Yesterday, a Michigan woman went to the hospital thinking she was suffering from a hernia, but instead delivered a 10-pound baby.
You read that correctly.
Amazingly, this woman was completely unaware of the pregnancy until a child began its escape from her womb (the ultimate surprise birthday). Though this certainly seems shocking, it is actually not a completely uncommon occurrence. In fact, a Discovery Channel show entitled “I Didn’t Know I was Pregnant” (what a creative name!) produced fifty-six episodes during its run from 2009-2011. With all this emphasis being placed on women who unexpectedly deliver children, however, the inverse demographic is sadly being ignored.
That’s right: there is a growing number of women in this country who spend months believing they are pregnant, only to find out that they are not.
In an attempt to finally fill the emotional (not physical) vacancies these women have, I would like to raise awareness of this issue by tracking the amazing story of Fanny Fewms.
_ When New Year’s Day comes around, two primary thoughts come to everyone’s mind:
1. Can Dick Clark still be considered a human, or has he officially crossed into “doll” territory?
2. This year, I’m going to get in shape!
In response to the latter thought (because I think the former is obvious), people often resolve to join a gym.
But how do you know if the gym is right for you? Simply take the following scientifically proven fitness exam:
Step 1: Stand up.
Step 2: Look down.
Can you see your genitals? Yes ______ No _______
If you answered “no” (or emitted a guttural grunt while completing step 1), congratulations! It’s time to join a gym! Read on!
If you answered “yes”, please put on some clothes. Seriously, it’s getting weird.
Rather than delving into all of the complex aspects of the “modern gym” (because that would require a novel), I will focus on the one aspect of working out that is at the forefront of everyone’s mind: what to wear.
As I was browsing the internet for some good articles to read (clicking aimlessly in yet another powerful bout of procrastination), I stumbled across an article (printed today) that discussed how a squirrel in Ohio was caught stealing small flags from a memorial. As I read the article, I couldn’t help but chuckle. What a cute little squirrel stealing cute little flags!
No sooner than my smile had dimmed, I came across a similar article printed just yesterday. This one depicted a kangaroo that escaped from its owner and stole copious amounts of women’s lingerie. Once again I found myself laughing. What a funny little kangaroo hopping around and stealing funny little undies!
I continued my now-not-so-aimless browsing and I encountered yet another related article, this one from two days ago. It discussed a dog, by the name of “Honey Bun”, that ingested
In an astounding piece of news, MIT scientists may have found a universal cure for all types of viruses, from the common cold to that nasty ebola-like virus in the movie Outbreak. Seriously. Basically, the medicine, dubbed “DRACO” (relax Harry Potter fans), interacts with the infected cells in the host’s body, forcing these sick cells to kill themselves.
For the scientists reading this right now, allow me to provide a more thorough explanation of exactly what happens on a cellular level: DRACO enters the bloodstream whereupon it immediately begins its exhaustive search for any infected cells. When it finally encounters an infected cell, DRACO begins to shout disparaging comments such as:
- “Where’d you get that cell membrane? The anal cavity?”
- “WOW! You have the SMALLEST nucleus I’ve ever seen!”
- “Golgi Body? More like Bulgy Body!”
- “I was dividing with your Mom last night!”
After a few minutes, the infected cell is so horribly embarrassed it commits suicide by ingesting
In a stunning development, thousands of employees from every occupation imaginable have flooded the streets of Manhattan this morning to demand less compensation for their work. Rapper B.O.B.’s 2010 hit song “Airplanes”seems to be at the root of the hysteria.
In this song, B.O.B. expresses a sincere desire to return to his simpler, more impoverished roots. The most influential of his lyrics follow (words have been added to help decipher the more cryptic sections of the piece):
Ya, ya, (yeah, yeah) somebody take me back to the days
Befo' (before) this was a job, befo' (before) I got paid
Befo' (before) it ever mattered what I had in my bank
Ya, (yeah) back when I was tryin' (trying) to get a tip at Subway (the sandwich restaurant, not the underground train)
Later in the song, B.O.B. (which I am now convinced actually stands for “Better Off Broke”)
A group of scientists (who clearly had a lot of time on their hands) discovered today that a
certain breed of rat (the African Crested Rat, to be precise) takes poison off of a deadly tree and spreads it around its butt in order to arm itself against enemies.
When it was discovered that these rats did not possess the proper registration for this lethal weapon, they were promptly arrested. When searched, these Mohawk-sporting rats were also found to be in possession of brass claws and semi-aromatic, 12-stem, poison hemlocks. In other words, they were packing some serious
This afternoon, a story about a Dunkin’ Donuts prostitute appeared in the news. Here’s a link to the article: Dunkin' Lovin'
For those of you too lazy to read it (I don’t blame you), here’s the gist: A 29-year-old female worker at a Dunkin Donuts in New Jersey aptly managed not only to serve her customers a wide array of coffees, donuts and sandwiches inside the confines of the store, but she also succeeded in “servicing” an assortment of men in the parking lot outside the store (it has not yet been reported whether or not she accepted official Dunkin’ Donuts gift certificates/coupons for these more-involved transactions).
Upon seeing this story, I was immensely impressed with her business acumen and began
When the phrase “fantasy team” is uttered, it generally produces one of the following responses:
If you fall in category 1, please stop reading this article and go back to your blissful life living under a rock. Also, Harry Potter is over and it’s time to move on.
If you fall into category 2, you are a fantasy sports addi – sorry, you are the proud owner of a fantasy sports team.
If you fall into category 3, you are the not-so-proud significant other (notice I didn’t say “girlfriend”) of the proud owner of a fantasy sports team and have probably missed countless memorable life moments (weddings, vacations, baby showers, gynecology appointments) because your man - sorry - significant other has been occupied with his/her favorite pastime.
Personally, I fall into the second category. Yes, I am the proud owner of both a fantasy