On “safe” sex

Oh, come on!

A 27-year-old lady presented with persistent cough, sputum and fever for the preceding six months. Inspite of trials with antibiotics and anti-tuberculosis treatment for the preceeding four months, her symptoms did not improve. A subsequent chest radiograph showed non-homogeneous collapse-consolidation of right upper lobe. Videobronchoscopy revealed an inverted bag like structure in right upper lobe bronchus and rigid bronchoscopic removal with biopsy forceps confirmed the presence of a condom. Detailed retrospective history also confirmed accidental inhalation of the condom during fellatio.

Look, I’ve lost things before. I’ve even lost track of a condom before. Well, sort of. Skip it. It’s not nearly so … um … yeah, so entertaining isn’t quite the right word here. But, really. I mean, the first question to mind is, “How drunk do you have to be?” The second is, “How much crack do you have to smoke?” The third and fourth are pretty much the same thing, although the fifth treads into Darwin’s realm.

What? What! Don’t look at me like that ….

(Hat tip to Dominic Holden at Slog.)

Correction: Too damn lazy

With regret, I would like to correct an erroneous statement in the prior blog post. I had written that the compilation of corrections, retractions, and assorted embarrassments from the world of journalism, while amusing, was something I haven’t the time to do myself. This implies that I am somehow busy. In truth, I am simply too damn lazy to undertake such vigilance on my own time, and apologize for any confusion this may have caused.

(What? At least I can get into the spirit of it. Right? I mean, it’s true, and all … er … never mind.)

Update to the blogroll

Welcome, please, with your clicks, the latest addition to the blogroll. Regret the Error is a wonderful compilation of corrections, retractions, and assorted embarrassments from the world of journalism, something that amuses me greatly but, frankly, I haven’t the time to do myself.

And, of course, all due apologies for not having figured out they existed—and thus adding them to the “Better Reading” portion of the blogroll—sooner.

Holiday cheer

Don’t call me a humbug, damn it! Anyway, I’m fascinated at the prospect of engineering this thing. I mean, if you get the holes in the wrong place, or if they’re the wrong size, or something, doesn’t that kind of screw things up?

You know, like that one hole on the end of a recorder that’s actually two holes?

Never mind. Happy happy, and all that. Drink well, stay safe.

You’ve Got To Be Kidding! (#1)

A fine time to open a new dossier, of sorts: You’ve Got To Be Kidding.

(What? I’m not making any claims of originality, here.)

First up: Refrigerated beaches!

Versace, the renowned fashion house, is to create the world’s first refrigerated beach so that hotel guests can walk comfortably across the sand on scorching days.

The beach will be next to the the new Palazzo Versace hotel which is being built in Dubai where summer temperatures average 40C and can reach 50C.

The beach will have a network of pipes beneath the sand containing a coolant that will absorb heat from the surface.

The swimming pool will be refrigerated and there are also proposals to install giant blowers to waft a gentle breeze over the beach ….

… Soheil Abedian, founder and president of Palazzo Versace, said he believed it is possible to design a refrigerated beach and make it sustainable. “We will suck the heat out of the sand to keep it cool enough to lie on,” he said. “This is the kind of luxury that top people want.”

Words, at least civilized, non-profane words, fail me.

But, you know … you know it just had to be Dubai.

Leading the way … straight to Hell?

Right now it’s a lazy theory; I’ll give it some more thought tomorrow. Or later today. Or, just … later.

But it’s not just the economy. Something about what’s happening seems almost spiritually—or, if you prefer, mass psychologically—apropos the American decline.

But how is it that as we Americans prepare to rally behind a new president and (here’s an ill-fated phrase) a new hope, other parts of the world are falling apart?

No, I’m not talking about Thailand, where, as one scholar I heard discussing the situation described it, there are no good guys in the current political turmoil. But think about it: Canada’s Parliament is dissolved in order to stave off a no-confidence vote, the British Parliament is in an uproar over the nine-hour arrest of a Tory MP suspected of leaking sensitive information, and in Greece several days of youth riots are being followed by a general strike protesting government economic policies.

I can’t figure it out, but there is a note of irony echoing in my brain that I can’t get rid of. On the one hand, I’m sure it’s all connected insofar as everything in the Universe is. But gravity doesn’t explain this, so … yeah.

Obviously, I need sleep.

Stoners of antiquity

I’m almost as amused by the lineage on this one as by the story itself:

Words Words Words » DoseNation » Slog

Apropos, I somehow missed it at Slog, which is funny if you’re me.

Anyway, the Toronto Sun reports:

Researchers say they have located the world’s oldest stash of marijuana, in a tomb in a remote part of China.

The cache of cannabis is about 2,700 years old and was clearly “cultivated for psychoactive purposes,” rather than as fibre for clothing or as food, says a research paper in the Journal of Experimental Botany.

