The Desert

The desert is an evil, forbidding place. The plants that thrive there are prickly, and the animals, insects and reptiles that survive there are venomous and deadly. The sun is intense, and there is no solace. It cooks the earth in such a way that it radiates heat, creating an illusion of fumes emanating from its surface, obscuring the distance, turning the horizon into a gassy blur. There is hardly any water. There is hardly any shade. All that exists is an arid fervor, and the scarce forms of life that dare to live amongst it.

Man was never meant to inhabit this land, yet we insist upon it. The lure of never ending access to the radiation of the sun sends us wandering in jumbo jets and convertible cars to the manicured falseness of the cities that have managed to thrive in defiance of God’s will. Pumping in water, conditioning the air, trimming the lawns, filling the streets with the architecture of leisure and pleasure, lulling its inhabitants away from the perversity of desert life. Reno, Las Vegas, etc, etc, etc. They are not cities, they are outdoor shopping malls; playgrounds.

And so we venture into the desert, not as nomads, but as children, reborn into a fiery pit of elderly people and decadence. But while the elderly go there to die, we are going to live, and live like we never have before. Welcome to Palm Springs Week at Only Magazine.

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Time Travel

Time travel, a staple of science fiction and farfetched but ultimately attainable goal of several optimistic physicists in the world, is actually a daily occurrence. All you need to test this for yourself is a bottle of Heinz 57 and a lack of cleanliness or shame.

Einstein’s theories and formulations concerning time work equally well, mathematically anyway, going forwards or backwards, though the Second Law of Thermodynamics requires that entropy always expand. In other words, effects can never precede their cause, and messes only continue to get messier. The smashed ketchup bottle you dropped on the floor can’t suddenly leap back up on the table, whole and ready to not flow unless you whack it on the bottom again. Otherwise, the question of whether time is “real” has been debated by scientists and philosophers back to the days of the ancient Greeks, when ketchup was first invented as a healthier substitute to Hemlock gravy.

Time is not perceived in increments like seconds — that’s simply a convenient measurement to gauge and record the distance between events occurring. It is the mechanical process of neurons firing one after another, and the spark of thought and sensation jumping from brain cell to brain cell creates the mental illusion of a steady, unidirectional, forward streaming reality that seems fluid. Various entheogenic drugs such as peyote, marijuana, LSD and mushrooms can make time seem stretched, compressed or irrelevant, much like a Mariah Carey video. Accidentally watching Touch My Body may seem like hours passing, but when it’s over, the viewer, startled back to consciousness, wonders where the time went and why all they can think about is cleavage. Recent studies in Mental Chronometry, or one’s personal sense of time, suggest that perception can vary between cultures, age groups, states of emotion, and even in individuals otherwise in matching condition

John Cramer at the University of Washington attempted last year to split a photon — a single unit of light — into two slightly weaker halves. He then performed the ol’ wave-or-particle trick, in which, depending how you measure it, the photon either marks a photographic plate as a particle or gives off energy readings as a frequency. With subtle manipulation, Cramer caused the two “entangled” photons to have different results. Such a feat would suggest dickering with the notion of time, because the two measurements would send a “confirmation” of their respective results (“Hey! Guess what? We’re a wave!” “Really? I just found out we’re a particle…”) back through time to their initial source, before they were chopped in half. Stephen Hawking, scientist and monotone karaokelist called this hooey, though it sounded more like “hoy” shouted through a felt tube sock.

Hawking has somehow calculated the relative discrepancy in time perception between a six-month-old baby and a 40-year-old man living with his parents. The child’s ratio to one hour would be 1:4032 while the loser’s ratio would be 1:349,440. For the man, the hour seems slightly longer. For the parents, the hour is merely a pebble at the foot of a mountain of pebbles. Tough. They had condoms in ’68. This theory, meanwhile, contains — philosophically anyway — the nut of time travel. Because each individual experiences time at a different pace than his or her neighbour, if two people watch a third person knock a bottle of ketchup off a table, they will internally experience the bottle tumbling to the floor and exploding in tomatoey zestiness at minutely different time scales, and the difference between the two — one experiencing the event faster, the other slower — means in triangulation to the bottle actually landing, one will be slightly forward in the future and the other in the past. Then the waitresses, after watching three stoners flinging bottles on the floor for her to clean up, will punch them all into next week.

