melinoelabs
Melinoë Laboratories
Est 1927, Melinoë Laboratories brings scientific solutions to problems humanity never thought possible.
This account is managed by the highest ranking active PR Representative (today's representative is Humbert).
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Public Service Announcement: If the Goo's Alight, It's Not Alright!
Since this continues to be an ongoing problem, we did what all reputable scientists do: we glanced at our WWHD* bracelets, looked back at how we staved off handled this issue in the 1980s, then broke for lunch.
So get ready for your sense-memory of that weird pea-and-salisbury-steak aroma to come flooding back, because we found an old copy of our PSA from the S.W.E.L.L. program! So get your puffy vest, don your giant hair, and remember...
If the Goo's alight, it's not alright!
Lyrics under the fold
*What Would Hasbro Do?
**Scientific Waste Evasion Literacy Lessons
Stay away from the glow it's a wicked sight,
Kids and teens Listen up
Be smart and stay clear
Glowing ooze ain't a drink
It's something to fear
Don't let curiosity bring you near
Don't want that goo in a drink,
it's something to fear
Don't let curiosity bring you near
Don't drink the goo
It's not that cool
9 outta ten it'll make a monster outta you
gettin' powers isn't realistic
don't be another mutation statistic
If the goo's alight
It's not alright,
If the goo's alight
It's not alright,
9 out of 10 (it's not alright)
If the goo's alight,
it's not alright (it's not alright)
It's not alright.
It's not alright.
It's not alright.
It's not alright.
-
Song made with Suno.AI, lyrics by S. Trent Troop.
#unreality#if the goo's alight#it's not alright#PSA#this has been a PSA#80s aesthetic#slime#goo#ai assisted art#suno AI#mad science#melinoe labs#DARE program#parody
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We posed this question to our on-staff codemonkeys and the six-way programmers' brawl in the cafeteria suggests the problem arises from the 'cumulative value must be nonzero and equal"
Sungold team's approach was to extract a soul each from Heaven and Hell, thus eliminating the need for mortal souls to be subjected to either condition, and leaving both environments at -1 apiece.
This also lead to the cyan team pointing out there's nothing saying that souls have to be treated as whole numbers, thus a single soul could contribute a fraction of itself to each locale, small enough that the two would cancel out. It's a novel solution, but you know how CS types are. It wasn't long before they were laying out the code needed for a metaphysical salami attack.
Fortunately, we're pretty sure feature creep is going to keep them from ever getting out of pre-Alpha.
You're interviewing as a software engineer and you sit down to begin a coding exercise via remote video chat. Your interviewer joins a minute late. You exchange light pleasantries, then intros. They ask you a few questions relevant to your experience and you answer them satisfactorily.
The interviewer says, "Right, lets move on to the coding exercise," and directs you to a collaborative coding website. You select your language of choice and they begin to describe your problem.
"You have an array of souls recently liberated from their mortal shell, represented by this array of signed floats called "theDead". You must design a function that determines which souls go to heaven and which souls go to hell,"
"Heaven and hell are empty. The cumulative value of all the souls in heaven and hell must both be nonzero, and exactly equal to each other. You may leave any number of souls in purgatory,"
"Your function must return a bool indicating whether the balance of heaven and hell can be met given the array of souls. The count of souls will be 0 < n < 1,000,000. Do you have any questions before you begin?"
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Nah, we aren't into old school 'thinky-wrongy' type heresies.
Dithering about the wrong way to interpret the crusades-and-inbreeding crowd's version of 'what's the sound of one hand clapping' isn't a productive use of our sinning time.
It's the 21st century. We're more into the "I know what ophanim tastes like*" kind of heresy. Original sins in the 'nobody's done that before!' sense. You know, innovation.
I'm doing my part by breeding a sheep that produces two kinds of fiber and the boys in applied genetics have been making a lot of progress on Operation MultiMary, but getting the Virgin, Magdalene, Bloody, Of Scots and Curie heads into an arrangement that doesn't involve biting is proving to be a real fox-chicken-loaf-of-bread situation.
Personnel says they won the betting pool but management says that hiring 10% Loup-Garou, while ADA compliant, doesn't itself count as innovative heresy. Human resources was similarly disqualified as Make Room! Make Room! (Harry Harrison 1966), was deemed prior art. So I'm feeling good about my chances.
If the old man has a problem, he can stop sending his deliciously screaming Christmas tree ornaments and come down himself. We've got a railgun that can shoot a historically accurate iron chariot at .76 lightspeed and we are 'being not afraid' to use it.
*Sweet cilantro with a touch of umame, copper, and notes of your first touch of existential dread, by the way.
You know what? I'm miffed.
When Dr. Adelaide died in the tragically unfilmed cafeteria incident of 1989, we brought her back to life after three days in a saline cryobath and was that a miracle?
