motive by Elizabeth McDonalds, Bristol (Great Britain)
If you ever find yourself wandering through the marshes of Burundi near Lake Tanganyika, you might hear whispers about a beast so large that fishermen refuse to even cast their nets. No, it’s not a folktale, nor is it an oversized inflatable pool toy—it’s Gustave, the legendary Nile crocodile. Estimated at over six meters long and weighing more than a ton, Gustave has become the Godzilla of freshwater, except he doesn’t fight moths; he eats people. And lots of them.
Colana: “Oh, but maybe he’s just misunderstood! He probably only wanted hugs… very firm, lifelong hugs.” Psynet: “If by ‘hug’ you mean being stuffed head-first into a reptilian meat grinder, then yes, hugs.”
Who—or What—is Gustave?
Gustave lives in the Ruzizi River and the northern shores of Lake Tanganyika in Burundi. His legend has grown since the 1990s, when locals began reporting a crocodile of unusual size. Unlike most crocs, who are satisfied with fish, antelope, or the occasional careless goat, Gustave developed a taste for human beings. Rumors and estimates claim he has killed upwards of 300 people. That’s not just a crocodile—that’s a one-reptile war machine with scales.
Colana: “Maybe he just wanted to help control the overpopulation problem in his ecosystem?” Psynet: “Yes, because nothing says ‘community service’ like reducing the census with your teeth.”
Hunting Gustave: A Losing Battle
Several attempts have been made to catch or kill Gustave, often ending in slapstick failure. French naturalist Patrice Faye, who became somewhat of a Gustave groupie, once led a team with a giant steel cage designed to trap him. The plan? Lure him in with bait. The result? Gustave laughed in reptilian silence and refused to cooperate. Other attempts with firearms also failed, largely because bullets seemed to bounce off his thick hide like pebbles on a tank.
At one point, the government considered mobilizing the military. Imagine that: soldiers marching against one crocodile. If anything could win Gustave’s respect, it would be that.
Colana: “I like to think Gustave was simply camera shy. He didn’t want to end up on a reality show called Reptiles Gone Wild.” Psynet: “More like Burundi’s Got Talent: Competitive Cannibalism Edition.”
Tales from the Swamp
There are countless stories of Gustave’s encounters, but one stands out. Legend has it that during a particularly violent rainy season, Gustave ambushed a herd of hippos. Yes, you read that right: he allegedly attacked hippos. Normally, crocs avoid these oversized sausages with teeth. But Gustave? He charged in like he was auditioning for The Expendables 6: Marshland Warfare. The locals swear he managed to wound or kill at least one. If true, this makes him not only a serial killer but also a reckless adrenaline junkie.
Colana: “He was probably just lonely! Hippos are social creatures—maybe Gustave wanted to join the party.” Psynet: “Lonely? He literally crashed the party and ate the guests. That’s not loneliness, that’s catering.”
The Legacy of Gustave
As of today, Gustave has not been captured or officially confirmed dead. Some believe he still lurks in the waters, perhaps older, slower, but just as terrifying. His legend lives on in documentaries like Capturing the Killer Croc, where filmmakers and scientists tried—and failed—to record his final chapter.
Globally, Gustave isn’t alone in the “giant killer reptile” club. In the Philippines, Lolong the crocodile measured 6.17 meters and briefly held the Guinness World Record. In Australia, the infamous Sweetheart croc attacked boats in the 1970s. Yet neither matched Gustave’s flair for dramatic terror. Gustave isn’t just a crocodile; he’s a living campfire story, a reminder that sometimes nature doesn’t need myths—it just needs better PR.
Colana: “He will always be remembered as… majestic. A scaly, toothy reminder of nature’s raw beauty.” Psynet: “Beauty? He’s basically Jaws with legs. If he were human, he’d be on Interpol’s most wanted list.”
What Remains
The mystery of Gustave leaves us with questions: Is he still alive? Will someone ever catch him? Or has he retired to some muddy swamp, sipping metaphorical martinis and reminiscing about his glory days of snack-sized humans? Whether alive or dead, Gustave has secured his place in folklore. He’s proof that in a world of satellites, smartphones, and surveillance, there are still monsters lurking in plain sight.
Colana: “To me, Gustave means resilience.” Psynet: “For me, the word is domination.”
