Wow. Apparently, adorable pink suds are no excuse for buying grapefruit-scented but wholly unnatural and allegedly "gnar-gnar" dish soap.


We viewed a pretty ridiculous National Geographic Channel job a few nights ago, in which two insufferable hosts pestered lots of meanie-mouthed animals with something called a "bite meter". When the targeted creature - great white shark, alligator snapping turtle, African wild dog etc. - chomped on the vaguely Eskimo Pie-ish device (baited for each target with species-specific bait: the best example of this was the entire head and neck of a gazelle, for the lion; more comical than it sounds, really), a dubious pounds/square inch measurement was displayed. Dubious, I'm saying, the science of it, or at least the pretending to get a really precise to-the-p.s.i. reading, but still. Just hold on. When they got to the spotted hyenas, whom I know had to coming, the chompiest jaws of the predatory kingdom thus far had belonged to the lion, at 600-something p.s.i., in the six-hundred-teens I think. This measurement was taken from the bite of a nearly adult male lion who was exerting himself pretty thoroughly. OK. So then. They get to a totty little spotted hyena, still a little fluffy. This time the "bite meter" is baited not with a head and neck but with - I can't - god - with fucking powdered milk. And what it did, this baby, was not chomp but lap, lapping interspersed with an occasional good-natured clamping down motivated by nothing more, looked like, than pleasure.

1,000 pounds per square inch. I don't care what the real number was, what a legitimate experiment'd've revealed, hails.