Category Archives: Science

When Life Gets Busy, Put A Bunch Of Shit In A Jar

By Heather Levinsky

An excerpt from our latest issue, The Fake News Issue!

You’ve been hit by the analog bulletin train! Pass this onto 15 people who need to take a good, hard look at their disastrous, unbalanced life.

When everything in your entire whole life has gone to fuck and back, take a remember at this good speech from an extremely wise woman. Because she was wise, she was a professor. And because she was a professor, she gave a speech, to her class.

“Why don’t you all look at this mason jar that I have.” The class looked, because they were a good class.

“Here i am, gonna fill it up with sand.” The professor then poured enough sand into the jar to fill it halfway.

“This represents the ‘earth,’ your main priorities in life. Because without some ground beneath our feet, where would we have a leg to stand on, or a stand for our legs?” quoth the professor. The class nodded quietly in rapt approval.

“Now, class, would you say that the jar is full?”

“No, I’d say it’s about halfway full.” a student spake. “You might want to think about pacing yourself, as far as the sand is concerned, or maybe, add the larger elements in first, and the smaller particulates later, so that there’s enough room.

“You are expelled. Never question the unquestionable authority of the tenured professor.” The student was astonished at her doctrine.

What the professor did next was even more astonishing.

“Next, I’m put some pebbles on top of the sand. Next most important in life, are the little rocks that give our lives texture. Salt is a rock, and they say the “salt of the earth” is what makes life so interesting!” The professor then reached deep, deep, deep into her most deepest pockets, scooping out two heaping handfuls of gravel and coarse salt. Pouring the rocks into the jar, the earthy contents almost reached the top.

“Other important rocks are diamonds, which signify both everlasting love and child labor; the duality of man.” The professor then reached deep, deep, deep into an even deeper pocket inside of the first one.  Producing a handful of diamonds, she poured those over top of the gravel, spilling out of the top of the jar like a silty parfait.

“Now, class, would you say that the jar is full?”

A few scattered students said “Yes. The jar is overflowing with precious minerals. The Swarovskian nonpareils shimmer in the fluorescent light, guiding us. We are content, and cannot, at this time, imagine an addition to this glass metaphor of our human life that would provide us with more satisfaction,” in unison; in monotone.

“Your manner of thinking is maddeningly limited. You are all incorrect. Expand your minds, and let’s get our full life.” The professor then reached into a student’s ear and produced 3 golf balls.

“Now, the golf balls, represent sports, leisure, and self-care. These are the least important things to have in your life; golf is for losers, leisure is for those without anxiety, and self-care is a fad diet invented to sell ad space on tumblr dot com.” The professor then attempted to balance the 3 golf balls on top of the glittering sediment jar, but the opening was too small for all 3 golf balls to rest comfortably against each other in a triangular configuration.

One of the golf balls fell on the ground.

Just when the class thought she was done, the professor did the most surprising thing of all!

Reaching into her bag, she pulled out 3 beers. After the raucous laughter subsided, one intrepid learner’s hand stood at attention.

“I get it, Professor! The true lesson, is that at the end of the day, you always have time left to kick back and enjoy a few beers with friends.”

Chuckling, the professor responded with a sage thesis.

“If you convince public safety that alcohol is an essential part of an extended metaphor for prioritizing your life, you can bring it onto campus.”

That professor? Albert Einstein.

Do Not Tell Me The Sky Is The Limit Because I Am An Astronaut

By An Astronaut

You will stop right there when you are addressing me. I have come out into this vile café for peace. Perhaps I expected a request for an autograph, perhaps I expected adoration, perhaps I even expected some respect, but I have received neither, and especially not from you. “The Sky Is The Limit”? Is this paltry expression your attempt at positive reassurance? Do you even know who I am?

Let me explain something to you, fool.

Screen Shot 2017-03-12 at 2.50.49 PM
Yes, you. I am talking to you, do not deny this any longer.

I am the one who goes into space. It is me. It is likely that you are not familiar with the demands of my profession, so I will construct for you a quick lesson.

We live on the earth. It is round and stinky and full of bugs.

Above the earth is the sky, where great winged beasts build houses out of small dogs they stole from suburban back yards, and where God’s little feet rest when they are being tired.