Noooooooo!
It was "an abomination of science", "ethically indistinguishable from necromancy", and "a misappropriation of valuable mandrill organs."
But you take that scenario out of the lab and apply it to an entity that is definitionally immortal and now it's a miracle?
"A god fails to die" isn't a miracle, it's a tautology.
Now rabbit monotremes? That's miraculous*
*Unless Project CelloGrass completes before you read this, in which case its available at Petsmart locations nationwide.
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Yeah, it checks out.
Also, if you have Type 1, Type 2, or Zevon's werewolfism and are taking once-daily Lycanthrozine™ to regulate your symptoms, you need to take six drams or colloidal silver the night before if you intend to go outside/witness footage of the event and value your loved ones and/or passers-by.
Read the counter-indications included with your prescription under section: Potential for MacMurry-Allen Reactions.
Important safety information about the eclipse on Monday
You *can* remove the eclipse glasses during totality; not before or after.
If you find yourself falling apart instead of falling in love, turn around, bright eyes.
It is no longer considered best practice to cut the beating heart out of a human chest at the top of a pyramid to bring the sun back; nowadays, they just short out a LUCAS device.
If you are imprisoned by an evil bishop, break out, and look for a hawk and a wolf who are in love.
Most critically - No matter what, do not buy any strange and exotic plants which mysteriously appear during the eclipse.
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The Fandom Life Cycle
Excerpt from 'Applications of Synthetic Mythology in Simulacric Physics", Originally Published in the Melinoë Foundation Pricesaver & Journal of Applied Sciences, Humbert, Yokaitaro, et-al, 2018
Thanks to our valiant strategic withdrawal in the recent legal unpleasantness with certain ungrateful "orphans," we have been given the rare opportunity to declassify certain documents for public consumption on an almost entirely voluntary basis. This is one of them!
This chart shows the mean trajectory of fandom involvement over a sliding scale. The trajectory is typically within a 15% variance with 1% outlier rate, but minus the five year calibration peak the scale varies person to person.
Feel free to use the graphic as needed to win whatever argument it could possibly be used for.
#helpful infographic#infographic#chart#unreality#melinoe labs#melinoe laboratories#fandom#edginess#fanworks#fanon#observational humor#in that we're observing you#and it's really funny
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You know what? I'm miffed.
When Dr. Adelaide died in the tragically unfilmed cafeteria incident of 1989, we brought her back to life after three days in a saline cryobath and was that a miracle?
Noooooooo!
It was "an abomination of science", "ethically indistinguishable from necromancy", and "a misappropriation of valuable mandrill organs."
But you take that scenario out of the lab and apply it to an entity that is definitionally immortal and now it's a miracle?
"A god fails to die" isn't a miracle, it's a tautology.
Now rabbit monotremes? That's miraculous*
*Unless Project CelloGrass completes before you read this, in which case its available at Petsmart locations nationwide.
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"Doctor Martin, why are you an atheist?"
Director Maria Kleinheart wasn't the sort of person who asked indirect or idle questions. She was in every way a Kleinheart, the spitting image of her grandmother. Only she wasn't staring out from a yellowed ad in a back issue of Popular Science or Woman's Day, she was staring from across desk made of polished slate.
Emil Martin didn't respond immediately. That sort of question usually came with an invitation to services or a badgering about Pascal's wager. That didn't fit what he knew about the director, though that wasn't much. An intense religious conversion would explain the rumors around her distance from the rest of her family.
"Director, is this a personal or work related question?" Emil finally asked.
"Work." She replied.
"Is that appropriate?"
"Yes. This is about security clearances."
That made even less sense. Emil decided to risk a lecture on his eternal soul and answered truthfully. "Pretty standard, insufficient evidence."
"Would you rather it be true?" She asked. "Would it be comforting to know you existed for a purpose, that someone was in charge of your existence, caring for you?"
"Not really." Emil replied. "I'm rather Hitchenisan in that regard."
"Good enough. Follow me."
-
"BE NOT AFRAID."
The words seemed to come out of the air itself. The thing was at the center of the large, expansive lab that had once been a missile silo. It was a sphere, surrounded by two rings of brass-like metal. The rings were lined with hemispherical semi-translucent white glass or crystal protrusions. The inner ring spun slowly, as did the central core, though only the faintest irregularities in its glowing blue-white corona revealed that motion.
The outer ring was held in place with steel chains, each link six inches in diameter. Two chains locked the ring to the floor, while a third latched the top to the ceiling. The cuffs the chains connected to seemed to have been welded shut around it.
"BE NOT AFRAID." It 'spoke' again. Its voice was clear and musical, but wrong and artificial at the same time. It sounded like familiar voices; his mother and father, his cousins, his old school pals, his boyfriends, even Director Kleinheart, each synthesized poorly via an AI speech simulator, all speaking in perfect time.
