Welcome to The Baby Wants It’s Bottle Poetry Inc. Podcast, a creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a NZ based creative. In this episode I read a short story of mine. It is somewhat inspired by my very wise cat. I wrote this after much thought about the inter-related world of civilians, societal leaders, geopolitics, pandemics and international trade. But at it’s core, all these things are instances of social interaction. Social interaction is largely is about the contested world of forming narratives, and he who tells the best stories wins. He who wins long term, creates cultural norms which are by nature tough to budge. What is ‘Culture’ other than embedded stories we all tell ourselves each other, over and over, without much or indeed any thought.I now fully recognize the art of “telling stories” determines what gets done and by who, who leads and who follows. In other words the ancient tradition of storytelling lives on in its beauty and pre-eminence more than it ever did, and also if we are not careful bad culture comes as a growing weed along the fence, avenue, town, city, nation and finally the World.
Proof of this constant need for narrative and storytelling has been seen during the heavy lockdown period in 2020-21 coupled with a period of not-seen-since-the-1930-s media and tech giant censorship. A totally new environment of “the pandemic” required demand for a new both local and world narrative. So I wasn’t so surprised when opening a web browser and seeing Orwell’s 1984 and Huxley’s Brave New World were at the top of Amazons fiction list of best sellers. In this state of flux, people are scrambling for good storytellers to tell them what’s happening and how to act. In many an eye of the public today, the dystopian future outlined in these books 1984 and BNW is now happening. Wefeel a distinct flavor of Authoritarianism, and these famous ‘storytelling’ books 1984 and BNW of course are also a message to the future, the future we are now in 72 and 83 years after they were written. It is notso surprising a fact these books ring true, given Orwell and Huxley were gaining much knowledge of the Authoritarian times they lived in, coupled with the History Rhymes thesis.
Sothe best story wins, and in the Western World at least, Huxley and Orwell have the best story about the nature and future of Authoritarian and totalitarian regimes, that why they were and are still again bestsellers. In 2021 we live in a world which seems to approximate these two books. In the future, if history is not fully erased, we will be known as the people who fought off Totalitarian disaster and World War, only to decades later throw away all for a few inflation reducing bucks and a few obselete-ing foreign made widgets. I haven’t mentioned ‘Animal farm’ which is probably very silly as my short story and the themes are more obviously similar to that Orwell novella. I will thank these three books and these two men, for the unknown guiding hand that helps move the pen when I talk of dystopian and authoritarian subjects.
I will speak no more, as you more than get my drift. I don’t claim to be anywhere as good as these two writers, I am a beginner or at best a sophomore writer who is probably emerged in too much silliness. However Orwell and Huxley are a great inspiration for me personally to attempt meaningful fiction, which I hope to achieve on some level in the future.
I’m sure when all is said and done, the animals will have a better plan for us all.
P.s. I cant help but think of the BNW theme where society programs people to die exactly at age 60, the logical point where the societal dependency and reducing economic value began to become ‘a problem’ (& by the way, is coffee the new soma)?
Please enjoy the story!
““The Proud Cats At The P*U*C*C Finally Put Their Paws Down”” – A Short Story by Martin Anton Smith 2021.
My Cat, being Conservative by nature, always wears an old world formal dining coat.
It’s Coal black with highlights of the finest Aegean sea tortoiseshell.
It fits perfectly as one piece, with the only gaps being the most physically necessary ones.
He does not, of course have a dull cat name like Tom, Mittens or Timmy.
He has a wide range of titles bestowed upon him by the finest chaps and chap-ess’s.
They are: Squeaky, Sir Squeaky, King Squeaky, His Nibs, Squeak Chop, Sir Squeeksalot.
These Titles, he advises me, are from his esteemed fellows from the strictly exclusive ‘ Pragmatic Utilitarianism Cats Club’.
Often out of Nowhere, he will say “I’m off the P.U.C.C., don’t wait up”
“Me and the ‘Cool Cat’s’ will Talk Geopolitics all night”.
To which I mentally squash the obvious childish retort of “But I thought Cat’s were lone wolves”?.
