Beer Ice Cream Floats Are The Adult Drink You Dreamed Of As A Kid

There are few things in life that can compare to the simple pleasure of diving face first into a delectable root beer float on a scorching summer day.

But you know what’s even better than sipping on your favorite frosty treat?

Downing an ice cream dessert that will get you drunk, of course!

These days, it seems that a lot of people have been giving their favorite childhood floats an adult makeover by swapping out the boring old root beer for all sorts of delectable boozy beers.

That’s right. Beer floats are the trendy new way to turn upthis summer, and I have to say all of tipsy treats look like heaven in a glass.

From stouts topped with scoops of chocolate ice cream to pale ales piled high with soft serve and whipped cream, there’s a seemingly endless amount of beer float combinations out there.

If you’re in need of a little ice cream inspo, don’t worry we have you covered.

We justset out to find a bunch of badass beer floats that will let you cool down while you turn up like a damn boss.

Seriously, these delectable drinks do not disappoint.

Check out the pictures below to see these insane ice cream topped beer floats.

Beer floats are the hottest way to cool down this summer…

…and, no, we’re not talking aboutactual floating beer.

We’re talking about the adult versions thoseroot beerfloats you used todrinkas a kid.

Yep, these ice cream treatsditch the boring non-alcoholic root beer for a big old glass of the real boozy deal…

…and it’s not hard to see that these drunkendesserts look downright delicious.

So far, people have come up with all sorts of amazingbeer float concoctions…

That range fromOrange Creamsicle IIPA and vanilla ice cream…

And Strawberry Blonde beer swirled with soft serve and berries…

To Subcontinental IPA topped withice cream and cake crumble.

…and raspberry-clad pints of Pillager Port.

This oatmeal cookie pumpkin spice beer float is anything but basic…

…and this stout smothered inmilk and cookies ice cream is a drunken dessert dream come true.

Just look at this frosty flight of floats…

…and this irresistible scoop of ice cream waiting to take the plunge.

This overflowing float looks so good it should be illegal.

Don’t even get me started on this epic display of deliciousness.

Stop it.

Sweet baby Jesus.

It’s basically impossible to be sad while sipping on one of these bad boys.



Texas prosecutor busted for drunken driving | Fox News

Erika Hansen. (Fox 7)

Cops arrested a Texas prosecutor for driving while intoxicated after she slammed her Hyundai sedan into a parked car in Austin early Sunday morning.

Travis County Assistant District Attorney Erika Hansen, 37, claimed she’d had two pints of beer that night and never drove faster than 35 mph when she got distracted and hit the car, police say. They add that she apparently tried leaving the scene at first, but ultimately remained until cops arrived.

She failed a sobriety test and had a blood-alcohol level of .19 percent, more than double the legal limit of .08 percent, Fox 7 reports.

Hansen “intends to continue to cooperate and take responsibility for her actions as her case makes its way through the legal process,” her attorney, Rick Flores, told KEYE.

The District Attorney’s Office claimed it was reviewing her case. Hansen had been a prosecutor there since March 2015, reportedly focusing on domestic violence cases.

She was booked into the Travis County Jail Sunday morning, and bail was set at $3,000.

Click for more from Fox 7.


Medieval beer purity law has Germany’s craft brewers over a barrel

When is a beer not a beer? When German authorities say it violates a 500-year-old decree, but some brewers are fighting back

Opening the lid of a huge brown boiling vessel, Stefan Fritsche flings a handful of hop pellets into the frothy whirl of liquid. Elsewhere in his brewery, a malt grinder rumbles away, a lab technician is busy testing new flavours and crates of Schwarzer Abt (Black Abbot) beer bound for far-flung places are being lifted on to a lorry by a forklift truck.

But the air of industry at Klosterbrauerei Neuzelle, a monastery brewery north of Berlin, feels like a daily act of defiance, says Fritsche. For years, authorities in the region tried to claim that Schwarzer Abt a thick, malty, smokey-tasting black beer containing sugar was not beer at all.

Neuzelles signature tipple, which has been brewed to the same monks recipe since 1410, fell foul of Germanys purity law, known in German as the Reinheitsgebot, a medieval food safety rule which deemed that beer could contain nothing other than water, barley, hops and, later, also yeast.

The law was decreed in 1516 by Munichs Duke Wilhelm IV over concerns that contaminants such as soot, poisonous roots and sawdust were being added to the beer-making process.

The bitter legal battle that ensued over Schwarzer Abt was won by the Brandenburg brewery more than a decade ago.

But as German beer enthusiasts prepare to mark the purity laws 500th anniversary later this month on what is known as German Beer Day, it is still upheld as a vanguard in the fight against the strictest beer-making rules in the world.

