Intergalactic DRM: Solar Storms and the Reckoning to Come

In 1859 there was a solar storm so tough that telegraph wires burst into flames. The exact same thing is going to happen again in 2012, which, if you are a crazy person, will seem awfully convenient. The sun is constantly owning us - busting up our RAIDs, tiring out our sheep, and generally entropying our shit up.

And while the flaming telegraph thing is probably something to do with how stupidly long those wires were... you know... maths... scientists still recommend that you should start wrapping your ipod in pink bats sometime around 2011.

Do you need to wrap all your electronic devices? Well, only the ones you want to keep.

What does this have to do with copyright, the internet blackout, and Judith Tizzard? YOUR TORRENTS WILL ALL BE BURNT UP BY THE FUCKING SUN.

Then, thankfully, we can all return to happily paying out the ass for mechanical reproductions of mainstream dross produced by a crowd of ageing industry insiders. And Chloe Smith will be able to pay off her car or whatever. The End.

[Yeah I know stuff from our sun isn't so much 'intergalactic'. I'm really sorry.]

Case Closed, Great Job

I was going to enlist the help of our very own realgoddamnmurderpolice, P. Wolf, to crack the case of the missing Tim & Eric post. But all that was needed was a little investigative journalism HAB4U style. It would seem that Google has been fucking with our shit, removing copyrighted content and generally acting like some kind of over-zealous, power tripping prefect telling you to pull up your socks and demanding a lunch pass.

SegaCD Sales Up Slightly in my Nightmares

When you've fake-reviewed every imaginary banned VHS release you can find, which is two, you start to wonder where to from here? The obvious answer is sega CD games (or... this thing). Especially the ones by Digital Pictures, which, much like those old VHS releases, are somehow permanently imprinted in the 10-year-old-kid creeped-out zone of my brain without my ever having actually gone near them.

There's something really disturbing about the whole live-video game genre that I can't put my finger on. More specifically - and sure, be as sarcastic as you want - Night Trap is actually the creepiest fucking THING EVER. And if Lieberman hadn't slapped his ban hand across its face, god surely would have. Here's a review by some guy who, for the first 30 seconds or so, is completely on form:

Interns, Warblogging, and the Fate That Awaits Us

The war, lost before it even really began, haunts me as I stagger through the corridors of parliament: the select committee meeting is already closed. The walls are slippery some strange condensation; produced by the slow and rising broil of collective failure, it tastes a little like this blog. It dampens the back of my shirt as I crouch low against it. The carpet is also not very good for some reason.

How did we get here? Interns. Bland pictureless mindholes punctuated with charmless slang, their posts paw affectlessly at the eyes. And the eyes themselves? Damaged in the simple act of tracing characters so haphazardly collected, they revolt.

There is no haiku with which to fire you all.

Memoryblogging Christchurch Casino

If you like smoking in a tiny tiled garden with no plants, and crave all the crapness of being inside someone's half renovated crapshack and none of the stop-the-rain-hitting-you power of actually being indoors, then you you'd love smoking at Christchurch casino. But this isn't about smoking.

If you're anything like me then loosing 8 dollars puts you on tilt for well over 1000000 years. The obvious thing to do at such a point in your evening is to load up on subsidised beer and wander aimlessly through the slot machines searching for an unattended middle aged woman of medium attractiveness to sit next to. Dropping in 8 dollars (so you look like a business man), leaning back awkwardly, and eventually fighting down the staggers long enough to say 'lucky night tonight?' should generally lead to a scenario in which no one really gets off (makes you look like a business man) and a 25 year marriage is destroyed.

But shit don't play like that at Christchurch Casino. I guess 40 is about the age you realise you'd rather definitely loose 80 dollars than have a brief affair with an idiot... In the Christchurch Casino bathrooms.

Other things you should be warned of: a) People who describe poker hands that you weren't even in are fucking dicks b) They let this one down-syndrome guy play $10 a hand blackjack. c) You're not allowed to use an ipod. d) Coffee is free when you're playing stuff. e) The way asian people carry their gambling makes everyone else in the world look like absolute total bitches.

Memoryblog over.

Judith Tizard to Pirates: I Suck.

Speaking of politics, what the fuck? For all I know this has been all over the local papers and TVs (I've been busy watching the US... they have this show on now about a zillion year old man and his thick jailbait daughter. Also some Muslim dude is about to get a job? Anyway...).

Frankly I wouldn't read a New Zealand newspaper if one floated into my bed on Sunday morning, and for some reason the only way to get bacon into my mouth was to glance at it. That's not the point though. The point is that Judith Tizard wants to shut off everyone's internet forever because the poor geniuses that green-lighted Sione’s Wedding caught channel-conflict and died. Also some artists had to get mortgages on their homes or something.

