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Science finally decides who is wrong about whether cilantro tastes like soap.

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It's not your fault you're wrong, cilantro-haters. You're wrong all the way down to your genes. Probably.

Ever have someone chew you out for including cilantro in a dish, yelling at you for liking something that tastes like soap? We've all met that person, and they act really certain that they're right and that you are an idiot for thinking this tasty green plant tastes like a tasty green plant. Fortunately for your sanity and any semblance of logic and justice in the universe, scientists finally determined that at least half of the 4% to 14% of people who are convinced (wrongly) that cilantro tastes like soap have extra copies of a smell-receptor gene that detects soap-type smells. A gene that makes you wrong, in other words.

Granted, there seem to be other genes to blame for this, but given the unusually high correlation of cilantro tastes among both identical and (to a lesser extent) fraternal twins, it definitely seems to be a genetic thing.

And you're wrong. And you should apologize for making everyone's meals less tasty because your weird ancestors were also wrong. Am I tongue-shaming? You bet I am. And I won't back down.


Here are the most popular lipstick shades across the world, thanks to an odd source.

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Heathrow Airport commissioned a report on worldwide lipstick trends, because airports and lipstick go together like... train stations and eyeshadow?


Here is what the world would look like if some countries and cities were smothered to death with massive amounts of lipstick. DO YOU LIKE MAKEUP NOW?
(via Heathrow Airport)

Of course, the real reason Heathrow Airport commissioned the report, entitled "Lipstick Colours of the Year," is because the airport is apparently trying to promote itself as a beauty shopping mecca. The idea of buying cosmetics at the airport blows my mind — if I buy a bottle of water at the airport, it's $4.50. How much would a goddamn tube of lipstick cost? I'd probably have to sell my plane ticket just to pay for it. Heathrow is marketing to a category of rich that I've never even thought of before: "I'm going to shop at the airport" rich.

Anyway, Heathrow commissioned this report package, which includes a history of lipstick, an artist carving small replicas of worldwide landmarks into lipstick (because why?), and "the top lip colour worn by women in 50 stylish destinations that Heathrow flies to." Those are as follows:



I hope Heathrow also starts providing Cosmo-style sex tips. (via Heathrow Airport)

I simultaneously find this report interesting and hate it. I love wearing lipstick but feel icky when someone gives me a marketing-voiced, "you go girl" lipstick manifesto to try to get me to go shopping for goddamn beauty products at a goddamn airport. Like this shit:

Heathrow offers an amazing range of lipstick shades and textures so you won't have to look far to find one that will light up your face and possibly your life.

Plus, there are weird moments that just seem so disconnected from real women, like this suggestion for trying to figure out your skin tone: "Hold some silver and gold fabric up to your face. If gold looks better, you're 'warm'; silver, you're 'cool'." Maybe I'm just bad at being a girl, so let me ask all of you other ladies this — do y'all just have both silver and gold clothing hanging in your closet? If so, why? Do you worry that you could be called upon to play a human statue at any moment?

Anyway, if you want to look at the report yourself, you can learn techniques for using five of the most popular colors and also be told to "Keep channelling Kate Moss," who was recently escorted off a plane for being drunk and disorderly, so she's definitely a great example for any airport promotion.

This is an a capella Michael Jackson medley, and you are going to watch it.

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Don't try to deny it. You are going to watch this a capella Michael Jackson medley, and you are going to enjoy it.

You like Michael Jackson songs, because you aren't a monster. You like seeing people pretend to be musical instruments, because what is up with that? That is why you are going to watch this a capella medley from Pentatonix. Oh, sure, you might open it in another tab to save it for later. You might even be like "this description telling me I'm going to like a thing is dumb, so I'm going to ignore it." But guys, come on. It's good musicians singing bits from some of the best pop songs ever written. Just watch it.

Watch a mama rabbit kick the epic heck out of a snake attacking its babies.

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Here's your daily reminder that for as cute as rabbits are, they are also f-ing fierce.