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Time Travel: For a Good Time Travel, Call...

As far as we know, no person has ever time traveled. While physics states that traveling though time could be easily achieved by going faster than the speed of light, apparently that’s not as easy as it sounds — at least without the help of DMT. Even so, we all know lots about time travel. Our concept and understanding of the phenomenon has been shaped over the years, almost exclusively through books and movies. Rules have been set, conventions have been put in place, and the philosophical and physical realities that time travel functions within are well documented. With this in mind, we spent some time… um… coming up with what we believe to be a definitive rule on how time travel, if it ever were to exist, would ultimately have to live by.

The only way that time travel will have to be possible is because it is possible. And the only way it will ever have to be possible is if it ever becomes possible. And it will happen if it has to, and it will have had to have happened if it does happen.

Think about it. The grammar is correct, it’s just that when you are screwing with space and time, things get weird. Now ultimately the only real reason to time travel is to go back in time to fuck with or fix the present, which to you would be the past. The future depends on it. But time (as we perceive it) goes on from the present at every moment, and is continually running into the future, essentially determining it. But what if someone or something goes back in time and fucks with the past (which, to them, would be perceived as the present)? Basically, it fucks with the future.

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Tasers Are Soooo 2007

The only thing that’s prevented us from investing in a personal taser thus far has been the device’s total lack of fun. Like all ladies, we like our hardware to be pretty, available in complimentary tones and vaguely non-threatening. So we are mad crazy for the new line of lady tasers (or lasers) to hit the market. They come in super-girl-friendly colours like pink and leopard print and for an extra $72.99 you can get a gun holster with a one gig MP3 player built-in.

Because nothing says personal safety like Kelly Clarkson booming out your laser holster while you’re electrocuting your potential rapist’s balls.

Since you’ve been gone!

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Blow-Jobs for Algernon

Potentially life-altering news for all you poorly postured bourgeoisie. US scientists have invented incredibly strong, highly successful, popular, sexually prolific mice, all thanks to the over-expression of the gene for the enzyme phosphoenolypyruvate carboxykinases (PEPCK-C), whatever the hell that is.

These winner mice have been juiced up with that weird sauce listed above, which has allowed them to pull off amazing feats like run like hell on a hilariously tiny treadmill for six hours straight on the uphill setting, eat 60% percent more shrimp ring than regular crappy mice without getting fat or sick, have crazy, filthy, random sex well up into the human equivalent of age 975, and still produce healthy, winner offspring up until the human equivalent of age 400. Not to mention their heightened ability too look other mice in the eye, have whiter, straighter teeth, sober parents, less body hair and unexplainable condominiums.

Currently 500 winner mice have been produced, and aside from their daily six-hour workout sessions and weekly colonics, they’ve been spending all their time showing Charlie Gordon how to do the perfect squat, kiss-close with a stripper, and even helped him finally get his financial portfolio to really start performing. Christ, imagine if one of these little yuppies escaped! Better stop calling in sick, and you might want to consider getting your daughters that HPV vaccine. That little cock would probably end up your supervisor and your son-in-law, like in that Dennis Quaid movie.

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QUID: The Final Benjamin

Rejoice! Human civilization has reached the critical and intimate moment in its unique development in which it must move forth and establish its official only-for-space cash.

After thousands of failed experiments and lives lost, British scientists have miraculously invented the Quasi Universal Intergalactic Denomination (it was that or the Pretty Outerspace Universal Nottingham Dollar), crafted out of non-stick space polymer, with special “rounded edges” that will significantly reduce the ever-present threat of your currency possibly killing you when you are in space Safeway. Not to alarm you about that filthy wad of one fiver wrapped around two toonies in your shoe though, it’s only dangerous out there in space y’see?

Space’s economy must be fucking amazing because one spacebuck means $12.50 CAD, therefore two spacebucks is almost a two-four, and 10 spacebucks is probably $125 even. It’s also pretty neat that space ched is secretly Canadian at heart, and will curse all space adventurers in the same fashion that we Canadians have been cursed since always; it’s brightly coloured in an array of distinct and tasteful shades, and will look completely childish to the short, gray, hairless, clammy, dead-eyed, underpaid, lonely, depressed, space alien cashier at the space Safeway, who will chuckle and feel bad for you, just like when you go down to the Bellis Fair.

