As it turns out, the time of the year you were born in does have a major impact on your life. A number of studies show that when you were born affects your personality, your health, and will indicate your chance of developing a serious mental illness.

So, if you’re feeling a little schizo, then you are much more likely to be born in February, March or April. If you’re a man, and you enjoy your beer a bit too much, then the odds are higher you were born between September and November. (Also known as the “Alky Zone.”) Female and tending to anorexia? The research shows your birthday is more likely to fall in April-June.

According to this chart from the New Scientist, it looks like the only time that is safe for a birthday is August or January.

This is all making me feel like it’s time for a beer, and no, I wasn’t born the Alky Zone.

Definitely. I’d go with a product invented on my native planet, Neecknaw, during the Cranial Trauma Scare at the turn of the last century.

It’s called Dr. Ooo-ook’s Multi-Phasic Baby-to-Big Boy (or Girl) Environmental Protective Suit.

Dr. Ooo-ook was an orangutan; he was an indifferent (and orange) pediatrician, but a brilliant marketer. You have to understand that at the turn of the century on Neecknaw, the media was becoming much more pervasive and so we heard about every bad thing that happened — particularly to children, because it’s always news if something bad happens to children. Parental fear ran rampant.

Well, Dr. Ooo-ook knew an opportunity when he saw it, and invented his Multi-Phasic Baby-to-Big Boy Environmental Protective Suit (or Ook-Suit as they were known to the hoi-polloi). And even if it was largely a marketing ploy, the suit was well-made and lived up to its promise of “complete lifetime protection of your child from physical harm and interference from infancy until they finish college.”

Unfortunately, the suit did not protect the kids from the merciless teasing they got from the other children. Not that they remained traumatized for too long. As soon as most of the kids were old enough to get court orders letting them out of the Ook-Suits, they tended not to survive very long. (As it turns out, their immune systems were so weak, their bodies were unable to handle the myriad of infections that their Ook-Suits had kept at bay for their short, pathetic lives.)

Next time: One of my co-workers is up for the same promotion I’m hoping to get. Do you think I should “go negative” in my campaign early?

Occupation: Professor, Arse-Elbow Differentiation, UBS

Marital Status: Married to the unfortunate Alison Migswith-Piggerton.

Offspring: Daughter, Jenny, 24. And the loathsome Peter, son, 27.

Hobbies: Angling, rat keeping, and touching “things.”

Nationality: English, though he claims to have a little Irish in him. Giggles insanely every time he says so.

From the Toulouse Le Grandfig Collection.

The Carnival of the Insanities

Best of Me Symphony

Carnival of the Storytellers

Any Port in a Storm

by Mark A. Rayner

It’s easy to pinpoint the exact moment that it all started to go wildly wrong — the emotional stuff I can’t put a finger on.

Linda and I were sitting in a little pub called The Small Bridge, aptly named for a nearby bridge that spans a cheerful stream as it runs into the Irish village of Tennyra. It is one of those atmospheric pubs you’ll find all over Ireland – ancient dark wooden panels, low ceilings with exposed beams seemingly cut out of the primal Irish forests, and sometimes, sawdust thrown on the floor to soak up spilled Guinness and mud – the kind of place that makes it hard to remember we live in the 21st century. The kind of place you’d never expect to see an American counter-insurgency team.

You sometimes hear about them on the newsvids; they are specialized troops, culled from the other elite American forces units and trained in the use of biomechanical war.

I don’t know what surprised me more: when they burst through the frosted glass of The Small Bridge or when they started decapitating anyone who looked vaguely like they might be tourists. ….read the rest of this story…>

Welcome to The Carnival of Satire at The Skwib. We have a fine selection of satire this week, ranging from social etiquette, to politics, to nose-picking. (Though some may argue those last two are the same thing.) We hope you enjoy all the gold-lassoed fun.

Birdman has advice for How to be The Most Annoying Moviegoer in the Theater.

