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Text File | 1994-10-27 | 21.9 KB | 624 lines

! bofh is back ! quantum optics ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- WARNING: Some parts of the previous message may depict scenes of gratuitous violence, use words your mother wouldn't approve of, cause cancer, refer to you or persons you know in a derogatory manner, use bad grammar or plead for you to send your Pentax K1000 to: Simon Travaglia, Information & Technology, University of Waikato, Private Bag 3105, Hamilton, New Zealand. It happens. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- QUANTUM OPTICS (1-5) It's an early morning and I'm waiting for my bus to oblivion, return ticket of course. Beside me in the queue is a stunning blonde, the like of which is only lied about in cheap novels as the detectives never-attained love interest. The fool. I glance over at what she's reading and freeze. "Quantum Optic Theory". A huge book, 300 pages and least, and *really* small writing with NO pictures. I glance away as quick as I can, hoping she didn't spot me looking her way, my mind screaming "INTELLECTUAL THREAT!" at the top of it's pasty alcohol-soaked lungs. "You like Physics?" she asks, keenly interested. I hate good looking women who do that. She doesn't even FAKE dumbness, she's that sure of herself. (They're brainy on purpose you know. Some people pretend that you're born with it, but I know better, it's all an act, they're brainy because they like to be.) So now I'm on the horns of a dilemma. Big Horns, Big Dilemma. Dinosaur Horns maybe. I can tell the truth, that I know about as much about Quantum Optics as she knows about Peruvian jungle Vine climbing (although she's probably got a book about that in her bag as well) *OR* I can try and fake it. If I fake it, I'll have to skilfully turn the topic from Quantum thingies onto something I have the remotest chance of holding my head above conversation water in. I go for the fake. "Yeah, physics is great. You know, Quantum theory is such a universal thing. Do you know that I always think about it when I'm watching the Lakers play" ...So smooth I won't need oiling for a year... "You're a lakers fan too?!!" SHIT!! I went for the sports option because it usually kills a conversation with a woman within two sentences, (leaving *her* feeling awkward about her ignorance) but this is really putting the pressure on. For a start I haven't watched the Lakers for a couple of months. BACKUP RESERVE-PLAN STRATEGY! "Yeah, the Botswana Lakers, what a team!" (What a mindnumblingly awesome save!) "YOU'RE A BOTSWANA LAKERS FAN TOO!!! I WAS THERE FOR A YEAR ON A STUDENT EXCHANGE PROGRAM IN 1982" So I'm fucked. It could be the start of a meaningful but exhausting relationship, or I could just say nothing and step out in front of the bus when it comes. I choose the bus, nothing's worse than being caught lying by an attractive woman. Except being caught lying by my mum of course, but that's a universal fear. ("It's not what that, it's the lies that hurt" (just kill me now)) The bus trundles up and I step out, but the bastard driving it is new on the job and hasn't got the common courtesy to run me down. "What were you doing? You could have been killed!" the blonde pipes up "Yeah, well.." .. I see my chance for a fantastic super-save .. ".. it doesn't really matter for me, as I have only 2 months to live anyway..." THE SYMPATHY VOTE!! A LATE SAVE FROM THIS PLAYER WHO TILL NOW WAS STARTING TO WORRY THE VIEWING MILLIONS, BUT NOW HE'S ON THE HOME STRETCH AND POURING IT ON! "OH NO! Why? How?" "I've got... " My mind whirs madly as I try and think of something really disgusting that isn't sexually transmissible but that I can use to explain my failing memory of Quantums and Botswana.. ".. Altzheimers.." "BUT THAT'S NOT FATAL, NOT NOW, THEY HAVE A PLAN TO PUT THE DISEASE INTO REMISSION, I WAS JUST READING ABOUT IT THIS MORNING!" (typical) ".. and a tumor the size of a Brussl Sprout in behind my left eye..." "CHEMOTHERAPY AND RADIOGRAPHY HAVE ADVANCED SO FAR IN THE LAST COUPLE OF MONTHS, YOU MAY BE ABLE TO BE CURED, LET ME TAKE YOU TO THE CAT SCANNER AT MY WORK TO GET A LATE DIAGNOSIS, IT COULD BE WORTH THE CHANCE!!!!" (That fucking bus driver has a shitload to answer for) "Well, if you think it would help, but frankly >cough< I doubt it. That two months was an outside guess, anything from two months