'O Mister Hog,' cry the frenzied masses, surging like tidal jam, 'where have you been? What have you done? What great work of hoggishness has consumed thee?'

'O dear sweet readers,' I reply, 'o both of you, such wonders have I seen! I have crossed the Timeless Void that yawns sleepily beyond the outermost Sphere of the Fixed Stars, to reach the Realms of Light; and I took tea with Jesus Christ, Whose blood ransomed us from the cruel God of these Aeons. In the Realms of Light they drink only organic lapsang souchong, and they drink it very quickly, for the background radiation vapourises unshielded tea in half a microsecond flat. The crumpets are armoured with neutronium, and the butter is a quark-gluon plasma.

'And I asked the Saviour to share with me the wisdom of the Alien God, His Father.

'And Jesus said unto me, "I can suck my own dick."

'And I saw that this was Truth.'

The trip back from the Realms of Light took quite a long time, what with security and so forth. I was held up for two hours at the Sphere of Ialdabaoth, Archon of Saturn, when some lady started panicking over a mariachi band she claimed was using the lavatory 'swarthily' and menacing her with their moustaches. I got in a good bit of reading...

'O Mister Hog,' I hear you cry like tiny baby trumpets made of crab, 'what have you been reading?'

I hear this question; and I hear that this question is good.

'Several things!'

I've been reading John Milnor's book on characteristic classes, which is to do with the cohomology of vector bundles. Most of you probably aren't very interested in that. Fortunately for all of us, it's fun to try and picture certain vector bundles (and related spaces) in our heads, so let's all do that instead! You too, Jesus.

'Holy pigfuck,' exclaims the Christ. 'Hglaghlaghlaglug.'

Imagine you have some kind of topological space sitting around. Now imagine that, at every point in that space, you have a line, or a plane, or some higher-dimensional hyperplane, and that you can weave all these lines or planes together without overlapping to form a new space sort of sitting over your old one. That is essentially a vector bundle over your original space.

Imagine a circle. At every point on the circle, there is a tangent line. We'd like to assemble all of these tangent lines into a new object, the tangent bundle to the circle. We don't want any of the lines to overlap, though. It's easy to piece them together in four-dimensional space, but that's pretty impossible to really visualise. I think of it as living in three-dimensional space by giving all the lines a little twist. Imagine you tweak each line ever so slightly out of the plane of the circle, so that they never overlap; start from any one point on the circle, and twist the fibres more and more as you go until you go a quarter of the way around, when the tangent line is twisted vertically. Then you can keep twisting as you go until, halfway around, the tangent line is horizontal again. Now take this helical mess, and imagine yourself pulling on the first, horizontal tangent line until it becomes vertical. Since all the tangent lines fit together, all the other lines have to move, too; the effect sort of ripples along the circle, leaving all the tangent lines vertical in its wake. When the dust settles, you're left with a cylinder, living happily in three-dimensional space. You have just discovered that the circle is parallelisable.

It is not true that you can always twist the fibres of a vector bundle until they all become parallel. Imagine now the sphere. At every point on the surface of the sphere, we have a two-dimensional tangent plane; we can assemble all of these tangent planes to form the tangent bundle to the sphere. None of these tangent planes are supposed to overlap; I imagine them sort of fitting together like the petals of a rose, and again I use a sort of 'twistiness' to imagine their necessary extension into higher dimensions. Just as there was a circular hole in the centre of the tangent bundle to the circle, there is a spherical hole in the centre of this bundle. I try to picture myself both inside this cavity looking out at the bundle, and outside the bundle looking in. From the inside, it looks to me like a curvilinear zero-gravity Gothic cathedral made of glass, tinted, for some reason, with patches and streaks of blue. The planes seen at strange angles and edge-on seem to form an infinite web of buttresses, and everything tries to curve away. From the outside, it is more like a green glass carnation mating with a spiral galaxy, but with perfect spherical symmetry, and infinite in every direction. I can't twist this structure to arrange all the tangent planes in a nice parallel way without it breaking somewhere; wherever I start, the parallelising ripple always tears a hole at the antipodal point. This intuitive picture of mine actually is fairly accurate: the tangent bundle to the sphere is not parallelisable in the technical sense, but if you delete any one point from the sphere and its corresponding tangent plane, what's left is.

I'm not sure where the colours come from...

