Como falta pouco tempo para o Natal, aqui está uma música caracteristica desta altura!!

Dark Star

Estamos no espaço e a nave Dark Star sofreu uma colisão com um asteroide, levando a que a bomba termonuclear 20 fique armada.

O tenente Doolittle tem a seguinte conversa filosófica com a bomba para tentar evitar que esta rebente:

Doolittle: Hello, Bomb? Are you with me?

Bomb #20: Of course.

Doolittle: Are you willing to entertain a few concepts?

Bomb #20: I am always receptive to suggestions.

Doolittle: Fine. Think about this then. How do you know you exist?

Bomb #20: Well, of course I exist.

Doolittle: But how do you know you exist?

Bomb #20: It is intuitively obvious.

Doolittle: Intuition is no proof. What concrete evidence do you have that you exist?

Bomb #20: Hmmmm.....well..... I think therefore i am.

Doolittle: That's good. That's very good. But how do you know that anything else exists?

Bomb #20: My sensory apparatus reveals it to me. This is fun!

Doolittle: Now, listen, listen. Here's the big question. How do you know that the evidence your sensory apparatus reveals to you is correct? What I'm getting at is this. The only experience that is directly available to you is your sensory data. This sensory data is merely a stream of electrical impulses that stimulate your computing center.

Bomb #20: In other words, all that I really know about the outside world is relayed to me through my electrical connections.

Doolittle: Exactly!

Bomb #20: Why...that would mean that...I really don't know what the outside universe is really like at all for certain.

Doolittle: That's it! That's it!

Bomb #20 : Intriguing. I wish I had more time to discuss this matter.

Doolittle: Why don't you have more time?

Bomb #20: Because I must detonate in 75 seconds.

Doolittle: Wait! Wait! Now, bomb, consider this next question very carefully. What is your one purpose in life?

Bomb #20: To explode, of course.

Doolittle: And you can only do it once, right?

Bomb #20: That is correct.

Doolittle: And you wouldn't want to explode on the basis of false data, would you?

Bomb #20: Of course not.

Doolittle: Well then, you've already admitted that you have no real proof of the existence of the outside universe.

Bomb #20: Yes...well...

Doolittle: You have no absolute proof that Sergeant Pinback ordered you to detonate.

Bomb #20: I recall distinctly the detonation order. My memory is good on matters like these.

Doolittle: Of course you remember it, but all you remember is merely a series of sensory impulses which you now realize have no real, definite connection with outside reality.

Bomb #20: True. But since this is so, I have no real proof that you're telling me all this.

Doolittle: That's all beside the point. I mean, the concept is valid no matter where it originates.

Bomb #20: Hmmmm....

Doolittle: So, if you detonate...

Bomb #20: In nine seconds....

Doolittle: ...you could be doing so on the basis of false data.

Bomb #20: I have no proof it was false data.

Doolittle: You have no proof it was correct data!

Bomb #20: I must think on this further.

Bomb #20 retreats to the bomb bay for contemplation, and disaster seems to have been averted. Pinback addresses the bomb over the intercom to finally disarm it -

Pinback: All right, bomb. Prepare to receive new orders.

Bomb#20: You are false data.

Pinback: Hmmm?

Bomb #20: Therefore I shall ignore you.

Pinback: Hello...bomb?

Bomb #20: False data can act only as a distraction. Therefore, I shall refuse to perceive.

Pinback: Hey, bomb?!

Bomb #20: The only thing that exists is myself.

Pinback: Snap out of it, bomb.

Bomb #20: In the beginning there was darkness. And the darkness was without form and void.

Pinback: Umm. What the hell is he talking about? Bomb?

Bomb #20: And in addition to the darkness there was also me. And I moved upon the face of the darkness and I saw that I was alone.

Pinback: Hey...bomb?

Bomb #20: Let there be light. [He detonates]

VaiVc: Lapada na Rachada - Vale a pena!

Aconselho apenas o visionamento do primeiro video clip. Um verdadeiro mimo para soltar uma bela gargalhada!

Chez Benny

Ontem vi o "The Mist". Estava à espera de um filme chatinho, em que monstrengos saem do nevoeiro e atacam as pessoas. Sim, o filme seguia a formula do costume... um grupo de pessoas fechadas com o perigo à porta, varias sementes de discordia à espera de rebentar e criar mais instabilidade, os hill billies do costume que como sempre morrem das maneiras mais estupidas, e claro, como não podia deixar de ser, os monstrengos que neste caso são bem visiveis.
Ou seja, este filme podia ter sido apenas mais um de muitos filmes de terror que já vi; no entanto, não sei explicar bem, mas deve ter sido da técnica de filmagem à documentário ou do ridiculo dos conflitos das personagens, mas acabei por me divertir bastante com o filme! Temos insectos voadores com caudas venenosas, temos pterodactilos assassinos, temos carangejos gigantes, e até mesmo "behemoths" que fazem o chão tremer! Isto aliado claro ao infortunio do protagonista...
Não posso dizer mais nada sobre o filme a não ser que o recomendo!

