An acquaintance of mine died from drinking two liters of vodka in about 20 minutes, about two weeks ago. He was 20.

But thin as a rail, and not too smart...

The willingness to dedicate oneself to work that is inspiring, fun or satisfying but ultimately impractical is the source of all great art. And humanity just can't help doing it.

Sounds like the beginnings of a particularly bad sci-fi horror flick from the 1950's.

Fascinating and Creepy.

I have this dream of being able to do ths for any town or city -- either in half-life or otherwise -- as a sort of fundraising thing like the run of local-version Monopoly games you used to see.

I, personally, would like a virtual version of my home town, that I could plug into different kinds of game scenarios, zombie invasion being what I would really like to play out.

I would bet realtors could be behind such a project, too.

I was beginning to think all horror paleontology came from New Zealand!

nts: write a (cc) short story about all various paleontological critters coming back.

I wonder if the recent upswing of oddity stories over the past few years is simply a case of more reporting, or are there more viable mutations and oddities than usual of late? And/or a more ability and willingness to keep them alive?

Or, you know, signs of the Apocalypse.

In any case, we seem to continually be marching forward into science fiction.

Well, I certainly lust after this, and have ceased feeling sad that I did not yet have any of the Twin Peaks DVDs.

Well a Scotsman clad in kilt rode a bike one evening fair
And one could tell by how he rode he'd drunk more than his share
He rode around until he found a nice and clean motel
Then stumbled off into his room and brought his bike as well
O, Ring ding-iddle-iddle I de-oh, ring di-diddly-I-ay,
He stumbled off into his room and brought his bike as well

About that time two young and lovely maids just happened by
One says to the other with a twinkle in her eye
"See yon single room, 7B on the first floor?
We should go and clean it now, but first I'll knock upon the door"
O, Ring ding-iddle-iddle I de-oh, ring di-diddly-I-ay,
"We should go and clean it now, but first I'll knock upon the door"

They knocked upon that Scotsman's door as firmly as could be
And knocked again and one more time and pulled out the passkey
And there behold, for them to see, the Scotsman stood unclad
A-humping at his bicycle and frigging it like mad
O, Ring ding-iddle-iddle I de-oh, ring di-diddly-I-ay,
A-humping at his bicycle and frigging it like mad

They marveled for a moment, then one said "we must be gone
Let's call the cops and nick this perv before he is quite done"
And so they left and called the pigs who rushed right to the scene
And locked him up and took his bike for a truly thorough clean
O, Ring ding-iddle-iddle I de-oh ring di-diddly-I-ay,
And locked him up and took his bike for a truly thorough clean

Now the Scotsman sits in jail with all the murderers and thieves
And mourns now for his bicycle, and no one quite believes
The tale he tells is true and is the only reason he,
A geriatric biker's on th'offender registry!
O, Ring ding-iddle-iddle I de-oh, ring di-diddly-I-ay,
A geriatric biker's on th'offender registry!