#2. Dolphins Get So Heavy While Pregnant They Can Barely Swim
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Many pregnant women feel hundreds of pounds heavier than they really are. But while that extra weight might fuck up your chances in the NBA Slam Dunk competition, it's not so bad that it could actively kill you. Unlike our asshole friend the dolphin.
After getting knocked up, Mrs. Flipper gains a lot of weight -- like 50 percent of her baby-free poundage. So if you're an average-sized female dolphin, tipping the scales at roughly 380-400 pounds, expect to pack on an extra 200 pounds or so, most of which is decidedly not baby.
Via Shawn Noren
I'm guessing pizza.
All this extra poundage does more than force the poor girl to go up 900 dress sizes -- it severely impacts how she swims. The water's drag on a pregnant dolphin's body increases as well, making an already-heavy ocean more of an impenetrable force field than ever. Imagine swallowing an anvil and then trying to run a marathon.
That would be annoying enough on its own, except it could also very well kill the poor not-fishies. Dolphin numbers are declining, and one possible reason is their extreme pregger size makes it harder for them to flee from danger. Namely, us.
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Feed 'em 'til they forget.
Between poachers, tuna fishermen, and the occasional whoops-a-daisy oil spill, there's no end to the variety of ways we can make a dolphin's life hell. And if a cartoonishly huge baby belly is making it nigh-impossible to escape tuna nets, harpoons, and rapidly darkening oil water, then they're fucked in ways that never would've been an issue if they hadn't clicked "like" on Ecco's OKCupid profile.
Six Things He Can't Live Without: Five hot she-dolphins and one closure of SeaWorld, because fuck that place.
#1. The Giant Pacific Octopus Starves Herself to Death for Babies That Almost Never Survive
Via Magnus Manske
Noble sacrifices are great, except when they're totally in vain. The poor lady giant Pacific octopus knows this all too well, since she's genetically designed to kill herself for a bunch of babies who end up dying en masse anyhow.
The Pacific octopus is a busy breeder -- a typical pregnancy will produce anywhere from 50,000 to 75,000 eggs, meaning Octomom was at least 49,992 screaming tots short of earning her nickname. Each of these eggs are about the size of a hangnail, meaning independence is a long ways away. So off to the nest they go, where they'll spend six months incubating while literally hanging from the rafters like weird little bananas.
Via Stuart Westmorland/Corbis
"I don't care who takes the top bunk, just go to sleep, dammit."
But you know who doesn't grow and feed? Mom. The poor girl becomes so tunnel-visioned about protecting her brood from predators that she simply stops eating. For six months. Even hibernating bears don't go that long. By the time the octo-babies are big enough to hatch, mama's virtually skeletal. She uses her final bit of energy to blow her kidlets in every direction, allowing them to finally live and thrive on their own.
Then she dies, sparing her kids from having to draw straws to determine who stays behind and care for her. Not that it matters, because most of them aren't surviving anyhow. And when I say most, I mean on average all but two. Not 2 percent (which would equal about a thousand survivors), but two total. Out of 50,000-plus children, typically one male and one female make it to adulthood.
That's ... um ...
That's .004 percent? Even the most forgiving of sliding-scale teachers couldn't pass a child with a grade that shitty. Tens of thousands of deaths, including mom's slow and painful one, all for two measly lives. That must make their family reunions awkward as hell.
Via Fred Bavendam
"I'm thinking of having a baby. Should we just have my wake now to save the trip?"