Strangely enough, the eccentric urn does not seem to have been a request of the deceased, but an earnest and loving gesture by family. From brother/flickr user sam 3.14:

His friends and family were able to leave their final good-byes on post-notes. Anyone who wanted to keep their words private could just slip their note into the case through the floppy slot. All notes will be sealed in plastic and placed within the case. There has been one complication. His daughters like the look of it so much they aren’t now sure if they want to bury him.

Apparently “Beam Me Up Scotty. I’m done here” were among the departed’s final words.
And while years of browsing the internet has forced me to question the validity of this tale, that same experience has also convinced me that, yes, this probably actually happened. [flickr via Slashdot]

Personal Urns use “advances in facial reconstruction and 3D printing” to create an urn in the shape of anyone’s head based on a photograph. And hey, if you’re not much to look at, they’re happy to make one based on any celebrity’s head as well. Me, I’m going to have my remains stored in the head of Natalie Portman.

I have my reasons. [Personal Urns via The Daily What]

The family now gets $US52,600 (up from $US44,000) as well as $US4,385 every year as long as one of the parents are alive. The Foxconn official that leaked this information to the press spoke anonymously since he wasn’t a qualified press-relations employee. [Yahoo]

This is more than a simple survey. In the past, we’ve learned of major breaking news from sources that now seem incredibly reliable, like television, radio, and newsprint. None of those media can be brought down by increased traffic. But while it’s clear the Internet is taking over the flow of information, it’s not clear that right now, it can handle such large news.

I myself heard about it from a friend, who had read it on the National Post’s website, a major Canadian news network. But what did I do then? I hopped on my computer and Googled the shit out of it. Soon, when we ask “where were you when you learned of this event?”, we may not be talking about geographical location, but URL.

So, readers, tell me: Was it Google? Twitter? Word of mouth? Suspicion based on the all-MJ set the DJ played at your favourite bar last night?

Humans are fragile. Our bodies are easily mutilated by our own creations: Crushed, mulched, zipped. But physical force is weak and inefficient compared to good old electrocution, which, according to MythBusters’ Adam Savage, doesn’t kill you the way you think it does.

If you learned about how electrocution kills you from cartoons or Ernest P. Worrell—you get fried as your body flashes like fireworks and everybody can see your bones—well, you got learned wrong. Electricity doesn’t actually fry you—that actually requires way more juice than it takes to kill you, which is a frighteningly minuscule amount.

But before we get to the scary part, let’s get through the technical part, so we’re on all the same page of scariness. You’ve got a few major units when it comes to electricity: Volts relate voltage, amperes (amps) describe the current, watts measure power and ohms refer to resistance. A pretty good analogy from HowStuffWorks relates the basic differences between them, plumbing style: Voltage is like water pressure, current (amps) is like the flow rate, and resistance (ohms) is like the size of the pipe. Increasing the voltage results in a greater current (more amps)—assuming a constant resistance-since increasing the pressure logically increases flow [Update: Clarified this sentence]. Power (wattage) is simply the voltage multiplied by the current (amps). One amp is equal to about 6.242 × 10^18 electrons per second moving through a point. And a single watt is equivalent to one joule of energy per second, but that doesn’t matter so much for our purposes.

Alright, now let’s get real. And who’s more real and had more opportunity to get electrocuted than Adam Savage from MythBusters? So we called and asked him just how much electricity you need to kill a human. His reply? “I’m about to freak you out.”

Seven milliamps. For three seconds. That’s all it takes. Electricity kills you by interrupting your heart rhythm. If 7 milliamps reaches your heart continuously for three seconds, “your heart goes arrhythmic,” he explained. Then everything else starts shutting down. “You could quite easily kill someone with a 9-volt or AAA battery directly to the heart.”

The reason electricity isn’t able to murder millions of people a day with ultra-tiny shocks is that our bodies have built-in resistance against electricity, so it doesn’t shoot straight to our heart. The skin’s resistance is about 5,000 to 15,000 ohms. Adam said that “it’s super difficult to quantify” precisely how much juice you need to break through, since there’s all kinds of variables in play, like the clothes you’re wearing. Not to mention, “how do you quantify that someone’s actually died?”

But if it’s any consolation, Adam says that the kind of static shock that actually stings your skin is about 20,000 volts—you still need high voltage, just a really tiny amperage.

