2010

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Lindsay: I'd like a window seat.

Lindsay doesn’t know she’s in jail, so you probably shouldn’t mention it to her if you happen to wind up in the cell next to hers. She just thinks she’s in a very bad airport, like, the worst one she’s ever been in. Her lawyers didn’t want to bum her out, so they didn’t really tell her the whole truth and stuff. Maybe they should have.

Lindsay thinks the plane must be very delayed. Perhaps there was a bad storm or something. And to make matters worse, this crappy airport has no magazine stand where she can buy an Us Weekly and a Red Bull. It’s odd that all the Passenger Service Agents have guns and handcuffs and the Ground Crew gives her strip searches, but in this age of terrorism, you can’t be too careful.

The plane will be here soon, pumpkin. (Image by Glenn Francis.)

Lindsay thinks it’s good of the airline to give her free food and a place to sleep while she waits for her plane, but the meals and accommodations are pretty subpar. She hopes the plane will get here soon because waiting around is such a drag. Lindsay isn’t sure where the plane she’s waiting for is going, but she hopes it’s someplace really cool. Maybe she’ll be making a movie there or hosting a party or something.

Sometimes Lindsay wishes she could fly without an airplane. Then she wouldn’t have to wait around for anyone. She would just flap her arms and soar into the sky where everything is quiet and peaceful and blue. There would be birds to talk to and she could get close enough to the rainbows to touch them. And it would be just completely great and make her really happy if all the clouds she flew into were made of marshmallows and vanilla ice cream and crystal meth.

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"...and whatever he wanted the jailer had to give to him, whether it was pie or liberty." (Image by Sugar Pond.)

Today you need a high-priced lawyer to get out of jail, but back in 1900 you just had to know hypnosis. According to an asinine article I found in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, a jailbreak in Indiana occurred with the help of hypnosis. And the practice was likely to spread from Hoosier State to everywhere else, so something needed to be done. An excerpt:

“A prisoner in the jail at Geneva, Indiana, who had been locked up for murderous assault, was not there when the keeper went in to feed him. On the contrary, an assistant jailer was there, looking dazed and apparently trying to think. It appears that the prisoner had transfixed the keeper with his glittering eye, told him to unlock the door, and when his instruction had been obeyed he walked into the free air, in which ambient and exhilarant medium he has disported ever since.

He was a hypnotist, the prisoner was. He had only to look hard at the jailer, make him believe that he was under an influence, and whatever he wanted the jailer had to give to him, whether it was pie or liberty. This may lead to changes in the penal practice. If a convict can not be trusted to keep his eyes off his bosses he will have to wear green spectacles, or the keys will have to be kept in the office and not allowed in the hands of too sensitive underlings, or the matter may be arranged by putting the keepers into blinders. They would look funny in blinders, to be sure, but if the evil eye could be averted by wearing them, they might be work.”

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Bunny rabbit: Do not fear me. I am cuddly!

I found this unusual article on the Spiegel website. It concerns a German high-school teacher who has an extreme fear of bunny rabbits–just the word “rabbit” sends her into hysterics and you should see what actual pictures of the animals do to her. The teacher, called Marion V. in the piece, sued a student for spreading rumors about her fear of the long-eared mammals. She says it isn’t true, but the courts ruled that it was in fact a real phobia.

The interesting thing about phobias is that they really can take absolutely any form and it’s difficult to impossible to figure out their sources. An excerpt from the article:

“A teacher in the northern German town of Vechta lost her case Tuesday that would have put to bed the rumor that she’s afraid of rabbits. Marion V., 60, a German and geography teacher, made headlines earlier this year by accusing a 16-year-old schoolgirl of defamation, alleging that the student maliciously gossiped that V. suffers from rabbit phobia.

The defendant, named as Kim P., caused the stir by drawing a rabbit on the blackboard of V.’s classroom. Upon entering the room and seeing the drawing, V. reportedly fled from her classroom in tears.

