Mark A. Rayner's Blog: Mark A. Rayner's Goodreads Blog, page 150

Thag not wear hair gel!

If he were honest, Thag would say that his affair with the nubile Vunga, the half-daughter of the shaman, could not last forever.

Not only was she was at least ten years younger, but eventually the Thunka Grunka clan would demand that he and Onga — his actual mate — start warming sleeping furs together lest the delicate sexual balance of the cave be upset.

He did NOT anticipate that the clan would adopt a knew beau for Vunga, but then again, her half-father, that foreskin with a forehead, Weasel-S

Invading The Vintage

Invading The Vintage, originally uploaded by Franco Brambilla.

This is a similar notion as the Vintage Ads of Fictional Futures contest we ran last year, but a little more artistic. Franco Brambilla has taken some of his grampa's old Swiss postcards, and painted in aliens. Very cool. You can find Franco Brambilla's site here. Via BoingBoing.

Alltop and humor-blogs.com are also out of this world.

Demented Russian Toothpaste Artiste

I recently saw The Hangover (which is hilarious, if you're looking for a laugh), and when I watched this video I immediately thought . . . uh-oh, rufies. (One of the characters in the movie says, "why do they call them rufies? They should call them floories, 'cause that's where you're going to wake up.")

It's probably all just faked with actors, but if not, I hope the vodka just flowed a little too copiously at a party, rather than the toothpaste-wielding artiste intentionally drugging his vic

Thag do art!

Ever since he'd started making the cave paintings, Thag had noticed that the women in the Thunka Grunka clan had been looking at him differently.

Perhaps it was his position as the leader of the hunting party, but he thought it had more to do with his artwork.

Whatever the case, he was gettin' some on a regular basis.

Nominally, he was still mated to Onga, but she had all but deserted him for that scrotum-with-eyes shaman, Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother. In fact, it had been Onga's desertion, and his

Robots need love too

Seriously. Robots need love too! If we're going to survive the coming Toaster Uprising, then we have to love our robots. We have to instill them with love. It's really what Ray Kurtzweil is talking about in The Singularity Is Coming. If we're going to have a Singularity, it has to be a human singularity. The robots/AIs/superior intelligences need to have compassion and beauty and yes, hearts.

This is all stimulated by a song by Dan Mangan, which is a great singalong. But, there's a much d

Thag do meditation!

Every morning before they started the hunt, Thag would sit down away from the others, close his eyes, and listen to the wind. It was more than that, but that is what he told the other hunters. Really what he did was sit, and let his mind go blank.

At first it would be filled with thoughts and concerns — mostly about Onga, his mate, and his running feud with that phallus-with-ears shaman, Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother. He would not concentrate on those thoughts, but let them wash away, and eventu

Thag scared at that time of month!

Thag whistled while he packed for the next trip. He liked to organize short hunting expeditions for a certain week of the month — even if there was little chance of finding game — as it was a good idea to be away from the women-folk of the Thunka Grunka Clan during this specific week.

This made Thag extremely popular amongst the other hunters (that and his steady, sure hunting leadership), but it made him extremely unpopular with the men-folk who were too old or too young to take part in the hun

Thag not like mornings!

When he awoke, his mate Onga was less than a hand away from his face, smiling her most dazzling smile.

Somewhere, out in the forest, birds were chirping; bright light streamed through the canopy, illuminating the mossy forest floor with dappled patterns. Steam rose from the stream nearby.

"It's morning!" Onga sang.

"Unh." Thag said.

"Time to get ups sleepy-head!" Onga chirped.

"Mwarghh," Thag mumbled, and buried his face in his sleeping furs.

"Let's get this day going," Onga burbled, her voice drippi

Why it's hard to take TV news seriously

Now, I know it's unfair to tar every TV news report with the same brush, particularly as the clip I'm going to show you comes from a Fox News affiliate. But still, it does kind of speak to the medium. I can just see how this went down in the newsroom:

Reporter: There's this great story about a bear terrorizing this lady.

Producer: Can you get pictures of the bear? I don't want a god-damned story about a bear without video of a frickin' bear.

Reporter: No problem. I'm sure we'll be able to

Thag not like f#&*ing shaman!

His mate Onga had finally pushing him too far, and now, Thag was hip-deep in mammoth dung, as they said in the Thunka Grunka clan.

He'd returned from the latest hunting expedition flush with success. His new regime of taking risks — but not crazy risks like trying to kill a cave lion with a deadfall, using yourself as bait, as the demented (and now late) Fungo had tried to do — was working well.

He was becoming much more respected in the tribe and word was even spreading within the clan. This ne