Across the street, a Wi-Fi makes a Gigabyte of Torrents. Next door, your neighbor’s Broadband has a Trojan Virus. Even in your own home, your daughter’s MySpace could be infected with Child Pedophiles.

But did you know that the Bluetooth that you wear on your ear could be teeming with Identity Theft, threatening to expose your private information to Spyware and Hackers?

We confronted Paul Nadir, a resident of Tulsa, OK who uses all kinds of gadgets and devices ranging from Web 2.0 XBoxes to dozens of Bluetooths — all likely to have Identity Theft and possibly even Terrorism — about the threat that he was spreading Wirelessly to all of his friends and family.

“What, this? No, it’s called a headset, not a Bluetooth,” he ranted nigh-incomprehensibly. “Bluetooth is just the name of the wireless technology that it uses to interface with your phone.” This impenetrable string of gobbledygook, a clear attempt to confuse us into giving him access to our Blog Firewalls, continued unabated for another minute before our blank nodding placated him enough to make him go away.

It is obvious that Nadir hoped to give us Identity Theft so that we could unwittingly pass it on to infect someone else’s Hi-Def. That said, there are several measures that you can take to protect yourself from this new technological nightmare:

1. If you have a Bluetooth, take it immediately to your nearest RadioShack or CompUSA to have an Antivirus performed.
2. If a friend gives you an EMail on your phone that contains MP3s, print them out in a Facebook before reading them.
3. If you think you have Identity Theft, remain calm. Cancel your Social Security Number and notify the Computer official at your local police station.

The most important thing that you can do right now is to be aware and informed. Keep reading Hindrances to Progress to be kept abreast of this rapidly growing catastrophe.

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There’s a new sexual epidemic sweeping America and possibly the world, and it has conservatives and religious officials up in arms.

They’re calling it breastfeeding. All across the nation, mothers of infants and toddlers are participating in what they claim to be an ancient practice, placing their nipples in the mouths of their children for extended periods of time, in an apparent attempt to substitute the act for nourishment.

Undine Proctor, a mid-western mother of twin babies, staunchly defends her ritual of putting the mouths of her children on her breast several times each day, despite their obvious inability to give sexual consent.

“There are plenty of studies out there that say this is better than formula,” says Proctor. “It’s good for your baby’s immune system.”

Dr. Ungress, a Professor at Brown University who teaches several graduate and undergraduate courses on sexuality and sexual health, disagrees.

“There is significant research to suggest that infants who are breastfed [against their will] grow up to be [un]healthy … and substantially [less] resistant to disease [and corruption. In addition, most clergy agree that breasts serve no reproductive function.]”

As many as 66% of American mothers “breastfeed” their children (the number is believed to be even higher in developing nations), and of those, nearly 22% do so for longer than six months after childbirth.

The trend has become pandemic in recent years, with Pope Benedict XVI issuing a condemnation of the act, in an attempt to stem the breastfeeding tide.

“In this time of widespread questionable morals, we must remember that it is God’s way to test our faith, and this was most apparent when He created womankind. The regular temptations that females provide must be resisted, or our society will crumble into a chaos of hedonism, sex, and breasts. We must take care to reeducate the world’s mothers that ‘breastfeeding’ is impure in the eyes of God.”

A disturbing ritual…

Under conditions of anonymity, one mother agreed to demonstrate the act of breastfeeding. Please be advised that the following description is of a sexually graphic nature.

“I can tell by the way my baby cries whether she’s hungry,” she began as she lowered the strap on her dress, exposing her swollen breast. A small amount of a milky white substance was dribbling from her nipple.

“I just raise her head up to my breast like so,” she said as she brought the infants mouth dangerously close to her nipple, “And she latches on and begins to suck.” The baby then took the nipple into her mouth and stopped crying immediately, most likely due to suffocation.

The child unknowingly participated in the act for several minutes. During the duration, the mother smiled coyly, clearly enjoying the intercourse.

What to do if your mother puts her breast in your mouth…

Most mothers commit the act of breastfeeding with noble intentions. While we cannot fault them for allowing themselves to become swayed by the agenda of the mammary activists, you must take action to protect yourself and your mother from the repercussions of this practice.

Women are frequently emotional and are easily upset, and so you should be careful to keep the situation from becoming a potentially violent confrontation. If your mother puts her breast in your mouth, you should gently remind her that you do not approve of breastfeeding.

“Offer an alternative activity, such as Bible readings, to help distract her from this urge,” says Dr. Allan Milo, a psychologist who runs a breastfeeding reeducation center in Vorhees, NJ. “It is unlikely that any mother will be willing to change overnight. Patience is important.”

There are many centers like Dr. Milo’s set up around the United States that offer courses and reading material to help you to educate your mother about the potential danger of breastfeeding.

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“Help me sell my CDs and shirts,” he beseeched the world. “Please, or there will be no hope for the children!” I could sense the air of desperation in his plea. My duty, my very purpose in life, was clear: I would man Jonathan Coulton’s merchandise table, and the cosmos would be at peace.

With my friend, Melissa, in tow, or rather, in tow by my friend, Melissa, because she drove, I made the journey to Milkboy Coffee in Ardmore, Pennsylvania. In my secret communications with Mr. Coulton - also known as “JoCo”, also known as “JC”, though that’s blasphemy - via the speedy, “hi-tek” services of electronic post, I established my identity as a dark-haired, quarter-Asian male, who would be wearing a “tee-shirt” designed by Paul Southworth called The Morning After, and my cohort’s identity as a dark-haired female carrying an eggroll. He informed me that he would meet Melissa and me near his goods, cryptically pointing out that it would be “obvious” where they are. The thrill of mystery wafted through my nostrils, tickling the follicles.

