xkcd vs. MATT

It's understated... yet pathetic.

I'm the guy who sucks, plus I got depression

do u still h8 illmatic (xp)

http://www.flickr.com/photos/23283084@N05/2733156024/

^ trex four square

http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/regrets.png
can this guy write his self-help book & stfu already

if these people got any help xkcd wouldn't need to exist

if these people got any help xkcd ilx wouldn't need to exist

http://xkcd.com/175/

http://craphound.com/images/kfjhdkjghdfgIMG_0537.jpg

This XKCD shit is nothing more than a hip version of purple ronnie, no? I hate it.

lol xkcd "hip"

presumably in the same way that cosplay is hip

http://www.ichizen.com/goat/goat_shopping/images/2002_05_08_02.jpg

maybe shd have put "hip" in inverted commas, eh.

still wish we could have gotten reddit readers to come here for the counterfeit thread :(

http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/x_girls_y_cups.png
why is this is a comic? wtf is the point of this? why not just have a blog
?? it really pisses me off that people who obviously don't give a shit about cartooning as an artform are using it and getting more shine than actually funny actually talented artists

Prob much funner if that were plotted as a 3d continuously differentiable manifold.

^^^^^^ omg lolz so true!

^^^^^^^ doesnt care about trophy wives

and what OTM. i can't wait for him to have a show on Adult Swim

ha i never thought of that but its a great comparison - when you think about all the great animators like bob clampett and tex avery and dave fleischer and chuck jones and bruce timm, serious people who seriously labored over this shit and really cared about making it work as animation, not just using it as a static delivery method for bad jokes, and now the most popular cartoons are fuckin family guy and some shockwave flash mouse-dragging garbage on nickelodeon and adult swim it makes me wanna kill myself

ya seriously non-sequitur-filled adult stoner flash cartoons are the WORST

something about being too pandered to...

http://image.hotrod.com/f/editorials/you-know-what-grinds-my-gears/1034951+w500+cr1+re0+ar1/what-grinds-my-gears.jpg

Federal Reserve Skateboard: A Short Story

(Written after sitting in a car for five hours listening to financial news stories.)

——-

Damn these subprime lenders, thought Fed Chairman Ben Bernanke, barely keeping his balance on the wobbling skateboard. We can’t afford more debt. He snapped a grappling-hook-tipped quarrel into his crossbow as the skateboard slowed. When the country owes trillions and is asking for more, its shadowy creditors start calling in favors.

The crossbow twanged, carrying his climbing rope up the side of the Federal Reserve building. As he began his ascent, he reflected on the years past. I inherited a broken system, he insisted to himself. We’re simply doing what’s required to prevent a catastrophe. It’s not my fault.

He tossed his skateboard over the parapet and hauled himself over. He dropped six feet to the roof, landed heavily on the board, and trundled on into the night.

——-

From her perch in a tree across the street, the blogger watched through her blogoscope as Bernanke disappeared over the wall. She spoke quietly into her radio: “Subject is in the haybarn. The chickens are in danger of roosting.”

“Roger that,” came the reply. “Deploying Agent Harpsichord.”

——-

Inside, Bernanke moved along the wall like a shadow, elongating and contracting as the light sources shifted around him. In the midst of a sea of filing cabinets, he froze. He sniffed the air, then dropped to his knees, licked the floor, and paused. Yes, he thought, Greenspan was definitely here.

——-

The blogger had waited five minutes and was starting to get impatient. She picked up the radio. “Situation imminent. Pass the ducklings through the snorkel. Repeat: Pass the ducklings through the snorkel.”

“We are go for mode Sinatra,” replied the commander. “Reticulate core and set throttle to ‘cryptic’. Prepare to jitterbug.”

——-

Bernanke forced the door on yet another inner office, realizing too late that the light was on inside. The chair in the corner swiveled around, and Bernanke found himself face-to-face with Alan Greenspan. There was silence for a moment.

“You won’t get away with this,” said Greenspan, rising to his feet. “The Fed is subject to general congressional oversight. But you never understood that, did you?”

“Congress sold out the country, not me,” replied Bernanke. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” said Greenspan. He flicked open a switchblade.

——-

The blogger peered once more into the eyepiece of her blogoscope. She threw the switch labeled “overlay building schematics.” The external view of the building disappeared, but instead of blueprints, she was presented with a green puzzle piece. “This view requires the Adobe Flash Player plug-in. Do you want to search for this plug-in now?”

Shit, she thought.

——-

Bernanke, trying not to slip in the patches of blood on the floor, struggled with Greenspan. The older man moved like a snake that moved like a former Fed Chairman who moved like a ninja. At last, Bernanke got a solid grip on Greenspan’s collar and hurled him through the fourth wall, knocking you to the ground.

Improvising a tourniquet from the remains of the snake left over from the earlier simile, Bernanke moved on through the hallways.

——-

The moonlight-bathed roof of the Federal Reserve building fell suddenly into shadow. A pair of night watchman looked up in alarm to see what had occluded the sky.

“Is that …” one whispered to the other, “… is that a blimp?”

——-

Bernanke reached the central vaults, accessed the Gibson mainframe, and began transmitting the requested files to his distant masters. He didn’t hear the gentle thud on the rooftop, the muffled explosive charges, or the sound of the door opening behind him. But at the last minute some sixth sense kicked in. He spun around just in time to see a golf-ball-sized lump of gold rapidly expanding in his vision. It struck him in the forehead, and he collapsed to the ground like a burlap sack full of scrapple.

Congressman Ron Paul retrieved the gold nugget from the floor and returned it to his satchel. “Try that,” he said, donning his sunglasses, “with a fiat currency.” He spun on his heel, cape swirling behind him, and swept from the room.

