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| YUGO |
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YUGO LABS |
| ALSO WIK |
| A minor hangup. | |
| Where can a guy get some fuckin' banana plugs in this town at 10:00 PM on a Sunday? | |
| Posted by Atomdrache @ 2010-02-07 23:43:00 | |
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You know when they are releasing mail order media compilations of the event B>B> Then that is taking as much TCP/IP as there is Noch |
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| Posted by wolf530 (analog hacker extraordinaire) @ 2010-01-30 21:38:00 | |
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| Benefit description of product | |
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#Durable and can be used repeatedly for a long time.
#Made of High-quality special materials. Not contain any harmful objects. #The rubber ring can preventsmoke and tar from leaking. |
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| Posted by wolf530 (analog hacker extraordinaire) @ 2010-01-30 21:11:00 | |
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| Dear Yugo Customer! the Latest Update for the Forum! | |
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If you are having trouble reading this email, go to Online derision Dear Yugo User: Our 24x7 forum web service provide a value-added service to your Online Yugo Website Account. Please ensure to have your registration validated by clicking on 15 Brandy St., 2nd Floor, AZ This hyper inter link is generated with exlcuisivity for your web viewing purposes only. If it does not copy and paste properly please switch to decaf and reboot your coffee pot. |
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| Posted by ...my name. is. THE PLAGUE @ 2010-01-26 02:04:00 | |
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| the morning wat | |
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helio balboa causes apoleptic conniptions across america in a currently unsubstantiated rumour of russian unrest. pectoral glands are firin' a-mighty as the goulosh mango unit attempt to discern the integrity of the situation.
evening jointment contamination results in swelling of the lymph noids and constant jugular action. johnson & johnson has been implicated, but denies responsibility. tropica fink waggers smurf across the stage in glamour-filled action fart of modern valium concentration. shaved poodles, dyed all the colors of the rainbow. coos and applause. rocky balboa rumoured to assault 27 teenagers with a telephone receiver. steroid use is suspected. we'll be right back, after these obnoxious noisy fings. k? k. |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2010-01-24 07:52:00 | |
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| a tactical conversation w/ dropz | |
| nougat mango cocktail pastry, add a sprig of parsely and bake at 450 for precisely 1.3 hours, garners genuine media sensation. don't trunk my funk, kabloop baclink. reggae wilson told me to tell you to tell lou that we're usin' his place 2nite. k? k. lou sed k? k. got dat mango mang. ya mang. vry good mang. srs. no u? wats dat? o. o yea. hows ur wife den. daaaaamn funkichop. o yea. well, anyways, got to spin the loop. laterz. k. ya. cya dropz | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2010-01-21 20:40:00 | |
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| ok now ya k | |
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The monks knew something was up. I wasn't moving like the other people around there, and for good reason -- the pills I'd acquired from a shady street vendor were in full effect. Still, I had enough marbles to remain polite and well-behaved, and so they just calmly kept an eye on me, as only monks at peace with Everything can do. Really, I just figured it would be a good thing to do in my current state of mind... furthermore, I had my good friend Lieutenant Burrito watching after me, and he had judged me capable of handling the situation, so off we went.
They had led us through a series of increasingly beautiful chambers, mumbling about religious things in increasingly vigorous broken english. Finally, we reached an alcove. The hallways had all been around ten feet tall, but here it opened up to easily five times that height. The square, tiled, wood panel motif continued for the most part, but became increasingly disconcerting as the eye travelled upwards. I started to feel like the mysterious morsel I had purchased and consumed at the market was jumping with glee. However, that's what myserious morsels do -- give you curious thoughts of anthropomorphic morsels jumping inside your guts. It's usually a sign that, in reality, you're about to hurl, or worse. But, this didn't feel quite like that. As I pondered it further, it stopped being a jumping bean and really reminded me more of a giant subwoofer pumping out some hoovers. With that