In the gone people have ... accused me of talking shit. But nobody can say I'm not invincible nearly my subject. In fact you could say I have a Masters degree in ... In recent months I hav
In the later people have occasionally accused me of talking shit. But nobody can say I'm not invincible not quite my subject. In fact you could say I have a Masters degree in coprology! In recent months I have been thriving writing a paper (toilet paper, obviously) entitled "What in point of fact Happens in the same way as the Shit Hits the enthusiast ?". comprehensibly one needs to clarify one's terms and my get into was as scientific as it could be.
Firstly I pronounce to confine my researches to three types of fan:
i) Electric fans
ii) Cricket and/or football fans (depending on which one is in season at the time) and
iii) Hand held fans i.e. Of the kind which is fluttered by demure teenager ladies in era dramas
Secondly there was a infatuation to be skilled to grade various kinds of shit according to size, weight, compliance and viscosity. This required the use of costly scientific instruments and consequently I equipped myself behind -
electronic scales,
a pestle and mortar,
an engineer's measure,
a sieve,
packet of rubber ornament
shower cap and safety glasses (call me a fashion victim if you like. It's my choice.)
I set up a conventional desktop fan (this one had a safety grille which, although removable, I chose to leave upon for the purposes of the experiment). I then ate six cans of a discount brand of baked beans and sat down to watch some outdated Boris Karloff movies. The horror films had the desired effect and within ten minutes I was shitting myself considering clock radio (OK suitably I'm a scaredy cat too, hence what?). shortly thereafter I was blooming increase what we shall term "material" in promptness for experiment numero uno.
The follower was switched onto its highest quality (moderate breeze or number one on the Beaufort scale for any budding meteorologists reading this). I rolled the first turd* and verified its weight as 200 grammes or approximately half a pound if you are yet using NASA units of measurement. I then fired up the missile from a estrange of ten feet using a modified crossbow (patent pending) meant by yours really (talented or what?). The "chocolate cannonball" hit the follower absolutely dead centre. nearly twenty percent of its mass clung to the external of the safety grille. Eighty percent reached the blades.
And a staggering one hundred percent was flung off into the office where the tests were being conducted. I apologised to the executives in the immediate vicinity and retired for a shower.
Following the first experiment, office based tests had to be put on sustain for a stand-in period. There were three main problems. Firstly it was proving utterly difficult to get funding for my experimental endeavours. Usually in the same way as you demand financial keep for comport yourself of the kind which I do, people think you are talking out of your arse. I suppose they are right in a pretentiousness . . . Secondly there were some complex refinements to attend to; clear brands of beans outcome in bullets of far and wide too soppy a consistency. And thirdly there was an ongoing authenticated problem. Something to reach next an office manager's ascetic cleaning financial credit and my respond that he had signed a waiver and had been fixed idea wealth of prior reprimand of every realizable consequences. It annoys me. It truly does. They every want release promotion in the local press but as soon as whatever goes incorrect they don't desire to know you.
That's science for you, I guess.
My adjacent experiment lively one of the popular nineteenth century style ladies fans. Always striving after veracity (or authentishitty?) in all things, I cautiously approached the local amateur dramatics organization which was glad to supply a victim. Sorry, that should be "volunteer". For health and hygiene reasons the volunteer wore a full incline motorcycle helmet and bikers leathers. The devotee she held was twenty centimetres in zenith and described an arc of sixty degrees taking into account thoroughly opened. It was held at an angle of ninety degrees to the ground and following the volunteer peeping demurely on top of the top just to create things more realistic.
For this experiment I had conscientiously prepared five "missiles" in the comfort of my own home the previous evening. The first one was launched from twenty feet away. The results were augmented than I could ever have anticipated. The follower went carried by the wind , the motorcycle helmet's visor crack'd from side to side and the volunteer was left sprawled in a addition on the stage.
After beating a sharp retreat I concluded that the bullets had probably been baked for too long (one can never be too distinct when using electric ovens) so resulting in devastating ballistic qualities. Although my theatre season ticket has now been revoked I am hoping for a reply from NATO like a view to providing zealot countries in the manner of a regular supply of "missiles" in the situation of vanguard global conflicts.
I finally turned my attention to conducting tests gone sports fans. Football fans might prove to be too much of a challenge, I decided. Dealing taking into account furious office staff or theatre luvvies is one event (actually it's two aren't they???) but physical surrounded by lagered happening soccer supporters could be a little less pleasant. Besides, if I timed it right I reckoned I could get a trip to the Caribbean out of it. So, cricket fans it would be . . .
Footnote: The experiment went as skillfully as could be expected, bearing in mind how capably all the
previous ones had gone. I am writing this from a hospital bed in what the local police have advised me must remain an undisclosed location in the West Indies. I wish to be thoroughly recovered to be clever to return house in a few weeks time. As for the results of my third and resolution experiment . . .
The bombs had to be afire utterly discreetly in order to avoid any repeat of previous problems. correspondingly I launched them from my seat in the cricket auditorium and watched to look what would happen. The batsman hit the first one and immediately upon impact it disintegrated into mere dust. I suppose he must have thought he had hit a six because he started to direct for the opposite wicket. However, this was following the extra team's quick bowler was just coming out. He seized his unplanned subsequent to both hands and promptly bowled the errant batsman out. The crowd went wild. . .
And as it turns out, turds ain't half as difficult as cricket bats!!!
* charm note: this is not an officially recognised SI unit.
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