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: Does a hot air balloon drop you off where it picks you up?

A: I have to admit, I'm not as familiar with hot air balloon protocol as I would like to be.

Sometimes when I'm up here, all alone, gazing into the windows of the girl's dormitory on 8th - the high rise -  I chide myself for my lack of knowledge.

Sometimes I even kick myself. Figuratively. I literally kick my dog. I'm not stupid enough to actually kick myself. My legs are strong; I kick hard. If I got injured, who would fly this balloon? Certainly not my dog. He can't fly anything, at least not since his untimely death.

I'm not sure how it happened, one second I'm kicking him because of my hot air balloon departure-arrival coordination ignorance and the next second  he's dead. I've thought about getting to the bottom of this mystery, maybe enrolling in some detective glasses at the community college, buying a magnifying glass, reading up on forensics, but I barely have time to eat, use the facilities, pilot this balloon and watch co-eds undress as it is. Taking detective classes and solving the Mystery of the Beloved Pet Who Asked Too Many Questions and Defecated All Over the Gondola and Whose Bark Alerted the Co-Eds will have to wait.

Maybe I could hire a detective to snoop around and ask some questions, but to do that I'd have to know how to land this thing.

That reminds me, I have no idea how to land this thing. If you want me to drop you off where I picked you up, you're going to have to build some sort of time machine, or create a false memory of where I picked you up. For instance, if you tell yourself that I picked you up in those high voltage power lines you'll be thrilled; that's where we're going to land.

Q: What candy is opposite of bad and few?

A: You mean Good & Plenty. I have lots of candy in my van, but I don't have Good & Plenty. I do have Acceptable & Abundant. It's a Canadian knock off. I have cases out it. Got it real cheap on eBay. Wholesalers are giving it away ever since the Canadian government ordered it off the shelves after a half dozen cases of child blindness. Still legal in America, though. Can I interest you in a bag?

No? You sure?

Okay, how about some Pricker Bush Kids? It's a regional candy, popular in New England for a few years in the late 70's until some parents group discovered it contained trace amounts of barbed wire - you know, just enough to give it some kick - then they freaked out and had it banned. That's parents for you. But it's still out there, and I've got most of it. Want to try some?

What about some Razor Apples? Don't worry, they don't contain actual razors, that's just a myth. But they do contain a powerful hallucinagin that makes you think you're a unicorn. A savage, bloodthirsty unicorn incapable of feeling pain. Razor Apples were pretty popular on the playground for a couple years, until those damn parents got involved again; now you have to go to Thailand to buy them.

Parents ruin everything. Take my business for example. I started Candy Van for a simple reason: to give young children rides in a cool van full of candy. Today's kids are too distrusting of strangers. I wanted to teach them that not all strangers who offer you candy are creepy pedophiles trying to lure you into their van for deviant sexual purposes and slash or murder. Some of us are kind people who love to put a smile on a child's face, a smile that only an illegal candy containing powerful narcotics can bring. You'd think parents would appreciate that, seeing their children happy. Guess again. They treated me like I was some kind of freak.

In hindsight, the ski mask may have been a mistake. But I didn't want to frighten the children with the horrible scars I received in prison.

Q: How thick is the ice of where the penguins live?

A: Now that I think about it, thick. Really thick. Probably six or seven feet.

In retrospect, we should have armed Lt. Ivers with more than a steak knife. He'll probably need a drill or something. Good thing we gave him that scuba tank with the extra capacity.

Why didn't we give him a scuba kit with extra capacity?

I swear we had one. What happened to it?

Now that you mention it, I vaguely remember losing it in a poker game, but thought that was a dream.  Oh, well, let's hope Ivers can hold his breath. I'm sure he can; Eskimos have the most amazing lung capacity.

Then which one is the Eskimo?

Well, then, we should probably recruit some Eskimos. Hard to expect me to wage a war on penguins without a single Eskimo under my command.

We aren't waging a war on penguins? Really? Then why did I send Lt. Ivers - oh, wait, I remember, that was the dream. Poker game, real. War on penguins, dream. I'm going to start writing these things down. Just as soon as I learn to write.

When you write the condolence letter to the family of Lt. Ivers, please don't mention the war on penguins. Or the poker game. Or all that money he loaned me. Or my drinking. Or my being dangerously unfit for command. Best keep it simple, something like:

                                Dear Widow,
                                I regret to inform you that your husband, Lt. Hamilton Ivers,
                                went mad and threatened to build a nuclear weapon, tunnel to
                                the center of the Earth and destroy the world. (Obviously he
                                also intended to create and build some sort of super tunneling
                                machine) We had choice but to drown him. You are welcome.

                                                                                                   Sincerely,
                                                                                                   America

Include a Best Buy gift card, and that autographed photo of Judge Judy we keep in the game room. I'm tired of her staring at me all day.

Now let's celebrate the life of Lt. Ivers in the only way I'll allow: a Russian Roulette tournament.

Q: Does a research paper have a conclusion?

A:  In general, a research paper does have a conclusion, otherwise it's merely a list of regurgitated facts. Specifically, however, my research paper does not have a conclusion.

I really wanted it to. When I started the paper I intended to have a conclusion, a good one, too, not one of those lame ones like "Those who ignore history are condemned to repeat it," but a real good, thoughtful conclusion, one that would make readers marvel at my cognitive abilities, earn a high grade and give me the minimum credits needed for graduation.

Then I got to drinking - you know how life college life can be - and the conclusion slipped my mind. As did the paper itself. But I was able to jot a few things down on this pizza box last night. I spilled some hot sauce on it, but you can still make out a few words. This one looks like "agrarian." And I'm pretty sure that says "counter-intuitive." This would have been a hell of a paper.

When you grade my research paper, I ask you to take into account not only the finished product, but also my intentions.

You should also take into account the quality of these photographs I took of you banging your teaching assistant on her patio last Thursday. It wasn't easy to pull focus from that far away, that late at night, in so short a time, as drunk as I was, but I did it. You have to admit they're pretty good. Out of consideration for your wife, I had them enlarged and labeled. I know she has poor eyesight. Nice lady. Big fan of your's.

I'm sure you'll make the right decision.