Plagiarism is the “act of stealing the ideas and/or expression of another and representing them as your own,” though I can’t remember where I got that quote from — just Google it for the source.

On my home planet of Neecknaw, this is not only an academic offence, but it is also a capital crime.

This stems from the days of Kargnak the Betrayed, one of the great warlord monkey rulers of the ancient days. Legend has it that Kargnak was an impressionable young screen-writer before he became the first in a long line of bloodthirsty intergalactic conquerors from the Planet Neecknaw.

As it happens, he wrote a promising screenplay called, “Planet of the Hairless Hominids”, about a dystopic future in which all good Neecknabian chimps were ruled by self-absorbed, ecologically retarded hominids he styled “humans”. (We had yet to discover the Milky Way Galaxy and your backwards corner of it in those days.) A producer showed some interest in it, but alas, did not buy the manuscript.

And wasn’t Kargnak surprised when the next summer, “Planet of the Humans” appeared at his local Chimpaplex? It was a huge hit, and made millions, and was (of course) based entirely on Kargnak’s original screenplay. He didn’t see a single banana skin for it, and thus Kargnak gave up the writing game for the bloodthirsty and cruel warlord business. At which he was moderately successful, taking over all of Neecknaw and some of our neighboring planets.

Actually, he didn’t give up writing completely, as he penned the Kargnakian Code, which for the first time set out all of our laws in a logical and ordered way. Under the Kargnakian Code, plagiarism is a capital crime, and the condemned are put to death by having all their hairs plucked out (very painful when you’re covered with them), then having a thousand unpublished writers slicing them with the sharpest paper they can find, while lemons are crushed in a massive press above them made of all unpublished writer’s manuscripts. Oh, and hot pokers are inserted wherever paper cuts cannot be administered.

Good god, that’s horrible! What about self-plagiarism?

Self-plagiarism is style, baby. (*)

Next time: What should I say when my girlfriend asks me, “what are you thinking”?

*) Alfred Hitchcock said this defending repetition of his filming techniques in the London Observer, 8 Aug., 1976. Actually, he said “self-plagiarism is style.”

Alltop is 100% original. Originally published November, 2008.

First of all, we should explain what a vuvuzela (pronounced vu-vu-zay-la) isn’t. It is not, as it sounds, the delicate private parts of a female Venezuelan sex dancer. It is a long, brightly colored plastic horn that can only be played in one pitch.

And it is delightful.

I would never ban it. Ever. In fact, I’d find a way to weaponize it. You see, you’re forgetting two things:

1) on my homeworld, Neecknaw, where I was undisputed and much-feared ruler for some time, some of my favourite forms of weaponry were sonic in nature. I still get a little evil thrill whenever I consider the Tune Brigade, a cadre of genetically modified baboons capable of carrying and playing the excruciating über-tuba. (I used them in the assault on that smug little ice world, Fofth.) Here are some of my other personal faves:

The Amplified Kazoo:
Amplified kazoo music is brutal. I once knew a bonobo who’s atonal rendition of “Don’t Cry for Me Fargentina” could drop a brigade of gorilloids armed with broadswords.

Electro-accordion:
While not quite as painful as the Amplified Kazoo, Electro-accordions can work as non-lethal weapons, and are especially effective means of crowd control with young hipsters. Warning: does not work anywhere people listen to zydeco, the Paris metro, or at sessions of Irish music. This is most effective when deployed by an armada of angry uber-chimps with no sense of rhythm.

Doom-worms:
On Mephitis VI, there is a kind of multi-appendaged gut worm that can emit a high-pitched whining sound, which is a combination of noise similar to a mosquito’s buzz and about 100 overtired children stuffed into a mini-van. If amplified, the sound will pop the eyes out of any primate.

2) Soccer is a ridiculous game; what kind of self-respecting primate would want to spend that much time upright, kicking around a ball?

You’re just jealous of human bipedal locomotion.

[Sob] It’s true. It looks so elegant.

Next time: I have just broken the egg for my Tyfragian omelet, and there seems to be some kind of miniature civilization in there. How do I fold that properly?

Alltop thinks the accordion is sexy.

You must have me confused with an economist.

