In my day, I've had many brushes with fame. Among others, I have an Erdös number of 3, I've been castigated by Robert Wright, and proving that it's always possible to be in the right place at the wrong time, I've been cursed out by Dr. John.
Here's maybe my favorite, though: I used to be close friends with a guy named Herb. Herb's grandfather invented the cardboard milk carton.
The cardboard milk carton, for those of you too young to know that eyeglasses with boxy black frames weren't always considered hip, was quite the breakthrough in its day.
My friend's family's fortune was built on it, affording them, among other things, the ability to buy a house with a mile and a half of waterfront property on Lake Placid. 
The daughter and son-in-law of the inventor -- Herb's parents -- were able to own and maintain this house without ever working a profitable day in their lives, devoting themselves instead to charitable work and the support of local artists. As one measure of their interests and wherewithal, they were able to indulge another of their children, Herb's older brother, in a momentary whim that involved dropping a piano from an airplane, just to watch it die make a movie of the event.
When I returned home and reported my new friendship with Herb to my father, he cursed Herb's grandfather. My father, otherwise a paragon of toleration, was one of many people who believed that civilization's decline began with the advent of this new container. 
He found it a wrestling match to open, a mess from which to pour, and completely unsatisfactory to re-close. Again, for our younger readers, beverage cartons did not always have that handy easy-opening, easy-closing, drip-free round pour spout built in to the sloping side of the carton. The idea was that the carton could be torn open in such a way that it formed its own pour spout. Opening the carton and forming the spout was not a skill that was universally mastered. There were even efforts to devise alternate techniques.
For this reason, and others, probably, the cardboard container did not long enjoy sole superpower status in the dairy section of grocery stores after it had vanquished the glass bottle. (True story: Milk used to be delivered only in glass bottles. Back when John McCain was a boy.) By the time Herb and I had moved on to other phases in life, milk began to be sold much more commonly in plastic jugs.
And there, it would seem, the story would have ended. The jugs had a comfortable handle and they were way easier to open. Pouring became less likely to provoke disaster at the breakfast table. One could even open a jug of milk, enjoy some of the contents, and close it so effectively that knocking over a half-filled jug did not produce so much as a drop of spilled milk. Children the world over rejoiced at no longer needing to be admonished for the pointlessness of their tears.
All this is by way of saying that I see by the New York Times that what seemed like the pinnacle of evolution for ways to contain one-gallon units of milk has been revealed to be just another in a series of local maxima. The new new best thing ever is this:
According to the article:
The jugs are cheaper to ship and better for the environment, the milk is fresher when it arrives in stores, and it costs less.
The article explains that the cheaper shipping and environmental benefits derive from the new shape, which allows the containers to be stacked without first being put into milk crates. Since the crates no longer have to be used, this means they don't have to be picked up and trucked back to the farms. This in turn means the farms don't have to wash the crates (which, when waiting out back to be reused, are apparently favorite spots for birds to perch). Omitting this crate-washing step alone saves one dairy upwards of 60,000 gallons of water each day.
But wait, there's more! The benefits of crate-free stackability don't end there. Doing away with the crates means one truck can deliver much more milk per trip. Not only can the milk containers be packed closer together, but there's no need to reserve space in the truck at initial loading for picking up empty crates. Sam's Club stores, it is reported, have cut the number of required milk deliveries per week from five to two. All of this streamlining of the delivery process means milk gets from farm to store hours earlier, water and fuel are saved, and Sam can afford to charge you less. Major win!
There are, sadly, no silver clouds without dark linings. For one thing, I worry about what this implies for the long-range prospects of dorm room decor, although some smart people are already on the case. For another, the NYT reporter was able to find a few people who were unhappy about the shape of things to come, so unhappy that they were willing to go on the record to complain about difficulties in pouring from the new jugs. Some stores have even felt compelled to station employees near the coolers to demonstrate the new recommended technique.
Ah, well. We'll get used to it. I, for one, welcome our new, improved flat-topped jugs.
I'm sorry. You read the title of this story and feel unfulfilled. You had every right not to expect me to use a cheap double entendre in a shameless attempt to attract one-handed Googlers without ultimately delivering. Any blogger who makes his readers suffer through an aimless post like this one, whose irritating stream of consciousness and exaggerations of fact are outweighed only by its over-reliance on mangled clichés, should not leave them hanging. Why, it practically violates Chekhov's Law.
Okay, then. Here is a link to a picture of a pair of beautiful tits.
(pic. sources: Cory | Matt | Rebecca | old style cardboard milk carton | new style cardboard milk carton | old style plastic milk jug | new style plastic milk jug (screen grab from "audio slideshow") )