The 789 grams of dried cannabis was buried alongside a light-haired, blue-eyed Caucasian man, likely a shaman of the Gushi culture, near Turpan in northwestern China.

The extremely dry conditions and alkaline soil acted as preservatives, allowing a team of scientists to carefully analyze the stash, which still looked green though it had lost its distinctive odour.

“To our knowledge, these investigations provide the oldest documentation of cannabis as a pharmacologically active agent,” says the newly published paper, whose lead author was American neurologist Dr. Ethan B. Russo.

Remnants of cannabis have been found in ancient Egypt and other sites, and the substance has been referred to by authors such as the Greek historian Herodotus. But the tomb stash is the oldest so far that could be thoroughly tested for its properties.

The 18 researchers, most of them based in China, subjected the cannabis to a battery of tests, including carbon dating and genetic analysis. Scientists also tried to germinate 100 of the seeds found in the cache, without success.

The marijuana was found to have a relatively high content of THC, the main active ingredient in cannabis, but the sample was too old to determine a precise percentage.

Researchers also could not determine whether the cannabis was smoked or ingested, as there were no pipes or other clues in the tomb of the shaman, who was about 45 years old.

Once upon a time, I heard about a wooly mammoth, preserved by the Siberian cold. In order to make some sort of point, researchers actually cooked and ate part of the animal.

The obvious question comes to mind, of course.

And you know there’s a movie in there somewhere, right? A Hong Kong kung-fu mummy epic as the curse of an ancient shaman befalls the tomb raiders who sneaked his stash, with Jet Li as the Doctor, Michelle Yeoh as the woman who loves him, and Jackie Chan as the hapless mummy.

What? I’d buy a ticket.

Ah, politics!

Ah, politics!

For Florida Republican Rep. Ileana Ros-Lehtinen, the voice on her cell phone sounded eerily familiar.

“He sounded just like Obama,” she said on Thursday, referring to President-elect Barack Obama.

Sensing she was the victim of a spoof by a South Florida radio station, she promptly disconnected the call.

Trouble was, it was Obama.

A chagrined Ros-Lehtinen told the Fox News Channel that she also hung up on Obama’s chief of staff, Rahm Emanuel, when he called her back to explain it really was the next president on the line.

Both Emanuel and Obama tried to convince her the call was for real.

“Guys, it’s a great prank, really,” she said she told them.

It took a subsequent call from California Democratic Rep. Howard Berman, chairman of the House Foreign Affairs Committee, to finally convince Ros-Lehtinen to talk to Obama.

Apparently, Ros-Lehetinen was even concerned about Rep. Berman, requesting he relate a private joke between them as a sort of password.

I suppose, given the prank call to Sarah Palin in the run-up to the election, one might … but, no. Wait. I’m sorry, but while the idea of French President Nicolas Sarkozy calling a vice-presidential candidate is perhaps a bit strange, is it really so rare that an American president, or president-elect, might be calling a member of Congress?

Is this a bit of paranoia? Just … I don’t know, maybe?

And is it worrying? I mean, is this an omen of things to come? After all, at some point, Democrats and Republicans, or Congress and the White House, need to start trusting each other. Or am I just being paranoid?

Saucy: Pastaphilia Down Under

And as long as we’re on the subject of news from The Vine, just be thankful I haven’t any pictures for this. (Believe me, I am.)

A man caught near Nobbys Beach with his penis in a pasta sauce jar led police on a 20 kmh car chase, Newcastle Local Court heard yesterday.

Police drew their weapons when they suspected Keith Roy Weatherley, 46, was armed.

Instead, they found him partially clothed with his genitals in a jar, a police statement said.

Weatherley, of Promontory Way, North Arm Cove, attracted attention parked in a no-stopping zone before noon on October 26.

Police believed Weatherley was doing something with his hands in his lap and thought that he might have a weapon.

Weatherley saw the police and drove away, despite them flashing their lights.

The chase lasted five to 10 minutes, with a top speed of just 20 kmh, before Weatherley was stopped at Centenary Drive, Newcastle. He refused to leave the car.

Four officers used batons and capsicum spray to remove him.

They found a 750-millilitre jar around his penis and noted that Weatherley attempted to continue “pleasuring himself in between bouts of wrestling”.

A search of his car uncovered pornography, a home-made sex aid, women’s stockings and a Jack Russell terrier.

What? What the hell am I supposed to do with this?

Boo-tay to the left, boo-tay to the right

Forgive me, O Horny One, for I have sinned.

I’ve known about The Vine’s article and the contest for the world’s best ass for a while, and didn’t get around to posting the link until now, as I try to clean up my desktop.

And no, not all of the butts pictured there are women, and as there are a few men I know who desperately identify as heterosexual, I suppose I should probably mention that lest any of them yell at me for not warning them.

I know, I know.

At any rate, the posterior pictured above belongs to Melanie Nunes Franckowiak, which was crowned world’s best in the Paris competition organized by Sloggi.