The world’s largest consumer electronics tradeshow,

CES

, has drawn to close. All that is left in its wake are the hopes that Windows 7 won’t suck (it will) and the tattered bodies of exhausted gadget bloggers. It was the usual mix of edge technologies like pico projectors and pre-obsoleted

mp3 playing caps

and

hands-free cellphones

(for those somehow allergic to the bluetooth protocol):

Cell-Mate – Slightly More Dignified Than Duct-Taping It To Your Head

Despite CES’ reputation for trotting out important new technologies, precious little notice was shown to the single greatest piece of gadgetry since the onset of teledildonics.  It embodies a power so profound and mythic the mere mention of it convinced Hollywood to shit out three more George Lucas abortions in its name (the latest Indiana Jones flick not included, despite qualifying). The power of The Force is finally yours for the buying:

"The Force flows through me, like urine through my bedsheets."

In the Jedi tradition of training Padawan from youth, Uncle Milton Industries is paving the path for the next generation of wedgie recipients.  The Force Trainer uses a modified EEG technology to feedback brain signals to the base station allowing the wearer to manipulate the motion of a physical target.  Just by thinking "Natalie Portman is so hot.  I’d totally hit tha…did anyone else hear me fart?" your mind can harness the awesome power to move a ping pong ball and pretend to be hardwired to the cosmos.

There is no legitimate context for putting this here, other than unbridled heterosexuality.

It’s good to see the science has finally realized the full potential of EEG as a sci-fi plaything.  Should these ship with a complimentary vial of Midi-Chlorians, however, we could be dealing with an epidemic of Force-charged youth.  Imagine an entire generation of kids hopped up on high fructose corn syrup tapping into the all encompassing life-energy, only their sense of moderation wasn’t tenderly honed by Obi-Wan so much as GTA IV.  I’ve done the math and it isn’t pretty…:

  Note: This would only work if your parent isn’t Watto.  Somebody shoot me for knowing that.

That’s a Force push, not a Force shrink.  A Force shrink doesn’t even exist.  No, YOU suck at Photoshop!

Ian Cheesman has no Force powers to speak of, but don’t tell Natalie that.  You can read further proclamations of his love to her over at internet sensation dot com.

The Toy Hall Of Fame of Rochester, NY recently announced their latest inductee.  In a move designed to either appease Third World lobbyists or expose the judges’ deprived childhood, the panel announced America should celebrate the entertainment legacy of the stick.  Seriously.

The museum’s curator lauded its versatility by commenting “It can be a Wild West horse, a medieval knight’s sword, a boat on a stream or a slingshot with a rubber band.”  He neglected to add it could also be a mechanism for identifying poor kids that nobody would ever want to play with.

“After Christmas is over you can pull as many twigs off the tree as you want.  Who needs a PSP?”

While I can appreciate their whimsical notions, we’re far enough removed from our pioneer roots to acknowledge toys have evolved for the better.  A stick can be a wild west horse, but so can a Furreal animatronic pony.  Try wrapping both for your niece and guess which one she’ll be losing her shit over.

The animatronic mouth is quite soft and doesn’t discriminate against non-carrots.  Trust me.

The romance of using a stick as a plaything quickly fades when you’ve seen a little boy weilding one.  It may allow endless possibilities to a fertile adult mind, but for boys the spectrum of options really only exists between “broadsword” and “warhammer”.  If that sounds sexist, consider this scenario:

You see an 8-year-old boy charging toward you with a large stick in his hand and a grin on their face.  Your first reaction is they are going to…
A)…challenge you to a wizards duel
B)…pantomime conducting an orchestra for you
C)…puncture your spleen

Toy manufacturers know our children are unimaginative turds with a Tarrantino-esque fetish for violence.  That’s what drove these 2008 additions to the Lil’est Mercenary Playset.