Are you following me so far?

Above this sky, is a place where titans play games. A place where big honchos like me go to score some space meat, where throbbing rockets dance across the primordial plane and fondle the genitalia of constellations that small, small children like you have stared at your whole lives. A place where fleshbags like me become gods.

Constellations
This is the place where I do my bidding. The stars are my home, my lovers, my friends. And you? You stay stuck to a wall, slurping little bugs, little rodents, as they pass across your vile paper visage.

This locale is known as “Space”, you ignorant dog, and it is well above the confines of the meager sky. I go here while you sit sucking on your little thumb. I go here while Elon Musk strokes his rigid dome into a stock photo of the Martian moons. I go here while all the world lays sleeping, dreaming of being as radiant as me.

I am The One Who Dares Explore The Unknown. I am bound by no limits of the sky and its beasts, its doghouses, its godly feet. I am an Astronaut, you fell swine, and I demand respect. I am the mother of science, the very teat upon which the rest of the human race suckles. I am the hope for the future, the divine, the inimitable ‘Naut (this is what my friends call me) who holds, in his hands, the ability to shape the fate of all time and space. I am a god among men, and you, you are just a stupid poster.

So the next time you dare tell me the sky is the limit, just remember that when you look up at the stars I will be staring down at you. I will collect all the spit into a ball between my teeth and drench you with my mouth juice from so very far away. It will take a long time to get there. It may not all be intact. It may be frozen from the vacuum of space. But I will drench you, and upon this wettening, you will know that you have caused me extreme offense.

So You’ve Acquired An Alien Child…

By Ashley Vernola

An excerpt from “Nonsense’s Guide to the Supernatural

Section 6: Caring For Your New Alien Baby

 

  1. Hold them.

After all, even though it is a part of an alien species, it still is indeed a baby, and babies need love and care and a good amount of TLC. Hold that baby, swaddle it! Not with cotton blankets, cotton will cause your baby to combust and die. Only metallic nylon will do for this alien species! Make sure to remind it that you need it more than it’ll ever need you.

  1. Give it a name!

The best part of acquiring your little bundle of slimy grey mass is that you get to name the little goon! Make sure to keep it something close to its roots, but it can be as modern or classic as you wish it to be! Try Googling “Top 20 Alien Names of the Year”. That’ll be sure to give you some ideas! Be aware that it might take a little while for your little alien to begin responding to this name. They were given names in their native tongue before that and changing their name out of the blue might confuse them. Don’t be afraid if your baby grows distant from you as it acclimates to its new life on this planet.

  1. Make sure it gets its shots, and test for allergies.

Once again, like any baby, alien babies, too, must protect themselves with the wonders of human medicine! Make sure to take your little snook’ums to the doctor often to make sure they are healthy and happy! Make sure your doctor isn’t a spoilsport tattletale who will inform your nation’s government about the cuddly wuddly invasive species you have given purchase on our planet [see section 7, how to silence a liability]. Your special gift from outer space will probably require rarer, and more expensive shots and treatments, as they are not yet adjusted to the illnesses or allergens available on this planet, but that won’t matter, as you’ll do anything for your little bundle of gook!

  1. Put on TV.

Remember, nothing too violent! Aliens are easily impressionable, but boy, do they love TV! While you may think having it watch something about aliens is a great idea, it is not. Please avoid shows about the alien species at all costs. Please. Avoid the History Channel.

  1. Do NOT stick it in the microwave.

Raising a child lacking bodily structures analogous to our own—except a mouth that screams, screams, screams!—CAN be trying. Additionally, some of you in areas with large whale populations may find that your baby takes on the hue and texture of local decadence: whale blubber. However, do NOT put your alien baby in the microwave. DON’T. This will not make this or the pounding in your head OR the redness in your eyes OR the relationship with your earth children (or spouse) better! It will only make EVERYTHING worse. Unlike human children, aliens babies are not suited for microwaves, and you should be warned that their large, bulbous heads will explode when exposed to excessive heat. If we hear of another case of this happening, we will call Alien Protective Services on you, and you will never be able to own another alien child again. You have been warned.