A brewery worker checks bottles of Klosterbrauerei Neuzelles Schwarzer Abt (Black Abbot) beer. Photograph: Christian Jungeblodt for the Guardian

Up to the point we add the sugar, we brew according to the purity law, says Fritsche, but the agriculture ministry told me it could not be called beer. If I made it here and sold it abroad I could call it that, or if I made it abroad and exported back to Germany that would also be OK, but because we were brewing on German soil, it could not carry the name beer even though wed been doing it for far longer than the purity law.

He recalls the legal battle as being very emotional, not least because he and his father, Helmut, had bought the brewery in the former communist East Germany, close to the Polish border, following the fall of the Berlin Wall, and hoped to bring new jobs and enterprise to the region as they built up the business. But the battle we ended up fighting nearly sank us, just because we refused to fit in with the norm, Fritsche says.

Small brewers like Fritsche, who produces 35,000 hectolitres (6m pints) a year, and a growing number of craft beer producers who are keen for more freedom to be able to experiment with different ingredients such as fruits and spices, say the purity law stifles creativity and innovation. Fritsche cites a recent scandal over traces of the herbicide glyphosate that were found in many different German beers, as well as the lack of restrictions on using genetically modified ingredients, to suggest it is far from pure.

But the majority of German breweries who brew according to the regulations argue that they are central to the reason German beer has such a towering reputation around the world.

Anyone who believes that the Reinheitsgebot serves to limit creativity and gives rise to monotonous beers merely has to look to the immense diversity of the countrys beer, which is the envy of the world, says Marc-Oliver Huhnholz, of the German Brewers Federation. Germanys brewers never stop trying to develop new beer styles from the ingredients stipulated in the purity law, proving that the potential involving those four ingredients has still not been fully realised.

He points out that the Reinheitsgebot continues to enjoy an extremely high degree of acceptance, with a recent survey finding that 85 per cent of German consumers saying that it should continue to be upheld.

So theres absolutely no incentive for German brewers to let a 500-year-old decree fade into the past, Huhnholz adds. It has perpetually provided brewers with the impetus to breathe new life into Germanys beer culture.

Traditionalists who argue that experimentation with the permitted ingredients offers scope enough for innovation point to the current trend to search for new hop and yeast varieties there are about 200 of each which all help to add new twists to established beers.

Craft beers broadly speaking, those not brewed by large corporations but by small, independent brewers constitute, at 100,000 hectolitres or 0.1 percent, a tiny proportion of the German beer market, though they are increasingly making their presence felt.

When the independent Scottish craft beer maker BrewDog opens a 200-seater bar and beer garden in central Berlin later this year, under the German rules they will not be allowed to brew in Germany. They will have to import, and even then will not be allowed to call their beer beer.

The Neuzelle brewery produces 6m pints of beer a year. Photograph: Christian Jungeblodt for the Guardian

We have to call it beer-style or refer to it specifically as an IPA, pale ale or stout, says Kerry Allison, the companys Germany representative and brand ambassador. Nevertheless, she senses the beginnings of a beer revolution and says BrewDog hopes to contribute to it, not least by showcasing a wide variety of German craft beers.

We dont see the Reinheitsgebot as our issue to debate, being lucky enough to come from a country which doesnt restrict us, she says. But we do think its an issue that needs to be spoken about loudly, and were looking forward to supporting other breweries in their fight for a relaxation of the rules. Theres a lot of tension over this issue as it really removes the creative licence and perpetuates a market of very similar beers. At the end of the day, its in everyones interest just to be producing excellent beers.

Huhnholz argues that German brewing methods have changed immeasurably over the centuries, as have food safety standards. The likelihood of falling victim to an irresponsible brewer who might once have spiked your beer with deadly nightshade has faded, but that doesnt mean that the Reinheitsgebot should be considered a relic of the past, he says. The indisputable fact is that over the years it has endured as a natural product, free of artificial flavours, enzymes or preservatives.

Meik Forell, a beer market specialist with the Hamburg consulting firm Forell & Tebroke, says the law is often wrongly perceived as the gospel truth. It is frequently referred to as the worlds oldest food safety standard when in fact it is first and foremost a protectionist measure reaching back to the middle ages. He points out that it was not until the 1990s that imported beer was allowed to be sold in Germany. The fact is as long as the Reinheitsgebot is retained, it makes life difficult for foreign brewers in Germany, he says, but much of the innovation is coming from outside, so its high time German brewers woke from their fairytale slumber or else theyre going to find their market share shrinking even more. He insists tha while the majority of Germans might be in favour of keeping the purity law, few people really understand what it means.

