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A bit of interesting news in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia: allegedly they deported a few men visiting from the United Arab Emirates for being “too handsome,” fearing that local women would succumb to temptation. It’s bad enough ladies aren’t allowed to drive over there—now you gotta take away their eye candy? 

Lost amid recent wretched news, was the celebration of the pothead holiday 4/20. For those who never smoke marijuana, perhaps this is the day to partake; for those who consume an heroic amount daily, it’s a chance to consume slightly more. Not so, for about five thousand USC students gathered for the event, all of whom could have potentially shared the two-pound, four-foot joint that the cops quickly nabbed. As Obama would say: “Intercepted.”

Can Elmer's Glue really remove blackheads? Apparently this is a question people have been asking, well, for at least a few hours. Luckily, my pal Ashley Cardiff at The Gloss decided to bravely slather herself with glue not for comedic or distinctively (and disgustingly) erotic purposes, but because of science. Science is great! And so are clean faces. Does Elmer's Glue pass the test? You'll have to click through to find out, but I will let you know that I learned that it's possible to have a glue allergy. Every day is a school day, folks.

Los Angeles is no stranger to new health fads. In fact, the well-to-do areas of SoCal sprawl are like the Nevada Proving Grounds for fringe vitality treatments, bizarre diets, cosmetic surgeries, and creative workout regimens. Colonics (that’s where they put a hose up your butt and flush your colon and lower intestine with a blast of warm water) and Botox parties are almost as commonplace as haircuts and manicures, in some vainer circles. So Shape House, which calls itself an urban sweat lodge and is built into an unassuming craftsman home on the edge of the desirable neighborhood known as Larchmont just south of Hollywood, should fit right in.

In Year 9 (she’s Canadian), Ophira Eisenberg made a Lotus 123 spreadsheet ranking potential candidates to take her virginity. But a few months and one bloody cunnilingus mishap later, she wound up going off-book and lost it to a wild card entrant in a hotel bathroom in Banff. She’s since been with a bassist, a jazz guitarist and an alumnus of a barbershop quartet—although not all at once. There was an improviser, a film critic and a drama student—they had sex dressed as pixies during a production of Midsummer. There was a coke addict, a meth addict, and a guy from Queens with an addiction to stuffed Garfields. She slept with a blind albino who prefaced things with, “I’m warning you, you’re about to see the smallest penis ever.” There was a pastry chef (“His hands were like nothing I had ever experienced before”), a guy who preferred to come whilst having anal beads pulled out of his butthole, and yes, there was at one point a woman.

Apologies to the nubbier men among us, but we’ve just received some cold, hard proof that women who like penises at all find the bigger ones more attractive. Scientists researching “the motion of the ocean” could not be reached for comment.

The first paragraph of this New York Times article on street safety analysis says it all, I believe: “Pedestrians struck by cars are most often hit while in the crosswalk, with the signal on their side.” So why bother. You need to cross a street, jaywalk that shit.

The Times is reporting it like the money involved is what matters—burying the lede, as they say—but it’s there nonetheless in the first paragraph: “[B]oth the costs and the number of people with dementia will more than double within 30 years, skyrocketing at a rate that rarely occurs with a chronic disease.” Translation: most of us will live long enough to go truly crazy.