So the trick is getting the proper amount of power to cut through our skin and clothes and rubber-soled shoes to zap our heart. There’s a reliable way to do that: Lightning. With lightning, Adam said, “all bets are off.” A lightning bolt can hit over a billion volts. Air’s resistance, he explained, is about 10,000 volts per centimeter—so for electricity to move just 10cm through air requires 100,000 volts.

Machines could generate lightning artificially—this dude Charles Steinmetz built a lightning machine back in 1916 that generated over 10,000 amps and 100,000 volts. The reason some people survive is that they luck out with the path it takes through their body—so they might get scorched if it travels along the outside of their body, like if you’re wet, but if their heart goes untouched, they could come out alive.

That’s obviously wildly impractical—the sophistication and energy required for lightning-shooting machines would be more easily put toward acquiring nukes, a la every apocalyptic movie ever. Besides, there are far simpler machines that do a similar job when it comes to electrocuting people. Simple skin-penetrating Tasers already kill people occasionally. However, according to Adam, Tasers are designed with the 3-second-kill problem in mind—most pulse at much shorter intervals to avoid being fatal.

Still, we likely have little to fear from extinction by electrocution. With the exception of the admittedly clumsy electric chair, no one’s ever systematically killed people with electricity. Machines, if they were to develop a murderous intent, would most likely use all of the other ways humans have designed to kill each other.

Huge thanks to Adam Savage from MythBusters for helping us—or the machines?—out!

Still something you still wanna know? Send any questions about why I’ll never recover from Terminator: Salvation, electrifying puns or the pancake apocalypse to tips@gizmodo.com, with “Giz Explains” in the subject line.

These plywood, floor-standing shelves are meant to be self-assembled, which makes us wonder: How can you reassemble your shelf to resemble your coffin if you’re already dead? Ideal for psychics and vampires only, if you’re mortal and boring, make sure your will specifically states that the shelf is to go with you—not for $US5 at a garage sale. [Shelves for Life via Like Cool]

While at the time of this writing, I am a spry (OK, a bit soft) 26-year-old man, I realise that I could, at any moment in time, die. In such an unfortunate circumstance, should the world ever recover from its loss, I’d like my most important possessions (my gadgets and digital media) to be well-tended pending their obsolescence (two or three months from now).

I will, give, and bequeath unto the persons named below, if he or she survives me, the Property described below:

My iPhone
Pending that my iPhone 3G was not crushed by whatever huge boulder must have smashed me, I would like to leave it to someone very special in my life. My wife Elizabeth, a long time iPhone hater, recently admitted that she was wrong in denouncing the phone and purchasing a Blackberry Pearl instead. I know she would really, really enjoy having my iPhone.

Too late, sweetie! Your penance were not adequate. My iPhone should go to an underprivileged child who is resourceful enough to pay a $US100/month subscription even though they haven’t shoes on their feet. Actually, publicise the donation and guilt AT&T and/or Apple into picking up the tab. It’ll help if the child can’t read.

My Flickr Account
You can’t give thousands of pretentious sepia photos to just anyone. No, these all go to the Art Institute of Chicago. May they reconsider my genius when macro photography of mundane objects constitutes an artistic revolution, or when there’s finally a wing dedicated to LOLCatz.

My Plasma TV and Home Theatre Accessories
The 46-inch Samsung plasma should be placed in my building’s workout room where, as of now, some devil has placed two crappy 13-inch LCDs under the guise that anyone can actually see those things. My TV now belongs to the condo association, pending that neither ESPN nor ESPN2 can ever be watched on it.

My Tangled Box of Cords
Everyone has an obnoxious, tangled box of various cords, and I was no exception. I hated this box, but found it a necessity in the mortal world. Now that I have transcended to a higher plain of existence (hopefully involving wireless HDMI and unlimited refills at a peach margarita machine), I leave this box to the last person who wronged me in life. Whoever that may be, I fucking hate you and my grudge will be eternal, just like that knot of cords.

My Xbox 360 and Games
OK, now this was a tough one. Who gets all the games, the controllers and the overpriced Wi-Fi dongle? Humanity, that’s who. And my gamer points go to Adam Frucci, the only guy who I know with less Live street cred than me. Well, him or my mum. Figure it out, lawyers. This point might go to trial.

