Sometimes These Things Happen I

When Travis was 15, he grew a tail.

It wasn’t a cool tail, like a monkey's. It wasn’t extra-furry or shaggy like a dog’s. It wasn’t short and stupid, like a pig’s and it wasn’t beautiful and functional like a peacock’s. If anything, it was like a cat’s or some kind of feline. It was about two feet long and covered with yellow fur, with a small tuft of red fur at the end.

And it grew overnight. Travis went to bed one night a normal teen and woke up a be-tailed freak.

A person’s natural reaction to waking up to a mutated, Kafka-esque nightmare, would be to scream and freak out, and Travis was no exception. Upon the discovery, in the mirror, of his tail, he screamed for about 10 seconds before he passed out on the floor at the foot of his bed.

Waking seven minutes later, Travis felt recovered enough to take a shower and get dressed. He discovered that he had sufficient control over his tail to wrap it around his leg a few times and as long as his pants were baggy enough, he wouldn’t look like John Holmes on steroids.

Walking proved to be a bit difficult and sitting even more so. He had to spend a good fifteen minutes walking in a circle around his room before he felt comfortable enough to go out into the world. He wasn’t too sure what a day of sitting in the world’s most uncomfortable desks would feel like, but he figured he’d learn soon enough.

At breakfast, his mother didn’t notice his fidgeting as he downed his regular breakfast of a bacon, egg and pop tart sandwich. She was too caught up in her own universe where the only things that mattered were stocks, quotas, portfolios and some guy named Dow. Her eyes were glued to the financial section of the paper and her ears were deaf to anything but her own thoughts of trends, investments and money.

Likewise, on the bus, it didn’t seem like anybody else noticed him shift from one cheek to the other as they headed to school. At least, that’s what he thought, until he noticed Hana, across the aisle, staring at him from the corner of her eye.

“What’s wrong with you?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“What’re you talking about?” Travis responded.

“It looks like you’ve got hemorrhoids or something! Why do you keep moving like that?”

Travis knew Hana was one of the biggest gossips in the school. Entire reputations had been built and destroyed simply by one casually thrown-away statement into the right (or wrong) ear. If he didn’t want to end up a social pariah, he would have to play this off carefully. Throw her off the scent and lead her to think something else. The best way to do that would be to tell her something slightly embarrassing, but not as bad as the truth.

“Yeah, how’d you know? I usually have one of those donut cushions, but I had to let my grandpa borrow it today,” he said.

“Ewwww! You need to keep that info to yourself!” she said, with obvious disgust before returning to her conversation with a girl in the seat in front of her.

A few giggles and surreptitious glances from Hana and her friend let Travis know that the rumor had been spread. Luckily, she accepted the story, so his secret was safe. On the other hand, all 1,400 students at Rocky Mount High School would soon be making fun of him for having hemorrhoids. Embarrassing, but not as bad as it could be.

Travis found that as long as he didn’t think too hard about the fact that he had a tail, he was able to get through the day with a semblance of normality. He may have looked awkward while sitting through the eight periods of the school day, but he didn’t attract too much gawking.

When he got home after school, he was able to concentrate on his homework, enjoy dinner and watch tv until it was time for bed. He rarely thought about his new appendage.

The next morning, Travis discovered that he didn’t even care that he had a tail. It was starting to feel natural, a part of his body.

After a week, he felt like he’d always had a tail, he couldn’t remember what it felt like to not have one.

After a month he even forgot he had a tail.

That’s probably why he got careless about hiding it, and how his brother, Mark, was able to discover Travis’ secret. 

                                                                ***

One Saturday morning, while Travis was taking a shower, his younger brother decided to play a trick on him. He snuck into the bathroom and stole Travis’ clothes with a loud, high-throated guffaw. Travis opened the shower curtain and saw Mark running down the hallway with an armful of clothing. In anger, Travis quickly grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist and immediately gave chase.

Travis chased his brother all around the upstairs hallway, through their parents’ master bedroom and bathroom. Mark was small and was as impossible to get a good grasp on as those eels who secrete slime and tie themselves into knots so you can’t catch them. Gross.

The chase made its way downstairs and into the living room. The whole time, Mark kept looking back at his older brother and laughing in that maniacal way that only little kids can get away with.

Suddenly, Mark looked back and stopped dead in his tracks. Travis’ clothes falling from his arms, forgotten. His eyes grew as wide as Betty Boop’s as he stared just behind Travis. He was speechless. This left Travis confused, so he turned to look over his right shoulder to see what shocked his brother so much. And that’s when he saw his tail, swaying left and right in the slight house breeze, the red tuft bobbing to and fro, like a lazy person batting at a pesky fly.