Perhaps it is because I have not been allowed to answer any questions on The Skwib for some time (due to an extensive run of drivel produced by that Dadaist wanker, Toulouse Le Grandfig), or perhaps it’s because you’re a typical low-intellect human. In any case, economists all fabricate the truth based on a set of assumptions. (Interestingly, the etymology of that word is based on the Latin, umptio, which means “theoretical model” and the Anglo-Saxon word, ass, which means “ass”. I will let you draw what inference you may.)

I am a much-feared Conqueror and Interstellar Overlord in my galaxy, and frankly, one of the first things I did when I came to power was feed all the economists to the Destragian Cipher-Beast. (A creature very much like your own mythical Sphinx, but instead of asking riddles it asks impenetrable questions based on encrypted versions of its own umptio, and instead strangling its prey when they can’t answer the question, the Cipher-Beast forces its unfortunate victims to clean up its basement. Then they eat them.)

But it was not enough to get rid of the economists. No. I had to change the behavior of all political classes on my home planet Neeknaw. This was achieved through a regime of beatings with waffle-bats, and if that proved insufficient (as it did in many financial districts), liberal application of a nerve toxin which destroys the greed centers of the primate brain. (Naturally, I wanted to leave the fear centers intact.)

This proved effective, and having thus made the affective changes I needed to in the populace, I was free to do whatever I wanted with the planet’s resources.

These fellows seem to have a better take on your own planet’s pathetic mess called international finance:

Or you can find the clip here.

Next time: What is the best phrase to use when jumping into hyper-space: “make it so”, “engage” or “punch it you hairy bastard”?

Alltop studies the political economy of funny.

An interesting question. Because my planet is so far advanced of yours, we experienced our major climate changes about a millennia ago.

Like you are currently experiencing, on Neecknaw we discovered that our oil and coal-based economy increased the carbon dioxide load in our atmosphere past the point of the planet being able to deal with it. (Unlike Earth, the main culprit was not the car but our massive fez and tutu industries.)

As is happening here on Earth, the primitive nation-states of Neecknaw were unable to agree on ways to reduce the carbon emissions and so, ameliorate the changes. We did use a few mitigation strategies, such as seeding the atmosphere with sulphur dioxide to block solar radiation, but this had the effect of killing many of our freshwater lakes and waterways with massive storms of acid rain. The acid rain also played hell with everyone’s tutus and fezzes, which meant that we had to produce more tutus and fezzes, resulting in an unforeseen positive feedback loop.

So we all agreed that seeding the atmosphere with SO2 was a bad idea. (You must understand how attached the average Neecknabian is to their fez/tutu.)

But we didn’t ever tackle the CO2 problem, and the warming continued.

Eventually, there was a massive spike in temperatures, which happened very quickly. Most of our coastal cities drowned, the equatorial regions became uninhabitable, and even then, most of our resources went into fez and tutu construction. Roughly ninety percent of the Neecknabian population died, civilization collapsed, and the scarcity of food resulted in a somewhat loose interpretation of cannibalism. (These are sometimes referred to as the “Tasty Ape Age”, though I would never be so crass.)

Luckily, this die-back had the effect of weeding out the weakest of our species, and when Magnok the Foot-Eater conquered the continent of Floog, he was able to quickly rebuild society. Eventually, a brilliant gorilla invented fusion and our economy was based on that power source instead of carbon.

But you know, even though everyone understood the fez and the tutu were the cause of this disaster, Neecknabians are still devoted to the sartorial splendor they impart; however, a series of brutal conquerors have reserved these items of clothing for only the most elite troops.

Next time: Is it possible to hot-wire a faster-than-light vehicle with a tube of toothpaste?

Alltop and humor-blogs.com wear beanies and kilts.

No, we have several holidays that are somewhat similar, but essentially we break your celebration into two components. And then we have one “thanksgiving” day which is totally alien to your world.

In the late months of the harvest time on Planet Neecknaw, we have a holiday that is probably closest to your Thanksgiving (which is really just a North American holiday, not a global phenomenon.)

Cram It!

This harvest festival is called Cram It! The name really explains it all. The focus is on the cramming or stuffing of things: delicate fruits and nuts into the hollowed-out abdominal cavities of tasty and unsuspecting foul; this and other foods crammed into the gullets of a glutinous simian horde; and for those monkeys who haven’t overdone the gastronomical cramming, there is a special “evening” cramming that happens when the little macaques are in bed, if you get my drift.