Meanwhile, the Fritsche family of Klosterbrauerei Neuzelle continues to test the boundaries with a range of beers that seem purposely intended to stir the wrath of purists, from bathing, apple, cherry and anti-ageing beers, to one made out of distilled Bavarian hay.

Stefan Fritsche checks the temperature of a vat of fermenting hops. Photograph: Christian Jungeblodt for the Guardian

They ended up taking their battle to the highest constitutional court where a judge ruled an exception should be made to their Black Abbot, a decision that was widely interpreted as a softening of the purity law.

Still their battles with the authorities continue to this day over everything from what constitutes a beer to the size and style of type faces on its labels.

Standing over an open fermenting vat full of a golden brown froth and checking its temperature gauge, Stefan Fritsche recalls how, in the midst of the row, just when he thought it could not get any more absurd, he was contacted by the finance ministry.

They ordered a crate of Black Abbot, and then got in touch to say despite what the agriculture ministry said, as it tasted like beer to them it was beer, and we had to make sure we continued to pay our beer taxes, he says. Of course, we were delighted to do so.


This reclusive life: what I learned about solitude from my time with hermits

When the chaos of the big city began to drag, Paul Willis wondered if solitude might be the answer. Would his encounters with hermits yield what he wanted?

A few years ago, beset by the same malaise that I suppose afflicts everyone who spends too much time in the bustle and chaos of a big city, I wondered if solitude might be the answer. I began to read about hermits and became obsessed with the idea of meeting one.

As you might imagine, hermits are a difficult sub-group to track down. But I found out about a newsletter run by a couple in the Carolinas aimed at solitaries and, after posting an ad there, began writing to a few.

The correspondences never led anywhere. The closest I got to an actual encounter was with a woman in rural Oregon called Maryann. We planned to meet but at the last minute she got cold feet, writing to say she could not risk letting a stranger visit her “in this crazy age of violence”.

It was winter by then. Desperate to flee the city, I flew to Vegas with a vague plan to hitchhike in to the high deserts of Arizona and New Mexico, which I had heard were good hermit hunting grounds.

In the canyons of central Arizona, in Cleator, an inglorious little town of tin-roofed cabins an hour’s meandering drive west of the interstate, I heard about a man who had lived alone for 20 years guarding a disused silver mine. The next day I walked up the mountain to find him, watching the ground for rattlesnakes as I went.

I had high hopes; I had read accounts of those who had gone alone into the wild and come back laden with deep personal insights. I wasn’t exactly expecting the Buddha, but a minor-league Thoreau would have been nice.

As it was, I met Virgil Snyder. The first thing he asked was if I had brought beers. I had, and for the rest of the day I watched him down them, one after the other at his cabin, a ramshackle place cluttered with old birds’ nests and the bleached skulls of pack rats he had found on the trail.

Virgil’s home in central Arizona. Photograph: Paul Willis

He didn’t understand why I had come. When I told him I was interested in learning about solitude, he looked at me like I had just flown in from Planet Stupid.

“I didn’t come here to prove a point,” he said. “I don’t do this to be unique.”

I wrote down everything he said, poring over my notes at night, searching for some searing insight among his professed hatred of, well, everything, and the litany of insults he had thrown my way. (I was at different times called “a faggot”, “a motherfucker” and, more bizarrely, “a Tootsie Roll”.)

After several visits, I was forced to admit that he was not the mountain sage I had been looking for. He was an angry drunk.

The idea that those who withdraw from the world accrue great wisdom is an old and powerful one. In Hindu philosophy, all humans ideally mature into hermits. As the Indian guru Sri Ramakrishna put it: “The last part of life’s road has to be walked in single file.”

In the west, the idea has had a profound cultural impact. Peter France explores this in his book Hermits, attributing the creation of monasticism to the example set by the earliest Christian hermits, the Desert Fathers of Egypt.

One of the historical ironies France notes is the way hermits have been sought out for their advice on how to live in society. The Desert Fathers’ thoughts were considered so valuable that a collection of their sayings – known as the Apophthegmata – were written down in the late fourth century. In Russia, 19th-century hermit Startsy Ambrose’s fame drew illustrious visitors like Dostoyevsky, who consulted the hermit several times following the death of his son; their encounters were immortalised in The Brothers Karamazov.

The trend continues today, most notably in the case of the so-called North Pond Hermit. A Maine native, Christopher Knight lived alone in the woods without human contact for 27 years; his story came to light only after he was arrested for a spate of robberies in 2013.