My Wii
Sell it on eBay. I wouldn’t subject anyone I love to dealing with the horrors of the current Wiimote. If eBay has gone bankrupt, the lawyer has been instructed to bury the system in a time capsule until Wii MotionPlus comes out. If there’s a decent amount of game support (I’m talking games with headshots and blood, people), it should go to my two adorable nieces to aid in their development.

My PS3
Hahahahahaha. I mean, whoever will take this can have it! Hahahahahaha. Really though, in ten years, everyone will have them…pfft…hahahahhahahaha. Oh man, I’m funny even when dead.

My Low Digit ICQ Number
Mum, I know this has been hard for you, especially as you have no one to turn to regarding all things tech. No problem. You can have my five-digit ICQ number. (I realise you have no clue what that means.) It’s OK. Walk into any chatroom with that and, trust me, 87264829 isn’t giving you any shit, ever. You rule the internet now. Go forth and crush the opposition.

My MacBook Pro
Ahh, the MacBook Pro, the centre of my digital life. That’s why you’re all here, isn’t it? Well, of course my darling wife Elizabeth receives it. With some provisions:

Always wash your hands before using. Before you turn it on, say three Hail Maries with “Steve” replaced for “Mary.” No Boot Camping Vista, but Win 7 is fine. No watching YouTube clips where kids light their own farts on the screen. No chatting with other men on it. Don’t worry about webcam restrictions, I’ve taken the liberty of breaking the iSight for you.

It should be noted that there is a lot of important media saved on the hard drive that represents not only my musical preferences but snippets of our life together. You are now the owner of all MP3s, photos, animated GIFs (this is a big score, honey), and videos.

On the condition that you never delete my Springsteen collection, as low as you may be on space, it’s all yours. The computer is out in the hall. Please go claim it now. Mum? Sis? You can go with and help.

[They should leave the room.]

OK, Jason Chen. Quick. The MacBook is under your seat. I need you to delete some files. Go to my hard drive. Open “Applications.” Open “System Files” folder. Open “DO NOT OPEN OR COMPUTER WILL MELT” folder. Open “I’M NOT JOKING.” Open “SEARS CATALOG BABES WINTER 2002-2008.” Select all files. If you have time, you can copy these to the external drive you were instructed to bring with in a past email. If not, select all and delete. Then empty trash. Thanks buddy. You’re a true friend.

Oh, and to everyone. Don’t mourn my passing. Remember, I’m not dead. My crippled body is merely frozen. When I awake from my long winter slumber, I’ll be totally cured of ailments and donning a 7-foot titanium robot body complete with laser Gatlings and a turbo orgasm button. So don’t feel sorry for Mark. That guy’s doing just fine.

Well, that, or the cryogensis freezer failed, I was wrong about Christianity being fake and I’m burning through eternity in some poorly ventilated internet cafe that only has dial-up.

Wang Diange was attending a wake in his home when an explosion took off half of his roof and left him dead in the wreckage. Because it had been a stormy day, family members and the police assumed that lightning was what killed Wang and left half of his home in ruins.

However, as Wang was being placed into the cremation chamber at his own funeral, his body exploded, causing the chamber’s oven doors to fly off their hinges. Only then, spectators discovered a small piece of twisted metal, which led them to what really killed Mr. Wang:

A small weather rocket filled with silver iodide—shot into the sky in order to break up hail into rain—failed to explode in the atmosphere, and instead had fallen through Wang’s roof and acted like a bullet, instantly killing Wang as it was lodged into his body.

Three years later, the Weather Bureau has given the Wang family 80,000 yuan (roughly $12,000USD) as a compensation for their loss. (And before you ask, no: I hold no relation to this particular Wang.) [Telegraph]

The rise of the machines is happening already: Three people were killed in Japan by an evil foot massage machine. Or maybe the machine wasn’t that evil and the people were just thick.

Actually, the foot massage machine wasn’t evil at all. Maybe a little bad tempered and with some personal interrelation issues, but it was just doing its job when these three individuals tried to use it to massage their neck and shoulders. The most recent death occurred when a woman strangled herself when her shirt collar was trapped in the machine’s rollers. The other two happened in a similar way, so the company issued a statement on TV saying what is obvious: “Don’t use the damn foot massage machine on your neck, please.” [Japan Probe]