The court dismissed V.’s claims, saying through a court spokesperson that V.’s fear of rabbits is a fact, which the defendant proved in court. If Kim P. was found guilty, she would have faced a €5,000 fine for any further incidents of rabbit drawing in front of V.”

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I may not be the most observant person, but I do believe that Steve Lee likes guns. The Australian singer-songwriter recorded an album of 12 ditties about how much he goddamn loves firearms.

 

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The fans respond. (Image by Landii.)

That Dick Cheney sex tape that’s been rumored to be out there for a while has finally emerged on the Internet. It’s not great quality video footage–kind of grainy–but you can clearly see it’s the former Vice President.

Some people think that Cheney’s political enemies have released the tape to embarrass him, but others believe that Cheney himself has leaked the video to boost his popularity. Nobody has any sympathy for him even though he has a ferret heart and arteries fashioned from a vacuum cleaner bag. Maybe having a sex tape in circulation will improve his standing with the public like it did for that Kardashian woman.

I’ve already had a look at the footage and it’s as graphic as you might expect. It’s certainly not for the squeamish, as there’s no pixelation. Cheney likes using his mouth a lot on the private parts and he’s really into doing it doggy style. He seems unduly proud of his blotchy skin and tiny wang. There’s a tattoo of a scorpion on his ass. He sneers throughout.

Cheney: Fuck me harder.

You have to give the former Veep credit for being pretty athletic considering he lacks a pulse and a heartbeat and shit. During the climactic scene, Cheney appears to ejaculate bat blood instead of semen. It’s possible it’s snake venom, but it really looks to have the texture and consistency of bat blood. I don’t know for sure; I’m not a bat scientist.

If the video goes viral, then perhaps Cheney will get to be a contestant on Dancing with the Stars or maybe decide to run for the Presidency in 2012. Massachusetts Senator Scott Brown, who’s done soft-core photo spreads and videos, can be his running mate. Obama only does tasteful topless shots, so they’d have that advantage over him.

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Classy. (Image by Eberswalde Discothek Awerk.)

I Want a Tattoo..and I can offer

I’m an alt model (think suicidegirls) and a hypnotherapy student. If you ink me..I can hypnotize you. I will also link you on my websites so you get some site traffic.

I’m here to help if its a fear or phobia or a nasty habit.

I’m also a tarot reader and can offer readings for ink if you’d like…Have a nice day..

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Sen. John Cornyn: Also fondly recalls his 2006 colonoscopy.

Sen. John Cornyn: Bush’s stock has gone up a lot since he left office.

Decoder: I mean the stock market has gone up a lot since he left office. It tanked during his administration. When it comes to Bush’s own stock as a leader, 71% of Americans who were recently polled by Time think Bush’s policies were responsible for the Great Recession.

Sen. John Cornyn: I think a lot of people are looking back with a little–with more fondness on President Bush’s administration.

Decoder: Even I can’t believe we’re going to try to push the Bush administration as the “good old days.” The Siena Research Institute recently released a poll of leading Presidential scholars and W. was named as the worst President of modern times and one of the worst in U.S. history.

Rep. Pete Sessions: We need to go back to the exact same agenda that is empowering the free enterprise system rather than diminishing it.

W.: Available for children's parties.

Decoder: Having so little regulation is what led us into this colossal financial mess. Why would return to that exact same agenda? Why not try something better?

Rep. Pete Sessions: People had jobs when Republicans were not only in charge but George Bush was there.

Decoder: Well, weapons inspectors had jobs, but we didn’t actually use them. Most other people lost their jobs when Bush was President.

Sen John Cornyn: I think history will treat [George W. Bush] well.

Decoder: WMDs; Iraq War; “Mission Accomplished”; waterboarding; America despised abroad; attempts to destroy Social Security; “Heckuva job, Brownie”; economic collapse; relentless partisanship; the failure to pronounce the word “nuclear”; etc.

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Jeff Bridges is reuniting with the Coen brothers for their upcoming version of "True Grit."