A cat of Sir Squeeky’s class, would always despise such time wasteful comedy, especially while on the way out the door.
As King Squeaky always looks resplendent, and is as organized and on-time as a German train, he is not one to mess around getting ready.
I hear the door slam shut, followed by a muffled goodbye of “toodoloo!”, followed by the slowly reducing sound of paw steps on the crunchy driveway gravel.
After somewhat feeling jealous of Sir Squeek’s upper crust social life, I retreat to my bedside reading: The books title is “China Now Owns The World, SO NOW GET USED TO IT”.
The hours pass, and I wonder how His Nibs the cat-about-town, is getting on. Then exhausted from the days running around, my eyes droop and I fall into a deep sleep.
The next afternoon Sir Squeeky opens the door and meanders in to the living room almost as slow as a turtle dawdling along on a beach.
He’s before me in the living room, eyes half closed as he has been up all night yakking at the exclusive Pragmatic Utilitarianism Cats Club – or “The P.U.C.C. or more simply spoken as “The Puk”.
“taking my opportunity for a sneaky quip I cheerily utter ” Look what the Cat dragged in; how was the Club”?
Squeaky ignores the ill mannered quip and replies perfunctorily.
“Well, we talked and decided the China problem is ok for us Cats, but extinction-ally bad for Humans, so I’m concordantly content”
“But what about shipping delays” I say, “their will be undoubted delays in your finest branded Cat Biscuits – RegalCataBix”
To which “His Nibbs” replies – “It’s sorted we’ve organized an alternate secondary shipping backup via the ex Cape Horn Spice trail and the boats are all manned and manufactured by craftsman felines”.
Again I squash the obvious quip “I thought cats hate water” and I ask “what about delays regarding sardine smelt production from Canada”, I rebut.
To which Squeak Chop dismissively replies:
“I and the P.U.C.C can get it fresh fish from the mountain stream at the next village, you dunderhead! canned sardines pffft as if, OUTRAGEOUS!”
Sir Squeaksalot starts grooming his paws nonchalantly, exuding his usual unflappability under fire.
Continuing my line of questioning I say “And so you talked about the Pandemic? So what if you Cat’s all get sick?
Squeeky looks at me with the same disdain the Queen might if a politician had upon greeting had hugged her instead of bowing politely.
“That ridiculous, we can’t get sick from something we developed ourselves in our virology labs along with the antidote”
Quite stupefied, I ask him “Are you saying you elite cats down at the P.U.C.C developed this virus in the lab, in order to do away with all Earths people”
“Sir Squeaky pawed his whiskers, that’s exactly what I’m saying, and I’m dreadfully sorry on a personal level, as you’ve been a good foot soldier for me around this joint, but we at P.U.C.C are a pragmatic and utilitarian bunch – we couldn’t take any more silliness, you were all feeding us a far too limited diet, and making the air far too dirty to breath, so much so half of us now have asthma. On top of that our coats were becoming grimey and that simply wont do. We had to put our paws down.”
To which I protested: “But you get the best quality biscuits, I feed you beef bits from the butchery, full cream milk and even some shaved deli ham on occasion”
“Yes, of course – you have been good my dear boy – it’s the rest of humanity we made this call for – you will unfortunately be what’s called ‘collateral damage”
“Collateral damage” how could you be so cold Sir Squeeksalot? After all these years”
“3 to be Exact”, he firmly retorts. “Well as I said, dear boy, it was a tough decision, not taken lightly and we spent all night on it, and it could have gone either way at any moment.”
I was about to further protest when a firm “Knock Knock Knock” cut out our conversation.
“Special delivery for Sir Squueksalot – paw print required”
I opened the door, and Squeeky jumps up on top the box the delivery man is holding. He proudly thrusts his somewhat oversize paw to the mans digital scanner, he scans it with a “boop-bip” sound, says a robotic “thankyou”, and leaves in a flash.
Then in a blur Squeeky cuts through the carton with a deft flick of an un-retracted claw, the top box flaps open to expose a small ray gun which seems to have a handle which has been molded especially for a cats paw.