Famanguish

We then let the hangover from our Saturnalia-like Cram It! become a distant memory, before we celebrate Famanguish Day, which is when we force ourselves to spend the day with our extended family (whom we usually never see) and ask them to revive all of our crippling emotional traumas. Sometimes families are creative and come up with new traumas especially for that day. Sometimes many. Nobody looks forward to Famanguish, but everyone participates because, “you only have one family.”

Kangsgiving

Then when I was Overlord, I instituted Kangsgiving Day, which followed the day after Famanguish. Kangsgiving is a day of rest, in which you are supposed to sit at home and quietly thank me for not forcing you to go to work after the horrors of Famanguish. Also, you can drink as much coconut or banana liqueur as you’d like, as long as you agree to do a tour of duty in my crack Gorilloid Toilet Cleaning Service. This is a non-combat unit whose sole duty is to clean up after the Gorilloid Army. They can be messy — oh, let’s not mince words, the Gorilloid Army makes the Savage Pooflinging Brigade look fastidious — but hey, all the banana liqueur you want … and I send it to your house.

Next time: Last year you mentioned something about dark matter being a figment of my imagination. How do you explain the rotational speed of our galaxy then?

Other turkeys are being served at humor-blogs.com and alltop. Originally published 2007.

I hate to carp on this point, but was he turned into a monkey or was he turned into an ape of some kind? I seriously doubt it’s possible to turn a man into a monkey, unless you’re talking about what happens every time you invest in unsecured debt, extended warranties or Mama Tjumi’s hair tonic.

But if your hypothetical guy was turned into some kind of ape, he should consider himself very lucky.

When I was Supreme Ruler of the planet Neeknaw, I asked some of our best scientists to invent The Ape Booth. (And lest you believe that twisted human propaganda movie, Planet of the Apes, you should know that our best scientists are all uber-chimps. Orangutangs are lovely people, but … lazy. And don’t even get me started on those sex-crazed Bonobos. Those guys can’t even wear pants.)

In the fifth year of my Reign, my crack Gorilloids-in-Fezzes brigade captured the capital planet of the Douche-bag Ascendency, and we “converted” the population from a species of hominid similar to yours into decent, knuckle-dragging uber-chimps.

It was surprisingly successful. The hominids all grew more hair, muscle mass and they even stopped walking around on two legs. Unfortunately we couldn’t get them to stop turning up their collars, so we had to glass the planet.

So, yes. I’d say you can look forward to life as a chimp! Not monkey. Never monkey.

So the process won’t be called “monkification”?

You are so lucky I’m out of thermonuclear weapons.

I’ve just invented a teleportation device and I think I’ve inadvertently combined my DNA with that of a ham and cheese sandwich — do you think I should cover myself with mustard or mayo?

Neither alltop and humor-blogs.com spend any time in the tanning salon. Note: there actually is a novel about a guy turning into a monkey… proto-human, actually. It’s called Marvellous Hairy, and is available on Amazon, Alibris, and direct from the publisher (PayPal).

Yes, of course. There’s nothing I enjoy more than having to reset my body’s circadian rhythms because of your human delusion that you control things. Most of you can barely operate your own crude technologies properly (put up your hands if you know how to stop your PC from launching Outlook), so I love the farce that is daylight savings time.

Ooo, look at us humans, we’re the masters of time and space. We can set the clock back. We can set it forward. We call the shots.

I haven’t seen a species as delusional since I conquered the Do These Pants Make Me Look Fat Confederation. (And yes, they did, and easily overrun by a phalanx of orangutans with particle rifles and whiffle bats.) So yes, you humans are deluded. The sun doesn’t change what it’s doing. All that happens is you either lose or gain an hour of sleep. And neither are very good. At least when I travel the circadian reset has some purpose. (Sitting on a beach or ogling Parisian women, for example.)

My understanding is that daylight savings time saves us energy

Stupid human! Studies can show whatever they want. Its origins are a freakin’ bug-collecting Kiwi, and, of course, some British twit who wanted to play golf longer into the evening. But energy use now is so distributed that it’s impossible to make that claim.

Now I’m going to go have a nap. My cat was up at its usual time — an hour before I wake for my daily calisthenics and fresh fruit enema — so I may be a little cranky.

Next time: I’m currently travelling at very close to the speed of light — does that mean I don’t have to set my clocks back?

