Wikiphilia

Scottish Gaelic? Hey I know an Ashley MacIsaac song that uses that. It's a great song. Sleepy Maggie. Makes me think of my story about a human black hole that doesn't have an article because it doesn't exist yet.

(And it all came from a click on Glasgow.)

Looks like a nice city. Is that a knockoff Sidney Opera House? I like the purple rainbow. Scotland's always been cool. The countryside is better than the city stuff though. More rustic.

(And it all came from a click on Pacifism.)

Not a bad idealogy. Who wants to fight, really? I mean, fighting for recreation is fun, but this isn't that. Like, anti-war and stuff. Fight the government man, get our troops out. Troops sound like boots. Go Mennonites.

(And it all came from a click on H.G. Wells.)

I've never read these books. I saw War of the Worlds, it wasn't very good. I guess Wells was a Zionist? Huh. I guess Wells was into eugenics? Huh.

(And it all came from a click on Raygun.)

RAYGUNS. Pew pew! Best weapon in every game they're in. Melting things, etc. Apparently science is working on making them real. Cool! Awesome. Great.

(And it all came from a click on Science fiction.)

Oh man, I love Sci-fi. Star Wars isn't really sci-fi. I mean it is, but it isn't. Ender's Game was all right, can't remember much about it. Started Hyperion, great setup, what with the several perspectives like Game of Thones. I should start reading Dune again.

(And it all came from a click on Sentience.)

"Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?" That like sentience, right? Ha ha just kidding, I know all about that sentience right up there. I can't think for shit though. I don't think I'm sentient.

(And it all came from a click on Animal Welfare.)

That is an adorable puppy. Not like the dogs at my place. Yapping it up every time I walk in the door. Only part of my place I hate, really. Okay those chickens down there are ugly. Fuck animals.

(And it all came from a click on Cockfight.)

I did not know cockfights involved naked men. I think I'm gonna learn some good stuff today.

(And it all, all of it, everything up to Scottish Gaelic, came from a click on Random Article, because I was just that bored.)

Isabela, Puerto Rico looks like a nasty little place. That picture could not be browner and drearier if it tried. It's almost fake. Flat, like in Microsoft Flight Simulator.

Source: Wikipedia, the Free Encycopedia. http://en.wikipedia.org/

As if you didn't know.

Who Wants Pizza (workshop essay)

pizza-goat.jpg, google.com

I spend most nights without good sleep. After I have gone to bed, it’ll be at least an hour before I actually fall asleep. Too many thoughts float through my head for me to get any rest. Occasionally, one of those thoughts will be of pizza. Pizza? Who wants pizza? This question has plagued me since the first of my sleepless nights. I decided to work through my sleep issues by doing research on the subject: who, truly, wants pizza?

Directly asking people, I decided, was the best way to get the results I wanted. My potential sample size was the entire Brockport campus, so I basically asked away at anyone I could get to stop for five seconds. (Which, as it turns out, is everyone, because it’d be rude not to stop and answer somebody’s questions.) I did the majority of my research on the main walk, with some in the library and Union. The question was the same every time: “Excuse me. Do you want pizza?” For each different group of people, I mostly stuck to only one rule of asking three girls and three guys, because then I could see how much more girls disfavored me, and my resulting depression would be good for the two tubs of ice cream I had that were starting to get freezer burn. No attention was paid to the races, heights, or prettiness of the questionees, although I must admit that most of the people I asked were pretty, probably because Brockport is known internationally as The Fabulous Campus. Between the neutral question and half-half sex rule, I got the stability I needed, because everything else, from my stance to the specific people I asked, would be variable.

First I asked people in my most neutral tone, with no attention paid to any other variables. These are the results by sex, quotes included.

	Yes	No
Male	1. Pizza? Sure.	1. Nah, not really, I just ate. 2. Oh no, I’m good thanks. You have pizza lying around?
Female		1. No thank you. 2. No… thanks. 3. No, but thanks for offering.*

*This one was REALLY SUPER CUTE. Real professional-like. Black dress shirt, black slacks, yellow tie, the whole shebang, and it went great with her redwood complexion, sculpted jaw, and spiked, jet-black hair. I couldn’t tell whether she was a man or a woman for a second, and that just made me giddier. She was the first one to smile, too! And what a laugh she had. If any Brockport readers notice someone who matches that description, report to me immediately so I can be stalk her and/or kidnap her.