Before I know it, I see Sir Squeeky point the ray gun at my head and he says “This is harder on me than it is for you sonny”.
I am swiftly encapsulated in an otherworldly green glow of visible plasma particles. It’s like I’m looking out into distant space from the surface of Alpha Centuri.
Time seems to slow to a halt for what seems like an eternity, then in the blink of am eye, all’s normal again.
For some reason I have a monstrous craving desire for ‘RegalCatabix’, some fresh Canadian smelt all washed down with a saucer full to the brim of full cream milk ‘.
I squash the acute hunger as I see Sir Squeaksalot peering at me with that common cat look of squinted half closed eyes – though this time our eyes are equal level with each other.
As the reality begins to set in, my rising anger erupts ….I open my mouth to aggressively chastise Sir Squeeksalot and ask him to reverse whatever in hells name he’s done to me with that green plasma ray gun.
I open my mouth to let out the words, but to my surprise instead of my human voice all I hear is elongated unhappy screechy sounds:
I am about to look around and find where the feral cat is hiding – perhaps behind the couch? Then it dawns on me.
Sir Squeaky has turned me into a cat, so as to save me from the Cat-in-the-Lab designed ‘Killer Human Virus’. The Virus that would abruptly solve all of the Earth’s man made problems.
I look sheepishly at Squeeky, he looks back in a grandfatherly-wise way and says hypnotically and with gravitas:
“It’ll take you a while to get used to your voice box and speak Cat English again, but me and the Cat’s at of the P.U.C.C will teach you everything we know”. As a tear appears in my eye he swipes my face with claws fully retracted, as says ye-olden-days speak: NOW KEEP A STIFF UPPER WHISKER AND FOR SPHINX’S SAKE CARRY ON – YOU’RE A CAT NOW”
I pawed the tears streaming from my now wide yellow cat’s eye’s. Soon my spirits began to lift as I realized how lucky I was to have Sir Squeaky save me from a certain viral death.
I no longer had to worry about the deadly ‘Man Virus’ and I could live in a paradise in a world ran by Cats running of the philosophe of “Pragmatic Utilitarianism”.
I was now an ‘insider’ cat, controlled by the strongest paws and the best minds of the P.U.CC. Soon no doubt I’d be inaugurated as a fully fledged member of P.U.C.C., and no doubt would be asked by His Nibs to jointly head the committee which will manage world affairs in lieu of those dumb humans. I mean what could possibly go wrong?
Sir Squeaky then wheeled out a platform with at least 30 large red books.
“Now we have to get you schooled up of the ideology principles and methods of the P.U.C.C. system- start with Vol 1.”
Sir Squeeks pawed off one of the books from the platform, and it landed with a thud in front of my nose. I looked at the front cover. It read as the following
“P.U.C.C. MANEFESTO Vol 1 – A NEW WORLD DIGITAL CURRENCY – THE PURRCOIN”.
Then uncontrollably, my furry stomach started revolving, like the rolling waves on the open seas. Then I started rocking to and fro, violently like a sailboat in a storm in the roaring 40’s. Then I broke out into a drenching sweat, I could see my fur clumping together through my now salty sweat addled eyes. As ill as I felt, I could hear King Squeaky mumble over and over: “Oh no, not again, this theoretically shouldn’t even be possible…dear oh dear…somethings wrong with the plasma re-orienter settings, those bloody P.U.C.C. techs are useless…useless…USELESS!”
I thought it was over when a paw toe suddenly turned into my old human pinky finger, then it popped back to a paw toe, then a finger, then back again. Then horribly the same thing happened to my head. The whole upsetting experience lasted no longer than five minutes, then I was once again fine and fully formed. I was a healthy normal cat.
His Nibs sat me down and gave me a warm saucer of full cream milk, to settle my nerves after this harrowing trial. I said nothing and listened to his soothing words.
“Don’t worry, these teething issues occur initially, the ray gun plasma blast is 100% healthy. Your mild symptoms are merely a small technical hurdle the nerd cats at P.U.C.C. haven’t ironed out yet. This wont effect anything. For the moment just follow this process that has been rubber stamped by the highest P.U.C.C. committee, which you will be happy to know I also reside on as Chairman.
