Call them the odd couples. A pair of month-old Sumatran tiger twins have become inseparable playmates with a set of young orangutans, an unthinkable match in their natural jungle habitat in Indonesia's tropical rainforests. The friendship between 5-month-old female baby primates Nia and Irma, and cubs Dema and Manis, has blossomed at the Taman Safari zoo where they share a room in the nursery. After being abandoned by their mothers shortly after birth, the four play fight, nipping and teasing each other, and cuddling up for a shared nap when they are worn out. "This is unusual and would never happen in the wild," said zoo keeper Sri Suwarni, bottle-feeding a baby chimp on Wednesday. "Like human babies, they only want to play." The four have lived side-by-side for a month without a single act of hostility, she said. Indonesian tigers and orangutans are both endangered species, threatened by rapidly shrinking habitats. Conservationists estimate there are fewer than 700 Sumatran tigers still alive, while fewer than 60,000 orangutans remain in the wild. Around 90 percent of the jungle has been destroyed by illegal logging, poaching and cut-and-burn farming practices on Borneo and Sumatra islands. The exceptional friendship will likely be short-lived, said veterinarian Retno Sudarwati, because as the animals grow up their natural survival instincts will kick in. "When the time comes, they will have to be separated. It's sad, but we cant' change their natural behavior," she said. "Tigers start eating meat when they are three months old."

Think you had a boring weekend? Talk to Harold Jones. The 32-year-old janitor spent two and a half days without food, water or access to a bathroom after he was accidentally locked in a secure room at an upstate courthouse. Jones was mopping the floor in a meeting room at the Dutchess County Courthouse in Poughkeepsie on Friday night when the door swung shut, locking him in. To make matters worse, he had left his cell phone in his coat, which was in another room. Jones banged on the door, but no one heard him until yesterday morning, when a county employee found him in the room. Even though he was stuck for nearly 60 hours, Jones said he was so upset by his ordeal that he couldn't eat. Relatives drove around looking for him, but didn't realize he was stuck inside the building. County officials plan to meet with the janitorial services company Jones works for to find out why no one checked the area where Jones was trapped.

The newest addition to the menu at Denny's Beer Barrel Pub is one whopper of a burger. The Beer Barrel Main Event Charity Burger weighs in at 123 pounds, a meaty monstrosity that its cooks maintain shatters the world record of 105 pounds shared by two restaurants in New Jersey and Thailand. The sizable sandwich features an 80-pound beef patty, along with a pound each of lettuce, ketchup, relish, mustard and mayonnaise, 160 slices of cheese, up to five onions and 12 tomatoes. It's topped with a couple of pounds of banana peppers, then sandwiched into a 30-pound bun. Don't forget the garnish of 33 pickles. There's a pretty hefty price tag, too: $379. The Clearfield pub unveiled the menu item over the weekend. Restaurant owner Denny Leigey said he plans to submit paperwork on his colossal culinary creation to the Guinness Book of World Records. It's not the first time that Leigey has waded into the competition for the world's biggest burger. He drew headlines a couple years ago when he unveiled the Beer Barrel Belly Buster, which weighed in at a mere 15 pounds. Leigey said he didn't know how many calories were stuffed into his latest gigantic entree. "If you were worried about calories you would be at home eating Kellogg's," he said.

February 22, 2007 (WELLINGTON, New Zealand) - A fishing crew has caught a colossal squid that could weigh a half-ton and prove to be the biggest specimen ever landed, a fisheries official said Thursday. The squid, weighing an estimated 990 lbs and about 39 feet long, took two hours to land in Antarctic waters, New Zealand Fisheries Minister Jim Anderton said. The fishermen were catching Patagonian toothfish, sold under the name Chilean sea bass, south of New Zealand "and the squid was eating a hooked toothfish when it was hauled from the deep," Anderton said. The fishing crew and a fisheries official on board their ship estimated the length and weight of the squid: Detailed, official measurements have not been made. The date when the colossus was caught also was not disclosed. Colossal squid, known by the scientific name Mesonychoteuthis hamiltoni, are estimated to grow up to 46 feet long and have long been one of the most mysterious creatures of the deep ocean. If original estimates are correct, the squid would be 330 pounds heavier than the next biggest specimen ever found. "I can assure you that this is going to draw phenomenal interest. It is truly amazing," said Dr. Steve O'Shea, a squid expert at the Auckland University of Technology. If calamari rings were made from the squid they would be the size of tractor tires, he added. Colossal squid can descend to 6,500 feet and are extremely active, aggressive hunters, he said. The frozen squid will be transported to New Zealand's national museum, Te Papa, in the capital, Wellington, to be preserved for scientific study. Marine scientists "will be very interested in this amazing creature as it adds immeasurably to our understanding of the marine environment," Anderton said. Colossal squid are found in Antarctic waters and are not related to giant squid found round the coast of New Zealand. Giant squid grow up to 39 feet long, but are not as heavy as colossal squid.

