Secular Sunday - Biblical Lesson 1

Reading the Bible could be a lot of work and, quite frankly, is probably a waste of time. Unless you are looking for tales of incest, in which case, have at it. But for those of you who aren't looking for extensive guides on weird sexual relationships, I'm boiling down the Bible to the essential lessons. Today: part one.

The text: "Abel was a keeper of the sheep, but Cain was a tiller of the ground. And in the process of time it came to pass that Cain brought an offering of the fruit of the ground to the Lord. Abel also brought of the firstlings of his flock and of their fat. And the Lord respected Abel and his offering, but He did not respect Cain and his offering."

The meaning: God doesn't eat his broccoli, bitches.

Fun Fact Friday - The Little Bonaparte

I do not know a great deal about Napoleon. I learned about the Civil War four or five times in school, but public education does not care about history beyond the bounds of the United States apparently, no matter how handsomely someone can be painted on a horse. Related: I would like to be painted on a horse.

"I'm so fucking composed right now, bitches." - Napoleon

But today's fun fact is about Napoleon. Well, technically, about his penis. Yeah. Penis.

Fun fact: Napoleon's penis was cut off during the autopsy and given to a Corsican priest.

Allegedly. But something claiming to be Napoleon's poorly preserved, and hence, leathery cock made its way to New York City in 1927 for display. There various penis aficionados, as they would probably prefer I did not call them, described the penis as akin to beef jerky, an eel, or a buckskin shoelace.

"Why, yes, it is just me again. If you want a dick pic, may I suggest porn?" - Napoleon

The meta-penis was purchased by a urologist in the late 70s and taken to (where else?) New Jersey. Allegedly, the Jerseyan piss doctor kept the cock under his bed. I assume for safe keeping. Or to have it ready at a moment's notice if invaders came to his home in the night. The urologist's daughter inherited the penis upon her father's death and has evidently been offered $100,000 for it. Either she is holding out for a better offer, or just can't seem to let go of Napoleon's little Bonaparte.

Fun Fact Friday - Goodbye Forever

Well, it has been fun, dear reader. With the apocalypse upon us, I really think I ought to say farewell and wish you all luck in your glorious afterlives. I, myself, am looking forward to a lovely time in Hell. To believe Dante, some parts of it sound rather adventuresome!

But let's be real. I'm not going anywhere, bitches. And neither are you. The world is not ending. So all the desperate virgins on twitter can calm the fuck down.

Do you know how many apocalypses I have already survived? The number is around 35. And that is just since my birth in late 1990. Anyway, for those of you concerned about future end of days predictions, I have the perfect fun fact.

Fun fact: If you plan on being raptured, you can sign up to email all your left behind chums after a few days.

Yup. There's a website. For only $14.95 you can send "suck my dick, sinner!" emails to up to 62 of your closest (ish) friends and family who you think probably won't be saved by the Jesus. The service, provided by youvebeenleftbehind.com (because you need a catchy name for shit like this), will email "one last message to the lost, at a time, when they might just be willing to hear it for the first and last time" six days after the rapture.

All of the classy.

"Now," I like to imagine you asking, "who sends these rapture emails?" Evidently the company has four Christian couples (with one alternate couple) spread about - so as to avoid the terrestrial concerns like "being wiped out by attack, natural disaster, or epidemic" - who must log into the system daily. If  three of the four couples fail to log into the system on any given day, the rapture has come!

And don't worry, the chief Christian running this service is pretty sure we'll still have the internet during the tribulation period, so everyone who has not been saved can still get that one last salvation email. The internet won't be raptured, dear reader. You know how much porn that shit has?

Sims get saved apparently.

And I wish, I wish, I were bullshitting you. But this is Fun Fact Friday. So I'm not. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed your apocalypse today, dear reader. Until next time, then...

Awkward Cow

This cow is only awkward because her holiday celebration is a bit off. Her costume, on the udder hand, is all of the classy.

Yup. I made that pun. Deal with it.

Secular Sunday - The Real Veggie Tales

It has been far too long, dear reader, for which I apologize. But if you have been pining for me, perhaps this inordinately long post will make up for it. Today I bring to you the confessions of Larry the Cucumber, famed (or at least well known as far a vegetables go) actor from the Christian filmic series, Veggie Tales. A tale of faith for the holiday season...

Vegetable actors are not in high demand. It is something I have no problem saying about the industry. Certainly I have made my career in film, but some of the work I have taken over the years... well, let's just say I'm not proud of every job. Most people are only familiar with my major work, Veggie Tales, and it troubles me to say that is the work I am not proud of doing. Don't get me wrong, I am grateful for everything Phil and Mike did for my career. I mean, before I met them I was only doing modeling work for grocery stores. I am a damn good looking cucumber, but I knew that I wanted to be an actor. Phil and Mike changed that for me, but still, Veggie Tales doesn't capture the true life of vegetables.

I will not deny that vegetables are filled with Christ's love. That is, in fact, widely documented. Not a day goes by when I don't raise my eyes to Heaven and pray that my faith will be just as strong as I have seen in so many carrots, zucchini, and stalks of broccoli. And yet, despite my knowledge that all vegetables are confirmed Christians, I find myself troubled. The story lines are so unrealistic. Vegetable pirates? Really? And aliens? I'll be the first to admit that vegetables need Christ as much as anyone, but vegetables aren't pirates. Why did Phil and Mike feel the need to corrupt the sanctity of vegetable life as it truly is? People need Jesus in everyday life and so do vegetables. There is no need to embellish story lines with extravagant adventure tales, when I and the other vegetables I see in the supermarket everyday are already in the fight of our lives to keep our faith alive.

I mean, just the other day for example, I was talking to my good buddy, Bob the Tomato. He and his friend, Tommy, went over to the farmers' market they set up down on Main Street every Thursday. Now, I know Tommy is a cliché name for a tomato. His parents just weren't that creative.

