Alarming crane-related mishap of note. (Happily, he survived.) || And some unexpected excitement in the bedroom. || His is bigger than yours. || The up-buggering of Bond continues, I see. || Two mighty combatants. || A question of mass. And yes, it will be on the test. || Methane bubbles. || Lions in the rain. || You trade them in, I think. || “A friendly reminder.” || Intrigue. || “Fake tranny privilege.” || The progressive retail experience, part 444. || Party planning. || He speaks for women. No, really, he does. || The thrill of newsstands. || Ladies at large. || A tool for every job. || When you live near the border. || At the University of Iowa, it’s the life of the mind. || Swings 2.0. || And finally, artificial intelligence finds open-access camera footage of Instagram photos being taken.  

And yes, you can follow me on Twitter. 

Further to recent rumblings in the comments, the Globe and Mail’s Phoebe Maltz Bovy offers what I believe is called a hot take:

Most will be familiar with the following scenario: a young girl, a teen or tween, gets in trouble with her school’s administration for a dress-code violation. Her supposed crime against decency: looking provocative. It will turn out that the girl was wearing some normal teenager outfit, jeans and a T-shirt or something equally boring, but had the audacity to attend school in a body with breasts, hips and a post-pubescent-looking behind… She is not choosing to draw attention to herself simply by existing. It’s the fault of the adults around her for sexualising her.

Given what follows, do keep that last line in mind.

But in a twist to the typical narrative, this time around, a high-school teacher in Oakville, Ont., made headlines for her curvaceous classroom presence.

That would be this chap’s curvaceous classroom presence.

“The conservative press and right-wing social media” are then mentioned, complete with implied hissing, on grounds that those irredeemable right-wingers have noticed something untoward:

Number four. The discovery of fire.

Consider this an open thread. Share ye links and bicker.

Nommy nommy nom. || New rap sensation. || The rest of the rainbow. || “White people are the reason I can’t lose weight.” || Instant woman. || Karate Girl, 1973. || A rethinking of priorities. || A detailed, two-part analysis of the self-destructing tape recorders in the Mission: Impossible TV series. (h/t, Elephants Gerald) || They’re just making sure your children are “porn-literate.” || I can explain everything. || Can I stay here for a while? || Free toy or side? || Team mascot of note. || 100 million degrees Celsius for 30 seconds. || Romantic long shot. || She was digging in her tail. || A dog’s dinner was made of it. || Boat horn detected. || Incoming. || Incoming 2. || There may be a lesson of some kind here. (h/t, Dr W) || And finally, and not at all perilously, just think of the savings. 

Update: 

Thanks to ComputerLabRat, the comments are now enhanced with enormous rubber boobs.

And yes, by all means, follow me on Twitter. 

Some items from the archives:

No Black Lights Were Available.

New York Times contributor is oppressed by pedestrian-crossing traffic lights.

Mr Kaufman – who can doubtless detect racism in the motions of subatomic particles – would have us believe that his friend was using the word white as a racial descriptor, rather than, as seems more likely, an unremarkable acknowledgement of a traffic light’s colour when talking to a child. In light of which, Mr Kaufman’s claims of being “bombarded” with racism – daily, everywhere – become at least explicable, if not convincing. 

The pedestrian crossing signal that so distresses Mr Kaufman – a rudimentary humanoid figure, made of white lights on a black background – can be seen here, from a safe distance. You may want to steady yourselves. It’s all very upsetting, at least for the exquisitely sensitive. Mr Kaufman then goes on an investigative journey, in which he learns why, in a society with lots of non-English speakers, crossing signals with words are being replaced by simple, universal graphics, calibrated to capture attention – say, by using lights of a certain hue. Which all sounds quite sensible. Rather than, say, a nefarious racial conspiracy intended to break the will of the negro.

You May Clap When Moved.  

Mr Reed Altemus rubs his trousers, awaits applause.