Category: Web

Many fans of the Atari 2600 console from the ’80s consider Adventure the finest game that company created. Minimal sound effects, moebius mazes, dragons that looked like ducks (and kinda like microscopes when you killed them), a sword that was a big arrow, and mostly…just…silence, made this a mesmerizing winner.
I guess it would have happened sooner or later, but not only are Atari nostalgia geeks making their own games in their own cartridges but some guy has gone and hacked Adventure so it now has more levels, more mazes, more everything. Crazy, man, crazy.
Lastly, some group called Naked Intruder has made a mini-album of industrial metal-type music all from Atari 2600 sounds. (We’d prefer somebody to have a go at something ambient.)
All found at Atari Age

After about five fortunes from a “Magic 8-Ball,” I usually begin to wonder instead what makes the thing work. Wouldn’t you love to take one apart? Sure you have. The Inscrutable 8-Ball Revealed

After about five fortunes from a “Magic 8-Ball,” I usually begin to wonder instead what makes the thing work. Wouldn’t you love to take one apart? Sure you have. The Inscrutable 8-Ball Revealed

Whether you have a yin or a yang you’ll enjoy these links. The first is to Cynthia Plaster Caster’s collection of rock star penises, mostly weird, flaccid representations of the biggest cocks in showbiz (there’s something about plunging your member into cold plaster that stops a stiffy in its tracks).
Meanwhile, over at The Spectator there’s a great essay by Betty Dodson about the bait-and-switch sham that is The Vagina Monologues, which is close to my take on the subject. That is, it’s very easy to make women feel bad about sexual violence in the world; it’s difficult to make them feel good about themselves. In art, despair is easy, love is hard.
Warning: The Vagina Monologues essay link features an actual photo of an actual vagina (with an actual vibrator near it), but I think you people are sensible adults and have seen one before (you may even have one). Both links by way of the most excellent Daze Sex Blog

Many decades ago, sweatshirts were made with a different process than today. Try on an old sweatshirt from the ’40s and chances are it will still be very soft. Now the only place that still makes ’em the traditional way, using the old machines is a tiny company in the snowy north of Japan. Come take a virtual tour at Loopwheeler.

Just as I was finding it hard to believe that so many people are swallowing Colin Powell’s “evidence” against Iraq, I came across this piece of lunacy:
Catholics Flock to Fence-Post Virgin Mary

SYDNEY (Reuters) – Catholics in the Australian city of Sydney are flocking to pray at a fence post at Coogee beach which they believe projects an image of the Virgin Mary.

Yes, it looks like the Virgin Mary–if you have glaucoma.

Goodbye Cruel World Wide Web
A 21-year-old by the name of Brandon Vedas was bragging on his IRC chat about how “hardcore” he was, while he injested a druggie cocktail of Klonopin, Methadone, Restoril and Inderal, along with side orders of marijuana and 151-proof rum. His baffled chatroom buddies egged him on until he stopped typing and slumped over in his chair. A small debate then raged about calling 911 (seeings many knew him personally), but most worried about getting the guy busted for having some pot on him. That’s what friends are for! Now, he’s dead. How hardcore is that?
You can read the chat transcript, which reads like Dada poetry, here.
Watch as local Arizona politicians seek to outlaw IRC, the Internet, Web cams, keyboards, etc. “what about the children?” etc. etc.

The U.S. media have all seemed to have quietly looked over the outbursts of Shaq O’Neal, failed rapper, multi-gazillion dollar orange-ball shunter, and now racist slur ejaculator. When a white guy makes a slur about a black guy, it’s a big scandal. When a black guy makes a slur about an Asian it’s…?

APA Community Should Tell Shaquille O

This web reprint of a 1955 Life Magazine article details the death-filled results of the horrific ’55 LeMans Crash. This is the reason they now have barriers between the race cars and the crowd. J.G. Ballard might be interested in the description below.

As the race entered its third hour the cars were breaking records at every lap when Jaguar Driver Mike Hawthorn received a signal from his pit crew to stop for gas. As he braked, an Austin-Healey swerved to avoid him. A few lengths behind, Levegh raised his hand, signaling another Mercedes to slow up. At 150 mph he had no chance to do so himself.

Photo from Wilko’s Healy Page
Hitting the Healey, the Mercedes took off like a rocket, struck the embankment beside the track, hurtled end over end and then disintegrated over the crowd. The hood decapitated tightly jammed spectators like a guillotine. The engine and front axle cut a swath like an artillery barrage. And the car’s magnesium body burst into flames like a torch, burning others to death. In a few searing seconds 82 people were dead and 76 were maimed. Hawthorn, though unnerved, went on to win and set a new record. But few spectators had the enthusiasm to cheer.

Linked from Meme Pool

When I was in high school, I was in a rock band (I was lead screamer). On a few of our songs we used a drum machine, hoping to sound like those Roland 808s we heard on rap records. The closest we could get was a Boss Dr. Rhythm DR-55. Now you can try your hand at a Virtual DR-55 and relive the tinny sound.