NERF VULCAN
Some would say that NERF jumped the shark when it manufactured a sniper rifle, since the addition of a plastic scope still doesn’t extend the accuracy range beyond 5 feet.  Besides, teaching our children to savor anonymous headshots probably isn’t the healthiest idea.  NERF reacted to this bad press by showing our children that there’s no problem that can’t be solved by throwing more bullets at it.  Enter the NERF Vulcan – a fully automatic dart gun.

“C’mon in, Timmy.  ‘Old Painless’ is waiting…”

How Can They Top It?
The only frontier that is left – the NERF BFG.

BLITZ II: THE LEAGUE
Many would assume a video game title flagged here would be one of the rabble of post-apocalyptic shoot ‘em ups featuring sabre-toothed aliens with boundary issues.  I don’t consider those particularly violent because they don’t simulate reality.  Not that aliens don’t exist or that they aren’t bent on earthly conquest, but I’ve seen enough sketches from alien encounters to know they are all emaciated pussies.

You’re not conquering dick until you up your protein intake, Slim.

Blitz II provides rich gameplay options like precision-aim tackles and player-controlled touchdown celebrations.  They’re precisely the types of features that make parent-friendly bulletpoints on the packaging so they don’t catch wind of the virtual steroid use and indulging your players with the occasional hooker.  The steroids are particularly useful for the victim-targeting system, which alows you to seek out a player to selectively brutalize in hopes of incapacitating them.  Their decision to name the series “Blitz” rather than “Keepin’ It Classy Football” is becoming clearer.

“America Wants YOU (to vent your homicidal whoremongering ways)!”

How Can They Top It?
A Gears of War crossover season, where the fate of the planet hangs on Marcus Fenix’s crew being victorious over the visiting team  of “Angry Alien Face Rapists”.  Also, there should be hookers.

Iron Man (And Some)
Iron Man’s creator, Tony Stark, is known in the comic for a certain level of arrogance.  It’s funny how fabricating a do-it-yourself SUPERHERO tends to shotgun some bravado through your veins.  That said, even he might find this action figure a bit garish:

Snowball Blaster
A snowball fight is a quintessential component of tender winter memories and a classic expression of youthful exuberance.  Hammacher.com has a deep appreciation for this.  That’s how they knew it would take something equally perverse and shocking to convert this:

into this:

Their Snowball Blaster allows you to manufacture 3 snowballs at a clip.  The designers found that accessory quickly became a necessity after the kid got a taste for delivering icy retribution on those over 50 feet away.

How Can They Top It?
Fisher Price releasing their “My First Trebuchet” line:

Ian Cheesman would have gladly taken on the Soviets in “Red Dawn” if he was armed with that Snowball Blaster.  Consider yourselves lucky, circa 1984 ficticious Russians.  [Witty transition here] and read my website InternetSensation.com.

A recent atom article examined members of the animal kingdom that looked like an incarnation of Stephen King’s most pants-pissing nightmares.  It was a sound reminder that for all of our technical evolution, we are still little more than fangless meatsacks to most of creation.  However, what isn’t commonly known is that for every snarling face-eater prowling just outside our gates, there are examples of equally horrific and vicious plants.  Let us celebrate the flora that would prefer to use their chlorophyll as a zesty marinade for your ass.

Pitcher Plants

At first glance this looks more like John Holmes with a touch of frostbite than a death dealer.  To really appreciate it take closer look at the top (a.k.a. the Gaping Maw Of Doom):

Nature has inspired some of the most heinous chastity belts

Look familiar?  Here’s a quick refresher:

It’s basically a quadriplegic Predator, though that’s not to say they are entirely immobile.  Plants of this type have clambering vines with tendril-like leaf tips that allow it to climb on to surrounding vegetation.  That means that after it traps a creature with its plant fangs and slowly dissolves it in syrupy digestive enzymes, it can send out a hitman cousin out to take down the victim’s family.

