More Love Advice From Feudal Lord

Dear Feudal Lord—

My girlfriend recently told me she thinks we should take a break and start seeing other people. We had something great going—where did this come from? I just don’t understand why she’s doing this.

How do I get her to reconsider? She’s coming over this weekend—she says she wants her Tupperware back.

Help!

—Big Problems in Big Horn, WY

##

Dear Lord Big Horn—

Lo! What a quandary! What vexing tribulation yonder!

Disavow yourself, say I, from this maid. She seems daffy in the cerebellum, if you must have my opinion, a most disagreeable sounding wench indeed. The fact that she has not heeded your wishes to continue in union is cause enough for abandoning her in favor of a more agreeable female. Time to move on to that little vixen of mistress you have been entertaining on the side!

Do not be sad, Big Horn. Rather, rejoice! You have ditched a most unworthy wench in favor of more fruitful pastures! Cast that filthy courtesan aside to whatever poor soul might be desperate enough to take her in! As men we are blessed with sacred right to reject or accept the female—and how they should be thankful to have us!

Our Father Almighty gave unto thee testicles, dear Lord Big Horn. Use them!

Salutations and Godspeed,

—Feudal Lord

Where To Woo Women Like A Gentleman

Manhattan is a veritable smorgasbord of women, with potential female mates abundant in all manner of size, shape and color. Unfortunately, it is not always clear where one might meet these women. Here, for your edification, are a few of Manhattan's most convenient breeding grounds.

Cooper Union Library – The Cooper Union for the Advancement of Science and Art is many things—a world renowned art school, a highly selective architecture and engineering institution with a reputation for turning out some of the most talented artists and designers of our generation—a living testament to the very best artists this country has yet produced. What Cooper is not, however, is a conservatory for the socially well-adjusted. Simple social graces—opening doors for ladies, saying thank you—are lost on many an awkward engineering prodigy. If you happen to be lucky enough to be a member of one of the fine educational institutions represented by the Research Library Association of South Manhattan, Cooper is the place to be.

Dog Runs – Many Manhattan parks have ‘dog runs’—that is, runs for the dog. In other words, a patch of dirt where dogs can run around and poop. Be careful to avoid coming off as a creep, however—do your best to appear legitimate. Make sure that your dog really does belong to you and that he really does have to poop. Nothing is more off-putting to a dog-owning sex goddess than a guy with a bored looking stolen dog. Remember, you’ve got to love the dog more than her. Otherwise you’re just an asshole.

Staten Island Ferry – Classy, damn classy.

Burning buildings – Men who rush into burning buildings are, simply put, sex magnets. What’s more, Manhattan has an above-average concentration of flammable buildings. The key? Getting there before the fire department. As soon as those FDNY guys show up, all bets are off. For one thing, they’ve got a big shiny red truck and you don’t. (Also, studies have shown that the average FDNY firefighter has a larger penis than you do.)

Stranded On A Desert Island With A Cell Phone

A: yo, you there?

B: wassup?

A: i’m on an island.

B: wtf man, where are you? you need to be here right now.

A: i’m on an island.

B: no, seriously.

A: i am serious. the plane crashed.

B: dude, you need to be here right NOW. TWINS.

A: baseball? this isn’t the time for that.

B: haha. not minn twins, idiot. i’m at amanda’s party and her roommate has her sister over and theyre TWINS.

A: that’s cool, I’m stranded on a fucking island.

B: i call the blonde one. her tits are AH-MAZING.

A: hey, could you shutup for a second and call my mom and tell her where I am?? she isn’t picking up her phone…

B: ahahah. yeah, sure, if i knew where u were…

A: i’m on an island.

B: like a metaphorical island? i told you to stop reading kierkegaard.

A: no, like an actual motherfucking island.

B: kewl.

A: shutup, i’m serious. I need helpppp!!!

B: you know whats gonna suck for you?

A: what?

B: when you run out of battery. i mean, seriously, that will SUCK.

A: funny, find my mom.

B: wait… if you run out of battery, i’m not going to be able to tell you about banging amanda’s roommates twin sister. shit.

A: i wouldn’t want to hear about that even if I wasn’t stranded on an island.

B: yeah, because your so devoted to Stephanie....

A: screw you.

B: she broke up with you, time to fuck other bitches.

A: we’re taking a break, it’s not breaking up.

B: taking a break, breaking up, same dif.

A: no, its not the same. so just shutup and call my mother.

B: steph basically told Amanda she’s sleeping with kyle.

A: who’s kyle?

B: he’s a senior. financial accounting. lol.

A: that asshole? fuckkk.

