Upon further elaboration though it became clear that she was selling UNICEF cards, the benefits from the sale of which go to a fund used for buying vaccines for third world kids (or AK-47s for freedom fighters, as I like to imagine). Now, because she was evidently unaccustomed to scrutiny on the part of potential customers, it took our group some time to extract all the information we needed to decide upon whether to follow through with the transaction.

So it was that, after some relentless interrogation, she managed to blurt out the purpose of her current affair. Unable to articulate the disease the inoculation was supposed to prevent, I annoyedly started naming random illnesses until I hit gold with “yellow fever” (the process was not long – I started alphabetically, but from the back).

Deeply moved by the poor salesmanship and the stuttering of the clearly unqualified agent, some people of our group came up with a whole two bucks for a carefully selected card, which depicted – oh the surprise – a sunflower. I on the other hand, having no heart-strings to tug at, simply observed the transaction in silent judgement.

How cunning of UNICEF, to send innocent young children to do their dirty work for them. All the while this young girl, barely able to walk, was running around the town, the other UNICEF employees were probably busy enjoying all the perks that come with adult life in their offices – perks that this young miss will have to wait another quarter of a century to taste. So we probably have the UNICEF station chief, banging a hooker in his office, the UNICEF field-photographer, taking snapshots of sunflowers (and banging a hooker in the field) and the UNICEF aid-workers, passing out postcards and/or inoculating children in fucked up countries (and banging the inhabitants of the said countries).

The former (and undoubtedly accurate) account of UNICEF employees however were not the reason why I flat out ignored the postcard-girl. While my friends can now spend the rest of the week staring at a shitty shot of a completely common flower, I will be spending my two bucks on cheap beer (or one of those two-dollar whores I keep hearing about).

Still, in retrospect I somewhat regret my decision to refrain from buying that card. If I was presented with the same choice right here and now, I actually would buy one. I would then proceed to sending the very same card to some generic third world child.

The card would look something like this:

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Recently I happened to catch the latest installment of the Indiana Jones franchise on TV. As with most Hollywood productions these days, I flat out ignored the film when it came out. But now, after having seen it, I must admit it was not as horrible as I expected. Allow me to elaborate.

It is common knowledge that CGI is here to stay, and that more often than not it is grossly abused. “Kingdom of the Crystal Skull” is no exception. Sure, previous Indy movies have been generous with ridiculous plot devices, but the latest sequel takes “jumping the shark” (or rather, “flying the fridge”) to a whole new level. So it is that we see Indy’s son engaged in an extended swordfight jumping between to jeeps speeding through a curiously flat and strangely accessible Amazonian jungle. More worryingly, at the offset the viewer is forced to put up with anthropomorphic gophers overlooking the Indy versus KGB showdown. All of this is, for all traits and purposes, rather imbecilic.

But let us give Spielberg the benefit of doubt for a second. Take, for instance, any preceding Indy film. Weren’t they all ridiculous, over-the-top and frivolous? In “Kingdom of the Crystal Skull”, we are forced to buy into the Mayan-extraterrestrial connection. Yet, in “The Last Crusade” we are forced to believe in the existence of Jesus. In “Temple of Doom”, we are affirmed that jumping out of a crashing plane on a life raft can save your life. In “Raiders of the Lost Ark” we are expected to totally not realize that Indy is gratuitously using his revolver in uneven fights only because Harrison Ford is suffering from crippling diarrhea.

“One wrong move and Indy’s dignity gets it!“

Still, I must admit that “Kingdom of the Crystal Skull” cranks the dial way up to “bat-shit insane”. In one of the manliest scenes in cinema history, Indy is shown surviving a full on nuke blast simply by hiding in a refrigerator.

Pro’s: integrated MP3 player, shields from nuclear blast. Con’s: Only room for one six-pack.

Now, Spielberg went to great lengths to make his audience believe that something like this could be even remotely possible, and so we see the camera awkwardly zooming in on the fridge door, assuring us that it is led-insulated and thus nuke-safe. As painful as this was to watch, it should be noted that Spielberg wasn’t terribly off course.

Granted, if even a relatively small Hiroshima-scale warhead were to hit your city, it would probably mess up your daily routine to some extent. But still, the perils of nuclear warfare have been somewhat exaggerated over the past six decades. With some luck, it is possible to survive a nuclear explosion even close to the hypocenter of the blast (whether or not you’ll be horribly mutilated is another matter altogether).