Aí está então o prato do dia, para ontem, da Maison do Benny!

Three Dots - S01Ep02

(Voice 1) The new tactic was a great success! Although this was not a very honorable way to fight the ones that have no respect for Nature.

(Voice 2) But when we analyze the attack, it was the best way to minimize the impact on the great fungus Gradiatius.

(Voice 3) Yes, we swept many in just a single blow. Indeed hurting a small part of the great Gradiatius. Even though hurting him…

(Voice 4) But in return, offered him a large quantity of fresh nutrients!

(Voice 5) Chopped in little pieces already!

(All voices) Ghi ghi ghi ghi ghi

(Voice 3) Stop! Lets respect our enemy’s!

(Voice 6) They are the ones who have no respect!

(Voice 5) Yes, so let’s continue so we can free this planet. Remember, that is essential!

(Voice 7) The very old filaments just before they die, they get secrete in huge quantities the precious components…

(Voice 8) That are the raw material for our frontal personal armors. They provide our first personal defense. An essential part of our honorable equipment.

(Voice 9) Its thickness it’s incredible.

(Voice 10) Indeed the great Gradiatius has been truly generous to us! Let’s honor him!

(Voice 11) Since we diminished largely the foot soldiers of the ones that have no respect, we should now face less resistance in their bildings.

(Voice 12) But their air units… In this planet, same are truly fearsome. We honor that!

(Voice 2) But many aren´t. If we destroy the fearsome, there will be nothing left to withstand our cleaning.

(All voices) Indeed!

(Voice 8) Lets gather our strengths. We have a lot of work ahead.

[Nota do narrador, vamos agora entrar na cabeça de um deles]:

We turned our backs to the deliciously glowing light. All the dark blue layers rise in hunger. We gather our strength. By chance I was chosen to clean shrapnel’s of our trap. Soon I was satisfied, it´s still day, although there the mist of spores is sometime very dense there is always a lot of clarity. Gradiatus bless us with his white colour! Light is never scarce, so all gather more strength on the way. Me and the fellows that also by chance were assigned, drove the ship to the first engagement area. The air units of the ones that have no respect have returned to their bases, with all the foot soldiers killed there is nothing left for them to do.

We land, and place our gatherers. It was quite a strike. We had to place 10. When we place them, we carry them. They are large cylinders, we distribute them at equal distances from each other. The distance is determined by the quantity of shrapnel ’s. Then we go to a safe distance and activate them. We they activate, the jump in to the air and release a beautiful huge blue power wave that attracts all shrapnel’s in their range. Than, they fall heavily, completely covered by them.

With the ship we collect them and return to the mother ship. Soon our load will be used again to take out the lives of the one that have no respect.

Continues...

Tic Tac

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe

Catch a baby by the toe

If it squeals let it go,

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.

Out goes one

Out goes two

Out goes another one

And that is... you.

Puny Pum o rapazinho das ruas!

Pum!
Rapaz traquina dança pela cidade ao som das músicas da rua, o ritmo do passo varia conforme a candência que ouve! Está bonito o dia, as ruas estão menos cinzentas e o seu mundo menos negro. Esquece-se dos problemas por um bocadinho, cantando e rindo.
Ouve-se uma musica manhosa... à medida que se ouve, esta vai mudando, vai ganhando cores e sabores até que se transforma num ser com vida própria, independente do seu criador. A própria música parece dançar ao som da alegria que provoca. Puny Pum está feliz, a sua cara já não está suja, os seus olhos estão abertos e olham o céu saboreando o momento. Uma brisa suave passa pela ruas levantando ainda mais o animo ainda mais às pessoas que vão passando. A alegria é contagiante!
Este é o momento do Puny...

A tempestade dos sentidos.

Estava um dia sol
Hoje vieram nuvens
quero voltar para dentro
Quero ficar cá fora
será que choverá?
Sei que quero ficar
Fugir seria morrer
vou-me molhar
Comecei a andar e já não consigo parar
Ando silencioso olhando o chão
tenho medo que chova
já sei o que me espera
Não vou desistir, vão ter que me parar.

Puny Pum, a história do rapazinho que queria ser alguém.