  1. Love it like it were your own blood-child.

Your small bundle of slippery amorphous joy has been separated from its home planet and family and cannot go back. Thus, it is important that you take on this little one like it is your own, or else it will not be able to acclimate to life on Earth as well as it should, and your family might be in for a slew of trouble.

  1. Remember not to tell the NSA, CIA, FBI, or any other government agency.

All these agencies want to do is take your small alien baby away. You wouldn’t want that, would you? Don’t you dare utter a word. (Insta selfies are fine.)

  1. Ignore your wife’s side-eye when you pay more attention to your new alien baby than your own blood-humanoid children.

We know. It’s hard. Your wife will glare at you from across the room as your little one tugs on your pant leg and you shoo him away because you’re dealing with your new, special baby in your arms. She will grow resentful of this, and take your son away, reminding him that he’s “Mommy’s Favorite”. She will tell you to “grow up”, and that you are worthless as a parent, but it’s okay. Little Danny never needed you quite as much as Xeep_3863 needs you. You’re all it has here on Earth. And, when your wife eventually gets tired of you neglecting your own children for this baby you never even asked for, it will be all you have as well. Look out for each other. It’s a scary world out there.

And last but not least:

  1. Have fun!

It’s only one to three in a lifetime that these opportunities present themselves. Being the new parent to one of these incredible, unidentifiable creatures is something many will never experience or even come close to understanding. It will be a learning experience for you, as well, so cherish it.

Now, go on and take care of your newly acquired alien child. You are in for a ride!

Neil deGrasse Tyson: Point Counterpoint

By Ariel Leal and Jesse Saunders

An excerpt from our issue Nonsense Goes To Space!

Neil Degrasse Tyson: Hero? Villain? …Thespian? With nipples like yams and a voice like the marshmallows one spreads atop, we just don’t know what to expect. The man is a saint no doubt, with thousands upon hundreds of contributions to things such as SCIENCE, math, and late night television—but math is hard and space is scary. So is he our friend or a threat to humanity itself?… Read two conflicting opinions below to find out.

Point

Life before the first encounter is a surreal dream, one that I can hardly remember in the midst of the never-ending Hell that is my current existence. I just want to sleep without having the definitions of consciousness and dreams violently shouted into my ears endlessly. I’ve taken shelter in this sensory deprivation tank because he always followed. He’d scream at me from all angles, all dimensions. I must have been eighteen when the first encounter took place. I was trying to get my Pringle wet in my father’s Honda Civic; it was going to be the single greatest moment of all my years in high school. I made sure to stock the car with several different kinds of air fresheners. Despite the smells being a whirlwind of artificial scents, Wendy just chuckled and called it all a “cute effort.” I left the key in so I could play some Bachman-Turner Overdrive to get the mood going as I drove to the cliff just a couple of minutes away from my house. The scene was beautiful, with the setting sun splashing warm colors over the valleys that that we sat overlooking. The thought of it all had me nervous, giving me goosebumps, and when we parked, I could do little more than stare at the slowly dripping condensation from Wendy’s water bottle in the cup holder. Everything I did, I did out of nervousness, telling myself that when the drop of water hit the bottom, I would make my move. I did. We started to kiss. Her plump lips pressed against mine, and after a few minutes, I pushed my hand into the tight pocket of my Levi’s. My fingers managed to take hold of the single condom caught in the web of tangled headphones. I struggled to tear the plastic open; my hands were sweaty, as was the condom. Wendy giggled again and opened the plastic for me. At that precise moment, Neil deGrasse Tyson punched his way out of the trunk of my car. My girlfriend screeched as he yelled, “You’re doing this because you’re both compelled, as animals, to procreate. There is no magic!”

I haven’t had sex ever since. So yes, I’m still a virgin. At forty-three years old he reminded me that I have “failed my duty as a living organism” and “successfully put an end to millions of years of procreative success,” but that’s another story out of hundreds of thousands. I tried to eat icecream after that initial incident, having dropped crying Wendy off at her house. She insisted that she needed some time alone. On the way to the ice-cream shop, the radio just kept blasting more and more maddening facts narrated by the creature himself, Mr. Tyson.

