Thursday, April 15, 2010

Manberry's Law

Shortly after uploading my previous post I got some interesting feedback. Particularly, of all the content of that post, regarding my assertion that myself and other Australian men typically possess more than the two testicles standard to the rest of the world. And, by extension, the heightened risk of testicular cancer that would accompany such crotch-endowment. I began to respond, citing the well-known Manberry Theorum that deals with this matter. Instead, however, I'm choosing to expound the entirety of Manberry's Law to you, my strange, twisted readership.

Manberry's Law

1st Premise: As an individual's Testes Count (nT) increases (see figure 1), there is a direct linear increase in the potential risk of cancerous cell growth (pC).

2nd Premise: As the testes count increases, so increases the subject's capacity to kick death in the face (see Figure 2) so hard that a full-grown human must suddenly pop into existence somewhere in the world just to balance out the universe, a process called Dedeath (ref A. Alpine, Dedeath, Dedying and the Dedead, 1973. pp 51-269), by a factor of 1.26 (rounded).

Representing this data graphically (see figure 3) we can clearly observe these distributions, and from the intercept point conclude that, external factors notwithstanding, the optimum quantity of nuts is roughly 7.

Figure 1: Subject with three balls.

Figure 2: Kicking the fuck out of the Grim Reaper (r. Animae)

Figure 3:

Wait, does the size of the ball matter? Probably! You want me to cover everything? Find anyone more qualified in this field than me. Find ANYONE else qualified. Frankly, this is the most ridiculous branch of science I've ever seen and we're all poorer for having sat through this farsical waste of a $700,000 research grant.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Chatroulette, When A Stranger Calls

So, in my inimitable style of jumping on bandwagons mere seconds before they wheel away into irrelevance, I checked out chatroulette last night. If you’re even later to the party than me, it’s a website that anonymously connects two strangers with webcams from anywhere in the world. There’s no login, no usernames, just a text window (in which you receive the generic appellations Stranger, and You), a window showing your own webcam output, and a window showing that of potentially anyone in the world. The only other notable feature is the prominent “Next” button, which instantaneously disconnects from your current partner and randomly connects you to another. In practice, this happens very rapidly, giving a strong impression that you’re sitting in a figurative roulette wheel. And what you see in this fleeting progression of live images is mostly dicks.

While in my brief foray I did see my fair share of wang, mostly in extreme close up that the only other visible region of their owners were their sagging paunches wobbling vigorously to the rhythm of frantic masturbation. A couple of these phalli even came attached to bodies otherwise ostensibly female. And there were a nice young couple from Portugal, a lovely gentleman from France and a Sicilian mailman whose broken English stood only slight impedance to what was a very friendly conversation. See? It’s not all bad.

One strange American fellow caught my attention in an exchange I felt had to be recorded. After the initial pleasantries, the greeting and ‘where are you from?’, he put forth the notion that there are not enough dicks on Chatroulette.

Here is the log starting from that point, unabridged but for my addition of italics for ease of reading.

Stranger: I hear they have big dicks in Australia

You: Yes, yes we do.

You: So how’s the weather in Virginia?

Stranger: I wanna see yours gaga

Stranger: haha*

You: You what? You want to see my dick?

Stranger: Yeah

You: You realise you’re on Chatroulette. If you want to see a dick just hit Next, I’m literally the only male on this site wearing pants.

Stranger: I’ll show you mine

Stranger: I’ve never seen an Aussie one tho

You: Well they’re just like everyone else’s, except with a few more balls underneath

You: Average is five. I’ve only got four, but that’s the hand genetics dealt me.

Stranger: Just a peek

You: You first

Stranger: Then you’ll show me after?

You: Haha fuck no!

You: Noone sees my shit for free. Not even my wife. True, she only pays a nominal, token fee that I give straight back to her, but it’s the principle.

Stranger: I’ll pay

You: Give me your paypal details and we’ll talk

Stranger holds a green banknote up to his camera

You: Wait, American currency? I don’t want that bullshit

Stranger: Haha true

You: I need euros man. You hold a 10 euro note up to the screen and I’ll whip out my dong right now

Stranger: I don’t have any euros

You: Sorry dude, no euro, no weeno.

Monday, February 22, 2010

Ripwick Lane

He looked back up the way where a moment ago Sally were. There not a sound heard, only saw a sign not seen before, standing there by the wall and not a Sally there at all. Surely that sign he would have seen walking past, just before? This street were dark and shadows loom and gloom from buildings tall and grey and dotted with black glass.

That sign it were not there before and of this Bernard he were sure and into the pooling ichor air did Bernard call “Sally, where did you go? You walked beside not a moment ago and now I see not but this sign by the wall”


And into the looming gloom did Bernard stride, announcing purpose with booming call “Sally, where did you go? You walked beside not a moment ago and now I see not but shapeless shapes and looming gloom and eyes that greed and gleam in this narrow place”

Still there not a sound heard but a growing whistling whispering rasp of hungry mouths of things with eyes that greed and gleam on Ripwick Lane.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Dicquain Poetry

Since it seems any idiot with any respect as a writer is allowed to do this, I’m going to introduce a new format of poetry. I call it the Dicquain, and it follows this format:

First line: 2 syllables
Second line: 3 syllables, superficially related to the first
Third line: 4 syllables, again superficially related, but with no attempt at narrative or expression
Fourth line: My dick is in a ... write what your dick is in, using as many syllables as you need at this point.