Michael Finkel, the author of the GQ article that brought Knight to wider prominence, was similarly obsessed by the idea that the hermit had some “grand insight” to share from his time in the wilderness. In the piece – reportedly the most-read GQ article ever – Finkel keeps pushing Knight on the subject and at one point it seems like he is about to spill the beans.

“I felt like some great mystic was about to reveal the Meaning of Life,” Finkel writes. Except all Knight has to offer is, “Get enough sleep.”

The same afternoon that I left Virgil, a Catholic monk I had been corresponding with left a message on my phone to tell me about Doug Monroe, a religious solitary who had been living alone for a decade in New Mexico’s vast Gila Wilderness.

The monk described Doug as an “exceptional soul” and his hermitage as “the real thing”. There was no road or habitation within 10 miles of him and apart from a trip to Albuquerque once a year to restock his supplies, the monk said that he never left the cabin.

Buoyed by the serendipity of the timing I decided to go find him. The route to Doug’s place switched back and forth across a stream gushing with snowmelt.

Doug at home. Photograph: Paul Willis

I was greeted like a long-lost friend. “Boy, it’s such a treat to have ya here,” Doug said in a homely southern accent, fussing over me, feeding me rice and tea.

Unlike Virgil, he understood my interest and tried to convey what the solitary life was like. He described moments when the silence around him was so profound it left him frozen to the spot, afraid that the noise of even one footstep would be deafening.

The desire to be a hermit had first come to him in his mid-20s, he said, but it was not until his late 40s that he finally plucked up the courage. When he first came here he had just $150 in cash and an 80lb pack on his back and trekked out into the forest determined to “entrust my survival to God”. For the first year, he lived in a metre-wide shelter he built below an exposed rock face using slabs of stone and fallen trees.

He eventually built himself a one-room cabin. Compared with the melancholic decay of Virgil’s home, there was a calm order here: all his supplies were arranged neatly around the room. On the shelves were boxes of crackers, bucket-sized tubs of peanut butter, dried milk and grains, tins of tuna and Spam, cocoa and powdered mash.

On the wall were photos of the family of his benefactor – a businessman and devout Catholic – in Albuquerque. On Doug’s annual excursion in town, the benefactor takes him to a wholesaler and buys him yearly supplies with change from $1,000.

Next, Doug took me outside to show me the 6ft-deep well he had built in a small creek. Piping ran from the well to the water tank that sat on raised ground behind the cabin and he had a small generator to power the pump.

As I followed him around, I thought about how Doug’s experience with solitude was nothing like Virgil’s. While Doug’s faith gave his life in the wilderness a structure and a purpose, that was completely absent with Virgil.

Apart from a rudimentary contraption for trapping rainwater, I had seen few clues about how Virgil survived in Arizona. He had hinted at well-wishers bringing him supplies, though when I pried further he refused to be drawn. Perhaps it would have undermined his hermit status, which I think he secretly enjoyed, despite claiming he didn’t care what folk called him.

Doug’s one-room cabin. Photograph: Paul Willis

I had the sense that Doug was genuinely content with the path he had chosen, but there was an eccentricity I saw in him too. He talked non-stop, jumping from one subject to the next without any clear connection. At first I thought he was just excited by my presence but he admitted that it was the same when he was alone. He held imaginary conversations with absent friends, with dead saints, even with the Virgin Mary.

He said his inability to stop talking went back to childhood – he estimated he could have filled an encyclopaedia with all the lines he wrote for talking in class – but it crossed my mind that the solitude might be exaggerating the trait.

Solitude, after all, is known to do strange things to the mind.

In 1993 the sociologist and caver Maurizio Montalbini broke the record for the longest time spent underground, during a spell in a cavern near Pesaro, Italy. During his isolation, Montalbini began experiencing a slowing down of time. His sleep-wake cycles nearly doubled in length so that when he finally emerged he was convinced only 219 days had passed whereas in fact a year had elapsed.

While there are numerous studies showing the harmful effects of solitary confinement on prisoners, studies of the general public are rarer because of the ethical concerns around subjecting someone to prolonged isolation for the purpose of a clinical trial.

Back in the 1950s, however, Donald O Hebb, a professor of psychology at Montreal’s McGill University, did just this. Hebb had his volunteers spend days, or even weeks, in sound-proof cubicles, deprived of human contact.

After a few hours, the subjects became restless, talking to themselves to break the monotony. Later they grew anxious, highly emotional and their cognitive abilities began to wane as they struggled to complete arithmetic and word association tests. At some point many began having hallucinations, both visual and auditory. One man even hallucinated being shot in the arm and felt the sensation of pain. The subjects became so disturbed that the trial was cut short.

