We mammals are arrogant.

The mammal clique has humans, which is like the high school clique that has the quarterback of the football team. The other animals are jealous of our brains and bipedalism. We mammals fawn over live young, while the slimy, scaly kids write emo poetry. They want to join the mammal posse.

“Do you have fur? I didn’t think so.”

But times are changing, and mammals need to watch out for Club Mollusk. The phylum Mollusca includes weirdos like snails, slugs, squid and octopi. Mollusks may look freaky, with their eyes on stalks or suction-cupped arms, but recent research has found that mollusks are smarter and better adapted than we ever expected.

A team of biologists from the Museum Victoria in Australia have discovered that octopi use tools. Veined octopi (Amphioctopus marginatus) often carry halves of coconut shells to use for shelter. The tiny octopi use their suction-cups to carry the halves underneath their bodies and walk around with the tips of their tentacles draped over the edge of the shell. When threatened, an octopus can just roll under the shell and hide. They will even close themselves up between two coconut halves to create tiny fortresses. (YouTube “coconut-carrying octopus” and you’ll see.)

Veined octopi are the first invertebrates to be observed using tools. Sure, hermit crabs carry around seashells, but those seashells are in constant use. A tool is an object that provides no benefit until used for a specific purpose.

An octopus can move pretty fast with its jet propulsion system, so it does have a chance of out-swimming predators. But odds are better with the coconut shell for shelter. The use of shells shows that octopi are capable of advanced planning.

Octopi are smart, but their sea slug cousins are willing to play dirty.

Dr. Sidney Pierce of the University of Southern Florida reported last month that a species of greenish sea slug (Elysia chlorotica) steals chloroplasts and chlorphyll-making genes from algae.

The slugs can photosynthesize.

Not to sound like a total nerd, but wowza!

Photosynthesis is a chemical reaction in plants, algae and certain bacteria that allows organisms to synthesize food from carbon dioxide using energy from the sun. Organisms that photosynthesize can produce their own food. Animals do not photosynthesize. That is a rule.

Sea slugs are rebels.

Pierce found that the seas slugs are born with genetic material that produces chlorophyll, a pigment needed for photosynthesis. Pierce used radioactive tracers to prove that the slugs were really producing the chlorophyll themselves, not just relying on stolen algae reserves. The genetic material came from algae at some point, but Pierce is still not sure how the genes transferred to slugs.

Newly born slugs can’t photosynthesize yet because they don’t have chloroplasts (the tiny organelles where photosynthesis takes place), but they can kidnap chloroplasts from algae for their own use. Chloroplasts get trapped inside cells within a slug’s gut system. The baby slugs just eat up some algae and then they can photosynthesize for the rest of their nearly yearlong lives. Pierce told sciencenews.org that he can keep slugs in aquariums happy as long as they have a light source.

As climate change continues and the polar ice caps keep melting, the world is getting wetter. We land mammals will suffer as habitats for ocean-dwelling mollusks increase. Smart, resourceful mollusks are like that geeky kid in high school who grows up to be a brilliant and gorgeous science writer.

Don’t underestimate the mollusks.

MADELINE McCURRY-SCHMIDT sometimes wishes she could hide under a coconut shell. E-mail her at memschmidt@ucdavis.edu.

In this era of hair extensions, Bump-Its and the Booty Pop, I’d imagine it’s difficult for those that pursue women to know what they’re actually getting. Fortunately, this isn’t a problem I have to deal with, but I feel for those that do.

All I’m saying is it seems like people today have the tough task of distinguishing the real assets of a woman from the fake. And the new “feature enhancing” products on the market aren’t making the job any easier.

Let me break down some definitions for those of you that are unfamiliar. First, there’s the Booty Pop. No, this is not some health snack from Jamba Juice. This weapon of mass seduction is essentially padded underwear to give your gluteus maximus that extra “pop!” And did I mention they come in a variety of fun colors and styles?

AS IF WE DIDN’T ALREADY FEEL BAD ENOUGH ABOUT FALSELY ADVERTISING OUR BREASTS, NOW THEY WANT US TO STUFF OUR UNDERWEAR, TOO? What happens when a guy brings a girl home because of her J-Lo-like feature? I hardly imagine him reacting positively to her butt coming off.

At the very least, I guess I can say the Booty Pop is multifunctional. A floatation device and seat rest all in one is hard to come by. And at the bargain price of $28, it’s also hard to refuse. I, however, have come to terms with the fact that I am not Beyonce Knowles (even though I get that all the time). I don’t need to wear pockets of air on my ass to pretend like I am.