“Hey kids, don’t forget, you were born into existence from an eternal abyss of nothingness and you will die returning to that very same oblivion! Santa isn’t real!”

I drove up to the little kiosk down the road from my school just to get a little sweetness in my day. How I longed for the texture of my tongue dragging across the rugged terrain of sprinkles embedded into soft-serve. I guessed sprinkles were nutritionally worthless, though. None of this was healthy for me, to be honest. Was I just eating to alleviate stress? Did you know that carbohydrates are directly linked to increases in serotonin production? N-Neil taught me that..

As soon as I attempted to place my order, I found that he was the ice-cream man. “Ice-cream, or any food, or anything for that matter, is only a series of atoms intertwined in complex webs, just like you. There are no souls.” I could go into detail about these events endlessly, my mother’s funeral, my father’s suicide, the birth of my nephew- right…the birth of my nephew was supposed to be a symbol of hope for a better future. Unfortunately, baby blue tones seemed more stale than they ever have before. Color didn’t mean much to me anymore. Did you know that the color blue is associated with low anxiety levels and a sense of calm?

BAM! He was there, just like he always was. “Fun fact! Mothers are essentially forced to love their children. Oxytocin, the chemical responsible for love, is produced in high quantities after the birth of a child. You didn’t think love was actually real, did you?”

Relaxation didn’t exist for me, anymore, for every time I turned on the television the new Cosmos would start playing. I was forced to watch his affably charming face mock me from afar. He spoke of wonders, of why the universe was amazing and beautiful, but in doing so, the magic was removed from literally everything. Nothing held mystery. Nothing was intriguing. Life slowly lost meaning, at least, until I met her; Sharon, that beautiful woman. She gave my life meaning, but I was foolish to believe that this phenomenon wasn’t fleeting. At our wedding, happiness was within my grasp, until the priest asked everyone to speak now, or forever hold their peace; peace that I would only ever obtain in death. Death means nothing to me anymore but I digress. The white dress she sported seemed bland, considering that it was only the result of an inability to absorb any specific color. I put these thoughts aside though. I tried doing so for her. But of course that…daemon stood proudly and said, “Love is only a series of chemicals! Monogamy is little more than a social construct perpetuated by organized religion, which also has little to no value whatsoever!” The priest killed himself and I broke down and began to cry, each tear being a salty reminder that my emotions were little more than chemicals. Sharon left with my high school bully, Chad, because of course his name is Chad. My life is a cartoon, I think, now reminiscing in the everlasting hellscape that is my existence. I now pray that Neil won’t scare the piss out of me by jumping out of my asshole and reminding me what life is or isn’t or even why cartoons are unimpressive. I don’t care what the other guy has to say; Neil deGrasse Tyson has robbed me of my ability to live a life I’m not even sure ever existed. I can only attempt to block these memories and thoughts out in this lonely metal tank. Speaking of metal, did you know that mercury is the only metal that is a liquid at room temperature? At that moment, I heard the door slam open.

But how? I’m not supposed to be able to hear anything in here…

Heavy footsteps thudded towards me until his devastatingly strong fists punched against the tank, weakening what I hoped would serve as a metal coffin. His virtually robotic fingers pried the doors to the tank open. He squeezed inside with me and pulled me against him, placing his head on my right shoulder, his merciless lips next to my ear. I felt his warm breath on my skin as he spoke.

“Free will is an illusion, you know. Evidence supports the fact that we make decisions before the brain is even conscious of them. You are not your own person; none of us are.”

How was he doing this? Every tidbit of physics and chemistry that I was forced to remember couldn’t save me. None of it made sense. He didn’t fit the physical world that he spared no time explaining! How was he doing this?!

