The plains-wanderer (Pedionomus torquatus) is a bird in the family Pedionomidae, of which it is the only surviving species. Endemic to Australia, its historical range included Victoria, New South Wales, South Australia and the Northern Territory, but in recent years it has become endangered, with remaining known populations concentrated in the Riverina (a region in southwestern New South Wales) and western Queensland. The plains-wanderer is a quail-like ground bird, measuring 15 to 19 centimetres (5.9 to 7.5 in). The adult male is light brown above, with fawn-white underparts with black crescents. The adult female is substantially larger than the male and has a distinctive white-spotted black collar. This female plains-wanderer was photographed in the Riverina, north of the town of Deniliquin, New South Wales.Photograph credit: John Harrison
... that the Russian and Belarussian military exercise Zapad 2009(pictured) involved nuclear-capable ballistic missiles?
... that the Robyn Gigl novel By Way of Sorrow, which features a transgender lawyer as the protagonist, was described as "quietly groundbreaking" by The New York Times?
... that a boot is the only monument in the United States dedicated to the traitor Benedict Arnold because it "was the only part of Arnold not to later turn traitor"?
This Wikipedia page is considered semi-tractor-trailer-policy. Semi-tractor-trailer-policy pages are an attempt to jack-knife any real policies and present herculean efforts in codification to questionable purpose. These long-standing unwritten unapproved unthought unrules have widespread support since no actual vote ever becomes real. They should be treated as law, unless they do not support your flame war.
It is so terribly sad that I have to explain that the above is a JOKE
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!