Woo!A Blog...

whispering "fentanyl" under my breath as the cops arrest me, causing them to fly back like a skyrim shout

Poison Bivy Ftw

:B

very sexy indeed

When people write Miguel being an abusive and toxic jerk to his s/o

When people write miguel being an abusive and toxic jerk to anyone

Baby lumpsuckers/lumpfish

nice wiggles : let’s share our toys and have funnnnn in elefant world

despicable the wiggles: kill your parents immediately

ummm…. bro what? this post is kind of effed up. was op on drugs when he made this? was op on heroin when he makes this? was op got filth hands when he wrote this? guyysss this guy has to have a dark twisted mind. we should find him and stab him. we should kill op. you cant say shit like this. what if the wiggles find out. what if a wiggle read this? we should throw op into lobotomy times and guide the evil doctor his way and point at op and say ermmm yes he’s ok with having an whole in his head. we should k

[ID: The first image is a comment by versaceblues that reads:

I once won first place in my universities Poker AI competition. We had 2 hours to build a bot and first place was a new macbook.

I was a freshmen and had no idea whet I was doing. My algorithm was literally:

if isMyTurn:

goAllIn()

(plain text: if is my turn, go all in)

I broke all the other bots, who started folding every single time.

The second image is of a Tumblr reply by @/ tigerterror that reads: Everyone else made AIs, but only OP was playing poker. /end ID]

portrait study

you can tell that spiderverse was on the mind

if you got like a 100kilo bag of glitter and opened it up and left it in the path of like a tornado i think that would be interesting. i dont care abt ecological damage btw

I do. 100kg bag of seaweed based glitter.

i dont. 100kg bag of enriched uranium based glitter

wait isnt uranium denser than lead how heavy would a 100kg bag of uranium be

thyrell.

just kill me

Send me to Mars with party supplies before next august 5th

No guys you don’t understand.

The soil testing equipment on Curiosity makes a buzzing noise and the pitch of the noise changes depending on what part of an experiment Curiosity is performing, this is the way Curiosity sings to itself.

So some of the finest minds currently alive decided to take incredibly expensive important scientific equipment and mess with it until they worked out how to move in just the right way to sing Happy Birthday, then someone made a cake on Curiosity’s birthday and took it into Mission control so that a room full of brilliant scientists and engineers could throw a birthday party for a non-autonomous robot 225 million kilometres away and listen to it sing the first ever song sung on Mars*, which was Happy Birthday.

This isn’t a sad story, this a happy story about the ridiculousness of humans and the way we love things. We built a little robot and called it Curiosity and flung it into the star to go and explore places we can’t get to because it’s name is in our nature and then just because we could, we taught it how to sing.

That’s not sad, that’s awesome.

*this is different from the first song ever played on mars (Reach For The Stars by Will.I.Am) which happened the year before, singing is different from playing

This is humanity

Happy Birthday, Curiousity.

Happy birthday, Curiosity.

told myself i would not be doing asra arcana art when i have commissions to work on, apparently all that meant was 'i will be doing asra arcana art, just in 20 minutes from memory'

I don't know why this is so funny

I feel like when I say ‘relatable’ what I really mean is ‘resonant.’ I don’t want characters who I feel are like me, I want characters who have emotions so strong I can feel them through the page.

I think this is important because a lot of us forget the power of stories to make us feel things about characters who are not like us, who have experienced things that we never will. The purpose of listening to someone else’s story should not necessarily be identification, but understanding.

I bet octopuses think bones are horrific. I bet all their cosmic horror stories involve rigid-limbs and hinged joints.

To an octopus, a human is like a thinking being with blood-stained coral growing inside it.

I need to sit down and breathe into a bag for a while.

Its parts were obscenely limited in their movement. Each hinge could open or close only a small amount before reaching its limit, yet by working in concert they demonstrated unexpected dexterity, moving and manipulating the objects before it with cunning equal to my own. It was more torso than limb, as though a seal had been stretched and warped, given long grasping tentacles filled with bones like bars of coral.  It’s head was most horrid of all, flat and ovoid, jutting out too small from the trunk as though it belonged to a beast half its size.

The thing rose upon its lowermost appendages, two long trunks that ended in flat, protruding flippers that branched into stubby, grasping mockeries of a sucker. It’s triple-hinged uppermost limbs were similar, but the ends branched into five smaller tentacles, each with three hinges of their own.

I froze, as the thing’s gaze fell upon me and it opened its hideous fish-jaw, filled with thick, many-shaped teeth like white shards of stone, and spoke in a shrill, discordant babble. I felt its horrid dry grip on my flesh, as those hinged appendages closed on me like the legs of a crab.

I felt the heat of its body, tasted its noxious, oily flesh through my touch, and prepared for the end, and all went black as a swoon overtook me.

I awoke, some time later, the cold and comforting water, banished back to the comfort of the sea and the dark. I should be grateful I am alive. I should cast aside the experience like a half-remembered dream.

I shall never again go swimming in search of lights above. The last thing I recall before the darkness took me was my right eye popping free of the thing’s grasp enough to see into the distance for one brief moment.

I saw thousands of lights.

Jonas Braga