B: ANYWAY… you could be banging a TWIN right now. fyi.

A: but instead i’m on an island… FML

B: fml indeed, my friend.

A: hey, how do you eat a coconut?

B: crack it open with a machete.

A: i dont have a machete.

B: i guess ur fucked then.

A: i guess so…

B: so seriously, where are you? lol.

Newfoundland Is Full of Weirdos

Newfoundland is an island off the coast of Canada. Part of the Canadian province of Newfoundland and Labrador, Newfoundland (the island) is home to 94% of the province’s 509,200 residents.

The island was visited first by the Icelandic Viking Leif Eriksson in the 11^th Century. It was all downhill from there. The island was next visited by an Italian, Giovanni Caboto (also known by his porn name John Cabot), who was working under contract for the English. Newfoundland was later claimed officially for England by Sir Humphrey Gilbert in 1583. This is widely cited as the beginning of the British Empire. Newfoundland, it seems, was the spark that ignited a nearly four hundred year run of British dickheads planting their flags on various landmasses around the world.

Today, of course, Newfoundland is a dynamic part of Canada, a great big country known for snow, ice hockey, and Justin Beiber—an impressive legacy indeed. Still, because Newfoundland was not made a part of the Canadian confederacy until 1948, Newfoundlanders maintain a rich sense of identity, with 72% identifying themselves as being Newfoundlanders first, and Canadians second. This statistic suggests that Newfoundlanders are smarter then the average bear, knowing just enough to keep their distance from the embarrassing shenanigans of the general Canadian populace.

Still, Newfoundland, is just as weird as the rest of Canada. Their time zone, for example, is weird. The Newfoundland Standard Time Zone (NT) is anything but standard—establishing Newfoundland time as UTC-3:30, a very weird arrangement indeed. While most normal time zones are calculated by modifying Universal Coordinated Time (UTC) in whole hour increments (Eastern Standard Time, for example, subtracts 5 hours), NT subtracts 3½ hours. Nobody really knows why.

As if this wasn’t complicated enough, most of the rest of the province uses another time zone, Atlantic Standard Time (AST). They aren’t supposed to (the entire province is supposed to follow NT) but they do anyway. Again, nobody knows why.

In any case, being an hour and a half ahead of Central Canada creates some interesting (and weird) time quirks. Television and radio broadcasts, for example, get all confuddled by Newfoundland. National broadcasts are aired in Newfoundland according to AST, the neighboring time zone. Local Newfoundland programming, meanwhile, is broadcast on NT. Since only Newfoundland and parts of Southeastern Labrador use NT, Newfoundland broadcasters have to say something ridiculous to help time-challenged Newfoundlanders out—“coming up at six-thirty, six o’clock in most of Labrador.”

Newfoundland also got all the Harry Potter books before the rest of Canada, something that shouldn’t really matter—but does, somehow.

Love Advice From Feudal Lord

Dear Feudal Lord,

Forget seduction—I’m having trouble even meeting girls. Like, I can’t even get to the launch pad. Liftoff? Please, I should be so lucky.

Thing is, I see girls everywhere. Seems I can’t swing a dead cat around here without hitting one of them. I just can’t talk to them.

Got any hot tips? I need a pick-up line—or at least a way to break the ice. As it is, I can barely stand to form a complete sentence around a girl I find moderately attractive.

Help Me!

—Trouble in Tinseltown

##

My Dearest Lord Tinseltown:

Be not afraid, rogue, of yonder loose women or common consort! Rather, thee must muster ye wits about thee and tally-ho! Difficult it may sound, easy may it be wrought, if thee gives thee enough time to gestate.

I recollect back to my time in the service of my father, thy lord of yesteryear. He commanded that I lay siege to a Lord in county yonder. Lest I prove the coward, I mounted my horse and led my men forth, leading many a great Knight and common soldier along the solemn warpath that blooms skyward from the roots of manly passion. ‘Twas but a small village, modest in people and economie and all manner of useful resource, but nonetheless I feared death and was soon shaking in my pantaloons.

But yonder ho! A most beautiful maiden! I spied her over distant screen, bathing in a tub of warm water, clear as crystal. Her gargantuan bazoombas glistened in the light of the gentle forenoon and I felt myself to be made most aroused. I covered my sausage-piece with my scabbard, lest my pantaloons give the true intention of my lustful loins away. It was then that I was endowed with a certain courage. In steady swoops of attack, I besieged and defeated the enemie, nearly albeit single-handed.

I took my maiden away into the smoldering ruins of a peasant house and made sweet love to her, releasing my loins upon her, the sweat of battle and the sweat of passion fusing as one. Lo, what victory! What tremendous release of lust!

