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SmileMachine Mk 3

Project by @mocymo is a head mounted display that can present a variety of expressions - embedded below is a video taken at the Tokyo Maker Faire taken by makerkun:

スマイルマシンズ！ウェアラブル感情表現ディスプレイ！ pic.twitter.com/wr4VErcTGb

— makerkun (@makerkun)

August 6, 2016

More images can be found here

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me, walking out of a brothel: fucking bullshit

my wife: well what DID you think a brothel was

me: looking sadly at the empty bowl i brought: doesn’t matter

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I need to draw men being obnoxious to their partners and getting In The Way right now immediately.

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Im enjoying the longevity of tumblrs recontextualization style of humor. a seemingly innocuous post followed by like "posts that a gnome would make" or like "are you a phone"

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SWAD666

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"biblical angels" you do realise there are angels in the old testament that are literally just regular looking guys, right? you do know that the hallucinogenic incoherent descriptions are in like. two books. and the rest of the time angels are just guys. you know that, right?

and I'm not saying don't have fun with weird angels. I'm saying, either the eldritch forms are for special occasions, or the society of the angels is Many-Eyed-Many-Winged-Interlocking-Circles, Four-Faces-Six-Wings, and Mike.

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“poison is the coward’s weapon” boo hoo sounds like someone’s sodium channels are easily inhibited

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What a great thing automation is ....

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Marcus stopped abruptly in the middle of the grass. A woman in a blue dress was already sitting on the Crisis Bench. He didn’t recognize the dress. She looked up from where she was sitting.

“Sorry,” he said, holding up his hands. “I didn’t think anyone would be over here.” He didn’t think he remembered an introduction to anyone in that dress. It was a memorable sort of a dress. “I believe I ran into your mother inside?” he ventured, because he ran into so many mothers.

“She’s not here,” she said, which was not what he wanted to hear and which he absolutely could not handle at the moment.

“Right,” he said, trying to recover, pretending as if he’d just remembered something. “Your father–”

“We haven’t met,” she interrupted. “I’m not anyone.”

“Oh thank god,” he said, abandoning propriety to collapse onto the bench, dropping his head between his knees. “Thank you.”

“Too many people?” she said sympathetically.

“I’m really bad with faces,” he admitted.

“A lot of people are,” she assured him.

He dragged his hands down his face. “I just confused a Duke with a waiter.”

She bit her lip. “As long as you aren’t rude to waiters, you should be fine,” she said.

“I wasn’t rude,” he said. “I’m never rude. It would have been better if I was rude.” He buried his face in his hands. “I tipped him,” he said, anguished, muffled by his palms. Why had he been dressed like a waiter?

She burst out laughing, loud and with her head tipped back, overwhelming the empty garden. He separated his fingers to stare at her.

“Sorry,” she hiccuped, which immediately descended back into snorts. She laughed like she was hunting for truffles.

“Thanks,” he said, though he almost did feel better. “I’m feeling very supported in my time of need.”

“There’s only one thing you can do,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes, trying to dab at them to not destroy her makeup. Reflexively, he offered her a handkerchief, which she accepted. “You have to flee the country. It’s the only way.” She checked the handkerchief for signs of smeared eyeliner. “Leave your family. Change your name. Get a new family. Never tell them your dark secret.”

“I think my old family might notice if I got a new family,” he said, now resting his chin in his hands, elbows balanced on his knees.

“That’s why you have to burn your house down,” she said matter-of-factly, now holding his handkerchief in a neat fold in her lap. “Just burn the whole thing. Everything but your favorite hat. You leave the hat on top of the ashes for your family to find. ‘This must be him’ they’ll say. 'He would never have left his favorite hat’. It’s the perfect crime. Once it’s done, you become a pig farmer. Anyone comes around asking questions, you feed them to the pigs.”

“You seem like you’ve put a lot of thought into this,” he observed. “How are your pigs?”

She looked him over sidelong. “Hungry,” she said primly.

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fun fact! did you know that you can gain extra ‘forbidden time’ by staying up late in the night? but Watch Out

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(via Show and Tell - Imgur)

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"average cat owner spends 3 years in prison" factoid actualy just statistical error. average owner spends 0 years in prison. Miette's mother, who kicked her body like the football and went to jail for One Thousand Years is an outlier adn should not have been counted

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my favorite work memory from this store will always be “hey remember when the subway inside the store closed down and they let me take a bunch of their shit for free and now it lives inside my house?”

my life is a joke

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If you like the word “queer” reblog.