My research assistant Simon, who I have grown attached to (with the use of stem cells) is leaving for India today. This saddens me, yet it is not the first time one of my scientific creations has journeyed to the sub-continent.
My first creation's disappearance was a shameful one. I had been commissioned by the British Government to create an assassin droid, for the purposes of travelling back in time and quelling a rebellion that took place in India, in 1915. The British Government wished to re-establish their empire. Or rather, to have never lost it to begin with. I think most of this desire was motivated by their dislike of paying so much for tea. In any case, I designed the first robot built specifically for assassination. It was a masterpiece. Thin, slender arms, but powerful all the same. Concealed weaponry, but a friendly and believable appearance. It was capable of blending in to human society perfectly, staying undetected until it was meant to strike. If there was one flaw, it was perhaps the optical sensors, which were always rather weak.
The Galvanised Assassin Droid Human Imitator was perfectly designed, or so I thought. Sending the robot back in time required some complex physics, and unfortunately resulted in the robot appearing naked (this is standard time travel technology, as fibers get caught in the machine.) According to reports, the robot gathered a poorly-woven sheet and covered itself in it. This was basic social camouflage, but the people of India interpreted it as a sign of protest against their British then-rulers, whose economy relied heavily on the trade of cotton garments.
My robot used this social following to get closer to his target, a lawyer by the name of Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi. Striking in the dead of night, the target was eliminated, but not before a brief conversation ensued. My robot, having never been programmed with a philosophy, was quickly and, perhaps violently, converted to a new way of thinking. He assumed the mantle of Mahatma Gandhi and returned to his followers, hoping to use them to escape the guards in Mumbai, then return to the present and postulate on this new philosophical development.
He was, however, surprised by his followers' passion, who demanded more social protest, eventually asking for his leadership in their new movement. Largely by accident, Mahatma Gandhi became the very figure that he was sent to eliminate. This, of course, was quite a considerable fuck-up on my part, and so I was forced to rectify the situation by sending another assassin droid, the Galvanised Obliteration Droid and Social Extremist - this time programmed with the philosophy of Hindu radicalism to ensure that he would not be converted into a more pacifistic philosophy.
Gandhi's last words were said to be "Oh God." It is widely believed that he was actually killed before finishing them. Some speculate that he was in fact saying "Oh, GODSE" (referring to GODSE, the new droid that was sent to kill him.) The history books, of course, would have you believe otherwise.
All in all, the mission was successful. Apart from the whole 'destabilising the British economy and essentially destroying their empire' thing, I mean. Gandhi was assassinated (twice, technically) and I was compensated with five hundred Great British Pounds, which is now worth about twenty Euros.
I hope you have enjoyed another one of my ADVENTURES IN SCIENCE!
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Monday, November 10, 2008
Gorilla Radio
Once more, my friends, I apologise for the delay in posting updates of my scientific adventures. I have been severely handicapped by my lack of a competent assistant. You see, I still possess an assistant, it is just that he is no longer as helpful as he once was.
Recently, I have been studying zoology and experimenting with gorillas. They are fascinating creatures, whose genomes are only 1.7% different from ours. Almost all of them share the same blood-type (B) which is handy, as my latest donor has suffered from massive blood loss (thanks to a fortunate typographical error by the investigating officer, I have been cleared of all suspicion in regards to my recent study of hemoglobins, and the cause of death has been attributed to an attack by a vicious band of Hemo-Goblins).
So fascinating are they, that I have conducted an experiment in consciousness-swapping, involving a gorilla named Stacy and my research assistant Winslow. Winslow is happy, strolling around on his knuckles and occasionally feasting upon the lice that I have strewn around the laboratory. Stacy is less so, as she continually drops test tubes, beakers and tissue samples - her gargantuan hands are not meant for gripping fine objects, and this has lead to many explosions in the chemical leak chambers, and several chemical leaks in the explosion room. It's a fucking shambles.
As such, I have been far too busy cleaning up the mess made by Stacy (both the broken test tubes and her accursed fecal matter, which she insists on leaving in any part of my laboratory not intended to contain gorilla feces). I have had little time to blog.
