science – Page 3 – Contemplating the divine

It Came From Outer Space

And this is how the message ran…

She should put him in the stocks. ‘Cos the sonic doesn’t work on wood.

I believe there are still traces from which civilisation could be reconstructed, under the guidance of the Galactic Community.

I think you’re about to experience their rigorous clinical testing procedures personally

I would just like to point out that as an arachnophobe, I did not at all enjoy searching Google images for the picture on the right hand side in the background there. I suffered for my art. Now it’s your tur – oh, I did that one already, didn’t I?

I don’t really understand how anyone can be an atheist, in a world that contains Arianna Grande.

What’s that you say, blog ‘reader’? You don’t think this one fits in with the overall science fiction theme of today’s post? Oh yes, it does. You see: this is your future.

Begging the question

It’s usually “May I? Please Mistress?”

Typical. She remembered to pack plenty of condoms for her own sexual pleasure, didn’t she? But didn’t think to bring just one little key. Honestly: if I’m permitted speaking rights at any point during this trip, I’m going to give her a piece of my mind!

Many people get uncomfortable at the idea of public humiliation scenes, which impose your own sexuality on random strangers without their consent. But in this case, she made you go around asking everyone in the cafe if they were OK with watching you being humiliated for sexual kicks, so that’s all right.

Actually, the neighbours wouldn’t mind. They never liked him. But it’s thoughtful of her to think of them.

‘Fool around’? Who says that, these days? Why do people in porn talk so weirdly?

Can’t argue with the science.

I’m going to be, what she wants me to be

My girl (2 – the one with the sexier video – from the 1969 movie Sweet Charity).

I’ve always been a sucker for a ‘dominatrix ponytail’ – and there are a lot more of them in this clip from the original movie.

Sounds like the perfect evening to me. I think there might even be half a packet of Hob-nobs left.

She can be very reasonable. Also, surprisingly unreasonable. But that’s married life.

Serious stuff: Marcia’s job’s on the line here. I’ll keep you posted if there are any developments.

He’s moved on. Why can’t she?

There: the science has proved it. ‘Men are almost as fully human as women’. I shall have to make sure my SO reads this. Perhaps she’ll start treating me as a near-equal.

Infemmey

They’ve all got it… oh never mind.

I
get reward points for spending on my SubbieCard. Every time I reach a
certain threshold – a multiple of £20, actually so it’s almost every
week – I get to drop into the bank and get slapped hard across the face.

I, on the other hand, fervently hope that she’s going to behave exactly like this when we’re married.

The time’s not wasted when it’s helping the marriage to work.

Goodness, that sounds quite scary. What a good thing there are so many competent women looking after it.

It’s a jungle out there. Much better off safe and sound behind bars.

The weakness in me

If only you could afford her.

The claustrophobes are the easiest to deal with. They just go in the box: no need for spiders, snakes or anything.

Who needs a fetish club when you can get what you need at home?

Vows. That’s what’s next. Lots of vows.

People are her greatest assets.

I’m gonna give you some terrible thrills

Like a…

Earth… it’s like a drive-in burger bar for hungry space travellers.

My signalling organ is permanently set to ‘silent mode’.

Not going to work – you need to use an internationally recognised safeword as established by the Geneva Convention. In Esperanto.

I’m sure he’d like to apologise to her and to women in general, for the thoughtless behaviour that got him into his mess. Trouble is, that mouth’s not really built for speaking. Plus, everyone he’s going to meet from now on is likely to be a man.

What do you mean, it’s not science fiction? This is your future.

Panic of girls

Oh well. It has to be better than that call centre in Dhaka she put me in last year.

That is what little boys are made of, after all. Somehow I always knew.

Well, as long as she’s genuinely rehabilitated herself, I suppose it’s OK.

Girls have always known I’m ‘special’ and treated me accordingly.

I feel disempowered every time I even see a picture of Gal Gadot. I go weak at the knees.