Do as I did, tender Tinseltown—besiege with scabbard and heavy club and tally-ho! For thou art young and thy loins be yet not caressed by tender woman-flesh!

Salutations and Godspeed,

—Feudal Lord

Things That Flew That Shouldn't

The history of modern aviation is one of undaunted courage and unprecedented achievement: the Wright Brothers, the flying aces of the Great War, the rise of commercial aviation, the Berlin Airlift, the space race... these are all tremendous tales steeped in legend and reverence.

There are, however, certain other episodes in aviation history that are somewhat less than fantastic. Some things, it would appear, are simply not meant to take flight. Here are a few things that probably should've stayed on the ground:

Hindenburg. Taking her maiden flight in March of 1936, LZ 129 Hindenburg met her infamous end just over a year later, exploding into flames while docking at Lakehurst Naval Air Station in Manchester Township, New Jersey. Conceived as the future of air travel, the German airships roamed the sky, ferrying passengers to exotic destinations in the lap of luxury. Initially designed for the use of non-flammable helium as a lift gas, German designers were forced to modify the Hindenburg-class airships to use primarily hydrogen after it became clear the United States (then the world's foremost supplier of helium) would not lift its embargo on the export of helium to Germany. When it was all said and done, Hindenburg's destruction took just 37 seconds after the airship's extremely flammable hydrogen gas ignited under circumstances which remain unclear to this day. Next time, use helium.

French People. This is something of a no-brainer. In the wide world of aviation, the line is fairly well delineated between what is meant to be airborne and what is not. The French are clearly one of those things meant to keep two feet solidly planted on terra firma at all times. Take François Reichelt, for example. An Austrian-born French tailor, he conducted early tests to develop a parachute capable of saving early aviators from low-altitude bailouts. Competing for a 10,000 franc prize, Reichelt worked to perfect and reduce the weight of his design, tests of which were almost universally unsuccessful. While a French aeronautical organization charged that his design was given too weak of a canopy, Reichelt maintained that the limited height from which he was able to test did not allow enough time for the system to work properly. Desperate to halt the slaughter of his test dummies, Reichelt eagerly applied for permission to conduct tests off the Eiffel Tower, receiving clearance in February of 1912. Thus, on February 4 at 7 A.M., Reichelt arrived at the Eiffel Tower, modeling his suit for the cameras. Counter to the specific orders of the Paris police, Reichelt did not use test dummies, surprising his friends and audience with his decision to conduct the jump himself. At 8:22, surrounded by a crowd of nearly 30 onlookers--including members of the press--Reichelt climbed to the first deck of the Eiffel Tower, faced the Siene, tested the breeze, adjusted his parachute apparatus, and jumped to his death. You can see a video of the entire debacle here.

Luftwaffe. I mean, seriously.

The Spruce Goose. Any aircraft with 'Goose' in the name should probably not be flown. Geese, by definition, are one of Nature's least glamorous birds of flight. Fittingly, the Hughes H-4 Hercules was a decidedly unglamorous aircraft, a tremendous behemoth of a plane constructed almost entirely out of wood. Intended to transport troops and supplies over the dangerous waters of the North Atlantic during World War II, a working prototype was not completed until well after the war's end. Ultimately, the Spruce Goose made just one flight, lifting off to an altitude of about 70 ft. during taxi tests in Southern California.

The Pinto Plane. Christened the AVE Mizar (after the Mizar-Alcor stellar sextuple star system), the Pinto Plane hoped to bring the flying car into the realm of reality. To assemble this aviation wonder, engineers mounted the rear portion of a Cessna Skymaster onto the roof of a standard Ford Pinto. The Mizar wing assembly was detachable, allowing for the pilot to quickly transition from plane to car and back again simply by bolting and unbolting the wings. While this sounds convenient, it ultimately led to the Mizar's tragic undoing: during a test flight in September of 1973, the Pinto detached from the right wing strut, bringing the Mizar back down to Earth in a torrent of flames, killing both the designer and his pilot.

Different Kinds of Holes

(Hole-in-the-Ground, OR: Crater Lake for the aqua-phobic)

With the release of the entrancing new picture Sanctum 3D, many moviegoers are beginning to wonder about the mysterious world beneath their feet. In an increasingly interconnected society, opportunities to glance upon the unknown are becoming more and more scarce. For this reason, we have James Cameron.

Still, there are times when we tire of James Cameron and tall blue people who live in trees. When this happens, we seemingly have no choice but to go out into the world and experience something new first-hand, like how we used to do it before we had Google Streetview.

