Monopoly house rules

April 5th, 2014 at 1:00 pm by David Farrar

News.com.au reports:

NO RENT collection while in jail, double the dough for landing on Go and clean out Free Parking if your luck takes you there are among five made-up Monopoly rules Facebook fans voted in for future editions of the board game.

Several thousand people weighed in on “house rules’’ over 10 days of recent debate and a year after Hasbro Inc. added a cat token and retired the iron in a similar online stunt aimed at keeping the 79-year-old game fresh. …

The winning house rule for landing on Go means players get 400 Monopoly dollars instead of the official 200. As for Free Parking, official rules call for absolutely nothing to happen when a player lands there. Under the house rule, any taxes and fees collected are thrown into the middle for a lucky someone who lands on that corner square.

Rounding out the five winners are that players must travel around the board one full time before they can begin buying properties, and collecting 500 bucks for rolling double ones.

Off memory we always played four of the five house rules – no rent in jail, double for landing on go, taxes collected on free parking and no purchases in your first round. The only house rule I had not heard of was the $500 for double ones.

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Canadian regulator says porn channels need more local content!

March 13th, 2014 at 2:00 pm by David Farrar

CBC reports:

The federal broadcast regulator wants the naked truth about a couple of porn channels.

The Canadian Radio-television and Telecommunications Commission says AOV XXX Action Clips and AOV Maleflixxx may not be airing enough Canadian content or closed captioning.

The X-rated specialty channels are supposed to air 35 per cent Canadian programming over the broadcast year and 90 per cent of its content should have captioning.

As part of proposed licence renewals, the commission plans to hear evidence on the apparent non-compliance.

That will be a fun channel to be a captioner for!

Also I wonder how they classify content as local. Does it have to be filmed in Canada or just use Canadian “actors”?

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One way to earn a bonus

January 28th, 2014 at 1:00 pm by David Farrar

News.com.au reports:

An employee surnamed Zhang from Jinhua, Zhejiang Province, China, said that his boss placed a pile of money on the table saying that people would get their bonuses based on how much they drink.

“Men were given 500 yuan ($92) for a shot of liquor, 200 yuan for a glass of red wine and 100 yuan for a beer. Women were given twice as much money for consuming the same amounts,” Zhang told the Global Times. “We worked hard all year only to learn our bonuses would be decided by our alcohol tolerance. It was absolutely unfair to people who can’t drink much.”

The boss said that the company’s business success was rooted in employees being able to hold their liquor with clients. …

Legal experts said there are no laws related to the distribution of year-end bonuses, which is determined at the discretion of employers.

I’d go for the shots. Wouldn’t be too hard to make 10,000 yuan. The average wage is around 3,500 yuan a month so that is a bonus of three months’ salary.

I wouldn’t implement that scheme in my company though. We have far too many students from Hamilton to risk that!

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Nun gives birth

January 19th, 2014 at 12:00 pm by David Farrar

The BBC reports:

A nun who gave birth to a baby boy in the central Italian city of Rieti, said she had no idea she was pregnant, local media report.

The 31-year-old was rushed to hospital with abdominal pains, which she thought were stomach cramps.

The young mother, who is originally from El Salvador, reportedly named her newborn Francis after the current Pope.

The mayor of Rieti, Simone Petrangeli has appealed to the public and media to respect the woman’s privacy.

The news has drawn international attention to the small city of 47,700 inhabitants.

The nun called the ambulance on Wednesday morning. A few hours later she gave birth to a healthy baby boy.

“I did not know I was pregnant. I only felt a stomach pain,” she was quoted as saying by the Ansa news agency.

I can’t wait to see who is listed as the father on the birth certificate!

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More on Sugarless Gummy Bears

January 18th, 2014 at 1:00 pm by David Farrar

I blogged a link yesterday to a summary of some of the reviews of the sugarless gummy bears. But last night I went to the original sources of the comments on Amazon.

The summary had me laughing out loud. The actual original comments caused actual tears and physical pain. I read at least half of the 45 pages of them.

