Q: Why do people not believe in the greenhouse effect?

A: Because they are smart. The so-called "greenhouse effect" was conceived by a group of Berkeley drop-outs in 1967 as a way to stifle American innovation, cripple the economy, and secure life-long government employment.

You should come inside if you want to continue talking. I'm wearing SPF 175 and that only last five minutes at this time of day.

You see, these hippies hated cars. Hated them with a passion usually reserved for people who talk during movies or borrow books and never return them. The hippies rode bikes and bikes only and believed that the rest of the world should live as they live; thus cars must be outlawed.

The air quality is rather terrible today. You should put on this gas mask if you wish to remain conscious for the rest of this conversation.

As I was saying, they hated cars, and wanted them gone, but it's not so easy to turn public opinion against cars. People like cars. Faster than walking. Safer than catapults. Cleaner than rickshaws.

Don't feel obligated to keep you coat on. Or your shirt. Or your pants. It's stifling today. Supposed to go as high as 140. Feel free to strip down to your boxers, as I have. We might as well be comfortable/

Turning people against cars would be no easy task. You can't frame a car for murder. You can't get a car drunk, fill it with naked children, and take pictures. Even telling them Hitler designed the car didn't work.

Please don't touch those books. It's been rather humid lately,  for the past twelve years, and the books have grown  moldy. Some kind of toxic mold, I've been told. At least that's what I think the man said. They were his dying words after all. He wasn't exactly enunciating.

So, how do you make people hate cars? The hippies thought and thought for years, until one day, probably in one of their drug-induced hazes, they stumbled on the perfect idea. Emissions. Tell people that the emissions from cars rise up to the atmosphere where they magically create an invisible shield that traps in all the heat and turns the Earth into a kind of giant greenhouse. Have you ever heard anything so foolish?

I'd offer you something to eat, but it's impossible to find food these days. The Kelly's down the street used to be a good source,  but I ate the last of them two weeks ago.

A greenhouse effect? The Earth growing hotter and hotter by the year, melting the polar ice caps, raising the oceans, causing incredible storms and heatwaves? That's what they came up with? That was their story?

You should move over to that other chair. You're getting a little overcooked on your left side.

Funny thing was, people bought it. People started to believe this whole greenhouse effect nonsense. In retrospect I shouldn't have been so surprised. People believe in all sorts of silly things. Evolution. Love. Memory. Gravity. But the real funny part? It didn't work. Cars stayed. Cars became more prevalent than ever. They made bigger cars, faster cars, cars that burned more fuel and created more dangerous emissions than ever before. So, yes, in a way, a small way, the hippies won. But in a real way, in a big way, we won. All eight of us who remain.

Say, before dinner, would you like to take a look at garden? It was washed away in the mudslides of 2019, but if you close your eyes and tie this rope around your wrists and pour this marinade over your back, you can still picture it.

Q: What happens to a candle when a beaker is placed over it?

A: When the beaker is full of water, as it is in this case, the candle goes out. When the candle goes out we lose our source of light. When we lose our source of light we can't find our way through the catacombs beneath your grandmother's house. When we can't find our way through the catacombs beneath your grandmother's house, we can't warn the rest of the crew that your grandmother has been breeding C.H.U.D.s* for twenty-seven years.

When we can't warn the rest of the crew about your grandmother breeding C.H.U.D.s, they won't be ready to fight the C.H.U.D.s. When our crew isn't ready to fight the C.H.U.D.s, they're more likely to be eaten by the C.H.U.D.s. When our crew is more likely to be eaten by the C.H.U.D.s, they will be eaten by the C.H.U.D.s. When our crew is eaten by the C.H.U.D.s, our documentary about your grandmother's collection of Mondale-Ferraro memorabilia will become a found-footage horror film about a documentary film crew eaten by C.H.U.D.s.