As destructive country singer films go, Crazy Heart can’t come close to matching the unbridled intensity of the subgenre’s best effort, the blistering 1973 drama Payday, which starred a young Rip Torn in an orgy of unrepentant malevolence. Scott Cooper’s 2009 drama, which helped Jeff Bridges score his long-deserved Oscar, is a far gentler thing, focusing on an older alcoholic cowboy performer who has five wives and an adult son he doesn’t know in the rear-view mirror.

Vomiting in a garbage can outside of a New Mexico bowling alley where he’s performing, 57-year-old Bad Blake (Bridges) knows he can’t go any lower, but he has no intention of rising again. Bad tools around in his weathered pick-up from one Southwest rathole to another, playing his old hits, picking up barflies and staring at the bottom of a bottle, which might as well  be the barrel of a gun. As his health deteriorates, Bad is afforded a pair of unlikely shots at redemption. His protege, Tommy Sweet (Colin Farrell), who has eclipsed his mentor by a thousand miles, wants Bad to write some new songs for his album, which would mean a good deal of money to the penniless performer. More importantly, Bad meets a younger single mother (Maggie Gyllenhaal), who sees the goodness in him. The sympathetic woman and her young boy may be Bad’s last chance at some semblance of family.

“I wanna talk about how bad you make this room look,” he says to his new girlfriend as he sits in his fleabag motel room. “I never knew what a dump it was until you came in here.” But changing isn’t easy and redemption seldom comes in the form we desire, though  it comes just the same if we try. (Available from Netflix and other venues.)

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This video will change your life but not for the better. I will never visit you, Jamaica. (Thanks Dangerous Minds.)


Don't throw me back into the creek.

People had just as little common sense in Brooklyn at the end of the 19th-century as they do today, perhaps even less. I came across this odd article in the July 14, 1897 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle. In the aftermath of a murder, two local men come into contact with what may be the disembodied head of the victim, and then handle their discovery with less than sheer brilliance. Despite the bungling, William Guldensuppe’s murderer was eventually captured and convicted; it was a barber named Martin Thorn, who had designs on his victim’s girlfriend and wanted him out of the picture. An excerpt:

“James Ceter, an Italian rag picker, who says he lives somewhere on Purdy place, went to the Sixth Precinct Police Station this morning and told a story that may have important bearings on the Guldensuppe murder case.

Ceter said that while he was working very early in the morning at the dump on Scott avenue, near Newtown Creek, he was approached by an unknown man, apparently a German, who held in his hand a human head. The Italian says that the head had a small black mustache and a gash on the left cheek.

In accosting the Italian, the German said: ‘Look at this! I found it down at the creek.’ The two men talked together for a moment and came to the conclusion, so Ceter says, that the proper course would be to throw the head back into the creek. This, the Italian said, was done.

Acting on the Italian’s story the police of the Sixth Precinct are engaged to-day in grappling in the waters of the creek. Ceter describes his chance acquaintance as a man of medium height and about 50 years of age. He had a reddish gray mustache and wore dark clothes and a jersey.

The dredging of the creek was done by Detective Sergeant Baker and Officer Trenchard and Tracy, under the personal direction of Captain Lees. They were still at work when the Eagle went  to press. They were watched by a large and curious crowd.”

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Actual before and after photos. (Image by Mariuszjbie.)

REAL Doctors, REAL Science, REAL Results!

I must admit, the penis is a man’s best friend. While I was in college, I did the typical guy thing. Went to bars, hung out with chicks; but getting them into bed was another story. When I was fortunate enough to finally score, it was guaranteed embarrassment. That’s what brought me to this site. Having a 4 inch penis can’t be the most popular thing among woman. Now that I’ve tried Dr MaxMan, pulling down my pants is no longer my biggest worry. Will she be able to handle this my monster python? That’s what I ask myself now. Thank You Dr MaxMan!–Jeff, Phoenix, AZ

Ol' Sparky: I thought I was your best friend.

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The Blazers, which had relocated from Philly, shared an arena with the Canucks of the NHL.