After buying a third tub of ice cream to further drown my sorrows, I lamented more thoughtfully on the results. Why did nobody want pizza? Was it me? Was it the way I carried myself? The experiment had barely started and I was already doubting myself. But I carried on, determined to prove my worth of offering pizza.

I decided next to try a more confident approach. My brows furrowed slightly, my eyes peering into the depths of every soul, my mouth cocked up on one side, and my voice two tones deeper. It was the ultimate in attraction.

	Yes	No
Male	1. Sure. What’s up?	1. No. 2. Nah.
Female	1. Sure. I love pizza. You have a good night.	1. No. 2. No, thank you, sorry.

Still depressingly stacked on the “no” side, but getting better. I was starting to understand why people were rejecting my offer at first. All it took was a little confidence; it wasn’t me that put them off after all.

My approach thus far involved finding people on the main walk very late at night – past 10:00 – who were alone, and not in sight nor earshot of anyone else. I walked up to them directly, asking them if they wanted pizza, then walking away immediately afterwards. I decided to keep this approach for the time being, and change up my mannerisms once again. I hid my right arm under the left side of my jacked, as if concealing something, and grabbed onto that side of my jacked tightly with my left hand, as if ready to unveil it to the world at a moment’s notice. My voice changed to a lower, more snake-like texture, and my words sped up and stuck together, giving the impression of a desperate homeless man, while I, once again, approached lone strangers in the dead of night, offering pizza.

	Yes	No
Male		1. I’m good right now, thanks man. 2. What? Whatchu talkin’ ‘bout? You want pizza? 3. Oh no, thank you. That’s all right, I had a big dinner. Thanks for offering. Thank you. Thank you. That’s so sweet. That’s like… (etc.)
Female		1. No… 2. Uh, no. 3. No thank you.

Clearly the approach matters. I decided to stick with a neutral position, as it was between the two, and would protect the other variables from influence.

For the experiment’s sake, I decided to do a round of daylight offerings, with people around.

	Yes	No	Other
Male	1. What kind of question is that? Absolutely.	1. Nah. 2. No thank you.
Female		1. No. 2. No.	1. Shit.

Results were largely the same. I determined that time of day and amount of surrounding people was not a factor. With that out of the way, I moved on to other, more niche factors.

Glasses-wearers seemed like a nice bunch. Surely they would accept this kind offer.

	Yes	No
Male	1. Sure. Sure.	1. Right now? I’m all good for right now.
Female	1. Yes. 2. Yeahhh.	2. N-no.*

*She stuttered! A girl with glasses stuttering. Adorable.

Success! People with glasses truly must appreciate pizza more. (That said, this one was slightly more difficult than others, as it was halfway impossible to find men with glasses.) Even the girls, who had so adamantly refused in the past, were more receptive when they were of the glasses variety. I believe I will hit on girls with glasses exclusively from now on.

But wait! Could there be even more accepting demographics? I aimed to find out, and continued my experiment by asking this dude I held the door open for.

	Yes	No
Male		1. No thank you. I don’t like pizza that much.

Snippy. He didn’t have to lie to me.

After this failure, I went for a more traditional route: asking people in pairs. (I didn’t go any higher than that because my brain would malfunction from the amount of combinations I’d have to separate.)

	Yes	No
Male/Male	1. Yes. / I am pro-pizza. Do I have to pay for this pizza? 2. Of course. / Yes.
Female/Female	1. Yes. / Yeah. 2. Yes. / Sure.
Male/Female		1. No thanks. / I’m on a diet.

Very positive reception – mostly. Two guys together can’t resist pizza. Two girls together can’t resist pizza. But a guy and a girl together? No, of course not! Guy, you have to show off right? Gotta be the man? “No other guy is gonna offer my girl pizza.” HA. And girl, you’re on a diet? Don’t make me laugh. You just don’t want to look like the glutton you are in front of your tall, handsome, athletic, tall, well-spoken, tall, tall boyfriend. Couples, ha ha, so arrogant.*

*It has been scientifically proven that every time a guy and a girl walk together, they are a couple.*

*This does not apply to two men or two women walking together, as homosexuals, scientifically, do not exist.*

*I am so bitter and sad, please hold me.

