The cool, the crazy and the clueless
You can have breakfast or lunch while dangling 50 meters up in the sky. Arranged by an event management outfit called Benji Fun, there's seating for 22 complete with Chef, server, musician and you can select your own location without limitation (as long as it is in Belgium).
Safety is assured with the hoisting crane as well as multi-point seatbelt harness like in race cars. Only things that may fall off are scrap morsels and the occasional shoe or two. Only problem is if you stomach disagrees. Ground passersby beware.
Thar he blows
Well, this offering is a bit different (newfangled even) to say the least. It's called gunpodwder art where basically you arrange the explosives strategically and light it up. The surface gets pockmarked with your desired image. Requires quite a bit of thinking.
The largest piece of gunpowder art in history detonated last year in Fujian province, China. Cai Guoqiang, a New York-based artist, designed the "controlled explosion" to leave burn marks in the shape of a 59-foot-by-30-foot banyan tree.
International Translation T-Shirt
Just remember to buy several as the same shirt will start to smell and it does not have a picture of a laundry.
Rated: Really cool
A company called Mindwire offers a device called Mindwire V5 to take you closer to the gameworld. Five self-adhesive pads are connect to the arms, legs and stomach that administer a range of electric shocks to create sensations that mimic in-game action. The system works with most PS2, Gamecube, and XBox games as well as PC games that support force feedback. Available for £99.99 (or $200).
The dating game
By Sadia Islam
The worm tales….
And so it starts…
N the deep, dank recesses of the hill, among numerous tunnels and hidey holes that served as rooms, resided Sherlock. Yes,Sherlock, Sherlock McWorm that is, who happens to be a worm. Talking to him about yesterdays dismal cricket match with the ants was Watsworm who was telling Sherlock about how batting among the worm clans had become deplorable.
“Ah sir, I remember the batsworms of the 70s. Now they were worms who could wield a twig and hit a grain of sand all the way across the mound….” Watsworm dreamily told Sherlock.
“Watsworm, tell me quite truthfully, how in heavens could you have seen cricket matches in the 70s, you weren't born then?” Sherlock interjected.
“Oh you know word of mouth and everything. You know how stories are told,” Watsworm replied lamely which was quite a coincidence since being a worm he had no legs and it alludes us how he could ever be lame. But for the sake of argument, let's just say he was lame; um…ok I'm confused. Ah well…
Now, while the discussion went about the erstwhile matches of cricket which then progressed into heated arguments about which team was better, the Aussiworms or the Proteaworms, the dirt encrusted door which was also made of wet dirt dried in the sun burst open and promptly crumbled. Another worm, of stout stature and a uniquely squishy face slithered in.
“Ah, Vladiworm, tell me, why don't the Russians play any cricket?” McWorm asked the newcomer.
“Because the Americans haven't played it yet, you know, Cold War sentiments and everything,” Vladiworm replied, spitting dirt in a most unfashionable way.
“I see, most weird that,” Watsworm replied.
“Okay, enough about Russians and cricket, something that won't happen in a cold day in hell, but let's talk about something that has happened. Something quite serious, the Queen demands your presence,” droned the worm from Russia, in that monosyllabic accent unique to him.
“Eh, why? Tea and cabbage again? I thought we'd done that formality a while ago, you know tea with the Queen and everything,” whined Watsworm.
“Bollocks, Watsworm. The Queen asks for us and we must comply. I think she quite likes my…ahem, I mean our company,” interjected Sherlock.
“I think it's more like the other way around sir, and that too one sided, the whole liking somebody's company and everything,” said Watsworm sly smile on his mug.
“I think that kind of talk is uncalled for Watsworm and I don't like what you're implying. Let's go.”
And through the myriad burrows and passageways they descended further into the mountain. It was a labyrinthe and usually without the help of a guide McWorm got lost, it took the subsequent efforts of his venerable aged Mommy to find him again, at which point he would fall blubbering into her arms….er tail…er something.
At some point and after a few turns that McWorm failed to follow (he had a creeping sensation he was lost again and so started shadowing Watsworm, who thankfully had no such problems) they arrived at a magnificent hole in the ground also known as the royal quarters. In which resided the Queen Wormeena, undisputed dictaror-ess of the The Wormy Republic.This was also the place where Wormeena, on a daily basis terrorized the Congress.
Upon entering, Sherlock took a deep breath and stared straight ahead. The Queen, the object of his quite lecherous dreams (we weren't supposed to mention that but who cares) stood staring at a grimy mirror and was twisting her tail about in various fashionable and regal ways. This had the same effect on McWorm as a barrel of ale has on a 6 six year old.
“Ah, McWorm, Watsworm, come in. Do sit down. On second thought don't. I remember the last time you did you drooled all over the upholstery McWorm. Watsworm you sit down,” the Queen said, as was custom of royal people, quite regally.
“Right, um, that won't happen again. Um, sorry?” Sherlock said, quite at a loss of words and his prehensile tail quivering, without a word he extended his tail and shook with the
“Well, lets not dilly dally. Business has become serious in the last few days. I fear the ducks are at it again. This time though it's serious, and war seems preeminent. McWorm what do you make of this?” muttered royally the Queen. As she said it she handed a few pictures to the duo. Behind them Vladiworm fidgeted and then burst out crying. They were too horrible, even for him.
“Ye Gods! What is this? McWorm, where are my glasses. The blood is too gaudy, its buring my retina. Ah, thank you, now I can see…Oh my God!” Sherlock McWorm exclaimed, quite stupidly in fact thanks to the glasses. Also added to the stupidity was his pronounced height, which in worm terms was longevity, and which was in fact, just an inch. In his youth he had to suffer such comments as Runt and The Small Member. Those names were still popular somewhat.
In the pictures, a worm lay in a pool of dirt and a smaller pool of blood. He was one of those big shot important worms, the emissary to the humans. Although his real name was Francis the human kept him in a jar and referred to him as a pet called him Pintu. He had been invaluable to the Worm world and the worm-human relations front. Now he was dead.
“McWorm, you're the head of the Worm Crimes Investigation unit. What do you think?” Wormeena said.
“Hmm, I'll get the WCI to start investigations immediately. But how did this happen?” asked the shocked McWorm.
“Undoubtedly sir, it was the ducks. They never liked us fraternizing with the humans and they seek to sabotage us,” Watswrom yelled out angrily.
“Yes, yes the ducks, they did it! Oh the horror…” Vladiworm blubbered out in between sobs.
“McWorm, what do you think?” the worried Queen asked again.
“No, Watsworm, I don't think this time it's the ducks. Its something more sinister,” McWorm who had been staring thoughtfully at the pictures and who had also lighted his bubble pipe, said thoughtfully. He was thus surrounded in luminescent bubbles.
“Who but the ducks could do such a thing?” Watsworm interjected loudly. Clearly his biased prejudices were talking, and yes, Watsworm was racist.
“No Watsworm, look carefully at the pictures what do you see?” McWorm held out the pictures more clearly.
“No! Not again! Oh the horror…” Vladiworm yelled out and using his tail covered his eyes.
“Can't you see, the body is still there? For a duck a worm is but a meal. This worm clearly was nobody's meal. If ducks had done this, they would have eaten him. Like I said it's not the ducks.” McWorm whispered sinisterly.
“Then who was it?” The other three asked in chorus.
“Something worse, far far worse.” McWorm said ominously…
To Be Continued…
By Tareq Adnan and Azmir Hussain
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