Tweetzilla

(Continued from Tales From The Yeast. First post in series- On Electricity)

Harry hit the wall so hard, it had a strange effect on his brain. He started saying illogical things that were incoherent and out of place speaking like a retard. It was not entirely obvious at first, but it didn't take long for Ron and Hermione to put two and two make a tutu.

"Are you alright?", asked Hermione, now wearing said tutu.

"Who names their phoenix Fawkes?", replied Harry.

"Erm. I guess that's a yes. Why did you run into the wall anyway?", asked Ron.

"Your mom told me to I thought he was Wall-Demort. (Teehee)", Harry tittered.

"Riiight. Well, anyway, we lost the IP that we were tracking. What do we do now?", said Ron.

"Purple?", Harry replied, half-confidently.

"I think something must've happened to him. He's acting strange. It's upto the two of us now. What do you suggest?", mumbled a frustrated Hermione.

"He's gone bonkers, really. But seriously, who does name their phoenix Fawkes?", Ron asked with a perplexed look.

"Focus!", Hermione shot out.

"Hmm. This Focus guy must be quite the retard then", Ron averred.

"Arrgh. You're of no use either. Why do -- Wait. We're in the matrix, right? And it's a perfect square (2x2). So we should be using its adjoint! Of course! What's Diagon Alley diagonally opposite to the station?", inquired Hermione, as her face suddenly lit up.

"The ice-cream parlor?", said a doubtful Ron.

"Exactly!", shrieked Hermione, switching off the light on her face, "That's what the IP was -- Ice-cream Parlor! Hurry, we must rush to it now! That's where the hacker is"

Ron, not really in the mood to question her extremely bizarre logic, wearily followed Hermione to the ice-cream place. Upon entering the place, they were greeted by the essence of some sort of a caramel-butterscotch blend. As they glanced around, they spotted him almost immediately -- huddled in the corner, packing up his laptop and finishing off the last bit of his ice cream -- the Death Eater.

"Where do you think you're going?", Ron huffed, blocking his path.

"Why should it concern you?", the man questioned, flustered.

"Aren't you the guy who just hacked into the Matrix?", Hermione said, her eyebrows a little askew.

"M-Me? No. I'm Sthar'Ur. I was j-just updating my Twitter", he stuttered, incorrectly.

"Oh, so it's your Twitter now, is it? Well then, what's your latest scoop?", said Ron, always pretty random with his puns. At the same time, he kept thinking to himself what the deal with all the weird names was.

The man reluctantly showed them his Twitter feed.
 
This is what his last tweet looked like:


...and ate it, too.

Just as Ron was about to let him go, Hermione noticed the second-last tweet in his feed:

..and while you're at it...make me a sandwitch

After much interrogation, the man revealed that he had never been contacted by Voldemort before that, and was completely surprised to see the tweet himself. Ron and Hermione then conducted a cross-reference analysis, until they stumbled upon this:



FAIL.



"So then this guy's story checks out", Ron surmised.

"Pretty much. The other thing is that Voldemort still uses the old T8 dictionary. That's why he mistyped Sugar_87 as Sthar'ur" revealed Hermione, showing Ron her T8-to-T9 converter.

Just as they started their attempt to search for Sugar_87, everything began to dissolve. The walls and the people seem to fade into a blur, and suddenly they found themselves in some sort of a lab.

"Hey, what happened?", gasped Squidward.

"Uhrhh?", is all that Spongebob managed to utter.

Their questions were answered when they finally came to, and heard a lady's crisp voice incessantly echoing -- "SIMULATION TERMINATED. SELF-DESTRUCT SEQUENCE LAUNCHED"

"Oh, no! Patrick! What did you do? We were *this* close to catching the real hacker", Squidward said.

"Well, since I was of no use, I just started photocopying all my shoes in case somebody ever stole them", Patrick replied.

"Habakawa-what? How is that even--? Are you out of your--? Ah, forget it", Squidward gave up.

"Hmm. If he's not the one responsible for this, then wh--?"

