Song

Imagine if I could feed the world … with SONG!

That almost is a song.

My voice filling the airways, filling stomachs – when usually, it does the opposite: see

…

…

…

Check out the dying days of the Joe Chip Empire here …

CGI

Soon there will be no more hunger!

At the JC Laboratory, we were discussing the most cost effective distribution methods.  A colleague, who I shall simply refer to as bucket head, was working on piped toothpaste.  In the fight against decay, he wanted there to be no excuse that the tube had just run out, and wished to pipe toothpaste into every dwelling in the land, just as radio was piped into every dwelling in Soviet Moscow (who knows what plaque causing program people might tune into if they had a radio they could control).  Cost estimates for the infrastructure were proving prohibitive, when I realised how to do it cheaply – CGI pipes!  CGI pipes required no digging, just an initial investment in software, most of which we could surely steal from somewhere.  If we wait until ‘The Simpons’ finally finishes, there will be untold Korean animators available to assist in this project.  If they were coupled (asexually of course, this is not that sort of blog) with their North Korean counterparts who, when they are not building “satellite rockets” and “peaceful nukes”, are simply hacking into everything going, that would solve the problem plus reunite the Korean peninsula.  Yes!  We are rolling out the patents now, so don’t try to get in ahead of us. Plus, we have our own peaceful nukes, and own the rights to most of your DNA, and you wouldn’t want us to withdraw your access now, would you?

The next stage will be edible CGI.  I know, I know, the technology is not there yet, but soon, we will be beyond the mere confectionery stage (where we are with 3D at the moment), and a credible edible food source will be available anywhere there is the internet.

Now I know what you are thinking.  Not everybody deserves to eat.  They don’t work hard enough, they don’t pay taxes, they already get enough government hand outs.  We plan to set up a think tank on this with Romney Corp (hey, I have to prepare for my retirement too!)  Mr Romney never said there were people who weren’t worth feeding.  He just said there were people who shouldn’t have government sponsored cordon bleu shovelled down their throats.  Who can argue with that?  We are just looking at a bare level of nutrition, to keep everyone going, but not that they would enjoy.  Think of it this way: we will give 3D films to the whole world, but we won’t be distributing any glasses.  That way, we keep the hungry happy (well, happy-ish, with their stomachs full, but blurry), and we don’t upset the rich too much either!

(For other developments in the World of Chip, look here.  your mate would appreciate any help on the spam thing.)

Recycling

Forgive me please, I have tried.  I try to be good.  I want to save the planet, the trees, the whales.  I believe in conservation, I really do.  I am a nice shade of light green.  However, no matter how hard I try, I cannot eat recycled food.  If food has already been digested by someone else, I just can’t eat it.  I know it’s the future, I know it is necessary, but I cannot do it.

 

What is wrong with me?  Does this make me a bad person?

Eyes

Never put other people’s eyes in your mouth, you never know where they’ve seen.

…

Hey, I’m a manly man*.  I know its cool to suck on eyeballs and then crunch down and pop them so gunk flows out, but I confess, I just can’t do it.  I can’t eat something that something else has been looking out.  Except perhaps a window.  But that’s for another post.

(However, it is ok to lick the blind.  But not a window blind.  Ironic?  No, just stupid.)

*says me.

Rocks

Someone at the lab remarked just the other day “isn’t it funny how we don’t eat rocks?”.  We do indirectly of course in that plants obtain nutrients from the earth, but we are heartily sick of plants being our middle man.  Person.  Sorry.  Like with that great social evil, photosynthesis.  Our teeth are made of stern stuff here (stainless steel – we have the technology, we can rebuild ourselves – some people get tattoos, we pick a bone every year to have replaced), so we weren’t afraid to chomp down.

We found that a lot of rocks are actually unpleasant to eat.  In our region, there are many sedimentary rocks, so we had a diet based around sandstone.  Its very gritty, isn’t it? Sure, a high fibre content, and like the emu, our stomachs now have lots of little buddies to assist with grinding down the other more ordinary food.  Its just that the little bits hang around in your mouth for days afterward.

Much of the soil we consumed was of little nutritional value.  There was no ice age here to grind down metres of rock and release nutrients and minerals, so while eating, one had the sense of one’s mouth being filled with great eons of time, which is a bit creepy, and the sensation of cold winds sweeping across iceless deserts.  Howling spaces.  Call it Gondwana-mouth.  Some rocks and ores were denied to us completely.  Gina Rinehart owns all the iron ore and has promised it to the Chinese, so we were stuck with sampling rust, which is not the same thing at all.

Perhaps we should have imported a greater variety of rocks to sample.  As a multicultural society, it is not clear to me why newcomers to our great southland have not brought a wide range of rocks from their homelands with them.  This is a subject worthy of greater sociological study.  Our government should be encouraging immigration from more geologically interesting societies.  We are sick of bland anglo-saxon and western european rocks.  Surely there is some ethnic rock out there that tastes like chicken?  Now that would be a scientific discovery.

Lamb scrotum

…the horror…

…the horror…

Reader, I cheat again, but you will see why if you click here…

Here at the Joe Chip Laboratories, we try not to eat the living.  or even bits of the living.  And you wonder how the zombie apocalypse is actually going to start – its going to be with guys like these.

“Ma, I don’ feel so well.”

“You look awful – you bin eatin’ anything strange?”

“I didn’t eat it, it were only in my mouth but a moment.”

“Well Bubba stop chewin on me!”

[HP Lovecraft would envy my dialogue.]

Stolen from Mr Battersby.

Hair

Hair don’t taste like chicken,

except for chicken hair, which is very rare,

because chickens grow feathers most everywhere.