He tightened his grip with each factoid launched out of his mouth into the frail targets that were once my healthy ears. I cry more and more with his seemingly endless explanations. This is my reality. I just want to sleep

Counterpoint

The sun never stopped shining when I was young. Quiet, glowing, light filled up every corner of my world. I was a star among the many, simple, plebeians filling the school halls. At just eight years of age, I was ready to take on anything in this world. My clay volcano was ready to destroy my weakminded classmates with one push of a button. Until He came…Neil. All it took was one look at his potato battery and my entire life was seemingly over. Beyond beating me in every class, he destroyed my family’s quaint French villa with his pet black hole named Bill Nye, and didn’t even have the kind courtesy to torture me to my face. The mark he’s left on the scientific community is one of a villain, a rogue with no care for his common scientists. His chocolate dipped low-cal voice sends its listeners gliding through space and away from their dreadful, feeling-ridden lives for hours at a time. But apparently returning my phone calls was too much of challenge for the so-called Brilliant Man. BAH! I’m calling him what he’s truly always been: a carob-throated hack, through and through. While real investigators of science and fact, spend their time destroying hope and convincing the public that the fast and inevitable heat death of the universe is coming extremely soon — when in fact we have yet to reach a confirmed date on that –Tyson has made a career out of “informing the public,” and “Sending learning and love to a child you know.” You think science was made to create a community of knowledge? Do you all actually think that it was meant to better humankind? Tyson is and has always been a figure of disgrace, a man who has the time to play games with children and speak about the future of the Sun’s desires, but he couldn’t even come to my birthday party. Weird, huh? Every test we ever took… every time I applied for a position, only to be laughed at as he sauntered through the door in nice shoes and pants…It became too much. The kids might be obsessed with him, but I have seen through him. I have seen through every inch of him. For years, I spent every moment of every day desperately trying to fix his mistakes, to fix our society, to maybe speak to him for a few minutes and see if he remembered me from that time we got partnered together in lab. But I was hopeless. Whether it was his casual suit or his dark, steamy, lying eyes, I was sick at the thought of him, and more sick at the thought of being away from him. Don’t you all understand yet? His mind might be great — it is great — but he was always wasting himself by trying to rationalize who and what he really is to the dregs of society. He could have and should have been spending it on better people — people who are interesting and love science and understand math at an above average level. Tyson isn’t of your world, you lazy degenerates. You don’t deserve him, his wealth of knowledge is but a penny in the beggar’s cup that is your brains. NeildeGrasse was always meant for a different world, don’t you see that? He was meant for the world of science, always destined to be consumed by the vastness of his own mind… and so he was. Neil deGrasse Titan, the man who made learning good for idiots and bad for smart people, perished at the hands of the one thing he truly loved. Indeed, he was killed by science. “How so?” you may be asking. “What could have disassembled the fine man we knew only as Neil Tyson deGrasse Junior High. Simple, dear plebeian masses: when the element formerly known as hydrargyrum (mercury) touches a prosperous fuse—a car bomb. I put a bomb in his car.

Conclusions

Interesting, two completely different opinions. Yes. Two totally different sentiments expressed. Two—did you guys even talk to each other before sending these pieces in? Who was responsible for assigning each of you your positions? It wasn’t me. I’ll tell you that much. It wasn’t—who even wrote the intro I—you know what? I wash my hands of this. It’s late. Two opinions on NDT, BFD.

The Footrace in Space

By Trevor Parrish and Quin Asselin

An excerpt from our issue Nonsense Goes To Space!

Times were tense. Russia had a bomb, we had a bomb. We are the USA, Russia was Cuba a little bit. Our governments pleading to show GROWTH. Lusting for dominance. The long awaited Space Race was about to start. You know, THE Space Race. I’m talkin’ ships, and moondust, and cocaine filled Hollywood basements, baby! Yeah, that Space Race. Each of the three competitors: The Dessicated Corpse of Jesse Owens, Usain Bolt, and Looney Tunes’ own “Speedy Gonzales” had been training for 113 days in preparation for this historic event. Each of these really fast quicksters was lined up to run directly out of the Earth’s atmosphere and be the first to crash into the surface of, “the Mars.” James “The Space Jam” Carter stood at the starting spot on the summit of the snowy, stoic Mount Everest. Each competitor was gasping for air. Except for Speedy Gonzales who is animated and thus requires no live action oxygen. As well as the corpse of Jesse Owens who was simply a pile of bone scraps, dirt, and American triumph over Hitler. So really only Usain Bolt was making a scene.

Ya know, Usain Bolt really ruined the whole spirit of the event. What a spectacle. We were all waiting with bated breath for the long journey to that shitty rust orb known as “Mars” (to all those Barbara Walters types), but Mr. Bolt just kept complaining about how a mountain was an inappropriate starting position for a race to begin. Poor show, Usain.