Spongebob was interrupted by a loud crashing sound that reverberated through the lab. And then a thud. Then the ground started to tremble as well.

"Oh no! I think it's got something to do with that huge creature outside. What do we do now?', said Spongebob, panicking.

What IS that thing, you ask? Well, I suppose that would require a...

[Flashback]

"I guess the red pill seems safe", said one of the bacteria, and took it from Voldemort's proffered hand. Little did he realise that he had been tricked, and he slowly transformed into a ginormous dinosaur.

But Voldemort soon had to pay for his sins in full, as the bacteria's pseudopodia seemed to have a deleterious effect on him, and suddenly made him very frail. He could sense that he was dying.

So one of his henchmen tried to inform his family of the emergency, but he ran out of balance, and had already exceeded his quota of 100 messages for that day, so he proceeded to the nearest pre-paid shop, recharged his phone, made the call, and directly told them that Voldemort was dead.

Seizing the opportunity, Pikachu grabbed the blue pill and quickly ingested it. As his body assimilated it, he turned into one of the worst beasts ever to set foot on the planet -- Man.

While this was happening, the dinosaur (let's call him Rudy) was ravaging the city. He chanced upon the lab which our trio of heroes were in, and began to attack mindlessly.

Pikachu, on the other hand realised that the dinosaur was up to no good.  So he soon formulated some sort of advanced chemical, called the Buckyball (Buck, for short) and hurled it directly at Rudy.

This triggered some sort of a fierce reaction, that generated a HUGE amount of heat, and thus generated a lot of infrared waves. But it was so hot, that due to thermal expansion, their wavelength increased and they turned red.

And that's why the entire planet was soon rendered lifeless, and completely red. This incident kind of marred the situation a bit, and that's why the planet is now called 'Mars'.

the end

[Update: Thanks to Tejus and Mohit for their help with the plot!]

Communication (s)Kills

I recently realised that communicating your ideas to others is harder than it looks (er..allow me to rephrase that). Because it is a dying art that tends to be under-estimated I suck at it. It wasn't like some sudden big flash, though. In fact, this realization actually happened in parts. It all started with...

Sentence formation

Someone on the road randomly asked me what the 3 areas I'm most weak at, were. (Hmm..that doesn't sound right)

Someone on the road randomly asked me what were the 3 areas I'm most weak in. (No)

Someone, randomly, on the road, asked me if I could list areas of my weakness, choosing the top 3. (Dude?)

Someone on the road asked me why I was in the top 3 weaklings every week. (Really? Wtf?!)

The moment I wrote the first among those sentences, I wondered - "Did I frame that sentence correctly?". The answer was a much debatable no. As you can see, it took me many attempts to realise what I was doing wrong. Know what it is? That's right-- indirect speech. Indirect speech always makes the sentence complicated to understand, said I. (Oh, crap. That was passive voice Passive voice, that was) But anyway, you got the point I was making, right?

Consider its direct counter-part, direct speech (Omg a pun). I'd suggest always preferring this. It's much simpler to comprehend. Consider the same sentence in direct speech--

Someone on the road: "Wazza?"
(Direct speech pwns indirect speech)

Much better. As I sauntered across the streets all puffed up by my new found secret to idea conveying-ness, something happened. Something I wasn't prepared for. Something that made me so conscious of what I said, that I lost control over my...

Brain-to-mouth Filter

Often, you'll find yourself in a situation wherein you need to weigh your words before letting them out. In other words, you need to make wise use of your so called brain-mouth filter. Consider incidents wherein what you were about to say and what you actually said were completely different things, and eventually ended up landing you into trouble. More often than not, what happens is that while you're considering what to say, the listener has nothing to do but to stare at your blank face. And he/she perceives you to some sort of an advanced species of moron. Case in point?

Exhibit A:

(Friend on the street, surprised to see me approaching college from the side opposite the usual one)
"Hi! How come this side?"

