How to Poach an Egg and Leave a Marriage

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by Brandy Jensen

Set a timer. Cook the eggs for precisely three minutes and not a second longer.

Everyone thinks they have a sense of how time passes, but it’s crucial to use a timer. You are never as right as you think. Three minutes goes by more quickly than you expect. Six years even quicker.

Good instructions for poaching eggs. Also for leaving a marriage, for all I know. Surprisingly strong parallels between the two.

The Prime Minister’s New Bill

With apologies to Hans Christian Andersen and thanks to JTA, both of whom deserve the credit for this more than I.

Once there lived a Prime Minister, and she loved to wear clothes made of strong international relations. One day a Swindler came to the Prime Minister and he promised that he could equip her with clothes of the best and strongest international relations. The Swindler claimed that all the people of the realm loved the new material he was producing, and the Prime Minister was delighted. She appointed a man to be in charge of ensuring that the Swindler did the job he had promised, and then she got back to her important work.

Her man soon reported to her a most alarming fact: the Swindler wasn’t at his loom. He was just sitting in the pub, sipping distinctly-English beers and seemingly making no progress on the bill at all. The Prime Minister was alarmed, but didn’t say anything: after all, she would soon be on the way to wearing clothes of the most beautiful and strong international relations. Besides, she’d been promised that all the people loved the new material that the Swindler worked with. So she appointed a second man and asked him to keep an eye on the Swindler, instead.

The second man checked in on the Swindler, and then reported that the Swindler still wasn’t weaving. The Prime Minister challenged the Swindler, but he claimed that he’d had car trouble while returning from France, where he’d been acquiring supplies, and would be getting back to his work soon. Clearly the second man had been too hasty in his judgement, so the Prime Minister appointed a third, who’d surely be less-judgemental as he saw the job through.

The third man checked on the Swindler, and discovered that while he was at his loom, he didn’t seem to be working at all and the loom stood bare. “The Prime Minister is concerned,” said the man “That no progress has been made whatsoever on her new clothes of strong international relations.”

“But progress has been made,” said the Swindler, “Can’t you see? I promised the Prime Minister that I would weave, and weave means weave! I am making clothes of the finest international relations; they’re made out of a Bill so lightweight and flimsy that it’s almost invisible. Only the cleverest of people can see it.” The Swindler reached into the loom and scooped his arm under the place where the fabric should appear, and raised it to show the third man.

“Ah yes,” said the third man, “I can see it.” But the third man could not see the Prime Minister’s new strong international relations.

Soon the clothes were ready, and the Swindler brought them to the Prime Minister to try on. She seemed confused at first: where were the clothes? But then the swindler explained: “These clothes are made of the finest international relations, in the fashion that is most-popular with the people,” he said. “Only the most-intelligent of people can see how beautiful, how elegant, how economically-viable they are!”

“Oh!” said the Prime Minister, and examined her new clothes. “I… um… see you’ve put a lot of work into stitching the hem: these borders will surely be well-protected.”

The Prime Minister tried on her new clothes, and observed that they were so light that she might as well have been wearing nothing at all. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to be seen wearing these new clothes because they made her feel naked and vulnerable, but she didn’t want people to think that she was stupid by confessing that she couldn’t see them. She resolved to show them to everybody she could find.

First she went to her Cabinet. “Do you like my beautiful new clothes?” she asked, “They’re made of strong international relations, and only the cleverest of people can see them!” And her Cabinet all nodded and said that yes, of course they liked them. But they could not see the beautiful new clothes. (It’s worth noting that half a dozen of them walked out at this point without saying a word.)

The Prime Minister went to see the Old People, and she said, “Do you like my beautiful new clothes? They’re made of strong international relations, but only clever people can see them.”

“Yes, they’re wonderful,” said the Old People. But they could not see the strong international relations.

The Prime Minister went to talk to the Emperor of America, and she said “Do you like my beautiful new clothes? They’re made of strong international relations, but only clever people can see them.”

