Couldn't stop, wouldn't stop, didn't see why anyone would ask.

What does the wickedest man in the world order for breakfast when he's a sixty-nine-year-old pensioner in a Hastings boarding house?

What does a self-taught artist do when the family finally retires the wood stove and his only source of ink disappears?

What does a man who made three fortunes — in indigo, saltpeter, and Sacramento gold dust — do for an encore at forty-eight?

He sailed to Tahiti, India, and Japan in 1920 and never left his cabin — so what exactly was he doing in there?

What does a composer do when the bulldozers show up before the last take is finished?

For ten years, a Chicago dishwasher kept a secret diary grading the local weatherman against reality.

Who feeds a band one cup of soybeans a day for a month and calls it rehearsal?

The man who invented vulcanized rubber spent $30,000 he didn't have to build a palace of rubber furniture inside a building made of glass.

He won the 1906 Nobel Prize for proving the brain is built from separate cells. He found out by drawing them, on an ink-stained tablecloth, for fifty years.

A Soviet surgeon coined the word transplantology, taught the man who did the first human heart transplant, and spent his afternoons sewing puppy heads onto German shepherds.

What does a 19th-century empress do in a room called the Toilette- und Turnzimmer?

Why would the man who invented the bit build a unicycle that bobbed up and down on purpose?