When this mama rabbit discovers a black snake coiled around her babies, she does what any good mother would do: freak the fuck out on the predator. It's intense. And awesome. This rabbit is more of a badass than most humans. Well, at the very least, this rabbit is more of a badass than I am. Here are some things this rabbit can do that I probably couldn't:

1. Repeatedly attack a giant-ass snake.

2. Star in the sequel to Snakes on a Plane alongside Samuel L. Jackson.

3. Sleep outside in a nest. (Eh, maybe I'd get used to it.)

Remember, everyone: never wrap yourself around someone else's babies, whether they're animal or human, or you're gonna get your ass kicked.

I channeled Chris Pratt in "Jurassic World" to dominate the things that scare me in life.

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Remember #JurassicZoo? You should. It was great.

Basically, real zookeepers approached their animal charges with the same mystical posture as Chris Pratt used towards raptors in Jurassic World. Man, was I mega-jealous of these zookeepers. I am always pretty jealous of zookeepers, because that childhood dream of being a "zoologist" will never die, no matter how apparent it is that you hate statistical research and animal poop. But the meme above really pushed things over the edge.

Not only were the images of people taming wild creatures with nothing but a power stance very funny, it appeals to me as someone who has trouble dealing with all sorts of stuff. Decisions, conflict, expectations of others, WHAT TO WEAR. How awesome would it be if we could de-escalate our confusion and difficulties by holding up our hands in surrender/purposeful dominance?

So, I faced one of the things that makes me feel the most insecure: femininity.


Are these dresses appropriate for blogging????

Buying new clothes is like going to the dentist for me. I only do it when there are holes. I'm not girly; department stores make me lose my sh*t like a toddler who needs a nap. I stomp, whine and complain about being hungry. But with the newfound inspiration of dinosaurs and the Internet, I approached the process with strength! Power! And jazz hands! Also, my co-worker Bez took pics.

Mannequins, my natural enemy, subdued:


Their tiny waists can't stand against me.

Purses: are they an external vagina?


All I carry is a wallet!!!! I can't do this!!

These are too fancy to go UNDER your clothes, ok?


And where are the bottoms?!

The primitive test for "status" is scent...


...and I didn't pass the smell check.

Prepare your feet for battle, lady warriors.


Just ask Bryce Dallas Howard how important it is to wear running shoes.


First thing that comes up is the heels.

Starting to feel comfortable enough to face off against the Patriarchy:


Or a bunch of fake d*cks.

Finally, my mortal enemy, who I wish to make my friend: make-up.


No "no make-up selfies" for dis b*tch.

There ya go, everyone. If something in your life throws you, just "Jurassic World it." It was a rough journey, and while I haven't helicoptered off my island of sweatpants and sneakers, I did manage to buy one new shirt that isn't gray.


I also learned my mom is right. I should brush my hair.

A bunch of kids drove their dads insane with this extremely simple prank.

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Jimmy Kimmel got kids to play this Father's Day prank on their dads and send him the footage.

These days, Jimmy Kimmel is America's undisputed prank master. Not only are the prank compilations on his show hilarious and ingenious, he keeps his hands clean by making his viewers do all the legwork. Truly diabolical.

This time, he challenged Jimmy Kimmel Live viewers (and their families) to prank their dads by offering them Father's Day breakfast… in the shower. The dads' reactions were priceless, ranging from embarrassment to confusion to rage. And the best part is that they were all naked. Naked people are the most fun to prank.

Meryl Streep reached out to everyone in Congress to try to revive the Equal Rights Amendment.

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As we all learned in 10th grade history class, after you win a certain amount of Oscars, you basically get to be a senator.


Meryl Streep, U.S. Senator for Amazingness, Badass party. (via Getty)

Meryl Streep is taking advantage of her general power in society to take political action. According to the Associated Press, Streep sent a letter to every member of Congress asking them to revive the Equal Rights Amendment, the long dead proposal that would make the Constitution cover equality based on sex.

"I am writing to ask you to stand up for equality—for your mother, your daughter, your sister, your wife or yourself—by actively supporting the Equal Rights Amendment," Streep writes. Each packet includes a copy of "Equal Means Equal," a book by Jessica Neuwirth, president of the ERA Coalition.