Singularity

Back after a well-deserved miserable and brutal few weeks at the kennels, I find this blog has attracted over six million pageviews, since its launch in 2011. What an extraordinary volume of smut, gibberish and unfunny jokes served up to perverted wankers with nothing better to do with their time, to be sure. Makes you glad to be alive in this age of technological marvels.

But I also learn that the best of our technological future is yet to come: my time machine has once again recorded a few TV news snippets from some unspecified future year. For once, the images seem to form a coherent sequence (as coherent as anything on this blog, anyway) so read them in order. Or just look at the pictures of pretty women and masturbate – whatever.

4300 kPa

The pressure exerted by a woman walking in high heels. so it seems. That’s a lot of Pascals. 4.3 million Pascals, I suppose. Makes you think, eh? And that’s assuming she’s not actually jumping up and down.

I read that on the Physics Website, which (drawing I suspect on Cutnell, John D., & Kenneth W. Johnson. Physics. 4th ed. New York: Wiley, 1998. 338) explains it this way:

This is approximately 40 atmospheric pressures. Now you realize the full potential
of the high heel.

For comparison’s sake, would you rather your hand be pummeled by a herd of elephants
or a group of angry women wearing high heels?

Sorry, what was that?

Would you rather your hand be pummeled by a herd of elephants
or a group of angry women wearing high heels?

Mmmmm… sounds like you don’t read this blog very often, Mr Physics Website.

Anyway, it all seems very instructive. I won’t link to the website as I don’t think they’d particularly appreciate this source of traffic (yes, dear readers, that’s right: I am ashamed of you). On with what we do on this website, now.

It’s not actually the days wearing the collar that will hurt you, in any case. It’s all the things you said and did during those days when you weren’t wearing it.

Looks like you’re about to get a feel for Russian culture.

Interestingly, a recent survey found that many women with husbands in chastity actually start wearing sexy clothes more often than before. Women, eh? Always missing the point. Bless ’em.

Anyway, he’s got another ear. So it’s not like the time when she – oh, well,, that’s another story.

Kafkaesque, no?

Priorities

He paused. There was
something about the way the crease folded that reminded him…now what was it?

… and then it all came flooding back. His doctoral thesis on optimal protein
folding. How after three years of study
he had had to admit defeat in trying to find a universal enzyme that could take
instruction from injected RNA. Yet this
was it! Yes! If the outer sulphite chain just
folded back – right back, doing a quarter turn around and then running parallel in almost a
mirror image to the main sequence then… well, the possibilities were endless.
Any RNA chain could be processed straight through into an optimally folded protein sequence. Tailored enzymes could repair nucleotides damaged by… well, anything. Even old age could be curable with the right combination of instructions. And of course, it was the breakthrough cancer researchers had been seeking since the 1980s!

Excitedly, he began to imagine how he could put these
insights out there – a post on the Genzyme blog, for instance, to establish
priority as the originator of the idea, then a short paper in Enzyme Research. Of course, he’d need some lab time to demonstrate the technique, but he was sure the biotech labs would be queuing up to –

Then he paused. This
wasn’t getting the ironing done, and She’d said that it all had to be done
before Kurt arrived, so there would be time to do all of his laundry too. And his socks and underpants had to be carefully hand-washed.

Plus, he admittedly mournfully to himself, the last time he
had tried mentioning anything about his doctoral studies, he’d been soundly
paddled for being ‘too clever for his own good’. She didn’t approve of his having ideas above his station. And his station was so low, he’d yet to encounter an idea that was not.

Perhaps it was better just to forget about it. Anyway, it had been almost eight years since
he’d ben allowed to look at a book, or watch TV or access the Internet. Probably cancer had been cured by now. It wasn’t the sort of thing She’d have mentioned to him, after all. They didn’t have conversations about that sort of thing.

It was all a matter of priorities, he told himself. And with his bottom still extremely sore from
the consequences of that spilt milk yesterday, he knew where his priorities
lay.

Switching the iron to ‘steam’ he firmly smoothed away the
complex twisting shape that had appeared by chance before him, leaving just a
neat, straight crease. Not too sharp.

Just the way She liked it.