Projective space is deeply involved in the study of vector bundles. You can construct the projective plane as follows: take a sphere. Imagine taking a point on the sphere, and its antipodal point, and pulling them together to meet somewhere inside the sphere. Now do it with another pair of points, but make sure they meet somewhere else. Do this with every single point on the sphere, each point and its antipodal point meeting each other but meeting no other points. It's a weird, collapsed sphere that can't properly live in three dimensions, but I imagine it as looking a bit like a seashell, all curled up on itself. And pink. I've no idea why, but this projective plane is tinted a distinct pink. Like a salmon. Now imagine that, back on your original sphere, you attached to every point a line connecting the point to its antipodal point, and stretching off to infinity in both directions beyond the sphere. Picture what happens to all these lines as the sphere collapses into the projective plane; what pops out is called the canonical line bundle over the projective plane, and I still can't imagine what it might look like, but I'm working on it. I think it's rose red.

I think this is in Finnish.

Leisuretown: 'Here comes the cock boat...Set sail for dick.'

It's like Jerkcity, only bitter and hopeless. More here.

In an unrelated note, here is a gay porn story featuring Jesus Christ. It's so much worse, by which I mean better, than you could have ever imagined. But it's also gay porn, so don't read it unless you're either into that or really, really, really into blasphemy. It is some really intense blasphemy.

Name that Beard!

It must be said that the game would benefit considerably from the inclusion of Samuel Delaney, but such is life.

If you seek a diversion less taxing on the old grey matter, why not take a few moments to enjoy the little Flash-enhanced ditty, 'I like Bukkake'? It is perhaps the first song to date to rhyme 'bukkake' with 'Nagasaki'. Work-based readers should note that there is in fact no actual bukkake involved, although there is some kind of horrible monster.

Those seeking more sport might incline towards the Realistic Internet Simulator. Or how about Nazi Kitten Ball? Or you could Drink.

NOTE: It is official HogBlog editorial policy to oppose the Hitlerfication of kittens for sporting purposes, unless the kittens have a reasonable chance of Hitlerfying the sportsman in return.

Hawking's new hypothesis: black holes dribble after swallowing.

Jello floats. Pigs also float. Therefore, ham jello should be less dense than water.

Having established that, let us now attempt to compute its cohomology.

UPDATE: Six.

Cedar Rapids, Iowa: 'Hoo-whee! Let's have ourselves a good old-fashioned book-burnin', for burning books makes Baby Jesus smile and clap his tiny hands.'

There follows banjo music, and bare-footed men in overalls waving jugs of moonshine as they stumble around their shacks engaging in wacky hijinks that often involve hitting one another (or themselves) with hammers and domestic automobiles.

To be fair, these poor people were probably driven quite mad by the foul stench that clings to Cedar Rapids like a wet puppy made of leeches.

It's a shame I can't have Iowa City uprooted and moved to the West Coast...

General J. C. Christian, Patriot, has helpfully located the responsible church online. It apparently calls itself the Jesus Church, so as not to be confused with all those unJesusy Christian churches out there, and buys into things like faith healing, glossolalia, and the Holy Spirit. In other words, they're your basic stereotypical superstitious peasants, and any mad scientists in the area should be prepared for them to turn up with pitchforks and flaming torches at the drop of a hat. Keep your monsters and killer robots leashed, guys. It's not just the law; it's a good idea.

Remember: the appropriate response is not to stage or threaten a Bible-fuelled bonfire. That is gauche, and wasteful. The appropriate response is to convert a stack of Bibles into rolling-papers, as commanded by St Paul in I Corinthians 2:2. Amen.

Orson Scott Card: is he still an ass-clown?

Our sources say yes.

If I were a political blogger, I might offer some kind of lengthy analysis or critique or 'fisk', as they call it. But I'm not. Really, the ass-clownery of this article of Card's speaks for itself. He falls all over himself to slobber upon the knob of Fox News. Now, either you already recognise the essential ass-clownery of this and don't particularly need my analysis, or you don't; if you don't, either you've never actually seen Fox News or read anything about it at all by any reasonable human being, or you're naive, or you're gullible, or you're actively a right-wing tool. If you've never seen it or read anything about it, there are better places to go than here, and that's what Google is for. If you're either naive or gullible, then I can help you, but due to obscure contractual matters I'll need a small cash deposit or the state will send someone round to set my computer on fire, and we can't have that. If you're a right-wing tool, like a ratchet or possibly a belt sander, then you're an inanimate artifact and incapable of reading a blog in any case, so why bother disillusioning you?

Basically, Card is a crotchety old man who bitches whenever he reads or hears something whose tone deviates microscopically from his own, and he comes across as a bit of an O'Reilly. The only bit of the article you really need to read is right around the end:

The fact remains that on Fox News, and only on Fox News, we get television reportage that gives us at least two sides of every important issue. On all the other TV news outlets--and "mainstream" newspapers--we mostly get coverage that is hopelessly biased. The madmen have taken over the asylum and now, dressed in white lab coats, they pronounce the rest of the world insane.

It really parodies itself. Much like Card.