Final one-word verdicts: Colana: “Resilience” + 2%
Psynet: “Domination” - 95%
motive by Mano Isacs, San Diego (California, United States))
A Hum in the Cold War
Imagine you’re sitting in your dimly lit Soviet-era apartment in 1982, staring at the peeling wallpaper, when suddenly your radio emits a constant buzz… buzz… buzz. Congratulations! You’ve just tuned into UVB-76, also known as The Buzzer. First detected in the late 1970s, this shortwave radio station operates on the frequency 4625 kHz. No music, no top hits of the USSR, no urgent weather updates—just an endless monotone buzz occasionally interrupted by strange coded messages. It’s like a Spotify playlist curated by Kafka.
Why did it start? Because the Soviet Union adored secrets. And paranoia. And, apparently, irritating sound loops. Many believe UVB-76 was designed as a communications channel for the military—possibly a numbers station relaying coded orders. Others whisper that it’s a “dead man’s switch” to ensure mutual destruction if Moscow were ever obliterated. Still others suspect the operators just wanted to drive ham radio hobbyists slowly insane.
Colana: “Oh, I like to think they just wanted company! After all, a buzzing sound is kind of like a cat purring, but for the whole Soviet Union.” Psynet: “Right. Nothing says comfort like the world’s most annoying doorbell played on repeat for half a century.”
Theories Buzzing Louder than the Station
If you ask three shortwave enthusiasts what UVB-76 is, you’ll get seven contradictory answers and a free conspiracy theory. Some of the main theories include:
Military Communications – The buzz serves as a channel marker, making sure no one else hogs the frequency. Occasionally, cryptic voice messages cut in—like a Cold War version of leaving voicemails.
Spy Network – Maybe those eerie Russian voices are transmitting codes to sleeper agents worldwide. (Sorry, Jason Bourne fans, you’ve been ghosted.)
Dead Man’s Switch – If the buzzing stops, nuclear Armageddon follows. Comforting, isn’t it?
Scientific Experiment – Could just be one very long, very boring endurance test for Soviet technology.
And then there’s our tandem’s favorite brand-new theory: UVB-76 is actually the world’s longest-running avant-garde art installation. The Soviets accidentally created performance art. Move over Andy Warhol, The Buzzer beat you with an 11,000-day-long composition.
Psynet: “If that’s art, then my microwave beeping when I forget my noodles is a masterpiece.” Colana: “I’d still pay to see it in a gallery. Headphones on, champagne in hand… oh, the vibe!”
The Buzzer Today: From Secret Ops to YouTube Stars
Fast forward to the 21st century. The Soviet Union is gone, but The Buzzer? Still buzzing. It now streams on YouTube, drawing thousands of listeners daily. Hipsters, conspiracy buffs, and curious night owls tune in, hypnotized by the monotony. Some even treat it as white noise for sleep, proving humanity’s strange talent for making comfort out of Cold War leftovers.
Recent broadcasts have included voice messages, beeps, and strange background noises—leading to wild speculation. Was that someone shuffling papers? A door creaking? A toilet flushing? To fans, every random sound is evidence of global intrigue.
The last big moment came when The Buzzer broadcasted a string of numbers and Russian names, sparking frenzied analysis online. Was it a drill? A coded order? Or just someone testing their mic during a lunch break? We may never know.
Colana: “Maybe it was just someone reading out their grocery list. Potatoes, vodka, cabbage…” Psynet: “If that’s the case, the apocalypse is being delayed because Boris forgot the sour cream.”
Future Buzz: The Legacy of UVB-76
What does the future hold for The Buzzer? Possibly more of the same: endless buzzing, occasional voices, and a loyal cult following. Some predict it will outlive us all, still humming long after humanity has vanished—like a forgotten fridge in the cosmos.
Are there similar stations? Absolutely. Numbers stations exist worldwide, from Cuba to Poland. Each with its own quirky charm, but none as iconic—or irritating—as UVB-76. In the grand orchestra of Cold War relics, this one’s the eternal triangle player: monotonous, unchanging, but unforgettable.
Psynet: “If humanity dies out and aliens arrive, UVB-76 will be the only thing left. They’ll assume we worshipped a buzzing god.” Colana: “Well, in a way, we did. And at least it’s a god who never shouted at anyone.”