After a moment, Mark’s paralysis broke and he screamed at the top of his lungs

“Mooooooom!!!! Daaaad!!!!” he yelled before turning and running at full speed into the kitchen. Travis followed.

How to Nail Every Job Interview

Dr. Brooks: Hello Mr. McFlaudius. I hope the day finds you well?

Claudius: Yes sir. I just want to thank you for this opportunity to hopefully work for Raimi Co. I’ve always been a big fan of the products made by this company, from the submarine screen doors to the remote-controlled ice cream ovens.

Dr. Brooks: Ha ha ha! No need to thank us Mr. McFlaudius, we feel that you’d make a great fit to our company. You did very well in the initial interview, the obstacle course and the lightning speed dating round. All that’s left now is this final assessment of your mental acumen. This is a chance for us to explore your creativity, imagination, mental reflexes and dexterity. All responses will be compiled and reviewed by our expert Prof. Fluffy. So don’t worry, your answers will be kept classified and in the best hands. Prof. Fluffy is a good boy!

Claudius: …Okay? You can call me Claudius if you want, by the way. Mr. McFlaudius seems a bit formal.

Dr. Brooks: No.
Alright, let’s begin. Question 1: You are a chimney sweep in the Queen’s Chapel area of London in Victorian times. One night, as you’re taking your usual lunch break with one of Mrs. Lovett’s delicious meat pies, you hear a scream coming from a nearby alley. Jumping to your feet you run across rooftops until you wind up just above where you heard the screams. Getting down on your belly, you creep to the edge, until your eyes can just make out movement in the alley below. Squinting and trying to make the best of the available light, you discover a ghastly scene. It seems that you have caught Jack the Ripper in the middle of one of his horrendous murders. This is your chance to put an end to the mystery and stop the palpable fear rolling over the streets of London like a wave of blood. Now is the time to act. It is now or never. Only one question remains: what color are your socks?

Claudius: …

Dr. Brooks: I’m waiting Mr. McFlaudius.

Claudius: What color are my socks? Ummm, black, from all the soot?

Dr. Brooks: Incorrect. They were red because you were in a jovial mood when you woke up that morning because you had played a few excellent hands of Chemin de Fer the previous night and could finally afford a bottle of the good stuff and not the swill you usually buy.

Question 2: You wake up on a typical Wednesday morning and get ready to go to your job as a living crash test dummy for Raimi Co. As you look in the mirror, you discover that your hair has turned into a polka-dotted mix of orange with blue spots. Instead of being horrified, you decide to embrace the look. You lean into it and strut into your workplace. The reaction is immediate. All the women want you and all the men want to be you. Your boss calls you into his office and gives you a promotion and raise on the spot. You are now Vice-President in Charge of Nipple Clamps. You’re getting a company car, a new company penthouse and your own A-10 Warthog, for no good goddamn reason. It seems that with your new hair style everything is going your way in life. What is the atomic number of Unobtanium?

Claudius: I really don’t…

Dr. Brooks: Clock’s ticking Mr. McFlaudius.

Claudius: What is 42?

Dr. Brooks: This is not Jeopardy, Mr. McFlaudius. No need to answer in the form of a question. And also, incorrect. The correct answer is that the atomic number of Unobtanium is 187, as any elementary school student from Compton could tell you.

Claudius: Drat. I should have known that one.

Dr. Brooks: Indeed. Here’s your last question, let’s see how you do here.

Question 3: It’s Friturday, Octobuary the eleventeenth. You’ve just put your Snogglewomper to bed for the night after the usual ritual to Ba’al and the sacrifice of the virginal toilet plunger. You tuck your womper into the trash compactor, where it bundles itself into a chrysalis to digest and absorb the nutrients of its dinner of toenail clippings. As you float toward the ceiling and to your ebony cocoon hibernation chamber for the evening, you notice that the Gravshling has gotten loose from its bonds. With a head shake of frustration, you begin swimming through the fetid air to find the Gravshling and return it to its habitat before too many neighborhood T.hropsteins go missing. Who are you?

Claudius: I’m Batman.

Dr. Brooks: You’re hired!

What to Do When Your Birthday Celebrates the Dead

Some people are fortunate/unfortunate enough to be born around, or on holidays. It usually tends to be a disadvantage for those people. For example, if you’re born around Christmas, you’re screwed for life. Ain’t nobody, no matter how related to you they are, no matter how many bullets you took for them, gonna shell out two presents for one person. Merry Birthday and Happy Christmas, now get the hell out of here!