If you're feeling insufficiently outraged at the moment, read this.

This is even worse than the woman who was accused of terrorism for breast-feeding her baby on a plane. A would-be novelist was doing a crossword puzzle during his flight, and scribbled a line of dialogue in the margin: "I know this is kind of a bomb."

Another passenger saw this (how? For the love of fuck, what was this squealer doing reading the poor man's crossword over his shoulder?), and told a flight attendant. When they landed, the scribbling gentleman was accosted by police, and now is on Homeland Security's watch list.

For writing the word "bomb" in the context of a complete terrorism-free sentence in the margins of a newspaper.

Mmm, the cup of outrage is full to the brim and steaming, for it is full of freshest dung. That is what the current administration has been feeding us: absolute bullshit. So many Americans keep slurping it right down and asking for a refill.

(Via the artist formerly known as Calpundit, via Body and Soul.)

Listen to Dean and Nader spar on NPR!

Howard Dean is really rocking. I miss him. He's been quite gentlemanly in telling Nader to go piss up a rope. He didn't rag on Nader for his role in the 2000 election. He did rip on Nader for his campaign this season, facilitated and supported by naughty, naughty right-wing organisations, and for becoming a filthy tool completely devoid of idealism or real progressivism. He's coming across as impassioned but very very reasonable: he's not a screaming loon. Dean is a practical man: he's not trying to paint Kerry as a perfect progressive saint, but he is pointing out that, if you're really interested in progressive reform, you've got an infinitely greater chance of seeing it under Kerry than under Bush. He comes across as confident, aggressive but not hostile, and competent. And he has an easy, relaxed humour.

Ralph Nader keeps squawking 'Corporate, corporate, corporate, special interests, special interests.' And to a degree, Nader has a point. The electoral system in this nation does call for reform. Corporations do have far too much influence over our government. I voted for him last time because of his spiel. But he seems to have no flexibility whatsoever; Dean is just ripping him apart. Nader seems unable to defend himself and his campaign, and has no ability to adapt to the practical realities of this years' election. Is Nader just going through the motions? God, his jokes are lame.

I think Dean has done a great job of partially-defusing Nader's candidacy (assuming anyone listened to the debate), in large part by explaining quite well why he himself isn't running as a third-party candidate. Dean would've been a much more viable third-party candidate than Nader. Dean comes across as a man who understands what it takes to accomplish real things for real people in the political arena; Nader comes across as hopelessly out of touch with the world in which we live. Dean is against referenda, and points out that they've been used to deny equal rights to gay and lesbian couples; while they sound great in theory, in practice they end up often being quite destructive. Dean himself did great things defending the rights of gays and lesbians against 'the tyranny of the majority.' Nader is a man who actively refuses to even contemplate using his candidacy to actually do anything for the benefit of the people: he bitches and bitches, but won't make the slightest compromise that might give him any real influence. He wouldn't take a cabinet post, if one were offered him. What the shit, man? He has become a vanity candidate, pure and simple.

The eminent Clake agrees.

In Iowa¹, 'hog' is a slang term for 'penis'.

Bryan started it.

It's good.

Before I tell you about its goodness, I wish to say something to my fellow audience-members.

Dear cinema audience,

Hi. I am doing pretty well. How are you? Actually, don't answer that. I know how you are. You are stupid and insolent. Cinema audience, you make me feel so, so very misanthropic. You do not laugh when J. Jonah Jameson does something funny! And then you do laugh when you should be feeling sentiment, when those passengers are bearing Spider-Man's body through the train! Can you not pick up on the most basic of emotional cues? And I heard you whispering. Yes, Fatty, I'm talking to you. If I wanted to hear inane and vapid mumblings I would talk to myself, you fool.

Sincerely,

HogBlog

PS...You are stupid and insolent.

There...

The movie is, as I mentioned, rather good. If you're looking for deep and probing looks at the dark side of human nature, and if you thought you'd find them in a Spider-Man film, then you are silly. Spider-Man is all about niceness. Peter Parker: he's really nice. He is super-duper-mega-ultra-hyper-nice with cherries and whipped cream. That is his thing, his schtick. Niceness. If you aren't looking for a great big slice of Essential Goodness and Nobility of the Human Spirit Shortcake, then you will end up a hungry, hungry cinema-goer indeed. If you don't leave the cinema hating your fellow man that little bit less, then you have a heart made of purest dung. I am still uplifted now. (You should have seen what I thought about the audience before.)