Jiminy “Cricket” Carter fired the starting pistol, only to find that the gun, rather than being loaded with blanks, was filled with the sorrows of a lost generation of young Syrian refugees and the joy of hearing a puppy’s first words. The runners were off and the gun filled with God’s tears as bullets was safely returned to the nearest municipal library. For firing the weapon, Jimothy Cartright was imprisoned within two dimensional space for the remainder of this story.

Halfway through the stratosphere, it was clear that Bolt didn’t have his heart in this one. The wheezing husk of a man had all but given up on running 90° vertically out of the gravitational grasp of Big Mama Earth. As Usain continued to complain, his clothes began igniting due to friction from the ever increasing speed of his “Debbie Downerisms.”  However, Gonzales proved to be not only the fastest mouse in Mexico, but the fastest mouse charging to his inevitable finish on a cold lonely red planet. Meanwhile, the tenuously built frumple of bones that had once held Owens’ meat filling aloft had blown over. This was, no doubt, due to the great gust of air that accompanied the other racers as they began. They rested there atop the Himalayas and if they could, they’d have sang, a song, a hymn, or a melodious jaunt through the ages.

Burning through the upper layers of the atmosphere at an alarming rate, Bolt finally broke past the worldly trappings of gaseous surroundings. Subsequently, the fire that had all but engulfed him went out, and the Great Dirt Devil in the Sky began vacuuming the air out of that poor Jamaican sod’s lungs. The world-class sprinter slowly came to a halt, as the deep cold of space crept into his calcium sticks, like an inchworm slowly squeakin’ towards desire.

Only two competitors remained, Speedy Gonzales and the entirely inert debris of a true American patriot. Gonzales had pulled fast into the lead by quite a large margin, already halfway to that polar-capped desert otherworld, “Mars.” However, Owens seemed to have a few more tricks up his high jump champion sleeves.

Before Speedy, on the previously unmentioned space road, was a nigh impenetrable wall of White Owl brand cigarettes, piled so high that they blocked any rodent from passing. He knew what had to be done. Gonzales whipped out his lighter and started smoking faster than a slow cooker at a Louisiana Barbeque. The fastest mouse in all of Latin America descended into a deep smog of carcinogens, emphysema, and a 40% chance of poisoning the target.

At once, the mouse was gone in a puff of smoke and questionably racist exclamations. The fervent energy he’d contained had only been intensified by a humanly-insurmountable quantity of tobacco. Gonzales was making record time for the possible purgatory of Matt Damon after a certain 2015 summer blockbuster. Speedy began to vibrate through time on his approach towards this year’s most popular rouge rogue roving rover home, “Mars.” He knew to truly win this race he must end it with a bang.

Speedy glimpsed into the future and saw his destiny in the molten core of this dumb rock. He knew what he had to do. The mouse tugged on the brim of his banana colored hat and phased through space to the heart of the planet. As the ferrous rock collapsed onto him with the force of 70 Amy Winehouse singles at once, Speedy knew he had succeeded. His neatly animated form slowly began to crumble into a perfect Mexican diamond. Speedy glinted in the sky, and Jesse Owens smiled back, knowing that America had finally won the Space Race.

An Open Letter to the 10 Exceptional Asteroids that I Once Loved

2001: A Space Odyssey Online

Ben Fletcher in 797 words on December 6th, 2016

An excerpt from our issue Nonsense Goes To Space!

1. Hygiea

You were there for me when my back was against the wall. You’ve seen me at my worst and at my best, and you never hesitated to pick me up when I was down. Those were the good times, until we floated apart. You weren’t the biggest and maybe not the most exceptional asteroid that I’ve known but goddamn it, you were exactly the 503 by 407 by 370 in Kilometers that I needed in the summer of 1849. I miss you Hygiea, I hope you’re doing well.

2. Hektor

You were like a father figure to me. I learned so much from you, my daddy Hektor with a K. Is that German or Russian? You still never told me. I tried to get a read on you, but I could never seem to get past your craterous frame. But I know, I just know underneath that hulking, rocky exterior, there is more rock. God I wish you were my Dad instead of an asteroid.