To the artists: Harden the fuck up. You may have to supplement those taxpayer subsidies and grants by doing something slightly more creative than pawning your shit off to moronic publishers and distributors who then drip feed it out to the public in ways they clearly no longer value.

Also since when was the creative life a stable middle-class "I own a house outright, imagine the drama if I had to borrow against it" sort of profession? [ED: well... kind of since forever, but your point that they're a bunch of babies still stands] Where's the heart?

Tizard and company: You're the worst people ever. This obvious BS was addressed NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM select committee NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM 'big content' NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM learn to internet NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM etc.

Artist's rendition of Tizard explaining to one of my daughters why she can no longer see her online boyfriend:

[ED: I have to suspect that this absurd cosiness between the Labour cabinet and lazy chump content distributors is related to the completely batshit insane idea that the movie and music industries are somehow important to the New Zealand economy, in a meaningful or long term way - an idea pedalled by politicos in a sad attempt to get in with the cool kids finally. I don't know... maybe non-dying businesses throw lousy parties? Anyway if our associate commerce minister and cabinet want to fret about the economy and intellectual property law then how about allowing us a credible biotech sector? Also: NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM]

hab4u Banned, Not Banned

If you're reading this then wtf right? But yeah, something fishy is going on with our domains and tubes and diodes and stuff. We apologise to our advertisers and investors. I have to assume this is the work of Tiki, Viggi, or one of the seven people in England who use their computers for something other than adding football themed GIFs to their myspace pages. I'd provide links back to those posts, but it probably wouldn't work. Things are that bad.

[Update: All fixed. Take that Viggi, you saucy depressed dancing stereotype.]

Banned for Life

An attempt by a rampant, full-blown hab4u reader to put Mr. Taane's commendable record of support for the natural sciences into public record has been defeated by some guy who apparently checks Tiki's wikipedia entry every half hour lest important completely non-creepy information, like what is tattooed on his ass, gets mixed up with our apparently disreputable journalism. Updates on Dramatic, the deep-south super-troll, coming soon. Of course.

Reviews: Mother FakeCrate (1986)

Continuing on with the whole banned VHS theme, we have Mother FakeCrate (1986). The basic story is that it's the future (around now I guess), and there aren't any young people who want to work because they're all really busy "springloading". That's like drugs but it's done with a big spike into the chin and computers. I think it's a little bit like watching DVDs. Anyway at the docks there's no one to load crates on to the boats. So the lady who runs the docks decides to get a team of old men to help. Anyway the old men are lazy and ethnic, and she quickly tires of them and their lame tales of the old country. One of them gets his face buffed off on one of those motorised workshop sharpeners. Another tries to swim to safety and gets sucked into the fan of a hydrofoil (what? it's the future).

This was also called 'The Older You Work' in the US. It's an easy 3/5, but to be honest I don't really care. As long as P-mans disgusting eye awesome eye, what, put it back, I'm not bothered, is no longer the leader is everywhere I look, everywhere, for ever.

Eye Trauma- the reality

yeah so a couple of months ago I got hit with a piece of cardboard in my eye a wizard cast a spell that gave me  the ability to shoot flowers out of my eye. Then a unicorn spoke to me. It was was the happiest day of my life.

P.S hope this post dont give you babies nightmares

Tami-Flu

P-Wolf here. Yeah, so I just got back from house/dog sitting, all ready to blog and what have you, and then...wham! Flu hits, in a big way. Sure there was sneezes, coughs, fevers, aches, but what got to me most was the delirium. From what I can piece together, I had a recurring dream in which I was responsible for the financing of what I think was a play. Some unnamed fat guy gave me me occasional advice, but mostly I was alone,confused and lost in New York City, unsure how to go ahead with this project I knew very little about. thinking about it is bringing up some shit for me, I'm gonna have to stop. Thanks for listening. If this post brought up any flu issues for you please don't hesitate to call me.

House Sitting, the Reality

Yeah i been house sitting for like the last 1000 years. Blogging went by the wayside, replaced by responsibilities. Responsibilities like walking the dogs, like feeding the dogs, and like making sure the dogs were inside if it was rainy.

Point is, I'm back home now and ready to blog, in a big way.

Thieves and impostors: An update.

As I've mentioned hundreds of times in previous posts, there are some unscrupulous web-masters out there trying to pass off their content and services as belonging to the haveababyforyou brandspace. Rather than kill all these people HAB4U has made this impossibly flash and difficult to fake badge. Where you see it you can be sure that you are soaking up genuine HAB4U produce.

NB: Do not copy this badge.

This Blog Watch

Music recommendations? A month old search start-up run by ex-google fuckups? It's OK... build the community... then fire them...