imagine we make contact with an alien species that’s like, vastly technologically superior, they could fucking kill us in a single shot if they really wanted to
and this species has never eaten salad before. and we show them salad and they eat it and they’re like holy living fuck this is tasty. and suddenly they’re offering us huge houses with all kind of advanced technological shit and incredible medical care and all the amenities and everything, with the only condition that we keep making salad for them.
and like, salad isn’t even hard to make. grab some plants, dump em in a bowl. it doesn’t have to be fancy salad, they’ll fall all over themselves for the most mediocre salad in the world. we can make so much salad that we’re practically drowning in it, even if we eat some of the salad ourselves. and in exchange we’re protected from danger, we have great living conditions, it’s basically paradise compared to life on earth
imagine
now realize that this is what bees have done to us
Today I learned that Van Halen have that rider in their contract about “a bowl of M&Ms with all the brown ones removed” in order to know at a glance if the promoter read the entire contract. And the reason they do THAT is because they once had a stage collapse because a promoter hadn’t read the proper way to set up all the specific technical stuff.
So if the band goes in the dressing room or catering and sees brown M&Ms, they know they have to double-check the stage setup for safety.
Have reached the point in Ashlesha with the Breakfast Brick.
Brain goes : I wonder if @deadcatwithaflamethrower has an actual recipe for the Brick, and if not I want to figure it out
…*headdesk*
Guess who really does have a recipe for Breakfast Brick? 😀
BREAKFAST BRICK (More delicious than it sounds.)
One 10oz. box of brown rice cereal–or normal Rice Krispies. Heathens.
2 TBSP. of minced ginger (NO sulfites are preservatives or flavors in that; fresh is best but jars without extra crap in them exist.)
3 jumbo brown eggs (Use white if you must. Double-heathens.) 4 Egg whites will also be fine if you can’t have sulfas like egg yolks.
1 full stick of salted organic butter (or whatever butter but NOT margarine)
6 TBSP. evaporated cane juice (granulated sugar, triple heathens)
1 tsp. salt
Pre-heat oven to 400 degrees (convection) or 425 degrees (non-convection).
Grease a cookie sheet that’s at least 9×12 that has edges–not a flat pan, but not a deep one, either. Spray high-heat coconut oil works; Spectrum shortening does also. (Other shortenings and sprays may change the flavor profile.)
Get a big microwave-safe mixing bowl. Put in the stick of butter and zap it until it melts, or melt it in a stove pan before pouring it into the mixing bowl. Add eggs, ginger, sugar, and salt; whisk together until uniformly mixed and the eggs are trying to be fluffy. (Don’t use a blender; that’s overdoing it.)
Pour the entire 10oz of cereal into your concoction and mix with a big spoon until cereal is evenly coated. It won’t be sodden, but if it seems like you have cereal that doesn’t have any concoction on it at all, whisk up another egg in a different bowl and pour it in.
Poor the big glob of cereal stuff onto your greased cookie sheet. Use hands coated with another spray of coconut oil or a sheet of saran wrap to press the cereal glob into more a less a 1/2″ to 1″ high shape that fills the cookie sheet.Bake for 5-7 minutes. That’s just enough time for the eggs to cook, because you don’t want to eat them raw…well, usually you don’t.
Remove from oven, allow to cool, and then start yanking off pieces and eating them. They are legit nom, which is terrifying.
One of the most bizarrely cool people I’ve ever met was an oral surgeon who treated me after a ridiculous accident (that’s another story), Dr. Z.
Dr. Z. was, easily, the best and most competent doctor or dentist I’ve ever encountered – and after that accident, I encountered quite a number. He came stunningly highly recommended, had an excellent record, and the most calming bedside manner I’ve ever seen.
That last wasn’t the sweet gentle caretaking sort of manner, which some nurses have but you wouldn’t expect to see in a surgeon. No; when Dr. Z. told me that one of my broken molars was too badly damaged to save, and I (being seventeen and still moderately in shock) broke down crying, he stared at me incredulously and said, in a tone of utter bemusement, “But – I am very good.”
I stopped crying on the spot. In the last twenty-four hours or so of one doctor after another, no one had said anything that reassuring to me. He clearly just knew his own competence so well that the idea of someone being scared anyway was literally incomprehensible to him. What more could I possibly ask for?
