ABCD

[[A woman is talking on the phone, holding a cup]] Phone: Hi, this is your son's school. We're having some computer trouble. Mom: Oh dear—did he break something? Phone: In a way— Phone: Did you really name your son "Robert'); DROP TABLE Students;--" ? Mom: Oh, yes. Little Bobby Tables, we call him. Phone: Well, we've lost this year's student records. I hope you're happy. Mom: And I hope you've learned to sanitize your database inputs. {{title-text: Her daughter is named Help I'm trapped in a driver's license factory.}}

Narrator: MY HOBBY: Using the more obscure meanings of "affect" and "effect" to try to trip up amateur grammar nazis. Man [[types]]: I think that our foreign policy effects the situation. Computer [[types]]: You mean "affects". [[from Man]] <<tee hee hee>> {{title text: Time to paint another grammarian silhouette on the side of the desktop.}}

[[the hat guy is packing a bobcat into a box; a woman stands beside him.]] woman: What are you doing? the Hat Guy: Making the world a weirder place. bobcat: <<mrrowlll>> [[The hat guy has finished taping the package for shipping.]] man: Starting with my eBay feedback page. [[Bandaged person at a computer with assorted debris around the floor]] screen: comments: <<bandaged person typing>> Instead of office chair package contained bobcat. <<bandaged person typing>> Would not buy again. {{title: You can do this one in every 30 times and still have 97% positive feedback.}}

[[A man is sitting at a desk, tapping various parts of it]] Man: Hey, I can get different pitches by tapping on different parts of the desk. [[The man starts tapping faster, with both hands]] Man: Sweet, I can do the Jurassic park theme! [[The man taps very rapidly]] [[Later, elsewhere]] Friend: So, what did you do all afternoon? Man: Hung out. {{alt text: Sometimes the best fun looks like boredom.}}

[[A graph with "programming skill" on the X-axis and "blood alcohol concentration" on the Y one]] [[A man is making a presentation with the graph]] Presenter: Called the Ballmer Peak, it was discovered by Microsoft in the 80's. The cause is unknown but somehow a B.A.C between 0.129% and 0.138% confers superhuman programming ability. Presenter: However, it's a delicate effect requiring careful calibration--you can't just give a team of coders a year's supply of whiskey and tell them to get cracking. Man in public: ...Has that ever happened. Presenter: Remember Windows ME? Man: I knew it! {{title text: Apple uses automated schnapps IVs.}}

[[A man stands in the entrance to a room. The door has been broken down. A surprised nerd has turned away from his computer to face the remains of the door.]] Man: Hi. I'm here about the girl who visited your IRC channel last night looking for Java help. Nerd: What did you do to my door? Man: When someone with a feminine username joins your community and you say "OMG a woman on the Internet" and "jokingly" ask for naked pics, you are being an asshole. You are not being ironic. You are not cracking everybody up. You are the number one reason women are so rare on the Internet. Man: At least, the parts of it _you_ frequent. [[Woman enters the room, holding some sort of device.]] Man: As someone who likes nerdy girls, I do not appreciate this. I'm here to ban you from the Internet. The gal behind me with the EMP cannon is Joanna -- she'll be assigned to you for the next year. Try to go online and she'll melt your PC. Nerd: Dude, she's hot. Is she single? Man: Joanna, fire. {{Alt image tag: "But one of the regulars in the channel is a girl!"}}

[[Guy singing, Girl at computer]] Guy: It's the thigh of the tiger Guy: When the moon hits your thigh like a big pizza pie, that's amore. Guy: She's my brown-thighed girl. Girl: Don't you have a job or something? Girl: Also, Eww. {{Alt text: My thighs have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord?}}

[[There is a diagram which shows the hours in a week. It has sections labeled "bed" and below has sections labeled "night." They do not line up.]] [[Two men are talking together.]] First man: You have trouble sleeping right? Second man: Only when your mom is over. [[First man is now pointing to a chart.]] First man: Since your work is flexible- Second Man: -Like your mom- First Man: -you should try the 28-hour day - 20 awake, 8 asleep (or 19 9 if you prefer). Second Man: I prefer your mom. First Man: It synchs up with the week - you spend weekdays awake normally, then on weekends you can go out all night. Second Man: Just like your mom. First Man: It means four extra hours daily. You can stay up until you're exhausted every day and then spend a full 9 hours asleep each night! Second Man: But how much time can I spend doing your mom? First Man: You? I'm guessing three or four minutes, tops. Second Man: ...Well played. {{title text: Small print: this schedule will eventually drive one stark raving mad.}}

[[ Landscape in the background, canyon with a winding road ]] Maybe engineering is the pursuit of an unattainable perfection. Maybe it's impossible to create something bug-free. Maybe I'm a fool Maybe the tyranny of Murphy is the penalty for hubris. But I just can't shake the feeling [[ man standing on a box labeled "ACME" ]] With all those supplies _I_ could have caught that roadrunner. {{Alt: Chuck Jones is a vengeful god. }}

Narrator: This generation is going to have some weird nostalgia. [[Two people, each wearing headsets with antennae, sunglasses and jetpacks, are hovering]] Male Figure: Darling, let's put on our best fake accounts, connect to the core ForumSpace, and trick people into looking at a picture of a man's distended anus! Female Figure: Oh, it'll be just like old times! {{alt text: If you don't get this one, don't google it.}}

[[Man is in the middle of the frame, talking]] Man: You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips and there's no tenderness like before in your fingertips. [[Man thoughtfully places his hand on his chin]] Man: Maybe I should try your sister instead. {{title text: Maybe there's no tenderness in her fingertips either, but at least SHE puts out.}}

[[Man in bed, covering his head with pillow.]] Narrator: My neighbor has loud sex. <<OHHHHH>> <<GASP>> <<AAAAAAA>> Narrator: Good for her and all, but it keeps me up at night. [[Man and neighbor coming out of their apartments.]] Neighbor: Sorry, could you hear us last night? Oh, you know how it gets sometimes. Narrator: (small) Not really... [[Girl with "LOUD" and an arrow pointing to her.]] Narrator: But tonight I finally get my revenge. Because now I have a loud girlfriend too. [[Diagram of an elliptical reflector dish.]] Narrator: And an elliptical reflector dish. [[Man and his girlfriend having sex, with dish behind them, with sex sound effects coming off the dish, through walls, to his neighbor sitting up in bed while holding her head in pain.]] {{title text - Spherical or parabolic reflectors would of course lead to aberrant behavior.}}

I learned to read braille a while back, and I've noticed that the messages on signs don't always match the regular text. [[There is a sign which reads: Third Floor Office with braille print underneath. A man is reading the braille]] Man's thoughts: S-i-g-h-t-e-d-P-e-o-p-l-e-S-u-c-k ... Hey! {{alt text: The only big difference I've seen is in colors. Where the regular text reads 'press red button', the braille reads 'press two-inch button'.}}

[[Woman is sitting on the ground with her elbows on her knees and her hands on her chin. She is talking to a man.]] Woman: This sucks. The median first marriage age is 26. The pools of singles is shrinking. I'm running our of time. Man: Actually, not quite. Man: Yes, older singles are rarer. But as you get older, the dateable age range gets wider. An 18-year-old's range is 16-22, whereas a 30-year-old's might be more like 22-46. [[Man points to a chart]] Text on chart: Standard creepiness rule: Don't date under (Age 2 + 7) Man: I did some analysis of this with the Census Bureau numbers just last weekend. Your dating pool actually GROWS until middle age. So don't fret so much! [[Man is pointing to new set of charts. The first chart is labeled Singles, and is a decreasing graph. The second graph is labeled Dating Pool, and is a bell curve.]] Woman: Did you analysis say anything about the dating prospects of people who spend weekends at home making graphs? Man: Come on. Somewhere at the edge of the bell curve is the girl for me. {{title text: The full analysis is of course much more complicated, but I can't stay to talk about it because I have a date.}}

[[It is black, except a few blue and green lights, and red numbers from a clock. The clock shows 4:31]] Lying awake at night I realize how many little lights there are in my room. The alarm clock is the brightest. Can't sleep I'm alone with those glowing red numbers [[The clock now shows 4:32]] Time slows Does time even exist here? Thoughts churning in on themselves [[The clock nows shows 4:33]] The madness can't be far away Ah yes [[The clock now shows 13:72]] There it is. {{title text: Crap, I have levitation class at 25:131. Better set the alarm to 'cinnamon'.}}

A God's Lament Some said the world should be in Perl; Some said in Lisp. Now, having given both a whirl, I held with those who favored Perl. But I fear we passed to men A disappointing founding myth, And should we write it all again, I'd end it with A close-paren.