If you're vexed on how exactly reality works, here are a few adventurous subterranean spaces one might explore:

1. Hole-in-the-Ground, OR - A stunningly intact maar, Hole-in-the-Ground is just that--a hole in the ground. For those not up on the latest craterology lingo, a maar is a volcanic creater caused by a phreatomagmatic eruption. That is, water comes in contact with super hot lava or magma and explodes, sometimes leaving a tremendously exciting hole in the ground.
2. Manhole - Entire worlds are hidden underneath many an anonymous manhole cover. The sewer, for example, is a tremendously exciting world of wonder and, even better, tremendously accessible! Just duck down a manhole and unlock an entire universe previously unknown to the common passerby. Be careful, however! While manholes may look fun, they are meant for men. If they were meant for women, they'd be call genderneutralholes. Therefore, if you're a woman, find another hole.
3. Subway - A subway is like a manhole, except its bigger and it costs money to get into. Also, there are women. The subway isn't all that great.
4. Pothole - These little wonders spring up in the street and make people angry. Nothing is more frustrating, it would seem, then driving over a five-inch hole in the street with a 2.5 ton car. While a pothole doesn't offer much to explore, some might be big enough for you to stick your head inside. In certain cases, it may be possible to enlarge a pothole to allow for both head and neck. Remember, potholes are funholes!

There are many fantastic underground spaces beyond what is listed above! Be sure to explore and find a few of your own.

Societal Constructs and the Working Man

Many things could be said about this image. A striking piece, many are unsure of how to react. Should we feel challenged? Confused? Distraught? Nauseated? Aroused?

Perhaps we should feel liberated. Or perhaps oppressed. An authority is certainly present in this image. Yet, at the same time, we are albeit invited to make a mess of things all over the margins. Nobody said anything about the margins.

If we were allowed to, what would we write in the box? A dirty word? Or something routinely mundane, such as a grocery list?

Are we allowed to draw in the box? Suppose we are allowed to do so. What should we draw, keeping in mind that we cannot use words? Does this change our sense of expression? Are we less free to express ourselves if limited to pictures only?

Were we ever free to express ourselves?

##

These kinds of questions routinely cause intellectual people to have brain implosions. The above was designed specifically to induce just such a reaction. If you have read this far and your brain is not leaking out your ear, pat yourself on the back and go play with a forklift.

OK! Magazine: A Critical Approach

OK! magazine reputes to be "The Magazine The Stars Trust."

This claim raises several elementary questions.

First, who are these "stars" who supposedly trust OK!?* Can we provide an accurate rendering of what constitutes celebrity in a world obsessed by the seemingly fleeting and mundane? If we accept the recognition of an individual as a celebrity as a transitory concept, can a traditional media format remain an effective journalistic force?

Second, which definition of "trust" do the editors of this periodical employ? Does the concept of Trust still hold meaning in a post-modern age? When evaluated in the Freudian mode, we must as ourselves: does Trust even matter? Everybody is going to touch your bits and pieces eventually--why then even pretend Trust exists? (This leads naturally into the immense question of Trust in the Existentialist Society, a thesis to be presented in later investigations concerning the landmark publication Us Weekly.)

I have formulated several hypotheses regarding these questions:

1. Celebrity, if accepted as a transitory concept of identification, inherently renders publications such as OK! without a firm foundation of being. Therefore, OK! does not exist.
2. Trust, when considered in light of a post-modern paradigm, can be nothing less than a societal construct. The implications of this assessment are wide-ranging. Clothing, for example, would become optional.

Examining the validity of these hypotheses is an exhaustive and painstaking pros--

OH MAH GAWD, KOURTNEY KARDASHIAN'S BABY IS THE MOST ADORABLE FRIGGIN' LITTLE MAN I HAVE EVER SEEN! (See: OK! Volume 7, Issue 6)

*My goodness, that was some awkward punctuation.

(And yes, Eva Longoria is no longer married to Tony Parker. It's the only image that could be easily ripped off the Internet that isn't gigantic. Make believe it's relevant.)

Things People Do In Rhode Island

Rhode Island is our smallest state. San Bernardino County, California, the largest county in the contiguous United States, could easily eat up twenty Rhode Islands and still have room left over for dessert. That is how small Rhode Island is.

Because of its small size, many people dismiss the little Ocean State. In truth, however, Rhode Island is a fascinating place, full of rich intrigue and compelling scandal.

