Did you know that pogonophobia is the fear of beards? Although I've never met anyone with this particular problem, I've been told that it is surprisingly common. Not to be mean or anything, but imagine a pogonophobe stuck amongst our friends the Taliban! :P According to this source, he may suffer: breathlessness, excessive sweating, nausea, dry mouth, feeling sick, heart palpitations, inability to speak or think clearly, a fear of dying, becoming mad or losing control, a sensation of detachment from reality all the way to a full blown anxiety attack. Incidentally, one does not need to despair. A range of treatments for ponogophobes exists out there from hypnotherapy (repeat after me: I no longer fear beards, I no longer fear beards) to neuro-linguistic programming (remember: there is no such thing as beards, there is no such thing as beards) or energy psychology (as each needle pokes you, note that there are many things scarier than beards).
Once-upon-a-time a couple with the name of Ralph and Carolyn Cummins had five children. You will no doubt wonder what be blog-worthy about that given that in Pakistan five children is considered a modest form of old-age insurance. All five of these children born between 1952 - 1966 were hatched on a single day: 20th February. How be that for family planning? I believe that FPAP (you got it: Family Planning Association of Pakistan) should immediately offer this couple a consultancy contract. As-it-is, our wonderful government is all-for giving aid money right back to the Americans in return for 'technical assistance' which we don't ever really need.
It be no secret that relationships suck-eth. Human beings have registered this fact ever since Eve fooled Adam into eating the shiny red fruit. But perhaps the suckiest relationships moments occur when one party realizes that they have been cheated on by another. His Royal Highness, Peter the Great most definitely experienced the twinges of pain that strike the heart of a man cuckolded. His disillusionment, no doubt, propelled him to orchestrate a grand revenge sequence where he ordered the head of his wife's lover cut off and put into a jar of preserving alcohol, which he then ordered to be placed by her bed. I-bet-you-that-taught-the-bitch-a-lesson!
As you have no doubt noticed, the pressure of selecting 'one' prince amongst men for matrimony has become a real headache. How-oh-how does one choose a single specimen and expect him to fruitfully deliver forever-and-ever? I, and Rakhiji of the infamous swayamwar, are both envious of women in parts of Malaya who have never had to bother with such a silly choice, sensibly resorting to keeping harems (of men, naturally) instead. And, if one particular harem becomes tiresome, methinks both Rakhiji and I should resort to the simple but effective solution put forward by a 17th century Sultan of Turkey when he ordered his entire harem of drowned, and (obviously) replaced with a new one.
An excerpt from the world of etymology: did you know that it was the custom in Ancient Rome for the men to place their right hand on their testicles when taking an oath. The modern term 'testimony' is derived from this tradition. And speaking of 'ologies', did you know that the study of stupidity is called 'monology'. Don't-look-at-me, I was shocked by this one too. I could have sworn, that it was called 'politics'. :P