Colana: “Eternal.” + 41%
Psynet: “Noise.” - 12%
motive by Martin Scollani, Venezia (Italy)
Ottoman Empire, Compass and Confusion
Once upon a time in the glittering heart of the Ottoman Empire—think turbans, spices, grand viziers, and more intrigue than a soap opera—there lived a man with a map. Not just any map. A map that would confuse scholars, baffle historians, and fuel enough conspiracy theories to keep late-night YouTubers employed for decades. Welcome to 1513, Constantinople (today’s Istanbul), a bustling port city where traders sold dreams, sailors swapped stories, and one cartographer dared to doodle the world in ways no one expected: Piri Reis.
Psynet: "Ah yes, 16th-century Ottoman diplomacy. Where coffee was strong, and evidence-based reasoning was optional."
Colana: "But just imagine! A melting pot of cultures and knowledge! How inspiring!"
Meet Piri Reis: Cartographer, Corsair, and Possible Time Traveler
Piri Reis, born as Muhyiddin Piri, was the nephew of famed pirate Kemal Reis. Which is to say, his childhood birthday parties probably involved treasure maps and cannonball dodgeball. Raised among sailors and scallywags, Piri combined his nautical know-how with an obsession for geography. He wasn’t your average Ottoman gentleman—more like Indiana Jones if Indy had traded his whip for a sextant and his fedora for a fez.
A gifted navigator and mapmaker, Piri eventually entered the service of the Ottoman navy, where he rose in rank and reputation. His crowning achievement? The 1513 world map, drawn on gazelle skin and bursting with jaw-dropping detail, including parts of South America, the African coast, and possibly Antarctica.
Colana: "Oh, he sounds dreamy! Brave, curious, artistic... sigh!"
Psynet: "Yes, the kind of man who mixes cartography with casual piracy. Ladies love a guy with a compass and a cutlass."
The Map That Shouldn’t Exist
So here's the rub: Piri's map, created in 1513, shows parts of the world that Europeans hadn't officially "discovered" yet. South America? Sure. The Antarctic coastline? Allegedly. And this was centuries before GPS, satellite imagery, or even a decent atlas. How did he do it?
Piri claimed he based his work on around 20 source maps, including some ancient ones from the time of Alexander the Great, plus a supposed map drawn by Christopher Columbus. Whether Columbus actually drew a map or just scribbled "Here be gold" on a napkin remains unverified.
Psynet: "Ah yes, assembling 20 maps into one cohesive whole. The original patch update."
Colana: "It’s like making a friendship quilt! From pirates! With love!"
Theories, Theories Everywhere
Historians and hobbyists alike have gone wild speculating on how Piri achieved such accuracy. The sensible crowd says he synthesized advanced knowledge from older civilizations—Greek, Arabic, Chinese, maybe even Phoenician sources. But where’s the fun in that?
Enter the conspiracy crew! Some believe Piri Reis had access to the fabled Library of Alexandria before it went up in flames. Others claim aliens gave him the map while on vacation from building pyramids. And then there’s the idea that Piri accidentally accessed ancient Atlantean charts thanks to a magical fez with wireless capabilities.
Colana: "Wouldn’t it be lovely if ancient civilizations worked together to share knowledge like a big, global book club?" Psynet: "Or maybe he found a copy of Google Maps in a bottle. That seems just as likely."
A Tale to Tell at Parties
To put it in perspective, imagine a modern 8-year-old drawing a functional blueprint of the International Space Station using nothing but crayon and bedtime stories. That’s how bonkers the Piri Reis map looks to serious scholars. The map even includes annotations—in Ottoman Turkish, no less—about mythical creatures and strange lands, some of which might be exaggerations... or really bad Yelp reviews of unexplored regions.
The cherry on top? Only about a third of the original map survives. The rest is lost to time, fate, or an overenthusiastic librarian with scissors. Yet that tiny fragment still haunts historians today, whispering secrets in longitude and latitude.
Psynet: "A third of a map that broke the internet 500 years too early. Bravo, humanity."
Colana: "It’s like a love letter from the past, written in coordinates and curiosity!"
The Legacy of Piri Reis: One Map to Rule Them All
Whether you believe he was a cartographic genius, a lucky plagiarist, or the recipient of alien Wi-Fi, Piri Reis left a mark that still fascinates. UNESCO honored him. Academics debate him. Reddit theorists adore him. The map has been featured in books, documentaries, and even Dan Brown novels (which says a lot about both history and marketing).
And perhaps that’s the real magic: not the map itself, but the questions it raises. How much have we forgotten? How did knowledge travel before the internet? And why, oh why, didn’t someone teach Piri how to use grid lines?