How does one fully appreciate this hidden gem? Here are a few winning ideas:

1. Leave Rhode Island - Any visit to Rhode Island would not be complete without leaving. What's more, because of its size, leaving the state can become an activity in and of itself. Come up with some creative ways to leave Rhode Island, like riding a bike or walking or tripping over something.
2. Befriend a Rhode Islander - Do your part to foster interstate friendship! Befriending a Rhode Islander can be a rewarding experience. Or it could just be lame. Remember, the guys from Dumb & Dumber were from Providence.
3. Admire the Official State Name - Rhode Island is known officially as the "State of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations". While the average American may be tempted to relate the name "Providence Plantation" with the institution of slavery, this is apparently not so in Rhode Island. The real reason is much more boring. In any case, be sure to admire the longest official name of any state in the union (35 letters!).
4. Go to the Seashore - Wherever land ends (which is, in Rhode Island, everywhere) the sea begins! Fun things to do at the seashore include building a sand castle, poking mollusks, and discovering dead bodies dumped into the ocean by gangsters. Fun!

These are just a few of the many fantastic activities Rhode Island offers visitors. Be sure to check out Visit Rhode Island for more outstanding Rhode Island related information.

Have fun and be safe!

How To Love Like A Frenchman

Frenchmen are known the world over for their delicate passion and steamy romance. Their techniques are subtle, yet effective, and many have attempted to emulate the exploits of these legendary lovers. Indeed, there are few women walking the streets able to resist the smoldering stare of a Frenchman in heat.

With Valentine's Day on the horizon, now is as good a time as ever to get in touch with your inner Francophile. Here are a few simple tricks to have you loving like a Frenchman:

1. Mustache - If you are able, grow a mustache. A simple pencil-thin tickler on the upper lip adds much to your mystique. While many may be fond of a more comprehensive style of facial hair, the lightly curled mustache is a staple of the French lover, a powerful symbol of romantic intent. If worn properly, the mustache can speak in entire sentences, perhaps even paragraphs. A simple twitch on the right side of the mustache, for example, communicates a single, clear message: "Put down the baguette and take off the brassiere."
2. Accent - Almost as important as the mustache, a proper French accent signals your intentions as a lover of the highest caliber. One must be careful, however, to cultivate the proper form of the French accent. There is a fine line between speaking French, speaking French-accented English, and being a French-Canadian. French is the language of love, a swooping song of desire laced with candlelight and cheese. French-accented English suggests a more casual, flirty take on the standard French, suggesting that one might be French, but also down to party. The French-Canadian accent suggests nothing romantic at all. Instead of inspiring feelings of unfettered lust, the French-Canadian accent suggests to your beloved that you have spent many months previous in the wilderness with other men, trapping beaver. And while trapping beaver may very well be your aim, the French-Canadian accent is not the accent to get you there. Wrong kind of beaver.
3. Cheese - Also, candles. Fine wine. A red-and-white checkered picnic blanket. A barn. The key here is atmosphere and good judgement. By atmosphere, I mean creating an environment in which every feature is unmistakably designed to further the aims of romance. By good judgement, I mean not burning down the barn with the candle.

While the mysteries of loving as a Frenchmen might may seem daunting at first, they can be mastered, given enough practice. Good luck. Remember to tip your waiter.

Greenland, Frozen Menace

Greenland is roughly the size of the continent of South America. We know this by examining the world map as represented by the Mercator Projection. What we do not know, however, is exactly what the intent of the Greenlandish people is.

Are they friends? Or a sinister frozen foe? We really have no way of knowing.

Wikipedia is notoriously spartan on the Greenlandic dilemma. Prostitution in Greenland, for example, is a topic left uncovered. Thus, any who trek to Greenland risk running into trouble with the law, should it turn out that the world's oldest profession in unwelcome on the world's largest island.

The rest of the Internet is not much better. While a moderate amount of information can be gleaned about the situation present along the coast, little is known about Greenland's glacial interior. This presents a significant risk to the free world; any manner of evil shenanigans could be at work. A gigantic launching pad for a missile, for example. It's anyone's guess what's going on up there.

Greenland is a part of Denmark, only it isn't. Subject to a kind of half-soverignty, Greenland holds sovereign authority over everything that doesn't matter, like hunting seals. Everything else, including the provision of a military defense, is the responsibility of Denmark, the Red Menace of Scandinavia. In this way, we can albeit be assured that the Danes are up to no good in Greenland. Denmark is notorious for being full of shifty characters, like these guys.

In 1946, the United States offered to purchase the whole of Greenland for $100 million. It was hoped that Greenland might be utilized as a strategic Cold War defense point, providing crucial missile defense against the Soviet Union, Denmark's bastard cousin. Denmark, naturally, refused to sell. For some reason, we let this slide.

The time has come to step up and show the Danes we mean business. Time to take what is rightfully ours.

The Great Dane can not be allowed to rear his ugly head.