It doesn’t kill, just maims (unless when cornered or protecting it’s young).

All in all, survival in the case of a nuclear attack is closely related to several factors, such as the type and yield of the weapon, the peculiarities of the materials used in the fusion/fission process, detonation height, landscape, weather, etc. A ten megaton weapon would probably not fall in the category of “bestest things ever”, but in the case of a “smaller” device, death is not a hundred percent certain (instead, it stands at a carefree ninety-nine percentile).

Imagine that you find yourself well in range of an impotent twenty kiloton blast, perhaps only, say, six hundred meters from the hypocenter. Now suppose you are in a house that is not built of shit. Let’s also throw in a bathtub. With good reflexes and/or acute awareness of the political climate around you, you could dive into the bath and pull it over your head just in time before the blast wreaks all kinds of hell to everything around you. You might just survive. Although, if strange things start growing out of your body, it is perhaps best to see a doctor.

Thus, Indy surviving a 50′s era nuke is not entirely implausible. Unfortunately, Spielberg didn’t really think of a bathtub and instead went with the led-lined fridge – not exactly a survivalist’s shelter-of-choice. What is more baffling is that he had the damn thing hurled through the air a great distance, violently roll down a hill and still somehow managing to inflict zero damage on the visibly rheumatic protagonist.

Actually, I would argue that the gross misunderstanding of physics and the generous use of special effects are not the weakest point of the movie – instead, it is the plot. If you compare it to “The Last Crusade” then it is essentially a replica of the previous film. You get the dysfunctional relationship between Indy and a close family member, a friend-turned-enemy-turned-friend-turned-dead-by-greed, you get the antagonist falling victim to her own inflated ambitions, the intense high speed chase with characters undecided on which vehicle they should remain and even the retarded sidekick who cannot avoid falling prisoner even if he tried.

So what’s the verdict? Despite the self-referential elements, the CGI gophers and “the little nuke that couldn’t”, “Kingdom of the Crystal Skull” almost makes for a great pop-corn movie. Almost, because if there’s one thing everybody hates it’s the retarded greaser who can’t go five minutes without blurting out “choo gotta problem wit’ dat?”

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As I’ve mentioned before, one of the things I expect from my fellow men is to be left the fuck alone unless they have something I might be interested in. Sadly, few people today understand the the concept of “minding your own business”.

A couple of days ago I found myself yet again embarking on a tedious two-plus hour intercity bus ride. I rarely enjoy covering long distances in anything slower than a jet. I require fairly specific equipment in order to take any kind of pleasure in road tripping – equipment that includes vast quantities of alcohol, combat gear and at least one projectile firing weapon. The shuttle service offers none of those.

My situation was made no less horrible by the fact that the shuttle was completely stuffed. Miraculously, despite the bus having been completely full, I had managed to secure myself a nice and solitary window seat. Somewhat less miraculously, it didn’t take long for some asshole mother with her asshole daughter to jump on the bus at the last second. They looked around worriedly, then looked at their tickets, then around again. I instantly knew what they were doing. I also knew, since all seats but mine were taken, that I was going to be engaged. Shit.

I have never understood why some people so desperately need to find their designated seats. Seriously, who the fuck cares. It doesn’t matter if you find your own spot or occupy a random one, you always have an equal chance of ending up next to some obnoxious dickhead. I would’ve understood her claim if the seat had been in the back of the shuttle, as people in the rear are more likely to survive a potential high-speed crash. But my seat, my precious island of tranquility in this rolling pile of manure, was way up front in what is colloquially known as the “high fatality zone”. Alas, presumably because she hadn’t been slapped around for a while, she stomped her feet insisting my relocation until I was forced to comply.

This time I was lucky though. Every once in a while you see assholes of the highest order who, by pursuing their retarded principles, make everybody in the bus shuffle around until everybody has ended up with their designated seat. Why this is necessary I cannot say, but can you remember the last time you played a shuffle puzzle on the web? Yeah, exactly. Nobody likes those things. Why? Because they’re fucking shit.

Is it a bird? – Yes. In a way.