The most notorious example of the mind-distorting effects of solitude is the case of Donald Crowhurst, who took part in a 1968 race to become the first solo sailor to go non-stop around the world. From the race’s outset, Crowhurst ran into problems with his boat and, faced with the prospect of returning home a failure, he sailed aimlessly around the Atlantic while sending back false reports of his position.

Fearing financial ruin and overwhelmed by the scale of the subterfuge, he cut radio contact. His boat was discovered floating in the Sargasso Sea months later. Crowhurst was nowhere to be found, but a 25,000-word diary discovered on board detailed the Englishman’s descent into madness.

During one visit to Virgil, I found the door to his cabin open and Virgil passed out at the table, an empty liquor bottle beside him. Afraid of his reaction if he suddenly came to and found me there, I went outside and knocked hard till he stirred. When he finally emerged he stared at me like I was a ghost.

On Virgil’s property grounds. Photograph: Paul Willis

It was a tense encounter, his mood volatile. One minute he erupted in anger, upsetting beer cans and thrusting a finger in my face, and the next he was crying uncontrollably. At one point he blurted out about a wife and two kids he had been estranged from for nearly 30 years. When his marriage broke down he lived destitute on the streets in Phoenix, he said. His father, who was caretaking another silver mine further down the mountain at the time, found him and brought him back in his pickup. After a few years the old man drank himself to death.

“Big fucking deal!” he said at the story’s close. “What do you care!”

Among the Apophthegmata is a saying by an unknown hermit: “It is better to live among the crowd and keep a solitary life in your spirit than to live alone with your heart in the crowd.”

In other words, if you go into solitude to get away from something, your troubles will probably follow you. This, I suspect, was Virgil’s story. It was probably my own, too, and I returned to the city unhappy that my hermit encounters had not yielded more. To my disappointment, Virgil and Doug had proved all too human.

There was one aspect of the experience that had surpassed my inflated expectations: the environment where the two men lived. And as I became entrenched once again in city life, it was to the stark beauty of the high desert in winter that my mind kept returning, to the saguaros, dwarf junipers, pinyon pines and magical starlit nights.

In the 1968 race that cost Donald Crowhurst his sanity, another competitor had a very different experience.

French sailor Bernard Moitessier fell utterly in love with life alone at sea. So much so that instead of turning north towards the finishing line in England and possible victory, he dropped out of the race and sailed on to Tahiti.

In his book The Long Way, Moitessier describes sailing one night by a headland with the Milky Way overhead. It occurs to him that were this view only visible once a century, the headland would be thronged with people. But since it can be seen many times a year the inhabitants overlook it.

“And because they could see it almost any night, perhaps they never will,” he writes.

It was a direct encounter with the quiet magnificence of nature that was the real gold I brought back from my wanderings in Arizona and New Mexico. It was probably what I had been looking for all along.


11 Things You Probably Didn’t Know About St. Patrick’s Day

They say that everyone is a little bit Irish on St. Patrick’s Day. The beer-fueled holiday that rolls around every March is rapidly approaching, and people are about to break out their best green outfits for the occasion.

But here are a few things that you should know before you go out and enjoy some brews. They could completely change the way you look at this drunken holiday.

1. St. Patrick wasn’t Irish. He was actually British, and he was taken captive and brought to Ireland, where he was a prisoner for 6 years. After that, he returned home to England for religious training. He did eventually make his way back to Ireland.

2. According to Hallmark, St. Patrick’s Day cards are wildly popular. They produce about 100 different varieties each year.

3. St. Patrick never drove snakes out of Ireland, mainly because there weren’t any snakes there to begin with. In these legends, snakes represent the presence of evil.

4. St. Patrick’s name wasn’t even Patrick. He was born Maewyn Succat, but he took the name Patricius once he became a priest.

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5. St. Patrick’s signature color was actually blue. The reason why it changed to green was because of the widely used green clover that was used as a symbol of St. Patrick during the Irish Rebellion of 1798.

6. St. Patrick’s Day is on March 17 because that is the day of his death. It was originally a festival of great solemnity. Obviously, things have changed quite a bit since then.

7. St. Patrick used the shamrock — not the four-leaf clover — to spread the word of Christianity in Ireland. The 3 leaves were said to represent the Holy Trinity.

8. In Ireland, St. Patrick’s Day was once a feast of solemnity, so all pubs were closed on that day. It wasn’t until the 1960s that they began to open their doors on March 17.

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9. Having parades on St. Patrick’s Day is actually an American tradition.

10. The first official celebration of St. Patrick in Dublin wasn’t until 1931, and Belfast didn’t celebrate his life until the late ’90s because of the city’s Protestant population and resentment toward Irish National symbols.

