h a l f b a k e r y
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Lactose intolerant, parkour enthusiast, refrigeration technician by day.
Methane powered crime fighter by night.
At least at first.
It started with a love of dairy products and an uncontrollable releasing of the gasses associated with the consumption of all things milk.
Oh the degradation
my friends... the unfairness of it all.
It was too much for Lance to take you see.
He could not, Would Not, sacrifice or substitute a cheap imitation for that ambrosia of the teat.
Nor, in his mind, should he.
Experimenting in earnest with various charcoal filters and muffling systems, he hit upon a graphite impregnated fabric which would contain gaseous methane and yet wick water away to breathe like Egyptian cotton.
Unable to contain the incredible volumes he would produce, a way was needed to store the gas before it could escape the confines of his britches and thus the first compression system was cobbled together.
Using tiny hydraulic rams, his every movement now compressed the lighter than air gas to be deposited in expended CO2 cartridges.
Later incarnations of this system incorporated various ways to store larger amounts of gas and to expend it, at first unobtrusively but later, in humorous or augmentative ways.
It started small, as these things usually do.
Specially designed sleeves allowed him to launch invisible and utterly raunchy vortex rings from across a room into closing elevators or into his bosses office.
Releasing the gas had a cooling effect, sometimes too cool.
Sure he was air-conditioned while everyone else sweltered, but it wasn't enough you see.
It became an obsession.
Gauntlets followed that could burn or freeze.
Custom boots not only compressed gas they also allowed incredible leaps with its release.
That's when he made the staff.
Part flame thrower, part freeze blaster, part pole-vault.
A thing of beauty to be sure and that's where it should have stopped, but he just had to go and make that damned suit.
A complete flexible piezoelectric exoskeleton able to withstand extreme heat or cold.
He could burst into flame or radiate such cold as to crystallize the moisture in the very air around him.
It was too much for him.
You see... the sad fact is that the suit took him over my friends.
There is no more Lance Flatule.
Now there is only burning man.
So I implore you my friends.
Heed my warning and do not share his fate.
Switch to yogurt already.
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||One of the finest uses for a Bic Lighter that was ever conceived by humankind. The problem, as I see it here, is Lance's failure to take into account that while a spandex superhero suit can be quite spectacularly dazzling, it is, unfortunately, also quite flammable. Might I suggest switching to a fireproof suit, coupled with an exhaust pipe of suitable length, perhaps crafted out of one of the left over vuvuzelas that didn't sell in the last major world soccer tournament?
||(...or, not. I suppose it's possible I might have missed some crucial bits of information in the middle there somewhere...)
||I'm not sure if this is a superhero origin, a yogurt advocacy
program, or an acid trip. [+]
||//I'm not sure if this is a superhero origin, a yogurt advocacy program, or an acid trip.//
||Yes it is. All of the above.
||Reminds me of that game, Beyond Good And Evil. Pey'j has jet boots that are powered by a "pocket of pressurized methane" on his backside.
||Presumably, Burning-man has an Arch-Enemy ...
||What would be Burning-man's equivalent of green
||A cork covered in foil like on a champagne bottle?
||It's not the foil .. it's the twisty stiff wire ....