Roadkill serial killers, you’re tech needs are now served by this totally mindless demonstration of how to view your iPhone videos whilst driving.

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Beer, ice-cream and sun cream all in one easy to use bottle… why didn’t I think of that?

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We didn’t get Qajack into Techcrunch50, frankly I’m not surprised, we’re too early stage and have yet to meet, greet and hug our application in all it’s really useful video gaming glory. Which means when I had my phone interview with ‘Heather’ from TC central I came across like a rambling English buffoon.

‘Video Q&A meets Poker’ was found wanting, a presentation short of a slideshow for a not-yet-ready-hang-on-a-mo.

Frankly with a baby due I was going to struggle to tell my wife I was about to head out to San Fran only days after the birth to stand in front of a lot of very important mostly Americans replete with Madonna Vogue-esque headset and talk about ‘Qajack’:

‘You mean like stealing a car?’

‘No, Qajack not car jack’

We’re also behind schedule. Chief architect Daniel is a perfectionist, I am a perfectionist about perfectionists and David is excited. This is all good. Read the rest of this entry »

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Great Britain as a deranged Scotsman, hmmm, this is the stuff wars are made of.

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Why spend a billion schmillions on an invisible jet tank with nuclear gills when you could just call upon the patriotism of your countries hackers and Spam Lords (for it is they who send me missives about Angelina in a mud bath) and get them to turn on your enemy with ‘denial of service attacks’.

World of Warcraft ain’t got nothing on this (via Slate):

‘As Russian and Georgian troops fight on the ground, there’s a parallel war happening in cyberspace. In recent weeks, Georgia’s government Web sites have been besieged by denial-of-service attacks and acts of vandalism. Just like in traditional warfare, there’s a lot Read the rest of this entry »

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Natasha Vargas-Cooper writes a razor like critique of the rise and fall of the Lad’s Mag, entitled Twilight of the Rods. When the boobs don’t work, blame the internet:

‘For publishers in the halcyon days of the late 1990s—those days before the Internet was blamed for robbing media moguls of their precious ad revenues—there existed a magical recipe that could build you a glossy magazine empire almost overnight. The concoction was simply named The Formula.

The Formula’s ingredients were as follows:

3 scantily clad B-list starlets
1 two-hundred word sex advice feature
1 personal benefit/service feature
1 “gritty read”(legitimately researched, well written Read the rest of this entry »

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1974, what a year, when women wanted hash smuggling and total feminism.

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Yann is our French intern. Yann is very clever and very organised. Yann isn’t going anywhere! But sometimes people do strange things and I feel the need to share, only so my mental torment is dissipated slightly by the knowledge others share it.

By way of back story, David and I were reaquainting ourselves with the ex-girlfriend stalker hell that is Facebook and I chose to tell him via Facebook IM that my daughter did a big poo this morning just as the midwife arrived to examine my wife and that the house smelt. There is more detail, but I’ll leave it at that for now.

Forward, 20 minutes or so later, much real business has been discussed in this time, notably the wonders of Qik and excitement about our first iPhone App.

Yann, David and I are all conversing via the Skypetron. Simultaneously both send me a link:

www.ratemypoo.com

In my wisdom I click away, twice. My eyes pop, my stomach churns, I’m looking at someone else’s poo in a bowl, thankfully partially obscured by toilet paper.

I respond to Yann and David:

Me: I feel sick

Yann: Me too, I found this when trying to find if the verb is written ‘to poo’ or ‘to poop’.

You got to admire the grammatical dedication.

Picture from the staggering Sprinkle Brigade.

UPDATE: Whilst getting the url for Qik, whose tagline is ’see what happens’, I was confronted by a hand towel in a bathroom and then a man masturbating furiously.

This is turning into a morning that requires some mental erasing.

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