11. Sales of Guinness soar on St. Patrick’s Day. On an average day, studies show that about 5.5 million pints of Guinness are consumed, but on St. Patrick’s Day, that number doubles.

(via Time)

Now that we have a better understanding of these traditions, let’s have a drink!


5 Movie Conflicts That Only Happened To Advance The Plot

Action heroes need to overcome obstacles before they kick all of the asses presented to them in chronological order. After all, their victories need to feel like they were earned, through much struggle and hardship. But sometimes screenwriters can’t think of a good way to accomplish that, so they whip up some absurd personal or bureaucratic nonsense instead, like being refused service at the DMV because you’re wearing a beer helmet. It’s part of our religion, Janice. Look it up.


The Rebellion in Rogue One Wants To Surrender To A Threat They Don’t Think Exists

In Star Wars: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story About Star Wars, Jyn Erso, the Star Wars character who sounds most like an Asian car model, informs the Rebellion about the existence of the Death Star. A few members of the Rebel Council support her plan to steal the Death Star’s schematics, but most either don’t believe that the weapon exists, think it’s all a trap, or decide that they should surrender to the Empire in the face of such overwhelming superiority instead. Eventually, the Council leans toward disbanding the Rebellion … because of a weapon half of them don’t believe is real. Wait … what?

Oh, and the reason some of them don’t trust Jyn in the first place is because she’s the daughter of the Death Star’s designer … which is also the exact same reason they sent her out to find information about the Death Star at the start.

Ultimately, Jyn gives an inspiring speech on the nature of hope … to which the Council responds with a series of fart noises. Remember, the Rebellion has already been fighting for years, and was formed entirely to wage a series of risky battles against a much more powerful foe; the only reason they were being doubtful here is because the movie needed a drama infusion, stat. Luckily, the Rebel Fleet eventually does show up and help out, right when things were looking their most grim. Sadly, we weren’t shown the scene where the Rebellion’s Death Star Truthers rounded up the rest of the council and made them watch YouTube videos until they all saw the light.


The Guy In Charge Of Defense In Independence Day Objects To Defending Things

If everyone on Team Good Guy agrees that their daring plan to stop the villains is brilliant and flawless, that kills the suspense. So Independence Day gave us Secretary of Defence Albert Nimziki, whose sole purpose is doubting our heroes, even if there’s absolutely no reason to do so.

When Jeff Goldblum first suggests his desperate plan to stop the overwhelmingly powerful aliens by giving their mothership a virus, Nimziki’s response is “This is ridiculous” before calling it a “cockamamie plan” and complaining that they don’t have the manpower or resources. He then offers absolutely no alternative suggestions, despite the fact that that is his entire job.

Remember, they’re coming up with this plan after:

A) They discovered the aliens intended to exterminate humanity.

B) Most of the military had already been wiped out, and …

C) Pretty much every other option, including the use of nuclear missiles, had failed.

So Nimziki’s objections boil down to “Nuh uh, this will never work, let’s just sit around and wait to die instead.” He’s the friend who shoots down every pizza topping after claiming he’s “up for whatever.” The plan, of course, works — making Nimziki look both cowardly and stupid for ever doubting it. After all, what good is saving the world if it’s not in somebody’s face?


Die Hard 2‘s Captain Lorenzo Hates John McClane For Absolutely No Reason

Die Hard 2: Die Hard In An Airport features the beginning of John McClane’s transition from relatable everyman to a cursed muscle lord doomed to encounter elaborate criminal activities wherever he roams. Early on in this extremely pre-9/11 film, McClane gets in a shootout at the baggage claim, and discovers that the man he just killed is a mercenary who was supposed to be dead already. He takes this suspicious information to airport police chief Captain Lorenzo, who immediately … becomes a huge bureaucratic pain in the ass, solely because a more reasonable response would end the movie in about 15 minutes.

Lorenzo complains about McClane breaking regulations, doesn’t bother to properly investigate the crime scene, and accuses McClane of gunning down a luggage thief and blowing it out of proportion because his fame has gone to his head. All of which is completely unwarranted. And this is after McClane points out that the dead man was carrying an obscure, expensive gun designed to beat airport security which — even if Lorenzo wasn’t genre-savvy enough to realise that he was in a sequel by now — should have clued him in that he was dealing with more than a desperate underwear thief.

Instead, Lorenzo has McClane thrown out of his office. Then, even after the full scope of the attack on the airport is revealed when the bad guys crash a plane, killing hundreds, Lorenzo threatens to throw McClane in jail. He eventually does try to arrest John, before finally accepting that his whole purpose in life is to be a designated naysayer, and comes around. In the end, Lorenzo apologises to McClane by tearing up a parking ticket he got at the start of the movie. It’s unclear how he deals with the psychic weight of the hundreds of deceased souls that died horrifically because he “just plain didn’t like the dude’s face.”


