Sir Isaac Newton's Notes, Before the Discovery of
Gravity.
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Was walking through town today when an interesting thing happened: I tripped over a stone and fell down. Not up. Down. I contemplated this as I stood and dusted myself off. "Did you see that?" I said to the nearest witness, a homely wench by the alley. "I fell down." "Yes," she said, "and looked a fool doing it. Never have I seen a man fall so clumsily." I suppressed the urge to call the woman on her stupidity; I went 'round the corner where I tripped myself several times. And each time, I fell down. Query: Have I ever fallen up? Trying to jog my memory ...
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Saw Mary in town today. My goodness, she is delightfully pleasing to the eye. Here's something interesting: When Mary leans over a basket of apples, I feel the need to ask her out. And further, if I ask her out enough times, and if those requests are followed by responses in the negative that increase in volume as she walks away, sooner or later another man intervenes and asks me to "stop harassing the lady." In this case, the request was repeated and rejected 29 times before an old badger stepped in. Told colleagues of this finding. They suggested further studies. Queries: Will it be 29 requests each time? Or will the chances increase that a man might step in? Or decrease? Something to think about.
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Had lunch with Gunter yesterday. We dined on sandwiches and ale at Smith's. When an ale boy accidentally spilled a drink atop Gunter's head, he reacted by pummeling the boy into submission. After he sat down again, I decided to test something that had occurred to me during the pummeling. "Say, Gunter," I said. "For the sake of science, are you willing to take part in an experiment?" He grunted his approval. I called another boy over. I asked him to pour ale atop Gunter's head. He did so. Gunter pummeled him, too. I learned several things here: For one, I will never pour ale on Gunter. Also, the ale dripped from Gunter's head down to the floor. Down. It's like when you learn a new word; you see it everywhere. Further, the blood on the boys' faces also ran down, but more slowly than the ale. Investigate.
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The moon followed me last night to Mary's. That pestering moon, lighting my presence! Why does it continue to hang in the sky, like some unseen force is holding it? Does it have no purpose but to shine on those who do not wish to be seen? Luckily, I found the cover of some bushes as I peeked in Mary's window. I hoped to see her wearing nothing but her dressing gown, and perhaps to catch a glimpse of that pale, scrumptious neck. But lo: Looking in her window, I saw Mary in the clutches of another man, one more handsome than I. She was succumbing to his venomous advances like a soft, defenseless rabbit. Interesting finding here: It is possible to simultaneously feel insane jealousy and sport an erection. That relentless moon shone on the latter all the way home, where it was finally paid its attention.
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Note: When a dog relieves itself, it does so down. So does a horse. And so do humans, apparently. To test this last thought, I approached a man in a squatter: "Does it go down?" I asked. "What?" he said between droppings. "Your waste. Does it drop down or up?" He shrugged. "Down, you mad bugger. Now lose yourself!" I'm currently writing a paper on this to colleagues.
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Interesting cause-and-effect here: If called a "dirty whore," Mary automatically reacts with a slap to the caller's face. We were in town, discussing her loose ways, when I discovered this. I called her the name; she slapped, and hard. Sensing my discovery, I used the term again. She slapped again. "Dirty whore," I said again, as an experiment now, and she slapped me ever harder. "Dirty whore, dirty whore, dirty whore." Thrice she slapped in return. Then, perhaps some learned behavior interfered with the cause-effect: I merely uttered the first syllable of the action phrase and she slapped me three times, as if anticipating something that had not yet happened. Query: Can Mary see into the future? Will approach her tomorrow for another experiment. For now, I'm going to rest under my favorite apple tree, dreaming I am but an apple in a basket over which Mary will soon lean.
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OTHER McSWEENEY'S FEATURES:
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Sir Isaac Newton's Notes, Before the Discovery of Gravity By Jamie Allen
Marvin Gaye Explains What He Heard Through the Grapevine By John Moe
Lists for Today
I Have March Madness By Wendy Molyneux
Love Letters of a Closed-Caption Editor and a Telegram Operator By Jaime J. Weinman
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