I briefly got my bruised, double-jointed fingers on a copy of a 1974-75 guide for the Vancouver Blazers of the old World Hockey Association. As I’ve stated before, I’m no big fan of hockey, but why not take a gander at an old piece of miscellaneous media?

The WHA operated in  the U.S. and Canada in the 1970s, trying to compete with the NHL. The Vancouver Blazers were only a fleeting part of that city, soon moving on to become the Calgary Cowboys.  It was a different sport in those days, with small salaries and an emphasis on toughness and fighting. One player listed under “Future Blazers” was Rick Jodzio, who was the son of a middleweight boxer and spent a good amount of off-ice time hitting the heavy bag. When the team moved to Calgary, Jodzio was involved in one of the sport’s most infamous moments, in which he was taken to court after beating Quebec Nordiques player Marc Tardif so badly that he was hospitalized. (Of course, footage of that brawl exists online.)

A more typical player was veteran right winger Johnny McKenzie. An excerpt about him from the guide:

“Whether they call him ‘Pie’ or ‘Cowboy,’ just two of his nicknames, they’ve been calling McKenzie a big-leaguer since he broke in with the Chicago Black Hawks in 1958. He also spent time with Detroit Red Wings and New York Rangers before joining the Boston Bruins in 1965. Although he never weighed more than 175 pounds, he became the symbol of the Bruins’ toughness and one of the most feared checkers in the National Hockey League. Born in High River, Alberta, he makes his year-round home in Vancouver. At one time he broke broncs and rode Brahma bulls in a rodeo circuit.”

More Miscellaneous Media:

  • John Hummer NBA card.
  • Carolina Cougars ABA Yearbook. (1970)
  • The Washington Senators MLB Yearbook. (1968)
  • Ugandan currency with Idi Amin’s picture. (1973)
  • Tom Van Arsdale basketball card. (1970)
  • Okie from Muskogee” sheet music. (1969)
  • California Golden Seals hockey magazine. (1972)
  • Beatles Film Festival Magazine (1978)
  • ABA Pictorial (1968-69)
  • Tom Seaver’s Baseball Is My Life. (1973)
  • Hockey Digest (1973)
  • World’s Fair Guide (1964)
  • World’s Fair Guide (1939)
  • Buffalo Braves Yearbook (1972-73)
  • New York Nets Yearbook (1976-77)
  • “Tom Dooley” sheet music.
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    Not much doing at the Chenggong Railway Station. (Image by vegafish.)

    China might be the most fascinating place on Earth right now, but not only for good reasons. For instance: Pre-planned suburban sprawl has led to massive temporary ghost towns in which gorgeous architecture and spiffy new light rail systems lay unused while bureacratic issues are worked out. The government is hoping to ease the congestion of cities by building nearby suburban centers from scratch and relocating people there. I can’t imagine that artificially undoing population density is a good idea, but that’s the plan. It will definitely lead to a more wasteful use of resources.

    Holly Krambeck has written an intriguing piece of reportage on the subject (focusing on the insta-ghost town of Chenggong) for the World Bank site. (I think the excellent Marginal Revolution was the first to point me in the direction of this article, so thank you, you dismal scientists.)  An excerpt:

    “In Chenggong, there are more than a hundred-thousand new apartments with no occupants, lush tree-lined streets with no cars, enormous office buildings with no workers, and billboards advertising cold medicine and real estate services–with no one to see them.

    As my colleagues and I wandered, on–foot, down the center of Chenggong’s empty 8-lane boulevards and dedicated bus lanes, never seeing a single person, we marveled about the fiscal and political conditions that would have to exist to create something like this.

    development of a new light rail system. Upon learning that two stations had already been built in Chenggong, my colleagues and I just had to go see for ourselves–just what does a modern Chinese ghost town really look like? Well, here it is.”

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    Afflictor: Helping Challenger astronauts fall asleep head to toe on the mid-deck since 2009.

    Sarah Palin: Community organizers deserve to be mocked by a celebrity loudmouth. (Image by Tricia Ward.)

