Our guest columnist this morning writes to set the record straight about frog fucking, a subject we’re starting to regret stealing from Sully.

The male climbs atop the back of the female, grasping her with his forelimbs, either just behind her forelimbs (axillary amplexus) or around the waist (inguinal amplexus). Amplexus may begin on land, but is usually completed in water, since the eggs must be in a moist environment. Typically, the male and female shed gametes into the water, and fertilization is external.

Males of a number of species of frogs and toads have been known to get overexcited, and amplex inappropriate objects (other species, empty cans, etc.), or, at times, multiple males will attempt to amplex the same female, and wind up amplexing each other in a sort of a ball. 

In related news, this might explain why ADS Solutions changed its name from Amplexus Corporation last December. Tune in tomorrow when we explore the metaphysics of cow fucking.

Hot Amplexus Action [Sully]

As we browse a voluminous list of non-paywalled news sources each evening, looking for a story we feel like riffing on worthy of bringing to your valuable attention, we’ll often bookmark an item or two “just in case” — just in case, that is, we can’t find it in our soul to launch into a 2,000-word discourse analyzing the strengths and weaknesses of policy positions held by the most prominent of Our Nation’s hack bloviators public intellectuals.

Which is why, this fine spring morning, we’re proud to present fucking frogs.

[via Sully]

Sooner or later, it had to happen: We’ve been nailed by a New York Times trend piece.

Not by name, of course. The New York Times would never lower itself to source us on a story. (Except for that one time it did.) No, they just identified something Everybody Is Doing, and we got caught in the net.

Or rather, something everybody isn’t doing: The telephone is dead.

Dead, that is, for people who once used it. We’re already a generation into a demo for whom it never really existed, except as something you text and tweet and Facebook on. Those of us who once engaged in its original Ma Bell function are now disengaging.

And why? Because it’s fucking annoying.

Especially, say, if you work for yourself, and you’re in regular contact with people who work for a salary. Dear gawd, do they know how to waste your time! We’ve been training clients for years to scribble it in an email, because it takes just a glance to determine what they want, instead of pleasantry-pleasantry-weather-pleasantry-request-pleasantry-sport-pleasantry-bye!-recover.

We can’t afford to talk, and that’s been going on for fifteen years. Nice of Manhattan to finally catch up with us.

Don’t Call Me, I Won’t Call You [NYT, via Kottke]

Back in March 2003, as we were settling in to what would prove to be a month-long CNN marathon, we had a single thought:

Don’t fuck this up.

Our opposition to Shrub’s War, hopeless to begin with, had been rendered moot by the launch of Shock & Awe. Whatever Bush did, we were stuck for the ride, and could only hope that he would prove competent at the task. We’re old enough to remember when “quagmire” was part of contemporary political jargon, not a Family Guy character.

As it happens, eight years to the day after Dubya announced that war to the nation, Barack Obama launched missiles into Libya. Maybe we’ll get lucky this time, and there the comparisons will end. Beyond that, we’re absolutely fucking clueless what to think.

We know what others think, and unless they’re John McCain, they generally don’t think well of it. It certainly sets a bad precedent — or, more to the point, continues a long string of bad precedents. After all, we also remember “Imperial Presidency” the first time around. And “War Powers Act”.

And “Three Mile Island”, come to think of it. Seriously: We thought Seventies Nostalgia was over.

In the end, all we can think for certain is what we thought eight years ago:

Don’t fuck this up.

Our guest columnist this morning is Molly Merrell.

Due to the inappropriate comments on this post, we will no longer be allowing comments on The Source until further notice.

My sincere apologies to those who came to this blog to actually discuss DC Comics and their books, but this back-and-forth has gotten out of control on this blog.

Posts have been — and will continue to be — deleted on both sides of this conflict. Your post may not have included any offensive words, but by continuing this dialogue, you are only escalating the problem. Therefore, any comment that is part of this back-and-forth will be deleted.

For those users who had nothing to do with this, I am very sorry for the inconvenience. We are working to make this site more hospitable to those who choose to comment properly and not take part in these offensive and inappropriate disputes.

Ms. Merrell works for DC Online, which produces the official “Source” blog for the comics publisher. The post that killed the comments asked “Who do you think is faster, SOURCE readers? Superman or Flash?”

DC’s Blog Closes Comments, Gives Up On Even Trying To Talk to You Jerks [Comics Alliance]

Bonus background research! The Superman-Flash Races [Hyperborea]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lNEyvJgfKfM

Forty years ago, we’re told, one in four college-aged men bought Playboy, more than enough for Hef to purchase and pimp a DC-9, lovingly documented in this long-lasting airline porn. Yes, yes, that’s an eight-track tape they’re popping in the hi-fi, but we have to admit legitimate fascination with the two-inch videotape player on board. We didn’t know those existed outside TV stations.

But here’s the thing: It’s easy enough, at this distance, to giggle at the period quaintness of what’s depicted, not to mention the depiction itself. But what about the contemporary audience? Did they drool as intended? Or was the Space Age Bachelor Pad lifestyle already outdated the moment this was made in 1969?

The Playboy jet: How Hugh Hefner traveled in style [Gadling, via Nerdist]

So we’re making the rounds, looking for a story to riff on, when we come across an intriguing item out of Texas. Seems a soda tax is being considered to help balance the state budget, which strikes us as curious, since we’ve been bombarded recently by Paid Actors Portraying Angry Everyday Americans Who Oppose Taxing Our Nation’s Precious High-Fructose Corn Syrup, and, well, this story’s out of Texas.

False alarm, alas — the soda tax is being proposed by a Demrat, which is tantamount to burying the lead, since everybody knows that Demrats no longer exist in Texas, except in certain Austin neighborhoods that everybody avoids, and surely National Geographic should be alerted to the sighting.

But before we give up on the piece, this passage confronts us:

“Texas politicians must cut down on their spending binges instead of making citizens swallow this not-so-sweet tax,” said J. Justin Wilson, a senior research analyst at nonprofit Center for Consumer Freedom in Washington, D.C.

Nice line, Mr. Wilson. We’re sure you were paid well for it. But by whom?

And here’s the thing: The reporter never tells us.

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