in a quantum universe where everything is possible, where the imaginary plane is perpendicular with the real, there is a world where William Burke is a lousy, good for nothing bum, who can’t do nothing for himself, and i am a cosmologist. and the square root of negative one is not i, it is not imaginary, it is simply equal to 3, and in this quantum universe where everything is possible, in this theoretical world, quantum mechanics don’t exist. just the number 3. and i am a cosmologists. and i am good at my job when i don’t have to imagine nothing.
if you strain too hard while makin a poo poo out of your butthole, blood vessels (i.e. rube goldberg ketchup tubes) in the brain (i.e. conductive electrical water jelly sloshin’ around in a bone skull cavity) will burst, causing swelling of the brain tissue, i.e a god damn brain hemorrgage. and man oh man they should write that real big like on the oatmeal boxes with the little quaker man with his little hat.
Tennis for Two was a video game created in 1958 by Brookhaven National Labs using computers that calculated ballistic missile trajectories.
Because lab visitors were bored. That’s why.
In an old school in an old town in an old country on a tired continent where old people teach old tired books there is the modern marvel of the Fallturm Drop Tower; an emptied and hollowed tube of 123 meters tall, whose sole purpose is which to drop a bunch of old shit down, to see what happens, academically speaking. Science has come a long way.
conductive electrical water jelly sloshin’ around in my bone cavity tellin’ me i like pictures of boobies.
Charles Denis Bourbaki was a nineteenth century french general who attempted suicide. He fired a gun into his head. The bullet was flattened against his skull. He lived.
Georg Cantor, Alan Turing, Kurt Godel, Ludwig Boltzmann. All mathematicians. Committed suicide. Successfully.
Charles just couldn’t do the math. Sometimes it does take a rocket scientist.
The wire penetrated and hooked through his tiny insignificant hand and with a primal scream he cried out “I hate my life, I hate my life! I wish I were dead! This is the worst birthday ever!” and blood went everywhere as I told all his sheepishly quiet elementary friends, “Its going to be all okay, we’re still gonna have a great time but we all really need to respect that three foot bubble rule.”
On the Bohr family grave, visitors often leave pairs of dice at the site as a big fuck you to Albert Einstein for his little comment:
“I am convinced that God does not play dice.”
i used to sell my blood plasma for only twenty buckaroos a pop because i’m just a little guy twice a week and the nurse would say you have such beautiful veins while touching my hair and collecting my blood platelets and brenda was the nice black lady i would let stab me because i had to watch out for evil polish ladies with needles they don’t care about nothing they don’t give a good god damn they can’t feel and when you have to go pee pee watch out for the passed out guy in the stall leave him alone he’ll be just fine and you’ll probably be cleaner not washing your hands and the guy next to me says is this going to hurt and the guy next to him says don’t be a bitch and the nurse laughs and says yeah don’t be a bitch and blood flows out of me into tubes miles of tubes through a rube goldberg machine and brenda says pump nicholas pump and i say i’m trying and everyone is trying pumping pumping we’re all moo moo cows with ravaged teets but i really need that twenty dollars i’m just a little guy its been two hours and i can see the fat in my blood coalesce at the top of my blood bucket next to me its like a pudding skin and they won’t let javon donate today he ate three bags of extra buttered popcorn last night and his blood just ain’t gonna flow right and the saline solutions gets pumped into me, and my arm is cold and feels like metal like jax from mortal kombat 2 but it feels more like a metal flipper than an arm and its going to fall off and maybe i’m having a stroke and sports center is still on its a tuesday and on the way out in the lobby a nice young man named greg sells me a bootleg version of the movie thor and he’s says there used to be a guy you could buy weed from but he’s doin time now so no not anymore and god dammit i need those two square patties of all american beef i need a jr. cheeseburger deluxe i’ve had a day thats right i’m going to wendys.
William Blake often claimed that he was visited by the ghost of a flea.
And the flea said things to him like,
“It was first intended to make me as big as a bullock; but then when it was considered from my construction, so armed—and so powerful withal, that in proportion to my bulk, mischievous as I now am, that I should have been a too mighty destroyer; it was determined to make me—no bigger than I am.”
Above taken from Blake’s obituary on his friendship with his flea.
There are over 2,000 species of flea, each with a specialized relationship with their host.