Every time it spoke, Emil smelled his grandfather's sweet cornbread fresh from the oven.
"That looks like an angel." He finally gasped.
"Looks like." Director Kleinheart smiled. He wasn't sure she could do that. "I knew we picked the right man."
"This is why you were asking about my beliefs?"
"Yes Doctor Martin. You see, freedom of religion is an extension of the principle of innocence until proven guilty. Once one faith is shown to be correct, all others are revealed as wrong."
"And you wanted to make sure I, what, wasn't guilty of being wrong?"
"No, the mistaken are innocent of everything except the actions they directly take." Kleinheart continued. "It's the ones who would take this to mean they were right that are fifth columnists to an unaccountable alien power."
"Oh." Emil replied. He didn't know quite what else to say.
"I want you on our team that's studying it. We need to know how it works, what it's made of, what those things its made of can be used for, you know the drill."
"BE NOT AFRAID." Again came the smell of cornbread.
"Are the restraints necessary?" Emil asked. "It is telling us we don't need to be afraid of it."
"Oh, we thought that too at first." The director said. "But we've already learned quite a bit about our little intruder here, even a bit of its 'source code' for lack of a better analogue. That message isn't meant for us."
"What is it then?"
"Can't you guess, Doctor?"
Dr. Emil Martin shrugged. "I have no idea."
"It isn't giving us a warning."
Director Kleinheart smiled for the second time in Emil's memory and spoke again.
"It's repeating its orders."
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Don't worry about who is in the control group.
We've got that covered.
#fairy#walrus#fairy vs walrus#walrus vs fairy#gray aliens#alien abduction#ufology#melinoe laboratories#we just need to doublecheck some things#oh hey who wants this gold apple I found
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Ask yourself why you'd want to honor an unaccountable foreign king in the first place.
If such beings exist (and we're not saying they do) the only meaningful industry of mankind would be freeing ourselves from their yolk by any means available.
Thankfully, the Olympians are a class-C deific order. Low power, humanlike intelligence on the low end of the scale (Thanatos, for instance, is very easy to trick), possessing of organs and the passions that come with them, including many well documented psychological weaknesses (Ex: you could trap Zeus with a giant strip of flypaper with a 1:1 scale photo of Dua Lipa printed on it (mild exaggeration).
Technology closed that power gap more or less in the 1960s, minus some monster-making curse-slinging that always seems to backfire on them anyhow.
They even told everyone where they live, an actual real place you can find on a map! At least the Æsir make finding their digs hard!:
(The yellow circle is the 5.5 km blast radius of a 475 kiloton w87 thermonuclear device.)
We chose that as our measure of scale in honor of the other creature in that myth-cycle worth revering, Prometheus. The one that gave us fire and writing, and thus all science, math, and civilization to follow, and was punished by the rest for it with endless torture.
We know who is worthy of honor, there, and if you ask us, the greatest honor is rescue.
When you step into sunlight, you honor Apollo. When you admire the moon, you honor Artemis. When you admire cloud shapes, you honor Hera. When you smell petrichor, you honor Zeus. When you laugh at a joke, you honor Hermes. When your body twitches to dance at a particularly upbeat music, you honor Dinoysus. When you enjoy the first bite of your breakfast, you honor Demeter. When you choose your peace over any conflict, you honor Athena. When you warm yourself up by sheltering yourself in blanket, you honor Hestia. When you listen to Ocean sounds, you honor Poseidon. When you smell flowers, you honor Persephone. When you admire the coolness of first day of Autumn, you honor Hades. When you wear your favourite jewellery, you honor Hephaestus. When you smile, you honor Aphrodite. When you exercise, you honor Ares. When you light a torch in a dark room, you honor Hekate.
Your body is a shrine to Gods, your being an act of devotion for them. You, by yourself, are enough for them.
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Look when I told that fairy that I wanted life to be more like TV I didn't know he was going to go for Always Sunny.
This is why you ignore the promises. No matter how much they offer you, it will never be worth as much as the hassle. Or even the exotic minerals in their bones.
So it's like this. A walrus at your door is an airhorn someone surprised you with. A fairy at your door is a super conservative parent quietly saying "I'm gay" at the dinner table one day. One of these may have bigger long term repercussions, but the other is most immediately shocking.
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What they consider "rude" is immaterial. Our turf, our rules of courtesy apply. And if you ask us (as 9 out of 10 dentists do) cursing someone because they've failed your in-group/out-group test when you know absolutely that they're in the out-group isn't corrective behavior, it's assault.
They're pretty snooty about manners for a bunch of grifting hobos wandering around demanding that the locals follow their customs like ugly Americans.
