I got the weirdest Christmas card in the mail. I mean, thanks, I guess!
It’s Springtime, when the earth renews itself and mating season begins for many animals!
People go on dates and remember that sex and dating can be hard.
It can wear you out emotionally.
But at least you can physically survive it- not like in many parts of the animal kingdom.
Here’s a list of animals that die for sex- to remind you that things could be worse!
Oftentimes, the female praying mantis bites the head off her mate while they have sex, and apparently the male thrusts more vigorously after he’s dead, making the sex more likely to generate progeny. (This is probably not true of human men.)
Remember that the next time a woman you’ve exchanged a week of flirty text messages with flat doesn’t show up at an Italian restaurant and won’t call you back- you might leave with your head hanging down, but at least it’s still attached.
This very cute ratlike Australian marsupial, goes on a mad sex parade with multiple partners for up to 14 hours and then drops dead of exhaustion. There are advantages to this, for example- he doesn’t have the opportunity to get in trouble with any of the multiple cute ratlike partners he had sex with in the same half-day, but on the other hand the Antechinus never meets his children, nor coaches them in Soccer, which he would call Football, because he’s from Australia.
That’s better than the time you went on a drinks-filled double date with your best friend Allison and your boyfriend’s roommate, and she came home with him, but after you’d left for your house, she snuck into the other bedroom and did your boyfriend as well. Right? Still better than the cute little dead sex rat. And you don’t have to speak to Allison ever again.
The Dark Fishing Spider
He dies of natural causes after he mates with his lady- ejaculating makes his blood go bad. Nature wants him to die immediately after he has sex, which is one reason insects don’t masturbate.
This helps you understand that you’re still better off than a dead spider, even after you’ve been seeing someone you’re crazy about for a couple of months and came to find out he was also dating most of the women you know, and you were all in a weird sad sisterhood of women getting identical flirty text messages and photographs from him, which is why they were always non-sequiturs.
Furcifer Labordi Chameleons
These Chameleons mate furiously and violently, then after the eggs are safely inseminated and laid, they both die. No-one is left to tell the tale of their passionate romance, no-one is left to mourn their death or wear black, or just turn black, because they are a Chameleon.
That means the time you stopped hearing from someone you’d been seeing for six months and thought you were in love with, and you couldn’t get him on the phone or online, and you assumed he’d gone to prison or rehab and cried anxious tears and couldn’t concentrate on work, and two weeks later you saw him on Facebook tagged in a picture at a bar from that day and you realize you’d just been garden-variety dumped, that’s better than dying postcoitally as a couple. Probably.
Male Orb Weaving Spiders
These spiders die while still joined with the female, so that while she is pregnant with his offspring, other dude spiders can’t have sex with her because she has another dude’s body sticking out of her. It’s desperate, but effective.
That puts into perspective the time you went on a work trip and brought your husband along and realized he was having an affair as he smiled into his phone and went to the bathroom to have whispery conversations as you tried to stop crying long enough to go to professional events and network. It was pretty bad. You might remember the hurt and humiliation of it sharply. But at least your dead body wasn’t hanging off his junk, being dragged through the snowy cobblestone streets of Boston!
– See more at: http://www.lovetv.co/til-death-do-us-part-noir-humor-of-sex-dating-and-the-animal-kingdom/#sthash.vbeJ5qlB.dpuf
4. Same goes for this gross lil guy.
Aw, actually, I would almost pet this one… maybe.
OK, last Friday a photo of my dog Hazel Samedi Jones with a Damned record in 2007 was posted on Buzzfeed, which I took as a sign from the universe that the genius of Animal Sleeveface was finally being recognized. I’m a little hurt that she gets called a boy, because look at them womanly nips!
See the whole post here.
This is a photo essay about the best boy in the world, Chico Jones. Originally from Bakersfield, California, he was handsome and rambunctious and strong.
Chico would sometimes work as an artist’s model, for both painting and photography, although he couldn’t sit still for a super long time, unless he was asleep.
Like most people, soon after he moved to Portland he became a DJ, but never attained the fame of DJ Mama.
As time went on, he frequently had trouble not falling into couches.
He was very popular, especially with Janine Brito.
This was his last photograph taken, before he moved on to the next party on September 1st. He went out as he came in, loving, handsome, and slightly gassy. I will love my boy forever. And ever.
Previous posts on Chico:
I just hope that sweet little lamb can’t read the sign.
I found this gif of a smoking bulldog and I thought it was important enough to put here.
Gypsy and her Brother Wrestle on an Ugly Comforter
Gypsy Rose Jones, a half-Siamese black and white shorthair, passed away peacefully in her sleep last night, December 4th. She was seventeen years old. She is survived by no-one in her immediate family.
She survived all of her siblings by ten years. She was given to me for Christmas in 1993, and was named during a New Year’s Day acid trip in 1994, when we determined that the next image on a television would determine her name. Gypsy Rose Lee came up, but she could have just as easily been named Morley Safer. Many people ask how she stayed alive so many years, staying kitten-small and kitten-cute for her whole life. The answer is that she was kept alive through the twin furnaces of kibble and hatred.
If you ever met her, you already know that she hated you with the white-hot passion of a thousand suns. Perhaps you also bear a whisker-thin white scar where she attacked you while you stroked her glossy black coat. She also hated and feared her roommate Cosey, whom she lived with for 10 years and who never touched her, but whom she detested to her last moments.
Words To The Wise
Any interaction Gypsy had with a new person was begun with my advisory motto: “Ears go back means I’ll attack.” My friends used to say things like “Well, you can’t tell what kind of abuse she went through before you adopted her.” The sad truth is, she came to me straight from her litter. She only ever knew me. Anything that’s wrong with her is my fault. I don’t know what I did, I mean, I used to make her jump through a hoop for POUNCE brand moist cat treats. Maybe that’s enough.
I know that she really hated riding cross-country from Texas to Oregon in the back of a Nissan, where even though she was medicated, she meowed every minute for the whole drive.
Meow. Meow. Meow.
The meows only decreased slightly in intensity and volume when she had a snootful of kitty Valium, which is the same as human Valium, but I did not tell her that. She already hated me by then. She really hated her brother Biggles, a Boston Terrier whom she outlived by several months. I think surviving Mr. Biggles was her ultimate revenge, unless it was dying with her eyes open, which was incredibly creepy. I think the only things she liked were catnip, leftover Thanksgiving turkey, and sitting on top of the warm, smooth surface of the stereo receiver. Fare thee well, Gypsy.