Joined: Sep. 2007
|Quote (Louis @ Feb. 25 2008,08:16)|
I hope you're taking donations or banning him from visiting UD during those hours. No irony meter built can withstand that level of blissfully unaware ironic dumbfuckery. This policy could cost you.
I went to UD once, ONCE DAMMIT, and my irony meter was vapourised.
This was an Iron-O-matic 10000 series Z, cooled in superfluid liquid helium in a sixteen metre thick osmium/lead/depleted uranium alloy irony proof bunker aboard a purpose built irony deflecting space station in geosynchronous orbit. The irony meter itself was entangled, as a pair of Bose-Einstein condensates, with another irony meter here on earth in an identical bunker, also cooled, 2.5 kilometres beneath the earth's surface in a secret location at one of the most geologically stable points on the earth. This pair of irony meters was capable of detecting miniscule ripples in the irony field and yet (miraculously for an instrument of such sensitivity) also capable of withstanding irony of over 2.74 petaCooks (Geddit!?). My PC was linked to the irony meters via a remote satellite link up through no less than three parallel processing failsafe systems each behind an irony proof firewall. The links between the failsafes were made with silver fuse wire, just in case, and I accessed the site from my Lear Jet above the Pacific wearing loose clothing and dark glasses whilst recieving a gentle head massage from a pair of 120 year old, twin Chinese ChiGung Masters.
I looked at that photo where Dembski put himself amongst the greatest physicists of the early 20th century and *POOF* the whole lot went to plasma in an instant. The Chi Gung Masters were fused into one conjoined twin which ran off with the stewardess to start a brothel. The plane crashed into Easter Island causing a diplomatic incident, the failsafes and indeed the entire paradise island of Atlantis on which they were situated have vanished from the spacetime continuum only vague memories and conspiracy theories remain. The space station is gone, blasted into the nether regions of the solar system travelling at sufficient speeds that it has already passed the heliopause, and, well, you'll have seen the news reports about that surprise supervolcano appearing somewhere in Asia.
I am unable to play the piano any longer, and am scarred down the left side with thin white wounds that appear to be the entire lyrics of "Ironic" by Alanis Morrisette. I also have developed a strange yet addictive dislike of celery and an intense fondness for close harmony singing. Lloyds of London won't return my phone calls and a picture of me is being used at ESA and NASA as a dartboard. Her Majesty has stripped me of my Knighthood, my wife has left me, I've been sacked, the cat has shat on the mat, and even my faithful budgie is giving me a disapproving eye. No club in London will allow me to darken its doors, my hat has been punched through and I am barred from civilised society. My valet quit on the spot, burning my ties as he left. AND that's 6 trillion quid I'm not going to see in a hurry.
Beware all ye who attempt to measure the irony contained at UD, that way only madness lies.
Umm, you DO know you aren't supposed to use a Clap-On/Clap-Off for the power supply, yes?