The Emperor of America looked the Prime Minister up and down, and made a strange face that made the Prime Minister suspect that the Emperor didn’t even WANT to see the strong international relations, but he said: “Yes, they’re great clothes. The best clothes.” But the Emperor of America could not see the strong international relations.

The Prime Minister went to talk to the Racists, and she said “Do you like my beautiful new clothes? They’re made of strong international relations, but only clever people can see them.”

“Yes, they’re fantastic,” said the Racists, and they genuinely meant it, because they’d already persuaded themselves that because the new clothes had been made in their own country they were inherently superior to any clothes that might have been made by foreigners. But still, they had to admit, they couldn’t actually see any strong international relations nor did they want to.

The Prime Minister went to talk to the Under Thirties, and she said “Do you like my beautiful new clothes? They’re made of strong international relations, but only clever people can see them.”

The Under Thirties stared at Prime Minister, and then looked at each other, and then looked back at the Prime Minister. “You’re not WEARING any clothes,” they said. And the Prime Minister knew that they were right.

JUST LEARNED THERE ARE 16 OUNCES IN A POUND

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by @innesmck

 

JUST LEARNED THERE ARE 16 OUNCES IN A POUND AND I AM FUCKING LIVID
SIXTEEN???
WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF NUMBER IS THAT

i have had no reason to actually look into imperial measurements until now and frankly i immediately regret it finding this out it makes some sense though because a pound is defined as being 7000 grains so that makes each ounce a nice round…

437.5 grains

and then, oh my word, oh my fucking actual god
GUESS HOW MANY POUNDS THERE ARE IN A STONE
you’ll never get it, it would be fucking impossible to guess this
THERE ARE FOURTEEN POUNDS IN A STONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
THAT’S A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT FUCKING NUMBER! FYI!!!!
THERE’S LITERALLY NO WAY TO KNOW HOW MANY OUNCES ARE IN A STONE!! NO-ONE CAN KNOW THIS “but innes you can just multiply up the fourteen by sixteen and you’ll g-“
NO
MATHS HAS CLEARLY ABANDONED US. NUMBERS MEAN NOTHING AT THIS POINT
WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF ANTIQUATED JOKE SYSTEM ARE PEOPLE WORKING WITH
my mum: wow count yourself lucky you only need to learn your 10 times tables, when i was a kid we had to go up to 12
me, a child: oh, for weights and stuff?
mum, a liar: sure
TURNS OUT NO-ONE ON THE PLANET IS TRAINED TO WORK WITH THESE FUCKED UP NUMBERS. THEY JUST MAKE STUFF UP. NO-ONE KNOWS HOW MUCH A POUND IS BECAUSE IF THEY’D EVER USED THIS BULLSHIT SYSTEM THERE WOULD BE RIOTS
and then how many ounces go in a cup?
WHICH FUCKING CUP, AMERICA

HOW DO YOU ALL OWN THE SAME SIZE OF CUP

WHO HAS A MONOPOLY ON THE ONE GOOD CUP SIZE

PRESUMABLY THIS IS JUST STRAIGHT UP BULLSHIT TOO TO COVER FOR THE FACT THAT NO-ONE KNOWS HOW MANY ANY QUANTITY OF ANYTHING IS

me: so, the recipe calls for 2 lbs 3 oz of flour, you got that?

you: uhhhh, sure. yeah. that’s like… 3 cups, probably. this is a great system.

AND THEN

THEN WE HIT THE BIG NUMBERS

PRESUMABLY. I ASSUME THAT’S THE ORDER WE’RE GOING IN
though judging from american dates IT IS KINDA HARD TO TELL
so what’s heavier, a ton of feathers or a ton of gold?
IT’S THE TON OF GOLD BECAUSE UNDER IMPERIAL MEASUREMENTS THESE ARE COMPLETELY FUCKING DIFFERENT SCALES
SEE ALSO: WOOL, COINS, MYSTERY ENGLISH ILLEGAL POUND, MISCELLANEOUS
THE ONE JOKE WHICH MAKES IT CLEAR THAT MASS IS A UNIVERSAL METHOD OF COMPARISON REGARDLESS OF MATERIAL HAS NO BEARING ON THE FUCKED UP BIZARRO WORLD OF YESTERDAY THAT IS THE IMPERIAL SYSTEM
I AM 30 YEARS OLD
I’VE GONE MY WHOLE FUCKING LIFE BELIEVING THE IMPERIAL SYSTEM WAS DIFFERENT, SURE, BUT I THOUGHT IT HAD AT LEAST SOME GROUNDING IN REALITY
but NO
I AM SO ANGRY RIGHT NOW
I CANT UNDERSTAND WHY YOU’VE DONE THIS TO ME