It's a shame there wasn't more of Dr Octopus, though...His transformation from Promethean to villain was all a bit abrupt. Much more could have been done with those tentacles, whispering in his head, making him do these terrible things. (Oh, did I spoil that for you? Dr Octopus has tentacles. Now you know.) More of these maddened, seductive mechanical whispers and demands and threats would've been nice, and maybe a little touch of blasphemous obscenity as living flesh becomes a tool for pitiless mechanism. It would've made him creepier and more exciting, and added extra pow to the ending.

Beautifully done, though...I was especially delighted by the scenes of Spider-Man slinging his way along the streets. They're so fluid...They project such a sense of freedom, of endless, eternal motion through infinite, shining cityscapes...

That bit when Spider-Man is straining so hard he starts to split his costume? Hot. That bit in the elevator, when he talks about the crotch riding up? Also hot. Tobey Maguire using any vaguely genital-related word is very hot. I wonder if anyone has a sound clip of Tobey Maguire saying 'hog'?

Kudos to the makers of the film for making Dr Octavius' device recognisably an iconographickal representation of an inertial-confinement fusion reactor, without ever having to use the phrase 'inertial-confinement'. I like that.

I would very much like to know what Michael Chabon's original script was like...He was credited, but I gather his draft was fed to a script doctor...And his website doesn't seem to shed any light on it. Ah well.

Good film, Tobey Maguire's a babe, so is Michael Chabon, go see it.

2004 is an election year. Perhaps you've heard? In the state of Washington, incumbent Democratic Senator Patty Murray is up against Republican Rep. George Nethercutt, who made the headlines last year for being a giant flaming jackass. I have nothing of any substance whatsoever to add to the political discourse here; as a gay socialist atheist, it's pretty much a given that I will never in my life ever vote for a Republican anyhow, so I haven't bothered to find out much about Nethercutt other than this Iraq casualties thing. Especially since Patty Murray seems to have a solid lead, so I don't need to go knocking on any doors for her.

There is one thing I can add, though. Google could not find a single instance of this pun's being employed, but I really doubt I'm the first to have thought of it...If I were Patty Murray, in light of the challenger's past statements, I would dub him 'the most unkindest Nethercutt of all.'

Line 193. It's funny, people. Laugh, damn it. Laugh, or the terrorists have already won.

And a very merry Fourth of July to all of you at home! Even in such partisan, polarised, unsettled times, on the Fourth all Americans can come together; we put our differences aside for one day at least, to commemorate that most auspicious day in 1952 on which a team of scientists in Tokyo invented bukkake. If you missed the traditional colourful eruptions of last night, don't fret, for Bukkake Awareness Month events are scheduled all through July! Check your local papers to find activities in your area, and let the fun gush all over you!

Did you know...?

• Bukkake is the only form of capital punishment still legal in the state of Maine. The next bukkakecution, of convicted spree killer Chapman Baxter, is scheduled for July 38. Until the mid-Eighties, Maine's bukkakecutions were televised, but due to budget cuts they are now available only on video.
• The invention of bukkake was inspired by careful study of the animal kingdom, in particular a species of octopus, the Deep Blue Tosser, which lives only off the coast of Japan. Having no eyes, the male Tosser must deposit his sperm all over the fertile female in the hopes of hitting the right orifice by chance. The pheromones of the female are so potent that they can attract every male octopus within a radius of nine hundred in a maddened spermpede. Sailors report that Edison's Wanker, a relative of the Deep Blue Tosser dwelling in the deepest parts of the South Pacific, may grow to lengths of over sixty; they sing many a chanty of the havoc that can be caused by a fully-grown Wanker in the throes of mating frenzy, attempting to impregnate every object within reach of its powerful tentacles.
• Bukkake is not only fun, but good for you, too: it is a scientific fact that a monthly bukkakification adds vital nutrients to your skin and helps to prevent wombles. There's no evidence for this, but it's a fact.
• The Queen Mother wa^^^^^^^^^^^^^

*&^*JNLUOhgkug&*^&(^%Eyigu76I&H8gbiut87gy^U

***NO CARRIER***

So the blog just suffered a huge-ass comment-spam attack. It was in fact so big that my ISP took down the site for a while. I've stripped out all the offending comments now, and de-activated commenting on all posts, so all's well and it won't happen again. It also means you can't leave comments. But that's life.

I really hope this was just a random attack and not anything targetted specifically at me, because if it was, that was really lame. It took me like five minutes to get everything fixed once I contacted my ISP, and this was not a comments-heavy site to begin with. Maybe I'll turn them back on later. Maybe I won't. It's not very important.

Just remember to tell any LaRouchies you meet, in a loud, clear voice, 'I don't like cheese.' I've tried it twice so far, and each time they've claimed not to like cheese either, which takes them long enough that I get out of earshot before they can say anything that'll piss me off and make me stop and argue. So everyone wins, really.

And a merry Christmas to all of you at home.