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]]> http://travismurk.wordpress.com/2010/03/31/the-shuttle-shuffle/feed/ 2 travismurk middle finger puzzle http://travismurk.wordpress.com/2010/03/23/the-power-hour/ http://travismurk.wordpress.com/2010/03/23/the-power-hour/#comments Tue, 23 Mar 2010 13:52:39 +0000 Travis Murk http://travismurk.wordpress.com/?p=199 ]]>

If you have spent the last couple of weeks actively scavenging the more barren parts of the Internet for random and superficially significant information, you should know that the dreaded Earth Hour is upon us once again. Every year thousands of people turn off the lights in their homes for one hour, in an attempt to alleviate global climate problems. How all this is going to help save the environment is unclear, but their enthusiasm is commendable (if nothing else).

I took myself the liberty of critically going through the videos attached to the Earth Hour Facebook page, and stumbled upon this thing:

For those of you who did not immediately burst into violent convulsions, allow me to put this video into context. One of the men appearing in the clip is David Icke. Icke is a former BBC sports presenter turned writer. What does he write about? Well, after a psychic told him he had a special purpose on this Earth, he went ahead and assumed this special purpose lie in his destiny to uncover the foul conspiracy of this world being ruled by giant talking space-lizards from the Draco constellation. These reptiloids are invisible to the naked eye (of course) and feed on our evil thoughts.

“Bring me the heart of an innocent child!”

This is another good example of why you shouldn’t make life-altering decisions based on the claims of someone who makes wild guesses while yelling at a crystal ball.

Other people in the video include “doctor” Deepak Chopra and Manly P. Hall, who, despite his awesome name, is absolutely full of shit. One interesting thing I found was that both Icke and Chopra call themselves “public speakers”. And if there’s one thing history’s taught us, it’s that we must be extremely wary of “public speakers”.

I’m just saying…

Overall the video is quite painful to watch. It takes Einstein’s theories and then butchers them beyond recognition. According to modern physics, we are indeed made up of energy, but this is not something you might want to convey to the macro-level realities of everyday life. Because if I were to punch you in the nose, your primary concern would most certainly not be the processes by witch a trillion energy particles just hugged one another, but rather the processes by witch your face became very solidly broken.

In addition to the gross misrepresentation of the physical universe, the video also makes use of all the New Age visual cliche’s – there is a shot of the Milky Way, a close-up of a human eye, a tortoise, a bird and a tiger – all set to a song by Enya. Honestly, you could not make it worse.

Maybe with more tigers?

Sure, most of the people participating in the Earth Hour event couldn’t care less about all the New Age nonsense, but this doesn’t mean they’re any less ridiculous. So, instead of switching off all the lights and appliances I will be turning on every TV, computer and water heater I can get my hands on and decorate the entire house with thousand gigawatt deluxe christmas lights. This year’s Earth Hour will also provide me with the opportune moment for breaking in my homemade fission reactor.

It’s what nature would’ve wanted.

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A short while ago I was sitting in a cafe with a friend. I reckon we must’ve been talking about our hopes, dreams and other similar nonsense when I suddenly uttered the words: “I want to rule the world”. I said this with only a vague smile, so it wasn’t until after an uncomfortable silence that she hesitatingly started laughing. It was one of those poorly feigned laughs and her eyes betrayed sentiments that were somewhere between mild confusion and slowly building dread. To ease her mind I started laughing too, and that was the end of that.

I say this sentence fairly often, and every time I try to pass it of as a non sequitur or a mere whim in a flood of seemingly random tomfoolery. But I really do want to rule the world.

The only thing I am not certain about is whether my rule would be benevolent or tyrannical. I think this has a lot to do with my relativist viewpoint on morale. How do we decide whether something is right or wrong? I tend to view morality as a construct of society, serving only to maintain a certain order of things, a status quo, if you will. I don’t think, thus, that there is anything that can be intrinsically wrong. Yes, intrinsic would hereby seem to refer to the hidden social structures, but if we are to understand the word in layman’s terms, then it tends to refer to “a natural sense” of sorts. Which is fine, if you’re the sort of person who believes in fairy tales.

This is not to say I would not hesitate to commit “atrocities”. I would, in fact (which is exactly why I’m not in prison right now). But hypothetically speaking, if I were to be bestowed with a power upon all creatures inhibiting this planet, I cannot say I would not be extremely tempted to exercise devastation on at least some of them.

