day, I had grabbed a ReCaptcha phrase (EWxceeed action) and stored it in the doggie poop box, for possible use as an article title. On the back left burner, I had a pot with EWxceeed action simmering on low, while arguing with Seppy about this crucial idea, upon which the very foundations of Illogimedia may or may not depend. 

All of the sudden...
So, we wrote  EWxceeed action or the article that wrote itself.  Anything you may have missed here, you will get if you read it. 

The reason it was an article which wrote itself is that I had pasted a huge waste of seemingly random text into the article, and was about to save it, when the computer apparently saved it of it's own will.  Of course, my wife and I prostrated ourselves before the laptop, much to the surprise of our dog, Frunobulax.  Next, I added the part about the article writing itself to commemorate this act of Divine Providence, or something.  

Afterward, I noticed a warning on the top of the page about the size of the file I had just saved, and that some browsers may have trouble with it, and I surmised that somehow this was connected with the providential saving of the file.  Bubble burst, shoulders drooped, I shuffled off into the kitchen to get some ice cream.

This chicken (pictured) has zero heads. That is not the same as saying, "The chicken head is nothing". I win. 

Wednesday 14 September 2011

Monopoly.......hours of fun or torture?

Yesterday, my whiny pobrecita of a niece was begging me to play the world's most famous board game with her..... that one with the guy with the funny top hat on the box...... the one that breaks many Supreme Court decisions..... that one? Ah, forget it. I'll look at the top of my post. Monopoly, eh?

I broke out the board only to find that my niece was too busy talking to her boyfriend of the millisecond to play the game she begged me to play with her. Soon after that, he threatened to break my nose when I told her to get off the phone. She (eventually) did, and we started to play. I was none other than the money sack, to symbolize greedy crapitalism. She was the dog, because it was oh-so-cute!

We played for hours on end, accumulating money that you would be tasered for if you tried to spend anywhere else, and streets in Bruce Springsteen's homestate. Bruce would be so proud as I bought the boardwalk, where he probably made out with that prom queen or whatever on.

Anyway, when playing this aging classic, I realized a central truth: Technology is a beautiful new innovation. Because being the Banker took a lot out of me, as it was way too much math. I responded by buying the computer version of Monopoly.

Robots are going to take over the world as we're too lazy to do this crap ourselves. We will rely on these things to take showers, eat, brush our teeth, and just about everything else. If the power goes out during the storm, we're screwed. Good night, and bad luck.

Tuesday 13 September 2011

Here I am.....

Here I am, Colonel Sanders, Illogicopedia extraordinare. I have contributed 180 mad ramblings for the site, and am ready to grunt out my insanity on the IllogiBlog as well. I went through a very secret process with the owner of the Blog, Sir Harry Yak. I sent him my private information, namely my email address and social security number. I approved his request, and created an account for the great internet anti-privacy mogul, Google. Wait, they're probably reading this right now! Oh noes! I hear the cop cars!!!!!

Bloody miscreants. As a new blogger, I suppose I should give my mission statement:

I pledge to you, the reader, to publish stuff that doesn't make a shred of sense for your amusement. I will not allow myself to divert into insightful commentary on meaningful things.

Well, that's about it for now. Colonel Sanders signing off, reminding you to eet moar chickun!

Monday 12 September 2011

A Chicken in need, is a Magnate in deed

This Editor's spotlight shines like a MASER upon the most notorious of our chicken-banana related love stories and self-proclaimed banana-storage Ouroboros.  This dude is sure to sneak up on your article, give is a perusal and tell you why you're nose is the Cheez Whiz. 

Not old enough to have a father that smelled of elderberry, this plucky fellow has the chicken parts in his bosom to pursue a righteous path of Illogic.  By now you know we speak of Colonel Sanders.  Supreme Overlord over yonder, at Simple English Uncyclopedia the ovine crenulator endeavors to smear the planet with the raw craziness that hamstrings his career as a goal tender for Australian Rules Jousting.

