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| YUGO |
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YUGO LABS |
| ALSO WIK |
| team building excercises | |
| Posted by shitbowl @ 2016-12-29 18:12:54 | |
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| things are broken | |
| because i am | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-12-15 10:00:52 | |
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| rtqp broke teh forumz | |
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hey rtqp y u brake forumz!? u playin wit crowz too much/?
hey rtqp y u broke forumz!? me and mahjonggg problably have cool chit to put on there and everyone wold like oit. hey rtqp y u brokin forumz?! ball wuz about to make to make a triumfant return. hey rtqp y u brakin forumz?! hyperfukbot gonna broke dat a££. |
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| Posted by shitbowl @ 2016-12-14 17:39:55 | |
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| counting crow | |
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Welcome to Module II of the Crow Drama Microcosm. perhaps stop by Module I: Operanting Cawndigitally.
The crows and I have a routine down, now: They wake me up at 6 or 7 in the ungodly AM. Perhaps even earlier. I then spend five minutes listening to their caucawphonic racquett and do my best to ruin it. To zippit. zip! zzz. Then the crows leave, and I sleep until perhaps 9 or 10. Then the crows return. If I need more sleep, I ruin their fun for another few minutes, and then we're good until 1pm. I wish they'd sort out that they can caw all they want at 6am, but, please, not in the tree next to my window? I didn't think crows were clever enough for that, but I may be wrong. Today was a 1pm day. I spent a third slice of five minutes ruining cawdom and got up. The crows are reliably irritating when I'm trying to sleep, but by the time i'm smoking a zig out on the elevated wooden on the back of the house thing, I am essentially "over it" and "whatever mang." Da crows can hear me through a closed plate-glass window from down the street, so I imagine my irritating noises come through crystal-clear when I'm actually outside. and over it, and actually awake, and feeling more mischevious than crabby. A single crow was cawing. The others had not returned; perhaps this one never left. As far. No, the other left... CAW! cawcaw. Pressurize your mouth so the area behind your upper-lip visibly bulges. Use your lower lip to hold your upper lip steady -- by the edges. The center of your upper lip begins to form an arc under these conditions, as as escapes out. The lower lip is used to control the size of the arc. The size of the arc determines the pitch of the resulting obnoxious lip-fart noise. It is one of these things I've always done, but never sat down and really sorted out properly. I had no reason to. It was a stupid mouth noise. Now that it's my go-to crow irritant, though, it's gotten real dialed in. My enveloping abilities are incredibly snappy. This has, oddly enough, elevated the dialogue. I was on the porch, today. Caw caw caw caPPPPPPpppprtTTT! silience. Caw CAW CPPPpppttt. ttt. t. silence. CAW CAW pppt. Do you see what he did there? He figured out I was going to zippinate him on the third caw and so stopped at two caws. this allows all the other crows to be sure that my irritating noise and his irritating noise are entirely separate events. He is victorious. They often are victorious, in fact, but they're sore losers, and you usually only have to win a few times to drive them nuts. Usually. Crows will start off at five CAWs, zippit. then three caws, zippit. two, zippit, and about half the crows get annoyed and flap off at this point. The game changes when you get down to a single CAW. If the crow has stuck around, it's one of the more dominant, aggressive ones. In crow poker, all the nervous nellys have folded and this crow is calling my bluff. The cawing goes from uniary CAW (Attack-Decay envelope) to CAAAaaaaawwwww Cawwwww cawww (ADSR envelope). As the crow has gone from sharp little pulses of noise to long bursts, quick little lip fart noises become rather ineffective. The only way to make it work is to interrupt them just-so: two thirds of the way through their final caw. A microsecond after their first caw starts -- they cut off, startled. you have to know precisely when the caw is coming to do that one -- it's like nailing the drop in NIN's "march of the pigs." i have to concentrate on the CAWs thoroughly to manage it, and most of the time i can't. Annoying an ADSR-stage crow produces a few types of results. One is a rhythmic clicking noise. I'm not sure what it means exactly, but if I had to take a stab in the dark, it's the crow equivalent of cussing someone out under