Read more of these adventures in the thrilling new novel, Ron Paul and the Chamber of Commerce — in bookstores now!

http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/the_end_is_not_for_a_while.pnghttp://www.simpsoncrazy.com/gallery/screenshots/s3/8f01_017.jpg

http://xkcd.com/484/

^ did this need a caption?

GAME STATION 20,000

The recent powers of ten ones. Good grief.

Anything particularly bad about them other than being unfunny?

GAME STATION 20,000

― TOMBOT, Tuesday, October 7, 2008 12:32 PM (10 minutes ago) Bookmark

Bbbbbut he might get sued if he had used a real brand

Just that they are not funny and they have more attempts at jokes than usual by virtue of their size.

But while I'm on the subject, his jokes (which are really just banal observations) are designed massage the egos of the weenies I encounter every day. They imagine they are part of the 2% of the population who get them, and the very fact that only 2% of the population get them is what makes them funny. It's totally circular bullshit, which they should be able to spot since every fucking one of them has read Gödel, Escher and Bach.

Although the fact that I encounter weenies every days says more about me as it does about them.

your memoirs should be called "weenies every days"

subtitle
"by virtue of their size"

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/uk/scotland/article4916946.ece

O Natalie, O TBA, O Tusja: I had long assumed the terrorsits balaclava that you sport on the cover of Annule -
which was, for too long, the only image of you I possesed -
was there to conceal some ugliness or deformity
or perhaps merely spoke (and here, I hoped against hope) of a
young woman struggling
with a crippling shyness. How richly this latter theory has been confirmed by my Googling!

O who is this dark angel with her unruly Slavic eyebrows
ranged like two duelling pistols, lightly sweating in the pale light
of the TTF screen?
O behold her shaded, infolded concentration, her
heartbreakingly beautiful face so clearly betraying the tru focus
of one not merely content - as, no doubt, were others at the
Manover Elektronische Festival in Wien -
to hit play while making some fraudulent correction to a
volume slider
but instead deep in the manipulation of somecomplex
real-time software such as Ableton Live, MAX/MSP
or Supercollider.

O Natalie, how can I pay tribute to your infinitely versatile
blend of Nancarrow, Mille Plateaux, Venetian Snares, Xenakis,
Boards of Canada and Nobukazu Takemura
to say nothing of those radiant pads - so strongly reminiscent
of the mid-century bitonal pastoral of Charles Koechlin in their
harmonic bravura -
or your fine vocals, which, while admittedly limited in range
and force, are nonetheless so much more affecting than the
affected Arctic whisperings of those interchangably dreary
Stinas and Hannes and Bjorks, being in fact far closer in spirit
to a kind of glitch-hop Blossom Dearie?

I have also deduced from your staggeringly ingenious
employment of some pretty basic wavetables
that unlike many of your East European counterparts, all your
VST plug-ins, while not perhaps the best available,
probably all have a legitimate upgrade path - indeed I imagine
your entire DAW as pure as the driven snow, and not in any way
buggy or virusy
which makes me love you more, demonstrating as it does an
excess of virtue given your country's well-known talent for
software piracy.

Though I should confess that at times I find your habit of
maxxing
the frequency range with those bat-scaring ring-modulated
sine- bursts and the more distressing psychoacoustic properties
of phase-inversion in the sub-bass frequencies somewhat taxing
you are nonetheless as beautiful as the mighty Boards
themselves in your shamless organicizing of the code,
as if you had mined those saw and squares and ramps straight
from the Georgian motherlode.

O Natalie - I forgive you everything, even your catastrophic
adaptation of those lines from 'Dylan's' already shite
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
in the otherwise magnificent 'Sleepwalkers', and when you
open up those low-
pass filters in what sounds like a Minimoog emulation they
seem to open in my heart also...

At least, my dear, let me wish you the specific best:
may you be blessed
with the wonderful instrument you deserve, with a 2 Ghz
dual-core Intel chip and enough double-pumped DDR2 RAM
for the most CPU-intensive processes;
then no longer will all those goreous acoustic spaces

be accessible only via an offline procedure involving a freeware
convolution reverb and an imperfectly recorded impulse
response of the Concertgebouw made illegally with a hastily-
erected stereo pair and an exploded crisp bag

for I would have all your plug-ins run in real-time, in the
blameless zero-latency heaven of the 32-bit floating-point
enviroment, with no buffer-glitch or freeze or dropout or lag;
I would also grant you a MIDI controller of such responsiveness,
such smoothness of automation, travel and increment
that you would think it a transparent intercessor, a mere
copula, and feel machine and animal suddenly blent...

Forward Prize for Poetry judges don't read much then?

Presumably not. They have one opportunity to get quoted in the press each year, and this is the prose they come up with:

“No poet can possibly have done more to elevate our awareness of a pop star or the benefits of Google as Don Paterson does in Love Poem for Natalie “Tusja” Beridze. This is an impassioned love poem for a distant and not yet very famous, although becoming more so by the minute, idol,” Ms Hughes said.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/telegraph/multimedia/archive/01007/matt111008_1007627a.jpg

yeah, cuz people dress like tramps on dress down friday?!?!

A lot of the stuff in these comics I feel I could ignore or whatever if someone I knew just said them in kind of a glib or offhand manner (or, say, were running their mouth on a message board), but this shit is someone's message.

(ok, some of it is straight up punchable, regardless)

imo this one kind of otm
http://kotaku.com/assets/resources/2008/02/xkcdwrongoninternet.jpg

is that the newest one on DRM?

even the scratchy way xkcd guy draws and his handwriting creep me out.

http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/cartoonlounge/2008/10/cartoonoff-xkcd.html

katz's "favorite animal eating your favorite food" deserves more recognition.

hey, this unfunny shitstain got some love from the new yorker, that's fantastic

And Matt got some luv from the London Review of Books recently.