What the hell happened here? Needless to say, it took a pretty violent incident to do this kind of damage.
Speaking about his friend's PS3, our tipster writes:
He had his PS3 plugged into an electrical source although it wasn't running any games at the time of this. He plugged in his Psyclone HDMI cable from his Samsung 32-inch flatpanel tv to the PS3 when the sparks started flying. A flame actually shot up out of the PS3, and sparks were firing out of both ends where the HDMI cable met with the ports. The mess ended in 10 seconds when the cord melted off. Pictures included. We cannot figure out why/how this occurred. No breakers were tripped, no damage or discoloration to any wall outlets or other power sources. Only the HDMI ports.
We've seen our fair share of flaming laptops, cellphones and iPods—but this is the first time I have come across an HDMI fire. Unless there were fireworks strapped to the cable, this one is a mystery. [Thanks Chris!]
There’s nothing like the launching a company from your college dorm room that achieves global 
Bing, Microsoft's dedicated web searcher, must be deleted from the iTunes App Store at once. Why? Its image browsing mode can be set to watch hardcore porn. If Apple wants to follow 
One year. 365 parasites. 
It's a well known fact that Safari's CSS engine runs on rainbows, unicorns, and sugar, or that Internet Explorer 7 HTML renderer uses copious amount of babies' blood. However, very few people know that Chrome runs on goats.
I once had to wait an extra four weeks for a couch. I was furious. All I can say is that I'm glad I'm not 
At first glance, this quote by Windows Manager James DeBragga doesn't make much sense. But it's actually a relatively reasonable metaphor.
I'm going to tell you a tale, a tale of friendship that, with the help of a Chinese automatic nail printer, blossomed into a full-out, wet and sticky bromance.
There Jason and I were, walking through the International Center at CES, our shoulders brushing casually in the intimate walkways. Then we spotted a machine unlike any we'd seen before. A wizened Chinese man beckoned us into this booth, and before we could raise any objections, he placed his finger our our lips, a tacit acknowledgment that this was our first time. Jason took a seat.
Still confused and a bit disoriented, Jason smiled nervously as a camera photographed nothing less than the full earnestness his soul. Looking at the screen, Jason's stomach dropped at the sheer amount of honesty that could be captured on a webcam and displayed on a touchscreen LCD.
I pretended to ignore Jason's powerful image as grabbed a seat myself. The Chinese man took my hand—his touch was warm. He lightly stroked my thumb with a base coat while photographing me as well.
How would Jason and I frame our faces? We joked that the heart cutout was the only way. And then our eyes locked and we realized that maybe, just maybe, we weren't joking at all.
The photos processed, I tentatively placed my thumb into the machine. It clamped down on my appendage, strongly, and it wouldn't let go. At this moment, trapped and vulnerable, I could only let the machine finish. To this day, I don't know if it's the event's repression speaking, but the process was quick, professional and I don't recall the slightest bit of pain. In fact, I didn't feel a thing.
Jason, having bravely endured the same process, reveals the worthwhile aftermath in this photo. My face has been semi-permanently painted upon his fingernail. He blows on the finish to make sure it's dry, his lips the closest they'd ever been to my face.
"For better or worse, we're together in this thing now," I thought to myself. But just several days following this entire affair at CES, Jason and I have parted ways. Sometimes we IM one another, and there's the occasional text. But even as the heart has chipped away from my nail, his smile remains.
