I Poop At Work And These Are My Observation

It’s some Fight Club-like secret that everyone takes to their grave. A quick scan around the office would reveal nothing more than some mild mannered people hunched over their computers, staring wide-eyed at the content streaming by. Some are wearing blue-jeans, some are wearing khakis. Some are in button-up shirts and ties; others are in t-shirts that say Armani Exchange in pink lettering across the back. No matter what they’re wearing, all of them share a deep dark secret. All of them have, at least once, been a part of The Company’s bathroom grotesquerie.

→ Thought Catalog

Some Of Their Parts

Howorth’s hands are insured for £5 million ($7.8 million), and she takes extraordinary care to look after them, given her job as a professional hand model. When she sunbathes, she wears gloves to protect them from the sun’s harmful rays; she opens car doors carefully; and she moisturises her hands more than 30 times a day.

I thought that made it unlikely she would proffer a hand; worse, were she to do so, I feared I might squeeze too hard and do untold damage to her livelihood — or perhaps get a call from her insurer and her solicitor.

→ The Magazine

The Professor, the Bikini Model and the Suitcase Full of Trouble

How Frampton, who holds an endowed chair at the University of North Carolina and has been an adviser to the Department of Energy, ended up in Devoto appears at first to be a classic tale: a brilliant man of science gets into trouble as soon as he tries to navigate the real world. Since his arrest, he has certainly cultivated this notion, burnishing his wacky-scientist profile with lines like “That’s my naïveté” and “My mind works in a strange way.”

→ New York Times