Originally published at: https://boingboing.net/2024/07/08/here-are-five-fascinating-places-you-are-not-allowed-to-visit.html
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Contributed by Allan Rose Hill
“Perhaps better to not ask for permission but rather forgiveness later.”
This might be the same ark that killed a poor schmuck who touched it while it was being transported. No thanks. I’ll pass on the hostile spear-tossing natives and the Snakeapalooza as well.
If you’re ever looking for a story about peak Xtianist idiocy, the North Sentinal Island one is a classic.
I want to believe the Sentinelese are a genetic line of guardians that are protecting all of humanity by guarding a sealed portal to some sort of unspeakable evil with a name like that it’s a bit too on the nose but it’s what I’ve chosen to believe. Well ok I don’t really believe that but I want to.
The Sentinelese have very very good reasons to mistrust outsiders, mostly due to this asshole: Creepy antics of British naval officer over 100 years ago had a profound impact on lost tribe - NZ Herald
What do the Vatican Apostolic Archive, the Svalbard Global Seed Vault, and Ilha da Queimada Grande have in common? They’re both places…
Ummm - there’s three of them. That’s one more than a “both”.
This sentence perplexed me:
“In reality, the revered object found within the Church of Our Lady Mary of Zion is likely to be a replica of the Ark, which may or may not actually exist,”
The Ark may nor may not exist, so how can there be a replica? Or is it that the replica may or may not exist? Probably needs a ‘why not both’ gif.
Or maybe not go in at all. Clearly the church is important to the people who look after it and we should respect their wishes to keep its contents a mystery.
Grammar and syntax, how do it work?
All three of them must agree.
“Why did it have to be snakes?”, as Indian(a) Jones might have said.
…Unfortunately, the pyramid lies within a restricted military area since 1970 and consequently no excavation has been undertaken there since Reisner and Fisher’s superficial work, leaving the structures beneath the pyramid in doubt…
My basement, which has turned into an unpenetrable bargain version of Charles Foster Kane’s warehouse. By now I’m far too embarrassed to let people see it.
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