The leaf on top baits newcomers with nectar only to introduce dangerously slippery footing.  It also has some very unusual markings:

This plant is a member of the genus "Nepenthes", which comes from Greek as an assembly of ne = not and penthos = grief or sorrow.  The name of the plant literally means "without remorse", presumably because the Greeks didn’t have a word for "stone cold killa".  Most of its body count is in the form of insects, but they have also been known to take down frogs and rodents.  With that sort of ambition how long will it be before they come after our children?

Doll’s Eyes

Lots of plants want to kill you.  This one wants to WATCH you die.

The entire plant is poisonous, but I can’t bring myself to acknowledge the lethality while it’s looking at me.  Sure, ingestion of the berries sedates the heart into cardiac arrest, but I’m not sure that matters when its cold, disembodied eyes are feeding on my soul.

The only way to make a more disturbing plant would be to harvest what was left of the dolls this plant cannibalized:

Manchineel

In Spain these trees are known as "manzanilla de la muerte", or  "little apple of death", though the apples should be the least of your worries.  The fruit can be fatal if eaten, but this tree is more concerned with maiming you before you even get to it.

The tree secretes a toxin that causes blistering when in contact with any damp patch of skin.  Imagine that during rainfall when Caribs lashed you to the tree as a form of torture.  They also used the sap to poison their blowgun darts and the leaves to poison enemies’ water supplies.   (It is almost certain the Caribs would still have been total dicks even the tree didn’t exist, but we can’t be sure.)

In case the subtleties above have been missed, here’s a quick physiology review of the manchineel trees:

One can’t help but wonder why we’ve allowed these edifices to biohazard to persist.  After all, you don’t need to touch them to send them to a fiery grave, right?  As luck would have it, the smoke produced by these trees is also toxic enough to cause blindness.  Don’t let that discourage you – despite what my psychiatrist says, I assure you that most of life’s problems can still be solved with fire.

Hudson Pear Cactus

Anyone who’s encountered the business end of a cactus can assure you it isn’t pleasant.  Imagine one that dials up the unpleasantometer to "impalement" and you’ve got the Hudson Pear Cactus.

The Hudson Pear Cactus is basically the Wolverine of the plant world. It has formidable 2-inch spines known to pierce workboots and tires, let alone your flesh.  They’ve killed koalas who tumble into them and claims exist that they’ve killed a man as well.  (NOTE: The man technically died of a heart attack after falling into one, so he may have been the delicate type who would’ve perished upon hearing his shoes and belt didn’t match.  Still, a kill is a kill.)

The presence of adamantium in the cactus is presumed, but not confirmed

The cactus has been employed as a security device by opal miners to prevent access to their diggings.  Let that sink in for a moment – rather than employ a human sentry or rabid junkyard dog, they used this plant to guard their precious gemstones.

Even the miners may have underestimated the cacti’s rage toward mankind though.  In an apparent effort to poke and prod us into adopting life in the ocean, this cactus doubles its area of coverage every five years.  By cactus standards, that’s spreading like a virus.  A virus with KNIVES.

"This used to be a nice neighborhood before those ebola punks moved in."

Ian Cheesman is finally striking a blow for justice against the tyranny of fauna-centric blogging.  Join his quest at Internet Sensation dot com.

Dear Hayden,

We are so proud of you.  In the short time you’ve graced this planet you have filled it with a body of work that other actors couldn’t approach in a career.  We’ve eagerly followed your acting since you were just a child (some of us more than others) and sincerely hope that continued success follows you.  Still, we can’t help but think you’re presently squandering the greatest opportunity of your life.  Allow us to explain.  

Heroes has gotten abysmal by most accounts and that’s being kind.  Most of the individuals we polled asserted the show is "making wrongful".  English obviously isn’t everyone’s first language, but the tone is clear.  It’s not really your fault, but that won’t matter if the show is canceled and you’re cast to the street like a common Lohan.  If you want to preserve rest of your career, we believe you are long overdue for your first sex tape.

 

You know what you must do now, Hayden.  We know you have it in you (or you will soon enough).  Any young lady that would willingly invoke The Shocker at a fan’s behest has untapped veins of pure depravity just waiting to be unleashed.