down to two hours the doctor said... ...this morning" "THEN WE'VE GOT NO TIME TO LOSE, QUICK I'LL GET US A TAXI" I lurch to the taxi, not wanting to appear ungrateful, acting the dying selfless bastard to the full, milking it for all it's worth, and wouldn't you know it, the prick of a taxi driver has those doors that lock when the car's in motion so you can't leap out into the path of an oncoming articulated lorry to save yourself embarrasement, IF and ONLY IF, you're lucky enough to spot one in the first place. "Oh shit! I haven't got any money for a cab, can you pay?" she says "Why not, I won't be needing it anyway where I'm going.." "Oh, don't be like that. Driver - The Lyndon Institute for Medicine" "You sure lady, that's way across town?" "Yes, of course I'm sure, this is an emergency" I think the window's probably not armourglass, so if I smash it open with my head, I could probably get out and into the path of that lorry with a bit of luck... "Hey buddy" the taxi driver calls "You wanna put your seat belt on?" Now I KNOW that I'm completely stuffed - I've got the ONLY TAXI DRIVER IN THE *WORLD* WHO MAKES YOU WEAR A BLOODY SEAT BELT!!" Stuff it, I buckle in and resign myself to fate in the hopes that I can change the Cat Scanner settings from "Scan" to "Cook 20 pounds of Steak Mince in 1.5 seconds, burning most of it" when no-one's watching. I also decide to enjoy the ride and be nice with it. "Hey, thank's for all your care and attention, you know you're a pretty good sort..." THEN IT HITS ME, THE ANSWER TO MY PROBLEMS!! ".. for a blonde chick.." I wait for the explosion, but none comes. "Did you here what I said about you being good for a blonde chick?" "Oh yes. Your poor mind must be so garbled by your tumour that it's normal, balanced outlook is tainted by archaic sexual stereotypes." She's too good for me, I pin all my hopes on the Scanner using microwaves and lapse into silence. So we get to the Lyndon Institute, after a scenic cab ride involving crossing town three times (only because the driver was taking the quick route) and wouldn't you know it, it's one of those HUGE places that have more medical research underway than the combined third world. I can see that my "dying" story's going to hold about as much water as an 80 year old's bladder, so I'm going to have to think of something fast. Fast is, of course, my middle name. We roll up the steps, me stumbling and coughing the while, trying all the time to remember the name of that doctor. You know the one. I get express service to the X-Ray room first off for a couple of diagnostic xrays leading up to the Scan. On the way, I palm a scalpel and pop the blade out of it. They chuck me into the perfectly harmless X-Ray machine, then retreat behind the Armageddon-proof Lead screen. "No more rays than sunshine" they say as they buzz the profile of my head. While they're opening the screen door, I pull the scalpel blade from behind my ear. They re-arrange my head for a frontal shot and then retreat back behind the screen, during which time I stick the scalpel blade, side-on, to the back of my head with some gum. They buzz me and I grab the blade and stash it in a pocket. Blondie comes in and starts orbiting the radiographer in the hopes that it will speed up the development process some. Meantime I become the cheery poor bastard who has come to terms with his imminent demise. "What the hell" I say "I'd die for a coke. Really. Ha ha ha" One is delivered in .003 seconds. I keep up appearances except when I catch blondy out of the corner of my eye glancing at me. Then, "completely oblivious of her attention" I sigh deeply and look out the window at the Sun, sniff slightly, and pull myself together. Works every time. If they think they've caught you in an unguarded moment, they think it's the true you. The radiographer comes back with the X-rays and there's a lot of hurried whispering with blondy. "Simon?" she calls. I wander over, fresh-faced and innocent, making a brave play of it. "Yes?" "Simon, have you ever been operated on before?" "Well, yes, when my tumour was first diagnosed they did some kind of exploratory or something where I had to get all my hair shaved off. It wasn't fun at all. But my surgeon helped me through it, he was such a character.." "Oh? And who was that?" "Dr Brain Analpeeper, a great guy" The room went dead quiet, as it always does when someone mentions the worst