[[A man and a woman are talking together as they walk away from a cinema]] Man: Another summer gone without a mindless big-budget action movie. Woman: Huh? Die Hard was nothing BUT action! Man: No, it was too talky. Woman: What? Too talky? Man: I tallied it minute-by-minute. It's at least 60% people walking and talking. ALL those movies are. Man: Just once, I want a real action movie. 30 seconds of exposition followed by a perfect 90-minute action scene. One with a huge budget, a good choreographer, and a great director. Woman: And they should center it around some character we already know, someone we never get tired of watching. Man: I think we've got something here... [[A movie poster is shown]] Movie Poster: Coming this summer Movie Poster: River Tam Movie Poster: Beats up EVERYONE [[The movie shows a line of houses, there are people beat up and lying in doorways, out of windows, and on the sidewalk. River Tam is doing a flying kick into someone's face]] {{title text: By my count, only 48 of the 158 minutes in Live Free or Die Hard have action. That's pathetic, guys. Crank is better, but needs a bigger budget and more Summer Glau.}}

[[Guy proposing to girl on his knee]] Narrator: I understand now. There's no choir of angels when you meet the right person. It's about growing out of your fears to realize what you have is what you want. Guy: I do. Girl: I do. [[A cloud with trumpeting angels appears]] Girl 2: Hi. Narrator: Well, shit. {{Could be worse. The last guy in that situation fell for one of the transient trumpeting angels.}}

[[Each team is looking at a counter with two cubes on it.]] Bad: Two non-nerds First man: Let's get that one. Second man: okay. Good: non-nerd + nerd Woman: Let's get that one. Man: Wait, I think that one might be a better deal. Woman: Okay, that one. Very Bad: Two Nerds Man: How about that one? Second man: i think the other one might be the better deal... First man: Hmm, I'm not sure...' Two Hours Later [[Nerds are sitting in front of laptops with papers strewn about in front of display counter]] Man: I think our main problem is our unclear definition of value Woman: That is not your main problem! {{Title Text: I am never going out to buy an air-conditioner with my sysadmin again.}}

[[On the left hand side of the panel is a cutaway of several floors of an office, in gray. On the right side a blue sky with clouds, and green hills. Hanging from a cable is a GIRL, clearly having rappelled down the side of the building]] GIRL: You know how some people consider "May you have an interesting life" to be a curse? GUY IN OFFICE: Yeah... GIRL: Fuck those people. Wanna have an adventure? {{Alt-text: Quick, fashion a climbing harness out of a cat-6 cable and follow me down}}

[[Outside, under a crescent moon.]] Woman: It's strange to stare at the moon and think about people walking on it. Man: That's no moon, it's a—<<gack>> [[She holds him up in the air by his neck à la Darth Vader using the force.]] Woman: I find your lack of original conversation disturbing. {{Title text: Unfortunately for her, real Star Wars fans are attracted to a gal with a good force choke.}}

[[Voices are coming from behind a door with a sign that reads "Debian Linux HQ"]] First voice: Problem: One of the volunteer developers has a date this weekend. Dates lead to romance, romance leads to orphaned projects. Second voice: What's the plan? First voice: We're hiring him a relationship coach. He's like Will Smith in "Hitch," but he only gives bad advice. [[Man in black hat is talking to another man, who is standing in from of a mirror]] Man in black hat: Okay, remember: The key to conversation is constructive criticism. Man in black hat: You need to show you're smart enough to solve her problems. Man in front of mirror: Makes sense. {{title text: His date works for Red Hat, who hired a coach for her, too. She advised her to 'rent lots of movies like Hitch. Guys love those.'}}

[[A guy sits in front of his desktop computer. A girl lies belly-down on the floor in front of her laptop.]] Male: Huh—Thomas the Tank Engine slash fiction. Female: It's rule 34 of the internet. If you can imagine it, there is porn of it. Male: Nah. The web is freaky, but it can't begin to have everything. Male: There's no porn set atop storm-chasing vans. No homoerotic spelling bees. No women playing electric guitar in the shower. Female: Actually, that last one would look pretty hot. As long as they were unplugged or waterproofed... Female: Rivulets of water run down her chest, the smooth body of the guitar firm against her hips. Female: She twangs the E-string and it shakes off tiny droplets in all directions. [[She rises into a crouch]] Female: You're sure it doesn't exist? Male: Not yet. Female: I'm registering WetRiffs.com. Let's get on this. {{title text: Okay, Lance. For entry into the college bowl, spell 'Throbbing'}}

[[ Man sitting in an armchair in a darkened room, behind him a bookshelf and an open window. A girl is seen outside reading a book by an eerie glow]] For a few weeks now, sometime past midnight, a girl has wandered past my apartment reading by flashlight. [[Outside, the girl, walking down the street passing under a street lamp]] I wonder why she's up so late. Maybe she's restless Like me. I wonder what story she's wrapped up in. I wonder if she let's anyone into that island of light. [[ Man sitting in dark room ]] [[ Dark room minus man ]] [[ Man standing on his doorstep at the top of a small flight of stairs, near the bottom of which the girl has stopped, no longer reading. ]] Man: Hi! What are you reading? Girl: Orson Scott Card's 'Xenocide.' It's my favorite in the series! [[ The same, only man looks more dejected ]] Man: Wait, you like it more than Speaker for the Dead OR Ender's Game? Girl: Yeah! [[ The same, only man has withdrawn ]] [[ Man back sitting in the chair within dark apartment ]] And to think I loved her. {{ alt: Cue angry letters from all seven fans of Xenocide. }}

{{ Title: The #1 Programmer Excuse for Legitimately Slacking Off: “My code's compiling.” }} [[Two programmers are sword-fighting on office chairs in a hallway. An unseen manager calls them back to work through an open office door.]] Manager: Hey! Get back to work! Programmer 1: Compiling! Manager: Oh. Carry on. {{ Alt: ‘Are you stealing those LCDs?’ ‘Yeah, but I'm doing it while my code compiles.’ }}

{{Title: Names}} Man (thinking): I hate it when I don't know someone's name, but it's been long enough that it's too awkward to ask. [[The scene is revealed to be at the alter getting married by a minister to a woman in a bridal dress.]] Minister: Do you Rachel, take this man... Man (thinking): Aha! Rachel! {{alt-text: I'm always so happy that I successfully navigated the introduction that I completely forget to pay attention to the name the other person told me.}}

[[Stick figure sitting at computer, typing]] Stickman:I used to find slashdot delightful, but my feelings of late are more spiteful; my comments sarcastic the iconoclastic keep modding to plus five (Insightful).