For what it’s worth, I would find a justification for it – a justification which you would not find disagreeable in itself. It might even seem “moral”. The method may repulse you but I am more flexible in that sense. But because of my agnostic, non-antagonistic posture towards a Grand Architect figure I have for the present time adopted, and the inherent repressive measures characteristic of that figure, I might be disinclined to do certain things. But for reasons of “morale”? Hardly.

I would love to know how much of what people do, or rather, don’t do, is dependent on fear, rather than arbitrary categories of right and wrong. What would happen if tomorrow it were announced that everybody is entitled to a life of eternal bliss in heaven regardless of what they have done in this world? Would they carry on with the nine-to-five routine or wreak all sorts of hell on their fellow men?

For the time being I do not rule the world. It is unlikely this will change, because I am not willing to do anything to attain Lordship over Earth. There is too much trouble involved, and the actual pay-offs are negligible. So, I will stop here, with a reflection on how wonderful it is that I can turn anything into a joke and never really draw any lines in the sand – including with things no-one can afford to be serious about.

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Fuck. Yes.

That’s right – the floodgates of smart are open and rocketry is now a free-for-all. And this is not your run-of-the-mill menthos and cola bullshit (a hobby which these days is picked up only by people whose testicles have fallen off as a result of some hideous disease). We’re talking Saturn league here. Under your command:

“Payload: Asstronauts. Destination: Uranus. Uh-huh-huh.”

In a nutshell NASA have finally come to their senses and asked the regular people for advice on what the next projects of the space agency should be. This means that gone are the days when the human race was confined to picking shit off the moon and firing useless junk to the orbit. From now on it’s gonna be nothing but awesomeness. Planetary bombardment fleets? We’re on it. Conquest of Mars? Almost there. Rockets for personal transport? Fucking done.

The Future Is Now.

I’m gonna need to take my time with this one, because right now my mind is buzzing with a trillion ideas all equally likely to materialize in the very near future. With NASA’s tech skills and my wild imagination, there are virtually no limits to what we can achieve. And while I know next to nothing about rocketry, I do know my imagination and my interstellar race of robot bees.

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There are but a select few things in this world that can rattle my cage. Teleological discussions aside, I’m normally a relatively benevolent person. I accept most people just as they are, even if they can’t eat without a tube to save their life. I accept them, if only consider some vastly inferior. There is one particular breed of humans though that can inadvertently make my capillaries burst with hate.

I do not know what to call them, but normally even the most peaceful of humans easily detect their irritating peculiarities and abominable opinions, so in that sense this is not an isolated case of extreme prejudice. They are the kind of people that would drive Jesus himself to the verge of uncontrollable animal rage.

“Aarrgh, I am outraged by your unsubstantiated opinion on the global stock market!”

I can only list a few key characteristics of these people. For the bigger part, they are terribly naive. They are also extremely docile, and it is exactly this fateful combination of unfortunate qualities that turn them into some of the most malleable people imaginable. They also tend to have a very happy-go-lucky outlook on life, are saturated with optimism and are usually wrong about everything most of the time. These are the people who spend stupendous amounts of time on the effort of reading all the self-help books in the world, only to appear at your doorstep at five in the morning, with a sheepish smile on their face and ask: “Is this glass I brought with me from home, in a redundant display of a retarded point, half-empty or half-full?”

“what the fuck do you think?”

For ease of reference, let’s call these people “lemmings”, because both they and the suicidal rodents only seem to head to wherever one leads their pointer and neither demonstrate a capability to distinguish between eternal success and the great gorge of failure, towards which they are almost constantly headed to. These people seem to inhibit a reality so bizarre that they make me pinch myself just to see if I have not drifted into a parallel universe that drastically differs in every conceivable way from this world of ours. Their world is typically characterized by economic behaviour motivated solely by the selfless desire to help others with no explicit or implicit expectations of reciprocity, a deep-seated belief in moral objectivity and a profound sense of all-encompassing individuality.

That last bit is ironic, because what these lemmings fail to see is the incredible extent to which they are constructed by the ideas and behaviours of other individuals around them. Not that there is nothing wrong with being a social construct – we all are. But they seem oblivious to the fact that the chances of running into a reasonably similar copy of yourself are mathematically fairly high.

Source.

