If you correct for body size, chimpanzees have testicles that are about ten times larger than a human's. And while those of bonobo apes haven't been carefully measured, the bonobos' balls appear to be larger than even those of chimps, even though the bonobo's body is smaller.
In 1994 an Aeroflot Airbus A-310 crashed into the frozen ground of Siberia, killing 70 people. Investigators dutifully retrieved the cockpit voice recorder — the infamous "black box" — and sat down to piece together the mystery of the crash.
At any given time, I've got about two or three-dozen newspaper clippings lying on my desk. A lot of them have to do with medical research, but a good many of them contain snippets of pop culture because a competent editor gets ideas from anywhere and everywhere.
...Grass-fed beef, that is. Feeding cattle corn instead of grass drastically upsets the balance of essential fatty acids found in their meat. Additionally, grass-fed cattle contain significantly higher amounts of CLA, which may lower the risk of cancer. While grass-fed meat tastes a bit different, it's leaner, contains correct fatty acid ratios, higher amounts of Vitamin E, and little to no undesirable hormones or antibiotics.
China is freaking out. The Olympics are coming, and that means the world is coming.
Let's see, this one covers the Minnesota Vikings, the movie "Animal House," NBC's "Earl," "The Prince and the Pauper," "The Music Man," Rammstein, the French president, and strip clubs — a little something for everyone.
I sat with the best in the world. And I won. — Matt Damon as Mike in the movie "Rounders"
One of my secret pleasures is going to the aesthetician's office for my weekly "manscaping" session.
History is rife with examples of myopic vision, instances when we should have looked right when we looked left; when we should have chosen door number 3 instead of door number 1 and ended up with a pet goat instead of the shiny new car.
Chinese dissident Harry Wu, fresh out of prison after 20 long, miserable years, took his place behind the podium. He peered out at the American audience, slowly lifted his arms above his head, paused for a moment, and shouted "Freedom!"
I've got news for you. If you lift weights and you're any good at all, the world regards you as the male equivalent of a lipstick wearing, high-heeled, butt-twitching blonde with enormous, barely constrained breasts.
We haven't caught Osama and we haven't ended poverty, but by Jove, we managed to nab some steroid dealers and scare the bejesus out of their clients! Baby, keep the champagne flowing! TC revisits the perception of steroids in America.
I went to a friend's house last week, presumably to partake in the one ritual where men reign supreme and where women have yet dared to tread. Yes, since time immemorial; since our simian-like ancestors struggled to stand erect; since they discovered that, "Hey, standing on two feet is a little harder on the back, but now I can see clear over to Stuey's cave," men have engaged in the practice of lighting a fire outdoors and holding some meat over it until it was indistinguishable from the charred wood beneath it.
They're coming for me. They're at the top of stairs, testing the basement door. Even through the heavy oak, I can hear them murmuring their malevolencies; something about being a "good for nothing" and instructions to "clean out the garage" and "get off the goddam Internet." I don't know how much longer I've got before they break through, so I'll try to quickly write these last words, this warning, to all of you who will remain alive to fight the good fight. Please, listen to me! They will come for you. Maybe in the middle of the night, perhaps during breakfast, or maybe even during the Bosom Buddies marathon on TV Land, but they'll come for you. No one is safe. There's only one way to fight them, and you have to follow my instructions exactly. Now listen carefully. You first have to.... no, no! I need more time! They're starting to scratch their way through the door! They sound like mutant beavers! The wood is splintering and light is streaming in. I can see their red-painted nails holding onto a list of chores! It's horrible, horrible! They're coming for me, coming to castrate me! Coming to cut off my...aiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! — An excerpt from TC's unfinished science fiction novel, "The Castrating She-Bitches From the Planet Earth"
I don't want to lay too much David Copperfield, this-is-the-story-of-my-life crap on you, but I was born in Detroit, the son of a tool and die maker.
Okay, maybe nothing on the following list of things changed my life in a profound way — the way my life changed when I walked into work on that casual Friday and saw Cy Willson dressed exactly like Xena, Warrior Princess — but most did make my life easier, healthier, or at least more enjoyable. Hopefully, some of them will do the same for your life.
There was a time in the late 80’s and the first year or two of the 90’s when the Detroit Pistons dominated Michael Jordan’s Chicago Bulls.
If you're a woman and you're either going out with a bodybuilder, or worse yet, married to one, you've probably discovered that we're a little different from other men.
I’ve seen the magnificence of the midnight sun in Scandinavia and I’ve gazed in awe at the world from a 15,000-foot mountaintop. I’ve watched in wonder as a whale and her cub swam alongside my small sailboat and I’ve witnessed the awesome display of glaciers collapsing into the Alaskan sea. I’ve beheld the raw physical beauty of a 200-pound marlin as it skirted along the surface of the Pacific while fighting to escape my hook and I’ve seen the night sky light up from a giant meteor.
I'm not sure there's anyone who hates TV commercials more than I do. I've experienced serious head trauma three times in my life, and all were caused by TV commercials. Yep, I'd hear or see something particularly stupid, stand up on the couch, and do a triple gainer into the coffee table.
First they took away ephedrine. Then they took away prohormones. They’re not done, though, not by a long shot. It’s time . Time to make a stand.
I'm not very good at writing the types of articles that get people all charged up about going to the gym. I guess it's because I'm one of those people that think, "Hell, if you don't want to work out, don't." If you wanted to change your body bad enough, you wouldn't need me to put a literary lightning bolt up your ass.