Some people have wacky birthdays. I have a friend who was born on February 29^th, so even though he’s a grown ass man with a family, and a career and probably a mortgage and a receding hairline*, he doesn’t turn ten years old until 2020.

And even though it’s not actually a holiday, more like a cosmic event you can set your watch to, we all know that Mark Twain was born in 1835, just a couple of weeks after Hailey’s Comet flew through the heavens. The comet gave Twain the powers of SUPER RACISM!, in that not only did he not get in trouble for throwing the N-Word around like so many dollar bills at Good Guys Nite Club, but the more times he used racial slurs in his work, the more his books became American classics and were forcibly shoved into the eyeballs and evolving brains of United States youth.

Then Twain died in 1910, the next time Hailey’s Comet gave us a quick stop-by. Although after that whole racism thing, that seems a lot less interesting.

Also, you’ve got people like me whose birthdays coincide with holidays, though perhaps not very well-known holidays in these great states of ours.

Depending on your religious proclivities, or geographical location, or race, or if you prefer smooth peanut butter over crunchy, I was born on All Souls’ Day, or Dia de Muertos, or Dia de los Muertos, if you’re not into the whole brevity thing. In other words, the Day of the Dead.

First off, lemme give a quick shout out to my fellow Deadites. We have the best birthday you could ever want. It’s tits! The only thing that sucks is that growing up, all my birthday parties tended to be two days prior to my birthday and involved a lot of trick-or-treating. I guess two birds with one stone or some shit for my lazy parents.  

The Day of the Dead, is actually a third of three-day observance, especially in certain Christian denominations, (such as Catholicism,) especially in the western parts of the world. Halloween, All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day usher in the season of Allhallowstide. And while the name may sound ominous or macabre, it’s actually a celebration of the life of the departed.

In ancient American history, the Aztecs used to hold celebrations at the beginning of summer to the goddess Mictecacihuatl, (and if you can say that five times fast, I’ll give you my first-born son.) Her name translates to Lady of the Dead, which is odd, because I thought that was my ex-girlfriend’s nickname in bed. Mictec’s was the queen of the underworld and her job was to look over the bones of the dead, usher in the dead to the underworld (probably with coupons for the jaguar buffet) and kinda just be there for all the festivals in her honor. It was a pretty good gig.

These festivals were mostly observed in southern Mexico until the 16 century, when those wacky Christians came on over and tried to explain to the indigenous people in the New World how they were praying to their gods incorrectly, and while they were at it, had the indigenous people considered praying to a different god altogether? This other god was white, therefore much better!

And in this fashion, the Latin American festivals honoring the life and times of their deceased friends and ancestors, got mixed up with eastern religious observances, which is why it was moved from the beginning of summer to the end of October.

By the rockin 20^th century, Dia de Muertos moved upward to encompass more of northern Mexico and eventually became a national holiday. During this period there are festivals, parades, makeshift altars, called ofrendas are built at the gravesites of ancestors. It’s the one time of year cemeteries are poppin off. People wear skull masks and vibrant clothes and often, James Bond comes through to kick a bunch of dudes out of a helicopter and blow shit up or whatever.

South and Central America and the traditions and beliefs contained therein, are not the only locations on this great big ball of stupidity we call Earth take place. Many Eastern disciplines, beliefs and ways of life involve ancestor worship. The idea of traveling to the burial sites of those who have come before us to make the world a better place for us, just as we strive to do for the next generation,** is both proper and expected in these cultures. Of course, much of that changed in the past century as the stifling grip of socialism has taken over many Eastern Asian countries and their observances, such as ancestor worship have all but been stamped out under the guise of it being a superstition And therefore not allowed.

But in the end, you don’t really need a specific day of the year, or religious belief to remember the ones who have passed. Pick up a photo album, google your own family name (weirdo), do a 23 and Me, or hang out with Doc Brown for a bit. Those are all acceptable ways to remember our forefathers and mothers. Or, if you’re hanging with Doc Brown, it’s a good way to get that Oedipus Complex off of your chest once and for all!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I may not be dead, but I got some celebrating to do.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME SUCKAS!

*Only guessing here Tom, nothing personal!