surgeon in medical history.. "Not Dr Analpeeper at Landsdown?" "You know him! He was such a great man! And I don't believe for a minute all those things they said about him. He was a true gentleman. He calmed my fears about the operation completely. Why, he even took me drinking the night before the operation as a bit of a fling. What a night! We must have got back to the hospital about 6am!" "You mean he discharged you from the hospital on the night before your operation?" "Oh no, we went up to his office and drank there!" "And what time was your operation?" "Oh, I dunno, sometime about 9 I think" "And exactly what was he looking for?" "Oh I don't know it was something technical with a really long name" "Simon, come over here and sit down" "Why? What's the matter? Hell, it can't be any worse can it? Ha ha " My conscience is trying to revive itself so it can be properly disgusted at me for twisting the knife like this, but my ego slips it a mental kick to the groin and it shuts up. "Simon, as far as we can see there was no reason to operate on you at all. We see no xray evidence of a tumor. Of course, we'll run a CT scan to be sure.." "SO I'M CURED!" "No, not exactly. I'm sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but, there appears to be an item lodged in your brain. A scalpel blade to be precise." "Well, that's no trouble is it, I mean hell, we could leave it there or maybe I could get it taken out?" "Ordinarily, we would operate to remove it, but it looks to be lodged at a junction of nerve endings, and any mistake could leave you paralysed or even worse, kill you!" "So that's it then, my brain's just a time bomb?" >sniff< "Simon, I don't know what to say, it's so unexpected.." I check to see there's no guys in the room before I pull the sure-score move. I start sobbing. "SO THAT'S IT, I'M REALLY GOING TO DIE..." "Well, not necessarily. With an altered life-style you could live out a long and fruitious life" "YOU MEAN LIFE IN A BED!! NEVER GOING OUT AND EATING PASTE TO STOP MY JAW MUSCLES PUTTING PRESSURE ON MY BRAIN!!" "Uh, well, Simon, I don't know exactly how you would..." "I'D RATHER BE DEAD!!! HELL, I WOULD BE DEAD FOR ALL INTENTS AND PURPOSES!" "I don't think.." she starts, but it's no good, I'm reeling her in and she doesn't even know it. "No, I suppose it was always going to happen. Oh well. It's just..." Killer move. She has to know what I was going to say. She probably doesn't really want to ask, but she's got no choice, it's that or be a heartless clinical observer... "Just what?" she asks. (I TOLD YOU SO) He sweeps the pad clean, he roughs up the mound, he scuffs up the ball, and then.... DELIVERS... "..I just don't want to die alone." STEEEERIKE ONE! Her brow furrows, but there's still a chance of rejection "I always thought it would be different. I never thought I'd die a virgin" STEEEEEEEEERKIE TWO He eyes get a little teary, now for the follow through. "Oh well, it's like they say, you can't always get what you want. I spose I'd best go and see my Mum, she'd want me to be with her..." SSTTEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERIKE THREE! SHE'S OUT! "No you won't! It can't be like this!" YES YES YES YES YES!!!! "We'll operate!" NO NO NO NO NO!!!! SHIT! Stuffed again is what I am. Before I can say "Why don't you and your precious institute take a running leap sideways onto a greased hockey stick strategically mounted atop a 16 foot pile of sharpened ashtrays" I'm being dragged by blondy and a couple of other surgically addicted brain scum towards what will either be my death or my transformation into mentally dead. (Read DOS user). It's time for quick thinking once more. "WAIT!" I shout at the top of my lungs "I DON'T WANT TO DIE!" "Well there's risks of course, but some of them have to be taken if you want to lead a long and full life" "Long and Full?!?." I sigh heavily and work up to plan Q, which has the same intended result as A-P, but hopefully will work. "Tell me, have you ever listened to Henry Rollins?" "Rollins.. rollins... Oh, isn't he that loud shouting singer?" Obviously not. The way is clear. "Well, I suppose you could call him that. But have you ever listened to his words? The *essence* of what he's singing is life! Real Life, not 30 year old in a wheelchair wetting his pants and dribbling his fish paste out onto his lap..." She's getting hooked, you can tell. "You mean..." "Yeah. I want