.

Useless reptilian descendants,

scratching round, pecking the ground,

you’re just the dinosaur’s genetic burial mound.

.

Pointless hairless, flightless birds,

can’t feed your children with lactation,

have you absolutely no mammalian aspiration?

.

Eek eek.

Baby.

Balloon Animals

Those of you who have been subscribing to the analytical reports of the Chip Laboratories since ancient times know of our well founded efforts to ethicise (ha! take that, dictionary) omnivorism.  We are trying folks, we really are.  We have put all of this week’s grant money into considering balloon animals.

Some of you maybe scoffing, as you associate these creatures with parlour games and carnivals.  However, I am not talking about simple domesticated balloon animals.   I am talking about great sweeping herds of massive fortean creatures, blocking the sun on their nomadic trek as passenger pigeons once did sweeping across America.  And no, there would be no reliance on foul, poisonous oxygen.  These are great helium or methane filled beasts, nodding and swaying as they are blown by the currents of wind, just as giant jelly fish are swept across oceans.  Picture them now in your mind, see them billowing and filling the sky.  Tremendous storms of them.  The wondrous sight of them as they rail against the elements, indeed as they rail against their own ridiculous existence.  Observing them as over time they are pitted by hail, scarred by lightning.  And the wonder of them is that their pseudo life is no life at all, it is a mere impersonation.  Brave balloon bound hunters shall pursue them without ethical quandary, intrepid mountaineers shall stalk them to their winter homes, small children and we here at the laboratory shall wonder at them.

O!  If only we could get some nutrition into their skins!  Some flavour into the rubber.  Some texture into their form.  And find some way to stop giant sea turtles from choking on them in their thousands when they critters deflate and drop into the sea.  Perhaps it is impossible.  But is not the dream as important as any mere actuality?  At least this dream can unite us all, omnivores, carnivores, vegetarians, vegans, fruitarians, lacto-vegetarians, lacto-ovo-vegetarians, pescetarians, pollotarians, and pollo-pescetarians, the dream of the hunt of the giant pseudo-beasts in the sky that can sustain us all without troubling our consciences.

Until then, at least we have salad.

[“Life’s Solution” by Simon Conway Morris, p112 ‘Fortean bladders’]

Lerv!

Joe Chip, you are such a child, you hide your feelings by joking about them, you cannot even write the word “LOVE” – there, was that so hard?  Now, I want you to really chow down, there, get stuck into it, a great big plate of love.  There is going to be a lot of work in this taste test, Joe.  You have to work your way through a kilometre (1) of chocolate before you even get to the cardboard of pulped cards.  There are so many layers to this planet.  I know no human should have to eat roses, but Joe, it is for science, you cannot let a few mouthfuls of thorns get in your way.  Stuffed animals and inedible poem after inedible poem.  I know Joe, I feel your pain.  Here is a hard bit – you are going to fall a great distance through a void.  Your guts are going to flip, they will flop, your hormones will go astray, yes, even though you are a boy.  It won’t seem empty for a while, there are giga-years of trite and awful songs to accompany you, the god-awful soundtrack to your descent (2).

Are you in the darkness Joe?  Do you feel the pressure of the vacuum?  How rarefied the air, here in the middle.  How lonely you are!  But I want you to persist.  You are too far for the lights of distant galaxies to penetrate.  You are going to have to do this by touch.  You will need to trust that you still have senses, and that there is something to detect.

Feel them?  The rocks?  The weathered crusts, the wrinkles?  There is no air blowing down here, Joe.  If anything is smooth, it is because it is worn by years.  Don’t bite Joe, it will break your teeth.  There are no soft centres here.  There are no soft exteriors.  Not down in the pit of love.  This love is ugly, Joe.  This love is ancient couples, sculpted by years.  This love sits quietly next to a shell that memory has deserted.  This love feeds a child that can never love back.  This love is dribbling, Joe.  This love has forgotten its dreams and turns up to work each day.  Its nails are broken, its fingers blue.  None of this love is what it was, Joe.  None of it is what it thought it would be.  It is spastic, it is crippled, it is overweight, it is anaemic, it is windblown and time torn, years shrunk and care worn.  This love endured, Joe.  It is ugly.  It is beautiful.

Yes Joe, I know it is hard to taste with that crass red rayon teddy caught between your teeth (3).  I wish you could have skipped that level, or taken a more expensive route at least (4).   The things you do for science (5).

 

(1)  Science is metric.

(2) ha ha, he is falling in love.

(3) cheap lingerie, the scabby gifts men buy for themselves but pretend even to themselves that it is for someone else.  French maids outfit, anyone?  Sexy nurse, perhaps?

(4) such is the level of our funding.

(5) Happy Valentine’s Day, scientists.  Your mate loves youse all!

Ancient Astronauts

Ancient Astronauts,

You taste like Mayans

You forbade the Israelites

eating crispy bacon

You left puzzles lying round

for us to find

Don’t you think that that

was rather unkind?

Your mysteries got us thinking

which interfered with

our time for drinking.

You built the Sphinx

You built Ancient Rome

Then you left us alone

when you returned home.

Ancient Astronaut Dad

do you love me the most?

I’ve made your favourite meal

Canned spaghetti on toast*.

*****

*Coming soon.  With pictures.#

#Don’t build it up too much idiot, its not that good.%

%Neither is this poem.^

^Poem?  You call this a poem.  This is rubbish.  But its Saturday and I had to post something.”

“Well what are you going to post on your poetry blog then>

> ……………..  the same thing?

The portal to all things Joe Chippish is here, just a click away.