Generally, I hate when people invoke the "women-are-your-daughters/mothers/sisters/wives" argument to explain why we deserve equal rights, instead of just pointing out that women are, you know, people. But sometimes it helps people think about that, I guess? Like, "Ohhhh, I have a mother, and she is actually a person, so I guess that would mean women are people. I never thought about it that way." Fine, if that's the missing link you need. And it's definitely cool and bold for Streep to continually use her world dominance to support women.

Like everything I've ever read and ever will read on the Internet, though, I do have to wonder if this is to some degree a marketing scheme. As Jezebel points out, Streep does have an upcoming movie about suffragettes.

Either way, it's all awesome. The letters to Congress, the movie, the concept of the constitution guaranteeing women equality, and the ability of the Internet to make us question everything.

On-Screen Romance: How my first OkCupid date ended with a punch in the face.

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I was driven to online dating by equal parts loneliness and desperation. Working long hours for the first time had finally given me an excuse for why I hadn't met anyone. I chose OkCupid because it was free and I hadn't been employed that long.

After exchanging countless messages and several actual phone calls, we decided to meet. She was able to craft complete sentences and sounded surprisingly normal, so I deemed her a safe enough Internet stranger. The only hitch was that I had to meet her in New Jersey, far away from the comforts of my tiny studio apartment in Manhattan.

So there I was, in New Jersey by my own free will, standing outside in the cold, worried about my hair (it gets too poofy), when she pulls up in a sedan so beaten down that I was unable to discern its brand. She was very pretty, with long brown hair, blue eyes, and a memorable smile. She looked just like she did in her pictures.

Car rides are usually boring­—most people listen to music, the radio, maybe make small talk.

My date for the evening liked talking about one thing: her history of car accidents.

Clutching my seat, I tried to assure her that we probably wouldn't die, to which she replied, "YOU DON'T KNOW." I laughed, but she wasn't joking.

I've never been happier to get to a bar and I'm a fan of bars. It was a dive bar, country music playing, and all four televisions turned to Fox News. We sat down and ordered a pitcher of Busch Light, because that was all they had on tap.

Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, she pulls out a notebook and starts asking me questions. Questions like how many serious girlfriends have I had, how many sexual partners, if I had a good relationship with my parents, all posed rapid fire.

Suddenly she pauses, then asks, “Have you ever been punched in the face?"

I say, “No," and she pauses again, even stops writing in her notebook.

Then she punches me in the face.

Like a real punch. And she was wearing a ring. I'm not sure if she said anything else right then, I was pretty focused on having been punched in the face. I remember saying, “You just punched me in the face." She laughed, then started crying. Instead of asking her what was wrong (could have taken a while), I went to the bathroom to check my face.

On my walk to the restroom, it struck me nobody in the bar even flinched when I was flat out punched in the face by the young woman I came in with. Either that was a frequent occurrence there, or just her regular thing. And there was a mark. Not a black eye, but definitely a noticeable bruise on the upper side of my face, my favorite section.

So I sit back down, another bad decision in a series of bad decisions. As she told me something about working on a clothing line for some vape company, I couldn't stop thinking about how my mother always called me a "nice boy." I could see my mother standing next to her, shaking her finger, saying, "He's a nice boy. You shouldn't punch him in the face." I don't often think about my mother on dates, but I did that time. I did pay for her drinks though. She had already punched me in the face once.

After expressing my desire to go home, I made my worst decision of the night: I got back in her car.

You should never drive or be driven by someone under the influence of anything really. Alcohol is a bad one. It's especially bad when the driver has a history of serious car accidents and needs a GPS to navigate the neighborhood she's lived in all her life.

As we approached the highway I realized two things. First, I did not want this girl driving me to the train station. Second, I did not want to die. So I said something like, "Right here's good." I had sustained enough injuries for the night.

I expected her to pull over so I could get out, but instead she sped into an alley and said something like, "You want me to leave you right here, in this alley?" I've never nodded so hard in my life. I may have emitted a gleeful squeal when the car finally came to a complete stop. After screaming, "YES PLEASE," I got out of the car and as she drove away I couldn't help but tell myself, "I'm a nice boy."

On the cab ride home, which I was happy to get ripped off for, I tried to focus on what I could have done differently. First off, online dating wasn't for me. Also, try not to go to New Jersey. And lastly, if somebody asks you if you've ever been punched in the face, say yes.