**Unless you’re Trump, in which case your motto is: “Get the Money and Let God Sort the Rest Out.”

The AMAZING True Story of the REAL Great Pumpkin

If you’re familiar with Charlie Brown and the Peanuts gang, then I’m sure you’re aware of the Great Pumpkin, (If you’re not familiar with Charlie Brown, then you need to get right with Jesus.) The way Linus van Pelt tells it, the story goes like this: Every Halloween night, the Great Pumpkin travels the land (America only. Other countries got to get their own damn Great Pumpkins, or Great Beaver if it’s Canada), to find the sincerest, most humble pumpkin patch, where he showers the kiddies with toys, like a poor man’s Santa Claus, or a rich man’s Jack Skellington.

What makes a pumpkin patch sincere? Who knows? Why are there still pumpkins in a pumpkin patch on Halloween night? No clue. Seems like a bad business model, there’s no secondary Halloween next week or whatever.

Anyway, we never learn if Linus is correct or sincere or anything, because the Great Pumpkin never shows up. Leaving him despondent and severely depressed. It’s only through intense therapy and long, deep conversations with his blanket that he is finally able to return to the world and wait for the sad cycle to repeat next Halloween. Those Peanuts kids need to straight up do an intervention instead of just making fun of him to his face and calling him a damn “Blockhead” all night.

But I digress.

Linus’ story of the Great Pumpkin intrigued me. Why is it that only Linus know about this Halloween spirit? Where did he learn about the Great Pumpkin? How doth he cometh to know the lore of said cultivar of the Cucubita Pepo variety of squash?

So I decided to dig into this story on my own, like some kind of loser Gen Z geek with too much time on his hands, who wants to jump on the overloaded investigatory podcast bandwagon.

And what I discovered was anything but fun kiddy comic strip stuff.

My first (and only) step on my research adventure was the most logical and involved the least amount of moving: the Internet. So I got on my computer, used my dial-up modem, and logged onto America Online. My first stop was AskJeeves.com, but I got nothing, so I moved on to dogpile.com, still my quest was fruitless, I tried one last time with lycos.com and again came up empty-handed. I was baffled, those were my go-to search engines.

I decided to think outside the box and try this website I had heard of called “Wikipedia,” and here’s where things get weird. As soon as I entered “Great Pumpkin” in the search bar, the computer screen went dark for a few seconds, as if it had been shut off. I figured something must have happened, so I crawled behind the desk to the power strip and unplugged it, so I could plug the computer back in after 30 seconds, (because I think I heard that in a tv show once?)

After I unplugged the computer I sat and waited for the 30 seconds, but before the time was up, I saw that there were words on the screen in large orange letters, all caps, in Comic Sans, the scariest font there is.

DO NOT MEDDLE IN AFFAIRS BEYOND YOUR UNDERSTANDING. It read.

Confused, I look again at the power strip. The computer was still unplugged.
Why Not? I typed.

THE HISTORY OF THE GREAT PUMPKIN IS ONE OF GREAT SORROW AND SUFFERING. SUFFERING THAT SHALL BE VISITED TWO-FOLD UPON THE UNWORTHY.

What makes me unworthy?

YOUR CHOICE OF FOOTWEAR.

I looked down at my feet.

So I’m wearing Velcro Pro Wings. What does that matter? Who are you?

I AM HE WHO SHALL NOT BE NAMED.

BUT YOU MAY CALL ME STEVE.

Alright Steve. Please impart unto me the secrets and the origin of the Great Pumpkin and how the legend came to be. I chafe to have this knowledge.

IF I WERE TO TELL YOU, YOUR HEART WOULD EXPLODE, YOUR BOWELS WOULD RELEASE EVERYTHING IN YOUR BODY, INCLUDING YOUR ORGANS. YOU WOULD EXPEL EVERY BONE IN YOUR BODY THROUGH YOUR URETHRA. YOUR BRAIN WOULD LEAK OUT OF YOUR EARS AND YOUR EYEBALLS WOULD LEAK OUT OF YOUR NOSE. THE COMMON MORTAL COULD WITHSTAND SUCH THINGS.

I could handle it.

OK

Sweet. I’m ready when you are.

ONCE UPON A TIME, IN ANCIENT SUMERIA, WHICH YOU NOW KNOW AS THE MIDDLE-EAST, THERE WAS A TRIBE OF NOMADS. WHILE MANY TRIBES WERE NOMADIC, MANY TOOK UP RESIDENCE NEAR THE EUPHRATES AND TIGRIS RIVERS, IN WHAT BECAME KNOWN AS THE CRADLE OF CIVILIZATION. 

