Fuck! My beard fell off!

Published by Dead Badger on 9th May, 2007.

Optional goatee

It did, you know.

What, details? Oh, all right. In short (har har), I, a consummate beardsman, have been betrayed by my tools. I was trimming my beard to the EU-approved length of 9mm (deviation 0.75mm), when disaster struck! As I neared the sideburns, the cheaply-manufactured trimming guard sprang from the jaws of my trimmer, apparently having lusted after my earlobes for too long and unable to contain itself one moment longer.

Not expecting such dynamism from an inanimate object, my hand slipped. The voracious trimmer, oblivious, did what all trimmers do in such circumstances, and neatly scooped a bald patch off my jawline.

I stared, stunned, into the mirror; the likeness of an itinerant with mange stared back at me, similarly startled. I mumbled something about not having any change, before I realised that this horrible vision was me, and that I was going to have to fix it.

So, now I have a goatee, which as we all know is the lazy scriptwriter’s code for an evil alter ego. Accordingly, I will be being evil until the sides grow back in. I will be starting off in minor ways – under-tipping at restaurants; deliberately reading the Daily Mail; that sort of thing. By approximately Sunday, however, I expect to have graduated to at least evil henchman levels of naughtiness, and will most likely be roasting puppies, then ostentatiously not eating them.

Hopefully with my return from the Mirror Universe will come an equally scripturally lazy amnesia, so that I won’t be overcome with remorse for my misdeeds while under the beardfluence. Of course, amnesia brings its own perils, and I will probably end up starting an amorous relationship with a similarly afflicted family member, only for the inevitable realisation to destroy both of our minds.

The lesson: don’t buy shit trimmers, or you’ll end up shagging your sister. It’s inevitable.

Goatee image courtesy of shamelessly nicked from S. John Ross, who is soliciting donations so he can buy a whole first name. This blog does not condone incest or the use of imitation facial hair. Unless your sister’s really hot, in which case both are options.

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Syllogisms for the timid

Published by Dead Badger on 3rd May, 2007.

(A->B)\>(B->A)Today I shall be conducting a lesson in logic for the fearful. Having observed at first hand the deleterious effects of mild peril on the rational abilities of the trembling classes, I think it’s only fair to start from the very start. So, what is a syllogism? Defined by Aristotle, a syllogism is the basis of deductive reasoning, in which a conclusion is inferred from two premises. For example:

  1. All men are mortal.
  2. Socrates is a man.
  3. Therefore, Socrates is mortal.

Seems fine, right? And indeed, mortals and minor television celebrities alike have been using such inference systems (whether wittingly or not) since the birth of civilisation, or at least since their shows got greenlighted (-lit?). Of course there’s more to it than this; quantification and set theory get involved, but if you can comprehend the above example, you’re fully equipped to enter into philosophic debate with the best of them. Indeed Socrates, as implied above, is quite dead – you have the upper hand over one of the finest minds in history.

Of course, as with any fine tool, the syllogism is open to abuse (“I placed the can-opener in my rectum all the better to grip the handle, officer”). Consider the following example, beloved of politicians and football managers:

  1. Something must be done.
  2. This is something.
  3. Therefore, we must do this.

This faulty yet plausible-looking reasoning has landed us at various points with the Millennium Dome, the 3-day week, the asymmetric mullet and the sweeper formation. Dangerous, n’est-ce pas? Oh, my friends, you have no idea.

I come at this point to the very fulcrum of my lesson, the personal experience which drove me to attempt to educate the quivering masses. A very specific line of reasoning, the example runs (as best I can tell) thus:

  1. Terrorists exist.
  2. They have hair.
  3. Therefore, we should take away Simon’s shampoo.

Over the course of a 48-hour sojourn to Dublin, I have been relieved of: one bottle of Loreal Elvive shampoo; one bottle of Garnier Fructis shampoo (purchased, with official blessing, to replace the former); two bottles of Mint Source shower gel; and one can of Nivea under-arm deodorant (“Silk” fragrance). In this manner, apparently, was the safety of the British Isles preserved for another slightly smelly day.

Timid people of the world; hear me! My shampoo does not threaten you with anything more worrisome than blinding glossiness. The number of times my hair wax has successfully exploded a jet full of innocents can be counted on Abu Hamza’s right hand (oops). That one time I laid waste to an opulent and arrogant western civilisation using only my armpits was indeed an unfortunate incident, but I have learnt from my mistakes, and moved on. Please, I beg of you; let me shower in peace, and stop placing the logical can-opener that is syllogism in the metaphorical rectum of your fear. It just makes it, and me, smell shitty.

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Great Jobs #5372

Published by Dead Badger on 16th April, 2007.

