String Theory Explained

There are many scientific theories and laws that, while they are essentially complicated, they can easily be explained.  The theory of gravity is a perfect example.  The practicalities and calculations behind determining gravitational force can be mind boggling, but it can be easily explained as the force that makes you stick to the floor.  String theory is not so easily described.

What exactly is string theory?  We’ve all heard Stephen Hawking talking about it; he loves it.  His eyes widen in wonderment at the sight of a string vest.  But why is string so important to science?

String has many magical properties that elevate it over other woven fabrics.  It is strong, taught, and useful for binding things together, which scientists speculate was an important part in the formation and binding of our universe.  Early telephone systems consisted of two yoghurt pots attached by string, which means that string can be used to transmit telephone signals and communications.  Despite all of this study, not a single scientist has been able to determine how long a piece of string is.  It also keeps unexpectedly appearing in people’s pockets for no apparent reason.  Go on, put your hand in your pocket right now and I bet you’ll find some string in there. Isn’t it marvellous?

In the same way that you can bind two sticks together with a piece of string, string theory indicates that the universe is held together by a mysterious, unseen force.  Some speculate that is the work of dark matter.  However, I believe that, given the evidence as to the important part that string already plays on our daily existence, that the universe is held together by long strands of invisible string.  This is the main reason why people tell you not to run with scissors.

The inside of a string

As an experiment, I’ve been trying to open tears in the space-time continuum by running down the street and madly slicing the air with a bread knife.  If my theory is correct, eventually I’ll slice through one of the invisible strings that bind reality, create a wormhole to another dimension, and transport myself into an alternative timeline where I didn’t wee myself in front of the entire class in 1996*.  I began screaming madly whilst doing this in order alert other people to the experiment. This should give them ample time to move out of the way should they not wish to be transported across trans-dimensional planes.  I also took the precaution of wearing a white coat so that people would take me seriously and understand that I was a man of science.  To underline this point, I wore nothing else other than the coat to try and draw attention to it.

It was shortly after I began slicing at a speaker in a KFC drive-thru that I was bundled into the back of a police car.  What kind of fascist would try and stifle a ground-breaking scientific discovery such as this? I don’t think the minds at NASA have to put up with this kind of bullshit.  And with that, your honour, the defence rests.

*Most of my experiments revolve around trying to reverse this tragic event.  It’s the main reason that I became a scientist.

((P.S.  Some of you saw a post on Friday about buttless chaps.  Those eagle-eyed readers may have noticed that the date of the post was 25th of July, so from the future.  Basically, Blogger decided to publish one of scheduled posts early in some sort of time travelling confusion.  Thank you for commenting and enjoying it, but I've taken it down to finish it properly and will post it again in due course.))

The Best Stuff Of 2013

Hello and welcome to the Muppets For Justice Best Of The Year post, which I have never done before.  Now, 2013 was filled with all sorts of miscellaneous stuff and things, far too many to list.  Some of those things were good, some were bad, and some fell somewhere in between.  But to scrutinise and identify all of these things and stuffs, we’d be here all day and my fingers would be worn down to the skeleton just from typing about it.  To save us all time and copious amounts of blood, I’m just going to talk about the very best things that have existed within the year of 2013.

Best Movie For Excluding Midgets

The Hobbit quite simply has to snag this award.  In a film which should be chock full of parts for the vertically challenged, not a single midget or dwarf was cast, even when most of the cast are supposed to be dwarves.  As an example of how to exclude minorities (some of which could possibly be classed as disabled), The Desolation Of Smaug is a unparalleled, shining beacon of intolerance.  They didn’t cast a real dragon either.

Best Television Moment

In a year which has seen the finale of Breaking Bad, it seems strange to award this to Confessions Of An Alien Abductee, where a woman named Chantelle genuinely believed that she was being abducted by aliens everytime she ate KFC.  As it turned out, she was the most abducted person in Britain, claiming that aliens were moving her cigarettes.

To put that into the context of her beliefs, basically, an alien race evolved over millions upon millions of years, gained sentience, mastered space travel to a point that is deemed physically impossible by human understanding, travelled out in the cosmos to search for intelligent life, found a lone woman in Manchester, then proceeded to move her cigarettes around to annoy her.  That is their entire galactic strategy, to steal fags from people.  Utterly hilarious.

We have travelled the galaxy, for the smooth flavour of Malboro.

