Yes, I know, you were all saddened recently when you couldn't afford that expensive beer that came in taxidermied animal bottles. Well, we here at WU never like to see our readers sad, so we offer you this charming item. Beer not included.
Beer drinkers in Canada were calling it alcohol abuse when almost 8,500 gallons of beer and foam exploded out of a fermentation tank. Apparently a small crack had formed in the vat at the Okanagan Springs Brewery in Vernon, British Columbia. The pressurized metal silo was blown apart, causing structural damage and tearing an aluminum door off its hinges. Thousands of litres of beer foam poured across the parking lot and onto the road. Thankfully, no one was injured in the explosion, and rain has since washed most of the beer into the sewers.
It's not enough for BrewDog to make the world's strongest beer (55% APV), but to serve it up in Squirrels is a novel idea. (PETA will hate it, of course.)
1) I have never seen another Schlitz ad with a bear.
2) Bears were not a Schlitz mascot.
3) The text of the ad makes no mention of the bear.
WHAT IS THIS BEAR DOING HERE?
Was there a famous trained bear circa 1942 that Schlitz wanted to associate themselves with? Do bears in the wild have a particular fondness for Schlitz? What university does this bear teach at?
When the O'Gorman family encountered still opposition to their proposal to demolish the Edwardian house they owned and use the land for six modern properties they were probably a little miffed, or more than a little, if the name they chose to give the development is anything to go by. Having been given a green light by the local council, the O'Gormans announced that the new cul-de-sac was to be called "Pogue Muhone Court". Pogue Muhone is a phonetic English equivalent to the Gaelic "pog mo thoin", which means "kiss my ass" (Telegraph).
And if kissing ass isn’t your thing, perhaps you’d like to crawl through one instead? You can at a new exhibit called Grossology, which opens at the Museum of Discovery and Science in Fort Lauderdale on Saturday. Subtitled “The (Impolite) Science of the Human Body” the exhibits also include a tour of the nose, a giant replica of human skin and an interactive experiment in flatulence called “Burp Man” (Miami Herald).
Not kissing but kicking ass are the pensioners of Bavaria in Germany, who decided not to take the credit crunch lying down. After their financial adviser, James Amburn, handed them losses in excess of 2.3 million euros, five OAPs tracked him to his home in Speyer, kidnapped him, and tortured him into faxing a Swiss bank for the money to pay them back. Instead he managed to alert the police. Mr. Amburn later confided that his four day ordeal was perhaps extended by his kidnappers having to stop a while when they ran out of breath (Mirror).
Also taking a little longer than usual were the German actors appearing in Erofeev’s satirical play “Moscow to the End of the Line”, alternatively billed as a “crazy depiction of one of the most famous alcoholic benders in world literature”. In an ill-considered attempt at method acting four of the performers decided to swap the water in the props for real vodka “as an experiment", only to fall off their chairs, and the stage, before inviting audience members to take a swig. They were later taken to hospital under a police escort to have their stomachs pumped (Guardian).
More outrage now, this time from Great Britain, where in a clear breach of their normal high standards of decorum, British mums have been seen shopping in the Tesco supermarket chain in pyjamas and slippers. In fact more outrage seems to have been directed at Tescos, who have implemented a dress code and now escort anyone so attired from their premises, than at the mums, They should all just be thankful they don’t have Walmarts, that’s all I’m saying (Mirror).
As magic tricks go, the "I can vomit wine" claim has died a deserved death. One imagines that neither David Copperfield, nor even Penn & Teller, will be reviving the spectacle of Floram Marchand any time soon.
Floram Marchand: The Great Water Spouter
In the summer of 1650, a Frenchman named Floram Marchand was brought
over from Tours to London, who professed to be able to 'turn water into
wine, and at his vomit render not only the tincture, but the strength
and smell of several wines, and several waters.' Here - the trick and
its cause being utterly unknown - he seems for a time to have gulled
and astonished the public to no small extent, and to his great profit.
Before, however, the whole mystery was cleared up by two friends of
Marchand, who had probably not received the share of the profits to
which they thought themselves entitled. Their somewhat circumstantial
account runs as follows.
Paul Di Filippo
Paul has been paid to put weird ideas into fictional form for over thirty years, in his career as a noted science fiction writer. He has recently begun blogging on many curious topics with three fellow writers at The Inferior 4+1.