This week’s worst press release (so far)

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I get a lot of ridiculous press releases, but the headline that made its way to my inbox today, “New Cancer-Fighting Game App Goes Global,” represented a new level of nonsense. The press release described a “ground-breaking” smartphone “cancer-fighting game app” that promised to “help young cancer patients fight their disease.”

If you’re like me, you’re thinking — how on earth can an app fight cancer? Here’s how an MD quoted in the press release explains it. “[These] games are a fun way to help you understand what it takes to fight the disease. Playing these games can help you or someone you care about fight and beat cancer.” Continue reading

Hot Times in the Cotswolds

is that what I think it isOne morning last month a friend and I took a train from London to the city of Gloucester, in southwestern England. The next morning after breakfast we started walking on the Cotswold Way, one of the UK’s National Trails.

On its way to Bath, 60-some miles away, the trail passes through quiet beech forests, open cow pastures, and fields of grains, with a sprinkling of prehistoric sites and an awful lot of disused quarries, the source of the lovely, creamy limestone that buildings in the region are known for.

At times I wondered why I had chosen to spend a week slogging up and down hills on aching feet. But moving through the countryside at ground-level and a snail’s pace is great. You notice things. Continue reading

The Last Word

GribblesAugust 12- 16

Snark week! In which we tell you what happens when cute animals get ugly.

Christie introduced us to the creature that goes Cock-a-doodle DIE.

Roberta told chilling tales of the gribble: chubby, adorable scourge of the sea.

Cameron explained whys we should fear the bunny.

Michelle warned us about petting the pretty ants in the Sigried-and-Roy furs.

And according to Erik, the shoulder parrot of Satan thinks of nothing all day but death and destruction.

Snark Week: The Souless Flesh-Eating Kea

KeaIn the Southern summer of 2004, my then-girlfriend and I were camped in a shelter near a rock climbing area in New Zealand called Flock Hill. It was a gorgeous landscape, sweeping grassy hills made famous as Rohan in the “Lord of the Rings” and glacial erratics from the final battle scene in “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.”

Itinerant climbers regularly blow in and out with the good weather so no one at the camp noticed late one night when a hulking black pickup rolled in or when its occupants set up a tent and passed out.

It’s a pity. Because we could have warned them.

The next day, they woke up to the wreckage of their vacation. The straps connecting their tent to the stakes in the ground were chewed out, such that half the tent had collapsed in on them. One hiking boot was found mangled 30 feet away and another was never recovered. The rubber around their windshield was shredded and their antenna had been ripped off and dropped in the truck bed. When they woke, the perpetrators – a group of mountain parrots called the keas – were gathered on their truck to inspect their work and drop branches on the hood from 10 feet up.

Continue reading

Snark Week: Don’t Pet the Ants

8536040278_bab77fd976_b 500pxIt’s small, it’s fuzzy, and it hurts like hell. Variously known as the “cow killer,” “mule killer,” and “motherf-ing thing that just stung me,” the velvet ant packs more pain per pound than the meanest great white.

Don Manley, a professor emeritus of entomology at Clemson University, recalls his run-in with Dasymutilla sp. as the worst sting of his career:

I had heard from others who had been stung by a velvet ant that ‘it hurt so bad for about twenty to thirty minutes that I just wanted to die and get it over with’ … I had worked with [velvet ants] for over twenty years before I was finally stung. I concur with the description. I have not been stung by a velvet ant since—I will not be stung by a velvet ant again.

The sting was glancing, but the resulting knot on Manley’s thumb lasted for almost a month.

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Snark Week: The Rooster and the Puppy

RoosterCartoonShutterstockOscar17Nov06-20 copy

In 2006, a puppy came to live on a small farm in Colorado. His name was Oskar, and he was the runt of the litter. Oskar was a playful little guy, but on one fateful autumn day, he would learn that he was living in the dark shadow of a blood-thirsty assailant.

In the days leading up to that portentous afternoon, Oskar’s human companion became an unwitting accomplice to the ruthless creature prowling in her midst. So oblivious was she to the sheer aggression lurking inside the feathery beast that roamed her farm that her only worry was that the eventual perpetrator might instead become a victim.

Dogs are notorious for their appetite for fresh poultry, and she didn’t want her puppy to grow up to become a chicken killer. She googled “how to teach a dog not to attack chickens” and called her veterinarian friends. Everyone told her the same thing — the only surefire way to prevent a dog from attacking a chicken is to make sure that it never gets the chance.

The same might be said of the chicken. She kept several dozen of them at her farm, and one, in particular, stood out. They called him the Little Red Bastard. Red was a bantam rooster the size of a child’s slipper and angry as a bull on castration day. He was known to make grown men whimper as he tore his razor-sharp spurs into the back of their legs, and he’d become the neighborhood’s most notorious bully. Continue reading