recycle this issue                  keep this issue


RECYCULUS is loading
 
$1.20  OR  2 long tonnes of timber
THE LISA HYTNER EDITION

Today:
14° / -5°
afternoon hornets


Tomorrow:
-11° / -23°
afternoon hornets


Saturday:
22° / 12°
afternoon hornets


Sunday:
-6° / -32°
too many hornets


Monday:
27° / 11°
intermittent hornets


“E. recyculus recyculus, et r. cyculus recyculus.”
“From many small bicycles, one bicycle airship.”




vol. DXXI       no. 189,948
Thu., Jan. 18, 1923


JUMPING THROUGH HOOPS DU JOUR: The Maddening, Mouthwatering Modern World In Simple-To-Follow Recipes!


This week: Classic Homemade Success or Disaster (yields one or the other; may cause severe stomach knots, and, in rare cases, complimentary garlic knots)

INGREDIENTS

— 1,000 to 2,000 existential anxiety-induced sleepless nights
 
— 2½ decades of self doubt (double for each additional decade of life, until dead)
 
— 3 to 5 daily pinches of polite conversation to distract from crippling inner turmoil
 
— long stretches of unrequested celibacy (to taste)
 
— 3 to 4 days unpaid labor per week

DIRECTIONS

Combine ingredients in large, cosmopolitan melting pot, stirring lightly. Some ingredients may be more attractive and successful than you at first blush, but will eventually burn out. If desired, strangle them with cheesecloth and bash/whisk them stiffly against a granite backsplash, feeling momentarily bad about it. Repeat until thick skin forms. Bake briefly in shallow pride, swallow hard, and be disgusted—no one ever said it would taste good.
  ϶
Before They Were Dead: Leonardo da Vinci



Did you know that honest to god Renaissance man Leonardo da Vinci…

→ Was the first non-mafia affiliated Italian to use “mozzarell” in place of “mozzarella” outside of suburban New Jersey?
 
→ Dissected many dead bodies for his anatomical studies and heroically slayed many undead bodies by dark of night using not but the sharpened end of a jailhouse paintbrush?
 
→ Doodled the concept art for “The Last Supper” on a napkin using only red wine, a toothpick, and a slew of state of the art lithograph machines?

…and he managed to do all this and more before he was dead!


NEXT TIME: We offer a salute to the zany short films of Thomas “The Next Spielberg” Jefferson!
  ϶
Before They Were Dead: Marie Curie



Did you know that pioneering physicist Marie Curie…

→ Shared the 1903 Nobel Prize in Physics with husband Pierre and shared her spearmint gum with the rest of the class because she actually brought enough for everyone?
 
→ Coined the term “radioactive,” and absolutely destroyed wiry oil tycoon J. D. Rockefeller in three rounds of underground hobo rules kickboxing to fund her groundbreaking research?
 
→ Played shortstop—not first base, as is often rumored—on Sorbonne's legendary faculty softball team, the Radium Sox?

…and she managed to do all this and more before she was dead!


NEXT TIME: We fondly remember 3-time all-Croat welterweight champion sheep-shearer, Nikola “The Oscillator” Tesla!
  ϶
Unread Book Review — “Anna Karenina” by Leo Tolstoy

Look, I understand the caterpillar is very hungry. I get that. But what I don't get is why it took thirty-two full-color pages to get that point across. Talk about your long-winded tripe. I'm an avid non-reader. I don't read anything and everything I can't get my hands off. So when a nonexistent Russian-lit major friend of mine didn't say, “Hey, you shouldn't read Anna Karenina!” I wasn't like, “No.” And now, just look at what that brief surge of misplaced enthusiasm on my part has gotten me: three parking tickets, and an outstanding $40 tab at the local library that only grows by the week. I often hear of Tolstoy being compared to his myriad great contemporaries—L. Ron Hubbard, Ann Coulter, Dean Koontz—but I just don't see it. I don't get it. And you know, just because a caterpillar decides he's very hungry, that doesn't give him carte blanche to eat every goddamngoddamn thing he sets his six pairs of ocelli on. Didn't anyone tell him there's an obesity epidemic decimating our waistlines and pancreases? Pulp trash at its absolute worst.  ★☆☆☆☆
  
Has This Ever Happened To You?

Today, I asked my wife if I could borrow her bra ’cause mine's in the shop and she looked at me like I asked to borrow her bra ’cause mine's in the shop.
  