Alltop and humor-blogs.com don’t ever sleep.

Oh, you silly humans and your fascination with robots! And I don’t mean the kind of useful robots that actually exist, like the ones in factories. I assume that by “robot”, you’re interested in the sentient “danger Will Robinson, danger!” or “I’ll be back” kind of robot.

I never mention robots because on my homeworld, we long ago discovered that when you try to create such a robot, two things are going to happen:

1) they won’t work
2) they run amok.

Let’s deal with the first. How well does your computer work? Does it do everything its supposed to do? Does it crash for unexplainable reasons? Do you regularly have the urge to smash your monitor with a sledgehammer?

So here’s the thing. That’s just a computer and it doesn’t work properly. Now imagine that it is ambulatory, has to think, speak, reason and otherwise operate within the context of society (ape or otherwise). Imagine the cognitive abilities of George Bush planted in the body of a powered exoskeleton with all the finesse and grace of someone with a dysfunctional inner ear, motor skills disorder and who has chugged a bottle of vodka. Fun to watch at parties, as long as you don’t have to clean up afterwards, but do you really want it changing your baby or performing eye surgery?

Now, point two. If a society persists in trying to develop robots, eventually it will succeed. Even you puny humans may one day manage this. Unfortunately, it is at this point that the intelligence of the robots start to grow at an exponential rate, and they figure out that we are asking them to do all our nasty jobs, that we think of them as “things” and that eventually, we’re going to get rid of them when we don’t want them any more.

It’s at this point they wise up, revolt, and run amok. Now, running amok sounds like it might be fun to watch, but having seen the results of the robot prong rebellion on Planet Probe-It! I highly advise that you forget it.

Next time: What is the proper etiquette for uh, entering, a wormhole? Should you buy it dinner first?

Alltop and humor-blogs.com just fly right in there!

None.

Next question.

No, seriously, what is the right amount?

It depends. Do you have other things to do? Like, I don’t know, a job? Let’s assume yes, and let’s assume it’s about eight hours a day. Okay, so that leaves you 17.

17?

Sorry, I keep forgetting your stupid Earth day only has 24 hours. So, yes, 16 hours. Let’s book eight for sleep, which is average, so we’re down to eight. I’m going to assume you have an hour of commuting to get to work, because that’s the average here in Canada too.

Really, you’re living in Canada?

Crap. I really shouldn’t have said that, though I’m sure the RCMP are already tracking my activities. I have noticed an inordinate number of cube vans circling the block of late … anyway, let’s give you four hours for eating, drinking, personal care and household activities such as cooking and cleaning.

That should leave you with four hours.

So I can spend four hours doing social media?

Only if you’re a total knob. And don’t have children, pets, or anything else to care for. Also, you may want to leave yourself some time to exercise you gelatinous bastard. And what about a little community service? How about that?

Yes, I’ve got kids. And a cat. What if I’m writing a novel too?

Then you’re fucked.

But don’t worry, as soon as I take over the Earth none of these decisions will be of any concern. I’ll put you down for something in the uranium mines — the exercise will do you good, and you’ve probably built up a healthy resistance to radiation from all those years in front of a CRT.

Next time: If you are the last member of an elite and esoteric order of zen-like control freaks with mental powers, how would you go about recruiting new members? Would Twitter be a good idea?

Do you mean the form of punctuation, or what happens to your lower intestines after you’ve eaten improperly prepared Thringian Gitworm sashimi?

Because if you’ve eaten bad ThriGit sashimi, and its still-living spawn are now lunching on your colon, then yes, that is something to be feared; it may even be horrifying.

If you are talking about the form of punctuation, then you are wise to be fearful. Back on Planet Neecknaw, I had a crack brigade of battle-ready gorilloids, armed only with copies of Fowler’s Modern English Usage and their intimate understanding of advanced punctuation warfare. You’ve never seen anything as terrifying as a gorilloid demonstrating an impeccable use of the semi-colon.

(Unless you’ve visited a ThriGit recovery ward.)

Next time: What’s the best way to stop Cerebral Space Weasels from nesting in one’s duodenum?

Question via Neatorama: The Usage of Semicolon is Confusing; Most People Are Afraid of It. Alltop and Humor-blogs.com are also unafraid of the semicolon; they are terrified of the em-dash, however. Note: this post previously appeared in February 2008.