to SHINE. Hey, maybe I won't shine for long, but for once, I'd just like to *shine*! I haven't got a hundred years to mess around, so I want my time to start right now. I want it to be my time to shine" ["Shine" (c) Henry Rollins] "That's so.." she chokes (sucker) "...so... ...deep" "Yeah, I guess" (pffft!) She eats all this up and I'm starting to feel like a complete seal-basher as her eyes fill up with tears, but what the hell, I've suffered for this, it's time to share something with those around me. "What are you going to do now?" she asks, oozing pity at every pore "Well I don't know. I really want to *live* but I guess I've got to take care of some stuff, pack up my things and give them to a Relief-Aid shop and go and see my Mum, she'd like to see me before I go..." >Pregnant Pause< "Look, what you just said, about shining - did you mean that?" "Yeah, but I guess I've just got to look after all these things, reality is such a bummer" I can see the gears turning: Should-I, Shouldn't-I, Should-I, Shouldn't-I, so I ease a bit more pressure on. >cough< >cough< >cough< I work out a couple of those really awful wretchy coughs that sound like I'm backflushing my scrotum, and the deal is done. She takes a deep breath and: "LOOK, I DON'T KNOW HOW LONG YOU'VE GOT, BUT HOW ABOUT TONIGHT, YOU AND I JUST SHINE?! WE'LL GO EVERYWHERE DO EVERYTHING? WHAT DO YOU SAY??!?!!" "I.. I don't know what... I..." "OKAY, LET'S DO IT, COME ON. FIRST STOP YOUR PLACE, YOU HAVE TO GET READY!" She waves a cab and milliseconds we're at my place. Cooo-el. I, in a fit of coughing 'accidentally' spill ketchup all down her front, so she goes to the bathroom to clean up. I flip the bathroom cameras on just in case the night doesn't pan out. Boy Scouts - Be PREPARED! I decide to play it cool on the dying thing in case she gets scared that I'll pop my clogs during the main event. Instead I mix some brandy with some custard powder and shove it in a glass. She comes out all clean and slightly see-through and I apologise and tell her that my medicine should clear it up. I down the glass before she can investigate and dump it in the sink. "Smells like Brandy and Custard" she laughs, intelligently. If this keeps up I'm going to get a real inferiority complex which won't help the performance of the lead act... GOT TO KEEP HER OFF INTELLIGENT STUFF. "WELL" I say "I'M READY WHEN YOU ARE!!!!" "You know" she croons, sidling up to me "we could just start the night here... ...and shine" YES YES YES YES YES!!!! "You mean..." I play Doofus for 0.1 microseconds, then reel her in. "Well, I'm not really..." She jumps me, as I knew she would. I'M A LUCKY BASTARD! "I studied 47 different ways of making love..." she purrs. Impressive. "...I made up a couple of new ones as well" More Impressive "... involving peanut oil and 210 grit sandpaper" Well she marry me? "I find I have a fascination with the study of sexual technique" Huh? "..Prurience has always been an interesting topic to me... BRAIN-TALK!!!! I'm getting alert signals from below. Abandon Ship warnings. "Ssshhh" I say "Don't talk. Let's just *hold* each other" Better "Is that better" she asks "Mmmm" "I find that close contact prior to the manipulation of the genitals to the point of sexual climax helps to stimulate that climax, allowing it to acheive a higher plateau of pleasure" I understood pleasure, but by then it was too late. By then the main contender had packed up it's bags and gone home. "Is something wrong?" she asks. LIKE I'M GOING TO TELL HER AND RISK THE TEENIEST, TINIEST POSSIBILITY THAT SHE WOULD, AT SOME TIME, EVEN IN THE REMOTEST FUTURE MENTION IT TO SOMEONE... I obviously need performance ehancing drugs (booze) or earplugs, but neither are on hand. "STOP!" I shout "I can't do this! It's so... so..." "So casual?" she asks, interrupting my mental blockage. "Yes. I feel that perhaps we're moving too fast in this relationship..." "You're right" she admits "Perhaps we should get to know each other first. I tell you what, how about you come back to my place and we'll..." ! I want to get out of this situation *REALLY* bad so it's going to have to be the guilt-ridden-male approach. "I.. Well, I feel sort of guilty that I..." "NO NO!" she cries "It was *MY* idea. Now you come with me! My sisters would love to meet you!" Sisters?!?? "..Well, I suppose I could.." "Great! Lets get going! You'll like my sisters, they're great fun. They