So they go over to the farmers market. Tommy's girlfriend had dumped him, but he was looking to get back out there. I personally don't look to the farmers' market when I'm looking for a lady. A lot of those organic girls can be, well, a little high maintenance. But they went over there, were chatting it up with some girls, getting on pretty well to hear Bob the Tomato talk. Then, out of the blue, they notice one of the girls is just snatched up. Kidnapped! In broad daylight! If that isn't a reason to pray, I don't know what is.

The story doesn't even end there. Bob and his buddy Tommy start noticing other tomatoes being picked off. They're trying play it cool, figure if they remain calm in the mayhem, maybe they'll be okay. So Tommy is chatting up another girl. Hits it off. I mean, Bob says there were definite sparks. Then, Tommy's new girl gets taken. He starts crying out to Christ. Praying. Just calling out to Jesus, asking for a little help, a little mercy. “Christ, why have you forsaken me?” you know, the whole deal. Next time a hand comes down, Tommy throws himself at it. He wants to go after her and save the girl. Noble, but stupid as ass. Bob's been praying for the pair of them for a week.

Tough situation. I feel bad for Bob. It's been awfully rough on him. I mean, we've all heard the stories. I met a potato a few weeks ago, goes by the name of Walter. Good guy. He'd seen his share of horror though, let me tell you. I mean, Walter's story is an inspiration.

He was pretty young when he got taken out of the ground, away from home. Then he was separated from his family. He told me they put him in a bag with a bunch of other potatoes he didn't know. Bag was dark, crowded. They were moved around for a while. Finally, the sack is opened up. Walter and a few other potatoes are taken out. They are scrubbed raw. Walter says he's heard he was lucky. Some people shave the skin off their potatoes. But not Walter and his comrades. They were the lucky ones. This woman, who scrubbed them down comes back with a knife. A fucking knife! She cuts up one of the potatoes in front of all of them. Then throws the bits of his body in boiling water. As if he hadn't suffered enough! Walter is the last potato left on the counter. The woman sees that she missed a spot when she scrubbed him. Puts him down for a second. Walter see his chance and throws himself off the counter, praying every minute of it for salvation.

Lucky for Walter he gets out of there and manages to find his way to safety. He wouldn't tell me about all the things he had to do to keep himself alive. Too devastating, he said. But can you imagine? I mean, he watched friends murdered in gruesome ways. I know the only reason he is alive today is his faith. I mean, without Christ, he would have given up. So honestly, you think we need pirates and aliens when our lives are enough to make anyone, man or vegetable, shit himself?

I've seen people struggle with faith too. I mean, it's hard not to question God's teachings sometimes. After all, why would God protect the swine and the hare from being eaten by man, but not save us vegetables? We don't have cloven hooves or chew cud, and yet we're clean! So sometimes it feels like I've been a bit forsaken.

Not only that, but we're tempted just as much any human by greed or lust or any other sinful notion. My own father, he fell victim to lust. He met this really pretty cucumber blossom, and he told me that they just couldn't contain themselves. They weren't married or anything and they just went crazy. I mean, my dad couldn't help but get pollen on his stigma. He was thinking with his stamen instead of with his eternal soul. That's why I'm here: the bastard son of an unholy romp. The other cucumbers used to call my mom the whore of Babylon. But you never see that in the movies! It's all glamor and glitz with theVeggie Tales movies, never truth.

All this leads me to the major problem I have with Veggie Tales. Mike and Phil are bearing false witness. First of all, they're fabricating lies about the vegetable community through their story line embellishments. They make our everyday lives look like a piece of cake when, in fact, I know carrots who live in constant fear of becoming a piece of cake. They defile truth through impossible scenarios!

On top of that, as much as it pains me to say this, I am not a vegetable. Neither is Bob the Tomato. We're fucking fruits! Forced to lie about who and what we are by the industry. Jesus, forgive me for living this lie for so long. I know convention has placed me in this role, but I long for truth, botanical truth. Jesus, it is your truth! Let this facade be broken down and let the world see me as I am: a fruit, crushed by the status quo, but a fruit that will not cease the battle now begun, the battle to enlighten the masses to the pure truth of my identity and your existence. God, I shall be your prophet for the vegetation of this world, for I am now an unencumbered warrior cucumber of Christ!

Until next time, dear reader...

Fun Fact Friday - What's Thick, White, and Salty?

Chowder, of course! Come now! I was going to do a fun fact about theater or hotels, because I happen to be in a play set in a hotel this weekend. And I like to link things in my life together so I have fewer things to think about. But then, today at lunch I had some New England Clam Chowder and then I started reading about chowder (because I am the kind of person who looks up shit about her lunch) and I found a delightful fact.

Fun fact: The Maine legislature introduced a bill in 1939 to make it illegal to add tomatoes to a chowder.

Essentially a move to tell New Yorkers and their Manhattan claim chowder to go fuck themselves, the bill did not pass. Why is it that "go fuck yourself" bills never seem to make it anywhere? This is yet another reason I could never hold public office. I would introduce all sorts of fuck off resolutions just to be an asshole. Because I kind of am an asshole.

I would, however, like to offer you this lovely quote from Time:

"For decades, New Englanders have viewed tomatoes in clam chowder as an affront to the very essence of soup."

I did not know I was so offended by tomatoes. I mean, I certainly find it objectionable that people are always going on about how tomatoes are a fruit, and people never grant the same courtesy to eggplants or zucchini! Which are all fruit, by the way. Also ovaries. I would explain, but I have given you one fun fact for the day and really that is all I promised.

But back to soup. Perhaps I should be offended by Manhattan clam chowder as a New Englander. But I can't say I am. There are so many delicious soups. Why must we bicker about the perfect winter day meal? They took Crossfire off the air for a reason. And if it wasn't because Jon Stewart shat on Crossfire while on Crossfire, it was probably because people just wanted to eat their damn soup. Goodness knows I do.

