I was reading an article in the paper the other day about new research that is being done to help identify and combat Global Warming. Apparently, there is an entire research facility in Australia devoted to the study of how sheep flatulence affects the environment. Scientists believe that the abundance of sheep flatulence in the atmosphere is actually having a greater impact than car exhaust. So, research is being conducted to determine how to feed sheep without giving them gas.
How do you solicit funds for that? "So, you want me to give you money so you can study sheep farts?"
And more importantly, how do you test if the sheep has passed gas? "All right, Bob, you go stand behind the sheep and see if you smell anything."
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
D29X
I can just imagine some civilization digging up my bones in the future. Pouring over the multiple fractures in close examination, and concluding that I must have been a great and powerful warrior of my people. How else could they explain the multiple skull fractures, broken elbow, broken fingers, and hundreds of other unknown scars without determining that it must have come from war.
Soon the theories will start about how I was not only a great and powerful warrior, but a king. A king that waged so much war that I must have ruled a vast and varied land. So much land that I must have been ruler of the entire known world. Of course, this will be hundreds of thousands of years in the future, so nobody would be around to explain that I was more like a peon than a king.
Then questions about the circumstances of my death will surface. For surely a king as great as myself could never succumb to a mortal weapon in battle, so it must have been that I was betrayed. Maybe poison. Maybe a paper cut on my tongue. You know, something really dangerous and deadly.
Then they will dig up the skull of my wife next to me, and theories of the humble, submissive queen will surround her. Again nobody will be around to tell them that here lies the skull of the woman that discovered the cure for cancer…sugar momma to the lazy, clumsy skull next to her. Financial supporter of the stupid moron that once hit himself in the head with a PVC pipe after it bounced off the bumper of the RV he was beating it on. Caretaker of the hapless weakling that broke his finger while trying to catch a stuffed animal thrown by a four-year old girl. Guardian of the unfortunate wretch that was thrown off the monkey bars by a three-year old girl, shattering his elbow in multiple places. Better half of the ridiculous idget that once drove a tent stake through his finger. Superior to the dimwit that was once drop-kicked across the room by his best friend, slamming his head into a window sill while pretending to be The Ultimate Warrior…which is as close to a warrior as he ever got.
No. Nobody will be around to tell them all that. So, I shall hence forth be known as specimen D29X, ruler of the known world!
Soon the theories will start about how I was not only a great and powerful warrior, but a king. A king that waged so much war that I must have ruled a vast and varied land. So much land that I must have been ruler of the entire known world. Of course, this will be hundreds of thousands of years in the future, so nobody would be around to explain that I was more like a peon than a king.
Then questions about the circumstances of my death will surface. For surely a king as great as myself could never succumb to a mortal weapon in battle, so it must have been that I was betrayed. Maybe poison. Maybe a paper cut on my tongue. You know, something really dangerous and deadly.
Then they will dig up the skull of my wife next to me, and theories of the humble, submissive queen will surround her. Again nobody will be around to tell them that here lies the skull of the woman that discovered the cure for cancer…sugar momma to the lazy, clumsy skull next to her. Financial supporter of the stupid moron that once hit himself in the head with a PVC pipe after it bounced off the bumper of the RV he was beating it on. Caretaker of the hapless weakling that broke his finger while trying to catch a stuffed animal thrown by a four-year old girl. Guardian of the unfortunate wretch that was thrown off the monkey bars by a three-year old girl, shattering his elbow in multiple places. Better half of the ridiculous idget that once drove a tent stake through his finger. Superior to the dimwit that was once drop-kicked across the room by his best friend, slamming his head into a window sill while pretending to be The Ultimate Warrior…which is as close to a warrior as he ever got.
No. Nobody will be around to tell them all that. So, I shall hence forth be known as specimen D29X, ruler of the known world!
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