Just don’t forget to wear the Cheerleader outfit.  Hopefully that’s a given.

Love,

The Internet

Ian Cheesman may be part of the aforementioned internet, but he swears he had absolutely nothing to do with this swill, Hayden.  If you don’t believe him, you may pay him a visit over at internetsensation.com.  Just don’t forget to wear the Cheerleader outfit.

Before we get started, it’s important to note that this guide is targeted at avoiding common familial pitfalls during this holiday season.  It is not a course in survival skills for any turkeys that are reading this.  Haha!

(It’s funny because turkeys can’t read so they don’t know I want to messily devour their tender flesh until my belly is swollen.  I’m what you might call a “trypto-fan”, which is a hilarious joke if you like amino acid humor.)

For many the Thanksgiving celebration begins a few days early with a festive anxiety attack.  For me, Thanksgiving is the impending promise of being cornered by obnoxious relatives for awkward conversation and drunken knife fights.  Granted, most of the knife fights are instigated by me as a method to avoid conversations, but I contend anyone who insists on telling back to back stories about their cat effectively threw the first punch.  And on one occasion it was clearly self-defense when Grandma neglected her meds and came at me with the business end of a gravy boat:

Still, even for families not quite as stab-inclined as mine, there are innumerable ways for the affair to take ugly turns.  This guide should help you avoid some of the common mistakes.

1) Opinions Are Harmony-Killing Viruses
One should approach a holiday dinner with family like a first date – keep your expectations low and the conversation benign.  The latter can be particularly difficult when Thanksgiving follows an election season, especially one featuring a heated presidential race.  Even if you see Obama’s ascension to power as fulfilling a centuries-old liberal prophecy this is no time to gloat.

“Then, on Christmas Eve, Barack will fly over each house delivering toys to all children that are mindful of their carbon footprint and tax credits to their middle class parents”

Another common example is the token family vegetarian.  While many holidays feature a central meat dish, Thanksgiving is the only one that makes carnivorous lust the centerpiece (at least until California ratifies my petition to have August 1st be “‘Fuck Yeah, Bacon!’ Day”).

My stomach and penis are still debating on who likes this most

Pressed for explanation a responsible vegetarian will have no shortage for information pointing at the toxicity of modern meat preparation and gross corruption within the industry.  Worse, those dicks are 100% correct about it.  Fortunately holidays are designed to be an escapist affair and truth doesn’t count for much.  It is only the undeniable fact that tofurky sucks that allows Thanksgiving to remain unscathed.

There are infinite examples of personal opinions and ideals potentially turning the family meal into an emotional cage-match.  The key is to weigh your satisfaction of being right against enjoying cholesterol-laden mashed potatoes in peace.  As always in life, let the mashed potatoes be your guide.

2) Embrace The Kitchen

The burden of creating a comprehensive Thanksgiving meal is worrisome.  Stepping up with a dish is your opportunity to lighten the load as well as assure there will be at least one plate that won’t elicit dry-heaves.  Allow me to offer a recipe that has historically served me very well:

Yes, I’m aware that Jack Daniels is a Tennessee Whiskey and not a bourbon.  What kind of alcoholic do you take me for?

3)  Repression Is Love

Many of us don’t get to see our families all that often, making holidays one of the few avenues for face-time.  That can make it a seductive moment to finally break the silence on admissions that are too intimate for a phone conversation.  I politely sugest you take that idea, put its mouth on the curb, and don’t quit stomping until it stops twitching.

They may not know the specifics, but rest assured your parents know what a freak you are.  They also know that while they’ll have to deal with it someday, they’d appreciate it if they don’t have to recall your scrotal piercing every time they bite into a mouthful of stuffing.

“Lord, thank you for keeping everyone safe and shutting Kyle the fuck up about his new coked-out polyamory Furry friends.”