Most notable among this avian miscreant's attributes is his superior skills at crushing babies.  Never has the world of competitive baby crushing seen such a cut, regal yet slimy champion, a record breaker among giants in the field.  Please join us on Setemper 9J at the Lowell Memorial Auditorium at the first annual world Class Baby Crushing event, where this fine young man will represent us.

Friday 9 September 2011

I am not a number, I am a free man!

Our Klingon correspondent TheHappySpaceman, also known as Klingon Man or Dan the Hedgehog, recently woke up with a huge hangover and not remembering what had happened the night before. Luckily, he had his camcorder with him.
"Where am I?"
"In the village."
"What's for breakfast?"
"Buttered scones."
"What do you want?"
"Like, what kind of information?"
"Your family cookie recipe."
"You won't get it!"
"By hook or by crook, we will."
"Who are you?"
"The new #2."
"Dare I make a joke about number two having an alternate meaning for dung?"
"Who is #1?"
"Who the hell knows? Anyway, you're #69."
"I am not a number! I am a free man! Though, that is quite a good selection you made for which number I am..."

Luckily, Dan woke up lying on his couch. Realizing that he had been watching too much of
The Prisoner recently, Dan turned on a Star Trek and went back to bed.

Thoughts on thoughts

These thoughts are about weird thoughts.  We all have them sometimes.  I suspect some contributors to Illogicopedia have them more often than some.  Witness Salvador Dali in this picture.  That dude's got some awesomely weird thoughts.  Talking Heads?  More weird thoughts about water at the bottom of the ocean and such. If you're hoping for some deep analysis of the weirdness of people generally and ?pedians specifically, I only say, I am not here to disappoint.  Really, that's all I have to say.

What to do, when you don't know if it's actually a bot

When my email comes in from Anonymous on this blog, I like to file it without reading until such time as I am in the proper frame of mind to savor such dreck.  This particular one, from a fellow named Andreas Rotea, made me wonder, though.  Does any blog rate for this sort of treatment? 

So, I went to check this fellow's site out.  Wowsers!  Andreas could help me  do something I can do myself for low costs.  Inspired, I read everything he had to say. 
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Where do I sign up?!?!  Jesus, there are a million tools on the internet designed to facilitate the distribution of drivel in droves.  Why do I need Andreas? By the way, I didn't use his real name.  Looking at his pidgin web site, he struck me as stupid, self-important and litigious.

Retractable Landing Gear Week

They want us to be distracted.  We're all stupid to them.  We don't lust after the Benz, the private jet... the social games... so, we must be stupid.  So, they make sure we only get to choose the most stupid of the stupid.

There was a time when having a university degree conveyed a good likelihood that you were somewhat well-read, and could manage to discuss things a bit more crucial to the advancement of the species than Budweiser and what the kids want on TV.

We're in a sad state.  What do you want me to tell you?  That being said, we've always been in a sad state.  The pressures I complain of are simply inevitable.  If it weren't this, it would be that.

That being said, I recommend celebrating Retractable Landing Gear Week with aplomb and ashram.  Be classy, tell your neighbor their yard looks nice, wear a tight corset, tutu, gas mask, cowboy hat and cover yourself in Wesson Oil.

Thursday 1 September 2011

YABOS or Yet Another Burden On Society

I suppose it had to happen eventually.  Some weirdo up and decided that what the world needs is more dreck of our ilk in the form of the Illogicomedia  Foundation.  Founded by Cluck Loonie in the year Buckauwk, the illustrious organization claims to be able to predict earthquakes.  Previous attempts have failed capitally, primarily because there have been no previous attempts.  We must thank the Bard for his fevered hallucinatory efforts in this direction, since he did it.  Or rather, maybe we could condemn him as a purveyor of nonsense and such, corrupter of modern youthishness.

Meh... as long as he doesn't get his hands on any plutonium, the captain can say "Make it so" long into the morning hours, without fear of vampire attack. 

While we're on the subject, here's a whoring of my recent article,  Sandwich Demons.