Fun Fact Friday - Drunk as a Skunk

I've been having quite the bout of insomnia, dear reader. On the bright side, it gave me plenty of time to work on my VeggieTales parody, which can be seen here if you'd like to take a gander. It also gave me some inspiration for today's fun fact, which is sleep related.

Fun fact: Drunk people are more likely to snore.

One of these two is drunk. Your call.

You know how whiskey dick is a thing? It's basically the same for your face/tongue/larynx. By which I mean your face can't get an erection. By which I mean I actually went to bed at five in the morning last night and I hope your face never has an erection. And this fun fact has taken a turn for the worse. And there are skunks and your larynx is all tired and not as much air can move so it gets all noisy like Joseph Pujol's breathing ass and be careful of the sleep apnea and dear, sweet Flying Spaghetti Monster, I think it is best if we just end right here before this fact gets weirder.

"I just want to be in love." - Skunk T. Skunk

So Many Vegetables, So Little Time

You may or may not remember an essay I posted a few months back, dear reader. It was on the longer side, but tragic confessions of troubled cucumbers are often a bit rambling. In any case, because my ass is unemployed, I made it into a weird little video, which you may or may not enjoy.

Fun Fact Friday - Flush Today Goodbye

I organized some buttons today, dear reader. Because I lead a rich and full life. And what better way to celebrate life than with toilets?

Fun fact: Most toilets flush in E flat.

A toilet, modeling.

At this point I like to imagine you running to your fine set of tuning forks and then rushing to the restroom. I myself thought of finding my tuner, but I think it may be in a shed. And it is a somewhat brisk fall evening in the wilds of New Hampshire. I can't be bothered to rummage around in a cold, dark shed so I can attempt to check if my toilet does, in fact, flush as one particular note. I can't help feeling it would also be somewhat cruel of me to visit Stanley, my long-neglected trumpet, just to leave him wallowing outside while I gallivanted about with the tuner. I can imagine him trying to curl deeper into the lining of the case to fight off the cold and muttering to himself, "I wonder what she's going to use the tuner for. Is she playing something else? After all we've been through? I don't ask for much, but I wish she'd blow me once in a while!"

Stanley and me, in better times.

It's probably been four years since I even touched him. We used to spend holidays together - Halloween, Christmas, and the entirety of National Goat Cheese Month. His heartbreak is raw without me adding to his pain. So I just can't do that kind of shit to Stanley in the pursuit of toilet knowledge, dear reader! I hope you'll understand.

And in any case, I am only one person. My toilet would prove nothing alone. I cannot tune all the toilets in the world. And I am also unable to fathom why this fun fact came into existence. It seems more useless than my usual fare of frivolity. I have no personal experience to corroborate it with.

But if you wish, dear reader, you can polish your tuning forks and plop down next to the toilet. You could flush again and again, listening for the wonderful, life-affirming consonance that means your arrangement of Beethoven's 3rd with a part for a potty can finally be played. You could, in my stead, see if your toilet sings a clean, clear E flat when called upon. But when your loved ones inquire after your wellbeing, may I recommend not mentioning that you're tuning the toilet to spare a tender trumpet's heart?

Fun Fact Friday - Acting the Goat

Marbits, bananas, dolphins, toilet paper, John D. Rockefeller, and face arsenic!

"Goodness! What a fine list!" I like to imagine you yelping. Thank you. It is a lovely list and any one of those would have probably made a perfectly adequate subject for today's fun fact. But I was being fickle and rather hard to sate, which I hear are desirable qualities in any potential mate. So good for me. And you. You might not be able to tell, dear reader, but I am using my seductive voice. And winking. For you.

But enough of these lists and my somewhat aggressive internet flirting! To the Fun Fact Mobile!

Fun fact: Goats have accents.

"Holy shit!" - Gulliver T. Goat

I'm sorry if I just blew your mind. I'll give you a minute to put it back together. Because I am going to blow it again. But first, here is another goat. To melt your heart while you reassemble your mind.

"I'm the cutest fucking thing you've ever seen." - All baby goats ever

Elephants and dolphins apparently also have accents! I mean, we all knew people could get accents. But animals?

Goat, goat, goat, goat, goat!

Apparently goat accents were discovered by researchers from Queen Mary University in London last year. I like to believe that this is not what they set out to study. Mostly because it is a weird thing to set out to study. But now that we know goats have accents, I really think it would be worthwhile to find out if goats think certain types of goaty accents are sexier than others.

A ranking of America's sexy accents. Human accents. Not goat accents. But it is still worth noting that it is wrong.

Also, I don't have a whole lot else to say about goats. But I want you to see this:

I like to imagine that if I were a goat, I would be that goat. Sure, I'm kind of a dick, but look at me doing flips and shit!

Related: If anyone wants to help me steal that goat, which lives in Maine and was called an "asshole" by the Huffington Post, I'm free pretty much whenever.

Fun Fact Friday - The Fastest Growing Hair

You think it's pubes, don't you, dear reader? I'm here to tell you it's not.

Fun fact: Beard hair is the fastest growing human hair!

A handsome, bearded motherfucker.

I know this will come as a surprise to my large audience of impatient, pre-pubescent boys. Give it time, gents! You'll be scruffy soon enough! My beard hair, however, may never grow. It's something I am trying to accept.

But the really fun part of this fun fact will blow your beard clean off and into your spaghetti! A lifelong pogonotrophist (beard-grower/non-shaver) could grow a beard that is up to thirty feet long. I would do so many things with a thirty-foot beard.

Rocking presidential whiskers. And faraway eyes...

Let's for a moment, imagine me as an old lady. With a beard. (Because yeah, I don't need a penis, just a beard.) I'm just walking around town on a blustery day with my beard scarf keeping me warm as toast, when ahead of me, I see a sexy younger man trip. And fall. And slip off an icy bridge into frigid waters below.

Now, I'm old. My lifeguard swimming skills have long since become a thing of legend. But my beard? Strong. Like floss. And maybe you don't think floss is strong, but it is. Try tying someone up with it. You'll see. But back to this sexy man and my sexy beard. So I see this guy, let's call him Henry because the man of my dreams happens to be named Henry, fall off the bridge. I hobble over and throw my beard to bedraggled Henry.

"Sir, grab my beard!" I exclaim as I brace my body against the bridge. Henry struggles through the cold water, slowing all the while, but finally reaches out and takes hold. He climbs up my beard while anxious passersby help to hoist my beard back onto the bridge. When we finally get my shivering Henry over the railing, I swaddle him in my beard. He murmurs a quiet thank you before succumbing to the exhaustion his ordeal just produced.

Now, I know what you're thinking, dear reader. I am planning to live the blissful life of a bearded cat lady. But there comes a time in every cat lady's life where she must herself become a cat of sorts: a cougar. And now I like to imagine you asking, somewhat incredulously, "But Jes? What about your beard? Who would ever fall in love with a much older, bearded woman?"

Besides, of course, my ever-doting cats.

The answer to that, I am pleased to say, is Henry. Henry would.

But he can't. Because my beard hair will probably never grow. And Henry will slip, fall, and plummet into the river. I'll try to save him, but I'm doomed to fail. Then I will return home to my future cats, Roosevelt 1 and Roosevelt 2. I will stroke their fine kitty whiskers and murmur, "If only, if only..."

Happy Beardvember, dear reader.