The Argument Over Detonating The Nuke In Armageddon Is Pointless Drama

In Armageddon, a team of oil drillers are recruited to blow up an asteroid that threatens to annihilate all life on Earth, because Michael Bay went to film school in a burning dumpster. The plan is to drill 800 feet into the asteroid and then detonate a nuke inside it, because a direct hit on the surface of the improbably tough rock would be ineffective. But then, of course, there’s a plot twist, wherein the government decides to remotely detonate the nuke on the surface …

Soldiers forcibly occupy mission control down on Earth, while up in space, William Fichtner gets his space-gun out to space-seize the space-nuke.

“The president’s advisors feel that the drilling isn’t working,” General Keith David tells a lead scientist inexplicably played by Billy Bob Thornton, even though Thornton points out that “they haven’t drilled the damn hole yet.”

Every intelligent (relatively speaking) person in the movie has made it explicitly clear at this point that detonating the nuke on the surface will do approximately fuck all to the asteroid, yet the government’s argument is “Our plan might not work, so we’re going to switch to a plan that definitely won’t work,” because apparently this 150-minute movie about blowing up a big rock needed to be padded out.

And this comes before the drilling team faces their more serious obstacles, like one of their drills breaking down. This scene might make sense if it came when the heroes were really struggling — a last-minute act of desperation — but as it is, it feels like the president is secretly siding with the asteroid, a foreign force that clearly doesn’t care at all for our well-being. Colluding with it, even.


Just Offer Peter Parker A Wrestling Contract

Early in 2002’s Spider-Man, which was the Spider-Man before the Spider-Man, Peter wanted to impress Mary Jane by buying a car, because he thinks he lives in 1950s rural Nebraska and not modern-day New York City. Luckily, he finds a newspaper ad promising the exact amount of money he needs. Movie magic! The catch: He has to survive three minutes in the ring with a pro wrestler at a sketchy cage match. Lord knows we’ve all been there.

Parker not only survives the match but also wins it. It looks like he just made an easy 3,000 bucks, but the sleazy promotor only gives him a hundred, arguing that Parker didn’t earn the money because the fight only lasted two minutes. The promoter is then immediately robbed, and Parker lets the thief escape in retaliation. But that same thief soon kills Uncle Ben, Spider-Man 3 is eventually made, and all of life is revealed to be a cruel puzzle with no solution.

But let’s back up. Why did the promotor stiff Parker in the first place? Yeah, he only lasted two minutes (heh), but he just beat up a professional wrestler with inhuman strength, acrobatics, and freaking web slingers. The crowd went from cheering for his grisly death to loving him within moments. Fans would pay damn good money to see more of a mysterious masked man who can walk up walls, jump unnatural heights, and kick serious ass. That’s why we keep making Spider-Man movies, at any rate. Why on Earth wouldn’t the manager sign him up on the spot, and make Parker the guy who annihilates mooks answering the newspaper ad?

But no, Uncle Ben Must Die, so the promotor prioritizes being a jerk to Parker over doing his job and getting rich. Maybe when the Spider-Man franchise is inevitably rebooted again in a few years this plot point can be addressed.

Molly is an avid reader and writer with all sorts of millennial dreams. Is also willing to write for food. Joel B. Kirk is a San Francisco Bay Area resident. He plans to produce and act in his own films for the masses, as well as write for television someday.

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Chinas Grocery Trolls Make Giant Piggy Banks of Wal-Mart and Carrefour

-Xue Yanfeng went shopping in a Carrefour SA supermarket in western China in May 2015 and bought 20 bottles of honey for a total of 892 yuan ($134). He then left the supermarket with his groceries and sued the French company. In court filings, Xue alleged the nutritional labels said each 100-gram serving contained 1,326 kilojoules of energy. But, according to his calculations using nutritional data on the label, each serving contained only 1,102.

Xue, who couldn’t be reached for comment, argued that the error violated China’s Food Safety Law, which guaranteed him compensation of 10 times the purchase price. The Xinjiang court agreed, and a week after his purchases it awarded him a refund of 892 yuan and compensation of 8,920 yuan.

That was one of 40 lawsuits Xue has filed against supermarkets and retailers for violating the Food Safety Law since late 2015, when China introduced a strengthened version to tackle the country’s well-publicized food safety woes. The new version removed a clause in the previous law that said victims must prove personal injury or loss to be eligible for compensation. The change has spawned a cottage industry of professional complainers who’ve developed sophisticated operations to challenge food manufacturers and retailers for compensation.

