Fact-check: Triceratops went extinct 66 million years ago. The director of Jurassic Park has never shot one for sport.
A lot of people didn't get the joke, and thought Speilberg really had shot a dinosaur.
This is the literal skeeviest.
You are in a library that may not exist. You are having a terrible time.
It is unclear whether you have been writing the story, or the story has been writing you.
You visit the south of Argentina, where something terrible happens to you.
You are standing inside a sphere. Its center is everywhere and its circumference is nowhere. You are terrified.
Everyone around you is being murdered in a perfect Kabbalistic pattern.
A Scottish man sells you a book that ruins your life.
A red-haired woman tells you that you have always been a dead man.
You are lost in the desert. Your map is the desert itself.
You may have committed a murder. You’re not sure.
Everywhere you look, you see a sinister equilateral triangle.
A train conductor is rude to you, who was once a king in Babylon.
You are dreaming. You have never existed. You are being born. You are a thinly veiled version of Borges himself, and you have been dying for a thousand years.
A gaucho with a knife is laughing at you. There is blood on your saddle, but you have been in a hospital for the last four days. There is no saddle. Now it is you who is holding the knife, and no one is laughing.
You are standing in the middle of an empty city that is also the corpse of a tiger. There is one company in the entire world, and it does not exist, but it is watching you.
You may be a man, but then again you may be a mathematical thought experiment; it’s difficult to tell.
You die in a labyrinth.
Read more How To Tell If You Are In A Jorge Luis Borges Story at The Toast.
What the hell?
In order to prove once and for all that it is totally web-savvy, and not nearly as analog as the critics say—oh, and also to raise money—the Republican Party is selling new web domains ending in .gop starting today. They are much in demand, but not for the reasons Republicans might have hoped.
Right in the wet stuff!
To express this, I think Bowe tried to make a “the prices are going up like my dick.” I’m not sure, because what came out was at best a confusing jumble of phrasing, and at worst an announcement that Bowe has accidentally been f*cking dudes for the last 30 years.
Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, “Riddick Bowe Thinks The Price Of Coffee Is Too Damn High, And Also Whoops.”
1. Bowe considers the clitoris a “ding dong.” If that’s the case, how is he raising the vagina up? Is he talking about moisture? Is he raising the water levels of a lady’s vagina?
2. Bowe has been having sex with guys (dressed as women?) and is talking about the butthole. If that’s the case, why are they? That can’t be sanitary. A wet butthole is nothing to brag about.
3. Brain damage and nobody to ghost tweet for him.
I’m going with #3, because it explains this …
Ben Stein, who the lowbrow among us will recognize as the eyedrop shilling "Bueller.... Bueller...." guy from Ferris Beuller's Day Off and the nerds will recognize as the conservative thought-generator and American Spectator senior editor, has penned an incredibly bizarre stream of consciousness essay on how he is basically a slave to his dick and can't stop being tempted to give beautiful women who are not his wife money. This essay was printed in a magazine.
This is freaking hilarious.
Ten years ago last week, The Notebook took our nation's feel-holes by storm. Nick Cassavetes's adaptation of Nicholas Sparks's novel—starring Ryan Gosling at PEAK shoulder-to-waist ratio—struck some emotional brown note of sentimentality and hunkiness and forbidden love and manipulative sentimentality, and remains the standard by which all other romantic weepies are judged. I've seen people get misty-eyed just talking about this movie. I've slipped on puddles of cry-snot in the Mead aisle at Walgreens. But even though I love vintage dresses and kissing as much as the next lady-blogger, somehow I bumbled through this entire decade without ever actually watching The Notebook. So today, in honor of its (belated) birthday, I took the plunge.
This post originally appeared on October 17th, 2013.
Mallory left this morning. But not before we went to see the mini horses. On the drive over, Mallory wasn’t sure she was ready.
“I need a minute. I need a minute to prepare myself.”
First, we met Godiva.
Mallory started to lose it. She used curse words. Then she touched Godiva.
It was pretty intense. Godiva sensed and reacted to a powerful female energy coming from Mallory.
Then Mallory lost her mind.
We decided to say hi to the geldings, but they rejected our overtures.
“Mallory,” my friend and horse trainer said calmly. “Mallory, we’re going to go look at the babies now. Prepare yourself.”
“WHO IS THAT?” “That’s Thunder.” “WHO IS HIS FRIEND?” “His friend is Rusty.”
“Nicole, this is why I couldn’t own a miniature horse. I know you just said you have to treat them like horses and not like dogs, but I couldn’t handle it. I would buy them hats and jacket, and they would live in my house. I would be a crazy cat lady, but with horses.”
“We have to go. You have a ten hour drive ahead of you. Say goodbye to Thunder.” “Goodbye, Thunder.”
“Nicole. I am never going to be happy again. I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Mallory.”
Lovely, but this shit has NOTHING on an Australian radio station cake recipe.
I am a simple woman: I love reading people argue about the causes of World War I, and I love reading the comments section on the Telegraph. When the two are combined, I become very happy.