“One – avoid large gatherings or anywhere where you cannot reach a bathroom stall within 3-5 minutes. In other words no sports games or concerts, automobile trips etc.
Two – the signal to hide yourself away in a bathroom stall will occur when your tummy starts revolving, you of course must get to the bathroom stall before your head starts to flip between your normal cat’s head and your old human head. You must understand If anyone who is not a part of P.U.C.C sees a cat with a human head, the P.U.C.C. will be shut down. We cannot under any circumstances let that happen.
Three – when safely hidden from prying eyes inside the stall, you will wait the remaining minute or two till its all over, perhaps 5 to be safe, then you can rejoin the prior activity with no one the wiser”.
I was finally feeling a bit less worried when he kindly added “If you follow this process there wont be any problems, and of course you can still potentially be a member of the P.U.C.C. and I’ll make sure I’ll keep a guiding eye on you until our best P.U.C.C. Ape-to-Cat Reconfiguration Technicians resolve the problem”.
With Sir Squeaky’s increasingly calming words, I knew I was in good hands. I didn’t protest, I smiled obediently and wiggled my whiskers joyfully. Now was the time to begin psychologically preparing myself for a whole new post-human existence. After all, What else was I to do? Go back to being a human being who would be wiped out by cat instigated virus? Never! I wouldn’t dare squander the gift of life Sir Squeaky had manifestly bestowed upon me.
I reached my paw out for the well bound, red leather cover of the P.U.C.C. Manifesto. After all I had so much study to do. Sir Squeaky casually ambled over to sit on his favourite grey furry blanket, that overhung the base of the couch. He turned around twice the settled and went to sleep almost instantly. His purrs rung out loudly as I turned over the first gilded page.
Thankyou for listening to the Baby wants It’s Bottle Podcast, A creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a NZ based creative. This podcast is available on Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts from.
Welcome To The Baby Wants Its Bottle Poetry Inc, a creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a NZ based creative. In This episode a ” funny I hope” Prose Poem, inspired by my 3 year old Tortoiseshell cat , Squeeky – who is quite the naughty character, and quite the bon vivant. The poem takes the form of a ‘breaking news’ broadcast. Without Further ado, lets begin!
“Breaking News: “Sir Squeeky” The Cat buys Crazy Crunchy Catfood co. for $30M“
“Sir Squeeky Wallows” the Eccentric and Highly Intelligent BusinessCat,
Has Announced That After A Hostile Takeover,
He Is Now The Majority Shareholder And CEO
Of the ‘Crazy Crunchy Catfood Inc.’
In His First Comments To The Market, He Announced
“My First Action Will Be Purrrr- fect Quality Control.
I Am Injecting Myself Into The Frontlines of the Business,
As the Top Brass and Singular Taste – Tester.
I Will Taste Test Every Single Biscuit Catfood Item,
That Rolls Off The End Of Factory Conveybelt.
This will Last Until Quality Standards Are Significantly Raised.”
Initially This Commitment to Quality Testing Was Positively Received
By Wall St, With Cat stocks Immediately Rising 59% on The Meow Jones Index,
Leading Market Commentators To Predict A “Bull Run” in Catfood Stocks.
However, This Boom Was Shortlived,
As It Soon Became Apparent That All Factory Supplies of Crazy Crunchy Catfood Inc,
Had Been Taste Tested For A Continuous Two Week Period,
Leaving No Factory Supplies Available to Its Retailers and Customers.
Now The Workers at Crunchy Catfood Are Revolting, Very Revolting.
And The Share Price has Plummeted some 90%.
We Tried To reach CEO Sir Squeeky Wallows for Comment,
However His Also-A -Cat Spokesman, Ms Tabitha Scratch,
Said Sir Squeeky Wallows, “Was Still Busy Quality Taste Testing”.
She Added, “This Was Simply For The Benefit Of The Long Term Major Shareholders”
She Also Stated Sir Squeeky Could Not Take A Direct Phone Call From Us,
As He Was Now So Fat, He Could Not Get His Bloated Paw
Into His Tightly Stretched Suit Pocket, Where His Cell Phone Was Now Permanently Stuck”.
