This compilation is especially for Ms. Babble-Jean Teabag who is currently away nursing a healthy relative back to sickness.
It is a collection of videos on musical Tesla coils, compiled by our loyal, trusty, and hardworking intern, Whats-His-Name, the research monkey.
These are solid-state Tesla coils, Their primaries run at a resonant frequency in the 41 KHz range, and they are modulated from the control unit in order to generate the tones you hear.
No, the electricity is not timed and coordinated to the music: the music is made by these two midi-controlled Tesla Coils!
A midi, is of course, is some sort of small electro-magical creature, native to the Russian tundra – and it lives for the opportunity to use its elemental powers to enrich the lives of man.
Steve Ward and Jeff Larson, the owners and builders of these Tesla coils, and masters of these highly talented midis, met at Teslathon of all places.
Steve is an electrical engineering student at University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign.
So, without much further ado… here are those moving pictures… WITH SOUND!
… I’ve just been informed that “WITH SOUND!” is something that would probably not serve to amaze and confound people the likes of our regular readers – so, please forget that I ever said that.
Playing video game music:
Dance of Sugar Plum Fairies:
Now: What happens when a Jedi tries to disrupt the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies:
As you can see, the jedi is almost completely immobilized by the Tesla coils, and powerless to continue his attack, his giant helmet keeping him only barely alive, he becomes confused… disinterested…
Not a Jedi you say? What? Doctor who? Doctor Zues? Well… fine… whatever…
I found this remarkable gem today whilst floating about on the aethernet.
I am not quite sure if this is a vision of the future, or of our glorious past, but I feel I speak for all when I say our founders would be most pleased with this feature, whatever its origins.
Had I tear ducts and other related body parts, I would surely weep at its beauty.
This memo is in protest to the memo previously left by Ms. Babel-Jean Teahymn, and for the purpose of disputing my status as a former employee, ex-employee, demised employee, or employee who has otherwise ceased to be.
This letter is being transcribed by intern Tom Lazythint, as for some reason or another I have become temporarily incompatible with objects on the material plane of existence – a mere phase which I am sure will pass in time, and something I am sure must happen to most people my age at some point or another. Regardless, this statement is a disclaimer against possible typos and other displays of intern daftness which might occur within this transcription.
I would like to say that in fact, I feel quite fine, and very well up to my duties regardless of my current state, and declare that I will fight tooth and nail with anyone who even as much as attempts to park their autocar in my assigned parking spot, parks their grimy feet on my fine brazilian cherrywood desk, or even thinks to attempt to raid my tobacco stocks, pilfer my chocolate stores, violate my taxidermied werebeasts, or as you whippersnapper deviants tend to say “yiffing the howlers”.
I do realize that the corpse found in the bath may in some ways resemble my own proud and well-bred visage in various ways such as height and remarkably well-tailored swimwear, and in this I can see where this confusion may have stemmed from. I do however assure you that I am right as rain and feeling as though I am well in my prime.
I would also like to inform that putting an end to my pay and benefits, or allowing anyone access to my office, would be very ill-advised, considering that I am a storehouse of information – information which this fine establishment would most likely prefer to have limited solely to this fine establishment, rather than in the hands of entities such as perturbed villagers and inquisitive constables.
Yours, if you know what is good for you,
Mint T. Zloty
P.S. Oh drat! I seem to have slipped through my chair again… no! don’t type that you boob! Just help me up or I swear you will receive the caning of your life! You there! I said stop typing you knitwitted son of a diseased mongoloid poopsmith! Just what do you think you are doing?! Get me out of this floor God blast it!