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From: Physfitfreak <Physfitfreak@gmail.com>
Newsgroups: comp.os.linux.advocacy,sci.physics
Subject: Re: A Problem To Solve :-)
Date: Thu, 28 Mar 2024 18:03:04 -0500
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On 3/27/2024 3:51 PM, Physfitfreak wrote:
> On 3/22/2024 7:07 PM, Physfitfreak wrote:
>>  She then took it back inside, pressed a button, then placed the 
>> gadget down and gave the order to him without asking for any money. 
>> Physfit smiled and drove back home to enjoy it.
>>
>> What did Physfit say to the gadget?
>>
>>
>>
> 
> 
> Problem was, as soon as he arrived and prepared to have his three fish 
> fillets and coleslaw, a cat stepped on the exposed side of his head and 
> sat on it and didn't budge, waking him up. He was still in bed, and Long 
> John Silvers meal that smelled so damn good right in front of him, was 
> nommo.
> 
> He told the cat without forcing her off, "Damn it, couldn't you at least 
> wait till I had one bite?..." It would still be another 24 hour of 
> waiting before the next meal.
> 
> He slowly turned to his left to get the cat off without tearing his face 
> up, as well as taking a look at the pendulum clock; yes it was waking 
> time anyway, so the cat knew what she was doing. He got up and thought, 
> "Well, I can have coffee at least, so it's not all pure loss."
> 
> Got his Beaumont Coffee Classic Roast out, the cheapest fucking coffee 
> to find both east and west of the Pecos, and measured the filtered water 
> just to make a third of the drip machine carafe filled with the terrific 
> fresh coffee. Filled a good-sized mug with it and went and sat with the 
> cats to drink.
> 
> "Ahah... I better check." He stood up and went to the window; yes, the 
> mountain was there. Anything could be up! He came back to enjoy the 
> cats' company. It was the black long haired's turn to sit on his lap, 
> and she sure knew it.
> 
> Coffee tasted right. She was not his own cat. She belonged to a neighbor 
> two houses away, but hadn't received enough attention and care from them 
> and was almost always outside, and almost always trying to get inside 
> Physfit's house when it was too cold or too hot or too rainy or too 
> windy. She did carry the old dirty collar indicating her name and proof 
> of rabies shot from two years back, but the state the collar was in 
> showed she'd perhaps been abandoned after that one-time proper care. So 
> Physfit had deservedly adopted her, and proof of that was the fact that 
> despite letting them know she was with him, when they at last left that 
> address they didn't even come to get her, or at least see their cat for 
> the last time. That, Physfit wouldn't allow a cat owner do, without 
> disowning them of the cat, in principle. So this wonderful, kind, and 
> patient cat was absolutely his, and he was absolutely hers.
> 
> This "sitting on his lap" while having coffee in the morning had become 
> a tradition. A routine. A cat thing. And not just for her; she had to 
> share the privilege with the white and gray tabby. One day her, next day 
> the other one. Luckily, none of the other cats were interested one bit 
> to sit on his lap. Male ones didn't generally do that anyway, and a 
> couple of female ones didn't even like him enough to do that. But all of 
> them still enjoyed his company at coffee time, and he enjoyed theirs.
> 
> Someone knocked on his door, he stood up and made sure his hair didn't 
> look like a mental case, then walked to the door and as it was the 
> finest of Texas tradition, opened it wide regardless of who it was at 
> the door. It was the mailman,
> 
> Mailman:  "Dr. M.. you have a certified piece of mail, and guess who's 
> the sender!... :-)"
> 
> Physfit thinking, "Ahh crap... That 'Dr' shit again. Could it be that 
> those in school whose asses I burned 35 years back are now deliberately 
> using that prefix before my name in their snail mails to get even with 
> me?... It sure has made a wrong impression on the mailman." And continued,
> 
> Physfit   "Thank you sir. Oh I see what you mean."
> 
> He signed the mailman's form and thanked him again and came back inside.