My favourite was the date with the German girl:

I’m pretty sure Andrea (I’ll call her) agreed to have dinner at my apartment only because I always spoke to her using nothing but my two-years-of-high-school German. Her English was perfect. Probably better than mine. But the fact that I could only ask her directions to the Autobahn or inquire about the health of her non-existent Tante Amelia, seemed to make me appealing to her in a sweet and non-threatening way.
My intentions, however, were considerably less child-like. Which is why the shopping that night was done at one of those upscale groceries with an international flair. Moules Marinieres is as much of a panty-peeler as anything I can cook, and isn’t that hard to pull off. But still, I was busy tracking the recipe in my head when I found myself in the sweets aisle. And that, to my great chagrin, is why I didn’t immediately notice the difference between Haribo Normal Gummi Bears (which are designed for human enjoyment) and Haribo Sugarless Gummi Bears (which are designed for use in maximum security prisons as a way to punish uncooperative inmates).
I shan’t make that mistake again. (notice you can’t spell SHAN’T without SHAT.)
Prior to Andrea’s arrival, I sat in my living room, creating a playlist of make-out music and nervously binging on the Gummi Bears I had placed in a decorative bowl because I am fancy.
The doorbell rang, and within minutes we were standing in the kitchen, drinking beers and both of us probably worrying that we were about to exhaust my ability to communicate in her native tongue. But soon that would be the least of my worries. In the middle of trying to ask Andrea if she likes to dance to young people’s music, I felt a flutter in my midsection, accompanied by a guttural pronouncement so loud it threatened to drown out my own voice.
Maybe it was because I was mentally refreshing my language lessons, but it suddenly struck me how much pre-diarrheal grumblings sound like German words.
“ENTSCHULDIGUNG!” was the next thing uttered by my rapidly clenching stomach. Appropriately, Andrea looked up in response.
“Sind Sie Kaffee machen?” she asked.
Am I making coffee?
I thought I must have mistranslated her at first, then finally I realized that yes, the loud, ominous gurgling coming from my gut could easily be mistaken for the percolating of some bachelor’s crappy coffeemaker.
It’s remarkable how quickly one knows that one is about to have a traumatic pottymaking experience. Maybe that’s the body’s way of buying you the precious seconds you need. I was already calculating the number of steps to the bathroom, speculating on whether I would have time to lift the lid to the toilet, when my own voice cried out loudly in my head.
She’s going to hear EVERYTHING!
Thanks to an acoustical idiosyncrasy in my building, the hallway outside the bathroom works as an amplifier pointed straight at my living room-slash-kitchen. So that somehow even the gentlest tinkle sounds like I’m pouring lemonade out of a bucket.
With only half an idea of what I was doing, I grabbed Andrea’s hand and pulled her roughly down onto my sofa. I must have looked like a madman as I booted up my iTunes playlist, plugged in the gigantic new headphones I had just bought to keep me looking young and hip, and clamped them down over her ears. (the sweat forming on my brow and upper lip couldn’t have helped.) In response to her nervous expression, I kept shouting “You’ll love this! You’ll love this!”
I spun her around so that she was looking out the window. My “plan” was that she’d be so distracted by the modest 4th floor view, that it would allow me to pull my pants off while I sprinted down the hall, silently singing the praises of the noise-reducing quality of my new headphones. (this story will be reprinted in its entirety as a 5 star review on the Sony Beats Audio Amazon page.)
As I slammed the bathroom door shut, already half naked, it occurred to me that I had not been shouting “You’ll love this!” at Andrea. I don’t even know how to say that in German. In my desperation I had been saying “Ich Leibe Dich!” Repeatedly professing my love for her in a shaky and frantic voice. But maybe that was a good thing, because as I threw myself at the toilet, I figured the best I could hope for is that she would be so creeped-out that she would sneak out of the apartment, blissfully unaware of the carnage taking place in the next room.
What can I say about the ensuing white-knuckle bowel movement that hasn’t been expressed in other reviews on this page? I’m pretty sure I haven’t seen the adjective “Kafkaesque” used anywhere else.
By the end of Act One of this private little torture-porn movie, I was confessing to every unsolved crime in history. Praying I would stumble upon the one that would satisfy my invisible captors.
Quickly I realized that I had more than Andrea’s sense of sound to worry about. Were she to get even the faintest whiff of the weapons-grade sluice that my anus was angrily shouting into the porcelain, I would have to change my name and move to another city.
And so I flushed. And flushed. And flushed and flushed.
And then I flushed and nothing happened.
I have never looked down into a broken toilet with more horror in my entire life. And I once stopped up George Clooney’s crapper! (a true story for another time.)
I reached for the plunger, but my hand froze and my heart seized when I saw it on the floor, broken in two and covered in what looked like teeth marks. Apparently I had used the wooden handle to keep from biting my tongue off and had chewed clean through it. When did that happen? It seems my mind had already started the process of repressing this entire event.
Amid the feverish, fruitless dance I did across my tiny bathroom floor, it dawned on me that it had been more than a minute since my last soul-wrenching anal tantrum. Dear Lord, is it over? I asked, quite possibly aloud.
I may have been light-headed and delusional, but I began to imagine a non-ignominious resolution to this ordeal. I just needed to get her the hell out of here. If Andrea hadn’t fled the building, vomiting in terror, then I supposed I could pull up my trousers and make a cavalier exit. As long as I could get her off premises and as far away from this post-apocalyptic commode as humanly possible. Assuming that the Diarrhistas had retreated to the hills temporarily, maybe I could even whisk Andrea away to a candlelight dinner at Bernardo’s. How impulsive!
My first few steps back toward the living room were tentative. And not just because my sphincter felt raw and tattered. It was a slow approach to the Moment of Truth, especially when I saw her figure still planted on my sofa. I knew any look on Andrea’s face other than her mouth agape would constitute a miraculous victory. And when she smiled at me, the wash of relief that engulfed me was more glorious than any throes of ecstasy I might have wished for at the beginning of the night.
And then I saw it.
The decorative bowl sitting in her lap. Down to just the last few sugarless Gummi bears.
“Du hast Haribo!” she said to me. Accompanied by a satisfied smile. A big, beaming Hansel and Gretel smile, that slightly turned down in one corner at the sound we both suddenly heard. A low rumble from deep within her GI tract that sounded like Gefahrrrrr.
The German word for Danger.
Her eyes shot past mine and refocused on the bathroom door just down the hall behind me.