Best Awful Celebrity

The winner of the Best Awful Celebrity award for 2013 (and every year) is of course, Piers Morgan.  That’s not just because he’s the smuggest git to ever get his gittish face on TV (although his television shows are horrible exercises in elitist bonhomie), but mainly for his historical actions.  Basically, Piers was a major player in the phone hacking scandal, even admitting to Paxman that he knew how to hack people’s private voicemails and offered to demonstrate.  He also doctored photos of soldiers abusing prisoners in Iraq, just to sell a few papers.

Best Blogger

This is the moment you’ve all been waiting for, the coveted Best Blogger award.  This goes to the Blogger who has made an outstanding contribution in the field of Blogging.  Bloggers are scored on quality, persistence, and having an obnoxious orange banner at the top of their page.

The results are in…normal, no evidence of autism.  Take that trolls!

Oh, and the award for being the Best Blogger goes to….ADDMAN!

I was so shocked by the outcome that I demanded a recount.  But as it turns out, it came out as me again!

I am so proud to accept this award from myself.  I’d like to thank all of my fellow Bloggers for not being quite as great as me during 2013, and here’s to 2014.  Merry Christmas everyone!

Yet Another Brain Shit

Hello everyone and welcome to an all new Brain Shit.  For those who haven't read a Brain Shit before, I basically go ahead and write without an agenda and put down the first things that spring to mind.  The only editting I've done is spelling corrections and the addition of a picture.  Please enjoy my unrestrained bollocks:

-------------

I’ve been thinking lately about obtaining a parrot.  I don’t want to spend a lot of money, so I’m just going to put glue on my shoulder and wait for one to land on me.  Parrots seem to like landing on shoulders, and glue seems like the best way to snare them.  I’ve caught plenty of pets through similar methods.

I once lassoed a snake which was quite a spectacular feat, and I earned a reputation as the best snake wrangler in town.  This feat was made even more amazing by the fact that there are no snakes where I live.  In the end, it turned out that I caught another piece of rope, but I refused to give back my badge and trophy.  I am still on the run from the law over this misunderstanding.

During my time on the run I’ve learned to fend for myself.  I’ve seen that Bear Grylls chap before, so I know a thing or two about survival.  For example, if you fall into freezing water, the best to keep yourself warm is to strip naked and roll around in the snow.  If it’s not snowing, just roll around the vegetable drawer of your fridge until you’re suitably warmed up.  In fact, I believe that is the Bear Grylls solution to any problem, to strip naked.  If you get attacked by a bear, get naked.  If you are lost at sea, get naked.  If you find yourself without any clothes, get naked.  When I tried this on Clapham high street and was promptly arrested, to which my solution was to get even more naked.  I suddenly developed alopecia while I was lead to the police car.

I mentioned Clapham high street there even though I have never been.  I think it’s on my mind because I watched a programme about a fried chicken shop.  It’s supposed to be a documentary about people who go and purchase fried chicken, however, I noticed that several of the customers had microphones when they walked in.  The show’s producers had obviously chosen people specifically to go in and get chicken so they’d have something interesting to film.  I was planning on making a visit myself to see if I got on the show, but considering their usual clientele consists of 60 year old transvestites who criticise people’s dress sense, I don’t think I’ll get chosen.  Only the chosen few may purchase chicken from this establishment.  It’s the most elitist fast food restaurant in the country.

Speaking of chicken, I went to an all you can eat buffet at the weekend called Cosmos.  It served food from all around the world.  There was Indian, Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Italian, British, Vietnamese, Brazillian and I’m sure there are a couple more cuisines available.  The food was actually quite nice, although I did get a touch of food poisoning from something.  I don’t which country to blame my dysentery on.  It wasn’t British for a change as I didn’t eat anything from there.  I get enough chips at home.

I’ve always wanted to travel the world and try different foods.  However, I’m not a huge seafood fan.  I’d basically like to travel the world and try all the different ways they cook chicken.  I’m kind of picking on the chickens.  That’s because a flock of hens once pecked my father to death.  He’s alright now, but it traumatised me as a child.  I went straight into KFC and began a war on poultry.  The Colonel is a good man who wants to destroy all evil avian life, and I want to support him.

This post is very bird-centric at the moment, so let’s talk about alligators instead.  I don’t especially like alligators but I thought it was nice change of topic.  Perhaps we should talk about monkeys instead.  Everyone loves monkeys.  Monkeys are like us but we keep them in cages and peer at them and make them sell teabags.  That’s all I have to say on the matter.