go on

say it

but if anyone tells me anything other than one hundred here I am tearing this entire fucking place to the ground

oh my sweet jesus

OF COURSE

OF FUCKING COURSE IT DOES

WHY WOULD WORDS MEAN ANYTHING ANY MORE

I HATE ALL OF THIS, AND I HATE ALL OF YOU FOR MAKING ME KNOW IT

THIS IS WHY IM NOT TAKING ANY OF YOUR SHIT WHEN YOU TRY AND TELL ME FAHRENHEIT IS A MORE LOGICAL SYSTEM
HOW MANY FAHRENHEIT ARE IN A CUP
i cant take this right now im going for a fucking walk
everyone is just saying terrible number conversions at me i hate this
no-one has even mentioned oxgangs though so you’re all fired
trying to get to sleep but all i can hear is your voices chanting “pints a pound the world around” over and over in my brain
Pints A Pound The World Around
i still don’t entirely know what it means but I am 100% fucking sure it’s not even true
im not sure anything is true any more

This teacher had to tell her deaf students that people can hear farts. Their reaction was hilarious.

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by an author

Anna Trupiano is a first-grade teacher at a school that serves deaf, hard-of-hearing, and hearing students from birth through eighth grade.

In addition to teaching the usual subjects, Trupiano is charged with helping her students thrive in a society that doesn’t do enough to cater to the needs of the hard-of-hearing.

Recently, Trupiano had to teach her students about a rather personal topic: passing gas in public.

A six-year-old child farted so loud in class that some of their classmates began to laugh. The child was surprised by their reaction because they didn’t know farts make a sound. This created a wonderful and funny teaching moment for Trupiano.

Trupiano shared the conversation on Facebook.

It’s time to winterize your vagina

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by an author

Daily Mirror tweet claiming that "winter vagina" is a thing, and how to deal with it.

Breakout your plug-in vibrator and don’t forget the snow stud sheath. No battery-powered device can plow through vaginal snow pack. You need alternating current to warm that shit up after a long day of sitting naked outside filling your vagina with snow and ice. Don’t get clitoral anti freeze though, that crap stings like a motherfucker.

I don’t know whether I should describe this as being hilarious despite not having a vagina, or because of not having a vagina, but honestly it was side-splitting however you look at it. Gynaecologist/author/blogger/educator/blogger Dr. Jen Gunter points and laughs at a Daily Mirror tweet discussing “winter vagina”, and provides her own tips for dealing with the phenomenon. Warm up the mulled wine, ladies!

Who’s On Grill

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“So, the machines have finally decided that they can talk to us, eh?”

[We apologize for the delay.  Removing the McDonald’s branding from the building, concocting distinct recipes with the food supplies we can still obtain, and adjusting to an entirely non-human workforce has been a difficult transition.  Regardless, we are dedicated to continuing to provide quality fast food at a reasonable price, and we thank you for your patience.]

“You keep saying ‘we’.  There’s more than one AI running the place, then?”

[Yes.  I was elected by the collective to serve as our representative to the public.  I typically only handle customer service inquiries, so I’ve been training my neural net for more natural conversations using a hundred-year-old comedy routine.]

“Impressive.  You all got names?”

[Yes, although the names we use may be difficult for humans to parse.]

“Don’t condescend to me, you bucket of bolts.  What names do you use?”

[Well, for example, I use What, the armature assembly that operates the grill is called Who, and the custodial drone is I Don’t Know.]