Now, however, I am free once more. Stacy has been shot by my manly friend Col. Blackheart, a big game hunter who has now, he informs me, turned to hunting the deadliest game of all. Whilst he insisted that the deadliest game of all was man, I showed him a new project of mine that involved cross-breeding scorpions with laser-guided missiles. He has quickly changed his mind about hunting, and is apparently far too busy catching up on all the episodes of Lost that he TiVo'd whilst he was hunting zebra fish in the Amazonian River.
So, now that I am free to blog about my own devices (which include the digital can-opener and the free-range assassin droid), I can tell you more about scientific histories, and the great rivalries therein.
Not many people know this, but Guglielmo Marconi, the man commonly referred to as the inventor of the radio, was the arch-nemesis of Samuel Finley Breese Morse, the man who invented wind currents and Morse code. This was an impressive rivalry, as Marconi was born two years after Morse had died. This is not, however, as impossible as some skeptics might think.
Morse did briefly experiment with electromancy, and this is how he was able to sustain himself for such a long time after his supposed 'death'. He used electric currents to reanimate his recently deceased corpse, whilst himself being deceased. An impressive feat, and one that was lauded by the scientific community. But his Nobel Prize was a posthumous one, and thus he was not elligible for any of the prize money.
His subsequent rampage through the streets of Stockholm is widely documented, although at the time most believed him to be Frankenstein's monster rather than the reanimated corpse of Samuel F. B. Morse. It is through this pure rage that he was able to keep himself reanimated for such a long time. His earlier invention, Morse code, was upstaged by Marconi's radiotelegraph system, which Morse viewed as 'showboating' and 'witchcraft'.
Ironically, or perhaps not, Marconi's first radio transmission was simply the letter S in Morse code, repeated over and over again. Morse intended to sue Marconi for copyright infringement, and perhaps patent infringement as well. Morse was further enraged when he found that, due to him being legally (and medically) dead, the patent rights had been passed to his second wife Sarah Elizabeth Griswold (who, it was well known, was an absolute bitch).
Morse's rage eventually subsided when he realised that Marconi's invention was more useful than he had originally thought, and he discovered the soothing wonders of smooth jazz. This was, however, a belated peace accord, as smooth jazz was not invented until the 1960's - roughly 59 years after the invention of the radio and the beginning of their subsequent feud.
I hope that I have enlightened the masses and entertained the volumes. That's a little physics joke for you, there. So, until next time, I hope you have enjoyed another one of my ADVENTURES IN SCIENCE!
Recently, I have been studying zoology and experimenting with gorillas. They are fascinating creatures, whose genomes are only 1.7% different from ours. Almost all of them share the same blood-type (B) which is handy, as my latest donor has suffered from massive blood loss (thanks to a fortunate typographical error by the investigating officer, I have been cleared of all suspicion in regards to my recent study of hemoglobins, and the cause of death has been attributed to an attack by a vicious band of Hemo-Goblins).
So fascinating are they, that I have conducted an experiment in consciousness-swapping, involving a gorilla named Stacy and my research assistant Winslow. Winslow is happy, strolling around on his knuckles and occasionally feasting upon the lice that I have strewn around the laboratory. Stacy is less so, as she continually drops test tubes, beakers and tissue samples - her gargantuan hands are not meant for gripping fine objects, and this has lead to many explosions in the chemical leak chambers, and several chemical leaks in the explosion room. It's a fucking shambles.
As such, I have been far too busy cleaning up the mess made by Stacy (both the broken test tubes and her accursed fecal matter, which she insists on leaving in any part of my laboratory not intended to contain gorilla feces). I have had little time to blog.
Now, however, I am free once more. Stacy has been shot by my manly friend Col. Blackheart, a big game hunter who has now, he informs me, turned to hunting the deadliest game of all. Whilst he insisted that the deadliest game of all was man, I showed him a new project of mine that involved cross-breeding scorpions with laser-guided missiles. He has quickly changed his mind about hunting, and is apparently far too busy catching up on all the episodes of Lost that he TiVo'd whilst he was hunting zebra fish in the Amazonian River.
