It is, of course, but one episode in a series; other “victims” include gasoline, a watermelon, a ribeye, and fireworks. Bookmarked, obviously.
PSA: Should you masturbate during the solar eclipse? Funny or Die asked the experts. Critical reading!
The guy behind LiarTownUSA is just a really wonderful sort of crazy.
If you don’t love this, I’m not sure we can be friends.
Upcoming movies, probably.
Apparently, Germans can’t say “squirrel”, but it’s fun to watch them try.
As you do.
(No, seriously, this is amazing.)
(Confidential to Charlie: Don’t skip this one.)
…from the 20 Best TED talks!
Goddamn, I love Animals Talking In All Caps.
Also, read isn’t quite the right word. There are no words in it, which just makes it more awesome.
Every time I think the Internet has gotten weird enough, somebody has to go and raise the bar.
(Widely linked, earliest h/t to R. W. S.)
Guys, I’m sorry, but it turns out crocodiles can climb trees. Govern yourself accordingly.
This excellent and exhaustive MeFi post includes a wealth of links to some old National Lampoon recorded comedy bits, including the (to my mind unequalled) Mister Rogers spoof (with Christopher Guest!) that sent us all into hysterics when we listened clandestinely at Boy Scout camp 35 years ago.
Considering the era, this stuff was immensely transgressive comedy; take a while and sample. It’s fucking hilarious.
Because he is awesome.
This is pretty awesome.
The house at 3215 Wade Avenue, about 15 minutes from downtown Raleigh, looks just like the rest of the houses in that neighborhood. A nice metal roof. Forest green window shutters. Doric columns line the front porch.
But there’s no driveway out front. And the lights are never on. And there’s no walkway to the front door.
Of course, none of those amenities are necessary, because this house is not a house at all.
…how about a rundown of Green Arrow’s more ridiculous projectiles?
Three words: Fake. Cat. Arrow.
A domestic dispute over space aliens escalated Saturday morning when a lingerie-clad New Mexico woman allegedly pointed a silver handgun at her boyfriend, a weapon she retrieved from her vagina.
No, really. Even better, of course: the woman is Cormac McCarthy’s ex-wife, which led Gawker to pen this fantastic bit:
Aliens. Spacealiens. No such thing. How theyd fought it out, cosmic mysteries reduced to raw shouting in the uncaring morning. Her leaving in wrath and now returning, straight into the bedroom without him. Rustling and thumps.
She was in the doorway. She had stripped in there and dressed her body for the boudoir, soft ladyclothes baring flesh and something more, down at the forking of her legs. Hard nickelplate steel, the Smith & Wesson. Her hand was on it.
There’s more. Go read.
MOOSE FARM MOOSE FARM MOOSE FARM MOOSE FARM MOOSE FARM MOOSE FARM MOOSE FARM MOOSE FARM MOOSE FARM MOOSE FARM MOOSE FARM MOOSE FARM
In the early years of the last century, the U.S. Congress considered a bold and ingenious plan that would simultaneously solve two pressing problems — a national meat shortage and a growing ecological crisis. The plan was this: hippopotamus ranching.
None of these will work, but they’re kind of brilliant anyway.