> 
> The letter or whatever it was, was from Bill Gates. "The son of a bitch 
> acts fast, don't he", Physfit thought. He opened the envelope and saw a 
> check for $2.88 Billion in it written to his name. How the fuck he knew 
> his real name was another matter. He Sat down with the cats again and 
> continued drinking his coffee, making sure cats don't sneeze on the 
> check or one of the male ones don't put their seal of approval to it; 
> pissing on it.
> 
> "Hmm... that hypothetical trick worked after all. Good that I 
> deliberately made the bill equal to the amount that those pervert IRS 
> thieves had forced me to pay."
> 
> So the matter of 2023 tax was in fact resolved. Might as well. God knew 
> how much money that Seattlite rude creature owed to millions who used 
> Windows. All those hours, all that time crassly stolen from them...
> 
> Was it the educational scenery down a Mossberg barrel that did the job, 
> or the name of Greg Abbott putting fear of the fucking god into that 
> Seattlite billionaire? Hard to know which one. Both could work quite 
> similarly.
> 
> In any case, Gates would now pay Physfit's debt to IRS! God worked in 
> mysterious ways indeed.
> 
> Coffee was finished, but he was still lingering there despite a zillion 
> chores he had to get busy with.
> 
> "Is there a way, while the magic mountain is there anyway, to change 
> layers of reality on demand?... Hmm... I wonder" he thought. "Why do I 
> have to wait until it happens by itself?... Is there a word, an act, a 
> sign, something, that I could use to trigger that change?"
> 
> "I did replenish my Walmart National Cup tea-bag on demand, didn't I. 
> And the can of sardines, the oxygen tank, anything I needed, while on 
> that mountain."
> 
> He decided to try a few things. But he needed to know towards what end. 
> So he thought a bit and decided he'd try to get himself at the menu 
> board of that crazy Long John Silvers again to get another chance to 
> have the formidable three fish fillets with a huge side of coleslaw. He 
> couldn't, of course, just drive there and get them. The day was not the 
> eating day for him. But getting there via another layer, could "imply" a 
> change in date too.
> 
> He first, of course, tried,
> 
> "Fuck that Pope The Penis X!"
> 
> But nothing happened. Probably worked only on the magic mountain. But he 
> knew such exclamations would require being originated out of the deepest 
> parts of logic and sanity in his mind. So he tried,
> 
> "Trump! Why does your wife look like she made her first step out of the 
> Siberian jungles just yesterday?"
> 
> "Hahhahhhahh :-)" Physfit couldn't help it after forming that image in 
> his mind. It really took a lot of stupidity in a man to fall for a woman 
> who looked that way, especially that permanent expression on her face. 
> Pure cro-magnon instinct, having to do with Jungles and cold as fuck 
> weathers, would be the cause.
> 
> But nothing happened regardless. He was still in the same layer. So,
> 
> "Lindsey Graham! Have you honestly ever outdone this one:
> 
> https://i.postimg.cc/d3sLh3WX/Grahams-competitor.jpg
> 
> in thinking?..."
> 
> Physfit certainly didn't think so. And it didn't work anyway. Perhaps it 
> was something about the fact that the real culprits were those who put 
> such characters up in those positions.
> 
> "Nah.. this type of statements won't get me there. Let's try COLA stuff."
> 
> "DFS! Fart for Mormonites! Be what you're made for."... nothing.
> 
> "RonB! Splash around some of that stuff you have in your Holy Grail 
> you're holding under Pope The Penis X's exposed penis, to bless COLA 
> members with THAT kind of benevolence." ... Still nothing.
> 
> "hh! Now that you've lowered yourself communication-wise to the level 
> you've actually been all your life, perhaps even born into, then you 
> know what to do. PAY MY DICK!"
> 
> BOOM!... Physfit was in his car, at Long John Silver's Drive-Thru!
> 
> But as before, he didn't know how he got there. No recollections of what 
> immediately preceded his being there. Especially, he didn't know when he 
> had last eaten. And he was hungry as hell, so... it sure "implied" he 
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