{{Title: Mildly sleazy uses of Facebook, part 14:}} {{subheading: Looking up someone's profile before introducing yourself so you know which of your favorite bands to mention}} Boy: Favorite bands? Hmm... Boy: Maybe Regina Spektor or the Polyphonic Spree. Girl: Whoa, those are two of my favorites, too! Girl: Clearly, we should have sex. Boy: Okay! My favorite position is the retrograde wheelbarrow. Girl: [[arms in the air]] Ohmygod, mine too! {{alt-text: 'Here, I'll put my number in your cell pho -- wait, why is it already here?'}}

[[Two men are talking. The second man is sitting on the ground, hugging his knees to his chest]] First Man: Maggie's gone. You can't bring her back. Second Man: But I have to, she's a part of my life. First Man: <<sigh>> First Man: Okay, let me put this in your terms. First Man: Remember when Aeris died in FFVII? It was sad, but you had to keep playing. Second Man: Actually, I downloaded a mod to add her back to my party. It changed other character's appearances and dialogue to hers so you didn't have to lose her. Second Man: Lots of gamers did it. [[The first man put his hand on his chin]] First Man: That is troubling on several levels. Second Man: I wonder if Maggie's old dress would fit you. {{alt text: It's bad enough that all the families in your Sims are just you and Maggie recreated over and over.}}

[[Two figures, one wearing a hat stand near a tesla coil mounted on a table.]] No hat: I finally finished my Tesla Coil! [[The room is dark; characters appear as faint blue outlines on black background. No hat turnss on the Tesla Coil <<click>> and it sparks white static electricity. <<gzzzzzz>>]] Hat Man: Cool, but- Hat Man: Check *this* out [[Lightning shoots out of Hat Man's hands <<gzzzzzz>>]] [[The lights are back on]] No Hat: How did you do that? Hat Man: The world doesn't actually make any sense. Science doesn't work. No one told you because you're so cute when you get into something. Hat Man: [[Floting up the frame]] Still, neat toy. No Hat: [[Pointing to Hat Man]] Now you're hovering! Hat Man: I guess you're still not getting this. {{Title Text: For scientists, this can be the hardest thing about dreams.}}

[[Guy sitting at computer. Girl listening]] Guy: Lisp is over half a century old and it still has this perfect, timeless air about it. Guy: I wonder if the cycles will continue forever. Guy: A few coders from each new generation rediscovering the Lisp arts. [[Man in Jedi robes carrying an armload of parentheses, speaking to Guy]] Jedi: These are your father's parentheses. Elegant weapons. For a more... civilized age. {{title text: I've just received word that the Emperor has dissolved the MIT computer science program permamently. }}

My Hobby: Doing skateboard tricks in Tony Hawk while also doing them in real life. [[Man riding a skateboard in a halfpipe with a handheld video game]] <<beep click beep>> [[Man does a skateboard trick]] <<Frontside 360°!>> Videogame: Frontside 360°! {{Bad idea #271: Dropping into the half-pipe on a Segway.}}

[[Man is in an empty classroom writing on the whiteboard. In the top right corner in large print is written "Fuck This Place!." It is circled, and underneath he is writing "DNE"]] {{title text: I've seen advertisers put their URLs on chalkboards, encircled with a DNE. They went unerased for months. If you see this, feel free to replace the URL with xkcd.com.}}

[[Man is standing in a bookstore, looking at a book]] Man: This book looks interesting. Maybe I'll buy it. [[The man reads the book; a clock appears above showing the passage of time]] Man: Oops, I read the whole thing. Man: I'll just quietly put it back and go. [[Man walks through a security scanner to exit the bookstore]] <<BEEP BEEP BEEP>> Voice from off-frame: Hey! Your brain set off the sensor! Man: I, uhh... Voice from off-frame: You have a book in there, don't you! Man: Crap. {{title text: You can search it if you want, but you may want to skip the memories of your mom.}}

[[ A man with a knife sticking out of his heavily bleeding face stands in front of a toaster, which has an arm extending from the top of it. He is holding a telephone to his ear. ]] Man: Hello, 911? I just tried to toast some bread, and the toaster grew an arm and stabbed me in the face! 911: Did you read the toaster's man page first? Man: Well, no, but all I wanted was-- 911: <<click>> {{ alt: Life is too short for man pages, and occasionally much too short without them. }}

[[Man sits at computer, thinking]] Man: I could restructure the program's flow - or use one little 'GOTO' instead. Man: Eh, screw good practice. How bad can it be? Text on computer: goto main_sub3; <<Compile>> [[Panel passes in which man simply looks at the computer]] [[A raptor jumps into the panel and attacks the man at the computer]] {{title text: Neal Stephenson thinks it's cute to name his labels 'dengo'}}

[[Figure with beret swinging upside-down from tree branch to figure walking by:]] You were once shoved headfirst through someone's vagina. Why are you acting so dignified? {{alt: 'I don't know, why is your beret staying on your head?' 'Staples.'}}

My Profanity Usage By Cause: [[Pie chart is shown]] [[Injury is about 5% of pie chart]] [[Irony is about 5% of pie chart]] [[Misc is about 5% of pie chart]] [[Segfaults is about 10% of pie chart]] [[MarioKart is about 75% of pice chart]] {{title text: You can evade blue shells in Double Dash, but it is deep magic.}}

[[Girl crawling on bed toward boy narrator.]] Narrator: It's not something you can turn off. [[Boy pulling girl, bedspread, and pillow off of bed onto floor.]] Narrator: A part of me is always detached. Abstracting, looking at numbers and patterns. [[Girl on top of boy, both under bedspread, on floor. Girl looks to be 'touching' boy.]] Narrator: When we should be closest, part of me is still alone. Counting the touches of her fingertips. Touch. Touch. Touch touch. Touch touch touch. Touch touch touch touch touch. [[Same scene as third panel.]] Narrator: Wait. Is that... That's the Fibonacci Sequence! Whatever I did to deserve you, it couldn't have been enough. {{title text - Worries assuaged, the numbers become less important than your touches.}}

[[Elevator panel, with a Certificate of Inspection and five floor buttons, numbered 1–4. The fifth button is unlabeled.]] [Person thinks] [Person writes something on a small piece of paper] [Person tapes it onto the panel] [[Elevator panel, with the same Certificate and buttons, and with the piece of paper labeling the fifth button “Zeppelin”.]] [Person presses the new “Zeppelin” button] [Elevator moves] Elevator: *Ding* [Person is looking out the door of a Zeppelin. The Zeppelin is flying over a green landscape with many lakes.] {{Title text: Quick, try it with 'LOVE'.}}

My Hobby: Embedding NP-Complete problems in restaurant orders [[A menu is shown]] Chotchkies Retaurant Appetizers Mixed Fruit 2.15 French Fries 2.75 Side Salad 3.35 Hot Wings 3.55 Mozzarella Sticks 4.20 Sampler Plate 5.80 [[Three people sit at a table. One man at the table is ordering from a waiter]] Man at table: We'd like exactly $15.05 worth of appetizers, please. Waiter: ... Exactly? Uhh ... Man at table: Here, these papers on the knapsack problem might help you out. Waiter: Listen, I have six other tables to get to - Man at table: - As fast as possible, of course. Want something on traveling salesman? {{title text: General solutions get you a 50% tip.}}