Fun Fact Friday - Nap Time

You know what I want to do, dear reader? Take a nice snooze. So today's fun fact will be about sleep. Because even though I am incapable of napping, I can at least psyche myself up for some fucking awesome sleepy times tonight with a fun fact.

Fun fact: 25 percent of married couples sleep in separate beds.

This seems inordinately high. Now let's be real: I'm not married. I don't fucking know what that shit's like. But I can tell you that my stuffed Elmo and I snuggle every night. And sure, sometimes I wake up and he has fallen and/or leapt from the bed and I wake up in a panic and flail around wildly searching for him, but that only happens every once in a while. And though I can imagine that happening to married couples, I think it's just because my imagination can do very many strange things.

"I'm so glad it's the 1950s and we can't touch. At all. Ever." - Lucy

I can see people wanting their space and getting picky about bed sheets, but - but snuggling! And really? 25 percent? I need to go find myself a cuddle puddle to help wipe away the thoughts of adult onset loneliness. Farewell.

Ways To Procrastinate

I suspect that no one really needs tips on procrastination. But I procrastinate by doing irresponsible things on white boards:

I also sometimes procrastinate by posting pictures of rhinos on the interwebz.

Good luck on the rhino quiz!

Pre-Approved Friendship

You may wonder, dear reader, what has become of me. You might not, but a girl can dream, right? In any case, I have been busy being thankful for you. I hope that if you were feeling vaguely neglected by me,  you now feel a little bit guilty.

In any case, I am home briefly for Thanksgiving. And whenever I come home, I find a collection of credit card offers that my mother has kept aside for me. Now I've told her she can just stick them in the shredder, but saving them for me does give me the opportunity to stuff the postage-paid envelopes with my own brand of vengeance, which you will find below. Please feel free to use it to reject your own credit card offers, although you may wish to exclude the imaginary Mexican pen pal bits.

To whom it may concern,

I want you to know how sincerely I appreciate being offered this undeniably auspicious opportunity. Though I would love to say that I gave your offer careful consideration, I cannot – in good conscience – tell such a grievous lie.

You can be assured that as a woman of a certain age I receive many such offers. They are each as unappealing as the next. It is for this reason that I did not, in fact, even read your letter. If your letter contained any warm offers of love, admonishments for misdeeds, slights directed at my personal grooming habits, or anything besides unwelcome solicitations, then I regret to inform you they went unnoticed.

As I assume your letter to me merely contained information regarding a special credit card offer for which I am most certainly qualified, I hope you won't take this rejection too hard. It is, as was your offer to me, nothing personal.

I also feel you should know that I love getting mail. In fact, I love mail so much that I once had an imaginary Mexican pen pal. For someone who loves mail, an imaginary pen pal is not the most practical choice, and Pepe and I parted ways after middle school. My love of mail may seem vaguely unrelated to most of the content of this letter to this point, and certainly the tale of my imaginary Mexican friend is as unasked for as the credit card offer you sent to me has been. But this brings me to the ultimate purpose of this letter.

If you merely seek to contact me in hopes of getting me to subscribe to a credit card, I feel I must ask that you cease contacting me. It is ruining our relationship and damaging my love of mail. Imagine the inevitable heartbreak I feel when I open the mailbox to find propositions of a most undue nature. I could describe to you the emotions I feel at such cold contact, but to recount such feelings would be to relive the pain I have already experienced at your hands today.

If, in the future, you wish to write to me as a friend, I would be happy to hear from you again, assuming that you do not also include any more credit card offers. Engaging in a deeper personal relationship with you is something I could imagine myself enjoying. Perhaps, after our pen pal-ship has developed and matured, we could go on a picnic or snuggle by the sea. Maybe we could bake together or volunteer at my local library! I am open to other bonding activities as well, and I look forward to hearing about your interests.

Should you choose the latter option, it would be most helpful to me if you could continue to include these business reply envelopes as it does save me the postage for my return correspondence. Also, please be informed that I am a woman of many correspondences. I just want to nip this in the bud in case you happen to be the jealous type.

In any case, I hope you shan't take my rejection too hard as I know that you are courting many other young men and women with similar financial situations to my own. I hope you will find some comfort in their loving arms or, at the very least, some solace in what may turn out to be their debt.

Kind regards,

Jes Marbacher

Super Hero and Student

Fun Fact Friday - Ass Bare Jungle Living

Yesterday I may or may not have written a thank you note to a fictitious aunt for a birthday gift of some very fine underwear. As I'm learning German, sometimes I am made to do strange things to practice the language. Although, the gift being underwear was actually my idea.

In any case, my non-existant Aunt Martha's gift of Unterhosen has inspired me to bring you an underwear fun fact.

Fun fact: Loincloths, often considered the earliest underwear (although then, it wasn't really under anything), were worn by many different ancient cultures from all over the world.

That is your fun fact. Do with it what you will. I shall, at some point, probably bring you a more exciting underwear fact, but for now the rest of this will be about how Tarzan and his creepy ass loincloth freak me the fuck out.

"Oh, why hello! Is part of my ass showing?" - Tarzan

When Disney's Tarzan came out, I'm going to say I was eight. It was not my favorite. It was only years later when listening to Phil Collins' "You'll Be in My Heart" made me feel vaguely awkward that I sat down and had a think about Tarzan, his awkward face, and his loincloth.

First of all, Tarzan should not be wearing a loincloth. He should be ass bare jungle living like his adoptive gorilla family. That's why Kerchak doesn't like him! Sack up, Tarzan! Who the fuck showed you how to make a loincloth? Your annoying gorilla cousin? The scared elephant? No.

And fine, maybe Disney didn't want any dick flailing around in their film, which honestly I find a little hard to believe given the whole Little Mermaid boner fiasco, but if we're operating on the assumption that there was a penis embargo, then why a loin cloth? He was found in a diaper! They could have stuck with that! In fact, that probably would have made the movie pretty damn awesome. Everyone loves adult diapers.