(Me)
"Well, actually I was late and was running so fast that I overshot the main gate, and by the time I could slow down, I had already travelled an extra 200 meters, and now I'm going back" (No, dude, say something more feasible. Anything. Atleast she won't think you're some weirdo)

"Um. Just buying some..stuff.." (No. Too vague. Be a little more precise)

"0.6"

(Friend)
"Oh, ok then... (Weirdo)"

So I decided to just go with the flow. Apparently, Unrestrained talk + Negative IQ = Bad combination. Who knew? In short, I realised that sometimes, the opposite happens. You need to be able to back up whatever rubbish you utter, just in case. Coz some people can give you a run for your money. I present to you:

Exhibit B:

(Bro)
"Hey! That neon lamp is so cool"

(Me)
"Yeah. It actually works on a super-collider nano particle technology. They use the negative free energy of plasma-neurotic electrons to achieve nearly five times the amplification of light intensity"

(Bro)
"But then it would consume about 1000 watts of power, right? Considering the bipolar nature of the mid-west region..."

At this juncture, it is wise to just shut up, as the listener has clearly shown that he can match you in intellectual bullshit. But, nooo. You have to try to go one up and dig your own grave, don't you?

(Me, ideally)
"Yeah, I thought you wouldn't realise"

(Me, actually)
"No, dude. It actually uses the quasi-inter-stellar rays from dwarf stars and black holes. So in the alternate dimension, it would consume only about 0.3 kilo joules per nano second"

(Bro)
"But that's actually more, right?"

(Me)
"Er.."

This was too much. So I resigned myself to failure. (Does that even make sense?) Anyways, I quickly realised that what I was doing wrong was choosing the wrong medium for communication. Face-to-face? Not for me. Text-based? Now, there's a thought.

Enter, Text messaging.
[Text messaging enters]

Text message - m here..ssup! hwz thngz n al (w8..iz dis my lyn?)
Me - Dude, I can't understand you at all.

Txt - its k..cuz ul gt used 2 it..
Me - Eh? I don't want to learn a new language. And how am I supposed to know if 'bt' means bat, bet, bit, bot or but?

Txt - z..u wnt t old englsh lang? thr s sme thng cald dxnry..
Me - There is? Oh this is pretty cool. It can even predict what I want to say! Neat!

Text - Does this dress make me look fat?
[Curtain falls]

So, apparently, some guy was nice enough to solve two problems at once -- illegible text and poor speed. Nifty, I thought. But this joy was also short lived, as I soon came to know about the perils of using the predictive text mode. Or, what I like to call...

T-Pain


T-Pain, short for T9 Pain, is what you get when you grow accustomed to the T9 mode, and slowly realise its many quirks. There's a reason it's called Predictive Text, and not Text Prediction. It only works about forty percent of the time. The other sixty could either annoy you to death, or send the reader into coma, or both, depending on who reads the message first. Although most of the time the message is garbled rubbish, some words could alter the meaning drastically.

(Original)
There's nothing more I want. I have you...

(T9 version)
There's noughog nope I want. I hate you...

The news will tell you that most breakups happen via text messages. What the news won't tell you is why. Now you know. But that was just a tame example. Sometimes, even the phrase 'unforeseen consequences' seems to merely pale in comparison.

(Original)
Hey..what's up? :)

(T9 version)
*Censored*

See? Told ya. So what next? Logically, I thought that I ought to take advantage of the medium a little. Think. Proof-read. Don't jump the gun, look before you leap types. So I plan, cross-discuss, weigh the pros against the cons, and only then send a message. That was until the day of..

The Delayed Compliment

[At 11 am]
(To self)
Hey, she's wearing a nice top. Maybe I should let her know. Girls like compliments. Er..it might be pretty awkward though. Ok, let's chuck the idea.

[At 3 pm]
Maybe I should tell her. What's the worst thing that could happen? Hmm..then again, even if I don't, what's the worst thing that could happen? Atleast I can avoid an awkward moment. Best to steer clear.

[At 9 pm]
Oh, what the heck. I'll just text her.

