droll duck: Florida - Everglades, swamps and Truck Nutz?

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Florida - Everglades, swamps and Truck Nutz?

Florida - Everglades, swamps and Truck Nutz?

[bg's note: The "Truck Nutz" bill failed to pass the 2008 Florida state legislative session, as did SB 386/HB 437 (Require public bathrooms to meet cleanliness standard and provide toilet paper)and HB 1483 (Require teachers to present critical analysis of evolution theory - Rep. Rhonda Storm's Christian Right crusade). But this being Florida, after all, the bills and their sponsors will be back again next year.]

We native peoples, hereinafter and forever, designated: homo sapien Floridius , know wherein the absurbity lies of setting free exotic, invasive species in the environment. Before you know it, they've glad-handed (paid) their way to the state legislature and into the history books as did state republican senator Cary Baker, who has attached his amendment banning the 'hanging from auto bumpers the plastic replicas of testicles' to a transportation bill (SB 1992) that would make those caught in the act of hanging "reproductive glands" from the bumpers of cars and trucks subject to a noncrimimal moving violation. (Jennifer Liberto, St. Petersburg Times, 04.18.08).

Collective wisdom believes that Gore lost the election because of rulings by conservative (right wing) judges on the Supreme Court. Oh, oh! So not so. The chad mishap? You're not even close. Homo sapien Floridius, this one anyway, thinks of the elections as an amusing sport: something to amuse; relieve the tedium as we swat at the mosquitos on the porch in the heat of summer.

Questions of the day: (1) If a woman makes a plastic replica of her breast and chooses to hang it from the bumper of her car, will Rep. Carey (FL) attach an amendment denouncing her right to do so? (2) Whether Maureen Dowd is entitled to the ridiculous amount of money she makes; and (3) should biologists amend their definition of homo sapien Floridius to homo sapien Floridius ridiculous.

bg burke

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What is there to say but that I was the woman on the 1904 train as it passed by Albert in Bern with his stopwatch on that fateful moment of enlightenment? That I was on the train as it passed through the crossing and that his reckoning was wrong?

He miscalculated, Albert did. But he was of an age and a time, when such miscalculations were commonplace amongst inhabitants of planet Earth. E=mc2 had been but part of the equation, as he had intuited and had confided to me when last we spoke.

"Think, Albert, think. Think up, up, up or sideways: not to infinity. There's your solution."
I do believe, when I drop in to visit him from time to time at his home on Smades1, that he is becoming more amenable toward considering my alternate theorems. Or, it could be, he just likes looking at my ass.

You should hear he and Douglas Adams go at it though when the two of them are together. Adams drops in from Smade2 (where he shares digs with Asimov, Kubrick, Heinlein, et al) every Sunday to watch the physicists slug it out over solar electric ion propulsion or splitting the atom down to its nth. 'Slug' is probably not the right term . . .but, but, there was that time when ________ aimed his solar-powered wheelchair toward Feyman and, if not for Marie Curie throwing herself bodily between the two, who knows who might have ended up with a bloody nose or worse. Beats wrestling or Sunday afternoon football.

No doubt you're wondering along about now what a woman such as myself was doing on that train to begin with, how I came to be there..

Hello, hello . . . "you're fading. Damn these robotic operators. Some things never change!"

* * *

As I was about to say when interrupted by the disconnect:

Strictly speaking, I'm not a woman; I was just designed to look like one. My designate name in earth language is 000XX0003Alpha a) Alphas one and two having been scrapped due to faulty design. Just nothing more than a collection of bits and bytes, really, with terrible mood swings and insecurities.

Nagge *, at TIM. berates Hcssinesaf* across the galaxy at Yelekreb: "Now look what you've gone and done, Hcinnesaf,* you've made her cry. I warned you against injecting the hormone gene, but would you listen? Oh, no."

Hcssinesaf:* "You try separating the intellect from the feelings, you're so smart. Let's see what brilliant idea you come up with, Mr. Know it All."

(author's note: * she doesn't think all that much of Nagge or Hcssinesaf or their waste of taxpayer dollars pursuing their esoteric theories of what makes us tick. They can't find the mystery, the dreams, the dreadful end of life looking through their microscopes. Author can just imagine them on a date or a dance floor.)

And, so it goes.

Myself, I try to spend as little time as possible with bickering astrobiologists and exit, following a good cry in the ladies loo, the lab. "Nobody's perfect," as Michael Logan wrote in Fanfaren der Liebe; later put to film by Billy Wilder as "Some Like It Hot."

Oh, yes, even us numbers are allowed some entertainment.

* * *

Speaking of Michael Logan reminds me of my next assignment, the one I dread the most: smoothing down the ruffled feathers of writers. You think crocodiles are fearsome beasts or that religious fanatics causing carnage are the worst you will witness? You haven't met the writers yet. Just ask Hemingway. No, wait, that's my job and, oh, my father's whiskers, there Mailer to deal with now. And, oh yes, the detours. Douglas wrote in the 'Hitchhikers Guide" that earth had been demolished to make way for the super-duper to end all super-duper galactic bypasses. Though we later found out that Arthur had merely been hallucinating and that the earth had not been demolished by Vogons, plans are still underway for the construction of bypass.

The override. according to the engineers, is going to amount to about three googols. One googol equaling
10100 equaling 10,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,
000,000,000,000,000,00,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,00000,000,
000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,
000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 .

(Milton Sirotta, having popularized zeros at the age of nine in 1911 died tragically some seventy years later wondering if he had discounted the significance of ones. Milton's uncle, mathematician Edward Kasner, you might remember, wrote a boring 1000 page tome titled "Mathematics and the Imagination," unnoted but for his coinage of the word, 'googol, ' hoping to capitalize on Milton's zeros. Milton's father took issue with Milton's uncle. . .oy, veh. . . and they do not speak, though housed together on TJBM**. Milton, meanwhile, is undergoing therapy on SBBS* with a blonde bombshell movie-star-seeking-intelligence who inexplicitly not only survived the implosion of earth but, who along with Elvis and Lennon, continue to emit light into ad nauseum.)

(author's note: the **denotation, used throughout this narrative, equals zero googols.)

I digress, having been lured from the narrative by the zeros. What? You expected that ones would have more sexual appeal? Or that a robot would have no sexual desires?

to be continued

©burke '08