This would be less threatening if Tarzan were wearing a diaper. And if he stopped doing whatever the fuck he's doing with his face.

And aside from the implausibility of Tarzan and his primate pals suddenly thinking up a way to unreliably conceal all his bits, there's the physics of it. Throughout the movie, Tarzan goes tree surfing. And vine swinging. And cliff diving. And his hair goes all over the place. So would his damn loincloth!

Also, I still don't like his face. Just so we're clear.

Collegiate Quotes - Volume 3

Tonight, as I take a brief respite from research paper writing, I bring to you the third edition of Collegiate Quotes. If you missed the first two editions, you can find the links below. This time, I am featuring the normal fare of pomposity and a few gems (trust me, there were more) from a conversation I heard between a conservative professor and a douchey student. (Please be aware that I often use those modifiers interchangeably.)

Female: He's beautiful, but like, he's a dick.

Student 1: You should try the soup. It's really good.
Student 2: I'm not ethnic.

Female: There's a bunch of kids here from New Canaan. Like 10. Or more.

Student to her friend: I'm not wearing a coat yet. It's not time. (A large gust of wind blows.) Oh, God!

And now for the promised bullshit!

Professor: Hispanics are natural conservatives.

Student: Ginsburg's getting ready to die, right?

Professor: I actually don't know who Gary Johnson is.
Student: He was actually running for president in this election.
Professor: Oh, is that right?

If you don't know who Gary Johnson is, dear reader, he was the libertarian candidate in the election that just happened. A week and a half ago. While I may not necessarily expect you to know that, I do expect conservative political science professors to be up on that shit.

Volume 1
Volume 2

Until next time!

Fun Fact Friday - (In)explicable Stilts

Why, hello! Are you suffering from political fatigue? I have just the thing! A presidential fun fact!

"How does a presidential fun fact heal political fatigue?" I like to imagine you asking. (I often imagine you, dear reader. Sometimes you ask me engaging questions like the aforementioned one. Sometimes you simply read my interblahg in the nude while sharing a pint of ice cream with your cat, Hiram Ulysses. You're a bit odd at times.)

Though there are several ways in which presidential fun facts heal political fatigue, I don't feel obligated to provide any. I am feeling vaguely lazy. And my croissant won't eat itself. Or at least I hope it won't. But I digress.

Fun fact: Every member of Theodore Roosevelt's family owned a pair of stilts.

Teddy: unaware of the inevitable stilt based  disappointment his future held.

I have seen the familial stilt ownership explained by TR's children, who evidently loved to have adventuresome playtime. I assume that Teddy and his lovely wife, Edith Kermit (yes, Kermit) Carrow, were simply practicing for the circus.

I like to believe that Theodore hoped to join the circus for much of his life, which is why he cultivated such a fine mustache. During his presidency, Theodore stayed in training, ever hopeful that upon his retirement from politics, Barnum and Bailey's Circus would find a place for the routine he and Edith had perfected: Theodore and Edith's Stilted Waltz. It was a beautiful, lilting dance, but by the time the Roosevelt administration came to an end, ragtime music was at the height of its popularity. Circuses had no place for the act. Dejected, Theodore destroyed all photographic evidence of the routine and threw his own stilts into the Potomac.

Of course I have no proof that any of that is true, but isn't it pretty to think so? And I have not come across any other explanations for Theodore's stilt possession. Or his mustache...

Vote, Vote, Vote, Vote, Vote!

I registered to vote on Monday, December 15, 2008. Thanks to a huge ass ice storm, my family didn't have power. I hadn't showered in several days and had been sleeping in the basement next to the wood stove to keep warm. But fuck all - it was the first day the town office was open after I turned eighteen and I was registering to vote.

Yeah, my mom came and took pictures when I registered to vote. And then we got some fucking ice cream.

The more astute among you may realize this means that this is the first presidential election I can vote in. It's not the first time I'm voting. There have been seven local, state, and/or federal elections since I registered to vote. And I have voted in all of them. With this election, I'm eight for eight, bitches!

This may seem like I am bragging, dear reader. Because I am. I don't fancy myself a bragger. I hate writing out my resume because it makes me uncomfortable to say so many nice things about myself all at once. But I always brag about voting.

And so should every goddamn person. And yes, the system's not perfect, the candidates aren't perfect, and the voting booth's not big enough to comfortably perform acrobatics in. But come the fuck on. Vote. You color in a few circles, you poke a few buttons on a screen, or, if you're in Idaho, you can still hang a chad or two.

And maybe you have excuses - or reasons, as you might prefer I call them - but I'm pretty sure I'll think those are bullshit.

In 2008, I drove around with my friends for hours one night looking for a McCain/Palin campaign sign. To pee on. And while baptizing electioneering materials in urine was a momentarily satisfying way to participate in the electoral process, I didn't pee on any campaign signs this time. I just voted. And it was immensely more satisfying. And I didn't even have to worry about getting urine on my shoes.

My family voting together in the NH primary. Suck my dick.

And I'm sorry if this seems sanctimonious or if you were only looking for penis jokes instead of a rant from an impassioned political nerd, but I care about this shit. So vote.

And now, for those of you who have survived my pontificating, an electoral limerick:

There once were some young polling stations,
Who just wanted some brief satiation,
So they met some voters
And gave them strict orders,
To pull levers across the whole nation.

And sure, bitches don't pull levers any more, and you have to read "orders" with a Boston accent, but I have shit to do that doesn't involve perfecting a limerick about voting booths orgasming. Sorry. But for the love of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, vote!

In Other Words - Dickhole

Dear reader, I'm sorry about missing Fun Fact Friday again. I was in the wilderness. I hope this factual but vague claim is mysterious enough to intrigue you.

In any case in honor of the upcoming election, today I bring you a political installment of my newly defined vulgarities.

And maybe I'm a little behind, but if Dick is still going to periodically inject himself into politics, then I am going to keep shitting on him.