Next I asked a guy in a bathroom stall.

	Yes	No
Male		1. I’m good thanks.

One more demographic down.

My next target was members of authority. Included in this are the names of these celebrities.

	Yes	No
Male	1. Sure. – Tyler Brown, BSG Treasurer. 2. Sure. – Lou Spiro, Vice President, the College at Brockport
Female	1. I’d eat it. – Andrea Vella, Assistant to the Vice President	1. Right now? No. – Holly Perry, Department of Recreation

As expected, most were receptive. You have to keep an open mind and be amicable to be an authority figure in this day and age. If it were fifty years ago, I would not get such a positive response, as they had to be cold to keep their reputations, and also it was 1961 and they probably did not have pizza back then.

So many variables, so little time! I was walking around the library basement in the afternoon and noticed people alone in whole computer labs. Hence, my next target was people alone in whole computer labs.

	Yes	No
Male	1. Yeah.
Female	1. Sure.	1. Um… not right now.

Unsurprising. People alone in computer labs tend to be desperate for pizza.

I happened to see an Asian girl in the library. After asking her, I decided to find two more Asian girls.

	Yes	No
Female	1. Sure. 2. Huh? Pizza? Sure. 3. I don’t think it’s Halloween… Yes, I want pizza.

Even higher success rate than girls with glasses. I shall go after Asian glasses girls.

I asked the cashier at Trax.

	Yes	No
Female		1. No thank you, I don’t want pizza.

This inspired me to seek out people who were eating or had already eaten. Included is what they ate.

	Yes	No
Male	1. Yeah, sure. – sandwich and chips	1. No. – tomato salad, wild caught salmon, banana 2. Nah, I actually clean the Union Grille. – UG shit probably
Female		1. No thank you. – vegetable sandwich 2. No. – chicken breast spinach wrap 3. I just ate. – potatoes, french fries, chicken

At one point I saw a guy holding a slice of pizza.

	Yes	No
Male		1. No I have pizza.

After so many variables, after so many offerings of pizza to strangers, I could come to no strong conclusions about who, truly, wants pizza, except maybe Asian girls because they seemed especially excited. But maybe my success rate would have been higher had I asked people I knew. Maybe it’s weird to ask a stranger if he or she wants pizza. Maybe this whole thing was really creepy.

The sacrifices we make in the name of science.

Dead-Apple Picking

I just ate the last third of an M&M cookie that was on a table at work today. Just a couple hours ago, it was a half a cookie. I'm sure at some point before that, it was a whole cookie, and that there were more before it. My shift started at 9:30, when I walked in and noticed the half-cookie. Everyone else started at 8:00. So that means that for an hour and a half, several cookies were eaten (I am told there were only three and a half more, but this could be deception), while between 9:30 and noon, less than a third of one cookie was eaten. This happens at my other job, too. Sometimes there will be a box full of donuts in the break room when we open at 9:00, and by 11:00 only one will remain, which, without my intervention, would stay there the rest of the day. I'm usually not in the mood for donuts, but I always end up scarfing that last one down hurriedly, to soonest clear the table of unnecessary clutter.

Why does this happen? Is it because nobody wants to clean up? Are they afraid just one more donut will make them gain 20 pounds? Is it astrology -- some cosmic coincidence that causes death eating donuts past a certain time and under a certain sign? Could my coworkers be playing at some cruel subterfuge, to make the last third of a cookie feel like it could die at any moment, torturing it with the menace of waiting for several hours? Truthfully, none of that matters, because the fact is, I just thought far too much about why there was only a third of a cookie left on a table.

It's not just cookies and donuts; it's data, and papers, and people. Even if I have 500 GB left on my hard drive, I will go delete 300 MB shows after I watch them, or go through and delete games I don't play, at maybe 8 GB large, if I determine that they're "taking up too much space." Music isn't safe either -- if I download or rip an album, I can't stand to have it on my HD for more than a week before deleting all the songs I don't like after only a couple listens. My kitty-covered school folder, too, is subject to The Purge. I regularly empty my folder of graded homework, days-old assignments, things I can find on Angel, and things I can't find on Angel or anywhere and might end up being necessary for class but hey maybe not, right? And friends, oh dear friends. Even though my Facebook friends list is small, and my cell phone contacts list smaller, I still feel the overwhelming urge to destroy destroy DESTROY when I see names that are not being utilized to their full potential. (Or just people I don't talk to or see much, only exceptions being my few super-hot acquaintances.) It's like picking the dead apples off a tree when you know they're going to fall off anyway.