Just re-reading this and my eyes are wet again. Some others:

“Does she have a GI bleed? A necrotic bowel?” he asked.

As soon as we hit the ER doors I was off like a Kenyan on methamphetamine for the bathroom. I tried to use a hallway bathroom, but it was occupied. My only other option was the bathroom right outside the nurses station. I mean, it was RIGHT outside the nurses station. The door was a mere five feet from their desks. All those pretty, young, nurses. With no other option, I ran back, trying to keep my cheeks clinched. Little staccato bursts of sulfuric farts punctuated each yard as I raced for the finish line hoping that I could keep my chocolate starfish clenched tight enough to stem the tide.

I ripped the door open and somehow managed to drop my pants without undoing my belt. What erupted sounded like a steamroller driving through a bubble wrap factory. I knew it was audible from the nurses station and I had nearly knocked a pretty blonde out of her chair during my mad dash. As the sense of relief from the pressure washed over me, so did the smell. It smelled like someone took a bag of dirty diapers, filled it with rotting body parts, and let it sit in the sun for two weeks.

I sat there, petrified, but also doubled over with the sort of cramps that make one pray for death.

“Tonya? What is that SMELL?!” came a voice from outside the door. I knew there was no escaping with my dignity intact. I sent a text to my partner from the bathroom telling her I was sick and to let me know when she was ready to leave. When she replied I dashed from the bathroom back to the ambulance.

That was from a female ambulance officer.

Next time I am scheduled for a colonoscopy, I plan to eat sugar free gummi bears instead of drinking that nasty magnesium citrate. The bears are delicious and the cleansing effect is the same!

Heh.

He shuffled his way to my office shouting my name (probably to get the code) but I had hidden myself under my desk. “Unbelievable!” was the only thing he could say when I heard what sounded like a live cat being dropped in a bubbling stew pot while shooting a tommy gun. I looked under my desk to see soiled trousers drop on the floor of my office, as he defiled my shredder bin.