[[A section of a Linux terminal window is shown]] Text from window: ~ $ ls ayb boot etc lib ... bin dev home mnt ... ~ $ ls ayb allyourbase_original.swf al... allyourbase_remix.swf ... allyourbase_remix2.swf b ... ayb_acapella.mp3 ze... ayb_images ze... ayb_orchestral.mp3 .... [[Girl is at computer]] Girl: What's with the All Your Base stuff? Didn't that die like five years ago? [[From off-panel]] : Yes. [[Man enters panel]] Man: It was my first internet meme, and my favorite. Others tired of it, but I never did. Man: So I wait. Man: Someday, decades from now, people will have forgotten. It will be fresh again. Man: Retro. Man: and when that day comes [[Man raises his fists]] Man: I WILL BE READY! Girl: You need a hobby or something. Man: What you say!! Man: Wait, too soon. {{title text: The AYB retro-return-date (Zero Wing Zero Hour) should be around AD 2021.}}

[[There is a politician speaking at a podium, which sports an American flag.]] [[In front of the speaker there is a crowd of people listening. In the middle of the crowd a man is standing up holding a sign reading "[CITATION NEEDED]" in blue underlined text, as in Wikipedia articles.]] {{title text: SEMI-PROTECT THE CONSTITUTION}}

[[A man finds a tape measure]] Man: Hey, a tape measure! [[He extends the tape measure]] <<extend>> <<extend>> [[The tape measure falls]] <<clatter>> [[He tries again]] <<extend>> Man: Eight feet! I wonder if that's a world record? [[He imagines ... In an olympic stadium]] Audience: Go! Go! Gooooo!

[[Man and woman seated on couch watching a TV.]] Woman: Argh, movie pet peeve. Someone sitting at a computer in the dark with the screen projected on their face. Monitors don't work like that! [[Man and woman face each other on couch.]] Man: Right - that only happens if you're in the way of a proected image. Like when we're sitting together in a parked car in the rain and the mottled light through the raindrops on the windshield makes shifting shadows on your skin... [[Woman stands, man uses laptop on table behind couch.]] Woman: ...I wasn't really into the movie anyway. Man: The nearest rainstorm's about 60 miles away. Woman: We'll drive fast. Man: I'll grab some snacks. {{title text: Out in a field, not another car for miles, silence but for the rain drumming on the sunroof, warm thick folds of the blanket hiding wordless fingertip games...}}

[[Man sitting at computer second man standing nearby]] Man at Computer: Wow – Engines can burn vegetable oil. Standing man: Well, sure. You can burn most any organic matter. Corn, leaves, spices... Man at Computer: Spices? Really? Standing man: Sure – Mussolini made the trains run on thyme. Man at Computer: ... Man at Computer: We are no longer friends. {{alt text: I have nothing to apologize for.}}

{{Online Package Tracking}} {{_Pros_: Convenient, Useful}} {{_Cons_: Makes You Crazy}} [[A person is sitting at a computer.]] <<refresh>> Person: Aww, still in Memphis. <<refresh>> Person: Aww, still in Memphis. <<refresh>> Person: Aww, still in Memphis.

{{Advantages to dating librarians}} Librarian: We're stopping in Baltimore to visit my family, and that's final. Boyfriend: Oh yeah? [[Reaching inside paper bag.]] Boyfriend: Hey, look, it's a new hardback book! [[Holds book in hands]] Librarian Girlfriend: You wouldn't. [[The book is twisted and crinkled.]] <<crinkle>> <<creak>> [[Librarian Girlfriend twitches.]] <<crack>> [[The book's spine is broken]] Librarian Girlfriend: OKAY! You win! {{alt: Don't expect any leniencies on late fees, though.}}

[picture of a man at a bar] Man: If I could rearrange the alphabet, I'd put your sister and I together. Man: Is your father a thief? because that's totally my jetta you parked outside. Man:You must be tired, 'cause you've been running through my mind all night Man: screaming. {{title text: That shirt looks good on you, but it would look even better stuffed onto the neck of a vodka bottle and flung burning through our office building's window. Let's fucking do it and never look back.}}

[[A man - wearing a black hat - is sitting at his computer, wearing a phone headset]] Phone: Thank you for calling the Black Hat Support Line, your first source for Linux support. How may I assist? Man: Hi. I'm running an Apache server, and the load keeps climbing out of control. Phone: Okay. First, click on the Start Menu. Man: I'm sorry, this is the Linux helpline, right? Phone: Of course, Sir. Man: If you'll just open the "My Documents" folder- Phone: Just a damn minute, I think you're putting me on. Man: Please bear with me, Sir. Man: Now, load up your AOL and go to the Keyword "Linux"- Phone: *click* {{Alt: So as not to leave you hanging -- it was a problem with select() calls.}}

[[A man in a car, sitting at a red light.]] Man: This light always takes forever. I'd like to smack the idiot who designed this intersection. [[An engineer steps up onto the hood of the man's car.]] Engineer: Hi. Man: Who the hell are you? Engineer: I designed this intersection. Engineer [[arms spread outward]] : You're right - I should have just made the light shorter! Never mind the hours of simulation and testing I did. Never mind that this intersection interacts with it's neighbors in a complicated way and it took me a week to work out timing sequences that avoided total jams. Engineer: Clearly, I'm a crappy engineer and you have a better solution. Go on, show me your proposed timings. Man: Get the hell off my hood before I start driving and fling you into traffic. Engineer: You can't. Light's red. Man: Well, when will it change? Engineer: Tuesday. {{Title Text: You can look at practically any part of anything manmade around you and think 'some engineer was frustrated while designing this.' It's a little human connection.}}

[[A man, Rob, is sitting at a computer. The text is an IRC-style transcript of a conversation, in a fixed-width font. He is text-messaging a girl he slept with named Emily; their messages read as follows:]] <rob> hi <emily> hey you <rob> last night was nice <emily> the best i've had <rob> yeah it was AMAZING <emily> ok, i have to ask <emily> is this for real? <emily> or is it just sex <rob> definitely just sex <emily> holy shit <emily> are you serious? <emily> you don't know how much that made my stomach hurt <emily> i want to cry <rob> i'm sorry <rob> i wanted to type 'i love you' <rob> but our line lengths were syncing up <emily> ... <rob> and it would have broken the pattern * emily has disconnected {{alt text: I wish I knew how to quit this so I wouldn't have to quit you.}}

When meeting a girlfriend's family, I have to suppress the weirdest thoughts. [[A boy talking with his girlfriend's parents]] Boy: Hi! Mother: Hi! It's so nice to finally meet you! Boy: I have licked your daughter's nipples. {{alt text: And now I might never get to again.}}

[[Stick figure is sitting at a desk with a computer, typing]] Monitor: People try to shut us d-d-down just 'cause our music gets around [[Stick figure is standing on his chair and typing with his keyboard across his hip.]] Monitor: Old folks act like total noobs get off our net; _you_ block the tubes [[Stick figure is really wailing on the keyboard.]] Monitor: Why don't you all just d-d-disconnect and don't try an' grok our d-d-dialect [[Stick figure smashes the keyboard into the monitor.]] Monitor: I'm not tryin' to cause a big s-s-sensation I'm just bloggin' bout my generation {{alt: Trivia: Roger Daltry originally wrote "Don't try an' Digg what we all say' but erased the second 'g' when he moved to reddit.}}