If your eyes get itchy in the pool, it's not the chlorine. The real reason is much, much worse.

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The CDC dropped a megaton truth bomb on all of us about what's really stinging your eyes at the pool.


Come on in, the sludge is fine!(stock photo)

If you grew up swimming in pools, you're probably used to the adverse effects of the chlorine in the water: red eyes, a nasty smell, and difficulty breathing. But according to new research from the Centers for Disease Control, those symptoms aren't actually caused by the chlorine – not on its own.

The CDC has teamed up with the Water Quality and Health Council and the National Swimming Pool Foundation as part of their annual Healthy Swimming Program. Their mission is to educate Americans about the benefits of swimming, and give them advice on how to stay healthy in the water. Their first order of business is to clear up this misconception about chlorine. The Program's associate director, Dr. Michael J. Beach, Ph.D., says that pool chlorination doesn't actually irritate your eyes. He told Women's Health:

“It's quite the opposite. Chlorine binds with all the things it's trying to kill from your bodies, and it forms these chemical irritants. That's what's stinging your eyes. It's the chlorine binding to the urine and the sweat."

There you have it, folks! Any time your eyes bother you at the pool, that means dirty, sweaty people have definitely been peeing in it. The same goes for that nasty pool cough. The irritants in the air are only caused by chlorine reacting with human grossness.

The bad news doesn't stop there, either. Beach also told Women's Health that supposed safeguards against peeing in the pool are made up. That dye you've heard of that turns the water green when someone pees is a "complete myth. It's about scaring people into not urinating in the pool."

Beach and his colleagues aren't just trying to gross everyone out – they take these issues seriously, because they affect public health. There's been an increase in disease outbreaks at public pools, mostly due to children and adults swimming in them while they have diarrhea.

Now, some germs have emerged that are resistant to the chlorine used in pools. Extra precautions have to be taken to prevent it from getting into the water in the first place. That's part of why you're supposed to shower before you get into the pool. Too bad nobody ever actually does that.

Despite these horror stories, the CDC still wants you to go swimming, as long as you take the proper precautions. Don't swim in a pool while you're sick or have open wounds. Always shower before getting in, and never, EVER pee or go diarrhea in the water. I mean, for God's sake, people. You're acting like animals. And not even the ones that dig a hole.

Dr. Beach has this hopeful message for all the swimmers out there: “We think that swimming is a really fantastic activity. We want to keep it that way." So did I, Dr. Beach, until I read your report. Now I'm never going in the water again.

Someone discovered that the eyes of Disney princesses are literally larger than their stomachs.

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The evidence is clear: Disney illustrators draw the eyes of princesses bigger than their waistlines.

"My spine can't support my own body."(via Above Average)

Everyone knows the female bodies depicted in Disney animation could never exist in real life. But this whole eyes-to-stomach ratio is just bonkers. Someone at Above Average made this eerily genius observation and it's sort of blowing my mind.

Elsa doesn't eat yellow snow, or any food at all.(via Above Average)

Yes, I know they're just cartoons and "aren't real" or whatever, but these female characters set absurdly unattainable ideals for young girls about their bodies. And I'm going to keep talking about it until Disney stops doing it.

"I've never even seen my own stomach!"
(via Above Average)

Once upon a time I thought I would actually look like Ariel in a bikini. At least I just got an ab workout from laughing so hard that I ever thought that would happen. I'm proud to say my adult body found a middle ground somewhere between Ariel and Ursula.

"Interests include sitting around and reading books with my giant eyes."
(via Above Average)

Maybe all the princesses have secret origin stories about their painful waist training, extensive lipo and eye-widening surgeries. I hope one day these stories finally come to light. Until then, here are more disturbing waistline the rest of the princesses. Enjoy. Or, you can look at princesses drawn as raptors!

Watch Jon Stewart age over 17 seasons of "The Daily Show" in two minutes.

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Jon Stewart totally annihilates—then decimates—natural aging processes.

