It’s hard work being a scientist. Mainly because it is hard trying to appeal to a person’s better angels to invest in something that will improve our understanding of the universe but may not have any immediate application. It’s all worth it though, because science is my mistress.
Spherx had been bothering me to get out of the lab and act more like a member of the Domain. It’s not my fault that every time I try and engage one of them in conversation they excrete bodily fluids on me, hit me with some sort of sporting implement, or complain about the power consumption of my lab getting in the way of watching the newest cinematic feature in the highest possible fidelity. In order to appease Spherx, I participated in telling him not only how I got here, but how we ALL got here.
However Spherx, the ingrate that he is, took this opportunity to sneak into my lab and separate me from my ICP-MS. That’s short for “Inductively Coupled Plasma Mass Spectrometer” if you aren’t in the know. Essentially, I use that to count the number and type of elements in a particular sample of matter I am dealing with. It is a very delicate piece of equipment, and I’d rather Spherx’s Dunderheads didn’t touch my stuff without my permission.
When I asked for it back, Spherx told me it was at an address that hasn’t been built yet. At first I was impressed that Spherx had managed to fold 5th dimensional space and transport my mass spectrometer to another location in space-time. However, when he told me to go talk to “Jim” and use a rather crude pass phrase, I suspected something was up. While Spherx was congratulating himself about putting one over on the “LOL sucker” (whatever that is), I was busy lifting the keys to his prize possession. Spherx wouldn’t mind parting with his DeLorean refitted to look like the one in Back to the Future, in the same way I didn’t mind parting with my ICP-MS (it was really a thing of beauty, especially when the florescent lighting caught the quadrupole just right).
Even though Spherx’s Back to the Future “DeLusion” protested, I had that baby squealing at 88 mph by the end of the driveway. The only indications that anything was amiss were the twin flaming tire tracks and a spinning license plate that read FAR-GDY. “First things first”, I thought to myself, “I must find the one known as ‘Jim’”. That is when the cabin filled with warning lights. “Change of plans”, I re-thought to myself, “I need to get car fuel…”
Pulling into the nearest fueling station, I was awash in choices. I knew that the numbers represented the number of carbon atoms strung together in a polymer chain, but I didn’t know which blend was optimal for Spherx’s car. I’d heard good things about diesel, so I settled on that being the proper fuel. I’m not saying there weren’t problems. For instance, the nozzle didn’t even fit the tank. But with a funnel, I was able to surmount this design flaw. However, when I tried to start the motor again, nothing happened.
I overcame this problem in the way I overcome other problems, I called AAA. I waited patiently by the side of the car, with my member card, for the locomotion assisting vehicle to arrive. I didn’t have to wait too long before my new friend Emerson showed up with his truck. I confirmed AAA’s policy on towing cars, and concluded that the address that “Jim” resided at was within the towing radius. Emerson told me a mechanic was much closer, but I told him “Finding ‘Jim’ is more important than a mechanic right now”. Emerson shrugged it off, and we set off in search of “Jim”.
“Jim” didn’t live in the friendliest of neighborhoods, but my ICP-MS needed me, so I gathered my courage and knocked on “Jim’s” door. “Jim” was not at all what I expected. He looked like Idiot Chittix in a rainbow wig with a Tom Selleck mustache. He sounded like IC doing his impression of… anything really (they all sound the same). And, most suspicious, he smelled like IC. “Name’s Jim, Jim Bamikoo. Whatcha want?”
I explained to “Mr. Bamikoo” my dilemma, but he seemed nonresponsive to my inquiry. I don’t know what gave me that impression. It was probably a combination of his glazed over eyes, the trickle of drool, and the fact that his response to my story was “Name’s Jim, Jim Bamikoo. Whatcha want?” Whatever it was, I concluded that “Mr. Bamikoo” had no clue how to even spell ICP-MS.
As futile as my trip’s prospects were from the get go I still needed to figure out where to go from here. I wanted to recover my ICP-MS, but I needed to think of a way to accomplish this feat. While mulling it over in a corner coffee shop, the solution dawned upon me. I grabbed the nearest laptop from one of the myriad of coffee shop “novelists” and typed up a craigslist entry. Within 30 minutes I had a latte, a brand new ICP-MS, a bus pass, and I had disposed of all the evidence that I had borrowed Spherx’s “Futile Attempt to Recapture the Glory Days of Youth” or FARGDY.
When Spherx questioned me about his car, all I had to say was I think “Jim” borrowed it. If Spherx wanted it back he needed to go to 555 Downing Street, ask for “Lola”, and mutter the phrase “Idiot Chittix’s PMS”. If this happens, and Spherx survives the noxious fumes, “Lola” will likely rip his head off right there and attempt to mate with his torso. At least that is what will happen if human females behave in a similar fashion to the praying mantis.
Some day’s I like to lay around naked with my dingle dangle hanging out, singing opera, and eating chocolate ice cream…I call this my Dingle Dangle Diva Day…This has nothing to do with anything I was just putting it down on paper to let everyone know I have a Dingle Dangle Diva Day…
