I find the idea of transferring a brain to a machine strange. When the technology becomes available, would many people really be clamoring for it? I feel like there would have to be something pretty terrible happening to cause widespread use, like a super-plague wiping out a huncha-buncha people or something. I think people enjoy romping and other things they can do with a human body too much to make the switch.
One thing I see as possible however is the use of the technology on the elderly. They would be shuffled in to a massive 'golden' array of computers in Florida. Of course then we'll have to visit them every once in a while, and it's just that the server room has a weird odor about it is all.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Let me let you in on one of the best kept secret of single mothers: Frans™ brand paste. I couldn’t possibly tell you every use this versatile wonder product is good for, but I will list among my personal favorites.
-Stained metal hangers? Frans™ it right out!
-An unlifted refrigerator? Raise the stakes with Frans™.
-Taking apart all of your plumbing? Frans™ in an iced tea keeps it cool.
-Have phantom ants? Put Frans™ in a baggie with some lemon juice and shake until frothy, then pour it around all your windows and doors.
-Wondering if you should have gone into textile importing? Put a dab of Frans™ on a cotton swab and gently clean around your nose with it.
-Road Trip? Frans™.
-Winding up an old music box that’s been passed down for generations? Speed up the process with a bit of Frans™!
-Bisquick boring your kids? Make Francakes™!
-Telephone bill too pricey? Replace your home phone service for only $19.95 a year with Frans™.
-Going to leave your life behind and need to fake your own death in a convincing way? Frans™ in the freezer overnight creates the perfect body double for your 'car into the ravine' scheme.
These are just a few of the ways that I use Frans™ brand paste everyday. I encourage you, as one single mother to another, Go pick up a pack of Frans™ brand paste from your local grocer, hardware chain or furniture shop!
About the Author:
Melony Greene is a Mother, Crafter and Editorialist for the Statesboro Sun 'Around the House' Column.
Fran™ brand paste is a product of Franco industries and should only be used for the purpose of adhering light items to your walls and should not be used for the proceeding or the following activities; pet maintenance, heating and uncooling, grill based experimentation, number crunching, water sking, entertaining, bootlegging, crawfishing or recycling in the states of NY, NJ, MN, CA and WA. Franco industries is not liable for any criminal charges brought against you for the misuse of Fran™ or Diet Fran™ brand paste. © 2011 Franco industries Jillbe, CA.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
A dear friend of mine was mangled this past weekend, and I did it to them. As I was horsing around on my couch, attempting to become an airplane, I came down on he with a heavy elbow. His left arm snapped off without much fanfare, but he was rendered useless in a single moment. We've had our moments of trouble in the past, a loose screw here, a missing lens there, but this time the damage was irreversible. My beloved pair of glasses is no more. Though they toughed it out with a splint made from a match and some blue tape on the drive back to Atlanta, I feel a retirement is necessarily to save us both the embarrassment and shame.
I would now like to say some kind words in memorandum of my glasses:
-Their large lenses provided a mostly frame free viewing angle of some of my favorite things like birds and movie screens.
-They were assembled in China, making them more traveled than I.
-Though the lenses were often smudged with greasy fingerprints, they never complained.
-They turned in to sunglasses in the daylight, even if I didn't want or ask them to.
At this point if you wish, I implore you to click this media file and take a few moments to look deeply into the glasses and remember a point in which they made you smile. Please do not look into my eyes though.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
The Turner turned to see who had let forth the shrill scream; an old lady dangled helplessly from a windowsill. “Hang on miss, I’m coming right up!” the turner yelled upwards as he raced for the door of the high rise apartment complex. The Turner usually took the stairs, as it was the only time he could take a turn every 12 steps and still go in a consistent direction, but time was of the essence, so he took the elevator. The Turner was pleasantly surprised when the door opened up behind him as it stopped at its destination. A straight hallway stood before him. A scream echoed from the last door on the left. “Miss! Grab hold of my hand!” the Turner yelled to the dangling elder. “Though first, I must know” he paused, pulling his outreached hand back slightly “What was the color of your last bowel movement?” “WhaAAat?” she responded. “The color madam, was it more of a caramel brown or a sandy green?” At that moment the woman lost her grip. She plummeted, splattering on the concrete below.
