This is like one of Big Clive’s (“one moment, please”) product teardown videos, only marginally weirder.
War Thunder are getting (somewhat) serious about the problem of confidential tank and plane manuals being posted on their forums
I suppose it’s not that wrong.
But I am feeling peckish now.
Which is probably many kinds of wrong.
So, another BigClive review of something that’s going to try to kill you?
the body of an echinoderm… is essentially a head walking about the seafloor on its lips
Aha!
Starfish are Daleks!!!
So long as there are no hermit starfish that make homes inside objects, we’re okay, I think.
(Starfish and hermit crabs seem like mortal enemies.)
If starfish are daleks, then hermit crabs are cybermen, having upgraded themselves with artificial armour for protection.
Siiiiigh…
If a Flipper Zero can crack your security, you don’t have security, you have the key under the outside doormat.
That’s amazing… thanks for sharing!
Can confirm Shibas are that odd.
For lunch, he said, we could have biscuits, cold meat, bread and butter, and jam – but NO CHEESE
Cheese rant from "The Men in a Boat"
From Crewe I had the compartment to myself, though the train was crowded. As we drew up at the different stations, the people, seeing my empty carriage, would rush for it. “Here y’ are, Maria; come along, plenty of room.” “All right, Tom; we’ll get in here,” they would shout. And they would run along, carrying heavy bags, and fight round the door to get in first. And one would open the door and mount the steps, and stagger back into the arms of the man behind him; and they would all come and have a sniff, and then droop off and squeeze into other carriages, or pay the difference and go first.
From Euston, I took the cheeses down to my friend’s house. When his wife came into the room she smelt round for an instant. Then she said:
“What is it? Tell me the worst.”
I said:
“It’s cheeses. Tom bought them in Liverpool, and asked me to bring them up with me.”
And I added that I hoped she understood that it had nothing to do with me; and she said that she was sure of that, but that she would speak to Tom about it when he came back.
My friend was detained in Liverpool longer than he expected; and, three days later, as he hadn’t returned home, his wife called on me. She said:
“What did Tom say about those cheeses?”
I replied that he had directed they were to be kept in a ■■■■■ place, and that nobody was to touch them.
She said:
“Nobody’s likely to touch them. Had he smelt them?”
I thought he had, and added that he seemed greatly attached to them.
“You think he would be upset,” she queried, “if I gave a man a sovereign to take them away and bury them?”
I answered that I thought he would never smile again.
An idea struck her. She said:
“Do you mind keeping them for him? Let me send them round to you.”
“Madam,” I replied, “for myself I like the smell of cheese, and the journey the other day with them from Liverpool I shall ever look back upon as a happy ending to a pleasant holiday. But, in this world, we must consider others. The lady under whose roof I have the honour of residing is a widow, and, for all I know, possibly an orphan too. She has a strong, I may say an eloquent, objection to being what she terms put upon.’ The presence of your husband’s cheeses in her house she would, I instinctively feel, regard as a put upon’; and it shall never be said that I put upon the widow and the orphan.”
“Very well, then,” said my friend’s wife, rising, “all I have to say is, that I shall take the children and go to an hotel until those cheeses are eaten. I decline to live any longer in the same house with them.”
She kept her word, leaving the place in charge of the charwoman, who, when asked if she could stand the smell, replied, “What smell?” and who, when taken close to the cheeses and told to sniff hard, said she could detect a faint odour of melons. It was argued from this that little injury could result to the woman from the atmosphere, and she was left.
The hotel bill came to fifteen guineas; and my friend, after reckoning everything up, found that the cheeses had cost him eight-and-sixpence a pound. He said he dearly loved a bit of cheese, but it was beyond his means; so he determined to get rid of them. He threw them into the canal; but had to fish them out again, as the bargemen complained. They said it made them feel quite faint. And, after that, he took them one dark night and left them in the parish mortuary. But the coroner discovered them, and made a fearful fuss.
He said it was a plot to deprive him of his living by waking up the corpses.
My friend got rid of them, at last, by taking them down to a sea-side town, and burying them on the beach. It gained the place quite a reputation. Visitors said they had never noticed before how strong the air was, and weak-chested and consumptive people used to throng there for years afterwards.
Fond as I am of cheese, therefore, I hold that George was right in declining to take any.
Other than the invasive species and danger aspects, The Cumbrian climate is nothing like the preferred habitat for alligator snapping turtles. I can only think that they were having a miserable time there.
My brain always processes this as Cambrian first, and then I expect to read something about an explosion.
Poor guy! You can tell the camera person was pissing him off, part way through…
We have snapping turtles in the lakes near our house… sometimes, you see them crossing the road to get to the lakes…
and then he just snapped.