their breath... but, yes, just loud enough so they can hear you, and yes, i am talking about you buddy, you fukin' guy. It's like an arpeggiated rhythmic clicking, though, and perhaps its a rhythmic kernel. The crow hears my rhythms are jarring into his and is attempting to beat match me to his tempo by providing a kernel of crow metronome... The second is a single CAaaAAAaaWWWwww. Deeply nuanced. Vaguely reminiscent of someone going STaaaahhHHppp! in many ways... but, angrier. Get off my lawn. I'm cawWWWwAaaawwing here. A handful of crows are just astoundingly into it -- and, yes, it's exactly like that "Staahhhp!" thing that people will do. It makes me giggle. Today, though, this crow was very cawnsistant. insistant. Smarter than usual. I got him down from five discrete AD-env CAWs to four. Usually crows will go down to three, but he tricked me and did two; My lip fart noise landed entirely outside of the crow-annoyance zone. I got him the next time on two, then he switched to ADSR-env. We dueled for a while. I actually struggle to think of how the crow could have played his hand any better, which is pretty impressively smart for a bird. Then my zig was almost smoek. No more messing around. I switch over from discrete lip-fart noises to singing loudly. It dawns on the crow that all the shit I just did was my AD-env-game, and my ADSR-env-game is something awful and terrifying and totally un-understandable by crows. The crow leaves. Tomorrow, I think I'll try using the Benny Hill theme for this situation, should it arise |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-11-28 20:08:15 | |
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| wat happen | |
| the website went away for a bit! then i got a 500! then a php error! now the forums aren't working! why do these problems keep happening? the answer: they keep happening because they've already happened and they are being recursively unhappened as happenly fast as possibru. take deep breaths. perhaps de-affix the layers of newsprint you've been using to eradicate all trace of sunlight | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-11-26 23:12:12 | |
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| talking with the interface again | |
| you got me walking on eggs, arnold, but i'm trying to make some sunny shine up but i'm i'm i'm i'm no general midi. no sir. rambleshelling up in the totes. totes. all. lee. now what? a teacup. white. floral pattern. on a saucer. no, a normal one, not one with whirlygiggLEDs. no, wait, i've lost it, i'm thinking of a drone that's an anti-anti-anti-drone done because who can keep up with that shit, these days? that teacup is buried in the attic somewhere. with the picnic. and the snicker-snack. the kerplutz. the kerpow. stored like a hoarding horder horde hoarding fuck m8 do you have a bit of trouble with that sometimes? yes, yes, and also yes. thank you, you've been a kind and understanding HTML form element | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-11-26 03:18:21 | |
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| fictional random walk | |
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eiwase osoutho d'bordeux von albert sed hallo. hallo albert! von blattplex not mit gebowserhausen. mit. nein. klapp. snare. no, the 808. it's 5x5, get it? cats down with the hypercube. alirhghttttt, g'day abalbberbbttt. b. vonamblen kintinisthetics along mittervovervobotten mitcheboygen gedunst gedunst gedunst. hallo peter! mitCheboygen hast d'nougaeuxte? ja. borp. sehr borp. blapp. snare. no, the 909. word, das hypercube. allblapp! snare peter bon bon. b. shuffletrausen kerslapp g'doeurvement compleux. walky mitvontchauelkiey. kerflailers mitgitgignite: kerbang! kerbang! hello officer. sorry for exploding noises in your area. snare. no, the CR-78. yessir, it's a very square cirtitizen of rumbleboxen. off with mine platter. p. less fanciggigleaux
daroundakornarenden den kersplode mit malarkerie: kerbang! kerplop! asplode! grandwawouldbdelight |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-11-25 02:18:42 | |
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| cartesian maximus | |
| flutter junket to the robot canal, first elbow connector under the sign for jaundice. no, the yellow one. by the river. in the bay. down by the boardwark. no, wark back. pereuive gone d'bouer | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-11-25 02:09:18 | |
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| operanting cawnditionally | |
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the crows again. and again and again and again. my current nook is, thankfully, free of crazy neighbors, but there is a little unrelenting echo of a certain someone in there: every morning, the crows wake me up.