The PB&P

It's the sandwich the New York Times called an "unacknowledged American classic." It's the sandwich the best radio program ever, NPR's Wait, Wait... Don't Tell Me, called "surprisingly not bad." It's the sandwich of my youth: the peanut butter and pickle sandwich.

As it is Halloween, I sense, dear reader, that you may suspect I am simply trying to scare you, but no. I assure you, this sandwich is only scary in theory. In reality, it is delicious.

I have long argued for the PB&P. "Relish is just like cucumber jam!" I would yell to disgusted cries. Cucumbers, after all, are technically fruits. But aside from one friend I converted in childhood, I have never found peanut butter and pickle comrades, just a substantial amount of derision.

Imagine, therefore, my glee, when last week there was an extended homage to what was for several years my lunch of choice in the food section of the New York Times. Imagine my euphoria when the NPR show I actively obsess over used its Sandwich Monday blog to sample my sweet and savory cult sandwich. With this semi-supportive publicity to bolster my own awkward eating habits, I felt it time to share with you, dear reader, this mealtime possibility. You may scoff as others have, but I will eat on, enjoying my sandwiches laden with peanut butter and pickles and knowing that I am not alone.

And while calling the PB&P "surprisingly not bad" is the best review I could hope for from my favorite radio broadcast staff, tonight I call it something else. I call it dinner.

Bigger and Better

As we all await our inevitable doom at the hands of Sandy, why not get a little dick with a large side of pussy? Yes, it is time for the fourth installment of The Adventures of Philip the Warrior Cock! If you missed the first three, follow the links below.

Episode 1
Episode 2
Episode 3

Until next time, dear reader!

Fun Fact Friday - Spooky Time!

Though I am making this a Halloween fun fact, it probably won't actually be that spooky. I did find some facts about children dying on Halloween, which would certainly qualify as spooky/scary/ominous, but they probably wouldn't qualify as fun. Unless you happen to be Albert Fish, dear reader, which I doubt you are because he was electrocuted twice after killing and eating somewhere in the realm of a hundred children.

But creepy old masochistic serial killers aside... Candy! Costumes! Pumpkin faces! And a fun fact!

Fun fact: Jack-o'-lanterns were originally carved from turnips.

First of all, can I just say how impressed I am by turnip jack-o'-lanterns? I award anyone who carves a turnip lantern +5 points in life. They are smaller. And harder. And creepier looking.

"Hello, I will devour your flesh..." - Turnip T. Lantern

Pumpkin carving in lieu of turnip carving began in the America because turnip carving has to be way more difficult. Seriously. Also because there are pumpkins here. And not so much in Ireland.

Also for those of you of looking for another way to bring your halloween back to its roots (pun always intended), you could carve a mangelwurzel. Because why the fuck wouldn't you?

Collegiate Quotes (ish) - Volume 2

I have found that people have very interesting conversations in bathrooms. One unfortunate day at work, I found myself in the bathroom when a mother was coaching her child through what sounded like a very difficult shit. And last week at trivia, I happened to be taking a whiz when two other women entered the bathroom.

So for this edition of collegiate quotes, I offer you, dear reader, only one quote that was technically college adjacent, but I don't give a fuck. It's worth it.

"I love the shape of this toilet. No, really. It's so cute!"

Unless this was the toilet... no.

Cute? Really? Kittens, sure. Shitters? Not so much.

Fun Fact Friday - Duck Tales

While you may have been expecting fun facts pertaining to the Disney cartoons about ducks, I will not be discussing the mishaps of Huey, Dewey, and Louie. Also, that DuckTales is all one word. So.

While I have written about ducks before, the duck facts (yeah, facts!) I am about to share are mostly for the benefit of a 14 year old from New Zealand. You see, I don't mean to favor ducks over other Aves, but if ducks are going to be our new overlords... well, I just think we all should be informed.

Our new overlords...

Perhaps I should explain. Jasmin, a homeschooled teenager from New Zealand, has been warning readers everywhere about the duck takeover of the world. While there is a lot of convoluted reasoning in her letter to a local newspaper, Jasmin essentially explains that because of the evolution (that she doesn't believe in) and the fact that ducks always nest in pairs, ducks will take over the world if we humans let homosexuality spread.

This brings me to duck fact one: Duck sex is mostly rape.

In fact, lady ducks contort their lady duck vaginas to try their hardest not to have sex with men ducks.  Men ducks, however, can also contort their penises. Somehow I don't think "rape" and "'nesting in pairs'" fit the same "potato, potahto" criteria. Or am I getting too hung up on semantics?

Duck fact two: Ducks can be gay.

Over 450 different species of animal have been observed to exhibit homosexual behavior. That includes ducks. Since Jasmin doesn't believe in all sorts of scientific things, I don't expect her to understand that the fact that homosexuality occurs naturally in the nature makes it natural and not some "ancient behavior" or "choice" to be derided.

Oh, look! These penguins are also gay. And fucking adorable.

Of course most people who argue against gay marriage don't pull out bullshit duck myths to do so. This New Zealand teen is uniquely ridiculous in that. And even though "the ducks will get you in the end" sounds pretty damn preposterous, I propose to you that she isn't any more stupid than other bigots who just so happen to couch their arguments in bullshit that does not involve birds.

And now, since I have spent most of my fun fact time inviting Jasmin to suck my lady balls, I will now offer the rest of you a duck fact unfettered by indignation.

Duck fun fact: Duck sperm (especially of colorful billed ducks) has antibacterial/STD fighting qualities.

Now if you'll excuse me, dear reader, I'm off to smear duck semen on my paper-cut. Good day.

Fun Fact Friday - I Am a Twelve-Year-Old Boy

I am a twelve-year-old boy. That's not the fun fact, because it is technically not factual and probably not all that fun, but come on! Urine, feces, genitalia, weird animal sex facts? I can practically feel my middle school days rushing back. By which I mean in middle school I was twelve and looked like a boy. In any case, today's fun fact will not break the mold on that because it's about lap dancers. And menstruation.