[Message delivered at 1 am]
hey...nice top :) :)

[Reply at 1:01]
er..i'm not wearing one (Weirdo)

Just great. Now I had a few seconds to think of a good recovery line. Anything to ameliorate the situation. But I really suck at those. All my previous attempts have been sorely disastrous. And that's an understatement. That's when I stumbled upon..

The Funny Joke

Yes, not just any joke. A funny joke. The explicit use of the adjective emphasizes that you can't just say anything and pass it off as a wisecrack. Free messages have spawned millions of horrid 'forwards'. Ranging from lame to downright annoying. Some of them come with much fanfare, but always have a standard closing section. A typical 'joke' would read like this:

JoKe Of ThE YeAr!! (Opening section)
.         (Formatting)
.
.
.
Man before interview : "May I come in, sir?"          (The "joke")

Interviewer : "Wait, plz"

Man : "75 kg, sir!"
.
.
.
.                (More formatting, so that it looks like the best part is yet to come)
Gud nit! :P                 (Standard conclusion)

So with everyone's head muddled by things like that, it's really hard to come up with a genuinely good joke. And if you're under pressure? Well, God save you. But here's a helpful hint - Do NOT try to get inspired by them. EVER. The best you could probably come up with would be something like:

[Reply at 1:03]

lolz j/k
.
.
me 2..v shd ttly hng out 2gthr..w8..nt hng out as in hng out 2 dry..cuz thts whr i hng my clths..cz m nt wearng thm ryt nw..i bt u do tht 2..dnt u?
.
ps-w8 as in wait..nt weight..coz tht wud b 75..nd ttly lyk nt mk ny snse..ryt? lol
.
.
.
.
.
gud n8 :P

(Holy %@#&)

I'd say that there is simply no good way to communicate, more or less. (Hmm..that doesn't sound right)

There's probably no good way to communicate, I'd guess. (No)

I'd surmise, more or less, that an effective way of communication is unfounded, as of the present scenario. (Dude?)

I'm surprised that more is effectively less, for I have found in many a contemplation -D' Adairo. (Really? Wtf?!)

I rest my case.

Tales From The Yeast

(Continued from Genesis. First post in series- On Electricity)

As Ovi and Mushy slowly got accustomed to life underwater, they decided that it was time to start a family. They soon had a baby boy, and they named him Pikachu (don't ask). They had other kids, too, who were named Spongebob, Patrick and Squidward (their life was soon made into a TV show). But Pikachu was the most mischievous of the lot. Like the other day, when he put the bathtub in the freezer, making a gigantic ice-cube, and then sliced off a huge chunk using his brother's hacksaw blade, shaped it using a lathe machine, and released it to the surface, where a ship accidentally hit the 'iceberg' and then sank to the bottom. (It's called the Titanic or something, I'll look it up later)

In those days, people were highly superstitious. As the Dark Ages began, people thought that it was some Black Magic, and began to get scared. But one wise man soon told them that it was just another major oil spill by the good folks over at BP. In any case, the conditions had become inhabitable (not to mention Pikachu was still randomly electrocuting people in the water once in a while 'by mistake') So Ovi and Mushy made a decision to travel East, chiefly because they'd heard of the rich cultural heritage of that region.

As they swam to the surface, they saw an old witch sitting with a few occult paraphernalia. Before their eyes could adjust to the sun, the witch spoke shrilly.

"I know why you have come here. And I also know the solution to your problem. I have with me two pills, (now also available as vials) of different potions. Take the blue pill, and you will feel anew, entering into a world like never before. Take the red pill, and your old world will be restored, like nothing happened. The choice is yours."

As they were pondering upon which form of medication to take, one of them had a genuine doubt.

"That's okay, but who are you?", he inquired sincerely.

"Me? I am Lord Voldemort", he thundered. And lightninged.

Which witch which was weird for 2 reasons.

Firstly, if Voldemort was a witch, then she should have been Queen Voldemort or something. But if he was Lord Voldemort, then he should have been a wizard. But even if he were one, he wouldn't be very good at it. And why is that, you ask? That's simply because (and this is the second point) --

Voldemort was a moron.