The Turner looked down for a while at the gathering crowd before proceededing to the deceased’s bathroom to see if he could scrounge up some evidence. As he sat on her raised toilet seat cover he pictured the woman pulling her drawers down and squatting over the hole clenching her bottom. The Turner closed his eyes as his hand slid down his skintight suit. At that moment there was a knock on the door, The Turner had to think fast. “Sir, what in the hell are you doing” the officer said upon seeing the spandexed man standing in drag before him. “I’m just finishing up here officer.”
Down at the station The Turner looks through the bars of his cell. He had already rotated 2880 degrees and had gleaned all of the subtleties of his constrained space. He could hear all of the screams in front of him, though he wasn’t worried in the least about those but rather, the ones that came from behind him, which were giving him goose-bumps.”THEY NEED MY HELP” he screamed, clenching the vertical metal bars. “you know officer, I’ve noticed you’re walking a little funny . How many bowel movements have you had in the last 24 hours?” he whispered.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
At the dawn of time there were three things; tubes, crescents and mustard. Mustard likes downloading movies using torrents, but it rarely keeps the file active to share with other users. Mustard regularly gives its old shirts to the Goodwill center down on 32nd and Three-pine, but I saw him shoplifting there just the other day. When I was a boy, my father dreamed that one day I would grow up and become a successful mustardpreneur. A vigorous session of ‘Kick-bow’ is a good way to work up a good thirst for mustard. “Mustard, Grab a tube and squeeze it into your mouth”. “Mustard, better than you might imagine it”. The only reason that Milk isn't mustard is because it wasn't ambitious enough. Jenny. Jenny listen closely, I need for you to take off that necklace, Jenny. Rhinos use their tails in surprising new ways on a daily basis, thanks to their generous sponsors, Mustard Co. Mustard takes its life one day at a time since the accident. What a brave boy you’re being Jenny, I'm so proud of you. Before trying down the final design of his new invention, ‘the pillow’, William Sir Billiby attempted to fill his sack with mustard. Will the desire to survive outshine the desire to smear mustard and hot fudge onto a sundae? A wise man must know. Surely he must know.
Monday, May 16, 2011
today is my birthday, i am 7 years old today. my mom said that tonigh we would go and pick out a cake from
the food lion and that i could get whatever color icing i wanted. i pick out my greenist shirt from my dresser drawer because it is my favorite color and i feel like a ninja turtle with it on. for fun i desided that i would take a thing from my room to school today since it is my birthday and all. so i choose my baseball bat but my mom told me that i couldnt even on my own 7th birthday but maybe on my 8th one? i didnt know what else i could bring that would make me as happy as my bat, so i chose the funny framed future box. on the way out the door my mom told me to be careful of the time space conundrum but i didnt know what she ment. i noded and she kissed me good by.
on the bus stinky aron sat down next to me but since it is my birthday i didnt say anything mean to him like that he smelled like a elefents butt and that his hair looked like spageti sause was dried in it. during recess i took out my magic future frame and looked at todays picture, it was of a can of glitter. kelly and samantha came up to me and asked what i was holding and i told them that it was none of there dumb buisness! they ran to ms. julians and she made me show her the picture. after ms. julians saw the picture she told me not to be mean to kelly and samantha and she even made me apoligize on my birthday. at lunchtime ms julians called the class to the center of the room and announced that it was my birthday. i told everyone that i was seven and every sang me the birthday song.
after lunch jonah and wren and kyle came up to me and started teasing me about being the birthday boy. i told them to shut up and kyle grabbed my backpack and they threw it arround. i told them to be careful but they didnt care and they dropped it. when i looked inside the frame was chipped on one corner. i was relly scared about the space time contraneum so i told the guys they were in real trouble and that i would tell my mom that they did it!