    Sarah Palin: I am saddened by the NAACP’s claim that patriotic Americans who stand up for the United States of America’s Constitutional rights are somehow “racists.”

    Decoder: It’s merely a coincidence that a group of white citizens discovered that there is corruption in Washington at the very second that the first African-American President took office. And the Birther movement, which I’ve encouraged, that states Obama isn’t a U.S. citizen has nothing to do with seeing him as illegitimate because of his race.

    Sarah Palin: This is some typical divisive politics that is so absolutely unnecessary.

    Decoder: Everything I do is about being divisive. When I stood up at the Republican National Convention and mocked young people who work as community organizers, trying to bring some hope to our poorest communities, that was divisive. When I tried to sidetrack health-care reform with the death-panel nonsense, that was divisive. When I told tea Party members to “don’t retreat, reload,” I was being divisive.

    Sarah Palin: The Tea Party Movement is a beautiful movement, full of diverse people.

    Decoder: Some of the white Tea Party members are tall and some not as tall.

    With liberty and justice for all. (Image by dbking.)

    Sarah Palin: Both Todd and I were raised to measure a person according to their capacity and willingness to love, work, forgive, contribute, and show good character.

    Decoder: But I outgrew that stuff and became a resentment-driven, lying, accusatory selfish creep.

    Sarah Palin: I know how Tea Party Americans feel to be falsely accused

    Decoder: I was once accused of not being a complete tool. False.

    Sarah Palin: [The Tea Party is made up of] folks of all walks of life who, for the most part, happen to oppose President Obama’s policies. Not the color of his skin. They don’t care that he’s half-white or half-black.

    Decoder: They don’t care about the half-white part.

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    Thanks to the fabulous science geeks at Boing Boing for pointing me in the direction of this entertaining video made by the clever engineers at Dyson. They made a helium ballon neutrally buoyant and allowed it travel on its own through a complex maze of the company’s very cool bladeless fans. Fun.

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    Blood everywhere. (Image by Greg Hernandez.)

    It’s been reported elsewhere that the Michael Scott character is exiting from The Office at the end of this season, but we’ve learned exclusively that his departure will be as the result of a particularly brutal murder. The shocking crime is to occur at the hands of Meredith, Dunder-Mifflin’s troubled Supplier Relations representative, whose deeply rooted personal problems have long been a source of mirth.

    In the episode, Michael will be collecting his personal effects at approximately five in the afternoon, preparing to head home to his condo after another day at the Scranton branch when he is accosted by a knife-wielding Meredith, who is no longer able to cover up her pain with alcoholism and promiscuity. Having felt the sting once too often of Michael’s cruel taunts about her physical unattractiveness, Meredith lunges at him and can’t stop stabbing until her mania subsides minutes later. The warehouse guys have their hands full trying to clean up the mess.

    No man will harm me again. (Image by Angela George.)

    Although Pennsylvania maintains the death penalty, very few murderers are executed, so it’s possible Meredith will escape lethal injection. She had displayed the type of aberrant behavior in regards to alcohol and sex that people engage in to try to mollify acute suffering. This pattern of behavior most likely resulted from some trauma or abuse that occurred in childhood, and no one should have been making light of it.

    In a subplot, smirking prankster Jim decides to use the situation to irk thick-headed rival Dwight, placing Michael’s decapitated head on his desk and challenging his co-worker to defeat it in a staring contest. “Fact,” says Dwight, “If you put pennies on my eyes, I will simply blink and knock them off whereas a disembodied head will not be able to do so.” Dwight eventually takes the bait, but office tight-ass Angela becomes irritated with Jim, telling him that “it’s hard enough working here after the slaying and you keep making it harder.” That’s what she said.

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    The original Nathan's shop on Coney Island. (Image by J. Reed.)

    Nathan’s Hot Dog Items (Levittown/hicksville)

    We are having a “Nathan’s Hotdog” themed party for my son….Nathan obviously. The company will not sell me anything at all. I bought plates, hats, napkins and cups off the website but need more! I want everything….table clothes, ketchup packets, banners, balloons, anything and everything! If anyone knows a way I can get this stuff and/or has anything…..please contact me!

