The Landfill of the Heapers' Hangout (contains Fossilmaiden's Punnery)
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http://nichegamer.com/2016/03/28/square-enix-gave-star-ocean-5s-miki-bigger-panties-in-fear-of-western-criticism/
TL;DR: you can see a certain character's panties in SO5 and they made the panties ever so slightly bigger
if you check the comments section you will see people trying to make some sort of holy last stand against censorship on this
this has got to be the most pointless thing to argue over ever
like, even more pointless than the towels in fortune summoners
•10 months ago
this is probably a good punishment. especially when uploaded to the internet.
more stinging pun: truth statistics
and then both phrases have seven letters because i'm still in a mystery hunt mood so now i need to figure out a third seven letter phrase that ends in "IT"
there we go
It's known as cDonald's Theorem. If we plot its graph, we arrive at this unusual shape:
A uniformly curved line that, somehow, joins up with itself, that science has yet to find a name for.
Can you think of a name for it? If you can, the Royal Mathematics Society would like to hear from you, because they hold a competition each year to find a name for this figure. The final takes place in Nottingham, on April the 4th of September.
It doesn't even have an equals sign
We were strong in those days -- and we ate. Oh my, yes, we ate. We were avowed trenchermen; we were gourmands. Why, we thought that we could eat forever, then, and never tire.
We ate of only the best that the Earth and her bounty had to offer, too: Wonder Bread, Cheeze Whiz, Miracle Whip, and Bologna. We knew these victuals well: they were our soul. We ate, I say to you again -- and if any stopped to ask us why, we would only laugh and eat all the more.
We loved eating. It was the joy of our days.
One day, when still we were young and strong, we were confronted with a new kind of food. They called it "Shakshuka," and it regarded us grimly from the plate. There was no explaining a dish like that. There were eggs in it, but they hadn't been soft-boiled! Where was the toast cut into strips so that we could dip into the yolk? Were we expected to eat the egg whites too? Where was the ketchup? We were told that there were plenty of tomatoes in it, but they were not sweet as those we had come to love. There were also, if you will credit it, peppers. And we were bidden to eat them too. How could we, though? None of it was relevant to our modern tastes.
"Mom," one of us asked; "why can't we just have a handful of gummy bears dissolved in a bowl of Mountain Dew like we did yesterday?"
"That's not very good for you," she said, dismissing all alternate opinions and insisting on her own interpretation. "Besides, just give it a try -- you might like it."
Our father made the matter worse by telling us the history of the dish, explaining how the different ingredients worked together, and describing some notable variants in preparation. He forced his interpretation on us as well, demanding we accept mere pedantic details as being important, and seemed not even to care about the most important thing of all: surely the chef just made it because it was supposed to be food, and would have been outraged at this overanalysis. Don't try to convince me that he chose fresh tomatoes over canned on purpose. A tomato is a tomato. And let us dispense at once with this notion that he chose specific amounts and kinds of paprika and cumin to add to the mixture: obviously he just put them in because they were spices, and that's that. I feel nauseous thinking about it even now.
A small thing, you might say -- but you would be wrong. From that moment onward we lost our love of eating forever, my friends and I. Nothing tasted good to us ever again, and it's probably been years now since I ate anything at all. One of my former comrades claims to have taken up eating again after trying something called a Cronut, but I've never heard of it. Still, if it resembles the rich and satisfying foods of our youth... if... if...
For now, though, a manifesto of sorts. If children must be given food, give them only the food that they like and which is relatable to them. Food does not need to be planned, or to include ingredients; indeed, talking about these matters ruins food entirely. All we should take into account is that the chef wanted to make food, and only if he said so; everything else is folly.