I don't know if this is a problem or what, but the feeling of purging, of removing everything that is not absolutely necessary, is too cleansing and too relieving for me to stop. My room is neat, my PC organized, and my life in order. I feel like I am missing some chaos in my life because of this, but then again, some chaos has been added, too. After all, under what other conditions would I so obsess about a third of a cookie?

FALL 2011 ANIME GUIDE: TRY TO LOVE

I know what you're thinking. "Anime? Ha ha, oh man, is this guy serious? Loser!" "Nice one, Chett, let's go pick up chicks and be successful at life." "Rock on." And minus everything except "anime" and "loser," I am thinking the exact same thing. But we're supposed to write about things we care about, right? Nothing is exciting me so much right now as the new anime season -- potentially the best I've ever seen -- so damn am I going to write about it. I apologize if you chose this week to comment on my post, but I'll try to make it entertaining. And educational. But I don't want to torture you that much, so I'll keep things semi-brief. Without further ado, welcome to Patrick "Hulk Hogan II: The Sequel" Cassidy's Fall 2011 Anime Guide!

Shinryaku!? Ika Musume



This is the second season to a comedy about a squid girl who has come to invade humanity because of its polluting of the ocean, but ends up putting a hole in the wall of a beach shack and has to work there to pay it off. It's a goofy premise, and definitely a fun-for-all-ages show. The humor comes from mocking Squid Girl (that's all they call her) for her ineptitude at everything, not the least of which is invading. Characters are introduced who love her, fear her, and are fascinated by her, but no matter what, it keeps the same light tone at a followable pace. This season starts off with no recap, so we're dunked right into another sketch. It feels like we never left.

Rating: 8/10

Working'!!



This second season, on the other hand, has began with pretty much just recap, with little new to offer to veterans of the series. It still follows cuteness-obsessed Souta Takanashi and his unusual coworkers at the restaurant Wagnaria, including androphobe Inami, perpetually short Popura, and lazy manager Kyouko. In the series proper we get to see fun interactions and relationship developments (though Inami is still, as ever, punching the daylights out of Takanashi), but that wasn't present this episode. The episode 2 preview looks like it will be interesting, so I'll give it the benefit of the doubt.

Rating: 8/10

Special note: The opening, having to live up to the embarrassingly addicting "Someone Else" from season 1, did a reasonable job of catching the spirit of the original while not being completely derivative. I'll be mouthing "fun fun fun" while no one is looking for the next few months. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RKxaeSVj2IE

Hunter x Hunter



A remake of an adaptation of a somewhat generic teen boys' comic, HxH doesn't start off with the same excitement as the author's previous work, Yu Yu Hakusho. But an idealistic, naive young boy who wants to be a "hunter" in a world where such an occupation is lauded but dangerous is just the kind of protagonist that attracted many to Dragon Ball all those years ago. It's a fast-paced episode -- the hero Gon has already set out on his journey and befriended childish, money-hungry Leorio and sole survivor/cool kid Kurapika -- and though it's not all that special yet, for the comic to still be running for over 10 years it must get great at some point. I'll keep my eye on it.

Rating: 6/10

Phi-Brain



Sunrise's show this season that isn't Horizon (and thank god for that) is improbable, has terrible character designs, and everyday characters to go along with it, yet it still manages to be fun. In a world that is otherwise exactly like ours (this is key in its unbelievability), puzzle-solving is an invaluable skill, and teenager Kaito Daimon is one of the best. He gets an invitation from the mysterious "Minotaur" to solve a puzzle even Einstein couldn't. When Daimon finishes it with the help of plucky girl/accessory Nonoha, he gets the Phi-Brain, a bracelet that accelerates his puzzle-solving abilities tenfold. It's completely ridiculous, and despite some forced "make the main character look cool" moments (apparently the next best puzzle solver took a whole day to beat a sudoku puzzle), this works in its favor.