ADVERTISEMENT

When you visit the supermarket, does your fat toddler's excessive weight threaten the structural integrity of even the sturdiest shopping cart? If so, it might be time to try a revolutionary new product, a little something we're calling Don't Go Breaking My Cart®, the world's first stand-alone, heavily-reinforced steel seat specifically designed to be compatible with almost any shopping cart you can cram and/or grease your kid into. Simply secure Don't Go Breaking My Cart® in place, hoist that chunker of yours into the part of the shopping cart that can very nearly accommodate him, and that's it—you're ready to hit the Pop Tart aisle. Then, once you finish purchasing all the Pop Tarts you can afford, simply heave your little bundle of mass onto any heavy load-rated surface, pop Don't Go Breaking My Cart® back out, and immediately store somewhere cool and dry—it's just that simple. Get your own Don't Go Breaking My Cart® shopping cart seating system today, and never worry about another flimsy shopping cart ruining your day or your grocer's tile floor ever again.
  ߜ
Patent Pending #7,590

“The Animal To Be Called Lion”

Key Features:

• cat-like face
• haunches (ample)
• flexible tail
• flowing locks of auburn
• single-seat sidecar with optional hydraulic speed brake  

Who Would Know This, Even?

Each and every Passover Eve, the Easter Rabbi visits millions of children worldwide to deliver a brightly-colored treasure trove of leaky, unrefrigerated baskets full of traditional schmaltz, borscht, goulash, and—if the little one in question was especially good that year—a pillowy sleeve of kosher Peeps. Two sleeves if they were bad.
  
Everlasting Love

Women come and women go, but I'll always remember my first true love: the Brooklyn Bridge. Ours wasn't the traditional physical love, what with her being a bridge and me being a man, but, well okay, maybe that one time—but she and I agreed to never let it happen again, lest we ruin what we had. Well—I agreed, anyway. Bridges, as you know, rarely voice their opinions. So, with that one major exception, it's more like a deep, abiding respect for one another. And I'll never forget the first time I saw her. I was in Bed-Stuy for leisure. (When you're in love with heavy iron vestiges of American infrastructure, you generally have to go to them, as having them come to you will inevitably lead to all manner of logistical nightmare. But, I digress.) She was quite a bit older than me—having been completed in 1883—as I was barely more than a boy at twenty-two. To be honest, though, I think that's probably what most attracted me to her in the first place. I've always had a thing for older women and inanimate river crossings. All the experiences she'd had; all the things she'd seen. What can I say? Her uncanny ability to move people and vehicles moved me. And a man even offered to sell her to me once, but I knew she could never be owned; she was too wild and free and welded together. Also, I kind of doubt that man was actually authorized by the City of New York and the five boroughs to sell its bridges to transient weirdos. But, as these things so often go, just as quickly as our romance had blossomed, it began to wither and wilt, as my vacation drew to a close; just another bittersweet case of summer love. Nevertheless, she shall always come first in my heart, and I'll forever treasure the memories we made together. This one's for you, Brooklyn Bridge, New York, NY 10038.
  Φ


Established 1403 A.D.         “The World's First Web Pages” *
© Copyright 1923 RECYCULUS.  ✣   * Printed on 20.6% spider webs.


***  EDITOR'S COFFEE NOTE:  black, but with tons and tons of cream  ***    
ORPHANED PEDDLER:  transact only with the urbane filthy


recycle this issue                  keep this issue                 what's recyculus?                who's recyculus? 
RECYCULUS, from the lowercase, italicized recyculus, literally translates to “from many small bicycles, one bicycle airship” — most likely a nod to the extremely respectable publication's earliest days, during which it rode, impressively sans-hands, atop a wave of light-to-moderate interest in secondhand mega-bicycles that began all throughout history, and persisted well past the future.

In an age when draconian town ordinances hadn't yet been applied to enormous bicycles, exceedingly burdensome village laws required all huge local bicycles to take up entire city blocks, thereby — or so went the theory — maximizing computing power. Despite these job-killing regulations — and to say nothing of the continuous, violent Mongol conquest of its central sales office — RECYCULUS managed to stand out from the used-gargantuan-bicycle crowd, thanks in part to its line of similarly-titanic bicycles, based on designs the burgeoning daily newsletter distributor endeavored to license, at tremendous expense, from hundreds of competing outfits specializing in subpar jumbo bicycles.

