Damien Galeone

As I work as an editor for academic journals which focus on security studies and international relations, on a daily basis I learn more and more about just how screwed are we here on planet Earth. It’s probably for that reason that I spend the rest of my writing life working for children’s magazines.

In what will be a body blow to those unfortunates who have had to be my science teachers throughout my life, it seems that I have fallen into writing about science. I think it’s the mental breakdown that I have to do in order to understand the science myself that allows me to convey it to kids in a somewhat reasonable way. (I thought osmosis was a mystery novelist.) In my research, I occasionally come across information that freaks me the hell out.

This weekend I learned that Earth has a second moon. A mini moon. A quasi-satellite. No matter what you call it, it orbits Earth and I don’t like it. It’s between 130 and 330 meters in diameter. Its name is Kamoʻoalewa because it was named by Hawaiians, who spotted it while looking up and thanking their gods for universal healthcare, perfect weather, and an endless supply of ‘I got lei’d in Hawaii’ jokes. It has been in our orbit for 500 years. Kamoʻoalewa is one of five extra moons the Earth has. I hate them all.

Raccoons are very smart. Too smart. And they can pick locks. Not simple locks, but complex lock systems, one of whose best qualities is the ability to keep me safe from ultra-smart raccoons. Now, included among the things that I worry about each night as I lie in bed will be the faulty veracity of my front door’s lock, home invasion by a smart raccoon, and then losing in chess to a raccoon.

A different version of me exists in every single person who knows me or who has ever known me. I need to contact these people and make sure we all get on the same page about which version of me we all have. And I wonder if any of those people’s versions of me is the one who still wears size 34 waist pants.

We supposedly walk past 36 murderers in our lifetimes. To mitigate my rather strong feelings on this factoid, I am planning to walk along a maximum security prison during yard time. I should be able to stack the deck that way. If you want to log a few murderers for you, DM me.  

Should the male worker bee ejaculate during very hot weather, his penis will explode, fly off his body, and kill him. I repeat: if a male worker bee ejaculates when it’s hot, his penis explodes, flies off his body, and kills him. This is like the three worst things that can happen to a guy all in succession and taking place immediately after the best thing that can happen to a guy. This doesn’t help me personally unless said worker bee is in my hallway shtupping a raccoon who was unlocking my door during a heatwave.   

There’s a book called the Voynich Manuscript that nobody can translate. By studying word and letter patterns, linguists have determined that it is written in a real language, but other patterns of the language differentiate it from all known Indo-European languages. Moreover, the book is filled with unusual illustrations, mostly of plants that can’t be identified, women who are naked, and mystical animals. This book has been carbon-dated to between 1404 and 1438 and given the visual content, sounds like it may be about spring break during the Crusades.

I hope this list has given you pause as it has me. If you have any freaky factoids feel free to share them. Any new moons are not welcome.