So, now that I am free to blog about my own devices (which include the digital can-opener and the free-range assassin droid), I can tell you more about scientific histories, and the great rivalries therein.
Not many people know this, but Guglielmo Marconi, the man commonly referred to as the inventor of the radio, was the arch-nemesis of Samuel Finley Breese Morse, the man who invented wind currents and Morse code. This was an impressive rivalry, as Marconi was born two years after Morse had died. This is not, however, as impossible as some skeptics might think.
Morse did briefly experiment with electromancy, and this is how he was able to sustain himself for such a long time after his supposed 'death'. He used electric currents to reanimate his recently deceased corpse, whilst himself being deceased. An impressive feat, and one that was lauded by the scientific community. But his Nobel Prize was a posthumous one, and thus he was not elligible for any of the prize money.
His subsequent rampage through the streets of Stockholm is widely documented, although at the time most believed him to be Frankenstein's monster rather than the reanimated corpse of Samuel F. B. Morse. It is through this pure rage that he was able to keep himself reanimated for such a long time. His earlier invention, Morse code, was upstaged by Marconi's radiotelegraph system, which Morse viewed as 'showboating' and 'witchcraft'.
Ironically, or perhaps not, Marconi's first radio transmission was simply the letter S in Morse code, repeated over and over again. Morse intended to sue Marconi for copyright infringement, and perhaps patent infringement as well. Morse was further enraged when he found that, due to him being legally (and medically) dead, the patent rights had been passed to his second wife Sarah Elizabeth Griswold (who, it was well known, was an absolute bitch).
Morse's rage eventually subsided when he realised that Marconi's invention was more useful than he had originally thought, and he discovered the soothing wonders of smooth jazz. This was, however, a belated peace accord, as smooth jazz was not invented until the 1960's - roughly 59 years after the invention of the radio and the beginning of their subsequent feud.
I hope that I have enlightened the masses and entertained the volumes. That's a little physics joke for you, there. So, until next time, I hope you have enjoyed another one of my ADVENTURES IN SCIENCE!
Thursday, October 9, 2008
A Brief History of Time, Space and Urine
Space is curved. We all know this, it is common knowledge. Many theories of time travel rely upon this curvature, and indeed an entire branch of science was founded specifically to deal with the curviness of space. It really is quite curvy. The majority of empty space, known as Blank Space, has a curvature of roughly one quarter of a full circle, sometimes ranging to one third. Certain pockets of space, known as such due to the large amount of space lint that is generally located within such an area, are extraordinarily curvier than normal. These pockets of space possess a quality known as triple cyclicity, essentially stating that their curvature is that of three full circles. This is, of course, physically impossible, which makes it all the more interesting. Time and space actually folds back on itself, and then folds a second time, making it possible to experience past, present and future all at the same time.
This triple cyclic temporality exists in places known as Killing fields (do not let the name fool you, it was merely discovered by Professor Henry Killing, who was, ironically enough, a psychotic mass-murderer who paused his homicidal rampages periodically to survey astrological phenomenon with his razor-tipped telescope.) It is in one of these Killing fields that I have been in for the past nine months or so, which explains my temporal disappearance and lack of updates to my rather anaemic web log. I have not, however, stayed there by choice.
Whilst was pursuing my evil doppelganger, who shall remain nameless in order to protect both his reputation and mine, I was tackled into the entry point of a wormhole which just so happened to have been located on the peak of a very tall cliff. Whilst falling into this wormhole and emerging out into a Killing field had saved my very life, it also imprisoned me, and my doppelganger, into a seemingly inescapable temporal vortex. Setting aside our differences, (which were few, as he was my twin), we worked together and designed a device of such magnificent complexity that it was sure to rend asunder both time and space, and set us free. The device failed.
We tried a simpler device, which was essentially a large catapult. This plan also failed, and I was now short a doppelganger. As I sat and thought, attempting to pick the strands of raw meat from my teeth, an even more brilliant idea occurred to me - or rather, it would occur to me fifteen minutes in the future. As time had folded back on itself, I began working on the device two days ago and so it was already completed before I’d thought of it. This worked to my advantage, obviously, as I could quickly emerge from the vortex and resume my previous work, although I can also remember waiting in the vortex for about seven years after I’d thought of the device, so I can’t be sure of how long I was really there for.