there is a big tree right outside my window that is a tree island of sorts. every morning, crows begin to gather in the tree: caw! cawcaw caw! they are incredibly loud, and the position of the tree places them very close to my ears as i sleep. they wake me up. then they either keep me up, or wake me up right after i fall back asleep. their peak starts at sunrise -- 5 or 6am -- and lasts for hours. there was the familiar progression: "wat? oh. crow." to "lol" moves to "alright stop please" moves to "this is getting irritating" until finally "i am mad" hits after a week and a half and i am yelling out my window. at crows. they stop, briefly, then resume as they were. now wat? clearly, i have to take a more targeted approach. i surmise that the caw-ing is a form of sonic dominance, announcing claim over turf. the crows fan out and stake out a good spot and defend it like small air-raid sirens. at 5am. you bastards after outright yelling a few times didn't cut it, i'd like there in bed, making noises. singing sometimes. lip fart noises. seeing how much it took to get them to notice -- and i'd know when they noticed, because they'd stop caw-ing for a moment. it's like scene from austin powers where dr. evil is going: zzzip it! zippitudinal! zipps mccguillicutti! when a problem comes alonCAW CAWWccaAzzzip it! then silence... caw. cawCA- ZZZipp it! i'm gonna let you caw, but.... zip it. this was mostly done because i was too tired to get up but too harassed to fall back asleep. so i lay there, fucking with them. eventually, they left. for a few minutes... whenever they bothered me after that, i'd do the austin powers/zip it, i'ma let u caw, but... shit. i got very good at it. it actually began to get proper deep, in a sleep haze. my eyes closed, just listening for the caw. to do the "zip it" routine, you need rhythm. you suss out the rhythm of the party to be zippinated and lay in wait. sto- ZIP IT! why are you ju- ZIP IT! are you quite finished? becauZIP IT! you know? you have to play a little rhythmic chess game with the opposite party for it to be optimally irritating. the crows spike up when another noise -- say a passing car -- spikes up and dies off. on the tail end of the noise (relase on an ADSR) they begin to caw. noticing this, i listened for the cars, as this often put me in the perfect spot to tell the croZIP IT! this was remarkably effective. i became able to drive them off more quickly. but how can i do it even more quiZIP IT!? i realized that it's like a crow has just found a way to make cold fusion work and he's stepping up to the mic to claim his nobel prize, saying, "i made the cold fusion re-ZIP IT!" i made it. not you, crow. i lay claim to your invention. the hijack, i realized, is where it's at. dial into their pattern and be there to claim it. bookend the whole thing in your own noises, so the crow's loud trumpet is buried in the middle like nougat. it makes it seem like the crow noise is simply a small part of my own noise. they've put so much work into cawing, and now i've taken all the credit. they absolutely hate it. there is so much more to it: lying in bed, eyes closed, i started to be able to pick out individual crows and maintain a sense of where they were in relation to me. this allowed me to irritate individual crows in the swarm. once i had this down, i realized that certain crows are more dominant than others, and if you're all ZIP IT to the dominant crows, it dominoes, and they leave, and the other crows leave, and other crows see those crows leaving and also leave. the crows are like little clusters of neurons hooked together into a LAN. they form a sphere of influence that belongs to the CROW namespace via squabbling with each other noisily. predators disrupt the network and trigger the crows to move on. in a distant sense, it's like the crows form a hive mind, and this, truly, is what you are trying to irritate the living fuck out of. the hive mind has to notice you, get annoyed, and roll off like a tumbleweed. i've gotten exceedingly good at it. in the time it took me to smoke a zigguruaut on the porch, i managed to clear out every crow within earshot. not a single crow for a half-mile in every direction. i know this, because i can tell very clearly when they can hear me... but i don't need that, this morning, because i can't hear any crows at all. you'd think the problem would be solved, at this point, but they'll be back tomorrow. at 5am. |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-11-23 16:02:38 | |
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| 420 smoke everyday | |
| in moderation | |
| Posted by Mahjong The Wisest @ 2016-11-20 22:37:07 | |
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| news from the theta belt | |
| SMOKE WEED EVERYDAY | |
| Posted by shitbowl @ 2016-11-13 00:36:40 | |
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| typical reaction to riced out yugo # ibuprofin | |
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| Posted by shitbowl @ 2016-11-11 17:46:02 | |
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| cult of the lawn boat | |
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a lawn boat is a boat that you keep on your lawn. the best thing about a lawn boat is that it's on your lawn, like, all the time.
