Emily Graslie Out of Context

Flight attendants, we are approaching the innards.

I requested a meat bucket.

What all is inside the cloaca? The answer is party time.

She's got this pseudo-penis which is coming out and erect, and he's got to figure out how to navigate underneath her with his erection, to put their erections together. So it's an erect-ception.

It's an arms race of penises in the Spotted Hyena world.

We need to have a conversation about dead birds.

I am so fascinated with animal genitalia.

Can I be the curator of dog farts?

Hey, I touched a beaver.

There's probably a cave near you, full of raptor pellets. Just for the pickin'.

The boobies smell pretty bad.

YOU ARE LITERALLY HANDING OVER A BOUQUET OF GENITALS. Picture the alternate universe where we are flowers and flowers are us, and flowers show up with a bouquet of human junk.

Who even knows what a Coontie Hairstreak is anyway? Sounds like a weird rash you would pick up from a dirty Porta Potty at a music festival.

I keep pitching the idea to Lin-Manuel Miranda about turning Carl Akeley's life story into a hip-hop album.

I'm gonna hit up the Hamburger Helper glove.

Try the churro!