(He was right. The procedure was very extended, because the tooth that needed to be removed was in bits, but there was zero pain at any point. And, as he promised, my teeth were so close together that they shifted to fill the gap to where there genuinely is none anymore, it’s just a little easier to floss on that side.)
But Dr. Z.’s insane competence wasn’t just limited to oral surgery.
When I met Dr. Z., he, like most doctors I’ve had, asked me if I was in college, and where, and what I was studying. When I say “math,” most doctors respond with “oh, wow, good for you” or possibly “what do you want to do with that after college?”
Dr. Z. wanted to know what kind of math.
I gave him the thirty-second layman’s summary that I give people who are foolish enough to ask that. He responded with “oh, you mean–” and the correct technical terms. I confirmed that was indeed what I meant (and keep in mind, this was upper-division college math, you don’t take this unless you’re a math major). He asked cogent follow-up questions, and there ensued ten or so minutes of what I’d call “small talk” except for how it was an intensely technical mathematical discussion.
He didn’t, as far as I can tell, have any kind of formal math background. He just … knew stuff.
I was a competitive fencer at this point in time, so when he asked if I had any questions about the surgery that would be necessary, I asked him if I’d be okay to fence while I had my jaw wired shut, or if it would interfere with breathing.
“Fencing?” he said.
“Yes,” I said, “like swordfighting,” because this is another conversation I got to have a lot. (People assume they’ve misheard you, or occasionally they think you mean building fences.)
“Which weapon?”
“Uh. Foil.”
“No, it won’t be safe,” and he went off into an explanation of why.
Turns out, he was also a serious fencer – and, when I mentioned my fencing coach, an old friend of his. (I asked my fencing coach later, and, oh yes, Dr. Z., a good friend of mine, excellent fencer.) (My coach was French. Dr. Z. was Israeli. I never saw Dr. Z. around the club or anything. I have no idea how they knew each other.)
So this was weird enough that later, when I was home, I looked Dr. Z. up on Yelp. His reviews were stellar, of course, but that wasn’t the weird thing.
The weird thing was that the reviews were full of people – professionals in lots of different fields – saying the same thing: I went to Dr. Z. for oral surgery, and he asked me about what I did, and it turned out he knew all about my field and had a competent and educated discussion with me about the obscure technical details of such-and-such.
All sorts of different fields, saying this. Lawyers. Businessmen. Musicians.
As far as I can tell, it’s not that I just happened to be pursuing the two fields he had a serious amateur interest in – he just seemed to be extremely good at literally everything.
I have no explanation for this. Possibly he sold his soul to the devil.
I can think of no starker demonstration of commercialisation destroying culture than the fact that Rickrolling doesn’t work anymore because YouTube plays an unskippable two-minute ad first.
the least realistic thing about star trek is that starfleet uniforms don’t have pockets and nobody complains about it
My instinct is to agree with this, but like, when I really think about it…
No money, no credit cards, identification is all vocal/fingerprints/retinal, so no wallet.
Again, doors are voice activated, or just unlocked by entering a code. No keys.
Communication devices are tiny and stick onto clothing starting in Next Gen. TOS had bulkier communication that they carried around or kept in, like, packs and stuff, so the arguments for pockets is a little more valid, and if I remember correctly, those costumes did have pockets, tho I could be wrong about that. But anything post TNG, the point is moot anyway.
Tricorders and phasers are really the only thing anyone’s carrying around, and that’s usually on away missions where they’d be bring their packs/holsters or just have them out. I mean, who wants to stick a phaser in their pocket?
So, yeah. There’s not much little stuff people need to carry around everywhere. And if they are preparing for a longer journey or want to bring bulkier things, well…just bring a bag. It fits more anyway.
what if i find a cool rock and want to take it home with me
Every time a member of the USS Enterprise has found a cool rock and taken it home, it has resulted in eleven deaths, six temporal displacements, the holodecks breaking again, and somebody getting turned into a lizard. Pockets are a privilege, not a right.
But like… spare hairties? Music player? Epi-pen? Tampon?
Steel Phoenix Studios 