Weekender #7: June 28, 2009

A collection of links, news, and oddities that I've come across during the past week.


The next time you pick up the phone to call the cops about your neighbor's miserably howling dog, be aware that it might not be a dog at all — it might be a very bored parrot. But call the cops anyway, and give the poor bird some cop-fingers to munch on.

Minneapolis: where the cats are badass and the dogs are not. Maybe the dogs should hire the cats for protection.

This article on Jeff Goldblum's subversive (or maybe just plain bad?) performance style in Law & Order: Criminal Intent makes me both bummed and glad that I don't have cable.

The world's youngest smoker is a two-year-old with a pack-a-day habit. You just know some parent's going to try to beat that by passing their kid a ciggie in the womb.

The Twilight series, as compared to other literature in Venn diagram form. (via @SolveEtCoagula)

I've read many sad articles about the witch-killings in Africa, but this is the saddest one yet. Makes me itch to do something, but I've no idea what.

Watchmen and Land of the Lost are the most complained-about films in Australia so far this year — mostly for violence and sexual content. ("His wang is blue! I DO NOT WANT TO SEE BLUE WANG!")

Canada, you will never take over America with soldiers who kill each other while playing drunken quick draw. (Or should we call it "Canadian roulette"?)

Parent of the Week: "Occifer, pleashe gimme back my kidsh! I'sh had thirteen beersh and I ain't even drunk yet, so I'sh all ready to parent them right!"

There are so many jokes I could make about Hamelin's re-enactment of the fabled Pied Piper's mass childnapping, but they are all inappropriate and my mother is sure to read this, so I'll just let you picture how well this would go over if you tried it in your neighborhood without clearing it with the authorities first. (Ouch! Must we use the truncheons, boys?)

The new Mary Russell book is out, and it sounds like crap. At this point, the series has jumped the shark so many times that it has to keep circling back around to get in position for its next jump.

Do you know this woman? Probably not, unless you are ridiculously old, but maybe you have some family photos that could shed light on her identity. And to her killer, wherever he is: you can hobble away in your walker, but you can't hide. (Also: the phrase "This is pretty much the last kick at the cat" is my new favorite sentence.)

You know how you've always been told that rubbernecking is dangerous? It is, and how — especially if you're in a helicopter, trying to get a closer look at a crocodile. But at least the pilot, who wasn't clever enough to avoid crashing the copter while gawking at lizards, was clever enough to keep his injured friend warm by burying him alive while he went for help. Real friends will injure you, then bury you alive in croc territory, that's what I always say.

Ooh, they're burning Burns! Next can we smear poop on Robert Browning? Please?

If you ever get drunk and decide to shoot a dog, make sure you've either got good aim or a plastic faceguard, 'cause you just might piss it off and cause it to bite off the tip of your nose. Good doggy.

You think someone would have seen this coming, but no: a prisoner who injured his leg dropped his crutches and ran off while en route to the hospital. And what was he in jail for? Fraud, of course.

Remember that girl who "fell asleep" while getting a facial tattoo, and ended up with 56 stars instead of the 3 she supposedly ordered? Yeah, she lied. And her story seemed so believable.

I've always disdained the notion that crop circles are made by aliens. Why do people have to come up with such bizarre explanations for natural phenomena? Why can't it ever be something mundane and obvious — like, say, wasted wallabies? There's no need for wacky theories when the explanation's so simple.

BREAKING NEWS: Men at Work's hit song Down Under may be a rip-off of the Kookaburra song! Now let's wait another twenty years for when Lady Gaga gets sued for ripping off an Appalachian folk song.

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