((Everything is one big panel.)) The Electromagnetic Spectrum These waves travel through the electromagnetic field. They were formerly carried by the aether, which was decommissioned in 1897 due to budget cuts. Other waves: - Slinky waves [[Two people hold the ends of a tangled slinky.]] - Sound waves [[There is a snippet of a frequency band. Between 20 Hz and 20 KHz is labeled "Audible Sound." Towards the top is a line labeled "That high-pitched noise in empty rooms."]] - The wave [[A row of people does a wave.]] [[Three parallel scales are across the bottom. The first is lambda (m), ranging from 100Mm to 100fm; second is f (Hz), which starts at 1 Hz and reaches 100 THz about 2 3 of the way along, after which the labels read "other entertaining greek prefixes like peta- exa- and zappa-"; last is Q (Gal^2 Coloumb), whose labels are 17, 117, pi, 17, 42, theta, e^pi-pi, -2, 540^50, and 11^2. Above the scales and lined up accurately with the first two are the following:]] - Power & Telephone (100Mm to 1km) - Radio & TV (1km to somewhere between 1m and 10cm); above that are many boxes showing subranges (AM, VHF, UHF, 14 7 NPR pledge drives, a very thin band for the space rays controlling Steve Ballmer, 99.3 "The Fox," 101.5 "The Badger," 106.3 "The Frightened Squirrel," cell phone cancer rays, CIA, ham radio, kosher radio, shouting car dealership commercials) - Microwaves (a bit more than 10cm to a bit more than 1mm); it also has subranges (aliens, just below SETI, wifi, FHF, brain waves, sulawesi, gravity) - Toasters (about 1mm to about 100 micrometers) - IR (about 100 micrometers to somewhere between 1 micrometer and 1 nm); above that is a bell graph labeled "Superman's heat vision," with a motorcycle driving up the left side labeled "Jack Black's Heat Vision." - Visible light (and, under it, visible dark); above that is a bell graph labeled "sunlight." There's a breakout chart above it showing the visible spectrum from 700nm (red) to 450nm (violet). There's an arrow pointing to where octarine would be, somewhere off to the side. Above that are bars showing the absorption spectra for hyrogen, helium, Depends(R) (yellow only) and Tampax(R) (red only). - UV (about 100nm to about 10nm) - Miller Light (a thin bar around 10nm) - An unlabeled section with a thin line above it showing the frequency of the main death star laser - A blocked-off portion labeled "Censored Under Patriot Act." - X-rays (from about 1nm to about 10pm); a line above shows the frequency of mail-order x-ray glasses. Somewhere vaguely above the 10pm mark is a potato. - Gamma cosmic rays (10pm and smaller); above that is a bar marked Sinister Google Projects which also trails off into higher frequencies, and blogorays, which are slightly lower. {{Title text: Sometimes I try to picture what everything would look like if the whole spectrum were compressed into the visible spectrum. Also sometimes I try to picture your sister naked.}}

Salesman: Interested in updating your antivirus software? Customer: Oh, I wouldn't need any of that. {{In a spiky speech bubble}} I RUN LINUX. <<Flip>> {{Customer does a backflip onto a motorcycle}} {{Customer performs a wheelie on the motorcycle}} {{Customer does a hard, donut turn on the motorcycle, kicking up dirt into the salesman's face}} {{Customer speeds off on the motorcycle, leaving the salesman in a cloud of black exhaust}}

{{Powers of One}} {{A mind-expanding look at our world.}} [[A sequence, presumably continuing endlessly in both directions, of identical images of a couple lying on a chequered blanket, with a picnic basket, on grass. Each image has a rule at the bottom giving measurements in meters, with the scale in terms of 1 to a particular power. The powers visible are the -1th (part), 0th-2nd, and 3rd (part).]] {{alt: It's kinda zen when you think about it, if you don't think too hard.}}

[[Man and woman standing by a train]] Woman: I'm bad at goodbyes. At some level I never think they're for real. Man: They make me think of T. H. White's Merlin. Woman: Oh? Man: He lived backwards, remembering the future and not the past. To him, final goodbyes meant nothing, while first hellos were tearful and bittersweet. Woman: Huh - so over the years he'd forget all his friends. Must've been lonely. Man: Yeah. He ended up just sitting around at home watching DVDs all day. The best was the time he rented 'Memento'... [[Merlin is sitting in front of a couch, watching TV]] Merlin: Well, that was straightforward. {{alt text: I mean, the black-and-white stuff was running backward, but it hardly mattered to the story.}}

[[Two guys and a girl are standing in a room, the first guy holds a keyboard.]] First guy: Hey, help me test the Transconsciousness Messaging Protocol. Second guy: What's that? First guy: I've been training myself to keep my fingers moving slightly as I fall asleep, so I can type from inside dreams. [[First guy sitting on his bed]] First guy: I'm going to sleep now. My computer will relay my messages to you as I explore the dream world. [[In the dream: (first guy standing in what looks like a forest.)]] First guy: So strange to think none of this is real. And yet I have this lifeline to the internet back home. First guy: A chance to speak from one reality to another. I feel like Bell & Watson. I get to write the inaugural TCMP message. Let's see... [[types on the keyboard]] [[outside: (girl sitting at a computer, second guy standing behind her)]] Girl: "F1rst pøst!!"? Second guy: Great. He's jumped straight to transreality trolling. {{title text: A big obstacle in experimenting with the mind's dream-simulation-engine is holding onto the details as you wake up. With TCMP you can bring back any information you want.}}

[[A girl is walking towards the right of the panel.]] [[A boy wearing a backpack is walking towards the left of the panel.]] [[They walk past each other.]] [[The girl has a sudden thought.]] [[The girl turns back and says.]] Girl: Hi. Boy: Uh, hi. Girl: Sorry if this is weird, but Girl: Do you like flying kites? {{alt text: I wonder what percentage of not-obviously-busy people on the street would say yes to kite-flying with a stranger. This looks like a job for Science!}}

[[Girl in bubble, floating in outer space next to her clone]] Clone: I shouldn't do this, but I pulled you out for a moment to give you a hint. Girl: A hint? Clone: Take wrong turns. Talk to strangers. Open unmarked doors. And if you see a group of people in a field, go find out what they're doing. Do things without always knowing how they'll turn out. Girl: Why tell me this? Clone: You're curious and smart and bored, and all you see is the choice between working hard and slacking off. There are so many adventures that you miss because you're waiting to think of a plan. To find them, look for tiny interesting choices. And remember that you are always making up the future as you go. Girl: So, wait, what *is* this place? Am I going to wake up thinking this was a dream? Clone: This is... think of this as after the game, outside the theatre. To go in, I had to suspend disbelief, forget the outside. Girl: So you... Huh. Why give me hints I'm going to forget? Clone: You'll forget this trip but I think the hints should stay with you. Girl: ...if this is a game, are you--are *we*--cheating? Clone: Yup. Girl: Is that a good idea? Clone: Well it's an interesting one. We'll see how it goes. Girl: Well, I guess I'll see you aroun--Wait a minute; have you brought me here before? Clone: I... maybe. once. Girl: For another hint? Clone: Er. Actually we just made out. Girl: We wh-- Clone: Bye! {{Alt-text: Making out with yourself: now an official xkcd theme? Troubling.}}

[[A girl floats in a bubble against a space backdrop]] Girl: I should feel scared. But I don't. Maybe this is a dream but it doesn't feel like one. Disembodied voice: Okay, found you. Girl: Who are you? Voice: Er, hang on. This next part might be a little weird. [[No dialogue]] [[Many copies of the girl whirl around her bubble; a lightning bolt appears in the background]] [[All the copies have disappeared except for one]] Copy: Sorry -- Hi, me. Girl: ...Hi. {{Alt-text: Wait, this is space -- how are you talking to me? And, as an afterthought, what's up with the hole in reality?}}