Xue alone has filed cases involving finding raisins with no nutritional labels, potato chips with unlawful additives, biscuits with multiple production dates, and ham and beer being sold after their expiration dates. His targets include Carrefour, Wal-Mart Stores, and Yonghui Superstores. He’s been awarded 70,033 yuan—twice the average urban household annual income in China—in compensation over the past 18 months, and he settled 18 other cases in which the compensation wasn’t disclosed.

Last year local governments in Guangdong and Jiangxi provinces said as many as 90 percent of all food safety complaints they’ve received are from such plaintiffs. A Beijing court said 80 percent of the food safety-related cases in 2015 were filed by individuals who specialize in finding flaws. “They are the No. 1 problem supermarkets in China are facing now,” says Chu Dong, vice chairman of the China Chainstore & Franchise Association, an industry group. “They are harming not just the retail industry but placing a heavy burden on regulatory and judicial authorities in China and betraying the spirit of the law.”

Professional complainers are a mainstay on the mainland because the nation’s laws guarantee aggrieved buyers a unique degree of protection and compensation. A different statute granting compensation of three times the purchase price to those who buy counterfeit or damaged goods has given rise to professional “fraudbusters” who scour store shelves on the lookout for fakes. Their ranks swelled tenfold after the more generous food safety law came into effect, says Shandong native Wang Hai, who prefers to be called a “food safety informer.” Pending cases he’s filed include complaints about fake alcohol and beef from steroid-injected cattle smuggled from overseas.

“What we do is help to plug a hole in the regulatory framework, because it’s impossible for regulators to catch every manufacturer and retailer infringing the law,” says Wang. “There’s nothing wrong with us trying to get as much compensation as we can, because there must be a heavy financial penalty before wrongdoers feel the pain. Plus we are volunteers, and we also need money to survive.”

Wal-Mart, one of the leading Western supermarket chains in China, received almost 4,000 food safety complaints last year, compared with about 700 the year before the revised law took effect, according to a person familiar with the matter who asked not to be identified because the information hasn’t been disclosed publicly. Spokesmen for Wal-Mart, Carrefour, and Sun Art Retail Group declined to comment. Yonghui didn’t respond to requests for comment.

Every complaint triggers an inspection by local food and drug authorities. About 10 percent end in lawsuits, mostly filed by consumers after a retailer refuses to pay compensation, says the CCFA’s Chu. There were 13,740 cases in the past 18 months involving compensation requests for food safety violations, China’s court filings database showed. Legal actions ballooned after China’s Supreme People’s Court in 2014 issued guidance that people can sue even when they knowingly purchase unsafe food, says David Ettinger, a Shanghai-based partner at law firm Keller and Heckman. That meant Wang and Xue didn’t have to justify their bulk purchases of noncompliant items before filing complaints, nor respond to retailers’ accusations they were suing for profit.

Since court filing fees usually run no more than 100 yuan, repeat complainers rarely hire attorneys. Instead, Chu says, professional complainers work in organized groups, sharing legal and technical expertise. If a noncompliant product is found in one supermarket, the group may fan out to locate it in other cities to widen the net of compensation, he says.

More than two-thirds of the court cases involve labeling mistakes like the one Xue brought against Carrefour, says Lu Lei, a Renmin University of China food safety management researcher. Those errors can include font size being too small or the lack of Chinese translation. “The vast majority of cases do not actually involve the safety of food but use technical areas of the law to win compensation,” he says. “In that sense, they do not perform a public duty—unlike fraudbusters.”

Professional complainer Wang, however, says it’s unfair to dismiss labeling cases as frivolous. “If a company cannot even manage the simple aspect of labeling to follow local laws, how can we trust it to produce safe food?” he asks.

Combating China’s safety fears is expensive for businesses: Since the new Food Safety Law took effect, more than $800 million has been spent hiring additional food safety personnel and bolstering monitoring facilities, according to the Paulson Institute, a Washington-based think tank. And after a video emerged this year purporting to show seaweed made of plastic, the wholesale price of seaweed fell by half—even after the China Food and Drug Administration dismissed “plastic seaweed” as a rumor.

The focus on food safety means the law is unlikely to be amended to restrain professional complainers, Chu says. That hasn’t stopped some merchants from taking matters into their own hands. In March local media reported that a customer in Anhui province who bought expired Spam in bulk from a supermarket was beaten by staff after he sought 9,000 yuan in compensation. When he went to local police for help, the chief and another officer also reportedly kicked and punched him.

    BOTTOM LINE – Companies in China have spent more than $800 million to comply with China’s food safety law. The prospect of suits by professional food vigilantes is one reason why.