I was just reading the Economist*. Specifically, I was reading a hugely self-improving article about how bacteria make you happy. I think I was, anyway; I may just be recalling one of those yoghurt drink adverts infesting late night television. Anyway, a particular bit leapt off the page, and I share it with you now:

Dr Lowry and his team injected their mice with M. vaccae and examined them to find out what was going on. First, they looked for a rise in the level of cytokines, which are molecules produced by the immune system that trigger responses in the brain. As expected, cytokine levels rose. They then looked directly in their animals’ brains for the effect of those cytokines. Cytokines actually act on sensory nerves that run to the brain from organs such as the heart and the lungs. That action stimulates a brain structure called the dorsal raphe nucleus. It was this nucleus that Dr Lowry focused on. He found a group of cells within it that connect directly to the limbic system, the brain’s emotion-generating area. These cells release serotonin into the limbic system in response to sensory-nerve stimulation. The consequence of that release is stress-free mice. Dr Lowry was able to measure their stress by dropping them into a tiny swimming pool.

I’m sure several of you will already have spotted the bit that appealed to me. Here it is again:

Dr Lowry was able to measure their stress by dropping them into a tiny swimming pool.

I can’t help feeling that these scientists are missing the wood for the trees. Here they are, trying to determine the root causes of human happiness. I salute them for this: great work, no doubt, and vital to our continued wellbeing. But to focus on bacteria levels, when such an immense source of happiness is right under their noses? No wonder the narrow-minded and obsessive stereotype of boffins persists in the media. You keep swilling your pro-vita-biotic yoghurt drinks, Mr so-called Scientist. I shall be dropping mice into tiny swimming pools once a morning. We’ll see who ends up happier.

* actually their website; I used to read the magazine on the tube, but became self-conscious about subtly advertising myself as a shameless free marketeer hell-bent on the repression of the urban poor. Now I wear an Adam Smith face mask and shouldercharge the less competent buskers, then run away burning fivers. Subtlety is overrated, I think.

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Inept Misbehavin’

Published by Dead Badger on 5th April, 2007.

water balloon

I was incompetently water ballooned today. Really; as I sloped to the corner store, intent on buying OTC pharmaceuticals and tea (I forgot both, instead coming home with chicken flavour noodles and houmous), I was ambushed by some kids who were hanging around our street corner. No great surprise, I know – miraculous that I wasn’t stabbed for my socks or something – but what really irritated me was the complete lack of effort put in. The lead up was lazy; no abuse, no humourous taunts about my beard, for example. The act itself was frankly flaccid, as the balloon bounced off my right shoulderblade; even the getaway lacked verve, although I suppose here some of the blame is mine, as the most outrage I could muster was a croaked, “try that again, you little shits.”

It’s all very well Tony Blair sounding off about the shocking breakdown of respect in our society, but surely far more concerning is the fact that our nation’s youngsters are so utterly ill-schooled in basic mechanics that they can’t even construct a water balloon that bloody well bursts on impact. Nasa has done detailed research on this, you know; it’s not like they couldn’t have looked it up if in doubt.

The scalliwags in question obviously legged it before I could tutor them in the niceties of affordable hydration optimisation, but it’s really not difficult. A P.E. teacher could get a C in GCSE water ballooning, for crying out loud. Too little, it won’t burst at all. Too much, it’ll burst as soon as you try to throw it. Get with the program, for fuck’s sake. And anyway, you lot were at least eight years old – aren’t you supposed to be smoking crack and menacing grannies by now? If you haven’t mastered the art of water balloons, how are you going to be able to work out what percentage you can cut your key of charlie by to maximise your profit without Big Jimmy noticing? Hmm?

Our educational system is going to the very dogs, I tell you.

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Scientists detect fat people

Published by Dead Badger on 27th March, 2007.

Many of you will be aware of recent research performed by top scientists that allows them to detect fat people (bottom scientists, of course, have a much easier time of it). It involves 3D scanners, hospitals and men in white coats standing around saying, “indeed.” You, like me, will be gladdened by this remarkable breakthrough, but will want to know how you yourself can take advantage of this development. Fortunately, I am here to help. I have developed a low-cost version of the fattie detector, or “FATScan”, and I share it with you now, unpatented for the greater good:

FATScan

“How does this work?” I hear you cry. Simple: print the above picture at A4 size, and cut where indicated by the dotted lines. Discard the central section (environmentalists may want to recycle it, or use it for the concealment of endangered ferrets). Once you have constructed your FATScan, its use is simple. Here it is in action, demonstrating that my colleague is not fat:

Not fat

As shown, the idea is to locate your suspected fat person, and convince them to remain stationary (the ease or otherwise of this task provides an early indicator of fatness). Hold up your FATScan at arm’s length, and observe the subject through the hole. A normal person, viewed through a FATScan, will have a roughly even gap all around him, as shown. A fat person will come dangerously close to the latitudinal margins of the viewport, causing clipping. Secondary symptoms may also be apparent; the fat person may be clutching a chocolate eclair, being unwarrantedly jolly, or even visibly sweating. A word of warning: make sure your subject is fully upright. Early FATScan practitioners were forced to recall a number of patients after it was suggested that they were not in fact fat, but merely lying down.

Scientist detector

Clown detector

The glory of the FATScan is not only its affordability and portability, but its eminent adaptability. The accompanying prototypes, for example (shown left, right), are believed to reliably detect scientists and clowns respectively (the latter doubles as a handy screening device for genital deformity).

The government is being petitioned to provide the scientist detector to all fat people, so that they can determine whether the person scanning them is in fact a scientist, or merely a nutter with some paper.

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