Rating: 7/10

Fate/Zero



If you aren't utterly familiar with the trappings of Fate/Stay Night, the visual novel of which this is a prequel, then you might not have as good a time as I did, but thanks to smart pacing you should still get a kick out of it. It does a pretty good job of explaining the universe: every 10 years, seven mages across the world are selected by the Holy Grail to vie for its contents, and they travel to Fuyuki City to summon heroic spirits of the past and of fiction (for example, King Arthur or Medusa) to fight each other in the Holy Grail War. Production values are startling, and there's a lot of dense dialogue peppered throughout with more actiony scenes in such a way that it's still easy to follow. If you take one thing away from this post, it's that you should at least give this show a try, especially if you are open to shows like Game of Thrones. Just try not to laugh at the scene where two characters pace around another for lack of things to do.

Rating: 9/10

Horizon in the Middle of Nowhere (aka amalgamation of every anime cliche ever)



That's all that needs to be said, really.

Rating: /10

Tamayura



Fu Sawatari's father recently passed away, and she's taken up his hobby of photography. After moving to a new town, she tries her best to make new friends and come to terms with her loss. If that sounds sparse to you, that's because almost nothing happens this episode. Slow to the point of boredom, the one thing that kept me watching the show was the captivating, somehow nostalgic scenery and background art. Even a good setting isn't enough to sustain a show, however, and while its theme of coping with loss give it a uniquely bitter taste, the pacing simply isn't up to snuff.

Rating: 6/10

Chihayafuru



A delicately paced drama/romance built around a Japanese card game that's obscure even in Japan -- what better way to spend a midweek afternoon? Chihaya is the gorgeous daughter of a gorgeous model, but her only interest is in karuta, a game that involves slapping cards with the second verses of poems on them when you hear the first verses on a tape recording. She's in high school now, but the bulk of the episode is about her in elementary school, where she met Arata, a quiet kid with no friends. Though Chihaya's blunt personality causes him some problems, it also brings the two closer, and he introduces her to karuta. She is amazed by his passion for something when no one else has any, and takes up an interest in the game herself. It may sound like a quaint premise, but it's wonderfully done, with a sweet atmosphere, revealing dialogue and likeable characters. The other show of the season so far.

Rating: 9/10




Still to come are the adaptation of the video game Persona 4, a Last Exile sequel years after the fact, a full Future Diary season from the same studio that brought us the awful straight-to-video oneshot, the Code Geass clone (and therefore exciting) Guilty Crown, hilariously named I Don't Have Many Friends, and detective show Un-Go. If I'm lucky, Lupin III Part 4 will show up too, but it seems MIA at the moment.

But I won't write about those. Can't be redundant with these blog posts, and I don't want to be that cruel to you guys. I've already written several times the limit. For those who made it through, ask me and I'll make you a medal.

William the Retard

Back in Boy Scouts, we had a kid named William. Nobody ever called him Will; it was always William, like we were his parents constantly having to shout his full name to let him know he was doing wrong. He was a year below us, but that was no excuse for his behavior, such as chasing a squirrel with a makeshift club. No, his maladjustment could be blamed squarely on his parents' poor luck: William was a retard.

He was only borderline retarded -- a few points above the line that determined if you were fit for society. Our school accepted him well enough. And he could carry and follow conversations, and didn't have the worst grades in his class. Really, it was only his looks and speech that gave it away, even before you knew he was inclined to occasionally shit on trees in plain sight of the nearest path. A redneck cherub wasn't someone you could easily mistake for intelligent, buckteeth and blotchy dark skin and slow drawl, and glazed eyes and chubby cheeks and all. William had a presence, which, for me, was the nicest thing you could say about him.

I didn't know quite how to treat him back then. Even being in middle and high school, I had enough of a conscience not to make fun of him just for being born unfortunately, even behind his back. (The same couldn't be said of Max and Andy, two of his classmates, who constantly tormented him and made him pitch their tents or throw out their trash. Perhaps because they had to be around him more than we did.) But the fact of the matter was that I did not like dealing with him. None of us did, not even the leaders, who would awkwardly laugh at his jokes, or just say, "yup." I was never unfortunate enough to have to share a tent with him (like Max and Andy did). Sometimes, though, I would end up next to him at a table, and I would try my best to sit in my seat fully, and not scrunched uncomfortably to the side, away from him and his loud, open-mouthed chewing.