Previously: Every French novel ever.
1. Fleeing The Impoverished, Drunken Countryside For Dublin
2. The Estate Decays
3. A Man Laughs Unhappily
4. We Do Not Speak That Name In These Parts, Stranger
5. The Landlord Pays A Visit But Does Not Sit Down
6. The Boy Sickens
7. THE ENGLISH
8. Poor In Material Goods But Rich In Sweeping Vistas Of The Hills And Also The Sea, My Son
9. Do You Know What Would Be Very Sad? So Many Things; Let’s List Them All
10. A Series Of Seemingly Unrelated Vignettes That Are Quite Possibly A Dream
11. Looking At A River Well Have You I Remember The Smell Of Her Broach The Day The Ship Sailed I Do Yes I Do Always Have
12. A Funeral Is Ruined
13. Everyone Starts Talking About The Wallpaper
14. A Chapter Written Inexplicably In French Just To Show Off
15. The Hell Sermon From Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Man You’re All Thinking Of
16. An Accidental Circumcision Followed By 14 Pages About The Length And Goodness Of The Nose
17. A Friendly Argument With The Vicar
18. The Boy Dies
19. Leaving Out The Back Without Paying, That’s What Old Dad Did Best
20. A Bit In Gaelic Just To Remind You The Author Knows Gaelic
21. The Washerwoman Coughs
22. We Do Not Speak Of The Boy
23. Fleeing Broken, Vice-Riddled Dublin For The Countryside
24. An Insane Man Is Buried Up To His Neck In Ants And Forced To Play Chess With The Devil, Who Does Not Exist
25. Poverty, Failure, Exile and Loss, And The Apple Tree Did Not Bloom This Spring And Never Will Again
26. Conditions Worsen
The History of the Royal Houses of Europe, 850-PresentA thousand years ago — so the legend goes — God offered the Hapsburgs a choice: “You can have Europe,” he told them, “or you can have chins. But you cannot have both.”
They made their decision, and they were happy with it.
“Two Tom Bombadils, a weird-ass bird, and a bell that turns into a dress.”
The heraldist protested. “My Lords, I–”
“Two Tom Bombadils. A weird-ass bird. A bell that turns into a dress.”
So it remains to this very day.
Some say World War One was brought on by the tendency of the Electors of Prussia, Brandenburg and Lower Silesia to neglect matters of state in order to meet at their summer estates along the Rhine and grow mustaches at one another.
“Cheer up,” the Hapsburgs would say to one another in particularly low moments. “At least you’re not a Stuart.”
Underneath their puffy jackets, most of the Kings of Hungary stood about two foot four and weighed between forty-five and forty-seven pounds. When startled or threatened, the average Hungarian royal could puff himself up to as much as three times his normal size.
What a week, team. The site exploded a bunch and some guy tried to have opinions about women for 11,000 words, which is 11,000 more than any man has a right to. As a corrective, I bought Roxane Gay’s book and Janet Mock’s memoir and a nice new omnibus of Colette that I didn’t have yet yesterday. It helped a little bit.
Here is a Vine of two dachshunds acting like a fire truck. Go in peace, to love and serve the Lord; the service is ended.
This is so nice.
Last Sunday, Isaiah Austin found out he wouldn't be able to start a career in the NBA. The Baylor center was diagnosed with Marfan syndrome , and continuing to play competitive basketball would jeopardize his life. Tonight, he was still at the draft, and in the middle of the first round, Adam Silver and the NBA took Austin with a ceremonial pick.
THIS IS THE BEST ARTICLE. Caity is also on fire in the comments.
"My mom's cat was dying," a woman in a white blouse dotted with holographic silver sequins explains. ("I live in a community of healers," she told me earlier, in the same in the same breezy, dismissive manner one might use to say in Queens.) "Couldn't eat. Had lost half her fur. And he saved her life."
For fuck's sake.
Bros? Have you noticed more and more ads these days speaking your bro-language?
This is neat.
In 1990, two freshwomen at the University of Oregon got fed up with all the boy bands on campus, so they proclaimed themselves to be their own band. After a few months of talking themselves up, they were invited by a friend in Olympia, Washington, to play a Valentine's Day show. There was just one problem: They hadn't written any songs yet. With the pressure of the approaching gig, they threw together a set, and that is how Bratmobile came to play its first show opening for Bikini Kill in early 1991. The rest is punk rock history.
First good one in a while!
The town of Inarajan, located on the southwest coast of Guam with a population of 3,052, flicked her long red hair out her eyes and sighed. People were always telling her she was beautiful, but she just didn’t see it. She examined herself in the mirror carefully. What was so beautiful about large violet eyes, long slender limbs, and the ruins of several colonial Spanish forts? Certainly she was nowhere near as lovely as her friends Tumon, a tourist hub featuring over 20 large hotels and a Duty Free Shoppers Galleria, or Andrea, who wore a C-cup.
