In 1811 a gentleman made a bet of one thousand guineas that he would have a coat made in a single day, from the first process of shearing the sheep till its completion by the tailor. The wager was decided at Newbury, England, on the 25th of June in that year, by Mr. John Coxeter, of Greenham mills, near that town. At five o'clock that morning Sir John Throckmorton presented two Southdown sheep to Mr. Coxeter, and the sheep were shorn, the wool spun, the yarn spooled, warped, loomed and wove, the cloth burred, milled, rowed, dried, sheared and pressed, and put into the hands of the tailors by four o'clock that afternoon. At twenty minutes past six the coat, entirely finished, was handed by Mr. Coxeter to Sir John Throckmorton, who appeared with it before more than five thousand spectators, who rent the air with acclamations at this remarkable instance of despatch.

– Frank H. Stauffer, The Queer, the Quaint and the Quizzical, 1882

Futility Closet

How can the Talking Heads be so good, and yet Tom Tom Club be so bad?

Direct link, while it lasts.
PutFule link

"The light finds the simple gasses an atmosphere for the planet it has just destroyed. The pairs and triplets fly out of being as the light strikes the electrons. The loving order which gathered the splintered explosives is sterilized. The electrons are driven away from their nuclei and the nuclei from their electrons. Chaos reigns in the layers of man’s outermost sophistication. The light is at the cusp of worlds."

Is this too dramatic?