Ahistoricality has discovered breaking news (in bold colors and delivered in speech bubbles): Wonder Woman Runs for President.

Madeleine Begun Kane has terse verse on the question of Jenna Bush, Author?

Craig Harper has a tale of spelunking gone bad in Please take your finger out of your nose. Spot the bonus irony in the top ten list at the end of Craig’s post. (It has to do with the number one faux pas, and the origins of the phrase, “faux pas.” This irony may not be immediately obvious if you haven’t ridden the Metro in Paris.)

Jake Danger at Lunatic Wisdom brings us futuristic psychological satire with Theistic Delusionary Disorder: Our Nation’s No. One Mental Health Problem.

Speaking of psychological satire, Jarod Kearney has a politically correct take on Sauron: Dark Lord of Mordor or Motivated “Go-Getter”?

Sean J. Vaughan helps bring us back to terra firm with this presentation at Reason and Rhyme: NASA Plans to Construct Earth Base. Continue reading…

The author of a recently discovered book of Victorian jokes doesn’t have to worry though. And not just because he’s dead.

Dr Anne Featherstone, a lecturer in performance history at the University of Manchester, uncovered the material of a Victorian clown (apparently stand-up comedians actually wore clown gear) is an interesting look into what the Victorians found funny.

According to Dr. Featherstone the Victorians liked clever word-play and punning.

For example:

“Bad husbands are like bad coals – they smoke, they go out, and they don’t keep the pot boiling.”

“What’s the difference between a rowing boat and Joan of Arc? One is made of wood and the other is Maid of Orleans.”

Then there’s this classic:

Tom: Did you hear of that accident today? Three men run over by a railway train?
Ringmaster: Killed?
Tom: No, they were saved by a miracle – the train was going over the bridge and they were going under it.

Nobody’s mentioned the hand-written notes in the margins yet, such as, “this bombed,” and “Gadzooks this caused a giant sucking sound.”

BBC story: Victorian comic’s material

Climate scientists are clearly tired of taking any crap.

Just listen to the language.

“The smoking gun is definitely lying on the table as we speak,” US scientists Jerry Mahlman said after he reviewed all 1,600 pages of the first segment of a giant four-part report on climate change, to be released by the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change next week.

The report will have an “explosion of new data” on observations of current global warming, said Susan Solomon, a senior scientist for the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration.

Smoking gun? Explosions? And that was just in the US. In Europe, the Swedish scientist, Dr. Bjorn Brusc Bannerthorp, said, “stop denying climate change. It makes me angry! ANGRY!!!”

He then turned into a gigantic green mutant and trashed the media conference.

More coverage:
Warming study promises ’smoking gun’

The Carnival of the Insanities.

Stories in blog form. (Storyblogging carnival.)

Clearly, you’re uncomfortable with the idea of a “free hug”, or you wouldn’t be asking about it. There is a powerful element of society who would force this “free hug” upon you, using nothing more than persuasion and good looks.

What, exactly, are they up to?

My theory is they’re trying to undermine basic primate behaviour. Hugs are an intimate form of communication that release either good chemicals or bad, depending on the huger and the huggee. Back on Planet Neecknaw, instead of hugs we have grooming — checking our close friends and family for fleas and other fur foibles. (Of course, we rarely find them now that we’ve relaxed our harsh Anti-Bathing Laws, instituted in the Stinky Ages.) Now, would I let a total stranger grope through my luxuriant back hair on the street? I think not. That would generate some bad chemicals — the kind that make Kang angry!

Perhaps these “free huggers” are trying to extend the warm blanket of close friends and family to everyone. If everyone becomes a friend, this would make warfare rather difficult to pursue. As a former interstellar warlord, I cannot condone this subversive movement.

The best solution: if you want the hug, I’d insert the crass note of commerce to it, and give them some money.

Next time: I’ve been doing some thought experiments, but I think there may some flaws in my equipment. What do it do?