Considering that energy is required for just about any form of life, the experiment that I placed into action only so many weeks ago seemed more than an obvious logical progression of thought. Considering I don't have the patience to fly out to our Rocky Mountain location to perform the proper experiments, I figured, "Why not try an INCORRECT experiment?"
Because life requires complex proteins, carbon, water, and genetic material, this narrowed down the list of appropriate materials to work with. So, naturally, I used a full jar of peanut butter. And what would make this more of an incorrect experiment than by attempting to infuse the peanut butter with kinetic energy to stimulate cell metabolism?
So, in summary, I spent a few.... nights..... throwing a jar of peanut butter at the walls.
Fast forward a week.
I'm walking around Portland when I bump into an old friend. I'm sure you all remember the gold-plated human skull that contains the 1100 year old Incan god-spirit? (The Glove Compartment post.) He's still around. And he still has the ladies. But I had something to trump him and his estrogen-infused posse.
I had.... a floating jar of peanut butter. I had created a civilization within a three pound container. They had learned to use their ecology to the utmost, and had created micro world-movers to propel their entire universe hither and yon. Of course, I couldn't really "see" the civilization - they were too small. But no-one could deny me that there was a floating jar of peanut butter right next to me.
And, of course, the Incan god-spirit did point out that it was cool - but not quite the same as a harem dedicated priestesses. I told him I was working on the sweaty vixen barbarian angle.
But, as things are wont to do around world dominators - things went wrong, and in ways that one would never expect (at least without alcohol). Suddenly - my solution for monthly periods of continuous sustenance had run out. Because the bio-med docs were catching up on their rest, I was temporarily forced to resort to more traditional means of nourishment. This called for a trip to the fridge.
But the peanut butter, in its curiosity as to how my ponderous intellect could have possibly spawned its existence, was watching as I procured food. Even as I was pursuing what I thought the peanut butter would call this "archaic" method of self-sustenance - I was surprised.
PB: Is.... is that what I think it is?
Seven: Uh, yes. That's a toaster.
PB: Come clean. You must have bread. In order to have reason for owning a toaster - you must own or plan on owning bread.
Seven: I do have bread.
PB: You will surrender it to us. The wheat. It... it calls to us.
Seven: Wait. What?
PB: Your defective head meat no longer amuses us. The wheat, it tempts us. Have you never been seduced by the wheat?
Seven: No. Can't say that I have.
PB: You pathetic turgid sack of water. You will take the wheat, and throw it into the toaster. You will warm up our wheat for our inevitable..... SPREADENING.
Seven: That sounds like a horribly convoluted euphemism for sex.
PB: You waste our time. We have weapons.
Seven: But this bread is Uranium-enriched!
PB: Bread. Toaster. Now. Are you connecting all the dots? Good.
Just to make a long, loud series of explosions shorter, we'll skip right over to the moral of the story:
Never mix INCORRECT experiments with CORRECT toaster usage.Caviar - Caviar - Flawed Like A Diamond
[[put your weapons down and they will turn them on you!]]7
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