Data Talks

His Secretary of State is Cuban, his Attorney General is a woman, his Secretary of Agriculture is a woman, his nominee for Labor Secretary is a Hispanic woman, his HUD Secretary is a black man, his Secretary of Education is a woman, his Secretary of Homeland Security is a woman,… https://t.co/UG1OJeM9hk

— Sunny (@sunnyright) February 18, 2025

 

Les Vacances, 1996 by Ivan Lubennikov

Les Vacances, 1996 by Ivan Lubennikov (Russia, 1951-2021)

Click to enlarge.

The Legend Of The First Cam-u-el by Arthur Guiterman

The Legend Of The First Cam-u-el

An Arabian Apologue

by Arthur Guiterman

Across the sands of Syria,

Or possibly Algeria,

Or some benighted neighborhood of barrenness and drouth,

There came the Prophet Samu-u-el

Upon the Only Cam-u-el –

A bumpy, grumpy Quadruped of discontented mouth.

The atmosphere was glutinous;

The Cam-u-el was mutinous;

He dumped the pack from off his back; with

Horrid grunts and squeals

He made the desert hideous;

With strategy perfidious

He tied his neck in curlicues, he kicked his paddy heels.

Then quoth the gentle Sam-u-el,

“You rogue, I ought to lam you well!

Though zealously I’ve shielded you from every

grief and woe,

It seems, to voice a platitude,

You haven’t any gratitude.

I’d like to hear what cause you have for doing

thus and so!”

To him replied the Cam-u-el,

“I beg your pardon, Sam-u-el,

I know that I’m a Reprobate, I know that I’m a

Freak;

But, oh! This utter loneliness!

My too-distinguished Onliness!

Were there but other Cam-u-els I wouldn’t be

unique.”

The Prophet beamed beguilingly.

“Aha,” he answered, smilingly,

“You feel the need of company? I clearly under-

stand.

We’ll speedily create for you

The corresponding mate for you –

Ho! Presto, change-o, dinglebat!” – he waved a

potent hand,

And lo! From out Vacuity

A second Incongruity,

To wit, a Lady Cam-u-el was born through magic

art.

Her structure anatomical,

Her form and face were comical;

She was, in short, a Cam-u-el, the other’s counter-

part.

As Spaniards gaze on Aragon,

Upon that Female Paragon

So gazed the Prophet’s Cam-u-el, that primal

Desert Ship.

A connoisseur meticulous,

He found her that ridiculous

He grinned from ear to auricle until he split his lip!

Because of his temerity

That Cam-u-el’s posterity

Must wear divided upper lips through all their

solemn lives!

A prodigy astonishing

Reproachfully admonishing

Those wicked, heartless married men who ridicule their wives.

History

5,000-Year-Old Petroglyphs of Mongolia: Ancient Art That Reveals a Lost World -

The petroglyphs of Mongolia, etched into rock faces over 5,000 years ago, offer a profound glimpse into ancient civilizations. Found across the rugged landscapes of Khövsgöl, Altai, and the Gobi… pic.twitter.com/bqkBT5nbjm

— ArchaeoHistories (@histories_arch) February 17, 2025

 

An Insight

🎯🎯 @ZubyMusic pic.twitter.com/oIo7tpyMqa

— Rothmus 🏴 (@Rothmus) February 15, 2025

 

I see wonderful things

The perfect geometry of Hoya flowers

five-pointed double-star shapes that bloom from a sphere called an umbel

pic.twitter.com/tOsv2iezmw

— Science girl (@gunsnrosesgirl3) February 16, 2025

 

Offbeat Humor

Al Sharpton:

“Can you imagine if Thomas Jefferson tried to overthrow the government?”

pic.twitter.com/cz94NKEP7T

— Ian Jaeger (@IanJaeger29) February 16, 2025

 

Data Talks

Hey @DataRepublican people are already putting your tool in action in Minnesota State politics.

Someone used it to connect a new proposed bill to appropriate $15M to a MPLS non-profit w/ a current MN State Rep serving as one of its directors. pic.twitter.com/h70HOihBkD

— Ashley Boldin (@TechniGal_Ash) February 17, 2025

 

Daybreak Snowfall, 2011 by William H. Hays

Daybreak Snowfall, 2011 by William H. Hays (America, 1956 - )

Click to enlarge.

The Jester Condemned to Death by Horace Smith

The Jester Condemned to Death

by Horace Smith

One of the Kings of Scanderoon,

A royal jester,

Had in his train a gross buffoon,

Who used to pester

The court with tricks inopportune,

Venting on the highest folks his

Scurvy pleasantries and hoaxes.

It needs some sense to play the fool;

Which wholesome rule

Occurr'd not to our jackanapes,

Who consequently found his freaks

Lead to innumerable scrapes,

And quite as many kicks and tweaks,

Which only seem'd to make him faster

Try the patience of his master.

Some sin at last, beyond all measure,

Incurr'd the desperate displeasure

Of his serene and raging highness:

Whether the wag had twitch'd his beard,

Which he was bound to have revered,

Or had intruded on the shyness

Of the seraglio, or let fly

An epigram at royalty,

None knows—his sin was an occult one;

But records tell us that the sultan,

Meaning to terrify the knave,

Exclaim'd—“'Tis time to stop that breath;

Thy doom is seal'd;—presumptuous slave!

Thou stand'st condemn'd to certain death

Silence, base rebel!—no replying!—

But such is my indulgence still,

That, of my own free grace and will,

I leave to thee the mode of dying.”

“Thy royal will be done—'tis just,”

Replied the wretch, and kiss'd the dust;

“Since, my last moments to assuage,

Your majesty's humane decree

Has deign'd to leave the choice to me,

I'll die, so please you, of old age.”