One instance stands out in my wasteland of a memory bank. At Camp Massawepie one year, our grueling one-week summer venture in the Adirondacks (made bearable only by the rifles and the bows), we had sat down for lunch in the mess hall, with myself two seats down from William. It was taco day. A bowl of meat laid in the center of the table. After avoiding the prayer and trudging through the pro-boy guttertalk in the announcements (complete with the slapping of tables and Lord of the Flies-esque chanting), I was ready for my midday break from thought. But William, sweet William, grabbed the bowl first. The spoon was large, almost like a ladle, and William took full advantage of its higher functions -- namely, spooning a shitton of meat onto his plate. After fully a third of the bowl had been depleted, he seemingly remembered that there were eleven other people at the table, and instead of scooping some of the meat back into the bowl, he simply passed it down, making his taco. Cries of "William!," the shaking of heads, the dead stares, and the rubbing of temples prompted him not to apologize, but to eat in silence. Not having to hear his voice was enough for me.

The meat would have been no big deal coming from anyone else (I've always been more of a sharer in group meals), but from him I just got sullen and frustrated. Frustrated because he screwed up, again, and sullen because it was never his fault, and he would never learn. He works as a cart retriever at Wegmans now, 20 years old, and I see him sometimes. I wave and smile, and he says, "hi Patrick" as he waddles to a cart he has forgotten. I helped him grab that cart one time, knowing it to be the largest contribution I could make to his day -- leaving the curing of mental incapacity to gold-hearted intellectuals, while I walked barely ten feet, to and from the cart.

Chain of Memories

I have a web of memories. If I think of one, inevitably I will think of five more. And since this process takes place over the course of a couple seconds, my memories end up jumbled and I can't remember which one took place when. It might explain my terrible memory, but I don't wish this memory-web away -- some of these connections are just too fun, and it's more fun to try to figure them out.

Normally the first memory comes from a time of year, or a big event. Let's start with Halloween. When Halloween comes around, several threads appear. The most prominent begins with Bunnicula, an old cartoon about a vampire rabbit. From there we get to Hellsing, an anime about a vampire. Sound enough, right? Not for long -- from Hellsing, it goes to Mardi Gras. An episode of Hellsing took place in some apartment on an empty Spanish street that looked suspiciously like New Orleans. I got it in my head that everybody in Spain was partying it up a few blocks down the road, and this apartment was on the outskirts, where some unlucky victims were looking to enjoy each other's company.

Now, from Mardi Gras we go to Girls Gone Wild. Not too big of a leap, especially if you remember the Girls Gone Wild Mardi Gras special that aired at 3 am years ago. After Girls Gone Wild, Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas. All I can think of is that both have scantily clad ladies, GTA typically poking fun at the sex industry. GTA:SA goes to bestiality. A few years ago, at an overnight birthday party, those of us awake at 4 am were taking turns playing San Andreas. Earlier in the night, the friend of mine who gave me my copy of the game was browsing Beast Tube on my Wii. We especially enjoyed the video of a turtle with (what we all saw as) a penis longer than its own body, flopping around on a plastic ball. I still remember the way it repeatedly opened its mouth, as if desperate to explain its horrific growth.

Enough on Beast Tube, time for Spider-Man. Even earlier that night, my friends had gotten me a Spider-Man web shooter that I shot onto my friends' faces. This takes me back to my PS1 days, when I was playing Spider-Man with a friend of mine. With the same friend I often played a demo of Tony Hawk's Pro Skater. That obviously takes me to THPS2, then to Linkin Park's Hybrid Theory, to Howard Stern, to Massawepie, etc. etc.

Of course, that was only one thread. There are sometimes branches that the memories go down instead -- for instance, I didn't have to think of Tony Hawk, I could have thought of Spyro the Dragon, gone to Christmas, then started an entirely new chain of memories. And it doesn't always start with Bunnicula -- it could start with more typical Halloween fare, like cider and donuts, or a haunted hay ride. But inevitably it would end up at something completely different, just a few seconds later. And I would have trouble deciding whether or not I watched bestiality when I was 10.