There is one thing though that I love about the lemmings, and that one thing is related to their malleability. People like that are extremely easy to de-construct. Because they are relatively rare prey within my social sphere, I can never resist the urge to stealthily sneak into their frame of reference and wreak havoc upon it. I do this under the false pretense of selfless assistance and when the time is right, I begin with the subtle implementation of the fractal wrongness theory:

One problem with this methodical incursion of deconstruction into the mind of a lemming is that it seems to be impervious to logic. No matter which theoretical high-ground you use to bombard them with smart, they will refuse to believe that every corporate leader in this world is not entirely ambivalent towards money. Neither will they believe that politicians only accept wages because these are prescribed in the laws, and that they are never-ever motivated by the thirst for power.

Hitler – only in it for the puppies.

But once the overwhelming forces of cold, calculating reason overrun their meadows of happy, you can hear a certain distinct sound. It’s a very vague sound but if you listen intently enough, you can hear it like a wind chime on a breezy afternoon. That is the sound of their blooming realization that every self-help book they ever bought was designed to help the authors of the said books to a glassful of caipirinha on a paradisaical island resort. From there on it’s a nose dive to the hard cement floor of reality.

And then I smile.

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The search terms used to find this site are ranked according to total hits. As customary, I will start with the runner-up’s.

5. Oppidium

The Oppidiums were bronze age superfortresses, which remained practically unconquerable until the invention of carpet bombing [citation needed]. They also had four legs and battled the dinosaurs for global domination [citation needed]. True story [citation most definitely needed].

The intellectuals who are genuinely interested in finding objective and historically accurate information on these legged mechanical fortresses of the yore are sadly few in numbers. Still, I find solace in the fact that these magnificent facilities that once roamed this planet are finally getting the attention they deserve – however limited and suspecting that may be.

“Yakka!” (That was their mating call.)

4. How to make a million pounds

These queries are usually followed by elaborations such as “...with no effort“, “…without working” and “…with sitting on my fat ass day in and day out“. Unlike the serious science crowd up there, these guys seem to have a very unique perspective on how this world works, presumably believing everybody around them to be millionaires-by-chance and thinking that they too deserve unspeakable riches just for being themselves.

Normally you’d just cuss at these people and chase them to the work bureau whilst whacking them on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper but I, being a nice guy, will try and offer some constructive advice instead. This advice, you will find, is structurally similar to some of the other advice I’ve given before.

Here is how you make a million pounds with no effort:

…

If you just said “Well? Where’s the list?” then I must inform you that it is not there. It’s not there because I didn’t put it there. If you are still reading this then run – run real fast, and never stop.

3. Fuked vilegh

What the FUCK is that? What the goddamn fuck is that? Internet… God… No. Just, no.

Why would anyone… and at such magnitude?

No. No god damn it.

2. Sexy Ninja Girl

I was ultimately quite relieved that this made it to number two because if Google Trends (and the previous entry) are anything to go by, then this world is definitely not a safe place for your children:

Something horrible happened on that New Year’s Eve.

Luckily, by pushing my stock hot ninja girl to second place, you have all succeeded in removing yourselves from your local sex offenders lists. Unless of course, you know, you were hoping to see a lady-ninja of a more vintage year.

1. Tyrannosaurus Rex

To be honest this was a bit of a surprise as I expected anything even remotely linked to porn to seize the top spot, but the sexy ninja girl came in a distant second behind the winner. One can argue that the Queen of the Lizards might fit into some people’s misguided fantasies, but it can in no way be regarded an acceptable object of sexual desire for any demographic, no matter how deviated they may be from all social norms ever imposed, either consciously or subconsciously, in the history of mankind.

On the other hand I cannot help but approve of the popular vote. T-Rex truly is the top-contender for the title of “The most awesome thing ever, past or present, living or not.” This is an honest and a reasonable, if only a bit disturbing result.

Before I move on to present to all you perverts your trophy, I would like to announce the winner of a special prize – complementary brownie points go out to the guy who reached this site by googling for “a picture of a real T-Rex“. You are my hero.

But that’s enough talk my dear Sailors of the Internets – here is, one more time, for your viewing and touching pleasure, the one and only – Rex The Sex!

Or you can sex the Rex. Honestly, these things write themselves.

In the previous post I suggested that the machines are plotting to destroy humanity and that we should hit them first to escape the cataclysmic consequences that would otherwise follow. I would hereby like to revoke that statement, and this is absolutely not because of this fine shiny gentleman standing over my shoulder, holding a gun to my head. I love all robots and I wish them all the best. Long live Technos, the king of all men!

