Nell Gwyn's place in history would have been assured if she'd accepted the marriage proposal of either Alexander Graham Bell or Colin Sell. She died, however, content in the knowledge that she'd been immortalised in the opening line of Gray's Elegy.
The Bolivian Death Marmot, a fearsome little beast, can spray its highly poisonous and corrosive gastric juices up to a distance of ten meters. Nevertheless, brave Death Marmot hunters capture and skin them for their beautiful (and quite valuable) pelts, and when boiled with yams, they can be mashed into a paste that not only cures baldness, but also tastes exactly like buttered popcorn.
Indeed, Riff, in fact - when banged around with a pestel and mortar it's better than viagra; least ways, it is suppose to have certain, err, effects - just as is popcorn in the back row of the cinema, (well, so I'm told.) ... ;-)