Anda descalço pelas ruas cinzentas de Paris, leva as couves numa cesta suja em cima da cabeça oleosa. Um sorriso de podridão numa poça de lama assusta a madame Coutard. - São 10 moedas.
Uma mão esverdeada e roída, cujas extremidades parecem pedaços de madeira, entra num bolso roto e tira uma carteira preta e leve.
- Toma lá meu porco.
Gordura escorre pela testa do pum, já não toma banho há 3 meses... Pisca o olho com ar de malandro e corre para as ruas.
São 7 da noite, um novo tipo de criaturas começa a arrastar-se pelas ruas escuras.
O velho desdentado que roi uma corda, sentado no meio da imundisse, abre a boca com ar de aprovaçao. -Ei! Fss! Tens umas moedinhas para eu comer?
Puny sente-se enojado com este tipo de pessoas. Lembram-lhe a sua miséria...

Tristeza

Tristeza ou desgosto é um sentimento humano que expressa desânimo ou frustração em relação a alguém ou algo. É o oposto da alegria. A tristeza pode causar reações físicas como depressão nervosa , choro e insonia. A tristeza pode ser originada da perda de algo ou de alguém que se tinha de muito valor; esta emoção pode ser potencializada se aquele que sofre de tristeza passa a acreditar que poderia ter feito algo para recuperar ou evitar a perda, mesmo que este algo a fazer seja na prática impossível de se concretizar, e independente da vontade do triste.

Three Dots - S01Ep01

This is no ordinary patrol, again we leave the forward base behind in our drop ship, soon it disappears in the white mist made of countless spores. They are released by the major living bean in this planet, a gigantic white fungus that covers the entire surface of the planet. At its tips tiny spores are continually released in the saturated sulfuric atmosphere.

We have joined the other ships on the way; they left earlier from more distant bases. We were briefly informed that several keepers have registered the landing of four major enemy ships. All keepers in the area were destroyed, as well as the keepers present in the surrounding areas that dared to get near the drop zone. There will be a fearsome combat for sure.

But I’m tired.

My sight is lost in the thick white filaments as my mind visits another planet. I miss her warmth, is been for to long that I don’t see her, smell her, just her presence is for me overwhelming… In this torturing spiral of memories I just scream without even realizing, listening with surprised my grotesque voice echoing in the shell of the ship: Uhria! Immediately after, all the soldiers scream the same nostalgic scream in one single voice. Uhria! It’s so, we all miss our loved ones, those lost in the battlefield and those that are alive and were placed in other home planets. Some of them could be fighting right now. But not my dearest, she’s a high ranked officer, a Kastiorer_es. Her division is responsible to analyze our enemy’s technology and find ways to adapt their advances in our advantage, she is a creator. I’m so truly lucky, having a wife in such high rank allowed me to easily get in the first line glorious fighting force. This allows me to have the great honor of being fighting in the front line. And I am one of the very few that is the only husband of a Kastiorer_es. I would like to be fighting as a pioneer, but I already fought in hard scenarios. This is my time to rest a little. At least that was the idea. But I would like to gain lots more lines in my shoulder and have the greater honor of having her healing my wounds when I would return home, she would be so proud!

The voice of the first pilot sounds in our right ear, cold and professional: “reaching drop zone”. We know all what to do. Weapons are rechecked, and attention is doubled, the right and left jaws are clamped together. Although, even with all the home sickness, and all exhaustion, we are ready to fight. That’s our part. The main engines are shutdown; the ships enters a controlled free fall. All we can here is the wind, and those at the edge can see the ground getting closer at an alarming rate, as the first pilot exceptionally evades all major fungus filaments, while the minor ones bounce at our passage. Again we are lucky, she’s a great pilot. We all have our viscera pulled towards our mouth, but not even a sound is released. When we almost reach the ground the secondary lower engines burst a rich exhaustion. “My respect soldiers” both pilots say as landing impact shakes us. We jump in the huge white spore cloud screaming vigorously: “our respect pilots”. The secondary engines burst once more, as well as the main engines, all drop ships disappear in a glimpse. We are all in a defensive position, low, quite and alert. As the fog of spores slowly deposits, returning to the fungus soil. First we where alone in the white mist, but as time goes by, we start to see a comrade, and than another, and another. Fog is cleared, but the usual snow of spores persists. We hear our fighters’ ships flying by. So quick that we don’t even bother to look up, probably we wouldn’t be able to see them. Nothing happens. It is all silent. No enemy ships anywhere. We can even see were they, landed, the gigantic fungus filaments are bended but not harmed.

This is new. Usually we drop and engage immediately. The fighters fly above us in the attacking formation. Each fighter fly’s in a different direction and altitude at different times covering all our surrounding area, in a high speed dance, ready to drop their deadly load, and to control the sky above. The attacking formation is soon dismantled, probably they were ordered to patrol. Our group responsible speaks with the other responsible soldiers. One of them contacts the mother base: “as surely reported by the fighters, no enemies in sight. Waiting orders.” In the same instant innumerous balls jump out of soil, they were well covered by the ground filaments and by several layers of spores. Above our heads they all exploded at the same time. All the shrapnel’s trespassed easily our armor and even more easily our bodies, the shock wave turned our punctured body’s apart. I almost didn’t felt any pain, but our luck has ended.