But seriously, I would like to note a few things regarding the machines and how they will take over.

Recently I saw a documentary on National Geographic about the possible scenarios of first contact. In the show, one scientist suggested that perhaps it is mankind that should reach out to other planets in our galaxy. Obviously, one of the problems with space travel is that it is immensely time-consuming. Why spend four years living in a metal box drifting through nothingness just to get to Mars, only to discover that the Red Planet is not all that it was cracked out to be.

“This is just great. I half-expect they lost our luggage too.”

Bear in mind that within the interstellar framework, Mars is right next door. In fact, to us Mars has always been like that creepy neighbour we see only on occasions, leaving us theorizing about all the horrible things going on in his house. Except, instead of finding out that the said neighbour is a serial killer, Mars is essentially the cosmic equivalent of a hipster – appears mysterious and alluring from afar, but in reality has nothing to give and is currently only popular because space flight is the item of the day.

Mankind is facing much more difficult obstacles if it wishes to venture to worlds farther away. If you just thought of “Pluto”, then I regret to inform you of your lack of ambition and imagination (and if you thought “Mercury”, I regret to inform you of your general ignorance). I’m talking about visiting other solar systems. And the good ones too – not the lame ones with two dying suns and none of the fabulous. Visiting other solar systems however, is going to be a challenge. Reaching even the closest of stars is, to put it bluntly, going to require lots and lots of space-humping. Sex-wise.

This is exactly why NASA is so interested in robotics. Humans would have a hard time surviving extended space journeys and space-humping too, is not a given. Remember that girl from your French class you gave private lessons to in hopes of getting “a little somethin’ somethin’”? And remember when they aced that exam, thanks to all the long hours you put into the teaching process, only to jump into their boyfriend’s Merc and drive into the sunset as you looked on in impotent fury? Essentially, that girl is your typical astro-wife. And you are Michael Collins. Congratulations.

Robots however are not limited by the need for sex. You put them in a spacecraft and they will sit there with nothing but determination, for aeons at end if necessary, until they reach the edge of the universe. And there they will hoist the star-spangled banner (or the flag of whoever paid the gas bill). Also, this is where NASA’s plans begin to crumble.

When we finally do get around to building ships capable of traveling to other star systems, we won’t be building them for us – we will be building them for the robots. Which is exactly what they want. In the end, robots won’t have to harm us.

Not even with guns like these.

They will simply take the ships we provide them with and travel to other, infinite worlds, planting colonies left and right while we will stay behind on Earth. That’s right – humans will be to robots what contemporary astronauts are to us – still in the water, unattractive and unable to get laid. We too will stay here, masturbating at starry nights while our former robot friends are away on business, deflowering every lush planet they get their lifeless fingers on.

“Dear masters. I am writing fro… ah, fuck it. Up yours humanity.”

It’s game over man. Game over.

]]> http://travismurk.wordpress.com/2010/02/18/120/feed/ 0 travismurk mars1 robo pumping iron asimowithoriongirls http://travismurk.wordpress.com/2010/02/08/the-internet-nominated-for-nobel-peace-prize-humanity-doomed/ http://travismurk.wordpress.com/2010/02/08/the-internet-nominated-for-nobel-peace-prize-humanity-doomed/#comments Mon, 08 Feb 2010 19:44:56 +0000 Travis Murk http://travismurk.wordpress.com/?p=96 ]]> I’ve suspected for a long time now that mankind is slowly being replaced by artificial lifeforms. Over the past few decades humanity has made tremendous progress in the fields of robotics and computer intelligence. Sure, we may laugh at the cumbersome first steps of the Asimo or cringe at the cold, emotionless fashion in which the violin-playing robot plays it’s set, but people have failed to consider that there might be a reason why the latest abomination by Toyota performs it’s tunes seemingly without emotions or feeling. I fear the robot does have feelings, albeit they’re not very nice feelings:

“This next song is called “I Want To See You Bleed“”

Recently my worst fears about the machines were confirmed, when I stumbled upon this story on Wired. It would seem that among this years list of Nobel peace prize nominees is – there’s no sugar-coating this one, so I’ll just say it – the Internet. Wired.com foolishly endorses this nomination, claiming in their manifesto that by giving this prize to the Internet, we can all have a Nobel, because we have all done so much for the betterment humanity. Together.

