having beautifully shaped buttocks.
Example: David has a well-rounded cherry-shaped ass. That’s why we call him callipygous David.
Synonyms: bootylicious, bumtastic, callipygian, rumpalicious
Despite what the above dictionary entry says, no one calls me callipygous David. And it’s not because I haven’t tried to plant the idea. But the moniker never caught on. I suspect it’s because my legs are directly attached to my flat lower back, with nothing slappable in between.
So, since my genetics haven’t endowed me with the lush curves of an oiled beluga whale squeezed into a corset, I have to resort to…
Penises out! En garde! Fight!
Although penis fencing isn’t a sport I’ve ever engaged in, it’s one I find fascinating. It involves much of the same skills necessary in regular fencing, like parrying, ripostes, and dodging, but instead of wielding a sword, the combatants wield their penises.
Now, if you’ve never heard of it, I’m not surprised. It’s not as if it’s something you could see at the Olympics. In fact, it’s not much of a spectator sport at all. Combatants usually carry out their duels in privacy and not in the middle of a stadium. …
As one story goes, the German-born Anton Feuchtwanger one day in the 1800s decided to leave his home country and emigrate to the US. Being from Frankfurt, which according to some accounts developed the frankfurter sausage back in 1487, he brought with him the skill of stuffing animal intestines with fat, pink slime, and meat slurry.
Once in the US, he got himself a pushcart and began peddling frankfurters around the American Midwest. All should have gone well given the demand for this exotic food. However, all didn’t go well.
Anton spent his days pushing his cart and fishing hot…
Imagine you’re standing in a crowded elevator and your crotch suddenly begins to itch — an elevator that’s so chock full of people that you and the other passengers feel like overdue puppies waiting for their turn to be squeezed out of a heavily pregnant dachshund. You’re sandwiched between someone on your left and right and front and back.
As you stand there, biting your lower lip, your eyes are fixed at the elevator’s floor indication and you realize it’s still a long way before you reach your destination floor. So you’re starting to feel restless. And then, just as…
It’s April 1856 in what we now call South Africa. Nongqawuse, a 15-year-old girl from the Xhosa Nation, is fetching water from a pond near the mouth of the Gxarha River. Although she doesn’t know it yet, she’s about to become the most infamous prophet of the Xhosa people — a prophet who will not only doom, but almost entirely wipe out her nation.
As she kneels down to lower the empty jug into the water, she looks at her image reflected on the water’s surface. Once again, she wonders if that’s how her mother had looked like.
Okay, little birdie, listen carefully. I want you to deliver this letter to 221 B Baker Street, London. It’s near Regent’s Park, next to Queen Mary’s Rose Garden, in the Marylebone district of the City of Westminster. You know where that is, right?
Ah, silly me. You’re a carrier pigeon. Of course you know! Alright then, have a good flight and watch out for those hungry sharks! I’ve seen some of them jump quite high into the air. Au revoir!
“Pendulum, pendulum in my hand, am I the baldest of them all?”
I look at the pendulum that I’m holding suspended from a string and… Oh, whow! The pendulum is actually swinging from left to right, unambiguously telling me that I am the baldest!
Hooray, I guess?
But wait! I shouldn’t be that superstitious. Maybe there’s a trick. Maybe this is all nonsense. So let me be a good skeptic and investigate:
“Pendulum, pendulum in my hand, is this for real?”
I carefully observe the weight dangling from the string and the answer is… yes? …
Whenever I am in the fat and grease aisle of my local supermarket trying to decide which brand of ultra-processed industrial fat flakes would kill me off the quickest, I’m always confused by the labels. Which one again will clog my arteries as effectively as injecting bacon grease into my forearm? It wasn’t the unsaturated one, was it? And what are all these different types of fat anyway?
I would have thought there are just two types of fat: the jiggly one that grows under my skin and the oily one that grows on it. But no, it’s not that…
Hey, you! Do you know what fire is? Do you know how it works? I don’t mean how to turn on the stove or light a match. I mean, do you know what exactly is happening when you apply heat to a fuel and it suddenly bursts into flames? Why heat creates fire in the first place? Why flames are blue at their base and red and orangey at the top? Why fire emits light? Why fire needs oxygen?
No? Well, don’t you feel a little embarrassed?
Butterflies don’t want you to be happy. They want you to suffer. They want you to feel wretched. They want you to cry. Or at least the butterflies in the Amazon jungle have these wicked wishes.
You see, sodium is a rare mineral in the Amazon rainforest, considering it’s located thousands of miles away from the ocean and all. So, Amazonian butterflies have a hard time finding that precious salty mineral in the leaves they devour as caterpillars and in the nectar they slurp up from flowers as adults. And that’s a problem. …
Knowledge tidbits for your brain