The fans were pious. The players bound for glory. And the victory? A miracle. Priests and seminarians from several soccer-loving countries took to a field near the looming dome of St. Peter's Basilica Saturday for the first match of the Clericus Cup, a tournament fielding 16 teams from Catholic institutes in Rome. "You are playing in view of St. Peter's cupola, so behave well," admonished Cardinal Pio Laghi before giving the official kickoff at a small arena on a hill overlooking the Vatican. In Italy soccer is a hallowed game, taken almost as seriously as Catholicism, and the players were all business once the whistle was blown. Amid screams from the coaches, pious slogans from the small crowd and T-shirts invoking the protection of the Virgin Mary, a motley crew of Latin Americans, Africans and Asians from the Collegio Mater Ecclesiae (Mother of the Church College) took on an all-Brazilian team fielded by the Gregorian University. In a miraculous upset, the young Mater Ecclesiae players trounced the more experienced but portly Brazilians 6-0 as their fans chanted: "The Mother of the Church wants a goal!" The game had its share of hard tackles and rough play, with the first goal coming from a penalty kick _ the second in the match. Still, in the end it was all handshakes and smiles between the teams, in what officials and players hope will set a good example for Italian professional soccer, which has been recently marred by fan violence and scandal. The Clericus Cup should "reaffirm the educational and pastoral value of sport," and "strengthen feelings of true friendship and fruitful sharing," said a message from Cardinal Tarcisio Bertone, the Vatican's No. 2 official. Even as Italy's national team was making its successful run for the World Cup last summer, club soccer at home was ravaged by a match-fixing scandal that led to sanctions against several top teams. Earlier this month, rioting at a game in Sicily caused the death of a policeman and forced authorities to bar fans from many stadiums. "We have lost but we are all laughing, and this shows that sport should be a joy for all," said Reginei Jose Modolo, a 32-year-old midfielder on the Gregorian University team. On the field, he goes by the name of "Zico," a Brazilian soccer star. The tournament is also a second chance for many clergymen who left promising soccer careers to follow their spiritual calling, said Marco Rosales, a Mexican seminarian who coaches the Mater Ecclesiae team. "Some on the team had a chance to play professionally, but the Lord called them to His team," he said. The Clericus Cup will run through June, with the 16 teams fielding 311 athletes from countries including Italy, the United States, Mexico, Papua New Guinea and Rwanda. The matches last one hour and rules differ slightly from those of professional club soccer. Teams are allowed one time-out and, besides the traditional yellow and red card, the referee brandishes a blue card, which gives errant players a five-minute suspension.

A University of Southern California hockey goalie put on a show, but it had nothing to do with stopping shots. Mickey Meyer rode his stick like a horse, dropped his bulky pants, mooned the crowd and slapped his buttocks during a game against Brigham Young University, police said. He was ejected and ticketed for lewdness, a misdemeanor, after an officer who was working security at the rink said he witnessed the scene Saturday. "I had my fill of these refs," Meyer said on an Internet broadcast of the game, according to The Herald-Journal of Logan. It will be up to prosecutors whether to pursue a case against him. "This is a small town," North Park police Sgt. John Italasano said. "This was a college team playing and hockey's a wild game. Sometimes things get out of hand." Meyer's antics occurred while play was stopped and referees were trying to sort out penalties in the third period of a consolation game in the ACHA West Regional tournament at Eccles Ice Center. The junior from Clinton, N.Y., was "riding his hockey stick like a horse and slapping his butt," North Park Officer Mike Stauffer said in a report. After pulling down his pants, Meyer slapped his bare bottom several times, Stauffer said. Rink manager Floyd Naegle was unhappy. "We don't treat this as a funny incident," he said Tuesday. "We're a family oriented business. It's a one-time incident and we try to do what we can to protect ourselves." The Trojans lost the game against BYU, 6-4. The night before, they'd lost 3-1 to Utah State. USC volunteer hockey coach Mark Wilbur said the incident highlights the frustration that can come with playing tournament consolation rounds early in the morning after a loss far from home. "All you're doing is asking for seniors to do stupid stuff," he said. If the season's over, he'd just like to pack up the team gear and go home, he said. Wilbur said he had no specific policy for dealing with publicly bared bottoms. "I sure as hell don't condone it on any level," Wilbur said. Prosecutor Scott Wyatt laughed when told about the incident Tuesday at the state Capitol, where he is a member of the Utah House. He declined to say whether he would press charges. The maximum penalty is six months in jail. "Well, that's my call, but I haven't seen anything" from police, Wyatt said.

