Weekender #11: July 27, 2009

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


(Sorry this is a couple of days late; I was busy over the weekend.)

Hey, German ladies, how's this for a pickup line: "May I feel your boobs, please? Oh, no, it's okay — I'm a licensed Medical Tactile Examiner, and I just want to check for lumps." In other words, expect to have blind women lurching onto your rack every time you go to the doctor's office, feeling you up and shouting "You sank my battleship!" when they feel a lump.

"Cleanup, aisle — everything…"

Ever wonder what your favorite celebrities would look like as the demon spawn of vampires and Photoshop? No? Neither did I, but here's a gallery anyway. (It's cheating to have Lindsay Lohan in there, though — they didn't even need to touch up that photo…)

Animal news: sea lion goes out the fun way; snake in a democratic assembly!; a bit about snapping turtles (plus: how to get one off the road); the dingo ate your baby! (or the family dog carried it from its crib to the back yard, or whatever); welcome to my nightmare: giant jellyfish; would the owner of the herd of lost mini-horses please come to the Franciscan monastery in Bavaria to reclaim them?; playing with dolphins is fun until they won't let you swim back to shore; don't go to the circus; whale fail :'(; the EU bans seal products (yay!).

CSI: Pre-Civilization!

Germans: now you can twitter from your hybrid car while binge drinking to forget your love handles, and it's all in the dictionary!

Oh dear Luna, we will be talking about that one damn thing Neil Armstrong said — or stole, as one scientist is now alleging — until the moon breaks free from its orbit and crashes into Siberia.

I am not that into Keats — I mean, he's no Shelley (*shudder*), but he's no A.E. Housman (*hop*), either — but Netflix will probably shove this down my throat based on my recommendations when it comes out on DVD, so I might as well add it to my movie list.

Remember that Arctic blob I mentioned in a past Weekender? Well, now we're being attacked by blobs from the South, as well.

Lesbians, you can now dance the night away without having to fend off curious men — at least at one party company's gigs. Maybe now those persistent persons of XY persuasion will finally get the hint and stop trying to score with the Sapphics.

Pity the poor cannibal, shunned by his neighbors when all he wants is to find love — warm, sweet, tasty love, preferably with a side of veggies. Yummy, yummy, yummy, he needs love in his tummy, and he feels like loving you! (I'm so sorry.)

Aaaaaugh, the Twilight phenomenon will NEVER DIE, not as long as there are men in their 30s who aer moved to tears by Stephenie Meyer's "brilliant" writing.

I may not be good at job interviews, but at least I've never blurted out anything like, "I was fired from my last job because they were forcing me to attend anger management classes," or "If I get an offer, how long do I have before I have to take the drug test?" Here are 41 other stupid things said in job interviews.

Anyone want to buy the Watergate Hotel? Apparently not, since nobody's bid on it. Maybe someone from Nixon's administration would like to own it, for old times' sake.

Nice try, Britain, but you're getting your illicit garbage shipment back.

Classical music fans are the angriest music fans — you clap between movements, they'll beat you with their fans. Well, some of them will; others have removed the flutes from their asses and are much more laid-back about signalling your appreciation during the music. The debate rages here.

It's bad enough to interview Nicolas Cage about his upcoming animated feature where he voices an "iconoclast" mole, but the seriousness with which the interviewer talks about his career makes for hilarious reading — particularly the part where she asks him — with, I assume, a straight face — "Have you gotten pretty good at honing your skills when it comes to choosing roles?"

I may be vegan, but at least I don't streak — or plot to attack Dutch queens either, for that matter. I leave all that to this guy.

The difference between England and Italy is that this guy will let you catalog all the ancient trees on his land, while this guy will not only hide his Etruscan graves from you, but he will probably take your sister down into one and shag her. Italian politicians: bad for Etruscan archaeology, good for a roll in the hay.

If this is true, it's sad rather than gloat-worthy: according to insider reports, John Travolta wants to leave the Church of Scientology because of their teachings about autism and the way they treated his family after his son's death; but the Church won't let him go without a fight, and has kept him in check by threatening to reveal embarrassing info about his private life. It doesn't surprise me to hear that Scientology plays dirty; too bad Travolta's had to find out the hard way.

Dancing down the aisle at your church wedding is a cute idea, but what's not so cute is that the couple then gave NBC their first interview — when it was ABC that had flown them to New York and paid for their hotel room, in exchange for their appearance on their station's morning show; needless to say, this got them in trouble. Even I know that's not cool.

From the Annals of Bad Parenting: if you're out of Kool-Aid, give the kiddies a Gatorade/sleeping pill cocktail; hey, an eclipse — quick, bury your disabled kid up to the neck in the earth!; and, of course, the woman who beheaded her baby and ate its brain.

No matter how bad your week will turn out to be, at least you probably won't be kidnapped — twice — like this guy.

Saturday was the 100th anniversary of Louis Blériot's flight across the English Channel. In honor of that, I tried to jump across a big puddle, failed, and ruined my shoes.

Scientists say they're worried that machines may be getting too smart for their own good. In my head, that translates to "OH CRAP THE TERMINATORS ARE COMING!"

Now that Michael Jackson has been dead for a few weeks, can I finally link this or is it still too soon?

FYI: if you are planning to knock out twin Mexican midget wrestlers with eye drops, make sure the dosage suits their size. Otherwise, they'll be down for the Eternal Count, and you will be known as "the Masked Midget Murderer".

I've been noticing online game Evony's odd ad campaign for some time; it seemed to me that the ads had gone from knight-centric to cleavage-centric over the past few months. It wasn't my imagination: here's a history of the ads' evolution. Sneaky, sneaky…

Monday sucks already, Caribou Coffee; don't make it worse.

Following up from some stories last week: the jailed Egyptian poet who mocked his president has been released, and it turns out Germans are okay with Nazi lawn gnomes after all.

Taser has come out with a new stun gun that can shock three people at once. I have a dead baby joke that can do the same thing.

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