As Jon Stewart is stepping down from The Daily Show, the tributes are rolling in. This rapid-fire supercut—a hypercut more aptly—gives you a chance to watch baby-faced Jon Stewart transform into silver fox Jon Stewart.

This time lapse was crafted by Billy Chasen, a long-time viewer and initially a Stewart skeptic:

I've been watching The Daily Show ever since Jon Stewart took over for Craig Kilborn and I declared, "this'll never work!" This is my send off to his profound impact as host.

Billy also recommends watching in HD, so you can see what a profound impact the George W. Bush Administration had on Stewart's follicles.

How you attend your first wedding of the summer vs. how you attend your last.

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Wedding season is officially here! HELP.


Work on that loving, wistful smile.(Thinkstock)

Sometimes, it seems like everyone is getting married. "Sometimes" is June through September and "everyone" is all the couples you know, practically every weekend all summer long. How beautiful the first wedding of summer is! What a lot of money you've spent by the time fall rolls around! Lord, give me the strength to sit through one more reading of Corinthians and glide through one more "Electric Slide."

Here's how we celebrate other people's weddings as the season progresses:

JUNE


Ahhhh, drinking outdoors.(via Thinkstock)

Wardrobe: Brand new dress you've been eyeing and saving for, for months. Today is about the bride, but you are going to look like a demure summer goddess at this thing.

Date: A pretty special guy you've been seeing for awhile. It's your first time attending such a formal event together. A formal ROMANTIC event.

Gift: French White Bakeware 10-Piece Set, which was on the registry...but you also have an original photo of you and the bride as kids, framed with wood from the gazebo your great-grandfather built for your great-grandmother, almost 100 years ago.

Dance Floor Moves: Choreography from "All the Single Ladies," done with a smile and SASSittude.

Who You Take Home: Your sweetie, after a long champagne flavored make-out sesh under the stars.

JULY


"Oh great, 'drunk uncle' is making a toast." (via Thinkstock)

Wardrobe: A skirt suit you've worn to a few business events, but you can dress it up a little with a pair of nice heels.

Date: Your BFF. Girls night!! That guy you were dating? Oh, yeah. He's been busy.

Gift: Some mixing bowls. And a gift certificate for a couples' massage. That's nice, right?

Dance Floor Moves: Choreography from "All the Single Ladies," done with a vodka soda in hand.

Who You Take Home: Extra cake.

AUGUST


"Hey...hey, wake up, it's time for the bouquet toss."(via Thinkstock)

Wardrobe: Whatever covers your nipples.

Date: You said you'd bring a date so you could have chicken AND fish.

Gift: 2 movie passes and a coupon for a large popcorn.

Dance Floor Moves: Choreography from "All the Single Ladies," done with a smile that is really unsettling, probably a cry for help.

Who You Take Home: Todd. All you know is his name was Todd.

SEPTEMBER


"I'm just gonna reflect on commitment down here for a sec."(via Thinkstock)

Wardrobe: What was good enough to wear out last night is nice enough to wear to bed, wake up in a panic wearing, then rush to the ceremony in!

Date: N/A.

Gift: Half a tin of mints you find in your purse and an I.O.U. for a "sexy Monopoly night."

Dance Floor Moves: A mashup of choreography from "All the Single Ladies," the Macarena and the Chicken Dance that has a BIG finish: weeping!

Who You Take Home: Just getting yourself home is a miracle, frankly.

I was skeptical of They Might Be Giants covering Destiny's Child, but they won me over.

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They Might Be Giants performed 'Bills, Bills, Bills,' the pre-'Independent Women' independent women anthem by Destiny's Child.

I have to admit that before I watched the video, I was feeling a little cynical about the whole situation. I worried the performance might be making fun of "Bills, Bills, Bills" or downplaying how good it is in its own right. I mean, this is a song that's usually sung by literally Beyoncé.

But I was worried for no reason. When will I learn that Destiny's Child doesn't need me to defend them? Hopefully, it's just one of those life lessons that becomes more ingrained the older you get, you know? Like most of the performances in the A.V. Undercover series, the band offers a new take on a classic that pays tribute to the original while being good in its own way.

Next, I'd like to see They Might Be Giants do their own version of Beyonce's no-makeup swimsuit selfie.

