What is beauty?
Hold up—before you say something stupid and trite and faux-poetic (fauxetic, new word, huzzah) about “a flower growing in a landfill” or “a sunset over a pile of industrial slag” or “robots making love even though their copulatory programming will lead to nothing but the masturbatory fulfillment of their twisted creators” . . . nuts, where was—? That’s right: what is beauty?
Beauty—as defined by the Evil—is an occurrence that, er, occurs when a moment of true, unfettered desperation worms its way into an otherwise banal and/or ludicrous situation. Look, we’re working with the OED people, we’ll gussy up that definition later. But for now, that’s beauty, folks.
Example? Well, the above “heartbreak of robosis” scenario’s not bad. But Evil has something else in mind:
The last 15 seconds of “Private Eyes.” That’s right . . . the Hall and Oates song.
Continue reading hall and oates and beauty and truth
Note Snoop’s upright posture and squared shoulders . . .
The National Evil likes him some science. So much so that he appends a spasmodic ! to its category tag. (OK, it’s actually an homage to Thomas Dolby. Shaddup.) When he spies an interesting nugget chipped off from man’s quest to understand the mysteries of nature, the Evil is pleased to present to you, dear reader, these findings. (Real or imagined.) He does this even though many of these nuggets are almost maddeningly dull. For example: here’s an article about the purpose of testosterone that could use some. Read it if you’d like . . . to feel the testosterone draining from you. Or! Let Evil be your guide.
Looooong story short: when talking to a woman, a man’s testosterone rises by the same amount whether she looks like a supermodel or a C.H.U.D. Relevant line:
The study’s authors believe the rise in testosterone may be an automatic and unconscious reaction that has evolved in man when faced with a woman, to prepare him for possible mating opportunities.
See? See? For Chrissakes, the article is entitled “Male lust is blind, research suggests.” And “lust” gots nothing to do with anything as dry as “mating opportunities.” Seriously: “mating opportunities?” Not “shagging opportunities?” Not “boots-knocking”? Not “tappin that ass?”
This is why robot sex will take decades to get good—because scientists have to invent our sex-slave-droids. Until Hef gets his hands on them, they’re going to be about as exciting as having sex with the publishers of this research.
Continue reading testosterone and you: bad news for wormy, desperately shy shut-in types. good news for not-hotties?