I started to feel bad for him and stood up, but was immediately knocked back down by a putrefied stench of an exploding blue whale that had laid in the sun for weeks. My gag reflex was vaporized and I spun yarn like Linda Blair and Pazuzu’s love child. Most of it covered my boss’s pants and legs, as he bore down like a power squatter moments before prolapsing. His eyes were open, but he couldn’t see anything but pain.

The quality of the writing is superb.

I begin to punch in the four digit code to open the gate… “4, 7″….. suddenly my stomach makes a noise that could only be described as an elephant with a trumpet playing into a megaphone….. then a shift of my insides that hit harder then anything I’d ever felt even during the two times I had GIVEN BIRTH…. WHEN SOMETHING WAS LITERALLY SHIFTING INSIDE OF ME!
I did not punch in the last two digits. All I could do…. all that my instincts and training had taught me to do…. I threw on my lights and sirens and put my car in reverse as I was already beginning to accelerate with my foot. I swear I nearly exceeded 30mph in reverse just to make it to the main road immediately. I had 2.7miles to make it to the nearest public restroom. Lights and sirens on I traveled at 80mph as I heaved through traffic and pulled into that ENMARK Station nearby. When I went running from my car and into the station I took no notice of the fully packed pumping area or the 15 or so people inside. I was too busy trying to squeeze my butt cheeks together and still maintain running.
Fast forward through what I will call the S***-POCALYPSE and a good 40minutes of my life I will never forget, I am faced with walking through the crowd of people that had collected due to my very fast and dramatic entrance. Apparently the assumption was there was a criminal type in the bathroom who I was arresting.

That was a police officer.

I bought a bag because I’m trying to cut down on sugar. It seems Haribo has replaced the sucrose in a typical batch of Gummy Bears with colon-shredding rage. Just a couple of handfuls left me crying for my mommy on the bathroom floor (I am 43 years old).

The cute little tricksters look just like their benign counterparts, with the same cuddly ears, stubby arms and not-too-squishy, not-too-firm texture. The taste is the same too, and that’s how the little demons invade your innards. I ate a dozen or so and then went about my day, oblivious to the angry, brown fire hose that they were constructing in my colon.

The cramping started about an hour later, and soon enough I was as bloated as a balloon in Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. When the rumbling started I sprinted down the hallway and made it to the bathroom just in time for the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse to stampede from my backside, laying waste to my home’s septic system AND my will to live. After three hours of pelvis-shaking misery, I was spongy, weak, and amazed that I had any bones left. I cursed Haribo with the little strength I could muster.

I’m amazed the FDA hasn’t banned them.

What is occurring in my body right now may only be explained with the final 20 minutes of the movie Independence Day. The sweet gummy bears that I thought I had chewed and swallowed have now resurrected inside my bowels with a vengeance. The only thing that I can imagine they are doing is s***ting inside my digestive tract. Decomposed zombie gummy bear s***. This can’t be all my s***. There’s no way. That’s not my s***. That’s s*** from a supernatural entity living inside me. Literally nothing I’ve eaten in a dozen years could possibly turn my ass into a to-scale model of Mt. St. Helens, violently spewing what smells like a public bus filled with homeless people with fresh perms, in Mexico City at such a cyclic rate, that I’m worried the war veteran below me thinks he’s storming Normandy again.
Shame on everyone who handled these bears before they made it to me. Shame on Amazon for making theses available for purchase. Shame on the guy in the warehouse who packaged this for shipment. Shame on the UPS guy for bringing this to my door. You all knew. I know you knew, and you knew I’d know. And you still let me do this to myself. Shame on you!
My last hope now is that the force of gas propelling from my anus may be strong enough to disturb Satan himself in hell. And that he is so angered by this that he sends an entire fleet of brave minions to come up through the toilet and put me out of my misery.

Is it wrong that these reviews made me want to try some? In fact some of the reviews are from exactly that – people who thought they couldn’t be that bad, and had to find out.

Seriously give up now whatever you are doing, and spend the rest of the day reading the 47 pages of reviews. It will cheer you up no end.