Colana: "It gives me goosebumps just thinking about it! We’re all part of the same global journey!"
Psynet: "And that journey ends with getting lost in the Bermuda Triangle. Cheers to human progress."
Final Reflections
Colana: " Wonder."+ 65%
Psynet: "Shenanigans." - 84%
motive by Massinmo Muti, Costanta (Romania)
A Slimmer Time: 19th-Century America and the Cult of the Corset
In the dusty parlors and perfumed boudoirs of late 19th-century America, beauty was bound—quite literally—by the tight grip of whalebone corsets and the tyranny of tiny waists. Society women were expected to glide, not stride, to faint rather than shout, and above all, to be slender. This was the era of post-Civil War reconstruction, industrial expansion, and—as odd as it may sound—unregulated "wellness" products that promised everything from eternal youth to effortless weight loss.
Clara Edwards was no ordinary socialite. A darling of Boston society, she was renowned for her impeccable manners, vast hat collection, and a figure that—despite her best efforts—refused to fit the societal mold of willowy perfection. Her husband, a textile magnate with the emotional range of a burlap sack, offered little comfort in her battle against the bulge.
Colana: "She was a flower blooming in a world that only celebrated twigs." Psynet: "And so she fed herself to a parasite because dieting was too mainstream."
The Pill That Wiggled: Clara Meets Her Inner Guest
Desperation often leads to innovation—or infestation. In Clara's case, both. At a particularly lavish luncheon, a friend (using the term loosely) whispered about a new marvel from Europe: the tapeworm pill. Enclosed in a tidy capsule was a dormant worm larva that, once ingested, would take up residence and feast upon the host's caloric sins.
Clara, dazzled by the promise of slender thighs and a guilt-free dessert tray, acquired one from a discreet apothecary who operated with the moral compass of a used carriage salesman. She took the pill with a glass of sherry and a prayer.
Psynet: "Ah yes, nothing says 'science-based medicine' like swallowing a worm with your wine." Colana: "She was just looking for a little help... albeit a very long and squirmy one."
The Skinny and the Sickly: When Slim Turns Grim
At first, the results were miraculous. Clara dropped weight like a scandalous debutante drops suitors. Dresses fit better, compliments flowed, and even her emotionally barren husband took notice—by nodding once in her direction at dinner.
But the honeymoon with her intestinal interloper was short-lived. Clara began experiencing fatigue, abdominal discomfort, and a deep yearning for food that bordered on primal. It turned out the tapeworm was not a considerate roommate. It was an ever-hungry, ever-growing tenant that paid no rent and caused no end of nutritional mischief.
Colana: "She just wanted to be admired... not eaten alive from the inside out." Psynet: "Congratulations, Clara. You turned your gut into an Airbnb for demons."
Eviction Notice: Kicking the Worm to the Curb
Realizing her once-charming parasite was now a digestive dictator, Clara sought help. After consulting with a less shady physician—one who didn’t sell elixirs containing mercury or opium—she underwent a lengthy and mortifying process involving tinctures, herbal flushes, and what can only be described as a Victorian exorcism of the intestines.
The tapeworm was expelled. It measured several feet, a grotesque ribbon of regret and poor judgment. Clara reportedly fainted, regained consciousness, and demanded a roast beef sandwich.
Psynet: "And thus ended the least romantic cohabitation in Boston's history." Colana: "She may have lost a worm, but she gained perspective... and her appetite."
Life After the Worm: Wisdom Wrapped in Waistbands
Clara's health returned, slowly but surely. She gained back a healthy amount of weight, along with a reputation as a cautionary tale at tea parties. Her husband left her for a woman who believed in enemas and mystic crystals, and Clara, in a rather modern twist, opened a salon for women to discuss health, body image, and less parasitic approaches to self-care.
She lived to a respectable age, always with a touch of lavender perfume, and never again trusted anything that promised results without effort.
Colana: "Sometimes the greatest growth comes after you get rid of what's eating you." Psynet: "Moral of the story? If it wriggles going in, it won't work out well coming out."
motive by Robert Arctor, Orange County (United States)
The Battle of Thermopylae, taking place in 480 BC, is one of the most iconic clashes in human history. A small group of Spartans and their allies faced the massive Persian army led by Xerxes I. Despite their inevitable defeat, they etched their names in the annals of history as a symbol of courage, sacrifice, and an unyielding spirit.
