In 1982, the British government was forced to admit that the Lusitania was secretly carrying a shitload of munitions back to Britain. The Germans at the time defended their attack on the ship as a military action, but it was long denied by the British in order to bolster war sentiment against those evil, civilian-targeting Hun assholes. Once salvage crews started diving into the wreck, the Brits had to come clean, lest the workers inadvertently explode inside the ostensibly weapons-free site. This was confirmed in 2008, when salvage divers recovered a mother lode of weapons which officially never existed.

During all of this, the person in charge of ensuring the safety of British vessels, with the very British title of "First Lord of the Admiralty," was a man you might recognize: one Sir Winston Churchill. Yes, the "We will fight them on the beaches" guy. Modern Lusitania Truthers contend that Churchill set up the tragedy in order to convince the United States to enter the war. Whatever classic one-liners he quipped as a result remain lost to history.

via Wiki Commons

It turns out that the Ripper's victims don't have a whole lot in common, besides the fact that they were all killed in the same year, in the same district, and all violently. That sounds like enough to pin them on the same killer, but then you find that they were killed using different knives, and under very different circumstances.

Then there are all the taunting letters sent to the press and the police ... most of which have been dismissed as hoaxes. Of the two probably genuine letters, one of them has outright vanished due to 19th-century law enforcement incompetence, so only one, the fabled "Dear Boss letter," can be confirmed as having been written by a true killer.

National Archives

And we say "killer" instead of "serial killer," because the author of this letter might only be responsible for one of the Ripper murders. Author Simon Wood, who has spent decades obsessed with the Ripper case, ultimately concluded that Jack was probably an invention of the press to sell more newspapers. But that would mean newspapermen used to be unscrupulous, which is frankly an absurd accusation.

The London Post

Back in the early 1800s, Frankenstein was published anonymously, which makes perfect sense, considering how women novelists in those days could only get published with Jane-Austen-style comedies about roguish men learning manners. But Percy Shelley was known for publishing his work anonymously, and Mary was only identified as the author of the book in 1823 -- a year after he died in a sailing accident. Percy Shelley didn't like putting his name on his work, because he was more interested in throwing his ideas out into the world than he was in getting credit for them. Or notoriety. See, he was an atheist at a time when that was frowned upon, to say the least, and Frankenstein is a notably atheistic story about a man who creates life with no help from God. One speculates that the author, whoever it was, decided they could do without the inevitable barrage of death threats.

Universal Pictures

A ding against the Percy theory is that we have the original manuscript for Frankenstein, and it's in Mary Shelley's handwriting, which seems like kind of a slam dunk. But scholars will note that she regularly transcribed her husband's work. Of course, maybe the similarities in both writing and publishing style can be explained by the fact that these two people were, you know, married to each other. Prominent feminist Germaine Greer defends the idea that Mary is the author based on her opinion that Frankenstein is one of the worst books ever written. Which is ... kind of a backhanded defense, but okay.

Richard Rothwell

But despite his madness, there's not a lot of evidence that van Gogh was suicidal. Those who knew him were genuinely surprised that the guy who obsessively kept diaries and notes on his innermost thoughts didn't write anything resembling a suicide note. According to the official story, he simply put a few last strokes on a painting he was working on, stood back to admire it for a second, then pulled out a gun and shot himself.

Vincent van Gogh

But later evidence has suggested that the suicide narrative is suspicious. For one thing, the bullet missed all of his organs. Van Gogh probably had a pretty good idea about the general area where his heart was located, so it's strange that he shot himself in a more or less random spot in his upper torso. An alternate theory is that the shooting was the result of a prank gone wrong. In his later years, van Gogh befriended a youth named Rene Secretan. At the time, van Gogh had a reputation in his village as kind of a benignly crazy one-eared hobo. Secretan and his friends spent equal time hanging out with van Gogh and playing tricks on him, like pouring salt into his coffee and putting live snakes in his paintbox. You know, standard asshole stuff.

Secretan also owned a revolver -- incidentally, the exact kind that delivered the bullet that killed Van Gogh -- but it was apparently faulty and wouldn't fire. The story goes that Secretan visited Van Gogh on that fateful day, pointed his gun at the artist, and pulled the trigger, knowing that it would just give an ineffectual click, as always. You know, standard asshole stuff. But the gun picked this one inopportune time to work, and the rest is history. Van Gogh, in a last act of charity, described it as a suicide attempt to save his friend -- then presumably settled for haunting the shit out of Secretan every time he used the bathroom.

Vincent van Gogh