There Were Zero Things Better This Week Than The Metal Teens Who Knowingly Ate Human Remains

Welcome to Good Stuff, HuffPost’s weekly recommendation series devoted to the least bad things on and off the internet.  

Earlier this week, we learned the most incredible thing. What we learned is that, on Oct. 4, in the year of our Lord 2018, at a high school in California, as the heavens and probably at least a few teachers gazed upon them, a teen tricked several of her fellow students into eating sugar cookies in which she had baked her dead grandfather’s ashes.

(None of the teens — each of whom carried a little piece of grandpa inside of them — were harmed by eating the dead grandpa cookies.)

But that’s not even my favorite part. What is my favorite part, you ask? Why, this. This is my favorite part:

“Some [students] ate the cookies without knowing the extra ingredient and were horrified, he said. Others knew.

‘Some students knew beforehand and still consumed the cookies,’ [Police Lt. Paul] Doroshov said.”

Some students knew beforehand and still consumed the cookies.

Phenomenal. God bless these metal-ass teens. ― Ashley Feinberg

All too shockingly, President Donald Trump hung a painting of Donald Trump in the White House, and not a very good one. The Gerhard Richter masterpiece depicts ― jk, jk. The Andy Thomas original depicts Trump sipping beverages with a bunch of past Republican presidents, including Nixon, Reagan, both Bushes and Lincoln. Although the magical realist portrait invites viewers to suspend their disbelief enough to accept that past leaders have risen from the dead to network with Trump, it considers representing a person of color at a GOP meet-up one step too far.

There is, however, one lone woman in the crowd, moving ever determinedly toward the sausage fest. Her mysterious, feminine, non-penisy presence had all of Twitter asking: Who is she? (And where is her mouth?)

A 2020 candidate looking to break up the boys’ club? A symbol of all the women silenced and infuriated by centuries of misogynist GOP policies? A prosecutor with a vagina to help out just in case the bros *must* communicate with a woman? A femme fatale recruited by a squad of GOP ghosts to destroy the man drinking the Diet Coke? Calvin Coolidge’s wife, Grace, finally gathering the courage to announce, “You’re a drunk and a halfwit, and I’m leaving!”? The specter of art history ensuring that no painting denies the male gaze the intoxicating beauty of the female form? A subtle piece of sponcon subsidized by Big Blazer? Andy Thomas’ high school crush who tragically disappeared after a homecoming game and has haunted his dreams ever since?

WHO IS SHE? ― Priscilla Frank

I’ve never met a pit bull I didn’t love more than life itself. And while I have not met this li’l baby, I want to. Look at him in his li’l rose petal bath. He’s so patient, so kind, so cute with his li’l block head ?.

I want a pit bull so bad. Omg. I’m shaking. I, too, am fighting back tears. This li’l perfect baby. ― Julia Craven

The pumpkin spice latté has long borne the title of official fall drink. A recent viral tweet suggested that instead the official fall drink should be cider. I’m here to recommend the TRUE fall tipple, the one liquid you should make sure to swish appreciatively around your mouth every October: hot apple cider with a shot of Fireball (or, alternatively, cinnamon whiskey).

The calculus is quite simple. The perfect beverage for a crisp or blustery fall day, with temps in the mid-50s and a cable-knit sweater on your torso, should obviously be hot. This knocks out contenders like hard cider right out of the gate.

It should also be spiced, so plain apple cider doesn’t quite fit the bill.

It should be derived from seasonal produce, and no matter what pumpkin spice latté implies, there is no pumpkin whatsoever in it, as we all now know.

And, ideally, it should be boozy. A shot of liquor, if you’re a drinker, adds a fizzy warmth that fortifies a drink that might otherwise just be sticky and sugary. An autumn day demands fizzy warmth.

A hot apple cider with Fireball is seasonal, spiced, warm and boozy. But beyond that, it’s just a perfect cocktail: simple and easy to make, but ridiculously satisfying, featuring two ingredients that chime harmoniously together and become something far greater than the sum of their parts.

Apple cider needs cinnamon. I experimented with adding a cinnamon stick for years before I realized that Fireball, though much-denigrated as the basis of most frat-boy vomit, packs more flavor. Plus, and I have no evidence for this, I firmly believe that supermarket cider lacks the sour power of the cider I drank as a kid. A bit of liquor cuts the sweet, is-this-just-juice flavor and adds a welcome complexity.

Here’s my recipe for a cozy night in: One mug of apple cider, plus Fireball to taste. (I usually use a little bit less than a shot.) Microwave until steaming. Sip. Repeat. ― Claire Fallon

Last year, a group of women’s basketball players in São Paulo, Brazil, struck a deal with some futsal-playing dudes to guarantee them access to time on one of the city’s public athletic courts. But whenever the women, whose team is known as the Magic Minas, showed up to play, the futsal dudes would overstay their allotted time, refusing to leave. So the Magic Minas, a collective of nearly 200 women whose goal is to “facilitate access for more women to learn, practice and train in team sports,” staged an occupation of the court last October. More than 100 women showed up, including Maria Paula Silva, a former star of the Brazilian women’s national team who is known as “Magic Paula,” to demand respect ― and the right to use the court. It worked: The protest won the Magic Minas time to play and attention from other women’s groups across the city.

That, in turn, won them a new court to call their own. Last Saturday, to mark the first anniversary of their protest, the Magic Minas unveiled a court painted with a flashy pink, purple and yellow design created by a São Paulo-based women’s art collective. The Atlanta Dream’s Damiris Dantas ― the only Brazilian currently on a WNBA roster ― was on hand for an event to dedicate the new digs, which, according to ESPN Brazil, became the first public sports space in Brazil to be reclaimed and re-designed by women.

The Magic Minas have guaranteed access to the new court once a week, but the futsal dudes, unfortunately, haven’t given up. On Monday, they once again refused to leave when the women showed up to play ― that is, until the Minas, with a little help from the cops, forced them to go home again.

(H/t to my friend Nina, a member of the Minas.) ― Travis Waldron

On Thursday night, Spider-Man himself, Tom Holland, showed up on “Jimmy Kimmel Live” in a spiffy new suit, looking very unlike a pile of ashes. When asked if his upcoming Spider-Man sequel, “Spider-Man: Far From Home,” would be a prequel to before the character seemingly died in “Avengers: Infinity War,” Holland shook his head nervously and flipped on out of there. Unfortunately, your child’s crippling trauma from watching Spider-Man die will never be reversed, but, hey, whatever. The events of “Infinity War” will. ― Bill Bradley

The sounds of angels, really. ― Katherine Brooks 

Carey Mulligan has no time for your “shitty questions,” as she discussed in this interview with Vulture’s Rachel Handler (who, it should be noted, did not ask shitty questions). Note to men: Don’t ask women questions that you wouldn’t ask of men.

Carey Mulligan: I remember when I first had my daughter, people being like, “How has motherhood changed your [career]?” and I was like, “Do you ask that regularly to fathers? I think not.” But yeah, it was particularly noticeable in that moment how shitty the questions were. But they aren’t generally good, so I wasn’t shocked. It wasn’t a revelation to have shitty, boring questions.

Vulture: What’s the worst question you’ve ever been asked?

“Your character in ‘Inside Llewyn Davis’ has an abortion. Would you ever have an abortion?”

You’re kidding me. What did you say?

I think I literally went, “Are you fucking kidding me?” And then moved on.

That’s horrifying. Was it a man?

No comment [laughs]. But yeah, you just get used to it.

I don’t know, man. ― Maxwell Strachan

Read last week’s Good Stuff here.