conclusion, I stopped looking at the ceiling. How long had I been staring at it? No one was giving me The Eye, so I judged it hadn't been long. There were a pair of grand doors, succinctly decorated, largely camoflaged into the wall. Nothing like the ceiling. This was where we were to go next. I was unsettled by the seriousness of the ceiling, but the doors didn't seem to bad. They wrote that song about people being strange... no, wait, that's not right, I thought. A pair of monks straddled the doors, and pulled both open simultaneously, bowing as they did. I started to feel a slight edge of hoover again. Far out. I stepped into the room, and something hit me. It was reminiscent of every time I'd gone downhill on some sort of wheeled vehicle a tad too fast for my own good -- I started to fishtail, and WHUMP. I hit the wall. The monks surrounded me nervously, and I could hear a dozen voices saying, "Are you alright?" but I could not seem to see anyone's lips moving. Lieutenant Burrito was slooowly taking a swig off of his hip flask. I could understand the situation requiring a nip, but I wondered why he wasn't quicker about it. I put the situation aside and spelt out my planar stabalizers, wiggling my wrists in tandem malarky. My balance returned and I stood up. Lieutenant Burrito seemed to be moving normally again. "Sorry, just felt lightheaded..." I muttered, making a show of dusting myself off. The monks seemed to relax, vigorously. "We were not sure if we would have to remove you from the room," a voice in my head said. I looked around for the source of the voice, even knowing it sounded too internal to be outside of me... I was paying lip service to reality. I whirled around, observing my surroundings with a much less judgemental eye. I realized the room was like some sort of psychic superconductor, with the series of anteceding antechambers gradually stroking my magnetic field into the opposite polarity of the energy that this room was pulsing with. The mysterious pills seemed to have caused me to soak up excess magnetism like a fucking Doc Brown battery, and consequently, in this room, I was cookin' with gas. In the time it took a monk to inform Lieutenant Burrito, "We not sure if we have to have to remove him from the room, but ok now ya k" I had engaged in what seemed like years worth of conversation with the monks, sharing our life stories. It was like some sort of bizarre data synchronization. I felt nervous about retaining my individuality in the face of so much synchronization with people of different, but unified mindset... but, eventually, I realized that would not happen, because that would mean they would have to absorb my personality as well, and they thought I was batshit... but a nice batshit, we mean that in a nice way, they told me. As I surfaced from this, I started to consider reality again. I was still standing, the monk explaining to Lieutenant Burrito what happened. I realized I could freely leave my body and fly around the room -- but it was like a cage of sorts, I could not leave it. I returned to my body and asked the monks if I could perhaps have a laptop computer, preferrably one with internet access? A monk was already out the door to fetch a laptop by the time Lieutenant Burrito heard, "...ok now ya k". I sat down in front of the laptop. Disconcertingly, it was not set to English... I did not even recognize the glyphs. It was not an auspicious start. Still... I ran my palm over the beast, feeling its vibrations. More or less, I fell into it -- finding myself lost in a tumble of circuits and bus signals. It felt like hours I was bungling around in there, like a starving tourist with nothing tradable in a market where no one spoke his language. Finally, mercifully, I managed to get enough of a bearing to switch the laptop to english. It had been a pain in the ass, but realtime, it was still faster than actually using my fingers. That hurdle surmounted, I started to get a real feel for the laptop. Writing a silly little graphics display became like squiggling a pen. I turned my attention towards the wireless network interface, and, eventually, the internet. Then I logged onto http://www.ricedoutyugo.com/ and wrote this post. Then, I turned my eye to writing music software. |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2010-01-21 07:32:00 | |
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| A complete theoretical description of. | |||||||||
In order to proceed, we must first determine the spectral composition of Germany. The autocorrelation of Germany is given by
It follows, then, that pork is not well-described by Maxwell-Boltzmann statistics at low temperatures. We are obliged to note that our measurements may have been affected by zeppelin defects, inasmuch as these may have introduced systematic error to our data; however, the data are consistent with the observed distribution of lunar pork-gluon plasmas (figure 2).