Inarajan’s mother entered, her mouth tightened with disapproval. Inarajan’s mother did not understand her. It was as though they were from two different worlds: Inarajan was just a small coastal village, and her mother was an invasive species of brown tree snake from the Phillippines.
“It’s time,” said her mother.
“Must I?” said Inarajan.
“You must,” said her mother. She hesitated, and Inarajan thought she might say something to comfort her, but her mother merely shook her head and decimated Guam’s indigenous bird population.
Today was the day. The day that everyone on Guam knew must arrive once every four years. A day of sorting. Of choosing. Of victory and defeat. The day of the non-binding straw poll for Presidential candidates.
Everyone would be there. As Inarajan set off, she saw her friend United Airlines. He waved to her, tripping over the statue of Chief Gadao, a prominent tourist attraction. She shook her head. United Airlines was the largest private sector employer on Guam and the second-largest employer overall, following the United States Military, but he could be such a klutz sometimes.
“Hi,” he said to her, flicking his blonde hair out of his face and grinning.
“Hi,” said Inarajan, flicking her red hair out of her face and sighing.
“What’s new?” said United Airlines, flicking his hair out of his face and frequently rescheduling flights to Japan during typhoon season.
Inarajan’s face heated. Was he flirting with her? No, that was crazy. As of 2008 United Airlines’ annual payroll in Guam was $90 million. She had never even had a boyfriend.
Pushing confusing thoughts of United Airlines’ broad back muscles and status as a subsidiary of Chicago-based Continental Holdings aside, Inarajan looked up and realized they had arrived at their destination: The forbidding edifice that was the Duty Free Shoppers Galleria. She suppressed a shiver. Her very first non-binding Presidential straw poll. Surely she would not survive.
As she lined up with the others, her scalp prickled. She turned and saw a strange boy staring at her. He was tall and pale, with dark hair that hung in his eyes, but he did not flick it aside.
“Who’s that?” Inarajan asked United Airlines. He stiffened mid-hair flick. “No one,” he said. “Listen, stay away from that guy, all right?”
“Why?” said Inarajan. “Who is he?”
“He’s non-voting Congressional representative Democrat Madeleine Z. Bordallo. He can vote on procedural matters and on committees in the House of Representatives, but he may not vote on the floor, a right reserved by the constitution for the states. In other words, he’s trouble.”
“All right,” Inarajan said, sending her residents to the Guam Unified School District. “I’ll stay away from him.” But she could feel his eyes follow her as she held her annual village fiesta and went inside.
The non-binding Presidential straw poll involved several events, including combat training, arbitrary separation into groups, a symbolic vote which usually favored Republican candidates, a fight to the death, and fashion. Inarajan was the smallest, weakest, stupidest, ugliest contestant. There was no way she would win any of them. But she won all of them.
Through it all, Democrat Madeleine Z. Bordallo behaved strangely. Sometimes he seemed to hate her, and at other times he clearly wanted nothing more than to protect her. Inarajan couldn’t understand what he wanted from her. Sure, as the wife of Ricky Bordallo, he was the First Lady of Guam from 1975 to 1978 and 1983 to 1986, but also he was a vampire.
Inarajan tried to ignore her doubts. She had done it. She was the straw poll champion and the princess of Guam. And yet, even in her moment of triumph, she could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. There were too many unanswered questions. Why had population declined slightly since the 2000 census? Why could Guam’s representative not vote on the House floor? And why did Democrat Madeleine Z. Bordallo keep looking at her like that?
The U.S. military maintains jurisdiction over its bases, which cover approximately 39,000 acres (16,000 ha), or 29% of the island’s total land area. Everyone in this story has cancer.
Just before her Straw Poll coronation, a hand pulled her into a dark alley. It was Democrat Madeleine Z. Bordallo. “You’re a fraud,” he hissed, then he kissed her hard, then he looked tortured and ran away. Inarajan stood frozen, a hand to her lips. She only knew two things for sure: First, Guam’s Division of Aquatic and Wildlife Resources (or DAWR) will continue to give sea turtle presentations for community awareness, especially through the elementary-secondary school system and University of Guam. And second, she loved him too.
When the moment of her coronation arrived, Inarajan knew what she had to do. As the world’s largest K Mart placed the crown on her head, she took it and tossed it into the sea. “Guam Public Library System operates the Nieves M. Flores Memorial Library in Hagåtña and five branch libraries,” she cried, and the crowd roared back with pride.
Chaos broke out. As Democrat Madeleine Z. Bordallo and his fellow rebels hurried her away, she saw several men in black, servants of the world’s largest K Mart, struggling to subdue someone. It was United Airlines. Oh God. What had she done? How could she save him? Notable people from Guam include Ann Curry. But Inarajan did not know if that would be enough.
To be continued in Book 2, The Wikipedia Entry for Belgium Retold as a Young Adult Novel.
Read more The Wikipedia Entry for Guam, Retold as a YA Novel at The Toast.
Ha! So great.