Next there’s the Bump-It, a product that’s only useful if you plan on attending a Jersey Shore party. It might also be handy if you are trying to meet the height requirement for a rollercoaster. This masterpiece of innovation is basically a plastic hair piece you put underneath your locks to give it that extra va-va-voom.

I’m not going to even try to defend this product by arguing a dual purpose. It’s terrible and looks stupid. Please don’t buy it.

Finally, fake tanning is another trend I’ve never understood. You go to a salon, sit in a metal contraption and pay someone to increase your risk of cancer. But no, you don’t do it just once – you make a point to do this several times a week. You even become a tanning salon member and get discounts on the harm you are inflicting upon yourself.

Congratulations, you look like an Oompa Loompa in February. And at the age of 30, you’ll look like crepe paper. Either way, it’s probably not worth whatever you’re paying for it.

Across the board, though, it seems that increased volume is the desired effect. We need to plump up our lips, inflate our butts, poof up our hair and push up our boobs.

Because of the rise in products allowing us to achieve these effects, I find myself forgetting what women actually look like. Why don’t I have the lips of a sea bass? How come I’m the only one glowing in the dark? Why the hell doesn’t my booty pop?

I guess the two major issues I have with these types of products are as follows:

First, you are throwing down big bucks to be something you’re not, because society has convinced us that’s what we need to be.

Second, the intention of these products is presumably to be attractive to your peers. But at the end of the day, someone is undoubtedly going to realize that your rear end is detachable, your hair is removable and your sun-kissed glow comes from a cancerous box.

So ditch the stupid “enhancers,” be yourself and attract someone who will like you for who and what you are to begin with. And if you’re butt is really that flat, there’s this machine called a treadmill and an exercise known as running.

AMANDA HARDWICK knows more about the Booty Pop than a normal person should. If you want to ridicule her for this, send her an e-mail at aghardwick@ucdavis.edu.

Let me take you back to our younger years when life was simple. When we got to play on the jungle gym, paint with our fingers and make sticky messes.

This was also the time when we were most curious. During this stage in life, you asked your parents where you came from. Some may have told you the stork dropped you off. And you went on with your happy little life knowing a bird brought you into the world.

On the other hand, some parents may have gone to great lengths to tell you where you came from. They bought you books like Where Did I Come From? and Where Do Babies Come From? Kudos to your parents.

The day came when you were in middle school and the tables turned. Your parents were the curious ones. They wanted to know who you were going to the mall with and what movies you were seeing. This was their job in life – to pester you.

You knew it was coming, but of course, it happened when you least expected it. It was the most dreadful day of your life as a teenager. The day your parents or some trusty adult gave you the sex talk.

If your dad is like my dad, he probably doesn’t say too much. So my coming of age “talk” consisted of a stack of pamphlets from Kaiser’s teen clinic. Ask me if I read them. (Okay, maybe I took a glance, but what 12-year-old girl reads pamphlets about puberty her dad gives her?)

If you had a nurse for a parent, then you probably had a much more graphic experience. This is what happened to a friend of mine. At age nine, her mom sat her down, pulled out pictures and explained what was going to happen to her body. I hope my friend learned a thing or two.

Another friend told me her grandpa gave her the sex talk when she was interviewing him for a project about World War II. He talked in the third person and told her, “Your grandpa really enjoyed his wedding night. Your grandma and grandpa couldn’t wait to do that again.”

From this encounter, she gathered he was telling her to pop out as many “nice Catholic babies as possible before 30.” She was mortified and has not been able to look at her grandpa the same way since.

Imagine if your dad found a condom in your room when you were in high school. Yup, this is what happened to a neighbor of mine. After going to the doctor to get a prescription for birth control for reasons other than sex (which her dad knew about), he sat her down and told her he was worried.

She burst out in laughter and said, “Is this about the condom?” She explained the doctor gave it to her as a precautionary measure.

It gets better. At the age of 13, my friend was sitting at the dinner table with her family. Her younger sister asked what a vibrator was. Her mom proceeded with a 20-minute discussion and a diagram. I want to have dinner at her house!

For some of us, including myself, this topic was worse than learning geometry. But we have come to the age when we are teaching our parents things about the body. Just a few weeks ago my friend told her parents what a queef was. If you don’t know what this is, look it up.

As embarrassed as we were during these sexual conversations, I’m pretty sure they kept us safe, out of trouble and informed. I’d hope we are mature enough to discuss this part of our lives with some trustworthy adult. And storks don’t really drop babies off on porches.

ERICA BETNUN is happy it’s hump day. She can almost taste the weekend. She can be reached at elbetnun@ucavis.edu.