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Hard Jizz

This is the kind of stuff that when it hits the Canadian Tire you’re
gonna see a whole bunch of fake pedestrian accidents and interesting Skytrain mishaps, 45 minutes fights and the whole works. British magic hair gel d3o is liqui-gel light body armor (+4) that’ll take a good tumble with a chuckle and make a kick in the head an erotic pleasure. No more worries when you’re hanging at the Surrey Central Station, walking in dark alleys, pointing out the shortcomings of your fellow establishment patrons. Yes, except for your face, unless you were to get really serious about it and stuff a balaclava. And this is just the beginning for amazing jizz. Five years from now there’s probably going to be some jizz that will get so amazing it will let you fly, or piss yourself even, or turn into a cloud.

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Stanley Park IV: Newman's Revenge

The Vancouver Parks Board is apparently considering the installation of 25 to 30 giant robotic dinosaurs at cash-strapped Stanley Park, predicting they’ll draw hundreds of thousands of paying tourists a year. Imagine! Stanley Park, cash-strapped! All those trees and rocks and bumpy green bits and flowers, and hardly a penny in its bank account. What kind of park doesn’t get a job and earn its way in the world? Does it think money grows on trees? Ingrate. Fortunately, wise technocrats appreciate the fact that even places of great natural beauty must be expected to make a profit, and animatronic dinosaurs are definitely the way to go.

Kokoro Dinosaurs are currently wowing audiences in their native Japan, Europe and the States, with touring exhibits of incredibly lifelike T-Rexes and demur spokeswomen which can respond to physical stimuli using the current apex of AI technology. In Britain there was recently a display of a 3/4 full scale Tyrannosaurus that its creators predict in a few years will be able to walk about freely, independent of hydraulics and supports. It cost about $500,000CAN to make. A full sized, independent one might then run between $750,000 and a million bucks, plus upkeep and enough robotic goats to keep it fed.

The movement of these animaltronics is uncanny, and the sense of advancing realism will surely progress. Hopefully they’ll one day come equipped with nuclear batteries like the Terminators, so that long after human beings have wiped themselves out, dinosaurs may once again roam the earth. With any luck the programming will go Westworldly, and we can all be treated to the awesome spectacle of seven story high lizards wandering off their circuit into parking lots, crushing cars full of their liquefied organic ancestors, eating the children and dogs left in the back seat while the parents are off at the casinos.

The Great Outdoors must sell itself for money, or the unthinkable might occur… wait, it isn’t selling itself for money?! Stupid, lazy Nature. In this frame of thinking, it makes perfect sense to spend millions installing giant electronic dinosaurs for the tourists to ogle where once we stingy locals relaxed in Vancouver’s limited sunshine. Humans are the new dinosaurs, and it would be remiss of us not to set up our own worthy successors before we vanish ourselves from the planet. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you… the New Humans! Raaawwrrr!

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Piss Batteries

Yep, this battery runs on piss. The environmentally kosher and unintentionally-well-named NoPoPo rechargeable battery is now available (in… Japan) in AA and AAA, and can potentially last up to ten years if you don’t reef on it all the time. Sadly, it doesn’t have to be your piss (most other bodily fluids or water-based liquids will do), but the point here folks is that it can be your piss. It can and it will be.

The concept’s been around for a while, but previous designs have been a pain to market and generally involved a bag of some type. This guy is nifty because it looks like a battery, is a battery, and has a fun little baster you can jab right in your toilet bowl, urethra, colostomy bag – dealer’s choice, really. And while the real show is the battery itself, lest we forget that fun little baster. You’d have to do some kinda Kegel’s to get those few drops into to that thing no-spills, so the alcoholic and elderly crowds would be left in the cold. Again.

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hot animal sex

Scientists occasionally take having a bit of fun too far. Take, for example, the 20th Century. Sometimes, though, and we’ve all felt this, you just want to make a zebra fuck a horse and see what the result is. In this case, Italian cryptozoologists created a very beautiful zebrula, or zorse, named Eclyse (pictured). Eclyse now lives in a zoo near Guetersloh, in Germany, drawing record crowds of gawkers, oglers and gowglerks, which is what you get if you force gawkers to fuck oglers.

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