Recent comments in /f/todayilearned

tweda4 t1_jeaeaqk wrote

"what? The government is supporting a children's hospital with a patent to a children's story!? ARGH DAMN YOU BIG GOVERNMENT! WHEN WILL YOUR TYRANNY END?!" /s

shit man, I hope you missed an /s in your comment lol. The spirit of the law is to be Just (something that laws so often fail to be), and you know what, I consider this to be a pretty Just result.

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wickethewok t1_jeadr9o wrote

Given how packed and sometimes sold out the two US parks are, I think there is demand for a third. Maybe in the middle of the country in like Texas or something. But Disney could very well be years deep into such a project and almost no one would know.

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leadchipmunk t1_jead001 wrote

We must have different definitions of "countless." If he was knocked unconscious 43 times, it can't be more than 43. With the other examples listed, we are down to 35 punches at most. That sounds pretty countable to me.

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GoGaslightYerself t1_jeacw16 wrote

Yep, Preston also wrote another riveting New Yorker article about what they thought was an outbreak of Ebola zaire at a research primate quarantine facility just outside Washington, D.C. in 1989.

US Army doctors had to sneak into the facility in spacesuits, under the cover of darkness (so as not to panic residents), to euthanize hundreds of Ebola-infected monkeys (without panicking the monkeys and without getting bitten), bag up their corpses in biocontainment Level 4 bags, and then hermetically seal and slag the entire building with formaldehyde gas. After it was all over, it turned out that >!the macaques had a type of Ebola that didn't harm humans...the virus was eventually named Ebola reston after the town by the same name in Virginia...but talk about major pucker factor while it was all underway...!<

Preston was often an incredibly lyrical writer IMHO. At the end of the article about the Reston events, he recounts visiting the Primate Quarantine Unit some years after the crisis was over. Here he is:

>I walked along the back wall of the former monkey house until I came to a window. Inside the building, climbing vines had rioted, and had pressed themselves against the inside of the glass. The vine was Tartarian honeysuckle, a weed that grows in waste places and abandoned ground. I couldn’t see through the leaves into the former hot zone. I walked around to the side of the building, and found another glass door, beribboned with tape. I pressed my nose against the glass and cupped my hands around my eyes, and saw a bucket smeared with a dry brown crust. It looked like monkey excrement. I guessed that it had been stirred with Clorox. A spider had strung a web between a wall and the bucket of shit, and had dropped husks of flies and yellow jackets on the floor. Ebola had risen in these rooms, flashed its colors, replicated, and subsided into the forest.

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