Jacques Cousteau’s grandson, Fabien, is following in his illustrious forebear’s flippers by building a shark-shaped submarine. By means of this ingenious device he will get closer to his toothy subjects than ever before, without altering their natural behaviour in such circumstances: ie, to immediately rip him limb from limb and swallow the still twitching chunks whole.
We await with interest the first time he uses the thing during mating season, whereupon death might suddenly lose its sting.
On Donald Trump, international icon of understated style:
…Donald Trump surfaces in a Time magazine article about effective working habits. He ascribes his phenomenal creativity and success (sic) to his strict routine of taking regular downtime for thought and reflection.
I’m sorry, but I don’t find this at all credible. A moment’s real introspection would immediately present him with two questions that he has quite obviously never asked himself:
a) why on Earth did I marry that hard-faced Czech bitch?
b) what the fuck is that thing on my head?