When our documentary about your grandmother's collection of Mondale-Ferraro memorabilia becomes a found-footage horror film about a documentary film crew eaten by C.H.U.D.s, our next of kin will be sued for copyright infringement.

Please don't place the beaker over the candle. My next of kin can't afford a lawsuit. I need the light to see. And the CHUDs will need something cool and refreshing to wash down your spleen.




*Cannibalistic Humanoid Underground Dweller

Q: How many cells in a giant sequoia?

A: Nine today. More or less the same tomorrow. You know how it goes here at The Giant Sequoia Experimental Penitentiary for the Criminally Obsessive Compulsive. Things tend to stay pretty much the same. Once you've carved out your cell from the trunk of that giant sequoia, and settled inm and defended your routine, each day looks, thankfully, like any other.

I may be biased here, but they have dramatically undersold the lifestyle benefits of prison for the modern obsessive compulsive. I have a little space that's all my own. I get to dress the same way every day. I never have to check to see if I locked the front door. If I had a place like this growing up, I'd probably never allowed my obsessive compulsions to flourish in a such a criminal manner.

Yes, life at Giant Sequoia Experimental Penitentiary for the Criminally Obsessive Compulsive is almost exactly how you'd like it. Almost.

There is still the matter of the cells, the nine cells, the nine cells. Nine. Not ten. No, not the-far-more-perfect-in-every-way number ten, no god forbid we had even sides for basketball. Nine. Not eight, not the far-less-perfect-than-ten-but-far-more-perfect-than-nine eight, no why should we have the right about of chairs at he lunch table. Nine. It has to be nine.

Some nights I think about taking my old hatchet and carving out another cell, a tenth cell. But then I remember that a piece of toilet paper touched the blade of that hatchet and I had to set it, and the cell of the guy in the cell next to me, and the guy in the cell next to me, on fire.

Then I remember when there was ten cells.

Q: Are there any natural disasters in Oregon?

A: There's your hairdo. HEY-O!

Sorry, I couldn't resist. You look like Yahoo Serious fucked a light socket. Have you slept or showered or been around a mirror or a person in days?

Yahoo Serious. He's an Australian comedian from the 80's. Don't you have Google?

Seriously, though, Oregon does have natural disasters, just like everywhere else. In fact we had an earthquake a few days ago. A minor one, nothing significant. The only way a place would have been damaged is if it was directly on top of the epicenter of the quake. Other than that, you wouldn't have even felt it.  Coincidentally, the epicenter was close to here. If you stand on this chair and look over that tree you can the small chasm it created.

It's right over there, right ... Well, right where your house used to be. I guess that explains your haircut. And why you can't use Google.

Q: What are small rocky planets close to the sun called?

A: Those are not small rocky planets. They are small rocks. They are not orbiting any sun. They are flying at and bouncing off my son Carl.

Please stop throwing rocks at Carl.

I don't see how any of this is science.

The lab coats prove nothing.

Q: Are gamma rays and x-rays the same?

A: Common question. Had it myself. Being the "can-do" type, (as evident by my homemade alarm system, a bag of cats suspended over every door,) I decided to conduct my own experiments to discover the answer.

One experiment really. While my son slept, I bombarded him with x-rays to see if he would turn into the Hulk or some Hulk-like being. If x-rays and gamma rays are the same, my experiment would be an immediate success. Where once I had a son who cried at the sight of squirrels, now I would have an eight-foot tall green monster able to swing trains cars like baseball bats. With a son like that, it's doubtful the soccer moms would continue to reject my advances.

As you might imagine, not all experiments go as planned. Instead of adding three hundred pounds of muscle and gaining the ability to leap three miles at a time, my son sat around all day crying and wheezing and complaining that his insides burned. Thankfully, the crying stopped after three days. Unfortunately, so did the moving, and the breathing and the general condition known as "being alive."

I guess it's back to the drawing board.

That's my little euphemism for prison.

Q: What are the 2 factors that affect the force of gravity?