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    Ouch.

    I want to apologize for the posts being fewer and crappier this week than usual. I have an earache in my right ear and it ain’t no fun. I want to dispel the Internet rumors that I got my earache because I ran out of Q-Tips and used a toilet plunger to clean my ears. Untrue. It was actually a monkey wrench. While my ear hurts like a bastard, it is monkey-wrench clean. So there.

    Ordinary bicycle.

    Based on the Brooklyn Daily Eagle.

    • Rambler Bicycles…$40.
    • Boys and Girls Bicycles…$9.98
    • Punching Bags (with tested bladders)…$5, $1.98, 98¢
    • Ice Skates…$3.25
    • Tether Tennis Set…$2.23
    • Newport Tennis Racquets….$1.49
    • Rugby Foot Balls…$1
    • Croquet Sets…98¢
    • Raymond’s Roller Skates…95¢
    • Foot Ball Pants…95¢
    • Boys Finger Baseball Glove (made of buckskin)… 71¢
    • Bicycle Oil Lamps…59¢
    • Lawn Tennis Rackets…50¢
    • Large Two Mast Boats for the Boys…39¢
    • Henley Golf Balls…25¢
    • Boys Catchers Mitt….25¢
    • Boys Catchers Mask…17¢
    • Bicycle Bell…15¢

    An 1890 painting of three-card monte dealers.

    Edward Valentine, better known as the “Chow Chow Man,” was a colorful and controversial Coney Island three-card monte dealer in the latter part of the 19th-century. (He was apparently so nicknamed because he loved chow chow pickle relish.) A paunchy man with bright green spectacles, Valentine would take his cards and a board and set up the game in a heavily trafficked area of the beach and let the suckers come to him. Valentine was regularly arrested for gambling, so there were numerous articles published about him in the New York Times and the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, which sternly labeled him a public nuisance. But editorial writers seemed to miss his larger-than-life quality the second the Brooklyn character died. An excerpt from an April 28, 1879 piece in the Eagle that recalled the amusing con man:

    “Poor old Chow Chow–by another and his own name, Edward Valentine–is dead. The police know it; a good many other people, with more money than brains, know it also. It is not often that a newspaper is called upon to record the demise of a man to whom the world owed so little, who owed himself the world so much, and yet, who was, in his daily life, so close on the line dividing the honest man from the criminal, technically, and who enjoyed such an immunity from legal persecution and prosecution as did the subject of this sketch.

    (Image by ZioDave.)

    Valentine was a man not intended by Mother Nature for a rascal. He had a large, generous nature, which regarded humanity either in distress or on a spree, as something to which he was necessarily to attach himself, either a as promoter of charity or of good feeling, wherever either might appeal to him. He differed from the ruffian type. Reddy the Blacksmith is recorded as holding the theory that, and as putting it habitually into practice, ‘that a sucker had no right to have any money under any circumstances,’ and it is alleged that no matter what the circumstances were, whether his victim were foe or circumstantial friend, he got his money if he could. That was not the style of Valentine.

    He would go to work and with his deft and light fingered art–and art it was, without question, would beat a sucker out of his money, and then if the man was in distress, would not only give it all back to him but go out of his way to do something to help the sufferer.

    Of his methods it is not necessary to say anything here. He was a master of the three card monte game. There was nothing in it that he did not possess. All of his points, fine and common, which the professors of the three card art possess were child’s play to him. And he was always willing to show those who knew him how he did it.

    A notable instance recurs to memory, when Chow Chow having been in bad luck, or worse, was aided to the extent of a few dollars by well known newspaper men, was asked to show his skill. He promptly responded by throwing his cards around, explaining how his tricks were done, and then ending up by winning drinks all around through an exercise of digital skill which he himself thoroughly delineated.”

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    Penn &... (Image by toadking.)