We cautiously approached the performance hall, prepared for a tense hunt, but there sat Jonathan, in plain view, near the door. Such brass! His bone crushing, no-nonsense handshake reminded me of the unyielding but well-meaning beratements that once issued forth from my commanding officer in Vietnam. I felt a pining tear well up, but quickly blinked it away, for I knew that no grief could bring Sergeant Ralleigh to join us there, because he drank a lot, and had lost his driver’s license. He also lived very far away, but not so far that it was worth the money to buy a bus ticket.

Okay, I can’t keep this up anymore. I’m going to talk normal now.

After allowing myself three seconds to squeal at the poor guy, because I’m kind of a fan, we stood around and chewed the fat for a few minutes, discussing the eggroll that I had mentioned when we talked over email that I also managed to forget to bring (We’re trying to turn it into an Internet meme, you see, and what better way to do that than by getting its picture taken with Jonathan Coulton, who is himself an Internet meme), until it came time for him to go in back and get ready to play. He handed me an envelope full of money, instructed me on what to charge for what, and off he went. On his way back, one girl there handed him a big tray of cookies. I became very jealous.

A few minutes later, he climbed up onto the stage and opened up with The Future Soon.

Here he is, playing that song.

And then, he played some other songs. I don’t remember the order, but we got all of the fan favorites, such as Ikea, Shop Vac, Skull Crusher Mountain, and Code Monkey. I very likely forgot a few. He closed with a sing-along version of Re: Your Brains.

And now, he’s playing some other song. Might have been Code Monkey. It works better as an acoustic than I had expected. (Sorry these are blurry, by the way - My camera doesn’t do too well when you don’t use the flash.)

He finished his set, and then people came over and started buying t-shirts and CDs from me, which meant that the plan to sell t-shirts and CDs had worked. I was surprised by how many people bought the full set of CDs that he had there, though, admittedly, I shouldn’t be, because he’s great and all.

The guy playing after him came on and did his thing, and then more people came by to buy stuff. Once everything settled down, Melissa and I got a chance to just sit around and chill with Jonathan for a half-hour or so. Very cool guy in person, as laid back as anyone should dare to be without the proper equipment. We talked about such mundanity as grad school, Connecticut, and Jettas. I offered to buy him a beer, but he had to drive home to Brooklyn that night, and I didn’t really want him to die. I daresay I would be distraught if that happened.

Eventually, it was time for everyone to go home. Jonathan made sure to remind us about his next visit to Milkboy in December, which I will have to try to hit up, and then we accosted him one last time for pictures.

Jonathan Coulton posing for a digital photograph with Melissa.

Me posing for a digital photograph - Jonathan Coulton happens to be in it.
Jonathan freaking Coulton.

Before we left, I made sure to give him the URL for Hindrances (which may be why you’re reading this right now), and Melissa gave him the URL for the eggroll’s MySpace. Back outside, I allowed myself one last squeal, because I had totally just hung out with Jonathan Coulton. At home, I blew the photo of him and myself up into an 8×10.

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I have created the greatest party game of all time. Years upon months of painstakeous dedicamotion and imagimechaniceering have gone into the development of what will undoubtedly become the primary pastime of freedom-nonhating liberty huggers around the world. Ladies, gentlemen, and taxable aliens, I present to you: Pants or Shot, a game for two or more players.

Players all sit or stand in a circle, draw straws to determine who goes first, and then play proceeds clockwise. At each turn, you, the player, have two choices: take a shot, or take off your pants. Eventually, one by one, each player will become drunk enough to choose Pants instead of Shot.

The best part about this game is, everybody is a winner!

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One of the most devastating moments in a man’s life is when a hot chick catches him picking his nose.

My cubemate’s fish takes hours to poop. Shortly after being fed in the morning, a tubular formation will gradually grow out from just in front of its ventral fin, trailing it for most of the day like a banner being flown behind a plane. I am certain that, if one were to examine it closely, one would find the words “Eat At Joe’s” printed on it in tiny fish letters.

In other news, Barenaked Ladies’ next album will be called Tiny Fish Letters. Well, okay, the next BNL album is called Barenaked Ladies Are Me, but Tiny Fish Letters would also have been very good.

I realized today, during my morning shower musings, that it is impossible to be only part-cyborg. I’ve heard the terms part-cyborg and half-cyborg used before, and it did not occur to me until now that if you are part-cyborg, then you are completely cyborg. Here’s the proof, written in layman terms:

Define the statement “is a cyborg” as C. C is true if and only if 0 < a < 1, where a is the proportion of a body’s mass that is cybernetic.

Now say that a is equal to any b0 that fulfills the requirements for a. If we define b1 as being equal to b0/x, where x is some positive number greater than 1, then we have effectively created something that is part-cyborg. However, if 0 < b0 < 1 is true, then 0 < b1 < 1 must also be true (trivial - no justification necessary). Therefore, b1, which we purported to denote a part cyborg, actually denotes a full cyborg. QED

The following words and phrases must never, ever be spoken in the lyrics of a rock song. They have been sung to death. Let them go.
- California
- You know it’s true
- Deep inside of me
- Rock and Roll
- Baby
- Honey
- I can’t hide this feeling
- Girl (as a proper noun)
- You know what I’m talkin’ about
- All night long
- Like I knew you would
- It’s now or never

I try not to hold my doodoo in when I can help it; I go as soon as the fancy strikes me. This is because my number could be up at any moment, and when I die, I don’t want to be emptying my bowels while some hot chick is crying over my dead body, wishing that she had told me how she felt about me sooner. It would completely ruin the moment.

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