Ian Cheesman sincerely hopes that you have a wonderful Thanksgiving, but he’s also quietly hoping that his will be better than yours.

You know what else goes well with cranberry sauce? http://internetsensation.com

If you’re anything like me, you’re constantly haunted by the desire to be physically handicapped.  It’s not that I crave overcoming the obstacles of an occasionally inhospitable world – that sounds like a lot of work.  I didn’t exactly get into writing because I enjoy exertion.  Sloth is actually my primary motivation because these days you can get machines to do

everything

for you.

Who wouldn’t throw themselves in front a moving car (preferably a hybrid subcompact designed to only lightly maim pedestrians) to get access to a robot who can not only lift you out of bed, but is coordinated enough to make you a Spanish omelette.  This machine is so sophisticated it can even be programmed to have ulterior motives for providing a delicious breakfast in bed:

“I was thinking after you eat we could go to Bed, Bath & Beyond?”

Hell, you don’t even need hands anymore.  Still, don’t run out and buy those deep-discounted used bungee cords for bridge jumps over Neckbreaker Ravine just yet.  For all of the advances science has made to counter life’s obstacles, there have been some glaring oversights.  As evidenced this week in Florida, science has chosen to overlook everyone’s basic, inalienable right to commit crime.  A 45-year-old wheelchair-bound man, wishing only to have the chance to rob a bank like any other American, quickly realized the technology at his disposal was grossly discriminatory.  He was nabbed by officials one block away from the bank, probably because his Rascal was foiled by an especially steep speedbump.

“For what it’s worth, this was the most successful getaway by a drunken paraplegic traveling 7 m.p.h. that I can remember.”

We must ask ourselves as a people why we have allowed Science to be such a prejudiced bag of dicks.  The technology to allow this caper to succeed exists, but Science has forced its subjective non-bank-robbing morality by not implementing it.  Take his wheelchair, for example.  The average motorized wheelchair fleeing at top speed would be easily overtaken by SWAT’s moped patrol.  However, if more of them came with a nitrous oxide (NOS) system installed as stock, a whole world of criminal opportunity opens up.  It’s what Vin Diesel would do – has his judgement ever lead us astray?

“It comes in two modes – ‘Fast’ and ‘Furious’.  I’m a big fan of ‘Furious’, but that’s just me.”

It doesn’t end with transportation either.  The aforementioned man had no better use for his prosthetic leg than as storage for this ill-gotten gains while escaping.  It’s a sad world when people see more utility in their fake leg as a coin purse than a conveyance.  That’s why I’m so pleased to see Honda recently unveil its design for robotic legs to assist people in his situation.  They claim this apparatus is primarily designed to empower the elderly and enhance productivity for factory workers, but what better time to enhance mobility than during a foot chase with po-po on your tail?

“Some users complained that the seat tended to ride up, but others quietly confessed it was their favorite feature.”

Honda, since you seem to be the only company with a commitment to cybernetic crime, let me make a further request.  Most of the prosthetic hands being developed are focusing on delicate finger articulation, meaning they’re overlooking critical features like Kung Fu Grip.  Not the anemic version proffered by G.I. Joe figurines frozen in perpetual handshake preparation, but an actual flesh clamp with the power of an entire martial art distilled into it.  I’ve even come up with the initial marketing:

With the ongoing partnership between Honda and villainy, the handicapped are no longer relegated to be “the ingenious hacker” in crime syndicates.  Now they can be the muscle.  The human spirit triumphs in the face of adversity yet again!

“No, I don’t have a gun.  But if you don’t give me the cash I’ll tear your arms off.  Puny human.”

Ian Cheesman is aware that the content of this article is potentially controversial, but that’s why he was so diligent about avoiding the term “cripple”.  Oh shit.  Where’s the delete key on this infernal handless keyboard?