    When two people have worked together for decades as Penn Jillette and Teller have, you assume they must like each other a great deal. But some people have little interest in each other personally though they are great for each other professionally. That seems to be the case as with the anti-magic duo, as evidenced by their comments in a new interview in the Telegraph. (Thanks to the great kottle.org for pointing toward the article.) An excerpt:

    “And, most curious of all, they have worked together for an unbroken run of 35 years yet, even now, they appear utterly incompatible: the tall shouty one who thinks and laughs; the small quiet one who feels and cries. “We are artistic and business partners, not primarily friends,” Teller says. ‘When we look at each other, we don’t think: ‘Now there’s a likeable chap!’ We think about the projects we are doing and how we will get them done. When we were first working together, we didn’t have such thick skins. But we recognised how useful we were to each other. And that prevailed.’

    Penn says we should compare their relationship not to a loveless marriage but to that of ‘two guys manning a 7/11 down the street. If they aren’t best buddies what do they care, as long as the coffee machine is working and the shelves are stacked? Teller and I work together every day, but socially we go out together maybe only once a year.’”

    ...Teller. (Image by Eqdoktor.)

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    Thank you to the comedy writer and crap video enthusiast Robert Popper for posting this incredible clip of one man’s battle with gravity. Remember: It’s not so easy to dance while the Earth is constantly moving. There is, however, no excuse for the singing. Science has no answers. None at all. Enjoy.

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    Canada: Afflictor and ice hockey are all we have.

    July has proven to be a landmark month for Afflictor in terms of traffic from foreign countries. Singapore, Russia, Ireland, Australia, Sweden and many other nations too crappy to mention have wasted their time on this idiot website. But one country has really gone above and beyond in ringing up the visits and that has been our neighbor to the North, Canada. If you’re not familiar with Canada, it is a place where the populace is inordinately proud that they have discovered a different type of bacon and most residents live in houses constructed from hailstones and shattered hockey sticks. Every now and then, there’s separatist tension between French- and English-speaking peoples, but it’s quickly called off when everyone remembers that it’s too fucking cold to fight a proper civil war. Then they return to their ice huts and eat flipper pie and look at Afflictor. It’s very sad, really.

    Almost all picky eaters love french fries. No one knows why. (Image by Treimann.)

    I’ve been a picky eater since birth. It must have been very tough on my parents, because I was always really skinny as a child no matter how hard they tried to get me to expand my menu. The idea of eating a messy bowl of spaghetti with sauce sickens me. And you will not get me near a cup of soup. I gravitate toward neater foods that have consistent textures and a distinct geometrical shapes, like sandwiches (squares), hamburgers (circles) and pizza slices (triangles). Luckily, I love almost all fruits and vegetables, so the pickiness with other foods doesn’t affect my health.

    I’m pretty sure it’s some type of OCD kind of thing, and some scientists agree. The Wall Street Journal has a really interesting article by Shirley S. Wang on the topic called “No Age Limit on Picky Eating.” (Thanks to the great Marginal Revolution for pointing me toward the article.) An excerpt:

    “Picky eaters tend to gravitate to certain foods, including blander products that are often white or pale colored, like plain pasta or cheese pizza. For reasons that aren’t clear, almost all adult picky eaters like French fries and often chicken fingers, health experts say.

    Amber Scott, of Enon, Ohio, has eaten only about 10 different foods since she was 3 years old. She describes foods that don’t appeal to her as if they are inedible objects. ‘You wouldn’t put a handful of grass in your mouth and chew it up,’ says the 29-year-old. ‘I feel the same way about spaghetti.’ It isn’t as much the flavor as it is the texture and the way her body reacts to a new food, she says. When she tried eating an apricot last fall, her stomach churned. ‘I really wanted to like it, but my body wouldn’t let me,’ she says.

    Ms. Scott, a writer, is planning to move to Los Angeles and is ‘terrified’ of having to sit through networking dinners. Like many picky eaters, she says most of her friends don’t know about her tendencies because she tries to avoid social situations that involve eating. She has looked for help in the past but says she couldn’t find a therapist who appeared to understand her condition, and has stopped searching.”

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