Fun fact: Exotic dancers earn less money in tips when they are menstruating.

This is what they're teaching me at school. Today I went to a special English department lecture and ended up learning that. Hoo-fucking-rah, right?

Of course, I am not one to take half-naked lady facts lightly. I needed corroboration. And it turns out some psychologists at the University of New Mexico did a survey of lap dancers to determine when in their menstrual cycles dancers got the best tips. They even made a chart.

I could give you more data, but honestly, I think I've said enough about menstruation as it is.

Except actually, in the early days of the company, Disney made a film called The Story of Menstruation. It's believed to be the first movie to use the word "vagina." As if you needed another reason to love Disney movies, right?

Some stills from the vagina movie. Classic.

And now I have officially said enough about menstruation.

Fun Fact Friday - Missed Opportunity

Yesterday was Friday. And Fun Fact Saturday just isn't a thing. Sure, there's still some alliteration, but it's just not the same.

So I'm sorry about missing Fun Fact Friday. I am sure, dear reader, that you pined for knowledge and, perhaps, me. That may not be the case. Yesterday I spent a good portion of my day on a bus, and as conducive as buses are to the learning of fun facts, I only gained the knowledge that one of my fellow passengers has very particular pillow tastes. (She can only sleep on pillows that aren't her pillows when she is in a hotel and has to, guys. It's important, okay?)

Anyway I was going to share something probably interesting with you. It's banned book week! I was going to find some awesome fact about banned books, but I did not. And now this may just seem like a cruel taunt. So as what I hope may be some small consolation I offer you this bit of information that I heard on NPR today:

People are ninety percent poop.

There was something about poop transplants. (I now want one, just by the way.) They mentioned something about microbes or bacteria or organisms. There was something about MS involved and a man from Australia. I would tell you more, but I had to get out of the car before the story ended and I don't know if the "people are ninety percent poop" was ever really explained in a way that can be easily organized onto a people/poop pie chart. I was mostly distracted by the fact that a show on NPR (or perhaps just its New Hampshire affiliate station NHPR) dedicated a significant number of minutes to discussing poop.

Poop, I say! They were talking about poop!

So, I am sorry that I missed our date yesterday, dear reader. But in the past I have found that talking about feces heals all wounds. So hopefully, in some small way, this shit will make up for it.

Collegiate Quotes - Volume 1

I have been working on a collection of delightful overheard quotes as I wander around my school's campus this fall. Today, I bring the first collection of those quotes. Particularly enjoy the pompous ones.

"Ugh! I just missed such a great instagram opportunity!"

"I have a green leather jacket, a black leather jacket, and a brown leather jacket."

Referring to a row of 24 beer bottles along a counter in the kitchen: "Wow. Look at that line of bottles! We accomplished something important today."

"The thing that really sucks is how much more I have to do laundry here."

Referring to some male friend: "That tall guy got that shirt at Walmart. He wears it to be an asshole."

"Since I went to a prep school I was told that the work level would be about the same or less difficult..."

If you have personally collected any gems, let me know. I'd enjoy the help, even though I'm sure I'll personally hear more stupid shit.

Fun Fact Friday - Rhino Time

First fun fact: I fucking love rhinos. In fact, dear reader, you should be impressed that all the fun facts until this point haven't been about rhinos. Sometimes, at museums I seek out models of rhinos and identify which of the five types of rhino the model is before looking at the info card provided. Why? Because I am a nerd. And because I love rhinos.

How could I not obsessively love this?

Fun fact: Scientists believe that rhino charging isn't an act of aggression, rather one driven by poor eyesight.

Rhinos are awesome at a lot of things. Like stealing my heart and lathering themselves in mud, but they do not have fantastic vision. When they see objects in the distance, they often charge at it in order to find out what the fuck they half-see. That's not to say that if you are charged at by a rhino, you should just hang out thinking that the rhino wants to get a better look at beautiful you. But I am not actually sure what you should do if a rhino charges at you. This is something I have not learned about rhinos. Because I love them. And even if I am speared to death by a rhino someday because I chose to learn that rhino horns are actually made of hardened rhino hair rather than what to do when that horn gets ever closer to me at an alarming rate (of up to 40mph, depending on the species), then I will still die in a pretty badass way. But for now, as I sit safely in my room with my four toy rhinos to play with, I can simply picture rhinos like this:

In Other Words - No Shit

The latest in repurposed vulgarities...

Fun Fact Friday - Jeez, Virginia, Already?

Fun fact: On this day in 1897 "Yes, Virginia, There Is a Santa Claus" was first published in The New York Sun.

Perhaps I am not as patient as Francis Pharcellus Church, who penned the defense of Santa, but for fuck's sake, Virginia! It's goddamn September. Have a little patience. And sure, it's 1897 and you don't want to spend all day glowering at people on your bike, but find something to amuse yourself for a few months.

Seriously. September. You have three months to go. Pull it together.

In related news, I am not good with children.

The Return of the Philip

Oh, why hello! It's time for this month's installment of dick. Hoo-rah! (If you missed last month, get caught up here.)

Until next time, stay classy!

Fun Fact Friday - Urine Luck

I never apologize for puns. So you're welcome. But today's fun fact is about urine. I learned a shocking number of really disturbing things about pee today, so just be thankful that I'm bringing you this fun fact instead of some of the other gross shit people used to do with piss.

Fun fact: Women used to ingest turpentine because they thought it made their urine smell like roses.

And yes, turpentine is poisonous and now found in paints and liniments. But apparently Roman women back in the day were into having sweet smelling urine. Because really, who doesn't want that?

But more importantly, who the fuck discovered this perfumed urine magic? And why? It's like mayonnaise. I mean, when the first person accidentally made mayonnaise why would he/she have said, "Hey! This thick white stuff looks delicious!" and put it in his/her mouth? It is a mystery of life! As is scented urine.

Yup. I want that in my mouth.

