I know. Everyone in the news-biz is covering it. And worse, I imagine that the majority of diary readers are less-interested-in-science than in personal experience discussions.
Wait! Stay. Please?
I used the word science—and I know it scared you. I’m sorry.
But imagine the following verbiage as a study in those who carry the Y-chromosome. Continue through the body of this text, and you’ll (if you are a woman) learn more about the boys (future, past, and present) in your life JUST by reading further. If you are male—you can read on for a lot of mental-high-fives and finger-pulling-fart-jokes.
You stuck around. It’ll be worth it.
Let’s discuss the news from today that Einstein was correct about the speed of gravity being the same constant as the speed of light.
I’ll letcha in on a little known boy-secret…and I may be thrown out of all the men’s clubs I am not even part of for telling...
Men knew that from day one.
Einstein was just doing the math part. Yada, yada-- 300 kilometers per second. Blah. Blah. Constant. Blah. Bends when close to massive… blah.
You see. We boys live for one thing alone. [Really. Everything we do can be traced to a single PROCESS. One. That’s it. Learn it and live it.]
Ready? It is a very simple concept—but the vast mysteries of maleness, quantum mechanics, and even-frigging-automotive-one-upmanship are contained in this single sentence.
We call it “moving shit through space.”
I don’t care what the shit (technical term in this case) is. We wanna move it.
Phalluses? We want to move them. Semen? Launch the shit. Let it fly.
Yep. Knock their asses through space, please. Further, we’d like to show you the light reflected off the 32 inch MONSTER-ZILLA log in the toilet as we pushed that light straight to your eye as a direct result of our puckered bung muscles efforts at moving literal shit through space.
Infrared from the remote? Yep. Move its slow ass (compared to light) all the way to the damned TeeVee. We might want to hit the button again, because—that shit is seriously slow—and there isn’t as much feedback to our boy-egos as say, a loud fart and the cascading-smell-through-space.
Videogames? Shit yeah! We move those little stunt sprites around on the screen, and they asses get killed, and all we had to move through space in the process was a finger and a thumb (we like making inertia think it 0wNz us…and then just flick a joystick and bust something down.)
It all comes down to that Y-thing. Even the men who have lost the HUNTER that they were millennia ago--continue to lob shit around as if it were the nearest spear.
Even the nicest, most gentle, and emotive male has something he likes to throw through space and make you see. I don’t care if it is TEXT flying around at light speed from his fingers to your eyes. Poetry is fine. The shit flies through space.
We’ve known it all along. Einstein just did the calculations—and for him? That shit will be flying throughout ALL space and time...forever, and ever, and EVER. Amen.
PS. Even better than just farting? Let the little stank-molecules hang out for a bit under the covers and THEN launch them through space. [ItsABoyThang]