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.

And in totally-radical-toilet news:

Female students at one of Latin America’s top Universities say trans activists staged a coup of a single-sex washroom on their campus,

It started, you see, with feminist students painting a lesbian pride symbol on a wall near a campus library. As one does. This act of fearless self-involvement apparently inflicted nerve-shredding trauma on the trans activist contingent, who promptly denounced the lesbians as “TERFs, colonial fascists, and transphobes,” before announcing that lesbians are only permitted to use symbols of lesbianism that they, the trans activists, find congenial.

Shortly after, as a result of the lesbian symbol that had been painted, the trans students reportedly declared that they “did not feel safe” on the campus and went to administrators to demand a gender-neutral washroom be established in that area. While administrators agreed to create one, the students did not wait for it to be designated. Less than 24 hours later, the activists took over the largest female restroom, which was on the second floor of the Faculty of Philosophy.

Ah, the life of the mind.

Naturally, the first task was to give the toilets a makeover via the uplifting medium of graffiti, thereby communicating the life-enhancing qualities of prostitution:

“Equitable Vaseline.” || Lost and found (or, Your Mother Must Never Hear Of This). || She’s explaining who she is, you see. || Nipping of note. || Oddly, it didn’t catch on. || And this beast from the 80s also failed to find a market. || Hell’s kitchen. || Conflict resolution. || I laughed and I’m not sorry. || Hers is bigger than yours. || Getting rid of the body is always the tricky part. || I’ll need a keyboard and some mashed potato. || A project for the weekend. || Shopping mall scenes. || The jeans of Joan Collins, 1981. || Jupiter rotating in real time. || And it ain’t a reward either. || How to tie a scarf. || Question asked. || Neighbours not welcome. || What ‘activists’ do. || Crime-fighting crisis. || And finally, how to impress your friends with interacting vortices.

And yes, by all means follow me on Twitter. 

Canada’s interim Green Party leader, a dysmorphic woman who expects everyone else to refer to her as “he” and “they,” but also sometimes “she,” apparently at random, was recently rendered tearful and distraught by an electronic caption:

On Saturday, September 3, at a public media event kicking off the Green Party of Canada’s leadership contest, the wrong pronouns were presented beside my name in a way that I could not change myself. I acknowledge that mistakes can happen and the need to learn from them. What happened here impacted me much more than a slip of the tongue. It made me feel hurt and isolated at a moment that should have been filled with inspiration and anticipation.

You see, a captioning oversight – or if you prefer, an accidental acknowledgment of reality – is part of a “system of oppression” and therefore a basis for a grand project of social correction. One that must address the seemingly bottomless sorrows of “Black, Indigenous and racialised people and 2SLGBTQIA+ people,” and thereby prevent a fearless politician from feeling “hurt and isolated.” “I am assumed male nearly always by strangers,” says Ms Kuttner, which, frankly, seems a tad implausible. We’re also told that perceiving her as a man, not a woman, requires “effort,” an effort that is expected by Ms Kuttner – which would appear closer to the truth, if not entirely consonant with the previous claim.