Weekend Link Dump

In which we offer a tip of the hat to everyone featured in this week's links.

What the hell is the Margate Shell Grotto?

What the hell is this Irish tunnel?

What the hell was in John Coleman's pie?

What the hell was pitting all those windshields?

What the hell was killing all those Marconi workers?

What the hell killed this horse?

Watch out for the Hatchet Man of Ohio!

Watch out for the Catman of Greenock!

The world's oldest murder mystery.

A very interesting Roman tombstone.

The talented Brighton Cats.

The lucky charms of WWI.

A 2,000 year old pearl.

Puritan chastity tools.

Oh, just a guy holding a funeral for his toes.

Oh, just people finding body parts on Mars.

19th century Japan--in color!

So, you want to be an 18th century cook?  Stay sober and load up on those saucepans.

The Universal Library of the Universal Mind.

The colorful life of Thomas Machell.

Exonerating Lizzie Borden.  I can't say I'm convinced, but it's a vigorous effort nonetheless.

Thanks to Dr. Beachcombing, I will never be able to think of the city of New Haven with a straight face again.

It was a big week for weird pig stories at Dr. B's blog:  A case of folklore running up against animal cruelty laws.

Forget 1999; this weekend, party like it's Congress of Vienna time.

Your utter BS historical legend of the week.

Would I buy this if I had the money?  Hell yes I'd buy this.

It's still possible to visit ancient Roman baths.

Just another cross-dressing, mind-reading terrier.

Accounts of children who claim to be reincarnated monks.

Honoring a hero dog of WWII.

How to have a night on the town in Georgian England.

Another story for the "Let's face it, we don't know jack about human history" file.

Personally, I can't read Agatha Christie's books.  I find her writing dull, her characters (even the "good" ones) one-dimensional and repellent, and her plots too irritatingly cutesy and unrealistic by half.  And she ripped off Poe pretty shamelessly.  Which possibly explains why she died a beloved millionaire and I'm likely going to croak as a broke nobody.

Medical science proves itself wrong...again.

A night out in Manhattan, 1991.  And you cannot escape "Cats."

And, finally, this seems appropriate this Belmont weekend: A grandson of Secretariat enjoys his birthday party.

That's all for this week.  See you on Monday, with the story of a murder that turned out not to be a murder although there are some who still think it may have been a murder.

Or something like that.  Anyway, here's Marshall Crenshaw: