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From: Physfitfreak <physfitfreak@gmail.com>
Newsgroups: sci.physics,sci.physics.relativity,sci.math
Subject: Re: The Suspicious Journals of Ross A. Kosmanson :-)
Date: Wed, 7 May 2025 18:33:24 -0500
Organization: Modern Human
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On 5/7/25 6:10 PM, Physfitfreak wrote:
> 
> Conservation Laws and Chaos: A Treatise on Sardines, Sleepy Hollow, and 
> Squirrel-Induced Automobile Incidents
> 
> 
> Momentum, that most steadfast of physical quantities, abides by its own 
> solemn covenant — unchanged, unyielding — much like the tin of sardines 
> that graced my morning repast, its brined geometries defying the vulgar 
> linearity of consumption. Yet the universe, in its infinite jest, favors 
> the nonlinear, as evidenced by the brazen squirrel that lately seized 
> dominion over my Israeli associate’s motorcar, its diminutive claws 
> effecting a most improbable liaison between rodent caprice and the 
> austere laws of vehicular thermodynamics.
> 
> Consider, if you will, the creature’s impudent twist of the ignition — a 
> torque applied without mandate, a revolution sans authority — mirroring, 
> in its way, the Headless Horseman’s own contempt for classical 
> kinematics. Both stand as singularities within their respective 
> continua: one a specter of Hessian vintage, the other a 
> granola-empowered marauder of internal combustion.
> 
> Sleepy Hollow, that venerable theater of folkloric physics, thrives upon 
> such delicious incongruities. The frantic flight of Ichabod Crane, 
> harried by Brom Bones’ machinations, adheres to no Newtonian script, 
> just as the squirrel’s triumphant klaxon reverberated through the 
> parking lot — a quantum disturbance in the humdrum fabric of midday 
> Aleppo. The Horseman’s absent pate, the squirrel’s spectral occupation 
> of the driver’s seat — both are voids that taunt our neat formulations, 
> while the sardine tin, that sly conservator of momentum, regarded me 
> from the breakfast table, a sealed system with treacherously fluid borders.
> 
> And so we are left with the detritus of rumor and Rydberg packets: the 
> Arago spot of a discarded tricorne, the skid marks of a rodent’s 
> abortive grand theft auto, and the quiet admission that in my callow 
> youth, when my countenance bore an uncanny resemblance to the silvery 
> denizens of that tin on my breakfast table today, I nursed the futile 
> aspiration of resembling Julio Iglesias — a conservation of glamor as 
> hopelessly nonlinear as the sciurid urge to comman87877deer a Honda or 
> the sardine’s own inscrutable breakfast logic.
> 
> Be they phantasmal, sciurine, or suspended in olive oil, the moral 
> endures: reality is but a farce of purloined granola, vanishing 
> sardines, and irretrievable symmetries, wherein every player — Horseman, 
> rodent, or crooning idol — grins from the penumbra of our incomplete 
> models, their truths packed as tightly as sardines within the  of our 
> unanswered questions.
> 
> 
> Ross A. Kosmanson
> May 7, 2025
> Sitting on an unexploded Israeli ordnance, reading Irving, Aleppo City, 
> Syria
> 



My cat left his marks on the journal moments before I uploaded it to 
usenet.

Change "comman87877deer" to commandeer, and insert "can" in-between 
"the" and "of" in the last sentence of the journal. There might even be 
more alterations but these two were the obvious ones.