The Internet is freaking out over this hot Taiwanese bean curd seller.

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Come for the bean curd. Stay for the sexy bean curd man.

I'm hot enough to get away with the tank-top bib. (via Elite Daily)

It's dusk. You're on the streets of Taipei. A neon street sign flickers as you take a drag of your cigarette. A lone saxophone plays in the background. You catch a whiff of something oh-so-intoxicating nearby. You make your way through a maze of alleys, trying to pin down this succulent aroma. You're searching and searching. Where is it? You just can't take it anymore. Why can't I let go? It's driving you crazy. Your stroll turns into a sprint. Where is it, dammit?! You turn a corner and boom. There it is. A simple food shop. It could be any food shop in Taiwan. But it's not. Because he is there. He's stirring a big pot. His rock hard abs glint with sweat as he raises his ladle for a taste. You slowly approach him. You begin to speak. He slowly shushes you. Does he offer you grapes from the vine? No. How about strawberries, dipped in velvety chocolate? No. Just as you're on the verge of ecstasy, he grabs a to-go container and asks, "Would you like some bean curd?"

You melt into a million pieces. We can assume that this scenario has happened hundreds of times, thanks to the man who is now known as Taiwan's hottest bean curd seller. After being discovered by the Internet, female customers began flocking to the store to catch a glimpse of the sexy tofu king.

Is tofu an aphrodisiac? Or is he just really sexy? (via Elite Daily)


"There he is! What? Oh, I'm just going to buy a water." (via Shanghaiist)

After a bit of Facebook stalking, he was revealed to be a 26-year-old local named Yi Tin Chen. In addition to working at the 'curd shop, Chen frequents the gym.


"Bean curd makes me strong." (via Facebook)

He also works as a promotional model in his free time.


"I'll be on billboards one day. And I'll never have to sell bean curd again!" (via Facebook)

Who knew fermented soy products could be so sexy?

A woman freaked out over the "lady parts" on the bears on her daughter's christening cake.

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The detailing on these adorable bear cake-toppers were misinterpreted as sex organs and the customer asked for a refund.

Do you think these cute little bears made of sugar look like they have vaginas? You probably do, because I planted the idea in your head! Now all you see are a couple of naked teddy bears flashing their undercarriage to the world.

That's exactly what Sharon Green of Bolton, England saw when she looked at the bears on her daughter's christening cake that she bought from Occasion Cakes, a local bakery. Green was "shocked" at the "totally inappropriate" line on the bears, and tried to get her money back for the cake.

Occasion Cakes owners told Bolton News "We have been making girl and boy teddies this way for 30 years and no-one has ever drawn such a bizarre, and, quite frankly, distasteful, connection... The small bear on top of the cake is exactly that — a teddy bear — and the crease on its stomach is supposed to represent the seam where the bear is sewn together."

So it's confirmed, the indentation is not supposed to represent female genitalia. As you can see below, the bakery added flowers to preserve the bears' modesty.

We can all agree the flowers just make it creepier, right? Now the bears just look like they're on a softcore photo shoot. In the end, Green did not get a refund for her cake topped with inanimate objects that she weirdly sexualized.


'Fight Club' author Chuck Palahniuk wrote a kids' version and read it aloud.

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The guy who wrote 'Fight Club' has a pretty good sense of humor for someone who wrote 'Fight Club.'

Author Chuck Palahniuk adapted his most famous book (slash Brad Pitt movie), Fight Club, into a kid-friendly version for Mashable. Fight Club 4 Kids follows pretty much the same plot, with a boy and his (spoiler alert) imaginary friend starting a horsing around club. Like the original, there are set rules, it all gets pretty violent, and presumably a lot of dudes say it's their favorite book until they get a little older and change their minds.

Palahniuk is a surprisingly comfortable performer in this. I mean, I'm not about to nominate him for a Golden Click Award for Best Actor In A Viral Video, but he's pretty funny and definitely commits to the accidental cursing bit. And now I want to see how lots of other authors would do with Internet acting. Thankfully, it seems inevitable that we'll get a weird J.K. Rowling video one of these days.

70 years after she was adopted, this woman found out she's white.

