This guy puts all kinds of different crap in the microwave and films the results. My favorite is the eggs.


Two Replies to Burning Microwave Popcorn

Anna Gregoline | August 16, 2007
Possibly the best website ever. Thank you!

Steve West | August 16, 2007
You're welcome and welcome to Steve's world, hah!


Web Junkie

Steve West scours the Web searching for interest or absurdity and then shakes his head ruefully when he finds it. Read more »

I'm a Doctor, Not a Kitchen Appliance!

My toaster has a timer on it that let's you know when it's finished. It seems a little silly to add a timer beeping that's a redundant addition to the toast loudly popping up from the machine that means the same thing. So now, because the timer emits a sound eerily similar to an EKG indicating flatline, every time it goes off I'll say to Brenda, "He's bread, Jim." Go »

Got Dem Sunday Shopping UOAS Blues

Weekly shopping or as it has become, my weekly stroll through Satan's marketplace. I consciously avoided UOAS's line and since there were only two lines, chose the one next door. Let's call this one Slightly Less Ugly On A Stick. Go »

Weekend Grocery Shopping Equals...

... another encounter with Ugly On A Stick. I had no idea she was even there until she went out of her way to shout, 'HiiiIIIiiiii' from an aisle away. Go »

Mythbusters Or Bust

Every Mythbusters myth on one page. Organized by "confirmed", "busted", or "partial" - 308 up to this point. Indispensible reference if you're into this show, moderately interesting for those of us without cable. Go »

Post Florida is Literally Murder

Brenda and I recently returned from a wonderful week spent in Sarasota with Scott and Kelly. Lauren and her husband, Jon, were able to fly down from ND to care for Olivia while we were travelling. The trip started as a mixed bag of positives and negatives, as the people in the row in front of us spoke incessantly and at an annoyingly loud volume but the young lady who shared our row was delightful. Go »

Christmas and a Lizard's Tale

One Christmas when Lauren was eight, like a lot of girls her age, wished for a pony. My backyard at the time was about the size of a Volkswagen Minibus. Despite her assurances that she would let it roam the neighborhood for sufficient exercise, I said, “Not this year,” as I pictured myself following the horse with a pooper scooper. Go »