In fact, that’s all I have to say on every matter that ever mattered.  Let us close all discussion and just bask in the infinite silence.  At least until I want to say something again.  Goodbye.

----------

If you enjoyed that, I encourage you to read other Brain Shits like this one, this one, and definitely this one.

Celebrity Tweets (The Most Awful Title I've Ever Written)

To all who may read this,

Certain aspects of a certain Blogger have recently come to my attention, and I feel it is my duty to inform you about them.  The Blogger in question is  Mr Bumferry Hogart of Thoughtless Gibberish fame.

Now, let’s be clear on this matter before we start; I am not of the homosexual persuasion.  I have spent countless hours contemplating the majesty of boobies to the point that my long term cognitive reasoning has been irreparably affected.  I have been in a stable, heterosexual relationship for the last 9 years of my life, and I’m proud of it.  However, a guy like Bumferry can turn a chap’s head.

What a hunk!

Bumferry is, in the rawest sense, a complete and utter sex beast.  I've tried to keep my secret for Bumferry, well, secret of course.  However, I feel like I am going to explode in a shower of bromance if I don't declare my deepest love and attraction to this delicious chunk of man.

Bumferry’s nipples are delectable.  They proudly protrude into my daily thoughts, giving me a sudden urge to purchase gallon after gallon of olive oil.  Jacuzzi share prices sky rocket whenever me and Bumferry are in the same time zone as each other.

I have a fantasy where I’m in the middle of deepest, darkest Peru.  I’ve fallen into a pit of quick sand and I’m slowly sinking.  As the tireless pull of the shifting sand drags me to the point where my head is submerged, I suddenly find a lasso has somehow secured itself around my waist.  At that final moment, I am pulled to safety by none other than Bumferry.  He is shirtless, wearing a pair of light denim jeans and an explorer’s hat.  As he hoists me to safety, he scoops me up by putting his left arm behind my knees, lifting me up and holding me tightly.  He feels warm and comforting, like a security blanket made of pure man.  He carries my off into the sunset as “Love lifts us up where we belong” plays in the background.

For those who are feeling bemused, creeped out, or a little bit turned on, there is a reason why I’m confessing of my love for Bumferry.  Basically, I lost a bet and this is the loser’s forfeit.

Last Friday we set ourselves a challenge on Twitter.  We had to try our hardest to get celebrities and companies (any type of famous Twitter account) to either Retweet, Favourite or Reply to our Tweets.  Whoever had the most by the end of the week would be declared the winner.  The loser had to write a post about their attraction to the winner.

I managed to get a measly score of 4 during the challenge.  I really tried, but it seems that most celebrities are either too ignorant or too humorless to respond.  I refuse to believe that it's because I'm an inconsequential nobody.  I used every tactic I could possibly think of, from flattery:

To humour:

To customer service accounts for corporations:

To the downright bizarre:

For those that don't know, Derek Acorah is a medium.   A shit one at that.

It seemed that nothing would work.  Then I started telling outrageous lies, which seemed to achieve a modest degree of success:

A birthday tweet from Hulk Hogan when it's not even my birthday?  How on Earth could I possibly top that?

Yes, a Retweet from Danny John-Jules.  The guy who plays The Cat on Red Dwarf!  Hey, it matters to me dammit!

So yes, I failed the challenge and Bumferry is the God of all sex.  This evidence will be submitted in my trial for harassing celebrities over Twitter.  

EDIT:  Just one more thing.  If you fancy following either myself or Bumferry on Twitter, now you can.  You will laugh, you will cry, and you will probably regret doing so.

My Dining Experience

(The following post was written by my grandfather, Addman Snr)

Hullo there Internetters.  My name is Addman Senior.  At my time of life, I don’t have a lot of time to learn about new technologies, what with all the fist-shaking I have to do, so I hope you’ll forgive me if I make a boo-boo and cause your computers to catch viruses or something.  However, I’ve decided to brave this Internet thing so I can share my most recent dining experiences with you.