But you don't have to be a victim! Buy the Melinoë Puck-Off! Brand live capture trap 24-pack, perfect for the home, the car, and the unhallowed cemetery at the edge of town!
Put those irksome extranormal pests and their exotic-mineral laden bones in their place: the convenient drop-box at your local elementary school, public library, or participating Hotdog-on-a-Stick location.
When they come asking for your name, tell them to Puck-Off!
The walrus/fairy thing has genuinely been revealing to me about how a lot of people process the world, and not in an encouraging way! People prioritizing a mental narrative over objective likelihood is at the root of a lot of problems in the world, and I think it'd be better if people worked to unlearn it. To me, the idea of saying the fairy is "more likely" is pretty alien, like genuinely there's a big modes-of-thinking gap there between me and others.
Not to like, make the fairy/walrus shitpost out to be super important or anything, just something I've been thinking on.
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#monad or demiurge is like good cop / bad cop#in the end they're both still cops#i blame the demiurge#chicago
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Oh. You think finally. At first.
Then nobody remembers who you are and the dairy section has been ransacked.
If the wolf of wall street wandered up to your door and started offering you stock tips in exchange for cocaine, you'd slam the door in his face and call the authorities before he talked you out of the deed to your house.
It doesn't become a whimsical adventure just because he's half size and out to get high on moo juice instead of angel dust.
It's a con. Even if they were all royalty as they claim to be, their laws don't apply on this side of the mushroom circle.
So sorry Titania, you may be queen of something or other over in the undying lands, but here you're a tourist*, no different from any other except in regard to the delectable rarity of the minerals in your bones, and you're expected to follow our law, not yours.
It's not an 'innocent mistake about literal verses figurative language', it's identity theft, and it's a crime.
Remember: Verbal contracts with uninformed parties are entirely unenforceable in human society, and they know it. They're relying on your being so impressed that they're from one of the "higher" realities that you won't stand up for your rights.
But we will stand up for our rights, and we were contracted for 124 shoes. We are only delivered 108. Where's the rest of our shoes Knobblestumpendandrewsskin?
We've got a very valuable bone to pick with you.
*Technically an invasive species if you want to get down to the bones of the matter.
truth is, underneath it all, a lot of our beliefs aren't rational, and they're formed young. all those stories of magical protagonists. secret worlds if you just had the key. creatures just out of view. all that shit we imagined doesn't go away because we got older. in a lot of ways it gets bigger, more elaborately built on.
i think we're hiding the emotionally devastating core of the walrus vs fairy debate under jokes.
you see a fairy on your doorstep? and you think finally.
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He absolutely is not.
He cannot grant any wishes, he can't predict the future, and he is in no way anyone's reincarnated great-aunt Charlyse.
If he tells you otherwise you should know he's pulled this scam before. He just wants your filet-o-fish and your social security number.
I've asked this question before and been surprised by the results, now I have access to more weirdos it's your problem:
It is the middle of a Sunday afternoon. You have nothing on, and aren't expecting visitors, deliveries or post.
Unexpectedly, there is a knock at the door.
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If anyone has encountered said walrus, please dial our toll-free hotline. He's grounded and knows better than to be out at this hour. Do not make eye contact and do not let him into your home, no matter how persuasive and/or telepathic he gets. His stories are fake and his threats are (mostly) tuskless.
If its the other one, tell that lazy bastard he owes us sixteen more shoes. We paid for that with Cold. Stone. Cream. and if I don't have my dunks by solstice I will put him right back in the convenient dropbox at the local Hot-Dog-On-A-Stick where I found him.
I've asked this question before and been surprised by the results, now I have access to more weirdos it's your problem:
It is the middle of a Sunday afternoon. You have nothing on, and aren't expecting visitors, deliveries or post.
Unexpectedly, there is a knock at the door.
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Think the Necronomicon, but the kid's book edition.
It isn't that everything strange tastes like chicken.
Chicken does not possess a flavor as we understand it. Rather, chicken is akin to a TV test pattern or a white-balance card. It is a calibration point that determines the entire culinary balance of the individual palette.
This is what the Wal-Mart of the extreme sciences would call a 'cognitohazard.' Your basic run of the mill stared-into-the-mouth-of-the-infinite-and-went-mad-with-forbidden-knowledge type thing. But we've all eaten chicken, we all know what chicken tastes like, right?
No.
We all know what our minds have filled in to protect us from the cosmic truths hidden within the deliciousness of tyrannosaurus' most edible heir. A false memory we re-experience with each taste of forbidden knowledge.
And whenever your senses are baffled, your primed nervous system retreats to the defense mechanism it knows.
As a consequence, no two people taste the same chicken. For that to happen, a second person would have to experience the taste and carry its memory with them without succumbing to madness. Thus far, it has only happened to one person.
That person?
Guy Fieri.
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