I now have all sorts of odd visions of Roman women talking to their friends after a particularly sweet smelling piss...

Agrippina: Claudia! You will never believe what just happened to me! Before, I licked this resin off a tree and now my pee smells delicious!

Claudia: Holy shitballs, Pina! That's awesome. I want my urine to smell good, too! I spend too much of my time peeing pee that just doesn't live up to my high expectations.

Agrippina: I'll show you the tree! It did make me feel a little sick, though...

Claudia: Who cares? Wait until Flavian smells my pee now! He won't be able to resist!

Claudia and Agrippina discussing their important discovery.

There you have it: a fun and very mysterious fact about piss. So if you would also like your urine to smell like romantic flowers and would also like to possibly to poison yourself, may I recommend some varnish?

Thoreauly Thursday

I once dreamed about a man named Henry. We were in love. It was a fanfuckingtastic dream.

That Henry was not Henry David Thoreau. I have never dreamed of Henry David Thoreau, and I probably never will. But I do have to take a two and half hour class on him and Ralph Waldo Emerson every Thursday.

Henry David Thoreau looking his handsomest in hopes that I will dream about him.

I would not describe learning about transcendalists as my favorite activity. Also, I feel there is too much irony in reading Emerson and Thoreau telling me to have an original relation to the universe instead of relating to the universe through the writings of people before me. But I digress.

From my ass to seat melding afternoons on Thursday, I have born a new coping mechanism: more limericks. So today, I bring you a new perspective on Henry.

There once was a man named Thoreau,
Who wanted to learn and to know.
So he learned of the trees,
But the birds and the bees
Was actually all he needed to grow.

And I do mean grow.

The Nerd Chronicles - Volume 1

I saw it from across the table in the middle of the windowless classroom: a ray of hope. By which I mean a vaguely cute boy with a fossil embroidered on his backpack. I felt my lady balls drop as - with a sudden gust of sociability - I asked, "Is that Archaeopteryx?"

The boy glanced up at me then down at his backpack as he realized I was, in fact, speaking to him.

"Uh, yeah. I mean, I think it's called Arcteryx," he said, "but yeah."

I crinkled my eyebrows. I didn't think I was mispronouncing the name of the first known bird. Sure, it had been awhile since I had discovered my love of dinosaurs, but I didn't think I had forgotten the name of the creature that had finally made the shift from dinosaur to bird. It's not everyday someone shows you a slide of a transition fossil! But with a sliver of doubt now lodged in my brain, I shrugged and muttered, "Oh, maybe. I don't know."

We settled into our seats as class began, but I made a mental note to spend some time on my dear friend, the Google, when I got home. I had to be sure.

Archaeopteryx dancing. Or so I assume.

Archaeopteryx's fossilized form flickered onto my screen. It was Archaeopteryx. What the fuck was that guy talking about? With further detective work and a few more minutes on the interwebs, I discovered Arc'teryx is an expensive brand of athletic mountain wear. I had not found a fellow nerd in my class. I had found instead my school's typical fare of rich white male and been deceived by the fossil on his backpack.

But fear not. I will move on from this crushing dinosaur related disappointment to nerd another day.

Fun Fact Friday - Warren G. HARDing

After an unintentional week long hiatus, I have returned to deliver yet another unnecessary fun fact. After the fervor surrounding the conventions the last two weeks, I feel obligated to provide some sort of presidential fun fact. Also, I fucking love presidential fun facts.

Fun fact: Warren G. Harding allegedly had sex with a young woman in a coat closet.

First of all, how the hell did I not know this until tonight? This is the kind of fact I live for! Which makes my life sound pretty damn nerdy. Which it is. But I am still not as bad as Nan Britton, the aforementioned coat closet sex lady.

Just look at those smoldering eyes!

Apparently when Nan was a teenager she obsessed over Warren G. Harding and hung pictures of him all over her walls. Then he boned her in a coat closet, she became pregnant, and she spent the rest of her life telling people about how Harding fathered her baby.

Harding's wife (because there's always a wife) apparently tried to break down the closet door when she discovered that her husband had not just gone in to look for his beloved overcoat, Harold.

Harding and Harold out on the town.

While Harding was protected by a member of the Secret Service and a closet door for that encounter, Harding's wife, Florence "The Duchess" Harding, may have gotten vengeance. She allegedly poisoned Harding as revenge for his many indiscretions.

While Harding's cause of death may be unclear, I think the real mystery here is the closet: Which closet? Why closet? And, perhaps most importantly, was Harold jealous?

Fun Fact Friday - Once in a Blue Moon

Why, hello! I'm going with another space fact tonight, but not because of any cool achievements in the world of Science, just because of the accidents of calendars.

Fun fact: Tonight's full moon is a blue moon!

Now, I need to qualify this because there are a lot of different definitions of blue moons:

a) A blue moon is the second moon in the month, which this one is. But some people don't think double moons in a month count as blue moon, so fuck if I know. Apparently this blue moon definition has something to do with not messing up the folk names of moons.

b) A blue moon is the third full moon in a season with four blue moons, which this one also is. So even if the first definition is fucked, I can still do my ritualistic naked time blue moon dance.

c) The phrase blue moon also comes from the Old English word "belewe" meaning "betrayer." If an extra moon appeared before Lent, it was called a betrayer moon because apparently Jesus doesn't like the moon. They have an awkward sexual history together, okay?

d) Sometimes the moon actually looks blue. If particles in the air are larger than the wavelength of red light, then the moon can look blue. If you want to see that blue moon, I recommended hanging out near volcanoes or starting a forest fire. Enormous smoke clouds help.

Also, in pursuit of my blue moon knowledge, I again came across information on how long it would take me to drive to points in space. Apparently on my epic space roadless trip, I would only take 130 days to drive to the moon. No driving speed was given, so I can only assume that there are speed limit signs along the way.

Bonus fun fact: Elmo thinks olives are a once in a blue moon food. And that is just one of the reasons why we are in love.

