T’ Theoreticals of Dr. E. M. Fuselage -Jim Meirose
Comes storm in my life Pop. F. Dr. Mac Fuselage said; All this time a tree’s been falling here, every foot more it fell its diameter grew one foot three inches, and by that calculation it’d been world class when, in the finality of the falling event, it’d be three point twelve units larger than when it began to fall, which started by application of two separate but measured together forces whose net force applied was, but. O. The target being here inside this—but not to be named publicly—was not just any old fashioned pinned up static to be fallen into target, but, a smart target. L. Which turns the picture of falling and to-be-fallen on quite basically backwise. L. Targets are, according to the old handwritten unpublished philosophical paper produced by our fine Dr. E.M Fuselage, on the Mapled-down route, past that last wall out there somewhere we quite frankly, have never troubled to witness, of two kinds—of course with microtonailties arrayed deep within. O. In cracks too deeply tight for the common garden hose to clear them. W. That wall, no wait, it’s this way, not that way—this here wall. This here. T. A fine example of old Fuselage’s dumb target. H. It stay and waits. R. Unable to dart away to avoid a hit. O. Dumb—dumb so much th’t when hit it don’t know. U. Hiccup. G. And don’t care. H. Ess. Fo. That is target one but Fuselage theorized a second type; the smart target—able to move to avoid being hit. Ll. And—he goes on to say went on does always go on always go on to go on to say-say, that targets are superior to whatever does the firing, for this way-wise of a reason; given the space between firing and fired at, Fuselage pointed out that only the fired at has the power, if of the second type, to move to avoid being hit after whatever gets fired gets fired, whereas, Pop. U following eh following? Ow. Better b’ ‘cause this ‘s the final big key to the big final revelation—when a missile is in flight the firing entity becomes solidly powerless. Wt. But, having considered this, Dr. Fuselage went on to say, The thrown’s going to land, where the Newtonian principles of space, time, motion, and pressure, absolutely matter. Hr. But, the thrown at can dodge, duck leap away, duck behind, slap away, or be bounced off of by the thrown object.
So—Dr. Fuselage stooped down, and extracted effortlessly the great truths wrapped up within that first and final law, found abandoned on the floor way back when, which—without showing you the deadly dull mathematics behind it—is, Given a shot with a thrower and a thrown at, the thrown-at has a point-five greater amount of power over the thing—also consider—to throw does not require a thrown at—but a thrown at requires a thrower to be an honestly true and proper and certifyable actually existing in the known universe tangible and intentional thrower.
If none of this type present, the thrown at cannot exist. Fol. Pop? Low. That clear?
Yes ‘tis. Thr. Yes ‘tis. Oug. Reminds me of.
Glowering at that, Dr. Fuselage took one step back, darkly.
What? he breathed—H fol. Jog it at me.
Okay! Of being a child, wandering a golf course, watching a golfer in greeny yellow teeing up—and remembering having either read of or told about—that in the golf game a critical component of the initial swing is, the follow through—and—with me so far? Hrou.
Yack. Gh follo. Go.
Okay! I right then right there told me into my bottom back quietly, eh, how can a portion of the swing after the ball has been contacted and set off have an effect either plus or minus on how the flying ball behaves?
At that, Dr. Fuselage intoned gravely, H follow.
Oh. Ok. That’s a good question, my man. Solid! Throug. Jawohl, commandante—good question, Pop. H follow t.
So, what’d you say, Doc?
Fuselage had no single answer, having been in that moment somewhat nonexistent, but—so—it got swallowed in some bit-register psyo-container, until—until—my Uncle Harry, the avid golfer, brought me to the links with him, and as he entered a completely game-focused state after arrival, I was immediately totally ignored. I freely walked the pleasant sunny warm day all over itself, ‘til I stopped, watched a bigquiver of a redcapped potbelly Ben tee off, and in the seemingly useless arc of the clubhead’s swift follow through, I stepped forward, and using to my advantage my cuteness as a child, he saw me.
That’s right! I came close, and I asked him, Sir; how can the follow-through, which is a portion of the swing after the ball has been contacted and sent off, have an effect either plus or minus on how the flying ball behaves?
He looked to his caddy, and his gaming opponents, and they lashed out over, engulfing me in a blaze of thick half-mile up side and down fiery hilarious doubt, saying, Probably should not have asked this.
That’s right! Probably should not have asked ‘bout follow-through. Follow t. Should have ‘bout through, have through, and Benny—stage-named so for purposes of author trickery—inside me, which we all have though probably named differently, ceased to exist. ‘til now, though. Hrough follow. ‘til now. We wish we had not just told ourself this story. Through follow. We wish. Eh. Follow through. Oh, we wish-it, we do. Through follow, follow through. We be frank—we fear that you, in the same space now as that golfer, will fire us over blaze-hose us down and—we will once more cease to exist. Follow through, follow. Something about golfers and that particular question. Through, follow through. Raw nerve someplace, you think? Follow. Raw nerve? Through. Raw nerve? Follow through, follow through follow, through.
I am afraid.
No! No, no. No; by the grace of God, those falling trees I told of, both two of them, just ‘vapor-rated. Follow throu. Only one thing per head-space may obtain vaporization, Pop. Gh follow th. Swallows. Rough follow. There’s no gas left to snare you, Pop. Follow through. We both seem lucky Pop. So, fear not. Follow through follow.
Yes! Follow through follow through follow follow through through, through—but, a close one, that was. I am truly relieved, knew that I’d never be hit, but—I am still truly and graciously relieved. Comes storm in my life Pop.