3. Bamberga

Hey Bam. It’s been 3 years since I’ve stopped chugging cough syrup like you asked. But now I can’t shake the feeling of wanting to start up again, because I can’t get any rest without you baby. You let Johann Palisa discover you instead of discovering yourself like you said you wanted to. I wish you would come back. I’ll be here. You know where to find me.

4. Doris

You were trusting, caring, loving, and always down to do anal. I don’t think I’ll ever meet another asteroid like you. Mostly because of the anal thing. Out of all the asteroids I’ve dated, you’re the only one with a butthole. I’m still confused as to how that got there, but I’m not complaining. Sorry I got you evicted for causing quite the ruckus during the anal. You just put the ass in asteroid baby ;P XDDDDD

5. Pallas

I have nothing more to say to you. I hope you and Melvin are doing well you cheater. Give me back my Across The Universe DVD.

6. Hebe

I found that tree we scratched our initials on 3 winters ago. You remember, the tall birch with the green leaves? Yeah, that one. It brought back good memories, but also reminded me why we’re not together anymore. You told me you wanted space, but I didn’t think you actually meant you were going to abscond back into the god damn solar system without even so much as a “goodbye”. My eyes begin to water just thinking about it. We could’ve had it all Hebe, now I just have the hebejeebees.

7. Metis

“1st battalion, shake a tower! Large enough to crush the axis power!!” Oh boy, Metis my man, remember that nursery rhyme of a battle cry? Haha I still to this day have no idea what it means. Something to do with pooping? Oh boy, our days in the service were wild. Sgt. was always getting on our asses for not saying it loud enough, but would never bother to explain it! But we sure did take it to those damn Nazis didn’t we brother?! We should get together some time and play backgammon like we used to back in the day. Tell Irene and the kids I said seasons greetings.

8. Diotima

Tell our son Nelson I’ll be by to pick him up in a few hours. We’re gonna go to the zoo and when he asks good ol’ Dad what the gorillas are called, I’m going to say “There called Diotima’s lil’ buddy,” and he’s going to say “Isn’t that mommy’s name?” and I’m going to say “Yep, they were actually named after she became the cantankerous whore that is your mother and decided that Daddy couldn’t go out gambling on a Tuesday and waste the rent money on Ultimate Texas Hold’em because he FUCKING KNOWS if he just gets one good hand we could finally afford a pool table. You fucking tell her that Nelson!!” That’s what I’m gonna say. I’ll be there after lunch.

9. Aletheia

You taught me how to knit, how to change a tire, and how to read. I don’t know where I would be right now if I didn’t know how to read because of you Aletheia. You made my world brighter, and occasionally darker when you covered up the sun. I should’ve been more attentive when I cooked for you. How was I supposed to know you had a gluten allergy? What part of your craggy, jagged body needs to process gluten?? Again, I’m sorry, but you should’ve told me first.

10. Ceres

Babe, you were hands down, 10/10, the absolute THICKEST babe I have ever laid my grubby little mitts on. I can’t think of anyone else that treated my wiener the way you did. I know that we’ve grown apart ever sense I moved away, but I promise you, there is nobody else I would be proud to call my mother.

A Day in the Life of Elon Musk

By Toby Jaffe

An excerpt from our issue Nonsense Goes To Space!

 

6:00 AM SHARP Wake up, wake all the way up. Nothing can stop me.

6:02 I’M ALL THE WAY UP.

6:04 Dance to some pre-released trap shit in my cotton choo-choo decorated PJs for a few. Flail melodiously to the beat.

6:07 Boot up the ol’ Ipad and record.

6:09 Undress sexily. Stroke my naughty bits.

6:11 Bathe in hydroponic aquaporin and red wine, scooping both astounding liquids with only the tallest of Bordeaux glasses.

6:35 Sip a bit.

7:01 Stare into the mirror. Shave. Comb. Flirt coyly with a friendly hair flip.

7:05 Remain undressed, except for my delightful silk robe.

7:20 Milk Walter, my wondrous pet goat.

7:33 Kiss Walter on the lips.