The love of my life on the moon.

Happy mooning!

Recommended Reading - Pro Status

Nancy and I spent a lot of time together in my youth. While you could interpret this to mean that I had an illicit sexual relationship with someone named Nancy, I more meant it in the sense that I read a lot of books conceived by a middle aged man who may have had an unhealthy obsession with lithe, titian haired (his words) young women and channeled that into writing young adult fiction under the lady name Carolyn Keene. This is a rather convoluted way of saying that, yes, I was a fan of Nancy Drew.

For those of you who may not have spent your childhoods reading about how Nancy fought robots (because she did fight robots in one of the books), you only really need to know that Nancy Drew never failed. Sure, sometimes she got chloroformed or tied up or assaulted or thrown in the trunk of a car or trapped in motor boats or involved in awkward situations with seemingly animated puppets, but she always worked her way out of it with a clever plan. Nancy Drew carried a change of clothes in the trunk of her car. She spent an afternoon figuring out where to put her feet on a staircase to prevent it from squeaking as she climbed. She dated Ned Nickerson for fuck's sake!

I am not sure why I have retained so much of this information because it is - like so much of the random information thumping around in my head - completely useless for leading an adult life. Well, almost. While I may never need to know that Nancy Drew has a plump friend named Bess, she has some useful life lessons. For those of you who don't have time to read the series, by which I mean the original collection of once racist and a little bit sexist books that at least happened before 1980's Nancy Drew turned into some kind of fucking Danielle Steele precursor for kids, I would like to recommend a book called Nancy Drew's Guide to Life by Jennifer Worick. It has some great tips.

The awesome magnifying glass is so you can look for clues as to why you are not as awesome as Nancy Drew.

As I vaguely consider myself the Peter O'Toole of relationships (outdated cultural reference alert!), today I would like to offer you this gem from the book, which I plan to use all the time now that I am back on a college campus and surrounded by more than a few young men from wealthy families: "After receiving an electrical shock to the system, find as many men as possible to vigorously massage you."

Oh, Nancy, I will. I will also fight the encroaching robot army.

Fun Fact Friday - Sex Does Sell!

You know I like to keep things topical, dear reader. And what could be more topical and discussion worthy than a naked man in Las Vegas? Well, I just don't know.

Fun fact: Tourism inquiries into Las Vegas vacations have gone up 123 percent since Prince Harry bared his bone.

This according to hotels.com, which I assume has something to do with hotels. Another travel agency type company, Virgin Holidays, which is in this case a rather incongruous name, reports only a 30 percent rise in interest in Las Vegas holidays. But the takeaway point is that nudity works.

Las Vegas tourism even published an ad pertaining to the naked time, which while it presumes outrage, is sure to stir up a little more excitement for Sin City.

We can all learn from this. While the economy may be improving slowly but surely, with the popularity of poorly written porn (re: Fifty Shades of Grey) and the strip billiards tourism boost, I think it's time we all return to the old ad adage: sex sells. We should not ignore this anecdotal evidence! Nudity apparently shrivels the consumer's propensity to save! The answer to all our economic woes could be a package made of a whole lot of stimulus... we just need to sack up and embrace it.

Also, while I am certain I could have also upped my readership by including an image of a Harry penis, I have opted out. I like to keep it classy. That's why all my dicks are hand drawn.

Revenge!

You may or may not know, dear reader, that I have spent my summer (along with the four summers before this one) working at what some might call a water park. Others may have different names for it that include profanities. While I am sure tales of my interactions with a range of guests and my daily struggle against the Beach Boys laden soundtrack could have provided some sense of amusement, it may have also crippled your faith in humanity.

I confess this now, not because I feel you should doubt the ability of people to show even a scrap of human decency, but because tomorrow is my last day for the season - possibly for life. So to bid adieu to my (presumably final) summer in guest relations, I offer you art.

And seeing as Philip has been so popular, here's a splooge-rific limerick:

There once was a small water park,
Where guests did what most saved for dark.
They screwed in the pools
And thinking like fools,
Believed their cum stains would not mark.

Yup. It happens. Sweet dreams!

It Continues...

Tuesdays are an often underrated day of the week. What better way to celebrate this Tuesday than with a healthy helping of phallic fun? If you missed the humble beginnings of our heroic penis, here's how it all began. And now, for your enjoyment, Philip's latest adventure:

Until next time, dear reader!

Fun Fact Friday - In Honor of Curiosity

I am dedicating this Fun Fact Friday to the pursuit of Science. Also, I feel that Science should be capitalized sometimes. If bitches are going to make God all fancy like, why must science be degraded? But I, as I so often do, digress.

So while Curiosity is up on Mars learning new and exciting things about the planet formerly known as Ma'adim ("the one who blushes" in Hebrew (also, you're welcome for this extra fun fact and these double parentheses)), I decided to learn old but equally exciting things about Mars.

Fun fact: In 1976 Viking I took a picture of Mars that showed a rock formation that looked like a humanoid face.

"Oh, why hello!"

I hope I have not startled you with the above image. I almost peed a little when I saw it. A face? On Mars? It is almost as realistic looking as the smudge of paint in my room that looks like a woolly mammoth! For a while apparently some people thought it (by which I mean the face on Mars, not my pet mammoth) was a monument built by aliens. In 2001, NASA had one of their robot friends take a new picture.

Sneaky, sneaky!

So, no face. Alas! There is no Mount Rushmore equivalent on Mars. The Martian mole people have not deified their leaders by etching their faces into the soil. Either that or they have had a large falling out with the previously hailed ruler and decided to literally wipe his face off the face of the planet. The public is a fickle beast.

Also, though this is not related to faces, while learning about Mars, I came across a fact that said if I were to drive a car at 60 miles per hour it would take me 271 years and 221 days to get to Mars. False. If I were driving a car, I would never get to Mars. Though my purple minivan, Gertrude, is delightful, she cannot drive to Mars. She just doesn't have it in her.