A: Cooking time and choice of meat stock.

Oh, gravity? I thought you said gravy. The force of gravy.

Look, the force of gravity is pretty boring, all math and formulas and facts you have to know about the mass of the earth and various celestial bodies. The force of gravy, now that's something.

You can read all about it in my new book, Gravy Force. It's about of team of chefs who form a crime fighting team after a serial arsonist burns down their restaurants. I may be new to writing, but I'm really proud of it. It has a great story and believable characters and page after page of detailed descriptions, mostly about the way a shotgun full of gravy melts the face of a serial arsonist. There are some graphic sex scenes, too. It's a very good book.

Well, it's not really a book. More of a treatment. I guess a glorified outline. I wrote it fast, so it's sloppy and all over the place. Now that I think about it, it's less an outline and more a bunch of notes on a cocktail napkin.

One note really.

Hot gravy kill arsonist.

I've had a hard time moving on since the fire.

Q: How do you rid your body of methadone before a test for it?

A: Convince yourself the drug is not in your system. What the mind believes, so will the body. Learn to master this skill and take the test with peace of mind.

It will also come in handy when you need to convince yourself you didn't lose your job.

Q: What are two techniques paleontologists use to determine the ago of fossils?

A: 1) Radiocarbon dating. Using  a series of complex measurements and equations, we calculate the amount of Carbon-14 in a given fossil to determine its age.

2.) Floyd's Theory of Fossil Decomposition. Using a ten sided die, we choose a number from one to ten, throw a bunch of zeroes after it and call it a day. Named after Floyd, the security guard who invented the process the night he wanted us to leave early. Apparently he had Lakers tickets.

We use the first method if our boss is watching, or if we're dating the fossils of one of the more popular dinosaurs, like a Tyrannosaurus Rex. The second method comes in handy on Fridays or  when someone discovers a pile of Apatosaurs.

Q: What is the percentage of 4 out of 6?

A: Sixty-six point six percent. With the six repeating obviously.

If you played baseball and hit the ball four times out of six, you'd be the Best Ballplayer Ever, better than Ruth and Cobb and Williams combined.

If you played basketball and made four out of every six shots, you'd be an Excellent Ballplayer, one of the best ever. A guaranteed Hall of Famer.

If you played quarterback in the NFL and completed four out of every six shots, you would be a Great Ballplayer with a long career and many trips to the Pro Bowl.

4 out of 6 for most any athlete translates to a long, successful career.

But you are not an athlete. You are an obstetrician. Delivering four out of six babies without dropping them makes you a Terrible Baby Doctor.

Q: Why is not day all over the world at the same time?

A: You have angered the Sun Gods. They will not shine on you again unless you follow their rules.

First, you must forfeit all your material possessions. You don't have to go all crazy with it and give everything to charity or set it all on fire. Packing everything into small, light boxes and leaving  them at your neighbor's door will suffice. Your neighbor North of you, not the other guy. Giving anything to your neighbor to the South will only anger the Sun Gods more.

Second, you're going to have to show loyalty to the Sun Gods in the form of a sacrifice. Again, there's no reason to overdo this. The Sun Gods don't expect you to sacrifice your children or your wife or anything. A few cows will do, as long as they are well butchered, free of fat and grilled to a temperature of 125 degrees.  Once you've sacrificed the tender filets, leave them on a table in your backyard. The Sun Gods will help themselves.

Third, no matter what you hear coming from the backyard, you must never leave your house. The Sun Gods are shy and vengeful. They quickly anger at the sight of man. The sight of women is a different story. Feel free to send out your wife and attractive adult daughters and their friends. But be warned, the Sun Gods hate the sound of human clothing. It would be best for the sake of humanity that the women arrive naked. And slightly tipsy. Sober, uptight humans ask too many questions of the Sun Gods. Too many questions make the sun explode.