Samples below:

The Whistling Whitmore
                                By Dan Stewart

Darkly scream
Mired in blackness
My dick is in a shoe


 The Martins

                                By Dan Stewart
The Martins
Salesman and wife
My dick is in a living room

Have fun with this, send me yours. Let's make this a thing.

As I Might Have Said

For the time being, I'm putting out an open invitation for guest contributions to Long Lost Bother. Now while we're finding our focus and voice for the sheer entertainment value of the site, please email anything you think will fit to:

Now I might edit the shit out of it just to fit my idea of internet-funny, but you still get full credit as an LLB writer (which is one step above Botherer, which is one step above airline pilot, in the respect of your peers kind of sense).

Long Lost Bother's 10 Scariest Ghost Towns #1

Centralia, Pennsylvania

Coming to the conclusion of the Long Lost Bother Ghost Town World Tour, (and thanks for coming on the ride, guys, how about I start calling you Botherers? would you like that? It could be like our thing), and we’ve seen towns abandoned for all sorts of reasons. Economic downturn, excessive ghosting, radioactive supermonsters (I think, did that happen? Someone read down and report back), we’ve pretty much seen it all.

Except this. A town that closed up shop because the motherfucking gates of hell opened up underneath it and I’m only very slightly exaggerating here!

Very slightly

Where is it?

Centralia is in the US state of Pennsylvania, known mostly for the Amish and being the setting of The Office. If I had a picture of an Amish dude bashfully ogling a receptionist across his desk I’d put it right here. Incidentally, Long Lost Bother could use a staff photoshopper. I can pay a salary of exactly one awesome title (tba) and the loving devotion of about a hundred Botherers (I remembered, you’re welcome).

Hey, where did everybody go?

Well, the town cleared right out after it turned out the earth beneath it was a smoldering hellfire. See, the rich veins of black coal right beneath Centralia are burning as we speak, and have been burning for a long time, and will be burning for a very long time to come. Vents for the smoke and various toxic gasses from the subterranean furnace can and have opened up everywhere, bursting up through quiet town streets, houses, yards. In fact the incident that caused people to start really, really worrying about the foul-smelling coal-gas seeping through the floor was when a suburban backyard opened up its ghastly flaming mouth and tried to swallow a small child.

This was not unprecedented behaviour for the Centralia hellfire though, this occurred not long after the mayor and gas station owner (an enviable job, we can all agree on that) John Coddington discovered something wasn’t quite right under Centralia. See a couple of years earlier, mayor Coddington found the ground around his gas tank was a little warm, and on lowering a thermometer into the tank on a string saw the fuel was fucking near boiling. At which point I’m guessing he slowly backed away from the tank, trying not to slip on the shit undoubtably running down his trousers.

The town was evacuated 1984, probably because the US government saw the effort being far cheaper than introducing health care cover from toxic gas inhalation and the burning jaws of a fiery underground earth-devil.

Why it’s scary as hell

Seen the movie Silent Hill? It’s based on this actual, really totally real town. And maybe a little on the video game.

There are a few conflicting theories over what exactly happened to make Centralia become a burning-hot toxic waste-town.

1. The annual burning-of-the-town-garbage ceremony (this is a real thing) went badly wrong when the trash-fire ignited a coal-vein beneath the town in approximately 1962. Plausible.
2. Volcanic activity a long way beneath the Centralia set the subterranean coal deposits on fire a really, really long time ago (talking millennia here) and it’s only recently smoldered up close enough to the surface to start pouring coal gasses up into unsuspecting households. Also plausible.
3. Nash’ashthul the Foul saw a small Pennsylvanian township and thought “I shall make this den of lesser beings my fucking lunch”. Pretty much the best explanation anyone's come up with.

Whatever the explanation, the Centralia coal fire is spreading relentlessly. Nobody quite knows the extent of the vast coal deposit that continues to burn hungrily, but it’s expected to reach several other small towns in the next few decades. There’s no way to stop the Centralia devil-fire, and no reason not to expect it to lunge up under your suburb any day now.

So here we are at the end of this long and terrifying road. And once again I'd like to thank the small but growing number of you following alongside me. The internet ain't a lonely place with you guys around.

I have a special invitation to all my Botherers out there. I want you guys to help choose the direction Long Lost Bother takes from here on. More comics made with semi-obscure celebrities lashed together into untoward situations? More long-winded journeys through shit you want to know? More recipes? Is that want you want from me?

I'm easy. Got some bit of writing you want read by more than five people? Let's talk.


Gentleman Dan