kid me about being the brainy one of the triplets, you know how it goes.." Triplets. Two dumb ones. THERE IS A GOD! Quicker than you can say "Put on your scoring shirt and meet me at the taxi" I'd put on my scoring shirt and met her in the taxi. Eventually we get to her place and she introduces me to her sisters. I decide to make a timely exit to the toilet so blondy can relate my sad circumstances to blondy2 and blondy3 and put them in a "giving" mood. Five minutes later, I come back as the poor bastard and decide to get rid of the opposition. I throw an impromptu coughing fit and fall to the floor clutching my stomach. Sympathy all round. "Oh dear >cough!<, I forgot my medicine..." They exchange worried glances but this is one number I know well, all fourteen verses and *both* the choruses, and I'm hardly likely to stop at the intro... "...don't worry" I add selflessly "..it's not too bad, without the medicine it'll pass in an hour or so. It's >gasp< not all that painful..." Blondy practically pops a heart valve grabbing my apartment keys and rushing home to get my 'medicine'. It'll be quite a search too, as the nearest thing to medicine at my place is Oprah's face on TV Guide, which always leaves a bad taste in *my* mouth. ...Which gives me ample time... The other two are looking on in a worried fashion. "Oh, that's right - I have some a couple of tablets in my pocket." Out of their sight, I shake out a couple of tic-tacs and down them before they can get a close look. Five minutes later I'm in complete form. The girls are perfect, with a combined IQ equal to my waist measurement and generous with their attentions. After three 'fainting' spells I'm half-carried to a bedroom to lie down till I get my strength back. PLAY BALL! "You girls, uh, I mean *Women* are so kind, I just..." "There, there" they whisper soothingly "You just take it easy, and let us take care of your every..." >CRASH!< The door bursts open and blondy (aka blondy1) rushes in dragging a large portion of my home-video equipment. "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!?!" Blondy demands in a very agitated manner. Time to think fast.... ...Fast it is then. "It's a video camera." I say, apparently confused (So smoooooth) "AND WHERE DID I FIND IT?!" She says, not swayed a jot by my apparent lack of knowledge "In a video shop?" (Two nil) "NO, BEHIND A TWO WAY MIRROR IN YOUR BATHROOM, WHILST LOOKING FOR YOUR MEDICINE!" Bugger! (Two One) "Oh, that one. Is that what it looks like? I always wanted to have a look at it, but I was afraid I'd upset it or something and ruin the documentation" "Documentation?" Blondy asks. Hook, line and sinker. (Three One) "Of my condition. They wanted to document my decline for future reference and so I agreed to let them video me. They tried to make it as unobtrusive as possible to get a realistic portrayal so they put them behind mirrors in my bathroom and bedroom." "Oh" (Four One) There has *GOT* to be some sort of award I can get for this performance. And all ad-lib too!!! Now in for the kill. "Well, I thought its the least I can do. So maybe they can't save me; but at least I may help buy someone else a few more precious weeks of life.. Anything's worth a chance." Tears well up in Blondy's eyes as she sobs (Five One + Double Word Score) "I'm sorry, I thought you.. I mean.. Oh I'm so sorry..." "Don't be sorry, you weren't to know. For all you knew, I was just some pervert who wanted to catch a look at you when you were changing... ..You didn't erase the tape did you?" "No.." (Five NIL) "Good, there might be some good footage on that, and it would be a shame if it were lost to medical science." "You're so thoughtful!" Blondy2 and Blondy3 chime simulataneously. (Blondy was right about these two, slower than airline baggage claim) Reel in time.... > To be discontinued? < ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- WARNING: Some parts of the previous message may depict scenes of gratuitous violence, use words your mother wouldn't approve of, cause cancer, refer to you or persons you know in a derogatory manner, use bad grammar or plead for you to send your Pentax K1000 to: Simon Travaglia, Information & Technology, University of Waikato, Private Bag 3105, Hamilton, New Zealand. It happens. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Some people in this department wouldn't recognize subtlety if it hit them on the head.