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No wonder you don't work there anymore. Those machines aren't your personal toys.

http://sniff.numachi.com/pages...

I'm fairly sure that it isn't supposed to explode, per se; but if it doesn't stick to kids it just ain't the real thing...

It will stick if you throw it one someone (or some creature). But the gasoline won't explode, just burn slowly. On a cold enough day, it won't even light on fire.

I'm fairly sure that it isn't supposed to explode, per se; but if it doesn't stick to kids it just ain't the real thing...

Reminds me of a good one, to the tune of "The Greenland Whale Fisheries":

D A7
'Twas in nineteen hundred and sixty-five
D A7
And of June the thirteenth day
D G
That we weighed our anchors to our bow

D A7 D
And for Greenland bore away, brave boys,
A7 D
And for Greenland bore away.

Bold Stanley was our captain's name
And our ship the DIMOS bold,
And we poor souls our anchors weighed
To face the storms and cold, brave boys,
To face the storms and cold.

And when we arrived in that cold countree
The icecap to explore
We wished ourselves at the Evans Area
On New Jersey's sunlit shore, brave boys,
On New Jersey's sunlit shore.

"Then at it, boys," our captain said.
"To the tunnel let us go."
And we spread our mats in the gloom and the dark
To melt those tons of snow, brave boys,
To melt those tons of snow.

And when our labors all were done
And our backs did ache full sore
The mats went to gallant Louie Alvarez
And we went to the bar, brave boys,
And we went to the bar.

And when we returned to our homes so dear
Louie told a dreadful tale:
His postdocs got drunk and they fell in the machine
And the whole experiment failed, brave boys,
And the whole experiment failed.

Now the losing of those young postdocs
It grieves my heart full sore,
But the losing of that Nobel Prize
It grieves me ten times more, brave boys,
It grieves me ten times more.

Now Greenland is a dreadful place,
A land that's never green,
Where there's ice and there's snow and the physicists all go
And daylight's seldom seen, brave boys,
And daylight's seldom seen.

And if you read this in a good detective story, you would immediately know that the man fleeing the house with a bloody knife is almost certainly *not* the killer. Near the end of the book, you will be gratified to learn that indeed, it was not the poor bloke fleeing the house, (who was fleeing for his own life after unsuccessfully battling the killer), but neither was it the sinister filthy rich jerk you've suspected all along. In fact, you would have never suspected who it turns out to be.

For a good example, try The Clue of the Twisted Candle.

While these stories are fiction, and idealize the principle, circumstantial evidence in real life can be like a magicians sleight of hand, making you believe you saw what wasn't there. The classic ballad Go Down you Murderer speaks to the sometimes tragic results.

This... http://sniff.numachi.com/pages/tiGLADBAG.html makes a lot of sense to me!

Send Me to Glory in a Glad Bag

(Don and Mim Carson and Steve Mason)

People tell me that I ought to save my money *
So that I could be laid away in style,
In a walnut box with all the fancy trimmin's
Vacuum sealed to keep me fresh a while.

cho. But Send me to Glory in a glad bag.
          Don't waste a fancy coffin on my bones.
          Just put me out on the curb next Tuesday
          Let the city sanitation bear me home.

I don't need a fancy funeral *
Flowers and tears and all that jive
When I'm dead that won't impress me
Just buy me a beer while I'm alive.

from Hard-Lovin' Loser:
He's the kind of cowboy got a hot trigger finger
Shoots his boot 'cause he's drawing kind of slow...

'Course you gotta have gray hair (if any) to remember that ditty.

Reminds me of that old song, "Promenading in the park, Goosing statues after dark If Sherman's horse can take it why can't you" http://sniff.numachi.com/pages/tiHUMORESQ.html

Cheers

Then it's obvious that you don't go to a real geek school.

Actually, I go to an Engineering school... But i was talking about those going in Nursing School.... Just a short distance from where I go...

But as the song says: 'But they don't even speak to me 'cause I'm an Engineer'

Could there _be_ a cognitive function of humans that is rendered any more obsolete by technology than edetic memory? Not even arithmetic is as 'rote'.

I consider Google more like Emmy from Desk Set as a repository of information.

Of course, instead of overloading its buffer with
Curfew Must Not Ring Tonight, just consider a plethora of pop-up ads.

the kitchen? What are they doing out of bed?

This could change the world...

As the great American Song says: "This land is your land, this land is my land..." It's yours, it's mine, it's ours. There is ownership.

You know, Arlo Guthrie tells a great story about coming home from school one day, and singing that song to his father. Woodie responded, "Did you know that I wrote that? Do you know the rest of the song?" Arlo didn't -- but he still sings the whole thing whenever he performs it in concert these days.

You might want to go look up the original lyrics. In gross violation of Judge Kaplan (but in tribute to what Guthrie himself would have wanted...) here's a link.