Fourth, you must trust what I have told you. I speak on behalf of the Sun Gods. Few know of their existence. The world is full of cynics and skeptics who will insist that the Sun Gods don't exist. Do not believe these people. They are merely jealous of your relationship with the divine. You will be able to spot them easily. They will approach slowly, with concern in their voice, trying to convince you that my voice is not coming from the Mystic Plains of Light and Thunder but from a speaker embedded in your walls. While the Sun Gods frown on human sacrifice for the purpose of proving loyalty they do condone the murder of heretics. But they will not condone said murder if you own your home. Some of these ancient religions are a little weird like that. Just to be safe, you better sign over the deed to a complete stranger. Someone completely random, like, oh, your neighbor.

North side.

Q: Does the brain secrete during sleep?

A: Now I'm no Doctor - I wear this lab coat mostly for comfort, partly to help keep track of what I've been eating for the past week; everything stands out against the white - but judging by the sheets on your side of the bed, your brain secretes something. That something appears to be a combination of sweat, bacon grease, AstroGlide, tears, hair tonic, ant-wrinkle cream, and Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Ice Cream from Ben & Jerry's. If you look at the magic marker outline I drew to indicate your side of the bed, you can see that the residue has collected where you head rests while you sleep, meaning it can have come only from your brain. No other explanation makes sense.


Incidentally, your brain secretions are not as delicious as they sound. Although I am not a man of science, acts of science are expected of me due to my dress and demeanor. I do not like to disappoint. 


Now that we have concluded that your brain does secrete, you might want to see an actual Doctor. Could be cause for alarm. You also might want to see a sleep specialist. You are a very sound sleeper. So sound that someone could sit on your chest while dipping handfuls of bacon into a pint of ice cream with one hand while masturbating with the other, crying the whole time. In theory.

Q: How do you keep carbon monoxide from coming into your home?

A: Shrink wrap your home, then encase it in three feet of cement, until it's completely air tight. Nothing in, nothing out.

Make sure you wife and kids are inside the home before you start to save yourself from an awkward phone call later.

For best results, encourage one of your children to evolve into someone who exhales oxygen. You're gonna need that in a couple of days.

Q: What phase is the moon in when you can see more than one?

A: There's never a phase where you can see more than one moons. There's just the one moon. It reflects sunlight, shines real bright, and we see the reflection. There's only one moon.

How are you seeing two moons?

Oh, I know what's going on.

That  big white circle in the sky there? That's the moon. That other bright shining orb? That's a searchlight. Someone must have tipped off the guards about our escape.

Don't wave at it.

Q: What would happen if you altered the cells in a human?

A: I'm so glad you asked.

Over the past year, in addition to our assigned work creating a cow that will yield more meat, directly produce milk and lay chicken eggs, some of us in the Genetics Department have spent the better part of our nights and weekends on a little side project. We've kept this project quiet because we didn't want to get anyone's hopes up. but last night we made a breakthrough.

All me to present ... The Perfect Human!

Now, this is only a prototype. The real Perfect Human won't have that smell. Or be that color. And it will still be alive. But look at the muscles and the wings and the claws and the shoulder mounted cannons. You have to admit those are pretty awesome.

Obviously we have some bugs to fix. We need to find a way to either reinforce the skeleton, or reduce the weight of the cannon, so the collarbone doesn't snap. And we'd like to keep the next one alive.

But as you can see, we're making progress.

Now, as our CEO, we need a few things from you. First, we need a significant increase in our department's budget. Second, we need blanket authorization for all human genetics related overtime. Third, we need you to find a new wife. Maybe someone who's a little less feisty. We probably would have finished the prototype earlier if we didn't have to spend so much time hitting her over the head with our shoes. But you can't build the Perfect Human without the right specimen.

You're a lucky man, sir. She's a very beautiful woman. Was a beautiful woman. Who knows, maybe we could bring her back, if we had a big enough budget.

Q: Is air considered matter?