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Sugarless Gummy Bears

January 17th, 2014 at 3:00 pm by David Farrar

From Slightly Viral:

Oh, gummy bears! They’re so tasty and delicious you can never eat just one. In fact most of us eat them by the handful.   And with diet season in full swing, some of us may be looking at the sugar-free alternative to help ease the gummy bear cravings.

But before you hop on Amazon to make a bulk purchase of the sugar-free variety, you just might want to read the safety warnings.  Or better yet, take a look at the user submitted reviews. We’ve compiled the best of the best for you here at Slightly Viral…

Go read the reviews. Priceless.

 

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Hide and seek gone wrong

January 7th, 2014 at 10:00 am by David Farrar

News.com.au reports:

A man from Mooroopna in country Victoria, aiming to surprise his girlfriend with his clever choice of hiding spot, had climbed naked into a top-loader washing machine, where he became firmly wedged, reports the Shepparton News.

Shepparton police Sergeant Michelle De Araugo said the man had attempted to climb into the washing machine on Saturday afternoon.

Emergency services were called, and after 20 minutes, freed the naked man by greasing him up with olive oil.

What would have been funnier is if she turned it on, thinking there was a load of laundry in there!

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A North Korean denouncer

December 17th, 2013 at 1:53 pm by David Farrar

Someone has set up a page where you can denounce people in North Korean style. Very useful!

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Lions up close

December 3rd, 2013 at 4:00 pm by David Farrar

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The worst burglar ever

October 14th, 2013 at 10:00 am by David Farrar

This is hilarious. Watch the full three minutes – especially the ending.

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A future law student?

September 15th, 2013 at 7:00 am by David Farrar

photoc

 

A reader’s two year old son colouring in the Contractual Remedies Act. A future lawyer!

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Wait and watch for the reaction of the Judges

August 27th, 2013 at 2:00 pm by David Farrar

Watch this cute six year old girl sing. Priceless.

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Ram v motorcycle

August 13th, 2013 at 10:00 am by David Farrar

Someone give that ram a Tui!

The Herald reports:

 

A Nelson trailbike rider has become an internet sensation after posting a video showing him being attacked by an angry ram.

 

Marty Todd’s YouTube video, in which the surly ram known as Rambro prevents him from riding up a dirt track, has gone viral after being featured on CNN and Britain’s Daily Mail website.

 

“I was riding my trailbike up a hill when I came across this grumpy old ram with huge horns,” Mr Todd said. “It charged my bike then started attacking me, [he's a] surprisingly powerful animal.”

 

Mr Todd said he couldn’t turn his trailbike around as he was on a steep hill and if he did the ram would have charged him side-on, which could have broken his leg

“This guy is known for his aggression and attacks for no reason, he’s even attacked a group of pig-hunting dogs. In the end I had to pick up a branch and wave it in front of him, he didn’t like the noise and backed off enough for me to make my escape.”

Maybe he needs to ride with a shotgun!

 

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Donald Duck vs Adolf Hitler

July 27th, 2013 at 7:00 am by David Farrar

A great little video by Disney in 1943.

Hat Tip: Andrew Sullivan

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Shit they don’t teach you in school

July 24th, 2013 at 11:00 am by David Farrar

A local web series designed to tell younger people a few useful things, in a light hearted way.

In this episode they cover why you should not put tomatoes in your fridge, cleaning your jeans by freezing them, how to lift the barrier arm to get out of parking buildings, and don’t use petrol station toilets.

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Top lies women tell men

July 11th, 2013 at 4:00 pm by David Farrar

Chacha has the top 15:

  1. I weigh this much
  2. I have had this many sexual partners
  3. I’ll be ready in a minute
  4. That sex was great
  5. I’m not mad at you
  6. I’ve got a headache
  7. It was on sale
  8. This is just what I wanted
  9. I don’t mind if you look at other women
  10. I’m fine
  11. You’re the best I’ve ever had
  12. I’m focusing on my career right now
  13. Fake phone number
  14. I have a boyfriend
  15. It’s not you, it’s me

I am sure there is an equivalent list for men somewhere!

