Robert F. Kennedy Jr. has spent decades cultivating an image as an environmentalist and wildlife advocate. But a trail of eccentric, sometimes unsettling animal stories — many confirmed by Kennedy himself or recalled by family members — offers a very different portrait. None have led to criminal charges, but together they form
In 1888, a French newspaper mistakenly published an obituary for Alfred Nobel—the Swedish chemist who invented dynamite. Its headline read: “The Merchant of Death Is Dead.” The mix-up wasn’t fatal, but it was transformative. Nobel was alive—and horrified. He realized this would be how history remembered him:
Before he became a dictator, Adolf Hitler was an artist who failed his entrance exam to the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts—twice. The rejection haunted him. In another timeline, he might have painted postcard skylines for tourists. In ours, he redesigned Europe itself as a living gallery of terror.
When Redline finally roared across Japanese screens in 2010, it looked less like a movie than an act of madness. Every frame was drawn by hand—over one hundred thousand cels of burning tires, neon explosions, and sweat-slicked metal. Seven years of labor. No CGI shortcuts. Just pure animation velocity.
Before “artificial intelligence” became the language of the future, there was another god of the machine: cybernetics. Born from war, mathematics, and metaphysics, it was the science that promised to unify everything—brains, economies, ecosystems—under one elegant principle: feedback. Its prophet was Norbert Wiener, a child prodigy from MIT
In April 1983, Stern magazine made a promise to the world: they had found Adolf Hitler’s private diaries—62 handwritten volumes detailing the mind of the 20th century’s most infamous man. The announcement was treated like the discovery of the century. Within weeks, the revelation collapsed into one
In the summer of 2025, news broke that Park Chan-wook, the visionary director behind Oldboy and Decision to Leave, had been expelled from the Screen Actors Guild–American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (SAG-AFTRA). The charge: working during the Hollywood writers’ and actors’ strike. The punishment: public excommunication. It
Napoleon didn’t sleep. Neither does Elon Musk. Kanye West once bragged that sleep was “the cousin of death.” Each built an empire by staying awake — and each watched it unravel the same way. What connects them isn’t just genius; it’s the delusion that energy is infinite. The
Before Better Call Saul refined moral ambiguity into art, and long after Breaking Bad made chemistry feel biblical, Vince Gilligan tried something smaller. It wasn’t a cartel epic or a moral tragedy—it was a cop show. In early 2015, CBS aired a thirteen-episode series called Battle Creek, a
In the early 1970s, California was both paradise and purgatory. The Summer of Love had curdled into paranoia. The Manson murders were still echoing in headlines, Jonestown was yet to come, and San Francisco—a city that once promised utopia—had begun to taste apocalypse. Between 1973 and 1974, a
When Edward Hopper died in 1967, his paintings were already the language of American loneliness—gas stations at dusk, hotel rooms half-lit, people near each other but not together. But what came after his death changed how we read that silence. In his attic, hundreds of sketches, watercolors, and letters
When Hollywood’s Mask Slipped In November 2014, the world’s most powerful movie studio found itself naked. A mysterious group calling itself Guardians of Peace hijacked Sony Pictures Entertainment’s servers, wiped thousands of computers, and leaked more than 100 terabytes of internal data—scripts, budgets, salaries, medical files,