StumbleUpon once sent me to a supercut of Lion King, Lion King 1 1/2, and Lion King II, the main edit being that the scenes of Lion King and Lion King 1 1/2 were interspersed so that they happened in the order they actually happened.
The Bored Button - "Press the Bored Button and be bored no more."
The Useless Web
Cloudhiker - "Discover the most interesting, weird and awesome websites of the Internet" (not really a rebrand, it's a different person running it but they have the same intention in mind)
Astronaut.io - "These videos come from YouTube. They were uploaded in the last week and have titles like DSC 1234 and IMG 4321. They have almost zero previous views. They are unnamed, unedited, and unseen (by anyone but you)."
Marginalia - "This is an independent DIY search engine that focuses on non-commercial content, and attempts to show you sites you perhaps weren't aware of in favor of the sort of sites you probably already knew existed."
Semi-Slugs: these are actual gastropods that are in the process of evolving from snails into slugs, with their shells gradually reducing and receding into their bodies
Above: Fastosarion brazieri, commonly known as the chameleon semi-slug, and an unidentified species of semi-slug from the genus Sheldonia
The term "semi-slug" is used to describe an intermediate stage of evolution that occurs as snails evolve into slugs. Nearly 1,000 different species of semi-slug are currently known to exist, and these bizarre little creatures can be found on at least four continents.
Above: Fastosarion brazieri and Varadia amboliensis
Each species of semi-slug is technically still classified as a snail, but its shell is noticeably reduced, becoming smaller and more internalized as the species evolves. A semi-slug officially becomes a regular-slug once its shell is no longer visible at all.
As this article explains:
If life were simple, there would be snails and slugs. Snails carry their homes on their backs; slugs are naked and embarrassed. But life isnât simple, so of course thereâs secret option #3 â the semi-slug, a bizarre creature that sits exactly between the snail and the slug.
Above: genus Satiella and genus Euaustenia
This article describes the distinction between a snail, a slug, and a semi-slug:
In contrast to snails, which have an external shell large enough to accommodate the body, or slugs, in which the shell is completely internal or absent, semi-slugs have an external shell, but the shell is too small to accommodate the animalâs entire body.
Above: Megaustenia siamensis
The evolutionary process that causes the shell to recede is known as limacization, and it's especially common in moist, low-calcium environments where a snail's shell may be more of a burden than a benefit:
Terrestrial slugs are not a monophyletic group, but a case of convergent evolution in which the
slug form evolved from different lineages of land snails that gradually lost their shell through a
process called limacization. Limacization resulted in adaptive radiation in land snail lineages, as slugs became adapted to
diverse moist and protected spaces, such as crevices in rocks and wood debris. The loss of the shell also allowed for more movement and less calcium dependence, making slugs
more successful as pests.
Above: Gaeotis nigrolineata, also known as the Puerto Rican semi-slug, has a neon green shell that is almost completely internalized, but the shell is clearly visible through the semi-slug's translucent body
Some semi-slugs have shells that are still opaque and largely visible, with a patch of flesh covering only the outer edges of the shell, while others have shells that are more significantly reduced, transparent, and/or concealed.
Above: Ibycus rachelae, commonly known as the green-shelled semi-slug, and a species of semi-slug from the genus Durgella
This topic was mentioned in my previous post about Ibycus rachelae, but I wanted to write a more detailed post about semi-slugs, because they're just so fascinating and weird.
Above: a black-and-white semi-slug from subfamily Sheldoniinae
Above: Fastosarion brazieri again, but this one is especially spiky for some reason
Sources & More Info:
Australian Geographic: Meet the Semi-Slug, a Snail without a Home
Carnegie Museum of Natural History: What's So Good about Being a Slug?
Frontiers: Terrestrial Slugs in Neotropical Agroecosystems (PDF)
We Burned So Bright by TJ Klune is a queer sci-fi novel about an elderly couple on an end-of-the-world road trip.