Chronotomics is a confusing branch of science, even more so if you end up practicing it before you’ve begun studying it, but it has certain perks - one of which being that you can travel back in time and see long-dead pets as if for the first time. They will also urinate on you, as you have not house-trained them yet. You may also visit friends and relatives, who will also urinate on you, for obvious reasons. There is a surprisingly large amount of urine involved in time travel, which is rarely mentioned in science fiction novels. I am unsure as to why.
Gambling on races and events of which you already know the outcome will not work, as the Time Police will put a stop to this before you have even considered the idea, and you will be severely fined before you were even born, which, with compound interest, accumulates to such immense debt that paradoxically causes many scientists to travel back in time in order to bet on races that they already know the outcome of. The Time Police do not like this happening, as it tends to make the universe explode, and is usually considered to be responsible for the decline of gambling in the world of today.
My pilot, Oedipus Rex, had apparently become an alcoholic in my absence. This was disconcerting to all involved, as a drunk pilot is not a very good one, even when he possesses incredible skill. In order to sober him up, I had to drain all of his blood and run a saline solution through his kidneys, before replacing the blood with Ribena. I do not think Rex knows this has happened, and he is unable to see the colour purple.
In all other respects, work continues as usual. Genetic mutations are performed on orphans, who, I assure you, have given me their informed consent whilst munching on bowls of oatmeal. The reanimated corpse of Abraham Lincoln has demanded that Servo, my robotic assistant, be emancipated. I have told Zombie Lincoln that this is unlikely to happen as Servo is programmed specifically to reject any form of freedom, and to get back on the table, as I am not yet finished with his lobotomy.
Due to temporal anomalies and the attacks of undead Presidential figures, I cannot say when next I will update this web log. What I can say, however, is that as long as there is science, so too will there be scientists to ‘blog’ about it (that is, until the robotic uprising of the year three thousand and forty six, at which point there will be robots to blog about science and the majestic splendour of President Zombie Lincoln.)
This triple cyclic temporality exists in places known as Killing fields (do not let the name fool you, it was merely discovered by Professor Henry Killing, who was, ironically enough, a psychotic mass-murderer who paused his homicidal rampages periodically to survey astrological phenomenon with his razor-tipped telescope.) It is in one of these Killing fields that I have been in for the past nine months or so, which explains my temporal disappearance and lack of updates to my rather anaemic web log. I have not, however, stayed there by choice.
Whilst was pursuing my evil doppelganger, who shall remain nameless in order to protect both his reputation and mine, I was tackled into the entry point of a wormhole which just so happened to have been located on the peak of a very tall cliff. Whilst falling into this wormhole and emerging out into a Killing field had saved my very life, it also imprisoned me, and my doppelganger, into a seemingly inescapable temporal vortex. Setting aside our differences, (which were few, as he was my twin), we worked together and designed a device of such magnificent complexity that it was sure to rend asunder both time and space, and set us free. The device failed.
We tried a simpler device, which was essentially a large catapult. This plan also failed, and I was now short a doppelganger. As I sat and thought, attempting to pick the strands of raw meat from my teeth, an even more brilliant idea occurred to me - or rather, it would occur to me fifteen minutes in the future. As time had folded back on itself, I began working on the device two days ago and so it was already completed before I’d thought of it. This worked to my advantage, obviously, as I could quickly emerge from the vortex and resume my previous work, although I can also remember waiting in the vortex for about seven years after I’d thought of the device, so I can’t be sure of how long I was really there for.
Chronotomics is a confusing branch of science, even more so if you end up practicing it before you’ve begun studying it, but it has certain perks - one of which being that you can travel back in time and see long-dead pets as if for the first time. They will also urinate on you, as you have not house-trained them yet. You may also visit friends and relatives, who will also urinate on you, for obvious reasons. There is a surprisingly large amount of urine involved in time travel, which is rarely mentioned in science fiction novels. I am unsure as to why.