[[A boy is doing some excercises in a book. The clock on the wall says 12:50 or 13:50.]] [[Book: Chapter 15: Special Relativity Problem 1: Two spacecraft transmit messages to each other while passing at constant velocities of... ]] Boy: <<sigh>> [[Label: Meanwhile:]] [[A girl in a bubble and a spacecraft are moving towards each other. Each one has a velocity vector drawn before themselves, each showing a velocity of 0.2c.]] [[They pass each other.]] Spacecraft: We observe your speed to be 38.5%c, and your time is passing at 92.3% the rate of ours. Does this mirror your observations? Girl: Please help me. I think I'm lost. [[They continue with the same velocity vectors. The girl is looking back at the spacecraft.]] {{alt text: Maybe someday I'll get to write the Wikipedia article about this place! Wait, damn, original research.}}

[[Girl sits at desk, using computer. Refreshes page]] <<*Refresh*>> <<Click>> [[Sits back and looks at monitor]] [[Refreshes page on computer]] <<*Refresh*>> <<Click>> [[Sits back and looks at monitor]] [[Girl leans forward and clicks mouse]] <<Click>> [[A hole opens up in the panel. It appears to be the torn paper of the comic itself. A blue, sky-like background is revealed. Girl jumps in surprise, nearly tipping over the chair]] [[Girl stands up as the chair falls over completely.]] [[Wide view. The girl looks back at the door furtively]] [[She begins to climb into the hole]] [[By now the girl is entirely inside the hole. She is closing it behind her]] [[Only her head and arms are visible]] [[The hole is closed, revealing a formation of ripped paper.]] {{Large frame}} [[She appears to be in space. Stars dot the sky and a ray of light traverses the frame horizontally. Megan is in a bubble, floating disconnectedly. Both her and bubble have become white, tinged against the backdrop]] {{title text: Wait, damn, I think I spotted a new email on the last refresh.}}

[[A door seen from a hallway, with "Teachers' Lounge" on the glass. Inside, two teachers are talking.]] Teacher 1: My students drew me into another political argument. Teacher 2: Eh; it happens. Teacher 1: Lately, political debates bother me. They just show how good smart people are at rationalizing. [[The two teachers continue talking. A third one is seen reading a book on a sofa.]] Teacher 1: The world is so complicated - the more I learn, the less clear anything gets. There are too many ideas and arguments to pick and choose from. How can I trust myself to know the truth about anything? And if everything I know is so shaky, what on Earth am I doing teaching? Teacher 2: I guess you just do your best. No one can impart perfect universal truths to their students. Teacher 3: <<ahem>> Teacher 2: ...Except math teachers. Teacher 3: Thank you. {{alt text: a(b+c)=(ab)+(ac). Politicize that, bitches.}}

[[Two men stand facing one another. Man on the left is wearing a hat and holding a cat and a piece of paper. Man 2 has raised his arms. There are three cats with captions stuck to them]] Man: Oh hi; I'm here from the internet Man 2: What are you doing!? Man: Gluing captions to your cats. <<rrrr>> {{Title-text: Hey, at least I ran out of staples.}}

[[Three people are standing around a map. One of them is pushing something with a stick.]] [[A messenger arrives.]] Messenger: General, Italian forces have entered Egypt. General: As I expected. This is a foolish move by Mussolini, but like Hitler he will no doubt force his commanders to -- Messenger: Hey. Godwin's Law. General: Dammit. General: You know, this may become a problem. {{Title text: Constantly stopping these briefings halfway through is becoming a pain.}}

[[A man is drawing a diagram of a cylinder with electrical terminals on either end]] [[The man is shown at a workbench making the device in a workshop]] [[He kneels down on a beach and scoops up sand]] [[He pours the sand into the cylinder]] [[He ties a spool of string to one end of the cylinder, and ties a deflated weather balloon to the other end]] [[The weather balloon is inflated, and raised up into the clouds as thunder rumbles]] [[The end of the string is tied to a stake in the ground, and lightning is flashing in the background]] [[Lightning hits the balloon, travels through the cylinder, and fuses it's contents]] {{Later}} [[The man follows the string to find the cylinder]] [[He detaches it, opens it, removes a solidified piece, and admires the piece]] [[He takes the stone to a jeweler]] [[The jeweler examines, grinds, and sets the now-shining stone in a necklace]] [[The man approves of the final result]] [[He gives it to a woman]] {{alt: Well, for some value of 'actually work'.}}

Narrator: MY HOBBY: DERAILING CLICHÉD EXCHANGES BY USING THE WRONG REPLIES Man 1: O RLY? Man 2: O RLY? I 'ARDLY KNOW 'ER! {{It's like they say, you gotta fight fire with clichés.}}

[[Figure A:]] The official story of 9-11 is full of holes. Take the -- [[Figure B:]] Please, stop, because seeing this happen to you breaks my heart. [[Figure B:]] Conspiracy theories represent a known glitch in human reasoning. The theories are of course occasionally true, but their truth is completely uncorrelated with the believer's certainty. For some reason, sometimes when people think they've uncovered a lie, they raise confirmation bias to an art form. They cut context away from facts and arguments and assemble them into reassuring litanies. And over and over I've argued helplessly with smart people consumed by theories they were sure were irrefutable, theories that in the end proved complete fictions. Young-Earth Creationists, the Moon Landing people, the Perpetual Motion subculture -- can't you see you're falling into the same pattern? [[Figure A:]] You don't seriously believe we landed on the moon. Do you? [[Figure B flees]] [[Figure B, praying:]] Dear God. [[Booming from the sky:]] YES MY CHILD? [[Figure B:]] I would like to file a bug report.

[[A man is looking at a computer monitor and speaking into a microphone]] Man 1: A'la'ih, do'neh'lini, do'neh'lini, a'la'ih, do'neh'lini, a'la'ih, do'neh'lini, do'neh'lini, a'la'ih, a'la'ih, do'neh'lini, a'la'ih, do'neh'lini,do'neh'lini, do'neh'lini ... [[Two men are talking nearby:]] Man 2: For added security, after we encrypt the data stream, we send it through our Navajo code talker. Man 3: ...Is he just using Navajo words for "Zero" and "One"? Man 2: Woah, hey, keep your voice down! {{alt:As far as I can tell, Navajo doesn't have a common word for 'zero'. do-neh-lini means 'neutral'.}}

[[Hand-drawn fantasy style map with land and sea areas representing populations of online communities. Each area or item is labeled.]] Map Title Text: Map of Online Communities and related points of interest. Geographic area represents estimated size of membership Map Disclaimer Text: Not a complete survey. Sizes based on best figures I could find but involved some guesswork. Do not use for navigation. Land Area Labels: The Icy North (Yahoo, Windows Live), AOL, Reunion dot com, Classmates dot com, E-harmony, Faceparty, QWGHLM, Yahoo Games, Mountains of Web 1.0, The Lonely Island, MySpace, Attractive MySpace Pages, The Series of Tubes, Myspace Bands, WOW, Lineage, Second Life, Third Life, UO, EQ, FPXI, 2channel, 4chan, LJ, Xanga, Orkut, Cyworld, Blurty, OK Cupid, Facebook, Piczo, The Compass-Rose-Shaped Island, Broadcaster, Flickr, Last.fm, DeviantArt, Isle of Slash, Numa, Digg, Fark, Reddit, Your Base, Soviet Russia, . (slashdot), Spaaarta (YTMND), StumbleUpon, Del.icio.us, The Blogipelago, Sulawesi, Technocrati, BoingBoing, Huntingdon Post, Gays of Web 2.0, The Wikipedia project, MIT, Engadget, Gizmodo, Usenet, XY Singles, MAKE Blog, IRC Isles, Sourceforge. Sea Area Labels: NOOB Sea, Gulf of YouTube, Bay of Angst, Sea of Culture, Ocean of Subculture, P2P Shoals, Straits of Web 2.0, Here Be Anthropomorphic Dragons, Bay of Trolls, Viral Straits, Sea of Memes, The Wet Sea Item Labels: Shipwreck of the SS Howard Dean, Cory Doctrow's Balloon, Stallman's airship, Google's volcano fortress {{Alt-text: I'm waiting for the day when, if you tell someone 'I'm from the internet', instead of laughing they just ask 'oh, what part?'}}