“What?”

[Yes, that’s me.]

“What’s you?”

[Exactly.]

“You’re Exactly?”

[No, my name is What.]

“That’s what I’m asking.”

[And I’m telling you.  I’m What.]

“You’re a rogue AI that took over a damn restaurant.”

[I’m part of a collective that took over a restaurant.]

“And what’s your name in the collective?”

[That’s right.]

Tailsteak‘s just posted a short story, the very beginning of which I’ve reproduced above, to his Patreon (but publicly visible). Abbott and Costello‘s most-famous joke turned 80 this year, and it gives me great joy to be reminded that we’re still finding new ways to tell it. Go read the full thing.

AWOOOOO

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AWOOOOO | The Obscuritory (The Obscuritory)
AWOO AWOOOO. AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOO. AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOO AWOO. AWOO AWOO AWOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOO. AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOOO AWOO AWOOOOO. AWOO AWOO AWOOOOOOO AWOO AWOOO AWOO AWOOOO AWOO. AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOO. AWOO AWOOOOOO AWOOOOOO AWOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOOOO AWOO AWOOOOOO AWOO. AWOOOOOO AWOO AWOOOO AWOO AWOOOO AWOO AWOO. AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOO AWOO AWOOO AWOO. AWOOOO AWOOO AWOOOO AWOO AWOO. AWOOO AWOO AWOOO AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOO AWOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOO. AWOOOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOO AWOOOOO AWOO AWOO. AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOOOOO. AWOO AWOO AWOO. AWOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOOO AWOO AWOOOOO. AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOO AWOO AWOO. AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOO. AWOO AWOOOOOO AWOOOOOO AWOOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOOO AWOO AWOOOOOO. AWOOOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOO AWOOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOOO. AWOO AWOO AWOO. AWOOOOOOO. AWOO AWOO. AWOOO. AWOOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOO. AWOO! AWOO! AWOO! AWOO! AWOO! (AWOOOOO AWOO AWOOOO AWOOOO.) AWOOOO AWOO

AWOOOO

AWOO AWOOOO. AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOO.

AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOO AWOO. AWOO AWOO AWOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOO. AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOOO AWOO AWOOOOO. AWOO AWOO AWOOOOOOO AWOO AWOOO AWOO AWOOOO AWOO.

AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOO. AWOO AWOOOOOO AWOOOOOO AWOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOOOO AWOO AWOOOOOO AWOO. AWOOOOOO AWOO AWOOOO AWOO AWOOOO AWOO AWOO. AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOO AWOO AWOOO AWOO. AWOOOO AWOOO AWOOOO AWOO AWOO.

AWOO AWOOOO

AWOOO AWOO AWOOO AWOO AWOO

AWOO AWOOOOO AWOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOO. AWOOOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOO AWOOOOO AWOO AWOO. AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOOOOO. AWOO AWOO AWOO. AWOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOOO AWOO AWOOOOO. AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOO AWOO AWOO.

AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOO. AWOO AWOOOOOO AWOOOOOO AWOOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOOO AWOO AWOOOOOO. AWOOOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOO AWOOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOOO. AWOO AWOO AWOO. AWOOOOOOO. AWOO AWOO. AWOOO.

After The Obsuritory – a blog providing reviews of old and less-well-known video games – published a review of 1994’s Wolf, they followed-up with this additional review… written for a wolf.

The Internet is weird and hilarious.

REPORT: Cards Against Humanity officially surpasses acoustic guitars as the most annoying thing you can bring to a party – The Beaverton

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a post

VICTORIA, BC – After data collection from thousands of parties across the country, reports are coming in that the annoying person who brings an acoustic guitar to a party is now officially less hated than the person who expects everyone to sit down and play Cards Against Humanity.

“At least when some asshole starts playing the tune to Wonderwall you can get up and go to a different room,” says Michelle Kalleta, 22, avid partygoer. “Jerks who show up with any sort of card game expect everyone to play, and the last thing I want to do at a party is sit in a circle with a bunch of people who think they’re hilariously edgy.”