Stressed-out commuters got a peaceful surprise as they boarded an Israeli bus on Tuesday: a yoga instructor with a microphone coaching them how to breathe correctly. The passengers stretched their hands toward the ceiling and bent their heads forward as Miri Harovi, a 21-year veteran yoga teacher, guided them through a set of exercises that can be performed while sitting down. "I think that because of our history of terror on buses," Harovi said, referring to past suicide attacks that have targeted crowded buses. "It's very important to do yoga to relax and to show everyone that life is stronger than the fear." Harovi said the idea of for a yoga bus came to her in the middle of the night while she was sleeping. She talked to the Tel Aviv bus company and they jumped on the idea. Most of the passengers on the bus participated, and many said they felt relaxed and more ready for work. The yoga bus has run every Tuesday for three weeks, but Harovi hopes that the program will continue and expand. She and her husband, Gilad Harovi, have worked for years to promote yoga on Israeli television and in public schools. "We want people to try yoga and feel how good it is," Harovi said.

It's not the traditional "till death do us part," but Scott Amsler and Miranda Patterson believe getting hitched in a graveyard is just thinking outside the box. Come September, the Illinois couple expects to pledge their undying love among the dearly departed in this St. Louis suburb's city cemetery, even though those who approved the request are dead set against seeing it become a trend. The wedding wouldn't be out of character for Amsler, 27, a computer expert for a financial company by day and rehabber of old hearses by night. The graveyard, he said, just has a certain tranquility and thriftiness for nuptials the young couple insists will be small, private and traditional _ except for the bagpipes, Amsler's refurbished hearse and the throng of eternally silent witnesses. "People are going to think how they want. I don't actively try to convince people that my interests are normal or logical," Amsler said. "I'm not a freak or Satan worshipper or cult member. It just goes with our theme." Deep down, the couple said, it just seemed right. Amsler and Patterson, who recently moved to Collinsville, Ill., became an item not long after they met in November 2005 at a birthday party where Patterson, 21, was to have been the celebrant's blind date. Amsler showed up in a retooled hearse that caught Patterson's eye. "I wanted a ride in it but I chickened out at the last minute," she said. By their first date weeks later, on New Year's Eve, Patterson knew Amsler was the one. Not long afterward, she quit her factory job in Sullivan, Mo., and moved in with Amsler in Troy, Ill. Amsler proposed last June, affixing to the side of the 1965 hearse _ which the two call "Edgar" _ a plate with a simple message: "Will you marry me?" Seconds later, the ring slid onto a crying Patterson's finger. She received Edgar as an engagement gift and had only one stipulation: The wedding had to be outside, in a gazebo. Her worries were laid to rest while she and Amsler drove to her dad's house. While traveling on Interstate 44, Patterson spotted a gazebo on a hilltop, only to find it was in a graveyard. No worries. "The view was just gorgeous," she said. "I said, `This is where I want to get married.'" When the couple called last fall for permission to use the three-acre cemetery, which dates to the Civil War, City Clerk Jo Ann Hoehne told them the local cemetery committee would have to decide. "When I spoke to them, they were just a normal young couple who wanted to have a wedding some place they thought was nice and serene for a very small, intimate wedding," Hoehne said. "They weren't any cult group or anything like that." Bill Hohman, a 71-year-old alderman on the cemetery panel, wasn't sure what to think. "It's strange to me. This is kind of an unusual thing around here," he said of the country town where the roughly 5,700 residents "roll up the sidewalks at nine o'clock, and everyone goes to bed." The committee last month signed off on the couple's request despite concerns about the appropriateness of the setting for the occasion _ and fears that a burial might be scheduled for the same time. Hohman, though, vows to introduce a measure to make Amsler-Patterson nuptials the last among this town's tombstones. "Once the horse is out of the barn, you have to have an ordinance," he said. But Patterson said she and Amsler have respect for the living and the dead. "We're not going to do anything stupid or horrible. We just want to have a wedding," she said. "Some of the ladies I work with said, `Are you crazy? Why would you get married in a cemetery?' Does it matter where we get married, just as long as we get married?"