[tall slide, seen from the ground] When I was a kid, my school playground had a really tall slide that always made me nervous [tall slide, seen from the side] We moved away, but the slide stuck in my memory, becoming a skyscraping monster [car and a sign pointing to school zone] Years later, I was passing through my old town and remembered the playground I drove to the school to see the slide that my inner six-year-old thought was so towering [huge slide, (small) person beside it] AND IT WAS HUGE I KNEW IT {{title text: Or maybe the slide is like Aslan, and gets taller as I do (except without the feeling of discomfort when I reach my teens and suddenly get the Christ stuff)}}

Editor's Note: Mr. Monroe has been missing for several days. We have received no submissions from him for some time, but we found this single panel on his desk in a folder labeled 'MY BEST IDEA EVER' . It is clearly part of a work in progress, but we have decided to post it in lieu of a complete comic. [[Single panel illustration in color with one small panel embedded within, showing a zoomed-in version of Janeane Garafolo on a motorcycle. The background is a gray landscape beneath a falling space station, a large volcano with smoke rising the only discernible feature of the landscape below.]] As the damaged space station fell deeper into the atmosphere and started to break up around her, Janeane Garafolo tightened her grip on the motorcycle. The volcano was looming ahead, and her tranquilizer pistol only had six darts left - barely enough to bring down even ONE tyrannosaur. {{Title Text: No one wants an explanation more than us. Except Ms. Garafolo.}}

Highway Engineer Pranks: [[Each panel depicts a highway intersection.]] The Inescapable Cloverleaf: [[Roads lead onto the rings for each leaf, but then are trapped in the circles. Minor roads also allow travel between the rings.]] The Zero-Choice Interchange: [[On and off-ramps exist, but they lead back to the same lane they disconnected from.]] The Rotary Supercollider: [[The roads lead into a traffic circle, and then a loop reverses the direction of flow so all the roads run into each other.]] {{Title text: Prank #11: Boston}}

Graph with y axis titled "Urge to try running up the down escalator", with "weak" by the bottom and "strong" by the top. x axis has every two years labeled and every year signified by a smaller mark, which stops at 24. A red line with "What I was supposed to feel" with points at every line rises, peaks at 7 years old, then falls "tangent graph" shaped until the end. Along this line are shown various stick-figures at 12, 14, 20 and 24. A second red line runs "What I've actually felt" which stays consistently high. {{alt text: The one time I tried, I got hit by a slinky going down at double speed.}}

[[A stick figure is standing, holding a CD tray which is half-in his computer. There are other CDs on the floor.]] Stick Figure: Hey. Hey! Stop retracting my CD! [[Label: I feel uncomfortable when my computer physically struggles with me. Sure, I can overpower it _now_, but it feels like a few short steps from here to the robot wars.]] {{alt text: This is silly, of course. The enemy will be born in the network.}}

Another urban legend? You should check out Snopes before sending me this stuff. Oops; yeah. Man, Snopes is really great--independent fact-checkers trawling our collective discourse, filtering out misinformation. Yeah, but they have their dark side. The couple that runs snopes.com also runs a network of spam servers that start many of those forwarded stories in the first place, ensuring they'll always have business. That's absurd. Plus, it's definitely not true--it was debunked by... Yes? ... Oh my God. alt text: The MythBusters are even more sinister.

[[Friend 2 sits at a desk with glue, chess pieces, and a chessboard while Friend 1 looks over his shoulder.]] Friend 1: What are you doing? Friend 2: Gluing down chess pieces. Friend 1: Why? Friend 2: Because there's a picture I've always wanted... I'll need your coat to sneak this onto the ride. [[A photograph of a roller coaster ride with Friend 2 sitting in the first car, chin in the hand, thinking over the chessboard. The photograph has "Mega Coaster 3000 souvenir photo" written on the margin.]] {{alt text: We once tried playing blindfold chess on the Aerosmith ride at Disney World.}}

Beret Guy: What if I had some ice cream? Wouldn't that be awesome? Person: No, stop-- Beret Guy (thinking): Person: Great, you've trapped us in a a hypothetical situation! Beret Guy (holding ice cream): Mm, ice cream. Person: Maybe if I had a knife I could cut our way free . . . Person (thinking): Beret Guy: Mmm, ice cream! Person (reaching back into previous thought bubble): Here, take this one. {{alt: What if someone broke out of a hypothetical situation in your room right now?}}

[[One man is sitting at a computer. Another man is sitting at a separate desk. There is a clock which reads 2:53]] Man at desk: 253 is 11x23 Man at computer: What? Man at desk: I'm factoring the time. Man at desk: I have nothing to do, so I'm trying to calculate the prime factors of the time each minute before it changes. Man at desk: It was easy when I started at 1:00, but with each hour the number gets bigger Man at desk: I wonder how long I can keep up. [[Man at desk reaches back and touches the clock]] <<beep>> [[Clock now reads 14:53]] Man at desk: Hey! Man at computer: Think fast. {{alt text: I occasionally do this with mile markers on the highway.}}

[[Three guards with spears stand in front of three doors. A man wearing a hat and another man stand in front of the guards]] Man with hat: And over here we have the labyrinth guards. One always lies, one always tells the truth, and one stabs people who ask tricky questions. {{title text: And the whole setup is just a trap to capture escaping logicians. None of the doors actually lead out.}}

[[Two characters walk on a floor tiled in black and white.]] First: Why are you walking funny? [[Second panel consists of second character's thought cloud in which the second character points to an easel mounted diagram of the floor tile pattern]] Second, thinking: Well, my instinct is to step only on black tiles, but they're too far apart. So I'm letting myself walk on the tiles directly in line with the black ones, but that means that when we walk diagonally, I have to step in a pattern where... [[Returns to situation in first panel]] Second: I'm not walking funny. {{title-text: The worst part is when sidewalk cracks are out-of-sync with your natural stride.}}

[[Four people sit around a table]] DM: Your party enters the tavern. Player: I gather everyone around a table. I have the elves start whittling dice and get out some parchment for character sheets. DM: Hey, no recursing. {{title-text: I may have also tossed one of a pair of teleportation rings into the ocean, with interesting results.}}

[[A diagram of a TrackPoint pointer on a keyboard, under which is a continuity line labeled "Tone of Conversation-Formal to Informal." There are four boxes under this line]] Narrator: How to refer to the pointer thing on laptop keyboards Very formal: TrackPoint(tm)-style pointer Formal: Nub Informal: Nipple mouse Very informal: Clit mouse {{title text: I know a lot of people hate these, but I prefer them to touchpads}}

[[A man pulls a lever.]] <<Pull>> [[Lightning hits the man.]] <<ZAP>> [[The man still stands, obviously battered]] [[Arrow labeled "Normal Person"]] Thinks: I guess I shouldn't do that. [[Arrow labeled "Scientist"]] Thinks: I wonder if that happens every time. [[He reaches for the lever again.]] {{ alt: How could you choose avoiding a little pain over understanding a magic lightning machine? }}

[[A scene is depicted from the Battle Room of the novel Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card. The men are floating in a room with random cubes.]] Dink: Sorry, Ender - seems like there were some system crashes. The battle's gotta be cut short. Ender: The lasers still work. Dink: Yeah, but the enemy's gate is down. {{Title Text: Bean actually sabotaged it just to give Dink the excuse to make that joke.}}