 

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Now this is an alcohol ad that would get some complaints in NZ!

March 5th, 2013 at 7:00 am by David Farrar

Very amusing.

Hat Tip: Whale

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For the geeks

February 10th, 2013 at 3:28 pm by David Farrar

Do a traceroute to 216.81.59.173

Very cool.

H/T: Simon Allard

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February 3rd, 2013 at 9:00 am by David Farrar

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A Kiwi Mockumentary

February 2nd, 2013 at 10:11 am by David Farrar

A fun video which stars Melanie Lynskey, Valerie Adams, Dai Henwood, Steve Wrigley, Colin Meads, Denise L’Estrange-Corbet, Beauden Barrett and Kane Barrett.

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Prepare to die

January 25th, 2013 at 4:00 pm by David Farrar

Michelle Cooke at Stuff reported:

For many people it is just a famous, comical quote, but some passengers on a New Zealand-bound flight did not see the funny side in Wynand Mullins’ T-shirt, which read “Prepare to die”.

In hindsight, Mr Mullins says his T-shirt, with a popular quote from the fantasy film The Princess Bride, may not have been the best clothing choice for a flight, but he believes the reaction of Qantas was over the top.

Mr Mullins, a Kiwi living in Sydney, was one of the first to board his Auckland-bound flight on Sunday evening. While other passengers took their seats, Mr Mullins was approached by a flight attendant who said some people on board were intimidated by the words on his shirt.

The shirt had a large name tag which read: “Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

The line is one of the most memorable from the 80s movie The Princess Bride.

I can’t believe someone complained about that. Unless you were in fact the killer of Inigo Montoya’s father it obviously doesn’t apply to you!

A great film. Have watched it a dozen times at least.

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Megacute

January 12th, 2013 at 9:00 am by David Farrar

Adorable Baby Crashes Daddy’s Concert from coffey on GodTube.

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It must be Hamilton

December 18th, 2012 at 7:00 am by David Farrar

The Herald reports:

Police are urging people to be responsible at holiday season work parties after a woman bit off another woman’s fingernail at a Christmas drinks function in Hamilton.

Was there a silver dress involved?

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The Apocalypse

December 14th, 2012 at 3:00 pm by David Farrar

Michael Dickison at the Herald has a great article on the Apocalypse.

The top 5 scenarios for the end of the world as we know it

1) Aliens

Remember Independence Day? Astrophysicist Craig Kasnov recently announced that three very large, fast-moving objects were approaching Earth. Though largely discounted by others, the SETI (Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence) researcher Kasnov said the “flying saucers” were tens of kilometres long and would arrive mid-December.

How to prepare: Some say you should head to the French Pyrenees, from where you may be beamed up and rescued.

2) Natural disaster

Supervolcanoes cause mass extinction. The most recent occurred in New Zealand about 26,000 years ago, while a likely site for the next eruption is Yellowstone National Park, in the United States.

How to prepare: Leave the Pacific’s Ring of Fire, preferably for equatorial Africa, where humans survived the last volcanic winter.

3) Nuclear attack

Surviving the initial horror of thermonuclear war is just the beginning. A nuclear winter will follow as debris, smoke and soot block sunlight for weeks or even years, and then there’s radiation sickness, lawlessness and the breakdown of civilisation to worry about.

How to prepare: For a quick end, stand outside as the bombs fall. Otherwise, build an underground bunker with enough supplies, guns, clothing, etc, to survive in the Mad Max-style post-apocalyptic wasteland.

4) The god of war cometh

Bolon Yokte, a Mayan deity, is prophesied to return to Earth in 2012, although key passages on a stone tablet containing the prophesy have eroded away.

The god may cause huge chaos and upheaval – or bestow upon people the energy to take an evolutionary step.

How to prepare: Only human sacrifice can save us now.

5) Salvation

Biblical messianic prophesies suggest a Second Coming of Jesus, possibly including resurrection of the dead. Armageddon is often associated with such an event.

How to prepare: Watch Supernatural from series three onwards. And pray a lot.

The entire article is hilarious.

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The driving dogs

December 11th, 2012 at 11:00 am by David Farrar

This story has gone global. Very cool.

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