"Test Post, Please Ignore," and that guy who took increasingly elaborate pictures of himself taking the previous picture of his camera were high points for me.
Morpheus is the only one we ever hear the battery analogy from anyway. He might well be wrong about that interpretation, and the brain processors are what's really going on.
Maybe you get "digested" in the sense that you get incorporated into the sarlacc's body, like it's using you in a parasitic sense. It makes you one of its internal organs, and it keeps you alive as it slowly uses you up over the course of a thousand years (assuming we take that phrase literally). I think acting as a gall bladder for an underground sand monster sounds like a fate worse than death.
In the book Dr. No, his briefing is "This important intelligence officer in the Caribbean has gone missing. Most likely he's run off with his secretary. Here's your gun. Go deal with this."
Yeah, there's the effect Cheney and his gang all having American supremacy as their goal, with them and their corporate fuck-buddies specifically on top of the heap. In their own particularly fucked kind of way, they did care about America or something.
Trump and his ilk... They believe in fucking NOTHING. I'm not even convinced their goal, at its core, is even self-enrichment. I'm pretty well convinced the whole movement is just extremely self-destructive mental illness metastasisized into a political party.
Motel of the Mysteries is basically this joke explored over 95 pages, lovingly illustrated by David Macaulay, the guy who did those black and white books Cathedral, Pyramid, Castle, and The Way Things Work, as well as others. It's hilarious.
X-TREME
Wouldn't the men who were "best" at masturbation have the fewest children?
Semple ran at Switzer and tried to rip her race number off to prevent her from continuing as an official competitor. In her memoir, she wrote:
Instinctively I jerked my head around quickly and looked square into the most vicious face I'd ever seen. A big man, a huge man, with bared teeth was set to pounce, and before I could react he grabbed my shoulder and flung me back, screaming, "Get the hell out of my race and give me those numbers!"
Semple's attack removed one of Switzer's gloves, but not her race number. When Switzer's slightly-built 50 year old coach Arnie Briggs attempted to protect Switzer, Semple knocked him to the ground. Switzer's boyfriend, Tom Miller, who was running with her, then put his shoulder into Semple causing him to fall down. Semple complained in a 1968 interview about Miller's success in stopping his attacks, saying, "That guy's a hammer thrower, for cripes' sake!"
Imagine how lucky this Semple guy is that Miller exercised restraint. Dude probably could have literally thrown Semple through the nearest building.
Also, from Semple's Wikipedia page...
Later in life, Semple reversed his position on women competing in the marathon. According to Marja Bakker (a later organizer of the race), "Once the rule was adjusted and women were allowed in the race, Jock was one of their staunchest supporters. He was very progressive." Semple later publicly reconciled with Switzer. "Old Jock Semple and I became the best of friends," she told a reporter in 2015. "It took a long time: six years. But we became best of friends."
Semple died of cancer of the liver and pancreas in March 1988 in Peabody, Massachusetts. He and Kathrine Switzer had become friends and she would visit him at the hospital where he was being treated for his cancer.
They became friends! It's nice when people can change for the better.
You should have seen my fucking face when I was on unemployment and I found out that I had to pay income tax on my unemployment checks. Like... what the fuck? Why didn't you just give me less money to begin with?!