KJToo

If you’re anything like me, you’ve probably got a lengthy list of things that you’re planning to get around to doing someday. My own list consists of everything from “get in shape” and “write a novel” to “learn to play the guitar”, “teach my young apprentice how to whistle” and “watch The Sound of Music with Laura”.

I’m here to tell you that it’s time to get cracking on that list. Why? Because mankind’s days as the dominant species on the planet Earth are numbered.

It’s not the end of the world; far from it. The world will continue to careen merrily through space long after we’re gone, none the worse for our absence. The world will, however, be a very different place.

It will be covered with webs.

Yes, webs; sticky silken strands spun by hideous, creepy, octolimbalNot a real word., octocularDitto., venom-fanged, wall-crawling, skittering-around-to-the-sound-of-plucked-violin-strings arachnids for the purpose of ensnaring their hapless prey.

The common belief is that the majority of this prey consists of unsuspecting insects, and that’s where things have started to take a shocking—not to mention species-threatening—turn. According to a Newsvine article, a massive, sprawling web apparently constructed by “social cobweb spiders” engulfs a 200-yard section of wilderness trail in a North Texas park.

There is no photo of this monstrous web included with the article—I can only assume that the editor did not wish the sight of such a horrific construct to completely shatter the reader’s sanity—but an irresponsible commentor has seen fit to link to an article on the Texas Entomology website that contains just such a photo. I include a thumbnail of that photograph here, as well as links to both the Social Spider article and the full-sized photograph. The thumbnail does not show sufficient detail to damage the psyche and I trust that my readers—having been adequately forewarned and being possessed of exceptional strength of will and psychological fortitude—can judge for themselves whether the horror of this spectacle will be sufficient to unhinge them.

Lest the reader adopt the mistaken belief that this phenomenon is limited to Texas, a state in which “bigger” has transcended mere adjectivityFaced with the complete extinction of homo sapiens I have allowed myself some leeway with the English language. I do this without apology or regret. and become a full-fledged religion, I must disclose that I have witnessed similiar phenomena (albeit to a somewhat lesser degree) right here in northeast Ohio. Just last week I marveled (and was concurrently revulsed by) a silken structure that stretched from the railing of my deck to the eave of my house, a distance of perhaps fifteen feet. More recently, one or more spiders—moving with the stealth and speed of tiny, eight-legged ninjas—made several attempts to ensnare me in my own kitchen, stringing their invisible death ropes across the room in multiple locations so as to bind my head.

Fortunately, I have survived these attempts on my life, which I can only assume were as pre-emptive as they were inadequate. The arachnids may be working together, but—at least here in Ohio—their organizational skills are not yet sufficient to mount a full-scale assault on humanity.

There are approximately 40,000 species of spiders spinning their webs across all regions of the globe, including the Arctic. There is nowhere to run; nowhere to hide. Should the behavior of the spiders in Texas spread to the rest of the world, the human race is doomed.

Posted August 30, 2007 Comments(10)

If you’re curious about what people have been searching for on the Google, you should visit Google’s hot trends website. If you want to hear three guys talking about what people have been searching for, you should listen to Volcanicast. It’s just that simple.

This week: (Donkey) Kong, the 8,328th Wonder of the World; yes, we call this archaeology; Lifetime, Television for Women; supermersibles and Weekend at Fidel’s.

Volcanicast is intended for mature audiences. Because diplomacy is what we wrap our bombs in.

• Visit the Volcanicast website.
• Download Volcanicast for the week ending 25 August 2007.
• Subscribe to the podcast feed.

Posted August 28, 2007 Comments(2)

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Aw, crap, I think. I don’t need this right now.

There are three of them, all dressed alike. Gang colors. I’m on the edge of Deuce territory.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me,” the leader says.

“Look,” I say, my voice firm but non-threatening. I don’t want this to escalate; the last thing we need is a turf war. “I just want to use the restroom.”

“You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?” The leader smiles and I realize I’ve never seen him before. That explains a lot.

“Back off,” I say, letting a hint of aggression creep into my tone. “This is neutral territory, or didn’t your Deuce buddies tell you that?”

The leader glances back at his cronies; they just shrug. They’re all new, and the guy I’m staring down may be the big dog of the three but he’s clearly just another flunky trying to make an impression. More than likely the next guy up on the food chain sent him out here as a joke.

While they’re trying to figure out their next move, I give them a once over: all khakis and cornflower polo shirts and some kind of bargain bin loafers; all wearing their badges with the ID photos turned in so I can’t see their names; all with last year’s cell phone hanging from their belts right next to their equally-outdated pagers. Strictly minor league. They may outnumber me, but I can take them without breaking a sweat.

The leader straightens to his full height. He’s got maybe a half an inch and easily thirty pounds on me. “Just turn around and get out of here,” he says, his bravado wearing a little thin around the edges. “Go use your own restroom.”

“Third floor restroom’s closed,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “But you already knew that didn’t you?”

They all flinch as I reach for my hip. They may be younger, but I’m faster; I’ve got my cell out before any of them can clear their bulky holsters.

“What you apparently don’t know,” I say, tapping the stylus rapidly on the screen, “is that according to the Interfloor Facilities Closure Treaty of 1999, all washrooms in the building are neutral territory and no one can be refused entry to any restroom while their home facilities are closed for cleaning and/or remodeling.”

I flip the screen around so they can see the document I’ve pulled off the corporate network. They all stare, slack-jawed, and I know they’re less interested in the Treaty than they are in my shiny smartphone. After a moment they back off, retreating wordlessly to their cubicles.

I holster my cell and push through the door into the second floor mens room. The confrontation was annoying, but something else is nagging at the back of my mind. The ambush was a little too convenient to be coincidence. How did those three know the third floor washroom was closed for cleaning? Two possibilities occur to me, both equally unpleasant: either the Deuces have an inside man in the facilities crew or someone on the third floor is feeding them information.

Washing my hands, I mull over both possibilities. A Deuce in the facilities crew would be bad news for all the Treys, myself included; but a mole inside the Treys would be much, much worse.

The hand-dryer is still whirring as I leave the washroom. I need to make a few phone calls and call in some favors. One way or another, I’ve got a war to stop.

Posted August 24, 2007 Comments(8)

I ordered two coffees from Dunkin Donuts this morning: a large and an extra-large, both with double cream and double sugar. I watched the girl behind the counter pour a quarter-cup of half-and-half into both cups, then put eight heaping teaspoons of sugar into the large.

Wow, I thought. That’s a lot of sugar.

Then she put ten heaping teaspoons of sugar into the extra-large cup.

The extra-large, of course, was mine. Yes, there was still room for coffee in the cup, but a comment from a co-worker who likened my beverage to a “coffee milkshake” got me wondering if I could convince the Dunkin Donuts/Baskin-Robbins down the street to put three scoops of vanilla ice cream into an extra-large cup and then top it off with coffee.

Or I could just stop drinking coffee altogether.

Posted August 22, 2007 Comments(6)

Due to an unfortunate technical snag, there is no evidence that Wesley, Bob, Chris and I gathered in Planet Retcon Radio Studio 1C for three long, arduous and, yes, heartbreaking hours last night to discuss the volcanic Google searches for the past week.

It might have been (with the aid of extensive editing and a Sherpa guide) the best episode of Volcanicast ever almost committed to ones and zeros. Alas, the world will never know.

On the bright side, we probably won’t be sued by PURE.This week.

I think it’s safe to say that a valuable lesson has been learned.

Just not by me.

Posted August 20, 2007 Comments(0)