Two more in the series of Why I Don’t Swim in the Ocean. I would, if I could convince a pair of divers to swim below me at all times. Watch these videos and you’ll see why.
The Mantis Shrimp, ancestor to all clowns. Have a good time trying to sleep tonight.
Enjoy your next swim!
h/t Griffin Boyce
I have, for some time, suspected that my bucket list might differ substantially from those of other, lesser mortals. A swift peruse through the Bucket List tag on WordPress confirms this.
AIM HIGHER PEOPLE!
I have no idea whether or not you have the capability to achieve higher aims, but just reading “go to Six Flags” umpteen times is fucking depressing, okay? AIM HIGHER. For me.
And now to my bucket list:
- Marry Prince Caspian
- Win Nobel Prize for Literature before 30 (nb requires time machine at this point)
- Capture and tame and break to ride a wild mustang, dressage optional
- Become the White Rahnee of Sarawak
- Have John Galliano call me a muse
- Make memorable entrance to Annabel’s
- Compete in a three day event
- See Bali from the inside, the way I saw the Bandas
- Have a good sit-down with Prince Bandar of Saudi Arabia
- At least once pre-empt Biella Coleman when the media asks for comment on Anonymous. Just once, come on girl
- EDITED TO ADD: Wikipedia entry. How could I have forgotten?
Well, this should end well.
Flounce Bingo, the national game of the Internet
There are some people the internet will miss, and me as well. And then there are some who…well…
So, I’m an admin in a hacker group on Facebook. This is challenging enough with people who are real, rather than made-up personas, and who speak English rather than some garbled patois known only to troll forums, intelligible only to RealGirls and other similarly mentally-challenged persons or entities. But not everyone who is there is real, sane, fluent in English, or respectful of boundaries.
Since I am identifiably and undeniably female on Facebook, those persons feel that I must be the most welcoming, friendly, helpful, and empathic admin.
This is a mistake.
Here is one of them. Let’s mock him, shall we?
Via completely, utterly unsolicited private message on Facebook:
Well, gee. Glad I could help.
Edward, you’re welcome.
Found on Robson Street. That’s either a Cthulhu whose wings have been plucked (Nodens, that fucker, without a doubt) or a portrait in site-appropriate rainforest marble of some random douchebro on Granville street at about 3am, puking his virgin guts out.
Spring Heeled Jack also apparently kitten heeled
Regulars here at the ol’ raincoaster blog will be familiar with our partiality for cryptids, Illuminatuses, and similiar phantoms of the night. They will also be familiar with our somewhat impractical, but extensive, erudition on the subject. Imagine our surprise, then, when we discovered a supernatural evil-doer with which we were unfamiliar!
Spring Heeled Jack.
Maybe it’s just that I find someone whose superpower is going BOING! into the sky not all that intimidating. Maybe that he never actually killed anybody. I mean, it’s all well and good to spit out blue phosphorescent flames, but at a certain point you gotta DO something with them, right? Ah well. Here is the gloriously-voiced Tom Slemen of Liverpool to tell you about Spring Heeled Jack and his friend’s mother…