Hitting the button labelled "next blog" will take you to a randomly selected blog also on this site.

As a possibly related side effect, it also causes you to lose any optimism you may have had about the overall potential of the human race. Studies are underway to determine what impact, if any, this button has on the collective psyche of me.

For some reason, everytime I come by this place, I feel I have to push this button. I think that, deep in the anfractuous corridors of my subconscious, I hope that someday this button will take me to a lucidly written, thought-provoking page, and I can regain a little faith in the world.

Or maybe I've already found all the lucid, thought-provoking blogs.

I guess that would make me a snob.

This latest added link, to our urban (urbane?) pigeon-friend's emergency back-up blog, brings the total to seven. On this day, I officially have as many friends as webcomics. Except that two of my friends are the same person.

Whatever.
My webcomics don't judge me.

My shirt has two pinholes in it.

If I radiated light, these two holes would be bright, twinkling, shining stars.

I do not radiate light.

They are merely holes in my shirt.

It is too bad. This is one of my favourite shirts.

I am a severe case of apathy.
Just now, I thought of how hungry I was. I became aware that I have in my freezer pizza, yea, pizza of the very variety that is most pleasing unto me. I resolved to go forth and cook a pizza.

Then I realized there was already food made.
This food was not as good as that pizza I was going to cook.

I guess that, really, I wasn't all that hungry anyway.

This is what you get if you misspell this page's URL.
I thought you might like to know.

I don't feel particularly like writing at the moment.
Marry, I am tired away past insensibility.

I just didn't feel like having that last post the first thing people see if they drip by.

I've become interested in bad jokes. And I mean that on several levels; jokes that are good because they're bad, or worthwhile because they're not even good because they're bad, but also ones that are not bad enough to be good and are simply the minimum of the joke-goodness function.

Let f(x) represent the goodness of a joke.

I wrote the math contest today.

A quotation. Can you find its source?

"So, this one afternoon about seven months ago, this gay Taliban lawyer walks into a bar with a talking parrot on his shoulder. The bartender is like, "Man I just have got to know what that's all about! I mean, the bird thing."
Oh neat! Fifty bucks!
Anyhow, the lawyer looks at him pretty mean, because in their religion it's, like, super rude to be nosy.
About twelve and a half minutes later, the lawyer persuades the owner of the building to fire the imperfect bartender. I think that at the end of the joke the bartender's life is screwed up pretty bad. He doesn't have a lot of options.

."

Also, if you find the minimum of f(joke), post it as a comment. Or at least try.

Build your own powered model aircraft

I thought you might like to know.

A day of hecticity.

As I walked up the hill to my house today, I noticed among the dry gravel innumerable shards of glass glinting as they reflected and refracted the light.

When I got home, it occured to me that there had probably been a car crash during the winter.

to understand recursion, you must first understand recursion.

I was thinking about how it would be fun to enter the world of social soap-opera politics for a little while, and act insulted that Jordan's site didn't instantly grow a magical link to mine. Then I thought, "Gee willickers, that's the kind of thing I could write about!"

And then I realised that, by writing about it, I would indeed be entering the world of social soap-opera politics -- postulating that Jordan will actually read this -- by making it known to him, nay, to the world, that I had taken notice.

As a note, I hadn't taken note, that is, I noticed (since I read his site) but I hadn't taken note.

I then decided that, if I added that further thought process, it would no longer be a foray into the world of soap-opera social politics, but merely a self-referential blog entry; with this fourth appendage, I determined that it had become a needlessly aimlessly complicated self-referential blog entry.

It gives me migraines to have to listen to my thoughts.

Nativity in Off-White

Four score and seven minutes ago, a moment that shall not live in infamy, I brought forth into this domain a blog, a lonely island of vacuous content in the midst of a vast ocean of intellectual prosperity.

We stand today engaged even now in a great struggle to see whether any blog, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. It is this proposition we must test - that the work pourèd into this site may not be wasted - that a blog need not be meaningful nor original to exist - that ubiquity is as arresting a concept as any other - and that musings by no one, for no one, and of no one shall not perish from the earth.

Not that anyone would notice.