a good lawn boat should be almost as big as your house, but not bigger. park dat lawn boat riiiight on the left of your neighbor's house, right? then, when those in the nose on by, they remark: my god! that house is huge! and... that is a HUUUGEass lawn-boat! it's almost as big as the tiny house next to his huge house! all the houses on your block are the same size, though. ha ha! naw, eight out of ten share a common layout. some of this batch have various modular extras 'n' perks, which make them extra-covted by lawn boat fanatics. the remaining houses were either there before, or there after. those there before have devolved into truck gardens. those thereafter have transcended lawn boats for ferraris. as a matter of policy, all three of these groups hate each other, despite being more or less the same. one love: lawn boats there are so many things you can do with a lawn boat: put a tarp on it. take the tarp off. drink beer and admire it. drink beer and survey other lawn boats -- you only admire your own lawn boat, obviously. fuck, you talk mad shit about 'em when the lawn boat's captain ain't in earshot.... but, yeah, you stand there and squint. very clearly show your depth of analysis of the lawn boat features and shit, because you can't do that unless you Know Things, and you Know Things. and Stuff. you spend all saturday fixing your lawn boat, sometimes.... haw, that one's a joke. a code we use for the wives. we just open up an access hatch and throw some parts on the ground and then drink beer instead. no idea how the fuck that shit works anyways sometimes you hook it up to your truck after hooking your truck up to the wheeliegigger. the wheeliegigger has approximately 2^8 wheels, each on individually spring-loaded load-bearing spikes. the wheeliegigger is the yin to your lawn-boat yang. its shape is precisely that of your lawn boat, except opposite. well, upside down. but then if you go opposite, it's not upside down, you know what i mean? shit. nevermind... anyways, all those wheels the wheeliegigger has have a purpose. they mean shit. they designed the whole thing on the internet and it's precise custom to the shape of the hull. shit, bro. pick a wheel... yeah, that one? no? thi- oh, yeah, that one. that wheel is from when they used computer laser algorithms to accurify the fuck out of shit for load bulling. like, it matches the hull so well, it's like it's in the water. 'cos water flows around, you know? that way, when it's making your house look big, it's all making your lawn like a water bed. floating down your lawn forever. once or twice a year a good year, you can "take her out" and then "wind it out" like "all day and shit" and "shit dude i'm drunk what were u sayin." you hook the wheeliegigger up to your truck and take your lawn boat out to the lake. getting to the dock takes at least two hours, as you have a lot of driving around to do. this is your lawn boat's day to be visible to the world. drive like you do any normal day, though, so the extra complexification of sixteen tons of lawn boat whiplash make a crisp impression on terrified hair ladies. eventually, you get to the dock. this is always a crap shoot, man. harbor pass? boat license? designated not drinking beer person? shit, man, i own a lawn boat. i don't have a single one of that shit. sometimes the right sports banter gets you in, though, and you can attempt to wet-dock your lawn boat. it's important to maintain the air of a man who has done this shit a thousand times i got this, it got this, shit, back-up. at that point, the lawn boat either dewheeliegiggers into the ocean or embeds a corner of itself in the beach. son of a the average lawn boat has a ten-year, two-ex-wife lifespan and typically makes it out into the ocean twice. at that point, either the beach broke it when it fell on the beach, or it didn't, and it reaches the final stage of the lawn boat life-cycle: kamikaze divorce settlement tactic. trade it in for a lawyer who's gonna stick it to your ex-wife. that bitch. if she's gettin' my lawn boat it's gonna be up her lyin drive my silverado into her settlement claims my ass just like tony mantana bro. like, check it: in this country, first you get the silverado. when you get the silverado, then you get the power. when you get the power, then you get the lawn boat. when you get the lawn boat, you get the lake house. when you get the lake house, you get the trophy wife. then the trophy wife take the lake house. then. the lawyer take the lawn boat. then all you have in this world is your balls. and your silverado! haw! good, right? shit, no, seriously, that's a lawn boat, but the Chorizo 5700 doesn't have the torque of the hammerfin 900 |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-10-31 13:07:26 | |
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| that's some next level shit m8 | |
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proposed band name files ~ file I2-IS0-D-NK