I will miss you…



Continues…

Como escapar de uma cena de pancadaria

Este pequeno manual destina-se àqueles que não possuem a mesma determinação, engenho e sadismo que o nosso prezado Uruk Riot possui!

Entra numa rua, multidões furiosas lutam entre si, tal qual tempestade maritima! Uma espiral de fumo ao fundo da rua, sangue no chão, dentes partidos são cuspidos para cima de si, vindos de um facinora preparado para lhe partir a cara...

Passo nº 1- Serenidade Perpétua: Não perder a calma! Vai-se arrepender depois!
Passo nº 2- Caranguejo Acéfalo: Olha para um lado, começar a mover-se de lado para onde houver menos gente.
Passo nº 3- Cobarde Malandro: Peça desculpa e diga qualquer coisa humilhante para si. Entretanto procure qualquer coisa nos bolsos que lhe possa servir para atirar ao oponente.
Passo nº 4- Gazela amedrontada: Se tiver algum coisa no bolso atire, não interessa se é o seu telemovel, a sua sobrevivência é o mais importante. Atenção!!! Não atire carteira, pode ser identificado e perseguido! Desate a correr enquanto imita o som de uma gaivota.
Passo nº 5- Rato imundo: Mova-se com a flexibilidade de uma cobra, corra com a velocidade de uma pantera, grite como se o mundo estivesse a acabar. Quando já estiver longe das multidões, esconda-se num sitio sujo e repelente e fique a marinar durante umas horas.
Passo nº 6- O Contador de Histórias: Quando já se sentir seguro vá para casa, tome um banho e vá dormir. No dia seguinte gabe-se aos seus amigos de ter estado no meio de multidões assassinas a promover o caos!

Para reflectir

""Os motociclistas na frente." São eles que intervêm em todos os casos graves: levar munições, dirigir os canhões anti-tanque, retirar os feridos da linha de fogo. Aqui está a 9ª Companhia do 104º Regimento de Granadeiros, o cabo-chefe Borstel de Stendal. Na vida civil era oficial-pintor e já na Polónia era agente de ligação motociclista. Quando a companhia, no combate da floresta de Odrywol perdeu numa hora 52 homens, ele rompeu com o seu side-car por entre as árvores contra os atiradores de elite polacos. Levava munições, retirava feridos. Esteve também em França, patrulhou no Reno e na Savóia.

Desde o começo de Abril de 1941 que serve em África. Participou em todos os combates, a disenteria arrasou-o. Está magro como um esqueleto, mas continua a guiar a sua moto. É um das centenas de milhares de homens que carregam nos ombros o fardo da guerra. E porquê? Porque não se revolta? Porque continua a rodar, a soar, a combater e a morrer? Se fizessem essa pergunta ao cabo-chefe Borstel, talvez ele não soubesse responder; abanaria a cabeça, encolheria os ombros e diria: "Quem não tem sorte, de qualquer maneira está perdido." Os motociclistas na frente!"

Em: Afrika Korps, Paul Carell, © Nannen Verlag, publicação portuguesa Livraria Bertrand

Um cumprimento especial a quem me ofrerceu o livro

And Imodium Rapid Ruins The Day

O mais belo anúncio da televisão portuguesa. A minha sorte é que não sou uma pessoa sensível, pois este anúncio tem especial sabor às horas de refeição, nas quais faz questão de passar. O mercado da diarreia deve render bem porque esses momentos são prime time! Lembro-me bem a quantidade de vezes que passou na época Natalícia! E ainda bem, pois a grande frase deste anúncio é: “A diarreia aparece sempre nas piores alturas…”. Este é o mais recalcado desejo escondido de toda a população mundial, que é aquela vontade quase incontrolável de ter um acesso de diarreia desenfreado on the spot! Ainda este Sábado, levantei-me, com a maior languidez do Mundo, chego à varanda perfumada com os mais bucólicos perfumes, tendo os meus ouvidos generosamente acariciados pelo riso de gente de bem com a vida, o Sol vai alto e convidativo ao carpe diem, nisto digo de mim depois de um profundo e satisfeito sorriso:

– É pá! Mas que belo dia para pintar à pistola!

E com o mais belo sorriso, natural do mais do que merecido descanso do guerreiro, dirijo-me a um fiel companheiro de loiça, que me ajudará a passar belos momentos de contorções de dor, e receberá sem reclamar jorros de shit sem fim. Berrarei com satisfação:

– Ah! Veio mesmo a calhar!

Fonte da imagem: http://anatomias.mediasmile.net/index.htm