Let’s face it, if you were to pick the field of science that could wipe out humanity in the coolest way, it has to be robotics.
Some guys at the University of Reading wanted to build a robot that measures people’s reactions to itself. Well, clearly this baby is optimised for generating fear:
The robot is so scary that the University’s ethics committee forced them to put a sign up declaring under 18’s not be allowed in without an adult. A quote from the article:
A University of Reading spokesperson said the college is confident that its policies are “successfully maintaining appropriate ethical practices for research”.
… for now. How long before someone gives in to temptation and gives it chainsaw-arms?
Also:
Morgui, which is Mandarin for Magic Ghost, cannot experience emotions
Wow, this guy is totally set up to think fleshies are weak.
Hm - another night at the Kitten Club, and overlooking certain interpersonal events stemming from my poor judgement regarding a post on this board, it all went swimmingly. Somehow I don’t think I’m cut out for blogging - poor motivation, mediocre writing and too much blogging while stoned all contribute to a thoroughly captivating experience for the reader… provided the reader is a rhesus monkey whose brains have been replaced with a heaping spoonful of mashed potato.
Anyway, tonight.
It started a little slow, and according to some witnesses, my introduction of Yianni was less than impressive. Sorry Yianni. I tried to make up for it in the second half. Apparently, the first intro went like this:
Me: “Well, I’ve finished mucking around. Um.. you guys ready? Ok. Here’s Yianni.” [slow clapping]
A born showman I am not. However! Born showmen everyone else was (Yoda would be proud). They were great, kicking things off with the Kitten variation on “Die!”, which doesn’t have a name yet, but should probably be called “Die while singing!” because that’s exactly what it is. Essentially, the players are given a topic, and have to sing a story on that topic while the host’s finger is pointing at them. When his finger moves to someone else, they continue where the last person left off. If the new singer stammers or just looks at someone a little funny, everyone shouts “Die!” and we gun them to death on the spot. We go through a lot of players that way, but the ones that are left are _great_ singers.
Another notable game was an open scene, where the players can do whatever they like with no restrictions. Does this make things easier, you ask? Shut the fuck up.
“Sing about it” was great. Adam V. was a brilliant crotchety father, whose crotchety-ness reached scaled heights that Wurzil Gummidge could only dream of. He was prepared to wear out the back of his shirt for comedy, and that’s more than I can say for most people. The story centred on a young man who dreams of being an Archaeologist, but who is afflicted with a fear of heights so crippling he can’t stand up without falling over. The ending where he brought a cure for his father’s crotchy-ness back from Egypt 20 years later was surprisingly touching.
Anyway, by the end of the show everyone was ecstatic and the players got carried out on the shoulders of the audience, which looked a bit like an upside-down human pyramid.
Oh yeah, and my parents were there, and yet again they politely avoided mentioning how much we say the word “fuck”. I love my parents. Seriously. They’re awesome.
To the enlightened reader who posts comments like “boring”: What’s more boring, typing this crap or taking the time to comment on it? 
I’m having a good time. Are you?
Man, Al Qaeda is so desperate for mercenaries, they’ll train anything! [slaps thigh charismatically]
He’d better not get caught… he might get sent to the infamous “Camp Tickles”.
I was amazed to see that left-wing protest girls have finally acknowledged that they are likely to have more pubic-hair than their less politically-active, more sexually-oppressed sisters.
I’m not sure I’d trust her bush either. Anything could be hiding in there.
Speaking of labelling, oppressing, and demeaning women and judging them by unrealistic standards, check out the rack on this hot hippie chick:
That guy is all like “I can’t believe I have an excuse to stare at her chest!”.
I gotta hate the status-quo more, or something.
Alright - second blog posting! It’s only taken a week… but so much has happened!
However, I’ve censored it! Go me!
