A thread on rec.games.roguelike.nethack sparked this idea. There's a spell called stone to flesh which is the embodiment of truth in advertising. Now if someone should happen to cast that spell upon various kinds of stone like granite or marble or coal would the meat be different? Would granite turn into beef while marble becomes pork? Would the ensuing product just end up tasting like the proverbial chicken?
Would this meat be considered cruelty-free? No animals were harmed in the creation, only a few rocks were transubstantiated into something more amenable to the diets of humans.
This is definitely a topic that could find its way into the nascent, niche genre of hard fantasy. Plus it would be much more fun than using a replicator.
I still don't understand why no one in the Star Trek universe has been shown to get their freak on with replicators. The transporters maintain a person's pattern for a brief period, download that into a replicator and request your medium rare thigh with a derivative Silence of the Lambs joke.
This is far more interesting than turning the holodeck into a really good RealDoll.
Fascinating.
I presume sarudy and Buddha haven't removed me due to inertia.
Oh wait, I don't think I was added at any point. Not that it's relevant to the greater scheme of things. Carry on.
No, I'm not passing judgement.
Maybe that's part of growing up, never laughing again.
There isn't any turning back at this point.
If it's not completely obvious, these ruminations are written well past my scheduled bedtime.
Surely it can't be solely based on the honor system.
My judgement is that the teachers are lazy and rather take ideas from students because their muse is already gasping and dying at their feet.
Also shut the fuck up with the jokes about coffee and the whole coffee culture.
"I was back in the year 1998 at a gas station. I marvelled at the prices of gas like 99¢ a gallon, some even dared to gouge the public with $1.05 a gallon! The entire time I was drinking a can of Canada Dry ginger ale while I was watching everyone tank up their cars. My aluminum can was emptier long before Saudi Arabia's last well gave up the ghost.
All I did was walk over to this upturned piece of concrete sewer pipe and toss in the can. Two points! When I turned around I heard a familiar voice shouting after me. Stone Cold Steve Austin was hollering at me, shaking his head like an angry black woman. I turned my back on him, raised my arms and flipped him the bird. 'spivak three sixteen means you just sucked my dick!'"
The operator was silent for a moment, "That's nice."
My ride had arrived and I hung up the phone.
A bunch of wannabe white supremacists, sadly they only bought into the look not the scene, pulled up in their huge black shitkicker diesel pickup truck. I only say "sadly" because conviction is better than image. I got into the driver's seat and started pedalling the truck down a long road. The gear ratio must've been amazing because if I just pedalled with the same vigor as pedalling my bike the truck got up to sixty miles an hour. Their directions were distracting and I kept missing the left turns to reach our unknown destination. At the end of the line, I turned left at the T intersection and pedalled up a street parallel to the main drag.
Suddenly we were in prison. The guys were hot on finding their idols while I was surprised at my clothes. A black t-shirt wrapped around my waist, the big and hooded robe from Jaybird and maribou and my Herman Munster boots. We marched through the hallways which reminded me a lot of my middle school back in New Jersey. Two black midgets waddled up to us and said they were ready. My acquaintances huddled around the tiny informants then stuffed them into these wheeled garbage cans.
When I woke up, I had the last line of "I'll Be Home for Christmas" running through my head.