during arts and crafts i glued the chip down and it was good as new but then the glass in the back fell out and it broke on the floor into a million peices! suddenly everyone seemed to just disapper from the plane of reality and i just knew that i was in the biggest trouble. i was floating in the arts room and the math room at the same time and i saw my own meat floating outside of and around me. i felt as if i were never and allways. all i could see in the sky was a canister of glitter i suddenly felt sticky and sharp at the same time and the back of my head and gravity dripped down my leg. suddenly i saw me and i was blowing out the candles to my food lion cake and holding a baseball bat. i knew that it was me on my 8th birthday. i wish i were me at age 8. as i reached for a piece of my future cake i noticed that my 8 year old self was missing his eyes. i looked down at the color of my shirt and noticed that i had gone blind. all of existance ended on my 6th birthday. the end.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Day thirteen: We must be nearing land, as the cargo is just about ripened. Today I awoke to find that my eight legged roommates were back. If spiders weren't brainless survival machines they might hold it against me that I had days earlier squashed their forefathers against the dirty walls of the box. When I was a boy, Spiders were among the greater causes of concern. As time, passed those worries had to be focused on girls, getting a stable job in manual labor and eventually, my current journey. Why do they always go for the neck?
Day fourteen: The clementines I ate today were sweet and juicy, which made them much more enjoyable on a scale that wasn't tainted by starvation. The spiders are a constant annoyance, as I wish they would feast on the nectar of the fruit rather than the nectar of me. There is a rash forming on my lower neck where I've suffered the most bites.
Day sixteen: My neck continues to itch, but the crew's recent attitude leads me to believe that we are near our final destination. The number of seeds I've collected thus far: 18. The spiders have started behaving in a way most peculiar, as if they have come to revelation that on the other side of this boat ride, they will still be heavily persecuted and hated by all. They have been much more mellow and cautious, a quality in insects that I do not trust. Before, cornering one would lead to raised front legs, now they seem indifferent.
Day seventeen: I remember the first day at my job picking clementines, how we were told that depending on the destination of the batch, we had to pick at varying levels of unripeness. Our biggest importers, Australia and Israel had vastly different picking schedules which caused lots of confusions, mix-ups and verbal/physical abuse from our superiors. The spiders are wedging themselves into nooks of the crate in a most unnerving way.
Day eighteen: For the first time on the voyage, I worry that there might not be enough food for me to make it all the way; the thought scares the hell out of me so I try and put it in the back of my mind. Somehow the American folk song ‘Love Shack’ became stuck in my head and while it gives me some peace of mind, it wears thin quickly.
Day nineteen: Small crate is a little old place where, I sit rationing fruit. Small crate baby. I am convinced that we’ve strayed off course along the way; I heard two of the crew members speaking ill of the captain’s competency. When I woke up this morning the spiders were all gone. I got me a seed, that makes about twenty so c'mon and bring the shore on honey.
Night nineteen: I was jolted awake by a terrible shake, there is much yelling; I'm trying to hear what they're saying but the storm is making it difficult. Somehow I think that this might be a bad thing.
The boat is definitely not right side up anymore; as the remaining clementines have formed a pile in the corner. I don't know what else to do but write. The box is far too sturdy to kick open, so I suppose I can at least transcribe my last thoughts before I drown in a salty fruit cocktail. The screams of the crew has turned to a dreadful silence, with the only remaining sound that of rain on the metal hull.
Reality is cold and wet; the water is rising in my box. On the bright side, I learned that clementines float. I'm now writing upside down on the top of the crate, and I'm for the first time feeling that my space pen is being fully utilized. Water has reached my genitals (that's always the worst part). I hear sirens! Do they have those on naval boats? I hope whomever arrived likes citrus. I think it's time I stop writing, as yelling might be my best chance right now. If these are my final words, let the world know of them.