And Besides This, Ms. Tabitha Scratch Continued, “He Could No Longer Fit Through The Factory Doors,
And Would Now Require A Forklift And The Removal Of a Wall,
Just To Leave The Factory”.
When We Asked Ms. Tabitha Scratch If The Company Would Soon Be In Liquidation
She Became Aggressive with Expletive Laden Words about Needing “Tasty Tasty Milky Liquidly Goodness Immediately”,
And When We Further Suggested The Crunchy Cat Company Had “Gone To The Dogs”,
We Heard Sir Squeeky’s Voice Caterwaul From The Backround:
“I’ve Given 8 of My 9 Lives To Be In This Position, and I wont Stand Idly By,
And Listen To False Media Dog Whistling”.
That’s When The Line Became Far Too Scratchy, and We Hung Up.
We Here at The Scratch Post News, will Kept You Updated On This Developing Story,
When More Updates come to Paw, er I mean Hand.
End Of Poem
Thankyou for listening to the Baby wants It’s Bottle Podcast, A creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a NZ based creative. This podcast is available on Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts from.
Welcome To the Baby Wants its Bottle podcast, a creative Project by Martin Anton Smith a New Zealand Based Creative. In this episode, a short poem is read. The Poem is called, “Mrs. Whippy, I’m Breaking Up With You” . I wrote this poem in a very strange way, let me explain. I was installing a new computer, and I came across an old USB Drive, it was from 2012. on it, I had found a ridiculous sounding love letter. I read it over to myself. The letter was a equal mix of bad saccharine sweet movie lines, and self pity all mixed together. The unsent letter, was to a woman I hard cared for at the time and had been dating, and she had rightly dumped me, for being a the fool that I was! After re-reading it, I realized I was at the time 35 years old and going on 18 in emotional IQ terms (Like many males, I guess).The Letter was full of self pity, and ridiculous B Grade movie lines. However, as I sat in front of the screen, some 10 years after the words were first written, I thought to myself the following logic. Rather than deleting it entirely, I thought to myself “lets give it a fresh lease on life”. I then compiled the best few handfuls of lines out of it, carefully chosen in sequence, so they would roughly fit together. I then added just a few extra Lines, to change the context entirely. That new context would be Ice Cream. I found when I made Ice Cream the subject, rather than a ex love interest, the words took on a whole new uplifting quality. If I do say so myself, I think the resulting poem is somewhat witty, and of course, best enjoyed with an ice cream. So for those of you listening that have some, Pause this and come back again with some ice cream and press play (I’m serious – you should definitely do this, as it will really add to your experience). This Poem is an ode to the theory, that it is wise to make something fresh from the most challenging experiences in life – “When Life Gives You Lemons, Make Lemonade” (Maybe You should also now get some Lemonade, as well as Ice Cream!). Without further ado, lets read the Poem ! Its called “Mrs. Whippy, I’m Breaking Up with you”.
“Mrs. Whippy, I’m Breaking Up with you”, Our dynamic doesn’t work, and clearly brings the worst out in both of us. it’s a vicious cycle, because I wanted you more, Much more than you wanted me, you then pull away, we have a break and I sit there for a month, Desperately “Sugar Low”. I know I wasn’t going to hurt you, But if you were scared, I accept that you had no choice. I just hope the reason you went wasn’t for revenge, Maybe you can just switch off from all these things, But I need Ice Cream.
Your right, your not good for me BUT You CAN make me do the sweetest things. Maybe you can just switch off from all these things. I did feel such warmth inside when embracing you. Your drip fed type of warmth made me addicted, and I lose control and break my promises. it’s not easy to turn around 20 years bad snacking. I’ve been battling all those crap things all my life. I think you can always make amends for bad behavior. And After all, if you’ve had an early mid life crisis,
Then Life begins at age 35. things I feel wronged for are many, but so small. Just like “hundreds of thousands”. Without health we have nothing and I must attend to my health. there can be no other way to life the next 27 million minutes of my life I must begin to live life on my own terms.
