#LiberatedFromFB #sperm #egg #fertilization #compatibility #mybodymychoice #storytelling <--- important!

For years, we’ve heard it told like a high-stakes race — millions of sperm, racing through the reproductive system like Olympic swimmers, all in a desperate dash to be the first to reach the egg.
The fittest wins.
The prize? Fertilization.
Cue the heroic soundtrack.
But that tale?
It’s mostly myth, deeply rooted in a male-centric view of reproduction.
Thanks to a 2020 study, we now know the egg isn't a passive prize at the finish line — it’s a powerful decision-maker in its own right.
Turns out, the egg and sperm communicate.
The egg releases chemoattractants — specific chemical signals — that draw in preferred sperm.
And for the others?
She slows them down with a repelling signal.
Cervical mucus, particularly L-mucus, filters out weak or low-quality sperm before they even get a chance to swim.
Bye, boy.
As researcher Fitzpatrick put it:

"Follicular fluid from one female was better at attracting sperm from one male, while follicular fluid from another female was better at attracting sperm from a different male…"

Translation?
It’s about compatibility. It’s her body, her choice — down to a molecular level.
And once she’s made that choice and one lucky sperm starts penetrating the egg, she shuts it all down.
The egg releases a chemical that causes every other sperm’s head to literally pop off.
Yes — mass decapitation.
No second chances. No backup winners. No maybes.
Just the one she chose.
Oh, and let’s not forget the poetic ending:
Sperm? Smallest cell in the human body.
Egg? Largest.
She’s been running the show all along.
It’s about time we told the story right.
Credit to the respective owner (Respect 🫡)
We do not own this story — just lifting the curtain on the biological brilliance of women’s bodies.
Reproduction isn’t a race. It’s a conversation — and she gets the final word. 💪🧠💫

#rnzaf #rnzafpastandpresent #spitfire #triumphspitfire #LiberatedFromFB

URGENT CLARIFICATION: We’ve been made aware of widespread confusion between the Triumph Spitfire and the Supermarine Spitfire, which we wanted to move quickly to clear up.
This is not surprising. As well as having the same name, these doppelgangers share rakish good looks, stunning performances, and both Spitfires were plucky battlers that took the world by storm.
However, there are a few subtle differences that the untrained eye might not spot, so we’ve put together a handy guide so you can tell them apart at a glance.
The first major difference is under their graceful bonnets.
The Triumph Spitfire was powered by a gutsy 1.1 litre inline four producing 63 horsepower, and had a top speed of 148 km/h. This little beauty went from 0 to an infringement notice in a brisk 16.4 seconds and drank its fuel at a thrifty rate of 7.41 litres per 100km.
By contrast the Supermarine Spitfire was powered by a slightly more powerful 27-litre V12 Rolls-Royce Merlin engine capable of producing up to 1860 horsepower, depending on its supercharger.
This little sportster would earn you a fine by the time you took off and could exceed 700km/h when you decided to give it the jandal. However, this performance came at a price: The Supermarine Spitfire consumed up to 409 litres of fuel per hour when in a hurry so it paid to have a service station nearby when you were out buzzing about.
The second major difference to look for is in armament. Triumph did not provide its Spitfire owners with gun choice as a factory option. By contrast Supermarine gave its owners variety, with an early choice of eight machine guns and, in later models, four 20 mm cannons. Bombs were also an option for some models. Of course, disappointed Triumph owners could always go for retrofit options.
Finally, the biggest, and probably most easy-to-spot giveaway, is in colour choices.
The Triumph Spitfire came in a huge range of colours, ranging from Leyland White to some 1970s stunners such as Carmin, Burgundy, Scarlet, Mimosa and, of course, British Racing Green.
Spitfires came in shades of green, brown and sometimes with a two-tone pattern to distinguish their undersides. Later models came with black and white racing stripes but they were mostly variations of green and brown, and it was a dull range compared to the Triumphs.
So, there you go – hopefully you will never be confused again and we won’t have Spitfire fans arriving at our museum hoping to see a Triumph, when we only have a Supermarine Spitfire on show.
This urgent clarification has been brought to you by Optrex.

#LiberatedFromFB #Verhoeven #StarshipTroopers #fascism #militarism #imperialism

So brilliant and so a'propos text by "The Mom & Pop Video Store"

Starship Troopers: The most fun you’ll ever have cheering for fascism.

The first time I watched Starship Troopers (1997), I thought I was watching a very fun, very loud bug-exploding movie. And to be fair - I was.

It had everything: dramatic speeches, shouty instructors, those endlessly quotable lines you find yourself repeating years later. But what really stuck with me were the characters: all of them brave, ridiculous, and painfully sincere. They believed in each other. Died for their ideals. They were strong-jawed, clear-eyed, good-hearted: the kind of heroes who charge into danger without a second thought. Not because they’re reckless, but because they trust the mission. And each other.

Even Carmen, smug as she was, believed in what she was doing. And Carl, clever, funny Carl, just wanted to do the right thing for the Federation.

I loved it.

Still do.

Obviously, I noticed it was jingoistic. Authoritarian, certainly. The news segments were clearly propaganda, and the whole thing had the feel of a military fantasy turned up too loud. But that didn’t feel unusual. Not in the 90s. We’d all seen Top Gun, Red Dawn, Rambo III. This felt like their sci-fi cousin.

It was just so much fun.

Then I watched it again, a few years later. And somewhere about a third of the way in, my jaw hit the floor. And I had to laugh - not because it was silly, but because it was brilliant.
How did it take me that long to realise what I missed?

It wasn’t a clever twist or a buried clue. It was the enormous, full-screen, absolutely unmissable fact that the United Citizen Federation wasn’t just authoritarian — it was full-out, axis-of-evil, Reichstag-level fascism. There are no nods. They’re not playing with the aesthetic. They’re right there. Fully costumed, goose-stepping through the galaxy in Hugo Boss cosplay and I somehow didn’t see it.

Because Verhoeven never asks you to look for subtext. He hands you a surface so bombastic, so enthusiastically evil, that you think - well, it can’t mean that. Look how much fun it is.

That’s the sleight of hand. It’s not subtle. It’s blatant. So blatant you think, surely not. You don’t look closer because you’re too busy following the clean-jawed heroes charging into danger, saying noble things and dying for their friends. And you like them. You trust them. That’s what gets you.

Verhoeven doesn’t ask you to examine your complicity. He demonstrates it.
He builds a world where fascism doesn’t creep in, it arrives centre stage, smiling and covered in commendations. And you don’t flinch. Because he’s made you complicit before you even realised there was a line to cross.

You focus on the characters. Their aspirations. Their tragedies. Their moments of bravery. He draws you in on the micro level: a magic eye picture of a film, and by the time you step back and realise what you’re actually looking at, it’s already too late. You’ve rooted for them. You’ve cheered.

And when Carl reappears at the end, cloaked in full SS regalia, gaunt and shadowed and jubilant that the enemy is afraid of him — you’re weirdly still on his side. Because he’s clever, earnest Carl. It's not comfortable but it's ok because he's not a villain. He's just doing what he has to.

That’s what makes it genius.

It’s not a satire that tells you how fascism works. It shows you how easy it is to cheer for it when it’s well-lit, well-edited, and wears a hero’s face.

And then it grins at you and says:
Would you like to know more?

• Mom