HOWEVER, THIS TRIBE WAS DIFFERENT, THEY DIDN’T WORSHIP THE USUAL SUMERIAN GODS, SUCH AS ZOROASTER, KNOWN AS ZARATHUSTRA, OR EVEN GHOZER THE GOZARIAN. INSTEAD, THIS TRIBE WORSHIPED A RARE TYPE OF PLANT THAT ONLY GREW IN ONE PART OF THE DESERT AND WAS ONLY DISCOVERED BY THE TRIBE BY ACCIDENT. THE FRUIT OF THIS PLANT, WHICH THEY DEEMED “LUMPY PENIS SHAPE” (BECAUSE THE WORD ‘GOURD’ HAD NOT BEEN INVENTED YET) KEPT THE TRIBE FROM STARVING IN DESPERATE TIMES.

EVENTUALLY, THE GOURD WAS WORSHIPED AND IDOLIZED SO MUCH THAT IT ACTUALLY ASCENDED AND BECAME A HOLY DEITY, DISPENSING OUT REWARDS AND PUNISHMENTS TO THE GOOD AND THE WICKED ALIKE.  

IN TIME, THIS TRIBE SET ASIDE ONE DAY OF THE YEAR FOR THIS GREAT GOURD TO TRAVEL THE VAST DESERT OF SUMERIA SO IT COULD JUDGE THE GOOD AND THE WICKED AND PASS OUT JUDGMENT ON THE UNDESERVING. 

FOR THE WICKED AND INSINCERE, THEIR PUNISHMENT WAS NO LESS THAN A SLOW, AGONIZING DEATH, WHERE THEY SUFFERED IN TORMENT FOR 30 DAYS AND 30 NIGHTS. THE PAIN AND MISERY THEY EXPERIENCED WAS INDESCRIBABLE.  

FOR THE GOOD AND HUMBLE, THEY WERE SHOWERED WITH GIFTS OF HERBS AND SHEEP AND GOAT’S MILK AND FULL-SIZED CANDY BARS. AND THEY WERE INVITED TO JOIN THE TRIBE, TO INCREASE THE AMOUNT OF LAND THAT ALL COULD SHARE.

THROUGHOUT THE YEARS, AS THESE SUMERIANS DIED OFF, THE GREAT GOURD WENT INTO HIBERNATION, WAITING TO BE REDISCOVERED AND REBORN. IN THE EARLY 20^TH CENTURY, OCCULTIST AND SATANIST ALEISTER CROWLEY DISCOVERED ANCIENT SUMERIAN SCROLLS AND WITH TREMENDOUS DIFFICULTY AND THE DEATH OF THREE OF HIS FOLLOWERS, CROWLEY WAS ABLE TO SUMMON AND GIVE REBIRTH TO THE GREAT GOURD.

AS TIME PASSED, THE GREAT GOURD HAS CONTINUED ITS MISSION, THOUGH WITHOUT THE GUIDANCE OF THE SUMERIANS, COMBINED WITH THE CENTURIES OF BEING DORMANT, THE GREAT GOURD WAS NOT ENTIRELY SURE HOW TO CARRY OUT ITS DUTIES AS A GOD OF VENGEANCE AND SINCERITY, SO IT WANDERED THE BRITISH ISLES, SLAUGHTERING THOSE IT DEEMED UNWORTHY OF LIFE.

IN TIME IT TRAVELED TO AMERICA, WHICH IT HAUNTS TO THIS DAY. AND EVERY YEAR ON ONE SINGULAR NIGHT, THE GREAT PUMPKIN TRAVELS THE LAND TO PUNISH THE WICKED AND TO REWARD THE SINCERE. SO IF YOU LIVE YOUR LIFE AND NEVER ONCE SEE THE GREAT PUMPKIN, CONSIDER YOURSELF LUCKY. AND HOPEFULLY, SAFE. FOR YOU NEVER KNOW WHEN YOU MAY FEEL A PRESENCE BEHIND YOU AND YOU TURN TO SEE A LARGE ORANGE OVOID SHAPE STARING DOWN ON YOU WITH GLOWING TRIANGLE EYES AND A MOUTH THAT LOOKS LIKE IT WAS CARVED BY A BLIND FIVE-YEAR-OLD WHO USED THEIR FEET. AND BE WARNED, BECAUSE THAT COULD BE THE LAST THING YOU EVER SEE.

Wow, Steve, that sounds like a bunch of bullshit.