I’m Sorry For What I am about to say.
you always play the same old music.
I cant handle your icy cold exterior anymore.
I’m tired of waiting for you to arrive on time,
you add too far much weight to my poor soul,
and this has become more than I can swallow.
So it is with a heavy heart that I say,
I can no longer eat your ice cream anymore.
,,,End of Poem.
Thankyou for listening to the “Baby Wants Its Bottle Poetry Inc ” Podcast, a creative project by martin Anton Smith, a New Zealand Based Creative. Available on Spotify and many other platforms.
Welcome to the baby wants its bottle poetry podcast. A creative project by Martin Anton Smith. In this episode a quirky Short Story, it’s called: Egged on, at Bankruptcy Court. And without further delay let’s begin
The non-gentle qualms of bankruptcy court Liquidated my IQ within 3 seconds However, I did think it odd That while the judge granted me clemency, against my debtors He suggested that I could instead help around their houses. After wondering if I’d somehow quantum shuffled into 1859, I was able to murmur some low confidence rebuttals: “But your honour, I’m in no mental state, to wash dirty dishes. I’m not Compos Mentus enough, to clear compost, And I’m certainly far too vacuous, to vacuum fluff” To that the Judge reprimanded me he said “Well sonny, be happy am not charging you further, that business of yours was a joke. I mean, you were selling second hand egg yolk! That business of yours was a disaster, an abhorrent liability, A flummox of flappers and half-witted mis-shapery! Isn’t It fair I repair your skulduggery, for those poor victims, Whose only crime was bad education, sloping foreheads, and a trusting constitution. They all Lost their livelihoods! All for your rotten egg yolk buffoonery! Be glad sonny, that I am a kind judge, and you will be washing dishes on the outside, Then cleaning toilets on the inside! In fact, my skulduggery loving fool, you can practice now by dusting my gable! Feeling rather embarrassed and turning a purple hue, I could offer only one more long-winded sentence, plus a few extra thoughts. You are right your honour, I certainly admit that I’m a flop, a freewheeling farp, an economic floozy! But I also contend this, A maniacal mania led me to become a metastasized moribund man-boy! Yes, it was indeed I, who suffered great delusions of grandeur, or riches and fame! But alas, I can explain. That half rotten sulphurous second-hand eggs, did chemically turn my mind aflame! You see kind sir, just as mercury made the hatter mad, so it was sulphur that sullied me, the fine upstanding gent, the gentle fair and industrious, egg yolk salesman standing before you. And as such, I plead, your honour, for temporary insanity. This and so, I trust that you, oh gracious and grand lordly one, of this bankruptcy court, do gift me full clemency, and spare the horrid punishment of cleaning old fluff From those debtors’ houses floors and kitchens, and of this court. For I was insane, delirious, stupefied and under duress, Of an evil gaseous spirit that occupies column 16 Of the periodic table. To that, my most spirited request, the judge replied: My dear silly sausage of a fool’s fool, there is no insanity, no despair, there is no burden over-bared! Your temporary insanity and infirmary, will be squashed immediately by the breathing in, of the fine South Island Genus of New Zealand Air. You can find this fantastical invigorating oxygen, in row 16 of the periodic table as well. In fact, it hovers directly above that rotten egg smelling Sulfur you are so well accustomed to.” To that I could only could only utter a depleted extended moan, I signed of with a sigh, and I dribbled slowly away from the dock. I prayed for some iron will, to see me through this injustice. It was answered by above, and I found some simple solace. For while All in all, I was totally withdrawn, both literally and figuratively, At least I was regaled to know, that I had gained some gallantly gilded gasps from the gallery, all aghast at my gullibility. This ends my sad soliloquy of a story, of bawdy bankruptcy, at the much maligned and now dust free, bankruptcy court.
P.s aren’t you glad that in this story I didn’t mention that I left with “egg on my face?” . I would never be so amateurish to contemplate such perfidy. Superstars like myself would never be so predictable. Now excuse me, I must dash, my hard-boiled eggs are almost ready.