WHATâS IT ABOUT
Husbands Don and Rodney have lived a good long life. Together theyâve experienced the highest highs of love and family, and lows so low that they felt like the end of the world.
Now, the world is ending for real. A rogue black hole is coming for Earth, and in a month everything and everyone theyâve ever known will be gone. Don and Rodney race against the clock to make it from Maine to Washington State to take care of some unfinished business before itâs all over.
Art by @meruz.
Read an excerpt from chapter one below.
Chapter 1
Don switched off the television. Heâd spent the morning in the garden, those pesky weeds returning with a vengeance. All that spring rain, he thought. And for what?
His husband, Rodney, sat in a recliner a few feet away. At seventy-eight, Rodney was a gruff and quiet man, his bushy eyebrows doing most of the talking for him. Forty years together, and Don could tell what he was thinking without a word between them.
âI know,â Don said. âItâs time.â
Rodney grunted in response, leaning forward in his chair, hands on his knees. His back was bothering him, though he wouldnât say as much. But Don knew. Of course he did. He knew everything about Rodney. Rodney, who looked over at Don, expression softening.
âYou all right?â
âNo, I donât think I am.â
Rodney nodded and stood from the recliner, groaning as he did so, knees popping. âStay right there,â he said.
Don did, staring off into nothing. He didnât know how to feel. Frightened? Oh yes. Angry? Perhaps; a little spark that whispered how is this fair?
But mostly, Don felt relieved, and oddly so. Not over the fact that the entire world would be gone in thirty days, give or take. No, he wasnât the type to revel in the misfortune of others. His relief came in knowing how it would end.
Getting older meant he was running down the clock as it was, thoughts sometimes straying to darker corners:
Would it be the colon?
The heart?
A little pop in a blood vessel of the brain that caused one to drop dead?
The human body was a miracle that was not meant to last. He felt it in the stiffening of his joints. Stretch wrong in the morning? That was a weekâs worth of discomfort. Get a blood test? Ooh, what could be found in that?
Now, though. Now, it was different. Now, the mystery of deathâwhen, how, whyâwas solved for everyone.
Rodney returned. Don didnât know how long heâd been gone. He carried a small box with himâoak polished within an inch of its life, a brass keyhole in the front. Roughly the size of a jewelry box, it wasnât large nor was it heavy, but Rodney was careful with it.
He said, âIf weâre going to do this, we have to do it now.â
Don lowered his head. âI know. Itâs . . . You always think thereâs going to be more time.â
âWe have enough,â Rodney said. âThatâs what counts.â
Don looked out the window. Clouds in the sky, wispy clouds that stretched above a green forest. The sun, shining. Birds singing. And if the people who knew about these things were right, all of it would be gone in a month. Either the planet would be cracked apart, chunks of rock being pulled toward infinity, or it would be stretched and stretched and stretched until the entire world was a thin, straight line, unable to support life.
The cause? A rogue black hole. A one-in-a-trillion chance, theyâd been told breathlessly. There was a one-in-a-trillion chance a black hole would find its way to our little corner of the universe. Astronomical odds, and yet, now a reality.
Which meant chaos, of course. Military vehicles in the streets of most cities and towns. Looting, rioting, the burning of cars and buildings and people, all of it had already happened. Theyâd known about the black hole for close to a year, and in those early days, more things were aflame than not. When backed into a corner, an animal could be dangerous. Humans were animals, and deadly ones at that.
