Do weightlifters vanish when they try to lift weights in weightless environments?
I don’t know. But I’m sure that they could figure it out on the space station.
Okay, so there’s many other high-priority experiments that take priority over a weightlifter in space lifting weights. Like superconductors and crystals, and superconducting crystals.
And when it costs so much to boost cargo into orbit, weights won’t exactly going to top the manifest.
Still, it doesn’t take much to fashion some makeshift weights, wear a strongman suit, and test the theory.
Until then, the greatest mystery of the universe remains a mystery.
Tag: mystery
The Murderer
Yes, I’m a clone. But don’t ask me about souls and identity.
I just know that I’m alive and have the memories of Juan Parker, so I must be Juan Parker.
From how I see things, I am the original Juan Parker. It doesn’t matter what happened to the other one. I have no memory of what happened to him, so it doesn’t really matter to me.
Unless whoever did what happened to him comes after me.
But I highly doubt that.
What? You think I killed him?
That’s absurd. Why would someone create me to shoot hi-
Never mind.
Tongues
The salesman put a briefcase on the table in front of Jenny and lifted the lid
Inside were dozens of tongues. Wet. Crawling. Like a pile of earthworms.
“You wanted French?” he said, digging around the pile. He pulled out a tongue and looked it over. “Let’s try this one. Open wide.”
Jenny opened her mouth, and the salesman yanked out her tongue. Then he stuck in the tongue from the pile.
“Say something,” he said.
Jenny spoke, but she couldn’t understand a word.
The salesman pulled out another case. “You’ll need these, too.”
Inside was a pile of ears.
Huevos
I thought about making up my own religion, but decided that it was easier to just corrupt an existing one.
So, I found a small town in Ecuador and, through trickery and technological sorcery, convinced the people that the Easter Bunny was real, and he demanded painted eggs as sacrifices.
Any home without decorated eggs gets a visit from the bunny, and he steals the testicles of all the men.
After a few years, I went back to the town.
All the men had painted their balls bright colors.
Next time, I hire a professional translator instead of using Google.
The Awful Search
When a cat goes missing, you put up posters and call shelters
And then you wait.
The waiting is the worst. The not knowing.
Every cat cry, every sound makes you think they’re back.
They’re not.
I walked around until my knee felt full of broken glass.
And walked around some more.
You look everywhere you’ve found them before, but they’re never there.
They’re everywhere but where you look.
So you keep looking.
I saw something. On the sidewalk.
No. It’s just a shirt someone had dropped on their way back from the laundry room.
And walked around some more.
Count Your Gooses Before They Hatch
You’ve heard of the goose that laid the golden eggs, but have you heard of the golden goose that laid eggs?
I’m not sure which is weirder: An inanimate object laying living, organic eggs or a living creature laying solid metal eggs.
I tried to explain this to the guy who owned the golden goose, but he just wanted to melt the goose down and sell the gold.
“Have you seen the price of gold?” he replied.
“This is a miracle goose!” I pleaded. “You can’t melt it down!”
He did anyway.
The goose turned out to be gold-plated lead.
The Chant
The teacher collected the permission slips, smiled, and began to chant.
Smoke filled the room, and a swirling portal opened in the middle of the blackboard.
The students rose up from their desks and flew through the door into the Shadow Zone.
Once the last student went through the portal, the smoke cleared.
The teacher sat back in his chair, put his feet on the desk, and enjoyed the silence.
The students would be back when the candle went out.
Candle?
Oh oh. He forgot to light the candle.
He pulled out his cell phone and called the union representative.
Art Deficiency
I was walking down the street on a beautiful day, when I was overcome by a strange feeling.
My balance failed me, and I collapsed.
An ambulance arrived, and the paramedics quickly checked my vital signs.
“When was the last time you were at a museum?” one asked.
“I don’t remember,” I said.
“THIS MAN IS SUFFERING FROM A LACK OF ART!” shouted the other paramedic, and I was loaded into the ambulance.
“The Downtown Contemporary is on drive-by,” said the driver. “But we’ll get you to a local gallery. It’s just two blocks away.”
And the siren wailed on.
Pray For Them
Sometimes, people ask for me to pray for them.
I don’t pray.
If the invisible man in the sky needs for me to put my hands together to tell him what shit in the world needs fixing, fuck him.
He’s an idiot for not knowing, a pathetic sack of shit for not being able to do anything about it, or an asshole for not wanting to do anything about it.
And I’m certainly not going to thank him for all the blessings, either. Because whatever he doesn’t take away through death or entropy, the government takes away through taxes.
Amen.
The Lights
Jack told Jill about the strange lights in the sky.
“They were just beyond that hill,” he said, pointing West. “I think they were flying saucers. Want to go with me and find out?”
Jill got a flashlight. “Hell yeah!”
Two days later, Jack and Jill were found along Highway 12 by a retired carpenter. They were both sunburned and babbling nonsense.
Jill held a pail of water. “These are the tears of the Star Master!” she shrieked.
Government agents sealed off the area.
Jack eventually recovered, but nobody’s seen Jill since the incident.
If you see lights, ignore them.