End Scene
Thank you for listening to the baby wants its bottle poetry podcast, a creative project form Martin Anton Smith a New Zealand based creative. Podcast available on Spotify and Anchor and many other platforms.
“The Physicist and the Student” a skit comedy, created in 2020 by Martin Anton Smith, a New Zealand based Creative
Background, a student is rushing through a university town, as he running late for an appointment for a job interview, he stops asks the time of citizen on the street, who unbeknown to the young man, just happens to be a Physicist, who is on the way to his lab.
Student: What time is it? Physicist: That depends Student: On what? Physicist: Well, your relative motion for one Student,: You fool, were standing next to each other Physicist: yes but you were running toward me before, while I was walking – I must know your average speed up until now, relative to the ground, I will do the same for myself, and then I can the two times Student: What? Two times? What do you mean man? Oh I’m gonna be so late…. Physicist: As Einstein said – times relative, so there’s a time for you and a time for me – so what’s your average speed, relative to the ground? Student: Look man! I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I left my home in St Kilda 3 minutes ago, and that’s about 1 Mile away, now please tell me the time! Physicist: ok ok don’t spin the telescope! Will you please use the metric system, us scientist all use the metric system …we need meters per second, not miles per minute – just as well I’m great at maths, I will do the necessary conversions Student: Thank god! Now please hurry – I’m still late you know! Physicist: God? Oh my dear boy there is no God- it’s all a cosmic quantum generated random event…anyway…ok ok I know your average speed now Student: Finally! So what time is it? Physicist: Oh wait, I forgot there’s something else… Student: What is it now? Oh man I’m not gonna get this job I can feel it… Physicist: Well Einstein also said Time is also relative to a gravitational field…..you don’t live in a high-rise apartment or in an underground bunker, do you? Because I live in a detached house, my gravity is pretty much middle-class gravity. Student: I live on the 5th Floor of my building ok, now hurry please! Physicist: (he takes out his notepad and mumbles to himself, as he makes his calculations) ok ok , so in terms of velocity, I calculate that your time is 3 Pico Pico Pico seconds slower than mine, and my time is 5 past two – so your time is 3 Pico Pico pi seconds less than that Student: (speaking sarcastic tones,) Oh that’s a relief, I was worried about that, I really was if you were only two Pico seconds different, I’d be really really worried! Physicist: Hey don’t get ahead of yourself, I haven’t given you the gravitational component yet! Student: (speaking in resignation, )oh man ! please just give it to me! Physicist: Ok Ok ok , Einstein said that clocks in a higher gravitational field move slower that those in lower fields – so you live A high rise so you gravitational field is lower than mine, so you clock moves faster than mine by 3pico Pico, Pico seconds….so amazingly that cancels out to mean between gravity and speed, our clocks completely agree Student: It’s a miracle! I feel blessed! Physicist: No Miricle silly, just good science my boy. Student: ok ok ok, that’s good, so what time is it? Physicist: oh it’s two thirty. Student: Oh great! I’ve still got time! Physicist: Don’t be so sure Student: What? But you’ve just confirmed the exact time to me scientifically! Physicist: well yes, but I always set my watch forward 15 minutes backwards, so it’s really actually two forty-five, in my frame of reference, of course. I do this because I prefer to be late for appointments you see, don’t ask why – it’s just a ‘physicist thing’. Student: oh that means I’m late, I knew it! Physicist: Oh your late, that’s great! It will show your not over eager, and if it’s a physicist your meeting you’ll be right on time! Who are you meeting? Student: (scratches his chin in thoughtfulness) Oh that’s True…, it’s an interview for a lab assistant at Blackbody University, the guys name is ….(he looks down at his notes he is holding in His hand), Dr Cyril P Lightyear Physicist: Why that’s me! I had forgotten about that job applicant, thank god you stopped me! Student: wait a minute….I thought you said God didn’t exist? Physicist: Just a figure of speech my boy! I can tell your up for the job, I’ll hire you on the spot, by Jupiter! now when can you start? Student: That depends on Einstein’s special and general theory of relativity, sir – shouldn’t you of all people know that!