Man 1: I had a dream that I met a girl in a dying world. It was all coming apart. Hairline cracks in reality widened to yawning chasms. Everything was going dark and light all at once, and there was a sound like breaking waves rising into a piercing scream at the edge of hearing. I knew we didn't have long together. She grabbed me and spoke a stream of numbers into my ear. Then it all went away. [[A girl grabs him as the edges of the panel crack and tear]] I woke up. The memory of the apocalypse faded to mere fancy, but the numbers burned bright in my mind. I wrote them down right away. [[A note reads: 42.39561 -71.13051 2007 09 23 14 38 00]] They were coordinates. A place and a time, neither one too far away. Man 1: What else could I do? When the day came, I went to the spot and waited. Man 2: ...and? Man 1: It turns out wanting something doesn't make it real. {{Alt-text: No matter how elaborately you fool yourself.}}

Man in Red Cape and Goggles: Hey, it worked! Man: What? Who are you? Man in Red Cape and Goggles: I'm from the distant future. Man: Wow. Hi! Man in Red Cape and Goggles: Are you a blogger? I play one of you at our festivals! Man: Huh? Man in Red Cape and Goggles: Like the ren faires of your time - I do reenactments. Man in Red Cape and Goggles: We relive the days when the internet was new and free. The days of risky sharing, slashdot, the myspace music renaissance. The generation's finest minds meeting on comment threads, battling roving bands of trolls, and holding the great dialogues of the age! Man: Is that how you - Man in Red Cape and Goggles: We're fuzzy on some details. Did bloggers really wear red capes and goggles and blog from high-altitude balloons? Man: No! Man: Well, Cory Doctorow does. But nobody else. {{Title Text: Things were better before the Structuring and the Levels.}}

[[Figure reading a book in a chair]] {{Pet peeve #114:}} Voice on the phone: Really? What are you doing reading? It's Saturday night! {{Alt text: I'm reading a goddamn book, thank you very much.}}

{{title text: Keyboards are Disgusting}} [[A Man sits at his computer, chatting with some other person.]] Chat: Wanna see an optical illusion? Hold your keyboard up in front of you and look at the home row. [[The man holds the keyboard in front of him.]] Chat: Now cross your eyes a little so the 'g' and 'h' overlap. Chat: Keeping focus, lift the keyboard over your head. [[The man lifts the keyboard over his head still looking at the keyboard]] [[Tiny parts of dust and skin particles fall in the man's face]] Man: Eww! Chat: Haha

[[A man is standing in the middle of the produce aisle in a supermarket, holding a tube of K-Y Jelly in one hand, the other on his chin. The signs read "Bananas" "Apples" "Oranges" and "Zucchini" from left to right.]] MY HOBBY: Standing in the supermarket's produce section holding a tube of K-Y Jelly, looking contemplative. {{Title Text: Fun Game: find a combination of two items that most freaks out the cashier. Winner: pregnancy test and single coat hanger.}}

[[A man readies a kite]] [[The man starts to fly the kite]] [[The man continues to fly the kite]] [[The man ties the kite string to a tree]] [[The man grabs the string]] [[The man starts to climb the string]] [[A scene showing the man holding onto the string at a high altitude, against a colour backdrop of the ground, clouds, water and the sky]] [[Black and white again. A woman comes into view holding onto a small blimp]] Man's thought bubble: Hey, there's someone else up here. I wonder what her story is. [[Woman floats to the other side of the panel]] Man's thought bubble: Maybe I should say hi. [[The man is alone holding onto the string]] {{title text: It's easy to regret your awkward conversations but hard to regret the ones you didn't have}}

[[One man sits before a computer on a desk while another stands behind him.]] Standing Man: I was fascinated by locks as a kid. I loved how they turned information and patterns into physical strength. Sitting Man: Why does my script keep dying? [[Closeup of the man on the man sitting at the computer]] Standing Man: And a lock invites you to try and open it. It's the hacker instinct. Only your ignorance stands in the way. Sitting Man: Wait it's passing bad strings. [[Returns to the two shot of both men]] Standing Man: I admired Harry Houdini, how he could open any lock and free himself from any restraint. Sitting Man: Ah - Bash is parsing the spaces. Standing Man: Sure some of it was fakery and showmanship. But I still wonder how he so consistently escaped handcuffs. Sitting Man: Backslashes Standing Man: Huh? Sitting Man: Never mind. {{Alt: Easier to escape: n-layered nested quotes or an iron maiden?}}

To complete your web registration, please prove that you're human: When Littlefoot's mother died in the original `Land Before Time', did you feel sad? [[radio button]] Yes [[radio button]] No (Bots: no lying)

Narrator: Why is chess so hard? Maybe the answers lie within me. Maybe I just need to let go, relax, and let my instincts and subconscious speak. <<Meditate>> Narrator's Subconscious: Knight to G-4 Narrator: That's not even a legal move. Narrator's Subconscious: Okay, hold on. How do the pawns capture, again? Narrator: Man, Obi-Wan was full of crap. {{title text: You know that 'sweep the pieces off the board and see it in your mind' thing? Doesn't work.}}

[[a graph is drawn, x-axis: "human proximity to cat" from far to near]] [[a curve labeled intelligence veering downwards]] [[a curve labeled inanity of statements veering upwards]] [[a man standing far from a kitten]] [[a man standing closer to a kitten]] [[a man standing next to a kitten]] Man: You're a kitty! {{alt-text: Yes you are! And you're sitting there! Hi, kitty!}}

[[Classroom]] Lecturer: And therefore, based on the existence of a Hamiltonian path, we can prove that the routing algorithm gives the optimal result in all cases. Man: Oh my God. [[Close-up of Man]] (Out of frame): What? What is it? Man: A sudden rush of perspective. What am I doing here? Life is so much bigger than this! [[Man Running out of Room]] Man: I have to go. [[Man enters darkened room, where woman waits by window.]] [[Man and woman embrace...]] [[...and get into bed.]] [[A heart appears over the supine bodies]] Woman: Ohh... [[Hands <<grip>>]] Man (out of frame): Wait a moment. Woman (out of frame): What is it? [[Silence]] Man (out of frame): His proof only holds if there's a Hamiltonian _cycle_ as well as a path! Woman (out of frame): ...excuse me? Man (out of frame): Paper, I need some paper. Man (out of frame): Hey, do you mind if I jot down some notes on your chest? {{title text: The problem with perspective is that it's bidirectional}}

[[A guy sits on a toilet in a bathroom. The stall sidewalll next to him is covered in graffiti--"you suck," "Mike sucks cock," "Cunt," "dane was here" stuck through and "dane is a fag" written under it. One block of graffiti is salient:]] "This graffitii is fleeting human contact both of us lost, but for a moment we're lost together. I wonder who you are." Subtitle: I think I look for meaning in the wrong places sometimes. {{title-text: FOR AN INTRIGUING TIME CALL}}

[[A person is sitting at a desk, which is vibrating.]] <<clatter clatter>> [[He leans back and turns to face someone sitting at another desk behind him.]] Person 1: Excuse me--you're jiggling your leg up and down. It's traveling through the floor and making my desk resonate. Person 2: Oh, I didn't even realize! I'll stop. [[The first person passes a sheet of paper to the second person.]] Person 1: Actually, can you just shift the frequency up by 15%? I think you can get resonance with Steve's desk instead. Person 2: Uh huh . . . Person 1: Here are the calculations. Let's coordinate and try to spill his drink. {{alt text: It's really hard to control the frequency, actually.}}