There’s a restaurant that opened up in my town about ten years ago.  A lot of you folks may be familiar with its acronym, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it is.  I think the restaurant is called Knaresborough Fried Chicken.  It’s the one with the ghostly, disembodied head of an old western gentleman on the front.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking about making a reservation at this restaurant for many years, but I’ve never got round to it before.  When you’re 88 years old as I am, sometimes you forget to do things.  Last week I left my socks on the washing line overnight and they frosted over into pointy shards, fell off the line, and impaled a fox.  It was only when my fox casserole failed to live up to expectations at the local church fete that I decided I should try some more modern cuisine.  Thus I booked myself a table at the fried chicken establishment.

I found the food to be "digit-tasting good"

When I say booked a table, I was a little unsure as to whether I had successfully completed this process or not.  I rang the restaurant and tried to make a reservation, and a young chap told me “Uh, you just come in, mate”, but I told him I didn’t want to get there and find there was no seating.  Standing was not an option, not with my knees.  Since the chap failed to book my table, I drove to the restaurant, and noticed that people were driving up to a window.  I suspected this was how you booked a table, so I parked up behind a blue Ford Escort and waited to reserve a table.  The queue was rather long, which suggested to me that this was a prestigious establishment.

To my surprise, a crackly voice box next to me introduced itself as “Matt” and asked if it could take my order.  "Matt" was a four foot tall, metallic phallus jutting out of the concrete, rooted to spot in order to greet diners.  I got out of my car to greet this kind robot, but realised that I couldn’t shake its hand as it didn’t have any.  Instead, I leaned near the holes which I assumed were its ears, and asked if I could book a table.  “Matt” told me to come round to the front of the restaurant and I could take a seat inside.  I never thought I’d get the chance to talk to real live service droid, not in my lifetime anyway.

As I walked through the door, the first thing I noticed about the place was the state of the floor.  I haven’t eaten out for at least 25 years; since my ex-wife Marlene faked her own death and ran away to Scunthorpe with a young fellow who still had one of his original hips.  Anyway, I was pleasantly surprised to see how clean the floor was here.  Obviously, food standards have improved lately, and the floor was covered in water to prevent dirt.  I slipped twice on my way to a table, but a chap was kind enough to drop a bucket on my head to prevent my embarrassment, and spill a drink on me to cool my blushes.  Regardless, I managed to climb over to a table, but found myself a bit confused by the long, padded benches there.  I called a server over, who explained that these were called “a booth”, and provided additional comfort for diners.  Feeling rather sophisticated, I climbed into my “booth”, and scouted around for a menu.

Oddly enough, this being a contemporary establishment and all, the menus weren’t on the table.  In my excitement I had failed to make an order before I took to my seat, so I approached the counter where a young man named Matt (perhaps named after the robot) said he’d take my order there and then.

There is no place for plates and cutlery in modern cuisine

I ordered the “Boneless Banquet”, which sounded rather delightful.  As many of my bones have been replaced over the years, I figured that the “Boneless Banquet” would be perfect for geriatric connoisseurs such as myself.  They gave me a plastic container of black sludge called “Pepsi”, and asked me what sides I wanted.  Unfortunately, they couldn’t provide side orders of pickled figs or corned beef platters, so I had a piece of corn, and a “slaw”.  This “slaw” stuff was rather interesting.  I tasted some and, using my unique taste buds, was able to identify the ingredients as carrots and lettuce served in a poultry-semen marinade.  It’s a long time since I ate any chicken sperm, not since war rationing, so I was pleased that an older palette such as mine was being catered for.

As for the actual meal, I must say it was truly, truly scrumptious.  The boneless chicken was easy enough to mush down with my gums and swallow, with only minimum mashing required.  I am delighted that modern science has found a way to breed chickens without skeletons, thus giving us boneless banquets such as this.  How do boneless chickens function before they are slaughtered?  Quite how the chickens mate with others when they’re lifeless sacks of flesh and feathers, I don’t know, but the taste is tremendous.  I was surprised to find seven secret herbs and spices in there.  I could probably identify them for them, but I know that some of you don't like spoilers.  Besides, I didn't think Dettol was a spice, no matter how much of it you use.

Overall, I would give my dining experience a 9 out of 10.  I knocked a mark off due to the difficulty in booking a table, and also because they wouldn’t let me meet the chef afterwards.  Perhaps if I was a regular customer, I might get the opportunity to sit at the chef’s table.  Next time, I hope to visit a local venue that has been causing quite a stir amongst my grandkids called “Brewer’s Fayre”.  Until then, I bid you all a good afternoon and a safe surf down the super information autobahn.