The Time Max Headroom Hijacked Two Networks

YouTube
YouTube

It’s kind of hard to explain Max Headroom if you didn’t experience him in the ‘80s. He started as the star of a British made-for-TV movie called Max Headroom: 20 Minutes Into the Future, the story of a hard-hitting journalist whose brain is implanted into a computer after he suffers a serious head injury.

The cyberpunk movie proved so popular that in 1987, a show by the same name was introduced in the United States. Audiences had never seen anything like the glitching, stuttering faux AI—and though the series itself only lasted two seasons, the character of Max Headroom gained near-instantaneous status as a pop culture symbol of the ‘80s. His fame was cemented when he was chosen to represent another distinctly ‘80s phenomenon: New Coke. Here’s one of his commercials:

Max was made to look computer generated, but he was actually just actor Matt Frewer in a lot of foam makeup and a fiberglass suit. You can imagine the surprise of Chicagoans, then, when the fictional character took over their televisions on November 22, 1987, apparently of his own accord.

Two stations in Chicago—WGN and WTTW—were interrupted for nearly 90 seconds in the middle of Sunday night programming. “Max,” or at least someone wearing a cheap Halloween mask and doing a decent impression of him, spent almost a minute and a half talking gibberish and humming, then wrapped up his segment by presenting his bare butt to a woman holding a flyswatter.

WGN sportscaster Dan Roan, who was interrupted mid-broadcast, probably summed up the situation best: “If you’re wondering what’s happened,” he said when cameras were back on him, “So am I.”

The FCC took the whole thing very seriously, but couldn’t come up with a motive, a method, or even culprits. The signals were impossible to trace, and to this day, the identities of the hackers and how they gained access remains a mystery.

Here’s the creepy broadcast in its entirety:

How Often Should You Poop?

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iStock

When it comes to No. 2, plenty of people aren’t really sure what’s normal. Are you supposed to go every day? What if you go 10 times a day? Is that a sign that you’re dying? What about once every three days? Short of asking everyone you know for their personal poop statistics, how do you know how often you’re supposed to hit the head?

Everyone’s system is a little different, and according to experts, regularity is more important than how often you do the deed. Though some lucky people might think of having a bowel movement as an integral part of their morning routine, most people don’t poop every day, as Lifehacker informs us. In fact, if you go anywhere between three times a day and three times a week, you’re within the normal range.

It’s when things change that you need to pay attention. If you typically go twice a day and you suddenly find yourself becoming a once-every-three-days person, something is wrong. The same thing goes if you normally go once every few days but suddenly start running to the toilet every day.

There are a number of factors that can influence how often you go, including your travel schedule, your medications, your exercise routine, your coffee habit, your stress levels, your hangover, and, of course, your diet. (You should be eating at least 25 to 30 grams of fiber a day, a goal that most Americans fall significantly short of.)

If you do experience a sudden change in how often you take a seat on the porcelain throne, you should probably see a doctor. It could be something serious, like celiac disease, cancer, or inflammatory bowel disease. Or perhaps you just need to eat a lot more kale. Only a doctor can tell you.

However, if you do have trouble going, please, don’t spend your whole day sitting on the toilet. It’s terrible for your butt. You shouldn’t spend more than 10 to 15 minutes on the toilet, as one expert told Men’s Health, or you’ll probably give yourself hemorrhoids.

But if you have a steady routine of pooping three times a day, by all means, keep doing what you’re doing. Just maybe get yourself a bidet.

Have you got a Big Question you'd like us to answer? If so, let us know by emailing us at bigquestions@mentalfloss.com.

Jazz Icon Charles Mingus Wrote a Manual for Toilet Training Your Cat

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iStock

Imagine it's the 1950s and you're in a basement jazz club in New York City. A haze of smoke lingers in a dusky room, glasses clink as waiters drop off martinis and Manhattans, and people bop their heads to the sounds of Charles Mingus, the hottest jazz bassist around. After the performance, Mingus pulls up to the bar and cradles a stiff drink. You approach him, but before you can say anything, the musician turns to you and asks an important question: Hey, man. Where does your cat poop?

This isn't as far-fetched as it sounds. Besides being one of the most revolutionary jazz artists of his day, Mingus was also a passionate advocate for teaching people how to toilet train their cats. So passionate, in fact, that he wrote instructions for a cat toilet training program (he called it the "CAT-alog"), which he routinely tried to sell at his gigs. He even placed print ads so that interested clients could buy his pamphlets via mail order.

The CAT-alog is a reflection of the man as a musician: blunt, concise, and demanding in its details. (You can read the instructions in their entirety here.) He swore by the program's effectiveness, claiming it took three or four weeks for his cat, Nightlife, to transition from the litter box to the porcelain throne.

Here's a breakdown of Mingus's process:

First, teach your cat to use a homemade cardboard litter box. ("Be sure to use torn up newspaper, not kitty litter. Stop using kitty litter. [When the time comes you cannot put sand in a toilet.]") Gradually, begin inching the box toward the bathroom. ("He has to learn how to follow it.") Once you've reached the bathroom, place the box on the toilet. ("Don't bug the cat now, don't rush him, because you might throw him off.") Then cut a small hole in the bottom of the cardboard ("Less than an apple—about the size of a plum."), and gradually cut down the sides of the box until it becomes a flat sheet. ("Put the flat cardboard, which is left, under the lid of the toilet seat, and pray.") Then, one day, remove the cardboard entirely.

Mingus insisted that, with patience, his methods would work. In fact, he advised: "Don't be surprised if you hear the toilet flush in the middle of the night. A cat can learn how to do it, spurred on by his instinct to cover up." In 2014, however, Studio 360 at WNYC put Mingus's instructions to the test … and failed.

Some cats, Mingus admits, just aren't "as smart as Nightlife was." But he'd likely agree that cats, like jazz musicians, really aren't the types to be bossed around.

For more, please listen to actor Reg E. Cathey read a silky smooth excerpt of Mingus's CAT-alog here. Trust us: You'll be glad you did.

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