Do Fishes Dream of Aquatic Sheep?

So you're walking down the street, wondering what is going to drop out of the sky for lunch today; whether it will be the huge torn chunks of bread, or the grains of dried macro proteins and vitamins (which don't have the same great flavour). Suddenly, the sky darkens, and for a moment you're thinking it's the giant hand with the algae flakes; but it just keeps getting darker and darker.

Then, a shimmer, a distortion in the fabric of reality, quickly spreading across the grey sky before it fades away. You look around expectantly for the dehydrated shrimp to come floating down, but there's nothing around you. The sky ripples again, a smaller one this time; then another, then another; the concentric circles vaguely hypnotizing, but apparently harmless. And then there's the sound, like a million drums pounding out of rhythm, but muffled, muted.

A sudden flash of clarity strikes you, and in your mind's eye you see your planet in its entirety: oblong and transparent, from the top surface of the atmosphere to the very bedrock on the bottom, with the large mechanical filter running down one side. And you see - no, sense - these enormous asteroids of air, gigantic balls of invisible gas, hurtling toward the surface of your planet, their impact sending shockwaves across the surface of your atmosphere, before merging with it and becoming one. The ripples peter out, slowly dissipating, until there is only one every few seconds, before they fade away completely, and the sky slowly gets bright again.

The vision is still clear in your mind. You have seen the planet - you know how the universe works! You are undoubtedly a prophet, a soothsayer, a wise man - it must be your destiny to share your wisdom with the world, and lead your people towards greater enlightenment and-

Hey look! Earthworm! On a hook! Woooooo!

Have you ever wondered what fish think rain is?
The Edna Man

Awkward Penguins

I recently made a Facebook status about how I'd grow up and write a book called "How to Introduce One Group of Awkward Friends to Another Group of Awkward Friends and Get Them to Talk In Five Easy Steps", because it's one of those things that life doesn't teach you, you know? Hell, I've been on the awkward receiving end before, and I'm telling you, it's not pretty.

So hilariously, people from all over my friends list are liking it and commenting on it. People whom I've known for years as GEPs, old teachers, army friends and now my university-mates. But the hilariously, ironically hilarious part is that NONE OF THEM TALKED TO EACH OTHER, which is just so... life is so absurd, you know?

Hilariously absurd.
The Edna Man

He Died Laughing

I, being of sound mind, do hereby declare that my funeral must be a comedy.

My grandfather passed away on Sunday, a couple of months after my grandmother. My uncle also passed away earlier this year. I've been to a number of wakes and funerals this past few months and, after experiencing the solemnity and heavy-heartedness, I am dead certain that I don't want mine to be the same.

So this is a pre-recorded message to my friends, my family, the people who knew me and will know me: my memorial will be hilarious. Because I believe that it should not be about mourning death, but celebrating life. Because life is a joke, and death is the punchline.

So make jokes. Do tricks. Laugh. Pun. Write satirical eulogies. Subvert traditions and challenge conventions. Be unconventional. Make it themed. Make it a musical. Put the FUN back in FUNeral. Do improv. Do black humour. Do insult comedy, for all I care; it's not like I will be able to get offended or anything. Pull a Python. Rhyme.

And when you hear the dry chuckle from the recesses of the coffin, you'll know you have my approval.

Laughing all the way to the grave,
The Edna Man

The Final Terminus

The war is o'er, we're going home;
We've disconnected from the front.
There are no newer maps to roam
And no more cursèd spies to hunt.

No ducking under snipers' shots,
No more of those quick overruns;
No need to flee from one-eyed Scots,
Nor fear the howling sentry's guns.

No need to call over to heal,
Nor dread the clinging, deadly flame.
No fish or sandvich for our meal;
It's all the rage to quit this game.

From here we'll all walk our own ways;
From time's attack there's no defence.
We'll pick a class and give our days
To capturing intelligence.

But we did great things, back in our prime:
We launched a monkey into space!
The rocket jumped up over time,
And pushed the payload, won the race.

We formed a clan; the world we'd taunt!
A dominating, killing spree.
We never had much loot to flaunt,
But still one big, mad famiry.

There was no thought, back at the start,
That one day we'd run out of Steam.
We all have pushed the little cart;
We all were credits to the team.

Perhaps one day, at our own leisure,
We'll meet again to fight the fight.
But mentlegen, it's been a pleasure
To have played with you tonight.

-----

Unless it's a farm,
The Edna Man

How Many Idiots does it Take to Take a Screenshot?

It's been about two months, and the [famiry] is gonna break up.

We started playing Team Fortress 2 last year, when it came out Free-to-Play. Since then, we've had a small, slowly growing group of players, culminating in about eight to ten guys running around a virtual battlefield killing each other with rockets and fish. The [famiry] was an inside joke born in Japan when Lou Ee brought his laptop over and played TF2 on the Japanese servers.

We had a good two months, we brothers-in-arms; pushing karts, building sentries and übering heavies. We have fought together and died together, captured intelligence and defended points, and now the war is over. And we're all going home.

This morning, we tried to take a photograph - a screenshot - of us, the famiry, in-game. It took us two whole hours. Most of it was due to technical difficulties, but once we all managed to get into a single server, people kept killing the photographer, or backstabbing each other, or building sentries in a crowd of people.

I thought it was exasperating at first. Frustrating, that a bunch of supposedly mature twenty-one year olds couldn't stand still virtually for five minutes so that a screenshot could be taken. That we couldn't supress our trigger-happy urges to maim, ignite, and riddle everything in front of us.

But when the shots were taken and everything was said and done, I realised that that's what a family is. It's not perfect. They are going to annoy you at times, and be obnoxious, and irritate the hell out of you. But all that is what being a family is all about. You hate each other to death, then you laugh about it and meet up for lunch.

There are two types of family you can have. One is the one you are born with.

This is the one I made.
The Edna Man