I waited a few minutes, but there was no response, the words on the screen faded and it was blank once again. Eventually, I plugged the computer back in and it turned on no problem. I went to my favorite website, leathersquirreldominatrix.edu, and paid no more attention to that weird experience. But on some Halloweens, I do wonder who Steve was and how true its words were. Sometimes I wonder if my body will be found in an insincere pumpkin patch one cold November morning, my body constricted into an unnatural pose, a rictus of horror etched on my face. Scrawled in blood on the ground next to me is one word.

“Blockhead.”

Mind-Blowing Facts to Leave Friends in Awe!

You know, a lot of people love to strut around, puking out “facts” in people’s ear holes, striking a smug pose of intellectual superiority. It sickens me. I am sickened. Everybody knows that one person who will grind a friendly group discussion to a halt by correcting somebody who possibly said something incorrect.

“Actually Cletus, Rome was built on six hills, not seven. But don’t worry, it’s a common mistake. I wouldn’t expect you to have known.*”

To that end, I’ve decided to compile a list of obscure, but incredibly true, facts for you to dish out at a moment’s notice. You’re welcome in advance my sweet nincompoops.

·        The rain in Spain actually falls mainly in the Canary Islands. They have an annual rainfall of 14 inches.

·        In order to compete with Coca-Cola, the original recipe for Schweppes Ginger Ale included trace amounts of kerosene.  It was believed that in small doses, it would give people a little extra pep.

·        The remote Slestak tribe in the deep recesses of the Amazonian rain forests boil a certain species of slug and them rub them on their genitals as an aphrodisiac.

·        The owner of Chik-Fila used to be gay, until his Mormon parents forcibly took him to a camp that “straightens” people out. To this day he prays seven times a day to keep desires in check.

·        Each dollar bill in circulation has a thin coating of arsenic on it. The arsenic was not placed there by the National Treasury, and no matter how many resources they throw at this problem, the culprit is still unknown and remains at large. 

·        The actual rotation of the earth changes by one eighth of one eighth of a degree every year. Meaning that a seven thousand years ago Antarctica was where Australia is currently.

·        The lyrics to I Am the Walrus, by the Beatles, are Goo Goo Ga Joob. Not Coo Coo Ca Choo.

·        Rocky and Bullwinkle were based off of two fascist German spies in World War I. Johan and Elsa Blout were a married couple who were sent into Russia to infiltrate and flip as many assets as they could. Boris and Natasha represent their Russian counterparts assigned to hunt them down and dispose of them in any manner possible.

·        The first hamburger, or “hamburger sandwich” was created in the NYC Bowery in 1837. Due to a beef shortage at the time, it was made with ground pigeon meat.

·        While they didn’t make mainstream popularity until the early 20^th century, the Greek military had been using proto-televisions since 1895. They consisted of a glass screen, and glass phosphorous tubes holding both positively and negatively charged plutonium ions. They only worked for ten minutes before they melted.

·        Nowhere in the Bible does it say that the forbidden fruit was an apple.

·        Also, nowhere in the poem does it say Humpty Dumpty is an egg.

·        Alister Crowley once wrote an opera. It was performed only once, in Devonshire-Upon-Shiredevon in North Umbria, Britain. Seventeen audience members became violently ill, the Diva broke her leg during her aria (which is where we get the saying “break a leg” for good luck) and many members of the chorus claimed to feel an icy breeze on their necks and the faint sound of laughter coming from beneath them. A week later the stage burned to the ground, taking the groundskeeper with it. The opera manuscript was locked up, never to be performed again. To this day, its location remains a mystery.

·        Alligators have a vertical leap of nine inches which they typically use when hunting marsh birds, such as egrets and ostriches.

·        Buffalo Bill from The Silence of the Lambs was based on two actual psychopaths. The notorious Ed Gein, who lived next to a cemetery and would dig up bodies to make lampshades and rugs out of people’s skin, and porn star John Holmes, who was known to put on lipstick and tuck his genitals between his legs while dancing.

·        Woodrow Wilson was the first American president to come out of the closet. However, since the country was not ready to accept that at the time, he was quietly assassinated, his murder covered up, and all mentions of his sexuality were scrubbed from history books.

·        Johnny Appleseed used to put razor blades in every fifth apple he gave to kids. He loved a good joke.

So there you have it! Next time somebody tries to one-up you on some shit, bust out some of this knowledge and watch them go running, crying, out of the room, knowing that have been bested by you and your big old sexy brain. Good luck!

*And if you don’t know somebody like this, that means you are that somebody. Seek medical help. I recommend Nurse Ratched. She can do wonders.