Gambling on races and events of which you already know the outcome will not work, as the Time Police will put a stop to this before you have even considered the idea, and you will be severely fined before you were even born, which, with compound interest, accumulates to such immense debt that paradoxically causes many scientists to travel back in time in order to bet on races that they already know the outcome of. The Time Police do not like this happening, as it tends to make the universe explode, and is usually considered to be responsible for the decline of gambling in the world of today.
My pilot, Oedipus Rex, had apparently become an alcoholic in my absence. This was disconcerting to all involved, as a drunk pilot is not a very good one, even when he possesses incredible skill. In order to sober him up, I had to drain all of his blood and run a saline solution through his kidneys, before replacing the blood with Ribena. I do not think Rex knows this has happened, and he is unable to see the colour purple.
In all other respects, work continues as usual. Genetic mutations are performed on orphans, who, I assure you, have given me their informed consent whilst munching on bowls of oatmeal. The reanimated corpse of Abraham Lincoln has demanded that Servo, my robotic assistant, be emancipated. I have told Zombie Lincoln that this is unlikely to happen as Servo is programmed specifically to reject any form of freedom, and to get back on the table, as I am not yet finished with his lobotomy.
Due to temporal anomalies and the attacks of undead Presidential figures, I cannot say when next I will update this web log. What I can say, however, is that as long as there is science, so too will there be scientists to ‘blog’ about it (that is, until the robotic uprising of the year three thousand and forty six, at which point there will be robots to blog about science and the majestic splendour of President Zombie Lincoln.)
Monday, December 3, 2007
Now with extra Science!
Welcome...to the world of SCIENCE!
Yes, science, such a wonderful thing. Ever since we invented it back in 1958, we scientists have been studying and inventing more and more science. Bit of a good idea there, since before the invention of science, we scientists didn't have much to do. But, now that it's been around for a good 49 years, science is definitely here to stay.
My name is Rutherford Jones, scientist extraordinaire. I'm transmitting this to you, the reader, from my 'aeroship' (dirigible, for those of you who do not understand such complex and sciency terms) which is hovering at a steady six thousand ft. in the air (which we in the science community call the 'Blogosphere'). I'm writing this using a complicated piece of machinery known as a 'computer'. It is connected to the 'Internet', which, I am informed, is like a series of tubes.
You see, I know these things because I am no ordinary scientist. I am a super-scientist. We are an elite few, who study everything, we invented the wheel, the laser and the Omniglobulator (look for that next year). Part of being a super-scientist, however, is the adventure. Yes, I know we'd all rather be tucked away in our safe, little labs (that's laboratory, for those of you not 'up to scratch' with the current scientific vernacular), but when you call yourself a man of science, you must answer the call of adventure, and face danger at every turn. Just last week I wrestled a giant, mutated crocodile for some science. That science proved invaluable in the pursuit of even more science.
The good thing about science is that you can never have too much science. It's an ever-changing field, and you need to stay abreast of the new developments. Why, when we first discovered the Earth in 1929 (pre-dating science by about 29 years) people deduced (incorrectly, for those of you who still haven't caught up with us) that the Earth was flat. It is, in fact an oblate spheroid (or at least, close to one). But enough about that, you should all know this from having read my book, 'A Brief History of Science.'
I'm writing this 'web log' to document my heroic and scientific exploits as I travel around the globe (or oblate spheroid) to solve mysteries, stop crime, and invent more science. The world just doesn't have enough science in it, and super-scientists (such as myself) have been charged to create as much science as possible. Of course, it would be impossible to do all of this science myself, so I have employed several companions or 'sidekicks' if you will.
Capt. Oedipus Rex, my hot-shot, maverick pilot, who flies me wherever I need to go. He's far too cocky for my liking, but his rogue-ish charm and manual dexterity (his primary stats in D&D) have gotten us in and out of trouble more times than I can count (just kidding, I'm a scientist, I can count to anything).