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Verda Byrd's parents never told her the truth about where she came from.

Move over Rachel Dolezal, there's a new person making us question our assumptions about race. Only this one didn't lie.

Verda Byrd was born in 1942. She grew up in Newton, KS, the only child of a middle-class black family. Her father, Ray, was a railroad porter, and her mother, Edwinna, was a homemaker. She had a normal childhood, and was treated by everyone she knew as a light-skinned black person. She lived that way for seven decades, until a startling revelation changed everything.

In 2013, Edwinna confessed to Verda that she was adopted. At the age of 70, this was a big shock. However, Edwinna wouldn't reveal any further details. She was suspiciously cagey about the whole situation. It was only after she passed away that Verda looked into her own past and discovered the truth: her birth parents were white.

She was born Jeanette Beagle, one of ten children born to transients Earl and Daisy Beagle. Her father walked out on the family, and then her mother fell victim to a horrible trolley accident. Then she became a ward of the state. Once the Byrds adopted her, they decided never to tell her she was adopted. So naturally, the truth came as something of a shock. She told USA Today:

"It was unbelievable. I grew up not questioning birth or anything else because it was never told to me that I was born white."

Verda still considers herself African American. "I'm comfortable with being a black woman," she said. However, she rankles at any comparison to Rachel Dolezal, because unlike Dolezal, she never lied. She just didn't know. Also, she grew up being treated as a black woman by the world and her family. And she never got a perm and a spray tan to try and pass. Really, she's not like Rachel Dolezal at all.

In the end, she feels no connection to the identity of Jeanette Beagle. As she put it:

"Jeanette Beagle does not fit Verda Byrd. Jeanette Beagle does not have an education. Jeanette Beagle has no Social Security money because she does not work. She never went to kindergarten."

It doesn't seem like much of a choice. She can either be Verda Byrd, the twice-married mother of one who grew up with a loving family, or Jeanette Beagle, who doesn't have an education or money because she's still technically a baby. All issues of race aside, who would choose to be a baby?

Maybe Rachel Dolezal would. You can't stay mad at a baby.

Cop issues parking ticket to a statue.

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One German parking official is either tirelessly efficient or the best performance artist on earth.


Erwin Wurm, "Truck," 2015.
Karlsruhe Parking Enforcement, "Ticket," 2015.
(via Facebook)

One of art's purposes is to show us something real and truthful about ourselves. One truth Austrian artist Erwin Wurm has found with his work is that German parking police are ruthless.

Wurm's sculpture—a distorted VW truck bending halfway up a wall—is illegally parked in a restricted zone. Well, it would be if it were a truck, but it's not a truck. It's a sculpture. In America, it's not against the law to be an eyesore, but the law seems to be a bit trickier in Karlsruhe, Germany.

Wurm explains that his Volkswagen truck is macaroni-shaped to show the "mundane from a different perspective." I guess no matter how you look at it, it looks like a truck is where a truck shouldn't be, and there's a very real €30 ticket to be paid.


The way these pieces interact evokes the angst of vehicle ownership and civic responsibility. (via Facebook)

The Center for Art and Media—ZKM for short—is on the hook for the fine, and jokingly asked Wurm to pony up the cost in a Facebook post. However, everything is coming to a wonderfully German end as the mayor of Karlsruhe has offered to file a formal appeal to rescind the ticket.

A German parking ticket seems impossible to fight if the mayor can't even forgive the fine with a mayoral decree. One commenter on Facebook points out that Wurm and the KZM are fortunate that he wasn't “prosecuted for illegal vehicle modifications."

The worst summer job I ever had: guarding shopping carts from angry senior citizen thieves.

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Very few 14-year-olds earn a paycheck by standing on a street corner all day. Even fewer patrol that corner while apprehending would-be criminals and guarding the thin barrier between order and lawlessness.

This 14-year-old got to do both – busting old people for stealing shopping carts.

When the summer of 1988 arrived, my mother decided I had to get a job. Evidently, my favorite habits of reading books and practicing chords on my cheap, unamplified guitar had gotten out of control. After 10 months of reporting to school five days a week, and before the next 10 months of reporting to school five days a week, I needed some structure and discipline.