“Modern medicine” is quickly becoming an oxymoron, like “military intelligence” or “the smart Olsen sister”.  Long past is the time where it was laying diseases down like red-shirted Star Trek officers surveying the planet Bombfracturestab during its shrapnel-rain season. There is some suspicion that early science was just cherry-picking the easy diseases like rickets (“Hmmm…do you think it could have anything to do with those toxic, black plumes of smoke obliterating all sunlight?”)  and the lesser known Surrenderitis.  Medical journals, all too aware of the dearth of groundbreaking research, is relegated to publishing reports like these.

DOCTOR CURES AIDS! (Apart from not curing it)

To any filthy whores with a penchant for ignoring parenthetical asides, please stop cheering and soliciting passerby with an all-access pass to your tender vittles.  This is about to take a turn for the worse.

The recent medical breaththrough arrived courtesy of a patient who was afflicted with end-stage Leukemia and was HIV positive.  There is no known connection between the two diseases, but doctors are pretty certain that God hates this guy.

“I’m coming for your ass!”

Dr. Gero Hütter was treating the patient for the Leukemia using a bone marrow transplant.  Upon the patient’s recovery from the procedure, Dr. Hütter noted there were absolutely no traces of the HIV and immediately ran out into the hospital’s lobby to loudly declare “I am the greatest motherfucking doctor of all time!”.  There’s no indication if the patient survived the cancer, but even if not Dr. Hütter would still be batting .500 which is major league any way you slice it.

There are just a couple of minor caveats to consider.  The technological breakthrough is contingent on getting a marrow transplant from someone who is already born immune to the AIDS virus.  And the genetic expression comes with the trade off of being more likely to die from West Nile virus. And the transplant procedure kills up to 30% of patients.  And it’s entirely possible that AIDS will further mutate to defeat this particular “invulnerability”.  Apart from that, it’s a lock.

This has far-reaching potential.  If there are other similarly healthy people that would be willing to let doctors randomly scoop at their viscera with a melon-baller for depositing in sick people, the frontiers are endless.

HEART ATTACKS MAY BE BAD FOR YOUR HEART

The Institute For Advancement Of The Utterly Apparent recently released a cardiac study lead by Dr. Obvious.  After an investment of thousands of tax dollars and countless man hours pensively tranfering the contents of one beaker to another, they reached the conclusion that there is an “elevated death risk after heart attack“. The institute hopes to use the notoriety from this publication to facilitate funding for their “Using decapitation as a modality to prevent headaches” study.

Eastern doctors have long embraced the healing power of the sword

The Mayo clinic study actually did demonstrate that there is a four-fold increase in sudden cardiac death during the 30 days following the initial cardiac arrest.  That means affected patients should rest at least 32 days before resuming their training regiment of shotgunning nachos prior to explosive up-hill runs.

“Just doing a little carbo-loading before the big race!”

DOCTORS CONTEMPLATE DIAGNOSTIC OPTION

OF “SOMEWHAT DEAD”

We understand that doctors are not miracle workers.  Treatment options are sometimes limited and often there is nothing that can be done for a patient.  However, when our time comes and we slip off this mortal coil, the one thing we should be able to count on not hearing is “He looks pretty dead, but it’s hard to say.  You’re sure he hasn’t even moved a little today?”

“I’d like to bring in a second opinion on this.”

The Academy of Medical Royal Colleges has recognized this need and begun updating UK guidelines for drawing that line.  They insert guidance on problematic areas like determing brain death, which can be questionable if drugs are present in the system or if anyone has recently performed an incantation from the Necronomicon to raise an army of the undead.  The guidelines will detail a simple, hands-on methodology that will encourage doctors to eschew technological diagnostics in favor of more classical methods.  That’s why all physicians are going to be bestowed their own body-poking stick:

“If you are not 100% clear on where it is okay to poke them, please see myself and the resident psychologist ASAP.”

Ian Cheesman is not a licensed medical professional.  His opinions are only informed by a few classes in college and those impromptu surgeries he performed on random hobos.  He’s beginning to think he’s shared too much here.

