I've actually got the novel all sketched out. It's called A Memorable Fancy (based on a line from a poem by William Blake). Now all I need is the time to write the goddamned thing!

Also, show of hands: Who here thought "Charles Stross' Laundry novels" after seeing this film?

Giant ancient evil gods from below...and NO TENTACLES?! Instead we get a giant hand made of lava?! I CALL BULLSHIT. The Great Old Ones are gonna hear about this travesty and THEN we're gonna see a REAL fuckin' apocalypse!

Ben Franklin was working with Hewson on ascertaining the validity of certain assumptions made in an extensive letter written to Franklin in the middle of the century by one Victor von Frankenstein, a Genovese anatomist who claimed that Franklin's "electrickal fluid" could reanimate dead bodies.

Oops—you're right: I totally screwed that up. It should've been:

Uhhhh...where do you think many scientists think life on Earth originally came from?

The set of ALL integers can itself contain the set of ALL integers.

Life is just chemistry. Chemistry can exist ANYwhere there's enough energy to keep it going—hell, bacteria can even survive in the hearts of *comets.* I wouldn't surprise me one bit to find life on a tidally-stressed planet. Maybe not extremely *advanced* life, but some manner of extremophile bacteria, sure.

Once again, fiction is always ten to twenty years ahead of everything else!

Wow. This actually looks GOOD! But at some point, SOMEBODY better shout "Give these people air!"

Preach it, Brother Priest. I *loved* Mieville's Embassytown, more for its wonderfully-inventive story than its patently awful characterization—but, then again, that was kind of the *point* of Embassytown: the novel was *idea*-driven, not character-driven. The exact same thing can be said for Hull Zero One, another…

Ex. Act. Ly!

EPublishing has made it easier than ever for authors to get their stuff into the hands of readers—which is a manifestly GREAT thing. But...it also means that ANYone can do the same—including dipshits who can barely string together a coherent sentence. Nonetheless, it's pretty easy to separate the wheat from the chaff,…

Singularity. However, do note that I'm not a rote Kurzweilian or Vingian Singulariphile—I see the "Singularity" as being more of a period during which a number of major technological advances mature at roughly the same time (I envision about a decade), creating a really disruptive economic/political spasm that will…

Will do! I'll be the guy riding in on the bloodstained horse wearing a cloak of human skins and probably carrying a sharpened shovel.

Even as gimped-up as I am, *I* could probably beat the hell out of Newt Gingrich! And Rick Santorum, for that matter. I'd just have to think slow and methodical, to keep out of their way until I can get ahold of a weapon I can swing—and then IT'S CLOBBERIN' TIME.

He wouldn't be painting—just sniffing the paint.

I'll see ANYthing with Charlie Day in it!

Sadly, though I love walking, my fibromyalgia prettymuch eliminates that as a means of traversing long distances (though short distances are fine). I have problems with balance, too, which is why I never learned to ride a bike...and that means, too, requires physical endurance which I simply don't have.

Sadly, I can't support that option—for the time *being*, at least—because my fellow liberals are, for the most part, to pussyfied to last even thirty seconds in gladiatorial combat against a frothing, hatred-driven right-wing Republican berserker. Until the Left mans up and realizes it takes blood and steal to quash…