I forget which well-meaning, horrible person saw that our local Pathmark was hiring, but within days, I was bagging groceries and dashing off to return unwanted dairy products to their rightful shelves. Before long, I was led outside and told about my new assignment. Shopping carts are expensive to replace, my manager explained. (He was right. One can run you 200 bucks these days). Certain customers would pay for their groceries and simply wheel the cargo to their houses, ignoring the signs that such a move was illegal.

Now, these convenience-seeking sons of bitches would have to get past 128 pounds of reluctant, mumbling, braces-wearing teenage justice.

And so began my days pacing around the corner of that parking lot, watching people my age make their way to and from their destinations of summer fun. They cruised by on bikes and skateboards. They dribbled basketballs. They brandished slices of pizza and ice cream cones. Sometimes they'd stop for a minute and I'd explain my duties while they looked at me with sympathy. A few times, to avoid the embarrassing job description, I lied and said I was just waiting there for a ride home (because, you know, being abandoned by loved ones in a parking lot is a more dignified scenario.)

When my friends visited me, I would actually feel betrayed that they left after only five or ten minutes. (What? You're not going to stand on this 104-degree asphalt with me, shifting from one foot to the other all afternoon? What kind of friend are you??)

Inevitably, I would spot someone pushing a cart off the lot. You'd think I would have welcomed the break in the monotony. And you would be wrong.

Confronting these people was even more awkward than you can imagine. They were almost always very old and usually very cranky. They yelled at me. They cursed me in English. And in Spanish. And with hand gestures.

Some would simply walk right by, eyes straight ahead, as if I were begging for spare change or howling about the coming apocalypse. One especially elderly fellow explained that his cart – smaller than the others and green instead of silver – was indeed his cart that he'd been wheeling to the store for years. He was obviously telling the truth, and I felt like I'd messed with a sacred relationship, the working class New Jersey equivalent of getting between a man and his horse.

I passed the hours listening to my Walkman. I probably spent half my paycheck on double-A batteries and Rush cassettes I bought inside the store on my break. (Side note: Yes, supermarkets sold music then, and it was great: Go in for milk and eggs and decide to pick up Judas Priest's Screaming for Vengeance on a whim.)

But no matter how many times I heard Geddy Lee's voice in my headphones proclaiming They call me the working man. I guess that's what I am, I couldn't convince myself that I was manly or that this was “work."

Improbably, I held that job for almost two years. It became the awful, sleep-deprived, 8:00-in-the-morning-Saturday-and-Sunday-job. Then the so-cold-I-can-barely-feel-my-extremities winter job. Then the summer job again. On busier days, I was allowed to leave my post and actually collect carts in the parking lot and bring them to the storefront. It was refreshing to provide something rather than take something away.

Then, before my third summer tour of duty could get under way, my friend got me a job at the movie theater where he worked. No more standing still in a parking lot for me. Now I'd be stationed at a little podium, taking tickets in an air conditioned lobby.

In time, I would become a husband, a high school English teacher, and a father, and perhaps that awful summer job helped me develop the all-important ability to stand there, tell people about the rules, and then watch as they do whatever the hell they want.

Kim Kardashian might have paid to make sure her baby had one specific gene.

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Kim K. recently announced the sex of her unborn baby, but she might have actually known all along.







A photo posted by Kim Kardashian West (@kimkardashian) on

An anonymous source told Us Weekly that Kardashian used a special "gender-selection process" to make sure she had a boy. Kardashian has been open about her struggles to get pregnant again and her use of IVF. Now the source—Khloe? Kourtney? Kendall? Kylie? Bambi?—says that she only had male embryos implanted during the process.

“She only had boy embryos implanted," says a source close to Kardashian, who confirmed the gender on Monday, June 21, after Us Weekly broke the news. During the procedure — which can start at roughly $17,000 — doctors isolate fertilized embryos of the preferred sex in a lab, then transfer them to a uterus.

According to the article, one of the reasons for doing this was that Kanye West always wanted to have a son so he would have "an heir," which is Pride and Prejudice-level wacky and outdated. But maybe it was just that Kim had already chosen which emojis she was going to use for her announcement:

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