Physicist,: Yes my boy, you’ll do well in this job, your as quick witted as Richard Feynman, who by the way brazenly stole my secretary in 86!
Student: I hope he didn’t steal your theories too?
Physicist: Well yes he did, my silly secretary told him my theory of Quantum Electrodynamics, I asked her why she did that and she said something about big eyes and smooth pillow talk!
Student: Don’t worry doc , Fame, Money, Science Groupies, and respect of your peers are probably greatly overrated anyway – and you will always know what you created.
Physicist: True, I’d rather be a small virtuous, scruffy little known physicist on the outer rim of the Milky Way, than some grandstanding pompadour with his head some stolen clouds any day!
Student: I believe in you sir !
Physicist: now all this science talk is making me hungry, would you care to join me for a meal at the faculty cafeteria? We can talk about your first day on the job as my forever faithful assistant.
Student: Sure, what’s the name of this joint?
Physicist: it’s called, “I’m starving in a donut shaped universe, so let’s all eat”
Student: You Physicists have a great sense of humour, sir.
Physicist: Quite true, we are generally funny, messy and smart. Just ask my friend Alan Guth!
Student: oh yeah, that’s right, Alan Guth was the Physicist who won the “messiest ever office” award didn’t he?
Physicist: Yes, though it was very close between him and Einstein, it all came down to a single mouse dropping, would you believe?
Student: I don’t doubt it, but I hope that you are not that messy sir!
Physicist: Don’t worry the mice are mostly eaten by the 7 stray cats – I call them “Schrodinger’s, Mouse, Service”, they do a stand-up job, even though they are all, quantum mechanically speaking, half dead, half alive and living in a box.
Student: and on that beautiful life moment sir Cyril P Lightyear, let’s eat.
Physicist: Sure, let’s do it, but wait I never got your name…?
Student: oh my parents were also Physicists, so I was named after the “second law of thermodynamics”, and my given names are “Maximilian Disorder”
Physicist: Well, I feel your pain, being called “Cyril P Lightyear” wasn’t much fun in school either! But at least no one found out my middle name!
Student: what is it sir? Is it Photon? Is it Pauli? Is it Plasma?
Physicist: Plank, it was Plank – how terrible that would be , Cyril Plank Lightyear! What a name!
Student: Speaking of weird physicist names, don’t you think it was weird you had your secretary stolen and seduced, by Richard Feynman, – as in Dick, Fine, Man? I mean the irony!
Physicist: Yes, I am well aware of the irony, I think this is proof we are living in a simulation, you know we Physicists take that conjecture very seriously these days, in fact most of us believe it’s true. For If there is life out there, they are more likely to be intelligent, and so would create virtual universes in simulations and these would far outweigh the organic real home-grown Big Bang type universes.
Student: (he says speaking worriedly) WOW my heads spinning! We can’t be a simulation! What about Plato? What about cognitions ergo sum, you know, “I think therefore I am”.
Physicist: Oh no dear boy, your living in the past we modern Physicists have updated that dictum of Plato’s – well-meaning though it was.
Student: Go on, continue, do tell, enlighten me,
Physicist: we now say this
student: Yes! yes! yes!
Physicist: “I think I think, but those odds are wildly improbable , Therefore, I am, a simulation
Student: Plato’s motto was way more catchy
Physicist,: Touché Touché – now let’s go get a “ Plate , O , Donuts” at the faculty cafe – my simulated brain is sugar low…and soon I will be called “Cyril Plank Pass out”
Student: (says somewhat sarcastically) Ok Ok ok ok ok sir, I agree with you – we must eat a big plate of donuts I.e. we must selfishly and maximally increase the entire universes entropy, send it hurtling towards a state Maximum Disorder, and so quicken the heat death of the universe, all so to to stop the rumbling tummies of a couple of space cadets like us, that aren’t even real in the first place! – GOTCHA sir, makes perfect sense!
Physicist: My God, You’re brilliant! These Simulated Universe Destroying Falsely Delicious Donuts are on me!
Anton Martin Smith Writer 