One helen is sufficient good looks to launch one thousand ships, and to cause the destruction by fire of an entire city. The objective standards of Ship Launching and Arson may now be used to analyze feminine beauty. […] The table below will be of assistance:
– Attohelen (ah) 10-18 helens: Light up a Lucky While Strolling past a Shipyard
– Femtohelen (fh) 10-15 helens: Burn a Dinner Candle & Spit a Toothpick into a Water Glass
– Picohelen (ph) 10-12 helens: Barbecue a Couple of Steaks & Toss an Inner Tube Into the Pool
– Nanohelen (nh) 10-9 helens: Send the Old Man on a Canoe Trip & Build a Good Roaring Blaze in the Fireplace
– Microhelen (µh) 10-6 helens: Christen a Motor Boat & Start a Grass Fire
– Millihelen (mh) 10-3 helens: Launch One Homeric Warship & Burn Down a House
– Centihelen (ch) 10-2 helens: Incinerate a City Block & Launch Christopher Columbus’ Entire Fleet: The “Niña” (40 tons), the “Pinta” (50 tons) and the “Santa Maria” (100 tons)
– Decihelen (dh) 10-1 helens: Torch the Central Business District of Oakland, California, & Launch the Clipper Ship “Flying Cloud” (1783 tons)
– Helen (h): Raze One City & Launch the WWI US Battleship “Delaware” (20,000 tons)
– Dekahelen (dah) 10 helens: Oversee the Incendiary Bombing of Ten Cities and Launch the Aircraft Carriers “Theodore Roosevelt” (91,487 tons) and “Dwight D. Eisenhower (91,487 tons)
– Hectohelen (hh) 102 helens: Instigate a Major Modern Conflict & Launch the Oil Platform “Stratfjord B” (with ballast, 899,360 tons), the Supertanker “Seawise Giant” (624,038 dead- weight tonnage); the Oil/Ore Carrier “World Gala” (282,460 dwt tonnage) and the Bulk-Ore Tanker “Hoei Maru” (208,000 dwt tonnage)
– Kilohelen (kh) 103 helens: Launch the Equivalent of One Million Greek Warships & Spark a Nuclear Confrontation
– Megahelen (Mh) 106 helens: Launch the Equivalent of One Billion Greek Warships & Blow Up the World
– Gigahelen (Gh) 109 helens: Launch the Equivalent of One Trillion Greek Warships & Destroy the Solar System
– Terahelen (Th) 1012 helens: Launch the Equivalent of One Thousand Trillion Greek Warships and Make Serious Inroads on the Welfare of the Galaxy
It is to be hoped that beauty exceeding the Hectohelen class evades even the most ambitious.
the Table of Helens and Equivalents, from “ON THE INEFFICIENCY OF BEAUTY CONTESTS, & A SUGGESTION FOR THEIR MODERNIZATION.“ by David Lance Goines. (via penthesileas)
What I love about this episode: Because it’s Sherlock’s dream, Sherlock becomes the person writing the story – it’s his dream, his perception, his subconscious. Except no, he reminds us that John’s the writer, John’s the storyteller, John controls the world’s perception of the two of them.
So there’s a constant reminder of the ambiguity of Sherlock himself: the man in John’s story, vs. the man John really knows. Are we getting John’s story, or Sherlock’s dream? Maybe someone is dreaming, or maybe someone is writing – John narrates the beginning, after all. Which is the real Sherlock: the deerstalker-wearing icon in John’s stories, or the hallucinating drug addict?
Well, both of them are the real Sherlock. Because, as the last shot tells us, 1895 Sherlock is in Baker Street, which fades right into modern-day Baker Street. Both can exist at the same time.
Because EVERY version of Sherlock is equally real. And equally unreal.
Dogs are the literal best and let me tell you why.
When my parents are out of town, my pup Remmy sleeps downstairs with me. I don’t mind because the basement is chilly sometimes and he’s a fuzzy little space heater. But he always does this weird thing and I didn’t figure out why until last night.
I’m a stomach-sleeper, while the rest of my family are back-sleepers. So Remmy has taken up this very different behavior with me (my family says he doesn’t do it with them). It always takes me a while to settle down, but when I do, Remmy takes his head off of his paws and rests it square in the center of my back.
So I’m thinking, “What’s the point of that? It can’t be comfortable. It cranes his neck in a funny way, and besides, every time I breathe his head goes up and down. That’s a weird thing.” So I formulate a hypothesis, and test it.
Last night, I got comfortable, Remmy put his head on my back, I waited a while, then I held my breath. It took him a while to react, but when he did, he fuckin lost it. He started whining and yipping, and repeatedly licking my face and hands. And I was like oh my god.
Conclusion: my dog noticed that I slept in a way that was different from the rest of my family, thought “that kid is gonna die” and made sure that I never stopped breathing in the middle of the night.
Dogs are fuckin smart as hell. What a wonderful animal.
a kid at hogwarts who just wants to get a proper education but can’t focus because of all of the shit harry potter and his friends keep getting themselves into
Jenna B. Lacey, age eleven, knew exactly what she was going to do with her life.
She was going to go to Hogwarts, get top grades, and be the youngest female Minister of Magic by age 35.
It would have been a good plan, if she hadn’t been in the same year as Harry Potter.
* * *
Year one started out great. She was sorted into Hufflepuff, did well in all her classes, and aced the exams.
A troll smashed its way through the study room she was in on Halloween, but that wasn’t going to deter her.
* * *
Year two was a disaster. People were getting petrified, and worse—the teachers had to herd them from place to place, which severely cut down on her library time. She had to study in the common room, which meant instead of a nice, quiet atmosphere, she got a soundtrack of nervous Hufflepuffs.
And on top of that, exams were cancelled. It was a disaster.
* * *
Third year, she started to notice a trend.
First the troll, than the petrifications, and now dementor guards and escaped convicts. What did they all have in common? Potter.
After Black broke in and everyone had to spend the night in the Great Hall, interrupting Jenna’s last minute studying for a test the next day, she took to giving Potter angry looks in every class.
He did not notice.
* * *
They announced the Triwizard tournament at dinner the first night of fourth year, and Jenna almost started crying.
Potter was going to take this one over. She just knew it.
And she was right.
Voldemort rose at the end of the year. She honestly didn’t know what she had expected.
* * *
Fifth year brought Umbridge. She joined the DA because she was going to need a better background in defense, but that didn’t mean she was any happier about Potter.
She imagined it was him she was hexing instead of Zachariah Smith.
But, by the end of the year, focus on her studies was impossible. After Dumbledore left, it was complete anarchy.
Potter’s fault. Of course.
* * *
Sixth year she started volunteering in the hospital wing. She needed a backup plan in case Potter fucked it up.
All seemed quiet, until they brought Malfoy in. It was apparently Potter’s fault, which surprised everyone except Jenna.
Later, she was peacefully studying in a little nook on the third floor when some Death Eaters and some other adults started dueling right under her nose.
This was the worst fucking school, honestly.
* * *
They were calling it “The Final Battle.”
Jenna ran through the hall, dodging in and out of the children evacuating, until she saw him.
“POTTER.”
He turned, startled. “Um—Jenna, right? We’re sort of busy—”
She grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him up until he was eye level with her. “If I’m not Minister of Magic by age 35, it is going to be entirely your fault and I’m going to hurt you.”
She dropped him and stormed away, leaving him to whatever he was doing. She had to fight this goddamn war so she could go back to her fucking studying.
* * *
She became Minister of Magic at age 36.
Fucking Potter.
I think I just found the best Harry Potter fanfic