A: On a molecular level, yes. On a useful, super-heroic level, no.

When you first showed up at our headquarters and introduced yourself as Matter-Eater Lad, I admit, we all had a good laugh. Just to be clear, the laugh was at your expense. Can you really blame us? Here we are, the Legion of Super-Heroes, the greatest superhero organization in the universe, and you show up, a fat kid with a ridiculous name. We figured we could make you run errands, trip you in the halls, smack your belly until you cry, then run you out of town, like we did with Metric Conversion Boy. But cooler heads prevailed and someone, probably Superboy, said "Hey, let's give this Lad a chance. His ability to consume all forms of matter might come in useful."

You see what happened there. He assumed you could consume all forms of matter. Planets. Gases. Missiles. Intergalactic telepathic starfish. Sentient supercomputers. Boats. Matter that, when consumed, might prove useful.

But you can't. All you seem to be able to "consume" is air.

You might call yourself Matter-Eater Lad, but you're nothing more than a fat kid trying to catch his breath. Was the name Constant-Disappointment-To-Parents Lad already taken?

Q: Is there more energy when field mice eat spiders or when they eat oats?

A: When I began my experiments with field mice, I was sure that eating a diet of spiders would give field mice more energy than eating a diet of oats. Pretty damn sure. I must admit I entered into my hypothesis somewhat haphazardly, as I have never worked with field mice, or with a controlled experiment, or in a lab, or with other people. Most of my previous experiments had been strictly theoretical: How many rhinoceros could fit in the International Space Station? Who would win in a fight between Batman and The Scarlet Pimpernel? Could the Detroit Lions win the Super Bowl with a robot for a quarterback? That sort of thing.

Despite my lack of actual scientific expertise, I was awarded a grant and given a budget to conduct my experiments. Again, I admit I may have jumped ahead of myself a little bit. I could have started small, say with ten mice and ten spiders and one bag of oats, and see if my hypothesis proved true. I didn't start small. I bought 3 million field mice, spending most of my budget. In order to save money on the spiders, I bought a box of 7-legged tarantulas from Pakistan. I figured it wouldn't matter.

It did matter. Turns out, field mice get most of their energy from oats and very little from spiders. Turns out field mice don't eat irregular Pakistani spiders. Irregular Pakistani spiders do, however, eat field mice. At an alarming rate.

Turns out irregular Pakistani spiders get a tremendous burst of energy from eating field mice. They also develop tremendous aggression. And a tremendous appetite. And they grow. At an alarming rate.

I guess you could say my experiment was a failure. The grant board did, even after I tried to go back and change my application to say that I intended to prove that feeding spiders a diet of field mice would create an army of gigantic, blood-thirsty, super-intelligent spiders who could read minds. You know, for military use.

Didn't I mention they could read minds?

Well, they can. Don't think about killing spiders.

I've put my failed experiment behind me and I'm focused on my next project: I intend to prove that I can save the world from an army of gigantic, blood-thirsty, super-intelligent spiders who can read minds by sleeping with the Maxim Hot 100. I mailed the grant application this morning. Fingers crossed.

Q: Why does the silica content of the seawater in the Atlantic and Pacific oceans increase as the depth of the water increases?

A: That's a simple question, with a simple answer, an answer any marine biologist knows by heart. You see, when the depths of the oceans increase the, uh ... silica, um, well it also, um ... increases ... because ...

I know this, but I can't remember the words I need to say to explain it to you. This is basic marine biology, first day stuff, and as a marine biologist I should have this answer in my back pocket.

You can tell I'm a marine biologist because I'm wearing this lab coat, and these goggles, and my ID badge says "Marine Biologist" on it, right beneath my name. You can tell I'm a marine biologist because I'm telling you I'm a marine biologist. Who would lie about that? Who would spend their life coveting the position of marine biologist, shadowing a leader in the field for days, learning his every move, his every thought, dressing like him, acting like him, until one day he could become him, until one day he could burst into his lab, beat him over the head with a whale bone and steal his identity? A crazy person, that's who.

