Well goddamn... Ok. Go ahead and dm me your home address, phone number, social and/or tax id number, the name of the street you grew up on, the name of your favorite teacher, the IMEI number of your cellphone, a high resolution set of your fingerprints, and a list of your three greatest fears, and I'll get your sticker sent over as soon as I can.
Okay, who gets to be the lucky one to calculate the amount of time that thing could heat sink a pegged, modern, 120w TDP CPU before it throttles at 100C? I'll give you a sticker.
I'm not a biologist or anything, but FACT as far as I'm aware. Domesticated cats are much closer to wild cats than domesticated dogs are to wolves. They likely stem from an older version of the species that currently live in Africa, which is routinely that hot even in the shade. Their hearts just beckon back to the olden times when they were worshiped as gods, it was comfortably warm outside all the time, and they could engage in all the casual murdering of smaller creatures that they felt like.
You don't need to know. You're not meant to. You didn't see anything, and if you did, someone at the hospital is going to remind you how dangerous stairs can be...
This is also a good time for your quarterly reminder that, conically, Klingons have two dicks. Please sign the roster by the door so we know you attended this mandatory training.
If I recall correctly, it was written by Plato based on the witness of a person in an adjacent cell. By all accounts, he was not a charlatan. He kept talking to people about all his usual stuff and telling people to quit crying because it's not that big a deal. When the guard came with the drink, he thanked him for his troubles, and asked him how to make it work the best. The guard told him to drink it, and then walk around his cell until his legs feel heavy, and then just lay down. He downed it in one pull, paced around his cell making jokes about how he was taking this so much better than everybody else around him until he had to be helped into bed. He picked that moment to remind his main student, Crito, that he owed an animal sacrifice to Asclepius, but hadn't gotten around to it yet, and died. Legend.
I've always loved this painting, because it looks like he's flipping off of God while he tells the guy in red everything that he hates about him personally. His friends behind red, are trying to get him to go home because he's drunk and causing a scene, and the two guys in back it just came to watch the drama when they heard commotion. The bartender, who still has his tab open, is handing him another drink.
Ok. Who's paying them to do it?