Dr. Charlene Jackson, my beautiful, buxom lab assistant. She claims to hold a PhD in Science, but whenever I ask her to produce it, she says that she forgot to bring it. Still, I give her the benefit of the doubt, especially as I need...company on my journeys. Science is a harsh mistress, and one who provides little in the way of erotic stimulation. Some would argue that she isn't much of a mistress at all, then. I'd tend to agree with them, and so it's not really an argument anymore. Therefore, Charlene has become my new mistress and she often helps me erect my retort stand, if you know what I mean. She also performs sexual favours for me. Both services are appreciated, as I need both a lab assistant and a female companion to function properly.
Anyway, that's enough web logging for now - look at me still talking when there's science to do. Soon, I hope to chronicle some of my more interesting scientific adventures, like the time I fought Dracula, and that time that I singlehandedly broke the Internet. Those, however, can wait. I hear the call of science, and I must answer.
Until next time, keep on sciencing!
Yes, science, such a wonderful thing. Ever since we invented it back in 1958, we scientists have been studying and inventing more and more science. Bit of a good idea there, since before the invention of science, we scientists didn't have much to do. But, now that it's been around for a good 49 years, science is definitely here to stay.
My name is Rutherford Jones, scientist extraordinaire. I'm transmitting this to you, the reader, from my 'aeroship' (dirigible, for those of you who do not understand such complex and sciency terms) which is hovering at a steady six thousand ft. in the air (which we in the science community call the 'Blogosphere'). I'm writing this using a complicated piece of machinery known as a 'computer'. It is connected to the 'Internet', which, I am informed, is like a series of tubes.
You see, I know these things because I am no ordinary scientist. I am a super-scientist. We are an elite few, who study everything, we invented the wheel, the laser and the Omniglobulator (look for that next year). Part of being a super-scientist, however, is the adventure. Yes, I know we'd all rather be tucked away in our safe, little labs (that's laboratory, for those of you not 'up to scratch' with the current scientific vernacular), but when you call yourself a man of science, you must answer the call of adventure, and face danger at every turn. Just last week I wrestled a giant, mutated crocodile for some science. That science proved invaluable in the pursuit of even more science.
The good thing about science is that you can never have too much science. It's an ever-changing field, and you need to stay abreast of the new developments. Why, when we first discovered the Earth in 1929 (pre-dating science by about 29 years) people deduced (incorrectly, for those of you who still haven't caught up with us) that the Earth was flat. It is, in fact an oblate spheroid (or at least, close to one). But enough about that, you should all know this from having read my book, 'A Brief History of Science.'
I'm writing this 'web log' to document my heroic and scientific exploits as I travel around the globe (or oblate spheroid) to solve mysteries, stop crime, and invent more science. The world just doesn't have enough science in it, and super-scientists (such as myself) have been charged to create as much science as possible. Of course, it would be impossible to do all of this science myself, so I have employed several companions or 'sidekicks' if you will.
Capt. Oedipus Rex, my hot-shot, maverick pilot, who flies me wherever I need to go. He's far too cocky for my liking, but his rogue-ish charm and manual dexterity (his primary stats in D&D) have gotten us in and out of trouble more times than I can count (just kidding, I'm a scientist, I can count to anything).
Dr. Charlene Jackson, my beautiful, buxom lab assistant. She claims to hold a PhD in Science, but whenever I ask her to produce it, she says that she forgot to bring it. Still, I give her the benefit of the doubt, especially as I need...company on my journeys. Science is a harsh mistress, and one who provides little in the way of erotic stimulation. Some would argue that she isn't much of a mistress at all, then. I'd tend to agree with them, and so it's not really an argument anymore. Therefore, Charlene has become my new mistress and she often helps me erect my retort stand, if you know what I mean. She also performs sexual favours for me. Both services are appreciated, as I need both a lab assistant and a female companion to function properly.
Anyway, that's enough web logging for now - look at me still talking when there's science to do. Soon, I hope to chronicle some of my more interesting scientific adventures, like the time I fought Dracula, and that time that I singlehandedly broke the Internet. Those, however, can wait. I hear the call of science, and I must answer.
Until next time, keep on sciencing!
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