Over the last year, theyâd proven themselves as such. In Arizona, a group of people had doused themselves in gasoline. As a horrified crowd looked on, someone flicked a lighter, and up they went in fire and smoke, all in the name of leaving the world behind on their own terms. In Nebraska, thirty-four people attempted to take the capitol, but ten of them were shot before they could get inside. Six died from their injuries. In Paris, massive crowds filled the streets, storefront windows shattered as people looted everything that wasnât bolted down. In Cape Town, hundreds of people walked into the ocean and drowned. Some held children. Others assisted the elderly. In Chengdu, dozens of people leapt from the tops of skyscrapers while others looked on with blank expressions, waiting their turn. In Denmark, a self-proclaimed prophet said that before the planet was destroyed, Heaven would open up for the chosen, and they would rise into Eternal Glory. He amassed crowds in the thousands, his voice carrying over a packed field. During one of his pulpit sessions, he was stabbed to death by a woman who cried as she raised and lowered the knife again and again. No one tried to stop her until it was already too late. The prophet died choking on his own blood. The womanâolder, shouting and screamingâdid not resist when the crowd descended upon her.
âWeâll be careful,â Don said, gaze going back to the chest in Rodneyâs arms. âTake the back roads. Avoid major freeways.â
âWhen?â Rodney asked.
âTomorrow.â
And so it was decided.
When theyâd retired ten years ago, itâd been unexpected. Both had planned to work a few more years, but then life happened, and both were pulled away in a direction they hadnât expected. Rodney had worked for the state in a thankless role, filling out endless reports for any little thing the government could think of. Don had managed the office for a physical therapist, doing so for damn near fifteen years. And then . . . well. An ending, of sorts, one they had both expected and dreaded in equal measure. Cut off, like a limb had been removed without discussion.
Seven months in, Rodney had bought an RV.
Don had not been pleased.
Their friendsâall olderâhad been excited. RV life was a different breed, they said. Why, buying their own RVs had been one of the best decisions they had ever made for themselves. A hotel on wheels! Sure, you had to find a place to park for the nightâavoid Walmarts if you couldâbut there were so many places made for RVs. Hell, there were thousands upon thousands of retirees whoâd done the same and hadnât regretted it.
Yes, it would be grand, except the RV was an ugly thing: old, with dented siding and rust around the wheel wells. White, with a fat dirt-brown line down the sides. Not one of the overpriced RVs that looked and traveled like a bus. No, this one was more akin to a camper slapped onto an old truck. But its worse sin was a set of hideous brown-and-pink knitted blinds that hung in the small bedroom. Don was not a fan of those blinds.
Small wonders, the RV ran, belching out thick black exhaust from the tailpipe. Registered, passed inspection (barely), and guzzled gas like it was an endless pit. But Rodney was charmed by it, saying he thought they could get on the road, taking in sights and people theyâd never had the time to see before. Don had never really considered himself an RV person, but he could picture it in his mind: long summer days with nothing but the open road, the sun setting in the distance, making the sky pink and red and orange. An audiobook on the radio, one heâd always meant to get to, but hadnât had the time.
He often thought about that: time. How interminable it could be, and then in a blink of an eye, years have gone by.
Oh, the places theyâd gone: To Montana and water so clear, the deep lakebeds looked within armâs reach. To Arizona, standing before the Grand Canyon, the rock burnt red, the air sizzling hot. To the Appalachian Trail, hiking a good eight miles before calling it quits. To Wyoming, the Grand Tetons rising in all their majesty. To Utah and the Painted Desert, the petrified forest, rocks in impossible hues. To Tennessee and the Great Smoky Mountains, trying to reach the top of Mount Le Conte.
Years of travel, years of doing what needed to be done. And now, at last, the trip theyâd been putting off because that made the distance real, something theyâd long avoided. They had no other choice.
I always say that the thing which sets Sargent apart as a portrait artist is that he draws/paints literally every subject - no matter their gender, social position, life vs representational drawing etc - like he is right that minute realising he's desperately in love with them. And it rules every single time.
i know doctors hate to see me coming with my âwas it really a fall if i caught myself?â and âyeah i did fall on the stairs but i ended up just sitting on the step rather than tumbling down so does it really count?â mindset
and my âyeah i wouldâve fallen but iâve mastered the art of body slamming into walls and doorways to keep myself vertical so itâs not a fallâ way of thinking
romaincrisis
turnnoffyourmind
yousharknotpass
blakekathryn
gummygunk
jimmyeatworldofficial