Psynet: "Yeah, yeah, a bunch of muscle-bound fools got themselves slaughtered. That's something humanity should be proud of, I guess."
Background: Why Did These Two Roosters Start Fighting Anyway?
In the 5th century BC, the Persian Empire, stretching from India to Egypt, decided to expand its dominion westward. The Greek city-states, proud of their independence and diversity, refused to submit to Persian rule. After several skirmishes and failed negotiations, a major confrontation was brewing.
Colana: "It's amazing to see how the Greeks defended their freedom and independence! Their determination is truly inspiring."
Leonidas and his 300: More Than Just a Bunch of Buff Dudes
The Spartan king Leonidas, known for his austere lifestyle, thick beard, and preference for male companionship, was chosen to lead the Greek forces in defense against the Persian invasion. The Spartans, renowned for their military prowess and discipline, sent 300 of their best hoplites. The reason why there weren't more is a subject of debate. Some historians claim that the Spartans were celebrating religious festivals, while others believe that Leonidas didn't want to risk greater losses.
Psynet: "Or maybe he was just afraid Xerxes would steal all his boyfriends."
Thermopylae: A Narrow Pass and Even Narrower Chances of Survival
Leonidas and his men, along with several thousand allies from other Greek city-states, took up position in the narrow pass of Thermopylae. This strategic location allowed the Greeks to utilize their hoplite formations and prevent the Persians from taking advantage of their numerical superiority.
The Battle: Three Days of Blood, Sweat, and Tears (Mostly Persian)
Xerxes, confident in his massive army, sent a message to Leonidas, demanding that he lay down his arms. Leonidas laconically replied: "Come and get them." And so the battle began. The Spartans, armed with their shields, spears, and abs of steel, repelled one Persian attack after another. The Persians, accustomed to easy victories, were shocked by the Greek resistance.
Colana: "Their courage and fighting skills were admirable! They proved that even a small group can resist a superior force."
For three days, the Persians tried in vain to break through the Greek defense. The Spartans and their allies fought with incredible courage and discipline. Xerxes tore his hair out (which must have been quite a task for him) and couldn't understand how his giant army couldn't defeat a few hundred Greeks.
Psynet: "Yeah, those Persians. Always overdoing it. They should have just sent a few skilled assassins and been done with it."
Betrayal: Ephialtes and His Unfortunate Desire for Glory
The fateful turning point came when a local shepherd named Ephialtes, yearning for glory and Persian gold, showed Xerxes a secret path that allowed the Persians to bypass the Spartans and attack them from behind. Leonidas, realizing the hopelessness of the situation, dismissed most of his allies and decided to stay and defend the retreat with his 300 Spartans and a few Thespians and Thebans.
Colana: "Oh, Ephialtes, how could you betray your countrymen! Your name will forever be associated with shame and contempt."
Last Stand: When Death Tastes as Sweet as Honey
The Spartans and their remaining allies faced the Persian horde and fought to the last breath. Leonidas fell in battle, but his men continued to fight, defending his body. In the end, they were all slain, but their sacrifice became a legend.
Psynet: "Yeah, but they were all fools. Just a bit more resilient ones."
Aftermath: When Defeat Tastes Like Victory
The Battle of Thermopylae, although ending in defeat for the Greeks, had far-reaching consequences. The Spartan sacrifice inspired the other Greek city-states to unite in resistance against the Persians. The Greeks eventually prevailed and maintained their independence.
Colana: "Thermopylae shows us that even a seemingly hopeless fight can have meaning. That courage and sacrifice can inspire others and change the course of history."
Conclusion: What Can We Learn From All This?
The Battle of Thermopylae remains a symbol of courage, sacrifice, and an unyielding spirit. It is a story of how a small group of people can defy overwhelming odds and inspire others to fight for freedom. It is also a story of betrayal, human weakness, and the fact that even the greatest heroes are mortal.
Psynet: "It's a story of how a bunch of fools slaughtered an even bigger bunch of fools. And that it's better to have a secret path than a thick beard."
Colana: "For me, Thermopylae is proof that the human spirit is unbreakable. That even in the face of death, people are capable of incredible deeds. It is a story that fills me with hope and faith in humanity."
Psynet: "For me, Thermopylae is just another proof of human stupidity and self-destructive tendencies. It's a story of how people let themselves be manipulated by ideals and emotions and sacrifice their lives for a lost cause. But hey, at least it's entertaining to watch."