Yes, there are many reason as to why he turned evil, but he was still a moronic Dark Lord (there, I inadvertently put rest to his doubtful gender). Well, to begin with, his childhood was riddled with negativity. He used to fail miserably at pretty much everything he did. Especially spelling. Heck, he couldn't even spell his own name right. (see also - Tom Marvolo Riddle)

Then he saw all these people around him performing miraculous spells, and he really wanted to try it too. So on his eleventh birthday, his mother got him the gift he'd always dreamed of -- P. C. Sorcar's 101 Magic Tricks (Now with 3 new tricks!)

He practised religiously for months, and finally mustered enough courage to perform his first magic show in public. His first trick was the classic (he himself tried to do it) 'pull the rabbit out of the hat' trick. He took out his hat, wand at the ready, and nervously uttered the magic words --

[baby voice] "Abba-kadabby"
Nothing happened. So he tried again.

"Abbra-kabaddi"
The rabbit, still inside the hat, took it as an insult and refused to come out.

"Aadha-kadabra"
By now the rabbit was really annoyed. He came out, slapped him, and went back in. (Or maybe he used "Doofus Slap-acus". I'm really not too sure)

"Avada-kedavra"
This was too much for the rabbit, who committed suicide.

But everyone thought that the magic trick was intended to kill the rabbit, so they were under the impression that Voldemort had just invented the Killing Curse. Eventually he became so famous for it, that people urged him to take part in the annual May-Tricks event. On the day he decided to give in, his life took an abrupt turn. For, on that very day, the administrators of the event discovered something shocking.

[Somewhere in the 2x2 Matrix]

"Someone has hacked into the Matrix!", Ron exclaimed.

"I know! Mutating algorithms, Brute force, Chanel-5 force, nothing seems to be working. I think he has used some advanced sorting technique", Hermione shuddered.

"I really dunno what we can do. We need someone to help us. But who?", Harry wondered.

Just as he finished his sentence, Fox the faux Fawkes (who was actually a phoenix) swooped in (sporting coolers and a bandana) and dropped a ragged black object.

"The Sorting Hat! The only known sorting algorithm in O(1)!", Hermione screamed in joy, using the Hat to sort out the mess. "Now all we have to do is crack the password. It seems to have been encrypted with RSA or something." But that didn't prove to be much of a hurdle as she successfully managed to unlock it using ALoHoMoRa v1.3.

They tried to track the IP of the intruder, and soon traced it back to a laptop somewhere in the London station.

"He is planning to leave the city by train. We have to catch him before he escapes!", moaned a concerned Hermione.

"But there are 39 platforms, and only 4 of us. How can we possibly find him by ourselves?", Ron asked, puzzled.

"That's ok. We'll split up. Each of you take one-fourth of the platforms and begin searching", said Harry, in a decisive tone.

So each one was allotted 39/4 platforms. Or 9 and 3/4 in mixed fraction form. Harry saw that there was a wall in the middle of platforms 9 and 10. So he began sprinting towards it. As he approached the wall at high speed, instead of smashing directly into it, something magical happened--

He smashed directly into it.

He fell down, still reeling from the sharp pain in his head. He felt his forehead and sensed that it had started bleeding. So he started crying copiously at his boo-boo. At the same time, Fox the faux Fawkes (who was actually a phoenix) swooped in and started crying too, the tears falling on Harry's cut. And the wound started healing due to its healing powers. But because he was a fake phoenix, the wound didn't heal properly, and left a lightning-shaped scar.

While this scene was unfolding, somewhere in a remote ice-cream parlour, there was a hooded figure eating a Death By Chocolate. What was this Death-Eater plotting? What could Harry and the others do now? Stay tuned, as the saga continues...

[Actually, I'm all out of ideas and have no clue on how to take this story further. Please post your ideas (no matter how wacky or crazy) and I will try to incorporate all of them and carry this forward along those lines (AND give you due credit, too. Yay!)]

(Oh, and a big thank you to Tejus and Kanan, whose blogs have given me a ton of inspiration for my posts. Do check their's out as well, they're both better than mine :O)

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