The Captain - Fucking History - 52 Lessons You Should Have Learned in School

And, well, it fucking worked. After catching wind of Cleo’s arrival, Mark was head over heels for her days before her feet even touched Roman soil, and the two quickly became lovers and allies — forming the original “power couple.”

So the next time somebody tells you that you’re wearing too much perfume, tell ’em you’re just allowing your reputation to precede you.

They say dogs can smell fear, but do you know what else they can smell? Bullshit. If your dog doesn’t like somebody, it’s because that person is a fucking loser. And if a dog doesn’t like you, well, it’s probably not the first time you’ve failed to make new friends. Humans have been using dogs as dickhead detectors for centuries. The Irish definitely did, and as early as the 5th century, they began adding the prefix “Cu” to the names of the noble kings and warriors who had proven themselves worthy of a dog’s loyalty and affection. This way, you could immediately recognize the good guys because of their “Cu” title.

Take for example, Cu Chonnacht O’Reilly, Lord of Bréifne Ó Raghallaigh. In simpler terms, he was the King of Bréifne. Basically, this dude was a king who owned some badass dogs. And the “Cu” before his name means he had earned the trust, love, and affection of those badass dogs. Thus, he was a man you could trust. In other words, if you met a noble without the “Cu” before his name, he might be a cat owner and was somebody you should probably run from.

Basically, cat owners are fucking sketchy and the Irish knew this. You want to be a king? Get a fucking dog. You want people to love, honor, and respect you? Adopt a puppy. You want the world to know you’re one of the good guys? Strut with your mutt. But, if you want to be a weird, sick lowlife, living in a small basement apartment — eating undercooked TV dinners while plotting the demise of your enemies — get a cat. Stroke it, talk to it, and together you can watch your evil plans fail, again and again. Nobody ever defeated their enemies with an animal that rhymes with mittens.

Well, there you have it. You just learned some hound history. So, the next time you meet someone who claims they’re “not a dog person,” report them to the authorities — immediately — because they’re probably a terrorist.

Transitioning to another kind of dog owner, like most great things, the French Bulldog is the result of selective breeding — kind of like the creation of Hot Pockets. Little bit of this, little bit of that, and eventually you end up with something wonderful. But, what you probably don’t know about these stubby, little, bat dogs is they largely gained their popularity in the mid-1800s as the go-to accessory for socialites and streetwalkers to exude class, and thus, attract men. And, yes, streetwalker means prostitute. If you ask me, these ladies were fucking smart. Nobody can resist a French Bulldog. Everybody — man, woman, or beast — is going to approach you if you have one of these little dudes on a leash. And, that created the perfect opportunity to seal the deal and make a little money. French Bulldogs were basically the working girl’s wingman.

Given the information I just presented about 19th-century French culture, it was safe to assume that if you saw a lady walking down the street with her hot pocket creation of a dog, there was a pretty good chance — with a little bit of money and some sweet talking — you could negotiate your way into her “hot pocket.” Now, fast-forward to today, I’m not saying every girl who owns a French Bulldog is a hooker, but there’s a pretty good chance she is. I’d say, something like 80/20. The 20 percent being the girls that are just trying to look rough around the edges — it’s called streetwalker chic. And you know what? I love it. Because, as humans, we all have two basic needs: The need to pet dogs, and the need to touch butts. So for that reason, any girl that owns a French Bulldog is a girl I’d like to know.

DISCLAIMER: It’s totally not my fault if you get punched in the dick for approaching a girl with a French Bulldog assuming she’s a prostitute. Times have changed (I think).

Ladies, there’s absolutely no guy in this world worth losing your shit over. There’s no reason to get jealous, obsessive, and allow yourself to become insecure. If a guy doesn’t like you, who fucking cares? Find one who does. If your boyfriend or husband makes you feel like shit, he’s fucking shit — bury his ass in a sandbox, forget about him, and move on. Don’t be like Joanna of Castile. Don’t ruin your life and your reputation over some guy. Now, let’s learn about Joanna.

Born in 1479, Joanna (Spanish spelling, “Juana”) was the third child of Queen Isabella of Castile and King Ferdinand II of Aragon. Although she was born into privilege, that didn’t stop her from working hard to improve herself. As a young woman, she spoke six languages — including Latin — excelled in religious studies, was active in equestrian sports, played music, and could dance with the best of them. Plain and simple, Joanna was a fucking badass. She was smart AND beautiful; this obviously attracted the attention of men. And, in 1496, she married Philip of Habsburg, also known as “Philip the Handsome.” Seriously, the dude’s nickname was PHILIP THE HANDSOME — are you fucking kidding me? He must have looked like Ryan Gosling and David Beckham had a baby. My point, even Philip’s handsome ass wasn’t worth losing her shit over. But, Joanna couldn’t resist, she let her imagination get the best of her and she became absolutely paranoid he was going to cheat.

Joanna’s insecurities continued to intensify and her mental instability grew evermore apparent around the kingdom. She was like a fucking vulture, constantly swarming over Philip, checking his iPhone, and demanding his email passwords. (They obviously didn’t have that stuff back then, but if they did, that’s what she would have been doing.) Needless to say, it was sad to watch. She was once such a smart, intelligent, confident woman. Not even Philip’s surprise death in 1506 quelled her insecurities. She wouldn’t allow nuns to approach his corpse before his burial — afraid he’d put his ghost boner in one of them.

In the end, Joanna of Castile became known as “Joanna the Mad.” Leaving behind a reputation of being pathetically jealous, instead of beautifully badass.

Jealousy. It’s a hell of a thing. There is literally no other human emotion quite like it. It’s powerful, it’s sickening, and it causes people to do some ridiculous shit. Destroyed marriages, broken friendships, shattered careers — people will completely fuck up their lives over stupid feelings of envy, anxiety, and resentment. Guys are jealous of another guy’s car, girls are jealous of another girl’s guy, and everybody is jealous of somebody with great eyes and eyelashes.

Yeah, you heard me. Don’t act like you don’t wish your eyes were fucking pretty. Yes, even you, Mr. Macho Man, you know you’d blink the shit out of Paul Walker eyes if you had them. (R.I.P.)