Let's start a band named.... Rubber Band Rect genre: in a grim future when putting a donk on it is not nearly enough, a band sets out to put a donk on a donk.... butt, well, it's still a donk. a donk scaled with the amplitude envelope f(x) = 2*x. similarly, putting two donks on a donk results in a donk that is three times as loud, but still just a donk. so what if we put a donk on a donk, duplicate the processed audio segment, and then put a donk on a donk on top of a donk on a donk? great idea m8, but all you get is a donk four times as loud. finally, it gets deep into the nature of the donk. what makes it a donk? why must we put one on it? why us? why were we chosen? is it due to resonant harmonics coded into our DNA to protect us from some extinct snake that donks? is it due to resonant harmonics coded into the language of music to make us ask questions? eventually, the trajectory of the donk has been traced back to the orgin of life itself, resulting in a trend line. once that is established, it's projected into the future -- to the donk singularity (donkularity?). finally, there is something that is exactly like a donk, but... more. and louder. this band sounds like that. meet up next weekend? ok. |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-10-30 02:26:38 | |
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| insides effects loop effects loop effects effects the other side | |
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butt many side effects, too
the love handle side is one of the many sides for which there are not only side effects, butt side-effects of the side effects, and this effects one's ability to handle one's ability to handle the many side effects. the most famous example: dr. louis ck's eureka moment. his love handle sides had side effects: pants became unfittable. the handles went unhandled and the side effects developed side-effects: pants that had become unfittable, again became fittable. he'd eaten his way through to the other side. you can read the article in Science magazine[1] [1]vol.II,pg.912,totheleft.noabitmore.notoofar.turnyourcitationaround |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-10-29 22:05:07 | |
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| foghat leghard / watcon four | |
| foghat leghard, formally a figment of my fractured automation, took on synchronicital importantude when i forgot to find it to the finnster over the fone, and the circumspaces for unregottination involved none other than the black jewfish, a shul of which is a foghorn dawn chorus ~ telling the other fish: fuck the fuck off. this is our... cubic zone of ocean water. or is it a sphere? in any case, i've sent the sms now. | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-09-26 05:57:43 | |
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| 0000000000 | |
| all the junctions were set, I was on a straight course for easy street. Trouble was this dame wouldn't get off my case, a straight rope salesman(?). I tell you something, and I tell you it good, there aint no picture in this universe that could tell me a thousand words, let alone a dozen. Give me a pickled egg and an afterburner i'll tell you what reality is. | |
| Posted by Mahjong The Wisest @ 2016-09-23 02:13:44 | |
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| æ girls shirt | |
| special features: never sold out | |
| Posted by Mahjong The Wisest @ 2016-09-19 23:07:15 | |
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| æ boys size large | |
| I haven't seen that autechre shirt in forevs. I think Adelle wrote a song about it or something. | |
| Posted by shitbowl @ 2016-09-16 21:22:57 | |
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| achievement unlocked: first cawntact | |
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i was frantically scribbling flowcharts, arrows, and using the full neural net capability of my wat matrix to condense my things i'd forget into writable things so i'd not forget them. i'd been distantly aware of the crows for a while.
they were loud. it slowly wore me down over the course of... i dunno, three and a half transcribed things. crows, wow, loud. i was a bit irritated. i am in this empty parking lot at 5am precisely to avoid this sort of nonsense. right as i am thinking this, a crow sails in and lands on an embankment reasonably close to my failed bubble of isolation. CAW CAW! ~~ says the crow. oh, what the hell. caw CAW! ~~ i return. i can't transcribe that i'm doing a songy caw, and that the first one was lower by a third or so; please imagine this. the crow is not really bothered. he only goes up to defcawn three: ~~ CAW CAW CAW! i return fire ~~ caw CAW cawwwww ~~ you know, again, songy. mid HI lowwww with the last one drawn out. the crow tenses, a bit unnerved. but he gets himself together: ~~ CAW CAW! ~~ i songbird back: ~~ CAW CAWWWaaawa.. ~~ going all wop wop wahuhwahhh on him. now he's looking at me. god bless crows, though, they are curious birds. big, heavy, with matching brains. they don't fly off because flying is expensive if you're a bird 747. you figure it out a bit more. CAW! ~~ he caws. at me. CAWW! ~~ i caw, enthused. like: yes, you got it mate! his body language said confused already, but now... yes, i think i just made a crow wat. it was unmistakable |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-09-08 00:56:58 | |
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