Being a high profile member of the elite internet press has its advantages. While most will have to wait January 2009 to hear Obama’s inaugural speech, I have received an advance copy from an anonymous source calling themselves "Arl-Kay Ove-Ray". It’s becoming clear to me that maybe we should have listened a bit closer to McCain while we had the chance…

My Friends and Comrades, let me begin by thanking the people who brought us here today. First and foremost, the many campaign volunteers who so diligently carried our message of change and provided offerings to our regional campaign altars.

"He will bring you tax cuts. And allow you to finally hit that elusive curveball"

Speaking of volunteers, our work would never have been possible without the contributions of ACORN. Their tireless canvassing encouraged all citizens, legal or not, to vote early and often. The energy and positivity they exhibited motivated voters that other parties would ordinarily dismiss.

Most importantly, I want to thank the millions of voters who came out and supported our platform of unilateral, unquestioned change. And let me tell you – change is COMING.

When I was out on the campaign trail I felt such a sense of community while socializing with Americans. You could tell that everyone desired to commune with one another. There was so much excitement for communing around common hopes and sharing ourselves socially. It became clear to me that Americans wanted nothing more than to share social ideals communally, if you catch my drift. If not, the newest addition to our staff, "Joe The Proletariat", will be available to the press to explain some of my new policies shortly.

Tax cuts would soon be the least of Joe’s worries

Sometimes to affect sweeping change we must begin with basic, even cosmetic, changes.  That’s why I am proud to announce my redesign of the American flag. My inspiration was that we were no longer an assembly of 13 colonies or 50 states, but a unified people. As such, I changed the stripes to be red and red and consolidated all of those stars down to one. I even added a smile off to the side just like I’ve seen while Instant Messaging with Bill Ayers:

Many of you may note its uncanny resemblance to the Nation Of Islam’s flag, but it’s vastly different.  It is a little known fact that the cells that compose the eye have a heavy conservative bias and they are resisting change with all their might.  Don’t trouble yourself with the aesthetic – this is change and change is good, right? Speaking of "change", the latest run of coinage from the U.S. mint all had the same bizarre typo of "In Allah We Trust" on it. We’re looking into it. 

I don’t wish to ruin ALL of the surprises my presidency has planned, so let me conclude by saying that I thank all of my supporters across Mother America. Your compliance has been noted and appreciated.

Ian Cheesman would like to take this moment to urge all of you to go out and exercise your right to vote yesterday.  Allowing trivialities like time travel to come between you and your civic responsibilities is nothing but COMMIE talk.

Per the Australia Bureau Of Statistics their country’s primary exports are coal, iron ore, wheat and petroleum. However, if the last week is any indicator, they are also solely producing the world’s supply of Fuck Yeah. Any country who wished to topple this Regime of Extreme would literally have to found a cagefighting organization that only had weight classes for Heavyweights, Super Heavyweights, and Bears. 

Yeah, I’d pay to see this too

In the last week alone, three stories emerged from Down Under that prove my theorem.  For maximum appreciation while reading, please shotgun a beer and do 50 knuckle-pushups at the completion of each section.  This will ensure proper pump-uppage.

 Fuck Yeah #1:

Spiders Step Up Their Game

Scientists cite tectonic plate motion and continental drift as the reason for Pangea’s splintering into multiple sub-continents.  What Academia usually fails to address is the Pangean conspiracy to get the world’s most aggressive and lethal creatures all concentrated on the southern tip so it could cleave it off to form Australia and run away screaming in terror. 

