Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

It's Time for Science!

I'm sure that my two regular readers have abandoned me not only because I have failed to post consistently but have utterly failed in my responsibility to keep them abreast of the latest scientific developments and discoveries so that when they go to dinner parties, they can bring up stuff more interesting than stocks, bonds, and politics. It's the new year, 2008, I think; so, I thought that I would try to slake your unending thirst for all things scientific.

Many people take anti-depressants, whether they like to admit it or not. And others should be taking them, whether they believe it or not. In the last seven years, the use of anti-depressants has climbed tremendously (Seven? Let's see ... January, 2001. Hmmm.). Well, there is a problem, sorry to tell you, with taking anti-depressants besides those about which I'm sure you've read in the 4-point type on the back of the magazine advertisements and on the warning inserts. Those who have a symbiotic relationship with (*ahem*) roundworms will be pleased to know that certain anti-depressants are extending the lifespan of your little intestinal friends. "Disgusting!" or "How dare you!" or "Mother-fucking liar!!" you say? I mean no disrespect. Please take comfort and understand that this very important research study might lead to living a 31% longer lifespan, with or without roundworms, for those who are on anti-depressants. I suppose, for some, that could be depressing news.

Many of you have read about Freddie, Stacey's immortal Aquababies frog, which is going on eight years old. I've been wondering how long this fucking frog is going to live. Puzzled and amazed, actually. I dropped him (Okay, I haven't real carefully inspected the thing; so, he could be a female.) several times, once shattering the nice tank it (See, already neutered.) had with a snail and plants, then braking its new tank with colorful stones, its own mailbox, stove, and toilet (which it rarely used because, well, Stacey didn't bother to put the stall in the tank and the toilet was right out there where everyone could see), and, finally, its temporary Zip-Loc container home; and it survived every time. And think about this -- Freddie should have succumbed by this time to some frog disease; but no, it hasn't. I now know the fucking frog's secret to longevity -- and it's not anti-depressants in the water supply. Freddie is the product of a bizarre University of Michigan experiment -- Freddie is the Teflon frog, having escaped like the dogs, Rowf and Snitter, in the Richard Adams novel (I know a link is appropriate, but I can't do every fucking thing for you -- look it up yourself. Besides, it's not science; it's fucking literature.)

M. globosa -- it's not the Latin version of M Butterfly. The pesky scientists at P & G are quite familiar with Malassezia globosa. You remember P & G -- the company changed its name from Procter & Gamble because some alleged dumbasses, allegedly associated with Amway, out in Utah (I say Utah because that's where P & G sued them. And I'd like to thank the Religion News Blog, which proclaims itself as "a non-profit service providing academics, religion professionals and other researchers with religion & cult news," for providing news about the lawsuit, but would like to point out to the alleged writer that spelling and punctuation still count for something, even if this is a non-profit religious organization.), allegedly spread unfounded rumors that Procter & Gamble supported Satanism; but that's another story. In any event, congratulations are in order for those pesky scientists down the road at P & G for sequencing the complete genome of the dandruff-causing fungus, M. globosa. That's a Nobel Prize, for sure!

This is off the subject, but, back in day, when we went to Parents' Day at the seven-year-old J-dogg's school, the teacher displayed the artwork of her students on the chalk tray around the classroom, daring the parents to find their own child's renderings of the parent(s). A trendy-coiffed, fashionably-dressed yuppie female parent complained that her child's drawing of her was sub-par, not up to her child's superior artistic proclivity, to which Stacey pointed out, "At least, you're not carrying a machine gun." And what was that hanging from Dad's mouth? Later that evening, the Jackal cheerfully replied, "A pork chop." A fucking pork chop? Well, it turns out that a pork chop in the wrong hands can be quite dangerous, especially in the hands of the alleged miscreant, 38-year-old Tony Willis, who stabbed a guy in the neck with a fucking pork chop. The purported perpetrator was caught with his weapon of choice on his person. Of course, I doubt that the victim would have had a problem pointing out Tony in a police station line-up, even if Tony had given the dog a bone.

If you have been disappointed that I, in this brief venture into the world of science, totally ignored the latest developments in physics, I apologize and promise that next week I'll bring you:

Thank you very much for the courtesy you have graciously extended me in allowing me to appear on your computer screen.

Posted by Bill at January 4, 2008 10:14 PM