Combining two of my favourite things in one cartoon!
Only two more sleeps until Talk Like a Pirate Day.
Combining two of my favourite things in one cartoon!
Only two more sleeps until Talk Like a Pirate Day.
Here is the new version of rock-paper-scissors, or rochambeau, as it is sometimes known. As you can see from the schematic below, each thing can beat two other things, and is, in turn beaten by two other things.
The players both count to five (three), though it is obviously better to repeat the name of the game (Monkey! Robot! Pirate! Ninja! Zombie!). Each time you raise your fist and swing it down. On the fifth (third) count, you form your hand into one of the five gestures. (It is recommended that in addition to the hand gesture, you also add an aural component to this — see below for suggested noises.)
So, what beats what, and what are the gestures? What?
Suggested noise: ee-ee-eek!
Suggested noise: ex-ter-min-ate!
Suggested noise: arrrrr!
Suggested noise: keeee-ah!
Suggested noise: braaaaaaaaaainsss!
There is a logic to the hand gestures provided, and with any luck they are perfectly obvious. Now, you may be wondering, “Mark, are you totally insane? Are you procrastinating, perchance? Or are you just bored?” The answer is yes.
Update: based on a scientific survey of the comments, Twitter and Facebook updates, “moropinzee” seems to be the easiest name for this game to remember. Someone also had the excellent notion that there could be a full-body dance to celebrate a win.
This week I’d like to give you, my curious Skwib readers, a chance to preview some other parts of my second novel, Marvellous Hairy. You can find all of Chapter 1 here. Chapter 2 is not suitable for this PG-rated blog. (So know you know you want to get your own copy. Details here, or just look for online stores in the right sidebar.) This is the third of three parts. First part here. Second part here.
Nick stared at the standing figure. The security officer at the computer poked his head out to look at Nick, and then ducked back.
“Have you heard of the Panopticon?” Nick asked.
“He’s okay,” a second male voice — presumably that of the guy behind the computer — said. “He checks out.”
“The Panopticon was invented by Jeremy Benthaman — an 18th century English philosopher. Utilitarian. Had himself mummified and put on display in a wooden cabinet. He was some freaky Dude.”
“I’m going to come out and get you fill out the agreements,” the security guard warned Nick, not wanting to know anything more about the fetishes of 18th century pervert philosophers.
The man behind the computer pressed the intercom button and said: “I know about the Panopticon. It’s a prison designed so that the prisoners don’t know if they’re being watched or not, so essentially, they’re always being watched.”
“Right,” Nick said enthusiastically. He pressed his face up against the glass. “Just like this.”
“Okay, here are the forms and agreements. You sign where there is a sticky. Then we can get you out of here.”
“I tell you, this is the insanity pink,” Nick shook his head at the guard. “You should do something about it, especially if you have to watch this room on a regular basis. It’s probably affecting your mind.”
“Yeah, or maybe I need a new job. Here are the forms, and then you can get the hell out of here.”
“Tourniquet onion powder,” Nick said.
The End of Chapter 3…
This week I’d like to give you, my generous Skwib readers, a chance to preview some other parts of my second novel, Marvellous Hairy. You can find all of Chapter 1 here. Chapter 2 is not suitable for this PG-rated blog. (So know you know you want to get your own copy. Details here, or just look for online stores in the right sidebar.) This is the second of three parts. First part here.
Nick sat in a small waiting area in the “public” part of the offices. It was somewhat reminiscent of the kind of waiting area you’d find at a LubeItUp or any car service outlet, without the smell of petrochemicals and stale coffee. There were four uncomfortable seats made of black metal tubing and worn cloth that looked like it was once teal in color. There were no magazines, or any other form of amusement. A large two-way mirror spanned one wall of the waiting room, which allowed the security team to watch people waiting to speak with them. The entrance door was locked, and controlled from a large room that housed security feeds from around the building. The rest of the security department was hidden behind another door that had both a keypad and a biometric lock. In other words, Nick was not able to leave the room, even though it was seriously fucking with his chi. He had his computer with him, but he was too distracted to write anything, sitting there, waiting for security to establish that he wasn’t an eco-terrorist, or plain-old regular terrorist, hoping to de-erect the great big Glass Dick with a pocket full of Semtex.
The room was extremely pink and it caused chi-fuckage.
“Can you guys hear me?” Nick asked, sort of speaking towards the two-way mirror.
There is a moment’s pause, and then a voice said from a speaker: “Yes, we can hear you Mr. Motbot. What is wrong?”