I am not a crazy person. I am a marine biologist. Again, I point you in the direction of my ID badge.

I spilled some acid on my badge, that's why you can't read my name. I was using the acid to melt some garbage, a common procedure for marine biologists. I was about to write my name on my badge but you walked into the lab and began haranguing me with questions about water depths and silica content and the whereabouts of a fictional Dr. Throckmorton, a man I've never heard of, nor seen. I became distracted and failed to write my name on my badge.

My name is not important. What's important is that I am a marine biologist.

I know whales are not fish; whales are mammals. Many people don't know that, but, as a marine biologist, I know it by heart. I also know the correlation between silica content and water depth by heart, but as I said before, your sudden appearance in my lab, while I was hastily fixing my name tag, and sliding a  large, heavy sack of garbage under my desk, startled me and made me forget the most basic of marine facts, aside from the fact about the whales. This is really all your fault. In all my years as a marine biologist, I have never been so disrespected in my own lab. I'm going to have to ask you to leave.

If you're not going to leave, I'm going to have to ask you to help me carry the large, heavy sack of garbage to the incinerator. If the garbage begins to stir, or moan, or scream, or claim to be the fictional Dr. Throckmorton, do not be alarmed. Marine biology trash often moves, or moans, or lies. It's one of the perks of the profession.

If you're not going to help me dispose of my large, heavy, stirring, moaning sack of garbage, I'm going to have to ask you to drink from this beaker.

The beaker does not contain acid. The label is an acronym meaning Apple Cider Irish Drink. It's basically apple cider and whiskey. I apologize if you are Irish and the name of the drink offended you.

If you're not going to drink the Apple Cider Irish Drink, I'm going to have to ask you to look out the window while I club you with this whale bone. If you're not going to let me club you with this whale bone, I'm going to have to ask you to stop shouting for the police.

Q: Why generator generate high voltage?

A: The higher the voltage, the deadlier the laser. The deadlier the laser, the more Gotham I can destroy. The more Gotham I can destroy, the higher ransom I can demand. The higher ransom I demand, the more commemorative "Freedom For Iraq" plates I can buy.

Those plates are hand crafted. Those plates are one of a kind. Those plates will only increase in value.

I must have those plates. For I am the Plate Master. 

Increase the voltage! Power the laser! Prepare to fire.

Fire the laser!

I said "Fire the laser!"

You already fired it? 

Did it burn anything?

That's it? Just that flower?

Um, okay,

We're going to need more hamsters. And a bigger wheel. Maybe some scientists. 

We'll just buckle down, start over, and  -

- Did you hear that?

I swear I heard something. It sounded like a POW. Or a ZAP.

There it is again. Clearly a ZAP. Didn't you hear it, guys?

Guys?

Guys? 

Q: How many muscles does the human forearm have?

A: There are over 20 muscles in the normal human forearm.

You have 4.

We had the rest removed to make space for your cybernetic wrist and elbow. They need a lot of room to operate and your muscles just got in the way.

We figured one we replaced your frail human wrist and your frail human elbow with a super-strong cyborg wrist and a super-strong cyborg elbow, giving you new super-arm, you'd be able to throw a fastball over 100 miles an hour, win Major League contract, enabling your mother and I to retire and spend the rest of our years traveling the globe and living the good life.

We figured wrong.

Turns out, Major League Baseball prohibits the use of cybernetic parts.
And you throw like a girl.

I guess it's back to the drawing board. On the bright side, you'll be able to give the world's greatest high-five, just as soon as some of the neighbors get cybernetic limbs for their kids.

That might take a while. We keep dropping hints at dinner parties, but no one else wants to take the plunge. They mostly look at us in horror while slowly backing away.  I guess they heard about the gangrene.

Speaking of ... Would it kill you to wear long sleeves?