Jet Set Radio Beard; or, How to Survive a Fashion Apocalypse, feat. Beards (Workshop Essay)

In 2022, Tremendous Beards will be in fashion. ZZ Top, after being the first people on Earth to be revived from the dead, will revive their band as Zombie Zombie Top and go on a world tour. As the first zombie band in history, it will be a smash hit. Nobody will go for the music, “because, like, zombies, yeah?” The initial audience will comprise of Hot Topic kids (known in 2022 as “Ht Tpc””kds”), occultists (“ocltsts”), and necrophiles (“Ptrck Cssd”). But soon, the whole world will swoon over Zombie Zombie Top (shortened in 2022 to “ZZ Top”) and their undead tunes. Sadly, all fads come to an end, and in 2024, after reanimation is considered passé and “something my grandma did, like,” ZZ Top will fade from the public eye. Again.

One legacy, however, will last until the Earth makes its final whimpers – their incredible beards. Even though they will have been dead for three years at the time of their revival, Billy Gibbins and Dusty Hill – their flesh and innards having rotted away – will retain their beards in the grave. Even Frank Beard, the only member of ZZ Top without a beard, will come out of his casket sporting a wicked faceraccoon. This will awe the public even more than their revival itself does. “How can that happen?” they will ask. “Are beards somehow immune to death?” “Does the brain live on in the beard posthumously?” “Can I offer the devil my beard in lieu of my soul so I can play guitar like Robert Johnson?” Questions no one had to ask before.

So to prepare for the future, you must start growing your beard now. By 2022, you might be on par with ZZ Top, and have your beard, along with cockroaches, be the only thing to survive a nuclear explosion (very important in the future, depending on where you live*). And to grow a beard you need a fabulous teacher. A beard professional. You have come to the right place, friend, for I am Beard M.D., MagNeat-O, Dude.

Begin with the crotch. It sounds counterproductive, but stay with me here. In Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla (1993), Mechagodzilla kills Godzilla with the G-Crusher, a giant metal clamp that trapped Godzilla and crushed his second brain, which he was hiding in the small of his back. Now, humans do not have a second brain in the smalls of their backs. As theorized earlier, the “second brain,” or rather, a medium through which the human body may channel the first brain, is the Tremendous Beard. You probably do not have a Tremendous Beard; that is why you are here. So in order to cultivate one, you first must practice using the closest thing your body has to a mass of hair on the small of your back. That’s right – your crotch. Just let its hair grow until nerves form in each strand. You will know it is ready when you zip up and your hair hurts more than your privates. (Women, unfortunately, will have to punch themselves in the crotch to check its readiness.)

After you have a properly mangled pubic exhibit, it is time for step two: transferal. It is exactly as it sounds: you will transfer your nerve-pubes to your face, likely via scissors and glue. I will not lie – the process is more painful than Death taking the form of a grizzly bear and giving you a colonoscopy, sans anesthetic. No, really, it’s quite a burn. Imagine taking thousands of fire ants, clumping them into a ball and attaching them to your crotch. Following the fire ants, imagine you make a deal with God to understand what it feels like to be conscious during a state of unconsciousness, or non-existence. To experience the state of not existing. And upon waking from that mind-rending experience, you realize that you have signed yourself to a state of eternal servitude as a scratching post for hell cats. Anyway. You have to do that.

Don’t worry, you’re almost home free. Your nerve-pubes should be glued to your face to a point that they could not be pulled off by two Hulk Hogans. Keep water and any other liquid away from your face at all costs. Do not shower, do not go outside, do not drink anything. Remain this way for three months. If you feel you are not up to the task of surviving without liquids, you may inject water into yourself using any number of homemade contraptions, such as a wooden, splintery syringe, or an ax/tape combo. However, if you do this, I ask that you brand yourself on your chest “I DO NOT DESERVE THIS BEARD,” thus cursing yourself to a life of never going to beaches and never facing your lover in bed/only doing it doggy style or reverse cowgirl.

Once a period of a quarter-year has passed, your pubes will have merged snugly with the flesh of your face. Thus is born a Tremendous Beard. I hope all of you will take this procedure with pride, as the Tremendous Beard fad will last relatively long – approximately 5 years. And to be trendy, in the year 2022, is everything.†

*spoilers it’s Switzerland

†especially Switzerland because there will be nothing else