“This room is freaking me out.”
“There’s something wrong with it. It has a bad vibe. It’s not… right.”
“Mr. Motbot, the room is designed to be calming, even though you are essentially our prisoner.”
“Designed?” Nick asked the unseen security guard, ignoring the issue of his imprisonment.
“Yes. We’ve painted the room pink.”
“How is that going to make me calm?” Nick asked. “What if I don’t like pink?”
“Psychological studies show that pink reduces aggression and can have a calming influence.”
“What do psychological studies show about observing someone through a two-way mirror and forcing them to sit on threadbare mid-80s furniture?”
“We’re just checking your references and the government security databases so we can give you clearance,” the voice reassured him.
Nick was not reassured.
“I think you’ve got color wrong.”
Nick put his face right next to the glass, and tried to look through. He could not see anything beyond it, but he noticed that there was a set of light switches near the doors to the rest of the security offices. He turned them off, and then returned to the two-way mirror. He could make out a figure standing next to someone who was clearly sitting in front of a computer screen.
“What are you doing Mr. Motbot?”
“I like to see the people I’m talking with, unless it’s, you know, a dream. Or some kind of trip.”
“Please turn the lights back on, Mr. Motbot. We’ll be done here shortly.”
“I think you’ve got the pink wrong. Instead of the calming pink, I think you’ve painted it the insanity pink.”
Nick could detect a note of panic in the security guard’s voice, and he could see him moving towards the exit of the room behind the two-way mirror.
“Insanity pink. Too much blue and platinum in the mix, so it makes the brain resonate at a lower frequency. Causes grand mal seizures in rhesus monkeys. It was in a study,” Nick said.
“Is that true?”
“Stop looking at me,” the security guard said. “We’re nearly done… Stop looking at me.”
This week I’d like to give you, my loyal Skwib readers, a chance to preview some other parts of my second novel, Marvellous Hairy. You can find all of Chapter 1 here. Chapter 2 is not suitable for this PG-rated blog. (So know you know you want to get your own copy. Details here, or just look for online stores in the right sidebar.) This is the first of three parts.
Nick’s rendezvous with his simian destiny began early the next morning.
While everyone else was still abed, dreaming dreams of lizards in wedding dresses, my friend Nick approached the famous Phallus Building — the huge shaft of glass and black metal that was a paean to corporate greed and the towering ego of Ted S. Shute, CEO of Gargantuan Enterprises. Of course, it wasn’t actually called the Phallus Building, any more than Gargen was called Gargantuan or even “The Gag.” (Though GAG was its stock ticker name.)
Nick is probably my best friend, but that doesn’t mean that I really get him. He gave up traditional work a few years ago to pursue his dream of creating a “transformative surrealistic form of writing.” He actually talks like that. The working title of this baffling opus is “monkeyjoy!” I can’t tell you much about it, because he’s never let me read a word of it. Unfortunately, he still inflicts his poetry on me from time to time.
Since he dropped out of the nine-to-five, Nick has been making ends meet by working as a test subject for a variety of multinational companies. His body chemistry is probably a nightmare, but he seems happy enough. He’s free to follow his art, as much as anyone is. So, that’s why he was approaching the Gargantuan building — he’d signed on for a new study with them.
The lobby was empty except for a female security guard who looked exhausted — it was five in the morning and she’d been on shift since eleven. Nick was a fairly non-descript fellow, with curly brown hair and a medium build going slightly to paunch. So he didn’t look threatening and he didn’t do anything weird, so the security guard buzzed him in. Nick’s face was rounder than it was when we were at the Good University together, but his eyes were still the same deep blue they’ve always been, with a perpetually intelligent, yet distracted look to them. Some women have describe his eyes as “dreamy,” which I don’t get, but so what? He’s always grooved with women, and the security guard was no different.
“Hey hon,” she said warmly as Nick approached her desk, “what are you doing here so early?”
“They said to report to the security offices by 5 am,” Nick said. “The subject is late.”
“You are, huh? Well, I’ll give them a call and let them know you’re here. Just go up those stairs and take the hallway to the right. Past the elevators. End of the hallway is a door, and they’ll take it from there.”
Nick took in the sterile surroundings as he walked, feeling a little anxious. This was his first time working with Gargantuan, and he’d heard stories about its overweening evil. (From me.) But there was no denying the pay was excellent.
Unlike the rest of the offices and shops on the ground floor of the Gargantuan building, which were put together by the best interior decorators and featured lots of black marble, the security offices were utilitarian and far from classy.
And they were belligerently pink.