The Jeopardy! question to the answer “42”.

I’d rather smoke with Cary Grant than with Dennis Hopper

I wonder if capturing the ISS is more difficult, moving at several kilometers per second, although the ISS trajectory can be accurately tracked and predicted with software, while a propeller airplane rising to around 11,000 feet has much more randomness to it, if you’re setting up your shot from the ground.

Oh yeah… he’s a goner!

TS Eliot would be proud.
So would Edgar Alan Poe, for that matter.

Aw hell… Dante, too.
The techbrahs and enshittifiers deserve the 9th circle, they are inch by inch savoring their betrayal of humanity.

Hey, it’s that guy from Fight Club!

Thærmodynamic Dæmon Mæ Mæin Mæn!

Dear Apple:

Do NOT do it!
Through your indifferent silence, let that parasitic warped megalomaniac get a hint to go fuck itself.

The mad lads did it!
Somewhere between 6:13 and 6:15pm.
“Shave & A Haircut” honk, perhaps?

Take a copper wire, twist it into a nice long coil, then take a rod of magnetized iron and give it the ol’ in-out… in-out… in-out… or something like that-ish?

A Doritos ad!
So you can drift asleep thinking - “Boy, do I feel refreshed!”

mODREN zAMURAI zTORIES . . .

This is some gourmet humor!
Like say… Albert Brooks in the 1980s, or Larry David in the 00s.

I am a simple man. I see one of these Stonss Fonn Stonssing or whatever the fuck his-face-was, even ironically, I downvote and move on. I suggest you do the same.

ON TARGET!!! Hahahaha…!

Picard is way cooler than Kirk

Anyone’s cooler than an erratic old man who throws around the casual insult dismissal “sporto” on his twitter account.
Nobody’s cooler than an old man photographed enjoying life while slurping on a cornetto ice cream cone with his best pal Gandalf.

Stupid CEOs seem to be stupid suckers/marks for so much “corporate astrology”, mesmerized into a greedy stupid stupor by the same old soothing, stupid magic spell: “more automation… less meatbags…”

Ah yes… the ol’ Wittgenstein approach!
The bastard rolled up his sleeves, said “hold this” laterally handing someone his mug of Weiss Hefeweizen, and proceeded to forge a theoretical analysis of theory itself! To boil his work into just one VERY lo-res sentence.

May The Flork Be With You.

The Player Of Games, the second Culture novel, by Iain Banks.
Use Of Weapons by Banks and Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie have been next on the list for ages, too.
(I thought Rushdie would be arid/academic prose, but boy was I wrong about that, The Ground Beneath Her Feet was a true joy to read)