7:35 Whisper sweet nothings into his saccharine, pointy ears about our dreams and the alternative dimensions we will discover if only they’d give us a damn chance.

8:02 Get dressed. Today I have chosen to wear a superior black polo with the chest exposed (no chest hair, NEVER!) and some sensuous white khakis.

8:17-ISH Prepare for today’s Space-X test-launch. Expectations high, but realistic.

8:22 Eat a powerbar, savoring it as if to know it closely, savoring it as if to fuck it.

8:39 Call that foxy Forbes reporter I once played scrabble with. Yes Yes, ladies and gentleman, I won. Of course I did. Ha Heh Heh. Invite foxy Forbes reporter to the launch.

9:00 Well but who cares what time it is because time is but an infinite soulless being—Ponder, while driving at speeds once unimaginable some decades ago, why the Game Designers Above made me so damn charming and attractive. Yes. I love time. I love space.

10:08  Foxy Forbes reporter doesn’t show.

10:23 That’s fine, as my damn rocket blew up not even four feet off the ground. Total disaster.

10:30 Assure myself weepily into cape Canaveral bathroom mirror it’s not my fault.

11:04, I think — Compose.

11:30 Tug on my polo sleeves for many a minute and concoct the perfect subtweet at NASA with that ever so perfect mix of aloof hostility and aw-shucks light-heartedness. Jolt the bastards with a smile!

11:56 “Turning out to be the most difficult and complex failure we have ever had in 14 years!” I write into my phone “where’s my money fuckers? You know who you are”.  Brutal. Sleek. Devastatingly effective. I have those nerds in the palm of my sweaty, muscular man-hands.

12:05 Do some spicy nose sugar on the dash of a model colony ship.

12:10 Sue Nonsense for printing that.

12:11 Double sue them.

12:36 Hop into the Tesla and blast some Doobie Brothers.  

12:38 Release powdery tears without control.

12:40 “WHAAAAAAT A FOOL BELIEVES!!!!!”

12:45 Stop by Valley Burrito Shop and order five of those things.

12:47 Demand them stuffed with everything on the menu. We’re talking guac and sour cream and lettuce and tomatoes and salsa and cheese and meat and frogs and plastic black bear genitals and washing machine hand grenades and oh my god what a day.

12:52 Throw up an avalanche of dollar bills and thank NO ONE. We’ve got no need for counters!

1:00 Scarf these burritos down like the South African Mega-Leopard I am.

1:03 ON THE FUCKING DOT — Sprint out to the Tesla and drive. Just drive.

2:25 Feel the urge to release my burritos into a splendid rest-stop toilet, but remember that Elon must never poop. Too much work to get done, ladies and gentleman. I’ve let many a burrito live inside me, yes, yes. Have I told you we’re going to Mars in less than 20 years? Have I told you it will be affordable? Have I told you it will be fun? Have I told you we will build restaurants and movie theaters? Have I told you space is one hell of a place? Have I told you everything?

3:35 Have I told you I want to cry?

3:46 Return home and immediately nap. Plan accordingly. The world waits.

8:05 Re-wake.

8:09 Refreshed.

8:14 Sensual and dashing as ever.

8:29 Fix some coffee and plot next move in basement office.

8:45 Calculations.

8:59 Physics.

9:12 CHEMISTRY AND BIOLOGY. TRY AND STOP ME. ALL THE WAY UP 252525194914525:259259292525 CALCULATE THE ACTUAL EXACT TIME OF THE UNIVERSE.  NOTHING CAN STOP ME I’M

9:13 Call Business Insider with the news.

9:21 Call New York Times with the news.

9:37 Call, uh, the, uh, well let me put it this way: my pals like to call themselves the ‘Free Masons’. They live down the block. They liked to be alerted about this stuff. Ha heh heh. Mooks.

10:33 Depart office, slip into PJs.

10:49 Masturbate lube-free(!) to a Ted Talk I gave in 11’.

10:56 Finish up, keep watching this wonderfully illuminating speech.

11:01 Shut my eyes, flow into a restless dream world that is realer than our own.

1:10-infinite Tell these mysterious dream creatures, with their aspirations and passions, that only I can be Elon Musk! Only I.