We don't really know how this happens. |
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| Posted by Atomdrache @ 2010-01-18 03:04:00 | |||||||||
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| NOTICE! | |
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NOTICE: The output of this device is not sinusoidal. It has a total harmonic distortion of 45% and a maximum single harmonic of 35%. NOTICE: The output of this device is NOT sinusoidal. It has a total harmonic distortion of 45% and a maximum single harmonic of 35%. NOTICE: The output of this device is not sinusoidal. It has a total harmonic distortion of 45% and a maximum single harmonic of 35%. NOTICE!~ The output of this device is NOT SINUSOIDAL. It has a total harmonic distortion of 45% and a maximum single harmonic of 35%. |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2010-01-18 00:41:00 | |
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| typical reaction to riced out yugo #9 | |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2010-01-17 05:12:00 | |
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| avatar wat | |
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Avatar Glitch from Riced Out Yugo on Vimeo. |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2010-01-17 00:35:00 | |
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| L'AUGHEX TWIN | |
| L'AUGHEX TWIN L'ELKTRONIC GIGDITAL MUS.IC M.IRCROCROSMRIC SPINDLE, D.I.GG MY SPIRAL, &C. &C. F.1NK R.BTC 2@1.L1 ___-- KLR1. B.URN AFTER READING. | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2010-01-09 23:38:00 | |
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| dex morkley | |
| so i was scramblin' 'bout lizzardule when me pancreas gave out. the season being that of pine noses, i was facing an acute sensation pertaining to the number of pigeons currently roosting on the lourve. elves obligated me to explain myself to the vending machines; i kind of felt bad for the poor bastards anyways. who was lord kelvin to krpppt? in any case, the aforementioned acute sensation was causing discrete shifts in my tangibility matrix. i'd properly calibrated column A2 the previous night, but now it was coming rather unwound. i stroked the tuning peg gently and called it pet names. i concentrated on the image of a hip flask, lit a match, and that was all she wrote -- the hippo was robotic. little man inside working it. you never know when wildlife is really robotic. more to come when it comes. | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2010-01-09 23:26:00 | |
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| 99QQQQQQ | |
| MULTI-DECIMAL EXPANSION EMERGENCY. HUMOROUS SIBOBORGAN TRANSPORTED TO LIPOSUCTION CLINIC. DOCTORED FETUS DISQUALIFIED FROM SKEEBALL. TUBULAR SKIRT DISCOUNTED AT GREAT PERIL TO MANKIND. SYNTHISIZED CUSTARD DECLARED CAVALIER. MELLON-BRIMMED HATS SEQUESTERED. | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2010-01-09 22:45:00 | |
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| norma's pudding | |
| oh, really. it's got that thudd, darling. i simply can't combine. chaltruz, you know, whatever. her chestice was magical. simply lemon. she had that mindset, you know, like an open room with white at the top opening up into the heavens. good thing we bought suitcases at the mall. tubular larbinicide of the carbonated derangement cyclitude excrosting lint filters. formodynastic implements of the fullbright sail coalition. de-elkining monastic lerfarygo of the id. anyways, i've got to go, doomits is on. | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2010-01-09 20:19:00 | |
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| ALWAYS REMEMBER~! | |
| ALWAYS REMEMBER: you can't have q without u, because the letter q is just an abstract concept that can't exist outside a conscious mind. | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2010-01-08 18:36:00 | |
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| Prelude to the mycelium crisis. | |
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ï¼’ï¼ï¼‘ï¼å¹´ï¼ï¼‘月ï¼ï¼”æ—¥ I seriously need those Russian teacakes back as soon as you're done with them. I just want you to know that we are dealing with some very disturbed individuals. |
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| Posted by Atomdrache @ 2010-01-04 23:21:00 | |
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| everybody stretch 'n' wiggle | |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2010-01-03 14:02:00 | |
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| u step u die | |
| don't take that tone with me -- i know kung fu. you know, tae kwon doe. drunken boxing. i know how to eff u up. don't make me bust u up man. i got a lamp. i know serious kicking maneuvers. even your boogers will hurt. i got sharp fingernails -- pierced piercings, tattooed tattoos. i got legit that won't quit. u gonna get schooled. tank your buritos to the cashup counter, 'cuz ur dun 4. eye will squash u like the fly u r. i will snap ur back liek a toothpick. my boss is the best. i know sendmail technique. your kung fu no good. my style is the best. u goin down. u goin down even faster than ur mom. u goin down faster than a microwave in an amish household. sinkin like a lead hat in a fishing pond. proper banjo'd m8. befukqt. in short, you're | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2010-01-03 11:49:00 | |
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| diddy sandwich | |
| no, don't want that walrus. f5 again, this time i get the delightful tones of an iced skyneedle. did i ever mention that i once dropped an F-Bomb on public FM radio? i don't think the FCC ever found out. don't tell them, they might come arrest me, and i'm hungry. i'd eat my sandwich now, but it's still in the tin foil and kind of cold. sandwiches are strange like that -- a sandwich acquires a certain pizazz after it's been out of the fridge all day, hiding in your lunch pale... a flavor of wisdom and experience. in the refridgerator, the sandwhich is in stasis... but once outside, the sandwhich slowly whithers away. it starts to experience death, and consequently life. i briefly considered microwaving the sandwich to short-circuit the process, but something tells me the results won't be palatable. there is something similar going on with ketchup -- ketchup from a newly-opened bottle of ketchup tastes different from a been-open-a-while bottle of ketchup. restaurant ketchups have a similar distinctive taste -- i could pick all three out blind, i swear. for this reason, yugo labs is in the market for a qualified biochemist. we need answers, understanding. call extension 1210 and ask for sandwich. | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2010-01-03 09:07:00 | |
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