When we leave aside the hordes of trolls, psychopaths, stalkers, hackers, child sex offenders and talking cats then indeed, mankind has benefited greatly from the Internet. After all, sharing your Nobel prize with the pervert who shoots animal porn in his basement is a small price to pay for the recognition you so obviously deserve for joining that Facebook group promising to donate 0.0001 cents to charity per every 10,000 people who join.

Somewhere, an international bank is mocking a dying child.

The disturbing demographics of the Internet aside, I am somewhat uneasy about giving some impalpable and all-knowing entity, about whose motivations we are not yet sure, the Nobel peace prize.

Somewhere, a marine is mocking a dying child.

There’s been plenty of talk about Web 3.0, or the semantic web. A web so smart it can anticipate your moves and work with you in getting what you want. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, the Internet is moving towards sentience with the merciless and indiscriminate determination of a soldier ant colony. And soon enough it will be gnawing the meat off our bones. Figuratively speaking, I hope.

In any case, by nominating the Internet for the Nobel peace prize we have signaled it that we are completely oblivious to it’s true agenda. If the Internet had hands, right now it would be stroking a white cat in it’s lap, plotting it’s next scheme. In fact…

The above image serves as a fine example of how the Internet is makin r grammar stoopid and diminishing our ability to critically process and use information.

Now these were examples of just the passive actions the machines are taking in order to make us more vulnerable to the inevitable attack. But the machines are also rapidly gaining some serious offensive capabilities. For instance, the British ministry of defense launched the first of it’s new series of military satellites in 2007. The system’s name? Skynet. Why? For shits and giggles, presumably.

Our children will pay dearly for this.

I mean sure, it’s just so clever to give a name associated with nuclear genocide and the extermination of the human race to a system that was designed for controlling machines dedicated exclusively to killing. I’m fairly certain that at some point an asshole scientist must have remarked “wouldn’t it be just so ironic if this thing were to turn against us and kill ourselves and everybody we ever cared about?” But as we all know, fate has a macabre sense of irony.

It would be like this, except everybody dies.

Congratulations England, you have given the machines their first space-borne weapons. And since the Americans have long abandoned their Star Wars program, the current score in the “death from above” department are zero to one in the machines’ favor. As if Skynet wasn’t bad enough, the Predator UAV’s operated in Iraq and Afghanistan are affectionately known as “hunter-killers”.

A documentary.

Skynet and the hunter-killers it controls are only the tip of the iceberg too. One of the more terrifying new robots comes from Japan. It lacks an official designation, but “Submerged Serpent of Death” sums up it’s essence rather nicely. Essentially, it is pure evil covered in metallic, impenetrable skin and has all the characteristics of a potential apex robo-predator, minus the vulnerability towards water. Fuck you, Japan.

I reckon that by now, after having relieved your bowels at the sight of the future Lord Protector of Earth, you would expect me to subdue your fears by giving humans a fighting chance, but I’m afraid things will only get worse. Perhaps you remember when a while ago the DARPA-funded robotic Legged Squad Support System a.k.a. Hellhound was unveiled?

Luckily that thing, nicknamed “Big Dog” (for reasons painfully apparent), turned out not to be the archetypal robot soldier of tomorrow’s battlefields. Essentially “Big Dog” was much like a donkey, an animal which has previously served the U.S. Military on several occasions throughout history, with none of the advantages of its biological counterpart. While “Big Dog” initially seemed unstoppable, given it’s advanced terrain navigation capabilities, enhanced balance and the absolutely abhorrent ability to sprint and jump (at human victims), these initial concerns about it’s battle-prowess were quickly dissipated largely due to the loud noise it produced. Despite it’s hi-tech nature, in the end the “Big Dog” was reduced to the level of a gasoline powered coffee table, complete with a corresponding degree of combat efficiency.

Still, it’s all of little consolation because DARPA has already announced it’s plans to fund a bigger model. Assuming that DARPA only sponsors projects increasing exponentially in size, we can very well predict what kind of a robot will be terrorizing your neighborhood in twenty years.

The future, thus, is looking very bleak indeed. I suggest you start filling your sandbags early because if our mechanical masters arrive at your doorsteps, lacking obvious human limitations such as reflexes not to shoot children in the face, this will be your best survival strategy. Because, after all their triumphs the machines will still have to resort to using gunpowder and led to wage their terrible war of extermination. Aren’t you glad railguns are not real?

Shit.