New Mexico is hoping to keep drunks off the road by lecturing them at the last place they usually stop before getting behind the wheel: the urinal. The state recently paid $21 each for about 500 talking urinal-deodorizer cakes and has put them in men's rooms in bars and restaurants across the state. When a man steps up, the motion-sensitive plastic device says, in a woman's voice that is flirty, then stern: "Hey, big guy. Having a few drinks? Think you had one too many? Then it's time to call a cab or call a sober friend for a ride home." The recorded message ends: "Remember, your future is in your hand." The talking urinal represents just the latest effort to fight drunken driving in New Mexico, which has long had one of the highest rates of alcohol-related traffic deaths in the nation. (The new tactic is aimed only at men, since they account for 78 percent of all driving-under-the-influence-related convictions in New Mexico.) "It startled me the first time I heard it, but it sure got my attention," said Ben Miller, a patron at the Turtle Mountain Brewing Co. bar and restaurant. "It's a fantastic idea." Jim Swatek, who was drinking a beer nearby, said: "You think, `Maybe I should call the wife to come get me.'" Turtle Mountain Brewing owner Niko Ortiz commended the New Mexico Transportation Department for "thinking way outside the box." Department spokesman S.U. Mahesh said the bathroom is a perfect place to get the message across. In the restroom, "guys don't chitchat with other guys," he said. "It's all business. We've got their total attention for 10 to 15 seconds" Similar urinal cakes have been used for anti-drug campaigns in Colorado, Pennsylvania and Australia, and for anti-DWI efforts on New York's Long Island, said Richard Deutsch of New York-based Healthquest Technologies Inc., which manufactures the devices. But Deutsch said he believes New Mexico is the only state to buy the devices. New Mexico had 143 alcohol-related deaths in 2005, for the nation's eighth-highest rate per miles driven. The problem is blamed in part on the wide-open spaces that make it necessary to drive to get anywhere, and the poverty and isolation that can lead people to drink to relieve their boredom or misery. Also, some have complained that the state has only recently begun to emerge from years of lax enforcement. Gov. Bill Richardson led a successful push two years ago to require ignition locking devices for anyone convicted of DWI _ a first in the nation _ and each year the Legislature has agreed on tougher penalties for repeat offenders. New Mexico also has started a toll-free "drunk buster" hot line, boosted DWI enforcement in problem areas and increased police checkpoints. The state also has a DWI czar. In November, a wrong-way drunken driver slammed into a car near Santa Fe, killing five family members, authorities said. The governor has since directed state regulators to issue cease-and-desist orders against three airlines to stop serving alcohol on flights to and from New Mexico. The culprit in the fatal wreck had been seen drinking on a flight into Albuquerque hours before the accident. At the Turtle Mountain, the urinal cakes have proved so intriguing that three have been swiped already. "I'm mystified why someone would stick their hand into one of our urinals," Ortiz said. "But I'm sure we'll see them on eBay. Hopefully, the seller will advertise it as, `Stolen from Turtle Mountain.'"

Webbed feet run in Stumpy's family, but a rare mutation has left the eight-day-old duckling with two nearly full-sized legs behind the two he runs on. Nicky Janaway, a duck farmer in New Forest, Hampshire, 95 miles southwest of London, unveiled the duckling to reporters on Saturday. "It was absolutely bizarre. I was thinking 'he's got too many legs' and I kept counting 'one, two, three, four,'" Janaway said. Stumpy would probably not survive in the wild, but Janaway, who runs the Warrawee Duck Farm in New Forest says he is doing well. "He's eating and surviving so far and he is running about with those extra legs acting like stabilizers," Janaway said. The mutation is rare, but cases have been recorded across the world. One duckling named Jake was born in Queensland, Australia, in 2002 with four legs but died soon after.