Finally, in the first six or seven minutes of the winter of 1402, lightning struck. Later that day, in a quiet moment following the fires, came a turning point: Whilst hopelessly tending to his many serious burns, founder H. Angus Recyculus (no relation) took it upon himself to seize an opportunity to break into the centuries-shy-of-being-conceived-of collection of world wide webs, refocusing the samely-renamed RECYCULUS's efforts on becoming the world's first * and only ** daily issuer of high-test web*** pages — a distinction it maintains, on both counts, as of about 3 PM eastern, 2 PM central.

In those first few thousand heady days, the simple act of “uplinking” new content to the infant web printing press required tens of thousands of recently-paroled, hastily-minted engineers to tightly roll up each and every lovingly-crafted submission, before squeezing them into their hometown energy concern's expansive network of live, weather-frayed, high-load municipal trunk cable — itself yet to be invented — while taking great pains all over their humanity and skeletons to avoid allowing the sudden plumes of almost-certainly-unrelated person steam to curl and/or smear the delicate, invaluable blurbs, before allowing good old-fashioned American electricity to do what it does best, dozens of decades before those words would have any meaning at all. Back then — just like pretty recently — RECYCULUS engineers could be found electrocuted along our nation's many miles of pristine, white sand interstate highways; a quaint reminder of a time we were still in until, again, pretty recently.

As any latterly hypnotized student of history will be instructed to recall, RECYCULUS's unprecedented 587-year run came to an abrupt end at 11:59 PM, on that fateful night of December 31, 1989, when its headquarters exploded during the Great Headquarters Explodings of ’89, and shortly thereafter gently floated off to that elephantine bicycle reseller in the sky. Forty minutes later — once every piece of cinder had finally been looted, discarded, or eaten — it became abundantly clear to the wandering hordes that these scant 5.8 × 1083 scanned pages were all that remained of the once great whatever it had been. Another forty minutes later — after the cinder poisoning had largely subsided, and acting on behalf of RECYCULUS without the proper authorization — the mesothelioma-fortified de facto chieftains decided to make each and every issue available, free of charge, to the entire remaining world, with only the moderate wish that their publisher's great, indecipherable legacy never be truly forgotten or understood.

All of us here at RECYCULUS — from H. Angus Recyculus XVII, Sr. (no relation), on down to the lowliest Senior Vice President of Worldwide Distribution, each of whom has most definitely not**** gone on to live a life of magnificent luxury within the plush, palatial confines of the literal new head office they collided with the instant they missed the turn for the metaphorical one — sincerely hope you'll find something to enjoy in each of these 5.8 million million trillion octillion decillion modest, extremely amazing, humble, profoundly transcendent, ordinary pages of woven web. (Maybe over a long***** weekend, or something.) And we say that not merely for the sake of the families of the millions who have died meaningless, excruciating deaths to bring you these bland yet succulent texts — but also for the many, many, many millions more who have survived; bedridden by intractable full-body hair pain and roving blood spasms, having long ago been rendered physically incapable of instigating death's sweet release.

This one's for the fans.


* presumably, based on fonts
** based on searches conducted in 1997, while the modems were in the shop — individual results may vary, if they so choose
*** prior to that point, most of the world's pages were spun from leftover cocoon fuzz
**** based on the most up-to-date lies available at the time of the lying
***** likely one of the longest on record, because even if you're a quick reader and were able to enjoy one issue per minute, it'd still take you 1.1 quinvigintillion years — or around 79.8 million billion trillion quadrillion septillion times longer than the universe has even existed — to enjoy them all (or you could just print them for later, in which case maybe ask about the bulk rate on ink, because the sheets of paper required to do so would stretch 205.9 unvigintillion light years across the cosmos, or — were the universe a sphere — roughly 13.9 trillion quadrillion quintillion septillion googol trips around it)
RECYCULUS  is:

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ߜ  Brian Adams
  contributor

ʘ  Drew Adamski
  contributor

ȸ  Justin Barricks
  contributor

  Jack Oolders
  contributor

Φ  Dave Prague
  contributor

  Zack Zagranis
  contributor

  Steve Brunton
  at-large contributor

ȼ  Aaron Casey
  at-large contributor

Δ  Dena Darvish
   Derakhshan

  at-large contributor

Ϟ  Allan Heifetz
  at-large contributor

϶  Lisa Hytner
  at-large contributor

&

  Matt Payne
  editor immortalis

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

email    to contribute