One such abomination is the Golden Orb Weaver, a spider the size of an adult fist with an apparent taste for warm blood.  Joel Shakespeare, a zookeeper at NSW’s Australian Reptile Park, captured the carnage below for posterity/nightmares:

Spider - it’s Australian for 8-legged wombat with aggression issues.
                                                                                                                                               
 

Fuck Yeah #2:

Please Hammer, Don’t Hurt Em
 

Senior Detective Matthew Flood introduced the world to his unique philosophies on gun control this week during a foot chase with suspect James Lyle Rakatau.  Fighting crime in accordance with rugby rules, he tackled the suspect.  In the ensuing scuffle the suspect freed Sen. Detective Flood’s gun from his holster and brandished it towards him. In Australia this gesture is considered somewhat rude.  The detective opted to clamp his fist on the cylinder so the revolver couldn’t fire and jam his finger between the hammer and primer.  For those having difficulty conceptualizing this, I cobbled together a quick diagram:

When asked for comment at a press conference, Sen. Detective Flood held up the mic responded “Just another day on the job.”  He then used his free hand to topple a drug cartel and rescue 13 children from a burning orphanage.
  

Fuck Yeah #3:

The Ichthyoid Uprising Begins

A 34 year old UK tourist was reminded this week of his tenuous foothold on the top of the foodchain while visiting Oceanworld in Manly, Australia.  During a sanctioned shark swimming excursion his scalp was lacerated by a passing nurse shark.  Park officials are calling it an accident, not a transparent attempt by the shark to tenderize their snack a bit.

The explanation is consistent with the commonly held notion that nurse sharks are generally placid.  Unfornately, in the rugged wild of Australia even “placid” has a sliding definition along the lines of “May not go after your relatives after it mauls your face off”.

When nurse sharks start drawing blood it’s no accident.  It’s a warning shot across the bow of humanity.  Nay-sayers should consider that the media didn’t report on this letter found on the scene after the incident:

Dear Humans,
We get it.  Some jerkoff marine biologist calls us “nurse sharks” and suddenly you think it’s safe to swim with us.  Well, here’s a quick newsflash for you - we weren’t put on this earth to change your bedpans and apply fresh bandages to your boo-boos.  We are swimming murderbots with an agenda for your ass.

Maybe Chip the 2nd String Lifeguard who led you on this expedition should have mentioned our name comes from our propensity to eat prey larger than our mouth by biting down and sucking their flesh down our throats.  So unless you want your torso to start “lactating” out your liver, maybe you’d better stay on land.

Shark

P.S. Enclosed are 2 or 3 teeth I’m not even using any more.  I’ve got fucking DOZENS of them, y’hear?

The economic turmoil over the last couple of weeks might as well have taken place in a M. Night Shyamalan movie - we’ve endured interminable uncertainty and speculation, always confident that the ending will inevitably suck. Financial advisors are scrambling just to provide advice they won’t regret minutes later.  Some implore you to protect your investments in the commodities market, others suggest the more direct approach of stuffing your cash into a duffel and ascending whatever bell tower will provide an optimal sniping position.  Yet, despite the volatility, some forceful financial advice is coming out of Cupertino, CA where a most unique economic stimulus plan has been unveiled:

Steve’s got a point.  If anything can trump the fervor over our economic dissolve, it would be the distraction of shiny, new Mac hardware.  The tech news has been frothing over the sturdier unibody construction of this Macbook, something that didn’t interest me until I learned the technical description for the assembly is called “monocoque“. Sometimes the Dick Joke Gods are far too kind.  But what else is under the hood that will make this yet another phenomenon for Apple?  Let’s take a look.

NEW FEATURE LEGEND
A - Screen now 40% more glossy, enabling the owner to drink in the reflection of their smug satisfaction while using a Macbook
B - The Macbook now runs dual video cards - one for the primary display, one to handle subliminal propaganda:

Overall, I was a little underwhelmed by the adjustments to this model.  For all of the innovations Apple has put forth in mobile computing, they are still neglecting wireless power.  This is reprehensible considering that I developed a working prototype with aluminum foil ages ago (patent pending):
 

Still, even if it’s not my favorite offering of theirs, I will probably have to buy one if only to demonstrate my allegiance to their newest marketing campaign:

Ian Cheesman generated this content, as well as much of internetsensation.com, on a Macbook Pro.  He doesn’t relish being a hypocrite, it’s just that he adores attention, negative or othwerwise.  It’s a sickness.