About bloody time, giant robot slippers with giant robot sound. // Yes, someone ate this. From green eggs and ham to the great beige unknown. // Quantified toilets, because someone needs to know. // The Kentucky meat shower of 1876. // How to survive a lightning strike. // How to see without glasses. // Self-cleaning car, but only on the outside. // Thumbles. // Relics. // Feminist biology. // Christopher Walken has all the moves. // Marshmallow kitties. // Manual action scent diffuser. // The urge to squeeze. // Turn it 90 degrees. // Colosses. // How to bag your comics properly. // Ventilators and packing chips. // Calculating pi with a pump-action shotgun. // And finally, doodle in the air with a 3D printing pen. 

Why animals aren’t round. // At last, a table for cats. // Dog barks at self barking at self. // Because you’ve always wanted bottled meat. // Bondage furniture looks uncomfortable. // First you must be burly. // Incoming objects. // Our astronauts will look fabulous. // 320° Licht. // Animated Liberians. // On handling bread. // Orson Welles’ sketchbook, 1955. // I didn’t know this was done freehand. // Westeros and other territories. // Texas storm. // 30 years of westerns condensed into an hour. // 75 years of Marvel. // Stinky candles. // Judgmental maps. (h/t, Paul Brady) // Just answer the question. // The view from inside various musical instruments. // And finally, take a moment to imagine the possibilities. 

Of course my ice cubes are sculpted to order. What is this, the Dark Ages? // Days of future past. // Flight attendant relaxes passengers. // That’s not pole-dancing, this is pole-dancing. // For granny’s birthday card, some Tom of Finland stamps. // Recharge your smartphone in 30 seconds. // Children baffled by ancient technology. // Your Body During Adolescence, (1955). // Algae-eating robot. // Watching the watchmakers. // Wall dogs with strong stomachs. // One father’s Saturday mornings. // “He would sing us an entire string arrangement.” // Jet engine snowboarding. // “Over 3-4 days the brain will fill with ice.” // Moonshine. // Vittles. // Lovely, lovely snails. // And finally, well, you can’t fault his ambition. 

Babies’ first encounters with lemon. // Montana elk herd crosses road. Will the lone straggler make it? // Paper robot field test. // A life-sized cardboard Iron Man and other cardboard creatures. // What a dog’s tongue does. // Special needs Doberman. // How many days did you spend watching that show? // If the Moon were a giant disco ball. // Build your own solar system with Super Planet Crash. // Alien audiobook. // Drag balls in Kansas, 1950s-60s. (h/t, MeFi) // Kingdom of the little people. // A-ki-ra. // Hedgehog masks. // City of darkness. // Can you do a British accent? // The coldest city. // A brief history of post-credits movie scenes. // Baby elephant gifs. // And finally, befriend your hummingbird. 

Brace yourselves, dear readers, it’s art news time. Today we marvel at the searing brilliance of the French performance artist Abraham Poincheval, who, as I type, resides in the belly of a bear. Or rather, in the hollowed-out carcass of a bear, one that’s currently situated in the Musée de la Chasse et de la Nature, Paris. Mr Poincheval is, we’re told, re-enacting “a powerful sensitivity” and “profound symbolism,” one that “still grips the Western world’s imagination today.” It’s a “communion” that will “inevitably bring him to a state of profound meditation.” He’s “confounding the boundaries between man and animal.” How so, you ask? 

Just like the mammal during the winter months, Poincheval remains within a small enclosure, keeping with him all the basic things he might need to survive throughout the weeks spent inside; food, water, activities and even a place to relieve himself… By residing within the species, Poincheval aims to understand his own physical limits and experience animal nature, a symbolic image of the ‘inside out’ of a bear during hibernation. 

Mr Poincheval began his immense artistic feat on April 1 and hopes to make it through two weeks of, um, “residing within the species” and “experiencing animal nature,” albeit with pillows and electric lighting, amenities and distractions, and a kettle on hand. There is, of course, a live feed for the benefit of aesthetes unable to make it to Paris. 

I urge you to tune in. It’s gripping stuff.